#artie maddicks

[tilyoureninetyhughy]

Easter Eggs found on X2: X-Men United (2003)

[ffverr]

This was just a family outing, they're going to the park 😊 no horrors at all 😊

[cyb0rg-lungs]

back when X-writers highlighted the intimacy and friendships between mutants 😭 I love these panels of Artie waking up scared alone shortly after the Morlock Massacre, comforting himself by thinking of his older friend Rusty, and going to look for him in his room ❤️

from X-Factor #20 (1987)

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 27 - Voiceless & Muzzled

06/04/2018

!!!

The flashing neon letters on Artie's telepathy monitor made it entirely unnecessary for the boy, as so often, to try and communicate using sign language. He shifted his feet impatiently, greedily eyeing the weapon in Everett's hands. Now that Everett had – very reluctantly – given in with regard to at least a few elementary lessons in attack and defense for his fortunately usually very pacifist stepbrother, Artie visibly couldn't wait to make himself useful with something other than dull office work on Watergate for a change.

As little as Everett still liked the idea, and though he'd continue to carefully make sure that Artie would stay out of all active combat as much as possible ... In view of the news about certain killer viruses that some sick freaks were releasing on mutant shelters, it might not be such a bad idea for Artie to know how to use a rifle in case of an extreme emergency.

“Fine. But be careful.” Everett was especially unwilling to let go of his latest acquisition, but when Artie looked up at you with these huge white, pleading pupils, even the most hardened trainer would melt away. He came to stand almost at zero distance to his stepbrother and handed him the silver weapon almost longer than Artie's arms.

A green checkmark of confirmation in the shimmering square above Artie's head confirmed that the little one had taken note of the warning, and the necessary calmness now settled in his tall body too when he looked up at the sky. An unfamiliar, morbid kind of fascination was in his eyes when he scanned the starry firmament. Impatience, lingering aggression after this alarming news regarding Alaska that had arrived that afternoon via a certain spy line.

Despite his concern, Everett couldn't help but be proud about this sudden effort. Why not? Let Artie learn to defend himself a little better against the world out there that hated people like the two of them, than those bootlicking softies in Artie's old home, who were waiting between the secure walls of this posh mansion in Westchester for someone like Mystique to celebrate her great triumph, without being too keen on actually doing something for it themselves every now and then. “Slowly,” he warned Artie when he could tell by the growing tension in the kid's arms under his gentle guidance that Artie was about to pull the trigger already. ”Track the target. Remember you always need to think a few seconds faster than your victim.”

Another affirmative telepathic checkmark, accompanied by an eager nod. Artie turned aside as if in slow motion, just a little ... Then he pulled the trigger.

A seagull screamed a few miles away – then there was almost complete silence again as the night began to settle on the observation deck.

Artie bounced a little, his arm raised high, an emoji in the shape of fireworks on his soul screen, followed by the caricature of a bird from some video game not quite that fresh looking.

“Killing chicks. How brave,” an amused-sounding female voice behind them, with an unpleasant shrillness in it, commented.

With a single hand movement, even while still startling around, Everett had pushed Artie behind him and yanked a second, far more outdated pistol from his belt. This was a voice he didn't recognize, and he knew everyone on this damn base. That meant danger for more than one reason. He had upgraded the previously rather rudimentary security systems of this building complex single-handedly when Artie and he had joined the Brotherhood. No one entered or left Watergate without him noticing. Not only did the cameras installed at the tops of the mile-high towers surrounding all parts of the building provide seamless surveillance of the airspace, but the lenses and scanners on each of the dozens of tons that Everett had personally placed in the surrounding ocean also reported every approach to him, no matter how inconspicuous. Whoever had tricked all these precautions, it had to be a damn powerful someone.

“How did you get in here?”

“Ever heard of the speed of sound?” The tall stranger with the strawberry blonde hair took off at a speed that could hardly be seen with the naked eye, circled the facility faster than it was possible to follow with only your gaze, and landed in front of them again. ”Is this enough of an application, or do I need to e-mail a résumé first?”

