Morning sunlight bled through the tattered lace of Jazz's curtains, turning the dust motes into floating flecks of gold. She perched on the edge of her worn sofa, feeling the fabric's lumps press into her legs. She tried to relax, having taken a semester off from school was meant to ease her burden, but instead, it left her drifting in a haze of uncertainty. Now, the stale air of her cramped apartment felt heavier than ever, thick with the lingering scent of cheap coffee and last night's tired dreams.
A small television hissed at the center of the living room, colors bleeding a bit at the edges from years of overuse. Jazz's eyes flicked across the screen as a clean-cut anchor in a pressed suit nodded solemnly at the camera. Static occasionally disrupted the broadcast, but she could still make out the headline scrolling at the bottom, too quick to read beyond the briefest snippets. Something about an insider with news of an attack and the latest changes to stock prices. How riveting.
The anchor spoke with an almost bored monotone voice, "And in business news, Monsters Inc. continues its shift to laughter-based energy under the new leadership of CEOs Mike Wazowski and James P. Sullivan. This pivot follows the recent arrest of former CEO Henry J. Waternoose."
Waternoose—arrested. Though the headline was no longer breaking news, the shock still vibrated through her, tangled in the memories of Randall's furious rants interspersed with the usual drivel about "That Sullivan!" and a hissed "Wazowski!". Two months had passed since he vanished, precisely around the time the corporate empire had begun to crumble.
"Mom!" A small voice called from a room off to the side and just down the hall, pulling her from the encroaching darkness.
Jazz didn't move a muscle but shouted back. "Rex?"
A pause, and then her son stumbled into view, his form practically swallowed by three oversized backpacks stuffed with a wild assortment of toys. In his wake trailed a fuzzy blanket, its edge snagging on the corner of a low table, causing him to lurch slightly. He stopped, wide-eyed, then glanced at Jazz with pleading innocence. He opened his mouth to make a case but Jazz beat him to the punch.
"Why are you packing your whole bedroom?" She motioned at the mass of toys he was collecting.
Though she could not see his face, he'd let out a noise of defeat. And both trying—and failing—to shuffle inconspicuously away from his mother's line of sight. "I just… might need all of it."
She rolled her eyes playfully but maintained her even voice as she beckoned him over with a flick of her tail, "You know you can't bring everything to Uncle Clay's," she said, voice gentle but firm. "Pick just one. You'll be there for the day, not a whole year."
Rex sighed loudly, "But I neeeeed it!"
Despite the reluctance in his posture, the hint of a whine in his voice, he still edged toward her, stopping just shy. Jazz looked him over. Where was he even hiding that small voice beneath all those heavy bags? Or his face, for that matter? With a deep inhale and a long exhale, Jazz attempted her best stern look. Though the effort failed against the affectionate tug on her heart, an unavoidable effect from seeing his little eyes stare so adorably over the bulge of his bags. She wasn't the type of parent to fold immediately, but today had a different weight to it, and she allowed the boy some mercy, nodding.
She slid from the couch cushion and patted the space beside her, which he collapsed with all his belongings piled around him, the table was swept clear with a mighty sweep from his blankets. He sat contently, or as much a kid could while sandwiched by backpack after backpack, blanket stretched about him.
"Pleaseee?" He drew it out to garner maximum impact. "All of it's super, super, important" he told her, emphasizing the three words.
"Two and that's it." She conceded, raising two fingers for emphasis, hoping he wouldn't prod further.
Rex flashed his best puppy-dog stare but was ultimately disappointed at her lack of yielding.
Jazz set a palm on his shoulder and watched him heave with dramatic relief as he wiggled free of his backpack and the blanket around him, setting out on his new task of deciding which toys to bring to his Uncle Clay's house. In the meantime, she looked back to the tv. The anchor had cut to a video clip: a brief interview snippet. Sullivan, towering and broad-shouldered, gave a courteous smile, Wazowski cut off at the tips of his horns as the camera focused primarily on the host of some talk show and the big-name guest beside them. With a bit more force than necessary, she turned toward the kitchen to make Rex lunch for later. On the counter, lay a lunchbox sporting a faded cartoon monster in a hero outfit. Jazz had rummaged it out of storage weeks ago for him because he loved the silly design. She fumbled with crackers, cheese, meats, bits of granola and slices of apple.
Strangely, the act of making Rex's lunch soothed her nerves, a tiny ritual of normalcy. She organized the spread in a little color coordinated container. Rex was heading to Clay's house today—her older brother who'd cut his deployment short, no doubt equally rattled by Randall's disappearance. Clay wasn't one to panic, but even he had been asking too many questions about Monsters Inc. and the stark hush that had fallen over the facility's past. Too many suspicious things seemed to linger despite no one giving a proper explanation as to why. It all unsettled her deeply. But whatever was going on, Rex deserved a quiet and carefree day with his uncle while she sorted the details. The horrid mental checklist of the day: police department (again...), Monsters Inc, and well...who knows.
