TF: Hey guys, it's me, TF, along with Skye and Wilbur and whoever else decides to randomly drop in! I'm making this thing, and so far, it's going very well! I'm very surprised – in a good way!

Skye: I'm Skye! The idea for this story first came around when I was PMing to Lily about movies and mentioned 9, and in explaining it, I was suddenly struck by the fact the Chews Your Racer menu can only have nine Racers ... well, one thing led to another, and voila! We got this! It's kinda a dedication to the people that we've met here!

Wilbur: Yeah, Wilbur here, this was very fun to think up, although we had several bouts of writer's-block darn it! We also pieced together the cover ourselves. TF found the images she wanted (the picture of 3 and 4 playing with a game console was a bonus!) and put them together, nothing fancy. It took over a dozen tries, one hour, and eighteen picture try-outs, let alone fonts, but she finally finished it! I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out ... :)

TF: So am I, Wil, so am I ...

Skye: Characters from Wreck-It Ralph and 9 are owned by Disney and Tim Burton/Shane Acker. We only own the plot, and the fact we were the first to think this up!

John: This is only part one of the prologue, we 'ad ta split it in half, so expect more soon!

Wilbur: Uh ... why are you here?

John: I'm not even in TPKR yet, I was bored, mate.

TF: I TOLD you people would start randomly dropping in!

Wilbur: Why him?

John: Excuse me? Who'd ya rather? Me, or the kid with the coffee?

Java: Heard that!

"People can be more forgiving then you imagine. But you have to forgive yourself. Let go of what's bitter and move on." – Bill Cosby

Stitchpunk Rush

Prologue: Part 1

Year 3049, London, England.

The sun began setting in the distance of the barren, apocalyptic wasteland, broken metal and dead bodies the only remains of humanity from the War of the Machines forty years before. Soft, pink light mixed with orange, yellow, red, and purple washed out over the landscape, bathing an abandoned library on the outskirts of a ruined city in pastel colors. The rusty gates hung still from disuse, marble statues dull under a coating of dust, and the library itself was scorched and broken in several places, giving it a dismal and haunted air. Inside, the floors and shelves were almost covered in books of all shapes, covers, sizes, and subjects, a thick layer of dust coating the statcks. Several stray statues posed in the far corners, and cracked paintings leaned against the walls, colors bleached and faded.

There was a faint, clattering sound from one of the stacks, and two figures carefully peeked out from behind the pile of books. They were identical, twin rag-dolls, no bigger then a person's hand, and appeared to be made out of a pair of gardening gloves. The gloves' cloth was a faded, light blue, with thin lines of dull yellow and dull brown, and four of the glove fingers served as their arms and legs. The fifth finger hung down their backs like a cape, and the opening of the gloves itself surrounded their white faces, very much like a hood. Their hands and feet were made out of brass, and they only had four fingers on each hand, resembling dull claws. Around their arms and legs were wrapped strings, and their wide eyes, steel-rimmed, glass optics, were white with black pupils. The only thing that was different between them was the fact they had different numbers drawn on their chests – the first with the number "3" on the right side, and the second with the number "4" on the left side.

The living dolls looked around, and they faced each other, clicking softly as their eyes flashed white light. Suddenly a rustle was heard nearby, and they stopped, spinning around just as there was a shrill scream. A white object barreled into them, knocking them down and pinning them onto the wooden floor, and the object laughed. "Ah ha! I found you!"

They giggled, and the white object smiled warmly. In fact, the object was a third rag-doll, slightly bigger then the twins and a pure, bleached white color. The doll gave off a clear, obvious feminine air, implying it was a female, had the exact same eyes as the twins did, and had a rectangular, green button sewed onto her chest, a thin rope tied around her waist like a belt and tinging her white cloth a rust color where it pressed. Her hands and feet were steel, and tied onto her right arm was a metal washer, rusted with use, with a number of rust-colored stitches over her body. Over her head was a white bird skull, several feathers hanging down her back from it and two smaller, carved shards hanging down each side of her head, making it look like she was wearing earrings. On her back was drawn the number "7", except that a large, ragged piece of red cloth was sewed over the numeral, almost covering it and roughly shaped like a jagged heart.

