If a girl wanted a job done right, well she just had to do it herself. So many agents in the field. So many grunts sent out to capture them and yet not one back with anything to show for it. Momus huffed and tucked her hair into her helmet. She did so hate getting into armor, so clunky and unforgivably dowdy, but alas, if anybody was going to be getting an agent into her chair it’d have to be her. Charon seemed a nice boy but he also talked a big game. If he could let a Freelancer slip away once he could surely let it happen again and Momus always did like to hedge her bets. You didn’t get anywhere in life if you weren’t prepared to get your hands dirty and she did so love making a mess. She’d find the agent in this sector if she had to burn down the whole forest herself. Then she’d put him in her chair and work on him until he’d remember her name before his own. Until she was the goddess of his small, painful world. She paused to stretch, taking a deep breath of clean, forest air and watching the golden light of the sun filter down through the canopy. Gosh, what a beautiful day.
