Monster's Inc belongs to Disney/Pixar. Les Misérables was written by Victor Hugo in the 1800s so it's public domain now. The song lyrics here are part mine, part Alain Boubil's. Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from the French TV miniseries of Les Misérable but I've tried to make it fit the Monster World. My OC Brandon Rookings is based on the series Gargoyles.


Escaping the Human World had been easy enough. Practically every house had at least one closet that led to the Monster World. No, the major problems Randall Boggs faced were on his return to the Monster World. Everyone knew that he had kidnapped a human child and had twice attempted to kill James P. Sullivan—once by strangulation and once by trying to make him fall from the door conveyor.

While everyone considered the abduction of the child wrong, they had to admit that with the energy crisis someone was bound to do something crazy. Waternoose spent a month in prison until his grandchildren posted his bail. The judge had been won over by the grandfatherly spider-crabb's insistence that he had only done this because he saw it as the last resort, and let him off comparatively easy.

Randall, though, had been the one to design the scream extractor. He had been the scheme's initiator. In the public's mind he deserved more punishment. Stupid public. Waternoose had the final say on whether or not the project went ahead. However Waternoose justified the decision to himself, he was the one who made that decision. He had the most responsibility, he should get the most time. But no, he got away with a wrist slap thanks to his rich relatives.

Heck, Waternoose even ordered that Randall leave no witnesses. Of course Randall saw Sullivan as the primary cause of all of his life's problems. He'd be happy to see Sullivan dead or banished, but he still didn't give the orders. It was Waternoose, who actually liked Sulllivan, who gave the orders. In short, Waternoose should have spent these last ten years in the slammer while Randall should've gotten out after a month. But the chameleon didn't have rich relatives.

Still the blue jerk wouldn't press charges on Waternoose or Randall for the attempted murder. If there was anything that Randall hated more than losing it was being felt sorry for. That reminded him too much of his pre-college days when he'd been labeled a nerd. His only cool friends in college, the RΩR fraternity deserted him when Sullivan upstaged him in the last event of the Scare Games. He thought he'd had the last laugh when Sullivan was expelled. In three more years he'd finished his degree and spent two years as Monsters Inc's top scarer when Sullivan re-entered his life again and stole that from him. He spent the next five years in Sullivan's shadow. Sullivan had also stolen Randall's one-time friend Mike Wazowski. He'd helped Wazowski study and Sullivan had treated him like dirt. Then ever since those two had joined Oozma Kappa they had been best friends. Randall had asked to join the cool fraternity and had gotten in. Mike—no, Wazowski—had asked him to return to the geek fold. He couldn't do it, he struggled his whole life to be free. He'd hoped that Mike could find some way to fulfill his dreams, but Mike couldn't expect him to sacrifice his own. It wasn't personal when Randall doused the Oozma Kappa team with paint, confetti, and flowers. That was war. What Sullivan had done to him was personal. Mike had Oozma Kappa to share his moment of disgrace. Randall lost his fraternity in his moment of disgrace. He'd lost his chance to be cool to Sullivan. He lost the prestige of being top scarer to Sullivan. Sullivan was the most prominent face of a nameless tormentor that for all his life Randall had wanted to defeat and to be: the jock.

Randall had spent his whole life fighting jocks like Sullivan and it was a war that could never be won. Now Randall had spent a decade rotting in prison over some stupid human girl. Randall didn't even know if humans were capable of the complexity of emotions monsters felt. Sure they were nearly as intelligent, but they were still lower life forms. Okay, for the sake of argument—argument, mind you—he had made a moral misjudgment. Still the time that he, a monster, had spent in prison was a far greater wrong than anything he had done to the human child.

Unlike the other prisoners he refused to look down and purposely looked the guards in the eyes. One person in particular made Randall's blood boil: an inspector who often visited the jail cells to observe the criminal mind. This particular inspector was a gargoyle—complete with bat-like wings, a tail, dark blue skin, a beak-shaped mouth, and white hair that flowed past his shoulders. As was necessary for a gargoyle, he wore a loincloth. He wasn't bulky, but his muscles were well toned. He had almost certainly been a jock in high school and college. He was also young enough to have been a pre-teen when Randall was top scarer. Randall hated him.