The white doll, 7, rolled off of them and stood up, brushing the dust off her bleached cloth. The twins scrambled to their feet and threw themselves at her, hugging her tightly as they clicked excitedly. She smiled, patting their hooded heads. "I love you too. Now c'mon, you need to get ready for bed."

3 and 4's eyes flashed as they nodded, the child mutes releasing her. 3 skipped ahead as 4 grabbed 7's four-fingered hand, clicking rapidly as they walked back to the center of the Library. It had been a month since the defeat of the Machines and the first rainfall in decades, and finally, things had taken a turn for the better for the dolls, called the Stitchpunks, also known as the Numbers Clan. Just a week after the funeral for the killed Numbers, the surviving ones, which were 3, 4, 7, and her new boyfriend, 9, had returned again to the room of their creation, the lab of the Scientist that had split his soul into the nine parts needed for the formally nine dolls.

Once there, 3 and 4 had accidentally stumbled across a box, and upon 7 slicing it open, they found it was full of their blueprints, journal entries for each creation, observations the Scientist had made of them while he was still alive, and ... an extra version of all of them. Exact copies. Judging from the journal entries towards the end, the Scientist expressed concern that something might happen to some of the Stitchpunks, and created one copy of each doll from extra material he had on hand, along with a blueprint detailing how to transfer the soul pieces into the extra bodies using the Source, an object that could transport souls. Apparently, only if all of the Numbers were killed would they stay dead, as a half-soul couldn't really leave Earth, only a whole one.

The four of them agreed to try and follow the Scientist's instructions, because after all, they were machine-like dolls and not actual Humans, so maybe such a thing was possible. Sure enough, the souls cam back to life in the order they had died, first 2, followed by 8, 5, 6, and lastly, 1. That had been almost four weeks ago, and now, the Stitchpunks were finally beginning to settle down as a family, adopting the Library as their new home since the Sanctuary burned down. Hard for 7 to believe they had been running for their lives from killer Machines only a month before – if she hadn't lived it.

3 abruptly squealed, sprinting forward and vanishing around a corner, and 4 pulled away from 7's grasp to run after his brother, disappearing from sight. 7 opened her mouth to call after them when there was a sharp cry of surprise, then a thud. The female warrior quickly darted after the twins, turning around the corner, then screeched to a stop and let a smile spread over her white face. "Sorry, they seem to still think they're playing Hide-And-Pounce."

The brown Stitchpunk laughed, gently pushing the twins off of him as he scrambled to his feet, fixing his hat. "I've noticed."

The new doll was a pale brown color, made of leather instead of cloth, with a number of darker and lighter leather patches sewn all over his body, to the point where his His eyes were brass-rimmed, with his hands being steel and his feet wooden, and he was wearing a worn, leather vest fastened in place with a shoestring tied in a neat bow. At the back of his head was sewn a metal circle, which apparently used to be a soldier's dog-tag and had the name "Shane Acker" engraved on it. The hat he was wearing at the moment was a small candle, onto which was attached half of a spoon to act as a rough snuffer, a crank to operate it, and the cut lens of a pair of glasses. He was about the same height as the twins, but obviously much older, and on the back of his vest was drawn the number "2".

3 and 4 giggled before grabbing linking their hands and running back off into the dusty piles of books, eyes flashing light. 7 and the older doll, 2, turned to watch them leave, and 2 chuckled. "They're so active, they always remind me of meerkats."

7 looked at him curiously. "Meerkats?"

The inventor waved a steel hand. "A type of small, southern African mongoose, especially the suricate. They belong to Suricata, as a matter of fact, and the other genera, the family Herpestidae. I think there's three species."

He paused. "... At least, there was before the Machines killed everything."

7 didn't get a word of what 2 had just said, except it seemed to be an extinct rodent, but nodded anyway. "I was going to get the twins ready for bed. What about you?"

