Repository for my Superheroine/Heroine Work (Images, Videos etc)

[jca5646]

Greetings and Salutations.

With all the spamming on the forum feed, and because folks out there have varying likes and dislikes within the genre, and I do not want to be "that one or two persons" that flood the feed with the same images. While my theme is all but identical in my works (that of a superheroine/heroine's belt being the source of their powers etc), I do strive to try and render different images so as not to be "that person". I will repost some of the recent forum renderings that might have gotten "lost in the sauce" amidst the forum spamming, as well as recent images I have posted to my DeviantArt page which you are most welcome to visit and scour the gallery (https://www.deviantart.com/sgtjohn) which is free and requires no subscription etc. This way if no one cares to look at my works, then they have the freedom of not clicking on this topic link and continuing on to search the forum to their heart's content. Ha Ha, I won't always include a short story or synopsis, but when time permits, I try to craft and include one so you the viewer can understand what the mind set and context the image represents when it was created etc. Thanks in advance for your understanding, and as always... Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman vs The Terminator

On a beautiful day in sunny Los Angeles, Diana Prince had only planned to stop by her friend Sarah Connor’s home for a moment — just long enough to leave an invitation for the small gathering Diana was hosting later in the week. But the instant Diana reached the front porch, worry began settling in. Diana was taken aback by what she is seeing, Sarah’s front door was splintered, crushed inward, hanging from a single tortured hinge.

Diana’s hand hovered near her purse out of instinct, ready to pull out her IADC issued service pistol, but the damage to the doorway spoke of more than just simple breaking and entering, Diana already knew normal measures might not be enough, so she decided “Hmmm, just to play it safe, lets level the playing field”. Diana quietly stepped off the porch and slipped behind a thick line of hedges. Hidden from view, she began to twirl, spinning in place — one smooth motion, followed by another — a brilliant flashes of golden light ensues, and when the flash subsides signaling the transformation is complete, where was once Diana Prince, now stood Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman entered Sarah’s house cautiously, her boots stepping over the shards of wood scattered across the floor. From Wonder Woman’s observations, the place had been ransacked. Drawers emptied. Photo albums left lying on the floor open and discarded. Someone — or something — had searched the home with ruthless efficiency, looking for something specific. No sign of Sarah. No movement. No sound, until…

A heavy, deliberate thud above her coming from the second floor.

Someone is moving about upstairs.

Wonder Woman cautiously moved up the staircase, every sense alive. At the top landing, coming out of Sarah’s bedroom, Wonder Woman encountered a tall, muscular figure in a leather jacket, jeans, and sunglasses. To Wonder Woman’s surprise, the man didn’t react with surprise, didn’t speak, didn’t even register any facial expression, which was highly irregular from when she normally confronted someone or made her presence known. The silent mystery man just simply started walking directly towards Wonder Woman.

“Hold it right there,” Wonder Woman warned, extending an arm. “Who are you — where is Sarah Connor?”

No response. No hesitation.

The man just kept advancing.

She placed a firm hand on his arm intending to intimidate the man. “Hey, I asked you a ques—”

Wonder Woman never finished her sentence.

The man seized her arm she was using to grab his with and flung Wonder Woman down the hallway with a brutal, yet cold calculating move. Wonder Woman hit the floor, stunned for a second by the unexpected maneuver, then rolled over, and sprang back to her feet. The strength behind the throw was immense — beyond any ordinary human. Whoever he was, this was no common intruder. “I don’t know who you are, but if you have harmed Sarah, you will quickly learn and regret I am a force not to be trifled with.”

Wonder Woman lunged forward, tackling him against the wall. The impact cracked the plaster, but the man didn’t so much as grunt. His face stayed expressionless, cold, unreadable. The two powerhouses grappled, trading blows and bursts of strength. Yet despite even this strange man’s inhuman power, Wonder Woman eventually but barely overpowers him, pressing the quiet man hard against the wall, temporarily immobilizing the man. His muscles resisted, but hers prevailed. Wonder Woman pushed forward, locked her body against the man’s, straining to keep the man contained as she continues trying to subdue him.

But in her focus on this silent brute, she didn’t see the second threat emerging behind her.

Behind Wonder Woman, something metallic stepped out of the guest bedroom doorway — tall, skeletal, gleaming under the dim hall light. A machine, but not like anyone has ever seen, at least… not yet. This mechanical monstrosity’s red optical sensors flickered as it observed and studied Wonder Woman, its internal processors analyzing and evaluating this human woman battling its partner.

Internal LED screens flash across the machine’s optical relays:

“T-800 Model 101 Infiltrator Unit — Primary Objective: Eliminate Sarah Connor.

Secondary Threat Detected.
Secondary Threat Identified: Wonder Woman.

Threat Level: Secondary threat poses a high risk of unit failing its primary objective.

Searching Internal Files for Known Weaknesses: Secondary Threat Labeled Wonder Woman Enhanced via External Power Source.

Countermeasures: Identify and Remove Power Source.”

The machine proceeds moving towards Wonder Woman, approaching her from behind, the carpet muffling its heavy endoskeletal steps. Wonder Woman never heard it, never felt or sensed its approach. She was distracted, locked in a contest of strength with the man in front of her, who unbeknownst to her, is a Terminator — a cybernetic organism (cyborg) designed for infiltration and termination — Wonder Woman unaware that another Terminator stood behind her, only difference being this unit was bare of any synthetic skin, its chromed frame exposed.

The second Terminator reaches out.

Its cold metal fingers moves to the small of Wonder Woman’s back.

An optical targeting diode scanning over Wonder Woman’s waist area pulsed, then stops, locking on to a very specific target.

An internal LED message flashes across the second Terminator’s optical relays… “Power Source Identified. Initiate Countermeasures”.

Its metallic right hand closes around and grips Wonder Woman’s Magic Belt.

And with a single backward pull—

The belt is undone and pulled free… and so too is Wonder Woman now undone.

The effect from Wonder Woman’s loss of her magic belt was immediate.

A crushing wave of weakness tore through her body, her divine Amazon strength instantly draining away in a violent exit from Wonder Woman’s body. Her legs nearly gave out. Wonder Woman’s hands slipped against the jacket of the silent Terminator she had pinned to the wall only moments before, any small, slight advantage she gained against the menacing intruder now gone.

She twisted her head over her shoulder in shock, eyes wide, staring directly at the gleaming machine now holding her belt in its hand — a powerless Wonder Woman cries out… “Gasp—! N-No… my Magic Belt!!!”

The belt dangled slack and defeated in the Terminator’s grip, faint crackles of energy flickering around the metal edges signifying the belt’s importance and a symbol of Wonder Woman’s lost strength. Without her magic belt, Wonder Woman was now no stronger than any ordinary mortal woman… powerless, helpless, and trapped between the two unstoppable machines with no conscious and no humanity… built for only one purpose:

Terminate Sarah Connor and eliminate anyone or anything that crosses their path and poses a threat to that mission.

(Note: I previously posted this image, but revised it using Google Gemini and a face swapping generator to edit and render the characters’ likenesses as close as possible to their original counterparts. Enjoy!!!)

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman – Debelted and Chloroformed by Robots

Robots: “Alert, Alert… Target: Wonder Woman’s physical contact with magical based power source has been removed… Strength levels now reduced from immeasurable superhuman to normal non-threatening human levels… Target: Wonder Woman is now in a powerless, defenseless, helpless state… Immediately default to secondary attack measures and neutralize Target: Wonder Woman with Target: Wonder Woman’s known susceptibility and weakness to the chloroform sedative.”

[jca5646]

SuperWoman – Betrayed, Debelted, Depowered, Chloroformed

For the first time in months, the young heroine SuperWoman, finds herself alone in the company of the man she has long admired—Sergeant Steve Trevor, her colleague in United States Special Operations Command. On Paradise Island, where she was raised among disciplined, ascetic warrior-women, affection was something expressed through loyalty, honor, and shared combat… not through touch, not through closeness, not through the breathless ache of longing she feels now. Romantic desire, especially toward a man, is something she has never experienced, never even understood, until coming to the World of Man. Even still, she is a virgin in every sense—emotionally, physically, spiritually—and the very idea of intimacy, desire, or vulnerable attachment is new and dangerous to her.

But tonight she steels herself. Tonight, she believes she might finally speak the quiet truth she has kept locked beneath her armor. She has sensed kindness in Steve Trevor, sensed that rare respect he shows her not as an icon or a warrior, but simply as a woman. She thinks—she hopes—that he may feel the same.

What she does not know is that Steve Trevor has been abducted, replaced by a covert operative known only as The Chameleon, a master of disguise whose craft borders on supernatural. He has studied Trevor’s mannerisms, voice, posture, and rhythms with obsessive precision. He studied her even more—her routines, her reactions, the shy softness that enters her eyes whenever she looks at the man she secretly adores. He learned the tilt of her smile, the warmth in her voice when she speaks to Trevor. And tonight, he intends to use every bit of that knowledge against her.

In the privacy of the penthouse apartment—the real Steve’s own residence, now eerily staged to perfection—The Chameleon pours her a drink. A mild sedative ripples invisibly within it. Nothing that could overpower her extraordinary physiology, nothing that could knock out an Amazon… but enough to soften edges, to dull instincts, to make her feel as though the world has warmed and blurred, like the hazy bliss of a first drunken flush she has only heard mortals describe. The sensation is foreign to her, disarming in ways she does not recognize; Paradise Island had no alcohol, no narcotics, no intoxicants of any kind. She simply assumes this warmth is part of the tenderness she has been afraid to admit she feels.

When the moment is right, The Chameleon begins to speak—gently, carefully, with rehearsed pauses and vulnerable tones. He praises her beauty, her spirit, her compassion, and her courage for leaving the safety and comfort of her home on Paradise Island to come to the aid of the United States, and in turn, helping to fight injustice, and striving to make the world a better place. He tells her he has always admired her from afar. He tells her that he, too, has been afraid to confess his feelings. And though his words are a lie, they strike her with overwhelming force. She has never experienced this with a man. Paradise Island taught her warfare, diplomacy, courage… but not the tremor that rises in her chest when she believes the man she cares for deeply might secretly adore her back.

Her heart stumbles. She feels exposed, breathless, elated.

The Chameleon moves toward her, slowly—careful never to break the illusion of a man gathering the courage to close the distance between himself and the woman he supposedly has great affection for. She lets out a trembling breath. He opens his arms, inviting her forward. She steps into them without hesitation, lifting her own arms to wrap gently around his neck, gazing into his eyes, as if having waited so long for this to happen, she now hopes this moment can go on forever.

Their bodies press together—hers soft with anticipation, his firm with predatory purpose.

When his arms slip under hers and fold around her torso, she feels only closeness. Only the intimacy she had dreamed of but never believed she could have. His hands settle at the small of her back—precisely where the clasp to her magic belt is.

In her vulnerable, inexperienced state, she believes the encounter is guided entirely by adoration and affection. She feels his hands glide along her lower back and assumes it is part of the embrace. The sedative muffles her instincts, slows the sharp warrior awareness she normally possesses. And emotionally, she is overwhelmed. She has never been this close to a man before; she has never allowed herself to want so fiercely. The moment feels sacred, delicate—so enchanting is the event unfolding, she does not realize it is a trap.

The Chameleon, a master thief as much as a master of faces, moves with surgical precision. His fingers dance across the small clasp of her smooth golden metallic belt. His touch is feather-light, imperceptible even to her enhanced senses. The sedative dulls her vigilance. Her mind is lost in the fluttering, intoxicating belief that Steve Trevor is finally embracing her not as a teammate, but as a woman he desires.

With a subtle, nearly silent motion, the clasp comes undone.

She doesn’t feel it.

She doesn’t feel anything except the rush of a heart that has never beat this way before.

The Chameleon slides the short, rigid, gold magic belt from her waist with slow, practiced ease, keeping it hidden between their bodies as though careful not to break the illusion of romance. Her strength drains instantly, comprehensively—her godlike abilities collapsing into the softness and fragility of a mortal human woman. And yet she notices none of it. Her weakened physiology seems only to confirm the “butterflies” she assumes are fluttering inside her.

She smiles, believing she is held by the man she so cares for and longs to be with.

She does not know she has been stripped of that which makes her the formidable threat so many foes fear.

She does not know she is now… powerless.

Yet even now, in this quiet, tender moment—one she had imagined would be the beginning of something beautiful—she is wholly unaware it has instead become the opening stroke of a betrayal far more devastating than any enemy has ever dared inflict upon her.

And it is at that precise, fragile second—her heart open, her guard lowered, her mind softened by sedative haze—that the final movement of their orchestration springs into motion.

From the dim edge of the penthouse, a second man emerges: masked, silent, clad in gray fatigues and black tactical gear. He moves with the efficiency of someone long accustomed to subduing enhanced targets.

SuperWoman, still nestled trustingly against the man she believes is Steve Trevor, does not sense him. Without her belt’s power, with her Amazonian awareness dulled by the drug, she is as defenseless as any ordinary young woman lost in the warmth of a lover’s embrace.

The Chameleon keeps one arm wrapped securely around her, steadying her, holding her close—while his other hand still casually grips her coveted magic belt just out of her sight, maintaining the illusion, even as her fate is soon tightening around her like a snare.

The masked operative closes the last few inches with deadly precision.

A large white cloth, soaked heavy with chloroform, is pressed firmly over SuperWoman’s nose and mouth.

Her breath catches. Her eyes fly open.

For a heartbeat, confusion and disbelief ripple across her features. She instinctively turns her eyes upward—toward the face she trusts most, the man she thinks is Steve Trevor—seeking reassurance, explanation, anything that will make sense of the nightmare unfolding.

But all she sees is “Steve” holding her, letting this happen… not pulling the masked man away… not defending her… not protecting her.

Her eyes soften, glisten—hurt blooming through them like something breaking deep inside.

Confusion. Betrayal.

A silent, aching question: Why?

She tries to pull back, to speak, but the sedative in her drink, the loss of her magic belt, and the suffocating chloroform fuse into a single, overwhelming fog. Her limbs weaken instantly. Her thoughts smear into disoriented fragments. Her strength—once immeasurable—is gone, having fled from her the moment her belt left her waist.

The cloth seals over her mouth and nose. Her breaths grow shallow. Her body sags helplessly into the arms of the imposter she adores.

She has no understanding of what has been taken from her…

…nor the cruelty of the deception unfolding in the arms of the man she trusted most here in the mortal plane, and whom her heart ached for.

Now SuperWoman will think what has been done to her… a cruel gesture using her innermost feelings for Steve to trick and capture her… believing in her mind and in her now broken heart, that this vile treachery was undertaken by… not by The Chameleon… but a heartfelt betrayal committed by the man she has always loved.

These images and short story were inspired by an image commissioned by DA contributor Radius45.

[jca5646]

Amazonia – Betrayed, Debelted, Depowered

For the first time in months, the young heroine Amazonia, finds herself alone in the company of the man she has long admired—Sergeant Steve Trevor, her colleague in United States Special Operations Command. On Paradise Island, where she was raised among disciplined, ascetic warrior-women, affection was something expressed through loyalty, honor, and shared combat… not through touch, not through closeness, not through the breathless ache of longing she feels now. Romantic desire, especially toward a man, is something she has never experienced, never even understood, until coming to the World of Man. Even still, she is a virgin in every sense—emotionally, physically, spiritually—and the very idea of intimacy, desire, or vulnerable attachment is new and dangerous to her.

But tonight she steels herself. Tonight, she believes she might finally speak the quiet truth she has kept locked beneath her armor. She has sensed kindness in Steve Trevor, sensed that rare respect he shows her not as an icon or a warrior, but simply as a woman. She thinks—she hopes—that he may feel the same.

What she does not know is that Steve Trevor has been abducted, replaced by a covert operative known only as The Chameleon, a master of disguise whose craft borders on supernatural. He has studied Trevor’s mannerisms, voice, posture, and rhythms with obsessive precision. He studied her even more—her routines, her reactions, the shy softness that enters her eyes whenever she looks at the man she secretly adores. He learned the tilt of her smile, the warmth in her voice when she speaks to Trevor. And tonight, he intends to use every bit of that knowledge against her.

In the privacy of the penthouse apartment—the real Steve’s own residence, now eerily staged to perfection—The Chameleon pours her a drink. A mild sedative ripples invisibly within it. Nothing that could overpower her extraordinary physiology, nothing that could knock out an Amazon… but enough to soften edges, to dull instincts, to make her feel as though the world has warmed and blurred, like the hazy bliss of a first drunken flush she has only heard mortals describe. The sensation is foreign to her, disarming in ways she does not recognize; Paradise Island had no alcohol, no narcotics, no intoxicants of any kind. She simply assumes this warmth is part of the tenderness she has been afraid to admit she feels.

When the moment is right, The Chameleon begins to speak—gently, carefully, with rehearsed pauses and vulnerable tones. He praises her beauty, her spirit, her compassion, and her courage for leaving the safety and comfort of her home on Paradise Island to come to the aid of the United States, and in turn, helping to fight injustice, and striving to make the world a better place. He tells her he has always admired her from afar. He tells her that he, too, has been afraid to confess his feelings. And though his words are a lie, they strike her with overwhelming force. She has never experienced this with a man. Paradise Island taught her warfare, diplomacy, courage… but not the tremor that rises in her chest when she believes the man she cares for deeply might secretly adore her back.

Her heart stumbles. She feels exposed, breathless, elated.

The Chameleon moves toward her, slowly—careful never to break the illusion of a man gathering the courage to close the distance between himself and the woman he supposedly has great affection for. She lets out a trembling breath. He opens his arms, inviting her forward. She steps into them without hesitation, lifting her own arms to wrap gently around his neck, gazing into his eyes, as if having waited so long for this to happen, she now hopes this moment can go on forever.

Their bodies press together—hers soft with anticipation, his firm with predatory purpose.

When his arms slip under hers and fold around her torso, she feels only closeness. Only the intimacy she had dreamed of but never believed she could have. His hands settle at the small of her back—precisely where the clasp to her magic belt is.

In her vulnerable, inexperienced state, she believes the encounter is guided entirely by adoration and affection. She feels his hands glide along her lower back and assumes it is part of the embrace. The sedative muffles her instincts, slows the sharp warrior awareness she normally possesses. And emotionally, she is overwhelmed. She has never been this close to a man before; she has never allowed herself to want so fiercely. The moment feels sacred, delicate—so enchanting is the event unfolding, she does not realize it is a trap.

The Chameleon, a master thief as much as a master of faces, moves with surgical precision. His fingers dance across the small clasp of her smooth golden metallic belt. His touch is feather-light, imperceptible even to her enhanced senses. The sedative dulls her vigilance. Her mind is lost in the fluttering, intoxicating belief that Steve Trevor is finally embracing her not as a teammate, but as a woman he desires.

With a subtle, nearly silent motion, the clasp comes undone.

She doesn’t feel it.

She doesn’t feel anything except the rush of a heart that has never beat this way before.

The Chameleon slides the short, rigid, gold magic belt from her waist with slow, practiced ease, keeping it hidden between their bodies as though careful not to break the illusion of romance. Her strength drains instantly, comprehensively—her godlike abilities collapsing into the softness and fragility of a mortal human woman. And yet she notices none of it. Her weakened physiology seems only to confirm the “butterflies” she assumes are fluttering inside her.

She smiles, believing she is held by the man she so cares for and longs to be with.

She does not know she has been stripped of that which makes her the formidable threat so many foes fear.

She does not know she is now… powerless.

Yet even now, in this quiet, tender moment—one she had imagined would be the beginning of something beautiful—she is wholly unaware it has instead become the opening stroke of a betrayal far more devastating than any enemy has ever dared inflict upon her.

For in her heart, when she discovers what has been done to her, she will believe it was done… not by The Chameleon… but a heartfelt betrayal committed by the man she has always loved.

These images and short story were inspired by an image commissioned by DA contributor Radius45.

[jca5646]

Athena (Velma Dinkley’s Secret Superheroine Identity) – Chloroformed, Debelted… A Helpless Prisoner

The last thing Athena—Velma Dinkley’s fiercely guarded secret superheroine identity—remembered was the stale, echoing silence of the secluded parking garage. She had come alone to meet an informant who promised new leads on a trafficking ring operating in the city. Her boots clicked softly against the concrete as she rounded the corner of a large white van, eyes narrowing at the dim florescent lights flickering overhead.

She never made it to the meeting point as the trap was sprung.

Without warning, the van’s side door slid open with a whisper-soft glide, too quiet to register as danger until it was already too late. A figure in a black ski mask lunged out—fast, silent, precise. Before she could even turn, his left hand clamped a thick, chemical-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth.

The shock punched a gasp out of her.

That single startled breath dragged a lungful of chloroform deep into her system. Her vision flickered. A burning numbness flooded her limbs. A sickening wave of disorientation tore through her equilibrium. She stumbled, struggling to keep her balance, already feeling her strength slipping away.

Instinct still lived in her muscles. She reached up, fingers clawing at the masked man’s wrist, trying to wrench the cloth away, desperate to catch even one clean breath.

But the ambush had been planned with cruel precision.

As she focused on his wrist, trying to pry it loose, she unintentionally left her waist unguarded. The assailant’s free hand moved with unsettling confidence. He slid it around her lower back, feeling deliberately along the curve of her beltline until his fingers found the small clasp of the Belt of Athena—the ancient relic she wore around her waist that transformed meek, mild-mannered Velma into the powerful superheroine Athena.

He undid it with a practiced, metallic snap.

Before she could react, he ripped the belt free in one swift motion.

Her Amazonian super-strength vanished instantly.

The young heroine felt the loss like a physical blow, a violent collapsing inward of everything the belt gave her: strength, endurance, resistance, balance—stolen from her in a single, merciless instant. Her legs buckled. Her grip weakened. Any fight she had left fled out of her body as easily as air escaping a punctured lung.

Without the belt empowering Athena/Velma, the chloroform hit her full-force, unmitigated.

Her head sagged. Her arms dropped uselessly to her sides. Her knees folded beneath her. The garage lights blurred into a smeared haze above her as she pitched forward into darkness, the cloth never leaving her face until she slipped completely, helplessly, into unconscious.

