Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in the following story except for Tasha, yet to be introduced. I don't know anyone affiliated with Disney/Wreck-It Ralph.
Game Central Station was flooded with nameless NPCs as yet another game was unplugged. Two racing games in as many months. No-one was quite sure why it had been happening, but racing games seemed to have undertaken some sort of curse ever since that whole tragic RoadBlasters incident. Sad, experienced eyes watched the homeless pile in. Some greeted them with tokens of food and well-wishes, but everyone knew their ultimate fates. If they didn't end up sleeping rough with Q*bert and the gang, they'd go off into other games and get themselves killed. The sad truth was that to these homeless characters, in the end, it wouldn't matter. Without a game to call home, life wasn't worth much. And more often than not, the NPCs who got themselves caught up in FPS games or the like only cared about going out with a bang. If they were noticed, the most that would happen was that the arcade's owner would put the machine out of service for a day, have it looked at, then life would go on as though that blip never happened. If they weren't noticed… they died as they arrived in Game Central. Nameless. Invisible.
Lost, alone, and broken.
In the crowd and its dull excitement, no-one noticed a shadow emerge from the game just as the plug was pulled. Who was looking back at the game now? It was over. Done with. No-one saw the flash of yellow teeth, the familiar white-and-red racing helmet that glinted but for a second in the lights of the station. No-one saw the grey-skinned racer bolt off into Tapper's, a man whose name had become synonymous with attention-seeking, glory-chasing, dangerous antics.
And if they did happen to see him? It was a trick of the light.
Or else he'd take care of that little error.