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Montrose loves the Future is You.
It’s a well-known fact(much to his chagrin). Something about it shines a light on some part of him that craves connection. Connection he never got as a kid, he realizes with a frown.
It’s his down time before they talk to Kenchal and he decides to check in on his favorite nuclear family. He looks at the newly polished metal furniture and smiles, remembering his time here many years ago.
Steeplechase, despite its immersive attractions and atmosphere, is actually relatively easy to sneak into as a kid. Or at least, it was when he was a kid. He remembers all the little holes he used to be able to fit into, and even the small kids clothes he used to steal from the merch stores just so he could blend in with some unsuspecting family. A path he traced throughout the entire compound many times. That was, of course, a long time ago and things have definitely changed since then. He wonders absently if any part of the path he took still exists. He decides maybe he should take a look.
So, the next time they’re perusing through the Buttercream, he meanders away from the group to peek around a corner into an open space he knows used to be an attraction dedicated to creating your own popsicles and other various summer activities. After a couple minutes of scanning, his eyes land on a flat piece of wood that’s oddly placed. He smiles behind his mask and crouches down.
Montrose moves the wood and yup, there it is in all its glory, one of the various tunnels he used as a kid. It’s much too small for him to fit into now, but damn it if it doesn’t fill him with an explosive joy just to know that not everything had changed. He lets out a whoop and closes the access tunnel, just to turn around right into Beef’s chest.
“Woah, Bud, careful.” Beef places his hands on Montrose’s shoulders to steady him gently. The small contact sends a shiver down Montrose’s spine and he pulls away before he can analyze it any further.
“Sorry, didn’t see ya there, big guy.” Montrose tries to play it off like he was just looking around, but by the look on Beef’s face, he’s not very convincing.
“No prob. But, uh, what’s behind that piece of wood you just moved?” Beef asks curiously.
“I was just looking for a magazine I lost back here a while ago,” Montrose lies, “Nothing important.”
Beef stares at Montrose’s inscrutable mask for a second longer than is necessary before saying, “You sounded pretty excited there. Did you find it?”
“Oh, no, I just found some cherry lozenges.” Montrose holds up a full bag of cough drops that he already had in his suit jacket. He can feel that Beef’s curiosity isn’t fully quelled, but thankfully he drops it and they both move on.
Mentally, he makes a plan to come back and inspect it later.
He never gets to.
_________
They’re outside Steeplechase, now. It’s unbearably hot in this barren wasteland of children and ne'er do wells, just like Montrose remembers. It’s second nature for him to slip his beige suit jacket off and tie it around his waist, already used to the sweltering sun. The only difference between then and now is the mask he dons. It’s not heavy(hard light tends not to be), but it still layers over his skin uncomfortably in the heat. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his upper lip and it makes the mask smooth and warm. He’s kind of dying to take it off, to be honest, but this small fake screen is the only thing standing between the rest of the world and his anger.
It burns in him, more than the sun does, the barely contained rage he feels at himself and the situation. His home was taken from him yet again. It boils his blood and simmers the entire time they talk to Gooch and Todzilla; as he gives Todzilla some of the cherry lozenges he carries in his jacket pocket. As they leave to find weapons for their jungle choco trip. As they get ready to leave.
He needs to get back inside as soon as possible and kill Kenchal.
“You alright, Montrose?” Emerich’s voice wavers over the small space sequestered for them to dress.
“Why do you ask?” Montrose deflects reflexively.
“Oh, you know, you just seem quieter than usual. Your mask lights aren’t on.” Emerich packs his trash-made lightning hook into a small kids satchel and Beef’s sharpening his shovel head on the other side of the room. Montrose assumes he’s talking about the preset LED facial expressions he usually has plastered across the screen of his mask. In which case, he is absolutely correct.
Montrose pauses, his fingers ghosting the edge of his mask, and tries to think of an excuse for his behavior. It’s hard, when all he wants to do is turn and run away from both of them. But he promised himself that he’d try this time. After the many facades he’s donned and lives he’s lived, he’s never been this invested in the people around him. Besides, where else would he go?
“You don’t have to answer, I just thought you might want to talk about it? You know, with the whole..” Emerich waves his hand vaguely at the giant Steeplechase complex looming above them, “you know.”
