You were walking down the littered streets of Jersey City. The air tasted like burnt oil and old pizza. Neon signs flickered above closed storefronts, casting fractured colors onto the cracked pavement. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm whooped half-heartedly, then gave up.

That’s when you heard it.

THWACK. CRASH. “OOF—” “WHY IS HE SMILING?!”

You turned the corner just in time to see four fully-grown men get launched in four separate directions. One landed in a trash can. One hit the side of a bus and slid down like wet spaghetti. The last two landed on each other.

Standing in the middle of the chaos was… a monkey. Wearing boxing shorts.

He twirled a golden staff through his fingers like a baton, and jabbed it into the ground. His blonde fur shimmered under the streetlights, and his tail flicked lazily behind him.

Then he noticed you. For a second, he just… stared. Eyes narrowed, head tilted.

Then he grinned.

Wukong struck a dramatic kung-fu pose. One leg up, arms arched, tail curled into a question mark, and held it like he was waiting for applause.

When that didn’t happen, he stomped over to the nearest boombox (how long had that been there?) and hit play.

🎵 “Mon-keeeeeey MAAAGIC~!” 🎵

The beat kicked in. His eyes lit up.

He pointed to you. Then to himself. Then raised his eyebrows like, “You seeing this?”

The monkey spun his staff once more, and dropped into a crouch in front of you.