London Calling: DJ in Soho

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Mark succumbs to the noise and darkness of London.


It should have come as no surprise to anyone that Mark offered to check out Soho. Not only could he fit in better than anyone else, but he'd never been to London before and had to see how it compares to his SoHo. And if there was any gossip to be had, he'd hear it through the youth and queer cultures. He strolled easily down Old Compton Street, eyes and ears open for anything magically or mundanely suspicious, the lingering aches in his joints not enough to distract him.

But a Thursday night in the middle of London's hipster scene, the only notable sight was the group of happy homos on the way to the Admiral Duncan singing Mary Poppins as they left the Prince Edward Theatre. Not much different from Manhattan, really. It brought a smile to Mark's face.

It wasn't long before he arrived at Charing Cross Street. The normally busy road was empty, but didn't appear to be closed to construction and he didn't see any emergency vehicles around cleaning up an accident. Mark frowned. This was highly unusual, and in his life "unusual" meant "you might die in the next three minutes." His hand automatically slipped into his pocket, and the presence of his iPhone temporarily calmed him. His gripped tightened at the sudden sound of a car horn, but he couldn't see a single automobile. He cautiously crossed the first lane to the island and jumped as the horn sounded again. He looked around, but still no car.

Mark called up Mika's "Love Today" to illuminate the street, suddenly aware of the dim and flickering streetlights. "'Everybody's gonna love today, love today . . .'" he sang along softly. The happy and mindless pop helped quell the rising worry a bit, but Mark was sure that some horrible monster was just waiting for the right opportunity to jump out of the darkness and maul him. He had to ask himself why the fuck was he doing this alone and not with someone a little less half-dead.

The third horn honk, followed by what appeared to be an instant evening rush hour, thankfully did not make Mark pee himself. He dimmed his light to see if any headlights were approaching, but the only thing he could see was . . . lights coming from his feet? Confused, he looked down, and saw a light coming from the grate underneath him. He hesitated, then sighed, sent a quick text to everyone, and changed the track to to something harder and blasted the grill. It was a short drop, but still he stumbled and nearly fell on his butt.

There wasn't much light down here, either, so Mika's shrill falsetto broke through the traffic din to light Mark's way. In faded paint on the white brick wall behind him read "Little Compton Street." He cautiously started walking, eyes darting around. Just the sounds of cars and horns and pedestrians, what he'd expect in any city during the day.

It grew louder and darker the farther he walked, so he had to turn up the volume in order to hear Mika well enough to maintain the light. Little Compton Street wasn't anything more than an old street that London had built on top of, but the sounds were obviously coming from down here and not up top, and maybe whatever it was that Amanda was sensing was coming from down here. Maybe a doorway to another dimension. Stranger things had happened.

His light almost extinguished itself as the song changed, leaving him briefly in near darkness, and he mentally cursed himself for not eliminating the delay between tracks. Esther just wasn't the same as Madge, which he'd been able to navigate by touch only. When the next song started, the light flickered, so he dared to look down at the iPhone in order to raise the volume. The light briefly shined a little brighter, but the din grew louder, too. On top of the screeching traffic the familiar zoom of airplanes above could be heard. But it wasn't the normal whooshing sound of a modern jet, more like the whirling propeller sound from old war movies . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by an earth-shattering kaboom, and Mark immediately fell to the ground to duck for cover. Another plane flew overhead, followed two seconds later by another explosion. Then another. The light dimmed again, forcing Mark to actually put on his headphones so he could hear the music over the blitz.

There was no point in staying down here any longer. Whatever this pandemonium beneath London was wasn't something that he could handle alone. He had to leave, find the others, and come back with them.

Except that he had no idea how to get out. He couldn't see a thing beyond his glowing hands and didn't remember which direction he'd come down. If he could have some quiet he could think and recreate his path. If the cars would just stop honking and people stop shouting and construction workers stop ripping up the roads and airplanes stop bombing and leveling the city, then he could focus.