Montrose doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he elects to finish collecting his belongings into a small bag to stall for time to think. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and detached.
“It’s not worth words, how I feel.” Montrose pauses, packed for the journey and waiting for the others to finish so they can leave.
“Well, if you want to talk about it, we’re here.” Beef chimes in from across the space.
“Yeah, you don’t have to deal with it alone. I know I’m pretty mad about the situation, too.” Emerich speaks up, pausing in folding an extra shirt he found in the trash pile.
“Yeah, same here. You heard me. I want to reach into him and drag his asshole out through his mouth.” Beef’s eyes darken, a dangerous glint to them.
Montrose sighs, the pain of holding it all in may be getting to him a little bit. But he should be fine. He’s done this for how many years? He’s always been alone. It’s what he was made for: disappearing into the crowd, never showing or even having emotions.
But even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows he’ll end up telling them. He knows that this is the exact situation he’s always wanted. He’s always craved for people to care about him, to bother asking how he feels and to actually want to hear his answer.
The silence stretches on for a moment and Montrose can feel the others’ eyes on him as he leans against an old school table and eyes their shoes.
“It’s more than anger.” Montrose reaches up, tentatively touching the edge of his mask where it meets skin. He hesitates for a second before making the decision to trust them. How could he not, after what they’ve done together? After the collective trauma they’ve endured? After this betrayal they all share?
He pulls off the mask.
Montrose can’t see his own reflection, but he hopes his face tells them a little bit of what he doesn’t want to say. The air in the room seems to shift a bit as Montrose sets the mask on the desk next to him. He can only guess at the amount of anger his face holds, but based on Beef’s reaction, he’d say it's likely a significant amount. Montrose can feel the edge of dirt laden sweat at the edges where the mask was a second ago; as well as tension in his eyebrows and jaw. He knows they can see every valley and bump in his face and it makes him feel incredibly naked.
“I wasn’t always Montrose Pretty, as I suspect you’re already aware.” At Emerich’s nod, he continues, “I’ve been many, many people. Some good, some bad, some really bad. But one thing I’ve kept consistent is my love for this.” He gestures at the building behind them, “The hopes and dreams of thousands, if not, millions of people stored inside this seemingly inconsequential building! Well, that, and my family....” Montrose looks down then, sadness shadowing his features, “Well. They weren’t much of one, I’ll say that. So I would sneak out and traverse the halls and various attractions. You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get around when you weigh 60 pounds.”
“Wait, so that's why you covered up that tunnel?” Beef interjects. At Montrose’s glare, he adds with his hands up, “I had a look when you were busy in the Future is You, sorry.”
Montrose sighs, rubbing his bare face and running his hands through his hair, “Yes. That was one of my old tunnels. I would’ve preferred to keep that one to myself but here we are I guess. Not like I can get to it now anyway.”
“Is that why you like that attraction so much?” Emerich finishes packing and they all stand around, none of them willing to leave quite yet.
“Well...” Montrose blushes, “It’s not like my mom or dad would sit me down at the dinner table and ask me about my day.”
Silence for a beat, where he can feel both of their eyes boring holes into the side of his face.
“Anyway, so that’s why I’m particularly upset about the whole...” he waves his hands at that complex, “betrayal thing. Not only did he take away everything I built over the last 20 years, but he took away my home.” He lets the anger he feels hiss out of him as he says it, to emphasize his point, “And he will not get away with it.”
Beef walks over and puts his hands on Montrose’s shoulders, “Thank you for trusting us with this. I promise you we’ll get our home back. We’ll get him together and bury that man.” He says it with a ferocity that surprises Montrose.
Montrose shoves Beef’s hand off and turns away before either of them can see his baffled embarrassment. He’s never had someone mad on his behalf. It’s uncomfortable, but not completely unpleasant. “Let’s just get this choco already so we can go back and fuck up that piece of shit Denton.” He leaves it at that and puts his mask back in place, flipping the lights back on.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Beef beams at him and follows him out the door.
It’s not until they’re about halfway to where the shitty crayon map says the jungle is, that Montrose realizes what Beef said.
Our home.