Iron Maiden, Issue #001

Issue #001 – – – – – controlled by Junius Stone – – – – – Credits 6

The only sound was the steady low hum of the machinery.

Everything in the laboratory, or the cell, or whatever it was, seemed designed to heighten a state of relaxation.  The walls were painted in light pastel hues.  The lighting was subdued, emitted from bulbs hidden in wall alcoves so that the illumination seemed not to come from any direct source but simply  raise the overall level of ambient light.

Iron Maiden tested her bonds again.  Laying on her back on a metal gurney there were tight bands at her wrists, her ankles, her thighs, her upper arms, her waist and her throat.  They weren’t metal, she didn’t think, but some sort of flexible heavy-duty plastic.  Whatever they were made from, they were perfectly capable of restraining her, despite her immense strength, effectively.

The door opened and a woman walked in.  She wore a lab coat and unfashionable spectacles were perched on the end of  her nose.  She was every bit the stereotype lab geek, complete with pen in her breast pocket and clipboard in her hand.  “Hello, Amy,” she said.

“Who the hell are you?  Where am I?  And why are you calling me Amy?  My name isn’t Amy,” Iron Maiden said.
The lab geek smiled.  It was a cold, humourless expression.  The edges of her mouth turned up but were accompanied by no warmth whatsoever.
“Answer me,”  Iron Maiden insisted, trying to keep her voice moderate.  For now.  “Or I’ll pop these cables and ask more forcefully.”
“You won’t do any such thing,” the woman chuckled mirthlessly.  “You are secured by bonds made from a plastic/metal hybrid developed by the Bull Corporation, patent pending.  It is one of the strongest flexible multi-alloys known to Man.  Your super strength has been tested accurately to within a tenth of a Modus Point, the scale by which we rate abnormal powers.  To break those bonds you would need to be nearly six times as strong as you are.”
“Ah.”  Iron Maiden said.  “Well, when you put it that way it does seem less likely.  How about something to drink then?  I’m parched.”

Instead, the woman removed her pen and began poking and prodding at the hero’s silvery flesh.  “Hey!” Iron Maiden protested.  “I’m not a piece of meat.”
“Indeed you aren’t,” the woman agreed.  “Quite the reverse, in fact.  You really are remarkable, Amy.”
“I’m a superhero, did you expect mundane?”
The woman in the white coat shook her head: “You are not a superhero.  You are an experiment gone wrong.  And soon you will not even be that.”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman did not answer.  She jotted some notes onto her pad and then turned to leave the room.  “I’ll be back later, but you won’t remember me, Amy.”
“Why do you keep calling me Amy?”
“That’s your new name,” the woman confided.  “I hope you like it.  But it doesn’t really matter if you don’t.”  And with that, she left.

Iron Maiden lay still on the trolley for a moment and pondered her options.  She couldn’t seem to remember very much.  How she got here, what she had been doing for the last few months, or the last couple of years actually.  She presumed this was the result of something that had been done to her by the people who held her captive.  A supervillain seemed the best bet.  But probably not wise, right now, to be jumping to any conclusions.

Taking a deep breath, Iron Maiden gathered her sense of purpose and let her anger form a cold, deliberate force within  her.  Then, with a mighty heave, she popped all the bonds on one powerful surge.  Rubbing her arms where the bands had been she rose to her feet and smiled grimly.  “Do you know what you can do with your plastic/metal multi-alloy hybrid bonds, patent pending?” she muttered as she glanced towards the door.  “You can stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.  Sideways.”