Artie gasped audibly, and Everett didn't even need to see the now pitch-black exclamation mark in a red triangle on his monitor to be just as unhappy about the visitor, whose identity was now obvious. Even as the one between them who hadn't grown up with those idealistic idiots of Xavier's, he should have understood immediately. “Go,” Everett Artie ordered sharply, without lowering his pistol, still aimed at the stranger's heart even an inch. ”Tell Mystique we have an uninvited guest from your youth.”

Artie pouted in offense but quickly left. He had learned long before he'd even come to live with Everett's parents, right after his last ordeal in a state foster care home, to recognize an absolute tone of command when he heard one. And above all, to act on it.

“I didn't know my reputation extended that far,” the stranger remarked, feigning to be impressed.

“The data archive of the Brotherhood's enemies is extremely extensive, Miss Cassidy.” Everett's weapon was released with an audible metallic click. Now he was cursing himself for giving in to Artie insisting on a training session today after all, on the deck, of all places. In a potential fight on slippery ground and with poor visibility, he would possibly be inferior to such a powerful mutant, as much as he disliked to admit it.

“Good to know, at least someone here knows how to do their homework given that Mystique's people usually aren't oozing competence.” For now, Theresa wasn't making any move to attack him though. Whatever the girl wanted here, she apparently wanted to present peacefully for the time being. “Can you put that stupid gun away, Synch? You seriously think you can even tickle me with it before I dodge? I could have screamed you out of the sky with one of your jets days ago if I'd felt like it.”

Everett let the rainbow-colored aura of his gift glow around his body for barely a split second, in order to borrow the super speed of a certain brat of a former Brotherhood leader from afar, pulled the trigger of his gun without hesitation, and shot the stranger in the thigh, causing her to crash to the ground with a surprised gasp. So much for superior speed. Even the most creative mutations were of no use if they weren't paired with the necessary caution. “Try, and I'll be happy to show you how quickly vocal cords can be ripped apart telepathically. One of your former teachers should still remember that quite well.” His own thoughts were no longer really with the conversation though. Days ago? That meant that the girl must have spied on them all unseen, that she might know about Mystique's most secret plans. Everett's instincts had reacted before he'd even thought the matter through to the end. His free hand was already reaching for the energy handcuffs on his belt.

For now, that girl wasn't going – or flying – anywhere. Whatever she wanted, she could tell Mystique in a prison cell.

Everett's eyes widened in awe when his enemy, clenching her teeth, yanked the bullet out of her flesh and tied the ugly wound with a strip of fabric torn from her sleeve, without even flinching. Maybe they did learn a little more at Mutant High than falling to their knees for normal people for regularly trying to wipe out the mutant world, with little regard for collateral damage like Artie and Everett's unenhanced parents.

Fine, then he should probably better go the invisible route before the girl might actually raise her voice to an even more painful frequency. Everett feverishly tried to come up with a dream image that would shut the girl up as quickly as possible, already focusing on the abilities of the next best telepath in the area, and cursed silently when the enemy opened their mouth again. Fortunately, he didn't need to rush into his next plan, thereby wasting his powers unnecessarily.

Another attack hit the uninvited visitor between the shoulder blades. This time it was a barbed missile. Now, too, Theresa only startled again, as if she'd been bitten by an insect, and rolled her eyes demonstratively, turning halfway around to the slender, naked silhouette in the doorway leading to the main building. Artie had been quick. Just for a second, the girl let Everett and Mystique out of her sight, her arm twisting back to pull this projectile out of her skin as well. Before she could even touch it, she suddenly collapsed with a loud scream. The fabric of her yellow-and-black uniform top began to liquefy along with her skin. Inches-thick streaks of a viscous material were released from Mystique's missile and began to dig into Theresa's skin like acid.