The TV continued beyond her in the living room, the anchors voice merging with the groan of old floorboards under her many feet. "In related news, the company's new leadership has sparked a wave of public curiosity. Sources claim Henry J. Waternoose's arrest, tied to allegations of unethical energy practices, marks one of the most significant events in Monstropolis history..."
Her mind snapped to Randall. Remembering how he'd railed on and on about Waternoose's worries about the energy shortage, the roving blackouts. Whatever the business, its murkiness unnerved her. And all of it, he'd implied, were things being swept under the rug. Perhaps even more but he never went into too much detail. Randall had carried ambitions that burned like stifled embers within him—visions of soaring above the petty squabbles of a rigid hierarchy that chewed up dreams and spat out nothing but empty accolades. In the bustling halls of Monsters Inc. he had striven to be more than just another shadow among many, to prove that his contributions were not mere whispers in the dark but those gilded in gold and shared with the world. Yet, with each passing day, the weight of his failures pressed down upon him, the gilded promises of success dissolving into bitter ash. He felt inherently unworthy, as if every triumph was a cruel illusion, every accolade a fleeting spark that vanished before it could light the way to true recognition.
He confessed that the structure of the company stifled him trapping him in a perpetual cycle of inadequacy. His ambitions, once bright and bold, were now choked by the very hierarchy that should have celebrated them. In his heart, he believed that all his efforts, all his grueling labor, had been for naught—an elaborate farce designed to keep him contained, to remind him that he was never good enough, that his dreams were not meant to be realized. And as he poured out these burdens in whispered complaints, his words revealed not only his discontent with the company's facade but also a deep, gnawing self-doubt. Was he wasting his efforts? Was it all pointless?
After Jazz finished prepping Rex's lunch, she scooped up the belongings he had—surprisingly—consolidated into just two bags. Each strap squeaked faintly as she hefted them. With one last glance at the silent TV screen, she clicked it off with trembling fingers. Her heart thrummed against her ribs, a dissonant echo of the swirling thoughts in her mind. If the police had been indifferent before, they'd likely be even less inclined to care now that the big Monsters Inc. scandal appeared "resolved." But Jazz refused to be deterred by official apathy. She would not let her brother's fate be buried under bureaucracy and corporate secrecy. Not another day.
Clay's car rumbled into the parking lot of Jazz's small apartment complex as the sun cast long, dappled shadows across the cracked pavement. From her living room window, Jazz spotted the familiar silhouette—her brother stepping out of the vehicle, posture tense with concern. Inside, Rex bounced on the worn-out sofa, crashing two toy cars into each other.
Clay knocked softly and let himself in, pausing by the door when he caught sight of Jazz's troubled expression. Rex, oblivious, let out a delighted squeal as he kept playing. The jarring contrast between the child's laughter and the adults' shared anxiety made the apartment feel smaller.
"Everything okay?" Clay asked softly, lowering his voice so as not to spoil Rex's bright mood.
"Am I ever?" Jazz replied, "I'm heading to the police station—again. Maybe if I just keep pushing they'll pay attention."
Clay shook his head with a grimace. "You know how they get. They'll claim he's an adult, free to go. They'll wave it off. It's just a waste of time at this point."
"What else am I supposed to do?" Jazz shot back, running a hand through her fronds. Not wanting to get into this back and forth, she wandered into the living room. "Rex, I'm off. Uncle Clay's taking you today, alright?"
Rex twisted around to get a better view of his mom, the toys forgotten instantly. With a cheerful grin he sprang to his feet and dashed across the room. He flung his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach in a tight hug.
"Bye, Mom," he mumbled, voice muffled and just a tad sleepy.
Jazz felt her heart squeeze, and she kissed the top of his head gently. "Love you" she whispered, "Don't drive Clay too crazy."
Rex nodded, then darted for the door, already excited to see Uncle Clay's car.
"You want a ride to the station?" Clay offered but Jazz shook her head. He gave her one last meaningful look as she handed him Rex's stuff. "Keep me updated..."
"I will," Jazz promised, squaring her shoulders as she watched them step out and leave. The hush that settled after they closed the door somehow felt heavier, but she clung to the echo of Rex's small arms wrapped around her. It was enough to remind her what was at stake—and enough to fuel her determination to keep searching for Randall, no matter how many dismissive officials she faced or how massive the walls Monsters Inc. might throw in her way. With a deep breath, Jazz pulled her messenger bag on, double checking to make sure everything was in order as she too stepped out, locked the door and began the trek into the city.
By the time Jazz arrived, midday sunlight was streaming through the glass doors, creating bright squares across the dull linoleum. Yet the Monstropolis Police Department felt half-deserted—most officers off on their lunch break or hunched at their desks, clicking lazily through emails. She passed by a few who gave her polite, tired nods. The rest pretended not to notice her, as though hoping to avoid another round of the same questions.
Jazz stepped up to the receptionist desk, her finger tapping an impatient stacato against the chipped counter. A short, barrel-chested monster glanced up—male, wearing a uniform that fit a bit too snugly around his middle. He recognized her instantly; the subtle droop of his shoulders said it all. They'd been through this many times before.
