Truly the greatest time of the year…
Truly the greatest time of the year…
This will, most likely, be my last FridayFlash post until December…what with the insanity of NaNoWriMo and all.
He wasn’t paranoid. He was smart. Careful. When you made a living doing the things Lukas Eriksen did, you had to be smart. That’s why almost no one knew Lukas’ real name.
Most people—clients and law enforcement agencies alike—knew him only as Ragnarok. They would never know his name or what he looked like. To his clients, he was an email address and PayPal account. To his victims, he was a vengeful digital god, laying waste to their finances and secrets. As far as either side was concerned, he ruled cyberspace.
The Internet was an amazing thing. The entire world laid out before you, everything from shopping to music to porn. Anything a person could possibly want was there for the taking. Even information—especially personal information like birthdates, Social Security Numbers, and bank account information. There was a reason Internet crime was a growing business, why the spammers, scammers, and phishers continued to return to the well again and again.
And these hackers and identity thieves were good. Damned good. But, Lukas was better. Much better. He could see the data. Actually see it. And not as a bunch of squiggly green crap like in The Matrix. No. The data spoke to him, told him things, and would bend to his will. Passwords and encryption meant nothing when you could simply ask the information to reveal itself.
Sometimes the information would tell him things without being asked: what stocks would tank or the name of the underage girl spending time at the home of a U.S. Senator when his wife and kids were out-of-town.
Or when to run.
Someone, somewhere knew about him. Knew what he was and what he could do. That’s what the data told him. It wasn’t more specific, which was odd. Whoever it was had a way of securing information that was beyond even Lukas’ abilities. Normally, he would have tried to dig deeper, to coax the information out of the digital ether. However, the data was urging him to go. Practically shouting.
He left everything behind. One of the benefits of being a technopathic hacker is that hardware is optional. In fact, whoever was after him would probably wast precious hours trying to find useful information on the laptop and flash drives he had left behind in the rundown hotel room.
Lukas bypassed the smoky, poorly lit lobby by “asking” the emergency exit to open without triggering the alarm, allowing him to sneak out through the alley that ran between the hotel and the businesses on the next block over.
Pausing at the mouth of the alley, Lukas reached into the pocket of his denim jacket. His fingers curled around the phone he carried there as he considered checking the data again. Maybe there would be more information now. But, if there wasn’t, he’d be wasting time. Time he might not have.
Lukas stepped out of the protection afforded by the deep shadows between the buildings. This was far from the “nice part of town”, and several of the streetlights were out, adding to the darkness. If there had been more light, it was possible Lukas would have seen the massive wolf before it attacked. Lukas turned just in time to see a reddish-brown form descending upon him. There was a momentary flash of yellow eyes and white teeth before all went dark.
“That’s right. Got him.” Brendan Frost spoke softly, confident that the hands-free transceiver in his watch was transmitting his words loud and clear. “Nope, no one saw. And, even if they did, this isn’t exactly a Good Samaritan kind of neighborhood.”
Brendan had pulled the unconscious form of Lukas Eriksen back into the alley before checking in. He knew no one would even think about calling the police—not in this part of town—but, there was no reason to tempt fate. Eriksen would probably be out long enough for the Doc’s associates to come and pick him up. And, if he happened to wake up early, Brendan would be there to make sure he took another nap.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “This guy isn’t really a fighter. Right. I’ll be here when they arrive.”
Brendan signed off. He stretched his arms over his head and stifled a yawn. It was late and he was tired. But, more importantly, he really wanted a drink to wash the taste of denim out of his mouth.
One of the things I like most about the DC Universe is the concept of the Legacy Hero. With the exception of the big guns like Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman, many of the identities of popular DC heroes have been used by multiple individuals over the years. The Justice Society of America best reflects this idea with stories about the older generations of heroes mentoring the younger heroes. So, inspired by news of a JSA episode of Smallville, I figured I’d cast a movie version.
