“Who the fuck do you think you are to say what goes on and who does what in my god damn casino?” A stout man shouted. The balls of roulette stopped to inertia, the crowd of guests looked over to Aenea and the small man. She was looking not at him, not at the bright bald spot at the top of his head, or the goatee he managed with fine deliberation (as opposed to how he managed the casino), she was looking at his tag. A gold pin sitting atop his vest.

She stripped him of it. Stuck to it, bits of the cotton fiber of the suit.

“You’re fired.” She threw the pin onto the floor and kicked it to the side. “Your incompetence is disgusting. A lack of surveillance, a lack of security, a lack of proper managerial duties has rendered you worthless.”

“Where do you get off?” He stomped. Security came, black-suited and confused, undecided on what to do with the man they once called 'boss.' They grabbed his arm but hesitated to pull when he resisted.

“I am Aenea Wolfe and as of yesterday, your supervisor.” She said. “Here I am then, to supervise. You’re fired. Get out.”

She looked to the two men standing behind the manager.

“Choose carefully. What do you love more?” She said to the two brutes. “Loyalty or a damn job.”

They snapped into fear, or common sense (whatever safeguarded their egos better) and plucked the man from where he stood and took him far, into the crowd of people and out to the front door. The people stared until Aenea turned and unanimously, they all faced down as she turned to face them.

She didn’t know why she decided to take on the position. She didn’t understand why she cared. She argued that she needed to keep herself entertained, after all, she’d be here for as long as it took to solve the murder, to the dismay of her investors back at the pharmaceutical company. And she argued, that if she were to stay, she should at least entertain herself. It only made sense then, that a business mogul like her would do the thing she liked best, business. After one look at the ‘books’ of the casino, she figured she might as well start here, on the floor.

With cigarette smoke rising up into the gold locks of her hair and the smell of burning alcohol giving her a perpetual, bitter face.

The only thing that annoyed her about it all was how easy Salome had given her power. It was a thought that muddled in her brain.

She spent most of her time here, on the floor, hanging by the ledge and looking down at everyone. The workers seemed to work harder with her around. The players seemed to be more daring while she was around. Things just went better as she hoped. And the day seemed easy, at least the first few hours into the day.

Then Dion showed up.

A bit low hanging with arms dangled and a neck bent over, like a withered tree which had uprooted himself to trudge along the loud and colorful stacked carpet. And this sentient, dead tree came towards her, grabbing the back of his neck and in a position, she could only associate with those about to keel over or vomit.

“We’re not doing good.” He rubbed his neck. A sense of resentment? Bitterness?

“What do you mean?”

“This is the fifth day I’ve had to clean Apollo’s sheets.”

“Have you referred him to a toilet?” She shook her head.

“He’s been bleeding.” He looked up. “Didn’t you know that? We got into a big fight with a supernatural entity - Demon - on our floor. The whole floor is broken. We’re broken. Apollo was nearly killed, he’s been trying to get his strength back this whole time.”

“What?” She snapped her whole body towards him and kept it stiff. By the small twitches along Dion’s face, she could tell he was honest. Because no dishonest man is that fearful. No dishonest man would have those tired eyes or sickly complexion.

“A demon attacked us. We’re almost dead. We need help.”

She scratched her chin. Of course she didn’t tell me. Of course, she’d let me waste my time here. But still. I didn’t think it’d get this bad. That she'd take this this far?

“Why didn’t you handle yourselves better?” She asked.

“Don’t victim blame. We’re doing our best with what we have. We’ve got nothing but hands and legs. It’s not our fault you never secured us our weapons, especially with the job as it is.”

“This job was never supposed to be that violent.” She said.

“What in God’s name did you expect?” He sprung up. “We’re chasing a murderer, and you thought it wouldn’t get violent?”

“I didn’t think it’d get violent enough for one of you to almost be dead.”

“Well it did, and now I need you to pull your weight,”

“If I need to help you more than you can help me, what’s the point of even hiring you?”

He walked up closer. Aenea stood her ground.

“Because you owe it to him now. My friend is up in his room, screaming and complaining, nearly dead.” He said. “You’re going to help him,”

“How?”

“The same way you got in touch with us in the first place, through the Leper.” He said. “Tell him we need our guns and that we need them now and if he complains, tell him to bend the rules.”

“This is turning out to be a mess,” She rubbed her forehead. “You two aren’t helping either.”

“Sorry,” He said. “We tend to bring messes with us.”

He was sarcastic. Aenea was not.

“I’ve inherited a mess. The old man was never good in life, and he seems worse in death,” She said. “No one asked me if I wanted any of this. Not my mom, not my dad, not Salome or my brothers. No one.”

“Your little problems are second to my friends. Get us some weapons and get him some food.”

“What else does he want? A handjob?”

“Ten thousand calories. That’s what Apollo told me,” Dion said. “He said, ‘fuck off and get me something to eat and make it big.’ Ten-thousand-calories-big.”

“A personal chef, weapons. Resource after resource. Why shouldn’t I fire you?”

“Because you’re not figuring anything out without us. How could you? You're dead the minute we disappear. They're probably already thinking of a way to get rid of you. Whoever ,they, is.”

“I’ve thought about that, how couldn’t I?” She asked. “But if I stay on it, I’ll ruminate. If I ruminate, I get slow. If I’m slow, I’ll die.”

“Good, we’re on the same page.” He said. “We need to get back on task as quickly as possible.”

His hand was shaking as he said it.

“I’ll try. Do you have any ideas on who could have tried to kill you?”

“Apollo does.” He said. “That’s probably why they tried killing him.”

“Names?”

“None, he says, it’s just ‘a feeling.’” He shrugged. “Or sometimes he just stares out and says ‘I can feel him in the psychosphere.’”

“What the fuck.” She was still. Calm. Controlled. Though in her mind, the desire to grab a glass and slam it across Dion's face was increasing. She had to steady her voice, had to calm herself and breath before she could resolve to speak. Her voice came out duller, more contrived in the flat delivery. Forced. “Can you tell your partner to stop being so lazy, would you kindly say that? Or would you rather I say it?"

Dion stood in front of him, hand still shivering, but face filled with contained anger. His cheeks were shaking now, and a bit red.

“He’s sleeping. Let him rest.”

“What else does he want? Just get it all out why don’t you!” She screamed. “Here I am, having to deal with the company and the family that runs it. Here I am trying to juggle someone else's pride, someone who I despise. All to entertain you two idiots into coming up with a simple answer. And what are my efforts worth? Worthless expressions that aren’t worth putting in a god damn fortune cookie. What the fuck does psychosphere mean? What does he taste or feel?”

She rubbed her face. The same two brutes came from before, looking to grab Dion. She paused them.

“What else? Get it all out? What else do you two need?”

“An invitation to the big party. The coronary ceremony that’s coming up. We can’t just be around the perimeter, we need to be a part of it.”

“A party,” She rubbed the wrinkles off her forehead. “He wants to go to a party.”

“To catch a murderer who might be there.” He corrected himself and straightened his glare at her. “No - to a murderer who definitely will be there. As will we. Prepared. Armed. Right?”

“Right.” She closed her eyes and nodded. Right.

She looked out to the casino floor, and the mess of design on the carpet floors, the bright colored rainbows and dice and theme-less colors and figures (unless chaos itself was a design) and she sighed.

his is what he left me, she exhaled from her mouth, long winded like the tired breath of a stallion. A casino built from lies and lived with cheats.