"I see." Abigail Hardscrabble declared. She was sat in her rather organized and clean office. Across from her desk was a rather subdued Randall. From the chair he was sitting in, his feet could not even touch the ground. She drew in another breath before standing, her feet clicking on the wood as she walked to the window to gaze out.

"Mr Boggs." She began. Randall's fronds flicked in attention and he gulped slowly. "Do you know why our scaring programme has the prestigious reputation that it does?"

"It doesn't permit failure. Where one may succeed…" Randall's' voice quietened into nothing, now feeling shame from Hardscrabble's rather tactful conversation.

"Correct. Where we see potential, we nurture it and allow it to grow." She turned around to look at him, a hard look on her face. "What I see before me is a monster with the potential, but with a substantial lack of drive to reach it."

Randall said nothing.

"Very well. This situation is not new to me." She turned away from him again, more interested in the paperwork at the desk. Sitting back down again, she placed thin spectacles over her eyes and began to read. "You are released."

Randall, tense and quivering, stood on his four padded feet and shifted towards the door.

"And Mr Boggs." She finally looked up at him as he turned to see her face. "Do keep practicing that blending talent of yours. It'd be such a shame for a gift of that caliber to go to waste."

Randall managed a quick nod before rushing to leave.

Randall grasped the telephone receiver in his sweaty palms. He panted in slow but sharp breaths, his mouth drier than a desert, his mind filled with a concoction of torturous thoughts. What if she didn't pick up? What would he do then? He needed a few days to gather himself. To pick himself up. To summon that last morsel of courage to break the news to his mother and father. The relief from the conclusion of the meeting with Hardscrabble was already at an abrupt end. Panic rose to narrow his airway as he listened to the forever

The bags which surrounded him on the sidewalk near the telephone box was an imminent reminder of his current predicament. Sensations of being homeless at nineteen were not ones he had planned to experience. Nor the departure from a respected academic institution from a damaging incident.

"Yes?" Her familiar voice, albeit slightly distorted from the electronics, was audible and relieving.

"Vi…" He began, emotions already threatening to well over his barriers. "it's me."

"Randy?" Pleasure entered her voice. "Little brother." Neither could remember the last time they have spoken to one another. Randall felt guilt at his neglect to call. Even more so at what he was about to ask of her.

"Long time no speak."

The volume and pleasure dropped noticeably in her voice. "Yes. It has."

"I…" He began. "I need to talk to you. Now."

"Randy don't be so serious!" She sighed. Randall could imagine her rolling her eyes at this point. "Got knocked a grade off at uni or something?" He only wished that was true. Usually the tone he adopted right now was exactly because of that. Not this time.

"N-no."

"Sorry, but can't it wait? I have to go to work in an…"

"NO! Listen to me! I'm…" An eerie silence adopted at the end of the phone, causing his voice to heighten in misery. "I'm alone out here! I don't know what to do! I had to leave!"

"Wha…. Slow down." A new tone of concern came from the earpiece. "You've… you've left uni? But? Why?!"

"I can't!" He cried, sobbing. "Not like this!"

"You need to come over. Now. Just… grab a cab, I'll pick up the fare." Then nothing.

Randall tried to regain control over himself. He was trembling like last night, wishing the world to swallow him. Putting the phone down, he hugged himself, rocking slightly back and forth, staring. Not caring for once if anyone saw him.

After what seemed like hours, he sighed. Fingers still shaking, he had a hard time picking up the receiver to dial again.

"Taxi please…" he hoarsely whispered.

Inside the vehicle, Randall felt rather claustrophobic. His scales felt itchy and his eyes irritated. Scratching and rubbing his arms he looked out of the dusty window, staring into space. The summer sun was climbing on its usual ascent to the sky, casting brightness down over Monsters University. However, with the once welcoming atmosphere at the start of the first semester as a freshmen now well and truly gone, the buildings looked intimidating and grey. The scaring school taunted him, with its sincere flag at full mast and foreboding proper domed roof. To look at it was a reminder that he'd never grace its sight again. There was some relief in this but also a tang of lament.

He had not made it among the best. All those dreams he had of becoming a scarer had just slipped through his fingers in the matter of just under forty eight hours. Randall had no clue where he stood now.

'If only you'd not fucked up so badly'.

Randall absent mindedly drew a picture in the dust on the window. The scaring school being attacked by a few hundred tentacles. A brief smirk appeared at the corners of his mouth. He wanted so badly to laugh again. To really laugh.

"Look I'm not gonna sit here all day. Where'd you wanna go?" The blue cabman gruffly asked, knocking Randall out of his daydreams. His eyes averted to the horn on the tip of the cabman's nose, slightly cracked. He swallowed before talking.

"Uh… 145 Screamore Road." He licked the inside of his drying mouth with his tongue, trying to calm himself down, wishing his claustrophobic feeling to go away. The cabman raised an eyebrow disconcertingly before sighing and turning away. He scratched his pot belly before placing the cab in gear and moving off.