Montague: This is really frustrating.
He complains to no one in particular as he stomps down the hallway toward Holden’s quarters. His fists are clenched along with his teeth, and he mutters unintelligibly as he goes. When he arrives at the door, he pounds impatiently.
Holden answers faintly from within, but Monty can’t make out if it was in invitation. Regardless, he bursts through the door to find his ward reading from a Kalaripayattu Marma art book and examining an anatomically correct sparring dummy.
Montague: I need your help!
Holden: Sigh. Very well, how can I help?
He closes the book on a 100 Million Billion Pengo banknote and sets it aside.
Montague: Who am I scheduled to compete against this week?
The Doctor-Professor throws his hands up in exasperation. For his part, Holden blinks absently as he gazes at Montague.
Holden: How should I know?
Monty’s shoulders slump as he remembers that Holden took the month off, and likely wasn’t paying much attention to the goings-on in UGWC. That’s going to make his backup plan–calling Zane to ask him–pretty much pointless, since he’s in recovery the rest of the month.
Holden: Why don’t you just look on the website?
With a huff, the Mothman flips his phone out and shows Holden the card he already has pulled up on the screen.
Conquest Championship
Montague Cervantes
vs
Referee: Glenn Burke
Holden raises an eyebrow, considering the blank space below Montague’s name, then hands the phone back.
Holden: Daedalus is obviously pulling something.
Montague: I already asked him. He doesn’t remember scheduling me this week. I’ve asked around, no one seems to know who I’m defending against.
Holden: Smirk. Obviously he’s not going to tell you the nature of the game. You’re meant to figure it out.
Monty’s eyes narrow as he weighs the probability of what the hipster is suggesting. Hesitantly, he explains the problem with Holden’s hypothesis.
Montague: The thing is, I have this gnawing feeling like someone’s name was there, and now it’s gone.
Holden picks his book back up, opening it and walking over to the dummy to examine a place at the back of its jaw.
Holden: Well there you have it, then. Daedalus doesn’t remember scheduling you because he didn’t. Ooley or Peterson remembered you have to defend the Conquest Championship, so they’re trying to decide who should challenge you. Shrug.
Montague: But, there was…
Holden: They obviously had someone lined up, then had to change it for whatever reason. They haven’t settled on a replacement yet. Why does it matter?
He reaches out and, after glancing at the reference page once more, confidently places a thumbtack with a bumblebee on it in the back of the dummy’s jaw.
Montague looks scandalized.
Montague: How can I be expected to put on my best performance if I don’t even know who my co-star is?
Holden: You’ve really got to stop with the acting metaphors. You’re stretching to make them half the time.
With a huff, Montague sweeps out of the room. Holden never even looks back.
—
—
Montague flings his phone onto his vanity with disgust. No one he’d called could tell him who his opponent was this week. Todd had, at great personal risk, scoured Ooley’s office for clues and come up with nothing. Chaos was so intoxicated he had no idea who Montague or what the Conquest Championship was. Lieberjosch couldn’t be heard over the background noise in the casino where he had planted himself. Vines claimed he is in Brazil trying to get the South American version of Chill off the ground. Somers is scouting in Japan. Even Glenn Burke didn’t know who’s name was supposed to go above his own on the card.
Sitting in an oversized, wing-backed chair, Montague strokes his beard and tugs at his bottom lip.
Montague: Who would I pick to be my first opponent on the Path of Conquest?
He mulls over names in his head, trying to arrive logically at his opponent’s identity. Putting Ken back on the Conquest hunt after only recently completing it seems unlikely. JC or Ezra Wolf would only be tangential choices, as exciting as that would be. Embarrassing Travis was always an option. He’s not sure Konrad is ready for the pressure of preparing for the Battleground match and seeking to walk the Path of Conquest. Several viable candidates are out with injuries…
Montague: Fear!
He raises a finger in the air to punctuate.
Montague: Of course! The unseen face, the walking enigma, the self-keeping secret! Deimos is the Anti-meme! He’s been around for so long, taken on the same rotating cast of characters so many times… there’s just nothing left to say about him that hasn’t been said ad nauseam by countless other opponents. It’s nearly impossible to shoot on him; the least creative amongst us will try awkwardly to work the concept of fear into their promo, every time. Convinced they’re waxing profound, they’ll recite reflections on horror and unease, angst and suspicion, while Phrixus jots away in his journal again about how this match is the key to saving his anachronistic vision of UGWC. Bad faith actors will attempt to lick his aged boots, driven by a compulsion to venerate relics based on their age, rather than their value. More enterprising minds will attempt to outsmart the Phreak. The good news is, all of these approaches work.
The Showman shifts on his chair, continuing his soliloquy.
Montague: After all, Fear’s inability to sustain his crusades has mostly rendered him an afterthought over the last several years. Sure, he sneaks up through the cracks in the rostrum once in a while to upstage the latest threat to his organizing principle. Since the inception of the Astrocreeps, that threat has all too often been me.
He smirks.
Montague: It was simply wrong place, wrong time that he got caught up in my demonstration, but given our history, it only makes sense that he should be my first obstacle on the Path of Conquest.
Nodding with resolve, and satisfied that he’s solved this riddle, Montague rises from the chair and makes his way through his chambers to the stage room. Ascending the stage, he makes for the podium and fires up the room. The eyeless mannequins begin to blink red as Monty throws toggles and turns dials. He adjusts his top hat and jacket and prepares to shoot his promo.
He freezes on the dais, mouth open as the words die on his lips. Blinking rapidly, Montague’s eyes roll in their sockets, searching for the topic he was on the precipice of diving into. His brow furrows, and for the first time ever, Monty looks uncomfortable in front of all the cameras.
Montague: Wait, who am I defending against this week?
