Title: Suckers
Author: Tempest
Rating: PG-13 (Possible R for later chapters)
Warnings: Violence, Language, Adult Situations

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable from "X-Men" or any of its affiliated comics, movies, etc, and I guess that should go without saying that I don't own the comics, movies, so forth and so on either. They are owned by Marvel™ et al. I also don't own the "Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter" series. It is owned by Ms. Laurell K. Hamilton. I also do not own the characters from other fandoms that will be used in this story such as, but not limited to, Street Fighter (owned by Capcom™) and Dead or Alive (owned by Team Ninja/Tecmo™). Basically, if you recognize the characters from somewhere else, then that means I don't own it. If you don't recognize it, hell, I still might not own it. I make no money off these works; this is solely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended.

Foreword (This is the stuff you need to read): This a continuation of a challenge issued by my friend, Sparkle. The challenge was to rewrite a series of books using characters from a different genre than what the series was originally written in. The series I chose to rewrite was the "Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter" series in the X-Men fandom. You don't have to be familiar with Anita Blake to understand this story, but I do recommend them for your own enjoyment. Some people chose Lord of the Rings, some people chose Harry Potter. I chose the series that reads like some kind of weird soap opera. Of course, this is very AU, and this features a more cynical Storm. Don't like. Don't read. Anyway, have fun!

Dedications: To William (my love, te amo), Stephanie, Nick, Sparkle, Daniel, Anna, Jen, Delilah (Delia-baby!), Felina, and everyone else who was been supportive of my writing. I love you guys! Thanks to everyone who read the first story and I promise as long as you keep reading it, I'll keep writing it. You guys are the dopest trip. p

- - -

1.

It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, not really. It was dark, but it wasn't stormy. It could be though if my mood worsened considerably, but I didn't see any rain in tonight's forecast. Maybe a little thunder and lightning, but no rain. I stood at the doorway of the warehouse, taking deep breaths. I tried to let anything that happened earlier slip away from my mind. All my attention had to be focused on my task. Once I stepped foot inside, the fight for my life would begin.

I fingered the silver chain around my neck, finding the crucifix at the end. Forge had given it to me, and I'd taken a habit to wearing it while I was doing anything that dealt with the preternatural. Forge said that he didn't believe Christian items were God-powered, but powered by our own will. I don't know if I believed that, but it was comforting to have on me. Besides, it was silver, so even if I didn't get the benefits of a blessed crucifix, I could still burn the hell out of a vampire.

I pulled the golden Eagles from their holster, kissing the side of each of them for luck. If Vega knew that, he'd probably gloat like an idiot. I had no intentions of him ever knowing about it. It was for luck and nothing else, but he would probably read more into the situation. He liked to entertain the thought that I liked him.

Who could really like Vega? Sure, he was attractive, charming, darkly attractive, rich, absolutely attractive, and powerful. Did I mention he was somewhat attractive? Looks weren't everything, though. His attitude was just infuriating. He thought he was so much better than everyone else was, that everything should go his way. He'd always been like that, even before he became the master of the city. Arrogant bastard. Just because I thought he was attractive didn't mean I could tolerate him for more than a few minutes at a time. I'd been avoiding him lately. It was working well.

I pushed Vega away from my mind, too. I didn't need to lose this fight because I was thinking about him. I stepped back from the door, allowing myself a little legroom. I kicked it hard, putting all my strength behind the kick, and the door opened. Logan taught me that. I could kick doors in, now. I didn't have to blow them apart with a ferocious wind unless the was very, very sturdy or I was trying to be impressive, but I thought it was more impressive that I could kick in a door. I am woman. Hear me roar.

I walked slowly through the door, holding both guns out in front of me. The warehouse was dimly lit, lights flickering on and off. There were crates and barrels everywhere. In one corner, a forklift sat idly. I thought I heard movement on my left, and I quickly turned both guns in that direction. I didn't see anything. I continued to walk forward, pointing one gun to the left and one to the right. I knew the bastards were in here. I could feel them. I just couldn't see them, yet.

