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GM May 1st, Monday, 2017, 12.45AM Emerald City, Washington, United States, Fort Brewer Naval Base, Sub-level 2, briefing room "This is the only visual we have on your target, uh...Ms. Masterson" Admiral Henry "Hank" Finley was a fit, imposing man at 6'8", with his close-cut greying hair and constant frown softened little by a short spadehead beard. He also clearly had little experience dealing with superhumans. The darkened room he and the other, conspicuously silent, officers were gathered in had enough Cold War atmosphere to choke somebody from the bright and clear Forties. The lights were dimmed to help accentuate the ten-foot-wide picture humming softly in the air. With a slight cough and a swipe of his fingers, the projected image of a distant, misty lump of grey on a time-stamped horizon sharpened and jumped into focus. Hovering above the conference room table, the picture resolved into an island. An island with towering cliffs for shores, great tangles of hanging greenery and a liberal sprinkling of palm trees. "As you can guess, there's nothing like this on any of our charts. Satellite has nothing, even got Argus down here last weekend to scan. Nada." The Old Man of Fort Brewer folded his arms and looked down into the enigma that had brought Mary Masterson, the Torpedo Lass of World War 2, to far-off Emerald City, Washington. "Sent some scouts out, they got to the spot and swear up and down the thing just vanished. But I noticed something." "The sub crew I dispatched along with the other boats, they say it vanished just a little after the others lost track. Could mean nothing, but," Finley turned to Torpedo Lass, a gleam of cunning in his dark eyes "got me thinking somebody who can go faster than anything we've ever built and do it under the surface might stand a chance of clearing this up." "What we're asking is strictly recon, understand. Just get there, take a look around, come back and give us what you get. We give that to Citizen and he takes care of anything dangerous." the admiral shook his head resolutely, and his tone became one Mary was all too familiar with. "I'm not inclined to risk your safety, miss, no matter how bulletproof they tell me you are. I've got kids older than you." May 2nd, Tuesday, 2017, 8.45PM Liverpool, England, A very nice side-street The hero Dr. Deoxy had needs any human had. Being at the center of artistic life and on the crest of the glittering wave of imagination, for one. So strolling from one dazzling get-together had seemed like a good idea at the time. Just a little shortcut and he'd be back in the circle of greats... Dr. Nathaniel Anderson only knew he was being followed when he felt the sudden shock of lightning, fell spasming to the ground and heard somebody whisper "You. Have been. Thunderstruck!" There was a giddy giggle as the darkness closed comfortably around Nathan's head "Nothing? Aw geez, overjuiced..." A squalid room somewhere The darkness slid away to reveal a room that had once been stark and harrowing. A massive, altar-like table occupied the centre, letting the eye of the Sun in to bathe Nathan in cosmic fire. The rest was gloomy and indistinct, though clearly vast and of the Modernist school. Vines and tree roots reached in through the roof, turning the yellow light a gentle emerald. Other vegetation scrawled across the walls and floor. Somewhere birds chattered and sang. Of more immediate importance was the fact that Dr. Anderson was pinned to the stony bed by some invisible force, preventing movement of any kind. And he wasn't alone. Somewhere close, and getting closer, was the clopping sound of clumsy booted feet making their way towards him...

OOC thread for this thread. You thought it was over eighty years ago but it wasn't. @Exaccus @Sailor