"I need to get a song stuck in my head," I said, as we left the moon for Earth, Genosha, and Wanda in that order. I did not feel nauseated this time—I seemed to be over it, but given my condition, it would probably return.
"Why?" Victor asked.
"Because Uatu said Wanda is using Professor Xavier's telepathy. If I get a really obtrusive tune stuck in my head, it'll be like static on the radio. He won't be able to read my thoughts."
Thanks to Alfred Bester's classic science fiction novel, The Demolished Man, I knew what to do—and I knew just what album to do it with: They Might Be Giants album, Flood. "I'm your only friend, I'm not your only friend, but I'm a little glowing friend, but really I'm not actually your friend, but I am…" The tune was irresistibly catchy, the lyrics silly, strange and meaningless. It was perfect.
"Not to put too fine a point on it, Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet. Make a little birdhouse in your soul!"
After a verse and a chorus, Victor nodded. "I understand. I cannot recall the last time I heard something as infectious. But, my dear—are you quite sure that driving her even madder is going to help?"
He was being facetious; I made a face at him, then sobered. "Victor—what are we going to do? As ill as she is—with the motives she has for keeping things the way they are—."
"I am afraid I shall simply have to kill her." he said, "but I will do so without causing her further suffering. It will be brief and painless."
I had killed her father and brother; how could I protest against Victor killing her? It wasn't as if she wouldn't come back, sooner or later.
The Silver Surfer, however, did not share my insight into the temporary nature of a superhero's death. "I cannot be a party to this! I will not be a party to this!"
"It's all right! That's the last resort, not the first, the one for when all else fails." I gave Victor a meaningful look—'Don't upset him by saying otherwise' and he gave me the slightest nod. "I promise you, I will do everything I can. I'll do my very best to help her." One madwoman to another…
"I have no reason to trust one who would wed with Doom—but neither have I reason to distrust you—as yet. Wanda Maximoff has suffered greatly, and is in need of compassion and understanding."
"Do either of you know if Wanda's madness has been diagnosed as anything specific?" I asked. "Bi-polar disorder, or schizophrenia? No, of course not. It can't be something that comparatively simple and straightforward, for which there are medications and courses of treatment."
"I believe the germ of her madness is thought to be the aftereffects of having been possessed by the Elder God Chthon. He imbued her with some trace of his magic at her birth, so that he might be able to take over her body later in life, should the occasion arise." Victor informed me.
"Okay." I said. "I was wondering what might have happened—because from what I had heard about her, she was one of the nicest people in the costumed adventurer game. People spoke of her as well-balanced, rational, good leadership skills, above average intelligence— considerably smarter than her brother—and then, a few years ago, she started changing."
"Yes. Do you perceive any particular Law of Heroics at work here?" Victor asked.
"Law of what?" the Surfer asked.
"It's a long story. I've been observing patterns in probability, and giving them names. Yes, actually. The Law of Female Disempowerment. Now, most men are physically stronger than most women—that's just a trait that goes along with testosterone. They also usually still earn more money, on the average—and I know for a fact that most of them don't want to date women who are more intelligent than they are. For all the progress feminism has made, these things remain the same.
"But when you add superpowers to the mix—the results are unpredictable. Many women have powers that make them equal—or superior—to men, at least where their powers are concerned.
"I have been studying this— over and over, I have seen that super-powered women whose powers are greater than the majority of those of the men around them—start having trouble with their powers. They suffer partial or total loss of their powers—for example, Janet Van Dyne, the Wasp, started off with 'stings' that were powerful enough to kill—but soon she was only able to stun or incapacitate. Storm of the X-Men lost hers completely for a while."
I went on. "If she doesn't lose her powers, she loses control over them, again, either partially or totally—for example Phoenix—or Jean Grey—of the X-Men. She went mad and started killing people before she killed herself. Wanda would seem to fit into that category—although this little fantasy world of hers would seem to need a lot of control. It seems to be her judgment that is missing."
"Interesting." Victor commented. "Why do you theorize that is?"