Sometime several hours later… Athena/Velma slowly reawakens.

Her first awareness was a throbbing pressure behind her eyes—and then a dizzying wave of nausea. She groaned softly, eyes fluttering open to dim light, trying to regain focus and discern her surroundings. For a long moment she couldn’t tell where she was or how she had gotten there.

“Uunnggh… wh-what… wh-where am I?” Her voice cracked, small and trembling, nothing like the confident timbre of Athena.

As her vision sharpened in unstable pulses, she realized she was on a large bed, both of her wrists tied together and secured to the headboard. Her ankles were bound as well, cinched tight with coarse rope to the foot of the bed. She tried to pull her arms apart—instinctively expecting that familiar surge of supernatural strength.

But nothing happened.

No resistance from the ropes. No give at all. Just the humiliating, terrifying weakness of an ordinary young woman.

“Wh-why can’t I… b-break free?” she whispered, dread climbing her throat.

And then the memory hit her.

Someone ambushed her from behind.

The cloth soaked in chloroform.

Her magic belt taken rendering her powerless.

Her breath trembled. Her chest tightened.

“Jinkies…” she exhaled, voice weak and shaking.

“I-I remember now… th-they took my belt while they chloroformed me…”

A long, broken pause followed.

“I… I’m helpless without my magic belt.”

She lay there… bound, disoriented, a prisoner—knowing someone had taken careful measures and great lengths to capture her…

…and knowing what fate awaited her rested with whatever her mysterious captor plans or intends to do with her.

[jca5646]

Wonder Girl – Deceived… Chloroformed… Debelted… Collected!!!

Wonder Girl—Donna Troy—arrives at an exclusive charity fundraiser hosted by a wealthy young philanthropist named Elias Ward, a soft-spoken man in his early twenties whose fortune and influence far exceed his age. Donna attends out of compassion; the event supports underfunded shelters and programs for endangered youth, causes she cannot ignore.

Elias greets her warmly, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Elias (smiling): “You being here means more than you know. I’ve admired you for so long.”

Donna, gracious and unaware, offers a polite smile and spends the evening mingling, answering questions, and enjoying the seemingly harmless atmosphere.

After some time—long enough for Donna to relax, long enough for her vigilance to soften—Elias casually invites her to a quiet corner of the patio to “show her something.”

They walk together.

Donna steps ahead by a few feet, assuming nothing.

That is when Elias finally strikes.

In a single swift motion, he lunges forward from behind her, pulling a small white cloth from inside his jacket and clamping it tightly over Wonder Girl’s nose and mouth.

Donna: “Wh–what are—Mffphh—?! ”

The chemical stench hits instantly.

Her eyes widen in shock as she involuntarily inhales.

Donna’s thoughts:

Chloroform!? No—Too strong—N-Not much time—H-Have to pull—B-Before I p-pass out—

Donna’s hands shoot upward, gripping Elias’s arm with Amazonian force—only for her strength, to Wonder Girl’s dismay and puzzlement… suddenly falter unexpectedly.

Because Elias is already a step ahead of her.

While his left hand sealed the cloth over her face, his right hand slid around her waist, found the small subtle clasp of her Wonder Girl’s enchanted girdle, and with one practiced motion—

“Click!”

—he unfastens and removes Wonder Girl’s belt, the source of her extraordinary Amazon strength while in “Man’s World”.

The golden band slips away from Donna’s hips and into his waiting hand.

Her renowned might vanishes like a snuffed flame, as without her belt, Wonder Girl is rendered completely powerless.

Reduced now to the physicality of a normal human woman, Donna’s fingers tremble. Her grip on the Elias’s wrist weakens instantly.

Donna’s thoughts:

“No—H-How did he know—I-I’m h-helpless without my belt…

C-Can’t fight… C-Can’t b-break free… The chl-chloroform… I-it’s too much now… G-getting sl-sleepy…”

Elias presses the cloth harder as Donna’s knees soften.

Wonder Girl (muffled, fading): “M-must f-fight it-… M-Must g-get… m-my… Belt…”

Elias (whispering warmly): “Its ok, you’re alright, just breathe it in and relax.”

As the sedative overwhelms her, Donna’s vision begins to blur. She clings weakly to his arm but can no longer pull it away.

Seeing her collapse into helplessness, Elias finally reveals all…

Elias:

“I’ve admired you for years, Donna. Finally I decided… I needed you here… with me. Arranging this fundraiser was easy. But finding out what and how I could achieve my goal of capturing one of the most powerful women in the world was much harder, and way more expensive, but worth every penny. I paid two former CIA analysts a small fortune to dig up everything about you—past and present, your Amazon heritage, your known and unknown vulnerabilities, which led to the discovery of learning your magic belt is the key and conduit to your Amazon might while in the ‘mortal plane’… and of course your susceptibility to chloroform. Knowledge is power, and once I learned all I needed, I set the plan in motion”

Donna’s eyes widen faintly behind the cloth as she realizes the horror.

Elias:

“If you are wondering why no one is coming to your aid or defense, it is because everyone here is an actor, paid very well to smile, drink, and ignore what happens to you. Signed nondisclosure agreements also mean if any of them try ratting me out to the police, the NDA’s act as signed legal admission of guilt on their part, so if I go to jail, they’ll share a cell right next to me.”

Her hands fall from his wrist.

Her body softens completely.

Elias catches her effortlessly with one arm, her belt twinkling in his other hand.

He brings his lips close to her ear as her consciousness slips away.

Elias (soft, thrilled):

“Shhhhh, that’s it Donna, just surrender to the sleep, let yourself go. When you awaken, you’ll find I’m so excited to add you to my collection, and like every kid at Christmas… I do greatly look forward to ‘playing soon with my new toy’… Muahahahahaha!!!!!!”

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman Defeated by Fausta Grables


The reinforced bunker reeks of oil, metal, and cold concrete. Wonder Woman (Diana Prince) moves through it like a crimson streak, every step a confident stride of Amazonian grace. Her mission: locate Major Steve Trevor, reported kidnapped by a rogue German cell rumored to have infiltrated American soil.



"They wouldn’t dare hide him here inside one of our own bunkers, she thinks as she approaches the innermost chamber. But if they harmed him… they’ll regret it."



She kicks the heavy steel door inward—



Only to find Fausta Grables standing in the center of the room as though posing for a painting.



“Guten Tag, Wonder Woman,” Fausta purrs. Her smile is sharp as a blade.



“I’ve been expecting you.”



Diana’s eyes narrow. “Where’s is Steve Trevor?”



“Oh, he served his purpose, but he is not here mein Liebling. But you need not worry about him for he is unimportant to me, because… YOU are the true objective.”



Fausta lifts a small metallic cylinder between two fingers, then drops the cylinder at Wonder Woman’s feet.



FWUMP!



A cloud of thick white smoke erupts upward, enveloping Diana before she can leap back. She gasps—instinct, fatal instinct—and immediately regrets it.



"Unnggh, no... Chloroform—too potent… feel… weak—"



Her legs wobble. Her head swims. The room tilts.



Fausta watches with admiration.



“Magnificent mein Fräulein. That dose would have felled a rhinoceros, yet even weakened, you still remain standing. The legends were not exaggerating when regaling the power of the Amazons.”



Wonder Woman stumbles, bracing herself against the wall.



"Focus… steady… I can still fight... just need a moment to shake it off—"



But the trap is already closing.



“Now!” Fausta commands.



Three German soldiers burst from the shadows, perfectly timed.



Strong arms seize Wonder Woman’s left arm, then her right, then her legs. She lashes out instinctively, even in her fogged state—her elbow cracks against one man’s sternum, staggering him.



“Scheisse—she’s too strong!”.



Diana tries to wrench free from the soldiers, but the world keeps pulsing as she tries to clear her head from the effects of the chloroform smoke bomb.



"Hold on Diana… just hold on... just need another minute to—"



But Wonder Woman's time runs out as one of the soldiers uses both of his hands to reach around Diana from behind and clamps a chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth.



"Mmmpph!"



The soldier lets out a remark, “I got her! Try to hold her steady so the drug does its work!”



Diana thrashes, muffled cries escaping. The fumes overwhelm her senses.



"No… I can't… breathe… my strength… slipping…"



Her knees buckle slightly. Fausta laughs softly.



“Seems even superheroines need to breathe, do they not? Unfortunately for you is a welcome and such a reliable vulnerability on your part.”



Despite the overwhelming numbers and the chloroform slowly, steadily weakening, Wonder Woman, the soldiers are still struggling to keep her still, steady, and immobilize her. One of them yells to Fausta, "Mein Gott, she is still very strong, if she does not sleep soon, I don't know how much longer we can hold her."



With Wonder Woman’s arms pulled wide and held behind her by the soldiers and her mind fogged by drugs, Fausta approaches with a predatory grace.



“It seems you Amazons have learned over the centuries to hide your secrets well… but not well enough, not from me!”



Diana’s eyes widen in panic as Fausta reaches in behind her.



"What is she doi—NO... how does she know—"



Like a master thief, Fausta’s fingers glide along Wonder Woman’s waist, finding the smooth clasp of her golden magic belt.



“Aaahhh... Here it is. The source of your legendary power, Ja? Such a simple and subtle device… and yet... without it?”



CLICK.



The clasp opens. The belt comes free.



Diana’s entire body goes slack.



It’s immediate—

visceral—

devastating.



The last remnants of her Amazon strength evaporate like mist.



Fausta rises slowly, holding the golden belt high for her soldiers to admire.



“Behold soldiers of the Reich, I give you... Wonder Woman... the most powerful woman in the world—reborn as a mere mortal.”



Diana whimpers behind the cloth.



"Not my Belt… Without it… I'm powerless…"



Wonder Woman's legs tremble. A soldier tightens his grip to keep her upright.



Fausta steps closer, “Look at you. All is lost, yet you still struggle to remain conscious. Fantastisch, you Amazons are most formidable…" Fausta raises her hand triumphantly lifting Wonder Woman's magic belt, "...when properly equipped.”



Diana’s eyelids flutter. Her thoughts blur.



"M-must s-stay awake… d-don’t let th-them… w-win…"



Fausta leans in, whispering:



“Shhhhh, sleep now, my warrior princess. Your defeat and fate is already sealed.”



The chloroform cloth presses harder against Diana’s face.



Her final coherent thought:



"N-no, n-not like th-this… H-Hera... h-help... m-me…"



Wonder Woman's vision slowly begins to fade into black.



Fausta turns away, admiring the golden belt draped over her hand.



“When you awaken Wonder Wonder, you will awaken in the fatherland... in chains—powerless, humbled... all mine. And now that we have a successful and proven blueprint for defeating an Amazon... your sister Wonder Girl will soon follow and be joining you... as my prisoners”



The soldiers nod.



“Jawohl, Oberst Grables.”



As Wonder Woman slips into unconsciousness, the last thing she hears is Fausta’s triumphant voice echoing through the bunker:



“The Americans will tremble when they learn and see their exalted champion has fallen... defeated... not in battle… but to the scientific mind, strategic acumen, and German superiority of... Fausta Grables.”

[jca5646]

Wonder Girl: Debelted, Powerless... A Prisoner


Wonder Girl—Drusilla Prince—arrived at the billionaire’s mansion with genuine excitement warming her chest. An invitation from one of the world’s most influential philanthropists… and the promise of a $100 million donation to any cause or causes of her choosing. The thought of how many lives could be improved made her heart race with hope... not suspicion.



The lunch was intimate but cordial: just the two of them. He spoke of his childhood as an orphan, of clawing his way to power and wealth, and of his admiration for her work dismantling drug rings, arms traffickers, and money laundering networks in his city.



She listened, smiling, glad to have inspired good in the world.





After lunch, he invited her on a private tour of his home.

They walked a long hallway, his voice soft, pleasant—too pleasant.



Suddenly her steps faltered.



“What…?”

A wave of dizziness crashed through her skull, her vision pulsing.



She pressed a hand to the wall, trying to steady herself.

"I feel… faint? Why? I shouldn’t feel faint… My Amazon physiology should resist…"



“Are you alright?” the billionaire asked, tone almost concerned.



“I—I’m not sure,” she murmured, embarrassed. “J-just… give me a second. I think I’ll be—”



She never finished the sentence.



A cloth clamped savagely over her nose and mouth.



A sharp chemical burn invaded her lungs.



“Mmmph—!”



The billionaire’s voice shifted—cold, businesslike.



“I’m sorry, young lady… but you’re out of time.”



Her hands shot upward on instinct, clutching weakly at the man’s wrist as she gasped another breath of chloroform. The dizziness roared into something catastrophic.



"No—my strength—why can’t I break free? What’s happening to me?"



While her hands were occupied, the man’s free hand slid with chilling familiarity around her waist.



He found the clasp of her magic belt instantly.



"W-what?… Oh no, NO—"



CLICK.



With one swift pull he tore her magic belt free.

The short, rigid gold band slipped off her waist, dangling slack and weightless in his grip.



And with it—

ALL of her Amazon strength vanished.



Her body sagged. Her muscles failed her.



"N-not my belt… W-without it… I’m powerless…"



The billionaire supported her weight easily now.



“Your helpless without your magic belt,” he said into her ear, “I know it is the source and conduit for your Amazon heritage while in the World of Man. Without it? You’re nothing but a naive girl who never knew she was beaten the minute she accepted my invitation.”



Her fading consciousness flooded with horror as she realized the truth:



The invitation.

The large charitable donation.

The flattery.

The story of his tragic childhood.



All of it a lie, this had been a carefully laid trap.



“You cost me millions, disrupting my many operations. So as a businessman, I thought, hmmm, how should I handle this… So... I had you studied. I hired former CIA and foreign intelligence Amazon and superheroine subject matter experts—world-class analysts breaking down every strength, every weakness. After crunching the data, molded the intel into the stratagem they designed for me to depower and subdue you.”



Her struggles weakened into tremors.



“When the sedative you ingested didn’t knock you out entirely?” he continued. A smug smile in his voice. “Plan B."



“My food… my drink…” she slurred silently inside her mind, the tape-like numbness spreading through her limbs. "D-drugged. He drugged me…"



The billionaire continues, "Chloroform. Your and your sister's susceptibility is not common knowledge, but it is out there if one has the money and resources to find it. Your weakness to chloroform proved very reliable... especially once I took your precious belt.”



Her legs folded, then her mind slipped into darkness.



The last thing Wonder Girl felt was her head falling back against the man who had orchestrated everything.



When Wonder Girl regained consciousness, her vision wavered in patches of dim amber light.



A wooden ceiling.

A cold draft.

Rope biting into her wrists.



Her wrists tied together, suspended overhead and tethered to a beam in what looked like a weathered attic.



Her mouth—gagged with tape, silencing her, leaving her unable to cry out for help.



She looks down at her waist—bare.



Her belt—gone.



"No… no, this can’t be happening… Where am I? How long was I unconscious?"



Footsteps creaked across the floorboards.



She turned her head… and froze.



The billionaire stood casually near her, as if inspecting a new painting he’d purchased.



In his hand, dangling loosely between his fingers, was Wonder Girl's magic belt.



Wonder Girl's thoughts react to seeing the source and key to her escape, "My Magic Belt!!! If... if only I can break free of these ropes."



He lifted it slightly, letting the gold catch the dim light.

Mocking her with it.



Her stomach dropped.



Her eyes widened with helpless dread.



“Ah—I see you are awake at last, Wonder Girl. Good.”



He stepped closer.



“Please excuse the humble accommodations. As an Amazon princess I am sure you are used to more regal and royal surroundings... but I suggest you make yourself comfortable as this will be your new home, and you... a new additional piece in my collection. A fitting penance, I think, for the substantial financial losses your crime fighting efforts in my city have cost me.”



Wonder Girl shook her head, her wrists twisting in the rope testing their limits, looking for any give or defect, while her muffled protests sound out from behind the tape gag.



"I have to get free somehow… but… without my belt.. I'm no stronger now than a normal mortal woman."



The billionaire studied Wonder Girl's belt, turning it over in his hand, reveling in the power he has stolen from her.



“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” he mused. “That this little thing is what allows you to wield such staggering power. But without it? Ha Ha Ha Ha...”



He leaned in, his voice almost tender.



“You’re completely powerless… and now—my guest... my helpless prisoner.”



Wonder Girl’s heart dropped as she stared at the very symbol of her strength and salvation, held casually in the hands of the man who had captured her.



Her mind screamed inside the gag:



"You fiend... I trusted you… and now... here I am… powerless… bound... alone... Hera help me, maybe Diana or someone will come looking for me, and hopefully find me… before it’s too late."

[jca5646]

Wonder Girl Debelted by Supernatural Poltergeist


While investigating the hotel room of a criminal tied to a wave of recent disappearances, Wonder Girl (Drusilla Prince) believes she’s walking into a routine search. Instead, she steps into a trap. The suspect she’s been hunting is no ordinary man at all, but a vessel for a powerful supernatural entity that suddenly tears free of its host and manifests in the room as a violent poltergeist.



The temperature drops. Lights flicker. Then, without warning, the bed quilts jerk upright as if grabbed by invisible hands. The poltergeist pours its will into the fabric, animating the quilts into extensions of itself. They lash out at Wonder Girl like serpents, whipping around her arms and shoulders with shocking speed.



Expecting nothing more than a simple haunting, Wonder Girl is stunned to discover that the animated quilts possess preternatural strength, slamming against her with force rivaling an Amazon challenger. She braces herself and fights back, straining against the constricting fabric, her attention locked on the obvious threat in front of her.



That’s when the poltergeist makes its move.



While Wonder Girl is distracted wrestling with the quilt coiling around her arms and torso, another portion of the bedspread silently slithers low behind her. It slides around her waist like a noose, feels along the smooth curve of her magic belt, and with an almost deliberate precision finds the clasp and snaps it open. In one swift, merciless tug, the sentient quilt tears the belt free from her waist.



The effect is instant.



The moment the magic belt leaves Wonder Girl’s body, her superhuman strength drains out of her like someone cutting power to a city. Her knees weaken, her muscles lose their enhanced edge, and the crushing force of the possessed quilt suddenly feels overwhelming. Stripped of her magic belt, the source of her Amazon strength while in the “World of Man,” she is reduced to a normal young woman caught in the grip of something far stronger and utterly merciless.



Now completely defenseless, Wonder Girl is no match for the poltergeist’s animated quilt. It surges around her in thick, smothering folds, quickly overpowering her, pinning her arms, binding her legs, and immobilizing her in a tight, inescapable cocoon. Her magic belt hangs uselessly in a twist of fabric across the room, held aloft like a stolen trophy by unseen hands.



With her powers gone and her body trapped, Wonder Girl finds herself a helpless prisoner in a haunted hotel room, at the mercy of the poltergeist that has already proven it understands exactly how to break an Amazon. Her fate—whether she becomes the next “missing person” on the suspect’s list—remains chillingly unknown.

[tmon]

This look's very familiar says the person who follows you on Deviantart. And very good!!

[infogeek247]

Hello,
What AI do you use for the images?

[jca5646]

@Tmon: Thank you for the kind words, and yes you are quite correct, I normally post simultaneously between here and my DeviantArt page. But now that I have established this message string, moving forward, in addition to what I post at DeviantArt, I can also post here those more serious, mature, adult images heavily censored or prohibited at DeviantArt. Thank you again for viewing, both here and my DA page.


@Infogeek: The 2D, animated, Anime style images are mostly done with Novel AI. Novel AI is great because there are no censoring limitations, but the downside is you can only choose from two styles, Anime or Furry (Furry is not my thing, but I have always been of fan of Anime style since cartoons from back in the day like G-Force, Robotech etc). Novel AI also has a story option, but I rarely ever use that function. The only other downside for Novel AI I wish they would change/increase, is the prompts cannot exceed 512 tokens, which then also limits how much details and character count you can cram in to the prompt. Many recent more realistic images are done with Google Gemini and Google AI Studio, and sometimes Google ImageFX. Google Gemini recent Nano Banana Pro 3 is very good, and unlike Novel AI, there is no cap or limit on tokens or character count (at least none I have come across yet since using those image generation platforms), and the interfaces are very literal and intuitive when it comes to interpreting your prompt. There is censoring at Google's platforms, but most of my style of imaging and themes fall within their parameters, and the ones that do not, I work with my wording and prompting to try and find a workaround. I also use Openart AI for when I want to use and render images with their Seedream and Hunyuan models. Lastly, I use ChatGPT alot to help me create and rewrite, edit, or revise the prompts I use at these various image generators. I might present an idea and use one of my many OC heroines I have saved in my ChatGPT profile memory or I will upload an image or images to use as a reference to use as the base for my intended desired image, then tweak and edit as I go through trial and error until I finally get or as close as I can get to the "money shot". Hope this all helped to answer your question. Thank you for viewing.

[infogeek247]

Thanks

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman - Ambushed, Debelted, Captured


In the cramped belly of the invisible jet, Wonder Woman twirled in place, a great blinding light erupted and where she once stood in her iconic red corset and blue star spangled briefs, she now stood in her cobalt-blue wetsuit—calm, focused, the last breath of open air filling her lungs. Then she stepped onto the wing. Wind screamed past her ears. The ocean below was a black sheet broken by moonlight and the occasional whitecap.

She didn’t hesitate. She dove—clean, straight, precise—vanishing into the cold like a knife into velvet.

Underwater, the world became pressure and silence. Her boots cut through murk, her arms driving forward in powerful strokes, the faint shadow of the submarine swelling out of the gloom like a moving cliff.

No running lights. No friendly silhouette. Just steel and secrecy.

"Two nuclear-tipped missiles", the intel had said. "Stored in the weapons magazine. Minimal guard rotation". "Quick in, quick out", she thought to herself.

She reached the hull, found the seam, and slipped into a maintenance access point with practiced ease. Inside, the submarine swallowed her in stale air and metal breath. Pipes shuddered softly. Bulkheads sweated condensation. Every sound carried. Every step was a risk. She moved fast anyway.