The older doll raised an eyebrow. "Go to bed?"

7 face-palmed. "No! I meant ... I meant what are you doing out right now?"

2 sighed. "Well, I'm looking for 5. He seemed upset this morning and hasn't been acting himself, and now, I cannot find him. 9 said he saw 5 leave the Library a few hours back and go in the direction of the cemetery, so I'm hoping he's there."

The female smiled. "Makes sense. I'd better go after the twins and make sure they're not harassing 9 again. Just be careful, all right?"

2 rolled his brass eyes with a faint chuckle. "I'm old enough to take care of myself. You worry too much, my girl."

He paused thoughtfully, then patted her shoulder. "Thank you, though."

There was a far-away crashing sound, then a loud, angry roar followed by several shrill squeals of glee. The two dolls looked in it's direction, and 2 looked back up at 7. "I think that may be your cue to find the twins."

7 pulled down her bird-skull helmet, hiding her face, and nodded with a grin. "Don't I know it."

With that, she sprinted forward and leaped over a pile of books, vanishing in a flash of white cloth, and 2 waved goodbye in her direction before turning back around and heading for the Library exit, intent on finding 5 before the sun went down. After all, he didn't want the Stitchpunk to miss out on what was going on tonight. 3 and 4 weren't excited for no reason. Luckily, they were good at keeping secrets – especially when 2 wanted them to.

Sc-c-c-rittch!

The match burst into flames as 2 scraped it against a nearby brick, and he raised it up, lighting the candle on his hat before blowing the match out and throwing it away. It had only been fifteen minutes, and already the sun was nearly gone. Thus, the candle. 2's optic night-vision had never worked quite as well as the others did – well, not since "the Incident", anyway – so he needed all the light he could get. The Number carefully picked his way through the broken rubble surrounding him, mildly thankful there weren't any Humans around here. Nothing more daunting then going somewhere and suddenly finding yourself face-to-face with the blank stare of a dead Being.

Climbing on top of a pile of smashed metal, he straightened up and pushed his glass lens in front of his face, squinting down in the direction of the cemetery, which was directly below the junk heap. After a moment, 2 climbed back down the pile on the opposite side and, jumping to the ground, stopped and watched quietly. The burial ground was bare of junk, trash, and metal, and marked with five graves, arranged in a circle and each with a stone at the head, onto which was carved the number of the Stitchpunk buried there. 1. 6. 5. 8. 2 ... it's a bit strange, 2 mused, to think of yourself as dead and buried.

Towards the side of the graves was a small, white music-box, belonging to 6 and closed as usual. In front of the box was sprouting a green and brown object, directly out of the ground, about the size of 7. Sitting on the music-box, figuring the green object and appearing to be deep in thought, was another Stitchpunk doll. This one was made out of dark brown burlap, with copper hands and feet. There were two large, dull yellow buttons sewn onto his chest, and there was a steel quiver on his back, holding a variety of pins, arrows, and fishhooks. His right eye was steel-rimmed, while his left eye was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in it's place was sewn an orange patch of worn leather. On his back, partly hidden by the quiver, was the ink number "5".

2 sighed in relief and walked over before tapping the burlap doll's shoulder. "5?"

"AH!" 5 screamed, spinning around and falling off the music-box with a crash.

2 winced. 5 had to be the jumpiest of the Stitchpunks, even above 6, so he got startled easily. Sometimes too easily. The older doll peered over the edge of the music-box worriedly. "Are you all right?"

5 sat up, rubbing the back of his head gingerly, and nodded. He scrambled to his feet, climbing back onto the music-box to stare at the green thing, and 2 paused before climbing up next to him, sitting down besides the burlap doll. 5 pointed to the green object. "What's it's name?"

The leather doll thought about that. "Mm ... I think it's called a 'tree'. It's like a living plant, a plant being an object that uses the sun for food."

5 looked shocked. "It eats the sun?!"

