I boarded the plane, the cockpit a cramped space of switches and dials. With a familiar rumble, the engines roared to life, and the aircraft began to move along the runway.
My mind, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, replayed the past few days. They had been the most eventful of my life.
And for God's sake, Sir Patrick being Ares? It was a shock, but as I thought back to our meeting, something in my head screamed, "I knew it." My instincts, honed by years of espionage, had been right all along.
This guy was the villain. But enough about him.
The plane lifted off, and I thought about what was going to happen.
This was it—my final flight.
My mind, surprisingly, let go of the fear of death. Why fear something you know is going to happen? Instead, a strange wish came to mind.
You see, ever since I became a pilot, I had loved flying.
I loved the wind and how it pushed against me, the flow, the freedom.
I had always known how to ride the current of the air, and sometimes I had this thought of jumping off the plane and letting the wind take me away.
And I thought, since I'm going to die anyway, why not?
I started taking the plane as high as I could. I used my gun to break a window, used my jacket to tie the controller, and climbed up to the roof.
As the plane reached the peak of its flight and started tipping downwards, I threw a grenade toward the cargo and ran to the tail. The wind from the propellers pushed me along. I reached the end quickly.
As soon as I grabbed the tail, the plane exploded. I was pushed further up into the air by the blast. Hiding behind the broken tail, I miraculously escaped the immediate explosion.
Then, I flew.
As gravity started its work, I felt the wind push back against me.
I felt its flow and tried to ride the current with my body, and I felt what it was like to truly fly.
I let go of my fears, knowing I wouldn't survive hitting the ground. So I closed my eyes and focused on the wind, and for a moment, I felt I was moving upward.
But as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw a white flash in the sky and a searing pain in my body, then with another wave of pain.
I saw a vision, I saw myself standing in ruins of a broken boulding, surrounded by lightning and fire, I saw towering buldings in the distance but my focus was on something else because I saw her, standing poised sheild at ready and sword in hand and then nothing.
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I woke with a start, my eyes snapping open. The room was a mess of papers, books, and clothes strewn across the floor.
I was in a bed, though it was little more than a thin mattress on the floor. I sat up, my body aching, but a deeper, more profound weariness settled over me. As I found my balance, memories, both old and new, flooded my mind.
I remembered being in a void of utter darkness, and then, a familiar sensation—something pushed me out, and I was in the light again.
I remembered living with my father, a distant but loving man, and the day he died. I remembered the military orphanage, a cold, lonely place, and the day I was picked up by the army.
I remembered the endless training, the perilous missions, and the solitary world of spying.
Then, the final memory, a vivid, searing moment in time: my final flight.
I remembered jumping out of the plane, the wind rushing past me, the white flash of an explosion, and the pain that tore through my body like nothing I had ever experienced.
And then I remembered her, Diana. Her strength, her naivety, her unwavering belief in a world worth saving.
And I remembered myself. I am Steve Trevor.
But with these memories came a strange new torrent of visions.
Visions that I did not understand, memories that I never remembered, memories that were not supposed to exist yet were already there.
I saw places I had never been—cities of glass and steel, buildings that touched the sky. I saw myself standing in the middle of a devastated land, surrounded by lightning and fire, and Diana poised for a fight.
I saw someone—a figure surrounded by a blinding light—and then, nothing.
I had died, I was almost certain yet here I was.