"Come out. Come out wherever you are," I muttered to myself.

And come out they did. There was two of them. Both male. They were twins and brawny like wrestlers. They felt about two-hundred-years old. Oh, this was going to be so much fun. That was sarcasm. I saw one of them moving toward me quickly. I wasn't supposed to see that at all, but thanks to Vega, I was doing a lot of things I shouldn't have been able to. I aimed my gun, but before he could attack, Logan appeared out of nowhere. I mean that literally. One minute I was getting ready to fire at the vampire and the next Logan was charging the guy.

I wasn't surprised by his sudden appearance, though. I was getting used to having Logan around when I did this kind of thing. At first, I was reluctant to let him help me. I didn't want to endanger my friends' lives, but it was nice to have someone watching my back. Logan didn't usually carry weapons unless I forced them on him. In his own words, his body was the weapon. I couldn't argue with that, but it still made me feel better when he would at least carry a knife or something. I had the elements at my fingertips, but I still carried three guns at all times.

That was probably my own paranoia talking. I felt you could never have enough weapons on you when dealing with any supernatural bad guys.

The other vampire moved toward me as quickly as his brother had while I was momentarily distracted. I turned in just enough time to dodge his grasp, cracking him across the face with my gun. Logan also taught me something else new. If I landed a series of attacks on a vampire, I had a better chance of causing damage than with one strike. If I didn't give them a chance to attack, I would be okay. Vampires were quick, but they could feel pain for a moment. They even actually took damage if you kept at hitting them with everything you had. This tended to work on younger vampires though. Older vampires mind tricks were still effective, even with me being… I don't even want to talk about it.

I didn't actually plan to fistfight many vampires. I'd rather they die and die quickly. One way of making sure that happened was to shoot silver bullets at them like crazy. However, Logan could really brawl with a vampire. I didn't quite understand how he was able to go blow-for-blow with a vampire of any age. He fought a thousand-year-old monster once, and he almost came out on top. Probably had something to do with his metal skeleton and his healing factor. I punched a vampire and I was rewarded with swollen knuckles for my effort. He punched a vampire and they went down. No fair. Some people just had all the luck.

The vampire held his jaw momentarily, and I forced him back with a stiff front to the stomach, aiming my gun for his heart. I squeezed the trigger, and the vampire dropped to the ground. One down. One to go. Two hundred was fairly young, so I was sure he wouldn't need another bullet to the heart. I holstered my guns and a pulled a vial of silver from my jacket. I touched the top of it, and a needle popped from the bottom half. I emptied the contents into the vain of the vampire. Better safe than sorry.

I pulled a knife out of my waistband with all intentions of throwing it at the vampire Logan was fighting. I had a clear chance to catch him in the neck, but I sensed movement behind me. I spun on my heel sharply, pulling my hand back quickly to throw the knife. I froze when I saw a huge, blonde man lumbering toward me. I knew him well. He still haunted my nightmares after the incident with Rogue.

"Sabretooth." I breathed. I couldn't see his face well, but I could imagine the sinister smirk covering his face as he neared me. After everything I've been through, how was it even possible that I was still scared of Sabretooth?

Most people would say that I showed Sabretooth who was boss, but most people didn't have to face Sabretooth. Yeah, I did what I had to do, but I would never deny that he was one of the most terrifying mutants I'd ever met. Even Magneto didn't scare me quite as much as Sabretooth. He was one of those people who made you think twice about going out in public. Sometimes, when I was out, I would get this odd sensation as if I'm being watched. At those times, I'd swear it was Sabretooth. I don't know why I would think that. It was just the vibe I got sometime.

Now, he was stalking toward me. I shook myself out of my stupor and threw the knife. He batted it away as if it were a fly. I shouldn't have hesitated when I turned. His pace quickened, and I started jogging backwards away from him. "Computer, end program." I said quickly.

"Program terminated," the clipped mechanical voice said, as the warehouse melted into the gray walls of the Danger Room. I had the program set to enter to introduce a random variable into the simulation, just to keep me on my toes. Apparently, the computer randomly chose Sabretooth. Bad computer.

