As she cradled a sleeping Marguerite in her arms, the Mistress stared out from one of the USS Artemis's many vast tough-as-titanium glass windows. It had been ridiculously difficult for her to split the family she had just created two months earlier apart. It still hurt, but she was strong and she knew it. She couldn't just dwell on the matter forever. It was hard enough trying to figure out what to do when she first discovered she was pregnant with her daughter. Then again, nothing in life was ever guaranteed to be easy to begin with. She sighed sadly as she looked down at Marguerite. That was all the little girl needed to hear to wake up.

"Well, look who's finally come around!" Mistress beamed when she saw Marguerite flutter her eyes open.

Marguerite finally did come to. She managed to grab ahold of her mother's blouse and yank on it so hard as to stretch it out a bit.

"Oh no, it's not feeding time yet." her mother said. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."

Out of the blue, she heard a loud thump coming from the navigation station. She ran and ran until she reached the source.

Please be a Canadian goose. Mistress thought to herself along the way.

When she reached the navigation station, she instead saw the Warden smashed onto the windshield. He had on his aviator goggles, the same kind he wore when he first gave her a tour of Superjail, and his green Luna moth wings were held way back by the impact.

"NOVA!" she called.

NOVA immediately came upon hearing her name.

"It's Warden." Mistress said. "He's managed to crash himself into our ship. Hurry up and get him!"

"Yes, Mistress." NOVA replied.

NOVA did as she was told and brought Warden inside.

"Warden, what the hell was that?" Mistress asked him.

"I just wanted to see you and Maggie again." he answered. "That's all."

"You didn't have to do this, Warden. You could've mustered up the patience to wait for us."

"How could I do that with the orbit schedule the way it is?"

"Honestly, it's a little tricky, given how sporadic it can be at times."

"Could I spend a little time with you right now?"


Warden's moth wings beated against each other nervously. Mistress caught sight of them and was somewhat confused.

"How did you do that?" Mistress asked.

"Do what?" Warden replied with another question.

"Grow those Luna moth wings."

"It's magic, bitch. You don't have to explain it."

Mistress tried to make sense of his reply.

"I don't think I'll be able to counter that." Mistress finally said.

"Welp, time to go!" Warden announced.

Suddenly, before Mistress could ask where they were going, Warden snatched her while she kept their daughter close to her person. They jumped out through an emergency opening near the controls and so Warden began to beat his moth wings vigourously. In a few seconds, they were off and away.

"Oh God!" Mistress screamed. "Warden, you're going to kill us all!"

"Tut!" Warden scoffed. "Don't be so ridiculous. It's not like I'm taking you all on a suicide mission."

Soon, they found themselves hovering over a small American city. This city was filled to the brim with many eclectic buildings and memorable landmarks. There was a marketplace, a population that was predominantly European-ancestry, a park, and large groups of animals.

"I think this calls for a song." Warden finally said after a while.

He took a deep breath and began.

"Come fly with me. Let's fly, let's fly away..." he sang. "If you can use some exotic booze, there's a bar in far Bombay..."

"Uh, Warden?" Mistress brought up. "Do you think maybe you should be focusing on getting us to safety?"

But the question seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.

Down below, a young brunette woman wearing a striped sweatshirt caught sight of the flying threesome and became to scream her head off.

"Jeanette, what's wrong?" another woman asked her.

"Mothman! He's come to terrorize us!" Jeanette responded. "And he's got a woman and child with him!"

"What? Calm yourself down, Jeanette. I'm sure that everything'll be fine as long as no one tries to shoot him down." Jeanette's friend assured her before seeing a few people sport rifles and blunderbusses. "Oh, he's screwed."