I will be using bits from the Child's Play 3 novelization for scenes that are still relatively the same as in the original movie.
Chapter 2
The string of Sullivan's Good Guy yo-yo Became tangled, the string didn't unwind as smoothly as it should and Sullivan reminded himself to send out a memo in the morning. Check the yo-yos we are not some Taiwanese sweatshop we don't produce junk. He wound a yo-yo up again and now it's spun smoothly. Sullivan let the yo-yo spin up and down as he looked out the window he could see lakeshore drive and the glittering skyscrapers of Chicago. Most of the office buildings were half lit, other people staying late working hard just like him.
The American dream, put your ass in gear and keep it there or your neighbor will run away with your golden goose. He sent a yo-yo down again trying for a trick he hadn't done in decades. Walking the dog but the yo-yo lost at spin far too quickly.
"Damn" Sullivan said. He turned to the Petzold who had just placed the new Good Guy doll on Sullivan's couch. A monkey playing with its new toy.
"Well, if there's nothing else I'm going to get going." Petzold stood beside Sullivan, enthusiastic as ever. Sullivan brought a new cigar to his lips and lit the tip of it with his Zippo.
"Fine" Was all he said, hoping Petzold would get the message that he wanted to be left alone.
"It's just my wife is expecting me." Petzold tried to give the best reason to leave early that he could think of. "It's our anniversary."
Sullivan changed his tone into one that meant business, "Fine Petzold." Petzold could see that by trying to be nice he had somehow offended his boss.
"Well I guess I could review the Larrabee report after dinner. Good night, Mr. Sullivan." Petzold said as kindly as possible while trying to mask his frustration.
A measly "Good night" was all he got in return. Pressing the elevator button Petzold stepped into the elevator once the doors opened,ready to go home and be away from Scrooge Mc Sullivan.
Sullivan let his coat fall over the couch cushions and poured himself a Scotch. He opened the small refrigerator hidden in the wall and dug out some ice cubes. He took a sip feeling warm and safe in his corporate cocoon. The scotch tasted wonderful burning his tongue in the back of his throat. Patterson's warning still echoed in Sullivan's mind and it made him think. Where is Andy Barclay? Is he out there still having good guy nightmares? Whatever happened to the poor boy and his dear mother? Did they ever release her from that mental home? She was the worst case then her son claiming the doll really was alive, backing up the six-year-old case. How pathetic do you have to be to create a whole killer doll story just to get attention. Her scheme nearly destroyed play pals and now eight years later we're just getting back on their feet.
That boy, 13 now right? Not so little anymore. He won't interfere with my money ever again. It was quiet, too quiet so Sullivan grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. As he sat on the couch he admired the good guy doll box from the back how it said good guys he wants You for a best friend and the standard good guy waving at you. It reminded Sullivan of the waving hand mechanism on the good guy in front of the play pals factory. The factory he thought, was another thing that was shut down because of Andy Barclay. The body of a worker was found right next to One of the conveyor belts with doll eyes smashed into his own. It was a grotesque sight to say the least. Poor sap, Sullivan thought, should've been more careful you should always turn off the machines before you work on them. He had to learn the hard way. Through his thought process and admiration of the box Sullivan missed one thing. If he had only turned the box around he would've noticed that it was now empty.
Sullivan turned back to the TV, The crybaby congressman and Jim Creer we're giving financial reports. Figures came on the screen telling that the Dow industrials were way up. Sullivan noticed the economy was moving again, maybe the rest of the 90's won't be so nasty after all. Then Sullivan took his drink to the window sipping it, The TV blaring on in the background he heard nothing else. Until the TV turned off. There was a small click and then the TV went off. Sullivan wondered, is it a power failure? No, the lights are still on. Maybe the TV is broken. Brand new though, a Sony 31 state of the art. It couldn't be broken. He walked back to the coffee table to retrieve the remote. It wasn't there, The scotch felt cold in his hand. It must've fallen on the floor, he thought. Sure the remote must've fallen and, Sullivan got down on his knees and reached under the couch. He didn't see the remote at first but then he saw its dark outline at the end. He thought, how on earth did it get there? Like someone dropped it or kicked it.
He stretched another few inches and finally grabbed the remote. "Gotcha" he said, pulling it back. He stood up turning to the TV and taking a step. Then he heard the clicking sound that struck in as vaguely familiar. Something was clicking, then he heard a rolling sound. He turned around and took a step, not looking down, not seeing the marbles. His feet slid out from underneath him, his arms flew out as he desperately tried to regain his balance. He looked like he was trying to fly, only then did Sullivan get a quick glance of marbles. Dozens of marbles, rolling toward him bouncing together, rolling under his feet. Sullivan went flying into the air arms flapping. The remote that he had tried so hard to get went flying from his right hand. The drink glass flying from the other and shattering on the floor. He smacked down on the floor, marbles pressing against his back. He heard a dull thud, the sound of his head smacking against the floor.
A title wave, no, a tsunami of pain crashed over him. Sullivan layed there moaning and breathed heavily. Then he heard a police siren, a teeny tiny police siren coming right at him. He turned his head and saw a remote control police car, it's toy wheels burning rubber coming right for his head. Just a toy, no real danger he thought. But it would hurt, smashing right into my face. He set up twisting his back, driving another painful spike into his back. The police car zoomed past him, bouncing on the marbles out of control. Sullivan heard more noises giving him no time to think to wonder what's going on here. He turned and saw a squad of small soldiers marching against him. And a battery operated Optimus Prime, a giant. Police cars and firetrucks we're Darting left and right. All toys from Petzold's shelves were armed for a state of emergency. Sullivan crouched, he tried to stand up but he slipped on a marble. The soldiers advance without any concern for their own safety.
The room was suddenly filled with a train whistle, a small and obvious fake train whistle. Sullivan looked up and saw his Lionel Thomas the tank engine train set running on the toy track that hung from the roof, going round and round carrying the good guy themed box cars. The good guy express, a small stupid idea to show the big chain buyers. How about this for a toy guys, how 'bout it, some neat train set huh? The whistle blended with the mechanical soldiers shooting, the hooting and sirens. Sullivan stepped backward still without a clue, as if this were a game show. Guess what's happening to you.
Then there were voices, voices that should bring comfort. The cute voice of a Good Guy doll jabbering away. Someone was sitting in his chair, hidden from its high back. He touched the back of the chair and crept close. Knowing what it was from the conversation.
"Hi, my name is Larry." Another step listening to the babble. "Hi, my name is Paulie." The same voice but from the other chair. "Hey, wanna play?" Another step, "Hey wanna play?" Now creeping closer to the chair turning, watching the two Good Guy dolls from the first batch in the 80's talking to each other. Their heads turned to each other's eyes, forcing them to respond forever and ever more. "I like to be hugged." Sullivan's arm touched the chair, he had the beginning of a thought. "I like to be hugged." The start of an idea for a theory about what might be going on here. The doll suggested it. Sullivan reached out and grabbed one doll's head, gingerly as if grabbing something dangerous. "Hi, my name is" The doll stopped in mid sentence, The conversation, the surreal dialogue was interrupted.
The dolls were still, and Sullivan heard two small footsteps behind him and he thought. He's been playing games with me. Sullivan turned around and was met by a loud horsey yell of what sounded like a man. For just half a second Sullivan can make out an angry screaming expression plastered on the doll's face. Before he was wacked in the forehead by the doll who was holding his beloved golf putter. He went flying backward onto the marbles again crushing a toy soldier. He felt the wetness of blood running down his forehead to his cheek. Those hearing was now impaired he could make out one thing, the doll laughing, a maniacal laugh like a twisted grown man.