Through narrow corridors and low overheads, she flowed with controlled urgency—one hand skimming the wall, the other ready to strike. She passed a junction, paused, listened. Boots. Distant. Measured. Not rushed.

She thought, "I have to find those nukes, so I can make sure they never have a chance to use them."

The weapons magazine door was ahead—heavier, reinforced, the kind of portal that didn’t exist for comfort. She used her incredible strength to bend and tear the lock off, she then slipped inside, and the air changed immediately. Dry. Chemical. Cold. Racks, cradles, containment frames.

But the missiles weren’t there. Just shadow and empty mounts.

"What? Where are the missiles??? Could they have off loaded them before I got here?"

Before she could gather another thought, a hard impact slammed into her shoulder from behind, forcing her into a rack. Another body collided into her from the side, pinning her in the tight space between steel frames.

Her strength surged instinctively—an explosive twist of hips and shoulders—but the cramped magazine stole her leverage. She couldn’t get her footing. The tight quarters wouldn't let her fully extend or follow through on her punches or kicks.

“Now!” a voice snapped—low, disciplined, the kind of command that didn’t belong to panicked sailors.

Hands grabbed for her arms. Another set hooked around her forearm like a vise, locking her limb tight while she fought to turn. She struck back—short, brutal motions, elbows and shoulders driving into anything within range—but the multiple attackers kept close, swarming in a way designed to deny her space.

"Too many at once, need to find open space so I can cut loose.", she realized, teeth clenched.

Amidst the chaos of the struggle, Wonder Woman fails to notice a gloved hand slide in behind her waist—precise, searching—until it finds her magic belt’s clasp at the small of her back.

“NO—!”

Her voice cut off as the latch gave. Not a dramatic tear. Not a struggle of metal. Just the quiet, sickening certainty of something essential being undone by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

And in that instant, Wonder Woman's magic belt, the source and conduit for her superhuman Amazon strength while in the "World of Man", left her hips in one smooth motion, drawn away and held near her waist like a trophy.

The change was immediate.

"Unngghh!!!"

It wasn’t pain. It was worse than pain. It was an absence followed by immediate weakness rushing in to fill the void.

Her legendary strength drained out of her limbs like a tide rushing backward. The world didn’t spin—her head did, as she started swooning. Suddenly her body heavy, suddenly her movements slower. Her knees dipped. Her arms trembled.

One operative leaned close, his voice alerting the others... “She’s down, quick, move to the next phase of our stratagem.”

Wonder Woman tried to surge forward—tried to reclaim her magic belt, tried to force her body to obey the memory of power "Have to get my magic belt back"—but before Wonder Woman could make any head way, multiple hands moved in and held her still and steady, as another hand shoved something against her face, smothering it over her nose and mouth.

"Mmmpphh!!!"

A cloth with a sharp, yet sweet chemical bite. Her eyes flared open, reflexively sucking air—then Wonder Woman's thoughts cry out when she immediately recognizes the scent... "Chloroform!!!"

It hit her like a hammer wrapped in velvet. As the drug began taking effect, the magazine lights smeared into halos, sounds stretched and warped. Wonder Woman tried her best to fight it, desperate, trying to turn her head away from the cloth, but without her magic belt, she was now no stronger than a normal mortal woman.

Wonder Woman's thoughts fractured into flashes:

"W-was a t-trap—W-without m-my m-magic belt— I-I'm powerless!!!"

Her arms failed first, then her legs, then her body sagged, folding onto the grated deck with a helpless final exhale. Her red lips parted on a breath that didn’t come back clean. Her eyes fluttered once—trying to focus on her magic belt now dangling from a gloved hand—then her eyes closed as she finally succumbed to the sedative.

Boots circled her. Shadows fell across her blue suit and silver bracers. Someone lifted the belt slightly, letting it hang in a loose curve, open ends visible like a taunting insult.

One operative speaks into a radio, "Mission accomplished, target has been neutralized." A pause. A low, satisfied breath. “Understood. Will secure package and prep for transport.”

The submarine’s bones groaned as it adjusted course. Somewhere beyond the bulkheads, water rushed past steel like a warning their new captive could no longer hear. The operatives stood over her in a tight ring, as they took pride in what they collectively achieved where so many before have failed—the atmosphere in the magazine had the same finality as a door locking from the outside.

Whoever had fabricated the intel wanted Wonder Woman captured.

As the vessel turned into deeper water and the lights above hummed cold and steady... Wonder Woman, the most powerful woman in the world, lay there motionless on the deck—her form-fitting wetsuit accentuating and outlining every curve of her toned athletic body save for her golden magic belt now absent from her slender waist—as her captors prepare to deliver their prize to the architect of the ambush, leaving the fate and future of Wonder Woman unknown.

[jca5646]

Amazonia - Ambushed, Debelted, Depowered, Helpless


While combatting supernatural forces, Amazonia is rendered powerless when a demon stealthily materializes behind her and removes from Amazonia's waist her magic belt, the source and conduit for her Amazon strength while in "Man's World".

[jca5646]

Amazonia - Ambushed, Debelted, Captured


Robber 1: "Ha Ha yeah... we got her!!!"

Amazonia: "Mmmpphh."

Robber 2: "Wassa matta pretty gal, you lose something? Ha Ha Ha, you ain't so tough anymore without this lil belt here."

Amazonia: Her inner thoughts cry out, "No... while I was distracted trying to nab the first robber, I never saw or heard his partner until it was too late, and he had snuck up behind me and took my magic belt, the source of my Amazon strength while away from Paradise Island... without it... I'm completely powerless!!!"

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman - Ambushed, Debelted, Helpless


Robber 1: "Ha Ha yeah... we got her!!!"

Wonder Woman: "Mmmpphh."

Robber 2: "Wassa matta pretty gal, you lose something? Ha Ha Ha, you ain't so tough anymore without this lil belt here."

Wonder Woman: Her inner thoughts cry out, "Great Hera... while I was distracted trying to nab the first robber, I never saw or heard his partner until it was too late, and he had snuck up behind me and took my magic belt, the source of my Amazon strength while away from Paradise Island... without it... I'm completely powerless!!!"

[jca5646]

Here are some naughtier works not suitable for posting at my DA page (although I have seen more extreme or adult content posted there, I prefer to avoid someone making a complaint, and what is the point of posting if it has to be blurred out). Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

Some more "mature, adult" works. Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

And some more "mature, adult" works. Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

Continuing on with some mature works. Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman Debelted by Joker, KO'd by Poison Ivy


Wonder Woman ensnared by plant vines, debelted and rendered powerless by The Joker, then rendered unconscious by Poison Ivy.


Inspired by an image posted by DA contributor Ranger011.

Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

Enjoy!!!


Wonder Woman - Debelted, Captured... Helpless!!!

Wonder Woman storms the military compound looking to find and stop the foreign military from using a new high tech weapon against the Allied forces. Wonder Woman tore through many soldiers until finally making her way in to the inner sanctum of the opposing forces commander. His personal elite guard engages Wonder Woman in fisticuffs, but are greatly outmatched by her incredible strength. During the chaos while Wonder Woman's back is turned away from the commander as she grapples with his elite guards, the commander seizes the brief advantage of Wonder Woman's distraction, quickly moves in behind Wonder Woman, grabs and swiftly takes off from Wonder Woman's waist her magic belt, the source of her superhuman Amazon strength while in the "World of Man". The instant her magic belt slips off her slender waist, Wonder Woman is rendered immediately powerless. Now possessing only the strength of a normal mortal woman and no longer the enhanced force to be reckoned with, the soldiers numbers easily overwhelm Wonder Woman to subdue and capture her. Wonder Woman can only stand there in disbelief as she looks upon the man holding the key to her renowned might, and worse... she has now become a helpless prisoner of the very same people she came there to stop. What fate awaits and lies ahead for our beautiful and imperiled heroine?

[jca5646]

Enjoy!!!


Athena (Velma Dinkley) Betrayed by Daphne Blake


To the world, she was still the quiet genius of Mystery Inc.—brilliant, awkward, and endlessly kind.

But beneath Velma's timid facade, was the assumed mantle of Athena, Velma's superheroine secret identity. A power she never sought and never flaunted, granted her by an ancient relic she uncovered during a fortuitous chain of events: the Belt of Athena, a smooth golden girdle once belonging to and worn by the goddess Athena herself, the mystical item that transformed Velma Dinkley into something more than human.

Velma only ever let one person in on the truth, her best friend...

Daphne Blake.

Velma trusted Daphne completely—not just with her Athena identity, but with the story of how she became Athena, the discovery of the Belt of Athena, and the responsibility bestowed upon her and the burden that came with it. Daphne listened, she always listened. Daphne smiled, she was always there for Velma. Daphne tried her best to understand it all, and told Velma she would always do her best to help and support her dual identities.

And for a long time, Daphne did just that.

But time sometimes has a way of changing things... and feelings.

As Athena’s reputation grew, so too did the whispers. Criminal networks fell apart. Smugglers vanished. Weapons shipments were seized before they ever reached the streets. A heroic vigilante fighting crime, saving innocents, began to grow into an urban legend. And over the months, slowly, inevitably, the attention that once followed Daphne that she grew accustomed to—praising her looks, her intelligence, her personality, people's fascination of her—shifted.

Men still at looked at her, but just a glance as men now had their attention, their focus elsewhere, nay... now it was on someone else...

Athena.

Daphne tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. She tried to tell herself she was happy for Velma, although it was really Athena that was garnering the attention. daphne tried to tell herself that her kindness and contributions to solving crimes should have been enough.

But envy is a sin for a reason, and a sin that can prove to be patient.

The Mystery Inc.'s latest case centered on a shadowy mastermind calling himself The Broker, a criminal financier who specialized in arming syndicates with experimental technology stolen from black-market labs. His crimes weren’t flashy—no bombs, no chaos—but surgical: disappearances, data theft, blackmail, private armies funded in silence.

Mystery Inc. tracked The Broker to two possible locations: a high rise building in the financial district of the city, and an old industrial corridor beneath the city—brick-lined, narrow, and sealed off from public access.

So the group separated with Velma and Daphne going to check out the industrial corridor.

As they arrived, they found the corridor ended abruptly at a heavily fortified steel access door, its surface layered with reinforced plating, biometric locks, and sealed electronic housings—clearly designed to resist lockpicking, hacking, or brute tampering. Velma knelt briefly, scanning the mechanisms, then shook her head.

“It’s sealed tight,” she said. “Whoever built this, built this good and made sure they didn’t want anyone getting in. No access points. No overrides to hack.”

Daphne stepped closer, studying the door with a thoughtful hum. “So what now?”

Velma straightened, resolve settling in. “Now? Now I think is a good time for a magic trick.”

On that note, Velma turned in place, executing the familiar practiced spin. In an instant, a blinding flash of light ensued, engulfing Velma, and when the illuminating brilliance subsided, the quiet investigator that was Velma Dinkley was gone—transformed into the superheroine Athena, as Daphne watches on looking upon Athena standing there regal and majestic in her iconic costume.

Daphne smiled faintly. “Still gives me chills every time I watch when you do that.”

Athena casually guides Daphne, "Ok Daphne, it will probably be safer if you get behind me while I see about getting this door open."

Athena placed her palms against the steel, bracing herself. “Once this opens, anything could be on the other side, so I'll go in first to make sure the coast is clear for you to come in.”

Daphne nodded, “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I trust you.” as Daphne takes a step closer behind Athena.

Velma said quietly, bracing herself against the reinforced iron panels, “Once inside, we’ll make our way to the archives room to search for clues and finally have proof we need. Ha Ha, hey Daphne, do you think they are ready for what is about to happen? I'll bet they sure are going to be surprised.”

Daphne stood just behind her, close enough to feel the tension in Athena's/Velma’s shoulders.

“Ha Ha,” Daphne chuckled, then her voice steadied and replies, “Yeah, I'm pretty sure they are about to get the surprise of their life.” Athena/Velma smiled faintly to Daphne's remark.

Athena then stood firm, planted her palms against the door, her muscles coiling as she prepared to exert her extraordinary strength and force the door open. Alert for alarms, traps, or anything The Broker might have in place, Athena's focus narrowed completely forward... unaware of what was happening behind her.

Athena never felt Daphne’s fingers move and slide along Athena's/Velma's waist line.

Years of cracking safes and picking locks made the motion effortless. Daphne’s hand went to the small of Athena’s/Velma's back, her fingertips tracing along Athena's Belt of Athena, locating the subtle clasp she had memorized through months of observation and close proximity, and in one expertly practiced motion... a soft metallic click is heard.

And in that precise moment, the renowned power of the Amazons was gone.

Athena first reaction is shock, her body jolting as the strength vanished from her limbs instantly.

“Gasp!!! My magic belt!!!”

Velma turned her head when suddenly a wave of weakness washed over her—a side effect of all her Amazonian strength fleeing her body—Athena/Velma stands there momentarily disoriented, leaning against the door trying to hold herself upright.

For a heartbeat, Daphne said nothing. She just watched Velma’s confusion bloom into helplessness.

Then she leaned in, her voice low, intimate, and venomous.

“You’re nothing without this belt.”

The words cut Athena/Velma deeper than any blade.

Velma’s eyes filled—not with fear, but with disbelief and heartbreak.

Daphne’s grip tightened around the belt, her envy finally shedding its disguise of the loyal friend.

Athena/Velma—now stood powerless in the corridor, undone by the one person she loved like a sister, and the one person she never ever thought would betray her.

[jca5646]

The below images were inspired by the Wonder Woman comic book #247 cover. I used Google Gemini's Nano Banana Pro 3 to render the images.

Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

The overall image was inspired by the Wonder Woman comic book #247 cover. The heroine (obviously known to most that visit the forum) is inspired by Mr. X's Danger Babe Central's superheroine Ms. Americana. His early 2d drawings and early 3d works was one of the earlier superheroines in peril works I discovered in the early days of the internet, which led to a community and genre that enjoyed seeing or reading of heroines in perilous situations. He (along with many others) used to post many free works before he (and some of those others) eventually went to a paid subscribed service model. Which is why I post my images for free for others to enjoy, or as they say "one good turn deserves another". I used Google Gemini's Nano Banana Pro 3 to render the image. Enjoy!!!

[jca5646]

A classic from yesteryear. More variations of the same image posted at my DeviantArt page. Enjoy!!!


Elvira in Peril - Debelted and Powerless!!!


Acting on an intelligence tip that a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of the city is being used as a distribution hub for a South American cartel’s weapons and narcotics trafficking, Elvira—a feared and formidable gothic sorceress—enters the structure alone. She expects resistance. She welcomes it. What she does not know is that the moment she crossed the threshold, she triggered a silent alarm within the building alerting the cartel to her presence.

Hidden cameras swiftly pan and zoom in, confirming her identity within seconds.

In a back office in another part of the warehouse, the cartel boss gives his orders calmly, almost casually.

“The two of you go to my vehicle. Keep the engine running. If things turn ugly, I want an immediate exit.”

He turns to the rest without raising his voice. “The rest of you—spread out in the holding area. Talk. Laugh. Make noise. Let her come to you.”

A thin smile curls across his face. “As for our uninvited guest… she is mine. I thought she might stumble across our operations here someday, so I took steps. Having spent a small fortune, I contracted the expertise of a couple ex-CIA analysts, subject matter experts of the 'superheroine phenomenon'."

The cartel boss continues, "Lets just say... I know a thing or two about our lovely visitor that the none of you do... so I will deal with her... personally.”

Unaware she has been discovered, Elvira moves deeper into the warehouse, her boots echoing softly against the concrete. Crates line the walls—some marked, others deliberately blank. The air smells of oil, dust, and old metal. She narrows her eyes, murmuring to herself, “If that tip pans out and they’re hiding anything here, best bet it’ll probably be kept in the main storage bay.”

As Elvira strolls further ahead down the hallway, from ahead, she hears voices—sounds of men talking, relaxed, unguarded. To which Elvira thinks "Great. Sounds like no one knows I'm here. Those thugs are sure in for a big surprise."

A mistake on the cartels part and an advantage for her, she assumes. Elvira's attention locks forward toward the entry way of the main warehouse space, her body coiled and ready, in case any of the men are alerted to her, she'll begin spell casting to take them down.

So focused forward, Elvira never hears the footsteps behind her.

The cartel boss, like a prowling jaguar, closes the distance in silence. When he is close enough to feel the heat of Elvira's curvaceous body, his gaze drops, his attention refocuses—not to Elvira's face, but to the small of her back... to the smooth black metallic girdle that hugs Elvira's sender waist.

In one precise motion, the cartel boss's hand snaps down.

Elvira's belt is quickly and skillfully unfastened and like a master thief, is gracefully and swiftly stripped away from Elvira's midsection in an instant—clean, deliberate, practiced. There is no struggle. No resistance. No warning. Just absence.

Elvira feels it immediately.

The magic that once roared through her veins and was hers to command, collapses into nothingness. The mystical power drains from her limbs. Her breath catches. Her spine stiffens as she twists her head in disbelief, eyes wide, lips parting as the reality crashes down on her.

“Gasp!!!”

The cartel boss steps into view, savoring the sight of Elvira... frozen, helpless... as blue energy crackles faintly along the ancient relic in his hand that once adorned Elvira's waist.

The cartel boss callously gloats... “Ha Ha Ha, Without Your Magic Belt Elvira... You’re Completely Powerless!!!”

[jca5646]

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A powerless and now helpless Wonder Woman is seized, captured, and chloroformed by sinister elves when her magic belt, the source of her Amazon strength while in the "World of Man", is taken by Santa Claus's evil twin brother... Black Peter.


Enjoy, and if you observe it... hope you and those you hold close have a safe and Merry Christmas ahead!!!

[jca5646]

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A powerless and now helpless Wonder Woman is seized, captured, and chloroformed by elf henchmen when her magic belt, the source of her Amazon strength while in the "World of Man", is taken by a sinister Santa Claus.


Enjoy, and if you observe it... hope you and those you hold close have a safe and Merry Christmas ahead!!!

[jca5646]

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Wonder Woman Debelted, Chloroformed... Helpless!!!

This was inspired by an image rendered by DA contributor Eldorfff.

The image I rendered was done using Google Gemini Nano Banana Pro 3.

Enjoy and have a safe Happy Holidays ahead!!!

[jca5646]

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Wonder Woman: Christmas Morning Surprise!!!

[digitalbleh]

Womens From Your City - No Verify - Anonymous Sex Dating
https://SecreLocal.com

Womens From Your City - Anonymous Adult Dating - No Verify

[jca5646]

A soft reboot of a scene from the Wonder Woman episode "The Feminum Mystique" and how I (and probably some other folks out there) wished this specific scene would have happened and played out. Enjoy!!!


Wonder Girl: Chloro'd, Debelted, Caught... by Radl


Episode Synopsis — The Accidental Amazon


A young pretty woman arrives in Washington D.C., excited and a little nervous as it is her first time away from home, carrying a message from her mother meant for her sister. She expects warmth, familiarity, reunion.

Drusilla, an Amazon princess from the mythical home of Paradise Island, daughter of Queen Hippolyta, and little sister to Princess Diana, or as the world has come to know her... the American based superheroine Wonder Woman.

But instead, she finds an empty desk.

At the Office of Military Cooperation looking for her sister, known to her co-workers as Naval Officer Yeoman Diana Prince, Drusilla meets Diana's superior, Major Steve Trevor, who politely explains that Diana is away on assignment, providing logistical support to an ongoing operation. Steve is kind, sensing Drusilla seem to be that "small town girl lost in the big city", he comes across reassuring, and offers to help. When Drusilla admits she can’t access Diana’s home, Steve informs Drusilla he knows where Diana keeps her spare key, and offers her a ride. When they arrive to Diana's home, Steve retrieves the spare key hidden beneath one of the decorative stones in the front yard.

It’s all perfectly ordinary. A nice cozy home in a quiet suburban neighborhood.


Drusilla unlocks the front door then thanks Steve for his help and hopes she get a chance to see him again when Diana returns, maybe the three of them can go out and explore the nation's capitol. Steve tells Drusilla he looks forward to it then prepares to depart. As Steve enters his government sedan, his car radio crackles.

Radio: “Major Trevor... Flash message from Army CID. General Blankenship has been taken hostage. The kidnappers are demanding one million dollars… and the personal appearance and delivery of the ransom by Wonder Woman herself to the national forest Pine Hollow public campgrounds near Dulles Airport.”

Steve stays silent for a moment, mulling what course of action to take.

Steve: “Damn, that is a big area to try to cover and search, and what terrible timing. Wonder Woman’s already deployed elsewhere. I need to get back to the Pentagon ASAP.”

He apologizes to Drusilla, wishes her well, and drives off.

Drusilla who was standing beside the car waiting to say goodbye to Steve overheard everything.

The camera lingers on her face as an idea slowly forms.

Drusilla (softly, to herself): “Hmmm, so they say they want Wonder Woman, huh.”

A pause.

Then Drusilla with a mischievous smile says: “I think… I think can help with that.”


In the privacy of Diana’s backyard, shielded by trees and hedges, Drusilla reflects on her upbringing. She remembers Diana after she won the right and role to become Wonder Woman — specifically the training under their mother’s guidance when it came to spinning, transformation.

Curious. Doubtful. Hopeful. She mutters to herself: "Ok, lets do this."

She extends her arms outward, and then tries the spin, twirling in place.

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

She exhales, embarrassed, then steels herself.

Drusilla: “C'mon Dru, easy, you got this… focus.”

She spins again.

A blinding flash erupts.

When the light fades, Drusilla stands, garbed in a similar red and blue costume as her older sister's iconic costume.

Drusilla stares down at herself in awe — strong, fast, graceful, radiant. She laughs, giddy, exhilarated, barely able to believe what she’s become.

"Well, the world already has a Wonder Woman, and since she is currently unavailable, those bad guys are going to have to settle for me instead... Wonder Girl!!!"

She quickly employs her strength and speed, leaping effortlessly, racing through streets and countryside. Along the way, she stops to ask directions to the Pine Hollow campground.

She is confident.

She is innocent.

