CHAPTER 1

Ralph sat on a little folding chair and looked at the dozen or so other Bad Guys sitting in a circle around the room.

"My name's Wreck-It Ralph," he began. "I'm nine feet tall. I weigh 643 pounds. I can't walk down the street without causing major structural damage to the buildings." He shrugged. "I guess that kind of makes me the Bad Guy."

"Hi, Ralph," the group answered in unison.

Ralph nodded as his gaze fell on the banner pinned up over the snack table that red BAD-ANON: ONE GAME AT A TIME. Leaving his game and traveling through the power cord to attend a supporting group for Bad Guys had seemed like a good idea earlier in the evening. But now Ralph wondered whether anyone could truly understand how he felt.

"Look," Ralph said, "I'm great at what I do; I'm probably the best I know. But the problem is that fixing stuff is the object of the game. Fix-It Felix Jr.—he's the Good Guy. You know, he's nice enough as Good Guys go; definitely fixes stuff really well. But if you've got a magic hammer... how hard can it be?"

Ralph paused, thinking how easily Felix swung his little hammer and magically fixed whatever Ralph had wrecked. Ralph had the hard job! He had to tear apart the Nicelanders' building and smash bricks with his bare hands. Felix just showed up and cried, "I CAN FIX IT!" From there, with a little help from a game player, everything practically repaired itself.

Ralph sighed. "And when Felix does a good job, he gets a medal. But are there medals for the sweet science of wrecking? To that I say, 'Ha!' And... no, there aren't."

It was true. In all the years that Ralph had been wrecking the Nicelanders' building, they had never given him a reward of any kind. Instead, they shrieked in terror whenever they saw him coming. And, of course, there was that big mud puddle.

"Thirty years I've been doing this. I've seen a lot of other games come and go. Kind of sad," Ralph said, reflecting. "Look, a steady arcadegigis nothing to sneeze at. I'm very lucky. But if you've been doing this as long as I have, it starts to feel hard to love your job when no one else seems to like you for doing it."

Ralph paused again. If only the Nicelanders would acknowledge his value in the game. Even something simple like a pie would be nice. A medal would be even better. Felix always received a lot of pies and medals.

"Every day after work, Felix and the Nicelanders go hang out in their homes, which Felix has just fixed," Ralph continued.

"They go to their homes, and I go to mine, which happens to be a pile of garbage in the dump. You might call it a lonely cesspit of despair on the outskirts of humanity. I call it home. That's where I live. That's where I go."

"I guess I can't bellyache too much. I've got my bricks. I've got my stump. It looks uncomfortable, but it's actually fine. I'm... I'm good."

Ralph closed his eyes for a moment. "But if I'm really honest with myself, I see Felix up there, getting pattedon the back, people giving him pie and thanking him and so happy to see him all the time. Sometimes I think, Man, it must be nice being the Good Guy."