Chapter Text
The end of the world was coming. At least that was what they told her. But she was beginning to think was a lie. Something they told the orphans, so that they would have more workers at the Wall. Of course, if the world was ending what good of a life can be made of someone who was a nobody?
The air was deadly, cutting against soft cheeks repetitively until there was no reason to smile leaving a harsh brow to fight against the violent winds. In those winds were remnants of putrid death, metal scrapings mixed with charred or decaying flesh, mostly people, rarely Kaiju. Perfect. The end of the world and the only deaths Skye ever sees are the people around her. The scut of the earth, just like her, only she hasn't dropped like a fly because of the endless work.
If the world was ending, why the hell are there pilots out there manning their metal armor fighting against monsters? If the world was ending why not just let it? But it's clear not all lives are valued the same.
Skye pushes her oatmeal around on her tray mindlessly as the newscaster reports about the recent Kaiju kill.
"Pilots Fitz-Simmons have saved us once more," the bottle blonde goes off with an excitement that makes Skye glare, "slaying a category 4 Kaiju in a battle lasting over 2 hours. Currently, Marshall Coulson is here with us to discuss how the future looks for us against these monsters."
A simple man, looking no more than what could've been Skye's father's age (she only imagines from time to time), with thinning hair and an expression of a man who has seen death itself appears on the screen. She could see the deep blue of his uniform on the screen, the shiny ribbons and baubles at the corner of the screen where the mic is discretely hidden.
"Today, we reset the clock a long after a very long time since our last battle. We hope to see the time between the Kaijus' appearances increase as we continue to weaken their forces. With Fitz-Simmons at the helm, we are confident that we will put an end to this apocalypse," as Marshall Coulson speaks, Skye hears tenderness and compassion but not exactly the truth.
The newscaster seems to have her own agenda as the questioning changes to, "Who are Fitz-Simmons? With all of their triumphs, why are they kept from the public? I am sure that the---"
Her insipid line of questioning goes unanswered as the horn screeches through the mess hall.
Skye wasn't really interested in Fitz-Simmons anyways. And future? What future? Having humans play in a metal suit and parading them around like superheroes? Sometimes, Skye wished she was born in a different generation, maybe she would get some sort of opportunity. She could be just as good as any of those pilots, maybe even better.