She has no care of the danger she might be walking into, because if there is an innocent life at stake, then she will do whatever she can to save them.


The campground is quiet as she arrives. Isolated. After searching for awhile, she finally finds it... single cabin that sits remote among the trees.

Wonder Girl approaches openly, but as she does, a man in the window turns inward away from the window and shouts "It's her. Wonder Woman has found us... Get ready." Wonder Girl walks up to the front door and a thunderous crash follows as she kicks in the front door to the cabin right off its hinges.

Two men in dark suits scramble to gather themselves from Wonder Girl's sudden entrance, and then rush her.

Though the two men are much larger than Wonder Girl, they prove to be no challenge at all.

She grabs one by his suit jacket collar and flings him aside like a toy. The second reaches out to her, Wonder Girl quickly grabs his arm then flips over to the other side of the room where the man crashes into furniture moments later. She brushes herself off, breathing evenly, her confidence unshaken.

She turns to search the next room. A she enters and walks through the room, she is turning her head left and right, trying to look for signs of the hostage.


A man in a dark brown park ranger uniform steps forward from the shadows to confront her. Tall. Calm. Seemingly measuring her.

Wonder Girl (firm): “Where is General Blankenship???”

The man smiles faintly.

Man in Brown: “He was never here. We never had him.” (a pause follows)

“We only used him… to flush you out.”


Wonder Girl wavers slightly as confusion weighs in, unsure what to make of his words.

Before Wonder Girl could give it more thought, the tall man in park ranger uniform lunges towards her.

They collide hard, grappling with one another, as each is trying to gain positive control, leverage, and dominance over the other. Despite his size and training, the man is steadily losing ground. Wonder Girl’s superhuman Amazon strength overwhelms him as she digs in and begins forcing him backward, step by step, as she continues to gain leverage and momentum.

His boots scrape helplessly against the floor.


Then—a blue chloroform soaked cloth is pressed firmly over her nose and mouth, as a muscular arm seizes her from behind.

Wonder Girl: "Mmmpphh!!!"

The scent is sharp, invasive. Her thoughts scatter.

Wonder Girl: "Mmmpphh... Mmmpphh!!!"

She has never encountered chloroform before.

Wonder Girl thoughts run wild: "Th-this smells weird... sickly... I-I feel like I'm getting... W-weaker? Wh-what is this stuff?"

She struggles instinctively, but the world begins to tilt, disorientation settling in.


The man behind her tightens his grip on her arm, pulling her back against him, locking her body in place.

Radl (urgently orders the other man in park ranger uniform): “Quick—take her belt!”

Confusion. Panic. Chaos.

She tries to resist, but it is all happening so fast, and the fragrance from the cloth is clouding her thoughts.

The man in brown reaches down, specifically toward the golden girdle-style belt surrounding Wonder Girl's slender waist, and grips it.

With a sharp yank, the golden belt is torn from her waist.

Man in Brown: “I got it! I got her belt!”


Inside her mind fogged by the chloroform, panic breaks through the haze.

Wonder Girl (thought): "No… my Magic Belt!!! Away from Paradise Island… I-I’m helpless without it."

The loss is immediate. The resistance vanishes.


The man behind Wonder Girl, holding her in his arms feels it at once — the sudden, unmistakable loss of strength from the just moments prior formidable enemy that manhandled his men like a force of nature.

Wonder Girl’s struggles weaken, then fail altogether. Without her magic belt, Wonder Girl was now only as strong as a normal mortal woman, unable to break free of Radl's hold on her, or resist the fumes from the cloth that is overwhelming her senses. Her limbs grow heavy. Her breathing slows.

Still clutching the chloroform cloth to her face, Colonel Ernst Radl watches clinically as Wonder Girl finally succumbs to the chloroform, and her consciousness drains from her pretty blue eyes.

Radl lowers her carefully to the floor as she slips into unconsciousness.

Wonder Girl lies still — beautiful, regal, and for her first time ever... powerless, very vulnerable, and quite exposed.


The two men take a moment to recover from the brief struggle, then stand over her looking down at their hard fought prize.

Radl: “Mission accomplished. When the others recover, regroup, have them prepare her for transport.”

The man in the brown uniform questions Radl: "How? How did you know the belt was the key to her strength and power?"

Radl answers him: "I was one of the few selected to receive Fausta Grables' in person debrief when she first successfully captured our little Wonder Woman here, and in that briefing she stated her belt was what allows her to enact such acts of extraordinary strength and power." Radl and the others still do not know or realize, while they have captured an amazon, it is not their intended target.

Radl continues his reply: "During Wonder Woman's escape, everyone along with Fausta all perished when the facility Wonder Woman was kept prisoner in exploded and collapsed. Everyone was either crushed, killed in the explosion, or burned in the fire that followed, which unfortunately also burned any trace or record of Wonder Woman's capture or Fausta's extensive notes on the American superheroine. Everyone died... except me. I was only spared because I was called away prior to Wonder Woman's escape to undertake a mission for the Fuhrer in another country. If not for that, then I too might have been slain that very same day, and you and I would not be standing here now, with our greatest adversary lying at our feet, and with her, the Americans greatest weapon, neutralized... the Reich will soon be on the cusp of victory."


Radl turns his head and looks down at the gentle, enchanting form of the sleeping Amazon.

Radl: “Sleep peacefully, Fraulein. When next you wake…”

(with a thin smile across Radl's face)

“You will awake in the Fatherland.”

[jca5646]

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Queen Hippolyta (Dolly Parton) Debelted on NYE!!!

Queen Hippolyta (the renowned Queen of Country Music Dolly Parton's secret superheroine identity) wants to wish everyone a safe and Happy New Year ahead, as well as best wishes to all everyone strives for, and hopes to achieve or accomplish in the coming 2026 year (Ha Ha, clearly her new year is not going to kick off the way she envisioned it). Enjoy and see y'all next year!!!

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman (JLO) Debelted and Chloro'd by Fausta


Receiving an anonymous tip while in her secret identity guise of Naval Enlisted Yeoman Jennifer Lopez (or as her friends call her... JLO)—the world-renowned American superheroine Wonder Woman—travels alone to a remote mountain retreat in northern Maine, perched between dense pine forests and the cold Atlantic air drifting down from the Canadian border. The location is isolated, austere, and deliberately unassuming. Too unassuming.



"Something about this place feels… wrong," she thinks as she approaches. "Need to get inside, I think I will just walk up and knock on the door."



With a thunderous crash, the double front doors to the lair are kicked in and shredded into splinters the moment she breaches the outer structure, soon s she steps inside the foyer, the truth reveals itself. German Nazi soldiers flood the corridors—armed, disciplined... waiting??? Wonder Woman does not hesitate. She moves through them like a tornado, using her bracers to deflect blows and rounds fired at her, her Amazon strength turning rifles into scrap and soldiers into scattered bodies. Each strike is precise, efficient, overwhelming.



"Think they would have learned by now in trying to stop me," she thinks grimly. "Need to find out what is the purpose of this place and the need for such security and secrecy."



After tearing though another squad or two of soldiers, Wonder Woman arrives at the heart of the facility, there she encounters the person seemingly in charge of this Nazi operation... Fausta Grables—brilliant, composed, and disturbingly calm. Allied records know little of Fausta's origin and history, but do know she is a senior high ranking military officer within Hitler’s science division, as well as one of, if not, thee top leading scientist in the Nazi Reich.



Wonder Woman confidently tells Fausta "I don't know what you're up to here, but no else need be or get hurt. Surrender and order your men to stand down and give up."



Fausta meets Wonder Woman’s demand for surrender with a thin smile.



“Aaahh Fraulein, despite being dominated by men, I have never yielded as I strived to graduate top of my class in multiple Ph.D disciplines, or while climbing the ladder to be one of the Fuhrer's top military consultants. As a superior woman yourself, I think you can appreciate when I say I know not the meaning of the word "surrender". But if you insist, then I suppose you will... just have to catch me.” Fausta replies—and then tuns and runs down into a long hallway.



The chase is immediate and relentless. Wonder Woman closes the distance with ease, her boots pounding down sterile corridors. Then as Wonder Woman is gaining ground and almost on top of Fausta, as she turns and comes around a corner—without warning—the floor vanishes beneath her feet.



The world drops out.



Wonder Woman crashes through a concealed trapdoor and slams hard onto concrete below. The impact rattles her bones, but she rises instantly—assessing where she landed."



Until something else registers. Something in the air. As she inhales again, a faint dizziness creeps in—subtle, insidious. Her muscles feel… muted.



"What… No... Gas!!!" she realizes, her breath coming faster than it should. "A sedative maybe. Odorless, airborne... sapping my strength. Have to get out of here. Now."



The room is bare. Windowless. A single reinforced steel door.



She braces herself and drives her shoulder into the door. It barely shudders. She strikes again—harder—yet the strength that should tear steel like tissue paper isn’t there. Panic flickers for the first time.



"Focus. Don’t think about what you’re losing. Slow your breathing, think about what you still have."



With a final, desperate roar, Wonder Woman summons everything left within her—every ounce of will, every echo of Amazon power—and rips the door free in a thunderous crash. She stumbles into the hallway beyond, breath ragged, vision swimming.



Wonder Woman barely has time to steady herself before Fausta’s voice echoes down from the far end of the same corridor, standing composed, amused.



“Impressive, Fraulein. Most impressive. I prepared that room especially for you. Clearly, I underestimated you and your resilience. A mistake I will not make again.”



“Come. Bring me to justice… if you can.”



Fausta turns and flees again.



Wonder Woman gives chase, though her body protests every step. The lingering drug dulls her reflexes, drags at her limbs. She bursts into a vast delivery storage and receiving area—and gunfire erupts.



Bullets tear through the air.



Like she has done so many times before, Wonder Woman deflects the projectiles—bracelets flashing—but this time... not with her usual grace. Each impact costs her. Each movement leaves her more winded than it should.



Wonder Woman's thoughts drift, "Unngghh… The gas from that room has taken more of a toll than I thought. I was barely able to move fast enough and deflect their fire in time."



Witnessing her adversary considerably weakened, and not the normal tour de force her reputation makes her out the be, Fausta orders the soldiers... "Get her!"



The soldiers, weapons now dry, drop them to the floor and charge her. Even weakened, Wonder Woman fights—throwing, shoving, striking—but her blows lack finality. The soldiers don't drop, while staggered or shoved back, they stay standing. Fausta watches from the edge of the chaos, her eyes calculating, absorbing every motion, observing Wonder Woman's fighting style, and how and in which manner she counters.



"Hmmm... Aaahh... Yes…", Fausta thinks. "Finally... There it is. The pattern."



As Wonder Woman grapples with the attackers, Fausta begins moving closer to the chaos of the soldiers battling Wonder Woman, patiently making her way, and circles behind Wonder Woman approaching from her blind spot—slow, deliberate. Then she barks an order in German.



Wonder Woman hears Fausta's voice behind her but before she can turn around three soldiers rush at Wonder Woman at once.



The first attacking soldier closest to Wonder Woman is grabbed by his collar and she hurls him aside—but before she can recover from that, the other two soldiers are already on her and seize her arms, locking them in place. They struggle against her still superior strength, but for a split second, she’s restrained, momentarily immobilized, and more importantly... distracted.



And that is all Fausta needs, as in her inner thoughts she make a decision.



"Now."



Fausta rushes in, closing the remaining gap between her and Wonder Woman until Fausta is directly behind the unaware Wonder Woman, Fausta's hands move to the small of Wonder Woman’s back... specifically to Wonder Woman's smooth gold belt. With elegance, precision—Fausta's fingers find the subtle clasp of the belt that fastened the belt to Wonder Woman's slender waist—with practiced ease and skill that would make a master thief proud... she deftly undoes the clasp.



Wonder Woman's belt loosens.



Now that the belt is successfully unfastened, Fausta pulls on the loosening, slackening belt.



The belt slides free from Wonder Woman’s waist in one smooth motion—and the change is instant.



Whatever waning strength remained, drains from Wonder Woman’s body like water from a shattered vessel. Her knees buckle. Wonder Woman with her arms still held by the soldiers, turns her head to look over her shoulder, seeing Fausta stand there with her hand holding Wonder Woman's belt, her breath catches and she cries out...



“Gasp! Nooo… My Magic Belt!!!”



As her power vanishes completely, the soldiers holding her arms feel her resistance significantly falter, they tighten their grip. Wonder Woman can barely stand, barely think, as a result of the combination of the sudden weakness brought on by the rush of power felling her body when her magic belt was taken, coupled with the debilitating drug in her system from the gas filled room. Wonder Woman now held fast by the soldiers and no longer the threat she was when she first arrived the stronghold, Fausta steps into Wonder Woman's view, holding her magic belt like a prize.



Wonder Woman whispers, “H-how… how did you know about my Magic Belt…?”



Fausta smiles.



“My Ph.D's are in biology, chemical engineering, and advanced theories of weapons and technology Fraulein—but I have always harbored a love for ancient history, primarily mythological history. I was always under the notion and a believer, with every pound of myth or legend, there is an ounce of truth to be found in it.” Fausta continues explaining...



“Ever since you made your first appearance, I have poured over countless historical archives—ancient texts, fragmented records, forbidden translations—searching for any trace, any mention at all, of 'Amazons'… or of any 'warrior goddesses' said to have walked the Earth. And in doing so, I uncovered a fable—one that most scholars have dismissed as myth, but I found it to be quite 'enlightening'.



It told of a powerful goddess, a woman who's beauty rivaled that of Hera's herself, so formidable that no man could best her in battle. No army could stop her. No warrior could stand against her. That is, until men turned to their ultimate male champion... Hercules. This goddess and Hercules faced off in glorious combat. Even then, the tale describes of their struggle to best one another with neither gaining an advantage over the other, until unbelievably, it was Hercules to be found standing on the brink of defeat—until cruel fate intervened. In the chaos of their legendary clash, it is said the goddess was separated from her golden girdle, a divine gift bestowed upon her by the goddess Gaea herself. The girdle, the fable claimed, granted untold power to any woman deemed worthy of it. Strength beyond mortal limits. Endurance. Supremacy. But without it… the woman would be a goddess no more, and would henceforth be an ordinary mortal—vulnerable, fallible, defeatable.” In that moment—when the girdle was torn away—the goddess fell before Hercules, to be enslaved and kept as his prize for eternity."



Note: As Fausta recounts the tale, both neither Fausta nor Wonder Woman realizes the full truth of the fable—that the goddess defeated by Hercules was not Wonder Woman at all (as Fausta suspects Wonder Woman is the goddess of the story), but was in fact actually Wonder Woman's mother, Queen Hippolyta. It was a story Hippolyta never shared with her daughters, and never allowed to pass through the Amazon lore and history—lest it plant doubt, fear, or the terrible knowledge that even feared warriors as they were, the Amazons could fall to and be enslaved by men. It is a matter of checks and balances Fraulein... despite your Amazon heritage and birthright, while in the 'World of Man', this 'Magic Belt' is the conduit and source for your exalted Amazon superhuman strength, but without it... you are completely powerless."



Wonder Woman can do nothing but stand there, stunned—her thoughts racing, her breath shallow—as the realization settles in. She had not merely underestimated Fausta Grables. She had failed to grasp the depth of her intelligence… her patience… her terrifying resourcefulness.



And now, that knowledge comes far too late.



Despite her perilous situation, Wonder Woman still tries her best to protest. To resist.



“I-I don't kn-know what y-you plan to d-do with m-me, but y-you will n-never—”



Wonder Woman's words and voice is cut off... "Mmmpphh!!!"



A cloth is pressed over her mouth and nose. Sweet. Sickly.



Fausta chimes in, “Don’t try to fight it, Fraulein. Breathe… just breathe it in. You and this drug are already acquainted—you met earlier, in the room I designed specifically to trap you… the one you so impressively managed to escape.



Allow me Fraulein to properly introduce it to you by its more common name: chloroform. A powerful sedative—powerful enough, it seems, to fell even an Amazon.



You see Fraulein, as I began studying you—I watched or read all your interviews, your public statements—while wisely never disclosing its location, you repeatedly spoke of growing up on a mythical island, completely pure, untouched by the outside world. According to your account, a geographically lovely place where your Amazon tribe thrived, cultivating not only your minds, but more importantly… your bodies.



But in saying that, you revealed something invaluable. If the island was truly pure, then it follows, scientifically, that none of you ever became sick. Never ill. As a medical doctor, I found that hard to believe, but does not necessarily mean it is not true.



Here, among us mortals as you may have witnessed or come to learn, illness is unavoidable. But when we recover, we develop antibodies, or acquire immunities. Our bodies build resistances. Our bodies adapt.



However, you and your fellow Amazons have never been exposed to the world’s varying and multitudes of chemicals, pollutants, poisons. And so I surmised, this would also include sedatives in either liquid or gas from, and that you, as well as your sister Amazons, might very well possess a very specific and exploitable weakness—a susceptibility, if you will, to such incapacitating agents. The only remaining question was this: given your vastly superior constitution… what dosage would be required to achieve the desired effect?”



Fausta pauses, watching the strength drain from Wonder Woman futilely struggling beneath the chloroform soaked cloth.



“It seems my proof of principle—what does it take to truly defeat a ‘goddess’—has yielded some rather fascinating and successful results today. Yes? Wouldn’t you agree Fraulein?”



Wonder Woman’s thoughts blur as she succumbs to the effects of the chloroform...



The world dims. Her last sight is Fausta—standing triumphant with her magic belt tauntingly held in Fausta's hand, as Fausta's words ring out as Wonder Woman loses consciousness.



“The mighty Wonder Woman… the most 'powerful woman in the world'...



Powerless... Helpless... Defeated!!!



Sleep well my helpless Fraulein. For when you awaken... you will be in the Fatherland...



MuaHaHaHaHaHa!!!!!!”

[jca5646]

Wonder Woman (JLO): Debelted by Corrupt Cops!!!


Inter-Agency Defense Command Special Agent Jennifer Lopez—known to friends and colleagues simply as JLO—stands alone in her apartment as the call disconnects. The voice on the other end had sounded official. Urgent. Convincing. A request for assistance tied to a long-running investigation into a powerful local crime lord whose identity had remained frustratingly elusive.



Jennifer exhales slowly, pacing.



“A residential home in an affluent neighborhood,” she murmurs to herself. “Drug trafficking hubs don’t usually hide in places like that… but if this is real, it could finally crack the case wide open.”



A pause. A decision.



“But I think this opportunity will best be served,” she thinks, as a friendly smile comes across her face, “if Agent Lopez decides to call in a 'friend' to help out with the case.”



As she nears the residential location, Jennifer slips into a narrow, secluded alley nearby, scanning for witnesses. Finding none, she raises her arms and begins to spin. Light erupts—brilliant, blinding, almost divine. When it fades, Jennifer Lopez is gone.



In her place stands Wonder Woman.



She thinks, “Time to see if we can finally find out who the crime lord really is.”



When Wonder Woman arrives, the estate has already been taped off by law enforcement designating it as a scene of interest. Flashing red and blue lights from the marked and unmarked police vehicles in the driveway and front of the home wash over manicured hedges and pristine stonework. She is met by Detective Marcus Hale, a plain-clothes veteran with tired eyes and a sharp jaw, and Deputy Ethan Crowley, a uniformed officer with an easy smile and deferential tone.



“Wow, Wonder Woman!!! We, ummm, sure weren't expecting you, but, ummm, ok, thanks for coming.” Hale says quickly.



Wonder Woman replies, “Agent Lopez notified me and thought I might be of assistance with your investigation and search of the premises.”



Detective Hale then says, "Well, ummm, sure, ok by me."



Deputy Crowley chimes in, "Yeah, ok with me too."



The two men stand there watching Wonder Woman a minute, seeing how calm, observant she is.



“Then let’s not waste time,” Wonder Woman replies. “What do we have?”



As they brief her, Wonder Woman listens carefully—maybe too carefully. Crowley leads her toward the basement while Hale remains upstairs to continue searching the first floor.



Wonder Woman and Deputy Crowley descend down the stairs into the basement. They find the basement is large, finished, —with a few rooms and many stacked boxes to search and sift through.



As Wonder Woman and Deputy Crowley search through the boxes in one of the basement rooms, Wonder Woman turns tot he deputy to ask him a question...



“Excuse me Deputy Crowley, I was wondering since it was not mentioned in the brief, who tipped you off to this location? How did your department know to come to this specific place?”



Crowley hesitates. “Honestly, ma’am, I’m not sure. That bit of intel came through the detective. You’d have to ask him.”



She stops mid-search and turns toward him.



“Ok, thank you. I will return and continue helping you search the basement, but I think I will go ask Detective Hale first, as I feel by who or how the intel was received will prove relevant. I'll be right back.”



Wonder Woman walks out the basement room and back up the stairs.



Once upstairs, Wonder Woman goes into a couple rooms until she enters the third room, a spacious office den—and freezes at what she is witnessing.



Detective Hale standing before a wall safe concealed behind a portrait. With its safe door open. Watching Hale take cash, documents, and small valuables from the safe and shoved them hastily into his pockets.



He abruptly turns, immediately startled, and the color drains from his face.



Wonder Woman asks coolly, “What are you doing there, Detective? How did you know there was a safe there? And more importantly—how did you know the combination, or did you take a lucky guess?”



She steps closer, her presence filling the room.



“And why,” Wonder Woman continues, “are you putting those items in your pockets instead of an evidence bag? I think you’d better start talking, mister. And I mean now.”



Detective Hale stands still a moment, then panic sets in and he reaches for his gun.



He never gets to it.



In a blur, Wonder Woman closest the gap between the two, knocks the weapon aside, grabs Hale by his arm, and sends Hale flying across the room. Hale crashes into the wall with a heavy, breath-stealing thud. Wonder Woman crosses the distance instantly, grips his jacket collar, and effortlessly lifts him off the ground as if he weighs nothing—then slams him back against the wall again.



“What were you doing?” Wonder Woman demands. “What are you up to?”



Hale gasps, then defiantly grabs her wrists, futilely trying to break free from her hold, straining uselessly against her strength.



