He’d watched Pinkston go over the ropes, followed closely by Ruby. He didn’t have even a split second to enjoy a moment of celebration, because “Deathwish” had caught them not paying attention and barreled into them both with his massive arms.
Montague’s heart skipped a beat when they went over, but fortune decided to let them land on the apron. The Showman moved to rescue them, attacking Yamazaki’s knee and preventing him from eliminating his team.
He went to work trying to lift the massive beast over while Ragdoll and Tempest caught a few breaths. Jacky rolled back in to help, but Tempest was exhausted. Montague knew he and Jacky could handle it, give the Cross Hemisphere champion time to rest while the resting was good.
That’s when Eden came out of nowhere with a kick that sent Tempest flying.
Where Eden attacks, Montague knew, Gabriel is sure to follow. He ducked just in time to let the Catatonia 2.0 get the assist and finish off Hide.
He didn’t have time to think or plan, they were down to the final four survivors. Two teams which had, over time, come to harbor a barely-spoken distaste for one another, didn’t hesitate to plan their next moves.
Almost without knowing how he did it, Monty managed to get both husband and wife in a double headlock, and he dropped them with a double DDT before they could get free.
NO! He miscalculated! Abandoning his shrewdness in the moment closing moments of the Melee was an error, and he paid for it by eating a double suplex.
They were on him like jackals, and he took move after move, only able to hope he can draw their attention long enough for Jacky to turn this around.
There was an unexpected reprieve accompanied by a change in tone from the roaring crowd. Montague dared to look up in time to see Eden, outside the ring, fuming up at her spouse as her elimination was announced.
He didn’t have time to calculate the betrayal before Baal was on him. Out of energy, he knew it was up to Jacky, and he accepted his fate.
Much to his surprised delight, the Conquest Champion hit them both, counting on the Doctor-Professor’s size to drag them both over! Montague, still tangled up with the Chimera and tightening his grip, plummeted toward the floor. He allowed himself a smile. Ragdoll’s quick thinking had just secured a Key for the AstroCreeps.
At Massive Melee, Spooky Season had carried on.
Montague fumes as he watches the hosts do their best to tamp down the larger-than-life personality that is Jaclyn Pierrot with their lame cracks. He feels his knuckles crack inside his fists as he watches her mouth open several times, only to snap shut again as the obnoxious hacks interrupt and talk over the answers she’s trying to give.
He’s set up in the stage room again, watching on a projection screen hanging near the upstage curtain. While the Good Morning America live studio audience roars with mindless laughter at his partner’s expense, the mannequins seated around Monty stare along with him, their blank, unamused expressions matching his own. A box of Count Chocula, the snack he’d chosen to consume while watching Jacky’s big moment, sits open but untouched on the lap of a life-sized Ken doll to his left.
If he could have willed himself to teleport to Times Square Studio on the power of rage alone, it would have happened when Stephanopolous put his disgusting hand on her. When it turns out the whole cooking segment was a dupe, and they dare to pie her in the face, Montague is rising uncontrollably from his seat, intent on rushing from the room to grab the rest of their team and grabbing the next flight north. The sight of the massive Kosnar projected in the corner of the frame is the only thing that gives him pause, and he calms down a fraction.
And then…
The Doctor-Professor bursts out laughing so hard that spittle flies from his lips. He snatches up the box of chocolatey marshmallow cereal and begins to shovel handfuls into his mouth as he watches gleefully.
Unfortunately, the feed is cut before too much damage can be broadcast. Disappointed but not deflated, Monty bounces back up to his feet, a spring in his step as he heads upstairs to find Tempest and the others to celebrate what he knew they had seen as well.
Little did he know that when Jacky arrived back in Gnaw Bone, she’d have plans to escort them on an even more fun trip to the Big Apple.
That’s how she is, their Ragdoll. Always happy to share the most fun ideas...
