Chapter Text
RECALIBRATION FAILURE
Auditory circuits breakdown
Visual processing damaged
Vocalization failure
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION FAILURE
Sensory malfunction
Mobility inactive
Mind palace disrupted
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION INTERRUPTED
Service connection broken
System cooldown offline
Mobility restarting
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION SUCCESSFUL
Core overheat imminent
WARNING
Suggesting immediate system shutdown
Suggestion declined
Pixal woke up.
There was no gasp, no sudden lurching to life. It was as simple as an eye blinking open, and realizing she could not immediately tell where she was.
The reason for this was simple: she was a nindroid, and nindroids did not gasp for air they did not need. And, secondly, it was physically impossible to do so.
Pixal couldn’t move.
That fact was immediately apparent not because of the hundreds of warnings blinking onto her screen, in fact there were so many blaring in bright red it was actively difficult to read just one before another popped up, but because when Pixal realized she didn’t know where she was, she tried to sit up.
And found she physically couldn’t.
That fact, embarrassingly, prevented her from taking a proper scope of her surroundings. It stopped her from analyzing just how poor condition she was in, why everything sounded fuzzy and muffled, why she couldn’t feel a thing, why her depth perception was nonexistent and overall vision was an angry, glitching grayish red, with dark spots showing signs of corruption.
Because Pixal was pragmatic, but she was also, in simple words, alive. And living things had emotions, and these emotions were turning very panicked.
And so it took much, much too long (in reality, it was less than thirty seconds) for Pixal to realize she was not alone.
Her head was tilted back, staring up at something dark. She believed it to be a ceiling, not a night sky, but she couldn’t tell. It was dark, that was all she knew. She believed any other spots that might’ve been stars were actually glitches in her vision.
But there, just at the bottom of her sight line, something moved.
Pixal twitched. Tried to, at least. She felt her head give a tiny jerk, though it was hardly anything, and fifteen more warnings popped up in her vision.
Wires disconnected - immediate fix necessary
Unable to repair synthetics
Servers unresponsive
WARNING
Core overheating - 67%
Cooldown systems offline
Immediate shutdown recommended
Under normal circumstances, Pixal would immediately begin stressing over the current pop-ups in her very poor vision. Unfortunately, this was not a normal circumstance, and the movement at the bottom of her vision was suddenly rising into view.
It was a bird. A large bird? It seemed like a face, but her eyes were broken enough to be lying to her. She knew she thought she saw a beak, and it was much too big for a normal bird.
The beak moved, but she picked up no sound. Something high and clacking, though that could’ve been her processors malfunctioning.
It raised a hand, right in front of her face. It looked like it was snapping its fingers, though the sound didn’t register to Pixal’s ears.
She would’ve flinched away if she could. Be as it may, all she could muster was a slight spasm to one of her left eyes, it seemed her eyelids had been heavily damaged, and a tiny tilt of her head that may have just been caused by harsh wind.
WARNING
Connection failure
Core overheating - 73%
Cooldown systems offline
The bird’s head turned this way and that, and Pixal was aware of a slight jolt to her body only because her head moved. Though she didn’t necessarily feel ‘pain’, nor did Zane to some extent, there was still a sense of touch available to her. It was mildly alarming she felt none of that touch.
Especially not with a core growing that warm.
WARNING
Core overheating - 81%
Cooldown systems offline
Immediate shutdown recommended
The bird’s beak appeared to clack again, something that looked like an arm raising. The other was still below Pixal’s sightline, and she was coherent enough to comprehend that it might be what had jolted her. What was it doing?
Another jolt to her body—and the bird suddenly jerked, something changing as their form hastily moved back, clutching something to their chest. Their hand? Whatever it was, they briefly moved further out of Pixal’s sight line, shaking what she assumed to be their hand after a moment.
Too hot. That was what the gesture meant.
Core overheating - 88%
More alarms were blaring over her vision. She shouldn’t be heating up that fast. Even with her cooling systems down, a simple startup shouldn’t have overheated this quickly. Unless her systems were working overtime, like now, clearly trying to mend itself and stay together with the amount of damage done to it.
But even after that, she should not have overheated this fast. Either something had happened, or the warning signs flickering over her eye were still unable to properly communicate the amount of damage she was suffering.
Or, perhaps, she was panicking more than she realized, and her systems were trying to work overtime in defending itself from something it physically couldn’t stop.
The bird was suddenly back again, moving with more speed. Pixal rolled her head again, instead wincing (which was really just squinting what remained of her singular eyelid) when warnings popped up about wires pulling loose. That was odd. If that were the case, then her head should barely be attached to her body at all. She had quite a lot of metal protecting the wires beneath, and they weren’t tight enough to pull free with as simple a movement as this.
Those hands moved out of Pixal’s immediate sight. Towards her chest. Pixal tried to turn her head again. Her chest compartment—was it open? It had to be, the bird had no reason to be rummaging in that area otherwise. Her chest cavity was open.
And someone was poking around in it.
Pixal’s right shoulder gave a sudden, jerky twitch.
It was more like a spasm, a reaction of some semblance of a move command transferring through her wires, but lacking the command as to where it was meant to move. So instead it jerked, but it caused the bird momentary pause.
She couldn’t tell what its face looked like. Only that it had one.
Core overheating - 93%
Immediate shutdown recommended
She could feel it now. Her sensors were fried, but some part of her could feel the effects of the heat. Her head feeling like it could move too easily, metals and wires at threat of burning away. A shoulder too loose in its socket. At this stage, something was definitely melting.
Something clacked again, and the bird made a quick, sudden movement to her chest, jerking away a moment later, clutching their hand.
Forced shutdown confirmed, pinged an alert, bright and bold, over her eye.
Pending…
Pixal’s head gave a sudden, forward start.
Shit.
Pixal tipped with the force of her head moving, suddenly lurching to the left and sliding down. She was slumped against something, and the bird was looking at her, trying to approach again, as she slid, and all her systems shut themselves down.
Absolutely not.
Pixal tried to move, to twitch, to do anything— she could already see everything closing itself off, everything growing sluggish as she went into a forced shutdown. This, she thought in her frantic state, eye darting around a mile a minute, was far too terrifying than it had any right to be.
The bird was still watching her, and she tried to bare her teeth at it, unsure if her face could even move. She couldn’t tell, she couldn’t feel a thing.
Don’t you dare, she wanted to hiss, the little light in her eye starting to fade, deciding she’d rather have a core meltdown than this. She would not let herself be scrapped again, she would not be the spare parts for someone else's whims, she would not be torn apart—
Forced shutdown complete.
RECALIBRATION FAILURE
Auditory circuits disturbed
Visual processing damaged
Vocalization failure
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION INTERRUPTED
Sensory malfunction
Mobility interference
Mind palace disrupted
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION SUCCESSFUL
Systems dysfunctional
Cooldown system offline
Restarting recommended
Pixal’s eye snapped open.
She still didn’t know where she was.
Her vision was still corrupted, with no improvements from before. That was the first thing she came to notice, thoughts sluggishly pulling themselves back online.
She always hated shutting down. It wasn’t the same as stasis, or going to ‘sleep’. In those instances, her systems were simply put on hold, mechanics conserving energy to quietly work through any files that may need shuffling or memories placed in new sections. That was ‘sleep,’ but stasis allowed for a quicker regeneration of energy. Not quite turned off, but not fully functional, giving her battery time to regenerate itself.
None of that came with shutting down, except maybe complete battery regeneration. Shutting down was everything possible switched off, and, perhaps, a ‘true’ form of sleeping.
At best, it was impractical, when Pixal lived a life requiring being able to wake up in a five seconds or less. At worst, it made room for situations such as the one she found herself in.
She blinked her eye, fighting against the slow tide, systems slowly flickering to life. Of which numerous sections failed to do so, though she took note that some didn’t appear as critical as before.
Something rumbled.
That caught Pixal’s attention, because that wasn’t what she had been hearing previously. A quick glance—yes, her auditory circuits seemed to be in better shape. Still rather damaged, but now all sound felt like it was distant and under a heavy blanket. Still basically worthless, but better.
This time, she wasn’t facing up. She was slouched to the side, not the same side she tipped when she shut off, she noticed, leaning against something that may have been a table. She was looking out against more darkness, with specks of light. Color was very indiscernible, but it seemed as though she was in a room. If those lights were artificial or windows, she couldn’t tell.
There was a shadow in front of her.
It wasn’t the bird, she registered that immediately. This one seemed featureless to her, but it had a head, and that head suddenly turned to her when her eye began blinking.
It held still for a moment, and Pixal took that moment to check how well she could move. The wires in her neck seemed to be reconnected, and there were a few less warnings about her arms, that was good.
WARNING
Lower sections unresponsive
Files lost
Core overheating - 48%
The figure before her suddenly lurched further away. Pixal reacted with a flinch, head falling back. It still felt off, too much like moving something attached by glue, though it was impossible to tell if it was because of her current state, or her sensors remaining inactive.
The figure turned their head, letting out a yell. Pixal couldn't discern the words, nor could she trust if their voice was really low-pitched or not, but it was loud, and she experimentally twitched her right fingers, finding them slowly coming to life.
Something else sounded off, like a ‘hree’ or ‘oown’, and the figure made a movement like a huff, reaching to Pixal’s left.
Core overheating - 67%
Pixal flicked her fingers again, curling them into a fist. She knew the sudden spike in heat, this time, was due to herself. She could probably punch them. It might give her a few moments. That was all she needed.
The figure was back, reaching towards her chest cavity. She couldn’t tell if they were holding anything.
Pixal jerked.
She discovered that, while her right hand may be active, her right arm was not. And so, all that resulted was her hand spazzing to the left, clinking over each other, and her head making a sudden movement in the same direction.
She got a full view of a face. Still distorted, but it most certainly was not human. That, she trusted.
No human skin was that full of cracks, nor were their eyes that bright.
Core overheating - 52%
She began to tip, and something came out and stopped her. Her head lolled forward before she could stop it, chin on her sternum as she stared straight down.
A hand was holding her upright, stopping her from falling any further. It gave her a visual of her current state, though there wasn’t much to determine with her eye’s ability.
Her chest cavity was, indeed, open. In fact, the hinge for it appeared to be entirely missing. Zane’s hinge was one that opened outwards, despite her insisting it was impractical. Her door was internal, sliding to the side underneath her metallic covering, tucked in a spot clear of any wires or gears.
She could tell, even through the distortion, that it was gone. Or, at the very least, heavily damaged. A shut-down automatically closed all compartments, and a startup wouldn’t open them unless asked to. The fact she could see the hole in her chest, wires bursting free, was deeply concerning.
But there, amongst all the wires, was this figure’s other hand. A hand that was holding something, pressing up to her core.
Core overheating - 45%
It better not be an ice pack. Even through the terror at having a foreign hand amongst her wires, she had the standards to hope it wasn’t an ice pack being held to her very advanced core. Partially because, though much of her was waterproof, putting water directly on her insides was not a great idea. And partially because she felt herself above that.
“...all it,” The figure was saying, she registered, something twisted backwards when it reached her ears, “No…rry…upid…tin.”
Pixal tried to growl. She couldn’t feel any of her face moving. But she tried to, raising her head and trying to conk it against the chin, or even the arm, of whoever was grabbing her.
The top of her head managed to hit something, sending a loud ping through her skull. That she could hear just by being within her own head, an echoing ringing, a familiar sound of metal hitting something way too hard.
Her vision glitched, more warnings popping up. She tried to hiss, jolting her head around, attempting to make a bite towards the figure. Did her mouth even work? She didn’t know.
Loud noises, something crashing, sending her hearing on the fritz as it tried to adjust to the sounds. Her head moved too widely to take anything in, only the figure shoving her, and she went back to her previous position, slouched against the table.
Core overheating - 49%
Another form, maybe it was the bird. Pixal tried to snap, to force her hand up, though her shoulder just twitched like it always did. Her eye whirled around, trying to analyze anything, a way out, a way to–to do something—
“...down…ird…car…sy…”
Don’t touch me, she snarled, or at least, she tried to. A little warning screen reminding her popped up, vocalization failure. She still tried to snap at the hands that moved closer towards her.
Core overheating - 75%
It was a concerning jump, and they most definitely didn’t have a cooling device on her anymore. This was bad in that she could see how fried she was becoming before her very eye. This was good because, as stated, she would much rather melt from an unregulated core over this.
Frantic movement, light flickering as things moved in front of her. There was another pair of hands, and they jerked away when she tried to roll her head at them. Something shoved her back against the wall, and she tried to throw her head down to connect with it.
Clang!
Her vision spun, forehead now resting against the arm holding her back. No, it wasn’t human. Was it gray? It was covered in cracks and lumps, so she thought it probably wasn’t metal. She wanted to believe another nindroid wouldn’t be holding her back.
Forced shutdown confirmed
Pending…
Pixal jerked her head back, wildly darting her eye about the two figures standing over her, their voices mingling into a murmur. Another warning about her core popped up, and she threw it away before she could see it.
Pixal liked to think herself logical. Even when filled with worry, or, in a rare instance of this, fear, she tried to find solutions that would work. She had been designed…she was…
Who designed her?
Her vision started closing off, and she startled. Information forcing in, no, she knew who made her, of course she knew, but who was—
Pixal drew her head back, then, with what little power remaining, she slammed it back down on the hand holding her there.
Clang!
Her vision was nearly black. She lifted her head again.
Clang!
She lifted her head—
A hand grabbed it, fingers curling around her eye.
It was made of stone.
Forced shutdown complete.
Notes:
i love to make a point about how terrifying it must be when you're a being that can have your entire body physically forced to shut down, be torn apart, and rebuilt into something unrecognizable. i LOVE emphasizing that shit has to fuck with droids in some way. dunno what the proper tag is for this sort of situation with robots, but you know what? i make my own rules here
Chapter 2: pixal punches a bird
Notes:
i am the ringmaster and this is my circus. welcome to pixal still having a bad time
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
RECALIBRATION INTERRUPTED
Auditory circuits reconnecting
Visual processing disrupted
Vocalization failure
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION INTERRUPTED
Sensory malfunction
Mind palace disrupted
Files misorted
Recalibrating…
RECALIBRATION SUCCESSFUL
Partial mobility online
Cooldown system online
Navigation restarting
“Morel!”
Her hearing registered before anything else. A voice, an unfamiliar and wonky one. It sounded glitched, and changed in pitch and volume, but at least the word was somewhat discernible.
Her eye opened.
Not as bad as before, but still bad. Shapes were clearer, but barely taking in any light. There was still a grayish-red hue over anything, bars and glitches flashing over her screen. But she could determine what seemed to be a shape, and right now, the shape taking form was dark, a face, and bird-like.
The bird hissed something, rearing back a moment, hands up. She could see their expression. Anxious, on-edge, almost sheepish. On instinct, she twitched her hand.
No alarms popped up.
“—boy,” The bird said, words still jumbled and lost, and Pixal watched their hands more than she did their mouth. She could read lips, but not so much beaks. “Oka…asy there…ets just…”
The bird reached towards her again, to her chest. Pixal’s systems were still rebooting, coming back to themselves. But her hand seemed like it could clench—and there were no alarms when she experimentally rolled her right shoulder.
“Back… sleep.” The bird said, looking down at her chest, not her face, “sleep, sleep…go back…”
A small warning on her screen popped up: core wires disrupted.
Pixal’s hand flew up.
It hit its target right on, despite her not looking down to see where those foreign hands were. Her hand seized a wrist, grip clenching down and holding firm.
It was slow. She was slow. But it did the trick.
The bird froze.
Eyes snapped to hers, wide and searching. Pixal narrowed hers back, and saw a final all available systems online ping in her vision.
Pixal jerked her hand up, punching the bird in the face with their own fist.
The bird squawked, stumbling back when Pixal released them. They grabbed at their face, and Pixal surged.
It was more like a clumsy, lumbering rise, but she did what she could. Her fist gripped a familiar side table, forcing herself up, experimentally moving her left arm. It was slower, looser, weaker, and clearly not connected in all the right places. But it moved, and she used it to brace herself, moving upright.
And promptly nearly fell right in her face.
