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What is going on down there? Rhetorical question. Gilgamesh had gone rogue and now everything would fall on his head. That was the punishment for breaking rank. If the plan were followed to a T, even if there were catastrophic failure, they could authentically say they'd tried their best with...

"Negative," he replied flatly. Improvising an aerial funnel to get rid of smoke ran too many risks. He needed to focus on diverting the heavy weather to A3. Doing more than one thing at a time could cause a meteorological cascade, and that was the last thing that New York City needed right now...

"Khm..." he cleared his throat. "Ah...advice." Monsoon shifted in the chair a bit after Songbird answered Flanagan's question. He had the creeping sense that he was somehow bombing the interview, and that it'd just be another opportunity to throw on the pile. His mind wandered to the episode...

"Copy on A3. Diverting." It was an explosion, in the heart of New York City. Beneath him, citizens he'd sworn to protect scrambled for safety. Dragon, Gilgamesh, and Cyclic were in there somewhere, doing whatever they could to mitigate the damages. Gilgamesh and Dragon were SHOCKSPEC, first to...

Cyclic was on scene, along with Dragon and Gilgamesh. Monsoon, impassive, only gave the trio a curt nod. The rain ran down his jaw that looked cut from stone. The everpresent frown was subsequently obscured by his high-altitude mask. His monotone reply crackled across the comm line. "Roger...

3:33 p.m. Hovering over the cloud cover, arms splayed, black cloak billowing, was Monsoon, accompanied by the MIRA-NASA Joint Division commentating idly in his ear. He was creating a sunny day for New York City, casual practice in using his power that brought a side benefit to the city below...

All things considered, he'd answered...poorly. But as a unit, the team was working well. Flanagan played it off and everything went right back to normal, as if he'd not fucked up at all. And if he didn't react, when questioned about it later, maybe people would think it was a bit - part of an...

Monsoon wasn't particularly nervous in front of cameras. For a man with such dramatic powers, attention wasn't a big deal. What bothered him was the pressure - that if he got annoyed, the gentle patter of rainfall on the roof would become a storm. The people he worked with directly on the...

10:00 p.m. I don't wear spandex, Monsoon thought with dismay. This was supposed to be an easy assignment, one for which he would be grateful. But there was an unmistakable tension in his jaw - the perpetual frown that had become part of his character over the last decade or so, one which...

"Common tea plant, huh?" Repeating Ross' words back to him, Monsoon sat in thought. He wasn't inattentive, but his focus was divided. He peeled back the rain shower that was encroaching on their position, thinking less about the Today Show and more about the security implications of Russia and...

BLU-7. Objectively speaking, it was a ranking connected to his PMPD, not to him. It wasn't anything to be proud of, like a rank. It was something earned by dint of his potential for destruction, not his skilfulness, or his experience. The continual reminder of what he could do inspired a godly...

Monsoon clambered into the vehicle. He'd fully unclipped the oxygen-providing facemask, but left the goggles on and his hood drawn. That was his Cloak garb, and until he was off the clock, he kept to uniform. It was part of preserving The Myth, which he was fully on board with. Cloak agents were...

"Wilco." Monsoon, with one final push, let the storm flow away from Tijuana. It'd go its own way. MIRA-NASA joint division had greenlit the operation, which meant they were OK with him conjuring the weather he'd made. For now, he was tired. It wasn't just the substantial effort that had gone...

"Enough. Keep the comms clear, Blackjack," he growled. This was his fault. Mentioning the damned family like he was some kind of YouTube streamer running color commentary. There was no tactical value to it whatsoever. Monsoon typically kept his consternation to himself, but he felt the...

"Copy." On the inside, Monsoon breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a Cessna. No signs pointed to him having to engage in any kind of mid-air battle. It'd been years since something like that had tested him. He'd ran plenty of simulated combat scenarios in the meantime. Other metas had...

Monsoon maintained altitude, a solitary figure held upright in a twisting whirl of gray-black clouds, illuminated in the pitch darkness by the continual flash of lightning. He hovered in a fully sealed suit, impervious to the ravages of the storm he'd created. Neither rain nor cold could...

1:30 a.m. "Copy." HALO ("High Altitude, Low Opening") jumps from aircraft were part of Monsoon's training to make sure that he understood the transit procedure. Up to a point, his MIRA insertion mirrored that of an ordinary special forces operative. Only, instead of a parachute, a large cloak...