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ELECTIC LIMBO-LAND Part 2 written by Amygdala
Ever woken up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and shuddering as some horror slinked back into your unconscious mind? That is the fear of death - a fear of the unknown - rising up on the thermals of dream and stalking the corridors of your sleeping thoughts. But even as you draw in the sobering comfort of reality, you can’t shake off that dread feeling of mortality. At least, not until the first rays of a new day slip through the curtains and hack back the sinister shadows.
I spent many a night wondering what lay beyond the veil of death. Visions of Paradise nestled in between vast, celestial clouds and of Hell burning in a sea of molten basalt. Thoughts of nothingness, of reincarnation, of a life-essence floating within the cosmos. I must say that none of my contemplations ever imagined the afterlife to look like the bizarre world that greeted me when I finally opened my eyes.
For a start, the environment ebbed and flowed like the tide, never static but always fluid, shifting in and out of one diorama to another. New York city became London became a Yukon wilderness became mythical Asgard became a purple-skied alien landscape. My brain began to throb as the rush of images pulsed in and out of my vision, hypnotic, almost mantra-like in their frequency. I sat upright and tried to ignore the dizzying transformations, opting to check myself over for signs of injury. Crushed bones had knitted together, lacerated skin had healed over without so much as a scab to mark my mortal wounds. Exploring fingers reached up for my head and I gasped as I felt solid flesh where there had been emptiness.
I was complete again! I had my face back!
With a jubilant cheer, I leapt to my feet and started to dance. If I needed convincing that I had ‘passed over’ to the other side, then this was the clincher.
"Get a grip, sunshine!" a distinctly South London accented man jeered from behind me.
Startled, I whirled around, fists ready to do some serious damage. Standing in an enigmatic pose by a shop doorway rapidly transforming into a fabulous gold-plated minaret into a cockpit of a futuristic plane was a rather seedy looking character in a long, black trench coat. His one, narrowed eye ran over me with the same sort of disdain you might give some sad piss head down the boozer.
"So, you’re Jonothon Starsmore, eh?" He removed a packet of ‘Camel’ from his coat pocket and chucked me over a cigarette. "Welcome to comic book limbo."
The newcomer identified himself as Pete Wisdom, ex-Excalibur and my designated guide to X-Heaven. You know, I used to think I was a bit of a lad in my day but this bloke made me look like a bloody shrinkin’ violet! In the time it took him to introduce himself, he’d smoked a coupla fags and downed half a bottle of tequila. I must admit, I liked his style ... .
"This," Wisdom explained, sweeping his arms out to the side in a display of bladdered melodrama, "is a part of limbo specifically designed to hold all those X-characters who’ve either been killed off or put on hiatus." He staggered over to me and slipped his arm around my shoulder. "X-men don’t die, sunshine. They simply fade away ... until someone - editors, writers, readers, I’m fucked if I know who - decides to resurrect ‘em." Wisdom tapped his eye patch and giggled. "I thought I was a browner until they used me for a coupla X-Force issues. And look what they bloody well did ta me! Ya bastards!! I look like Captain fucking Kidd!!"
He doled out another fag from his seemingly inexhaustible supply and lit it up for me, his 80% proof breath filling my nostrils with pleasant memories of a life before ‘the accident’. It was strange standing there in that mutating environment, talking to someone who was every bit as fictional as me. As I watched Wisdom wash the nicotine down with the rest of the tequila, I couldn’t help but wonder what lowlife mind could’ve created him with so many flaws and defects. All his memories, all his motivations, all the shit that cascaded around his life - all the inventions of whatever creative force that wanted to play with him. We were nothing but bloody marionettes, mouthing our fancy speeches like we could actually control our destinies.
But hadn’t I by throwing myself off the building? By Frost’s reaction, I was certain that was totally unexpected. I asked Wisdom if he’d ever heard of a character taking control of their lives but he just gave an indifferent shrug.
