The retcon of how people on Themyscira on born, made it worse.
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As the Batwing cut through the air, high above the dark waters below, Jorno had drifted off to sleep, his head resting against the side of his seat. Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne remained deep in thought, his mind racing with possibilities. The weight of their mission pressed on him—there was too much at stake for any missteps now.
Suddenly, without warning, a storm materialized in the distance, violent and ominous. Thick, swirling clouds rolled into view, as if summoned from nothing. Lightning crackled through the dark sky, illuminating the storm's terrifying magnitude.
Bruce's jaw tightened. "Out of nowhere," he muttered to himself. Every time he approached the coordinates, this storm appeared. It wasn't natural. He knew what this meant: magic.
The Batwing's systems flashed warnings as the storm began to rage around them. Bruce immediately switched into manual mode, dodging the worst of the winds. He attempted to steer around it, but it became clear there was no avoiding this force. "This is intentional," Bruce thought grimly. "Every time I get close, the storm forms."
His only choice was to go through it.
"Defense mode," Bruce ordered. The Batwing responded immediately, tucking in its wings to become more aerodynamic. The jet dive-bombed into the heart of the storm, plunging toward the roiling waters below.
The moment they crashed through the storm barrier, the Batwing switched into its submarine mode, its engine transforming into a rudder. Water engulfed the craft as they sped beneath the storm, the thunder now distant, replaced by the hum of the Batwing's engines. After what felt like an eternity, they emerged from the chaos, and Bruce finally saw it—a stunning, idyllic island rising out of the ocean like a forgotten paradise. His instincts told him this was their destination.
As the Batwing surfaced, transitioning back into flight mode, Bruce took in the lush greenery, ancient architecture, and the strange, intimidating figures that appeared along the shore. They were clearly residents of this mystical place—women, armed with bows and spears, standing tall and poised.
Suddenly, a volley of arrows launched toward the Batwing, whistling through the air. Bruce's sharp eyes caught the detail immediately: these were no ordinary arrows. They were fast, precise, and somehow, they pierced through the Batwing's reinforced armor, leaving holes that no normal weapon could.
Bruce's gaze flickered to the damage readings. "If we stay, this craft's going to be ripped apart."
Without hesitation, he pressed a button on his gauntlet. "Activate emergency protocol, #21."
In an instant, the Batwing's canopy blew open, and both Bruce and Jorno were ejected from the craft. Bruce, already clad in his Batman suit, deployed his parachute gracefully as they fell toward the ground. Jorno, startled awake, found himself in a similar chair, parachuting beside Bruce. The boy blinked groggily, still shaking off sleep as he looked around in confusion.
"Uh… what's happening?" Jorno asked, though his voice remained surprisingly calm for someone free-falling from the sky.
"Return to Alfred. Inform him of the log data," Bruce commanded into his gauntlet, knowing the Batwing's automated systems would send the necessary information back to base. The craft, battered by arrows, sank beneath the water and sped away toward Gotham, leaving Bruce and Jorno alone on the island.
They landed softly on the sandy shores, but before either of them could react, a group of female warriors appeared, their weapons raised. The leader, a tall woman with sharp eyes and armor that gleamed under the sun, stepped forward, her spear pointed directly at Bruce's chest.
"HALT!" she shouted, her voice commanding and filled with authority. "Man, you are on ancient ground. State your purpose."
Bruce hadn't moved from his position, still seated in his ejection chair with the parachute draped around him. He raised his hands slowly in a gesture of surrender. "I understand. We yield," he said in his calm, deep voice, knowing there was no point in resistance—at least, not yet.
Jorno raised his hands too, mimicking Bruce's gesture. "Me too," he added, his voice quieter but equally respectful.
Bruce quickly surveyed the situation. These women were well-trained, no ordinary warriors. Their posture, the way they handled their weapons—he recognized elite fighters when he saw them. Amazons, he thought. His plan was falling into place perfectly, though the danger was clear.
The warriors, however, weren't as certain. They huddled together, speaking in hushed but tense voices.
"Should we tell Diana?" one of them asked, her grip on her spear tightening.
"Do you remember what happened last time?" another whispered. "It's better not to involve her."
"So what then? Do we execute him?" the first warrior suggested, her tone filled with deadly seriousness.
"No. That would be too fast, and he has a child," the third one spoke, glancing toward Jorno.
"It's a man-child."
"Still a child," she said firmly, her voice softening.
The leader finally straightened up, her decision made. "We'll bring them to Queen Hippolyta. Let her decide their fate."
With that, the women turned back to Bruce and Jorno, their weapons still trained on the two. "Follow us. The Queen shall judge you," the leader said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Bruce, now standing, nodded slowly. "As you wish," he said, glancing at Jorno, signaling for him to comply. They were deep in Amazon territory now, and if his plan was going to succeed, it would depend entirely on their next move.
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