"Prisoner 24601, your time is up and your parole's begun. You know what that means?"

"Yes," Randall said. "It means I can leave so long as I wear a gps tracker on my foot that will make me a social pariah."

"The tracker will keep us informed on where you go. If you were so eager to kidnap a human child, how far do you have to be pushed to harm monsters?"

That treip again.

"I was trying to save the Monster World from an energy crisis!"

"But you didn't, 24601. James Sullivan did."

This was the first time anyone had ever insinuated that Sullivan was smarter than he was. Stronger, yes. Scarier…hopefully not. But smarter? That was supposed to Randall's safe zone. He had invented the Scream Extractor after all. His hatred of the inspector was reaching boiling point.

"Like Sullivan would have known to harness human children's laughter if he hadn't spent time with the child I kidnapped." Then there was the matter of being addressed by his prisoner number.

"My name is Randall Boggs!"

"And I'm Brandon Rookings," the gargoyle shot back. "Do not forget my name! Do not forget me, 24601."

The gargoyle who shared his reversed initials left and in a matter of moments the guards removed Randall from the cell. His orange jacket was removed and a thick silver bracelet placed around his back left foot at the ankle. Before it was time to go, the guards brought him to the warden's office.

The warden was a giant, furry, brown monster with two long horns and a vaguely lupine face. He was sitting at his desk when the guards shoved Randall into his office.

"Boggs, it's been quite a while. I see your tracking device is in place. You understand why you're here."

"Yes. I'm on parole. Hopefully, my first step toward freedom."

The warden sighed. "Due to the nature of your crimes, you will probably be on parole forever. If we lose track of you, you'll go back to the slammer forever." The warden closed his eyes and took a breath. "Good luck with your life."

Randall knew that he would have to be very careful now. The slightest broken rule could land him right back in jail, but at least he had the chance for a semi-normal life now and maybe within a few years a chance to ruin Sullivan's if he was creative enough. Yes, Randall Boggs felt hope as the doors to the prison closed behind him.

Randall was at least partially free now. He walked along the highway leading to downtown Monstropolis. For the first time in twelve years he wouldn't be waking up in a prison cell. Even the breeze which was so chilling to an ectotherm like Randall felt good. The sky was sapphire blue and the clouds were so fluffy. Randall was not one to enjoy the scenery but after so many years locked up, the natural world looked so beautiful to him. Anything for a change from the grays of the prison cell. He couldn't survive for long without money and a place to lodge for the night. The most obvious solution was to go back to his old apartment and see if anyone had moved in. Then he would go apply for a job at Monstromart as a cashier. It seemed almost defeatist, but he was a social pariah now and that seemed the most secure place for him to start.

He walked into his old apartment building. It was a drab red brick building but it was home. Twenty families must have lived within the five stories. The lobby on the first floor was a common area where monsters chatted. Randall expected the familiar atmosphere to comfort him. He even saw Sid the cockroach monster, one of his old neighbors through the window, sitting in one of the chairs with a newspaper. The moment he stepped through the door everyone gasped at him.

So they're afraid of me. This might not be so bad after all. Then a large purple slug with four tentacles and no antennae approached. Apparently, he was the new landlord.

"Sir, since you are obviously being tracked, you are a dangerous criminal. We cannot allow you in this building, for the residents' safety."

Randall's jaw dropped.

"I used to live here!" Randall eyed Sid. "Sid, you know me, tell him I'm not dangerous!"

The cockroach monster shifted nervously in his chair. He had known Randall as an acquaintance, but so had many other monsters before Randall had shown his true colors.

"Sir, for everyone's safety, you must leave," the slug said.

Randall snarled through gritted teeth and left. The nerve of those people to throw him out of his own apartment. He had to find somewhere to stay the night and fast. But everywhere he went the large-enough-to-notice silver bracelet gave him away as a "dangerous criminal." Not a single place would take him in. He refused to despair, that would be self-destructive. Instead he got angry. Anger was a constructive emotion.