"Don’t give a shit, chief," he slurred. "All I know is, we sorta live in half-character here - have a certain amount of autonomy until we’re needed back in comicdom. And as long as there’s enough shant and fags and pretty girls here, I ain’t gonna complain." He flicked the remains of his cigarette down a Miami boulevard becoming a Savage Land jungle. "Ah, c’mon. Let’s blow this joint an’ go meet some fellow eXiles. Lila Cheney and Alison Blaire are playing a gig this afternoon and yer haven’t lived until you’ve heard Longshot’s impression of Mick Jagger!"
As he led me on through the kaleidoscope-landscape, Wisdom pointed out the one constant in this bizarre demi-universe: the hazy, static-charged horizon that shimmered and danced like the Aurora Borealis. It was some spectacular sight, let me tell you.
"That’s the limit to this particular chunk of limbo," my guide revealed in his rapidly slurring tones. "I’m not quite sure what lies beyond but Rachel Summers tells me she can telepathically ‘feel’ other entities existing past the barrier. This is just a guess but I reckon its occupied by all the other dead and forgotten characters from across the multiverse. Maybe even by other companies’ cast-offs ... ." A sly, lecherous smile lurched over his features as he aimed a nudge at my ribs. "Jesus! Perhaps there’s an ‘Image’ limbo lying tantalisingly over the horizon! Think about all those well-stacked birds just gaggin’ for a little bit of Wisdom ... !"
Listening to him as he proceeded to describe, in the foulest of language, his ideal woman made me think about Paige. It was strange but I can’t ever remember thinking about her in any way other than chivalrously; I’m as red-blooded as the next man, yet there was something special about her - something that made me wanna put her on a pedestal and protect her from scum like Wisdom. And from the part of me that used to have fantasies ten times sicker than those of my guide ... .
We approached a natural circle set in the heart of the shifting scenery. Here, sterile whiteness provided a welcome relief from the montage-insanity all around, an oasis a little like the deathly-serene eye of a hurricane. Sitting on the ground, their heads focused on a stage erected to one edge of the arena, were the myriad inhabitants of limbo. Some I recognised, most I didn’t but all were identifiable by the bloody great ‘X’ on their costumes.
"This is the afterlife?" I asked as Wisdom dragged me into the throng. "Glastonbury bloody festival?!"
If he heard me, he didn’t bother to answer my question. "C’mon, Starsmore. I want ya to meet me new bird."
The dormant character shoved his way through a huddle of people, dragging me along behind him. Half the crowd was made up of the same man who’d somehow managed to duplicate himself repeatedly. The others consisted of a snide-looking blond geek of about fifteen (I’m not being nasty but I reckon he had ‘computer nerd’ stamped all the way through him), a beefy Amerindian, some hulking man-mountain with the smallest cranium-to-body size ratio I’d ever seen and a half-girl half-wolf hybrid. The latter howled as Wisdom’s elbow glanced her ribs.
"Watch it, you sassenach pig!" the wolf-girl growled in a thick Scottish accent.
"Bite me!" he shouted back. "Bloody useless Lassie wanna-be ... "
More faces passed me by. Villains stood beside heroes, united at last by obscurity. Mr Sinister drank beer with Callisto, Mystique snuggled up next to Destiny and the Phoenix entity entertained the Shi’ar Imperial guard. Despite the absurdity of it all, the atmosphere was bloody excellent - a sort of super-powered Woodstock without the drugs. As we approached the middle of the gathering, Wisdom let out a shriek and started to point towards a leggy, negligibly-dressed woman with the most amazing purple hair.