Montague stands surrounded by a cadre of studio security. The producers of the National Kick Butt Day ad are huddled nearby, debating what to do with him. Montague does a fake lunge at one of the guards every couple of minutes, only to freeze and cackle when they brace for the escape he has no intention of making.
Not that he hasn’t been in more dire straits than this; seven people with non-lethal weapons pissed off at the antics of Cervantes and his friends? This was a Monday night waiting to happen for the UGWC Chaos Champion. Besides, if they thought the Showman had arrived at the studio without being armed to the teeth with his own plethora of tricks, well, that would be their foolish mistake.
Just as Monty is certain the most mayonnaise-y one amongst them has reached his limit, the producers walk back over. Disappointed, Montague waits as they interrupt what might have been the second best brawl of the day.
Producer with pit stains: Here’s the deal, Mr. Cervantes--
Montague: Doctor.
Pit Stains: Doctor Cervantes. We--
Montague: Doctor-Professor, actually.
Stymied, the first producer looks to his partner, who rolls his eyes and begins again.
Producer with comb-over: Look, Cervantes, I’m fully ready to call up New York’s finest and press charges for the riot you and your degenerate friends caused here earlier--
Montague: Family.
Comb-over: What??
Montague: The AstroCreeps have become more of a family lately, is all. We’re sort of in the midst of our first family reunion, what with it being Spooky Season and all. The family I never knew I had, you know?
The second producer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply, his partner makes a second attempt.
Producer with pit stains: Listen, we’re willing to accept what you told us about this being a…
He grits his teeth.
Pit Stains: ... misunderstanding. But you--
Montague: I didn’t say that. We didn’t misunderstand anything. You misunderstood how to name your event. That’s not our fault. Name things better.
Of course, he knew what the event was all about. He’d never tell Jacky that and let her think she’d screwed up, but going along with her mistake had been just too much of a temptation to resist. That was until Betty White had hit him from behind with a chair and staggered him long enough for her to nail her finishing move. He’d made a valiant effort to escape with the rest of his comrades, but nonagenarian-going-on-centenarian had continued to wail on him until the Keystone Rent-a-Cops were able to subdue him.
Comb-over: Look, stupid fuck, do you want to go to jail!?
The Showman looks absolutely scandalized. His jaw drops and he moves quickly to clap his hands around the ears of the youngest security guard.
Montague: Sir!
The guard shoves Montague away, more embarrassed than angry. The pit-stained producer chuckles with a sense of desperation.
Pit Stains: We need to cut this PSA, dammit, we’re at deadline. Of those who didn’t run off, you’re the only celebrity still standing. Thanks to your stunt, we’re in a spot, but we’re willing to let it go if you cut the announcement for us.
Monty’s carefree beaming transforms into a business-like interest.
Montague: You mean, you’ll call off your part time goon squad, I get some camera time, and you’ll let me walk out the door, no hard feelings?
Comb-over: Oh, no, you’ll be banned from 6B for life, and I’m sure the stars you assaulted will still take legal action--
Pit Stains: But we will not. And if we’re subpoenaed, well, we’ll have to remember that you did us a favor when we were in a bind.
Comb-over: A bind you and your gang created…
Though he muttered that last line, Montague cut his eyes at him for a split second before racing for the pit-stained producer’s hand.
Montague: Give me two hours to prep and you’ve got a deal. Oh, and I’ll need to borrow your cell phone. White destroyed my screen with a bicycle kick and it’s useless now..
Pit Stains reaches to shake with one hand as he goes to unclip his iPhone. Montague pulls back.
Montague: No, not yours. His.
He points at Comb-over. There’s a tense moment when it seems like Comb-over isn’t going to relent, but a pleading look from Pit Stains defeats him.
Comb-over: Fine!
He yanks a Samsung out of his back pocket and shoves it into Montague’s right hand. With that, the Showman grabs Pit Stain’s hand and shakes vigorously. Without any further to-do, he turns marches away, causing Comb-over to go nearly apoplectic when it seems for a moment like Monty is going to abscond through the fire doors with his phone. Cervantes pauses at the edge of the stage, though and lifts the phone to his ear.