The only thing Randall could do was turn invisible and spend the night on the street, cold as that would be. He would not go to Sullivan and Wazowski if his life depended on it. That would be the ultimate defeat, to beg his arch nemeses to have mercy on him. By now the sun had sat, and Randall had wandered to the outskirts of the city near an old graveyard. He aimed to stay there for the night when an old yeti with a flash light spotted him. Randall instinctively turned invisible, but the silver band gleamed in the light. Randall became visible as he studied the yeti's own appearance. He was wearing the black robe of a priest.

"Do you need a place to stay for the night?" his voice sounded like he truly cared, but then Randall had known many voice actors. He was shocked that someone with the religious authorities would want to help a criminal. Most of the followers of that particular priest's religion Randall knew as ignorant, superstitious hypocrites.

"You wouldn't want to take me in. I'm a dangerous criminal."

"I think I'll risk it. You need a place to stay."

Randall followed the old yeti up the road to the temple, a two story building that had many stained-glass windows. They entered the building. The priest lead Randall through several rooms with arched ceilings lit only by candles.

"This place feels very medieval," Randal said. "No lights?"

"This temple is a one of Monstropolis' historic sites. No one is allowed to make any alterations."

Randall could therefore count on drifting to sleep by losing consciousness due to the building's drafty nature and lack of a heating system.

They walked into a room with a table where two sisters—that is both biological sisters and sisters of a religious order—had prepared something edible and had set it on a long table. It looked like some kind of herbal stew. The two sisters had rectangular gelatinous bodies arising from what looked like mobile tree roots. They each had a mouth and five antennae arising from the top of their rectangular bodies that ended in eyes. The only difference between them was that one was green and the other was blue.

The priest motioned for Randall to take a seat near the head of the table with the two sisters and himself. Randall was sure that there would be some kind of prayer before they began to eat so he waited on the priest who acted just as Randall had guessed.

"We give thanks for the food, thanks for our dear sisters, and thanks for our honored brother."

Randall coughed when he heard the priest call him an "honored brother." Had the old yeti already forgotten that he was a "dangerous criminal"? How could he be "honored" anyway? His reputation was soiled beyond recovery and he had no money to speak of…

Randall looked at his spoon and plate. They were solid silver. He looked at the other's plates and utensils. They were solid silver too. Randall was not a petty thief, but he was in a financially desperate state right now. The only thing that that mattered was how to avoid getting caught. The food was warm enough to keep his body heat up for several hours. He'd act while the others were asleep…

Randall waited ten minutes after he heard the sounds of the others moving around die down. First, to deal with the tracker. He'd be leaving and he didn't want the police following him. It just so happened that knives were on his list. The tracker was tight against his skin but the latch was thin enough that it could be cut through. If Randall only cut the latch, the circuitry in the tracker would still function and give the police the idea that he was still there. Randall took the pillow slips from his bed to use as containers and made his way down to the kitchen where the valuable pure silver plates, forks, spoons, and knives were kept. Years of scaring human children and avoiding their parents had taught Randall how to be fast and silent at the same time. As he took a knife to his tracker, a thought paralyzed him.

Look at yourself, Randall Boggs. You've resorted to petty burglary.

Yes, Randall admitted. It was a depth to which he would never in a million years thought he would sink. But he really had no choice. Thanks to this thing on his leg that he even now held a knife to, he could not be hired for any job or find any place willing to take him in. At any rate, what he was doing now was not any worse than what most people already thought of him. He wanted revenge on Sullivan, and to get in a position to have revenge, he needed to be financially secure. What he was doing now was wrong but the end justified the means. Ever so slowly, he sawed at the tracking device's latch…


It was six in the morning when the local police dragged Randall back to the temple. None of the police in question seemed to recognize him or notice that his tracker was gone. They had been called by the owner of the pawn shop where Randall had tried to sell his silver merchandise. Randall had not expected the shop keeper to be a parishioner and recognize the valuables as belonging to the temple. The shopkeeper had excused himself to make a call and then spent thirty minutes haggling with Randall until the cops arrived. The lead officer was a hulking purple cyclops with horns pointing inward. He made no mention of why Randall was not at the same place his tracker was. He simply accused Randall of theft and then when Randall spouted that the priest had given him the valuables, decided to take Randall back to the temple to ask the priest in person. Randall did not know why the officer had taken his statement seriously—Randall wouldn't, had the roles been reversed.

