She stood nearly 7 feet tall. A big, powerful woman dressed in Depression-era jacket, blouse, skirts and heels. Her dark hair was cut short and set in tight waves, and her makeup was tarty and whorish. She held a pistol in one hand, and cradled a Tompson machine gun in the other. Beside her, Clyde stood. His hair short, greasy and parted on the left. Shirt sleeves rolled up part the elbows, suspenders, trousers, two-toned shoes and snapbrim fedora cocked back on his head couldn't conceal the fact that her big, strong Clyde was a girl of about 16. His/her lucky M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle - the death of so many lawmen and helpless victims - held with careless ease in his/her small, skilled hands. 

My name is 'Bonnie Elizabeth Parker'. She knew that. He's 'Clyde Chestnut Barrow'.

But she also knew that she was Peter Rasputin. The 'man' beside her was Kitty Pryde. 

"Whut th' fuck?" Clyde moaned, as his/her hands slipped into fireing position. The small figure moved like an animal - a cornered rat - as he/she cocked the rifle and prepared to fire. His/her voice dripping with 'rural Texas', Clyde snarled "Get down, doll! Them fuckin' peckerwoods got us in a crossfire! I mean...whut?"

Clyde Barrow - who KNEW that HE was Clyde Barrow - continued to hold the gun in a loose, dangerious way...but also to settle down. That bushwacking posse wasn't nowhere to be seen. They weren't in their stollen Ford V8. They weren't riddled with bullets. Clyde turned to see his towering, brawny Bonnie. His foul-mouthed, sexy, cigar-smoking gun moll, who'd followed him all the way to hell and back, even after that shit storm in Grapevine lost them any public sympathy. He saw her...knew she looked wrong...and didn't care in the least. She could look any way she wanted. She'd always be his Bonnie.

"Clyde?" the huge woman (?) said, her voice just as twangy and Texas as his. "You're...ah mean we's both alive, but...sumthin's wrong..."

A voice chimed in "That would be me, children. Sorry about that. I was in a bind, and had to make my play with speed. Don't worry...your new lives are quite solid and stable now, though I'd intended on each of you recieving the others headgear. A simple mixup caused by haste, but still...this should work out..."

The man who spoke was of average height, red-haired and possibly British. He wore a suitcoat, checked-pants, a bow tie and large tophat. He also held a device of some kind in his hand. "You see, those hats used to belong to Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. The infamous 'Bonnie&Clyde'. You were a pair of young heroes - X-Men, I think they call themselves - and you had the misfortune to be at a charity auction I was holding up. One thing lead to another, and you tried to stop me. I'd been exparamenting with hats that re-pattern a persons mental pathways with those of the hats old owner, as well as making cartain physical changes to compliment the new identity. May I assume it worked?"

The big woman reached up...and felt breasts - very large breasts - forming. She was still big and brawny as heck, but now also somewhat soft and slightly rounder. She slipped a large hand over her front, and felt this bodies dick suck itself inside, becoming a smooth, tight little cunt. Her features were still very much those of Peter Rasputin...but they were rounding, shifting and smoothing out. In the end, her face was the face of Bonnie Parker, though stretched over the former Colossus bone structure. Beside her, Clyde's body grew somewhat...more manly. Kitty Pryde had been very athletic for a girl her size, but now her breasts shank until they were hardly there at all, her body became slightly hairy and her virgin snatch grew out into a shockingly large cock and balls. She was now a boyish-looking shemale.

Bonnie took it all in stride. "An don't care who ah used t' be, Mister. Long as ah'm with mah Clyde, ah'm jus' the happiest gurl in Texas!"

Clyde Barrow looked up at his hulking yet girlish darling. The fadeing traces of the old Kitty Pryde were thrilled by the idea of being with Peter in any way, and the lusty Clyde wanted to fuck his sweet girlfriend crosseyed. "Well, shoot...if mah Bonnie don' care, then whut's t' do? Ah luv'd this gurl more than anythin' in th' whole world. I'd die for her. We died for each other..."

The newly-minted Bonnie smiled, brushed away a tear and lit a cigar. She loved her Clyde so much.

"...an thanks t' yew, we get t' do it awl over again. Who are you?"

The man in the top hat smiled and bowed. He was a hopeless romantic at heart, and the idea that he'd both created loyal henchmen AND brought these two together. He thought that the former Shadowcat made a dashingly handsome Clyde, and the mighty Colossus would be a perfect Bonnie. All in all, things had worked out quite well.

"The name is Dr. Jervis Tetch, though the Gotham police call me the Mad Hatter. I'm building a gang of famed criminals and cut-throats, using their hats, helmets and headgear to focus new identities out of old. I've the hats of Alphonse "Scarface" Capone, Vlad Dracula "The Impaler", "Blackbeard the Pirate", Lizzy Borden, Elizabeth Bathory. The list is endless."

Bonnie and Clyde were back on track now. "We gonna get rich? We gonna shoot up the joint? Me an' Bonnie never get shy 'bout killin' who needs t' be killed. An' Bonnie here loves t' be pampered."

Bonnie - once Peter Rasputin - chuckled and patted her hair. "My Clyde knows his lil' Texas Rose well. Good scotch an' some top-shelf cigars wouldn't hurt none, either."