THIS STORY IS A PARODY. X-Men are owned by Marvel Comics. This is a not for profit story. No one under eighteen should read this story.

THE CREW

Monday - 6:18 AM

Armored truck making it's morning rounds; cash deliveries to banks, precious stones to large jewelry stores, and bearer bonds to brokerage offices. Inside, one driver and two guards all armed with nine-millimeter pistols and one shotgun. The doors are sealed; truck is equipped with powerful radio to contact police and a tracking device in case of hi-jack. They turn right on Leta Street, two miles from their first delivery. Used car lots and garages, not opened yet; no traffic this early. As usual, it happens very suddenly, and of course, with no warning. The ignition shuts off and the brakes engage all by themselves bring the truck to an abrupt stop. The driver can't start it up again; engine just won't turn over. A mini van drives up and stops in front, five men dressed in overalls and ski masks, jump out; they're armed. The driver immediately sends out a distress call. Something's wrong, he can't raise anyone, just static. He flips the switch that activates the tracking device, but unbeknownst to him, the tracking signal is also being jammed and no one hears it. One of the robbers, the biggest one, walks to the side of the armored car and faces it. He squatted down low, hip thrust back, massive back arched, as he grabs the bottom of the truck and begins dead lifting. The muscles of his neck, shoulders and arms show tremendous strain. For a moment nothing happens, but then the truck starts to rattle, the tires on his side lift off the grounds as the truck tilts. Little by little the truck continues moving until momentum takes over and the armored truck tips over coming down with an ear shattering crash. Inside the occupants are violently thrown around, only the driver, who can't unsnap his seat belt, stays put. Dazed, they see another one of the robbers materialize inside the truck. The guards draw their guns, but like everything else today, they fails too. No matter how hard they squeeze, the triggers will not move nor will the hammers go back. The intruder ignores them as he unseals the rear doors and kicks them open. Another of the gang enters the truck and goes straight for the two guards. They try to resist but its pointless, the assailant's reflexes, quickness and fighting skills are extraordinary; he quickly subdues the guards and drags them out of the truck. Then while two of the robbers hold the guards at gunpoint, the three others are in the truck. Two of them quickly stuff plastic garbage bags with cash, going for the hundreds and fifties, while the third grabs the envelopes with the bearer bonds. When done, they take the stones. The bags are loaded in the mini van, and they drive away, leaving the guards standing there. They whole thing from start to finish is over in less then seven minutes.

Wednesday - 10:06 AM

"There's no doubt, they're mutants. We think they might have pulled at least eight other jobs, all alone the west coast, probably more."

Police Lieutenant Ronald Briggs would rather have been in vat, up to his neck in horse shit, while shooting it out with fifty heavily armed suicidal terrorist then to be where he was now; in the clean, stylish, comfortable living room of a bungalow owned by one Ororo Munroe. The sight of the beach and blue waters of the Pacific outside the picture windows on such a gorgeous day offered him no comfort, he still felt awkward sitting in front of these three mutants.

Facing him in the middle was Munroe, her street name: Storm. Briggs placed her at maybe five eleven, about a hundred and fifty pounds, late twenties, early thirties. A body that's a perfect cross between a magazine cover model and an Olympic athlete. She's wearing white shorts and sandals that show off legs as muscular as Serena Williams, a blue tank top showing equally toned arms and shoulders and highlighting generous breasts. Her creamy brown skin is clear and smooth enough to make Tyra Banks envious, but what holds Briggs attention is her completely white hair and blue eyes.

To Storm's left is a tall, extremely muscular, black male. His name is Bishop, around six-five, two hundred thirty pounds, brown eyes, black hair, he looks like he was raised in a bodybuilding gym with twenty inches arms and a back so wide he has to go through doors sideways. His most distinguished characteristics is a M tattooed over his left eye. While Storm's expression and demeanor was pleasant and relaxed, Bishop's was serious and grim, he stood there, arms crossed, looking at Briggs with suspicion; not a man to mess with, Briggs decided.

Seated to Storm's right was another woman. White female Caucasian, Briggs figures about five seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, black hair, blue eyes, very attractive and like the other two mutants, in excellent physical shape. Her demeanor was cool, calculating and analytical, she looked at Briggs showing no real emotion. She was identified only as Sage.

