Earth-349: Iron Maiden

by Anton Psychopoulos, Ph.D.

Disclaimer #1: This story is inspired by a story in Superman #349, but is not limited by that story or any other.

Disclaimer #2: This story makes use of copyrighted characters owned by DC Comics, Inc., Marvel Comics, King Features Syndicate, and other publishers. It is written for amusement only and is not intended to infringe or disparage those copyrights.

Disclaimer #3: This story is not recommended for persons under 18 or the easily offended, especially those who are uncomfortable with themes such as transvestism and transgender.

The contrast between the two men on the platform was sharp. One was tall and powerfully built, with a body that seemed to have been carved from a single block of lustrous bronze. Bareheaded, his brown hair fitted to his head like a skullcap. His lightweight tan suit showed off his flawlessly developed muscles, with only a black sweater vest as a concession to the cold.

The other man was tall, but looked puny next to his companion. Bundled in a black greatcoat, the lower half of his face obscured by a red wool muffler, broad-brimmed hat pulled low, only his intense, deepset eyes and prominent nose were visible.

Wordlessly, the two men faced each other. The larger man smiled. The other might have, but it seemed unlikely. They placed their hands on a pair of old-fashioned knife switches and, after a brief pause, threw them both.

The cameras captured the gray concrete wall behind them, as a section wide as a boulevard suddenly leapt into the air in a cloud. A moment later, microphones transmitted the thunder of the explosion.

The explosion was still echoing, the cloud still rising, when the Republikswehr pioneers advanced to clear away the rubble. With shovels, crowbars, wheelbarrows and small bulldozers, they cleared the remains of the demolished wall within minutes. They took care not to move further inward than they needed to to remove the rubble blocking the road.

The cameras moved closer, showing that the road did indeed continue beyond the wall. But with no maintenance for two decades, the road beyond the wall was little better than rubble itself.

Now the two men stood outside the opening in the wall. But neither of them would be the first to walk on that road. They waited for a small young man with snow-white hair, who led a little black-haired girl by the hand. The men, the pioneers and the large crowd watching behind the cameras were reverently silent as the pair passed through the wall and into the newly opened city.

Only after Richard Heinrich Benz, Chancellor of Germany, had officially escorted little Anna Berlin into the city, were they joined by Kenneth Robeson, President of the United States, and Maxim Griantov, Premier of the Soviet Union.

The announcer, "the" newsreader to American audiences, had restrained himself while the wall was being broken. Now he began speaking softly.

"The breaking of the Berlin Wall marks a great transition indeed. Not only is the city at Europe's heart returning to life, but the whole world seems to be breathing easier. With the nuclear disarmament accord, the partition of Indochina, and the withdrawal of U.S. and Soviet forces from Europe, most agree that it is safe to say the Cold War is over. The threat which hung over the heads of us all for nearly two decades has been removed, and . . . ."

Tony's view of the TV set blurred, and he knew he was crying. It had been so long since he'd been able to cry. It felt good. It didn't hurt. The knot in his chest was untying, it didn't --"

"Burn."

The Mandarin held out his right hand, palm up, middle finger extended. Tony knew that the gesture was not obscene in Chinese culture. But in this case, the effect certainly was.

A beam of red heat shot from the villain's hand, not seeming to originate from the ring on his extended finger, but from some aura surrounding him. Tony didn't really understand how the alien rings worked. He supposed the Mandarin didn't, either.

Although he dressed in the fashion of an old-time mandarin, even daring to affect the coral button on his cap that rightly belonged only to one confirmed in office by the Emperor, Tony knew that his old foe was really just another of the bandits who harassed the local people in the lawless region around China's southern border. Or had been, before he stumbled across the alien power rings, and learned to use them.

Inside the armor of Iron Maiden, Anthony Stark writhed in agony and waited for the end. Sooner or later, the Mandarin's heat ray would destroy the pacemaker in his breastplate, and the remains of his heart would stop beating, and the pain would go away at last. Either that, or his pain would only have begun.

I went searching in my memory for a happy time, trying to hide from the pain. Apparently, the happiest moment of my recent life was watching news on TV. What does that say about my life?

The heat ray stopped. The Mandarin looked down at the charred armor and turned his hand over, extending the index and middle fingers together.

"Heal."

The ray was golden and shimmering, quite beautiful. Tony wondered if the mandarin had chosen its appearance. The excruciating pain of second-degree burns lessened, faded to an itch, vanished. His brain was slapped out of an advanced state of shock, allowed no rest. The alternate burning and healing had been going on for hours now, and Tony's mind was suffering the effects of pain greater than the human body could normally endure. But he knew that worse was coming.

The Mandarin stood over the blackened, pitted shell of the Iron Maiden armor.Tony wondered how much of the breastplate was left, when the Mandarin would begin to notice how the breasts were being eaten away, how much skin was showing through the holes. Sooner or later, the Mandarin would realize that the body inside the armor wasn't really that of a tall, muscular woman with prominent breasts. What he would do to his prisoner then would make the current abuse seem kindly.