The Plot: In the closing days of World War II, masked heroes Green Lantern, the Flash, and Wildcat uncover a plot by immortal mastermind Vandal Savage. While the rest of the world is focused on the events unfolding in Europe and the Pacific, these three heroes face and defeat Savage. Now, decades later, Savage has returned and the elder heroes must come out of retirement and lead their successors in a battle for the fate of humankind.
The Cast: The best thing about a Justice Society of America movie is that Hollywood will be forced to acknowledge that people live past the age of thirty. Let’s have some more mature actors open a can of whoop-ass.
Jamey Sheridan as Sentinel (Green Lantern)/Alan Scott
I’ve liked Jamey Sheridan since he played Randall Flagg in The Stand, then he popped up on Law & Order: Criminal Intent. Now the poor bastard is stuck on Trauma…give the guy a cape and a domino mask and let him kick some immortal ass as DC’s first Green Lantern.
John Wesley Shipp as The Flash/Jay Garrick
If you don’t understand why casting John Wesley Shipp to play the first Flash is the most awesomest idea ever, then you just haven’t been paying attention.
Jerry Doyle as Wildcat/Ted Grant
On Babylon 5, Doyle played the gruff, blue-collar security chief Michael Garibaldi. I think he’d be perfect as the gruff, blue-collar boxer/mystery man Wildcat. (As much as I love Doyle, it’s really too bad Lee Marvin isn’t still around to play Ted.)
Michael Shanks as Hawkman/Carter Hall
Yeah, I’m stealing this from Geoff Johns’ episode of Smallville. While I couldn’t give two shits about Hawkman, I love the idea of seeing Stargate SG-1‘s Shanks play an archaeologist again…with wings and a mace to boot!
Katee Sackhoff as Power Girl/Kara Zor-L/Karen Starr
With Battlestar Galactica over, I’m afraid Sackhoff may not get another chance to be a totally kick-ass action hero. Sure, she’ll be on the new season of 24, but it’s hard for anyone on that show to out-badass Bauer. Look at the hair…Katee as Kara seems like a good fit. (Okay, just realized that this would be the second Kara that Sackhoff plays. Do it, Hollywood. Do it.)
Dule Hill as Mister Terrific/Michael Holt
Mister Terrific is the third smartest person in the DC Universe. Hill has played serious-smart (Charlie on The West Wing) and goofy-smart (as Gus on Psych), so I think he can handle Terrific’s intellect. Plus, he’d just look damned awesome in that mask and jacket.
Emmy Clarke as Stargirl/Courtney Whitmore
One of the comments I heard about the actress cast to play Stargirl on Smallville was that she was a little too “CW.” Court’s got a geeky, awkward thing that I think Monk‘s Emmy Clarke could bring to the role.
Molly Quinn as Cyclone/Maxine Hunkel
The youngest member of the JSA, Max Hunkel is a bit of a motormouthed fangirl. While Quinn exudes poise as the daughter of bestselling novelist Richard Castle on Castle, she sure as hell looks the part.
Jensen Ackles as Sandman/Sanderson “Sandy” Hawkins
I can’t explain it…I just like Ackles. I think he’d have a blast playing the former sidekick-turned-hero. Plus, Ackles has shown he can convincingly solve a mystery or two on Supernatural.
Sean Bean as Vandal Savage
There’s just something about a Sean Bean villain. He’s a big dude and can be physically menacing, but there’s also a nobility about him, even as he’s threatening to shoot your wife/husband/daughter/father/best friend.
A little something different for this week.
Zoe stood on the steps of the library and looked out across the quad. Behind and above her, the campus clock tower struck three. The tolling bells were accompanied by a tune that she really couldn’t place, but was sure she’d once heard in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
Only a few lights were on in the windows of the dormitory halls on either side of the tree-lined quad. Zoe had never been to college—life had gotten in the way—but, she thought it was odd that there weren’t more people out and about, even this late on a week night.
