




Full Name: Cain Montgomery
Nicknames: Donât even think about it.
Age: A very young 45
Birthdate: July 4th. I hear there were fireworks.
Home Town: Washington, DC. Itâs basically a rotting corpse in the form of a city.
Sexuality: Bisexual. Why donât you ask your mom? Oh, sheâs dead? Well, ask your dad then.
School: Former Headmaster of Noctrem Academy. Now I teach Power Control and keep the kids in line at some dump.
Power: Oh, letâs see. Basically, I touch you, you lose your power, I get it. A second of contact amounts to about two full minutes of transference, but once Iâve got your power, I can keep touching you all I want and you don't have a power to stop me with. So youâre basically fucked. Incidentally, Iâve tried all thirty-one flavors and then some, so odds are Iâm better at using it than you are. Suck it up.
Likes: Being feared and being respected (in that order) ⊠Cigarettes (Pall Mall reds) ⊠Bourbon ⊠Causing discomfort ⊠Trashy romance novels and pop-culture magazines ⊠Fast cars ⊠Steak, rare ⊠Dirty jokes ⊠Actually seeing kids get better at stuff ⊠The taste of your delicious tears ⊠Crossword puzzles
Dislikes: Weakness ⊠The current arrangement with Arcana ⊠Whiners, sissies, and tattle-tales ⊠Any food that is green ⊠Feeling bad for people (it happens, very rarely) ⊠Being told that smoking will kill him ⊠Grammatical errors ⊠The United States government ⊠Leonardo Marinos (intensely) ⊠His ankle-monitor
Fears: Iâm going to go with construction never finishing on the new Noctrem and me being stuck with these losers forever. Also, wasps.
Personality: Itâs better to be hated than ignored. Some asshole said that a long time ago, and it actually doesnât apply to me. I donât really care what anyone thinks of me. I just happen to enjoy seeing people cry. I wonât come right out and say it, but my second power is bitterness. There hasnât been a human being more bitter than me since Leo was in some stupid Greek cloth diaper. Speaking of which, I fucking hate that guy. Like, I sometimes amuse myself by making little flipbooks where a stick figure version of him is killed in a variety of embarrassing ways. If I didnât need him, Iâd be more than happy to finally put a period at the end of the rambling, useless sentence that is his far-too-long-life.
Believe it or not, I do kind of give a shit about the kids. Even the whiners that these Arcana do-gooders have gotten their paws all over. I show it maybe once a year or so, but hey, I was there once. Hormones going crazy, powers turning you into a freak, family turning their backs on you. It isnât a fun ride, and I donât exactly mind helping them get better at what they do. Of course, it irritates the hell out of me that half of them will now be using what I teach them to get kittens out of trees and help old ladies cross the street, but hey. You win some you lose some. Obviously, I value professionalism about as much as I would a quart of yak urine, so not to put too fine a point on it, get bent.
Iâm highly intelligent and manipulative. Iâd probably have a shot at ruling the world, if I werenât more interested in⊠Iâm not actually sure, but, you get the point. Did I mention that Iâm emotionally unavailable and that if you show any romantic interest in me Iâll make your life a roller-coaster through Hell just for the fun of it? Good. I think weâre pretty clear there.
History: I really was born on the 4th of July, which is just another instance of the universe flipping me the bird. Do you have any idea what itâs like sharing your birthday with the only major summer holiday? No one gives a shit about your big day, they just want to pile in the hot dogs and hamburgers, splash around in the pool, and go gawk at the fireworks. For obvious reasons, I generally celebrate my birthday by downing an entire bottle of Scotch and contemplating hanging myself.
My life was average-verging-on-crappy before I discovered my power. My father was a senator, whoopdeedoo. He had my future planned while I was still gestating. Private schools, a degree in Political Science from Harvard, a few years helping out the Republican campaigns, a gig in the House, and then the Oval Office. No pressure, right? Wrong. I might have handled myself a little, um, uncouthly throughout my teenage years. You know, the usual stuff. Knocking up my momâs friend and my dadâs mistress, crashing any car I could get my hands on, numerous arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct (I have, in fact, peed on the Lincoln Memorial) that never made the papers⊠heh. Good times.
Unfortunately, I sabotaged my plans of sabotage by being really smart. Despite my delinquency, I still managed to get some top-notch grades, and the essay I wrote as a joke and sent to half-a-dozen schools apparently wowed the admissions committee so much that they called my father at home. Iâm paraphrasing here, but the first line was something like âThe problem with education in the United States is whoever is reading this bullshit,â and got more colorful from there. I figured, what the hell, thereâll probably be some parties, and off I went?
That was where I met Irene. Yes, she had the name of a grandmother, but she was also what would have been called a âhardbodyâ in the late 1980s. Oh, and she could move shit with her mind. Long story short, the first time we screwed, I absorbed her power, and the room âliterally- shook. After that I come to find out sheâs involved in some cockamamie secret civil rights group devoted towards helping âpeople like usâ. I think that was actually the name of the group? Didnât matter since we never told anyone anyway. I wasnât exactly interested, but Irene was, and I âwas- interested in continuing to tap that telekinetic ass.
So, some more stuff happened, then they find out my fatherâs a senator and decide that I need to get him to back us. The government needs to formally acknowledge the rights of people with powers, blah blah blah. Iâd been fantasizing about blowing his mind with my freakishness for a while, so I agree. I tell him. He asks me to prove it. I forget that I canât actually do anything by myself and have Irene come over. She demonstrates, I demonstrate, he tells us heâll sleep on it.
Have you ever been dragged out of bed by men with machine guns? Not the way to start a day. We end up in some CIA complex or something, and theyâre questioning us, yada yada. It turns out that Uncle Sam already knew about us, and was very interested in tracking us all down for what I can only assume would have been a potlatch dinner and a book club. Or terrifying experiments and training as assassins. I forget.
Things get kind of tense at People Like Us while Irene and I are gone. They find my dad, read his mind, and mount a rescue. Iâm obviously very touched. While the bullets are flying and my friends are doing their wacky stuff, Iâm hiding under a table, coming up with a plan. I recall that one guy, the mind-reader, can also mess with memories. He isnât doing anything terribly useful, so I sap his juice and make a hail-mary tackle for the guy in charge of the men in black.
Turns out, I was better at using the guy⊠I think his name was Dino? Diego? Something with a D⊠Anyway, I was better at using his powers than he was and managed to completely reprogram the head honchoâs head. I then convinced him that the proper action was to sanction educational measures for children identified as aberrant, the protection of civil liberties, the whole nine yards. Bam. Put that in a cock and smoke it, Leo!
So, Iâm this hero or whatever. I was mostly just saving my own skin. Obviously this isnât public knowledge or anything, but in the freak circles, I was like Rosa Parks or something⊠until I squandered all my good will by spending the next twenty years or so messing with them, trying to kill them, and generally being an all-around dick. I went a little too far in joining in on a plot to blow up⊠I forget, some monument or another⊠but I managed to plea down to a gig teaching English at Noctrem Academy. I hadn't ever bothered with the super-schools, so I got to have my mind blown when, my first day on the job, I saw a picture of the school's founder. I recognized it from a book about the Montgomery genealogy my dad kept around; turns out, running academies for super-powered miscreants is in the blood, because he was my great-great-great grandfather, and I took over as Headmaster about six years ago. I was actually kind of happy, in my own way, until some bastard burned the place down.
I hate my life.
Anything else? Iâve never had an IQ test or anything, but Iâm the smartest person youâll ever meet. Seriously, play Scrabble with me sometime, youâll weep.