"A mutant gang?" asks Storm.

"Why should that surprise anyone," Bishop interjected. "This country has had street gangs for almost two hundred years. There have been Irish gangs, Italians; Jewish, Oriental, Hispanic, Black, why shouldn't there be mutant gangs. It no different with mutants, you have young kids on the streets, they're pissed off, they need to belong, naturally they'll band together and start making trouble."

"Mutant gangs have become quite common," Briggs added. "We have reports on several operating in Southern California; the Breed, Spikes, Overlords, are some of the better known ones."

"Which group are we talking about?" inquires Storm.

"According to our informers, they call themselves the Crew. We know very little about them. They're a small group; we've identified only five members. On the armored truck job, the getaway van was abandoned a mile and half from the scene, on an empty lot. It had been stolen a week earlier in Fresno. When we found it there was nothing left but charred wreckage. According to the lab, the fuel tank exploded, but no one can say why. That's typical of all their jobs, they've left no clues we can use; these people do first rate work."

"How much have they gotten away with?"

"All told, on the eight jobs, their combined haul comes out to over six million. The armored truck was the biggest with close to two million."

Storm smiles. "And why have you come to us?"

"The Mayor strongly suggested it. Our investigation is going nowhere. We're no closer to nailing them now then when they started. The Mayor feels since your group has closer ties with the mutant community, you might be able to find out things we can't."

"I'll need everything you have on them to perform my analysis," Sage said.

"We've been looking at that data for months, there's nothing there."

"Perhaps Sage might have better luck. Her abilities give her an insight other people don't have," Storm commented.

Briggs hated the whole situation because, in effect, he was being told he couldn't do his job right, that he and the whole police department needed the help of these outsiders, that he was inferior or worse, obsolete. It reinforced in his mind the whole notions that his kind were on the way out and these three perfect people sitting before him, and others like them, were his replacements. But the mayor insisted and his superiors ordered. Lieutenant Briggs knew how to follow orders, so he came here determined to put up a good front and make the best of it. He nodded slowly.

"I have someone drop off the file this afternoon," he said betraying none of the displeasure he felt.

"We'll see what we can do and we'll keep you posted of anything we come up with."

Briggs stood up. He took out his card and placed it on the coffee table. "If you need anything just let me know," then turned to leave. Storm rose and accompanied him to the door, letting him out.

As he walked to his car Briggs felt lower then dog shit. Coming here and asking these muties for help tore at his self-esteem. He desperately wanted to find a bar and have a shot to get rid of the knot he felt in the pit of his stomach. It raised serious fears he had of not only his future but of that of his children. Mutant criminal and now mutant cops, maybe they'll kill each other off, he thought. Or maybe these Ken and Barbie doll mutants will fall flat on their faces. The feeling of satisfaction that thought gave him surprised Briggs, as he realized that for the first time in nineteen years as a cop he was routing for the bad guys to win. Anyway, nobody told him he had to stop his investigation. Maybe it was time he met with these bastards face to face.

Thursday - 7:48 PM

The cops hauled us in. It was all bullshit, they knew it was us that did the armored car, but didn't have anything, no evidence, no witnesses, no clues, nothing. To make it even more pathetic, Hooker read their minds and telepathically passed it along to the rest of us, so we all knew they had nothing. The mayor was getting shit from the insurance companies and shit rolls down hill, so the cops were getting dumped on. They didn't have anything, so they had to put on a show for the higher ups; make them think they were doing something. Their brilliant plan was to put us in a bullshit lineup to make us think they had witnesses, then split us up and try to get one of us to flip on the others. Even if Hooker hadn't warned us, it still wouldn't have work. No way any of us would roll over on the others, we were too tight, been through too much together. Never happen, no way.

Harry Dorsey is our leader, the boss; twenty and really knows his shit. He's a shooter, that an energy manipulator to you scientific types. He manipulates electro-magnetic energy. Now before you start comparing him to the great Magneto, I should tell you he's nowhere near as powerful. His mutant power is only a fraction of what Magneto's is, a small fraction, but that doesn't mean he's not dangerous. One time some assholes from the Latin Kings tried to run his ass over with an SUV. If it had been Magneto, he would have sent the truck in to orbit with just a thought. The best Harry could do was mess with their steering and accelerator, forcing them to careen in to a wall at about seventy miles an hour. Not as impressive, but effective.