Logan was still thrashing at the air before he realized I had ended the program. "Whatcha do that for?" he asked with a disappointed tone. I couldn't help but laugh at the perplexed look that crossed his face. "Things were just gettin' good."

"Sorry, I'm tired, Logan." I said. That wasn't the first simulation we ran through. I set up many different simulations with a supernatural theme for myself. I had to keep on top my game as an X-Woman and a vampire hunter. Logan and I had been working in the Danger room for the better part of an hour. "Besides, I have to get ready for my meeting."

That was the truth. I did have a meeting, but I'm sure another ten minutes wouldn't have hurt. However, I just didn't want to face Sabretooth again. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow I would fry him to a crisp with a lightning bolt and laugh about it, but not today. Then again, tomorrow Mystique might be my random variable. I could fry her and laugh about it, instead.

I left the Danger Room with a sulking Logan in tow. You'd think he loved my job more than I do. Well, when I think about it, what other job lets you fight with master vampires, throw firebombs at ghouls, and meet men who use voodoo magic to stay alive? Not many that I know of. Not saying being an X-Man wasn't exciting. You don't get the chance to kill many mutant bad guys, though. We usually gave them a chance to try to destroy the world repeatedly before they died from some freak accident. You had to kill vampires, though, because there was no prison strong enough to hold them.

They had rights now, too. They were recognized as citizens. The United States was the only country that recognized them. Three years ago, I could've staked a vampire with no problems. If I stake a vampire now, I would be down at the precinct listening to homicide charges being read to me. I was a licensed vampire hunter now. A vampire was considered a threat by the court and they sent me out to hunt him down and kill him.

They had to follow rules, too, specifically the one about no randomly attacking people for their blood. Now, they wanted the right to vote. They paid taxes like good law-abiding Americans. They wanted a say so in things, too. Only in America would any of this be possible. Every year since vampires became citizen, more and more of them poured into this country from around the world.

Logan and I diverged at the kitchen entrance. He went up the stairs, and I went into the kitchen. Jean was sitting at the island table, flipping through bridal magazines. She looked up and smiled at me. "Don't forget. Tomorrow, we go to the bridal shop!" she said.

I opened the refrigerator and got a bottled water. I opened the water and took a sip. I walked over to Jean. "I won't." I said, looking over her shoulder at some of the pictures in the magazine.

"Oh, a deliveryman dropped something off for you, too. I put it on your bed," she said with a hint of laughter. I cringed. This was just getting ridiculous. I sent Vega a polite note thanking him for all the stuff he sent me, but I wanted him to stop. I guess it didn't matter much what I wanted out of this non-relationship. At least he stayed out of my dreams. For that much I was thankful.

"We'll open it later. What do you think it is?" I asked. It was a running game with us. Who could figure out what Vega sent me this time? We usually couldn't figure it out

"The box wasn't large, but it wasn't small, either. It was somewhat light, too. When I shook it, I heard the soft rustling of fabric."

I nearly spit out my water. "The soft rustling of fabric? You have got to be kidding." I said, trying to hold back my laughter. Since when did fabric made a discernible noise?

Jean clicked her tongue at me. "I'm a bride. I've looked at enough fabric to know what it sounds like, and from the sound of whatever is in that box, it's silk. It's probably negligee since he wants to get you into bed." Jean joked. I couldn't hold back my laugh this time.

"You're so unoriginal, Jean. You said that last time."

"I know, but I'm positive this time. If it's not, it's something pretty damn close."

"What did you do? Open it?"

"I was tempted, but it wouldn't have been fair. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to rewrap it. You would have known that I opened it the minute you looked at the rewrapped box." She had a point. Jean was horrible at wrapping gifts, just awful. It didn't matter how many times we showed her ways to wrap a present, it always ended up looking like something a three-year-old did. Jean was talented in many areas, but gift-wrapping was not one of them.