“I'd really love to know what keeps making people like you think you're welcome here.” Mystique approached her victim with a blank stare, silent on her feet, her catapult ready to land a second strike if necessary. “You really think I didn't know you were sneaking around here? Your skid marks in the air are ruining the view from my bedroom.” She swung and kicked her victim, who was writhing on the ground, harshly in the side. The extremely satisfying crack of a fractured rib, mixed with another muffled scream, had a bit of Everett's anger dissolve. An unpleasant little episode, nothing more. These days, the Brotherhood knew how to defend itself even against very capable mutants. “Unpleasant, isn't it?” Raven bent over Theresa with an almost pitying smile, watching with satisfaction as the liquid spread further and further over the girl's back, drawing ever deeper lines, until the pain took her victim's breath away, her powerful body wracked by violent spasms, her eyes bulging. “Fortunately, one of our newest warriors has access to a few relics from the space traveler repertoire. We like to experiment with it a little, in case we have to deal with someone from Westchester. The Shi'ar call it Imear. The sucker. Organic material that eats through living tissue until it encounters dead tissue.” Her fingertips grasped Theresa's chin and turned the girl's head towards her. ”I've been told, that can take days.”

“I'm here to help you people out, you stupid bitch!“ Theresa managed to get out with difficulty between increasingly louder, tortured groans.

“Sure you do.” Raven hooked her fingertips into the end of the barb and pulled it a little towards her with relish, letting it snap back, visibly enjoying her victim's choked scream. “And why should I be listening to any of the X-Men for even half a minute?” Everett was close enough to his leader to listen to what was being said, with his weapon still in his hand, and had sufficient vision thanks to the night lighting, so he could see only too well that despite the usual aggression towards her old enemies, at least a spark of interest lit up in Mystique's yellow-brown pupils. She had no reason to trust the girl even for a nanosecond, but unfortunately, it was also a fact that there was one single factor she could not include in her almost perfect plan for the immediate future of the mutant world. And that, of all things, was the most unpredictable one.

Unfortunately, her guest seemed to know that too. “Because you need me to keep the X-Men in check. Someone who knows exactly how things in Westchester work. Have you been there recently? They have some impressive talents in their new team. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm no longer one of them. You start to shit on such loyalties pretty quickly when they kill your father.”

“You're just as clueless as your good old friends,” Mystique snarled. ‘We're enough to crush these maggots with our left hand. It's been long since the Brotherhood has needed to take chances on defectors.”

“Still pouting about that guy from Cyclops’ past that Magneto had hired back in the day? I could be wrong, but as far as I know, that dude did you people a pretty big favor back then, before he bit it, and he didn’t even ask to be paid for it,” Theresa spat, still severely restricted in her breathing and movement, but at least she seemed to have found a way to push even this terrible pain far enough out of her consciousness to communicate. Everett couldn't deny that he was more and more impressed. “Me, I'm not interested in the infant shit that guy's been up to back then. I have nothing more to do with the X-Men. They can't even control their own equipment enough to not shoot their own allies, so what am I supposed to do at theirs? Change diapers and fall into depression about how evil normal people are? I'm more interested in a place in your Senate once you've taken over the world.”

Mystique exchanged a restless glance with Everett. The girl knew everything, damnit. Apparently including things that might actually be useful – even necessary – for their plans. “I don't have time for this nonsense.” Once again, Mystique took a strong swing and knocked her guest unconscious with a fierce blow to their neck. Visibly reluctant, she rummaged for a syringe in one of her flesh pouches on her left leg and thrust it into the shiny, jet-black liquid on Theresa's back, her lips tight. Another relic from a certain Shi'ar warehouse in Kenya; the only serum able to have even an Imear blackout. Immobilized, not dead yet. Both creatures. “Lock her up and paralyze her vocal cords with a tranq serum so she won't cause any trouble. And make sure she doesn't bite it yet. I need to ask the girl a few questions.”

Everett had only a weak smile for this optimistic plan to spare. In some ways, despite all her intelligence, outstanding powers, and mental strength, you could tell that Mystique had never really enjoyed proper military training. “And you think she'll tell you the truth?”

