The little stitch boy began running. He knew he'd done a terrible wrong and knew of the danger he'd unleashed. Reckless and foolhardy Number 1 would always say; he'd been proven right now. But still he ran hoping to escape. Hoping that somehow reality would fatigue and he would be free. Cling! Clang! Scraping metal screeching beyond the horizon. Those... insidious red eyes. The little stitch boy found refuge amidst a can. The sheering cry of the thing pierced his very being. And then silence. The stitch boy did not, could not move. The tension subsided, an eerie calm settled. Something did not feel right. A giant red beam of light, a decree of death to all those who looked upon it shone in the can. The little stitch boy frantically hurried out of the can trying to outrun it yet again, only to realize it was too late. It jettisoned it's harpoon into the stitch boy's torso. It was over. And so the Harvestman with its catch, brought it back to its master, its creator, the brain.