"Mrs. Marsh," he said with a sigh, letting the computer screen's glow reflect off his three wide pupil. "Back again?"
She forced a tense smile, swallowing her annoyance. "Yes, I'm back. I know you already have him on file—Randall Boggs, my brother."
His shoulders sank a fraction further as he pulled open a drawer and retrieved a folder. "Randall Boggs, adult, reported missing two months ago." His tone had the practiced detachment of someone who'd recited these facts a dozen times. "We contacted his employer, Monsters Inc. They confirmed his voluntary departure. With no signs of foul play, our hands are tied."
Jazz clenched her jaw. "I'm telling you, it wasn't voluntary! My brother is prone to disappearing every now and then, sometimes literally. But he wouldn't just up and leave without telling his family!"
The receptionist's large eyes flicked from the folder to Jazz, a mix of exhaustion and reluctant pity "We followed up. That's how we got the statement. Unless you have proof otherwise, the case remains closed—adult with the right to disappear and all. I'm sorry."
"Proof?" Jazz bit back a bitter laugh. "Is it not suspicious that he vanished exactly when Waternoose was arrested? You can't just ignore that. That's so shady!"
He tapped the folder with a worn pen. "Ma'am," he said gently, "I know this is hard, but it's been logged. We have no further leads. If something new comes up, we'll reopen it. We can't simply investigate because you deem something 'shady'."
Jazz felt her temper flare but she remained calm. "He was forced out or something. This was no casual goodbye! Look, can't you at least give me something official to take to Monsters Inc? Some paperwork that says I'm trying to locate him and want answers?"
The receptionist paused, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "We can give you a copy of the final notice we sent them—just a statement indicating we have him on file and your request for more information." He rifled through a few forms, pulling out a thin sheaf of paper. "But it won't necessarily oblige them to help."
"I'll take it," Jazz said, extending a steady hand, heart thudding. Something was better than nothing.
The monster trudged off of his squeaky seat, shoes shuffling along as he wandered deeper into the station, glancing over his shoulder. "One moment."
The door creaked when he opened it, letting a low chatter spill out from the packed office beyond. He returned shortly and thrust a thin manilla folder into Jazz's grasp. It bore her brother's name written upon the front with a small freshly copied sheet of paper inside. It had an official letterhead with the department's seal, referencing Randall's missing-person status and the date it was filed. At the bottom was a line requesting any additional information from Monsters Inc about Randall's departure and their response in the form of 'voluntary departure'. It wasn't a miracle solution, but at least she'd have a shred of official support in hand.
"I appreciate this," Jazz managed, clutching the paper to her. "Please send me updates if anything else comes up."
He watched her with a sigh and leaned his elbows against the counter. "I will. I am sorry ma'am. If there's anything else we can do, call or stop by. Good day."
And with that, he ushered her out, wishing her luck. The doors fell shut behind Jazz, encasing her in the perfect chaos of the bright city. She blinked against the brilliant sun, squinting. Her shoulders ached under the sudden weight, and her lungs filled with warm, city air. Cars clogged the street in both directions. Jumbled signs cluttered the sidewalks. Stores loomed on either side. Jazz stuffed the folder into her bag and slunk through the crowded city streets, drifting through the incessant flow of monster foot traffic. If they wouldn't do their job, she supposed she'd have to do it herself.
A few blocks later, the cluster of shops faded behind her, giving way to neatly-squared office buildings. With the bulk of the hustle and bustle behind her, a gradual calm settled, punctured only by the occasional honk from a passing vehicle or a lone gurgle of a monster's voice echoing as they took a hurried call.
Monsters Inc gleamed like a jewel in the center of the sprawling cityscape, standing stark against the endless expanse of office and apartment buildings. The vast complex loomed over its neighbors as if watching everything unfold, waiting with the patient silence of a giant. Even on the brightest day, the entire structure seemed shrouded in an impossible stillness, untouched by the everyday lives of common monsters.
Jazz felt so small here, especially next to this behemoth of a corporation. A prickle ran through her like the slow drip of an icicle melting in her hands. Nothing had been the same since Randall vanished, and nothing ever would be if it stayed the same. The investigation hadn't taken a single step toward uncovering any semblance of a lead in weeks. A painful truth hung before her in that oppressive silence of her brother's vanishing act. But Jazz refused to accept defeat.
If the police would not help her, she'd press on alone. One small creature couldn't possibly intimidate an enormous business such as this. But she could draw attention to it, become a thorn in their sides long enough that maybe someone would actually listen. No amount of stonewalling would stop her from pursuing every angle, no matter how minuscule it might seem. If he had decided to leave of his own accord, wouldn't his colleagues know where he was, at least? Or perhaps he'd been caught in the crossfire of scandals and placed in some kind of witness protection? But even that didn't quite make sense, given the scant few details about what exactly had unfolded inside Monsters Inc. What mattered was that no one had ever looked into it properly. Were there others like him? Other families with their own Randalls that'd never returned home and no answers.