Montague: Kasjah? Are you still booked at Bona Fide this week for New York Spooky Fest? Excellent! Yes, of course I’m going to come see you!
He glances over his shoulder at the incredulous producers and raises his hand to mime someone jabbering away with feigned annoyance.
Montague: Right, yes, I’ll be there. Listen, I need a huge favor. I know, I know, ‘another one.’ You’re right, I owe you big.
Another glance back with a grinning eyeroll and shake of the head, as if the two execs are familiar with whoever he’s talking to and know all about how she is on the phone.
Montague: Absolutely, I’ll happily do that for you. So what I need you to do is run down to Claudia Diaz and grab a sport coat in my size--it doesn't matter what color--and a palette of fabric paint. Do you mind?
There’s an unacceptable interim of silence as the verbose answer comes back, and eventually Montague lights up with appreciation.
Montague: Yes! Bring it all over to Rockafeller, please. No, I promised, I won’t forget! Tack själv, du är bäst!!.
The Showman ends the call and smirks as he walks back, phone extended toward Comb-over.
Montague: Jokes on her, I’d have done it even if she wasn’t running an errand for me.
He laughs jovially as if they had any idea what he’s talking about. Bending to pick up the cane he’d dropped during the brawl earlier, and then his top hat, he straightens back up. The hat gets a quick examination, and he frowns as he realizes it’s ruined.
Montague: I’ll be in my dressing room, please send someone to fetch me when Kasjah arrives!
No one can believe they’re watching someone they were ready to send downtown stride backstage as if he owned the studio, and so no one can find the will to move to stop him.
Studio 6B has been completely transformed. Purple draperies adorned with silver stars, suns, and crescent moons--all with cherubic faces--have been hung all around. Incense burns from several small braziers on the floor, which have been prepared with coals.
In the center of the stage, bathed in an amber spotlight, sits an ivory-skinned beauty on an ornately-embroidered cushion that matches the drapes. Her milk-colored hair cascades down over a floral, fringed crop top with three-quarter sleeves and a matching skirt. Around her wrists are several bracelets of prayer beads carved with the constellations of the Zodiac, and a third eye has been painted just above the bridge of her nose--just close enough to not be mistaken for a bindi and called out for cultural appropriation.
This is Kasjah Møller, better known to the UGWC audience as The Albino from the Cabinet of OutCasts. Monty knew her as a new age guru, a mystic in every form of the word; from an eclectic mix of spiritualism to a practitioner of palmistry, phrenology, Tarot, crystal gazing, astrology, and so on and so forth.
Kasjah gazes down the camera with pink eyes marked only with the tiny black specks of her pupils and speaks with a thick Scandinavian accent.
Kasjah: Synergy. Three hundred fifty.
She closes her eyes and tilts her chin upward. She draws a slow breath in through her nose before opening her eyes and speaking again.
Kasjah: Three hundred fifty is a mix of vibrations of the numbers three, five and zero. Three is self-expression, growth, freedom,and manifestation. When you are an Ascended Master, your vibrations will resonate in threes. Five is major change, making decisions and choices that affect your life. Through five you gain advancement and learning. Five is your individuality. Zero symbolizes infinity and eternity. The Universal forces and energies. Zero is the eternal flow through the stages of your life on your journey toward wholeness.
Despite her rigid posture, Kasjah begins to sway in tight circles, her eyes unfocusing so that she’s no longer looking directly into the camera.
Kasjah: Three hundred fifty is a blend of these energies, and when it occurs in your life, it is a signal from the cosmos to embrace your self-trust and make changes that will bring you closer to your true self than you’ve ever been. When you resonate with three hundred fifty, you know it is time to set aside the old ways and move forward toward your enlightenment.
