Clink.
Gene and Mary tapped their champagne glasses together, toasting a Merry Christmas to each other. Indeed, it was hard for anyone in the penthouse not to be merry at the moment. Gene's annual Christmas Eve party was one of the most anticipated annual events in Fix-It Felix Jr., a posh and strictly adults-only affair that drew esteemed invitees from all over the arcade.
A tinkly 8-bit piano rendition of "The Christmas Song" drifted casually from the hi-fi in the corner. All the Nicelanders mingled eagerly, carrying plates filled with hors d'oeuvres or delicious holiday pastries, courtesy of Mary's kitchen. Felix strode through the crowd, smiling and greeting the guests, a red Santa hat perched merrily on his head in place of his usual blue carpenter's cap. Q-Bert and Coily bounded alongside, nimbly balancing their plates on their heads.
Also in attendance were the Bad-Anon regulars, grateful for the opportunity to meet and greet outside of the usual break room in Pac-Man. Clyde and his fellow ghosts hovered through the room in a straight line as Pac-Man himself gobbled a row of finger sandwiches on the refreshment table. Satan was doing his best to slow-dance with Sorceress, which was awkward since her feet hovered a good six inches off the floor. Bowser and Eggman chatted in a corner, swapping stories of times when they almost defeated their respective protagonists.
But perhaps the only partygoer not thoroughly enjoying himself was the one slumped on a folding chair in the corner by the Christmas tree. Ralph stared vaguely out at the action before him, trying to find comfort in the sight of everyone talking and laughing and sharing in the spirit of the season.
But his mind kept forcibly drifting to the one person he wished could've seen it too.
Zombie and Zangief sidled over to Ralph's lonely seat. Zangief was still in his Santa suit; Zombie's rotted neck was adorned with a tacky blinking light necklace.
"Ralph!" Zombie groaned. "Rrrngh! Long time no see! You not come to Bad-Anon in month!"
"All other bad guys are being worried about you, Ralph," Zangief said, batting the dangling ball of his Santa hat out of his face. "Many things have been placed on your mind lately, yes? You know, in my game, we have saying - only way around it is through it, preferably by punching with large fist."
Shifting uncomfortably, Ralph stifled a cough. "Thanks, Zangief, but I think I'm okay without Bad-Anon now… I mean, if there's one thing you can say about me, it's that I sure know how to like myself!"
He gave a giant double thumbs-up. But his smile faltered, looking more like an attempt at suppressing a belch.
"Why you no smile, Ralph?" Zombie asked, scratching his decaying head. "You get into bad batch of oysters or something?"
Ralph rubbed the back of his neck. "No, it's not that, Zombie, it's just...eh, y'know, my mind's been playin' tug-of-war with itself a lot these last few weeks."
Zangief nodded solemnly, patting Ralph on his massive shoulder. "I am understanding, Ralph. You are still missing little licorice girl, correct? Please accept my sympathies, good friend - it is very difficult to be away from loved one on holidays. But you will see her soon, when January is arriving here, will you not?"
Leaning back in his creaking chair, Ralph sighed. "Yeah, that's true. She'll be able to stop by for like a day while her game recalibrates."
"Then that is what you should be smiling about!" Zangief said, putting his hands on his hips. "Take comfort in fact that separation is not permanent. Long distance is not enough to break truly strong friendship. Remember that, Ralph."
Ralph knew this was true, of course. But that voice in his head didn't seem to care.
Across the room, he spotted Felix and Calhoun snuggling under the mistletoe.
"Thanks for the pick-me-up, guys," Ralph said, drawing to his feet. "Listen, I gotta go talk to the lovebirds for a quick second."
Felix and Calhoun pulled apart as they saw Ralph approaching. Calhoun's eyes narrowed.
"Ralph," she said curtly.
"Uh… yep, that's me," Ralph chuckled, trying awkwardly to break the ice.
Calhoun tossed her bangs out of her face and snatched an empty glass off a nearby table. "Hold my spot in line, Sugarcakes," she huffed, glancing briefly at Felix. "I gotta refill on eggnog right quick."
And she stormed away like an icy wind without another word, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Ralph.
"...Ralphie!" Felix said concernedly. "You, uh… feelin' any better?"