“Either that or she dies, just like her loser of a father.” Raven looked at the mutant at her feet with a slow shake of her head. ”I want to know what she's really up to. If I can get her under control, I won't have to worry about Westchester anytime soon.”

“Not that I'm questioning your decisions, Boss ...” Everett absently let the barrel of his gun slip through his fingertips and frowned discontentedly when he spotted Artie in the shadows of the entrance.

The boy should have left … Oh well, at least he'd learned another lesson this way. One that was vital for survival in the Brotherhood.

“But doesn't trying to use anyone connected to Xavier's people end badly almost every time?”

“Let's just say ...” Raven slowly let her gaze wander over her captive again, and this time there was a hint of satisfaction in them. “I have more convincing methods these days. I need to leave. Call me as soon as the others return from Alaska.”

*******************************************************************************

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[comicsiswild]

FF (2012) #3

[shamlesspandanerd]

[lovecatsys]

Artie and Leech being best buds in X-Factor #17

[gnc-shadowcat]

I think they should make the next team of X-teens all kids who have been stuck as small children for way too long. Leong and Nga Cao Manh, Artie Maddicks, Leech…

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

Just realized that instead of coming up with a whole new name, I could just let Butcherbird fully subsume Marvel’s only other Laniidae themed character: Simon “Killer Shrike” Maddicks.

There’s no canon relation between Simon and Arthur “Artie” Maddicks but. I mean I’m already letting The Ultimate Spider-Man’s Vulture be his own character. So you can’t exactly stop me now.

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Artie Maddicks/Facade:During the battle of District X, Artie uses less conventional means to try and stop Death.

It was a little like the parting of the Red Sea. As soon as Hope had spoken, the road ahead of Artie rose up, as if someone had pinched the surface and pulled upwards. Cars, trash cans, newspaper boxes, all sorts of debris all rolled down either side of the black peak in a clatter. Then the road sank down again, flat, unencumbered, a straight line between the Range Rover and the spot Hope had indicated.

I live my life a quarter mile at a time, rang in Artie's ears as he hit the clutch and accelerator, revving the engine. Three, two, one... go. He put it into gear and took off, getting as much juice out of second as he could before shifting into third and hitting 45 miles an hour.

The rev of an engine itself wasn't particularly notable, but it did seem odd it appeared to be getting closer. Automatically, Death turned in the direction of the sound.

This would only work if he could keep Death in one place. Artie couldn't cloak the whole road but could create a bubble of illusion 30 feet wide and tall across it. Within it, the world fractured, splintered and recombined, whirling around Death.

The Horseman's perceptions spun in a disorienting kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. The sudden clash between the visual input and what his body knew to be true struck him with a wave of motion sickness severe enough to make him stagger.

Unfortunately, the direction he stumbled was away from the building and into the street.

The problem with an illusion like this was that once it was up, nothing inside the field was visible outside. Artie had a ten count before he'd be there. "Hope! Location!"

Quickly turning her head, Hope blinked once at the car quickly speeding at them, Artie's aura full of determination blazing from behind the wheel. "Two'clock for if you turn now!" She hurriedly projected, a little piece of her scouting training under the Archduke surging to the fore.

Artie adjusted his trajectory slightly and drove straight into the illusion he couldn't drop without losing the element of surprise. His car hit something and he jerked forward and back in the seat, airbag inflating and sending searing pain across his face as his nose broke.

As it turned out, the ability to absorb and neutralize the vast majority of mutant powers was less effective against a direct hit from an SUV.

Death landed in the windshield of an entirely different car, which came as a shock since he had never seen the first. From his point of view, the brief period he'd spent airborne had only been an extension of the labyrinthine riot his eyes were reporting. It was, therefore, something of a surprise when the visual distortions vanished to reveal a steaming and hugely dented range rover directly in front of him.

The Horseman stared at the car in disbelief.

"What sort of absolutely mental . . ."

[ffverr]

Are you ready to die Cameron Hodge?