Suddenly, the tapestry to her left moves in an unnatural way. Viewers feel a slight sense of unease as a human shape seems to emerge from the pattern, and it takes a moment for them to perceive what has happened.
The UGWC Chaos Champion, Montague Cervantes, has stepped away from the tapestry to reveal that he had painted his entire outfit, face, hands, everything head to toe to camouflage himself perfectly against the tapestry.
Now that he’s moving around, it becomes obvious, and those watching aren’t sure how they missed him standing there the entire time. When the Youtube video is released, they’ll rewind over and over, pausing ineffectually as they try to catch him. His execution of the disguise was seamless, however, so it will be wasted effort.
He grins as he adjusts the gaudy sportcoat, the kind a motivational speaker might wear to a corporate event--except theirs wouldn’t be painted with mystical symbols in fabric paint, of course.
Montague: That’s right! Today is the day, my friends! If you’ve been farting around for the last seven months while those who speak for you hog the spotlight that should have been yours, then this Monday is your wake up call!
He winks off camera, presumably at the producers, and plucks a top hat from thin air. The top hat is similarly painted to match his jacket and shirt, so it complements the rest of the outfit perfectly when he perches it at a jaunty angle on top of his head. Montague power walks across the stage, gesturing furiously as he pumps up the still-fuming crowd. He stops and jabs a finger toward a random person.
Montague: Maybe you’ve dreamed of being an award-winning singer? Want to pull off that soul-searing duet with a living, walking goddess? One so powerful it’s memorable enough to outshine stupid, loudmouth, untalented manager who can’t stop putting his foot in your mouth? This Monday is the day to sign up for lessons!
He pumps his left fist in ever tightening circles, then slings his arm out as if throwing dice down the craps table. He lifts one knee as he punches down, celebrating the imaginary roll. Chuckling, he power walks across the stage, then stops short. Montague turns back toward the unseen audience and points at another rando.
Montague: Or! Maybe your desire is to be a famous writer-producer! Weaving together compelling post-apocalyptic alternate realities to enthrall and inspire audiences worldwide! People will want to own your creations on digital and physical media both, so they can rewatch them over and over instead of watching angry, pot-stirring, yellow-bellied Mr. Potato Head quiver and cringe on top of a cage for ten minutes. If you could pull that, you could probably do something more memorable than beating on a failed cop while ignorant, spewing, unstable agent takes center stage thanks to an overdone Christmas Carol premise. On Monday, you could sign up to become an understudy to a successful media executive!
Montague pulls off a little hop-step as he continues to traipse around the stage. His eyes cut toward the same direction where he winked earlier as he slows for a moment. Rolling his eyes, he shrugs off whatever the producers off camera are saying to him.
Montague: You’ve heard this all before, I know! We all have those people in our lives who find it easy to shout virtue-signalled encouragement and hollow platitudes as if they’re as simple as lifting the remote. Just do ten minutes on the treadmill! Just cut down by four cigarettes a day! Don’t go back for seconds! Cut one promo without your annoying, spouting, stomping, moronic mouthpiece! Go to bed half an hour earlier! Have just one less drink!
He shakes his head.
Montague: There’s no one in your life but you who can make that decision! It’s National Kick Butt Day, a day meant for you to give yourself a swift boot in the pants and jumpstart your own success! When you get up on October 11th, take a look in the mirror and try to see the potential that is you, and not the disgusting, greasy, twisted pubic hair stuck in your teeth that everyone else sees when they look at you!
Comb-over:Enough of this shit! Cut!
Montague slumps, annoyed that he’s been cut off at the climax of his shoot.
Pit Stains: What are you doing?
Comb-over: We can’t release this! What does any of this have to do with National Kick Butt Day?
Pit Stains: I mean, nothing he’s said is incorrect…
Montague helps Kasjah to her feet as they both watch the producers argue.
Comb-over: Don’t you understand he’s doing a wrestling promotional video?? He’s just trash-talking his opponent!
