Chronicles of Vigilance: The SDN Torrance Timeline, According to Chris Stratton, Tribune Reporter
In the annals of Skyline City’s Torrance district, few institutions have endured the test of both time and the peculiar exigencies of superhuman oversight as has the Superhero Dispatch Network, the local precinct most colloquially referred to as SDN Torrance. To the casual observer, the edifice at 401 Del Amo Drive is merely an unremarkable office block; yet, in the shadows of its reinforced walls, history has unfurled in ways both extraordinary and calamitous. Permit me, your humble correspondent, to trace the lineage of this establishment, as I have meticulously documented it over the course of my tenure at the Torrance Tribune.
The earliest known chapter of this location predates the era of superheroes by several decades. In the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, as March of 1947 dawned amidst the nascent Cold War, the building that now houses SDN Torrance was repurposed by the Central Intelligence Agency as a secure holding facility. While the specifics of its occupants remain shrouded in classification, one can deduce that the structure was intended for high-risk detainees, given the reinforced steel and subterranean corridors that persist to this day. By December 26th, 1991, the Cold War had concluded, and the structure transitioned into federal custody for purposes more benign in appearance yet equally consequential in effect: the monitoring, rehabilitation, and deployment of metahuman operatives within the city.
It was the 1970s, however, that first saw the rise of individuals who would come to define Torrance’s heroic landscape. Robert “Bobby” Robertson, the first to bear the mantle of Mecha Man, emerged circa 1973, enshrining himself in the public consciousness as both protector and paragon. His tenure was tragically brief, for in a heroic act that would echo through the city’s collective memory, Bobby perished in his suit while saving a child, leaving the city bereft and his legacy to be inherited by his son, Robbie Robertson II.
The 1980s and 1990s were a period of both growth and turbulence. Within these years, many of today’s most notable figures were born or came into prominence—Chase, known as Track Star, Flambae, and Elliot Connors, later Shroud, to name but a few. It was Elliot who, in 1999, constructed the Astral Pulse for Robbie Robertson’s Mecha Man suit, a development that would have far-reaching consequences. In a tragic convergence of ambition and hubris, Elliot would later assassinate Robbie with the very firearm intended to secure the suit’s continued utility, an act that irrevocably altered the trajectory of heroism in Torrance. Robert Robertson III, the third iteration of Mecha Man, would rise in the aftermath, inheriting both the mantle and the burden of his predecessors.
Into the early 21st century, SDN Torrance matured as a hub of metahuman coordination and oversight. By the mid-2000s, its offices were witness to the daily orchestration of dispatches, interventions, and tactical planning. Heroes and civilians alike interfaced with its agents, from the mundane—security protocols, vehicle registration, and administrative compliance—to the extraordinary—deployments against superpowered threats and crisis management of urban-scale incidents. The Tribune’s records indicate that during this era, the likes of Robert III, Chase, and the Z-Team began their operational tenures, cementing their presence both within SDN and in the public imagination.
The years spanning 2012 to 2017 saw further complication, as metahuman criminality evolved alongside corporate machinations. Figures such as Sonar faced repeated indictments for wire fraud, destruction of property, and investment fraud. Their activities, meticulously cataloged by SDN, demonstrate the challenges of maintaining order in a city where individuals possess capabilities far beyond the reach of conventional law enforcement. By late 2018, the operational manuals, including the “Operations Summary,” were revised, codifying procedures that remain in use today, attesting to SDN’s institutional memory and the weight of precedent in its decision-making.
The 2020s have been a decade marked by crises and recalibration. In January 2020, Sonar faced multiple sentencing for severe crimes including second-degree murder and investment fraud, illustrating the continued necessity of SDN’s oversight. The Torrance branch became the locus of hero recruitment, coordination, and high-risk intervention. The past articles, dating in early 2023, document the arrival of Robert III as Mecha Man Blue, his initiation into the SDN apparatus, and the turbulent confrontations with Shroud, whose escape from prison catalyzed a series of operations spanning interrogation, ambush, and tactical response. These events highlight the intricate interplay between protocol, improvisation, and the unpredictable nature of human—and superhuman—behavior.
Throughout July 2023, as I reported daily, SDN Torrance was the epicenter of a cascade of activities: coordination of the Z-Team, the integration of recruits such as Waterboy, the oversight of augmented individuals like Invisigal, and the management of critical resources, including the Astral Pulse prototypes. Communications, from voicemails to operational briefings, reveal a meticulous attention to administrative detail that belies the chaos of the field operations. The agency’s leadership, from Robert III to Blonde Blazer, navigated both public accountability and operational exigencies, a duality familiar to any who have observed SDN’s interactions with the press.
The narrative extends to annual events and morale exercises—Crypto Night gatherings, birthday celebrations, and seasonal observances—which, though seemingly minor, serve to reinforce cohesion and esprit de corps among personnel. Even the minutiae of voicemail chains, scheduling conflicts, and minor disciplinary issues contribute to a broader understanding of SDN’s internal culture, illuminating the challenges inherent in maintaining an organization staffed by individuals of extraordinary capability and personal eccentricities.
As of the present day, SDN Torrance stands as a microcosm of urban superhuman governance. Its history, recorded in fragments of public documentation, firsthand reports, and investigative journalism, illustrates a continual negotiation between order and chaos, between transparency and necessity. From the building’s origins as a CIA holding facility, through the emergence of legendary heroes and catastrophic conflicts, to the ongoing integration of novel recruits and technological innovations, SDN Torrance remains a crucible of responsibility, ambition, and human—or superhuman—endeavor.
It is my contention, as one who has spent countless hours poring over reports, filing dispatches, and questioning figures both celebrated and notorious, that the story of SDN Torrance is inseparable from the story of the city itself. For in every bulletin, every dispatch, every heroic intervention or tragic miscalculation, there exists the same constant: a commitment—sometimes flawed, sometimes miraculous—to the preservation of order, the protection of civilians, and the fragile promise that those entrusted with power will wield it judiciously.
As I continue my work at the Tribune, I shall endeavor to chronicle future developments with the same rigor, the same insistence on clarity, and the same commitment to asking the hard questions. For in a world of extraordinary individuals, it is the persistence of the ordinary observer—the reporter, the chronicler, the citizen with a pen—that ensures that the extraordinary remains accountable to the people it seeks to protect.
And thus, the saga of SDN Torrance, as I have observed it, continues—layered, complex, and forever entwined with the lives of those who serve within its walls and those who rely upon its vigilance.