I'm sorry for the long wait- I've been VERY busy this summer...Not. To be honest, I've had a boring summer, but, for some reason, writing hasn't been on top of my schedule. I guess it's a sort of semi writer's block. But, here's the next chapter nonetheless.
Chapter 13- Return
Once again, the building Randall had seen almost everyday for five years loomed up in front of him. In the past, it had been impressive, but it was now barely more than a pile of rubble, and the efforts of Monsters, Inc.'s employees over the past several months were struggling to show. Randall, contrary to what he had convinced Sullivan to believe, was not returning to his old work place to help out, but was actually hoping to bring the company down to an even lower status than its current one.
Today, rather than joining together with past co-workers to build up M.I. to its former glory, he was, instead, aiming to shake its foundation even more.
There was, of course, an element of risk in Randall's mission on many levels, and some of these factors were very close to putting the lizard-monster off altogether. He'd have to walk into a room where many monsters who considered him evil and a generally nasty piece of work could see him in full view, and their reaction to him was what made him have second thoughts about 'helping out'. Because, not only would they throw abuse at him, battering his ever-low self-esteem, but the idea of these dim-witted sheep who would do as everyone else does seeing Randall's state…The thick, long gash that began just to the left of his middle frond and that continued on past his left eye, just catching it, and ending up above his upper-lip was noticeable to say the least, and was accompanied by several other almost nauseating scars that were all proof that Randall hadn't exactly had it easy the past year or so.
And seeing the, at first, disgust, then eventual satisfaction on everyone's faces may have just been too much for the weary lizard-monster, if another desire hadn't urged him onwards- that of watching his utmost enemies fall at his feet.
Revenge.
It was considered an evil action by most, but Randall's reasoning was quite plausible- they had obviously enacted revenge on him, and had made him suffer undeserved pain, so he therefore had a right to reap his revenge on them. And, what was more, he was determined to enjoy it.
The double doors of the front entrance portrayed the Monster World's most well-known power company's troubles wholly- one of the door's glass had been shattered, the remaining shards that hadn't fallen on the ground hanging dubiously, and the other door, though having managed to keep its glass in practically mint condition, had been covered in graffiti where the wood was. The words written were illegible, unfortunately for Randall- he would've liked to read a youth's opinion of M.I.; it would've cheered him up a substantial amount to know what a terrible job Sullivan had been making of the company.
He strode over confidently to the one remaining door, his state of mind being that he should start as he meant to go on. But this was easier said than done- behind this door were dozens of monsters waiting to relish Randall's downfall. It was a frightening thought.
Shaking slightly, Randall stepped inside. Few noticed him in the first couple of moments, but as one of the busy employees turned to stare at Randall, the others followed suite.
He took a deep, nervous breath, and did what he had done for so many years- he hid his emotions amazingly well and walked through the company without so much as a care in the world, it seemed. Taking big, meaningful steps, he pushed aside monsters with nothing but blazing glares, head held high, going straight for goal.
It seemed to take several hours for Randall to reach the dust-covered reception, and as he arrived, he exhaled, feeling as if he had just landed on a safe, small desert island after having been swimming in the humongous ocean- a habitat that he was an alien to. The face he was greeted with was also a sort of welcome home, though the expression currently present on it said otherwise.
Celia's single eye was as wide open as it could be, and she stared openly for a few moments before remembering her manners. Yeah, she had always been a 'good girl'. She tried to busy herself, pointlessly shuffling some papers in front of her, but Randall's demanding gaze beckoned.
"I'm a volunteer," Randall said simply, remaining calm. Celia nodded, but didn't verbally answer. "So…Where do I go?"
"Oh," Celia said sharply, hating the fact that Randall had just queried something; she didn't want to have to answer. Many questions were running through her mind, of course- Randall had been 'away' a long time, and that scar running down his face was less than pleasant. "Um, your name isn't on the rota here," she babbled, shuffling ever more papers. "M-maybe you should go to Mr Sullivan's office and he'll help you…"
"Referring me to the boss, huh?" Randall said. "But I wouldn't want to use up more of his important time, now, would I?" Randall had a point, and Celia knew it, but she also knew that Sulley would want to have a little…chat with the dubious lizard-monster before he was to start any construction work, just in case.
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Randall shrugged, hiding his excitement at the idea of another little encounter with 'the boss'.
"So," he began off-handedly, "how's things goin' between you and Mikey-boy, huh?" Celia was caught unawares by this disturbingly casual question, though it was really more the way Randall had put it forward than the question itself that made her take a small step back, shrinking further behind her desk.