Ralph ran a giant hand through his scruffy hair. "Hey, you know me, never better!" he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Always wanted to be at a party with… uh, friends…"
"No better time for it than Christmas, right?" Felix intoned, holding up a tumbler of chocolate milk. "It's the most wonderful time of the year 'n all that jazz!" And wincing slightly, he downed the whole glass in one gulp. "WHOO! Build me up buttercup, I am feeling loose tonight!"
Ralph hunched his shoulders and glanced at the wall. He felt incredibly out of place, like a hippopotamus someone had put in a petting zoo.
"...So!" he finally choked out. "How are the kids?"
"Oh, good! Good!" Felix stammered, absentmindedly twisting his hammer in the loop of his belt. "Adorabeezle was just telling me yesterday how she started a new training regimen that'll send her Sweetness stat through the ceiling! Ha, I… I didn't know what that meant…" He coughed. "...And, um… how is everything… in the bricks?"
Ralph bit his lip. "Ah, y'know, the usual," he mumbled, trying to sound casual. "Cold, dirty… hard to sleep…"
"Y'know, Ralph," Felix said, his voice dropping half an octave, "you do have that house we built ya… you sure you wouldn't rather use that? It's gotta be more comfortable than that crumbly ol' brick pile, right?"
Ralph's eyes wandered up to the ceiling, at the shine glinting off the tinsel wrapped around the light fixtures.
"I dunno… does a zero like me even deserve a house?"
Felix cleared his throat. "Oh! Y'know what, I think Tammy needs a teeny bit of help with that eggnog! Why don't I just, ah, skedaddle on over there and lend her a hand-a-rooney, huh?"
In the blink of an eye, he bounded across the room to the refreshment table.
"Tamora!" he whispered. "Gosh sakes, Snoogums, you can't keep doing this to Ralph forever!"
Squinting at the wall, Calhoun slammed down her glass and wiped away her eggnog mustache with the back of her armored sleeve.
"Wanna bet, Sweet-Cheeks?" she snarled. "After I put my trust in that lumbering sack of doorknobs and he goes 'n dumps Vanellope out in Internet-Land like the last six years never even mattered?"
"That's the thing, though, Apple Dumplin'!" Felix hissed, wringing her hand in trepidation. "I've known Ralph for thirty-six years, and he'd never do something like that!"
"Well, he did!" Calhoun barked through gritted teeth. "How d'ya explain that, Hammerman?"
Felix darted his eyes toward Ralph, who was lazily tugging the tinsel off the lights and letting it land in a heap by his feet.
"...Because I think something might've happened to Ralph while he was off surfin' that Wifi thing," he hushed. "Ever since he came back, he hasn't been himself. He's been, I dunno, forgetful… he's stopped going to Bad-Anon, he's sleeping in the brick pile again almost like he thinks he has to… what if he ran into something out there that addled his noggin and made him forget the rules?"
Calhoun's eyes widened. "...He quit Bad-Anon?"
"I never lie to ya, Sweetums," Felix nodded. "This isn't normal for Ralph. And I think we gotta have a little chit-chat with him and figure out why."
Calhoun rubbed the back of her neck. In her fury over losing Vanellope, in her instinctive feelings of betrayal over Ralph violating the laws of the video game community, it hadn't even occurred to her that Ralph might not have been of sound mind when he made that decision. Perhaps she'd been programmed to be too accustomed to losing faith in people…
…Lousy motherlovin' PTSD, she sighed to herself, as she and Felix weaved through the crowd towards Ralph.
Ralph picked a wreath off the wall, turned it over in his massive fingers, then tossed it languidly like a horseshoe. As he shut his eyes, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He blinked. Calhoun and Felix stood next to him.
"Listen, Private," Calhoun said softly, "what do you say we all head upstairs for a little long overdue game of catch-up?"
Vanellope shook her head. It felt like it had been filled with marbles.
Blinking, she tried to get her bearings. There was light...light from above. A single lamp. The room was big. In the darkness beyond, there were windows in the ceiling...a garage. Shank's garage.
Butcher Boy and Felony on her right. Little Debbie and Pyro on her left. Concealed in the shadows.
She looked down. She was in an aluminum folding chair. Ropes bound her to it, across her torso, her arms and legs.
"Okay," she growled, "you dipsticks know I can just glitch out of this, right?"
