Chapter Text
Excited chatter and laughter filled the air, the cheesy sound effects of the nearby slot machines serving as the perfect background for the patrons risking it all for the jackpot. The bright lights on the machines made them seem all the more enticing, though Ema Skye wasn’t interested in playing with a machine she could take apart and put back together in half an hour. In the back of her mind, a voice sounding suspiciously like Colonel Dick Gumshoe chided her for not attending the award ceremony that was arranged specifically for her. She ignored it in favor of preparing to throw the dice for another go.
“Ema!” Speak of the devil. Gumshoe jogged over to the gambling table, award in hand. Ema shook the dice in her fist and was about to toss them onto the surface when Gumshoe interrupted. “What’re you doing, pal?!”
“Making it rain, that’s what,” Ema replied before shaking the dice in her hand. Extending it to a man watching the game, he blew on her fist without a word. She then shifted her hand toward Gumshoe. “Now you.”
“I’m not blowing on your dice, Ema.”
“Aw, come on Gummy, just this once.”
“I said I’m not blowing on your dice.” He pushed her hand away, causing the dice to hurtle back down onto the table.
“Two craps, line away,” the dealer said.
Ema shook her head before sliding her chips away from her. “Yeah, I think I’m done.” She left the table and Gumshoe quickly followed after her. “I love the casino, you know? It never gets old.” Gumshoe didn’t reply, instead forcing the award into her hands.
“You should’ve been there, Ema. Gant had to accept the award for you.”
“I know, I know. But I saw the game and just had to have a few goes with it! And besides, Damon was there so everything turned out perfectly fine, right?”
Gumshoe sighed. She did have a point, after all. “I guess, pal.” They walked out of the casino, where her Rolls-Royce sat idling at the curb. The blinking hazard lights intermittently lit up a nearby pillar and the headlights illuminated a trashcan some distance away from the entrance. “Make sure to be on time for tomorrow!”
“Sure thing,” Ema reached for the door handle when-
“Ms. Skye!” A man in a white shirt, red tie, and brown trousers ran up to them, and Ema saw her security team tense up.
He’s cute. If I squint. “We get it, we get it; you know who I am,” Ema said while gesturing to her security team to stand down. “What is it?”
He held out a handheld tape recorder. “Spark Brushel from the Daily Bugle. Can I have a minute of your time?”
The scent of mint hits her full force and she suppresses a grimace. On second thought, he’s cute… if I close my eyes. “Well, now that I think about it,” she tapped her chin with her finger. “It’s ‘Doctor,’ actually,” she corrected. “Ms. Skye’s my sister.”
“Alright then, Doctor Skye. What do you have to say regarding the Ten Rings’ latest movements in the Middle East?”
“All I have to say about that is that Skye Industries is going to be with the US Armed Forces every step of the way in dealing with these terrorists,” she answered, squinting at him. “Any other questions?”
“How does it feel profiting off of this war on terror?”
Ema blinked in surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to be that blunt. “Do remember that the proceeds from S.I.’s weapons sales go toward helping displaced families, and S.I.’s developments in faster and more efficient farming. All of those projects we run to help people who’ve been harmed by the Ten Rings? They’re all supported by military funding.”
Brushel chuckled. “Hmm, alright. Good evening, Doctor.” He turned and jogged away, leaving Ema to stew in her thoughts. She shook her head before getting into the car, signaling the driver to pull away.