"Uh…" she stammered, blinking rapidly. "Um, we're married…" In the second syllable of 'married', Celia raised her voice by a semi-tone or two, and she therefore sounded as though she was asking a question herself. Randall, who was never one to miss a beat, noticed this instantly, and jotted it down in his expansive brain for later- it might signify that things weren't going too well in Wazowski Towers.
"So you're Celia Wazowski, then, hmm?" Randall continued, leaning in. Interrogating people was one of his many specialties. "Any little Wazowski's about?"
"Just the one." Celia made sure not to divulge too much information- Randall was, in her opinion, far from trustworthy.
"Nice. Never liked kids myself, though- wouldn't have the patience to sit there for hours, willing them to shut up…Nah, ain't the life for me. Anyhow," Randall said, a sudden, weird sort of ray of happiness suddenly being emitted from his direction, "better get to the boss and waste some of his valuable time." The lizard-monster straightened up, having been leaning on the desk, and turned his neck.
As he had predicted, everyone was staring in silence. Those who had been following the story muttered to those closest, passing on the information frantically, whilst others stood in fear. Randall braced himself and began to make his way to Mr Sullivan's office- if he did as he was told, maybe, just maybe, Sullivan would be stupid enough to believe that he had turned over a new leaf.
Celia wanted to call out after him, to ask what had happened in his absence, but she knew Randall well enough to realise that now, in front of everyone, was not the best time to do so. But although she had known him for longer than most and knew him better than most, she had never been terribly close to him, and would rather keep her distance than get involved with whatever mess he had made for himself.
Yeah…That Randall was a nasty piece of work…And no matter how curious Celia was, she knew that it was for her entire family's sake that she left well alone.
As Randall briskly walked out of the main foyer and to the beginning of a string of corridors, his panicky strides soon slowed to a curious waltz as he took in everything that his eyes were observing.
The numerous newspaper articles that had followed the near 'Human invasion' had been accurate in at least one perspective of the story- Monsters, Inc. had been utterly destroyed. Half of the walls were barely standing, and patches of the ceiling were missing. The grandeur of the primly painted corridors had vanished, and, as Randall neared Sullivan's office, he noticed that most of the exaggerated portraits of past C.E.Os were either cloaked in dust, broken in half, or missing entirely. The penultimate painting was one that Randall paused to stare at for a few moments more than the others. The numerous eyes of the subject, along with his slightly curled mouth and grandfatherly nature, were more deceiving than even Randall could be, and that was really saying something.
His heart beat strongly, firmly, angrily, and he felt his temples boom with blood.
He hated that bastard so, so much.
Randall purposefully trod on the painting, his heart yammering away faster than ever, and moved on, only bothering with a glimpse at the current C.E.O's portrait- he felt sick enough without laying eyes on a picture of some cheap chump who had managed to thwart him out of everything he had without even meaning to. And anyway, he was about to meet the guy personally in just a few moments, and he needed all the strength he had to make this encounter as natural and illusory as previously.
The door, situated at the end of the corridor- a prime spot for those who wanted to loose weight and walk those extra couple of steps to the vending machine- was spotless. It made Randall almost chuckle to see this, though why was completely beyond him. Maybe it was the time he had spent in the swamp, alone; he had had to develop some sort of sense of humour, otherwise he surely would've gone mad.
There was also the possibility that he had gone mad, but he didn't want to think about that.
Randall tried to calm himself down- there was a time and a place to rant and rave and act entirely unconventional, and this was not it.
He rapped his knuckles on the door, not bothering with the fancy intercom system that had been fitted, and waited. Incredibly, the door was so perfect that he could practically see his reflection in its white paintwork. The scar glared out at him, as per usual. Suddenly, his clone stepped back to be replaced by James Sullivan himself.
"Hello, Randall." The furry turned around. "Come on in." Randall did as he was told, taking his surroundings in, in a millisecond. Boring, conformist-type office, stacks of paperwork everywhere, a few select photos of loved ones…The only thing different about this office to any other was that, pushed to the walls were piles of rubble, and the window behind the 'impressive' C.E.O. was cracked. "Take a seat."
"I'm fine standing, thanks." This cold reception knocked back Sullivan- from their previous encounter, he had begun to believe that Randall was on the path to forgiving him.
Oh, how wrong he was.
"If you're sure…It's nice to see you here, volunteering."