Tony Stark had always taken comfort in escaping from his life as an industrialist and social aristocrat into the guise of an elegantly dressed lady. When shrapnel had lacerated his heart and made him dependent on a metal breastplate for survival, he had not been able to resist the temptation of giving it breasts, of building a suit of powered armor that was an extension of his secret store of gowns and makeup, a red and gold outfit that was, he thought, his finest design ever. Now, his imposture was about to be revealed to his deadliest enemy, and the pain of the burning rays was almost welcome, since it blotted out the shame he felt as he cowered in the remnants of his disguise.

He only had one chance of escaping the full wrath of the Mandarin: goad him into using too much heat, trick him into killing him quickly.

Tony raised a blackened arm. The strength-boosting motors were dead, making it an effort to lift the arm. He extended a finger, seeing charred metal flaking off of perfect pink skin. He pointed to the studded circle on the breast of the Mandarin's robe.

"If you're a Nationalist, why aren't you on Taiwan with your precious Generalissimo?"

Tony knew what the symbol really meant, but he hoped to goad the Mandarin into attacking.

The gaunt Chinese villain did not fire again, but merely curled his lip in disdain.

"This sacred sign does not belong to those Kuomintang cowards. It is the symbol of a far older and worthier movement, in support of the true leaders of China, a cause the so-called Nationalists once supported but have now forsaken."

He thumped his chest, striking the center of the stylized chrysanthemum.

"I serve the cause of every true Chinese patriot: the restoration of the divinely-appointed dynasty of the Ming!"

Tony forced a laugh. He noticed that the electronic voice filter was still working, giving Iron Maiden a feminine contralto voice.

"You're a little late, aren't you? That was a couple of dynasties ago. There aren't any Ming left."

The villain smiled.

"Oh, wench, but you are wrong. There is a prince of the house of Ming still living."

He gestured towards the ceiling.

"He is out there, among the stars, ruler of a mighty realm. But one day he will return to us, and when he does, he will be generous with his loyal subjects. And to traitors and foreign pigs, he will be . . . merciless!"

Tony wanted to laugh at this belief, but his heart wasn't in it. After all, the Mandarin's own rings had come from space. Some people said Superwoman herself was an alien. But he would try to put some feeling intoi his mockery. Pathetic as he was, held down by his ruined armor, he had to find some way to make the Mandarin lose his temper. Some way to bring on a quick death rather than the torments and mutilations the outlaw would inflict upon him once he knew he'd been cheated of the opportunity to make Iron Maiden his concubine.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a thunderclap from outside, followed moments later by an immense crash that spoke of splintered timber and pulverized concrete. A wall fell open like a drawn curtain, and sunlight entered the room. The Mandarin fled for the door, firing rays of a dozen colors at the huge body that stood framed in the sunlight, and the flying figure that joined it, adding its own light to the room.

Thunderstrike lumbered after the Mandarin, but the Human Torch snuffed her flame and bent over Tony. In a moment the Atom was appearing from tiny obscurity, using her more-than-normal-sized strength to pry away the ruins of Iron Maiden's armor.

Foolishly, Tony tried to cross his arms over his chest, to protect his secret for a moment longer, but that only sped up the crumbling of the charred shell. As the Torch helped him to a sitting position, the last of the breastplate fell away, and Tony realized that it had to have been wrecked long since. How many minutes, perhaps hours, had his heart been beating on its own? The Mandarin's healing rays must have worked even better than either man had known.

As the Torch brushed away crumbs of char and examined Tony's body, he wondered at his comrade's calm in the face of his unmasking. His fellow Avengers were showing no sign of the shock they must feel at finding a man, a notorious womanizer, under their teammate's armor.

The Torch and the Atom wrapped Tony in a throw taken from a couch. They were carrying him towards the hole in the wall when Thunderstrike returned, jamming her hammer into her belt.

"The base villain did flee, abandoning his stronghold," she boomed.

"And I would suggest we make a more seemly retreat, for the forces of the Chinese Communists do approach in haste. Though it was we ourselves who did rout the rogue, and apprise his enemies of this fortress's whereabouts, I fear we will not be much welcome amongst them."

As Thunderstrike easily scooped Tony's body into her arms, he exchanged glances with the other Avengers. Their concern mirrored his own. At first, Donna had only used that pseudo-Elizabethan dialect when there were reporters around, but lately she'd been acting more and more like she really believed the mysterious object she carried was Thor's own Mjolnir, as though she thought she was some figure from bastardized myth. Every time Donna St. James transformed herself, Thunderstrike seemed to be less like Donna. Tony feared they were heading to a confrontation over this obsession of hers.

Thunderstrike carried Tony to the waiting chariot, her Clydesdale-sized goats already prancing impatiently. The Torch, as usual, was humming "I Got Plenty of Nothin'". Jostling in Thunderstrike's arms, Tony marveled at how good he really did feel, now that the accumulated shocks of burning and healing were fading. He moved his fingers, flexed his legs. But something wasn't quite right. It felt as though a flap of torn muscle were lying on his chest. He reached up, fingers probing delicately.

His hand froze as it closed on something that could not, could not, be finally there, after all those years of wishing.

Unless, perhaps, the Mandarin's healing rays really did heal better than anyone had ever suspected.