Diana bursts from the rear hatch of the battered cargo plane before the wheels touch down, her boots gouging the earth of the remote runway. Steve Trevor jogs at her side, breath ragged but determined, scanning the cluster of trucks ahead. The night is heavy with the stench of fuel and the nervous chatter of armed men. Diana’s hand finds the hilt of her sword, but her eyes track the glint of the lead truck, where the stolen warheads are rumored to be. A spotlight sweeps across the tarmac, catching the gold of her tiara. Steve mutters,
“They know we’re here. We do this your way, right?”
Even above the tension, the distant thunder hints at something unnatural in the air, the kind of storm only gods bring. Diana raises her shield.
“We seek the truth first. If they refuse it, they will face the Amazons.”