Crystal Falls, Michigan
Stepping through endless, dense trees, Montague’s coat catches slightly on the underbrush as he moves with purpose. It being early September, the air is crisp, carrying the damp scent of earth and decaying leaves. There’s a constant cycle of life and death here on the forest floor.
The fleeting lives of trees and woodland creatures do not hold his thoughts at the moment, however, for he is focused on finding something far more ancient, something enduring, which holds dominion over that very cycle here in this wilderness.
As a clearing opens before him, Monty knows he’s reached the home of the wood’s most enigmatic resident. As his gaze sweeps around the clearing, he knows that observing the organism as a whole is impossible. This isn’t something so mundane as a flower or interesting shrubbery that can be appreciated and admired at a glance. This being lives below the surface, much like the Doctor-Professor himself, ruling over an empire of mycelium that stretches for miles, navigating through the soil, wrapping around roots, consuming and creating, consuming and creating, never abandoning the dance of life and death…
The Showman takes a knee, running velvet-gloved fingers over the surface of the mossy floor.
Montague: The Humungus Fungus. One hundred, fifty thousand square meters of mushroom growth, one single, thriving organism that weighs some four hundred tons. It’s not only the largest living thing on earth, it’s perhaps the oldest. When the glaciers retreated and formed the first two great lakes–Lake Algonquin and Lake Duluth–Humungus was there. When Siberian nomads crossed the Bering Strait and began to hunt and fish the Michigan basin, Humungus was there. Humungus outlived the Three Fires nations when French trappers came to stamp them out. Humungus has seen race riots, gangs, the creation and fall of the automobile industry, and the erection of the Mackinac Bridge. When Michigan celebrates its two hundredth birthday in 2037, it will be roughly one percent the age of Humungus.
Monty sighs as he’s overwhelmed by the impressive creature, the fungus sparking something profound within him. Absently, he has begun tracing branching lines with his index finger, as if imagining the invisible web of mycelium below.
Montague: It’s fascinating, isn’t it? This colossal entity, hiding in plain sight, exists just beneath the surface where no one thinks to look. It takes what it needs and keeps growing, keeps expanding, a silent conqueror of the underground.
The Mothman’s eyes gleam.
Montague: This is what we are building. A network, vast and unseen, connecting our people across the globe. Our roots spread wide and deep, feeding on the rot of a decaying society, growing stronger with every day. Like Humungus, we are patient, thriving in shadows and biding our time. We are not a cult; we are an organism, a living entity grown from the spores of the forgotten, the overlooked, the ignored. And just like this ancient fungus, we will continue to expand, to spread, until we’ve woven ourselves into the very fabric of the world.
Monty rises as an example, pulling his cloak around himself as the chill of a September sunset fills his lungs.
Montague: Much like the Armillaria, our kind has thrived in secret for millennia, our tendrils stretching ever further, an unstoppable, unseen force beneath the surface. We form the bedrock of everything you stand on, and with a mere whisper of intent, we can erode that foundation until, one by one, you fall like the towering trees of this forest, decaying to nourish us, dying to become part of us. Look around and see who’s ready to fall… it’s impossible to predict.
Taking one last adoring look, Montague begins to trek back through the forest. He’s almost intoxicated by the silent power of the ancient organism he witnessed today. Like Humungus, Monty’s creation will endure, spreading through the forgotten corners of the world, growing ever stronger in the dark. He lingers once he finds the path, his thoughts turning to the next phase of his grand design: recruitment.
Like Humungus, so too will he continue to seek new sources of sustenance, drawing in new members, new lifeblood, and new fuel for its growth.
Montague: Recruitment is the key to our survival and expansion. Humungus seeks out the vulnerable, plants already rotten at their roots, on the verge of collapse. It wraps itself around them, accepting their diseased bodies into the collective, giving them new purpose in their sacrifice. Each trunk absorbed allows the network to reach ever further, ever onward.
A sly smirk cracks the serious expression he was wearing.
Montague: I am seeking those who are lost, disillusioned, and disenchanted with the world above. If you’ve been cast aside, forgotten, we’ll take you in. We’ll make you part of something greater, give you a purpose. It starts with whispers; a rumor here, a hint there. A note left in an old book, a symbol etched into a wall, a conversation meant to be overheard. The curious, the restless, you’ll find us. No need to force or coerce, we’re happy to let you come to us, to allow you the sensation of discovering something forbidden and powerful…
He raises his fist to punctuate his point, then relaxes and shrugs.
Montague: We don’t need millions. We need the right people—the ones willing to sacrifice, to understand, and to pursue the vision. Those who will guard the secret and nurture the organism as it grows. Join us, and become part of the unstoppable force, the one no one ever sees coming, the one no one can contain.
With a tip of his hat and a wink, Montague turns and begins to make his way back through the woods, his mind already planning the next steps in his recruitment strategy.
A rustic diner creates a warm ambiance around Cervantes as he reclines in an overstuffed chair in front of an irregularly-shaped coffee table. The atmosphere is enriched by exposed wooden beams, dim, amber lighting, and faint, proto-punk rock being played in the kitchen. On the table before him, the wild mushroom soup wafts a rich scent that titillates his nostrils. Before digging in, he sips from a mushroom-infused whiskey, wincing a bit at the earthy flavor.
As he goes for a second sip, a young waiter approaches his table. When the youth looks up from refilling Monty’s sweating water glass, a flicker of recognition lights up his face. The Showman clocks it, and takes the moment to get a good look at him. He’s a lean and earnest-looking teenager with a hint of something deeper–older–behind his eyes.
