As I reviewed the footage, in the very last few seconds I spotted a tall, muscular man carrying a monosword giving the finger to the camera before walking away from next to Jupiter.

He looked oddly familiar, was he part of the other UN contingent?

Right, it was time to have a look at the captives and hash out terms.

As I walked through the oil rig, I resolved to get everyone out as soon as possible. The whole thing had been rickety before we'd thrown down, and it was currently shifting and groaning beneath my feet, making keeping my footing on the slick deck far harder than it needed to be.

There were half a dozen Penitent prisoners, looking extremely out of sorts as they stared into the gleaming visors of their Rainwater guards.

A few of them were praying, others sat with heads bowed, resigned to their fate.

One spat at me, getting saliva over my boots, but what with the whole ongoing hurricane situation, I wasn't particularly fussed.

In response, a Rainwater operative punched her in the gut, making her drop to her knees and retch. I looked on in distaste.

She had been pretty once, but her bald head was a mess of scars and bumps. A convert, then, she'd had her neural lace removed, and it hadn't been by an auto-surgeon.

She still stared at me, eyes promising vengeance.

I walked on, to where a medic was fussing over Brass. The man sat there stoically as pieces of shrapnel were pulled from his flesh, using his powers as soon as they were done to seal the wound.

He didn't have any absorption powers, so external material could end up embedded in him, to remain when he returned to his normal form. I wasn't sure what rules he operated under when it came to transferring trauma from his metal form back to this, but he was covered in bruises, cuts and other injuries that didn't dissipate during the transition.

Most of the hostages were gone by now, lifted out by flyers from Flotsam. Without Jupiter to control the air for the hostile drone swarms, they'd been thrown into disarray, greatly relieving the pressure on the fleet.

"Is Alia okay?", I asked Emily when I spotted her examining Penitent weapons in a corner.

"She's fine, just a little tender." She said, unloading a power pack from a laser weapon while a Rainwater soldier shifted uncomfortably on his feet, less sanguine about being next to explosives without the benefit of near invulnerability.

I was relieved, Alia, in her Origami form, was quite vulnerable to crushing or shear forces. If she'd ended up squashed by a load-bearing section of the wall..

"Did you find any controls for the drones? They're not doing so hot, but if we could shut them down for good.." I asked her, pointing at a workstation with a satellite uplink.

"It's locked down, I grilled a few of the eggheads, but the one with the access codes is feeding the fishes." She pointed to the roiling ocean outside.

"Does Jupiter know anything?" She shrugged and tossed a depleted power cell out the window, prompting the soldier next to her to jump in alarm.

Time to pay the wayward child a visit.

I found him in what had once been some kind of manager's office. Old motivational posters dripped water onto the floor, and the pervasive smell of mildew made me glad my immune system was up to date. Perhaps the old skeleton still in overalls slumped in the corner had a part to play, I doubt that much decontamination work had been done here since the original plague released by ecoterrorists had killed the workers.

He looked up at me from the old swivel chair he'd been bound to, and tried to pick at the studs freshly drilled into his forehead, each still trickling blood.

"You should be glad." I told him, taking a seat across the desk. "Rainwater wanted you for themselves, and Flotsam planned to try and execute you. All I'm going to do is bring you back into the fold."

He seemed too groggy to make a coherent response, so I jabbed him with a vial of stimulants.

It worked rapidly, and I felt myself mildly buffeted by the air in the room, but the close confines plus the inhibitors now acting on his frontal lobes meant he had no real degree of control to truly manifest.

He continued staring me, silent, so I sighed and pulled out a rugged tablet, put in my security clearance and booted it up.

The moment that the first warning logo appeared, the Flotsam militiaman peeking through the open door beat a hasty retreat.

The infohazard logo had become just as infamous as the old nuclear or biochem warning signs had once been.

Jupiter startled, pulling against his restraints, but I gently leaned forward and pried open his eyelids while he struggled against my grip.

"Relax. It doesn't hurt." I assured him, while triggering my lace's lockdown protocols.

Geometric patterns danced in my now monochrome vision, but I was still grateful that the rusty wall was unlikely to be reflective enough to reflect the tablet's screen back at me. I still wiped away some of the water to be safe.

A warning beep, then three in rapid succession. I tightened my grip on Jupiter as he thrashed about, doing his best not to view the display.

Eventually, he collapsed, unable or unwilling to fight any longer. At this point, it was futile.

I slid the screen cover over the display with my other hand, ensuring that I still didn't catch a glimpse, and waited for the shutdown tone.

"You're a bastard, Dr. Sen. I should have killed you when I had a chance." He spat at me, and I turned his head to the side so I could take a look at his pupils.

Both were shrunken down to pinpoints, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. He struggled to look at my face as they darted about on their own volition, as if desperate to escape the confines of his orbits.

"I was looking out for you then, and I still am now." I told him, packaging the tablet into the explosively-secured clamshell box it came in.

"Like hell you were. You approved my second rotation. I begged, I fucking begged you not to do it. Haven't I done enough?" He cried out, and I wished I didn't have to lie to him.

He'd been manifestly unfit for another tour, showing blatant signs of PTSD and acute traumatic reactions. Unfortunately, at that point in the war, I'd been rubber-stamping names, if they could walk and talk, they were going to get thrown back into hell regardless of my name on their fitness certificate.

I suppose it was too much to ask that I'd put in a word to have him have him do rearline duties, keeping the skies clear for our drones. He certainly didn't seem appreciative.

"I'm sorry Sam." I told him, using his real name. "I did what I could, things are desperate out there. Just keep your head down, do your rotation, and I promise you it'll be your last. I'll clear you for the colonies, get your name scrubbed from the lists." I didn't know if those were empty promises, although I hoped they weren't.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"You're worthless. Just another blue scumbag who doesn't give a shit about us. About any of us." He pushed himself back, shutting his eyes tight now that I wasn't holding them open. They continued to dart beneath his lids.