"Even though the causes seem to be different—I think the root of it is that women are still encouraged to fit in, to be liked—and many men are threatened by a strong, powerful woman who is in total control of herself. So she conforms—even if she isn't aware of what she is doing."
"What a—sad and sorry picture you paint of your sex—and, for that matter of mine!" Victor mused.
"I would like to think we are the exceptions." I told him. "Look—I was disoriented by the angle at which we're approaching, but that's Genosha. We're here."
The coastline came into clear view, and before long, we were directly above Magneto's palace. It had a certain grandeur about it—the flashy, Las Vegas kind, in my opinion.
"Can you set us down on that balcony, the one with the scarlet bougainvillea vine?" Victor asked the Silver Surfer. "My spell tells me she is very near."
"Yes. Unless—!" Thus far, we had not been noticed, but that had just changed. Even I could see the energy pulse that surged toward us. We were under attack.
"Here!" Victor seized me by the arms, our armors clashing loudly, and swung me bodily off the board. He held me suspended over the balcony for a moment, then let me drop. The shock absorbers were still doing their job—a three meter drop felt like no more than a fall of six centimeters. "I will join you when I can."
He and the Surfer rose to meet the palace's mutant security force. I, since I had no other bright ideas, opened the French doors that led inside, and stepped through.
I was in a spacious, attractive sun room, neat and tidy, but with a few children's toys scattered about…
Except that somewhere in the back of my head, something was telling me otherwise—much as I had seen through Doctor Strange's illusory business suit to the costume below. Wanda had been his student once. Perhaps this was the very same spell—that would explain why I could see through it.
It wasn't a visual glamour like Valeria's—those had been able to fool cameras. This was intended to fool the mind.
I looked around again. It was squalid. Several window panes were broken, and the wind had blown litter around the room. The rain and sun had faded and stained the upholstery and wall paper. There were several dead plants in pots with dirt as dry and solid as concrete. Nor were there any children's toys.
Why was Wanda using this spell to create the illusion of pretty normality, when she could rearrange all of reality? Perhaps because she knew it wasn't real…
I opened the other door, the one that led out of the sunroom into a hall. I could hear voices—as I went toward them, I pushed back the hood and the cowl, pulling my hair out. I wanted it to be obvious I wasn't Victor, or the impostor Doom.
The voices grew louder—a woman's voice, a man's—Doctor Strange's, in fact—and a child—or children.
"Playtime isn't talk-time." said a child, petulantly, with a hint of menace. Or—no, it wasn't a child's voice. It was a woman's voice, made shrill and squeaky like a child's.
Doctor Strange began to say something, but I drowned him out when I knocked on the door. The gauntlet made a lot of noise.
"Who's there?" asked the woman, in a normal voice.
"Is that Wanda Maximoff?" I asked in return.
"Yes. What do you want?" was her response.
"I have to talk to you. Can I come in?" I put a hand on the doorknob.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"I'm Joviana—Von Doom."
There was a pause. "Who?" Since Wanda had been kept under heavy sedation and telepathic suggestions for six months, it followed that she wouldn't have heard about me-which was probably why I had not been included in her rearrangement.
"Joviana Von Doom. Victor and I only just got married. The actual ceremony is supposed to be tomorrow. You and the rest of your family were invited. Can I come in? It's important."
"I—No! I can't see anyone right now, I have a terrible headache. And my children need me. Go away!" she shrieked.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that. It's too important." I turned the knob, but the door was locked. Well, that was one thing the suit was good for. I held the door in place with one hand and ripped the entire locking mechanism out of it—and out of the wall.
The door swung open at a touch, and I went in.
It was an extremely feminine bedroom—very fluffy, very pink. Urgh. Like being inside a cone of cotton candy. In the middle of the floor sat a very beautiful young woman, only a little older than I. She had red hair and big blue eyes, and she had everything I lacked in terms of breasts, and then some. She looked ready for the Special Swimsuit Superhero Illustrated magazine cover shoot.
Except—something was wrong with Wanda Maximoff's eyes…