Author Notes: Sorry for the late update. I haven't been feeling too well recently because of a stomach bug. In fact, there may not be an update for a while – I'll be going back to school soon. Still, I shall try to finish this story, so don't worry about that. For now, enjoy reading this chapter! And let me know if you've found the Dreamcoat reference in Chapter 7 or named the song in Chapter 10! :)

Chapter 11: Randall's Secret Lair

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the smell – a thick, pungent smell that makes my nose burn. Right now, the world is blurry. I groggily lift my head and blink a few times to clear my eyes, but I still can't see a lot in this dark room besides a few wires and pipes. All around me are the sounds of hissing and water droplets leaking from the pipes.

"Boo?"

The voice makes me jump. On the other side of the room, Uncle Mike is sitting in a chair that resembles an upturned colander. His wrists are clamped onto a metal bar that stretches across in front of him. His eyelid, once green like the rest of him, is now a purple-black.

"Mike!" I try to get up, but my arms are stuck. When I look down, I'm trapped in my seat just like him. "What happened? What does Randall want?"

As I mention his name, Randall emerges from the shadows. "Finally, you're awake," he says. "Remember this place?"

I look around again. I have a vague memory of being help prisoner here, and of a machine that was going to suck me up, but that's it. I must have blocked out the rest.

"What are you doing?" I ask. "I can sort of understand why you'd want to kidnap me, but why is Mike here as well?"

"Oh, he was just revealing where he's keeping you," says Randall, "so I could come and get you."

I gasp. "Mike, how could you?"

Mike can't look at me. I notice the purple bruises all over his body and the white bandages around the fingers on his left hand. Those injuries, and the black eye, make it clear what happened.

He was tortured.

"I'm sssorry," he whispers, whistling a little on the "s." He has a front tooth missing as well.

"When I got to his apartment block, you were just leaving with your friends," Randall explains. "All I had to do was follow you to the park and then pick the moment to strike. So now I've got what I wanted."

I grip the metal bar. "Are you going to kill me like you almost killed me in the door vault?"

Randall laughs. "No. I've got a better plan for revenge."

I glance at Mike and raise an eyebrow. Randall stands in front of me, forcing me to look at him.

"If you look up 'monster' in the dictionary," he says, "it's defined as 'a large, ugly, frightening creature.' They don't mention anything about monsters being funny, do they?"

"No," I say. "But dictionaries can change, can't they?"

Randall rolls his eyes. "They can, but they shouldn't. That's why I don't like to see monsters going into doors to make kids laugh."

Mike pipes up, "Laughter isss ten timesss more powerful than ssscreamsss-"

"Shut up, Wazowski!" snaps Randall, whipping round and grabbing Mike's arm. He leans in and spits in Mike's face, "I don't care if it's a million times more powerful than screams. It's not natural!"

Mike curls up his legs protectively and whimpers.

"You were saying?" I ask.

Randall turns back to me, grinning. "Laughter may be more powerful, but what if it's too powerful? What if it leaks and causes a blackout? That's why I've got this."

The ceiling opens up and a machine is lowered down. It's black all over, with a long funnel and lots of wires coming off it. At the back are some giant yellow canisters. I recognise it immediately – it was the machine that Randall used on me twelve years ago.

When the machine finally stops moving, Randall strokes it proudly. "Say hello to the Laugh Extractor."

"Hello," I say.

Randall glares at me. "Once I've got the rest of your friends, I'll use your uncle-" he points to Mike "-as a little performing monkey to collect all your laughs. Then I'll leak the energy across Monstropolis and create some blackouts, which will get people asking questions about Monsters, Inc. Once that happens, the laugh programme is finished, and Sullivan's reputation is ruined."

"Strong words," I mutter.

Randall nods. "After that, I won't have any use for your friends, so I'll just have to kill them."

I gasp.

"And if Wazowski doesn't have an audience, he's no use to me. So I'll kill him too."

"What?" cries Mike.

"By then Sullivan will have lost pretty much everything – his company, his best friend . . . looks like your Kitty will have to be put to sleep."

"No!" I shout.

"And then I'll kill you!" yells Randall. "And I will finally have my revenge on Mary Gibbs!"

He grabs hold of the Laugh Extractor and points it at me.

"So," he says quietly, "shall we put this plan into action?"