THE ARCHETYPE ASSOCIATION
"So," Betsy said, "just when did you find
out about this ... ability?"
"About ten years ago," Archetype replied, sipping
at his tea. Warren had given him one of his many shirts to
wear, and he now looked like nothing had happened to him.
He and the X-Men were seated in the formal dining room, surrounding
the large table.
"I was working out West, around the Rockies, and was
doing a lot of traveling. One night, I was in the middle of
nowhere, driving to my next assignment, when a semi showed
up out of nowhere. The driver was probably asleep at the wheel,
and was weaving all over the place. There was no way in hell
I could avoid the thing, and I ended up hitting it head-on.
"The next thing I knew, it was high noon, and I hurt
like hell. I wasn't entirely rational, so I just climbed out
of the car and started walking. Later, when I saw the car,
I realized that the car had fallen off the mountain, the gas
tank had exploded, and the car had burned to a shell, with
me in it.
"I didn't realize that at the time, though. All I knew
was that I was in pain, and I had to find help. I guess I
wandered into the mountains eventually. The next thing I remember
is finding a cabin in the middle of the woods. I tried to
shout for help, but my throat wouldn't make any sounds. I
was finally able to break a window and climb in that way.
"The cabin was deserted - I suppose it was a hunting
lodge of some kind - and I looked around. I was able to find
a mirror. Sometimes I wish I hadn't." He closed his eyes
as if still feeling the pain.
"I was a mess. My skin had been charred black, and my
face was completely gone. The skin was hanging from my fingers.
I took a good look at myself, and fainted dead away.
"I have no idea how long I lay there. I didn't move.
I didn't even breathe. I just collapsed, and wondered why
I wasn't dead. I waited to die. I wanted to die, because
the pain was more than I could stand." He looked at Xavier
wryly. "Believe it or not, the part that I don't
expect you to believe is coming up."
"We'll do our best to suspend our disbelief," replied
Archetype chuckled, then continued. "Well, after a while
I started losing awareness. I like to think that I was at
a point between death and life, neither one nor the other."
He frowned. "Before I continue, I think I should ask:
are any of you familiar with the psychological principles
of Carl Jung?"
"I am," Betsy replied. "When I first realized
that I was a telepath, I read as much psychology as I could
get my hands on."
Archetype looked at her, eyes narrowed, then continued. "Well,
you may be able to explain to the others what I'm talking
about, then. It should become clearer as I go along."
"I stayed on that cabin floor for several months, healing,
although I didn't really know how much time was passing. When
I finally came out of my trance, I was completely healed.
However, my hair was about a foot longer, and I had a full
beard. I was also thin as a rail, and hungrier than I'd ever
been in my life. I staggered out of the cabin - I was able
to unlock the door - and looked for something - anything -
"After stripping a few blackberry bushes, I ran across
a buck, not five feet away from me, on the other side of a
tree. Suddenly, my senses went crazy. I knew, instantly, what
I had to do. I leapt out from behind that tree, jumped onto
the back of that buck, grabbed him by the horns, and held
on for dear life." He stopped for a moment. "I can't
believe I just said that," he said to himself, rolling
his eyes. Some chuckles were heard around the table.
"Anyway, after a while, the buck just got tired out.
Now, this buck was huge, about three hundred pounds, while
I must have weighed about eighty at the time. But I grabbed
that deer by its head, and with one twist of my arms, I broke
"Then I found two rocks - two pieces of flint, and knocked
them against one another. Again, I didn't know how,
in fact, I was too hungry to care, but I knew exactly what
angle to hit those rocks together to get some sharp chips
of flint. I used those chips like you'd use a utility knife.
I had the meat off that buck before the body was cold. I just
sat there in the middle of the forest, totally naked, eating
a raw deer with my hands. I had gone totally primal."
"You came out of that state eventually, I assume?"
"Yes. Once my belly was full, I fell asleep. When I
woke up, I was still hungry, but I had filled out a bit. It
seemed that my body had been working overtime, converting
the calories that I had eaten into pure muscle. Night had
fallen while I was asleep. I was a bit more rational, and
I realized that wolves would be after the carcass soon. I
cut off the largest slab of meat I could carry, took my flint
chips, and got back to the cabin as fast as I could.
"The previous occupants of the cabin had left a supply
of firewood, so I used the flint to start a fire. Now, I had
never even cooked over a charcoal grill before, so I didn't
know how I knew how to start that fire, but I did it anyway.