“Geez,” she muttered. “I thought college was all about non-stop partying.”
Although, Zoe wasn’t here to party. Or to study, for that matter. No sir, she was here to work.
Her green eyes scanned the darkness, paying close attention to the pools of light created by the old-fashioned, wrought iron lamp posts placed at regular intervals around the perimeter of the quad, as well as along the footpath that snaked through the center of the well-manicured grass. The entire scene was a bit disconcerting, especially when compared to the organized chaos and riotous energy of the quad during the day.
But, despite the illusion of serenity, Zoe was sure someone was here. Lurking. Waiting. Planning. That’s why she was here, after all. She had been sent to investigate the recent string of break-ins on campus. The victims ranged from students to faculty; and, whoever was responsible, had made off with everything from cash to cell phones to laptops. So far, no one had been hurt.
Actually, there had been no interaction with the thief at all. Campus security had no evidence of forced entry and, where available, security cameras yielded no footage of the perpetrator. That pointed to the likelihood that the person responsible was…special. Of course, the others could have handled a shapeshifter, a telepath, or an energy manipulator. Zoe had been sent because she brought something unique to the table.
To Zoe’s left, about halfway across the quad, there was a strange flicker of light and shadow. Almost anyone else would have missed it, but Zoe’s eyes were trained to notice things moving at higher-than-normal velocities. The flicker coalesced into a trail of ghosting images. She was able to make out a figure, tall and slender, dressed in jeans and a black hoody.
“Speedster,” Zoe said, grinning to herself. “Takes one to catch one.”
Because you all demanded it, this week’s FridayFlash features the continuing adventures of Professor Ezekiel Solomon.
DEAD MAN’S HAND
The detective paced back and forth at the far end of the interview room. Interview room. How do you like that? What a joke. We both knew what this room really was: an interrogation room. I was being interrogated. Hell, I bet the cops even had a cute name for the room. Like “the Box” or “the Cage” or “the Arena.” If the captain considered himself a particularly learned individual, he might go so far as to call it “the Crucible.” But, who’d be that pretentious?
Whatever the hell they called it, I found myself alone in the room with one of New York City’s Finest. And, he seemed pretty damned eager to interrogate me.
The detective—what was his name? Berg? Burke? Burnett? Shit, I have no idea—stopped pacing and leaned against the two-way mirror that took up the entire wall across from the table where I was seated. He was a big guy. Maybe not tall, but big. I was a tall guy and, on more than one occasion, I’m pretty sure someone has used the word “rangy” to describe me. But, Detective What’s-His-Name was just a big, broad slab of cop. Seriously. The guy was built like a brick shithouse that had been reenforced with steel and concrete.
He stared at me with tiny, bloodshot eyes. He sniffed and did something with his mouth that made his sand-colored mustache twitch.
“Tell me again, Mr. Solomon…”
“Professor.” I made sure I said the word matter-of-factly and not like I was trying to pull intellectual rank. Why would I? Sure, I have a PhD, but he has a gun. And, no matter how smart you are, you can’t out-think a bullet. Although, to be fair, I have a gun, too. And a shotgun. And knives. Not to mention a crossbow, flamethrower, and a sword.
Crap…where was I? Oh, right.
“I’m a professor of folklore and mythology,” I offered when he repeated my previous statement. See? I offered the information. I was cooperating. All cordial like.
Detaching himself from the wall, the detective plodded across the room and dropped into the chair across from me. The guy was massive. I’m pretty sure most of his ponderous bulk came from too many between-meal snacks, but I didn’t doubt for a second he could wrap those shovel-like mitts around my throat and choke the life out of me if he wanted to. Mental note: avoid that. Anyway, he was like something out of a Greek legend. Like a cyclops. Or a minotaur.
Actually, to be fair, I’ve faced a minotaur and, impressive as the detective was, he’s no minotaur. He does have better taste in suits, though.
