Everything was immediately set into motion the next morning. Randall's first course of action was to recover his blueprints. Not only would redoing them take too long, it would be hard for him to copy all of the specifics from memory, especially since he hadn't built the Scream Extractor alone. He'd pushed a lot of the grunt work onto Fungus—a mistake he already started to regret. The solitary workload ahead of him would be easier if he had been more hands-on between concept to creation the first time.

As expected, his home was being monitored. Johnny had sent him off in the bed of a truck just for this exact situation, but even though he sat as low as he could and stayed camouflaged, it was just as nerve-wracking as it was humiliating. He was getting tired of sneaking around.

The driver wasn't the same one who brought him and Tani to Fear Co. the previous night. He was a much wirier monster, if just as silent. On one hand, it was a good thing that Johnny had useful people who knew better than to ask questions. On the other, it was concerning that such people were already under his orders before the Fear Co. CEO ever could've known that something like the Scream Extractor existed. It made Randall wonder why Johnny needed such employees, or if maybe he just preferred ones that didn't have anything to say. Either reason seemed plausible.

While set in a decent neighborhood within inner Monstropolis, the building Randall lived in wasn't anything fancy. Outside, it looked like a refurbished townhouse; one of many, with small backyards with high fences on the back. The first floors of these homes were the nicest, with the upper levels typically split into pairs of junior fours for monsters of average size. His apartment was on the third floor.

They went around the block a couple times to scope things out. Even though Randall had never been close to his neighbors, he knew their faces well. Only one individual stood out, a speckled, two-headed monster pretending to read a magazine inside of a vehicle across the street.

The driver didn't bother parking far. If anything, he got as close as possible without getting directly in-line with the apartment building. He got out of the truck first, pretending to ask the lurking double-the-agent for directions, while Randall slipped around the opposite side. Even then, the lizard didn't open the door to the building until another car had passed by in case the other set of eyes was still looking his way.

Once inside, he climbed along the wall and zipped up the stairs. Picking the lock to his own home wasn't a problem; however, as he worked on it, he noticed that the handle was a lot looser than normal. Leaning his face close, he squinted and saw clear signs of damage that had been patched over. Someone had broken in.

Randall scowled. It was likely some CDA idiot. For being a powerful, investigative force, the definition of subtly seemed lost on most of them. Well, even if he wasn't happy about the damage, at least it served as a warning for him to be just as careful with what he touched in the apartment as he had been at Monsters Inc. Besides, he didn't think he'd have much use for the place in the future, no matter what happened.

The four rooms that Randall had called 'home' for years couldn't be called spartan, but it didn't really feel like a place someone actually lived in either. It was modestly furnished and he had a handful of personal affects decorating its walls and shelves—his scaring cards and awards on display, his diploma and a poster he'd had since his first year of college hung up in the sitting room; however, for the most part, everything looked a littletoopolished, like a photo set.

He didn't even really have a need for as much space as the apartment allowed. It just always felt like something he shouldhave, given his career. It wasn't too small to the point that he felt uncomfortable showing it off to others if the need ever arose, nor too large to the point that he felt uncomfortable when he was there by himself. A nice, clean setting where minimalism met industrialism, with sophisticated greys accented by the deep purples he loved, it felt like an appropriate home, if nothing else.

Aside from the front door, he couldn't tell that anything else had been broken. There wasn't a doubt in his mind though that someone hadn't riffled through his things already in search of evidence. Thankfully, he was clever enough not to leave anything incriminating where it could be found easily. He had compartments in his bedposts and false bottoms of drawers that he could suction up with the setea in his fingers—all installed by himself.

He started looking through his nightstand, which was in a messier state than he remembered leaving it in. Various papers were shuffled haphazardly in a pile underneath a small book. Randall pulled them all out together and the stack collapsed on itself. The corners of a few polaroids slipped out, and Randall briefly thought of taking those as well before ultimately deciding against it.

The blueprints were folded into compact squares. He took them, a bit of cash he had stowed away, and any other documents related to the Scream Extractor, only allowing himself to relax when he had it all in his hands, and then set everything else in their original place.

All of this took only a few minutes. Randall already intended to escape through one of the windows in the outer halls. Even if he could get out of the building unseen, the same couldn't be said for the documents He'd regroup with the driver at the end of the block. He walked out the way he came in, unsure if he would ever come back.