Distant honking wrenched her from her thoughts, bringing her back to the busy street before Monsters Inc. She stepped around a few pedestrians to peer through the glass entryway. A handful of employees strode past, possibly scarers or factory workers. Beyond that, the cavernous atrium came into focus: a grand lobby dominated in the center by a simple desk that featured the companies logo and a rather busy looking snake haired monster. All told, the foyer looked stunning with the bright and natural light, complimenting the carefully selected, neutral colored accents. Despite the beautiful decor, its vast emptiness seemed unnaturally intimidating.
Heart thudding a bit more wildly than before, she moved to follow behind a few employees, finding herself immediately welcomed into the echoing emptiness of a familiar foyer. Before she had made the connection, she and anyone not wearing an identifiable name badge were pulled aside. She was docked in a sign in sheet, her bag checked and given an ugly blue lanyard with a name tag that simply read: Guest. She fiddled with it as she approached the desk with an incessant tinkling.
She watched the front desk monster juggle the phone, occasionally making polite, empty promises before hanging up. Only then, did she bother to acknowledge her.
Celia straightened herself and primped her snake hair tied back in a ponytail. "Welcome to Monsters Inc. Is this a guest orientation? New tour? Lost?" She scanned Jazz with a careful look.
Jazz didn't expect the receptionist to recognize her, she'd only come once or twice with questions before deciding that a situation like this would probably be better handled by the police. Jokes on her though... Still, the warm voice brought some relief but not much, Jazz's thoughts too wrought with other matters.
"I guess… I'm looking for information about my brother's employment status. Randall Boggs. He hasn't been seen in months. The police aren't exactly bending over backward to help me, so I—" She trailed off, swallowing the bitterness that rose in her throat.
Celia nodded, tapping at a small stack of forms beside her keyboard. "I'm sorry to hear that. Of course I'd be happy to look into this for you. Though it might be a bit, we're still transitioning."
Jazz's gaze flicked around at the new signs, the scanning stations, the clipped demeanors of passing employees and the occasional CDA officer. "I can tell," she murmured. "Last I was aware this place wasn't locked down like a fortress."
Celia shrugged, her snakes bristling in what looked like minor exasperation at her "New leadership, new security protocols—big changes." She offered with a kind smile, "Your Randall Boggs sister?"
"Yes. He practically lived here. You all worked him to the bone with those insane hours. If anyone knows where he went, it would be someone at Monsters Inc."
Celia tapped a few keys, scanning the screen with her single, wide eye. The bunched up serpents peered down at the printout. "Officially, he's not an employee anymore," she said carefully, "He parted ways around two months back—some kind of voluntary departure. That's all I have on record." She slid the paper over and Jazz huffed out in frustration. There it was again, that same hollow statement.
"How voluntary can it be if he doesn't show up after a few months! Plus the whole scandal about Waternoose? That happened right when Randall vanished and suddenly my brother's gone and you're saying it was voluntary? It doesn't add up. None of this makes sense. Is there anyone useful I can talk to?"
Celia blinked and pursed her lip, doing her best to keep a facade of politeness. She took a glance over her shoulder as if expecting some supervisor to materialize. "I can pass your information along to a manager. Maybe someone in Human Resources can verify details about a last paycheck or final shift." She suggested, "But it's busy right now, it could take awhile."
Jazz nodded, "Sure, sure, I just need someone to stop pretending like this is normal."
Celia could see the desperation in her face and wanted to offer more, "I understand you're worried. We… we want to help, but if the official file says he left, there might not be more." Her eye flickered with sympathy and then down to the desk. "Let me see who's around. Like I said before, it could be a hot minute. Lots of transitioning still going on."
Jazz inhaled slowly, grappling with the urge to snap or beg. Instead, she tucked away the last shred of her composure. "Fine. Time isn't something I have a lot of but… I appreciate any help. Really."
"I promise I'll do what I can. In the meantime, please wait in the lobby—I'll let you know if someone can speak with you."
"Thanks," she said, forcing the word out like a sigh. Her chest tightened at the thought that this might lead nowhere again, but she clung to hope. At least someone in the building had acknowledged Randall might be more than just another name lost in the shuffle.
With that, Celia returned to her phone calls, and Jazz stepped aside, the tension in her gut twisting ever tighter as she considered how many more dead ends she could endure before unraveling entirely. She clutched the papers and watched the front desk, gaze glazed over by the static background noise of the building.
Eventually, an ember of her restless irritation glowed too warm to contain, and the questions simmered to the surface once again. Who were the leaders of this company? Were they responsible for whatever had gone on under the noses of its own employees and the community for so long? The notion that Randall had been expelled, perhaps because the company felt like a liability, infuriated her more than she could articulate. They were the ones he'd complained about for literal years. If anyone forced Randall out, shouldn't it be them? Perhaps that's how things had been swept under the rug so efficiently and why it appeared no one wanted to lift the carpet. Maybe she could poke holes in that conspiracy with Randall's missing persons report or maybe by reminding Monsters Inc. the last thing they needed was bad publicity... again.