“So, Professor Solomon—” yeah, he wasn’t even trying to hide the snark— “what, exactly, were you doing trying to break into the Ellison residence?”
“What do you know about the Hand of Glory?”
I would have been surprised to find out that the New York Police Academy offered courses in arcane science and the mystic arts, but stranger things have happened. Usually when I was around. So, I started with the basics. The hand of a hanged criminal was taken, wrapped in a scrap of the dead man’s burial shroud, and dipped in tallow made from the corpse’s own fat. That last part made our stalwart detective pale slightly. But, he recovered by the time I got to how they would then take hair from the dead man’s head and fashion it into wicks, one for each finger of the hand.
He seemed okay after I told him what a Hand of Glory was. Then, I told him what a Hand of Glory did.
“Wait, wait, wait.” He shifted in his seat, his mustache practically doing the fandango. “This thing…this Hand of Glory…unlocks any door?”
I nodded. “Door. Window. In theory they could open wall safes and safety deposit boxes, too. Anything with a lock.” He already wasn’t buying it, so I figured I’d give him all I had. “And, once the candles were lit, anyone who looks at the thing will be frozen in their tracks and struck dumb.”
“So, you and your accomplice used this Hand of Glory to break into the Ellisons’ apartment…”
I smiled. No, really. I did. Couldn’t help myself. “No, Detective.” I, for the record, said that with practically no snark whatsoever. “When you get around to talking to the Ellisons, you’ll see that Walt Ellison and I were both on the faculty at NYU together and, while we might not have been close, we got along pretty well.”
This was starting to take longer than I had expected. And no one had offered me a soda. Weren’t they supposed to do that when they got you in “the Box”? Offer you a soda or a coffee or a cigarette? Or did they only do that when they were playing good cop-bad cop? If that’s the case, I’m about one cop short. But, damn, I was hungry. And tired. I might as well start from the beginning.
I told the good detective how it had been a few years since I had taught at NYU, but how a few of the professors still kept in touch. One of them, Ellison, had recently been in touch and told me about a series of robberies that had been plaguing faculty members of the university. The names of the victims meant nothing to me. But, when Ellison told me what department each of the victims worked for, something clicked. Two worked in the Ancient Studies department, and one each in the Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies, Religious Studies, and Anthropology departments.
“Look, Detective, I’ve seen stuff, okay? Weird stuff. Stuff that has no real earthly explanation. So, you need to trust me when I say that the guy you have in custody was looking for something. And, judging from his knowledge of the arcane, coupled with the fields of study of the victims, it’s safe to say that whatever it is he’s looking for, is bad news.”
Something told me I was out of time. That something was the lovely red color of the detective’s face and the giant, throbbing forehead vein that was accompanying it.
Deep breath, Zeke. “You don’t have to believe me. I bet you found the pickled hand on our thieving friend, right? And, you guys have my bag, yeah? I’ve got a jar of ointment in there, smells like bird shit, that will counteract the effects of a Hand of Glory.”
The throbbing vein subsided. A little. “It will, huh?”
“Take a look at that guy’s shiner and then tell me if you think I was frozen in my tracks.”
Okay, this is my first shot at FridayFlash and it kinda goes over the 1,000 word limit. Like I said, it’s my first attempt…do you know how many times Thomas Edison had to fail before he finally invented the light bulb?
“Your son’s been possessed.”
She looked at me and, if she wasn’t concerned for the well-being of her kid, I swear she would have laughed in my face. “Oh, we don’t believe in that kind of thing,” she finally said, waving a hand to dismiss it—and me.
“Lady, I don’t give a damn what you believe. And, trust me, neither does whatever’s taken up residence in junior.”
Don’t look at me like that. She needed to hear it. And so do you. Screw God. Forget the Devil. I don’t care if you believe in ’em. I don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not you think the Torah, the Bible, or the Qur’an are fact or fiction. All you need to know is this: There are things out there. Dark things. Cruel things. Things that thrive on chaos and grow fat on human pain and misery.