Jack Hooker is the brain of the Crew and Dorsey's best friend. He's a psionic mutant, has all these different powers. Eighteen and a genius, it's called psionically-enhanced intelligence. He knows everything; computers, electronics, explosives, you name it. He's also a telepath, can reads minds. But the two coolest mutant power he has is he's a cyberpath and an electropath. A cyberpath is a matant who’s brain works like a computer, he has an unlimited memory and his mind works at super speed. An electropath is a mutant who can convert electronic signal in to thought waves and vis versa. These two powers make him the best hacker I've ever seen; gets us all our inside info. He can surf the net without a computer. As long as he’s in a Wi-Fi Hot zone or a computer with a modify Bluetooth attachment on it he goes through the web like most of us walk through a mall. That means he’s the ultimate spy; neither your thoughts nor computer files are safe around him.

Will Perry is the feral mutant. No claws, fangs or fur, but he has above average strength and speed, enhanced agility, coordination, balance and quickness. We all practice martial arts, because of his power he's the best. You do not want to fuck with this man in a hand to hand; he'll tear your head off. Also has heighten senses and a healing factor, he's only seventeen.

Diego Cruz is the bodybuilder, that's a mutant whose main power is super strength. Nineteen years old and weights in at two-ninety; all lean muscle mass, no fat and still growing. He's the joker of the crew; always smartassing, nothing bothers him. And there's me.

My name is Kiddo Kurita; I'm seventeen. I'm a ghost, that's what they call a mutant who can walk through wall or not be touched if he doesn't want to.

I know, I know, you're asking yourself why don't these guys have street names? Everyone else does. Every mutant and gangbanger has some clever name, not us, because to us they lost their novelty; they're not cool anymore. There's nothing original out there. Take Cruz, every mutant gang has a super strength mutant and the names are all the same; Tank, Muscles, Dozer, Monster, Slab, Piledriver, Hunk. We decided as a group we're not going to do that.

Anyway, there we were, after the bullshit lineup they put us in separate interrogation rooms and started in on us. It was stupid, a show run by half-wit retards that couldn't find their cocks in a four way circle jerk. A total waste of time for everyone involved. Dorsey just kept asking for a lawyer, over and over again. All Cruz did the whole time was tell dirty jokes. Perry cursed them out, he wasn't scared of anything, course he does have a healing factor so maybe there isn't anything for him to be scared of. Me, I just sat there quiet, not saying a word. That pissed them off worst then all the others, they couldn't get me to say anything, not even my name. But it was Hooker who really fucked them up; he started reciting legal stuff, quoting case law and statues just like a real lawyer. The cops thought he was full of shit, but an assistant DA looking on got rattled, she knew he was talking the real deal and started getting worried that maybe we would sue. I think they were planning on holding us the whole night but because of Hooker's legal jargon, they got spooked and let us go after a couple hours. Hey, they had nothing on us and even they figured out we weren't going to talk, so why go to the wall over it. The whole thing would have been just another harassment if it weren't for something that happens as we were leaving. There was this guy standing in the lobby watching us go. He looked at us real pissed like we were the scum of the Earth, so naturally Hooker read his mind. Outside on the steps I hear Hooker tell Dorsey, "We got problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"X-Men."

Friday - 7:03 AM

Next morning Dorsey calls a meeting on the beach. Hooker tells us everything he saw in the cops mind. Turns out his name's Lt. Briggs, he's in charge of the investigation to catch us and he's pissed. His bosses made him go ask for help from other mutants, the X-Men to be exact and he didn't like it. Hooker recounted the meeting in this mutant's house out in Valle Soleada and how Briggs hated having to go there. When he was done there was silence.

Yeah, we know who the X-Men are, scumbags. They're the darlings of the liberals and intellectuals, but here in the streets, with the regular everyday mutants who have to live with the shit the flatscan heap on us, they're despised. They are seen as collaborators, traitors, and ass kissers. When mutants are being persecuted and hounded by the flat-scans they're nowhere around, but let a mutant fight back or try to get revenge, then the X-Men crawl out from under their rock to protect the fucking flatscans and put the mutant down. It's all right for the flatscans to do whatever they want, but mutants can't do anything about it or they face the wraith of the X-Men. You got to wonder why the flatscans spent all that money on the Sentinels when they have the X-Men to keep mutants in line for them. It's not just us; every mutant I talk to feels the same about those assholes. There are even underground mutant newspapers, they all say the same thing about the X-Men: traitors.