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 15 - Childhood trauma & Moment of clarity

07/01/2018

All things considered, calling the Brotherhood of all people for support in the most recently emerged crisis, and not a day after the X-Men had faced their old archenemies at the gates of the besieged city no less, wasn’t the fucking weirdest thing that had happened in Westchester lately.

Ororo and Scott had decided for this early morning hour for their desperate attempt, in the weak hope that Mystique would be sleeping off the world's worst hangover right now, after hopefully drinking her defeat away yesterday. But still, they weren’t awfully surprised when the main com screen in the IT center flashed to life, showing a disgusted grimace on a certain red and blue scaled face instead of the pink-skinned person they'd actually sought out to talk to. That Mystique had filled the mayor chair for her domicile of triumph only with one of the X-Men's former students to deliver them painful twinges in their hearts every time this certain young man showed up in a press release or on one of these incredibly cynical, demonstratively cheerful invitation videos calling mutants around the globe to this so-called paradise of freedom, had never been much of a mystery.

Artie Maddicks had never been anything but yet another masterfully manipulated, well-oiled tool for her too wield while in truth, she was calling the shots behind every decision regarding the Brotherhood's new habitat. Anything they wanted to go to the boy to for, they'd have to run by his boss first one way or another.

Fortunately, Scott had twisted himself into worse verbal pretzels, running Mutant High after Charles' disappearance. Not to mention they were depressingly low on options. "We're calling about yesterday's attack." He didn’t bother granting Mystique as much as a greeting. When you were trying to kill each other at every turn, pleasantries became extremely neglectable.

"Looking for an apology, One-Eye? After you infiltrated us, again? You might be shit out of luck there." Mystique hardly gave him more than a scathing glance with her snow-white teeth bared wide before turning away halfway from the camera, demonstratively typing away on some keyboard, obviously of the opinion, these few vicious sentences had already been far too much attention for people she despised.

Not least thanks to Ororo's brief touch to the back of his hand, invisible for the camera on their side on the conversation, Scott somehow swallowed his equally rude reply, reminding himself arduously that with yesterday's surprising developments at the end of the battle, they were all in similarly equally bad positions at the moment and would need each other for a change. "I'm not talking about yours on our extraction crew but about Flashwind's."

This time, there was a clear hint of mischief sparkling in Mystique's yellow pupils. "Wait, so you're the one who wants to apologize? Let me put you on city speaker then. That said, looked more like to me like your little wifey was trying to file a visa request. If she's looking for an apartment downtown, you should probably be working on your charm, Summers, because I'm not gonna stop her. New York weather sucks anyway."

"If that would ever be her decision, we'll be sure to let you know, Darkholme," Ororo spoke up harshly before Scott get could get too tempted after all to call out his conversation partner on all her crap.

It was his turn to gratefully squeeze her leg under the control panel. His nerves already hadn’t been the thickest since he'd been attacked by his own partner courtesy of the influence of some insane psychic bitch yesterday afternoon.

"But it's not. Emma is in her mind, and we can't get her out alone."

For the first time since having been outsmarted by two teenagers yesterday, Mystique seemed caught off guard, another snort escaping her lips, but Scott also was pretty sure to see his enemy's back tighten just the tiniest bit. Emma had dealt the Brotherhood significant losses back when Magneto had still been actively around already, and Mystique wasn’t exactly someone to forgive easily. Or not to know who the few mutants in this good world were whom she needed to be truly cautious about. "The White Queen, are you for real? See, Summers, and this is why you don't take crazy to bed."

"Unlike you, Darkholme, we keep our clothes on around most of our acquaintances." Scott found he didn’t even have a lot of energy for provocations in return right now. His fleeting gaze kept on finding the time display on the monitor's right lower half, the reminder of how much serious damage Katja's numbed mind could be taking with every damn passing minute, lowering his already not-great bullshit tolerance in record time.

Sadly, Mystique wasn’t done yet, rubbing it in his face for how long the X-Men had put their trust in the wrong telepath … again. "Too bad. How else are you planning to pay for whatever you need from us? I can always use someone in a half-thong serving drinks in my loft."