Jean pointed out a short, bright red wedding dress that looked fit for a bordello wedding. She made a joke about getting married in that dress. I told her Scott would never forgive her for wearing that dress or me for not stopping her from wearing it. Then she joked about making the bridesmaid wear a dress patterned after it instead. She said she would make us all wear red, strap-up stilettos and laugh when we all fell down. I believed her, too. Jean had a warped sense of humor sometimes. You just had to love her.

After I left the kitchen, I climbed the stairs to my attic room. I wanted a nice, hot shower before I went to my meeting. I probably just jinxed myself because when I wanted things to go well they never did. Marie was waiting for me when I got in my room. I glanced at the bed, looking at the box wrapped in its vermillion paper. I turned my attention back to Rogue. "Ms. Munroe, ya gotta help me," she drawled, sounding somewhat frantic.

"What's wrong, child?" I asked her.

I pulled my chair away from my desk and offered it to her. She fell into the seat with a swoon that would have made Scarlett O'Hara proud. I could almost see Marie touching the back of her hand to her forehead and declaring she'd never go hungry again. Marie was a good child, and I liked her a lot. She just had a penchant of being melodramatic, especially now when she had Bobby and Remy basically trying to kill each other over her. If I had to break up one more fight between the two, someone was going to pay.

It didn't matter that she was "with" Remy. They still fought over her. Watching them fight over Rogue reminded me of the early power struggles between Logan and Scott over Jean. I realize now that men never grow up; they just become really big boys. Remy and Marie's "relationship" was very interesting to observe. Obviously, they were compatible. They were a very cute couple, but they were always arguing over something. Remy's flirting. Marie's aloofness. It was always something with those two. One minute they would be shouting at each other in the foyer and the next they were holding hands in the garden. I hoped they grew out of that.

"It's Remy." Rogue said. Well, I knew that. It was always something with Remy, and she always came to me because she thought I could talk some sense into Remy. Remy was like my shadow. I knew he had a great deal of respect for me, but he was still rash and young, which meant he only took about half of my advice. Maybe sixty percent of it just because he respected me.

"Okay…" I said trailing, encouraging her to keep going.

"Remy said when we graduate he don't wanna be an X-Man."

"That isn't unusual, Marie. He may decide he wants to teach here after the proper post-High school training, or he may decide to do other things with his life. He may not know what he wants to do, yet. Nobody ever said he had to become an X-Man." I said, trying to sound encouraging. I was a little disappointed myself. I'd hope he would join the team, too, but it was his life.

"That ain't it, Ms. Munroe. He knows exactly what he wants to do."

I was afraid she was going to say he wanted to become a professional thief. I wouldn't have been surprised if Remy told her that, but I would definitely have a talk with him if he did. "What does he want to do?"

"He said he wants to do what you do at your other job. He wants to raise zombies for a living. He said it'd be better than thieving and less stressful than fighting mutant enemies." She said in a distressed tone.

"Marie, don't worry." I laughed. He had told me something similar, but I shrugged it off. He was just fascinated by it; it wasn't something he really wanted to do. I probably shouldn't have allowed him to come with me on so many animations. "Not everyone can be a necromancer. You have to be born with the power to raise the dead. I inherited it from my family. Remy is just thinking illogical. He can't possibly raise the dead."

I didn't mention there were other less desirable, more dangerous, infinitely evil ways of gaining the power, but I'm sure Remy had never done any of those things. He was essentially a good kid himself, so I doubted he would do anything like that anyway. Marie crossed her arms, taking on the look of a scorned heroine. I do love Marie's dramatic expressions. I wonder if I was that dramatic at seventeen.

"Well, let me tell you what Remy did," she said, her voice lowering to a somber, foreboding tone. A "woe-is-I" sigh escaped from her lips. The girl was good. She should think about being an actress.

I crossed my arms, mimicking her. "Yes, please, tell me what Remy did."

"You remember the Professor's cat?" she asked.

Yeah, I remembered Mrs. Tabby. Though, nobody ever knew what happened to Mr. Tabby. She was a pretty, black-and-white spotted tabby cat. The Professor owned her for years. She was here before I even arrived as a student. She'd recently died from old age. For some of the children, that was their first experience with death. They held an elaborate funeral for her and buried her under a tree on the mansion grounds.