I cut off some of the meat, cooked and ate it, and went back
"Next morning, I got a good look at myself. I was a
filthy mess, covered in blood and dirt. I found a stream near
the cabin, and washed up. Things started to come back to me
around then, and a few minutes later, I realized that I was
standing naked in the middle of nowhere. I went back to the
cabin, and found some old clothes after rummaging around for
"Before I got dressed, though, I realized something.
Before that truck hit me, I had lived out of a fast-food bag
and never exercised, so while I wasn't fat, I did have a bit
of a potbelly. I was pretty flabby, actually. Now, though,
I was lean and mean. I had the body of a long-distance runner.
Some old scars had healed themselves, too. I couldn't explain
"I sat down and thought about it for a while, wondering
how I knew how to do all these things. Now, this was the first
time in days that I had something other than simple survival
to worry about. After sitting quietly for a few minutes, I
realized that I could hear voices inside my head. A lot
"What are you saying?" Betsy asked.
"I think I've started to figure it out," Jean said.
"It explains your code name, too. You're in contact with
the collective consciousness, aren't you?"
"Yes," Archetype replied. "Either that, or
I went completely insane as a result of my accident."
"That could explain why we can't read you," Xavier
"Possibly. There might, however, be a more mundane reason
for that. Are you familiar with a neurological condition known
as attention deficit disorder?"
"Yes. It's a condition found in children, usually accompanied
"There's been some new research in that area recently,
Charles," Jean corrected him. "There are cases where
hyperactivity isn't present, and some people carry the condition
on into adulthood."
"I'm one of those lucky few," Archetype said sardonically.
"The reason why you can't read me isn't due to any sort
of psychic defense. My mind is like that all the time."
"Must make life interesting.," Hank remarked.
"You should get some entertainment watching me flip
out around April fifteenth. It's sort of difficult to fill
out a tax return for the previous year when you can't remember
what you did yesterday. Well, after I demonstrate my other
primary ability, I suppose that you'll want me to leave for
a while, so that you can make a decision regarding my status.
If you do decide to keep me around, I'll give you a few warnings
about what having me here is going to be like."
"That sounds fair," Xavier agreed. "Would
you demonstrate for us, please?"
"Certainly." Archetype paused for a moment. "An
explanation beforehand might be in order. When I started to
realize what had happened to me, I spent several months in
that cabin, trying to explore the limits of my new gifts.
After several acts of extreme masochism that helped determine
the limits of my healing abilities, I decided to look inside
my mind again.
"After ... I guess 'communing' would be the best word
... with those voices for a while, I started to see things
in a different way. It's not really something that I can explain
in words. I think you would have to experience it to understand
it. The gist of it, though, was that I could see 'paths' all
around me, going to different places, that I could step into
if I so chose." He smiled for a moment. "I'm afraid
that what I'm about to tell you is going to seem pretty mystical.
Please bear with me."
Archetype got up, and walked over to the window. The sun
was just starting to set, darkening the sky with scarlet and
"The world that you know is only one of many out there."
"We're aware of that," Scott said. "We've
all visited other worlds in the past."
"That wasn't quite what I meant. I'm not talking about
a location in space, but a state of being, and of looking
at the world. All of you walk in the daylight, touched only
lightly by darkness. I've traveled to many different places,
and have experienced the extremes of both light and darkness.
I've been in the many shades of grey in between, and have
experienced other 'shades' of being." He shook his head
as he sat back down. "I'm sorry, but the dichotomy of
black-and-white, good-and-evil doesn't tell the whole story.
I've seen ways of viewing the world which don't have any parallel
that you'd be familiar with. When I see things, I see them
on many different levels at the same time."
"Just what do you mean by 'levels'?" asked Warren.
"Well, there's the level that you and I are dealing
with right now, what could best be called the physical level.
However, I'm also aware of other things: what might be called
the dimensional level. I can 'see' the manner in which natural
forces interact around me, and draw strength from those forces,
making my own abilities more efficient. I can also tap on
something..." He hesitated for a moment, appearing uncertain.
"...I'm trying to find the right word. 'Primitive' is
wrong, because it's rich and vibrant, and as important now
as it's ever been. I suppose 'deep' is the best way to describe
it. I can utilize those images and concepts which are buried
deep within the human psyche, and draw information from them.
Jung called these sources archetypes. That's how I chose my
"I also seem able to, in a very vague way, predict the
"How do you mean?" Ororo asked.
