Scalpels&#8230; Cutting&#8230; Unbelievably strong hands pinned him down, forcing tubes into his veins, while bitter herbs were poured down his throat. And that ever-present purple light that seemed to penetrate into his flesh.<br /> &nbsp; &nbsp;Steve Trevor stirred feverishly, slipping in and out of consciousness. What was this place? Was he captured? Were they torturing him for information? That must be it. The last thing he remembered was crashing on an island with military secrets. There had been an enemy soldier hunting him. And a woman.<br /> Steve Trevor awoke, not in an operating theatre or Ottoman torture chamber as he expected, but in an airy marble room lined with Greco-Roman pillars, filled with warm sunlight and the sound of nearby waves on a beach. Yet things felt wrong. The hair that fell infront of his eyes was dark and long. And something important was&#8230; missing. If only he could move, but the pain was too much.<br /> A shadow fell over him. A woman, amazonian in proportions, stared down at him. He&#8217;d stolen from enough German barons to recognise that air of noble arrogance.<br /> &#8220;What have you done to me?&#8221; he croaked.<br /> &#8220;Normally a male would be killed for penetrating Themyscira,&#8221; said solemnly, her eyes flitting down over his body as if searching for anything remaining that might displease her. &#8220;However, you saved my daughter&#8217;s life. And for that, you have been given a great honour.&#8221;<br /> Her hand touched his cheek with a maternal tenderness. &#8220;Diana gave some of her blood to keep you alive. The same blood flows through our veins. So I suppose that makes you my daughter.&#8221;