"Just doing my bit for the community." A five-second silence followed this, and a glimmer of impatience crossed Randall's face. "Look, if you're ready to tell me where I should start, I can go and get on with it-"
"Well, you see, Randall, I wanted to have a little word with you." The word 'about…?' floated in the air. "About…" Sullivan took a deep breath and dived. "About your behaviour." Randall nodded; he expected this. "Now, I know there have been some problems in the past-"
"It's simple, Sullivan, so you don't need to go into some long-winded speech about how I've never really got on with other people anyway, yadda yadda yadda," Randall said, gleefully interrupting Sullivan- the furry may have had more authority in the company, but at this point, Randall was in charge of this conversation, and it was going to go where he wanted it to. "It can be sorted with a bargain- they treat me normally, I stay outta their way. I just wanna put some bricks into the walls, slap some paint on, hammer some nails in; I'm not in the mood for conflict, and I won't be for a long, long time. Got it?"
Well, Sullivan hadn't expected that. It was quite a humorous situation, really, and Sulley had to admit that he had forgotten that Randall had an explicable way with words that he had, in secret, always admired.
"Yes. You're um, you're free to go. Oh, and you can go to Laugh Floor F- there's quite a lot of work to be done there." Randall comically saluted Sullivan, ignoring the use of the phrase "Laugh Floor F", and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him with his tail.
He chuckled inwardly.
Randall loved it when things actually went his way.
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The state of Scare Floor F- or, rather, Laugh Floor F, came as a shock to Randall. Obviously, he knew that Monsters, Inc. was in a bad state, but seeing the room that he had spent hours in most days in such a terrible condition brought home everything that had happened to Randall. In some ways, he felt partly grateful to the fact that he was in the Human World as all of this happened- it meant he couldn't be held responsible for any of the goings on.
But, as Randall scanned every inch of the Laugh Floor in wonder and gentle fear, something rather shocking was brought back to him- an image of his little lair where he had housed the somewhat infamous Scream Extractor. Could he bare to go down there again?
Randall decided in that moment, that whether or not he could bare not to go down there again was more of an appropriate question.
Needless to say, many heads turned as Randall leisurely strolled across the room, stopping to look at his Scare Station- now Laugh Station- which held a somewhat sentimental value to him. It had changed radically; there was now some sort of new, more modern device to hold the doors, and the keypad had been replaced by a stand with a small remote control upon it. It had always been an idea of Randall's to invent an improved version of the Scare Stations, but it seemed as though someone had cut him to the chase.
Disappointment settled in his stomach, and evermore memories flooded back to him, especially of the few, threatening days leading up to his exile. Thinking about one of the worst moments of your life is never a pleasant experience, but when one can't even manage to compare said moments to a more happy recollection, it makes one think back and question one's own life, and the point of it all. If Randall was never truly happy- and there had been very few occasions when he had been- then why carry on living? Why suffer any more?
Randall had two, reasonably valid motives to continue with his life- firstly, there was always a chance that things may get better- always. And, secondly, he was just too stubborn to stop now. He had come such a long way, and, sure, every day had been a struggle, but he was still there, wasn't he? And he had certainly left his mark on a few people's minds, that was for sure.
Though there had always been that little flicker of doubt in Randall, which had retained the right to be pessimistic, and it had certainly grown over the last few years.
"Randall…?" Randall whipped round, snapped out of his thoughts, to be confronted by a little red monster wearing glasses and peering up at him with his three eyes. "I-I didn't know you were, you were h-helping out here...!"
"Well, I am." …So live with it. Randall had always felt remarkably bitter on Fungus's behalf- the little guy may not have come up with the whole idea of the SE, or been too enthusiastic about it, but he had helped with its creation yet hadn't taken responsibility for the punishment. It was therefore sickening to have to lay eyes on his face.
"G-good, n-nice to get out, hmm?" Fungus was practically shaking, and Randall had to admit that one thing he had always enjoyed out of intimidating other monsters was their reaction- it made him feel big, proud, in charge, and since he hadn't been any of those things in comparison to his life, it was nice to be those things to someone.
"Sure. Hey, do you know where I can actually get started, y'know, with the building…" The lizard-monster trailed off at the sight of three remarkably large monsters leering down at him.
"You're the guy telling that story, huh?" one growled in a deep, gruff voice. Randall nodded slowly, his eyelids narrowing.
"And?" As the conversation continued, others gathered round. Randall simply folded his arms defensively.
"Aren't you going to get on with it, then?" Suddenly, everyone seemed very eager to hear the rest of it- it had obviously spread around the factory like wildfire, and what was even better was that Sullivan was still blatantly oblivious to it all. At least everyone had retained some basic common sense not to tell the boss what was going on, since if they grassed Randall up, there'd be no more story to tell, and this little tale was getting very intriguing indeed…Anyway, there would be time for telling Mr. Sullivan what was going on later.
"As long as everyone's up to date." Randall grinned. Just like sheep, they were, and dumb enough to be following the big, bad wolf…