"You won't," said a voice from the shadows.
Shank stepped into the light, cool and collected. She glared down at Vanellope.
"If you promise not to glitch away, I'll untie you," she said. "And I'll explain everything."
Vanellope squinted suspiciously at her. "I shoulda known it was too good to be true," she snarled.
But to her surprise, Shank knelt down behind the chair and undid her ropes. Vanellope leapt off the seat, rubbing her wrists.
"There," Shank said softly. "You're free. But listen to me, Vanellope. You can't leave Slaughter Race."
"And what makes you think you're gonna stop me, Brunhilde?" Vanellope snapped. She reared back to glitch out the door.
And she froze in her tracks as Pyro, with frightening speed, whipped out his twin flamethrowers and pointed them at her, his fingers hovering over the triggers.
"I wouldn't do that, chickie-pie," he said heavily.
Vanellope tucked her arms behind her back and planted both feet on the floor. "Ohh-kay then, let's not get all crazy in here…" she squeaked.
"That's enough, Pyro," Shank said firmly, putting out a hand and lowering the flamethrowers. Shooting a dismissive look at Felony, she added "And you didn't need to shock her like that, either. Look at the poor girl, she doesn't trust us anymore…"
"Oh yeah, imagine that," Vanellope muttered. She kept one eye on the door, debating whether or not she could risk bolting from five armed NPCs.
Shank knelt down to Vanellope's level, looking her dead in the eyes. "I didn't want it to come to this, Vanellope, I really didn't. You have to believe me."
"Frankly, I don't know who to believe at this point," Vanellope shot back. "You wanna unpack all this for me or not? Why won't you let me go home?!"
With a sigh, Shank stood up.
"Do you understand how popular Slaughter Race is, Vanellope? There are literally tens of thousands of people on the planet who play this game every day. And they all have one goal that they're fighting for, one goal that keeps them leveling up every free moment they have - and it's sitting right in this garage."
She pointed, and Vanellope turned around to see Shank's car parked behind her.
"That car is the most sought-after vehicle in this entire game," Shank continued. "And Slaughter Race would not be anywhere as popular as it is if it were easy for those players to just waltz in here and take it. My squad and I are programmed to make it as challenging as possible for anyone to get their avatars' digital butts behind the wheel of that ride. And that magnificent challenge is what keeps people coming back, day after day."
Vanellope blinked. "Yeah, neat, is this going anywhere?"
Shank put her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans and frowned. "You're impatient, Vanellope. It's a double-edged trait for a racer of your caliber to have." She cleared her throat. "The problem is, this game went online four years ago. In video game years, that's an eternity. The developers of Slaughter Race are already working on new games, bigger games, and they don't have time anymore to add upgrades to this one. The players won't sit still for long, Vanellope. They want new challenges. Otherwise, there's plenty of other violent sandbox games out there that'll draw their attention."
Felony scoffed. "You know how much new player registration has dropped ever since Red Dead Redemption II came out? You'd rather steal a horse than a car, hey, that's your problem…"
"Anyway," Shank said loudly, "the point is, if the developers won't take the initiative to make this game better, then it's up to us. And that's where you come in, Vanellope."
Vanellope took a step back. "What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.
Shank smiled. "The moment I saw you jack my car, I knew you had guts. When I realized you were from Sugar Rush, I knew players would recognize you. And when it turned out you have this ability - this amazing, wonderful ability to manipulate your code at will - I knew, I just knew that you were what this game needed. You're the star character of a classic '90s racing game series! '90s nostalgia is very hot right now - it gets people interested! And with that glitch of yours, it's virtually impossible for any player to get by you! You put the challenge back into Slaughter Race, Vanellope! They love you out there! That's truly something to be proud of!"
Vanellope could feel her blood boiling. Her teeth grinded furiously as her hands balled into bitter little fists.
"So you USED me?!" she spat, blue pixels popping all over her body. "You didn't care about my happiness at all! You just wanted another flunky for your stupid squad so you could blow up more 12-year-olds!"
Shank knelt down again. The air of cool control she normally exuded seemed to be faltering. Her eyes were wide and pleading.