His light died as the uproar of London grew and drowned out his music. The darkness crept in around him, suffocating, like a thick fog, and he turned the volume to the max and pressed the headphones hard against his ears to try to hear just one note, enough to light at least a little flicker.

But London didn't offer him that mercy, and the black swallowed him whole.

~

A blinding flash of light bathed the empty world in blue and white, then pulled back, like a wave receding with the tide. There was an odd sense of familiarity at each illumination, followed by a deep heart-wrenching longing as the light died. Mark sat beneath a leafless tree, hugging himself tightly and trying to bite back a sob.

He couldn't tell how far away it was, but he had no doubt that the portal led back of Earth. Of course, dozens of Warwolves patrolled the thing like it was some holy relic. Their cries and howls were louder than his.

Mark had long since lost feeling in his extremities, and the blood soaking his clothing had frozen. His eyes felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. It wasn't a weariness he was familiar with at all, this soul-deep yearning to just stop everything. After days or weeks or who knows how long of fighting to stay alive and barely surviving only to find the one possibility home little more than a cruel, deadly joke, he was two seconds away from throwing in the towel.

If there were any towels in this world.

"Don't forget to bring a towel," he said out loud in a high voice.

He closed his eyes as the light washed over him again. That time, he couldn't stop the tears or the pitiful moan.

Mark didn't know how long he sat there, shaking in the cold and with the knowledge that even if he could cut a swath through the demons to the portal, he may not survive the trip.

But, a voice in his head said to him, battling tooth-and-nail against impossible odds is part of the job. He knew that when Remy first extended the offer to join X-Force. It was a lesson that Remy and Pete and Betsy and even Doug beat into his head every day.

And he'd beat death once before, right? Twice, even. He could do it again. Wouldn't a third time just stick it in Esteban's craw.

He pulled himself back to his feet and shuffled zombie-like to the light, sighing each time it illuminated the world. When he came upon the horde of Warwolves worshiping at the altar of the portal, his numb fingers reached into his pocket to pull out the music player, and Robert Plant's well-known screech sent the demons into a hysteric rage.

Mark didn't hesitate. He raised his hands and let out his all, and the blast sent a dozen demons flying. If the song hadn't drawn their attention, then this sure did, and they didn't waste any time, either.

"We come from the land of the ice and snow / From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow," he sang softly, felling three demons at a time. He'd taken them by surprise which allowed him to gain some ground, but he wouldn't have the advantage for long. He'd need to push harder to get to the portal.

"The hammer of the fuckin' gods!" The Warwolves wails nearly overpowered the song, and Mark's blasts faltered. The momentary weakness was enough for the demons, and they pounced. Mark lowered his hands, took a deep breath, and let out all the energy he could muster. Everything around him exploded. The blast ripped into the Warwolves, scattering half-dead bodies across the land.

Mark fell to his knees just inches from the portal. He didn't have much left in him, and if even one wolf had survived the near kamikaze, then he was really done.

He reached a glowing hand up to the writhing mass of blue-white energy, and it reached out to him, like a lifeline trying to rescue a drowning person. "Valhalla, I am coming."

The demon realm of the Warwolves was once again dead and silent.

~

"I'm not going to die in the dark, dammit," Mark said. Or thought he said. He couldn't actually hear his own voice. "Fuck, I'm not going to die at all. I'm getting really fucking tired of this. Do you hear me? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?" He tapped into his powers, desperately grabbing for anything he could find, even the tiniest spark.

His fingers twitched and his chest seized. It felt like a three hundred pound man was sitting on him. He tried to cry out, but no sound came. The darkness pressed on him and squeezed while the cacophony of London roared.

And he laughed. Whatever the fuck you are, you've just made a mistake, he said to himself. Beneath din, he could hear London sing to him. He couldn't tell what the song was, or even if it was a song, but it was music to his ears, and he greedily grabbed it and took it for himself. Little Compton Street suddenly shone as if he'd brought the sun down to Earth, expelling the darkness and banishing the shadows.

The sounds of London receded, and Mark stood in silence beneath Soho. He took out Esther and pressed play.

"'Relax. There is an answer to the darkest times . . .'"