About a week later, Rogue and Logan were playing a game of pool in the rec room, while Gambit dozed on the couch. While his recovery was progressing well – faster than Beast had expected, considering how close he had been to death – the Cajun still tired easily, and Rogue had been reluctant to let him out of her sight lest he over-exert himself. The television was on, tuned to a music channel, playing a decent classic rock selection. Rogue had just managed to sink a ball when the communications channel began to beep insistently. On the couch, Gambit gave a low groan, stirring at the noise.
"Looks like we got a call comin' in," Rogue remarked, straightening up, "well, with the others all off base, it must be fer us..."
She crossed to the computer console and opened the channel, as Gambit sat up on the couch and Logan leaned against his pool cue, turning to see what the incoming transmission was. A familiar, lined face under a shock of grey curly hair and large-framed glasses appeared.
"Annalee!" Rogue exclaimed, recognising the Morlock telepath immediately, "Sorry, hon, if it's Storm yer after, she ain't here – she's in Africa, visitin' her friends."
"The Morlocks are in trouble, Rogue," Annalee's voice shook with barely suppressed emotion, her eyes filling with tears, "we cannot escape her – I cannot keep her at bay for long – we need your help!"
"Whoa, slow down, sugar," Rogue held up her hand, "what in tarnation's goin' on down there?"
"She showed up about three weeks ago," Annalee's words tumbled out in a rush, "the demon – she's taken over the others – their minds – they're helpless – some of them barely eat or sleep, some just sleep all of the time – others cry, or rage, or hurt themselves, or stare silently at nothing – several of them have taken their own lives to escape her – I can't keep her out for long – please, you must help us – oh, no, no, she's found me! Please! Help us!"
Rogue's hand shot to her mouth as the communication channel was suddenly terminated, Annalee's terrified visage vanishing from the screen... but not before Rogue had seen a hauntingly familiar tendril of purple smoke wrap around the elderly Morlock's throat.
"Miasma," Wolverine spat, having seen the same thing, "I thought we'd seen the last of that bitch..."
"What are we gonna do?" Rogue turned wide, frightened eyes towards Logan, "Storm's in Africa, Beast an' the Professor are away at a conference, Scott an' Jean have gone off on holiday... we can't jus' leave the Morlocks if she has got 'em... but we can't fight her..."
"We can an' we will," Gambit spoke up, as he swung his legs off the couch and stood up, "Gambit gonna take care of that cauchemar once an' for all."
"Remy, you ain't strong enough yet," Rogue protested, shaking her head, "yer supposed ta be restin'..."
Gambit shook his head; "You got a better idea, chère? De Morlocks ain't de friendliest mutants but dey don' deserve Miasma for company... an' Gambit already proved he can stan' up to her. We gotta try."
"The Cajun's right," Logan agreed, clenching his fists, "we gotta do somethin', an' it's down ta the three of us... come on, we'll take the bikes, it'll be quicker..."
He turned, and gestured to the other two to follow, as he ran towards the garage. There, he leapt onto his cherished black-and-silver Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic. As usual, he did not bother with a helmet or leathers; given his healing factor, he never saw the point. Gambit snatched up his helmet and gloves, pulling them on as he jumped onto his own bike; a Honda Blackbird with a custom purple paint scheme. Rogue had little need of a motorcycle; she soared above them as they gunned their engines and roared out of the garage in unison, heading towards the closest entrance to the Morlock tunnels, already grimly considering what they might find there.
Parking the bikes, Gambit stowed his gloves inside the helmet and locked it to his bike with a padlocked chain, before they silently descended the steps to the subway system. They waited a few minutes for a train to arrive; the few waiting passengers climbed aboard as the three of them hung back. As the train sped off, the three X-Men made their way to the end of the platform, and then, checking to make sure they were unobserved, they walked down the tunnel, and into the blackness beyond the well-lit platform. Gambit drew a playing card from his coat, and illuminated it with a yellow glow, lighting their path. They followed the tunnel for a while before finding what they were looking for; an access hatch into the lower tunnels, inhabited by their Morlock allies.
Wolverine opened the hatch and, at his 'after-you' gesture, Gambit went first so that he could carry on casting a light for the others. Rogue simply flew down, as Wolverine came last, closing the hatch behind him.