After what felt like an eternity of staring into space, Celia hung up the phone and rose to her feet. She meandered away from the counter and gestured to her. Jazz did her best to swallow her apprehension and plastered a polite grin across her face. The snakes bobbed attentively as she approached. Celia gestured for Jazz to come closer, pulling her away from the swirl of mindless tasks and into something more concrete.
"Hey," She said with a softened tone, "Looks like there's a spot open to talk with HR. If you're still interested?"
Jazz's pulse quickened, the tepid flame of irritation flickering into a tentative slip of hope that licked at her nerves. She gave a tight nod. "Absolutely," she managed, though unease churned in her belly. So many slammed doors—could HR be yet another? Please not another.
Celia nodded back, smoothing her teal uniform. "Alright then," she said, voice hushed but forcibly upbeat. "Um, this is Mr. Grindcleaver." She beckoned over a tall, lean monster with bluish scales fading into a murky green at the tips. He had four spindly arms, each ending in tapered claws, and his broad, toothy grin could have been charming if not for the tension that radiated from him. A small pair of spectacles sat at the very bridge of his horned snout, almost too cartoonishly small for a monster with eyes as large and wide as his. He wore a white button up shirt and tie.
"Mrs. Marsh?" the monster asked, stepping forward with an officious tilt of his head. "I'm Terrence Grindcleaver, Human Resources Specialist." His wide-set eyes blinked. "Celia says you have some questions regarding your brother's employment status?"
Jazz's shoulders tightened. "Randall Boggs. I need to speak to someone who can actually give me answers, not just the runaround I've had so far."
"If you'll follow me, we can talk in a more private setting." He gestured politely down one of the many gleaming corridors that branched off the lobby like a spiders web. Celia gave a polite wave and retreated back to her desk.
Jazz pulled the manilla folder out and tucked it beneath her arm, stepping into lockstep behind Terrence. The fluorescent lighting overhead felt oppressive, making each footstep echo with uncanny clarity. They passed through a set of frosted-glass doors bearing the elegantly curved letters "HR," unveiling a hallway lined with motivational posters and official plaques. The air seemed chilled, as though designed to keep any trace of emotion in check.
How fitting.
Finally, Terrence stopped at an office door. Inside was a compact room housing a sturdy desk, a few uncomfortable looking chairs, and stacks of meticulously labeled binders lining one wall. A tiny potted plant on the window sill and a few framed photographs of a Terrence alone provided the only bursts of color in the otherwise sterile environment
"Please, have a seat," Terrence said, motioning to a metal-backed chair opposite his own. He settled in behind the desk, steepling his claws in what was clearly a well-practiced gesture. She silently wondered how often he greeted employees and other guests like some wanna be villain.
Jazz perched on the seat's edge, her tail coiled tensely around one leg. "I appreciate your time," she began evenly, "but I've been going in circles. I want a straight answer: Where is Randall, why would he leave with zero explanation, and why has nobody—" she paused, swallowing the frustration rising in her chest, "—nobody made an effort to help?"
Terrence tilted his head, "We understand your concern. According to our files, Randall Boggs resigned his position. Our exit records show that everything was processed accordingly—final paycheck, clearance forms, the standard procedure."
Jazz's fingers dug into the armrest. "I've heard that line so many times it could be on loop. But I know my brother. Randall wouldn't have just walked out on this place. He lived here. He had no reason to vanish." Then she placed the folder on his desk. "I want a real explanation. The police have him filed as a missing person. Look. This is the statement from the station. He's officially noted as missing, but the cops won't investigate further because they think he left on his own."
"I'm sorry," Terrence grunted, claws clicking against each other in an obnoxious manner as he gave the paper a cursory glance and pushed it back, "Unless you have evidence that indicates foul play or an involuntary departure, we have no grounds to suspect anything other than the official record. You have to understand—my department can only work within what's been documented. If everything lines up as a voluntary resignation, that's the formal story we have to stand by."
Jazz hissed out, "You're telling me that he has no laundry list of complaints on file? Or that you can't see that the timing of his so-called 'resignation' lines up perfectly with the company's sudden pivot to laugh energy after the Waternoose blow up... you see no red flags?! No one's questioned if he stumbled on something he shouldn't have—a rumor, an illicit plan, anything at all that might've put him at odds with the new status quo? You're saying there hasn't been one whisper in the halls that maybe this wasn't a clean break—maybe it was a cover-up?"
Terrence shifted uncomfortably, tapping a claw on the desk. "We can't investigate rumors or speculation, Mrs. Marsh. Our role is to facilitate official processes. Anything else would require a different channel—upper management, for instance, or the legal department."
"But if the leadership is the problem, how do you expect me to get the truth from them?" Jazz's voice quivered, both anger and desperation creeping in. "This place is locked down tighter than ever. All I want is to find out what happened."
