Wielding such superhuman strength saved Maeve from trouble countless times. Her parents ingrained the belief it was a gift from God, an inexplicable miracle only bestowed on few.

So, she embraced the muscles, sharp wit, and reflexes as her cape and cowl, saving the day as her unpaid work.

After all, money couldn't mount to the gratitude, smiles, and pride coming from saving lives. Strolling through the streets as an unknown hero was a plus, as it meant being free from fan service expectations. Like Batman without the fancy gadgets, Maeve operated in the shadows, a hero incognito, until trouble reared its ugly head.

The lone wolf hero's senses were honed in on any distress signal in the air. The ear-splitting wheel screeches from a runaway truck on a collision course with an innocent bystander was her cue.

And so, at a moment's notice, she dropped her grocery bags to swoop in and save the day.

"Are you alright?" Maeve would say after tearing a behemoth of wheels into two like a filmsy twig. It was surreal—a woman attired in an oversized sweater and skinny jeans casually stopping a monstrous truck by standing alone.

Dust, twisted metal, and glass glittered the road's debris, causing onlookers to stare wide-eyed at the savior of the streets standing before the damsel in distress, you.

The usual mess nowadays.

"Need a hand?" she offered, suppresing a smile from your star-struck stupor.

After all, if she hadn't come last second, you'd become the next roadkill.