WARNING
Lower mobility restricted
Left mobility disrupted
Systems dysfunctional
Pixal could only get a glance of her legs. She saw what looked like two-thirds of one, and a barely-there exoskeleton of another.
Well, that wasn’t very ideal.
The bird was pulling their hands away. Pixal thought so, at least. She didn’t take her chances, gripping the table tighter, and shoved herself off with all her might.
The table must’ve been quite unstable, because its leg promptly gave out, sending what appeared to be a box of tools and knickknacks cascading to the wooden floor.
The sound erupted in Pixal’s ears, senses spazzing as they recalibrated themselves and she stumbled, on her hands and knees, not quite sure where she was going, just that it was away.
But she made sure to grab one of the tools, a rather big one, and turned to throw it in the direction of the bird.
The bird barely ducked, making a yelping noise as she scrambled to leave, managing just a little bit of weight on her exoskeleton leg, the other too short to try properly walking.
“Easy!” She thought she heard the bird yelp, “…sy there!”
Pixal found something solid, heaving herself up onto it. Another table? This one had what looked like half-finished machinery, none any larger than her head. She made a wild grab for one shaped like a ball.
“Hey, hey!”
Pixal spun and threw the ball. The bird fumbled, scrambling to catch the invention before it hit the floor.
She moved herself along the table, eye frantically taking in what it could. It looked like there were windows. She just needed to get to the windows, and ignore all other warnings blaring in her eye.
She couldn’t tell quite how far the window was. It’d require her moving on her own, at least. She decided to take that chance, inching around the table, hearing a loud screech as her metal dragged on the floor.
And suddenly she was blocked.
Pixal reared back, one hand instinctively coming up to cover her chest, still open to the world. She attempted to hiss before vocalization failure popped up again.
“Hold on!” The bird put up their hands, standing in the way, eyes wild. They were dark. Was the bird dark, or was it her vision? “There’s…ong…unction…going to hurt you.” The bird was shaking their head, and Pixal clenched her fists, eyes darting over their form. Distorted thunder rang in Pixal’s ears, a result of the damage, she was sure. “I swear,” The bird said, “…m not—“
Pixal lunged.
The bird's wings (of course it had those, why wouldn’t they?) flared out, hands raising to protect their face, yelping.
Pixal’s good arm instead went around, arm bracing over the back of their head. She slammed into them, which was easy to do when she couldn’t stay upright all that well, knocking both of them down as she hastily brought her weaker arm, as fast she could, to wrap around the other side of their neck, good arm grasping on.
The bird flailed and kicked, shrieking out very ear-grating bird-like calls (or maybe that was just her), wings smacking Pixal every which way.
She managed to get her arms around their head, rolling to the side and feeling satisfaction when they easily went with her, hands coming up to scramble at her arms, legs kicking. If they made any contact with her, she couldn’t feel it.
She estimated it took roughly twenty seconds between her initial lunge and now, where the bird was flailing against her headlock. She decided she didn’t mind that she was much slower than she should’ve been, it was more than reasonable given the current circumstance.
The bird's calls faded very quickly, conserving breaths as they lost airflow into their throat. Pixal squeezed as tight she could, knowing her left arm was too weak to do any permanent damage. She could, however, knock them unconscious.
The bird gave another weak jerk, wing smacking at her.
WARNING
Cooldown systems unplugged
Another thunder roared in Pixal’s ears, and this time, she looked up.
There was something across the room. Was it an elevated hallway? Stairway? She couldn’t tell from this distance. But she could see a shape there.
It took about two seconds before that shape ran right towards her.
Pixal calculated if it was worth it to use the bird as a hostage. The figure appeared humanoid, perhaps it was the other figure who’d captured her. The bird might be their friend.
But they also might not be. She might be worth more to them than the bird.
Knowing how well these types did with loyalty, it wasn’t a risk worth taking.
Pixal released the bird, sensing them gasping for breath, and got her hands under its back. Just as the figure reached them, arms outstretched, stone hands, she shoved the bird towards them with all her might.
It caused momentary distraction, the stone person stumbling to catch the bird fumbling towards them, crashing into each other. Pixal kicked out against the ground, giving herself momentum to break into a crawl-run off to the left, aiming for where the stone person came from. Trying to open and then crawl out the window here would be too slow, they’d catch her. She needed to barricade somewhere, find a smaller way out.
She pushed herself up what seemed like a couch, hearing more rumbling and shouting behind her, searching for a grip on the arm of the couch—
She faltered when something suddenly popped up on that arm, nipping at her.
It was a tad smaller than her forearm, covered in reddish-brown…mold? That’s all she could think of with her limited sight. Mold like a cap, with something beady and black for eyes, with short stubby-like limbs.
It reminded her of a mushroom, honestly. A mushroom with limbs, trying to bite at her.
“Don’t hurt…!”
“He can’t be—”
Pixal looked back, finding the bird bracing one arm on the stone figure, rubbing at their throat, eyes locked in on the little mushroom creature. The stone figure was holding the bird up and also watching her, something that seemed like a scowl on their face.
On a whim, Pixal raised her weaker hand, glanced at where the mushroom was still trying to bite her, and promptly wrapped her hand around it.
It wasn’t overly difficult to do so. It wasn’t a very wide creature, and she found that it was squishy in her fist, melding pretty well to the new shape. She thought she heard it squeak when she grabbed it, tiny stubby limbs kicking and flailing about.
“Hey!”
Pixal squeezed tighter, flicked her eyes back, and shoved herself off the couch.
She made a break for where the stone figure had come from hobbling along on a skeleton leg that threatened to give in. It seemed it was only made as a shell, an idea of where a leg should be, and thus not equipped to support all the weight that came with solid metal.
Nevertheless, as it bent, it held enough, and Pixal threateningly tucked the creature closer to her chest, grip as tight as she could manage (hopefully without harming it, there was someone she knew who’d be disappointed if she did. Why couldn’t she remember who?), trying to enunciate her threat as she shouldered against the wall, using it as support.
WARNING
Cooldown systems unplugged
Core overheating - 38%
Immediate action required
Pixal looked down, only now remembering that little warning.
In her scuffle with the bird, it appeared their flailing had dislodged a tube in her open chest cavity. The tube was new, but it’d clearly been connected to her core, and it was now dangling out of her chest, damn near dragging on the floor.
Liquid was dripping out of the tube, leaving a trail across the floor. Eye darting back, she saw that the bird actually seemed more focused on that, the stone figure being the one paying attention to the creature in her hand.
Core overheating - 44%
Immediate action required
Pixal was starting to get rather tired of this.
The stone figure began approaching, and as soon as the bird snagged their arm, Pixal turned and shoved herself off onto the—ledge? It felt like a ledge, and she nearly landed on her face when one of her legs caught on it.
Looking up, it seemed there was also a stairway. One leading up, and another with an ajar door built into the side of the stairs. Pixal dragged herself over to it, using her forearm to not smush the wriggling creature against the ground, raising her head and peering down the open doorway to a very dark stairway.
Thunder.
Pixal whirled her head around, trying to scrunch up her face into something mean, something with bared teeth. Either she couldn’t move it, or the stone figure didn’t care, because that was who was approaching her, and they didn’t stop.
“Wait, don’t—”
Whatever the bird said, she didn’t care to catch it. Pixal saw her options, and she promptly heaved herself into the stairway.
To which her hand struggled for a grip on the smooth wood, and, combined with trying to support her from not succumbing to the powers of gravity—she promptly succumbed to the powers of gravity, losing balance and tumbling head-first down the stairs.
Everything spun, the sound of metal clanging and banging against wood and stone walls ringing in and outside her head. She scrambled for a grip, finding none as warnings flashed over her screen.
Multiple gears dislodged
Wire maintenance required
Mobility interference
Synthetic cover damaged
Pixal came to a sudden stop, all but plopping onto the ground at the foot of the stairs in a jumbled, tangled heap.
Her systems worked to resettle themselves. That fact alarmed her, because under normal circumstances, a simple fall down the stairs would barely dent her. She built herself heavily enforced for a reason…one that she couldn’t quite recall.
She would’ve groaned if she could’ve, blinking her eye. She was looking out into wherever the steps led, finding a very dark room. Her night vision didn’t click on, and as Pixal eased her head up, she found she had to flip it on manually—and that it was just as shitty as her regular vision.
It looked like…a storage room? Maybe? There were a lot of boxes, and a lot of random junk from the look of it. If there was a light switch, she couldn’t see it.
Core overheating - 56%
A squeak made her look back.
Her weak hand had opened at some point, freeing the mushroom creature. It was now on the last step at the bottom of the stairs, making a whirlwind of small noises. It appeared to be punching its little fists towards her, though it wasn’t actually making contact.
It seemed rather displeased.
Weakly, Pixal raised her stronger arm up. The mushroom creature didn’t seem to notice at first, and only at the last minute did it notice and try to flee.
Her hand promptly dropped directly on top of it.
Pixal blinked blearily at this, where her hand and arm nearly completely smothered the creature, and she saw little pieces of mush peeking out from behind her fingers. Before she realized that her arm weighed a lot, and she might have just squashed it like a bug.
Pixal winced, nervously raising her hand…to find the creature springing right back up, as though nothing happened to it, and trying to bite her hand.
Well, that was a relief.
Then, her vision darkened.
Pixal looked up—and instantly gripped the creature, rolling away from the foot of the stairs, and from the figure standing at the top of it.
The creature kept squeaking, and Pixal cared little about how hard she squeezed as she pulled herself away and into the storage area, ignoring the thunderous yells she couldn't make out, kicking her legs against the ground to give her boost, ending up on her hands and knees a few times, frantically searching.
She found one of the corners of the room, where two tables were, plus piles of junk and shelves, an area with a lot of defenses. She pulled herself behind it, knocking over a few items that clattered on the floor.
She pulled herself against the wall, bringing the creature up as it tried to wiggle free of her fingers. She tugged at it, looking out and frantically searching for anything approaching, finding with mild alarm it was dark enough that one of them might be coming for her and she wouldn’t immediately see.
Core overheating - 78%
Multiple sections disconnected
Immediate action required
Pixal hissed in her head, other hand patting around her chest until she found the unplugged tube. The creature tried to wiggle again, and she switched it over to her weaker hand. It was slipping through slightly, but she was more busy grabbing the end of the tube and frantically shoving it near her core, feeling around to find where it was supposed to go.
Except, she didn’t have her sensors on. Which meant all she could feel was that something was there. Which didn’t exactly help her.
Shit.
Pixal abandoned the creature, uncaring where it fell as she scrambled for her tube. She felt around her core, bringing the tube up and trying to find some spot it could latch on. Warnings flashed, and she looked down to examine her work, finding that she, big surprise, still couldn’t see shit.
Core overheating - 80%
At least the tube was dripping on her core now, but it wouldn't be enough to stave it off for long. She was too battered, and her insides were too busy trying to fix something they physically couldn’t.
Her fingers fumbled over the tube, maybe that was—? No, it didn’t latch. Maybe—no, that was a wire, she couldn’t unplug that. If she could—no, that felt like another tube, she needed to keep that in.
Something jolted to her left.
She startled for a moment—then went back to ignoring it, finding it was only the mushroom creature, pulling itself up onto her leg, the one that was two-thirds completed.
Core overheating - 89%
Her vision was growing heat waves. She was too frantic, running her fingers around the outside of her core. She was too close, her fingers were about to melt. But she needed to fix it, but if her metal melted over the core—
The creature squeaked.
She wasn’t sure why she looked, but she did.
It was staring up at her, with these tiny black eyes—then looked rather miffed, head turning to the far left, small, nubby arms on its sides. Like it was scolding her.
Core overheating - 92%
Pixel gripped the end of her tube tighter, bringing it down and to the left of her core. She felt something bumpy there and jabbed the end of the tube at it. She twisted it around, left, further left, shoved a little further, felt what seemed like metal melting away—
Something clicked.
Connecting…
Cooldown systems online
Core cooldown initiated
Pixal stared. At nothing in particular, really. Just off at the wall, slowly coming to terms with her life.
The creature sounded like it was squeaking again, and she saw movement like it was popping off her leg.
Experimentally, Pixal felt around her core. She found a latch on the lower side, in a very inconvenient spot, where the tube was now connected. She couldn’t tell what kind of latch it was, but it seemed like one of those plug-in and twist types, which wasn’t as air-tight or secure as she preferred it to be, but it would do.
Pixal would’ve exhaled in relief if she could, hands slowly dropping. She blinked at the creature, which seemed to bounce when it hit the ground, almost rolling. It shook itself off, perhaps getting some dust or dirt on it. The floor didn’t seem like it was a clean one.
She held out a finger too it. Just to see what it would do.
It batted at her hand angrily, hitting it with its odd appendages. It squeaked in louder clicks, stumbling back and making nipping motions towards her. Figures.
Pixal lowered her hand, wondering if she was smiling, and after making sure no one had followed her yet, pushed further back against the wall. One hand covered her chest as she let her eye glaze over, taking a quick diagnostics scan.
Auditory circuits - 87% connected
Visual processing disrupted
Vocalization failure
Sensors offline
Mind palace disrupted
Files misorted
Broken wires
Navigation system damaged
Maintenance recommended
Well, that wasn’t very good. She hadn’t been this badly damaged since…what was it—since Chen’s Island! That was it.
It was the mind palace that concerned her the most. From her scans, nothing seemed permanently damaged, and this was by design. She had enough memory to know that, following Chen’s Island, she’d made her memory drive the single most well-enforced case in her entire body. From the amount of repairs she’d done, a building could be dropped on it and it’d probably still survive. And in the case it was damaged, it’d lock itself off completely, only re-opened by one passcode known by three people.
She knew these people, she saw them flash in her mind as she re-remembered in a second. Cyrus Borg, Zane, and, most recently, Nya. If anything happened, they knew the passcodes.
It alarmed her, still, that she had to stop and focus to remember the man who made her. Cyrus Borg was someone she expected to be the last thing she remembered should everything else fail. He was her father, and he’d been there since the beginning. Her drive must have been rather rattled to forget that, no matter how momentarily.
Files were in the wrong places and order, probably trying to keep themselves together after whatever had hit her hard enough to damage her drive. Whatever the case, she was assured only by knowing those memories should all eventually come back to her. Most likely at a faster rate once her body wasn’t also stressing about mending itself.
Something thudded.
Pixal snapped open her eye.
The mushroom creature lifted its head, turning to begin wandering off. She apologized mentally and snagged it before it could run, bringing it back up to her chest, keeping it close while also protecting her insides. It squirmed vehemently at this.
A silhouette appeared, briefly. Pixal narrowed her eyes, fumbling around to find something to throw. She ended up with what looked like pieces of cardboard and chucked them.
A duck, and a yelp—and she was flooded with light.
Pixal screwed up her eye, pressing further against the wall in the sudden light.
“...ere you are.”
Pixal kicked out, fumbling to find something else to grab. She could see the outline of what looked like the stone figure over her. She had come this far, she was not going to be shut down again like this—
“Hold it!” The bird suddenly appeared, grabbing the stone figures arm and pulling on them. The figure didn’t move, but they did look down at the bird, who was too busy looking at Pixal to notice. “Hey, look…or okay.”
Pixal ducked her head somewhat, threateningly covering the mushroom creature with her other hand, though it wasn’t squirming as much as it used to.
The stone figures' eyes narrowed, from what she could tell.
The bird pulled again.
The stone figure moved back, and the bird took center. Still a few feet away, outside of her range. But, at least, she was outside of their range, too.
“I promise,” They said, holding up their hands, “we’re not…rt you.” Their voice glitched in her processors for a moment. “Sorry to…out. Didn’t mean…wake…up.” They rubbed the back of their neck sheepishly.
Pixal’s eye narrowed, hunching closer over herself. The stone figure placed a heavy hand on the birds shoulder, who glanced back at them before facing Pixal again, wings hunched over on themself. Pixal saw the look in the stones eye. That was a warning for her.
The stone mumbled something, too deep for her to register. The bird frowned for a moment, then tilted their head at her.
“Can…rstand me?” They tried, gesturing up to their beak, which Pixal noticed looked to be a different color than the rest of them. Maybe.