"Yes, I remember her."

"Well, guess who's back? That's what Remy did."

I started laughing, not believing what she was trying to imply. "That was a good one, Marie."

"I ain't jokin'." Marie explained what happened. They walked past the tree last night, and Remy asked about the little marker marking Mrs. Tabby's grave. He said he could raise the cat, and Marie said she laughed at him until he really raised the cat. My arms fell to my side, as I let that information sink in. No, that boy hadn't raised Mrs. Tabby. Marie had to be mistaken. Right?

"He put her back, though. Right?" I asked. "Right, Marie?" She looked down at her shoe, then back up at me. She had a sheepish look on her face. Marie and I stared at each other for a moment before I bolted from the room in search of Remy.

I saw Remy once today, and that was during my class period. He said he didn't feel to well. He didn't look too well either, so I excused him. No wonder he didn't feel so well. I hadn't felt him raising Mrs. Tabby last night. From the time Marie gave me, I wasn't even at home. I was out with Jean doing a little shopping. I thought it was somewhat odd that I hadn't seen Remy the night before either. He was probably too guilty to face me or anybody else. He raised the Professor's cat from the dead. Did I blame him for hiding out?

I found him hiding in the empty library. His eyes widened when he saw me. He stood up from the chair quickly and walked toward me. "Bonjour, Stormy," he said. He had a bad habit of calling me Stormy no matter how many times I threatened to cause a lightning storm in his stomach. He walked past me, and I turned around and grabbed the back of his shirt.

"I think we have something we need to discuss, Remy."

"I ain't do not'ing," he protested as I pulled him back toward the table and chairs.

"So, you didn't raise Mrs. Tabby?" I said. I sat in a chair beside him. He looked up at the ceiling, glancing at my face, before returning his eyes to the ceiling. "Well?"

"I ain't mean to." He said, looking at me. He looked really sorry, and I believed him. "I was jest jokin' 'round, tryin' t'show off. Remy don' know why. I ain't t'ink I'd really do it."

"Why didn't you put her back?"

"She ran off." I had no reason to doubt that.

I was seventeen the first time I raised something. It was during a biology class when we were supposed to be dissecting a frog. Jean was my partner. Neither one of us wanted to pin the frog to the mat. Neither one of wanted to touch it at all. I was disgusted by it, but I didn't agree with dissection, either. I remember wishing that it would just jump up and hop away. Then, the next thing I knew, it was jumping up and hopping away. You can imagine I was horrified when the Professor explained to me what I'd done.

"Why didn't you come tell me, child. I would have put her back."

"I was scared you be mad wit' me."

"I am a little upset with you, but you didn't know any better. We'll talk about this later." I said. I should have known it was likely he could do it. He mentioned something about being the first LeBeau to leave New Orleans since the founding of the city. If anyone was a likely candidate to be a necromancer, it was him. He probably had some great, great, great grandparent who practiced voodoo at one time. "We have to find her and put her back."

At this rate, I was going to be late for my meeting, but I had to put Mrs. Tabby back in her place before anyone else saw her. Remy and I went outside searching for her. If we didn't find her, I could only hope that she left the grounds. I knew that was an awful thing to say, but the thought of being stalked by zombie cat made me think of Pet Cemetery. I heard someone in the garden scream. Looks like somebody found Mrs. Tabby.

- - -

Author's Notes: I know I promised this out by November 1st. Sorry, I got a little behind because my NaNoWriMo story is spinning out of control—in a good way—this year. I'm less than 15,000 words away from the 50k goal, and the month isn't even over yet. I opted to write a fanfiction for my NaNo-story this year because of an evil plot ninja that wouldn't leave me alone to work on any of my other ideas. Since I'm progressing well in that, I decided to take a break to work on this. There are probably mistakes, and I apologize for that. I will reread this again later to see what mistakes I missed. Anyhow, enjoy! Updates coming soon.