"That’s her! That’s my bird!" he whooped. "She’s well high-class!" Wisdom paused and shot me a sheepish look. "Actually, she’s sorta spoken for but her geezer’s been given a reprieve - a mini-series. But, while the cat’s away ... "
He lumbered over to his woman and wrestled her to the ground with a lupine growl. Honestly, it was dead embarrassing watching a bloke of his age act like a bloody teenager but she seemed to appreciate it. Classy my arse ... . Up on stage, a sexy blonde draped in a sort of organic armour suddenly appeared from the middle of a circle of light and immediately began to do the old roadie act: you know, ‘testin’, testin’ 1,2,3’. I watched her for a while, my hormones still raging from Wisdom’s outrageous conversation about women. She was hot, yeah but there was a kinda screwed up, spiteful beauty about her. Not like my Paige.
Paige. The reason I’d broken my ‘programming’ and crossed over into limbo. I scanned the crowds for a glimpse of her anodyne features, my heart snagging every time I got a whiff of blonde hair (and there’s a lot of blonde hair in X-world. Perhaps not as much as there is red hair but enough to get a geezer going). Bloody nothing. I’d almost given up hope of finding her when I felt a cool, feminine hand wrap itself around mine.
"Paige?" I gulped, looking around at the newcomer.
A fragile girl with hollow white eyes and the weirdest facial tattoos I’d ever seen stared back at me, her lips decorated with a willowy, uncertain smile. "Um ... Jonothon? Jonothon Starsmore?" Her faltering but melodic voice rang like a bird song within my skull - as gentle and as frail as her slight form. "Um ... er ... we haven’t actually met as such but ... um ... we share a mutual friend. I’ll take you to her if you want ... "
The girl flashed a toothy grin before darting back amidst the sea of dead or forgotten people. I only recognised her from Angelo’s description of her - Clarice Ferguson, the girl who died so that Generation X might be born. You’d have thought that her sacrifice would have earned her a statue in the grounds of the Academy at the very least but no. The X-motto seems to be outta sight outta mind and once yer dead, that’s it - it’s like you’re sworn to forget the corpse ever existed. If you were exceptionally close to someone, you sometimes remember ‘em off page but that’s a rarity. Hell, my story’s lurching into the realm of metaphysics and I really don’t wanna go there now. So just take it from me I was well pissed off with how shabbily we - the big, bad ‘X’ - treated our heroes.
Anyway, I followed her, my lavender rabbit, to whatever insane Wonderland awaited me. Up on stage the Dazzler was making her grand entrance, her body convulsing with garish light. Half of the crowd stood up and surged as one towards the front of the arena, opening up a passageway through the ocean of flesh. Disappearing into the empty tunnel was Blink, waving me on without even bothering to see if I was still trailing behind. When at last she skidded to a halt, the young girl turned around and gave a shy grin.
"She’s been waiting for you," the girl said, performing a little bow before stepping to one side.
An ear-splitting, demonic screech of a guitar announced Lila’s debut on the stage. The furious, frenzied pitch matched the screaming of my heart as I focused on the angelic, flawless beauty sitting cross-legged on the sterile ground. Her eyes lifted from the daisy chain she was making and wandered lazily up the length of my body, finally coming to rest on my complete face. Paige smiled and slowly, sensually rose to her feet.
"Since when did y’all get so handsome, Jono?" she drawled, draping herself around me.
She sorta melted into me, was standin’ so close I could feel her heartbeat quicken. I swallowed hard and tried to prise her offa me. Don’t ask me why. I suppose it was because I’d never thought of her as a woman before - just a Goddess who needed worship an’ nothing more.
"I came here for you," I tried to explain, looking everywhere but at her. "I couldn’t live without you. I can’t believe they’d rather off you than some bloody green-faced pygmy!"
Paige laughed, her humour so great it was almost tangible. "It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me! Look at me, Jono - look at yourself! Whole, intact, living the lives we can’t ever lead in that two-dimensional Hell we call reality."