Pit Stains: I don’t watch wrestling....
Comb-over: Oh my fucking god, Chuck, how do you know who the fuck he is then?
Pit Stains: Half my crew went down to Arizona this past summer to pick up some extra work. Honestly, Jeff, I thought he was on one of those insufferable talent shows.
The Showman approaches Comb-over, hoping to smooth the situation over so he can salvage the rest of his shoot.
Montague: You’re a fan?
Comb-over rounds on the Doctor-Professor.
Comb-over: Not a fan of yours, dammit. I’m a Morgan-Baal guy, so I know enough to know you’ve been talking shit about Johnny Hitmaker this whole time. You’re defending against Yamazaki, so you thought you’d snag some free air time to do a shoot. Only, you wasted it because you said the same thing everyone else says to him: drop your manager and find your own way. Yeah, that’s right, I know exactly who you are: the soon to be former Chaos Champion. Again. I’m not a complete mook, Mister Cervantes.
Montague takes a step back and curls his upper lip, letting out a low growl as he crosses his arms.
Montague: That was the deal.
Pit Stains: It… it wasn’t part of the deal that you’d somehow profit off of this, Montague.
Montague: What about saving your skins from not having a celebrity to cast in this PSA you have due today?
Pit Stains: It’s a non-profit, man. If you bank off this, we’re finished. I hate to say it, but it’s just not worth it, even to get us out of this one time mess.
A cruel smile forms across Comb-over’s face.
Comb-over: Which means…
He signals to the security staff off camera, which he’d ordered to remain on standby just in case. WIth a great deal of pleasure, they advance on him.
Kasjah moves to step forward, but Montague puts a hand out without looking at her, staying whatever action she was about to take.
Montague: You’re sure you want to do this?
Comb-over: You bet your ass.
He makes a show of pulling his cell phone out, presumably to dial NYPD. The security team closes in as Montague gives a resigned shrug, zip ties appearing in each of their hands as they push him to the stage floor and begin to hog-tie him to make the impending arrest easier.
The whole time, he keeps Kasjah in his gaze, preventing her from protecting him.
There’s a sudden movement behind the drapery on the opposite side of the stage, and at that exact moment, Montague yells to the mystic.
Montague: Now!
Kasjah raises her arms skyward without hesitation, then slams them downward. The prayer beads fling themselves from around her wrists and explode in a series of flash bangs when they strike the floor.
With a mighty war cry, Tempest, Ragdoll, Kosnar, Jordana, Pisces, and Daedalus burst onto the stage. They join Kasjah and quickly circle their ensnared brother as the blinded, confused security team scatters.
To no one’s surprise, Montague stands up in the center, the zip ties that were previously cinching his wrists and ankles together behind his back now dangling from the end of his cane. He smirks as he locks eyes with the squinting Comb-over.
Montague: National Kick Butt Day: take 2!!
As he bellows that announcement, the AstroCreeps charge toward the producers and studio pigs at once.
Unfortunately--for you--the camera gets knocked over in the process and the feed cuts.
Night fell hours ago in the City that Never Sleeps as they drive through on their way out, and Montague’s family has gone a long way toward making sure it’s the City that Never Creeps, at least not anymore.
From the backseat, he gazes around with some satisfaction at his teammates. No one had escaped without at least one fresh new abrasion, cut or bruise, but none of them looked unhappy--well, except maybe Kosnar, but he always looks grim. They’d shed blood together again, their own and their enemies’. It’s becoming one of the strongest ties that binds them.
Strangely content despite the pain he was feeling now that his adrenaline had ebbed, Montague turns to gaze out the window at the passing city. He knows he has finally found what he came to UGWC to find, even if he didn’t know it at the time.
When I look out my window
Many sights to see
And when I look in my window
So many different people to be
That is strange
So strange
You've got to pick up every stitch
You've got to pick up every stitch
The rabbits runnin' in the ditch
Has beens out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch
