In Case You're Just Joining Us: Iron Man barely managed to halt an Icelandic invasion of Rock Trolls, led by Thor's nemesis, Ulik, but the victory cost him a piece of his soul as he was forced to kill the magical creature, the Mother of the Mist. The Enchantress, who orchestrated the entire affair, escaped. Meanwhile, back in the States, Pepper Potts and a grievously injured Jim Rhodes, with the help of Warbird, managed to escape the Stark Estate, which was under siege by the Hand.

The woman in the bed looked like a mummified corpse. Her skin was dry and gray, her once stunningly smooth skin wrinkled and chapped from the ravages of poison and dehydration. She was wearing her hair short again, Tony Stark saw; he'd always liked that cut.

"Tony," the Black Widow wheezed, and reached out to him. He hadn't even realized she was awake.

He took the hand quickly, then placed it back down on the bed at her side, leaving his own hand over it. "Don't talk, 'Tasha. You've had a bad couple of days."

"The... Hand--"

"I know, I know they were after me. But they didn't get me. I got your warning in time."

The Widow's eyes fluttered closed and she gave a shallow little sigh.

"You saved a lot of lives with your stunt, lady. But it's time for you to rest now. Fury says you'll be ship-shape in less than a month if you take it easy."

"A month?" she wheezed, and tried to make a dismissive pfft sound. The effort turned into a hacking cough that scared Tony so badly he almost called for a nurse. Finally it subsided, and Natasha gave a soft chuckle. "Make... it two... weeks."

Tony smiled and gently squeezed the hand. "You're talking too much."

"That... was always your... problem, Stark," she breathed. "You're too... used to people... doing what you... say."

"Rest, 'Tasha."

"You... can't drop your guard..." she said, squeezing his hand back and becoming suddenly serious. "The Hand... doesn't give up... until a contract is... fulfilled."

"I understand."

"No," she insisted. "You don't... Tony. Be... care--"

Her hand went limp in his grip, and for one horrible moment, he thought she was dead. But a glance at the life readings above the bed assured him that she'd simply fallen back to sleep.

"Rest, Natasha," he repeated softly. Then he kissed the dry knuckles, stood, and left the room.

"You're sure she'll be okay."

"Look Stark," Nick Fury growled, "my medtech boys know what they're doing. After 'Tasha got stuck with the Hand's poison last time and we couldn't help her,* we made synthesizin' an antidote a top priority. It ain't gonna be comfortable for her, but she'll recover. She already looks a helluva lot better than she did just yesterday."

(* See Daredevil #187--Russ)

Tony was silent as the elevator continued down. The SHIELD helicarrier was incredibly vast, and he would have gotten lost twenty times over by now if Director Fury hadn't opted to escort him during this visit. Not everyone got such prestigious treatment... but not everyone was the engineer responsible for most of SHIELD's futuristic weaponry.

"I'll be back to see her again in two days," Tony announced. Fury shot him a look that said that wasn't his - Stark's - decision to make. Tony ignored him. At the moment, he had more important things to worry about than Col. Nick Fury's bruised ego.

This wasn't the only hospital visit he had to make today, after all.

The Beast demands sacrifice... and so we give it to him.

The man kneeling atop the stone platform makes not a sound as the snakes slither across his naked body. Does nothing to provoke them as they work their way around him and into him... but the snakes are angry, they are hungry... and they serve the Beast. Over and over again, they sink their fangs into him. Not once does he scream, nor even moan. For he is strong... he is of the Hand.

And, in death, he will tell us what needs be done.

"Madame...?" the young man muttered sleepily from the bed.

Meiko Ko turned from the bureau. She hadn't intended to wake her young lover with the desklamp she was working under, but she wasn't going to tolerate his presence now that he was awake.

"You are dismissed," she said. "Report for duty. I will summon you again if you are needed."

The soldier leapt out of bed, pulled his garish green uniform on without a word, and exited the darkened room. She watched him go. He'd been a fine lover. Perhaps she would sample him again.

For now, however, she returned to the report on her desktop and flipped through it. The Hand had failed. Tony Stark was still alive. He hadn't even been in-country when the ninja had infiltrated his estate. The useless fools hadn't even managed to slay the employees who had been on the grounds at the time.

This was what happened when things weren't done the right way. Her way. One soft, elegant hand slipped under the sheet of silky black hair covering the right side of her face and felt the mass of scar tissue there. Her brother, Johnny, had shot her in the head months ago, just before his own life was ended under a hail of gunfire.* Doubtless the poor boy had been trying to kill her, but the bullet had gone slightly wide and split her scalp open from behind her ear to just below her right cheek instead. The damage had been extensive, but fortunately the vixen hairstyle that was expected of a Madame Hydra hid the scars.

(* See Iron Man #4--Russ)

She removed her hand and slid the report away, pulling a manila folder into view in its place.

She had come across this gem amid a storeroom full of half-forgotten records and intelligence reports. She still couldn't quite believe something so potentially valuable had been all but tossed out with the garbage.

The folder had one word stenciled across the front cover:

DEMONICUS

Meiko Ko smiled. Tony Stark and Iron Man had stopped her from annihilating Japan once. Soon, all three of them - Stark, his lackey, and that foul nation of perverted savages - would burn as brightly as her hatred for them did.

Virginia "Pepper" Potts was already in Rhodey's room when Tony arrived at Seattle's Northwest Hospital. She turned and put a finger to her lips when he rapped lightly on the door of the private room. He nodded and came in quietly, joining her at the bedside.

Jim Rhodes - one of Tony's oldest and best friends - was laid out, sleeping soundly with tubes and IV's and electrodes and who knew what else attached all over him. There was an ugly bulge beneath the hospital gown, low on the left-hand side of his ribcage, where the wrappings and bandages from the surgery were placed.

"They took him out of ICU this morning," Pepper said quietly. "He was awake for a few minutes about an hour ago, but otherwise he's been out ever since we got him here yesterday morning."

"What do the doctors say?"

"The man who attacked him drove a sword all the way through him. Fortunately it missed his heart and his spine, but one of his lungs was shredded and they had to remove some small intestines."

"So he'll recover?"

"They think so."

Tony put an arm around Pepper's shoulders. She resisted for a moment, then leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"What about you?" he asked. "Have you slept?"

"Here and there," she replied.

"Does Happy know what's going on?"

She nodded. "He said he'd stop in later today to see how Jim's doing. Said he needed to talk to you as soon as you got back from your trip, too."

"Pep, I swear to you... I'm going to get the people who did this."

"I know you will, Tony.

"You always do."

Later.

"Thanks for meeting me."

"Least I could do," Warbird replied. She sat on the edge of the hospital roof, watching as the Iron Man armor unfolded from its pod form and wrapped itself around Tony Stark. "I wanted to find out how Rhodes was doing anyway, but considering he doesn't know me as Carol Danvers, it might have been a bit awkward waltzing in there and asking."

"The doctors say he'll make it," Tony assured her.

"Then what can I do for you?"

Tony was completely encased in the armor now, though his faceplate was still open. "I need to know everything you know about the Hand. Everything."

"Well... I don't know all that much, to tell you the truth. Just some gossip from an old military buddy. Tony," she said, her eyes narrowing, "I don't imagine you'd listen if I told you not to go off half-cocked?"

He ignored the question. "How do I get in touch with this buddy of yours?"

Warbird sighed. "I can probably arrange a meeting - no promises... the guy travels a lot. And you might have to go to New York to see him."

"Fine. Call me once you've got a time and place. You know how to get in touch."

"Tony, there's more going on here than just the Hand, isn't there? What's-"

Iron Man's bootjets flared to life in the middle of her sentence, and in the next moment, he was arcing high up over the Seattle skyline, disappearing from sight in moments.

Warbird looked after him with concern. She could probably catch him if she really wanted to, but... no, he obviously needed some time to cool off. If their roles were reversed, Tony would probably go after her no matter what; but Carol Danvers had a much different way of operating when it came to respecting a friend's wishes, no matter how self-destructive those wishes might be.

The dead man blinks once... then falls over dead at our feet. The snakes leave him quickly, sensing their service to the Beast is temporarily finished and slipping into the shadows surrounding the platform.

Here, in the dead man's guts, uncovered with the gleaming silver knife in the jonin's hand, will be written the Beast's message. The knife descends, the belly is slit, and the jonin allows a sigh to escape his throat at the scent and the heat of the poison blood that splashes his hands.

Stark Estate.

"What... ((yawn))... what can I help you with, Happy?"

"Gee, Tony," Harold Hogan replied, "hope I'm not boring you."

Tony shook his head, took his goggles off, and rose from where he was crouching in front of some exposed wiring and electronics. The basement lab of the Evergreen Island estate was one of the most advanced scientific facilities in the world, but that apparently didn't mean things never went wrong. Tony set the welder he'd been using down on a nearby bench. "Stayed up all night trying to figure out what the Hand did to disable Jocasta and the rest of the estate's electronics when they attacked."

