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.
So far, and he had to admit it was the way that he liked things, the mission Oak had been sent on had been a quiet an uneventful one. He placed the occasional marker there, made notes on areas of potential interest here, wandered around assessing the potential risk of any facilities he came across. Things were quiet and calm.
After almost a week in the rainforest he was starting to get used to the quiet life. There was a job to be done, and as long as there were reports from Command that there was a potential threat in the area he would stay to make sure nothing reared its ugly head, but so far nothing had come, no threats had been detected, and he was starting to wonder what all the fuss was about or if the boys upstairs had gotten their intel wrong.
Last time he had been sent to an area of similar interest a rather interesting game of cat and mouse had occurred between himself and an insurrectionist agent, the memory of ducking and weaving through an abandoned factory overrun by vegetation coming to mind as he checked his trackers and notes in an absent minded fashion. That man had been far too intense for his liking, far too serious and dramatic.
But this was a different mission on a different day at a different time, and he had nothing to worry about. Casting an eye over his camp he nodded, content. He checked his sidearm, put on his helmet, grabbed his rifle and set out for the day, a happy look on his face. All was good and calm, and it was looking like another mission signed, sealed and delivered.
“Aaaaye! there he blows! The great white baby boooy.” Momus sing-songed to herself, watching Oklahoma pack up his camp through her scope. He was so dang interesting being an interrogation specialist for the other side and Momus just had oddles of questions scribbled down for him in her notebook. How far were they willing to go in the UNSC to get information, did they target family or just work with who they had? What was his opinion on psychotropics. It was so hard to get objective customer criticism from someone she had in the chair, and maybe someone who knew the trade would be a lil more forthcoming with helpful hints. Honestly, it was such a bother he was on the other side or she could just invite him out for some coffee...mmm maybe they could have a coffee break sometime. Everybody loved coffee breaks. But she was getting ahead of herself, first she had to capture him. She hummed happily as she jumped down from her perch, sliding down the cliff and rolling into a crouch at the bottom, tugging her weapon from her hip holster. Needlers were a bit messy and awfully painful but gosh, they were so pretty, like giant weaponized bedazzlers.
Oklahoma really did need prettier knees, she thought to herself as she ran towards him in a silent lope, taking aim with a practiced ease. And pink and blue were such a pretty combination. She pulled the trigger, smiling as a spray of them headed straight for her target.