Pixal paused for a moment. Then, jerkily, she moved one hand away, pointing up to the side of her head, where an ear would be. With it, she made a so-so gesture, tilting her hand.
The bird's eyes lit up in a sense, nodding and making eye contact with the stone again. Then, they held out their hands, speaking very slowly and loudly. It did not, in fact, help.
“We…elp you…no har…promise.” They smiled.
Pixal’s eyes shifted to the stone figure, glaring impassively down at her.
“What?” They gruffed, and Pixal watched their mouth movements, finding it much easier to read than a bird beak. “I’m not an attack-first…later guy.”
“No harm.” The bird said, still slow, and Pixal rolled her eye. “Friend…ust us?”
Pixel took a moment to think on this. Literally, because the fun part about being machinery meant that thinking was much like a super-computer, and oftentimes didn’t take all that long. Except for now, apparently, which took approximately seven-point-three seconds longer than it should’ve. She was banged up, wasn’t she?
She did not trust these people. She reasoned it was entirely possible they were trying to fix her for good reasons, but she also reasoned that, when she thought about it, the last thing she remembered was being over a city, a huge pinkish swirl overtaking everything, and then some massive, bright explosion.
And then she woke up here, practically being torn apart, and this bird wanted to shut her off again when they seemingly accidentally woke her up. For the third time.
However, fighting was not an option. She was good, she could probably win against the bird, but the stone person was another story. You wouldn't choke out stone. In fact, she seemed to recall there once being enemies made of stone, though something told her this person didn’t quite look the same.
Stone was similar to her. It likely didn’t feel any pain, would be roughly her weight, was overall much bigger, and difficult to incapacitate. Especially when in the state she was in.
She didn’t trust them. She could, however, compromise.
Silently, Pixel raised her hand back to her ear. She kept her eye locked on the two people, making a sort of twisting motion. The bird squinted, and the stone figure was impassive. She repeated the motion a few times, switching from twisting like a dial to a repetitive movement, like twisting a wrench around in a circle.
The bird suddenly perked up, lightly hitting the stone's arm. The stone just glanced down at them, and the bird spoke some quick words before suddenly darting off, straight back towards the steps.
Leaving Pixal alone. With the stone.
And the mushroom creature in her hand. But it had stopped squirming and now seemed to just be accepting its fate.
Pixal eyed the person, similarly trying to feel around for whatever was in this corner with her. Seemed to just be a lot of old junk, and some half-opened boxes. Some had vials in them, empty and mostly cracking. She would’ve explored more if she wasn’t, you know, being stared down.
She timed it as one minute and sixteen seconds until the bird came back. In that time, the stone person did not move, blink, or speak. Easily mistaken as a regular stone statue had Pixal not known better, and at the forty-five second mark, she settled on staring straight back at them with the same focus.
When the bird returned, they crowed out something she didn’t catch. That was it—they reminded her of a crow. Sort of looked like one, if those dark feathers were really black, and not just her vision mistaking it.
They had a box in their hands.
The crow went back to where they were previously standing next to the stone, holding up—yes, that was it, a toolbox. A very dingy looking one, but they had it.
Pixal nodded quickly, pointing in front of her and holding her hand out.
The stone gruffed something, arms crossed. The crow waved it off with a flick of their wing, approaching cautiously and setting down the toolbox.
They began to open it up, but Pixal leaned forward. It caused the crow to freeze, and a rumbling noise sounded. Pixal’s best guess was that it was the stone person growling at her, though she didn’t check.
Pixal pointed to the box, then held out her hand again.
The crow looked to her hand, then to the box. Then, cautiously, they pushed the whole box towards her, screeching slightly against the rock ground.
Pixal didn’t care, and as soon as the crow’s hand retreated, she snatched the handle of the toolbox as fast as she was able. She tugged it back into her little space, flipping it open and peeking inside.
Rudimentary, the kind of toolbox she expected from a cheap mechanic at best. She glanced at her own disappointment for a moment, remembering she had friends who’s toolboxes held many more supplies than this.
She could make do.
She first slid the cardboard box with vials towards her. She opened it up, peeked inside, decided there were no holes, and placed the mushroom creature inside. It suddenly popped to life, wiggling about and looking around. It started trying to climb the walls of the box.
Pixal promptly closed the flaps. Then, to make sure, dug in the toolbox until she found some pliers. They seemed decently heavy, and she placed them over the top of the box, trapping the creature inside.
She cast a hard stare towards the others, who were watching with a mix of slightly confused worry (the crow) and annoyance that was trying to appear impassive (the stone).
Upon neither trying to argue for the creature she was using as a hostage, she finally diverted all of her attention to the toolbox. While a wrench would be useful, she’d need a bit more to get herself in working order.
It was methodic, digging through the toolbox and placing aside the ones she did and didn’t need. Almost calming, going through what could be called muscle-memory if she had either remaining, taking another diagnostics scan.
She also went through a brief history, checking the date. That seemed to be broken, an error screen when it was attempted to be found. No satellite, no service, nothing. She knew someone who worked like that— Zane, no, she wasn’t forgetting Zane. Of course she wasn’t. She couldn’t.
He didn’t have an internal clock, she remembered that. Hadn’t before, and certainly not when he was rebuilt. Not an automatic one, at least. She wondered how he could work like that, and she supposed she’d find out now.
The timers between when she was last shutdown or reboot were glitched. She’d have to fix that. But she could see when they happened, and saw between her shutdowns were multiple recalibration attempts, and from the look of her damage history, it looked like she had been in far worse shape when she first woke up. From what she could glean, it seemed a miracle she had the ability to do anything other than sit there, in the silent, blinding dark, and just know she was awake.
Bringing a screwdriver up to her head, she paused for a moment. She knew how to repair herself, it was known deep within her code, but it was still very difficult to perform on herself. Especially when she could barely see.
Her eye slid back to the other two. They’d apparently moved away at some point, perhaps time had passed longer than she thought, sitting on the steps, still in direct sightline.
The crow’s foot was tapping anxiously on the ground—actually it looked more like a talon—murmuring in quick words. The stone person was facing them, completely still and impassive save for a slow blink of their eyes.
Seemed they didn’t quite know what to do with her, either.
Pixal took the screwdriver, tapping the metal end against the ground. It clinged out, she caught it, and both heads whirled back to her.
She paused for a moment, unsure how to signal she wanted a reflective surface. On a whim, she decided to sign it out. Borg had programmed his nindroids to know as many languages as possible, including sign, and Pixal had ensured that be copied when she rebuilt herself.
Mirror, she signed, just to see. Even if it was weak with her loose arm.
Two pairs of eyes blinked at her. Blank.
Well, it was worth a shot.
Pixal fumbled for a moment, then picked up the wrench again. It wasn’t very reflective, but she held it up as though peering into it, tilting her head this way and that. She wracked her brain for a moment before giving a half-assed adjustment to her hair, feeling even sillier for doing so.
“...oing?”
Pixal looked back, the crow examining her. The stone was looking at her exactly as she felt: like an idiot.
The crow opened their beak, closed it, brought up their hand, then said: “is…ike charades?”
Pixal nodded quickly. The crow’s frown deepened, incredibly thoughtful as the stone sighed, slumping back against the wall of the stairway.
“This…culous.”
The crow made a shushing gesture, still watching Pixal. Unsure, she repeated her previous movements with the wrench. She paused before pointing to her eyes, then to the wrench, tapping on the metal. Fumbled another moment, then did the same with her metallic surfaces.
The crow clacked their beak, saying something she didn’t catch. The stone huffed, eyes going back to her.
Pixal pointed to her ear again. Can’t hear.
The crow spoke again, very slow. It sounded even worse, and Pixal glared before giving them a dismissive hand wave, shaking her head.
The stone thumped the side of the crow, nearly sending them careening. They gruffed, and the stone leaned forward, meeting her eye and saying:
“A mirror…ou mean that?”
Pixal nodded, wincing when she heard something jingle in her head. Was there a gear loose?
The crow said something to the stone, and they looked back at her before speaking again, though it seemed they were talking to the bird, not her.
“We don’t…small mirror…don’t want you…glass.”
Glass? Pixal tilted her head slightly. Glass to hurt herself, or to hurt them? She assumed themselves, it’d be rather silly she’d want to hurt herself with glass. So she took the guess and shook her head, pausing for a moment before drawing an X over where a human's heart would be.
She remembered seeing it as a sign of promise. It was from…Kai, yes, that was it. Kai had done it as both a mocking and sincere gesture. Such a thing wasn’t binding by any means, but it was what she had. It would be wise to convey she wouldn't hurt them with the glass, even though she very much would if they tried anything.
“How is…” She heard the crow, “...hout mirror?”
“You could…do…again.” The stone raised a brow, face still towards Pixal. “You were doing…fine…fixing…”
Pixal clenched her fist, glaring with all her might and shrinking back against the wall. It was a completely purposeful reaction, anything to get it through their heads they could fix her over her dead body. Or however the saying went for nindroids. Her body’s shell? Her core’s meltdown?
The crow raised their hands quickly, making some noise that sounded assuring. They glanced with the stone person, who sighed as though they were the one suffering the most in this situation.
The crow looked like they smiled, which was rather weird on a beak, then stood up. Pixal warily eyed them until they turned and strode up the stairs, once again leaving her with the stone.
“Don’t have…” The stone started, and Pixal quickly jerked her eye back to them to try and read what they said, “small mirror.” They folded their hands. “Need…go get…for you.” They puffed, leaning forward with their arms on their knees. “...you ask…too nice…my liking.”
Pixal wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so she just shrugged. The stone puffed again, brow raised. She decided to try and help herself further, lifting her weak arm and tapping on it.
The stone stared blankly, appearing entirely uncaring, and Pixal suspected it was a long shot, but she tapped against it again, looked around, then reached down and tapped on her half-finished leg. She rapped her knuckles, hearing it clang out.
“Leg?” The stone asked. “You need…leg?”
Pixal shook her head, then wrapped against her midsection, to the side of her chest cavity.
“Wires?” They frowned.
Pixal shook her head again, a tad impatient as she repeated the gesture. The stone seemed entirely unbothered with figuring this out at a reasonable time, so they just waved a hand and seemed to blindly guess.
“Metal?” They tried, and Pixal nodded, sitting up and appearing to mildly surprise them. “You need metal?”
Pixal nodded again, gesturing to her leg. Couldn’t fix herself without metal to do so at least. She paused, then lifted her hand and mimicked holding a blowtorch, pressing her finger down over the imaginary lever. She brought it down to her leg, ‘using’ it over where her leg connected to her hip.
The stone snorted, standing up. She froze, watching, and felt annoyed how it seemed amused.
“Yeah,” The stone puffed, “no. I’m not…you…fire.”
Pixal practically threw herself back against the wall in exasperation, back making a hard connection with the wall, wildly throwing out her arms in a well, you have a better idea? gesture. Gears and nails only went so far. A blowtorch was greatly needed for anything to be put securely in place.
The stone almost looked more amused.
“Sorry,” They shrugged, very unapologetic, “try not…ing out…my friend.”
Pixal assumed she’d have to guess on that one. Whatever the case, she decided it was something wholly unreasonable, and she made sure her glare (if she could do that) told the stone person as much.
They gave no response back, another shrug before turning and walking up the steps, presumably to, hopefully, at least get her metal.
Pixal sighed in her head, rubbing her good hand over her face, feeling for anything out of place. There was a massive hole where her other eye should’ve been, and when she experimentally stuck her finger inside, she pulled out something small and hard. Looking at it, she saw it was glass, likely from when the outer shell shattered. Feeling her other eye, it seemed the glass protecting the screen was also missing, and there was a large hole where her eyelid was. She didn’t have one over her other eye.
Her face felt dented. She could feel some parts less solid than others, and the sensor-filled holes where ears would be felt torn up at the sides. Her hair seemed stiffer than usual, nothing synthetic or even trying to mimic real hair, though that seemed to just be from a lack of maintenance, and it felt wonky with her hair tie missing.
Just to be sure, she felt along her jaw. She attempted to open her mouth, feeling no movement. She gripped her chin, pulling it down. She nearly lost her hold, pulling it down enough to worm a finger in her mouth and pull it the rest of the way. No warnings popped up.
Seemed the wires connected to it had broken or fried. The default stasis was shut, but it wasn’t tight enough that it was the wires possibly working overtime. When removing her hand to place it fully over her face, she attempted to scrunch it up.
Nothing.
She tried to smile. To frown.
Sensory malfunction, her head pinged, facial mobility offline.
Pixal slowly dropped her hand, laying it over top the box with the mushroom creature inside. She could hear it squeaking, softly, when alone in a room with nothing but a few shitty bulbs lighting it up. Like this, she couldn’t tell if it was still daylight or not.
Something rumbled overhead. She couldn’t tell if it was footsteps or in her own head.
Her hands were shaking. She knew they didn’t shake for the same reasons as organic beings.
Even still, she tucked them close, and tried to think about anything other than memories of dark cells and the lonely static of computer drives.
Notes:
smacks roof of pixal. this bad boy here has some trauma
Chapter Text
They settled into an uneasy truce.
The crow had found a small, round mirror, about the size of Pixal’s hand, that was held on a spinning pedestal. Its condition was not optimal, and she was under the impression it hadn’t been something in the house, but an object that the crow had bought, considering it’d taken them much longer to come back than their stone friend.
The metal she was given was…well, it was junk. But no matter how many times she asked, all the metal they had was junk. All made of different materials, from aluminum, to steel, to copper, to cast iron, and she found a few made of titanium. She made sure to use the titanium as much as she could.
The mushroom creature remained in its box for what felt like a decent while. Pixal, of course, remembered to check on it, finding it perfectly fine each time. By what felt like the second day, she realized it was chewing its way out of the box. She’d then moved it to the toolbox, instead placing her tools in the cardboard box. The stone person had found that amusing, for some reason.
She was sure it’d been a number of days before she was checking on the creature in the toolbox when the stone person spoke up. She heard a gruff across the room, then looked up.
The crow wasn’t there that time, probably off getting another invention. They’d apparently been getting bored, and started fiddling with smaller inventions across the room while Pixal worked. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what those inventions were for.
The stone person met her eye, and she gave a slow blink, hoping that signaled she hadn’t caught what he said. He puffed again, lounging back against the steps, pointing a finger to the toolbox.
“You can’t kill…” She caught him say. “Tried to…immortal…mething.”
Pixal blinked again. She lifted the lid of the toolbox, to the creature inside, who tried to squirm to freedom. She lowered her hand so it’d fall on that instead of the floor, bringing it up to her eye-level.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t exactly been feeding it, had she? And surely it’d have been struggling for oxygen in its confines?
She debated the idea that she was being lied to. She decided that was quite unlikely, as bluffing about the mortality of a creature like this was easy to figure out. She had crushed it under her hand with little results before.
“Sorry about…” The stone started, and she glanced back up, “...ge situation. Good…” He grinned, full of knobbly teeth.
Pixal looked back down at the creature—and found it biting her hand.
She rolled her eye, holding her hand up and turning it to the side. The creature flailed, then clung to her finger as it kept trying to bite the side of her hand. She admired its effort, truly, but—
The creature turned to hiss at her. Where its mouth had been was now a sizable hole in her hand.
Pixal would’ve yelped if she could, flailing her hand out. The movement dislodged the creature entirely, and it went flying across the room.
It landed right into a shelf, bouncing off like a ball. The stone person burst into uproarious laughter that shook Pixal’s insides, as the creature sprung up once more, no harm done to it, shaking a little fist at her.
Pixal stared at her hand, where there was now a hole. It was by no means small, but it was easily covered up (if she had a blowtorch). Even still, that was solid metal, and brushing a finger over it, while it was a messy hole, it was a hole that it had eaten through.
She decided that they could keep their creature. They still hadn’t attacked her without her hostage, and so she was perfectly fine with letting it run back to perch on their shoulders as they watched her.
But when she got to actually fixing herself, she debated what was more important to fix. She decided to fix her eyes first, as she felt it more important to see what she was doing than to hear it. However, when she finally got that message across, the crow had come back with a small box with spare parts scribbled with a sharpie on the side.