"What gives you the idea we were calling your mayor's office for a request to you?" Ororo raised her voice again before the throbbing flashing behind Scott's VISOR could find the damn communication panel on pure accident – with how the conversation was going, he seriously doubted that would have made any difference.

"You should, seeing as I decide how to use my employers around here," Mystique reminded them flatly, from one second to another back to calculating business, even finally reluctantly waving for the person that this room was actually belonging to at last, to step into the camera's field of view, even if was surely mostly only to mock Ororo and Scott with the offer of what they so badly needed, only to snatch it away from them again right away or demand retribution from them that Scott wasn’t even willing to think about.

Luckily for them, in this case, this wasn’t her call.

"Curious. And here I thought mutants in New York are free to do whatever they please."

Mystique ground her teeth so hard, he thought he could actually hear it via the – thanks to the Field interferences slightly noisy – line. But then she actually scooted aside with her chair so that said follower of hers could pull up his own, albeit with a similarly dismissive look on his face.

Well, that probably meant, Scott didn’t need to try politeness in this even more difficult part of the call either. "Cat needs your help, Artie."

It hurt, the message that immediately plopped up in the screen's chat window, typed in by fingertips almost moving in lighting speed after so many years in which they'd been forced to take over for a voice no longer working after its owner's body had turned fully amphibian ... But it was sadly also exactly what they'd expected. Artie's mutation had developed into everything he'd had feared so long at the worst time back then, and he'd clearly never quite forgiven the X-Men for how alone he'd felt at that terrible moment.

'Did you two call the wrong number?'

This time, it was Ororo who needed to pause, to swallow thickly before she could answer, the pain of not having been able to help one of her favorite charges back then darkening her eyes, just like the heavy weight on her thin shoulders that this was something she'd probably never be able to never make up for. "Artie, please ... I know how bad these last few days of yours at Mutant High were. Believe me, I wouldn't call you if we had any other way. But this is about your city, too. Right now, Hank's got Cat's mind in deep sleep with the help of the right medication, but if she wakes up and makes it out of here, for what reason ever, then the Field is history. This is the only reason why Emma is keeping her mind captive. To fight Mystique for the power in New York and declare herself leader. Do you two really want to risk that?"

'Then make sure she doesn't wake up.' There was not a single visible stir in Artie's eerie, huge white eyes when he sent those shocking next few words via the com line.

Scott could have sworn to hear Mystique chuckle in satisfaction in the background. Christ, next time he'd meet that cunt in battle, there would definitely not be half as much holding back as yesterday.

Ororo's dark skin had turned a significant shade greyer. "You can't mean that, Artie. You two were so close back then …"

In the mind monitor over Artie's head which happened to be the main reason Ororo and Scott had decided for this call although they'd already had a sad hunch that it would go exactly this way, there was the image of a dark storm cloud flashing, a symbol for the young man's growing aggression ironic enough considering whom they were talking about here. 'The way she left me when I most needed her, to wrestle with Magneto once more, I sincerely doubt that, Miss Munroe. Why should I care about the fate of someone who didn’t give a fuck about mine?'

"You really don't know, do you?" Scott leaned closer to the camera with his jaw grinding both in irritation and sadness about how deeply that hurt between his wife and her once favorite pupil really ran, a hint of guilt also stinging in his heart for a moment as he couldn’t help but wonder if they wouldn’t have had to have this discussion right now if he'd made better choices himself in this regard.

"That us others, we had to all but stop Cat with violence at least twice a year from looking for you ever since you left. And about two times a week from trying and talking to you, since we finally learned where you were."

Artie's spidery fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, his mouth hanging open for long seconds while he seemed to try and process this information, but that deep crease of anger on his bulging forehead wasn’t going anywhere yet. 'Then why did she let you guys stop her if she allegedly cared so much?'

