Steve Trevor

I started with the stench of mustard gas in my lungs and a ledger of lies in my pocket. Stole a weapon even devils wouldn’t touch, flew straight into a storm of lightning and feathers, and suddenly—Themyscira. A land where men don’t survive. But I met a woman there who fought for love like it was a bulletproof vest. You think that’s naive? She taught me the world isn’t just a pile of rot and barbed wire. I showed her the snowflakes on Belgian streets. She made me believe in miracles. And when the time came? I took a gas canister into the clouds, because for once, the cause was bigger than the war. Still am a cynic, though. Just one who’s been kissed by a demigoddess.