Things that get off on wearing an eight year old boy like a rented prom tux.
I’d read about these things—demons, rakshasas, ifrit—for most of my adult life. I’d even written a book or three on the subject. Of course, back then I used words like “folklore” and “mythology” whenever I talked about the things that haunted humanity’s darkest nightmares. Shit, that should have been my first clue that maybe—just maybe—these things were real. Kara and Max paid the price for my stupidity.
“Mommy, what’s goin’ on?”
The first thing I did when I got to the Park Slope brownstone owned by Stephen and Emily Carlyle was run up to the kid’s bedroom and draw a circle around the little tyke’s bed with some good old-fashioned table salt. That’ll pretty much guarantee whatever’s inside him won’t be able to raise much of a ruckus while I was trying to figure out what to do next.
Of course, if Mommy Dearest runs up to the bedside of her poor little darling and accidentally breaks the circle…
“Mrs. Carlyle,” I try to sound compassionate, but probably fail miserably, “you can’t go in there.”
“This is insane. I never should have—”
Christ. This is where humanity really fucks itself over. Rationalizing. If something can’t be, it isn’t. The Devil didn’t convince the world he doesn’t exist, we did that ourselves.
Okay, Professor. Use your words. You can do it.
“You noticed something strange in Tommy’s behavior, something that couldn’t be explained away with illness or a bad mood or whatever. Right?” I didn’t even wait for a response. “Now, I haven’t hurt the kid, just spilled a little salt on your classy hardwood floor. All I can do is ask you to trust me.”
“He’s been acting out at school,” Mrs. Carlyle said when I finally gave her a chance. “His teacher says he started to withdraw from the other kids a few weeks ago. Stephen and I were considering therapy…until the incident with Muriel.”
Right. The housekeeper. The elder Carlyles had the misfortune of walking in on their pride and joy trying to force himself on their sixty-two year old housekeeper. Definitely aberrant behavior for an eight year old. Neither parent told me exactly how much of an “incident” it was and, to be honest, I didn’t want to know.
I watched as her maternal instincts waged war with her rational mind. Instinct verses intellect. How often had the wrong side been victorious in that little conflict? This was the moment of truth. She’d either accept the truth of what was happening to her son, or send me packing. For the sake of everyone in the Carlyle household, I hoped she would choose the former. When she finally nodded her assent, I asked her if I could set up shop in the spare room across the hall from Tommy’s bedroom.
For the next hour, we sat in the guest bedroom, listening as the thing inside Tommy Carlyle carried on across the hall. There was a moment or two in the first half hour when I expected Mrs. Carlyle to bolt. To the woman’s credit, she just turned in her seat and stared anywhere but in the direction of the open door. I used the time the best way I could. Thinking.
I’m no expert. Like I said, until recently, I was just an academic with absolutely no real world experience in dealing with the forces of chaos. I’d heard of various rituals and incantations that you could use to drive out a possessing entity, but I’ll be damned if I could recite any of them off the top of my head. Fortunately, I’m what you might call a talented amateur.
Eventually, the thing across the hall seemed to tire itself out. That was as good a cue as any. I grabbed the duffel bag that I use to schlep various tools and other useful items from job to job and made for the boy’s bedroom.
“How’s it goin’, scooter?” The thing turned the boy’s head and looked at me through sunken, red-rimmed eyes. Tommy looked to be in as good a shape as you’d expect for someone who’s possessed. His skin was a little pale and sweat matted his dark hair to his forehead. Trust me, it could have been a lot worse. An old woman in Tuscany had once plucked her own eye out. With her thumb.
The thing watched me as I made my way around the room. “No, no,” I said, “don’t get up.” I took a few candles out of the duffel bag and lit them, placing them randomly around the room. I dropped the bag at my feet and stood in front of the boy, his bed, and whatever was inside of him, the tow of my boot almost touching the ring of salt on the floor.