After a minute Perry starts in. "So what's the big deal? We'll just kick the shit out of them." That came as no surprise. What is it with feral mutants? All they want to do is fight. Their solution to everything is kick ass.

"This is the X-Men we're talking about, not some street rappers," Hooker tells him.

"So what? You don't think we can take them?"

"Not even in our dreams."

"Bullshit! They're no different then anyone else we've fucked up."

"Yeah they are. Fighting other mutants is what the X-Men do best. They train for it, they're experienced and shit, and they even worked out tactics on how to deal with any kind of mutant they've gone up against. We wouldn't have a chance."

Perry was now getting fired up. "I don't see the difference. We train hard too. We lift weights, we all got our black belts, we practice with our powers, and nobody's in better shape then us. We got experience; we kick the shit out of the Crips, Overlords, Spikes, Latin Kings; now none of them want to fuck with us. What are you so worried about?"

Hooker just shook his head. "It's not the same. Just because we sweat a little everyday doesn't mean we train like they do. The X-Men have become like the mutant police, all they do is work on beating other mutants. We'd be like a semi-pro team playing against the Raiders, no chance, they'd slaughter us and then we'd have to hear one of their fucking speeches about how we have to play nice with the flatscans."

"Shit," said Perry. "I think you're wrong. The X-Men are way overrated."

Dorsey always waited for everybody to have their say before he decided. Cruz just sat back watching the exchange between Hooker and Perry, probably enjoying it. Like I said before, he doesn't give a shit about anything. All he wants to do is enjoy himself, let him ride his big Harley and give him a warm pussy and he's happy. That's why Dorsey didn't bother asking him what he thought; he knew Cruz would go along with whatever the rest of us decided. So he turns to me. "You got an opinion?"

Hooker once called me the voice of moderation on the Crew, I not so sure it was a compliment but he's right, I'm usually in the middle of every issue. I shrugged my shoulders. "I think Hooker's right, they'd probably beat the shit out of us, but. . .I don't know. . . we've got a sweet deal going, we're living good. I don't want to give it up, but if don't deal with these motherfuckers, that's what we're going to have to do; give it all up, go off and hide somewhere? I don't want to do that Harry."

Dorsey didn't say anything for a minute. He always gives the impression he's considering what the rest of us said. I think it's just for show, he's already made up his mind, he's pretty quick when making decisions. "We do have a sweet deal going here and I don't want to give it up either, not because the X-Men say boo. So one way or another we have to deal with these asswipes."

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about," Perry says.

Dorsey continues. " If we just sit back and wait for them to come after us, we're giving them an even bigger advantage then they already have. We have to take control and go after them. Now look, Hooker's not wrong, in a head on fight we'd lose and lose bad." Silence hanged in the air for a minute; then a small smile appears on Dorsey's face. "So who said it has to be a head on fight? Why do we have to play by their rules?"

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

"That depends on what exactly we're up against." He turned and looked at Hooker, who was just standing there with his eyes closed, rubbing the bridge of his noise. He opened his eyes, took in a deep breath and let it out.

"To come up with a plan to set them up we're going to need more Intel, a lot more. I know who the white haired bitch is; they call her Storm. I'm don't know about the other two and I'm pretty sure it's more then just three people we're dealing with. There are a lot of X-Men, different teams all over the place. There's even something called X-Corp that's international. To make this work, we got to know which X-Men, how many, what their powers are, how they operate, shit like that."

"Hey, you're the Intel gatherer of this tribe, can you find out?"

"Give me a couple of days to scope them out, see what I can get. Mean time we lay low." Hooker looked at Perry. "We can lay low for a couple of days, right?"

Perry smiles. "Yeah, sure, no problem."

Friday - 9:00 AM

They met at Rogue's house in Valle Soleada. Storm had called in the whole team. Alone with Bishop and Sage, there was Rouge and her lover and housemate, Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit, Sam Guthrie, street name Cannonball and Kitty Pride, called Shadowcat.

