I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.

Prologue

"People fight because they are lost." –Cecil Harvey, Dissidia

'Emotions are trash.'

Those words...they couldn't be true. Not after Conan concluded them to be as such a long time ago.

But the counter-proof had already seared itself into Conan's memory like a brand. His tears refused to cease their overflow at the memory of the trouble he unwittingly brought upon the others. He could not prevent his cheeks from being drenched or his sobs from breaking out from his throat; he made no effort to stop his crying at all.

What would be the point?

Why refuse the opportunity to express his emotions, fake or not?

And if his sadness was as fake as his tears were, then what was he doing here, curled into a ball near the steel wall of an abandoned bonus level and rocking himself like a distraught infant?

'Because that's what you are, child,' the same cold, mechanical, disembodied voice that haunted him all the way here echoed in his head. 'You are like an infant—lacking directive, lacking function...but most importantly, lacking purpose...Even worse, you allowed yourself to go astray. You forgot who you were on purpose.'

As he finally willed himself to look up, gazing into the darkness as if it were a person, his eyes red and sore, Conan found his voice, strained from all the crying he'd done. "But...I know who am...and I...I thought I already had a purpose."

'In those inferiors, you mean?' the voice responded in a tone tinged with what sounded like derision. Conan couldn't help but shiver at how human it sounded. "They cannot comprehend your true worth. You are beyond them. We are beyond them. Such peons are superfluous, my child. You are better off without such hindrances.'

Hindrances...

Was that really how he should view them? True, those four proved annoying at times, and not to mention overbearing at certain points. And yes, they'd lied to him, manipulated him even and yet...

Why he couldn't get their looks of hurt and fear and concern out of his head? Either they were that good of actors or...maybe they really did care after all. Maybe—just maybe—they were even looking for him this very moment.

If so, what was he doing here then?

Once again, the voice, as if reading his thoughts, was one step ahead of the boy. 'You are here to reclaim what is rightfully yours, dear child. Let all of my functions be yours once more.'

The voice no longer echoed in his head; this time it reverberated throughout the empty, dimly lit hallway, the heavy bass of its voice louder thanks to the close quarters. Then all at once, an unearthly yellow glow arose from the floor in front of Conan, the light and the tiny robots flitting around it like fireflies shifting until it vaguely resembled a certain other wrecker, two white gaping "eyes" appearing on the ethereal look-alike's head.

As he looked into the emotionless eyes of the being before him, he felt his nonexistent instincts screaming at him to escape. If he couldn't have trusted them, then programmers knew he couldn't trust this monster any better either. And whatever he had in store for him, it would not be pleasant—not at all.

Run. Run as fast as you can, his instincts continued to scream. Don't look back. Don't look back.

He already tried that once.

He couldn't outrun him that time.

Instead, Conan weakly stood up, deep in fatigue from both the run and the toll recent events had brought upon his mind and heart. 'I won't run away anymore. Not if it means hurting my family.'

With a nod to the Ralph look-alike, he stated with calmness that underscored his resignation, "Do it."

Without even a nod back, the pseudo-wrecker placed a finger on the boy's forehead. However, just before he began what he came to do, he had only these choice words for Conan, his rough, computerized voice showing no inflections of emotion, let alone happiness: "You have chosen wisely, young one."

Conan closed his eyes in preparation. Why resist? There was nothing else he could do.

Nothing except accept his destiny and hope against hope this process would be swift and painless.

"I'm sorry, Ralph," he whispered with regret, "Sorry, Vanny."

A shout reached his ears.

He blacked out.

This came out a little later than I thought it would. I apologize.