Author's Note

This short story collection picks up right where The Bittersweet Embrace of Time leaves off, and like all of my Wreck-It Ralph fics, it is set within the same universe. You're certainly welcome to read it on its own, though, without prior knowledge of the other stories. You'll probably be able to derive enjoyment from them on their own terms. Just be aware that a few of the stories may allude to previous events which you don't know about.

With all of that being said, dear readers, I hope you enjoy this collection.

New Owner

Never in his life had Johnson been more astonished than he had been the previous night, when he had finally learned the secret of the arcade. To think that the characters he had known -and grown fond of- for most of his life, were alive-

Alive. It boggles the mind. And yet, here I am, chatting it up with Rancis Fluggerbutter.

"And then," the racer was saying, "I ate the dumb thing. Saved it going to waste."

"Yes," Johnson said, nodding half-absently. "That's…"

Rancis folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"No, I did, I did," Johnson blurted, suddenly more alert. "This is a lot to take in, though."

"I know, right?" said Candlehead, stepping into view. "You were all like- poof."

"What's 'poof'?"

Candlehead shrugged. "Oh, just an all-purpose word."

"In short, nonsense," said Rancis.

"Is not!" Candlehead protested. "It means cute, and fluffy, and…" She blushed. "Did I just say that out loud?"

Rancis smirked. "Yes. You did."

"No, not that!" Candlehead cried, her voice rising. "Fluffy! My fluffy muffins are burning!" She dashed off, leaving Johnson staring blankly at the screen of Sugar Rush.

"She does that," said Rancis.

"If it was a joke, it made absolutely no sense and wasn't funny."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't," said Rancis. "With her, you can't always tell." He grinned. "Then again, that's half of why she's so much fun to hang around."

Johnson leaned back in his chair. "Mind like a motor, eh?"

"On a whole 'nother level."

"I see."

At that moment, a monotone voice was heard saying: "Let the man be. You're talking him to death."

Rancis cocked his head. "Am I?"

Johnson waved a dismissive hand. "Not to death, no."

Suddenly, Rancis turned abruptly. "Gotta run bye!" he said. Then, with a quick wave, he was gone.

Johnson blinked. "He's pretty fast."

"I've seen faster," Sour Bill replied.

"What's 'faster'?"

"Vanellope on caffeine."

"Really? What's it like?"

"Like a whirlwind!" Sour Bill said, his eyes growing wide as he spread his arms. "She talks faster than a speeding kart, and it takes forever to wear off."

Johnson smirked. "Least nobody's given her booze."

"We'd have a rum go of it, if that happened." Sour Bill blinked and started to wander off.

Have a rum-

"Wait a minute," Johnson said. "Did you really just make a joke?"

If Sour Bill heard his words, he gave no indication. Instead, he kept walking until he was out of sight.

"There's a certain charm to simply existing," Mr. Litwak would often tell his employees. "You meet all sorts of people, good and bad, normal and odd- no, scratch that, everyone's odd in some way. Weird things happen to you, and you can either grow frustrated, or else laugh as they occur. You should embrace oddity. Otherwise, you'll never be happy."

The disconnected ramblings of an old man, perhaps, but Johnson wondered whether his former employer might have had a point, at least on some level. When, after all except for him and Mr. Litwak had left the arcade, the arcade characters had begun to stir- when he had discovered the truth, he had laughed. He had been so stunned that he could do little else.

Stunned and delighted.

Not all of the arcade characters had understood why he was laughing, so he had needed to quickly explain himself. He still wasn't entirely sure whether some of them had got it. But one thing was certain after that first night- they were all of them accepting of his status as the new owner.

"Oh, I cleared it with them before I chose you," Mr. Litwak had reassured him, when he had voiced his doubts. "They've been watching you over the years, and they're pretty observant. They like you."

As far as Johnson was concerned, Mr. Litwak's word was as good as gold, and so his doubts had vanished.

He was still feeling overwhelmed, though.

He was in his forty-fifth year, and ever since his formative years in the 80s and early 90s, he'd grown accustomed to thinking of game characters as mere pieces of programing, with no characteristics apart from what the developers had given them. To learn otherwise had forced him to reconsider a lot of the weird little oddities he had occasionally witnessed and dismissed. He had even felt fresh guilt over the few times he had failed to take better care of the consoles and cartridges he had owned in his youth. Above all, though, he was excited.

It's like a sci-fi premise come true.

Unlike Mr. Litwak, Johnson was not quite inclined to see the hand of providence in all things, and so he had chalked up this evolution of sentience to technological and scientific factors alone. But whatever his philosophical differences with his mentor, he shared the old man's joy at the discovery. He understood, too, why Mr. Litwak had been so careful to keep it a secret.

There are individuals who could be trusted with this secret. But the world as a whole- it just isn't ready. Somebody would inevitably abuse this development for personal gain.

As of right now, he had no plans to share the secret with anybody. And if he ever did, he would obtain the explicit permission of the games' characters, just as Mr. Litwak had.

When Sour Bill had gone, Johnson got up out of the gamer's seat in front of Sugar Rush, which he had been occupying, and checked his watch.

Eleven. Time to go home. I gotta get some amount of sleep tonight.

He said his goodbyes, promising to be there early the next morning. Then he headed for the arcade's exit. As he closed the door behind him, he paused. Peering through the glass, he could just make out the Tapper cabinet near the back wall. An image of a little boy appeared in his mind, crowing excitedly over how many NPCs he had served. He smiled.

I was a more animated lad back then. Some things change.

He thought of Mr. Litwak then, of the old arcade, and of his love for both.

And some things don't.

Johnson locked the doors of the arcade and headed for his car.