"I don't understand why you agreed to become involved in this," Gambit commented.

"We were asked by the police," answered Storm. "That's a first, and these thieves are mutants, we are the best qualified to deal with them."

"But Bishop says there are a number of mutant gangs, why the Crew?" asks Rogue. "They are not the worse. As far as the police know, they don't deal in kick or crack, they don't do shakedowns and they are not terrorizing innocent people, they just take down scores. If you wish to take on mutant gangs the Breed or the Spikes are far worse."

"The police didn't ask us to help with the Breed or any other gang but the Crew. I'd like to build up trust and a relationship with the police, so let's help them with the what they asked for." Storm turns to Sage. "Have you turned up anything?"

"Yes," she replied. "I've studied the files the police gave us, examined the eight know robberies and crosschecked them with our files."

"Have you determined what kind of mutants we're dealing with?"

"The file does not note that, I don't think the police are sure. I've been able to surmise from the way the robberies were done. Lets' take the last one for example. Obviously, with the tipping over of the armored truck, one of them has super strength. The way the guards were manhandled, there might be a feral mutant in the group. The fact that one of them just appeared inside the sealed truck suggested either a teleporter or ghost. From there it's not so obvious, the trucks ignition and breaks being manipulated and the guards' guns not being able to fire suggested either a telekinetic or someone who can control electro-magnetic energy. They always seem to have excellent inside information and they display a large degree of technical proficiency, this could mean a cyberpath or perhaps even enhanced intelligence."

"Doesn't sound like anything we can't handle," Kitty smiled as she holds up one of the mug shots from the file. "Diego Cruz, six-five, two hundred and ninety pounds, nineteen years old. Anyone one want to guess which one he is?"

"But if one of them is a telekinetic or like Magneto why not just float the truck in the air and tear it apart?" asked Bishop.

"I don't think any of them are mega mutants. They are not that powerful or they're still developing, which may explain why the use guns."

"Is there any pattern to their jobs?" asks Storm.

Sage nods. "Yes, first off all seven of the trucks hi-jacked belong to one of three trucking companies. Even the eighth, the armored car is leased from one of these companies. Which ever the cyberpath is he's found a way in to their networks to obtain the data they need; schedules, cargo, routes, etc. Second their choice of targets are consistent, a shipment of computers, home sound systems, a shipment of LCD televisions, another shipment was Playstations IIs, boom boxes and two shipments of auto parts. They go for electronic or technical products."

"They probably found a fence that ships the stuff to South or Central America," noted Bishop.

"The armored car was a switch for them; cash, gems and bonds," adds Sage. "Also the jobs come an average of two weeks apart. Could be that's how long it takes them to fence the merchandise."

Storm stood there quietly taking it all in. After a few minutes of thinking she asks Sage, "Can you get in to the network of these three companies?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And their last job was Monday, which means if they stick to their routine, their next job should be in a week."

Gambit looked at her. "You planning a little trap?"

Storm smiled. "Sage plants information in all three networks about a shipment next week, computer chips perhaps. We make it too rich for them to pass up. We'll set a phony truck run as a target for them. Bishop will drive. Gambit, Rogue and Kitty will be inside the trailer. Sam and I will trail from above and Sage will follow in her cycle monitoring everything. When they hit the truck we'll have them."

OUTSIDE

It took Hooker and me thirty-five minutes on the freeway to get to Valle Soleada. That's including a coffee run at Starbucks. I came along as backup. We arrive at Storm's bungalow around eight-thirty. Hooker scanned the house; Storm, Bishop and Sage were still there. A few minutes after we arrive, they all piled in a jeep and drove off; we followed. Nice thing about Hooker being a telepath was we didn't have to keep them in sight, Hooker could track them from a distance. They arrived at another beach front house five minutes away. We parked down the street; it was close enough for Hooker's telepathy to allow us to eavesdrop. Hooker could mental pass along to me what he was picking up. We spent the next hour hearing all the data Sage had gotten on us. We heard Kitty Pride say that we didn't sound like anything they couldn't handle and we heard Storm's brilliant plan for taking us down. We especially took note of Storm saying that when we hit their truck they'll have us. Hooker flashed that evil smile of his at me. "Looks like she's asking us out on a date." I smiled back.

TO BE CONTINUED