The next day in Monstropolis was as beautiful as ever. The monster birds croaked sweetly in the trees, the sun cast its warm beams to bless the happy citizens. The morning on the laugh floor began as usually, the doors jutting in their scaffolds and the diligent workers preparing to amuse toddlers and other wee humans.
A yellow, snail-like creature had just adjusted his joke articles in the perfect shape. His assistant slapped the "gimme fives" with his door-entering friend, wishing him all the best luck with today's labour task. So the snail opened the portal… letting a miserable, vanishing yell echo in the air after half a second. His helper was just left to stand there, staring at the open gateway to the human world.
A couple of bogeys ran to him, being as amazed. Snowflakes were coming through the open doorframes, joyfully flitting around. On the other side, there was merely nothing but emptiness. It was indeed a way to a closet, but it seemed to have leaded to an abandoned chalet. The broken sidewall of the hut was an open hole, so that the closet door headed straight down the steep cliff the wrecked shelter cabin stood on –situated on the hillside of Mount Everest.
"Oh, my goodness! W-What happened to Mr. Stanton?" a thunderstruck monster gaped at the view.
"I… I don't know!" the helper stammered, "This door was supposed to lead to the bedroom of a 5-year-old Swedish girl named Blåklocka!"
"This must have been some kind of a mistake… but how are we gonna get Stanton out of there? He's gonna freeze to dead, if he's not dead already after getting dropped down that ledge!"
"Okay! Call for the search-and-rescue party and you others, continue your works!" A voice came from behind the horrified group. "These kinds of accidents happen occasionally. We're gonna get Mr. Stanton out of there, just scatter and go back to your works, thank you!" a calm-looking office manager spread his arm-tentacles in the air.
So the tasks began once more as nothing had happened, yet shadowed by a light fear. Nevertheless, only half an hour had passed, before something peculiar happened, again. A cross between dinosaur and a carnivorous plant twisted the knob of his work-portal door… and splash! Water began to flood in through the frames, with such a power that the laugh floor started to resemble a swimming pool in a few seconds. Every monster being fell into total panic. Water came streaming in, cold, salty sea fluids.
"Help! I can't swim!" several help cries were heard. A number of bigger monsters floundered against the in-coming flow, attempting to approach the fatal door. Suddenly, something angry and scary hit against the entrance from the other side of the portal. It flashed its big teeth and unfolded its big jaws, now being merely stuck to the doorway.
"It's a shark!" someone screamed.
"Shut the door now! We're gonna drown!"
So the stronger and bigger workers wrestled against the heavy body of water. One caught the almost broken door, trying to push it close, only getting hurt. The fierce fish struggled still in front of the brave monsters, making injures more or less with its sharp fangs. After ten seconds, however, the worst danger was gone. The dimension changer was shut down by the robust hobgoblins, and no more liquids were running in.
What was this catastrophe all about? Actually, the gateway that was supposed to be another wicket to lads' sleeping chambers, leaded to a closet in a ship. Unfortunately, that vessel was lying in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, as a ship-wreck. So that explained well the shark encounter.
The damages on the laugh floor were a depressing view. Several of the electric devices were cut short because of the conducting fluids. Injured monsters laid here and there, some hurt because of electric shocks, some because of the malevolent leviathan, and so on. Luckily there were open sewers installed in the hall floor, otherwise the water would have had to be pumped out of the energy factory. Little by little, it vanished into the drainage, giving thus space to the first-aid group that came to heal the poor workers.
As waken up by the mess and hassle, also Mike bolted to see what on earth had happened. An employer not-so-bruised waddled from behind the busy ambulance men towards him.
"What is this? By chirping predactyls, what's the flood about? Do we need to build a Noah's Ark?" Mike gawped at the scene his eye wide open.
"T… there were wrong doors", the fatigued victim sighed, "And… as much as I remember, the work orders said they were doors specially chosen by James P. Sullivan, our big boss."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait… there must've been a mistake. This is a human accident. Sulley… umh, your employer would never do such a thing by knowingly. There must be a bug in the door-stock handling software. And that, that, that will be handled by tomorrow, sure thing, righto." Wazowski a bit nervously concluded.