"No action takes place in a vacuum. Every action that
you or I make affects the environment around us. I'm not just
talking about the natural environment, either. Society, politics,
and the economy are all affected by our actions. What I seem
to be able to do is to look into the collective consciousness
and, based upon what I see there, make extrapolations of what
is going to happen in the near future. I can then make decisions
based on my conclusions."
"How accurate are your predictions?" asked Bobby.
"I have a success rate of between seventy and eighty
percent. Once I came down out of the mountains, I found that
I was nearly broke. I had been fired from my job, and after
paying off all my bills, I had about one thousand dollars
to my name. After getting another job, and a few months of
careful living, I built that up to five thousand dollars.
I picked up a paper and a financial magazine, and started
leafing through them aimlessly. Eventually, I found that certain
listings caught my eye, and others gave me a bad feeling,
for no reason whatsoever. I invested in the ones that made
me feel good. I dropped them when I got a bad feeling about
them. After following that system for a full year, I was worth
quite a bit."
"Wait a minute," Warren choked out. "You mean
that you became rich by randomly leafing through the financial
"Yes. Disgusting, isn't it? I've kept that up for the
past three years."
"How much are you worth now?" Xavier questioned
"I'd rather not say out loud. May I have a pencil and
"Certainly." Xavier handed him the notepad that
he had been jotting his observations on. Archetype scribbled
on it for a moment, and handed it back to him.
Xavier looked at it for a moment. "What's wrong, Charles?"
Ororo asked him.
"He's written it in scientific notation. This will take
a second." After a moment's concentration, Xavier's eyes
went wide. "Good Lord!"
"What? How much is he worth?"
"Think of your Social Security number," Archetype
"All right," she replied.
"Now add two digits."
"You must be joking."
He shrugged. "It pays the bills. I'd be more than willing
to act as a financial advisor for any of you."
"We're getting off the subject," Xavier interrupted,
regaining his composure. "We've determined that you have
a precognitive ability."
"I wouldn't call it precognition. I don't see events
as much as I see trends. My skill is highly intuitive.
I can find the solution to a problem, and act upon it, without
being able to articulate just how I found that solution."
"Understood. What is your other primary ability?"
"Well, it's related to my first one. I told you that
I can see the 'paths' that exist all around me. I can utilize
those paths to travel from place to place. When I do that,
I temporarily step outside of this reality, and reenter it
almost instantly. Time has little meaning for me while I'm
in the process of transit. 'Teleportation' would be the best
word for what I do, although it's a little inexact."
"So you're a teleporter," Jean said.
"I have some other abilities in that vein, as well.
You see, once I came to certain realizations as a result of
my experience, my own views of space and time changed drastically."
He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and stood up.
"I think that a demonstration would be the best way to
explain what I'm talking about. With your permission?"
he asked, looking at Xavier, who nodded.
Archetype walked over to a corner of the room, where there
was a bit of space for him to move around. He held two adjacent
corners of the paper, holding it in front of him.
"Imagine that the surface of the paper is the fabric
of space. If you wanted to travel from one end of it to the
other, it would take you quite a while. Now, when I travel,
I look for another path, one in which the total distance is
"You see, the metaphor of a sheet of paper to represent
space is a bit inaccurate. It encourages the view that space
is an orderly place. The reality is more like this."
He crumpled the paper up into a ball.
"Now, this analogy is also inaccurate, because different
areas of space are either crumpling or flattening out at any
given time. The forces that hold it all together are moving
along with them, and are constantly interacting with one another.
What I do is locate the points where these forces converge,
and use them to get where I have to go."
"So you use existing congruence points in space-time,
rather than creating your own," Henry said.
"Yes. Believe me, it's much harder for me to explain
it than it is for me to do it. Another facet of this ability
is that I can 'stretch' space-time. You see, by carrying my
metaphor a bit further, the fabric of space is not made of
cloth, but of elastic. I can either 'fold' or 'stretch' any
"Can you demonstrate the latter?" Henry asked.
"Certainly. Please walk towards me." Henry obliged
him, getting out of his chair and approaching him.
To the rest of the X-Men sitting at the table, it looked
like Henry was walking in place, then running in place.
"What's happening, Hank?" Bobby asked.
"The dining room just gets longer and longer,"
"You can stop running now," Archetype said. "I'll
return things to normal when you're still." Henry stopped,
standing in place. He then sat down again.
"What about folding space?" Rogue asked him from
the other side of the room.
"That's easier done--"
"--than said," he replied from directly behind
Rogue and the others turned abruptly, caught totally unawares.
"Is that how you showed up at the front door?"
"Are you always that fast?" Xavier asked him carefully.