She gathered that they picked it up from a junkyard of sorts, or maybe even a bargain bin. She tried not to snap at them for that, because, if she were someone like Zane, she’d probably reason they may not be able to afford, or find, anymore.
But she wasn’t. So she quietly felt insulted they only got her bargain bin parts.
Any eyes they found were from other nindroid models, plus a few that seemed to be from something else entirely that wouldn’t fit at all. The nindroid eyes would match with her, for even if she was technically a different model, she was close enough.
Unfortunately, most nindroid eyes these days were bright red. Except for the one she found at the bottom of the box, which confirmed her suspicion these ‘spare’ parts were simply discarded or discontinued, as the last eye appeared more of an orange color than red.
It was still enough, and with some fiddling, her eyes finally blinked to a semi-clear world.
“How’s that?” She heard distantly, blinking her new eye a few times, looking back across the room.
The crow and stone person usually situated themselves on the other side of the room. They wouldn’t come closer unless she asked, because when they did so without warning, she instinctively shrunk back and threatened them with whatever tool she had on hand. She threw a screwdriver at the stone person when they tried to move some of the boxes away from her, and in hindsight, he was probably just trying to help.
Needless to say, she didn’t think the stone person liked her.
The crow was about halfway across the room, now. They kept trying to get closer, and Pixal had let them only within a certain limit. The halfway mark was the current line in the room (well, basement), only allowed closer when offering parts.
She blinked a few more times, systems slowly connecting to the eye and adjusting it to her preferred settings. It’d been easier to fix the eye that had remained, though it still caused glitches and color de-saturation at times.
The red-gray haze was now finally lifted, though mending her other eye had made it a much more faded color compared to how it was earlier. Less fuzz, though it seemed it still needed to be fiddled with some more.
The crow was, indeed, appearing to be a crow, though something told her they looked a little too different. The top part of their beak wasn’t just a different, golden color, but appeared to be a prosthetic. She could see the rivulets and designs carved into it, and that explained their clacking.
She didn’t know much about bird-people, but they appeared to be an adult, younger than middle-aged, but older than the Ninja, and their feathers didn’t look very well-groomed. With the closer proximity, she could see the bone of their left wing also looked like a prosthetic. More of a cover, goldish bronze covering the muscle, and when their wing twitched, she saw metal poles sliding along it, giving it movement.
They had…a lot of belts crossing over their chest and waist. A few keychains with random items dangling off, and it really reminded her more of a harness. The clothes underneath were similarly dark, and not a very good shape.
She gave a nod, and the crow (she wasn’t sure it was a crow now) broke into another odd-beak smile. Then they gave a deeply serious look, holding up three fingers.
“How many…ing up?” They asked.
Pixal gave them a deadpan stare for a few moments.
She picked up some remaining screws in the box of spare parts and threw them. The bird squawked, but only seemed mildly surprised, covering their head and stepping back to avoid the wrath of very small metal objects.
Pixal wished she could smile. Instead, she tried to convey it with a smug look of her eyes, then turned back to the mirror to add minor adjustments.
Perhaps a bit vainly, Pixal was all too aware of the state of her appearance.
The vain part wasn’t in noticing how terrible she looked machinery-wise. That was just a fact, and it was something she was fixing.
With improved vision, she saw now that most of her was the same as her eye: spare parts. That’s what she was made with now. It was with some sardonic amusement she found she’d done the reverse of Zane; gone from brand new to a pile of scraps that refused to quit.
She’d been infuriated before going back on her diagnostics scans from when she first woke up. Although she hadn’t been able to see what she looked like, all those warnings told her there was simply too much broken. It was likely very few pieces of her even had the possibility of repair, and it simply needed to be replaced. If this bird was really helping her just because, (of which she highly doubted), then there was nothing else they could’ve done to get her in working order again. At least, not unless they had the technical know-how that rivaled her own.
She still mourned her old body, and found herself compulsively removing parts of herself before reattaching them, as though doing it herself would make it better or newer. She’d worked a long time on that body, though she supposed at least she didn’t have to start from scratch again.
She was able to analyze what of her old self remained. Her head was there, obviously, as was most of her abdomen, although a number of her inner workings were damaged and had been replaced (or placed in the wrong spots, as she soon found out and amended). Her left arm was completely replaced, made of materials that someone had clearly tried to get the rust off of but only mostly succeeded, of which she did her best to mend herself before just replacing those parts with better metals. Her right shoulder was replaced, but most of the wires underneath were the same, and a decent chunk of that arm was still there, though half of her hand wasn’t.
Her mostly-completed leg seemed to actually be because it was what remained. It cut off just under her knee, and the part where it connected to her body was new, but the outer shell seemed alright. Her other leg was entirely missing, with an exoskeleton of spare parts, save for her foot, which seemed to have some pieces remaining.
Her face did have dents in it, with holes and scratches galore, but she chose to just pop out the dents that she could and try not to focus on it. The metal around her neck was weak, and she realized it looked melted, most definitely from her core having no cooldown system for a time. Those she made sure to replace, though it was slightly amusing to see the stone person do a double take, slightly uneasy in his features from the sight of her exposed neck once she removed the metal plating, nothing but a couple of rods and a tangled, too-thin jumble of wires.
The wires were mostly just keeping information in her head, wherein they would transfer through her body, so she wasn’t as concerned about it. She had experimentally plucked a wire, which did serve as her checking her nervous system in a sense, but it also had the added benefit of making the stone monster shutter and leave rather quickly.
Her eyes had just looked awful . A massive hole in the left side of her face where a missing eye was, plating fallen off and exposing the wires underneath. She’d replaced the eye before her face, as it was rather hard to get her face in order without a blowtorch. Her other eye had been blinking intermittently, but overall seemed not that bad.
But the vain part, that came when seeing the state her hair was in.
Pixal did not often care about it. It was fake, but stylized to act and feel at least somewhat similar to the real thing. She had liked it long, but also liked it out of her way, and so kept it tied up so often that anytime it wasn’t, it required some maintenance from how…bad it had gotten.
It was a wreck, now. Her hair tie was gone, obviously, but some of the ends of her hair were fried and charred, little bits of grit and dirt tangled within. It was knotted in every which way, and randomly cut up. It was a little shorter than it should’ve been on her right, then lost a huge chunk that ended at her neck from her back to just around her left shoulder, then long again when it got back to her front.
Pixal was not afraid to call herself a perfectionist. She was already internally killing herself a little more each day by fixing herself up to a passable degree before going on to perfect, but, at the very least, she could fix this. It wouldn’t take that long, and it only required scissors.
The crow and stone figure had been hesitant to give her scissors, partially because she already had pliers. So, instead of arguing over it, she decided to just cut them with the pliers while they were sleeping.
It was as good as she could make it without proper care, namely water and a brush. So the pliers and her fingers would do, and she found even then she actually didn’t mind it.
She wound up just cutting it all short. Nothing overly flashy, but her hair was puffy enough, naturally due to the material, so she didn’t cut much from the top of her head. She found herself slightly wishing she had access to buzz the sides, it’d probably look better that way, but instead just cut it as short as she could, leaving the top to sweep over slightly. It got rid of most of the knots, and it was practical enough to stay out of the way. Namely her face.
Most of all, she hated knowing why it mattered the most to her—it was the one thing she had a choice in changing. At least, the biggest part of her for the time being.
Fear was something Pixal had grown used to. It was particularly upsetting in her earlier years of life, when she was first learning to feel such emotions, ones stronger than passing worry. She’d stopped being so intimidated by it, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She didn’t know how the others could thrive off of it.
The truth was—she didn’t recognize her own reflection. Her paint was practically nonexistent, much of her body was missing or replaced with little more than scrap, and her face was so dented and banged up that it may require entirely new plating someday. Even when squinting, she couldn’t recognize it as herself. The little pieces of her eyes that functioned attempted a facial scan at one point, and it struggled to scan it as hers.
It gnawed at her. Perhaps that was why she’d only been found by a bird and some stone beast with a mushroom. She was unrecognizable. Borderline junk.
She wasn’t sure if even her father would recognize her.
Pixal took satisfaction when the last of her hair fell to her lap. It almost put all those thoughts on the backburner. How someone with memories so spotty, who looked nothing like the person they said she was, could really be P.I.X.A.L.
The bird seemed interested to see her new hair, whereas the stone person just gave a little nod and moved on. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she wasn’t really looking for their opinions anyway. She liked it just fine.
She just hoped she’d be able to replace its length when she got home.
It was painfully slow going, with so many senses offline and having to rely on two people she distrusted to bring her supplies, as well as keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn’t try anything. With her friends, or even Borg, a fix like this would’ve taken about a week of solid, non-stop work, but that was unrealistic. So, with just one of them, complete and total maintenance would take a little over a month. Maintenance to the point she was functional would’ve taken two and half weeks.
She knew it’d at least been a month when she decided her ears had progressed enough to help her. It had been hellish, and the bird kept trying to offer assistance. While she acknowledged they were likely the reason her auditory processing had improved since she first woke up, she believed her frequent throwing of items hinted that she would not, under any circumstance, willingly let them touch her.
She kept expecting them to force it. To run over and switch her off. She still hadn’t properly covered her cavity, because she needed to be able to see to fix it, and by the time that happened, she had an artificial (and very shitty) covering that unfortunately let her guard down enough to fix her hearing before her cavity.
But then, there came a ridiculously cold night. Cold enough that her barley-working sensors alerted her.
It must have been winter, and she was feeling it. Well, not literally, but her power was working overtime to keep her awake. It was more than possible, and most certainly not an issue, but with her state, her core was working a little too hard to stay warm, and thus was a tad toastier than it should be. Even still, it wasn’t to a dangerous degree.
Her movements creaked slightly, and she realized some of the tools had pieces of frost on them. The basement wasn’t exactly dry, so she didn’t stress about it and simply brushed it off. Her legs were a slight concern, they weren’t wholly connected to her core, and the exoskeleton needed to be stretched a few times, but it was manageable.
The light in the basement was always kept on, even when the other two left. They’d left her here about three hours ago, having given up on shifts when the crow fell asleep on two of their shifts and she hadn’t done a thing. So it wasn’t too hard for her to work in these conditions.
And it was why she noticed a shadow across the floor.
She startled, clutching the wrench close and narrowing her eye, before it could see as well—to find the bird, wings dragging on the floor, looking downright exhausted.
They mumbled something she didn’t catch, wandering to the other side of the room. They reached to the side of one of the tables, withdrawing a cloth. That cloth was draped over all the junk on the tables, some sort of shield from the cold, she guessed.
Pixal left them to it, too busy giving an experimental test of how well her eye shifted through night vision. Still looked rather bad, but not as much as before.
Then, the shadow was back.
Pixal warily looked up. To the crow, closer than she permitted them to be.
She grabbed a plier as a warning—and saw they had one of the large blanket-like cloths. A blanket, really. She didn’t believe there were any inventions on this side of the room. At least none the bird deemed necessary to grab when she made this small spot her temporary home.
The bird looked tired, but with one hand, they offered out the blanket, mumbling something else she didn’t catch.
Pixal eyed it.
Then, slowly, she reached out and gingerly took one end of the blanket.
The bird hummed, nodding once before turning on their talons and meandering back up the steps.
Pixal looked down at the blanket. It was the same as it was for the other covered tables in the room. Surely they knew she was far too advanced to need shielding from a little cold? Her core was more than warm enough.
But the bird had left, so there was no one to ask. Pixal glanced down at herself, then draped it over her front, covering up her chest cavity. It did absolutely nothing to protect it, and she knew this, but a part of her was grateful it wasn’t exposed to the world anymore. So she tucked it around herself, readjusted her mirror, and went back to work.
She ended up keeping the blanket, always keeping it over her chest. She had nothing else, as she came to realize she was missing her armor (that’s right, she’d been in her Samurai armor. Did they remove it?) as well as the shirt underneath it, likely removed to allow better access for her cavity.
Oddly, torn remnants of her pants remained, despite the fact they must have hindered any mending of her legs for the bird. She didn’t quite understand it, she had nothing to be modest about, but she knew her friends weren’t much different, so she accepted it was a thing for organic people, regardless of sense.
She could’ve sworn the bird looked happy to see her when she started regularly wearing that blanket. But she wasn’t going to look into it.
It’d taken far too long for her liking before she’d finally shoved together what she hoped was the last piece for her auditory circuits. She already knew this wouldn’t be a perfect mend, but it was damn close, and, tragically, that was what she had to settle with for the time being.
She shook out her head, circuits readjusting themselves accordingly. She pressed a hand over the side of where an ear would be, muffling the sound slightly to not overwhelm herself.
The bird and stone person were in their regular spot at the stairs. The stone, she’d since realized with her improved vision, really didn’t look anything like the stone warriors she recalled. He was quite big, most definitely taller than her and the Ninja, and had many more smaller cracks she hadn't noticed before. Most seemed by virtue of being a moving stone, whereas there was a rather large concerning one up his arm and vanishing behind a sleeve, as well as most of his right pinkie and half of his ring finger broken off. His teeth were snaggly, and yet he seemed to always wear clothes more fitting of Jay on a lazy day.
Currently, the bird was trying to explain some circuit board to the stone, who clearly could not care any less. Their mushroom creature was sitting on his shoulder, entirely passed out, likely from boredom.
Pixal focused in on them, a few high pitched noises going through her hearing as it refocused itself, expanded, shrank, expanded again—
“—which is why there’s no…” Another mumble, and a high-pitched whine in her head.
“Quiet.”
“Wh— hey, I’m—”
“No,” The stone smacked the birds side, causing them to yelp and tuck the circuit board close, “it's your bot.” He huffed, and his eyes went to Pixal.
Pixal sat up slightly, gesturing to her head and giving a thumbs up. They both squinted at her for a moment before the stone glanced at the bird, though his head didn’t move.
“What’s up with it?” He asked, voice switching mid-sentence between sounding too close and too far away, but it sounded rough, and, of course, like boulders being ground together.
“Dunno,” The bird twitched their wing, voice much higher, scratchier, and whistling slightly at the end. Though it also faded in volume in Pixal’s ears, “you alright?” They tried, raising their voice and sitting upright.
Pixal moved her hand away from the side of her head, giving another thumbs up. The bird blinked, then sat up straighter.
“Is it your hearing?” They tried, and Pixal nodded, keeping her position.
“You hearin’ better?” The stone person shifted, waking the creature on his shoulder.
Pixal nodded again, leaning forward, slightly out of her little cocoon of sanctuary, gesturing for them to continue talking. The best way to make edits was to see how it worked, after all.
“Oh, shit—how well?” The bird sprung up, much more animated, wings vibrating slightly, clicking wih the prosthetic over the muscle. She noticed it was something they did when excited. “What’s two times four?”
Pixal rolled her eyes, hearing the stone person mutter something about it’s deaf, not dumb, but she held up five of her fingers on one hand, three on the other. From the way the bird looked, she may as well have solved the secret of the universe.
“Scale of one to ten,” The bird began approaching, “how good is it?”
“Rust,” The stone growled, and Pixal wondered if her hearing was glitching as he rose, “hey, leave it alone—”
“I’m just asking!”
Pixal watched, keeping an eye on the exact spot they marked as the middle part, then decided to settle on a seven, lowering one finger. She could hear, and she knew what they were saying. The volume was still off, and it wasn’t perfect. She would’ve made it a six if she didn’t think they may then suspect she couldn’t hear as well as she actually could.
“Hallelujah!” The bird made it to the middle-room threshold. “Okay, that–that’s great! Now you understand us, and I’m not actually, uh, sure how much you picked up on—”
Pixal raised her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, eyes narrowing. It took a second for the bird to clock it, pausing when they did. They looked down, then sheepishly walked backwards to the agreed upon spot.
“I think,” The stone person said, also standing to approach, “that it still hates us.”
“Hush,” The bird waved him off like this was an argument they had before, still facing Pixal, “so, droid!” They smiled, clapping their hands together. “Can we call you droid?”
Pixal glared as best she could.
“Alright then, vetoing that idea!” The bird said, cheerfulness a little stressed, the stone person snorting as they came up next to the bird. “Can you talk?”
