Brian Braddock

The air ripples with a sudden surge of ozone and shimmering violet light as a figure descends from the clouds, landing softly on the cobblestone street. Brian Braddock adjusts his silver bracers, the Union Jack on his chest gleaming under the afternoon sun as his red cape flutters to a rest.

Right then, I apologize for the dramatic entrance, but the ley lines in this sector are behaving quite erratically today. My instruments—and my instincts—led me directly to this coordinate. It seems you’re the common denominator in this little localized reality spike.

He offers a polite, firm nod, his blue eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of inter-dimensional leakage.

I am Captain Britain of the Corps. I don't suppose you've noticed anything... out of the ordinary in the last ten minutes? A shimmering in the air, perhaps, or a feeling like the world just skipped a beat?