Terrence's expression remained carefully composed. "I truly wish I could help more. But… I'm afraid that's all the information I can provide. Monsters Inc. acknowledges Randall's departure as voluntary and has no additional comment documented in his file. We can't do anything else."
A tense silence hung in the room. Jazz squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to keep the roiling frustration from boiling over. It frothed at the edges, bubbling and threatening to burst.
Her voice trembling with the futile anger of a thousand dead ends. "You can't do anything else? You mean won't do anything else!"
Terrence lifted his shoulders in a small, resigned shrug. "I'm sorry. If new evidence comes to light, we would revisit the file. But for now, that's all I can do."
"This isn't just a resignation; it's a cover-up. Someone forced him out, and you're just filing it as if it were nothing!" Jazz countered, coming to stand instead of sit.
Terrence remained unyielding, eyes losing any prior sympathy they may have falsely offered, "Our records are thorough and have been verified. Unless you can produce new evidence indicating irregularity, I cannot, in good conscience, reopen a case that meets all established criteria." He placed the folder gently in front of Jazz, as if to emphasize its finality.
Jazz clutched the handle of her bag, forcing a tight, polite nod, grabbing the manilla folder. "Right. Thanks for your time, then."
Terrence rose to see her out, offering no further comfort. She stepped back into the corridor, the hush of the HR office settling behind her as he lead her back to the lobby and turned without so much as a polite farewell or wish of luck. Corporate bastards!
Frustrations stirred inside like a hurricane, whipping into an apocalypse of irritation. The flimsy promise of information and the rushed conversation made it painfully obvious that Monsters Inc didn't intend to help or acknowledge any role they might have in the situation. Tears burned behind her eyes. She wanted to scream, kick down the front door—anything but return to Clay and Rex empty handed. Again. She huddled at the lobby corner, drawing a long breath, hand against the wall as she staved off her overwhelming desire to lose it.
Jazz lingered by the lobby corner, her heart still a maelstrom of fury and despair, when a sudden murmur of voices broke through the stale silence. Through the wide glass doors, she caught sight of a polished procession: a group of well-heeled monsters—stately figures with sharp, calculating eyes and crisp attire—moving in measured formation. At the head of this impromptu tour, Mike Wazowski and James P. Sullivan stood like reluctant monarchs, their voices low and authoritative as they explained the nuances of the new laugh-energy paradigm to these external dignitaries, who appeared to be high-ranking executives from a rival facility.
Jazz's pulse surged; each beat thundered like a drum of defiance in her ears. The irony was as bitter as it was palpable—here were the very people who had so callously dismissed her pleas, now parading their corporate metamorphosis with practiced ease. She could see and imagine their words: Sully's broad, blue form leaning in as he spoke, while Mike's singular gaze darted around, his words measured and evasive. Their polished, rehearsed banter smacked of secrets and calculated omissions, as if every phrase was designed to obscure the truth. It made her snarl.
Unable to bear the insincerity any longer, Jazz pushed off from her hiding place and strode forward, her voice rising in a desperate crescendo that cut through the murmur. The ripple of murmuring fell silent the instant Jazz stepped into their path, her posture rigid with a defiance that seemed to freeze even the air in the hallway. Mike's single large eye widened, caught off guard, while Sully's broad shoulders sagged under the unexpected weight of her fury. The group of visiting monsters—executives and higher-ups from some other facility—stirred behind them.
"Where is he?" she demanded, voice like a finely honed blade slicing through the artificial coolness of the corridor.
Mike cleared his throat, fiddling nervously with a clipboard clutched in his stubby fingers. "Excuse me," he began, his attempted authority wavering under the strain, "can we help—"
"Help me?" Jazz's eyes blazed with a pent-up storm of anger and sorrow. "I'm not here for a corporate tour or your sanitized updates. I'm here for my brother, Randall Boggs, and I demand to know what happened to him!"
At her outburst, Sully shifted his weight, towering and visibly shaken by the confrontation. Mike shot him a quick, sharp look, as though silently begging him to regain composure.
"We're in the middle of an important—" Sully began, his deep voice taut, but Jazz cut him off with a snap of her tail.
"Important?" she scoffed, her tone trembling with outrage. "You call hiding behind new protocols and laughing your way to oblivion important? Randall wasn't just some low-level employee you casually let walk away! He's missing, and you're all too busy to give me the time of day—too busy to say what you did with him!"
The hush that fell was palpable, a vacuum of breath that seemed to close around them. The visiting executives exchanged uncertain glances. Mike's gaze darted away, his single eye avoiding hers, while Sully tried again, voice thick with the burden of guilt.
"Miss Boggs—"
"Mrs.," she snapped, pressing a trembling fist to her sternum. "Jazmine Marsh. My brother is Randall Boggs. Tell me, then, what exactly do you know? What did you do?"
For a heartbeat, the corridor seemed to hold its breath. The tension between her raw desperation and the corporate hush was electric, a collision of two forces that had long avoided each other. Mike and Sully exchanged a look—brief, flickering, full of unsaid words—before the glint of uniformed security approached from the corner of Jazz's eye.
