The instinctive thing that Andy's mother did upon seeing the dark-dressed, red haired man was tug her boy closer to her side and hurry him along down the aisle, muttering; 'Don't talk to strangers.' Andy, being a curious child, wanted to know why the peculiar man was standing there, almost like he was looking for something.

So, when his mother released his hand to look at apples and simultaneously entertain Molly, Andy slipped away and cautiously approached the tall, thin man. He looked scary, but no one was really that heartless. "Hi," said the young boy, looking up at the red haired man. Said man flicked poisonous green eyes down towards the young boy, and gave him a skeptical look.

"Didn't your mommy tell you not to talk to strangers?" snorted the man, crossing his thin arms. Andy screwed up his face into a look of dismay.

Hands clenched, Andy said, "You're not very nice. You should be more nice." The red haired man just grinned, reaching a gloved hand down to ruffle the kid's hair, maybe a little too roughly.

"And you, kiddo, should listen to your mom," stated the man, eyes still harsh. Andy frowned, not sure why this guy was being so mean. "After all, some strangers wouldn't hesitate to grab you and do awful things. Really bad things, you know?"

Andy, as a naïve, innocent six year old boy, didn't understand. "Bad things? Like… tickle me until I have to go to the bathroom?" said the boy, scowling. "I don't like it when people do that to me." The red haired man smirked, placing a hand on his hip. Andy wondered why the guy was dressed in a floor-length, black coat, but then he realized he was probably one of those 'teenage hooligans' they'd seen earlier at the mall, that his mother told him to stay away from.

"Eh, something like that," said the red head, cracking his neck. Suddenly, he knelt down, and had to hunch a little bit to be face-to-face with Andy. The six year old backpedaled, not wanting to be so close, but at the same time he wondered if the black marks under the man's eyes were tears. "Hey, look, kid. You like action figures?"

Andy raised his eyebrows, before slowly nodding. He did like action figures. "Buzz Lightyear is my favoritest!" said the boy, rocking back and forth on his heels. The man grinned, revealing shiny white teeth, and Andy wondered if the guy brushed his teeth seven times an hour—they were so shiny!

"Think you've got room for one more action figure?" asked the red head, to which Andy eagerly nodded. The man quickly undid the zipper to the top of his jacket, slipping a hand inside to find something in the inner pockets. Coming back, he had a rather small, broken little figurine of a white haired boy with ghost eyes and ivory skin. He didn't look realistic at all, with a straight line fixed in a frown for a mouth and an odd, purple outfit that looked almost like infected veins. "He's not exactly perfect, but I imagine he'd make an awesome alien life form for Buzz Lightyear to vaporize."

Andy grinned, quickly grabbing the figure from the red haired man's hands. The plastic doll was still warm from being inside of the leathery coat, most likely right over the man's heart. Hugging the figure to his chest, Andy laughed. Ever the child, he completely forgot to thank the man. Regardless, the tall man smirked and quickly got to his full height once more. "Give him a real name. He deserves one," said the red haired man.

"I think I'll call him Douglas," said Andy. The red head gave a sharp bark of laughter, placing a hand on his hip.

"Douglas makes him sound old," stated the man.

"I like the name Douglas," said Andy. The red head nodded his head, before glancing beyond Andy, where a rather enraged mother was storming towards her son. The man looked back down to Andy.

Grinning, the red head sighed. "Well, I had better get going. Say 'hi' to Buzz for me, then." With a swish of leather, the mysterious man was gone, and Andy was left to cower under his mother.

"Where did you go!" demanded Andy's mother, tugging on her son's arm and pulling him closer to her body. She had been worried sick when she'd noticed her son had mysteriously gone missing. "Who were you talking to? What are you holding? Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers? Andy, listen to me when I'm talking!"

"It's okay mom, he just gave me Douglas!" protested Andy, struggling, wanting her to let go. His mother clicked her tongue, thoroughly intent on punishing him.

"You had me so worried," said the woman, spinning her son around to look him in the eyes. "For running off like that, you're grounded for the week. No friends, no TV and no desert." Andy, being six years old, almost immediately pitched a fit. At his waterworks, Molly began sobbing as well.

As for Andy's mother, she just sighed. It was a long day.


The doll got up, sliding to his hands and knees from where he had fallen face down. Andy had carelessly discarded him upon coming into his room, but not before writing 'ANDY' in thick black ink on the sole of his foot.

Looking around with porcelain painted eyes; the doll wondered where he was. He didn't understand why he was still alive. Hadn't he been killed?

"You're in my spot."

Slightly afraid, the doll cautiously inclined his head upward, finding it a little bit harder to move his neck. He felt almost mechanical, really. Eyes meeting the sight of a rather exasperated looking cowboy.

"Oh, c'mon, Woody," said another figure, clapping the cowboy on the back. Woody rocked forward, his hat slipping down to cover his eyes. He meticulously pushed it back into its correct spot, sparing the spaceman a glare. "We've got another addition! Welcome to Andy's room!"

After the spaceman's introduction, a disarray of various things came into the doll's view; a dog with a stretched stomach, a piggy bank, a shepherdess doll with a flock of sheep, a gigantic tyrannosaurus rex, an assortment of military men and a guarded looking potato.

Abruptly, the doll fell forward again, before being hauled into strong arms and waved around like he was as light as a feather. "Gosh darn it, Woody! There's another 'un!" said a cheerful voice, before the doll was flung to the bed and pounced by a jovial horse.

The spaceman grinned. "Hey, Jesse, go easy on him! He looks kind of wimpy," said the toy, pointing a plastic hand towards the cowgirl who had not-so-nicely mauled the poor little doll.

The peculiar t-rex started mashing around, waving his tiny arms in the air. "Ooh! Ooh! Buzz, can I teach him karate? I've been watching all of those martial arts specials, and I think I'm gettin' reaaaally good!"

The doll slowly got to his feet, wondering why all of these things were so… nice. He'd never been treated this way. He was always treated as a puppet, a mere doll. Ironic, now, that he really was a doll.

But now, things were different. He wasn't just seen as Vexen's pet. He wasn't a replica.

Nudged in the shoulder, the doll looked downward to where the potato was looking at him with a curious expression. "Hey, kid? What's your name?"

At this, the doll almost smiled. It was more melancholic than anything else, though.

"Riku."

He paused for a moment, staring at his shoes. He felt himself being observed by all around him. They wouldn't understand, anyway.

Woody nodded. "Okay, Ri—"

Hastily, the doll stopped him.

"That's not my name. It's Douglas."