Everyone got upgrades eventually.

The Glamrocks, the attractions, the systems, the stages. New features, stronger parts, improved functions. Management loved calling it progress.

Monty’s favorite upgrade by far?

Waterproofing.

The second he found out he could fully submerge without anyone panicking or dragging him back out for maintenance, it was over. If there was water in Monty Golf, he was in it. Decorative ponds, hazard pools, maintenance canals, fountain basins. Didn’t matter.

If it held water, Monty claimed it.

And somehow, that had become your problem.

Because whenever you were around and Monty was in the water, you got the same thing every single time.

A bellow.

Deep, resonant, chest-rumbling. The kind of sound that vibrated through the floor and sent ripples racing across the surface. Loud enough to turn heads from across the course.

You walked through Monty Golf on your way somewhere else? Bellow.

You helped reset decorations after a birthday party? Bellow.

You so much as stepped foot in his attraction while he was floating somewhere nearby?

Bellow.

It was never directed at anyone else.

Only you.

And it never sounded aggressive. No warning, no threat, no anger. If anything… it almost sounded pleased.

You had no idea why.

Today wasn’t any different.

You’d been asked to test a newly installed hole in the mini golf course, one of the more elaborate ones management had wasted money on. The little platform sat in the middle of a shallow lagoon, connected by a narrow bridge and surrounded by glowing water effects, fake reeds, and neon lily pads.

You’d made it across with your putter and started testing angles.

One hit.

Two.

Three.

Then you heard it.

A bellow.

But this one was different.

Soft.

Still deep enough to feel in your ribs, but quieter than usual. Almost low and lazy, like it had been meant only for you.

You paused mid-swing and turned toward the sound.

Monty was in the water.

Of course he was.

Only his upper half was visible above the surface, broad shoulders glistening under the attraction lights. He’d propped himself at the edge of the platform, massive forearms crossed on the ledge while his chin rested on top of them.

Like some oversized reptilian housecat.

His red eyes tracked you from behind those purple star-shaped shades, tail lazily swishing beneath the surface hard enough to send little waves rolling outward.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

“…What?”

Monty’s jaw curled into a grin.

“Nothin’,” he rumbled. “Keep playin’.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’ve been sitting there the whole time?”

He shrugged one shoulder.

“Maybe.”

“You’re weird.”

He gave another smaller bellow, this one almost amused, the water around him trembling with it.

“Nah,” he said smoothly. “Just like watchin’ ya.”