“I was hired,” he blurts. “I got paid to come clean out the safe. Any cash or loot was mine to keep. The rest—the evidence that can really hurt some important people—was supposed to go to my handler, who is also one of the top lieutenants for the crime lord you been looking for. That’s it. That's all I know, I swear!”



As Hale finishes speaking... Wonder Woman feels it.



A subtle shift at her waist, unclasped, sliding free.



Wonder Woman's breath catches, her thoughts fracture.



Wonder Woman turns her head to look over her shoulder just in time to see Deputy Crowley standing behind her—with her most prized and sacred possession already in his hands.



Her body reacts before her mind can.



Her strength immediately vanishes.



Her knees soften, her arms buckle.



A cold wave rushes through her muscles, hollowing them out, leaving her suddenly, terrifyingly light—weak. Her grip on Hale slackens. The room seems to tilt. Her heartbeat roars in her ears.



“N-No… NO—” her mind screams.



She feels the loss—not pain, but absence. Her power... gone.



Wonder Woman's reality crashes in...



"Great Hera... while I was distracted interrogating Detective Hale, I never saw or heard Deputy Crowley until it was too late, and Crowley had snuck up behind me... and took my Magic Belt, the source of my Amazon strength while away from Paradise Island... without it... I'm completely powerless!!!"

[jca5646]

Wonder Girl (Drusilla): Caught, Debelted, Chloro'd

[jca5646]

Sorceress: Debelted by a Demonic Shapeshifter!!!


Clea rides through the forest at dusk, her horse moving steadily beneath her as ancient trees loom overhead. Known to many as the Sorceress, she has come at the urging of troubling reports—young women vanishing near a nearby village, leaving behind no bodies, no signs of struggle, only strange tracks that defy easy explanation. The world of men is rarely kind to those unguarded, and Clea knows something dark is at work.



It is then that she sees him.



A young man ahead on the forest road, walking with a pronounced limp, his posture tense with pain. Clea slows her horse and draws closer, her trained eyes immediately noting his injury.



“Are you hurt?” she asks.



He tells her he was riding through the forest when his horse was spooked by a wolf. He admits he lacks riding experience, lost control of the reins, and was violently thrown from the saddle. He landed hard on his side, injuring his hip and leg. The horse fled, the wolf vanished, and he was left alone—injured, vulnerable, and fearful of what else might be lurking in the forest. His only choice, he says, was to walk toward the village and hope for help.



Clea studies him, then nods.

“Then you are fortunate,” she says calmly. “I came this way.”



“Yes,” the man answers softly. “Very fortunate indeed.”



As the light fades and the forest grows quieter, Clea cannot in good conscience leave him behind. She offers to take him with her. He thanks her warmly, praising her compassion, her mercy—qualities that define her just as much as her power.



She helps him onto the horse, settling him close behind her. With a hint of dry humor, Clea tells him to hold on tightly—she would prefer not to retrieve him from the ground a second time. He laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist.



“Whatever you say,” he murmurs.



As they ride, he asks about the missing women. Clea admits the details are scarce. No bodies. No witnesses. Only tracks that suggest something unnatural—possibly a man disguising his tracks, or maybe a rabid animal.



“Or maybe both,” the man says.



The betrayal is instant.



One arm snaps up and clamps over Clea’s mouth, cutting off her voice—preventing her from speaking, from chanting, from invoking even the simplest spell. His other hand tears her magic belt away from her waist—the conduit through which her sorcery flows while she walks the mortal plane.



The power drains from her immediately.



As Clea struggles to process the sudden loss, the hand over her mouth begins to transform—fingers elongating, skin splitting, reshaping into something monstrous. The man behind her twists and contorts, shedding his false form and revealing himself as a demonic shapeshifter.



Still silencing her, still gripping her belt, the creature explains everything. He is the architect of the disappearances. He created the pattern knowing it would draw her attention. He relied on her reputation, her compassion, her instinct to help the wounded and the lost.



It allowed him to get close—close enough to get to... her.



He knew her weaknesses. Without her voice, she cannot cast. Without her magic belt, she cannot channel her magic. In one flawless deception... he has stripped her of both.



And now with Clea completely powerless and totally helpless, the shapeshifter finally has his prize... the mighty Sorceress.



Held immobile, silenced, and utterly at his mercy, Clea can only listen as the shapeshifter tightens his grip and whispers in her ear with dark anticipation:



“I have such sights to show you.”

[jca5646]

Queen Hippolyta (Dolly Parton): Debelted, Helpless


A perilous moment unfolds as the world-renowned Queen of Country Music, Dolly Parton, is shown in her secret superheroine identity as Queen Hippolyta—captured, forcibly debelted, and rendered completely powerless at the mercy of her captor.

[jca5646]

Wonder Girl (Drusilla): Debelted and Chloroformed


A Rebooted Retelling of The Wonder Woman Television Show Episode:



"Formula 407"





PART I — “WONDER WOMAN”



Argentina never looked like the maps.



On paper, it was a neutral nation—carefully balanced, politely distant from the wars that had swallowed Europe. But on the ground, neutrality had edges. And in the countryside, the open sky made everything feel exposed.



Major Steve Trevor had been sent for one reason: Secure and deliver Formula 407—Professor Moreno’s rubber compound, engineered to make rubber more durable than anyone thought possible. The Americans wanted it secured before the Reich could learn of it or try to steal or sabotage it.



Steve did not travel alone.



Yeoman Diana Prince accompanied him as his executive aide—officially to manage the schedule, the meetings, the documentation, and the chain of custody. Unofficially, she traveled because she could not let him go without her for such an important mission, and because the same instincts that made her competent in an office, made her lethal in the field, and lastly because she had learned, again and again, that Steve Trevor had a bad habit of finding himself in danger.



As the car approached Professor Moreno’s mansion, Diana sat with her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, posture straight, expression composed. She looked out at the long driveway and the surrounding estate—land that stretched into rolling greens and distant mountains. The place was so beautiful and reminded her of the natural geographic beauty of her home on Paradise Island.



Steve leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the grounds with his familiar blend of confidence, caution, and a hint of adventurism.



“Wow, will you just look at this place. If we weren't in the middle of a war and here on a mission, this looks like a place I would love to come to for a vacation. Just look at those mountains, I would love to take a crack at one of them and hike it up to its peak,” he murmured Diana.



Diana gave him a small, professional nod. “Yes Sir, the scenery is quite lovely.”



The mansion doors opened. Professor Moreno greeted them with a gracious host’s warmth and excitement, his hands moving as he spoke, his eyes never quite resting.



“Welcome Major Trevor and thank you for coming,” he said, voice low, “I want my discovery to be shared and benefit all of the world… and not fall into the hands of the Germans who will only use it for their own nefarious purposes.”



Steve smiled, reassuring, practiced. “Well Professor, that’s exactly why Yeoman Prince and I are here.”

After being shown to their lavish guest rooms, Steve and Diana gather in the living room later in the evening, as they await to be seated for dinner.



While Professor Moreno and Diana talk about wine tasting, the professor's daughter Lydia arrived a heartbeat later, and the temperature of the room shifted—not with danger, but with presence.



Lydia was young, elegant, respectful, her posture refined in the way wealth teaches without ever admitting it. Her eyes went immediately to Steve, lingering with an innocent openness.



“Hello Major Trevor, I'm Lydia Moreno” she said, and there was something like admiration in her voice—something that bordered on excitement. “I am happy to welcome you and Ms. Prince to our home.”



Steve, charming without meaning to be, returned her greeting with a half smile. “Thank you Miss Moreno, Diana and I are honored to be here.”



Diana smiled watching Lydia’s expression with quiet precision. Not from jealousy—never that. But from a romantic's point of view. Diana silently chuckled observing Lydia was smitten, and Steve always seemed to be a magnet for that kind of infatuation from the young ladies.

The call for dinner is sounded and everyone moves into the dining room.



Dinner was formal yet homely, candlelit, and civil, everyone doing there best not to discuss the war or politics. Professor Moreno spoke of his work, the passing of Lydia's mother, his hopes for his daughter's future, and his worry for his country and the world at large should the Nazis win the war. Lydia filled the serious conversation spaces with bright observations and humorous attention.



Diana played her role: professional, respectful, unassuming. She smiled, and she listened more than she spoke.



She enjoyed the Professor Moreno's humanity, but loved his relationship with his daughter, something Diana never had coming from an island of all women and never having a father, she thought their relationship was cute and heart warming.



And she did not miss how Lydia’s gaze returned to Steve again and again, like a compass needle refusing to point anywhere else.



When dinner ended, Lydia rose with the kind of confident grace that came from being at home in privilege, but never conceded or disrespectful.



“If you’d like,” she said brightly, turning to Steve and then—including Diana politely—“I can take you for a walk through the courtyard. The night air is beautiful, and there are such sights here… things about Argentina that a visitor might not think to look for, that maybe I can interest you in seeing during your time here.”



Steve looked intrigued—curiosity and charm pulling him toward the offer.



Diana, however, felt the weight of the day hit her shoulders all at once: the long flight, the mission tension, and the long next day ahead planned with multiple meetings and functions.



She answered with calm courtesy, the way a naval officer’s aide would.



“That’s so kind of you, Miss Moreno,” Diana said, her voice gentle but firm. “But I must respectfully decline, I’m tired from the flight. And I need to return to my room and review the agenda for tomorrow’s events. I also want to prepare the Major’s outfits—and mine—for the morning. But maybe we can raincheck if time permits tomorrow evening. So if nothing else, I bid you and Major Trevor a good night and will see you in the morning.”



Steve glanced toward her, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes for all of Diana's hard efforts. He knew she wasn’t just tired, but the best aide he has ever had and respected her commitment to her duties.



“Right, thank you and goodnight Diana,” he said softly. Then he looked back to Lydia. “Well, I guess it will be just the two of us, and I’d be glad to accompany you to the courtyard.”



Lydia’s face brightened immediately, like someone granted exactly what she hoped for. “Wonderful, right this way.”



In her room, Diana opened her window to enjoy the nice fresh night air, set her small suitcase on the desk, opened it, and began to lay out clothing with practical precision—Steve’s uniform components, her own attire. She reviewed notes. She checked times and names. She wrote cleanly, neatly, like order could create safety, "Sigh, seems like the work of an aide is never done."



The courtyard lay under a clear night sky—stone paths, trimmed greenery, the faint glint of moonlight on the edges of fountains. Lydia and Steve had entered it, silhouettes moving together. Lydia’s voice rose faintly, carrying bits of enthusiasm.



“Did you know,” Lydia was saying, “that the winds here—when they come down from the mountains—can change the temperature in a matter of minutes?”



Steve’s reply drifted up, warm and amused. “Really? Actually yes, I can imagine it might be similar to some of the combat missions I have flown where the glass to my cockpit was cracked or shattered, and the feel of the air changing depending on elevation.”

Lydia chuckled, "Well Major, I guess we are off to a good start and have found something we have in common. I welcome during your stay here to discover what more you and I might have in common."



Unbeknownst to Steve or Lydia—a shadow detached from the edges of the courtyard.



Then another.



Movement at the edge of the courtyard—purposeful, coordinated, quiet.



Without warning, men surged in from the dark like a wave. One seized Lydia. She gasped, a sharp, terrified sound. Steve lunged forward, fists rising, but hands grabbed him from behind.



Lydia’s voice cut off mid-scream.

But before Diana heard it, rushing to her bedroom window to look and see the origin of it. She looks down at the courtyard and witnesses Steve and Lydia under duress by the group of men attacking them.



Steve trying his best to fend them off turned—too late, a blow flashed—hard and clean, knocking him out. He went down hard, his body folding against stone.



“Steve!” Diana whispered, the name ripped from her before she could stop it.



Lydia struggled, twisting, but the grip on her tightened. She cried out, pleading in Spanish, then someone's hand firmly covers her mouth silencing her as the same someone yanks her backward. Lydia muffles a name underneath whoever's hand was quieting her—“Steve!”.



There was no time left to consider options and Diana’s knew what she had to do.



She stepped back from the window—one full pace, then another—clearing space as if the room itself were a stage.



Her expression hardened. Her breath steadied.



In the silence of her room, she spoke to herself without words:



Now.



She raised her arms out and spun—graceful, precise, a twirl in place that cracked the air with motion and in a blinding flash of light—and in that instant Diana Prince became... Wonder Woman.



Wonder Woman did not pause.



She lunged forward and leapt through the open window.



For a fraction of a second, she hung against the night sky—an arc of power and intent—then dropped cleanly, landing below with the force of a controlled impact. Gravel jumped beneath her boots. She surged forward into a sprint.



The courtyard was chaos now: Lydia half-dragged, half-carried; Steve motionless; the agents moving with panicked speed.



Wonder Woman hit them like a storm.



Her hands found the first man near Steve’s body. She seized him and threw him—truly threw him—like he weighed no more than a sack of cloth. He crashed into stone. Another came at her. She struck him aside. Another tried to pull Steve’s limp form. She ripped him away, her strength obscene, effortless.



The men faltered, startled by what they had just awakened.



Wonder Woman’s eyes snapped to Lydia.



Lydia’s captor hauled her tighter, using her body as leverage.



Wonder Woman moved toward them, the lasso shifting at her hip, her jaw clenched.



“Let her go,” Wonder Woman said, voice low—deadly calm.



The man snarled something in German and tried to retreat, dragging Lydia with him. Lydia’s heels scraped stone. She struggled, sobbing.



Wonder Woman lunged, grabbing the man’s arm and wrenching him away from Lydia with a violent twist.



He cried out. His grip loosened. Lydia stumbled free, collapsing to her knees with a gasped breath.



But in that moment—Wonder Woman’s focus narrowed to the man she was grappling.



Two more agents arrived behind her—silent, fast.



A chloroform-soaked rag clamped hard over her nose and mouth by the same man wrapping an arm around her upper torso for leverage, trying to lock her down—not because he could overpower her, but because he needed her steady.



The chemical sickly stink hit her like a blow.



Her eyes flared wide. Her body jerked violently.



“Mmmpphh, mmmpphh!” she tried to shout, but the rag swallowed sound.



The second agent dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around her legs—tight, anchoring her, ruining her balance, preventing her from planting her feet, preventing her from using her full strength.



Wonder Woman bucked and twisted, her shoulders surging forward as she tried to pull air away from the rag.



The man behind her tightened his grip, pressing himself close, using his body weight like a clamp.



“Hold her!” one hissed.



The other replies, “She’s strong—try to keep her off balance!”



Wonder Woman’s hands clawed at the arm around her, then reached instinctively for the cloth—but her angle was wrong, her leverage compromised, her legs trapped.



She tried to inhale and felt more of the sedative fill her lungs.



Her eyes watered. Her breath hitched.



She thrashed harder.



But surprise was had been on their side.



And chloroform did not care about or discriminate against goddesses.



The courtyard blurred. The stars above smeared into a shifting haze.



Wonder Woman’s strength—still immense—became less coordinated, less precise. Her movements lost their clean control.



She tried to plant her boot, to drive her weight down, to break the grip—but the man at her legs yanked again, destabilizing her.



Her knees buckled.



She fought it... and was losing.



Her mind raced,



"N-noo... S-Steve… L-Lydia… m-must... s-save... th-them..."



She tried to summon power through will alone, tried to force her body to obey.



But the world at large narrowed to the rag, the burning lungs, the suffocating grip, the sickening drift of consciousness.



Her final attempt was a furious, desperate surge—her shoulders twisting, her spine arching, a desperation trapped behind the cloth.



Then her eyes rolled slightly, losing focus.



Her head sagged, then her body went slack in the men’s arms.



The chloroform claimed its victory over her.



The agents froze for half a beat—trying to catch their own breaths from the intense physical struggle they just undertook, and also astonished that it had actually worked since they never accounted for Wonder Woman showing up, still finding it surreal that the unstoppable woman in the patriotic inspired costume had actually gone down.



All the men in the attack recovered, they regrouped, then they moved.



Quickly. Efficiently. With the urgency of men who knew they had stolen something priceless and could not linger.



They recovered Steve’s limp body. They hauled Wonder Woman. They seized Lydia again as she cried out, reaching instinctively toward Steve, toward Wonder Woman, toward anyone, if there were anyone left to save her.



“No! Don’t—please—!”



Someone struck Lydia on the back of her head and her voice cut off into a choking sob.



A vehicle’s engine turned over somewhere beyond the courtyard, low and heavy.



The night swallowed them as they carried their captives away.



And inside the mansion, the candlelight continued to glow as if nothing had happened at all, Professor Moreno and his staff oblivious to what just transpired outside his home.



PART II — “WONDER GIRL”



One week later, in Washington, D.C., Drusilla arrives outside the Pentagon having just come from their home of Paradise Island.



She comes with a message from Queen Hippolyta, her mother’s words sealed with the weight of duty, bringing an invitation for Diana to attend a centennial tribute celebration that requires all royal members of the Amazon hierarchy to attend. The War Department building felt colder than she expected, all stone and steel and clipped voices. She moved through it with the poise of an Amazon disguised trying to wear the shape of a shy American teenager.



At the Pentagon office where Diana worked, she found Diana's colleague Etta Candy instead.



Etta looked up—and the look on her face said everything before she spoke.



Drusilla’s stomach tightened.



Etta swallowed hard, forcing the words out.



“Drusilla, hey how are you, oh my god I am so sorry but… I have bad news.”



Drusilla’s voice stayed calm, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.



“What is it? What happened? Where is my sister?”



Etta glanced down, then back up, eyes wet, tearing.



“Diana and Major Trevor… they went to Argentina on a mission. But they’re long overdue with their radio check-ins. It’s been a week. Nothing. General Blankenship is working with the United States State Department and United Stated Southern Command to try and get a team down there to investigate. General Blankenship fears they might have been captured… or maybe worse.”



The sentence landed like a physical blow.



For a moment, Drusilla could only hear the blood in her ears.



Then she nodded—slowly, politely—because that’s what you did in a foreign place when grief tried to show itself.



“I know in the military sometimes you cannot share sensitive information, but thank you Etta for telling me,” she said, voice tight. “Truly.”



Etta reached out as if to touch her arm, to offer something—comfort, guidance, anything.



But Drusilla was already stepping back.



Outside, the winter air hit her face. She stood on the steps, looking at a sky that felt too open, too indifferent.



Her mind raced.



"Hmmm, should I go back to Paradise Island and tell Mother? But then what happens to Diana… Steve… while I go back home?"



"If it were me, and Diana had to make a similar choice, I know exactly what she would do."

She closed her eyes.



Then she made her decision.



Drusilla left the Pentagon and went to Diana’s home.



The apartment carried Diana’s presence in small ways—papers stacked neatly, practical items placed with care, the faint trace of perfume that felt suddenly unbearable.



Drusilla stood alone in that quiet space and let herself breathe.



Her voice barely rose above a whisper.



“Diana… hang in there big sister I'm coming.”



In the privacy of her sister’s home, she raised her arms then spun in place like a ballerina—until a bright light engulfed her—and transformed Drusilla into... Wonder Girl.



Then she departed towards Argentina in Diana’s invisible jet.



Hours later, Argentina spread beneath her—green and wide and deceptively peaceful, reminiscent of the green flourishing hills of Paradise Island.



She sets the invisible jet down near Professor Moreno’s estate.



She is taken aback by what she sees when she gets there... the mansion was ruined—burnt, blackened, half-collapsed like a dead thing left for scavengers.



Wonder Girl searched through the remains for over an hour—moving debris, scanning for footprints, for torn fabric, for any clue that might whisper where her sister and Steve had gone.



But there was nothing, the fire that was set in that place had been thorough and left nothing to be found.



Outside, she found a stable with a few horses.



If she wanted, she could have run—endlessly, tirelessly, the Amazon strength in her muscles making distance meaningless.



But the countryside was beautiful. And she loved animals. And something in her—young, earnest, still capable of being moved by the world—wanted to travel this land not as an Amazon princess, but enjoy and appreciate it as as the mortals do.



She saddled one of the horses, and rode off.



The air was crisp. The grass rippled in the wind. The horizon rolled like a sea of hills.



Eventually, she saw a church.



Stone and simple, half-hidden among trees, its presence calm as a held breath.



"The place looks a little worn down, but maybe there is someone here who can help me."



Wonder Girl dismounted and stepped inside.



The church was empty—until a priest emerged from a side room carrying a stack of Bibles.



He saw her and froze.



The books slipped from his arms.



They hit the floor in a sudden, clattering spill—pages fluttering, covers thumping stone.



The priest stared at her, startled, breathing hard, as if trying to decide if he should just stand still and not move, or turn and run as quick as he can.



Wonder Girl immediately immediately seeks to defuse the situation. She raised her hands, in a non-threatening manner.



“I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”



She crossed the aisle to go help him, kneeling down, gathering the fallen Bibles with quick, careful hands.



“I-it’s alright,” the priest murmured, shaken. “I—You… oh my... you appeared so suddenly and surprised me, I thought for a moment I was being visited by an angel.”



Wonder Girl smiled faintly, trying to soften the moment. “Ha Ha, its ok, and trust me, I am no angel. But I do apologize again for scaring you, as I didn’t mean to intrude.”



She placed the last Bible into his arms and looked up at him.



“But I am hoping maybe you can help me? I’m looking for someone,” she said. “Something happened at the Moreno mansion sometime in the last week or two. Do you know what happened there?”



The priest hesitated—then nodded slowly.



“Y-yes,” he said quietly. “I… I do.”



Wonder Girl’s posture sharpened instantly. “Please tell me.”



The priest swallowed.



“I-I was leaving there the other night,” he began, “when I was invited by Professor Moreno to come over and bless the dinner he was hosting for his special guests. Professor Moreno had two people visiting from America.”



Wonder Girl leaned in slightly, intense. “Go on.”



“I came,” the priest said, “and blessed the dinner and everyone in attendance. Then I left shortly after dinner was over.”



He paused, eyes distant as if reliving it.