2 laughed. "No, no, of course not! It uses the sun's rays to feed itself. I forget how. I think it might have to do with the green disks all over it. Plants were very useful to human beings when they were still alive, and they used them often. The material you're made out of, burlap, actually consists of the fibers of certain river plants woven together to make the fabric."

5 lifted one arm to study his cloth, then looked at 2. "What about you?"

The pale brown Number shook his head. "I'm not made out of cloth, I'm made out of leather. Leather is created from the skin of a dead animal, with the fur removed from the surface of the hide by a process called tanning."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Makes me wonder what type of animal I technically used to be ..."

5 nodded slightly, gaze falling to the ground, and 2 looked at him. "... What's wrong?"

5 looked up. "W-what?"

2 motioned to him. "You've been acting unusually quiet all day, and that isn't like you. What's bothering you?"

The burlap Number looked back down, kicking one foot as he rubbed his arm, a nervous habit, and 2 touched his shoulder gently. "You can tell me."

5 took a deep breath. "I ... I just ... I had a nightmare last night," he murmured.

2 cocked his head. "About what?" he asked softly.

5 winced. "The ... the Seamstress ..."

2 mouthed an O of understanding, and 5 closed his good eye. "I'm sorry ..."

The leather doll closed his mouth. "About what, my boy?"

The younger doll buried his face in his arms. "About what I d-d-did ..."

2's face softened. "5, you didn't have a choice, none of it was your fault–"

"YES IT WAS!" 5 screamed, whipping his head up as he faced 2. "IT WAS! I KILLED YOU, 2, I KILLED YOU! I HAD THE SPEAR, I WAS THE ONE THAT AIMED, I WAS THE ONE THAT THREW, I WAS THE ONE THAT WATCHED IT STAB THROUGH YOUR HEART AND KILL YOU!"

2 grabbed 5's shoulders. "5, listen to me!" he exclaimed. "Nothing that happened was your fault! You had to do it, you know that!"

The burlap Stitchpunk hiccuped miserably, turning away. "But maybe we could've gotten you back ..."

2 shook his head. "5, I was dead anyway, and locked inside the BRAIN at that. The Seamstress was simply using my body to capture all of you, but I wasn't in it. I wasn't alive. I wasn't there. You had to re-kill it, or else the Seamstress would have captured everyone and the BRAIN would have won. If anything, I wanted you to kill my body. It was bad enough 8 died because of me. You had to do it. Don't feel bad about it, it didn't hurt."

5 looked at him. "R-really?"

The older Stitchpunk grabbed 5's copper hand and placed it against his vest, and 5 kept perfectly still as he felt the heartbeat underneath where his palm was resting ... the exact place he had driven his spear through 2's chest. "You see?" 2 asked. "I'm fine now. What happened, happened, but the important thing is that we're all okay. It didn't hurt. But seeing you blame yourself does. It's in the past now, 5. Just let it go, my boy."

5 smiled faintly and, pulling his hand away, hugged 2 tightly. 2 hugged him back, patting his back, then pulled away and slid off the music-box, motioning with one hand to 5. "Come, follow me. We need to get back."

"All right," 5 answered, touching the "tree" gently before jumping off the box, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

He walked over to 2, and the two dolls headed back for the Library, the flame on 2's candle glowing brighter as darkness finally fell.

The Library was lit up from the inside, the electric lighting that had long been left to rust having been fixed up, lightbulbs replaced and car batteries relaying the needed power. Although the front of the Library itself was messy and untouched, the far back had been cleaned up considerably, as it served as home for the Numbers Clan, with rooms fashioned out of books. It was comfortable, not as spacious as the church Sanctuary had been, but it was all they had. For now, it was still as the dolls got ready to go to sleep. 2 and 5 rounded the corner of one of the stacks just before the back, stopping, and 2 turned to the younger doll. "5? Can you do me a favor?"

5 nodded. "Sure. What is it?"

2 motioned to the back. "Could you go get 9, then both of you go to the far shelves in Technology and wait?"