"My wife is in Alpha Centauri. She's been home for a month in the past 3 years."

"You told me she's a high ranking teleporter. They get coddled, us grunts don't. Damn you. I'm going to kill myself the first chance I get." Jupiter gagged, and I grabbed a waste bin from next to the corpse and held it so he could vomit off to the side.

"Don't fight it. It's a delayed action Parrot, I know it's uncomfortable, but as long as someone gives you the reversal agents within 24 hours, there won't be any permanent damage."

"I told you. I told you so many times, and you didn't listen. Pierre. Insomnia, Miller, Oryx, they all died because of you." He spat out, struggling to keep his head up as the basilisk continued its work.

"Don't blame me for them Sam. Miller was a friend too, I didn't kill him." I told him, fishing out two prehensile cables that squirmed like snakes in my grip.

I inserted one end into my occipital jack, and then pushed his blond hair aside so I could touch the other end into the studs that overlied his parietal and temporal lobes.

"They were on Pluto, you didn't let them come home. You signed their death warr-" And he stopped, squeaking, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Consider this another favor. You won't be able to talk, and that means you're not disclosing state secrets. I can't handle all the charges." I said, pulling the writhing cables away and putting them into a bag.

He hung his head, weeping pink tears as I arranged for him to be shipped to Guiana once we'd returned.

Flotsam had shipped a weak telepath over, and she had already grilled Jupiter for actionable intel. Barring a few conversations with Monarch, so they could coordinate their powers, he'd been kept out of the loop. Some conversations with low level Penitents, memories of being dropped off in a small slaved submersible, that was all the woman had been able to glean from him.

I tried not to meet her accusing eyes as I pass by her on my way to the rest of my team. She'd have to be debriefed with amnestics, she'd seen too much.

I found them examining a large unrolled smart table, showing an overview of the region. Mostly for the benefit of the supes without laces, which was most of them.

Kaplan was speaking to them via a drone. "As you can see, we've been tracking the submarine suspected to be carrying Monarch. It appears to have reached Cuban territorial waters. Rainwater no longer has jurisdiction to pursue. We leave it in the hands of your UN counterparts." It said, drawing the focus of attention to me.

Cuba. That would be a tough one. I knew El Presidente, the pejorative term used to describe the Class 5 Controller who'd subverted their government a decade back.

Since he'd buddied up with the Chang admin in Washington, I doubted he'd be amenable to UN intervention in his territory.

"What's it looking like in Panama?" I asked Kaplan.

"The situation is stabilizing, without intervention from the aerokinetic known as Little Jupiter, it appears Monarch is unable to maintain her grip on the hurricane.

Orbital intervention via MASERs has been having a noticeable effect on it, and with the projected loss of power, it should dissipate entirely within a day or two."

I looked at the map, and indeed, Monalisa was diverting from its seemingly straight course towards Panama.

It pointed at the blips representing Flotsam defensive lines. "Without Jupiter clearing the air, Penitent drone swarms have been largely neutralized. They lack any other means of striking us, especially since their plants within the community have mostly shown their hands. My opinion is that this derelict should be promptly abandoned, its structural integrity has been compromised. Rainwater wishes to commend UNSEEN elements for their cooperation."

It didn't sound very thankful, but I'd take what I could get.

While their men cleared out, helping along a limping Brass Balls and a chipper Piñata, I weighed my options.

That one gunboat I'd requisitioned was still nowhere near, its geriatric crew wailing and stalling in an effort to avoid getting anywhere near the storm. Not that it was equipped for sub-hunting in the first place.

Too deep for a tactical nuke, or a RFG sent down from orbit. And with the limited authority invested in me already fraying as the situation stabilized, I didn't think either would be good for my career.

I simmered with discontent, as my own drones had to pull away or risk breaching Cuban airspace, and I could only watch the sub bearing Monarch disappear into civilian traffic around the island.

I'd seen a few documents hinting at plans for a coup to deal with El Presidente, but nothing about this situation gave me the leverage to get those pulled out of some ancient storage room, the kind with "beware of leopard" warnings.

Panama itself was in tatters, hundreds of wrecked Flotsam vessels dotted its coasts, and the canal would likely be out of commission for a week or two. Refugees huddled in tents, hugging the edges of the jungle to keep out of the winds. Santa Colombo burned, where an oil tanker had been beached by a rogue wave. I hoped Jupiter hadn't been involved with that.

Eight thousand people were dead, hundreds of thousands displaced. But that was UNHCR's headache, and if you thought I was overworked and underequipped..

I wish I could say that I was showered in adulation for my work when we returned to Panama, but all I got was a thank you card and a Pina Colada salty from the sea spray before we ended up piling onto our VTOL and on our way way back to Atlantis.

I glanced over at Emily, who smiled back at me as she let Alia sleep on her shoulders. Alan was busy putting more numbing lotion all over himself, and there was a tall, grumpy man disassembling a laser weapon across me.

Little Jupiter was asleep in the back, sedated again. His subconscious must have been in a bad state, because the VTOL was experiencing significant turbulence.

I upped the dose, looking at the teenager. I hoped he'd feel better after he'd woken up, he didn't seem like he'd been sleeping well, maybe not for months.

He'd need to be refreshed, he had an appointment with the Metahuman Tribunal tomorrow. I just hoped they didn't call on me as a witness, I had enough pending work as it was.

We finally broke out of the coverage of the hurricane, and I pulled down my visor to keep the sun out of my eyes as we flew back home. All I can say is that, while it hadn't been a good day, it wasn't an outright disaster either. You take what you get sometimes.