“As I was walking away, I heard yelling—followed by a commotion. Not sure what was happening, and just in case maybe it was something that might be related to Colombian drug cartels since they smuggle drugs in the nearby valley, I hid in the bushes. Since it was dark outside, I did not know what was happening until my eyes adjusted to the night.”



Wonder Girl’s jaw tightened. “And what did you see?”



The priest took a slow breath.



“From the bushes,” he said, “I could make out one of the American visitors I met at the dinner—a tall man who I was told is in the United States Army—and Professor Moreno’s daughter, Lydia.”



Wonder Girl’s mind snapped immediately, "Steve!!!"



“The tall man,” she said, voice low. “Was his name Major Steve Trevor?”



The priest nodded.



“I saw him try to fight to protect Lydia,” the priest continued, “but he was overpowered by the group of men attacking them.”



Wonder Girl’s fists tightened at her sides.



“You said the men might be Colombian, were they speaking in another language?” She prompted, voice sharper now.



The priest nodded again, grim. “Yes. The men… they were speaking, b-but not in Spanish—” He hesitated. “I-I think it was German.”



Wonder Girl’s mind cried out: “German?... Nazis!!! That must be who is behind Diana and Steve's disappearance. But how could they have defeated and captured Diana? Fausta Grables maybe? She knew more about Diana than anyone. But Diana told me Fausta died during Diana's escape from the Nazis.”



She forced herself to breathe, and continue hearing out the priest.



“And then?” she demanded.



The priest continued, voice low and haunted.



“Then a moment later,” he said, “as the group of men were carrying the American man and Lydia away… a woman came running to their aid.”



Wonder Girl’s heart lurched.



“The woman I saw,” the priest said, “was not the same American woman wearing glasses whom I met at the dinner—but a woman more similar to you.”



He swallowed, then added the detail that struck like lightning:



“This woman was dressed in the same colors as you, but her outfit resembled the United States American flag.”



Wonder Girl’s thoughts immediately cried out in her mind, recognizing who the priest was describing:



“Diana!!!”



She didn’t even realize she’d stepped closer until she was standing directly in front of him.



“That woman,” Wonder Girl said, voice trembling with urgency, “ she is called Wonder Woman. She is also my sister. And she is who I am here to find, and hopefully also find Major Trevor.”



The priest’s eyes widened. “Y-your sister???”



Wonder Girl nodded hard. “Yes. Please, please tell me what happened to her?”



The priest’s voice softened, thick with disbelief and fear.



“S-she fought some of the men,” he said, “A-and… I-I know how this sounds—” He shook his head. “But she displayed incredible and almost unbelievable feats of strength. E-even as a man of God, if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.”



Wonder Girl’s throat tightened. “Yep. That’s her, that's my sister.”



The priest continued.



“While she was occupied fighting one of the men taking Lydia,” he said, “two more men arrived. They ambushed her from behind.”



Wonder Girl’s breath caught.



“I could not see from my vantage point what they were doing,” the priest admitted. “But after a brief moment… the woman I observed was felled somehow.”



Wonder Girl’s stomach dropped.



Then the priest finished the image like a knife twisting.



“I watched,” he said quietly, “As the group of men recovered, regrouped, and walked off carrying the tall American, Lydia… and the third woman dressed like a flag… to a nearby truck.”



Wonder Girl was thinking: “Nooo, I can't believe it, the Nazis captured Diana. I have to find out where they took her and rescue her.”



Her voice came out strained. “D-did you see the truck?”



“No,” the priest said. “I didn’t see it. But I could hear—” he frowned, searching for the right word—“it was a large vehicle. I assume it was a truck.”



Wonder Girl forced herself to keep moving forward, to keep doing something instead of drowning in panic.



“Do you have any idea where they maybe went?” she asked.



The priest hesitated, then nodded.



“I have heard of a large villa near the water,” he said. “Purchased some months ago by a European company. The locals say it is very private. Many armed men protect this place.”



Wonder Girl’s eyes narrowed. “Are the men guarding the place locals?”



The priest shook his head. “No. The men guarding it are not locals. European men. many with blonde or light hair, and light colored eyes. Speaking another language.” He looked up at her. “Quite possibly also maybe speaking German.”



Wonder Girl’s pulse hammered.



“That’s it,” she said. “That has to be it.”



She stepped closer.



“I have no right to ask this of you. But can you please take me there?” she asked. “It’s very important. My sister’s life, as well as Major Trevor's and Lydia's lives might depend on it.”



The priest’s expression tightened with worry.



He raised a hand slightly, as if to stop her—not physically, but morally.



“I… I am hesitant,” he admitted. “T-there might be many of them. It could be dangerous. For both of us.”



His gaze flicked over her—young, bright, earnest.



“And you... you look like such a nice young girl,” he said softly. “I-I would not want anything bad to happen to you, and as a man of God I cannot take a life.”



Wonder Girl’s face softened, just a little.



Then she walked over to the altar.



It was large—heavy concrete, it looks like it hasn't moved in years, probably because of its size and weight.



Wonder Girl squatted down next to the altar, fingers curling around the sides.



Then Wonder Girl stood up.



And when she did, the altar rose with her, held in her hands as if it weighed nothing at all.



The sound of stone shifting echoed through the church as Wonder Girl gently lowered the altar back into place, as if setting down a book.



Wonder Girl turned back toward the priest with an innocent, playful grin.



“Ha Ha, don’t you worry about me. I think I just demonstrated I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You just leave those bad guys to me.”



The priest stood there, eyes wide.



His mouth opened slightly—astonished.



“I-I suppose you are just like your sister after all,” he said, voice wavering with awe, and yet with a hint of something else.



“Please,” she said, calmer now. “Please take me there.”



The priest nodded slowly.



“A-alright,” he said. “I will show you.”



They departed the church.



Outside, the horse waited.



Wonder Girl mounted first. The priest climbed up behind her, settling close, hands lightly holding on as the horse began to gallop through the countryside.



Wind rushed past them. The world blurred into greens and golds and distant blue mountains.



A short while later, as the landscape shifted and the air grew sharper with proximity to water, the priest leaned closer.



“We are nearing it,” he said. “The villa.”



Wonder Girl’s eyes fixed on the horizon.



She spoke with controlled confidence, trying to steady herself—and him as the she sensed the priest was tense, which she assumed was a combination of the priest being afraid of the danger, maybe nervous.



“It's ok, please don’t worry,” she told him. “You're safe with me, I won't let nothing happen to you.”



She tightened her grip on the reins.



“Besides... surprise is on our side,” she gallantly said. “And they will never suspect or know what hit them.”



Behind her, the priest replied—but his voice sounded different.



Not in his Spanish accent like before... but in a heavy German accent:



“Aahh mein Fraulein,I could not agree more, ja?”



For half a second, Wonder Girl didn’t understand what she had heard...



“What???”



She barely had time to finish the word.



Suddenly the priest's hand around Wonder Girl's waist slides away, and with it in his grip, Wonder Girl's golden magic belt was taken off of her waist—torn away with brutal efficiency by the priest’s hand, yanked backward and up as if ripping the belt away as if he had just stolen the thunderbolt from Zeus himself.



Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, her entire body tensed.



Her belt’s absence was immediate.



Not gradual.



Not fading.



Instant.



A wave of weakness washed over Wonder Girl so fast it stole the air from her lungs, which is unfortunate for her, as at the same time she gasps, the priest's other hand came around Wonder Girl's face and clamped a chloroform-soaked cloth firmly over her nose and mouth.



Wonder Girl’s body jolted.



Her back arched.



Her legs spasmed against the horse’s movement.



She tried to twist—tried to throw an elbow—tried to turn her face away—but the cloth sealed tight, suffocating.



Her voice was smothered into a panicked, muffled cry:



“Mmmpphh!!!”



She wanted to claw at his wrist and pull his hand away but they were still at full gallop she was tried to use the reins to slow or stop the horse, but her hands suddenly felt wrong—heavy, weaker, slower, unresponsive, as if her muscles had forgotten how to obey.



Her mind screamed, sharp and terrified:



“NO... h-he took my Magic Belt... a-away from paradise island...



I-I'm... I'm powerless without it!!!”



The realization was physical. Like stepping off a cliff and discovering there was no ground.



Her heart pounded violently. Her vision began to swim at the edges.



The horse kept galloping, hooves thudding rhythmically, a cruel normalcy beneath her unraveling body.



She tried to suck air around the cloth, but instead breathed the fumes of the sedative sapping what little resistance remained in her body.



The chloroform filled her lungs. The chemical burn hit the back of her throat.



Her eyes watered instantly. Her stomach lurched.



Her head felt light, then unbearably heavy.



She fought—pure instinct, raw terror, panic.



She tried to rise in the saddle, to throw her weight, to unseat him.



But without the belt, her power was gone.



She was athletic for a young woman, yes—trained, experienced, determined—but she was no longer blessed with her Amazonian strength that is her's by birthright.



Instead now... Wonder Girl was a normal girl, on a galloping horse, with a vile man behind her, holding a cloth over her face that is robbing her of what few precious moments of conscious thought remain.



The priest’s voice—no... the Nazi’s voice—came close to her ear, the irony of it, the Nazi speaking calm as if giving a confession.



““Shhh… just breathe it in, Fraulein. Slowly now. There is no need to struggle anymore.”



He leaned closer, his voice calm, almost indulgent, as if sharing a confidence rather than condemning her.



“When I first met you, although dressed similarly, I was not so certain. You appeared only as a girl—brave, earnest, reckless.” A faint smile touched his words. “But then you told me who you were. The mighty Wonder Woman’s sister. And in that moment, you confirmed everything I needed to know.”



His grip tightened, unwavering.



“If you can still hear me in there, I am sure you must be curious how I knew your weakness? Let me tell you a tale. After your sister’s capture, when she first awakened, we were… surprised to say the least. According to every report, every witness, your sister should have shattered her bonds as if they were paper and tore the heavens asunder. Yet... she did not. She strained. She struggled. She failed.” He let out a soft, thoughtful breath. “She remained poised and defiant, of course. Proud. But we still wondered why and where had her vaunted power disappeared to?”



The horse thundered on beneath them. His voice remained steady.



“So we considered and theorized it might have to do with what had been taken from her during her capture. As anyone would, we removed her adornments—her tiara, her bracelets, her belt, and her renowned lasso. Nothing more than standard procedure when incarcerating a prisoner.” A pause. Deliberate.



He lowered his voice, savoring the memory.



““But the question still lingered... why did she remain weak?” So since it was known to be an effective interrogator, we used her own exalted lasso on your sister. Such an ironic instrument—truth dragged from a goddess by her own hand.”



His tone sharpened. “And she told us. She confirmed and identified the missing piece oof the puzzle herself. Her Magic Belt—the source and conduit of her legendary strength, that apparently does not cross over and reside within her anytime she leaves your mythical home of this 'Paradise Island'.”



Wonder Girl’s few last waking breaths hitched beneath the cloth.



The Nazi continued, “I assumed then the same must be true for you. And as I observed your helplessness after I removed your 'Magic Belt' and watch as you fade now under the chloroform, I see I was correct.”



He pressed closer, ensuring she heard every word.



“But do not fret, Fraulein, as your bravado and failed rescue effort was not all for naught, as you shall soon be reunited with your sister. But not as her savior, but as her fellow prisoner.” His voice darkened with promise.



Wonder Girl, woozy, fading, barely manages to comprehend his revealing words to her, in her darkening mind she weakly protests as her world sways toward unconsciousness....



"N-no... y-you... f-fiend."



“And then, then after your brief family reunion... the two of you will travel with us to the Fatherland. There, we will take our time. We will study you. Study your sister. Study both your and her's genetics. The lineage you two share.” A final, satisfied breath. “Until we finally uncover the true secret of your Magic Belts, and use that power for The Reich.””



As he spoke, Wonder Girl’s mind tried to process the horror of it—Diana bound, interrogated, her truth dragged out of her by her own lasso. Both her and Diana now helpless... powerless... prisoners.



Her chest tightened. Her throat worked uselessly under the cloth.



Her eyes went wide with disbelief, then glassy with panic, then fluttered as her brain began to lose the fight against chemistry.



Her body trembled.



Her hands weakened.



Her grip on the reins loosened.



A cold, crushing shame flooded her, "I-I c-came to s-save her…"



Wonder Girl's final thoughts came out broken, barely formed, half-thought, half-whisper inside her collapsing mind...



“I-I'm... s-so... s-sorry Diana... I-I-I failed you!!!”

[jca5646]

For those "not in the know", this image(s) is a throwback and blast from the past homage to the original Super Friends cartoon that used to air every Saturday morning waaaaaaaay back in the day, specifically to the characters of Wonder Woman, Wendy, and (Ha Ha, without his consent) Wendy's brother Marvin. The story below is longer than my usual entries, but please take the time to read it as I think some of you will find it quite a good read, and remember... "Villains Are Not Born, They Are Made". Enjoy!!!



Wonder Woman: A Victim of a Vendetta!!!



The world first met Wendy Harris as a headline.


TEEN HEROINE ASSISTS SUPER FRIENDS IN MULTI-STATE CRIME RING.

“WONDER WOMAN PRAISES YOUNG INVESTIGATOR AS KEY FACTOR IN UNCOVERING THE OPERATION AND ITS FINANCIERS.”


The public saw a bright smile, a clean blouse, and a young person rife with potential. They assumed she was a tagalong.


They never saw the work she put in or the worthy contributions made by her.


They never saw Wendy hunched over file boxes until her wrists ached from flipping pages. Never saw her reading witness statements or forensic reports at dawn, marking patterns in ink, turning chaos into structure. Never heard Batman’s low voice when she walked into the Watchtower briefing room, speaking like someone twice her age:


“The counterfeit bonds are moving through three charities. Same fake notary stamp and same event organizer tied to all three, using the same truck fleet and keeping the same movement schedule.”


Batman didn’t smile (he never smiled), but he recognizes hard work, perseverance, dedication, and innate talent. But he subtly nodded once; some would not notice or acknowledge it for anything, but Wendy knew for Batman, it was the closest to a verbal compliment and took it as a gesture of respect.


Superman always acted like a gentleman and called her “Ms. Harris,” like she was already a professional.


Flash teased her—"Wendy, do you sleep? Blink twice if you need rescuing.”

Green Lantern called her “kid” until the day she corrected his math out loud during a mission briefing and made him laugh in surprise.


And Wonder Woman…


Wonder Woman always made space and time for her.


Not as a team mascot or as a “cute kid.” Not as an aide or assistant either, to be abused or taken advantage of for their willingness to help and, more importantly, always try to do the right thing. More importantly, as the second woman at the table, in a world that treated women either like icons or ornaments, Wonder Woman felt she deserved a voice and seat at the table.


During her time with the Super Friends, Wendy never learned the heroes’ secret identities.


Not Superman’s. Not Batman’s. Not Flash’s. Not Green Lantern’s.


She wasn’t naïve. She knew they had lives. She respected the boundaries they set and was just happy and content they could call her "friend."


But Wonder Woman was different.


Wonder Woman would sometimes come down from the myths and legends people thought of her and sit with Wendy as if she were simply… another normal woman, with the same or similar burdens and responsibilities, and being on a team full of high-testosterone males… sometimes a shared loneliness and the yearning for companionship with another female friend.


There were nights when the Watchtower was quiet and the others were gone—Batman chasing some grim escapee from Arkham, Superman hearing a cry half a world away amidst a natural disaster, Flash in motion stopping and rounding up bank robbers while en route to pick up dinner from his mystery girlfriend's favorite Italian restaurant in Italy, and Lantern off-world performing double duty with the Green Lantern Corps.


Wendy would be in the Watchtowers, the observation bay, looking down at Earth like it was a wound she couldn’t stitch.


Wonder Woman would come to stand beside her, hands folded behind her back, posture perfect even in stillness.


“You stare at the world as if it’s your case,” Wonder Woman said once, voice gentle.


Wendy swallowed. “It is. Isn’t it? I mean, you and the others fight to save and protect it all the time, but most of you come from something larger than life and extraordinary. Me? I'm just a girl trying to keep up with a pantheon of gods. I can't afford any mistakes, so I have to work at it twice as hard and check everything three times over.”


A faint smile. “Wendy, you have the mind of a genius and the heart of a warrior.”


Wendy turned to her. “You’re the warrior. I mean, behind Superman, you're the next powerhouse on the team in terms of raw strength.”


Wonder Woman’s eyes softened with a smirk as if alluding to something. “Hmmm, well... not always.”


Wendy blinked. “Huh? What do you mean?”


Wonder Woman didn’t answer right away. Instead, she touched the gold girdle-style belt at her waist—just a brief, unconscious gesture.


Wendy’s gaze followed it.


Then Wonder Woman spoke quietly, as if she were granting a confession.


“Yes, I was gifted with strength that exceeded even that of my Amazon sisters, including my mother. But when I am away from Themyscira, or as we like to nickname it, "Paradise Island," because of an ancient pact among all the different mythical pantheons, our power and might cannot cross over into the world of man… but it can be channeled, so you see this I wear here is not only armor, it acts as a conduit," she said. “It is… the source of my Amazon strength.”


Wendy stared, shocked.


Wonder Woman held Wendy’s eyes. “I hope you do understand why I feel comfortable telling you that.”


Wendy’s voice came out small. “B-Because you trust me...?”


“Yes. Yes, Wendy, because I do trust you, and because I consider us friends. With what you do here among us and what you contribute to the team, I find you to be a remarkable young lady, and one I am happy and glad to consider a trusted confidante. And please, Wendy, when it's just us "girls"... you can call me Diana."


Wendy, flattered, smiled and nodded once, solemn and agreeable as a vow.


“I won’t tell anyone or betray your trust and faith in me, Diana. Ever.”


Wonder Woman reached out and gave her a friendly hug—firm and reassuring.


“I know Wendy, I know. You do us all proud with your presence here.”


That bonding moment branded itself into Wendy’s mind like a secret scripture.

Time ultimately passed, and eventually Wendy’s years with the Super Friends ended the way most good things end.


With a door closing and a new one opening.


High school graduation came. College acceptance letters were flowing in. Scholarships are being offered. The pressure of “a real young adult life” beginning to take shape.


On her last day, the Watchtower felt colder than usual despite the surprise going-away party thrown for Wendy by the Super Friends heroes themselves.


Flash hugged her too hard. “Don’t become a boring grown-up.”


Green Lantern saluted theatrically. “Call us if you need a ride to class.”


Superman thanked her—earnest, direct. “I want you to know you’ve made a difference here, and I am confident you will continue on to do great things.”


Batman simply said, “You did here what few your age, let alone in their lifetime, could have hoped to accomplish. You have already demonstrated what a normal human being in an extraordinary world is capable of striving to achieve and become if they possess the will and fortitude to pursue it. Good luck.”


Wonder Woman walked Wendy to the transport. Not a speech. Not a ceremony.


Just the two of them.


Wendy tried to smile, holding back tears. “I-I’ll be back, or I-I can come visit.”


Wonder Woman’s gaze held hers. “Wendy, your whole life still lies ahead of you, and you will be what you choose. You will be sorely missed around here, but I look forward to seeing what you eventually become.”


Wendy hesitated. “I—I can't thank you enough for being my 'big sister' during my time here… I'm going to miss you most, Diana.”


Wonder Woman’s mouth tightened, something like sadness behind her calm.


“I miss you already, my friend, and you haven't even left yet, and if you ever need me, wherever you go, do, or become... I'll be there for you. Goodbye, Wendy Harris, and may your God and all the gods watch over and protect you.”


Wendy nodded, swallowing the ache as tears rolled down her face.

"Goodbye, Diana, and thank you."


Then Wendy entered the transporter and literally vanished from the Watchtower to beam back to the planet Earth below and begin a new chapter in her life.


And the world began doing what it always did.

Life moved on.


College was a challenging grindstone.


Wendy didn’t make it easier on her by picking a path.


She chose two paths to pursue simultaneously.


Law. Medicine.


A double major that made professors blink and college advisors warn her she’d burn out.


But Wendy didn’t burn out; she turned what the naysayers were warning her about and used it as fuel for motivation to do what others doubted she could succeed at.


She turned stress and fear into structural pillars and that structure into survival and perseverance.


She studied contracts and constitutional law by day and anatomy and trauma procedure by night and squeezed in between her scholarship spot on the university's varsity gymnastics team and martial arts team (she was a naturally gifted athlete, and her years of hand-to-hand training with Batman and Wonder Woman proved invaluable in helping her team win the gold in all their competition meets). Like most college goers, Wendy survived on caffeine, energy drinks, spite, and a sense of mission that never allowed her to quit.


She had no time for parties despite always being invited to them.


No time for enjoying being young, she had her goals set and wanted to accomplish them.


Every so often, when she came up for air—at a charity dinner, a campus event, a lecture, or even a frat party—someone would approach her with bright eyes.


“Hi. You're Wendy, right? Wendy Harris? Hey, so I heard you used to work with them, right? I mean, the Super Friends, right?”

Wendy kindly replies, "Ummm, yes, that's right. Seems like it was a lifetime ago."


At first it was flattering.


But over time and as the months and years passed... it started to become annoying... it became exhausting.


Especially when men would approach her.


When men would strike up a conversation with her, she would quickly realize it wasn't her they were interested in asking about or wanting to get to know... it was always to talk to her seeking insight about another woman, more specifically... Wonder Woman.


“What’s she like in person?”

“Is she as perfect as she looks?"

"Her breasts are so large and perfect... are they real or implants?"

“Is the outfit real?”

“Does she—” (a pause, a grin) “—wear it all the time... even when she's in bed?”

“What’s her body like up close? Does she work out to maintain that phat ass?”

“Is she… you know… as incredible under the covers as everyone says?”


Wendy would smile politely and do her best to redirect and change the focus and topic of the conversations.


“For an alien, Superman is more kind, gracious, and humane than you’d expect.”

“I—I don't really know or can comment... Batman is ummm… very private.”

“Flash never stops talking.”


They’d wave it off.


“No, that's all good and well, but—Wonder Woman is where it's at. Come on. You must know everything about her; there must be something you can share.”


Wendy began to feel something sour bloom inside her.


Not jealousy.


