The aftershocks of the crash still rattled my bones, my mind a storm of adrenaline and fractured thoughts. Yet, for a moment, all of it—the pain, the panic, the fear—vanished.
She stood before me, a vision of raw, untamed beauty silhouetted against the sunlight.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a low, melodic tone that was at odds with the rugged reality around us.
"I am-"
I stopped, the trance broken by a sudden, jarring instinct for self-preservation. I scrambled to my feet, my body aching, and scanned my surroundings.
The wreckage of my plane was scattered across the shore, a testament to my failed escape. Near me lay my waterproof bag, its contents a desperate, last-ditch hope.
My gaze swept the shoreline. Small boats, filled with armed men, were making landfall.
My eyes darted to the towering cliffs, where ,amy figures stood silhouetted against the sky. They were women, clad in leather and metal armor, their bows drawn, arrows nocked. My mind, trained for rapid threat assessment, pieced it together instantly.
'An Island, a matriachial society, judging by the weapons I would deem them isolated from the world yet self-sufficient.'
I turned back to the woman who had saved me. "If those are your people," I said, my voice low and urgent, "tell them to back off. The soldiers... they have guns."
A look of confusion, of profound curiosity, crossed her face. "What are 'guns'?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
'Shit. Is this real? They don't know about guns? At least we speak the same language.'
Knowing I had to make them understand, and fast. I looked at the women on the cliff again, at their archaic armor and weaponry. "They're bows but not bows," I explained, "They're like stick-like bows that fire arrows in a straight line, faster than the eye can see. They can pierce leather armor easily and kill the victim."
Her expression sharpened. "What about metal?" she asked, her alert gaze fixed on me.
"Not from a distance," I admitted. "Painful, but manageable."
With a sudden, astonishing burst of speed, she was gone. She sprinted toward the cliff, a blur of motion too fast to be human.
I watched in stunned disbelief as she scaled the sheer rock face like a gecko, disappearing over the top in seconds. I hurriedly took cover, my mind reeling. That kind of speed… it wasn't possible.
The battle that followed was an education in itself. I watched, mesmerized, as a group of women armed with bows and swords decimated a troop of well-armed soldiers.
I tried to help, but honestly, my pathetic attempts weren't much more than a distraction.
As I saw one of their leaders fall, I decided my best interest was to leave this place and make my way to one of the boats. I needed to get the logs to the British Intelligence before it was too late.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, a bone-rattling smack that sent a jolt of pain through my ribs. I was tied up and hoisted onto the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes.
The memory still makes my ribs ache. I tried to fight back—keyword, tried—and failed spectacularly.
My captors, all women, moved with a strength and speed that defied everything I had ever learned. All my close-quarters combat training suddenly felt like an elaborate dance class.
I looked at the woman who had saved my life. She stood among my captors, her expression a mix of curiosity and command. I resigned myself to my fate.
They led me to a building that looked exactly like a Greek temple. I was brought inside, forced to my knees, and bound by a rope that glowed with a faint, golden-yellow light.
"Who are you?" asked the woman who had taken me down.
"My name is Steve Trevor, pilot, captain of the American Expeditionary Forces assigned to British Intelligence," I replied, the words flowing out of me despite my desire to remain silent.
"What is this?" I asked, looking down at the glowing rope. A burning sensation coursed through me, intensifying whenever I tried to stop talking.
"It is the Lasso of Hestia," my savior replied. "It compels you to tell the truth."
"What is your mission?" she asked.
"Your people are in grave danger," I blurted, my mind racing.
"What is your mission?!" she repeated, her voice sharper this time.
"I am a… argh… SPY!" I cried out, the pain from the rope intensifying.
"I was assigned to monitor General Ludendorff, the general of the German armed forces. He was visiting a secret military establishment, and I posed as one of their pilots to get in. Our intelligence said they were out of weapons and funding, but the intel was wrong. They have the Turks building bombs for them—not just bombs, but new secret weapons made by Doctor Isabel Maru. She's called Doctor Poison, and for good reason. From what I could tell, if she succeeds, millions more will die and the war will never end. My mission was only to observe and report, but I had to do something. So I stole the experiment logs and made a run for it. But if I can get these notes back to British Intelligence in time, it could stop the war and stop millions more from dying."
"War? What war?"
My mind stalled. Huh? What kind of question is that?
"The war," I said, compelled to continue. "The war to end all wars." Their expressions remained blank, confused.
The glowing rope burned hotter. "Four years. Twenty-seven countries. Twenty-five million dead—soldiers and civilians." Seeing their confused expressions I felt a jolt of realization—they truly didn't know.
"This war spread across half the world, women and children were slaughtered. Entire villages and cities looted and burned. Weapons far deadlier than anything I've ever seen rained catastrphe upon men. It felt like the world is going to end. You have to let me inform them before they cause more destruction."
I hoped my words would convey the severity of the situation, that they would see the urgency and help me get the logs to the expeditionary forces yet all I was met with was a silent dismissal.
After the interrogation, they led me to a doctor, a young woman who bandaged my injuries with a practiced hand. She then showed me to a place to clean myself.
I needed a wash after all the running, rolling, and fighting—or rather, the beatings—I had endured today.