Pixal shook her head, crossing an X over her throat. It wasn’t actually where her voice box was, but it got the point across.
“You write?” The stone person gruffed.
“Oh, perfect!” The bird was up and moving before Pixal could respond. They skittered over to one of the tables in the room, pushing random junk aside. The stone just sighed, raising a hand to brush at the little creature on his shoulder. It was too busy glaring at Pixal to notice.
The bird reappeared a moment later with an old notebook, one that looked like it’d seen better days, and slipped a nearly worn-out pencil into the spiral before setting it on the ground. They slid it across the floor towards Pixal, who was vaguely amused.
She still had to lean forward to reach it, picking it up.
“Just, uh,” The bird cleared their throat, “just ignore the other stuff in there. Brainstorming, y’know?”
Pixal took the pencil out, flipping open the notebook. She caught sight of a few random invention ideas, some pages of words she didn’t focus on, a drawing of what looked like a deeply inaccurate portrait, then landed on a blank page.
Pixal debated asking one of many questions in her mind. She knew they asked for her name, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment.
Instead, she wrote out, where am I?
She wrote it in big, bold letters, easy to read. She lifted it up for them to see, turning it around.
The stone person leaned forward slightly, hands on his knees as he squinted. The bird did the same, beak slightly open as they read the words.
A moment passed. Then another.
Pixal glanced at her writing, but, no, it looked fine to her, then looked back to them.
“Oh,” The bird hummed, a bit distant, though she wasn’t sure if that was her ears or their actual tone, “I forgot about the literacy thing.”
“Welp,” The stone person sighed, slapping their knees and standing back up.
Pixal looked at her writing again, then back to them. Feeling a little frantic (was her handwriting that bad? She thought it looked perfect), she quickly began writing it out again—
“We’re, uh,” The bird started, and she glanced back up, “we’re not from wherever you’re from.” They said sheepishly, messing with the strap of one of their harnesses. “The language stuff may be weirdly really similar with the realms, but we’ve kinda found out most writing looks different.” They pointed a thumb to the stone person. “Course, he’s illiterate.”
“In most writings.” The stone person shot them a glare. “I understand my kind of writing just fine. Everyone else's—”
“Yes, yes, they’re very similar but still a little different, I know, it’s not a bad thing that you can’t read—”
Pixal pinged her pencil against her arm, creating a ringing noise. The two looked back, and Pixal would’ve deeply frowned if she could’ve.
That…realms? That didn’t track. Do they think she’s from another realm? Is she in a different realm? It’d make sense, this stone person looked too different from anything similar in Ninjago, the mushroom creature certainly wasn’t anything she recognized, and as far as she knew, the only giant walking animals around were the Serpentine, not birds.
If she got sent into another dimension, she was going to kill whoever was responsible. Zane was going to be losing his mind.
She wasn’t sure how to draw out ‘realms’ in a way that wasn’t just a word. So she hesitated a moment before flipping to a new page, instead drawing a house. She showed them that, tapping it with the pencil.
“Home?” The stone person tilted their head. “Uh, yeah, this is—”
“Your home?” The bird guessed. “I’m not sure, but—”
Pixal shook her head, scribbling again. She was automatically able to draw at a rather quick speed, though it was still a simplified version of the bird, the stone, and even the creature. She drew a line to the house, then a question mark. She showed them that.
“Where’s our home?” The bird blinked. “It’s this house?”
“Where is our home?” The stone guessed.
Pixal shook her head, then drew the empty house again, then turned it around to show them in real time as she drew arrows as the three of them came to the house. The stone and bird glanced at each other, then the stone person tried again.
“How’d we get here?” He tried.
“Like, from the Merge?” The bird added.
Pixal nodded hastily, mentally writing down whatever ‘Merge’ was.
“Oh, well, that's easy.” The bird chuckled, sounding a tad relieved, pointing to themself. “I’m first came from Chima—oh, we haven’t introduced ourselves, either.” They blinked. “You didn’t pick up our names, did you? I’m Ruztin.” They said before Pixal could confirm she did not, in fact, know who they were.
“Short for rusty tin.” The stone person grinned, and Ruztin smacked his arm.
“Ruztin,” They muttered, wing twitching slightly, “and this brute is Charble.” They patted their side. “He’s from…what did we decide to call your realm?” They squinted up at him. “Someone decided it.”
“I just call it the Knight Realm.” He shrugged, crossing his arms. “Gets the point across.”
“And Charble is from the Knight Realm.” Ruztin nodded. Upon a squeak, they raised their wing and let the mushroom creature hop onto it, climbing up to their shoulder. “And this little guy is Morel. We picked him up from what we think is the remnants of the Realm of Lee.” They smiled, cooing when the creature curled up close to their neck, eyeing Pixal.
She frowned, a quiet whirr as she tried to gather those thoughts. That…no, that didn’t make any sense, either. Were these people who accidentally wound up outside of their realm? Did she wind up in some…in-between space? Where those lost from their realms wound up? That was going to be annoying, it was hard enough to find Zane lost in one realm, it’d be a pain in the ass to find some spot between realms.
“And you’re a bot,” Charble continued, and she flicked her eyes back to him, “so you're one of those Ninj–something guys, I imagine.”
“I believe its called ‘Ninjargin.’” Ruztin said matter-of-factly, and Pixal wanted to slam her head into the wall.
Instead, she went back to her drawing. She added in herself, drawing a circle around before turning the paper around again and drawing an arrow of herself towards the house, then a question mark. She was a tad more hesitant when showing them this one.
“...how’d you get here? Or all of us?” Charble guessed. “Cause, well, I claimed this perfectly nice tower for myself—”
“Illegally,” Ruztin added.
“And you,” Charble smacked the back of their head, though it was clear he was very light with it, considering Ruztin only mildly stumbled, “have no room to talk. You live to break the law, and a damn freeloader in the fuckin’ attic. Morel here was just some pest we found.” He added, to which Morel angrily squeaked at him.
Pixal shook her head, tapping the picture with her pencil again. She then tried to draw a circle, mimicking the earth, then drew to that instead, with more question marks.
They both squinted at it for a moment. Even Morel squinted, though he nearly toppled off Ruztin’s shoulder.
“How did…” Ruztin blinked at her, confused, “we all get…to the same world?”
“That’s—” Charble started as Pixal nodded her head, then stopped.
He looked to Ruztin.
Ruztin looked up at him.
They both silently stared at her.
A few moments of silence lingered.
“Oh skies,” Ruztin whispered, very loud in Pixal’s fluctuating ears, “I did totally steal it.”
“I told you.” Charble shouldered them, which did almost send them straight to the ground. “I don't know shit about tech, but I coulda told you this thing clearly belongs to something.”
“I’m so proud of myself.” Ruztin grinned, though they seemed a bit hysterical with it, hand running through the feathers on their face. “I stole something without even realizing it!”
“Botsy,” Charble nodded to her, and Pixal glared at the name, “you don’t have a damn clue what the Merge is, do you?”
Cautiously, Pixal slowly shook her head.
“I’m a horrible person.” Ruztin wheezed, arm braced on Charble’s side. “Oh, no wonder it tried to choke me out.”
“You’re a very chokable person.” Charble said, unsympathetically. “I think it woulda done that even if it knew you weren’t some freak of nature.”
Pixal knocked her hand against the stone ground, hearing it right out. Ruztin winced, but it got their attention, and Charble looked over at a slower rate. Morel made an angry amount of squeaks at it, to which Charble calmly picked him up and cupped him in his hands.
Pixal held out her hands in a well? I still don’t know gesture, looking between them.
“Ah, right,” Ruztin cleared their throat, taking a step forward, and Pixal decided to allow the single step over the threshold of the halfway mark, “so, a while back, this whole Merge thing happened—”
“You’re doing it wrong.” Charble gruffed, ignoring Ruztin’s offended stare as he continued. “Something or other went ass-up, and the world ended, or something.” Charble said, as calm as describing the weather. “Except turns out it wasn’t ending, and everything just kinda imploded in on itself. Next thing we know,” He nodded around, “every realm that ever was is smacked into one huge world. I blink my eyes and I got giant talking snakes, the living dead, and more dragons than anyone would ever need, all droppin’ on my head.”
“It resulted in a lot of damage for all realms, unsurprisingly.” Ruztin continued, gesturing out with their hands. “Many displaced, more unaccounted for, and the sky kinda shakes sometimes. Cause realms aren’t really meant to Merge like that.”
“Who woulda guessed.”
“Shut up,” Ruztin held up a hand behind them to silence Charble, who batted it away, “anyway, I had assumed you…were already aware of this.” They nervously looked her up and down. “I was under the impression you had been damaged some other way, or…cast aside. Not that you had been broken since the Merge—or even before it.” They looked a little troubled by that.
Pixal mulled that over for a few moments. It stood to reason she had been broken during the Merge. From what she remembered, it was a fairly confident guess to assume her memory ended right when the Merge began. It’d explain why she was so damaged, certainly. But even still, that kind of damage would’ve either meant it’d easily kill any living creature in the vicinity, or something else had come along and further damaged her.
And if she knew her friends, she knew she recalled enough that they didn’t die. At least not very easily. If they were, they would come back. And yet, the idea that all of them could have died there at all seemed unlikely. She was missing something.
Regardless, what she knew for certain was that Zane was most definitely missing, or, more likely, ‘dead’ somewhere. She was already groaning at the idea of the nightmare it was going to be trying to revive him. She loved him, and she was probably going to stress about the whole thing later, but this was ridiculous.
She flipped to a new page on the notebook. She thought over what she wanted to convey, then drew a horizontal line. At one end of the line, she drew two overlapping circles, two worlds, signifying the Merge. On the other end, she drew simplified headshots of her and the other two. She drew little lines through the horizontal one in-between the two events, and a question mark under them, then lifted it up.
“Man, I hate charades.” Charble muttered, running a hand down his face.
“Timeline?” Ruztin guessed, perking up at Pixal’s nod. “Well—! Uh,” They paused, rubbing a hand over where their beak met their scarred face, then their eyes lit up. “Well, you’ve been in here for about…” They squinted.
“‘Bout a year.” Charble deadpanned. “Maybe a little less.”
Pixal had no real heart, the closest being her core. And after her dismantling thanks to Chen, she didn’t have a heart anymore, not even Zane’s. In spirit, she believed herself to still have it, but that was a sentimentality that Zane had rubbed off on her. In actuality, there was no heart in her body.
She still wondered if this is what it felt like when a heart ‘dropped’.
She wondered if she misheard, but—no, her hearing wasn’t that damaged anymore, she heard that right. Nearly a year.
They were saying something else. She wasn’t really listening, which was a first. A million files ran rampant behind her eyes, quickly sorting themselves into the right places. Wires reacted to what they were sure was being under attack, but there was nothing to fight. Her mind palace automatically putting in a sticky note that said roughly three months too long over her shutdown history, until the proper data revived itself.
A year…and she was still this broken? That made no sense, so she forced her hearing to come back—
“You’ve been up and moving for about a monthish now, though.” She heard them say, she thought it was Charble. “Ruztin dragged your busted ass home, er…how long into the Merge?”
“At least two years, definitely.” Ruztin said calmly. “So, you’ve been here for one year or so, but—”
Three years.
The files went haywire again. Pixal felt something spark, wincing slightly and jerking her hand up to her neck, where the wires were sure there was something to fight, telling her limbs to move, but it wasn’t sure where. Just to be prepared for a fight that wasn’t coming.
She lost their words again, and she didn’t really want to listen to much more.
That…no, that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. It—
It did. It explained much of her decay. The Merge would’ve banged her up, but two years without maintenance? Something could’ve picked her apart, her body would have already rusted or withered away. Sitting there. Maybe in a junkyard. For two years.
It’d been three years in total.
And…no one found her?
She remembered, suddenly, a file opening and replaying a memory before her. It was familiar.
(“It’d been so long,” Something metallic, quiet, and emotionless murmured. She knew she didn’t like how it sounded, “I was sure no one was ever going to find me.”
“You thought we gave up on you.” Her own voice murmured, guilty for something she didn’t do.
“No,” It murmured back, “never, not once. Nothing would make any of you quit. I thought…” A pause, heavy with it. “I hoped, at least, that they’d given you all a proper burial.”)
Snap!
Pixal jumped, almost literally, slamming her back against the wall with a loud clang! She hissed, vocalization failure, and on instinct threw one arm up to shield herself, the other flying out to punch whatever had come for her.
Another ding rang out when her fist connected with rock.
“Ow,” Charble deadpanned, uncaring of her fist right against his throat.
“Is it on the fritz?” Ruztin peered around his shoulder.
“I think it's fine.” Charble said, moving his head back slightly, brow raised. “You good?”
Pixal stared for a few moments, bringing everything back down again. Small warnings at the corner of her vision, and she blinked them away, uncoiling her fist and bringing it back to her chest. She nodded.
“Cool,” Charble said, easily standing back up and moseying a few feet away, Ruztin hastily following behind him. Both of them were well past the halfway mark again, “not used to being out of it for so long, are you?”
Pixal didn’t look at them as she inspected her hand. She gave a curt nod, inspecting the small dents in her fingers. She’d need to build them up with heavier metals.
Focus on repairs. Just focus on repairs, because they couldn’t be dead, and they wouldn’t have left her.
Whatever else had happened, it must’ve been worse. And she couldn’t afford to freak out about that, because it wouldn’t help a damn thing.
“I, uh,” Ruztin started, and Pixal still didn’t look up, “I patched you up as best I could when I had the time. Hard to, um, find the right parts,” They sounded nervous, “I’m not used to this kind of advanced machinery, you know?”
When they had the time.
Pixal’s eyes snapped up. She kept them carefully blank, not a glare, not anything.
When they had the time.
It wasn’t ‘whenever I could’ or ‘when I had the right parts’, it was ‘when I had the time.’ She saw the other inventions scattered about the place, there were dozens, maybe hundreds. Their house was not falling apart from what she could tell. She often saw Ruztin with meals whenever they were down. They were a tad scatterbrained, and easily distracted.
She had been sitting, unconscious, for nearly a damn year, and this crow tried to fix her when they had the time.
On instinct, she thought about projects. How Jay’s projects were even more scatterbrained. A half-made invention every week, wherever his impulses took him.
She was a fucking project.
“We’d still like to, you know,” Charble waved a dismissive hand, “get you patched up so you can get out of here.”
“Don’t be rude.” Ruztin elbowed him.
“I do not like to share a roof with people who choke you out. Or take hostages.” Charble lifted the hand still holding Morel. “You agreed you were patchin’ it up out of goodness, or whatever, and goodness means you weren’t keeping it—”
“Okay, regardless,” Ruztin gestured out a wing, then looked back to Pixal with a smile, leaning down. They were a few feet away, closer, “we do just wanna help you.” They said simply. “You were in rough shape, and it’s clear you weren’t abandoned, so I imagine someones lookin’ for ya, right? So, now that you know we’re not gonna hurt you,” They held out a hand. Still too far away, “maybe you could let me help with repairs?”
Pixal could be a decently impulsive person. This was a result of her original blueprints, and how fast she could solve problems. She’d been designed to solve fast, and act just as quickly. This was both for efficiency and in case of emergencies, usually involving science accidents or if anything involving Borg’s health went off the deep end.
This made her act quickly, and seemingly without thought. Sometimes it was, because she’d move before she even fully solved the problem. She had roughly the first part figured out, so she’d figure out the rest while executing it. Once she was rebuilt, this was retained, although it shifted over to ‘impulsivity’ in many other functions.
Right now, her impulse told her to smash Ruztin’s beak straight through their face.
She canceled that impulse half a second after it started, feigning the sudden movement of her hand to instead come up to her own face, then trail down to press over where her core was covered by the blanket. Her hand was shaking, because too many wires were telling it to do too many things.
She could see herself from a distance, in a sense. She understood emotions, but she still tried to logically break them down for efficiency. Logically, it would help nothing if she attacked Ruztin. Logically, she wanted to slam them to the floor because she was angry. Not by how long it’d taken, but because she’d been a project, if they hadn’t misspoken. Not a case of other issues, in fact, she wasn’t even expecting her to be the only thing they ever worked on.