"Any luck?"

"None." Tony removed his gloves and rubbed his tired eyes. "Pepper said you wanted to talk to me."

"Guess I do," Happy replied.

Tony's eyes narrowed at his old friend and former driver's tone. "Sounds serious."

"I need a favor..." Happy began.

"You're WHAT?" Pepper Potts demanded, springing to her feet and leaning over her desk.

"Leaving," Happy said. "Transferring to head up Maria Stark Charities in Tuscon."

"For God's sake, Happy, why?" Before her former husband could answer her, Pepper turned her glare on Tony, who was standing on the other side of her desk as well. "Why are you letting him do this?"

Tony put up his hands as if to say 'It wasn't me'. Fortunately, Happy stepped in to save his boss.

"I just decided I need a change of scenery, Pep. That's all."

"'That's all'? Happy, you're--" She paused and looked at Tony. "Could you give us a second alone, Mr. Stark?"

Tony shrugged, hands still up in the air, and backed out of the room. He'd hear about this later, he was sure. Pepper calling him 'Mr. Stark' was like your mom calling you by your full name. You knew you were in trouble when you heard it.

"Now what's really going on here?" Pepper hissed once Tony was gone. "Is it because of me?"

Happy sighed and hung his head for a moment. "You ain't gonna let me get away without saying it, are ya?"

"Saying what?"

"I know you went out with Rhodes the night of the community center banquet, Pep," he replied. "I asked you to come with me to the banquet, you said you were too busy, then went out with Rhodes once I was gone." Pepper opened her mouth to protest but he put up a hand to stop her. "You're a free woman now, you can date anybody you want, I know that in my head. But my heart can't stand by and watch while you do it. I love doing the work I do for Tony, and I'll be a tax-deductible business call away if you ever want to talk, but you can't guilt me or bully me into staying here and watching while another guy romances you."

Pepper shook her head, stubbornly blinked away tears, then finally slumped back into her chair.

"Oh God, Happy," she said, her voice full of bitter regret, "what a mess we've made of us."

She kept her eyes on her desk, waiting for him to respond, but the only sound was the soft click of the latch as Happy left the room and shut the door behind him. When he was gone, Pepper put her head down on the desktop and let the tears come.

Kill Stark, fulfill the contract. This is what the Beast tells us. That is what we must do.

So we burn the body of our brother and make our preparations.

New York.

Iron Man dropped down softly to the docks, the low hum of his bootjets barely audible above the quiet lapping of the waves. It was late afternoon, and the pier was abandoned for the day, save for the solitary man propped up against his motorcycle at the walkway's edge. As the Avenger strode toward him, the lone man turned, nodded in recognition, then lit the stub of a cigar.

"Wolverine?" Iron Man asked as he came within earshot.

The other man nodded, removed the cigar from his mouth, and blew a long stream of smoke into the night air. He wore a cowboy hat pulled down low over his eyes, but the hat couldn't hide the massive sideburns extending all the way down to his jawline. "Carol said you needed some info on the Hand."

"That's right."

"Mind if I ask what for?"

"You can ask all you want," Iron Man replied. Then he fell silent.

Wolverine chuckled and pulled from his cigar again, looking out over the water. "The Hand is the nastiest bunch of killers and sadists a golden boy like you is ever likely to stumble across."

"But they're nothing you couldn't handle, right?"

Logan looked at him sharply. "Okay, the Hand... they're a ninja clan that's been around for a real long time - hundreds, maybe even thousands o' years. I've fought 'em a few times, Daredevil has too. You can find a few cloudy references to 'em in history books if you look close enough, but they've really started to come out o' the shadows in the last couple o' years... mostly 'cause they're broke into a bunch o' factions, led by a couple o' different jonin, some of which aren't as worried about maintaining the Hand's anonymity. Lately, a real nasty number by the name o' Kuroyama has been tryin' to reunite the clans under his rule." *

(* See Wolverine #3-7 for more on Kuroyama-Wheatley-fan Russ)

"Does this Kuroyama have ties to HYDRA?"

Wolverine shook his head. "Never heard one way or t'other. If I had to guess, I'd say no. If HYDRA's who hired the Hand to hit your boss a couple days ago, it's probably one o' the independent clans."

Iron Man's head came up in surprise. "How did you know about the hit?"

Wolverine smirked.

Inside the mask, Tony Stark scowled. "How would I go about finding the Hand?"