Not hatred.


Something worse:


Erasure. Non-Existence.


She was her own person, with her own identity, her own achievements, building her own future, and making her own sacrifices.


But to those she seemed to attract to or around her, she was still just the girl who stood behind the heroes.


A footnote.


Despite the less than ideal social impact of it, Wendy graduated with honors and top of her class. The Super Friends wanted to attend to support, congratulate, and mark the momentous occasion, but Wendy graciously declined and asked them not to so that their presence would not overshadow all the other hardworking students there, as if they showed up, the ceremony would become about them and not all the hardworking students with friends and families in attendance there to celebrate their graduation day. They respected Wendy's request and respected the reason why, but they never suspected it was more for Wendy than the other students in attendance... she wanted to have at least one thing that was all her own and not be co-shared or co-opted by the Super Friends.


After graduation Wendy committed to studying and finishing grad school and her Ph.D.

During that time of postgraduate studies, Wendy passed the bar exam.


Then Wendy completed her internship and passed the medical boards, granting her a medical license.


Two victories that should have felt like fireworks.

Instead, they felt like a quiet light no one bothered to see or witness. Even her brother was never there to share in the accolades, as he was always gone and training with the US Olympic Track and Field team. Marvin had proved, in addition to always running and using his mouth, he was quite adept at running on his legs very well, which earned him his place on the Olympic team.

She had wanted to invite the Super Friends, especially Diana, but then decided against it, thinking their being there would just bring more chaos than comfort in such a momentous goal realized.


So Wendy did what Wendy did best: she threw herself into work—because work was the one place she still had control and could feel the outcome was because of her, not the stigma of the heroes.


Wendy helped found Horizon Mercy Initiative, a charitable nonprofit that combined legal advocacy with emergency medicine and homelessness. Wrongful conviction or eviction cases. Refugee clinics. Disaster response (natural or via collateral damage from meta-human battles). Medical malpractice suits against corrupt providers. Human rights litigation.


It was perfect.


She was a lawyer and a surgeon.


She could serve and help people in more ways than one.


She could matter, make a difference.


And she did.


Wendy became the engine and driving force behind the Horizon Mercy Initiative.


She won cases no one expected her to win against high-profile, highly funded Fortune 500 legal teams. Performed surgeries in makeshift clinics when helicopters couldn’t land or conditions on the ground couldn't support permanent long-term medical facilities. Negotiated releases of wrongfully convicted inmates. Exposed corruption, politically or financially motivated. Built long-term and self-sustaining urban medical and legal support programs.


Her staff admired her and would sacrifice weekends and holidays to stand and fight with her in the courtroom or assist her in the operating room.


Clients cried when she entered the room, knowing she was so effective in helping those in need.


But donors?


Donors always seemed to line up and contribute to the Horizon Mercy Initiative, but it always felt more because they were interested in a story more than the truth of what the Horizon Mercy Initiative's mission is and what it was actually accomplishing for the world at large.


At galas, people still approached her with the same bright-eyed hunger.


“Hello, I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You're Wendy Harris, right? Is it true you worked with them?”


And then—always—inevitably:


“You worked closely with Wonder Woman?”


Some were coy about it, and some didn’t even try to hide it sometimes.


A donor’s wife once leaned in and whispered conspiratorially:


“Between us… is she really as… curvy as she looks? I'm thinking of asking my plastic surgeon to give me the 'Amazon look.'”


Wendy’s smile froze.


Her jaw tightened.


She excused herself and went to the restroom and stared at her reflection until her head stopped shaking...

"Always the same, it never ends. I am not a welcome mat in a doorway," she thought. "I am a person. Flesh and blood. With a soul. Why can't they see what I AM instead of who I WAS? "


That thought became stuck in her head like a CD on repeat.


It stayed in her mind, aching, invisible, and constant.


Then for a while, that seemed to finally change and go away when Elliot Vance arrived.


Elliot was who Wendy brought on to be vice president of the Horizon Mercy Initiative—a good-looking, charismatic, intelligent man who spoke about selfless service feeling equally as rewarding and being just as important as profit, and unlike so many other vain men in the world... he actually meant it.


He treated Wendy like an equal.


He listened.


He laughed at her witty humor.


They spent late nights reviewing case files and planning strategy. He learned her coffee order. She learned how he took his tea. He touched her hand once while passing a folder and didn’t pull away too quickly.


The romance didn’t explode.


It grew. Blossomed.


Slow, careful, adult.


With the Super Friends connection always overshadowing everything, Wendy hadn’t let herself want or get involved with anyone in years.


But with Elliot, she did, and more so... she felt like he might finally be the one.

One year later, Wendy was having the time of her life. Her organization, Horizon, prepared for its five-year anniversary celebration. The organization was nominated for a major national award recognizing their many successes in providing critical legal and medical services to so many less fortunate or caught up in circumstances beyond their control, where everyone gave up on them, but not Horizon, not Wendy. Everything was coming together.

And then... Elliot had invited Wendy to dinner to discuss the way forward for the awards ceremony. But Wendy thinks Elliot has an ulterior motive, and one she has been waiting for. Wendy thinks this is it; tonight is going to be the night.


A cozy restaurant. Candlelight. The kind of place that whispered milestones.


Wendy wore a dress she hadn’t worn since law school. She even let herself hope—quietly, privately—that this was what it felt like to finally be chosen.


All night, Elliot looked nervous.


Wendy’s heart pounded.


"Oh my god, Elliot looks so out of character tonight; he seems beside himself with nervousness. I... I think tonight he is going to ask me the big question." She thought, giddy inside, dizzy with disbelief at the moment every little girl has probably imagined and dreamt of.

After everything… after all these years… someone wants me for me.


Elliot cleared his throat.

"Wendy, you and I have managed to accomplish a lot together in this last year. All the people we have helped or saved, and now capping it off with the award, I almost think it can't get any better... almost."

Wendy was glowing listening to Elliot; she hung on every word, wondering how it will happen. She was so excited.

Then Elliot reached into his jacket pocket.


Wendy’s breath stopped. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god... this is it; it's finally happening."


Then Elliot said, gently, carefully:


“Wendy… I want to ask you something. Before you hear what I have to say, just know I feel like this has been a long time coming and could be a game changer for both of us.”


Wendy was doing all she could to keep it together; she was overflowing with anticipation, so much so she was imagining what and how he would ask it.


“Yes, Elliot? We have been through so much together and have grown from it in ways I never imagined,” she whispered.


Elliot smiled—apologetic, hopeful, with a hint of worried, which Wendy thinks is understandable given the weight of what he is preparing to ask.


“You’re the only one I know who could make this happen.” He swallowed. Then he pulled his hand out of his jacket. Wendy felt like she was going to faint right there and then. But as Elliot's hand came into view, it wasn't a small jewelry box he held; instead, he held and placed on the table a colored flyer, then he spoke... "Wendy, this award gala is so big and important for our company; I was sitting around when it hit me... why don't you ask Wonder Woman to come and be the guest speaker and present us with the award? With her confirmed in attendance, we can raise the pricing on the seating and make a pretty penny, as I am sure we can charge maybe double what we are charging now, as I am sure everyone will pay an arm and a leg to sit in the first few rows to be able to glimpse and see Wonder Woman live and in person. I know you mentioned its been awhile, but I thought since you had that special relationship with the Super Friends, and Wonder Woman, you can ask her to come? So... what do you think?”


The world had tilted, and Wendy's heart broke right then and there.


Wendy’s smile held for exactly one second before it became a mask, and she fought back the tears building up inside.


"Oh... Oh my," she said softly, "You... You were right, Elliot... that IS a game changer."


Elliot kept going, ranting on about filling the venue to capacity with Wonder Woman in attendance, talking about potential photo ops for donors afterward, and on and on and on he went... oblivious to the fracture he just created in the young woman sitting across from him.


“It would be incredible, Wendy. Think about it. The press would—”


Wendy’s ears rang.


She heard only one truth beneath his words:


Even now… you are still just the "go-between."


She tried her best to keep it together and smiled. She nodded as if in agreement.


“I... I haven't spoken to her in a long time, but I’ll... I'll see what I can do, Elliot.”


Elliot relaxed, relieved.


Wendy then excused herself—“I’m sorry, Elliot, I... I need to go... I'm not feeling well.”


Elliot wished her to feel better, and then Wendy left.


And when she stepped outside into the cold air, tears running down her beautiful yet saddened face, Wendy felt something inside her finally snap and decide... no more.


NO MORE.


She went home and stared at the wall for hours.


Then she stood, walked to her desk, and began writing.


A plan.

Then a list.

Names. Places. Patterns.

Resources.

Plans.


Her hands were steady.


Her face was calm.


But her heart was now ice.


The idea wasn’t born out of insanity.


It was born in the moment Wendy Harris decided she would never be considered non-existent or an afterthought ever again.

Two years pass.


We now find ourselves in a military aircraft hangar.


Harsh overhead lights keep it bright and well lit. Cold reflections on polished concrete. The silhouette of massive transport planes like sleeping beasts.


The air smelled like fuel and metal.

Then a striking figure appears and enters the hangar.


Wonder Woman.

She has come alone.


The call received had been precise, professional, and urgent—an encrypted military channel reporting a breach in a restricted aircraft hangar, anomalous movement triggering internal sensors but no visible intruder on external surveillance. The message carried the signature cadence of authenticity: correct codes, proper routing, no panic. Just enough irregularity to demand her presence.


"All seems in order and nothing is amiss so far," she had thought as she descended through the hangar’s open bay doors. "But it is too quiet."


Then, without warning, the large hangar doors sealed behind her with a thunderous hydraulic finality, steel locking steel. Overhead lights flared to full brightness, flooding the cavernous space in unforgiving white. The echoes of her boots against polished concrete rolled outward, unanswered.


She straightened, her warrior senses flaring, her hands instinctively brushing her bracers, readying herself.


“Show yourself,” Wonder Woman said, voice calm but edged.


The answer Wonder Woman sought came not in words, but in motion.


Then out of nowhere something hit her... something big and very strong.


The impact was bone-shattering—an enormous force slamming into her side, driving her across the hangar floor in a violent spray of sparks and fractured concrete. She rolled, came up fast, and raised her bracers just in time to intercept a second blow that would have crushed her skull.


The brute before her was massive and unusually fast for someone their size. Taller than most men. Shoulders like piled stone. His movements were blunt and direct—no feints, no hesitation. Just power.


But Wonder Woman regrouped, stood her ground, and met him head-on.


Their clash echoed through the hangar like artillery fire.


He swung with both arms, hammering downward. She crossed her bracers, metal screaming as they absorbed the impact, shockwaves rattling her bones. She countered with a driving knee to his midsection that would have folded a normal man in half.


He barely grunted.


She twisted, striking again—her fist to his jaw, elbow to throat, and heel to knee. Years of training flowed through her movements, each strike precise, efficient, and lethal if needed. She fought smarter and faster, exploiting angles, using momentum, and letting his brute strength work against him while she tried to wear him down and search for a weak point she might be able to exploit and end their fisticuffs before something of great importance in the hangar became collateral damage.


But this brute was more than meets the eye, as while he withstood the devastating strikes from Wonder Woman, he did not seem to tire, while she herself was beginning to feel slightly worn down as the battle continued.


The monster of a man absorbed punishment that should have shattered muscle and snapped bone. He rose from blows that would have dropped gods. When Wonder Woman sent him crashing into the fuselage of a transport plane, denting steel, he clawed his way free with a low, animal sound and came at her again.


"He doesn’t seem to feel any pain," Wonder Woman realized.


They collided again—her strength against his mass. She was driven back, boots gouging furrows into the concrete. She caught his wrists mid-swing, muscles straining, teeth clenched as she forced his arms apart.


For a moment—just a moment—Wonder Woman looked like she had finally gained a slight advantage over him, thinking the tide of their conflict was turning in her favor as she began to think she had him.


With a roar, Wonder Woman wrenched him off balance, pivoted, and hurled his dense body across the hangar. He crashed through stacked cargo crates, wood and metal exploding outward. For the moment he lay still, and Wonder Woman hoped it was finally over.


Her chest heaved. Sweat slicked her skin beneath the armor. Her heart pounded, adrenaline singing in her veins.


Now, she thought, "Let me check and see what his condition is, but I think he is down for the count. I was almost beginning to worry he would not go down despite whatever I threw at him."


She advanced cautiously, then bent over to inspect the unconscious man.

As she stood looking down at him, she could not help the strange thought she had: "Hmmm, there is something about this man that is bugging me, but for the life of me I cannot remember or guess what it is."


Wonder Woman was deep in thought trying to recall what it is about the felled man that vexes her so... and that was when it happened.


Something tugged at her waist.


Not a blow. Not an impact.


But a deliberate, practiced motion.


Her breath caught.


Before Wonder Woman could turn, she felt it slide away from her slender waist—then followed by a sudden absence, the weight she had worn and been accustomed to for so long that it had just become part of her sense of self was now gone...


"GASP!!! NO... MY MAGIC BELT!!!"


Her Amazon strength bled out of her body in an instant.


Her knees buckled.


Her vision swam.


It felt like gravity had doubled, like her muscles had forgotten who they were. The world tilted violently as she spun around—


—and found herself face-to-face with a woman in white, holding Wonder Woman's golden girdle loosely in one gloved hand, its slack ends dangling like a severed lifeline.


The mysterious woman smiled.


And to make matters worse, the brute behind Wonder Woman started to move and recover from his earlier defeat.


Before Wonder Woman could react—before her mind could fathom the loss around her waist—massive arms wrapped around her torso from behind, grabbing and placing her arms tight against her sides, arm-locking them in place. Wonder Woman's body screamed in protest, but without her magic belt, her limbs were now only as strong as a normal mortal woman's and lacked the necessary strength to break free.


She gasped, panic blooming for the first time.

"Uunngghh, l-let go of me!"


Her heart hammered. Her mind reeled.


"Must try and break free, but without my magic belt... I'm completely powerless."


The hangar was sealed. Silent. Empty. No one was coming.


Wonder Woman’s boots scraped the floor as she fought—hard, furious, desperate.


But her struggle against the monstrous man was futile.


Her arms were pinned uselessly beneath a massive arm holding them tight and immobile. She wanted to lift them, to reach out and reclaim what was hers—but she couldn’t.


The brute behind her held her like a vise.


Her chest heaved.


She twisted, muscles straining, teeth clenched.


Move. Move. MOVE.


Wonder Woman just stood there... helpless... with her eyes transfixed on her belt dangling from this unknown woman’s gloved hand.


Gold. Rigid. Unfastened. Slack ends hanging loose.


Like a trophy.


Wonder Woman’s breath caught.


“Who… Who are you???” she whispered, voice rough. “What is the meaning of this? I don't think you understand the consequences of your actions here.”


The woman in white smiled slowly.


“Oh...” she said. “I think I understand it better than you or anyone else ever understood me.”


Wonder Woman stared at her—at the black mask, the black hair in a bob-style cut, the white jumpsuit with orange trim, and the calm posture of someone who confidently believes they have already won.


Something in Wonder Woman's chest clenched as the woman's words cut her deep.


"I-I know that voice. B-but it can't be. It couldn't be... No... It's not possible."


“W-Wendy?” Wonder Woman breathed. “Wendy Harris???”


The woman's face glowed as her smile sharpened.


The hangar lights made her blue eyes look like polished glass as she spoke.


“NO! Not Wendy. You can call me... Vendetta.”


Wonder Woman’s heart dropped.


Inner monologue, Wonder Woman:

"No. No, no, no. Please let this be a sick joke. Please not her. Not the girl I—I watched grow up, that I shared many moments with and love like a sister."


“Wendy—please... please stop this,” Wonder Woman said, voice straining as the brute tightened his hold. “Whatever you think you’re doing—this... this isn’t you.”


Vendetta stepped closer to Wonder Woman, with Wonder Woman's magic belt dangling on her outstretched hand as if taunting Wonder Woman.


“Ha Ha Ha, oh Diana, believe me when I tell you, it is me,” she said softly. “A new version of me that would never have been born or existed if not for you.”


Wonder Woman swallowed, trying to control her breathing, trying to keep her mind steady and understand what Wendy is telling her.


“Please, Wendy, whatever has happened, whatever is going on, please, let me help you,” she said. “I can get you whatever help you need; we can deal with it together. We can—”


Vendetta laughed once, short and cold.


“Help?” she echoed. “You think I’m sick in the head or something. That I flipped the script like some Harley Quinn trollop?”


“No, that's not what I meant. I just—I'm just trying...” Wonder Woman said quickly, desperately, then pausing a moment, “It seems to me you're hurting; something has happened to you.”


Vendetta’s smile faded into something darker.


“I wasn’t and am not hurt, Diana,” she said. “I was erased, cast aside, never worth the time or attention I deserved or earned.”


Wonder Woman’s eyes shone with shock, grief, and a growing sadness, as despite Wendy's words, Wonder Woman could sense the pain in her voice.


“Wendy, I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted any of that for you, and you didn't deserve that.”


Vendetta’s voice rose for the first time.


“You never wanted anything for me!” she snapped. “You didn’t even notice what the world did. I stood beside gods. I sacrificed my youth to try and help make a difference and make the world a better place. After I left, I became a lawyer, and I also became a surgeon. I built a life around saving and helping people—”


Her gloved hand lifted the belt slightly, making the gold gleam.


“But none of that mattered. Time and time again, the only thing that mattered to people was asking me about the 'Super Friends,' never about me, 'Wendy Harris.' And worse, when men were involved—when men looked at or spoke with me... they only ever asked about you or saw you through me, like I was invisible.”


Wonder Woman’s voice cracked with a growing empathy for this young woman she cares for, hearing some of the uncalled treatment of her. “W-Wendy… I-I didn't know, and I am sorry you experienced that. You could have called me; I would have been there for you.”


Vendetta’s eyes hardened.


“I love you, Wendy,” Wonder Woman said quietly. “Like a sister loves the only sister she thinks she’ll ever have, and while I already have a little sister, Drusilla, I was so excited when you came along and I had found a new sister in you.”


Wonder Woman’s throat tightened.


“I'll just bet you loved me…” Vendetta continued, voice low, almost tender. “Like an owner loves a pet to pat on the head or have it do tricks for treats.”


Wonder Woman jerked in the grip of the large man still holding her, rage and pain flaring.


“What??? That’s not true, Wendy, and you know that!”


Vendetta stepped in close to Wonder Woman, her smile returning—slowly, becoming satisfied and pleased.


“Tell that to Elliot Vance,” she murmured.


Wonder Woman blinked. “Who? Who is that?”


Vendetta leaned back.


“He was my vice president of the company I founded and built,” she said, savoring it. “But we had become much more than a professional relationship. This was the man I thought was going to propose to me. The evening was perfect; the man looked into my eyes over candlelight, and then he 'popped the question.' …"

Wonder Woman asks, "He asked you to marry him?"

Vendetta coldly replies, "NO... he asked me to use my connection to invite you to our anniversary gala. Not ask me to spend the rest of his life with me. Not ask me to help make him happy for as long as he and I would live. No, he wanted you instead of me.”


Wonder Woman froze, just speechless and not even sure how and what to say to that, but can only imagine how devastating that must have been for Wendy.


Vendetta’s voice became a whisper.


“But I do have to credit Elliot, because I realized Wendy Harris will never be a woman taken seriously or one someone would see outside of being the Super Friends teen assistant, and worse, from under your shadow. So I reinvented myself, and thus... a Vendetta was born.”


She lifted the magic belt, letting it dangle like a hanging verdict.


Wonder Woman’s jaw trembled.


“I’m so sorry to hear all that, Wendy, and I don't disagree with you; you deserved so much better,” she said, and she meant it with everything in her. “I didn’t know you were dealing with all that. But this—this isn’t the answer.”


Vendetta’s eyes gleamed.


“It is the only answer that ever worked,” she said. "Heroes are defined by their villains."


Wonder Woman’s voice sharpened, pleading and furious.


“What—what about your brother?” she demanded. “What would Marvin think if he saw you like this? If he knew what you were doing here, don't you think this would hurt him to see you like this, doing this?”


For a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Vendetta's eyes.


Not emotion. Not regret.


Recognition to the name Wonder Woman mentioned.


Then the smile returned to Vendetta—deeper, crueler.


“Oh,” Vendetta said softly. “Trust me... Marvin knows.”


Wonder Woman’s breath hitched.


Vendetta turned her head slightly, her gaze sliding toward the brute restraining Wonder Woman.


“Who is it you think you were fighting and struggling to beat earlier?” Vendetta said. “You held your ground and just barely managed to beat him.”


Wonder Woman’s mind raced.


The brute’s mask. The harness. The scarred scalp.


His dead eyes.


A memory rose uninvited—two teenagers, Wendy and Marvin, laughing in the Watchtower hallway, sharing a soda, bright and alive.


Wonder Woman’s stomach turned.


“No… I-it can't be…” she whispered.


Vendetta smiled like she was opening a gift.


“Ohhh, but it is,” she said. “Diana, allow me to introduce you to the new and improved Marvin.”


Wonder Woman’s eyes widened, horror flooding her face.


The brute behind her breathed—heavy, slack, empty.


Wonder Woman’s inner monologue:

"Marvin…? That boy… that kind, gentle boy …"

Then Wonder Woman questions Wendy, "What happened to Marvin to end up this way?"


Vendetta’s voice stayed calm, clinical.


“During my time plotting and scheming, being the nosy person he is, Marvin eventually found out,” she said. “About my plans. About what I intended to do... to you.”


Vendetta lifted the magic belt again, the gold catching the light.


“He tried to stop me,” she continued. “He begged me. He said you were worth protecting. He said I’d destroy myself. Then he said he was going to warn you and the Super Friends, and that... I just could not allow.”


Vendetta’s smile sharpened.


“So I caught him before he could alert anyone.”


Wonder Woman’s voice broke.


“Wendy—How... how could you? What did you do to him?”


Vendetta’s eyes were cold.


“I told you earlier, I am a surgeon. I used the surgical skills I spent years mastering along with the medical resources from my company with experimental medicines,” she said. “These were the tools I learned and used when I still believed in helping people.”