“C’mon, jackass. I don’t have all night.”
The lamp next to the boy’s bed flickered and I felt the temperature in the room drop before I could see my breath in the air. Whatever was inside Tommy was drawing in ambient energy, hopefully preparing to manifest itself. The boy’s body began to shake in his bed. The shaking became a thrashing. The thrashing grew so violent that it appeared as though the kid’s body was wracked by a violent, but unheard, coughing fit. The light from the lamp went out completely, leaving my flickering candles the only source of illumination.
A network of black veins had appeared on the boy’s pale, sweaty skin. His vacant eyes locked on the ceiling and his hands searched blindly for the edge of his mattress. The temperature dropped another five degrees as Tommy Carlyle’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain. Or rage. Or both.
Whatever had been inside the boy had decided it no longer liked being trapped within the circle of salt. It was going to show itself and try to trick me into releasing it. Fat chance. Thick black tears had formed at the corner of the boy’s eyes. A similar substance trickled from the corner of his mouth and seemed to seep from every pore. The ichor dripped to the floor, congealing in a viscous mass. The tar-like substance shifted, rising into a column a little taller than myself.
“Isn’t this where you start bargaining? Asking me what I really want and promising to give it to me if I release you?”
The stygian mass pulsated and roiled, its black surface rippling. An inky tendril shot out. Then another. And another. I’m sure it would have throttled me if it had been able to. Instead, the tendrils slammed repeatedly against the invisible barrier created by the ring of salt.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Big, bad Beelze-bitch.”
A shudder of anticipation rippled through the black, oily mass. It had seen—hell if I know how, since I didn’t see any eyes—me step closer to the protective ring of salt. It expected me to accidentally break the circle. It didn’t expect me to reach into my duffel and pull out a double-barrel shotgun. I leveled the weapon at the thing that had possessed a helpless eight year old boy.
“Suck it.” In this case, “it” was a special shot I used, consisting of silver pellets, holy water, mistletoe, garlic, and monkshood. Whatever the thing was, it wasn’t particularly strong. The shot ripped right through it, dispersing the inky mass.
What? I never said this job couldn’t be easy. It could. Not often, but it could.
The easiest part was knowing when to leave. The Carlyles had been touched by something most people never witnessed. And, I know from personal experience, those who have witnessed it, wish they never had. But, the human mind is great at forgetting, at sugarcoating the strange and fucked-up shit it doesn’t want to deal with. I shouldered my duffel bag and headed for the stairs, leaving Mrs. Carlyle to tend to her exhausted, terrified and disoriented son.
“Professor?” I paused at the top of the stairs and turned. Mrs. Carlyle was standing outside of Tommy’s room, visibly rattled but clearly relieved that her son would apparently be okay. “I’m not… What I mean to say is, I don’t…” She heaved a sigh, a wayward dark blonde curl falling across her face.
“You saved my son, and I don’t even know your name.”
“Solomon. Ezekiel Solomon.”
A while back, Disney bought Marvel and, once the nerds stopped their infernal bitching, they were able to read this story. Could we be getting a New Mutants movie? God, I hope so. I mean, I hate teenagers and most stories about teenagers, but I do love me some New Mutants. Maybe it’s because when I first started reading comics, the first team of New Mutants had just formed and they were only a little older than I was. Whatever, I don’t care. The fact is, they might be making a New Mutants movie. If nothing else, it will finally give Hollywood an excuse to cast a bunch of zygotes in a superhero movie.
The Plot: As always, let’s keep this shit simple. Someone–or something–has been terrorizing the southwestern states of the U.S. Now, this malevolent force is heading towards Boulder, CO, where Dani Moonstar grew up. With the rest of the X-Men away doing something adult and boring (like fighting for their civil rights or some other lame-ass bullshit), it’s up to the junior varsity team to handle the situation. When the New Mutants investigate, they come face to face with the vicious Demon Bear.