"Best bet would be to find the people that hired 'em, then find out how they did it. I ain't never heard of nobody finding the Hand, though. It's the other way around: the Hand finds you. Now, I've given you everything you asked for boy, so I want you to listen to me for a second." Iron Man stiffened at being called 'boy', but didn't interrupt. "I know you're going to do something stupid, like walk in with all guns blazing and thinking that bright, shiny tank you fly around in is plenty against a bunch o' punks with swords. And then you're gonna be surprised when they manage ta kill yer reckless ass."

"I'm Tony Stark's bodyguard. They tried to kill him, and they almost succeeded in killing a couple friends of his. They're not going to get away with it. End of story."

"That's right," Logan said quietly, squinting through the smoke at the Avenger. "It's just a job to you, right? Nothin' personal. Got nothin' to do with revenge. After all, it's not like they tried to kill you. It was Stark they were after."

Inside the armor, Tony frowned. Wolverine's tone... did he suspect who Iron Man was? That the bodyguard was actually the guarded body?

Logan flipped his spent cigar into the water and mounted his motorcycle. "Tell Carol I send my love and we're even."

Iron Man nodded.

"And make sure you live long enough t' deliver the message." Logan gunned the engine and roared away down the pier, leaving Iron Man alone with the monotonous lapping of the waves and his own dark thoughts.

Pepper was pulled from her introspection by the buzzing intercom on her desk. She hit a button to acknowledge the signal, and watched as a monitor flipped out of the surface of her desk. There was a red sports car parked at the gate, with an unfamiliar redhead sitting at the wheel.

"Mr. Stark isn't available today," she began, not in the mood to waste energy on pleasantries. "This is his executive assistant. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell Tony I'm looking for him," the redhead said, leaning out the window and smiling up at the camera. "Tell him I stopped by, will you? The name's Bethany. Bethany Cabe."

Stark is coming. Prepare. Prepare.

Night.

The old SoHo building that the Black Widow had been attacked in looked plenty deserted from the outside, Tony thought. There was a window high up on the West face of the building that had been boarded over recently - this was probably the one Natasha had crashed through in her effort to escape the Hand.

Iron Man pried the boards away and moved slowly inside, his bootjets humming softly in the dead silence of the loft. SHIELD had already been over this place with a fine-toothed forensics team - if there was something to find, they'd surely already found it - but that wasn't going to stop him from taking a look for himself anyway.

He dropped down from the beams and touched down lightly on the dusty wooden floor, setting the boards he'd pried off the window in a neat pile at his feet. He must have been standing approximately where the HYDRA agents had met with the Hand representative--what had Wolverine called them?--jonin.

He stood in place and let his scanners do their work. No unusual metallic objects left behind. No unusual gasses or scents in the air. Nothing on heat imaging. Audio was...

Bingo.

Something on audio, a voice, way below the range of human hearing. He checked heat imaging again and confirmed that there were no warm bodies in the loft with him. But the voice was coming from somewhere in here. He cranked the volume, trying to make out what it was saying. Still indecipherable. Too low for a human being to speak, even subvocally. But it was definitely a voice, a whispering haunted voice.

He blinked in rapid succession, working his way through the menu projected onto his retina by a laser beam inside his helmet. The audio went up again. An ant scuttling across the floor on the far side of the room would have sounded like an orchestra to him.

And there it was.

Stark... Stark... Stark...

He couldn't pinpoint it... it seemed to be coming from the wall's themselves. What in the world was going on?

He heard a loud snap - fortunately the buffers in his audio receptors kept him from being deafened by the sound - and turned. A board had pried loose from the floor, one end now sticking upward at an odd angle. A moment later, the board next to it snapped out of place. Then the next one, then the next. The walls and floor were making a strange, high-pitched groaning sound as if they were being stretched taut.

Milk. He smelled milk.

Mother's milk, the groaning walls keened. They were pulling out of shape, warping and pulling tight until the places where the floor met the wall blended into one smooth curve. More boards snapped loose near the center of the room, and poked upward at a slight angle.

Get out of here, Tony thought. Get out. This is magic, you can't fight this.

But he was rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes or any of his other senses away from the cacophony. Beams started to splinter and fall overhead, falling downward until they hung around the periphery of the room like fangs.

And suddenly Tony Stark knew what he was looking at.

The room had become a giant, fanged mouth. And he was standing inside of it.

Starkstarkstarkstark, the walls groaned.

Iron Man fired his repulsors and his bootjets simultaneously, shooting up into the roof and blasting chunks out of his surroundings as he went.

It was too little too late. The jaws snapped shut.

And Tony Stark was gone.

Next Issue: A very special look into the private hell of Tony Stark, as "My Own Prison" concludes.