Her gloved fingers tapped her black bracer lightly, as if punctuating a lecture.


“I specialized in multiple disciplines of surgery,” Vendetta said. “The brain, as you know, is… very sensitive and delicate. One wrong cut at the wrong lobe and a person becomes a shadow.”


Wonder Woman's head shook.


“You—no… to your own brother?!?”


Vendetta’s tone was almost bored.


“So I lobotomized him,” she said, as if it were an administrative decision. “Removed the part of him that resisted. The part that would have stood between me and what I deserved.”


Wonder Woman’s chest tightened.


Then Vendetta’s voice turned darker—almost proud.


“And then I improved on what remained of Marvin's mind, and especially his non-mental faculties.”


She gestured at Marvin’s hulking body.


“Chemical augmentation. Muscle stimulation. Psychological and physical conditioning. Slave training.”


Her eyes flicked to the chest harness.


“He’s quite obedient now,” Vendetta said. “He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t question. And let’s be real, Diana... how many times did we used to joke around about Marvin always talking too much and never knowing when to shut up... well now... Ha Ha, problem solved.”


Vendetta leaned in close, whispering so only Wonder Woman could hear:


“I'm sure, like all the men who came in my life, he always dreamt of holding Wonder Woman in his arms... Ha Ha Ha, and so now he does.”


Wonder Woman’s eyes filled with tears—rage, grief, horror, and sorrow.


Wonder Woman whispered. “You… you’ve been broken. Wendy—please. Release me and let me help you. I will help you get through this. I’ll do everything with you so you won't have to face it alone. I swear it.”


Vendetta smiled.


“I don’t want or need your help, Diana,” she said. “I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be less than the person you know yourself to be.”


Wonder Woman struggled again—arms pinned, body trapped, breath ragged.


Vendetta stepped back to admire her, then spoke.


"Look at you, Diana... Wonder Woman... The Most Powerful Woman in the World... absolutely helpless without your magic belt!!!"


And the girl she once loved like a sister—standing before her as the architect of her defeat and capture.


Vendetta’s inner monologue:

"That's it, Diana. Look at me now. No more hiding in your shadow. Say my name and fear it."


Wonder Woman’s inner monologue:

"I failed her. I should have been there for her. What is the point of saving the world if you cannot make it a better place for the ones you love? And now who knows what she has planned for me? And damn it, but she is right; without my Magic Belt, I'm powerless, and Marvin is much too strong and powerful for me to break free from his hold on me."

Vendetta lifted the magic belt slightly in her gloved hand—slack ends swinging, gold gleaming in the harsh hangar light.


“Thank you for trusting in me those many long years ago about the secret of your magic belt,” she said softly. “How ironic... I had to live feeling defeated and less than myself all those years because of you... and now... here you are in exactly the same place I was.”


Vendetta smiled as the hangar lights burned overhead like judgment, as the events that unfolded narrowed to one truth:


Wonder Woman could do nothing but stand there...

Held prisoner by a man who had once been a kind and gentle soul... unceremoniously turned into a monster by his own sister.


Powerless.

Helpless.

Defeated.


Wonder Woman's fate was no longer in her hands.


It was in Vendetta’s.


And Vendetta’s sly, triumphant smile promised that mercy was not on the schedule... oh no... in fact... Vendetta had more... much more in store to continue blaming Wonder Woman for the world having ignored... "Wendy Harris."

[jca5646]

AMAZONIA: SUBJECT ANALYSIS & NEUTRALIZATION FILE


CLASSIFIED – EYES ONLY



Subject: Amazonia



Identification Profile:



Real Name: Unknown



Known Aliases: Amazonia



Species: Human – Enhanced via external artifact. Rumored to be a descendant of a mythical tribe of “Amazon” warrior women that mysteriously vanished centuries ago (*unconfirmed*).



Gender: Female



Estimated Age: Late 20s to early 30s



Height: Approx. 5’8” – 5’10”



Build: Athletic, muscular, highly conditioned



Hair: Dark brown / black (variable by report)



Eyes: Brown (*unconfirmed*; natural or artificial contacts unknown)



Place of Origin: Unknown. Rumored South American or Mediterranean lineage, consistent with the last known locations associated with the mythical Amazon tribe the subject is believed to descend from (*unconfirmed*).



Affiliations: None confirmed



Operational Pattern: Solo operative; intervenes in high-risk criminal activity, rescue operations, and metahuman incidents.



Power Source: External artifact – “Golden Girdle of Gaea.” Classification: unknown origin (rumored ancient mystical artifact with possible or potential magical properties; *unconfirmed*).



Status: Active Metahuman Threat



Figure 1 documents the subject at full operational capability. While wearing the “Golden Girdle of Gaea,” the subject exhibits enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and combat efficiency. Strength levels are currently classified as immeasurable, but documented to exceed peak human limits and observed to rival or surpass other recorded metahuman benchmarks. Direct engagement with the subject is highly ill-advised and strongly discouraged.



Figure 3 confirms the subject’s critical vulnerability: removal of the “Golden Girdle of Gaea” results in immediate and total loss of enhanced abilities. The subject reverts to baseline human physical condition and can be subdued or restrained using conventional methods.



Recommended Strategy:

Avoid prolonged direct physical confrontation. Utilize coordinated distraction and restraint to limit arm and leg mobility. Primary objective is rapid disengagement and removal of the “Golden Girdle of Gaea.” Once separated from the girdle, the subject becomes significantly more manageable and suitable for compliance and containment.



Supplemental Exploitation Notes:

The subject remains physiologically human. With or without the “Golden Girdle of Gaea,” her rumored “pure environment” upbringing suggests limited exposure to modern chemical agents. As a result, theoretical models indicate a high probability of susceptibility to chloroform and sedatives in both gas and liquid forms (*unconfirmed*), as well as to high-intensity sensory disruption via light or sound (*effectiveness unconfirmed*).



While not permanent solutions, these methods may provide effective means to weaken resistance, induce temporary incapacitation, create disorientation, or generate tactical openings. Such measures should be employed to disrupt focus and coordination, enabling successful execution of the primary objective: removal of the “Golden Girdle of Gaea.”



Conclusion:

Despite the subject's unassuming female form, the subject is not to be underestimated or assumed the subject will be defeated through brute force alone. Highly recommend, conducting advanced reconnaissance (when or if able), careful planning and strategizing, secure adequate resourcing, and perform multiple training exercises (when or if able) to insure disciplined execution of removal of subject's primary weapon/accessory. Success depends on timing, precision with zero room for error, and effective exploitation of the subjects singular primary critical vulnerability, and/or incorporation of alternate hypothesized weaknesses.

[jca5646]

Enjoy!!!


Wonder Woman: Debelted and a Specimen of Sinister


It was just another day at the Inter-Agency Defense Command (IADC) for Special Agent Diana Prince and her superior, the Mission Special Agent in Charge Steve Trevor until the distress signal came from beneath an abandoned medical annex outside Geneva, a building that had officially burned down in 1944. Intel showed this location was significant in some way to the Nazis, and as such, Steve asks Diana if she can contact Wonder Woman to meet him there, since Wonder Woman is one of the only people around from that era with first hand knowledge about various and multiple Nazi operations.



Steve Trevor stood beside Wonder Woman as the two arrived and met at the broken entrance, Steve with his pistol drawn, flashlight cutting through the hanging dust.



“Wonder Woman,” he said quietly, “this place was supposed to be empty.”



Wonder Woman’s eyes moved over the rusted medical carts, the cracked tile, the faded symbols scraped from the walls. “It was never empty,” she said. “Only apparently hidden.”



A low hum vibrated beneath the floor.



Then the corridor lights came alive.



Not modern bulbs. Not old ones either. Pale blue panels awakened behind the walls, revealing a passage descending below the ruin. Glass tubes lined the stairwell. Some were empty. Some were not.



Steve swallowed. “What the hell is this?”

They descended together noticing and marveling at its modernization underneath the building's derelict exterior looking facade.



Wonder Woman stepped forward, her silver bracers catching the cold light. “Clearly judging by the advanced technological infrastructure we are observing in this place, someone has clearly made considerable upgrades. I think this is a place where someone believes their intent, whatever it may be, can exist and flourish here via scientific research. ”



When Wonder Woman and Steve reach the bottom, the hallway splits in two. Before Wonder Woman could speak, a steel partition slammed down between them with a hydraulic scream.

Diana drove her shoulder into the barrier. The wall buckled, but did not break. Something behind it pulsed red. Reinforced. She ponders if it was designed for her.



“Steve!!! Can you hear me??? I can't break through this blast door”



“Yes, yes I can hear you, I’m all right!” Steve shouted from the other side. “See if maybe you can find the controls to raise this door!”



Then on the side where Wonder Woman stood, a voice rolled through the chamber speakers, smooth and amused.



“Magnificent. And yet, almost aways the avenue of approach when presented with a dilemma, as it seems like with most living things, the first response to an unknown situation is always force.”



Wonder Woman turned slowly.



At the far end of the chamber stood a tall man in black, his trench coat flowing though there was no wind. His skin was corpse-pale. His smile was too calm, too pleased, oozing of something diabolical hiding behind it. A red diamond burned at the center of his forehead like a wound that had learned to glow.



“Who are you???” she demanded.



The man bowed slightly.



“The first name I received at birth was Nathaniel Essex. But over time, others have some to know me under various names and guises. But since you have come so far, and I find it one of my greatest pleasures to finally and formally making your acquaintance, you may call me... Mister Sinister.”



Wonder Woman’s expression hardened. “I have seen places like this before. What is it you are hoping to accomplish here?”



“No, not like this,” he said. “What you have seen are merely my leftovers, experiments and instances that no longer yielded the results or data I craved.”



She moved closer, boots silent against the polished floor.



“Your no different than the evil men who have come before you. The death camps,” she said, voice low. “The sealed rooms. The bodies tattooed and marked with numbers. The poor defenseless children taken apart in the name of study to find 'The Final Solution'.”



Sinister’s smile widened, and then he laughed.



“HaHaHaHaHaHa, I assume you referring to the the Nazi Reich party? Those single minded buffoons were just industrious scavengers. Hitler was a fool in thinking the 'Master Race' was in physical traits and appearances, his blue eyes and blond hair, when the true secret to the grand design of the 'Master Race' lies far below the surface, and much more 'skin deep' than Herring or Mengele could ever envision. They stole what little they could from me, but my knowledge and discoveries were far beyond anything they could hope to could achieve, and they never truly understood the bigger picture of it all. Their feeble attempts, the questions they dared attempt to ask and solve, were mine centuries long before their swastika flag ever existed.”



For one breath, Wonder Woman's thoughts flashbacked back to World War II. Back in the many rooms she had forced open, unveiling and witnessing rows of the unfortunate innocent who had all suffered beneath cold hands and colder theories of the Reich. She had believed that horror belonged to a regime, to an era, to a defeated monster of history.



But now Wonder Woman realizes, the true monster behind it all stood in front of her, somehow still alive, amused, unchanged, but just as vehemently evil.



“You... You did that, the Nazis carried it out, but all those vile machinations and loss of life were because of you pulling their strings from behind the curtain.” she whispered.



“Guilty as charged.” Sinister replied with a coy smile. “What I did was refine the possibilities. I followed the human body where science and morality was too timid, or too afraid, to look.”



Wonder Woman was taken aback by how uncaring and devoid of any sense of empathy, responsibility, or accountability for his atrocious actions of so many millions of Jew lives lost during the war because of his agenda the Nazis carried out. She can't help but remember the piles of bodies of all those poor, innocent children she would find at those camps, those images break her heart every time, those shining lights extinguished before they had a chance to burn bright and live life. Then a rage began to swell within her. Wonder Woman decides she will be the voice for those souls lost, and the messenger to carry their story to the abhorrent being behind it all, and she will make sure Mister Sinister learns the error of his vile ways, so without waiting any longer, Wonder Woman struck first.



Wonder Woman crossed the chamber in a blur, her fist driving into Mister Sinister's chest with enough force to shatter concrete. Sinister flew backward through a bank of monitors, glass and sparks bursting around him.



Wonder Woman witnessed and surprised Mister Sinister began to rise from such a blow, but what angered her was, he rose laughing.



“Muahahahahaha. Incredible Amazon strength,” he said. “Reputedly mystical in origin, yes? But by no means not meaningless to biology. Your cells somehow survive and employ energies no mortal genome should tolerate. Your blood remembers 'divinity'. Your bones carry secrets dressed under the guise of myth.”



Mister Sinister raised one hand. From his hand Mister Sinister fires a lance of red energy, but Wonder Woman raises her arms defensively, the energy blast slammed into, deflecting off of her bracers, the concussive force driving her back several steps. Wonder Woman crossed her wrists and pushed through the blast, boots gouging the floor.



“You will face my wrath for what you have done and I will see to it you learn a valuable and painful lesson for the harm you have inflicted on so many. As you will learn the hard way, I am not one of your test subjects that you can poke and prod who can't fight back”



“No, HaHaHaHaHaHa...” he said, suddenly beside her.



He grinned inches from her face.



“At least... not yet.”

Mister Sinister's body had suddenly stretched impossibly, black-coated limbs bending like living shadow. One arm caught Wonder Woman's wrist. The other struck her ribs. Wonder Woman twisted, drove her knee into Mister Sinister's abdomen, and felt the flesh give way like dense rubber before hardening again around the impact.



Wonder Woman hurled Mister Sinister across the laboratory. Mister Sinister crashed through a glass tube, fluid exploding across the floor. Something half-formed inside the tank convulsed once and fell still.



Wonder Woman’s jaw tightened as another life just died as a result of the mad scientist.



Sinister noticed, “Amazing, even not fully developed, you show compassion for that failed experiment,” he said. “A beautiful weakness within you, yet for I as the observer, it is another variable to factor in.”



Wonder Woman charged Mister Sinister again, faster this time. Her fist struck his jaw completely breaking it as it violently was dislocated. She clapped her bracers smashing both of his temples. Mister Sinister staggered. Then Wonder Woman seized Mister Sinister's coat, lifted him up, and drove him into the steel floor hard enough to crater it.



And for the first time since they met, Mister Sinister's smile faltered, as Wonder Woman thinks Mister Sinister may finally be coming to regret crossing paths with her.



But then, as Mister Sinister began instantly healing and reforming, a side door sudenly swung open, and Steve stumbled into the laboratory, “Wonder Woman!!!”

Steve began hurrying to join the fray and help Wonder Woman in taking down her antagonist.



Wonder Woman turned sharply. “Steve, no, stay back!”



He raised his pistol and continued forward anyway. “Not a chance, lets take this Casper The Friendly Ghost down.”



“No, Steve, run!!!! He is far too dangerous!!!” Wonder Woman shouted.



Steve fired and emptied his pistol into Mister Sinister.



The bullets struck Sinister’s chest and vanished into his flesh with wet, unnatural dimples. Sinister looked down, mildly curious, but it seemed more amused than bothered. One by one, the flattened rounds pushed back out of his body and clattered to the floor.



Mister Sinister sighed, “How touching. The good little soldier coming to the aid of the damsel in distress. Reminds me of a play I once sat through and attended with Charles Darwin”



Mister Sinister moved toward Steve then tells Steve, "But like any good show, when the final curtain is pulled down, it signals the end, which I will gladly do now and no longer indulge in your nuisance prescence.



Wonder Woman’s heart clenched, as she knows by Mister Sinister's words he intends on killing Steve. Wonder Woman crossed the distance instantly, planting herself betweenSteve and Mister Sinister. Mister Sinister’s arm whipped out, stretching like a black spear. She caught it with both hands before it could reach Steve’s throat.



The impact drove her backward, but only a step.



“NO!!! No farther, you've had your time and way long enough dealing and discarding lives like they were a deck of cards. But no more!” she growled.



Mister Sinister leaned into Wonder Woman. His strength surged. While superhumanly strong, still not equal to Wonder Woman's, but close enough to be a terrifying threat. Mister Sinister's flexible body shifted and reinforced itself as Wonder Woman pressed on exerting her renowned strength, Mister Sinister's limbs reshaping around her grip, absorbing leverage, denying Wonder Woman the clean victory she expected as she was cutting loose on Mister Sinister and not holding back.



It seemed like a tug of war in stalemate, until slowly, Wonder Woman began pushing Mister Sinister back.



One inch.



Then another.



The floor cracked beneath her boots.



Wonder Woman’s muscles burned. Her shoulders trembled. Her teeth clenched as she poured every ounce of Amazon strength into halting him.



Behind her, Steve stood only a few feet away, breathing hard, “Wonder Woman…” he said.



“Stay behind me,” Wonder Woman forced out.



Then, despite Mister Sinister potentially on the verge of being overpowered and defeated by Wonder Woman, his devilishly evil grin returned.



Suddenly without warning, Wonder Woman felt it before she understood it.



A touch at the small of her back.



Not Sinister.



Steve.



Wonder Woman's blue eyes widened, "Huh? Steve, no, I said stay ba...!!!"



The snap at the rear of her golden belt released with a tiny, intimate click that seemed louder than the alarms, louder than the humming machines, louder than her own heartbeat.



“Steve, No!!!” she breathed.



The belt loosened.



For half a second it still rested against her waist, warm with divine power. Then the rigid gold band shifted forward, slackening around her body. The sacred pressure she had known for so long broke contact with her.



Her breath caught behind clenched teeth.



Then the golden belt slid free across the front of her abdomen, no longer sealed, no longer hers. Its two unfastened ends hung apart, small snap plates exposed, you can almost sense the energy flickering across its smooth metallic surface like dying lightning.



Too late to have stopped or prevented it, a now powerless Wonder Woman screams...



"My Magic Belt!!! St-Steve, wh-what have you done???"



It felt as if the sun had gone out inside.



Wonder Woman's Amazon strength vanished, not gradually, not mercifully... immediately.



It dropped away in a sickening rush, a vast invisible architecture collapsing inside her body. Her arms, which had been holding back Mister Sinister’s charge, suddenly trembled like they belonged to someone else. The force against her became impossible. His arm pressed forward, and she could no longer stop it.



Wonder Woman turned her eyes slightly, unable to fully look away from Sinister, yet aware of the impossible betrayal unfolding behind her.



Steve held Wonder Woman's magic belt out of her reach.



His face was suddenly blank.



Too blank, not filled with emotion like when the entered the room earlier.



“Steve? Wh-Why???” she whispered.



Mister Sinister’s hand quickly closed around Wonder Woman's mouth from behind... "Mmmpfhh!!!"



Before, she would have torn free. Before, she would have broken his grip, shattered the floor beneath him, hurled him through the wall.



Now Mister Sinister’s hand over Wonder Woman's mouth was immovable.



Now Wonder Woman's legs trembled beneath her.



Panic struck Wonder Woman with a force no weapon ever had.



Her body remembered power, but could no longer summon it. Wonder Woman tried to pull Mister Sinister’s hand away. Her fingers clawed at his wrist, but his pale, malleable flesh hardened beneath her grip. She could feel the horrifying difference immediately: her resistance was real, desperate... mortal.



Mister Sinister bent close to Wonder Woman's ear.



“There it is,” he whispered. “Can you feel it? The moment of revelation when myth becomes reality.”



Wonder Woman’s eyes shone with shock and fury. She tried to speak, but his hand sealed her mouth. Her heart pounded so violently she could feel it in her throat. Her mind raced through every battle, every rescue, every time she had stood unshaken before tanks, monsters, gods, and men who thought themselves gods.



None of them had prepared her for this.



To be awake.



To understand.



To feel and see herself become powerless in the arms of the this monstrous being of a man.



Nearby Steve’s hand tauntingly lifted Wonder Woman's magic belt in front of her, its golden surface crackling weakly. His eyes stared forward at her without any recognition.



Mister Sinister chuckled.



“Awwww, tsk, tsk, tsk. Please do not blame Captain Trevor for his treacherous act and misgivings. Once I separated him from you and caught him, while possessing quite a formidable will for just a plain simple human man, Captain Trevor's resistance finally faltered and he succumbed to my telepathic probing of his mind, where he, much to my gratitude, divulged the secret and source to your legendary strength when away from your fantastical island homeland lied and rested within your 'magic belt', I believe that is what you called it at the precise moment Captain Trevor took it from you. From there it was it was child's play to wind up Captain Trevor like a toy and use him like an action figure to carry out my bidding. Loyal men make excellent pawns and instruments of deception. They tend to wound more deeply than swords, knives, or scalpels.”



Wonder Woman strained again, a muffled cry trapped beneath his palm as some part of her is relieved Steve was not in control of his actions and an unwilling slave to the machinations of Mister Sinister. Without her magic belt, the situation grew untenable as her situation was frightenly becoming real. The laboratory seemed colder. Larger. The machines around her no longer looked like scenery. They looked like tools.



Mister Sinister’s grin sharpened as he held Wonder Woman tighter, and began sharing his thoughts with her...



“For two centuries I studied mutation in all its many forms and incarnations among living creatures,” he said. “But YOU, Wonder Woman of Themyscira… you are something far rarer and quite the enigma. A living contradiction. Flesh infused with magic. Divinity in place of, pretending to be biology.”



Mister Sinister looked toward the waiting examination lights as they powered on one by one.



“And now, at last, I may begin my newest and grandest experiment to find and discover that missing link between the mythical and the material, fiction versus non-fiction if you will.”



Wonder Woman’s eyes tried to follow Mister Sinister as he spoke while held her prisoner standing in front of him among the sterile glow of the laboratory equipment. Her breathing quickened beneath his hand. She could still feel the place on her waist where her magic belt had been, now an empty reminder of her vulnerability where her Amazon strength had once resided.



Mister Sinister could not help but gloat...

"The 'Most Powerful Woman in the World', the great and all powerful, Wonder Woman, trapped in Mister Sinister’s arms like a fly in a web, silenced, powerless, and completely helpless... I have such sights to show you as we search your genetic make-up for the answer."



And for the first time since leaving Paradise Island, Wonder Woman does not want to think or imagine on what came next.