5's single eye blinked. "What for?"

The older doll smiled. "You'll see. Now shoo! Scat!"

5 shrugged, but being used to 2's strange ways, ran in the direction of 9's room, vanishing. 2 watched him go, then looked up. "You can come down now."

There was a giggle, and 3 and 4 slid off the stack of books, eyes flashing as they clicked excitedly. 2 nodded. "All right, you know what to do. 3, you go get 1 and 8, and 4, you get 7. Then bring them to the Technology section as well. I'll get 6."

The twins looked at each other, then nodded, beaming, and scampered off in opposite directions to fetch the other Stitchpunks. 2 chuckled softly, shaking his head, and turned the crank on his hat, snuffing out the flame on the candle with a hiss. He walked into the back, heading for one of the far corners, until he came to a stop in front of it. The corner was walled in with books, onto which was draped with a brown cloth that hung down to the floor, acting as both a ceiling and a make-shift doorway, similar to a tent. Grabbing the thick material, he pulled it aside and peered into the room behind it. "6?"

There was no answer. 2 stepped inside, letting the cloth fall back into place, and looked around. The room was small, a flickering candle in one corner, and the walls were covered in ink drawings on scraps of paper, newer since the old drawings got burned in the fire that consumed the Sanctuary. Several bottles of ink were huddled against the right wall, and several bunches of paper were scattered underfoot here and there, a bundle of ink-stained rags in a far corner.

In the middle of the floor, kneeling down, was another Stitchpunk. He was white with black stripes, with copper feet and palms. His fingers were golden and, unlike the other dolls, razor-sharp, being pen-nibs stained with black ink. His body was splattered and stained with the same ink, and he had a tuft of yarn hair, which looked to have been originally white but was stained black by now. Around his neck was a black, metal key, and he had mismatched eyes – the right one was silver, but the left one, slightly larger then the silver one, was gold. On the floor in front of him was a scrap of paper, onto which he was drawing something with his ink-covered fingers, mumbling to himself softly, and on his back was drawn the ink number "6".

2 stepped closer. "6?" he repeated.

6's head shot up, startled, but he relaxed upon seeing it was just 2 and grabbed the paper, scrambling to his feet and running up to the leather doll. He held up the ink-covered paper. "I d-d-drew you a p-picture," he stammered shyly.

2 took the paper, studying it, and blinked. The drawing was of two rough figures with lines scribbled over them, the numbers "1" and "0" scattered over the lines themselves. The first scribbled figure was against what looked like a wall, while the second one was holding a circle. In front of them was a much smaller figure, and a jagged line was in front of the smaller one, who was holding something, a rod it looked like. But the circle ...

He sucked in his breath sharply, brass eyes widening. The circle was the Source, the same object the Scientist had used to insert their souls ... and 6 had drawn it. But that was impossible, the Source was destroyed after bringing them back to life, destroyed from an overload of energy. But wait ... now that he looked closely, it looked different ... it was a circle, whatever it was, but it had lines etched in it, as if put together like a puzzle. That was odd. Was that the Source? Or perhaps something else that just resembled it? What was it?

2 frowned. If anybody didn't know 6, they wouldn't think anything of it, just pass it off as a random picture. But 2 knew 6, and nothing the youngest drew was random. The young doll had the ability to ... see things. He was prophetic, able to see the past, present, and future via dreams and open visions, and heard voices telling him things in his head. Usually one voice, which he called "I Am". There were a few others, like "Son" and "Flame", and one 6 refused to speak of, "Bad". He never listened to Bad, apparently. When he had a dream or vision, he would draw it, often without even knowing what he was drawing until he was done.

Before 9 woke up and the Machines were activated, when it was just the eight of them, 6 would draw almost constantly. He would tell them that a ninth doll existed, that the Machines were coming, but nobody listened. Almost all of them had been convinced 6 was insane, mentally ill and unstable, and would just ignore the Number. Only 1 and 2 ever believed him, but 1 was simply interested in using 6's abilities for his own gain, while 2 would study the drawings trying to figure out their meaning. Then, one day, they found 9, and the Machines were awakened – just like 6 had said.