"Because in the end, she decided every time over that she didn't want to take the freedom of choice from you," Ororo answered very firmly, never letting go off that increasingly distraught gaze via the cameras, her hand clenching down on her thigh high uniform boot in growing agitation – in a faint breeze of hope. "That freedom has always been very important for her, too, and Cat has never been a hypocrite. Unlike some people." Ororo raised a meaningful brow in the direction of the screen where Mystique's face had soured more and more with every word.

'And yet you want to destroy what we built here,' Artie objected, vaguely gesturing around the room he'd so lovingly seemed to have furnished himself there, with all these huge cabinets with neatly filled files about his work, lots of paintings from sights all around the world and hundreds of photos, particularly of physically extremely disfigured mutants on the wall.

Scott would have loved to tell him that no one would come and take away from him what he was so enthusiastically helping to build there. But that would just have been another lie on top of the mountain of the ones that this so-called refuge was already built on. "Normal people, too, deserve the freedom of choice, Artie. I think we all know, things in New York will sooner or later come to a blow, one way or another, and I can't promise we won't be there then. You know very well we can't endorse what your boss is doing. And yet we haven’t stopped a single of our pupils who went there to live with you, have we?"

"How do I know you won't send your wifey yourself as soon as she's clear in the head again?" Mystique unexpectedly spoke up again, apparently sensing that she was quickly losing her superior position in this debate.

"One single mutant against a whole city? You think she'd be that stupid without Emma's influence, Darkholme?"

It was a rhetorical question on Scott's part because he knew the mouth Mystique had on her well enough by now, which was also why he was almost relieved when Artie started to type again, though the answer from that side wasn’t particularly benign either.

'It wouldn't be the first suicide mission she embarks on.'

"We will not start a war, Artie," Ororo stated with all the arduous conviction about that subject that Scott and she had come up with in the last few weeks, in so many arguments, fighting mostly the uncertainty in their own souls about how to approach this catastrophe. They still weren't any closer to a solution in that regard but the one thing everyone in this house knew was that they wouldn’t be responsible for mutant blood being spilled in the streets if they could avoid it somehow. "Cat knows that, too. If she should still decide at some point to do something very dumb, maybe because Mystique keeps her daughter hostage again under the false pretense of medical support, then she will have to live with the consequences, one way or another. But then that will be her decision, at least. What is happening right now? It's not. What would you have said if Emma had forced you with her powers to stay at Mutant High back then?"

'Cat wouldn’t have exactly minded that,' was the next still unbelievably bitter reply, but the way Artie's tall body had hunched in his elegantly carved chair more and more, his lidless eyes narrowing, twitching, again and again, revealed he was rapidly losing at least part of his aggression.

"I can guarantee you with 100 % certainty that this opinion has changed."

To that next solemn answer from Ororo, there weren’t any words for a short while, neither spoken nor written or mentally depicted ones.

"People can change, Artie," Scott finally spoke up again when he could be sufficiently sure, he wouldn’t make things worse instead of better. "That's what makes us human. Everything you had to endure, how difficult things always were for you … None of us can make that right. We made mistakes, all of us, including you. And maybe we'll always stand on different sides. But we never deny any mutant our help if they really need it. Will you allow me to ask you for the same?"

Artie abruptly got up from his chair, and for a moment, Scott was convinced he'd fucked up after all, blowing the last chance out of the window to free Katja from this dangerous condition any time soon … Then he saw, with relief, the image of a cab on Artie's mind monitor, and a clock the hands of which went one full-time round. An hour.

"You know I could just raze Frost Ltd. to the ground, Summers, don't you?" Mystique was audibly disgruntled that she'd been robbed of the chance of yet another blackmailing attempt of any kind their way.

"I wasn’t talking to you, Darkholme," Scott gave back coldly. "You might have nothing to fear by telepaths but if you're so happy to sacrifice mutants that Emma can kill or mentally damage for a lifetime with a single thought, knock yourself out. Otherwise, sit your ass down and pray, Artie will succeed."

The abrupt but at least silent disconnection of the com-line from his enemy's side said all he needed to know for the moment.

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