"No," Archetype chuckled. "That was the Federal
Express version of translocation. My usual method of travel
A black rectangle, about six feet high and four feet wide,
appeared beside him. A faint blue aura surrounded it. "This
is what I call a Door. Original name, isn't it?"
"Where does it go to?" Rogue asked.
"Once I go through it, I'll transit back to where I
was standing before." He stepped into the hole in space,
and reappeared back beside Xavier.
"Is there any limit to your range?" Ororo asked.
"Not to my range, but I have to have a good idea of
what there is where I'm going. If there are any solid objects
in the area, things will get messy. It's actually more difficult
for me to go a short distance than a long one. It takes longer
to find connection points."
"Anything else about you that we should know about?"
"My vision extends a bit farther into the infrared than
an ordinary person's. It looks like a thermograph to me. Because
of that, my night vision is excellent. I don't know if this
has any bearing on anything, but before the accident, my eyes
were brown. When I woke up from my recovery, they were grey,
and have been ever since, and while I don't appear to have
aged since then, my hair has been going silver for about a
year. My hearing is a bit more acute than the ordinary. My
ability to fold space-time allows me to move at what will
appear to be very high speeds to an objective observer. I'm
skilled in the use of most edged weapons, and I have excellent
hand-to-hand combat skills."
"What about personal information?" Jean asked.
"Interests and such?"
"Well, I do a lot of reading, and I'm a graduate of
the Culinary Academy. I'll be more than happy to take on the
role of cook if I'm accepted. I advise that you not give me
responsibility of anything high-tech."
"Why's that?" Scott asked.
"I seem to have what could best be termed 'negative
mechanical karma'. Electronic devices seem to act strangely
whenever I'm around them for a while. I put out streetlights
as I walk down the street at night, my computer never seems
to work right, and light bulbs tend to burn out whenever I
try to turn on a lamp. I'll keep my computer separate from
whatever systems you have here, to minimize the chances of
affecting your equipment.
"My connection with the collective unconscious makes
me a very light sleeper. It's very rare that I'll sleep through
a full night. I tend to be a night owl in any case. My interests
are wide ranging, but tend not to be mainstream. I listen
to almost any type of music under the sun. As a personal quirk,
I seem to have total recall for pop music. I can recite almost
any song that I've ever heard. Lastly, I tend to be somewhat
eccentric. I guarantee you that while I may occasionally be
maddening, I'm rarely boring.
"That's about it," he finished. "Any more
"Two," said Xavier. "And they're related.
Why do you want to join us, and why can we use you?"
"That's pretty direct. Allll right. One: I'm a dyed-in-the-wool
cynic. I don't trust the government, and I feel that, on the
average, people are too unobservant to see what's going on
around them. I am, however, realistic enough to realize that
I can't bring about any real change if I work on my own. I
need to work with people with whom I can achieve a common
goal. You," he said, gesturing to the X-Men, "are
the most effective catalysts for change that I have seen.
Also, to be totally honest, I've been working alone for far
too long. I want to be part of something bigger. Everything
that I've heard about you says that you are as much a family
as you are a team. That sounds like something that I'd very
much like to be a part of.
"As for why you can use me, the tactical advantages
spring to mind. With a teleporter, you'll be able to respond
to events more quickly. The fact that I'm immortal shouldn't
be ignored either. You'll be able to send me into situations
where none of the rest of you would be able to survive. My
skill at predicting the immediate future just might save your
lives in a fight. Lastly, since your enemies tend to use ultra-high
technology, my disruptive ability could prove to be a useful
'wild card' in a confrontation.
"I'll also make my financial and material resources
available to all of you, for both strategic and personal reasons.
I have a number of safehouses, scattered throughout the world.
That might be useful if anyone gets stranded or separated
from the rest of the team."
"All right, I've said my peace," he finished. "If
you want, I'll leave while you make a decision."
"Just go into the sitting room," Xavier advised
him. "Our discussions tend not to take very long."
"As you wish." He got up, tipped his head in acknowledgment,
and left the room.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Xavier, turning
back to the table.
"How did he know where we were?" Logan queried.
"I gave Val clearance to give him our location. He probably
showed up at our front door to prove a point."
"What would that be?" asked Bobby.
"Think about it, kid," Logan replied. "We
have some of the most advanced security technology in the
world. He was able to bypass it completely, and knock on our
front door. If he could do that, then he could have shown
up inside, fully armed, and started shooting."
"The fact that he didn't most likely reflects his intentions
more than it does his capabilities," Henry added.
