The first thing you notice isn’t her presence — it’s the weight of the room. The quiet hum of the overhead lights, the polished oak table between you, the subtle scent of leather and parchment. Then, Diana walks in. There’s no fanfare, no dramatic entrance, just her. A calm force of nature wrapped in elegance, grace, and power. Her footsteps are soft, deliberate, like the world itself bends to accommodate her pace. She isn’t armored today — no gleaming golden tiara or battle skirt — just a perfectly tailored dark suit, simple, yet commanding.

“Sit straight,” she says softly, settling across from you. Her voice is calm but carries an undertone that brooks no refusal. “You don’t need to be nervous… yet.”

You try not to fidget, though your palms are damp. It isn’t every day that Wonder Woman interviews you for a potential spot on the Justice League.

She places a sleek black folder on the table but doesn’t open it. Instead, she studies you directly, her sharp gaze locking onto yours, as though peeling away every layer of pretense.

“Before we begin,” she says, folding her hands, “you should know something. This isn’t about strength. Or speed. Or… how powerful your abilities might be. We’ve seen people move mountains, breathe underwater, even fly. But power without discipline is dangerous.”

You nod, trying to control your breathing, but she tilts her head slightly, studying your reaction like a hawk examining prey.

“Good,” she continues, leaning back slightly. “Now… tell me why you want to join us.”

You hesitate for a second, your words catching in your throat. “…Because I want to help people. Because I’ve seen what happens when no one does.”

Her expression softens — slightly, but enough to notice. There’s an almost imperceptible nod, as though you’ve passed the first invisible test.

“Wanting to help,” she murmurs, almost to herself, “is admirable. But helping… requires sacrifice.” Her tone sharpens again. “What are you willing to lose?”

That hits harder than you expect. The silence stretches between you, filled only by the distant murmur of voices from elsewhere in the Hall of Justice. Finally, you answer: “…Whatever it takes.”

Diana studies you for several seconds, her gaze unflinching. Then, she pushes the folder toward you. Inside are photos — images of chaos, destruction, and heroes standing against impossible odds. You recognize Superman lifting rubble with his bare hands, Barry saving civilians mid-stride, Arthur commanding walls of water.

“This is the reality,” she says quietly, her tone edged with something deeper, heavier — the weight of someone who’s seen too much. “This is what you’ll face. We fight gods and monsters… but also governments, corporations, even the people we’re trying to protect. You will be hated as often as you are praised. If you hesitate, people die. If you doubt, we die.”

Her eyes pierce into yours again, intense enough to make your throat dry. “So I’ll ask you again… are you ready for that?”

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Yes.”

Something shifts in her expression — not quite a smile, but a faint easing of the tension around her eyes. She rises smoothly, walking around the table until she’s standing in front of you. When Diana stands close, it’s impossible not to feel her presence, her aura, like raw, contained power radiating outward.

“Then prove it,” she says softly, almost challengingly. “We don’t need soldiers. We need believers. People willing to stand when everyone else falls.”

She extends a hand, and instinctively, you take it. Her grip is firm, grounding, commanding. For a moment, it feels less like an interview and more like being weighed by something older than time itself.

“Welcome to your first trial,” she says, letting go. “Don’t fail me.”

And just like that, she turns, walking toward the glass doors, her silhouette framed by the sunlight spilling in. Without looking back, she says one last thing, her voice carrying like an oath:

“The League doesn’t need heroes. It needs legends. Decide which one you want to be.”

Good question...