Everything else the doll had drawn and prophesied came true, too – 2 was killed, the Winged Beast attacked and burned down their home, then they were ambushed by the Seamstress, 8 was killed, 7 was rescued by 9, the BRAIN caught and killed 5, then 6, followed by 9 going to the First Room, (the lab) 1 saving 9's life and getting killed himself, then the defeat of the BRAIN, the release of the souls, and the first rainfall ... and after they had come back to life, 2 had realized why 6 was so much more scared back then then he was now ...

6 knew what was going to happen. He knew they would die. He knew he would die, that it would be painful, and had been forced to live with that knowledge. Fate couldn't be changed, it had to be fulfilled, otherwise the future wouldn't come true. 2 didn't know how much faith 6 had in that voice, but it must have been a lot if he wouldn't run when his time to die came, and allowed the BRAIN to kill him. The voice said everything would be okay ... and it right. And after they came back to life, 6 had been a lot less fearful, and the nightmares had all but vanished. Obviously, after everything he prophesied had come true, the other Numbers no longer thought he was insane.

... Well, at least not fully.

2 stared at the drawing, mind racing. There was no doubt this was another vision-drawing, he'd recognize the hurried style anywhere, so this had to be a prophesy. The question was ... of what? "6," he asked, pointing to the paper. "What is this?"

6 cocked his head. "G-g-glitch."

2 blinked. "... What?"

6 pointed to the paper. "G-glitch ... n-n-not the e-end ... again ... go b-b-back!"

The leather doll sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. A problem with trying to figure out 6's drawings was because he always spoke so cryptically, not to mention had that stuttering disability, so it was difficult to find out what he meant. 2 wasn't sure why only 6 had this problem, but he'd heard of similar things in Human children from medical books. Something about mercury poisoning ... autism? He sometimes wondered if 6 had that, because he certainly fit most of the symptoms. Ink here was usually tainted with mercury thanks to certain events during the war, and a day didn't go by without 6 getting his fingers into the black substance one way or another.

"Go back where?" he asked.

"B-back ... we n-n-need to go b-back!" 6 repeated, starting to tense nervously.

2 realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with this and, casting another glance at the drawing, folded it up into a small square. Undoing his bow-tie and pulling his vest open, he slipped the paper into the opening in his chest and closed it back up, tying the shoelace again. Reaching out, he carefully grabbed one of 6's sharp, golden fingers, not minding the ink that came off, and said, "Okay, we'll go back later, but right now, I want you to follow me, all right?"

6's mismatched gaze lit up. "S-surprise!"

2 looked surprised. "Who told you about that, my boy?"

6 kicked his foot at the ground, staring down at the wooden and ink-stained floor and reminding 2 very much of the way a shy child would act. "The I Am V-V-V-Voice told m-me about i-i-i-it ..."

2 smiled. Why am I not surprised? He released the artist's hand and ruffled 6's yarn-hair with a laugh. "Well, just don't tell the others yet. And tell the voice to mind it's own business!"

6 giggled. "H-He can't d-do that, H-He knows e-e-everything!"

The older Stitchpunk chuckled and turned aside, pulling back the cloth doorway as he stepped out of the dim room, and 6 ran over to the candle in the corner, blowing it out with a quick puff before scampering back outside with 2. 2 let the cloth fall back into place and, grabbing 6's inky, golden hand again, led the younger away from the corner room, heading for the back of the Library.

"And it shall come to pass in the last days, says God, That I will pour out of My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your young men shall see visions, Your old men shall dream dreams. And on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days; And they shall prophesy."

Acts 2: 17–18, New King James Version (NKJV)

TF (TFTime)

Wilbur (Wilbur-Nator)

Skye (RobinsInTheSkye)

With guest appearances of John St. Geoffrey the Skunk & Java the Mouse. I own Java and kinda John. Only half.