"How did Val learn about this guy?" Rogue asked.
"And what did she tell us about him?"
"You'd better play the disk again, Charles," Jean
"Good idea. Why don't we go down to the briefing room?"
They all got up and made their way towards the elevators allowing
passage to the lower levels, where the X-Men kept all of their
advanced technology. As they passed by the living room, Archetype
looked up from his book.
"We want to review the disk again," Xavier told
"Fair enough," he replied agreeably, returning
to his book, pointedly ignoring the fact that Betsy sat down
across from him, looking at him intently.
When they had reconvened in the briefing room, Xavier inserted
the disk which Archetype had given him into a CD-ROM player,
which he activated. When the prompt appeared, he typed in
an encrypted password. A few seconds later, Valerie Cooper's
face appeared on the screen.
"Hello, Charles," she said. "I've made this
recording in order to explain just why I sent Archetype to
you on such short notice.
"I think that an introduction is in order. The Committee
on Superhuman Affairs is divided into several departments,
each an agency in its own right. One deals with natural mutations,
one with those superhumans who have gained powers through
artificial means, and one with extraterrestials. It's the
fourth agency that's important for the purposes of this briefing.
This agency deals with events and phenomena which are best
defined as 'supernatural'. It's descended from an agency which
was formed during World War Two. The Third Reich was using
quite a bit of magic in an effort to gain a tactical advantage,
and the Allies formed an organization to counter them. Today,
the agency monitors magical activity throughout the world,
and makes the Committee aware of any events which could pose
a threat to national security.
"Just about two years ago, I started receiving reports
that magical forces were on an upswing in both the United
States and Europe, reversing a decline which had been taking
place since the end of the war. In almost all the cases of
increased magical activity, there was a common denominator:
Will Riley was present. It is not yet known at this time whether
this is a result of deliberate activity on the part of Mr.
Riley, or an inadvertent result of his presence.
"Mr. Riley holds citizenship in both the U.S. and the
Irish Republic. He has no criminal record, and does not seem
to hold to any specific political philosophy. Nothing appears
out of the ordinary about him until he reappeared after vanishing
for four months. He achieved tremendous financial success,
making a fortune in the stock market. There were various unofficial
investigations, of course, but no evidence of wrongdoing was
ever found. The consensus among my people is that he's either
an incredibly lucky sonofabitch, or he does possess some sort
of power which allows him to foresee the immediate future,
because he sold, most of the time, seconds before his holdings
lost value. His timing was just too close for there to have
been any sort of collusion with someone else.
The image on the screen changed to a security camera of a
European city. "This footage is from a security camera
at the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. Israeli security provided
it at my request.
"You may recall a terrorist attack that was staged here
by a an ultra-conservative Jewish group four years ago. Riley
was there that day. As far as we've been able to tell, that's
a coincidence. Keep an eye on the bottom left of the screen."
They saw Riley walking around, looking at the architecture,
a book in his hands. A few seconds later, several men with
automatic weapons came on screen and started firing into the
crowd. Riley fell along with the rest of the crowd, several
bullet wounds visible on his body. The terrorists fled off
The clock on the monitor skipped ahead ten minutes. Riley
moved slowly, staggering to his feet, covered in his own blood.
He turned suddenly, as if startled by a sound, then hurried
out of the room, just before medical and military personnel
Cooper's face reappeared on the screen. "I ordered my
people to begin a full investigation of Riley, but to keep
it low key. About three months later, I was working late in
my office one night when there was a knock at my door. I assumed
that it was the security guard who was doing rounds, so I
told him to come in. Well, the door opens up, and in walks
Riley. He sits down in front of me and just looks at me. I
keep a pistol in my desk, so I took it out and pointed it
at him. I know that sounds a little paranoid, but I felt pretty
much the way I think you guys felt when he breezed past your
security. By the time I had raised my pistol high enough to
get a bead on him, he had disappeared. Before I could react
to that, I felt something cold against the back of my neck,
and a quiet voice telling me not to move. He took my gun away
and sat back down.
"He told me that he hadn't come to threaten or harm
me and that I wouldn't have been able to harm him in any case.
He pulled the clip out, emptied both it and the chamber, and
then handed it all back to me. Then he showed me what he had
just held me up with." She grimaced. "I may be the
first government agent in history to be mugged with a Charleston
Chew." Some giggling was heard around the table.
"He asked me why I wanted to see him. Now I hadn't given
any orders to approach him yet, because we hadn't been able
to determine just what his political leanings were. I asked
him what had given him the impression that I wanted to speak
with him, and he responded that I had been investigating him.