"Vanellope, I never said I don't care about your happiness," she hushed. "You can still visit that arcade of yours on recalibration days, that's fine, but you can't leave us! If the game stops upgrading, players get bored! If they get bored, we get shut down! Don't you get it? Online games die all the time from lack of interest! These modern gamers, they lose that interest so quick! You don't want us to lose everything we've fought for all these years, do you?"
Her face was warm and understanding, the same way it had looked on that hillside a month ago when Vanellope had confessed her dilemma to her.
Vanellope felt her insides turn over.
"Whatever happened to 'friends don't always have to have the same dream'?" she choked.
Shank lowered her gaze.
"This is different," she said. "This isn't about what we want, it's about what we need."
"I need to go home!" Vanellope squealed. "What I don't need is to keep chuckin' sticky bombs in middle schooler's faces just 'cuz you're too scared of the future! You wanna make this game impossible to win? Fine, Shank, you do what you want, but from now on, you count me out, got it? I'm out of here!"
"And where will you go?" Shank shot back, drawing herself up to her full impressive height. "Back to the game you abandoned?"
"It's my home!" Vanellope snarled. "My real home!"
Shank crossed her arms defiantly. "And what if they don't want you back?"
Vanellope glared speechlessly, her face flush with fury.
"You skipped out on Sugar Rush without even a goodbye, didn't you?" Shank hissed. "What, were you hoping your friend Ralph would take care of that for you? Or were you so eager to find new exciting things in your life, you didn't even care what your old game-mates would think of you leaving?"
Vanellope shook her head, her ponytail flapping wildly. "No…" she breathed. "No, I didn't mean it like that! ...You were the one who told me I had to follow my dream!"
"And you were the one who had that dream to begin with," Shank volleyed in return.
"I made a mistake!" Vanellope screeched.
"And now it's too late to fix it, isn't it, Vanellope?" Shank said heavily, shaking her head. "Come on, Slaughter Race is where you belong now. We're the ones who can protect you. You're just as much a part of this game now as we are. Felony and Pyro already saw to that - your code block's in the system, good and permanent. Because what happens if your little candy friends won't take you back? You're gonna end up wandering the Internet and risk getting deleted for good? Admit it, Vanellope, this is the safest place you've got…"
She leaned an inch away from Vanellope's reddened face, squinting in anticipation, like a lion playing with its food. And then, from behind her…
"Um, well, actually…"
Everyone turned to glare at Pyro. He fidgeted with his goggles and glanced at the floor.
"Actually what, Pyro?" Shank demanded. "You did get her code block, right?"
Pyro nodded hastily. "Oh yeah yeah, f'sure I did! Definitely, absolutely…" Then he covered his mouth with his hand. "Sort of…"
Vanellope recoiled. "Sort of?!"
"Awright, look," Pyro jabbered, "I Googled all over the bloody Internet, right, but nobody had the original source code for Sugar Rush, y'know? All I could find was some shifty-lookin' fan-made game mod from five years ago that ran on the same engine Slaughter Race does, so I, y'know...nicked the Vanellope code out of that and plugged it in. Same diff, innit?"
Shank grabbed Pyro by the shirt, her unflappable demeanor suddenly crumbling. "NO, it is NOT the same diff, Pyro! That's not her original code! She's still vulnerable without it! You could have killed her!"
Vanellope gasped, stumbling backwards against the folding chair.
All those times she crashed her car in the past month...all the melee weapons that players had tried to take her out with...just now, when her car flipped over and pinned her to the pavement…
I could've died.
And that was the last straw for her. She wasn't safe in Slaughter Race. Not from anyone.
With Shank still distracted, Vanellope glitched for the door. The squad all lunged at the sound of the VOOP.
"Vanellope!" Shank cried. "STOP! Don't go out there, it's dangerous!"
Of course it was. But it was the only way out.
In another flash of pixels, Vanellope was on the other side of the door. She glitched away down the street as fast as her code would carry her.
Shank wrenched the garage door open. The squad burst out into the waning early evening sunlight. It was too late. Vanellope was long gone.
"She could've glitched anywhere!" Little Debbie groaned. "How are we gonna find her on a map this huge?"
Shank breathed hard through her nose. "We aren't," she said heavily. "They are."
She whirled around to face Felony. Already Felony seemed to know where this was headed - her phone was out and ready to hack.
"Tap into the game files, Felony," Shank commanded. "Put up a notification to all players."