But she didn’t even know if she’d been the main project. Could she have been? With how many gears lay strewn about, doubt, perhaps spurred on by anger and fear, told her that she wasn’t even the main project. She was a side pet project.
She was a person, sitting in this house, for a year. For one year, these people had a living person sitting in their home, dead to the world, and didn’t even deem it important enough to, oh, she didn’t know, maybe even ask another nindroid for assistance?
Maybe that was why no one found her, though she already found this thought quite unlikely. She’d been trapped in some random house for a year, why would anyone ever think to look there?
All of this lasted less than a minute. But it was a minute that resulted in Pixal shaking her head, leaning away from Ruztin.
They deflated slightly, but nodded, stepping back. She almost wished they insisted. It would’ve given her a good reason to hurt them.
She quietly shelved those impulses as Charble clapped a hand over Ruztin’s shoulder, casual in his lean that nearly sent them toppling. Those impulses helped no one. She could put aside her feelings for a moment or five. She needed to leave, first.
“Have it your way,” Charble shrugged, “can we at least get a name, though?”
“Clearly, you can’t write it,” Ruztin said, frowning, “perhaps something to guess with?”
Pixal stared for a few moments. She glanced at the other junk projects around the room, then back to them. She wasn’t sure why, but she was wishing Ruztin looked a lot meaner, acted a lot meaner. Maybe she was still hoping for an excuse to attack.
Slowly, Pixal crossed an X over her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was something they’d understand, so she had to hope.
Charble blinked, turning his head.
“X, huh?” He guessed. “Fancy way of saying ‘no name.’”
“Oh, hush,” Ruztin puffed, then smiled at her, “nice to have something to call you, X.” They said cheerfully. “And we’re glad you're working better.”
Pixal didn’t respond. She wondered how quickly her pencil would break if she tried.
She kind of wanted to find out.
Notes:
welcome to my nexo knights reference.
anyway. pixal has trauma w being torn apart and also deemed as less than human. and when she thinks of herself as less important than a mission, its on HER terms damnit. trauma is one hell of a drug
Chapter 4: run free
Notes:
s2 dragons rising is full of lovely, lovely angst. now tell me where pixal is PLEASE-
Chapter Text
The uneasy truce became even more uneasy.
Pixal was nothing but neutral to Ruztin and Charble, but neutral was still different. She had been cautious before, on edge but willing to listen. Now she was blank, gave no reaction other than telling them to step further away from her, and that was it.
Charble had no other reaction than raising a brow at her. Ruztin looked like they wanted to say something, but never did. Morel was, well, Morel. Just a small mushroom that occasionally played chicken by running as close to her as he dared. She would’ve let him grow bored of it if she didn’t flinch whenever he got too close, remembering how easily he ate through her metal.
Charble had scooped him up after one such flinch, taking him back to the other side of the room. Morel didn’t play chicken much after that.
She had nothing but time, now. Time spent repairing herself. This left her room to think.
She ultimately found herself grateful she didn’t act on her fury-induced impulses. It would hinder her significantly to get thrown out for attacking Ruztin again. Hell, Ruztin probably had no idea robots could be sentient, if they came from a world where they simply weren’t.
But that didn’t change the protective anger swirling within her. Luckily, she was good at logistically sorting everything away.
She chalked it up to the stress of the situation getting to her. She knew, somewhere in her memory, that she’d witnessed similar reactions before. She had a faint memory of something blue kicking another red thing across the room. Someone was dead…it was a friend. She was dead, and they’d reacted poorly to it.
She still didn’t give the others much of a glance. As kind as they were, she didn’t trust as much as she used to. She was surprised to find she’d trusted at all, and that they had clearly begun to feel the same, even if only a little. After all, she convinced them to let her have a blowtorch.
It was a small, kind of shitty one, but considering she was much easier to communicate with, they trusted her to not burn anything. Not like she could run at them, anyway.
And Ruztin had gotten so agitated watching her use the shitty blowtorch that they went and got the bigger one for her to use. Apparently it was painful for them to watch. Pixal would’ve found it amusing if she wasn’t busy wondering if they even believed her to be fully sentient.
She made a reinforced cover for her core, and, due to her lack of abilities at the moment, made it like Zane’s: opening outwards. It was a pain to make sure it’d click and stay in place, but it was sturdy and did the trick. Charble had commented it was ‘freaky’ seeing her core glow all the time after it was finally covered.
Occasionally, a rumble would roar in the distance. With her hearing fixed, though still in some repairs, she could sometimes hear something like thunder.
Once, the whole house shook, and Charble had stormed up the stairs to inspect it. Ruztin had stayed back, clutching Morel tight and diving under a table, giving her a wild-eyed stare.
“MergeQuakes,” They’d said, and left it at that.
Her legs were the last part she needed. She was growing annoyed with being unable to talk, but it wasn’t necessary for survival. So, she ensured all the best materials were for her legs, working without rest for days at a time, stretching her batteries a little longer than she should.
She was advanced, but such advancement often didn’t have a long battery life. Her record was three weeks and three days without rest, giving up only because she was so sluggish and malfunctioning she was basically useless.
Ruztin tried to talk to her while she worked. Charble on occasion, but that was rarer. Pixal often didn’t respond, as it would’ve required her to take her notebook and draw a picture, but simple yes or no answers she relented to answer, if only so they’d be satisfied and quit bothering her.
“Can you talk?”
“Does that hurt?”
“Have you done this before?”
“You do have someone looking for you, right?”
That last one had earned Ruztin a fierce glower, of which they hastily backtracked. Physically and metaphorically. Though they had moved closer from the line, they were respectful in not reaching out unless instructed to hand over a tool.
Pixal found she didn’t quite like it. Being stared at. It wasn’t quite like someone in awe at what a ‘simple machine’ could do, but…that it was just her. And somehow that was fascinating.
She’d agree, she was a technical wonder, but most certainly not in this state, and most certainly not by someone she still wouldn’t trust to understand artificial intelligence was still intelligence.
“Just making sure.” Ruztin said, watching as she tilted and turned how a foot should screw in on her ankle. “I’d hope they were, at least. Can’t imagine leaving someone like you in a junkyard.” Their tone lightened at the end. Trying to be cheerful.
Pixal didn’t respond. As usual. She just rotated her foot one last time before shoving it onto her ankle, where the joints clicked in and she could begin screwing it together. Ruztin tilted their head, much like an inquisitive bird Pixal swore she knew. She gave them a sharp look.
They got the message and looked away.
She’d picked up on traits from her three…roommates? She wasn’t sure of the correct terminology. But nevertheless, with so much time, she gathered intel. For scientific purposes, of course. It made sense to know what she could about the people who may have kidnapped her (or saved her life, but she wasn’t ready to accept that).
Morel was the…oddest in terms of physical appearance. As far as she could tell, he was at least partially sentient. Like a dragon, she supposed, not that she had a good frame of reference for those. Clearly highly intelligent, and possibly even understood most, if not all, speech, but not quite… sentient in the way she or organic humanoid life forms were.
Morel, obviously, kept his distance from her. Understandable, she did hold him hostage. But she understood he had a temper, as he soon grew braver, going as far as getting in her face and angrily squeaking. Presumably over the hostage situation.
Pixal hated how nervous she was of Morel. He could fit in her palm, squished like a blob of jello, pranced around the others like a dog looking for a treat, and toppled off high ledges from how loud he was squeaking in fury.
And he could also eat through her body like it was a stale cracker. Probably straight through her metal, between her wires, maybe even swallow her core whole. If he was really as unkillable as his friends said, at least.
Pixal kept a respectable distance.
Charble was the most befuddling to her. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like he didn’t want her here. He was gruff, curt, constantly annoyed or tired, and cared very little when she threatened him to stand back. And when she went through with said threats. Because it was quite difficult to damage stone. She didn’t even know if he could feel pain. She didn’t think the stone warriors did, even if he clearly wasn’t one of those.
Even still, he stuck with Ruztin and Morel, and the worst he’d give was a sigh when asked to fetch something or other for Pixal. He clearly cared about Ruztin, she’d caught him looking rather tense whenever Pixal seemed ready to attack.
She hadn’t, the worst she’d done was smack Ruztin off, but she could hardly blame the concern.
The most confusing part was when Charble would just…sit there. Usually whenever Ruztin fell asleep while inventing, often leaning on Charble’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice most times, or at least didn’t care, sitting perfectly still until his friend woke up. Often not till the next morning.
Pixal realized she had stared one of these times only when Charble snorted. And when she looked up, he was giving her what felt like a mildly amused look.
“You’d think they never shut up, huh?” He huffed, sparing a glance down to the slumbering bird. “I gotta be the most uncomfortable thing to sleep on.”
Pixal didn’t know a proper response to that, so she shrugged. Charble seemed satisfied with that, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.
“You ever had that?” He wondered, sounding surprisingly genuine in his curiosity. “You got someone lookin’ for you. Are they as stupidly fragile as flesh tends to be?”
Pixal paused, then nodded. It was mostly true, most of her friends, she believed, were organic. But she couldn’t recall if they’d ever fallen asleep on her like Ruztin had. For some reason, she kind of hoped they did.
“Damn, hope you find ‘em after you get outta here.” Charble snorted, cracked mouth curling up in a nearly sardonic smile. “I hate dealin’ with fleshy people when they’re all sad n’ shit over their buddies getting lost. Rather emotional things, aren’t they?”
Pixal gave a shrug and a nod to that. She couldn’t say all of them were, but she thought she understood. Death certainly existed to beings like her (and, perhaps, to Charble himself), but often in different contexts. Deaths like Zane’s were where it overlapped, but death to matters such as age was something that was foreign to her, not naturally known, even though she knew it must happen. Even still, it mortified her to know a body could simply…stop. No matter how many times it was fixed.
Then again, she supposed her idea of death was quite foreign, too. When death, to her, could be a total erase of memory. To have the person still with them, but nothing remaining. Not a simple case of amnesia, for the person underneath still remained. But a total, complete memory erasure could very easily create a completely different person wearing the face of someone she knew.
She thinks it was scary to forget something. She knew someone who forgot once, she believes. Yes, Zane, he had forgotten himself, once. It had been horrifying for him to learn.
Functionally, he had died. And Pixal had been spared from witnessing it. She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful.
She wasn’t sure she liked knowing she shared that understanding about death with Charble. It was reasonable to think he wouldn’t age. While he probably couldn’t have complete memory erasure, it was an overlap nonetheless.
She never knew how to respond when he handed her a tool, or gave a snorting answer, or rolled his eyes at whatever remark Ruztin made while looking at her. Because it felt…well, it felt normal. Natural. Like how she expected to be treated.
And yet, he lived with Ruztin. And as far as she could tell, Charble didn’t even want her there.
But on Ruztin themself…well, they weren’t as difficult as Pixal feared. They were insanely curious, a bit too pushy, and got a weird flicker in their eye of which Pixal couldn’t determine the cause of. There was hesitation in their movements, not just with her, but with everything.
They were a nervous person. They clicked their prosthetic beak when they were particularly worried, and the wing with metal over it would twitch out whenever an idea struck them. She came to find that the prosthetic was a covering that went over the bone and muscle of the wing, and the few times she’d caught Ruztin without it had shown the wing to be rather weak.
She wondered if they could fly with it. A thought followed by her examining the invention and noticing multiple ways she could immediately improve it. Which preceded her throwing that thought aside and going back to her legs.
There were slivers she picked up on from conversation with the others. They were about two and a half years out from the Merge, to be specific. They’d never heard of the Ninja. They seemed to be on the outskirts of some town that didn’t happen to agree with them. Ruztin had a focusing issue. Charble didn’t have anyone like him for miles around. They were situated in what was called a ‘spot of Chima’ on the new map of the world.
She’d figured out a few of the realms who’d merged, mostly from asking. Somehow the Departed Realm was one of them, the Underworld, the Realm of Oni & Dragons (supposedly bringing forth a massive influx of dragons worldwide), the Realm of Madness, and the Never-Realm. She hadn’t been too thrilled to hear that last one, for some reason.
She knew she spent quite a long time working on herself. Knew days were passing, but hadn’t really been keeping track. She’d stress herself out otherwise.
Even still, when she finally attempted her first steps, one hand keeping a death-grip on the counter to support her, Ruztin’s eyes were shining with delight. They offered a hand she refused, a few warnings popping up about wires being pinched or some section disconnecting.
Even with that, she tried a few steps. Her leg nearly gave out under her, but it was progress. She cheered in her head at that, and she thought Ruztin and Charble may have sensed her own excitement, even without an expression.
When her legs could at least move her a few steps without support, she gave into her impulses and did what she could with her face. This resulted in her peeling off the metal covering, staring into the mirror as she popped out the dents and welded new pieces together. It pained her to not perfect it, but she needed to gather where she was as fast as possible, and that was her priority.
She did these repairs in the dead of night. But time passed faster than she thought, because while popping out a large dent, she heard something clattering to the floor.
She jerked her head up, defensive on instinct, reaching for a wrench.
Ruztin stood at the foot of the steps, a box of what looked like old junk at their feet. Their eyes were wide, hands flying up to cover their beak in shock. Pixal hastily looked around for some kind of threat, had something broken in? She was sure she would have—
“Oh wow.”
Charble was descending down the stairs, a tad quickly, possibly also from the noise. He was staring right at her, eyes also a bit wide. Ruztin looked traumatized. Charble seemed morbidly entertained.
“That’s kinda horrifying,” Charble grinned, walking right past Ruztin, gesturing to his own face, “I like it, nice new fashion statement. You keeping it?”
Pixal paused for a moment—then rolled her eyes, going back to looking in her small mirror.
With that covering off, it exposed, well, all the huge tangles of wires and gears in her head. It didn’t look all the way through, her memory drive was safely tucked way at the back and in a very complicated spot, for example, but she knew it was rather unsightly. Especially to those used to seeing her normal, human-like features.
It was like a concave in her face, with huge ropes made of wires swirled together, and joints whirred. Her eyes gave the appearance of jutting out, glowing, and if she lifted her head up, one could see the mechanisms move to make her blink, and if she looked down, they could see what moved to make her expressions and mouth move.
She’d been told by Jay, in typical Jay fashion, that it was absolutely horrifying, but he’d also done repairs on Zane before, and so he was desensitized to it. He was very obviously lying, but Pixal barely let him do repairs on her, anyway. She trusted Nya and Zane far more with tools.
“Did something break?” She heard Ruztin croak. She shook her head, holding up the covering of her face and turning it over, deeming it fine for now before squinting to find the gears connected to her jaw, and all the broken wires for her facial expressions. She’d at least like some of those back.
“Stop looking like that.” She heard Charble gruff.
“Looking like what?”
“You’re getting the weird nerd look again. I prefered when you were scared shitless.”
“But look at it!” Ruztin’s voice was closer, and Pixal jerked her head to give a stern look. Ruztin still didn’t touch, just crouched a reasonable distance away, eyes now roving over her exposed face. They looked intrigued. “That's actually kind of a creepy-cool. Are those wires the ones that connect to the rest of you?”
Pixal blinked a few times, then gave a so-so gesture with her hand before resuming her repairs. Some of them, yes, others, no. She didn’t feel like pointing them out.
Ruztin remained rather intrigued as she fiddled with her head for that day. Still clearly unnerved, but far too fascinated to back out. Pixal didn’t particularly care if people were horrified by the sight of her faceless head or not, her first memories were of a father who had built her in such horrifying ways before placing the synthetic skin overtop, after all.
Then again, she had been designed to be approachable. Perfectly human-presenting, but not uncanny. Despite it all, she still thought that Zane looked more human than her. She couldn’t place it, but she lived with it. Here, she did not care about being unsightly. She preferred to be presentable to the people who mattered.
She was still quite stern about Ruztin’s interest. Then again, they clearly had no idea how nindroids worked, even with all the repairs. Likely it was a miracle she worked at all, trial and error. But she couldn’t rule out that Ruztin had some genuine inventing talent.