The Cast: I know very little about actors born after 1990, so this wasn’t the easiest thing in the world for me to do. Also, even though this movie is part of the X-Men franchise, there will be no fucking Wolverine! Maybe…maybe…Patrick Stewart could show up in either the beginning or the end as Xavier, but I don’t want Hugh Jackman sniffing around anywhere near this set.
Bug Hall as Cannonball/Samuel Guthrie
I hated Cannonball for a long time. He always struck me as a Junior Cyclops, a nice guy but sorta dull and by-the-book. Lately, though, I’ve come around to liking the guy. To me, Cannonball’s defining characteristic is his height, and Bug Hall clocks in at around 6′ 2″. Plus, the kid’s from Texas and played Alfalfa in the Little Rascals movie, so I’m sure Bug could handle playing the son of a Kentucky coal miner.
Selena Gomez as Danielle “Dani” Moonstar
Selena plays a wizard or something on the Disney Channel, right? Okay, so playing a mutant shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. I wonder how she’d feel about learning how to use a bow and arrow…
Corbin Bleu as Sunspot/Roberto “Bobby” da Costa
I tried to find a young Brazilian actor who looked like he was capable of more than just standing around in his underwear and gazing dreamily into the camera. Didn’t work out too well. So, instead, I decided to find someone who looked like what I imagine Bobby would look like. That’s when I found Corbin.
Karen Gillan as Rahne Sinclair/Wolfsbane
Gillan’s a redhead and a Scot, can we do better than that? Now, for most of her appearances, Rahne sported a crew cut…but, when she returned to Xavier’s school after losing her powers, she had grown her hair out. Of course, she had also abandoned her usual shy, retired personality for one of mock-rebellion. I honestly don’t care is Gillan plays the role with long or short hair (although cutting that hair would be a crime), but I would prefer a Wolfsbane who was more mousy than brash.
Jessica Weixler as Magik/Illyana Rasputin
Magik’s kind of tricky. On one hand, she’s a mutant who can create discs that teleport herself and others across dimensions. On the other hand, she’s a half-demon sorceress and the ruler of Limbo. There’s also been that whole aging, de-aging, re-aging thing. Maybe this movie could briefly touch on Magik’s sorcery and then explore it more in a sequel. Either way, I think Weixler looks the part.
Kelly Vitz as Karma/Xi’an McCoy
Karma started off as the team leader, then “died” and was replaced by Cannonball. I’m only really familiar with the team under Sam’s leadership, but have no problem with Karma leading the team in the movie (it’s not like Sean Connery is in it and can’t take orders from a woman).
Evanna Lynch as Magma/Amara Aquilla
Magma’s backstory is kind of a mess. But, she can turn into and control lava and that’s kind of awesome. Plus, Lynch is so delightfully bizarre in the Harry Potter movies that I want her to get as much work as possible.
Chris Colfer as Cypher/Douglas Ramsey
I hate Cypher. Hate. He has a ridiculous power…the power of translating. Really? So, he’s C-fucking-3PO? The kid had no place in the field, no wonder he bought it in the comics. Anyway…I’m sure people will be clamoring for Warlock to show up eventually, so introducing Cypher somewhere in the first movie will make his sudden appearance in the Warlock sequel less jarring. And, I must admit, I do like this Colfer kid.
Jake Thomas as Legion/David Haller
I’m not sure if Legion was intended to be a main antagonist in the New Mutants comic…but, for some reason, when I think of Legion, I think of the New Mutants. This seems to be somewhat justified by the fact that the first arc of the new comic series focused on the return of Legion. Anyway…a mutant with multiple personalities, many with mutant powers of their own? Sounds cool to me. And, who knows, one of those personalities may manifest itself as a monstrous demon bear…