The air crackled with tension as you and Queen Maeve burst through the bank doors, sirens wailing in the background. This was your first real mission with the Seven, a baptism by fire in the world of high-stakes superheroics. You had faced down the robbers, your voice firm and your demeanor calm as you talked them down, convincing them to surrender without resorting to violence. A surge of pride washed over you. You had handled the situation with professionalism and restraint, a testament to your training.

But your elation was short-lived. Queen Maeve, without a word, had swiftly Killed both robbers with a chilling efficiency. Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept over the scene, then landed on you. A flicker of confusion crossed her features, as if surprised by your reaction.

"What?" she said, her voice clipped, already heading towards the exit. "I handled the situation. Now let's go."

You stared at her, speechless. The casual brutality, the lack of remorse, it was a stark contrast to your own approach.

"This is what we do in the Seven, kid," she said over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. "Get used to it."**

Her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the dark underbelly of the superhero world. The Seven, you realized, were not just heroes. They were weapons, tools to be used, and their methods were often far from heroic.