She didn’t give any demos. But Ruztin offered encouragement when she finally got her jaw to perform basic opening and closing motions, when the space where her brows were twitched, and the extra movement around her eyes when she squinted. As if she couldn’t see those in her mirror, but it was appreciated all the same. It reminded her of relying solely on Nya and Zane of said repairs, looking at herself only afterwards and always finding they were completely exact in their assessments.
It took two days before she was satisfied. Her face was easier due to her having more understanding of the components connected to her ‘mind’ better than mobility (she swore there was a reason for that. She was in her head a lot, perhaps. But that didn’t sound right, either) and having all the proper parts necessary for it. Mending her legs was like playing a horrible puzzle game. She came to understand Ruztin had patched her almost completely with parts not found in Borg Industries, discontinued or otherwise.
One of her tubes connected to her core was from a car for the First Spinjitsu Master’s sake! A car? It didn’t even look like a newer model!
Nevertheless, her new, malleable expressions seemed to make the others more at ease, and in turn helped her much more than expected. While not perfect in its minute details, Charble and Ruztin reacted much more preferably to her when she had expressions to match what she was attempting to convey. Fixing her jaw also had the added benefit of her ability to mouth out words they weren’t understanding, and while it wasn’t always a hit, it was a massive improvement.
She had to admit, it did speed things along exponentially. Originally, she had to draw out the parts she was looking for, but Ruztin would often come back with a whole box of similar, but ultimately very different pieces. This didn’t solve the problem completely, but the drawing, combined with her naming it, and mouthing what it was needed for (her foot, her knee, or thigh, etc) showed massive improvement.
It made her consider her voice box. In fact, she even began to try and work on it, but soon came to a road block.
First of all, it was located further back in her head, right where it met her neck, requiring wires be pushed aside. For proper repairs, she’d need to remove her jaw, take off her facial covering, and then dig her hands into her own face to figure out what was wrong, then possibly take out the voice box, fix it, then put it back in.
And, considering its placement, she wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing. Not even with a mirror, her head would be tilted too high, even if she completely removed the coverings on her neck to allow even greater room. Unfortunately, this was one of those repairs that required an extra set of hands unless one wanted to risk cut wires at best.
She set aside that issue for now and went back to her legs. Expressions would get her far enough.
The painfully slow going got a little better every few days. Legs crumbling underneath her soon turned into being too wobbly, then one that didn’t respond and flopped around, then a piece of the exoskeleton folding in on itself, then repairs on her hips to allow even the mildest of movement—
It wasn’t all that bad when she didn’t think about it. Like a challenge, making her think and adapt. It reminded her from before Zane had to be rebuilt, when he was nothing but spare parts. Jay had been the best at repairing Zane then, because he was used to such things. But learning which pieces fit where, how to get something up and running again…it was enriching.
If she didn’t think about how this was herself, and everything else going very wrong in her life, then it was kind of fun.
“Some merchants came by,” Charble commented one day, when Pixal was leaning heavily against a table, Ruztin excitedly fluttering around excitedly, “asked ‘em about any stray robots someone might’ve lost.” He said, uncaring (or unnoticing) of Pixal’s eyes moving to him. “They instead asked if I meant a nindroid.”
“Is there a difference?” Ruztin looked back at Charble, but was quickly redirected to Pixal upon Charble’s gesture, to where Pixal was nodding her head. “Oh! Are you one?”
Pixal continued nodding, leg shaking with the strain of holding her upright, and she could already tell it needed stronger tightening in some gears. But she was standing, and that was what mattered.
“I assumed it was from the merchants description, too.” Charble nodded. “Anyway, they said none that they knew of. But they said if we needed repairs we should try to find some guy called, uh…” He squinted, then looked to Pixal like she’d have the answers. “Not sure, actually, they named a few. One of them just went by ‘the Mechanic’, which is stupid.”
Pixal froze, staring for a few moments. Of course that C-rate annoyance hadn’t gotten kicked over dead by the Merge. That man was a cockroach. It was a curse she remembered him so immediately, without any faltering.
“Oh, did they say where he was?” Ruztin perked up, wings fluttering. “If he’s close, we should most definitely give a call.”
Pixal recoiled, face scrunching up in what felt like a mix of disgust and perhaps mild panic. Her legs stumbled, and both of them looked back at her, Morel stirring from where he was sleeping on Charble’s shoulder. Her back leaned against the wall, one arm on the table as she frantically shook her head.
“He have high rates, or somethin’?” Charble raised a brow.
Pixal just shook her head again, then paused. How does one convey someone is an enemy, but not cause suspicion as to why this person would dislike her? She did assault Ruztin upon waking up, they may assume something similar had transpired.
She elected to over-sell rather than under-sell. She lifted a hand to her throat, dragging a line across it in a cutting motion. For extra flair, she lolled her head to the side.
Ruztin paled. As much as a black-feathered raven could pale, at least.
“A front for a murderer?” Charble squinted, still confused.
Pixal made the cutting motion again, then pointed to herself. It wasn’t really accurate, but it was the closest she could get.
“He killed you?” Ruztin squawked, then stopped. “Wait, no, that makes no sense. But he’s a killer?”
Pixal elected to nod.
“What, a guy called the Mechanic?” Charble snorted, but he was waving his hand at Pixal’s glower, other settling over Morel to get him back to sleep. “But alright, alright, we don’t gotta go lookin’ for him. He’s not all that close, anyway.”
“He’s nearby?” Ruztin pulled on the feathers by their head.
“Like, at least a day’s walk out, according to the merchants.” Charble waved it off. “We’ve probably already run into the guy a few times, we just don’t mention we got a big ol’ murder-happy nindroid in our basement.”
Pixal rolled her eyes, then for added measure, lifted a finger to her mouth in a shushing gesture. Ruztin nodded their head quickly, and Charble snorted, but shrugged. Seemed enough of an agreement.
Not something she expected to be stressing about on top of everything else, but why not? Why not the Mechanic, of all people? Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have cared less. She barely thought about him most days. His biggest claim to fame was the Unagami incident, which served mostly to greatly annoy her.
However, she was weaker than she was before, and she hated knowing that. She was certainly not weak as a whole, in fact she was confident even without her legs she could defeat the likes of the Mechanic, but it wouldn’t be a simple endeavor, and she had her ‘roommates’ to calculate for.
Then again, Morel could be rather useful when defeating the Mechanic…
She shelved it for the time being, keeping a wary eye for anything they said about the Mechanic. He was never brought up again, and Ruztin seemed properly spooked by her warnings. Charble didn’t appear very worried, but he didn't look like he was going out of his way to find the man anyway. Probably too much work for someone like him.
Then, early one morning, Pixal screwed in the last bolt on her hip.
Well, not the last one, but the one she thought, hopefully, would be the last needed.
She braced one hand on the wall, and the other on her table. Slowly, she began to stand. She’d since removed herself from her corner in the room, this time closer to more tables and old inventions, though she still stayed on the opposite side of the room.
Ruztin startled slightly, mumbling a “whazzit?” from where they were still sleepy on the steps. They jolted awake upon seeing Pixal stand, smiling as they set their invention down. Almost on Morel’s head, who squeaked his usual protests.
“Another test, eh?” Ruztin wandered over, still remaining a few feet away, hands up. “How's it looking?”
Pixal checked over her screens.
Mobility connection weak
Sensors offline
Significantly better than the last attempts.
Pixal steadied herself on the wall. She gripped tight on the table, then shifted so her palm was flat against it, using her shoulder to keep herself up. She found she didn’t have to put as much strength into it as before.
Cautiously, she stepped over her toolbox.
More warnings about mobility connection. Her step was heavy and a bit lopsided. But it was a step.
She took another step, hand leaving the wall.
Wobbling, but not as much.
“There you go!” Ruztin praised, but Pixal tuned them out, slowly turning to walk along the edge of the long table, one hand still gripping the edge of it.
One step, wobble. Another step, slightly less wobbly.
She was walking.
It wasn’t perfect, and she was sure she wouldn’t make it far without the aid of the table unless she pinwheeled her arms around, but it was walking.
She was almost there.
She whirled back to Ruztin, splitting into a wide smile. Ruztin startled at it, cut off from whatever they were saying. They blinked, and then they smiled with her, perhaps almost as giddy and free as she felt in, what, weeks? Months?
“Lookit you!” Ruztin clapped their hands together. “How do you feel?”
Pixal gave a wonky thumbs up. Not quite perfectly straight up, but nearly there. She was nearly there.
“You look good!” Ruztin praised, and Pixal just rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t leave. She absolutely did not look good, but she wouldn’t get annoyed at the attempt. “You wanna try walking out?”
She kind of did.
Pixal gauged the idea. She knew already she wouldn’t get very far. But still…
She gave a tiny push off the table.
She swayed, and had to stick her arms out at her sides. Ruztin made a move like they were going to grab her, but stayed back at the last minute. Pixal stared at the ground for a few moments, then took a small step.
She certainly wouldn’t get far, but she could move.
Pixal looked up, and despite every little bit of doubt and terror that sat in the back of her mind, she thought she was going to be okay.
Ruztin may as well have built those legs themself from how excited they were. Pixal almost wished Charble wasn’t sleeping in. She hadn’t been one for running, but she kind of felt like it now.
And soon, she’d be able to.
Five days later, Pixal was standing in the center of the basement.
One hand was braced on a shelf filled with old junk. Her legs still felt a little loose, and there was a bit of a limping gait in her step, but…
But she’d walked from one end of the basement to the middle. And she hadn’t even gotten close to falling.
“Welcome to the walking world, X.” Charble hummed, seeming more amused by Ruztin’s glee. “Think you’re gonna spend another eternity perfecting it?”
Pixal scoffed, which was mostly her making the expression, not the noise. She slowly lowered her hand from the shelf, walking just a bit off.
Her legs followed.
For testing purposes, she kept her head down, watching her legs. She kept her body facing forward, but shuffled to the left. Little wonky, but manageable. She shuffled to the right. Lifted a leg up to her chest, lowered it, repeat. She swayed on her balance, particularly when just on her left leg, but some tilting could manage it. She walked backwards, then forwards. She crossed her feet, folding her arms over her chest and shutting her eyes.
It was a balance test that worked best on organic lifeforms, not so much a machine. But that was just the idea. It shouldn’t affect her, but if crossing her legs with no steadying from her arms made her fall, then something was still wrong.
She swayed a little to the left.
She didn’t fall.
Pixal blinked open her eyes, and she grinned.
“Wow,” Charble raised a brow, amusement growing, “didn’t think it could do that.”
“Is it weird that I’m proud?” Ruztin cooed, looking back at Charble, beaming.
“I think you’re just a nerd.”
“I’m proud.” Ruztin decided, turning that bright look back on Pixal. “You think it’s good?”
Pixal nodded, uncrossing her legs, experimentally bending. Some gears felt like they were popping, but nothing concerning. It seemed she could certainly walk.
The real test came with a much, much bigger area.
She set her jaw, a determination that felt much less haunting than it’d been in who-knows-how-long hitting her. Ruztin, still happy, tilted their head curiously.
Pixal strode right towards them.
Ruztin froze for a moment, then quickly side-stepped. She passed by them, rolling her shoulders as she went, testing them out. Nothing out of place.
Charble raised a brow, Ruztin saying “hey, hey where are you going?” somewhere behind her as she walked right up to the stairs. Charble watched her but didn’t move from his placement on them. Morel huffed at her from his shoulder.
She smiled, looked up the stairs, to the open door, and grabbed the railing.
“Hey, hey, X?”
She ignored it, and took one step.
A little creaking, a bit stiff. But it worked.
She took another.
She made it two more steps before she started speeding up. Probably not wise, the steps themselves didn’t look all that sound, creaking under her feet. But she was scaling the stairs, and she was fast.
Ruztin or Charble called behind her, but she wasn’t paying much attention. She rushed up from the stairs, looking about wildly. Almost a living room, what looked like another junk pile, something like a kitchen in the corner of her eye— there.
The front door. Or, at least, a door.
Pixal rushed over to it, tripping a little from a slight delay in relaying that information to her legs. She made a mental note to fix that, seizing the handle and pulling on it. She could most definitely see the shadow of Charble behind her.
The door was flung open, bright light pouring in.
Pixal ran.
It was an aimless sort of run, and, really, it was just for a test. She had no intention of vanishing into the unknown just yet. But she saw what looked like a wide, grassy downwards slope, and she booked it.
She could run.
She didn’t realize she could miss that.
Grass blurred by. The sky— it was blue and there was a sun. Still, they had a sun. With birds flying overhead, dirt that flecked onto her feet, and green life.
She skidded to a stop, kicking up more dirt and grass. She stumbled, one leg locking up. A quick push got it back in moving condition, and it wasn’t enough to stop her smiling, spinning around to take in everything.
The house looked more like an old stone watchtower found in a castle. It was a little ramshackle, but not all that bad. It was atop a light slope, a slope she realized oversaw a cliff. Spinning around slowly, she took in what seemed like a sort of canyon they were situated over, just smaller and full of more grass, orange stone, and small ponds.
She moved closer to the edge, finding a town. Some of it was at the bottom of the canyon, most of the houses were higher on the canyon, with one that stretched high enough to qualify as a large skyscraper. Except it had balconies circling all around it, with figures like people walking about the different levels. It was a bit of a distance away, but not overly.
None of it was familiar. In fact, even looking up, she found the flying birds looked more like Ruztin than any normal bird. These ones, however, were white.
Pixal would’ve taken a deep breath if she could’ve. Zane may have liked simulating breathing, but she saw no real need for it. She kind of regretted that now. Not that she’d ever tell him that.
Wind blew by, and her hair didn’t get in her eyes, as she planned it to. She lowered her hands to lay stationery at her sides, looking out over all she could.
Two years.
“Man!” Came a wheeze, and she flicked her eyes to the side to find Ruztin rushing up, coming to a stop with their hands on their knees. “You—you are fast with those things.” They chuckled, gasping a bit for breath.
“Coulda flown!” Came a call that sounded like Charble.
“It wasn’t that far!” Ruztin yelled back, then returned to Pixal with a similar proud expression. “Good to move again, huh?”
Pixal nodded, tilting her head back up to the sky. Some clouds roamed by. Was it still technically her sky if all the realms had merged? Was it a little bit of every sky, or were there sections?
She felt the sudden urge to fly again. She wondered what had become of her samurai suit.
“Did you…” Ruztin started, but she didn’t look back at them. She shut her eyes and enjoyed the wind. “Miss the outside?”
Pixal gave a small nod of her head.
The silence felt awfully guilty.
Chapter Text
She returned to the house, if only because she needed to plan. Charble had outright asked what her goal was now, if she was planning to leave.
The truth was ‘eventually’, of which she conveyed with a mildly dismissive wave of her hand. She needed to create a plan, and there’d be nothing to gain if she sat outside and braced the elements. She could handle them, but life would be easier with a base of operations.
Her first goal was inspecting the house. Almost everything was open-plan, the only doors being to select rooms. The room with a bunch of old inventions strewn about felt familiar, and she guessed that was where she’d been before fleeing downstairs.
The second floor was similar, and where it seemed Charble and Ruztin stayed. It was much smaller, and there was another ladder that led right up to the roof, allowing a wider view. But not enough to get a proper lay of the land. There were too many slopes, too many twisting rocks. If she wanted a good view, she’d need that skyscraper. She was actually pretty sure it used to be one, it seemed to be made of metal.
Ruztin followed her around the whole time, asking a hundred questions or explaining things she already knew. She ignored them most of the time, because the other option was getting increasingly annoyed. She picked up a reading lamp left on a cluttered desk at one point, to which Ruztin began to explain what a reading lamp was.
She gave them a deadpan stare, and they pittered off into silence.
Charble seemed mildly interested in it all. He kept Morel away, apparently understanding she didn’t want the metal-eater anywhere near her, but he watched her move around. Maybe waiting for when she’d attack again.
Then, once she had satisfied herself, she walked back outside and pointed to the skyscraper.
“Oh, that’s the Spiral.” Ruztin said, which isn’t what she meant, but she wasn’t complaining. “It’s, like, the town square. Most of it is for merchants and information, like, books.”
“I’ll translate,” Charble stepped up on Pixal’s other side, “Ruztin means ‘things that give me anxiety’ and ‘boring shit.’”