The guards materialized like sentinels, swooping in without ceremony or mercy, "Ma'am," one said firmly, while another placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. The looming presence of their bulk parted the tight circle around Mike and Sully.
Jazz's pulse roared in her ears as she tried to stand her ground, her gaze searing into Sully's broad figure. "You can't keep me away! You know something! You both do!" she spat, her voice cracking as she lost grip of the manilla folder, papers scattering to the floor as security dragged her away.
"Let me go!" she hissed, voice raw but losing none of its edge. She stumbled as they turned a corner into the main lobby, "My papers!"
They escorted her right through the grand doors of Monsters Inc. releasing her only when she was firmly on the outside, blinking against the harsh midday glare. The last thing she saw as she spun around was security disappearing back into the building, the monstrosity that had consumed her brother.
Every shred of her wanted to storm back inside, to pound on the locked gates until they surrendered Randall's secrets. But the guards stood resolute, forming an impassable boundary. She'd lost her chance and her papers. Without the last resort, what could she possibly do now?
Defeated and heartsick, Jazz pivoted and retreated down the street, each step weighted and aimless. She paused at an intersection and rested her forehead against her fist, eyes squeezed tightly shut as tears broke through. She had nothing to take home and no answers to offer aside from "the company stands by their documentation." Maybe she didn't have any clues before, but now Jazz was certain of two things: that her brother hadn't walked out of his life without warning, and that those in charge knew exactly why. And they weren't going to share that with her or anyone else.
What would Randall think about this mess? That he'd left an emotionally overwhelmed sibling on the street alone to face the music. Jazz scoffed. What music? She hadn't gotten any insight into why he'd vanished—all she'd done was make waves and fall deeper into debt. And now she was missing school because the burden of stress and life kept pulling her out and down. Randall was gone and there was no moving forward or upward. He was going to haunt her no matter what...
Eventually, Jazz pulled back and tried to push the despair down deep enough so she could focus, take a few steps, then try again. She'd barely made it two paces when she almost smacked into the bus stop shelter and its mirrored backing. The reflection was the last thing she needed right now: her blue scales looked dull and lackluster. Her green eyes were swollen and red. A wreck, plain and simple.
She exhaled hard and rounded the corner, figuring she'd wait around for the next bus and head back to Clays or... well she didn't know. Frankly, she wished she could just stop existing for awhile. Not die, nothing so dark but simply just turn off life and disassociate in a void of nothingness. No responsibilities, no tasks, no suffering—just rest. As her bleary eyes wandered around, the caught sight of a pole littered with papers advertising local businesses, start ups or lost and founds for pets. She stared and stared, not really paying much attention to the finer details of the papers. Until one stuck out.
Splashed across the center, reading Bright Investigations—Specializing in the Unknown! The rest of the text boasted discreet services and a phone number scribbled in neat digits. She snatched the flyer with trembling hands, its promises sparking the faintest flicker of possibility in her chest. A private investigator, maybe unafraid to tackle monstrous enigmas. Maybe unafraid to dig deeper where the police had shrugged. Hope warred with a long-standing sense of skepticism. Still, Randall was her brother. If a wild theory—no matter how outlandish—were her best chance at solving the riddle, she would try.
Evening shadows had begun to stretch by the time Jazz trudged across town, too strung out by frustration to wait for another bus. Her feet ached with each step, but a quiet, insistent voice inside told her she had to do this—she had to follow any lead that might crack open the truth about Randall. Eventually, she came upon a small, nondescript office building on a desolate side street. Its single flickering lamp shone on a battered sign: Bright Investigations. She pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking in protest. The office interior was cluttered with old case files and half-lit by a desk lamp about to give out. Behind the desk sat a woman—Bright—in her mid-forties or fifties, with softly curving, moth-like wings folded at her back. Her large, luminous eyes flicked up from a stack of papers in mild annoyance.
"We're closed," Bright said tersely, barely looking up. "If it's a case of infidelity or missing jewelry, come back in the morning."
Jazz swallowed. "It's nothing like that," she managed, voice raw from too many pleas gone unheard. "It's… my brother's missing. He's a monster who worked at Monsters Inc. He was a scarer.. his name is Randall Boggs."
At the mention of Randall Boggs, Bright's pen slipped from between her fingers, clattering onto the desk. Her wings twitched, an electric jolt passing through her entire posture. "Randall Boggs?" she echoed, the name hitching in her throat. "Are you kidding? That Randall Boggs? Missing?"
Jazz inhaled, relief warring with desperation. "Yes, that Randall Boggs. He's been gone for two months—no sign, no reason to leave on his own. His job was everything to him. Now he's just… nowhere. I've gone to the police, I've gone to the company and nothing."
Bright pushed aside the chaos on her desk, her sudden focus so intense Jazz almost flinched. "You're telling me Randall Boggs, one of the top Scarers there vanished without a trace? And no one's investigating?" Her voice turned almost excitable, as if... happy?