Nevertheless, Randall found himself back at the temple. It was only a matter of time till the priest revealed his theft, his tracker was noticed, and he was sent back to jail for life. Even now as two serpentine, tentacled officers held him and the silver, the cyclops spoke to the priest. He reached a hand into the pillow slip and pulled out a silver cup.

"Do you recognize your possessions? These are marked with your initials."

Randall swallowed. He had moved too quickly. If only he'd worked with this priest to get some kind of job in the community…well, too late now. He was heading back to jail,

"Indeed, this belongs to me," the priest said. The guilty verdict pronounced for Randall to hear.

"Belonged, I should say." He looked at Randall, "Why didn't you explain?"

Randall could not believe his ears. The priest was covering for him!

"Explain what, Father?" The cyclops asked the priest.

"The fact that I gave these to him."

"He said so, but—"

"But what?" The priest looked at Randall, "And what about the candleholders?"

"The candleholders?" Randall asked, as confused as the police.

"Two silver candle holders. I gave them to you, didn't I?"

The police let go of Randall and the priest approached him directly.

"It doesn't matter my dear friend; we'll get them right away. The moment these monsters release you."

The cyclops simply nodded and turned to his subordinates and gestured for them to go to the police car. Randall was alone with the priest who had just covered for him, for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.

"I'm not senile yet," said the priest, "I didn't give you the silverware. You stole it."

"Why didn't you turn me in, then?"

"So I could purchase your freedom." So, the priest wanted him for some kind of personal servant then. He could keep the silver if this is what that entailed.

"You don't own me," Randall said.

"I was talking about your soul. I would have you redeemed from evil."

Randall couldn't believe it. This priest didn't want to own him. But how could he truly care about his soul if he didn't know his backstory…? At any rate, this was the first kind thing that Randall could remember anyone doing for him in his adult life. He wanted to know what drove his compassion.

"My soul for the price of your silverware?"

"What is your name?" the priest asked. This looked like genuine compassion on the priest's part for Randall as an individual. It felt…warm…

"Boggs," Randall said cautiously. "Randall Boggs."

"From now on, we will walk the same road…that leads to the good. This road isn't easy to travel. You can easily stumble and fall. But there's no greater thing than a monster returning to the path of what's right. I will pray for you, but remember one thing: you are a free monster, just like me."

The priest showed Randall the two candleholders he had mentioned, gave them to Randall and then left the chameleon alone. When the priest was gone Randall realized just how good that compassion felt, how miserable his life had been without it. He also realized how far he had fallen that he resorted to petty thievery.

Good and gracious God, what is the use?

Become a rogue in the dark? Become a cur on the loose?

Have I fallen too deep, and is the hour too late

That all that survives is the cry of my hate?

The cry in the dark that only can fade

Where I stand after the passing of two decades!

If there's a nicerr way to go

I missed it in college long years ago.

My life was a war against cool guys and jocks.

They gave me a label and they murdered Boggs

When I failed at winning their little game

And had a lifetime to live with my shame!

Yet why did I allow that priest to touch my heart and teach me good?

I was a monster like any other;

He gave me his trust; he called me "brother."

Could God forgive if he could?

Can such things be?

For I had come to hate the world, this world that always hated me!

Success is what counts! Turn your heart into stone!

Be ever the ruthless best! This is all I have known!

One word from him and I'd be back,

Within the gaol, upon the rack.

Instead, he offers me my pardon.

I feel my evil inside me like a knife.

He told me that I had a soul!

How does he know?

What spirit comes to move my life?

Is there another way to go?

I am struggling but I fall, and the dark is closing in

As I stare into the gaping chasm of my sin.

I'll escape now from that world, the world of Randall Boggs!

Randall Boggs is nothing now! Another story must begin!