While the rota turned, the secondary laugh floor was taken to use. Twenty poor bogeys had been transported to hospital to get treatment. The normal work ground was in the fingers of a hurricane, before the next day nothing could be done on it. Machines needed to be fixed, the hall needed to be cleaned.
But did the labour began any better way in the other rooms? Two doors indicated to be incorrect, again. The first one leaded to a Hollywood filming place, into a closet of a coulisse. When it was opened, a giant mechanical dinosaur attempted to storm in, hurting again a couple of members of staff. How could someone had been aware of blundering in the middle of the filmings of Jurassic Park XXVII, getting then bitten by a robot T-Rex? In addition, what the next disaster door was… it widened to some kind of a rodent farm. Tens of mice and white rats hopped in from the portal, subsequently eating the work reports and causing allergic reactions. Many asthmatic bugbears were nearly to suffocate, thus making the day's sick balance even more drastic. And in the work orders that were somehow been saved from the teeth of those hungry critters, were standing in yelling letters: 'Doors chosen specially by Mike Wazowski'.
Behind the backs, in his invisible form, Randall Boggs laughed in wicked ecstasy. He enjoyed seeing the results his first sabotage had caused.
"This begins well… and the winds of change will blow soon over Monstropolis…" he sniggered, "We will see, how the next nice things will affect to your local credibility, Misters You-Know-Who and You-Know-Who the Second… Do you know you're causing damages to your dear workers, trying to poison them… hehheh…"
So began the next day… in a certain anticipating atmosphere. But nothing significant ensued. No boilers exploded and the doors were all gently heading towards sleeping kids. So MI was lulled quickly to a calm feeling of security… until after a couple of days…
"What's for dinner, today?" a fat, horned bird asked his friend. The MI workers' refectory was as animated as always. The staff had used to good and delicious meals. Their skilled cook had served the factory for years, prospering everyone's appetites with rare delicacies. He had started his career under the times of Waternoose, of course now enjoying his post even better, under Sullivan's relaxed management.
The previously described two chums took their plates full of brown soup with some green clods swimming in it, the men licking their lips with sheer zeal towards today's lunch.
"This is said to be some kind of special food!" the bird smirked and sat at a table where four other men and women jutted with their rations.
"Yeah! The menu said it's 'Sullivan's Surprise Food', made from specially chosen ingredients", a mantis-looking creature raised his thumbs up.
"Whee! Let's taste it!" The bird began to bail the nosh down his beak.
During the eating process a light conversation about the last days' happenings raised in the air. Somehow it shifted to roll around Mike and Sulley.
"I've heard some kind of strange rumours about the leaders of this factory… that they would have done some kind of terrible crimes they're trying to hide", one at the table began a bit shyly.
"No kidding! I… kind of heard that the whole door mess was caused because of them!" another added.
"Hey, go figure. Why would they do on purpose such things to their own affairs?" the bird laughed, shovelling the soup and burping after every gulp.
"That doesn't make sense… but that's just what I heard…" one innocently declared.
The discussion went on, until one woman at the table suddenly moaned in pain. "Ooh… my stomach…"
Two seconds after that, the monster sitting next to her groaned once and fainted. The same kind of effect occurred in the near tables, getting the sizes of an avalanche phenomenon. The ones that had not yet touched the day's lunch understood the connection and threw their plates away.
"There's something in the food!" a shout warned from somewhere among the again panicking workers.
"It's putrid!"
"It's rotten!"
"There's a killer virus in it!"
"No, it's poisoned!"
A series of miscellaneous hollers agitated the tumult.