Waiter: Excuse me, sir, but aren’t you Montague Cervantes? The UGWC wrestler? You’ve got a big one coming up against Sean Parker for the Conquest Championship, right?
Montague smiles warmly and nods, gesturing for the waiter to sit.
Montague: And you are?
Waiter: Ryan!
His jaw snaps closed, realizing how excited and nervous he’s letting on. Monty eases his moment of embarrassment by gesturing toward the chair again. Miraculously, it scoots away from the table, seemingly of its own accord.
Montague: Ryan, hmm.
As he repeats the name, rolling the name around as if tasting it, Ryan finally takes a seat.
Montague: Let’s talk about Sean Parker, shall we? An honorable man, a warrior with a cause, someone who fights with a certain… righteousness, don’t you think?
Ryan nods, clearly eager to hear more.
Ryan: Yeah, he’s got that honorable vibe. Like an assassin in the ring, but you can tell he’s fighting for something bigger.
With a flippant, dismissive wave, the Mothman acknowledges this assessment.
Montague: Ah, yes. The honorable assassin. But let’s delve a little deeper, Ryan. History is full of figures who, on the surface, seem noble, heroic even. Take Florence Nightingale, for example—a name synonymous with compassion and care. But did you know she was also a fierce critic of women’s rights, someone who believed women should be subservient to men, who used her influence to reinforce traditional gender roles? Her methods, while effective, were often cold, calculated, and dismissive of those she deemed unworthy of her attention.
Ryan’s brow furrows as he absorbs this, clearly intrigued by the unexpected perspective.
Ryan: I didn’t know that about her.
Montague nods, savoring the moment.
Montague: And then there’s Abraham Lincoln. The Great Emancipator, they call him. But the truth is more complicated. Lincoln was a shrewd politician who, while ultimately abolishing slavery, did so not out of pure moral conviction but as a calculated move to preserve the Union. He was willing to tolerate slavery if it meant keeping the nation together. And let’s not forget his suspension of habeas corpus, imprisoning thousands without trial, all in the name of security. A man of contradictions, wouldn’t you say?
Ryan leans in closer, clearly captivated by Montague’s words.
Ryan: Alright, now do Ghandi
The Doctor-Professor bursts out in a raucous chuckle, his voice rising to a shout.
Montague: The paragon of peaceful resistance, a man who brought an empire to its knees without ever lifting a weapon.
His voice drops lower, almost conspiratorial.
Montague: But even Gandhi had his darker sides. He harbored deeply troubling views on race, seeing Africans as inferior, and his methods of resistance often included personal austerity measures that bordered on the fanatical. He was a man who manipulated public perception to maintain his image, who preached nonviolence yet turned a blind eye to violence within his own movements when it served his purpose.
Slowly-blinking eyes widen as the illusions of these historical figures crumble under Montague’s scrutiny. Montague smiles at Ryan’s inability to respond, leaning back with a satisfied air.
Montague: You see, Ryan, Sean Parker is cut from the same cloth. He appears noble, righteous, fighting for a cause, but beneath that veneer lies a man bound by his own contradictions, his own need to be seen as the hero. It makes him predictable, tethered to an image he can’t deviate from without losing everything he stands for.
Ryan: How do you go up against someone like that?
Montague’s smile widened, a glint of something wild and dangerous in his eyes. He knits his fingers together behind his top hat.
Montague: I am free, Ryan. I am unbound by the need to appear honorable. Where Sean is careful and deliberate, I embrace going in without a plan. My unpredictability is my greatest weapon. If I turn the tide with a sleight of hand, I’m suddenly more dangerous than someone like Sean could ever hope to be.
He leans in closer, his voice taking on an almost hypnotic cadence.
Montague: You see, Ryan, Sean plays by the rules, even if he occasionally bends them. But I understand that true power when you throw the script away and rewrite it in real-time. That’s why I will triumph over Sean—because he’s predictable, bound by the very image he tries to project. He can’t stray too far from the path he’s set for himself without losing everything. I, on the other hand, am the path. I create it as I go, and no one—not even someone as disciplined as Sean Parker—can anticipate my next move.
Ryan was silent, clearly processing the depth of The Showman’s words.
Montague: And it’s not just unpredictability, Ryan. It’s the freedom to embrace every possibility, to move beyond the constraints of honor and nobility, to wield the darkness as well as the light. That’s what makes me truly unstoppable. Parker may be a master of his craft, but he’s playing a game I’ve already rewritten the rule sheet for. And that, Ryan, is why I will be the one to take the Conquest Championship and end Sean Parker’s fifteen minutes in UGWC.
Ryan: This isn’t really how I pictured this conversation, going, heh. But I’m into it.
Montague’s eyes softened, and his smile turned warm again.
Montague: That’s quite alright, Ryan. Most people live their lives bound by the expectations of others, by the need to appear a certain way. But you… you strike me as someone who sees beyond that, who is searching for something more, yes?
Caught off-guard, Ryan nods slowly. Montague grins, like a cat closing in on a canary.
Montague: That’s why I’m offering you a chance to be part of something greater, something that transcends the ordinary, the mundane.
Ryan's gaze falls upon a delicate paper crane floating on the surface of his ice water pitcher. He picks it up, furrowing his brow in curiosity. Meanwhile, Montague drops a handful of heavy coins onto the table, then stands, wiping his mouth with a napkin and retrieving his cane. As Ryan begins to unfold the intricate paper crane, Montague leans in, dipping his shoulder to whisper something in his ear, his voice low and filled with promise.
Montague: Follow the instructions here. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.
As Montague exits the diner, Ryan unfolds the crane to reveal an image of a moth lighting on a mushroom. 