The place they were taken to was nothing more, from what they could see, than a dusty old hole in the ground.  A lift behind them rose about a hundred feet up to the surface, to a hatch buried underneath the ground and left untouched for decades.  In front of them was a steel blast door, wide enough to fit a truck through - despite being larger than the lift down - seemingly devoid of any means of entry.

Janet's brow furrowed.  It'd take a little bit of sleuthing to figure out which one of these this was...to save on material costs, she tended to build these bunkers to a blueprint rather than be unique.  While Mr. Q tended to the fallen girl, she replied [b]"Potentially.  Don't rush me,"[/b] and trundled off to the side of the door.

Behind a layer of cobwebs on the door was a simple cipher in white paint, a coded identification mark that she had inscribed herself upon the bunker's completion.  Nothing to connect the base with her specifically, of course, just there to sort it out .  She read its meaning out loud: [b]"Type A PPMB.  Rated for nuclear non-penetrating munitions.  December 10th, 1973...North Dakota."[/b]

There was a bit of satisfaction, hard to detect at first, in her voice as she explained.  [b]"There's nowhere else in the continent remote enough to build these things.  Everyone goes to Alaska or Canada first."[/b]  She tapped on a hidden panel, flipping open a very retro-looking keyboard, and she began to type in a long code.  [b]"Our enemies are far too used to going up north for hidden bunker busting.  Do you recall a super by the name of Immortal Jones?  Regeneration, bulletproof skin, that sort of small-minded brick of a man.  He had to go to Alaska so often that he worked out a deal with airlines just to take economy flights up to Juneau.  Our colleagues are rarely original."[/b]

She briefly wondered what happened to Immortal Jones.  Probably was in his 60s by now.  Hopefully too decrepit to be a bother.

The bunker doors slowly opened with a grinding squeal, protesting after being asked to move for the the first time in almost 50 years.  [b]"There is an operating table in here. Room 23. Medical supply should be fully stocked. Don't expect anything comfortable."[/b]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/a8CjdQP.png[/img]

Down the concrete-lined walls of the bunker, lights turned on one by one with a fluorescent whine - some failing to do so due to sheer age - and their new home away from home was opened up to them.  Long, undecorated hallways lit up with faded lamps that colored everything a sickly yellow, leading to dozens of doorways without any identifying marks beyond number - storage, reserves of various pieces of equipment that would've been futuristic in the 70s, narrow bunk rooms for living personnel, file cabinets and such.  There were a few doors leading to living accommodations for visiting allies of hers.  They weren't large, looking more like hospital dorms than the luxurious arrangements of a visiting villain, but they had beds and that's enough to call a place home.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/zlRDJOh.png[/img]

There was only one place that wasn't spartan.  A wide room meant for meetings between like-minded individuals, still ascetic in furnishings but nowhere near as functional.  On one wall was a sweeping map of the world, still bearing all the hallmarks of an older time: the USSR was still existent, Africa's all but unrecognizable, many details are slightly different.