And so the unlucky hours ended… half of MI employers being hauled to get first aid to the local hospital. Food poisoning… When the jumble was studied further, no sense was built around the occurrences. The cook was interrogated, and his declarations were that he had used only normal substances in making the soup. It had been left to boil in a giant cauldron, as usual, and of course there was no one specifically controlling it, since a mechanical mixing system took the responsibility of the digestion. Nothing unusual was found from the pot. However, 'Sullivan's Surprise' had very nauseous effects on the work reliance… first the gateways to infernos and now this. The vice president and the leader of the factory could do nothing but wonder their foreheads wrinkled what this was all about. True was, that the that-time lunch was arranged by James P. Sullivan, but not mentioned to happen in a way like this. And behind the backs, the buzz went on…
As a result, it was another satisfying moment for Randall to see the effects of his second terrorist outrage. In his old 'secret chamber', where the scream extractor had once been built, he kept his quarters with Trent. The simple-minded helper of his did not even understand doing nothing wrong when following his master's directions. He had been put on the service, to add some extra spices to the soup stewpan –and after that all, to destroy all the evidences.
"Mmmhh… what a sophisticated mixture of fish liver oil, castrol oil, old boot bottoms, juicy sweaty socks, some nitro-glycerine, anchovy and boiled cabbage. Oo… and of course some soap added to bring some savoury nuance… I should get a patent to that food!" Randall sat in a chair in his corner, rubbing his hands together. "With my supreme intelligence, that was possible… and of course, the dinner was served by our loved Wazowski and Sullivan!"
Trent laughed goofily to Boggs' words.
"Did you remember to wipe away all the tracks? The contents of that pot were changed back to normal food after the neat surprise of that blue-fleece-horn-whatever-gremlin was served?" Randall took somewhat an angry expression, to make sure that the circle ended to his innocent main preys.
"Sure! Sure! I cleaned it all. And put some fresh 'wet dog'-spray to hide even the stench!"
"Perfect. Now… we shall go on with our little project."
…And more was to follow. Sudden accidents, unexpected mishaps. And somehow, with every case, the so-called indirect reason for the calamity seemed to be either Sulley or Mike. The tracks leaded to them, slowly, creepingly, every woe cankering the relations of the workers and those two staged culprits. The gossips and hollers went on… from the mouth of Trent were heard more and more horrible stories about Wazowski and Sullivan's pasts… and how they had banished this one 'guiltless' lilyliver, Randall.
One night, both the vice president and his friend were debating about the afflictions in their pent-house apartment. The men still used to live in the old house, finding it a smug bachelor flat. They would have had money now to buy a dozen of such lodges, but did not want to give in to the old habits.
However, now the examining of the displeasing events went on.
"…and did you hear what I said? I was directly accused today that I would have caused that that bundle of joke articles fell on that one fella! Did you hear what I said? Me! ME! As if I'd cause such a thing?" Mike gesticulated around, walking nervously across the living room.
"Yes…" Sulley sighed, "I've heard similar things, too. And what I ever tried to do to hinder these strange accidents, they keep happening and happening…" He lied loosely in his armchair, merely shiftless.
"And what is worse, it's that… it's that Celia, my own Smoopsiepoo, has started to look at me with a bad eye! As if I'd done something wrong! I tell you it's not my fault! I've been honourably sitting at my paper work, pleasing Roz with well-done reports, there is n-o-t-h-i-n-g I've done wrong!" the green eyeball kept flinging his arms and bouncing around the room.
"I know, Mike, that you've done nothing wrong. There's something wrong inside the factory… as if someone was sabotaging the laugh floor… or something." Sulley fingered his chin.
"You mean someone's pulling levers in some secret room and trying to avenge on us?" Mike stopped his headless rush and was left to stare at his friend.
"I don't know it yet… but I suggest we find it out…"
"Yeah, just on this second. What else you think we can do but to try to find it out, Mister Genius? Of course we have to find it out. Because of us and because of everything…" Wazowski panted a bit irritated.
"I am just thinking… who would ever want something bad to us?" Sulley looked contemplating.
"Who? We're the nicest guys of Monstropolis, who would ever want to…" Mike started, but then got his jaw hit the floor because a sudden idea lamp was switched on in his brains.
"Randall Boggs?" they both blurted in unison.
…to be continued…