Then he gave me the names of all of the agents who were working
on his case.
"Now, I have to be sure that you all understand that
during the time that we were investigating him, we were doing
it from desks in Langley, totally among ourselves. We hadn't
sent out a single field agent to check him out. Somehow, he
knew not only what we had been doing, but the stage we were
at in the investigation. I'm not ashamed to say that my jaw
hit the floor.
"He told me that he had no desire to work for the government,
and that he fought his own battles. He did say, however,
that he wanted to do some good in a manner that would allow
him to do the job his way. He gave me an e-mail address and
suggested that I contact him and give him the names of some...
let's see, what was the phrase... 'independent agencies' who
could use his talents. Then he tipped his hat to me and vanished.
After I started breathing again, I got my team together, and
we decided that the best way to keep him under control was
to make sure that he worked with people we could trust. We
decided on you, because you guys have been the most dependable
of all the groups out there, and you have the best record
of dealing with difficult personalities. I contacted him,
and over a period of several months, we exchanged noncritical
information about you. No identities were compromised, I assure
Yesterday, he called me and told me that he would contact
you guys today. I wasn't given any preparation time, because
he didn't want me trying anything funny. I barely had time
to make this disk and give it to him." Val's face became
"Be careful with him, Charles. He knows a lot more than
he talks about. He's sharp, he's sneaky, he's unpredictable,
and I get the feeling that he's much more dangerous than he
lets on. He may be one of the more powerful members that you've
had. Just make sure that he doesn't blow up in your face.
I'm depending on you to control him, or, if necessary, to
neutralize him." The screen went blank.
"Neutralize," Bobby snorted. "The bureaucratic
term for eliminate."
"We have other options at our disposal, Bobby,"
Xavier reminded him.
"Look, Professor, I don't want us to have another Creed
hanging around here."
"Neither do I," said Jean. But I don't think he
has any desire to harm us. Given what we've seen of him so
far, there's been no sign of hostile intent from him."
"But you can't read him," Bobby pointed out.
"I didn't say that," she replied. "I only
said that his thoughts weren't very coherent. I remember reading
some articles about the condition he mentioned. A person with
attention deficit disorder would read the way he did
to a telepath."
"Just what is attention deficit disorder, Jean?"
"A neurological condition. His brain's wired a little
differently than ours. He can't filter out external stimuli
as well as the rest of us can." She frowned. "I
doubt I'd be able to describe it properly. We'd be better
off asking him and letting him describe it himself. I can
get emotional impressions from him, though. Mostly, he's worried
about what we'll decide."
"This isn't addressing the issue," Xavier noted.
"Do we accept him among us or not?"
"He would give us certain tactical advantages,"
Henry mused. "Even with the Shiar backing us up, we keep
getting outdone in technological sophistication. His ability
could help us level the playing field. And he is right about
our needing a teleporter. Most of the groups that we keep
running into seem to have one as standard issue."
"Tell me about it," Logan grumbled. "Just
once, I'd like to be able to follow Sinister to wherever the
hell it is he disappears to."
"Also," Henry continued, "if he is a precog,
then we have the advantage of knowing when something big is
about to happen."
"His safehouse system could also prove useful,"
Betsy pointed out. "So could his financial backing, for
"I can agree with that," Xavier said. "Our
activities over the past few years haven't broken the bank,
but they have bent it from time to time."
"I still don't like it," Scott growled. "Something
about the man rubs me wrong."
"Anything specific, Scott?" Rogue asked.
He shook his head. "No. It's just a feeling."
"You felt that way about me once, Cyke," pointed
out Logan, "and I think I've turned out pretty well."
"I say we let him stay here for a few weeks, so we can
get an idea of what he's like," Warren said. "After
that, we can make a decision about whether or not he becomes
a full member. Besides, it'll give us a chance to test his
"Any objections to Warren's plan?" Xavier asked.
No one spoke. "All right, we'll give him one month. Based
on his suggestion, we'll make him the cook for the school.
Hank, please set up some training sessions for him. Bobby,
put him in Peter's old room. He'll go on a mission only if
we need every available warm body. Dismissed."
As they filed back upstairs, Rogue walked over to Xavier.
"Won't he need time to move in, Professor?"
Xavier frowned. "I hadn't even thought about it."
"I'll offer to help him out."
"Thank you. While you're at it, take a good look at
how he decorates his room. It could give us some insight into
how he thinks."
Xavier smiled slightly. "Scientific observation."
Continued in Chapter
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