"Sssssss... chère," Gambit's lips formed the words, but it was Miasma's sibilant voice that came out, hissing and mocking, a parody of Gambit's normal affection for her, "ssssssee what you've done? He'ssssss all mine now... no power to resist Miasma now..."

"No..." Rogue breathed, horrified, "no... please... let him go..."

"Why sssssshould I?" Miasma raised Gambit's hand, examining the long fingers, turning it this way and that as she experimentally flexed the digits of the limb, "sssssuch sensationssss... sssso strange... Miasma never had an unconscious, living mind to conquer before... he'ssssss all mine..."

"He's not yours," Rogue was desperate, pleading, "what do ya even want from us, anyway? Why can't ya jus' leave us alone?"

"Maybe we can cut her out of him," Wolverine growled, raising his claws.

"Logan, no!" Storm snapped at him, holding up a hand to stay his advance, "She knows we cannot risk harming Gambit's body..."

"Please," Jean tried, raising her hands to her temples, trying to form a psychic connection, "he is our friend. You are hurting him. You must let him go... we can help you... just tell us what you need..."

"Miasma needssss only to be... to exissssst... to sssssssshare the misery with all who live in the darknesssss of the Miasma..."

"So ya want everyone to be as miserable an' alone as you are, huh?" Logan spat, "Pretty damn selfish if ya ask me. I've known plenty o' good people taken over by the likes of you... I know what you are, an' you're a murderer a hundred thousand times over..."

Slowly, Gambit... Miasma... sat up on the bed, the movements awkward and jerky, as if unused to moving a solid form. He... she... examined the hands of the body she now occupied, rubbing the fingers and thumbs together, marvelling at the simple physical gesture. There were leads and wires attached to the body that kept it tethered to the bed, so she carelessly pulled them off, yanking out a needle that punctured the skin, hissing at the sensation of physical pain as she did so.

"Jean – can you get through at all?" Cyclops asked, urgently, as Miasma began to ease off the bed, "Is Gambit still in there?"

"I'm trying," Jean gritted her teeth, pressing her fingers to her temples as she focussed her mental abilities, "such... darkness... such pain... such deep emptiness..."

"You will all feel Miasma's embrace," the creature hissed, through her stolen lips, "there will be no joy, no love, no happiness or warmth... only the endless hollow void of emptiness, loneliness and despair... surrender yourselves to Miasma..."

A hand reached out, as if to touch Rogue's face, but she knocked it aside.

"Leave him alone!" Rogue cried out, "If ya want me, take me instead – jus' leave him be!"

"Miasma like dis body, chère," came the mocking reply, a sickening parody of Gambit's familiar accent, "he'sssss all mine now..."

"Ah!" Jean cried out, and Cyclops only just managed to catch her as her legs crumpled; she would have fallen to the floor without his support.

"Jean!" he exclaimed, "What is it?"

"I can't get through to Gambit at all," Jean squeezed her eyes shut as she clamped her hands to her head, "he's still unconscious – it's just Miasma in there – it's all just pain and darkness..."

"Yessssss..." hissed that awful, soul-shattering voice, "just Miasma now..."

"Well maybe ah should jus' knock you outta his body," Rogue curled her hand into a fist, "see how ya cope with a good ole fashioned ass whuppin'..."

"Any pain inflicted on me issss inflicted on thisss body... in it'sss weakened ssstate, can it cope? I think not..."

"She is right," Storm stayed Rogue's hand, just as she had Wolverine's, "we cannot risk causing harm to Gambit... speak, Miasma. What do you want of us? How can we help to ease your pain? We want only to help all mutants..."

"I am no mutant! I am beyond your mortal forms... there isss no relief from the pain of Miasma... only death... and after that, an eternity of torment..."

"Get outta that body an' I'll give ya death alright," growled Wolverine, "if that's what yer after, I'll happily oblige..."

Miasma ignored him, focussing instead on Rogue, who found herself shuddering in revulsion at the leering expression on a face that had only ever before shown her warmth and kindness. Familiar long fingers reached for her face and Rogue instinctively stepped back.

"Don' touch me," she said, warningly, "ah don' wanna hurt him again..."

"He is not here... there is only Miasma now..."

The hand suddenly snapped forward, grasping her jaw in a painfully tight, vice-like grip. Rogue cried out in shock, expecting her powers to kick in... but nothing happened. Miasma sneered at her.

"Miasma has no energy to drain, sssssilly child... Miasma simply is... I am a state of feeling, of being... the darkness in the minds and ssssssouls of human kind..."

A bolt of searing red energy slammed into Miasma, knocking loose the grip on Rogue, who wrenched away, gasping. Miasma reeled and turned with a snarl, yellow eyes locking onto Cyclops, as he lowered his hand from his visor.

"Back off," the team leader growled, "that was the lowest setting. Don't make me go higher. Let Gambit go, and leave us alone..."

Miasma straightened up, yellow eyes flashing dangerously, as black-and-purple smoke coiled around her stolen body, and then began to snake outwards, reaching towards each of them like grasping tentacles.

"Sssso defiant... so ssssstrong... let's see how long those pitiful mental defences can last against Miasma..."

Wolverine snarled and slashed his claws at the tendril looming before him; it dissipated, only to re-form, coalescing and reaching towards him, touching his forehead. He pitched to his knees, immediately paralysed by her touch. Cyclops fired another barrage from his visor, but it had no effect, and he was similarly overcome.

"The North Wind will blow away this misty phantom!" declared Storm, her eyes turning white, "I summon the howling hurricane to banish you from this place!"

From nowhere, a breeze picked up, becoming a strong wind, into a gale, and then a hurricane. Laboratory equipment was thrown in all directions as Storm unleashed her powers in an effort to dispel the wispy apparitions emanating from Miasma, but they simply swirled into the maelstrom, becoming a whirlpool of inky-black smoke, and Storm soon found herself surrounded by the darkness; the wind dropped away as quickly as it had appeared, the weather-witch bound by Miasma's touch. Beast, Jean and Rogue soon followed suit, and Miasma stood, arms extended, her tendrils reaching into their minds, as she revelled in their despair...