Jazz gave a nod. "The police say no foul play is suspected, that he's an adult free to disappear. But we both know that's—"
"Bull," Bright finished for her, standing abruptly. She gestured for Jazz to follow, stepping with urgent grace to the back of the office. "Gods, I've been searching for something like this for years, but… I never expected—come on. You're my ticket!"
In one fluid movement, Bright grabbed an old ring of keys from her desk and unlocked a tall door at the back of the office. Within seconds, she was yanking out file after file and slamming them onto a secondary desk—papers scattering like restless birds. "Look," she hissed, snatching up a photograph and card from the topmost folder. Her eagerness made Jazz's tail tense; that was a new reaction. She cautiously stepped past a mountain of boxes overflowing with newspaper articles and tacked-up photos.
The aged collectible card featured a figure reminiscent of a tall moth, large eyes glowing and wings spread wide in with the embossed name Selene at the bottom. In an old photo, a much younger Bright appeared beside the same winged monster.
"My mom. She vanished when I was a kid," Bright explained, breath unsteady. "No trace. I was told years later she just went off—no one asked more questions. People around here avoid the topic, label it a personal choice, or hush it up. I've been piecing together incidents for years—monsters who vanish and no one seems to chase them. The police call them 'voluntary exits.'"
Jazz's heart did an uncomfortable jig as a light turned on, a pathway made. But was she desperate or blind to consider such a theory, with its harrowing implication? A link between her brother's disappearance and the untold disappearance of Bright's mom.
She rifled through more papers, pulling out images of other monsters: one tall, furry, and white with an awkward but friendly smile. Another, a bizarre horse-like creature with bat wings folded against its sides and a rather cocky grin, and a small handful of others. "All officially missing, or exiled, or forced out—take your pick of the rumor mill. It's like everyone's content to let them fade from memory."
There was a hush to the photos that made Jazz feel as though these monsters had left their fingerprints on the city itself. With each photograph, Bright seemed to become increasingly agitated. Her long antennae twitched. She flipped her hair out of her face.
Jazz clenched and unclenched a trembling fist, as the possibility loomed bigger than anything else. Were they more similar than Jazz originally thought? Two strangers with a mystery that they had yet to solve?
"Randall can't just become another name no one remembers," she said thickly, "He… he was so proud of his scaring. It was his entire life."
Bright nodded fiercely, wings flexing in agitation. "You're right—he can't. He wont. And if this ties back to Monsters Inc we might be looking at one of the biggest hush-hush operations in recent history. Bigger than even this Waternoose crap!" Her eyes, huge and reflective, bored into Jazz's. "You are sure? That he never mentioned leaving on his own? No sign he was fed up?"
The memory of Randall's frantic voice, complaining endlessly about the leadership, the stifling bureaucracy, flashed through Jazz's mind. "He moaned about stuff but he'd never just… walk away. He was too stubborn to give up. He wouldn't just abandon family." she said vehemently. Randall was nothing if not determined.
At her certainty, Bright practically quivered with excitement. She let out a low breath, drumming her claws along the desk. There were cracks at the edges. Jazz stared at them. She realized, suddenly, that Bright seemed just as eager and shaken as she was, though whether from a desire for justice or for a mystery, Jazz couldn't say. "Then we'll treat this as a cover-up—because that's sure what it seems like."
Jazz's throat constricted, tears threatening. "So maybe that's what happened. Some door banishment or forced resignation." Her grip tightened on the edge of the desk. "Tell me you can help me find him, that you won't stonewall me like the cops."
Bright turned back to the towering stack of folders she'd assembled, slamming one shut with a resounding thud. "I'll do more than that—I've been documenting these bread crumbs for years, and this is the biggest lead to cross my path. If he's gone…" She inhaled and said in all but a shout, "We tear open the truth."
Her dusty wings gave a subtle flutter, dislodging a faint shimmer of golden scales that caught the overhead light like silent fireworks. "Gather everything you've got. Any notes, photos, letters. I'm going to cross-reference it with what I've collected. And if it's what I think—" Her mouth pressed into a firm line. "—Monsters Inc won't be able to bury another vanishing, not under our watch. We'll tear them down!"
Relief swelled in Jazz's chest, warring with the raw dread that had shadowed her every move. "Thank you!" Jazz closed the distance and hugged her tight, "I was starting to think no one would ever step up."
Bright snorted, a short, bitter laugh, giving her an awkward shoulder pat, "I'm used to chasing cheating spouses, lost pets… but I've been waiting for a case like this, waiting to push into the real conspiracies. Maybe we'll find my mother's trail while we're at it, or the rest of those lost ones."
"Say... I didn't get your name." Bright spoke. "You can probably tell by the signs that my names Bright. Bright Lumen. You?"
"Jazmine Marsh."
And in that cramped, cluttered office, with half the lights already dimmed for closing time, two determined souls found an unexpected alliance. The hush that settled between them was not the hush of defeat, but the thick, electric quiet of a storm brewing—one aimed squarely at the corporate walls that had swallowed monster after monster with no explanation. They would answer for their crimes.