She seized my head and forced me to regard the stunning blonde in the shimmering armour, now engaged in a drinking contest with the wolf-girl and the computer nerd. "See her? That’s Illyana Rasputin - Magik. In ‘reality’, she had about as many different faces as I’ve got dresses; Colossus’ baby sister, teen siren, limbo-girl and darkchilde. She was good and bad, mad and sane, hated and loved - all at the same time! And then they killed her and she came here. She got to choose the face she adored the most and got a chance to be what she always craved: normal. A normal, happy, well-adjusted and gorgeous adolescent."
Paige unzipped the front of my leather jacket and peeled it from my shoulders. I struggled against her without knowing why. Call it programming if you want.
"C’mon, Chamber," she sighed, running her fingers through my hair. "Why you acting like this? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted - to be able to kiss me? It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I met you. God, how I used to want them to just get us together and quit all the angst!"
Her lips trembled mere inches away from mine, eager, responsive, yearning ... . The slight reek of stale gin was entwined within her hot, torrid breath, intoxicating and bewitching in a strangely stimulating way. My oh-so British reserve was crumbling under the onslaught and well she knew it. Paige’s hands slipped around my waist and gently pulled me down to the ground on top of her, an ecstatic giggle bubbling over her tongue as I shifted my weight off of her body.
"You’re going nowhere, lover ... ," she sneered, wrapping her legs around me and holding me fast against her. "This is Heaven, ‘sunshine’ and we’re going to enjoy it, one way or another."
God, was my heart pounding! There she was - the object of my desire - lying back and all but begging me to make love to her! I might be a bit of a prat at times and I might be a bit fucked up in the emotion department but I’m no fool. Breathing in her subtle perfume, I lowered my head for our first kiss ...
"Jonothon!" Paige’s distressed cry immediately strangled the moment. "What’s happening to me?"
She was fading from sight, her body becoming a non-substantial, spectral silhouette dissipating into nothingness. Illyana, alerted by Paige’s screams, glanced over and uttered a loud, excited whoop:
"Someone’s got a reprieve! Someone’s going back!"
No longer supported by Paige, I pitched forwards but, instead of hitting the ground, found myself plummeting into an empty, white wilderness. Shocked, I stared down at my hands and was horrified to see they were as transparent as Paige’s body had become.
"And another!" Illyana’s voice seemed remote all of a sudden, ebbing away into the void of limbo. "Promise me you’ll say ‘hello’ to Peter for me!"
For a startling second I hovered between the two worlds, neither alive nor dead but just so. A nothing-man, a tabula rasa, a glimmer of a concept waiting to be reborn. Numb inside and out, I waited for the creative hand to pluck me from obscurity.
Then, colour bled onto the blank canvas, harsh and lurid in its intensity. Familiar faces emerged from the chaos of pigments, quickly spreading themselves out across the page to form the threads of an impossible narrative.
"Look, Emma!" Jubilee was saying. "They look just like our Jono and Paige!"
"But they’re dead," Angelo reminded her with his usual attention to detail.
"Hmmm. Maybe they come from an alternate dimension ... " Emma responded.
I think you can guess the rest of the plot. So, it’s back to business as usual around here. Even though we’re not actually the original Chamber and Husk, we behave exactly the same; I’m missin’ half my face and me and Paige are still doing the will-they-won’t-they? tango. I dunno - it gets kinda confusing when I try to think about what happened to me. Like, did I really break my programming and leap or was I following a covert plot thread? Or was Limbo a real place or just another surreal Marvel-verse environment? Whenever I attempt to ask Paige about it, she pretends she’s forgotten but I can see the truth in her eyes. She’s scared, like me - scared because we don’t know if we can ever exercise any choice in our lives.
Look, I’ve got to go now. I’m needed on page 16 to lend a bit of explosive colour to a fight scene. Seems we’ve caught up with the original Paige’s killer and I’m about to avenge her death by scattering his body to the four winds when Everett stops me with the old ‘if you kill him you’ll be worse than him’ argument. Heh. Maybe I’ll surprise ‘em all and just murder the fucker ...