There was a quiet, familiar scraping sound not far off. It had been a while since he'd heard it, so it took him a few seconds to register what it belonged to. As the apartment door opposing his began to open, the reptile quicky moved as high as he could go back up along the wall.

"Now, Munchkins, I know we're late for your morning walk. Just calm down!"

Randall nearly rolled his eyes into the back of his skull. The neighbor who shared his floor was a tentacled, retired old lady with no sense of privacy. She was somewhat prone to tizzies and had a bad habit of bothering him for any little thing from the breaker acting up to leftover casserole. Moreover, her only companion was a small dog, which hated him.

Despite also being up in years, the dog had an overabundance of energy—and a hundred tiny legs under its shaggy fur to match it. Every time it saw Randall, it went into fits of its own trying to get at him. It didn't matter that he'd never done anything to it: The canine always barked at him and tried to nip at his tail.

That day was no exception. No sooner had it poked its snout through the door and caught his scent, it tore into the floorboards trying to rush out, "Borf!"

"Munchkins!"

No amount of calls from its owner was going to rein the dog back. Soon enough, it had spilled out into the hall. Randall was so used to the pet's antics that, even if it could reach him, he wasn't all that worried about getting bit. He was, however, worried over what attention it might attract. His ability wasn't exactly a secret and any onlookers might be curious about why the dog was barking at a random wall. He sped away as fast as he could go, Munchkins dragging his neighbor along after them by a leash.

The window wasn't an option anymore, not with an audience. At least the elderly monster was so busy trying to keep up without tripping that she didn't think to look up and wonder whatever it gave chase to. She would notice if he tried to pause to wrestle a window open.

It was bad enough he had to make his way back toward the front door. Still, it opening at random could be blamed on a gust of wind or some other resident being too careless to shut it properly. He held the documents in a tight, compact fist and pressed them against his chest to try to conceal them as much as possible. When the door was open, he scaled past its top casing and clung to the stonework.

The dog, not realizing that he had gone anywhere other than outside, stopped with a jerk as it leapt onto the sidewalk and looked around in a moment's confusion. Randall stopped shortly to catch his breath and glance at the agent who now leaned out of his vehicle to check the scene. Fortunately, everything had happened so fast that it might have seemed that the animal had simply burst from the building, excited to start the day.

He wasn't going to give the mutt a second chance to locate him. He kept climbing, slinking around the apartment complex, dragging himself past the fences, and then finally finding where the truck was parked. Safe once more in its bed, he tapped on the glass as a signal to make their way back to Fear Co. The rush of air brushing his scales was soothing after the close call.

He would need to talk to Johnny again to go over an exact list of parts they would need. While nothing outrageous, some of them had been custom, and Waternoose had to use his connections to various manufacturers to acquire them. Fear Co. was just as reputable as Monsters Inc., with the Worthington family name holding as much weight as his former employer's had, so surely Johnny could manage the same. If not, he knew that Waternoose had ordered spares, which they could find a way to steal.

They pulled up to the factory about twenty minutes later. He told the driver to pass along word of his success to the CEO before splitting off.

After several days of running from one shadow to the next and travelling under the cover of nightfall, the sun had done Randall some good. He felt a little less stressed just from having gotten some fresh air. Now, he inwardly groaned about having to go back into the bowels of Fear Co. to hide once again.

He felt worse for Tani, who had stayed behind to, as she put it, "try to make something out of the mess they'd be staying in." Few people would pay any attention to her if she did decide to wander around, but judging how she had waited for him in the sewers, she was by no means ready to do so by herself. He was right to suspect that the long periods of isolation had taken its toll on her, even if she tried not to show it.

If she were anyone else, it might have annoyed Randall; however, it wasn't as if her behavior was holding him back. That possibility didn't cross his mind. Instead, he felt all the more determined to bring her back to her old self.

The halls were pretty much empty. At that time of morning, every scare floor would be active. Randall stopped shortly at one of the breakrooms to see if he could grab a better breakfast than what they had earlier. In the fridge, there was a plastic bag with a piece of paper stapled to it, and on that paper was a name he recognized: Chet A.

He didn't care what was in the bag. Seeing the name of the other ROR alumni, he took it without a second thought. They were going to enjoy some spite for breakfast.