"Gee, they sure haven't improved their welcome party," Rogue huffed, glancing around the dank, dark sewer tunnel, "which way?"
Logan sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose in distaste, before pointing, "This way. I can smell her already... like sulphur and death."
"Feels cold," Rogue chafed her hands up and down her arms, "ah... ah think ah can feel her already... that awful emptiness in mah soul..."
"Just remember the mental blocks the Professor installed," Wolverine told her, sharply, "they still gotta count fer somethin'... just don't let her get too close to ya..."
"Ah don't want that witch anywhere near me," Rogue shuddered, casting a meaningful glance at Gambit, "not after last time..."
They followed the sewer path for several minutes, until Gambit paused, holding the card up a little higher.
"Dere's someone up ahead," he murmured, peering into the darkness, "not sure who it is..."
They edged forwards, slowly, cautiously, until the figure came in to view, and Rogue gasped in recognition.
"It's Tommy!" she exclaimed, recognising the pastel-coloured woman slumped against the wall, "Tommy? Can ya hear me, sugar?"
Tommy raised her head, her unusual pink, blue and yellow striped hair falling away from her face. Rogue yelped and pulled back in shock; Tommy's eyes were clouded over with black and purple smoke. The woman uttered a strangled sob, and flicked herself against the wall, flattening into her two-dimensional form, effectively hiding herself from their shocked expressions.
"We gotta keep goin'," Wolverine pressed them on, "ain't no use tryin' ta help her – we gotta take out the root cause of the problem..."
Rogue lowered her head and nodded, following them down the tunnel, unable to block out the sounds of the young Morlock sobbing quietly into the wall behind them. Taking a left turn, they headed towards one of the central chambers where the Morlocks made their home.
"Takin' her out's one problem," Rogue muttered, as they walked, "findin' her first is the challenge..."
"Hey," Logan tapped his nose, knowingly, "trust the scent, okay? I'll find her..."
"Only one place she gonna be, mon amis," Gambit commented, "Callisto's throne room. Miasma like to be in charge, non? Dat's where we find her..."
"Well, you ain't far wrong, Cajun," Wolverine replied, sniffing the air, "this way, down here..."
They took a left turn, passing two other Morlocks as they did so; Tar Baby, who was a half-melted puddle of goo, only his head and shoulders in solid form, eyes open and staring at nothing, shrouded in smoke. Further along was Sunder, curled into a ball and rocking himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his breath, silent tears tracking down his huge cheeks as the super-strong giant maintained his incoherent litany. The three of them passed him quietly; he did not even seem to register their presence.
They continued in silence, turning into a narrower, red-brick tunnel, the curved ceiling feeling ominously close above them. Rogue was suddenly glad Storm was in Africa – although she was now the leader of the Morlocks, her claustrophobia meant that she rarely visited the subterranean system and she would have hated this sojourn through the narrowing, dark tunnel. Suddenly, Gambit froze ahead of her, and she almost walked into him in her distraction.
"What the-?" she exclaimed.
"Dere's someone comin'!" Gambit hissed.
"Nowhere to run – nowhere to hide," Wolverine growled, "just gotta face 'em head on... it ain't Miasma, the smell's all wrong... smells like burnin' rubber an' leather..."
Gambit edged forwards; ahead of him, he could see an orange glow, like the light of a burning torch lantern. He squinted into the darkness, holding the card out ahead of him.
"Who's dere?" he called out, "If you a Morlock, we de X-Men – we here to help!"
He held the card up, ready to throw it, as the others also assumed defensive positions behind him. In the darkness, there was a strange, jangling noise, like a metal chain being dragged along the floor. There was a rattling sound, and then something struck him, hard, in the chest. With a pained yelp, Gambit was thrown backwards, slamming into Rogue and Wolverine, sending all three of them crashing to the floor. Winded, bruised and stunned, Gambit groaned, pressing a hand to his chest. He raised his eyes as a figure towered above him, and his heart skipped a beat as he froze to the spot in horror.
Above him, a leering skull grinned eerily down at him, flames dancing in the hollow eye sockets, above a spiked black leather jacket.
"Remy LeBeau," the apparition spoke in a gravelly, echoing voice that seemed to pierce through to his very soul, looming over him, ghostly-white hands spread wide, "I have come... for you."