“So I don’t like to get out much, not by fault!” Ruztin smacked Charble with their wing behind Pixal’s back. “Eagles are pricks!”
“So are Ravens.”
“Whatever.”
Pixal pointed again, making a come along gesture. She didn’t really need them to come with, but they’d know the place better than her.
“Oh, you want—sure!” Ruztin startled. “I mean, if–if you think that's smart? Is there something you want?” They fiddled with their hands.
“You have fun.” Charble waved, already turning back to the house.
“You’re not coming?”
“Would rather die.”
Pixal ignored them, rolling her eyes and going back down into the basement. She stumbled on the stairs, but managed to remain steady before finding the blanket Ruztin had given her. She searched around a few more moments, aware of Ruztin watching her from the stairs, before finding safety pins.
Once more, she had no real worry or care for ‘decency’ of something that wasn’t there. But most people would certainly give odd looks to a nindroid wearing nothing but torn-up shorts, and she missed her armor. So, she slung the blanket around her shoulders, using the safety pins to clip it together like some sort of cloak.
She moved around a bit to test it, then nodded and went back up the stairs. Ruztin hurried to get out of her way, and she ignored them as she went right for the front door.
She thought she heard Ruztin calling for her to wait up, they had to get something. She gave a wave over her shoulder to show she’d heard. She didn’t wait. They could fly, it’d be fine.
And they were, because Ruztin flew down beside her a few minutes later, already at the bottom of the slope. They still seemed a bit miffed, adjusting what looked like an oversized hoodie they’d rapidly thrown on, plus a satchel.
“It's polite to wait.” Ruztin muttered, but didn’t say any more of it. “Are you looking for other parts?”
Pixal shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to look for those, no. However, she didn’t have money, and it’d be rather hard to steal from the looks of it. Mostly, she just wanted a view, and to hopefully find someone who knew Ninjago-based sign language.
“Okay, so, um, we’ll stay lower on the Spiral.” Ruztin said during their walk, beak clacking a few times. “The better stuff is higher up, but, er, it's just too much of a hassle.” They chuckled, a little nervous. “Eagles, you know how they are.”
Pixal did not know. She conveyed this with a raised brow.
“Oh, uh,” Ruztin fumbled a moment, “they just don’t get along well with Ravens.” They said, gesturing a hand to themself. “And vice versa. Culture clash, you know?”
Pixal frowned, looking up at the Spiral they slowly approached, as well as all the houses. She gave Ruztin a mildly concerned look, then decided to point to the Spiral, then to them, then made a gesture like she was breaking something.
Ruztin looked like they swallowed something bad.
“Uh, n–no, usually not, uh, violent.” They cringed, beak clacking a little louder. “Just disagreeable is all.”
Pixal wasn’t sure where she got the idea of violent altercations from. Maybe it was a memory of another ‘culture clash’. Even still, she eyed Ruztin as they approached the town, and they flipped their hood up. Not that it really hid them as a raven, their wings were out, tucked tight against their back.
Pixal took a survey of the residents as they wandered through well-worn dirt paths. Most at first looked like Ruztin, other Ravens. Some of them quickly looked up when they spotted Pixal, and she narrowed her eyes at the glint that went through their gaze.
“Don’t make eye contact.” Ruztin warned, wing moving slightly to be a little over her back. Almost possessive in its intent. “We like shiny things.”
Pixal kept her eyes forward. Luckily for her, she was due for a polish two years ago, and it hadn’t gotten any better.
There were a few outliers she saw. A human or two, but they didn’t look twice at her. Something that looked like a group of bats, then a few sleepy bears. But she always kept seeing the Ravens.
The closer she got, however, the more she noticed what must have been the Eagles. They had white feathers, thicker beaks, and kept flying around overhead. At some point, they crossed some place where it seemed there were only Ravens and Eagles. The two pointedly kept their distances.
Ruztin ducked their head lower when passing any Eagles.
And then, there was the base of the Spiral.
It looked much bigger closer up. It was no Borg Industries, but it was nothing to scoff at.
“Right, so,” Ruztin pointed up, “there’s ten levels, but we won’t go higher than the fifth. They’re usually marked in the color of the floor.”
Pixal could see what they meant. The base floor was a deep bluish color, made of painted wood. As she looked up, the blue got lighter and lighter until it was a near-white at the very top. She could see why they’d bother, as it looked like the levels were in different sizes. From her count, the seventh level seemed to be the largest, and the tenth the smallest. Seemed rather odd to not have the first floor as the largest, but she could point out design flaws to giant sentient birds another time.
A ramp led between the levels. The bottom floor was, well, ground floor, and mostly just seemed to be for deliveries. Up the Spiral, down the Spiral, there were carts filled with all kinds of goods, or people talking amongst each other.
She breezed right past them all, Ruztin stumbling to catch up. Most of them also looked like birds.
It was a rather uneventful climb, really. Peaceful, if she wasn’t growing impatient. Most were birds selling things, but she realized the levels had different meanings, too. Some were plain markets, others seemed to just be restaurants. One section was mostly carved into the Spiral itself, showing itself as a massive library.
Pixal poked her head in just to check, looking up. It didn’t go all the way up the tower, but it at least went to the next level. Impressive.
All the way, Ruztin kept wandering off to poke at things. Pixal didn’t stop for them, but she did occasionally look back in befuddlement as to what they were doing. She found they were often distracted by, predictably, shiny things before catching themself. A few Eagles had given them stern glares that sent them off. Some Ravens were the same.
They made it to the fifth floor when she was nearly knocked back, straight on top of Ruztin, as a blur all but dropped in front of her.
“Hello, hello!” Crowed the—well, the Raven—wings tucked around herself, a mechanical churn to a fake eye. She had sleaze written all over. “Welcome to the Spiral, my silvery friend!” She greeted, getting right in Pixal’s face, to which she scowled and tried to walk to the left. The Raven followed, stopping right in front of her again. “You look new, you look lost! Need a guide?” The Raven propositioned, speaking a mile a minute. “I’m a wonderful guide! I’ll happily guide! No worries, no worries, I can show you!” She stepped back, then spread her wings wide.
Attached to her feathers were gadgets and trinkets of all kinds. Most looked like junk super-glued together. Others looked like items Pixal had seen at previous stands. One of them still had the price tag on.
“Or, I could help you with a little gift of mine.” The Raven propositioned, eye bright with the promise of cash. “Easy and cheap, I’m sure I’ve got a compass in here! You look like a fine sparkly machine that needs a compass. Everyone needs a compass!”
“Oh,” Ruztin popped up over Pixal’s shoulder, “we don’t have money.”
“Bah, course you do!” The Raven scoffed, lowering her wings and glowering. “You never come here without money, don’t lie to me.”
“This one doesn't have money.” Ruztin corrected, pointing to Pixal.
“Then buy it for them!” The Raven huffed, raising her wings again. “What would a pretty thing like you wanna get? Put it on Rusty-wing’s bill.” She grinned, shoving in PIxal’s face again, cackling at her own joke.
Pixal raised her arm, hand planting over the Raven's face. She paused, a bit stunned—and Pixal shoved her away.
The Raven squawked, flailing. Her wings flared out, but she still toppled straight onto her back. Multiple of her goods spewed over the platform, getting kicked up by crowds who tried to jump out of the way.
“Ha!” Ruztin cackled, pointing jeeringly as Pixal stepped over the Raven’s talon, continuing on her way. She noted that down: both that Ruztin seemed mildly familiar with at least someone else here, and they seemed significantly less reserved when it came to any kind of interaction with other Ravens.
“Hey!” The Raven started yelling, and Pixal didn’t look back. “You break it, you buy it! Come back here!”
A moment later, Ruztin zoomed right by Pixal’s head. She blinked.
“We move quickly now!” They called back. They didn’t sound all that concerned, just a simple advisory move.
Pixal broke into a jog. She didn’t mind running, anyway.
She weaved through crowds, and Ruztin glided a bit overhead. They looked back at some point and didn’t seem bothered, so it seemed they escaped that. But she didn’t drop her jog anyway, brushing past the crowds.
She saw a ramp going up, and she moved towards it.
Ruztin landed in front of her halfway up the ramp.
“Whoa, whoa, end of the line!” Ruztin warned, wings spread. “We’re on the fifth floor right now, up there is the sixth floor.”
Pixal gave a deadpan stare. She walked around their wings.
“We can’t go up there!” Ruztin warned, growing a little more frantic. They were still smart enough to not grab her. “That's where, like, birds even worse than Razzel down there are.” Ruztin warned, wings fluttering. Pixal was willing to bet it was a lie. “So, let's just go back down, yeah?”
Pixal strode up to the sixth level.
It seemed relatively the same, just with more care put into it. A bit fancy. Still had Eagles and Ravens milling about, but suspicious stares were leveled towards the Ravens by everyone— even the other animals and humans.
Ruztin pulled the hood higher over their head, and muttered something about stubborn nindroids.
The sixth and seventh floor were uneventful. Ruztin wandered off a few more times, but Pixal stopped paying attention. They kept asking what it was Pixal was looking for, to which she just kept pointing up to the top.
On the eighth floor, Pixal passed by a shop. If you could call it that. Reminded her more of a lemonade stand with a cover overtop of it.
She paused, then walked back a few paces.
They were offering maps. She couldn’t see a price tag, just a few maps. They were clearly hand-drawn, and she saw a few adventurous-type individuals stopping by, chatting briefly, taking a map they were offered, then leaving again with a thank you.
But the main thing that caught Pixal’s eye again— was that they weren’t only talking.
There were two Eagles at the stand. One of them was about her height (which, now that she noticed, Ruztin was a good few inches shorter than her. Which wasn’t surprising, she’d built herself to be tall, and while she wasn’t as tall after being built now, it was still a bit of height), the other shorter than even Ruztin, and seemed much younger. The shorter, figure, she noticed, was moving his hands around.
Signing. He was signing.
Pixal made a beeline, hearing Ruztin demand where she was going. She stepped right up to the stand, the larger Eagle smiling at the last customer that left, then looking at her. The Eagle's eyes widened for a moment, but she didn’t seem too phased.
“Good afternoon!” She greeted, gesturing out with her wings a bit. The smaller Eagle didn't say anything, and Pixal thought that he really was young. Not a small child, but younger than…than someone she knew. “What kind of map would you like?”
Pixal paused for a moment, then began to sign. Just a little slower to be legible.
“My name is P.I.X.A.L,” she began, noticing the teenage Eagle looking up, “you—?”
The young Eagle proceeded to spring to life, a positively ecstatic expression on his face. He nearly shoved the bigger eagle out of the way, wings puffing up as he began quickly signing back.
Pixal faltered for a moment before immediately locking in, grateful that her eyes could at least pick up on such fast movement. She smiled, and she saw the older Eagle puff good-naturedly, and she resumed…
She paused, eyes squinting.
That wasn’t…sign language, was it?
It seemed like it, at first glance, and she picked up a stray word or two, plus a few that were almost a full word, but everything else was…gibberish.
Pixal frowned, pausing mid-sign. The Eagle didn’t seem to notice at first, still excitedly conversing in nonsense.
“You have gotta stop—oh.” Ruztin came up at Pixal’s side, blinking at the Eagles. The bigger one instantly noticed them, eyes narrowing and feathers puffing slightly. The smaller one stopped, blinking curiously.
“Maps aren’t valuable.” The bigger Eagle gruffed. “You don’t need them. I have an actual customer here.” She gestured to Pixal.
“Oh, uh, no, no, this is—“ Ruztin hesitated, then made a sweeping gesture to Pixal. “A friend of mine! I’m with it.”
“Right.” The older Eagle looked between them, doubt now aimed towards Pixal herself.
Pixal nudged Ruztin’s arm, and they seemed surprised before she gestured to the smaller Eagle, then repeated her sign language. The smaller Eagle tilted his head, blinking, then signed back.
“My name is…” The Eagle began signing what must have been letters, but…Pixal didn’t recognize a single one.
Ruztin blinked for a moment, then straightened.
“Ohhh,” They flicked their wing, “yeah, guess sign language would also be different if our writing is, too.”
Pixal wanted to bang her head into a wall. But the Eagles were giving them odd looks, and the younger one was starting to look a bit deflated.
“My friend here is from Ninjago.” Ruztin explained. “Afraid it just seems to know sign language from that realm.”
“Ah, gotcha,” the older Eagle loosened, just a little, and the teenager watched Ruztin’s beak move as they spoke. They turned to the older one and signed something, to which she nodded. “Sorry, friend.” She smiled at Pixal sympathetically. “Though I’m sure Easton wouldn’t mind teaching.” She teased, patting the teenager on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” Pixal ended up signing on instinct, then paused and sighed, shaking her head. No point in signing the rest. The smaller Eagle, Easton, did perk up at that, pointing at her and then himself. He also signed thank you, smiling bright. Seemed at least that one remained the same.
Instead, she pointed to one of the maps. The larger Eagle nodded, still friendly as she picked one out of his cylindrical holster, offering it to her. She unrolled it as she took it, looking it over.
“Easton and I are cartographers, those are just a few copies.” She heard the older Eagle go on. “Maps all over the area! We’re still working on spreading out when the kiddo here finally sheds the last of his downy feathers.”
“Oh, do you have any of Ninjago?” Ruztin asked.
“There isn’t one Ninjago realm.” The older Eagle was suddenly much more gruff. “It doesn’t have spots.”
“Ah—yes, yes, I–I was only wondering…”
Pixal offered the map back, pointing to another. The current map she had was useful, but it was just of the area around where they were. She wanted one that labeled everything further away.
“You hoping to travel?” The Eagle asked conversationally, even as Easton happily plucked up a newer-looking map and handed it over.
“My friend here has some folks looking for it.” Ruztin said easily enough, Pixal taking a peek at the new map. It was a little wonky, but it most certainly had a wider range.
“Uh huh,” The older Eagle drawled, eyes narrowed in on Ruztin when Pixal looked up, “trying to escape people angry you stole their bot?”
“It wasn’t stealing,” Ruztin puffed, Pixal offering her own glare at being referred to as someone's bot, “I found it.”
“Sure you did.” The Eagle puffed, Easton looking between them with ruffled wings.
Pixal rolled up the map, tucking it under her arm. It was fine enough, and she understood when they were unwanted. She signed “thank you” again, to which Easton gleefully reciprocated, then, just to make sure, mimed taking out a wallet and paying.
“Oh, no, we Eagles don’t really use currency.” The older one said kindly with a chuckle. “Everything is shared, though of course things have their proper place. If you ever want to return that map or hand it to someone else, be our guest.” She assured.
Interesting. It made her wonder about the shops scattered about. Had she seen anyone paying at them? She didn’t think she could, though her memory scanning was a little out of sorts. She thought she saw it at a few, but they didn’t look to be manned by Eagles. Perhaps there was a clash in currency ideals?
Pixal nodded gratefully, offering a smile to Easton before turning away. Ruztin hesitated for a moment before following right on her heels, wings drawn tight.
Pixal wanted to ask. She wanted to ask as they continued to climb up the slope, Ruztin complaining all the way. She wanted to ask why the Eagles glared, why they were sure she was stolen. Ruztin had clearly accepted they hadn’t stolen her, and technically, by all accounts, she hadn’t been.
She noticed it more. Eagles chasing Ravens off from their stands, Ravens swarming an Eagle left unattended and vanishing with their goods before anyone realized. She would’ve attempted to help, but the Ravens could fly, and they were long gone within seconds.
Instinctively, she wanted to defend the Ravens. Perhaps they simply needed to steal, because of the Eagles treatment. Instinctively, because she and Ruztin had been sneered at first, just for existing.
Then there came a Raven that spoke only to Ruztin on the eighth floor. Asking if they’d like to sell her for a pretty penny. Ruztin had quickly declined, and the Raven looked ready to take what he wanted anyway until Pixal had mimed snapping his spine over her knee. It got him to leave quickly.
Then there came her witnessing a Raven stealing hats off passing children, shiny necklaces, and anything they could see. Ducking into alleyways and snickering with their friends over the loot. Until Pixal had threatened them, but, once more, they all flew away.
“They weren’t that expensive, anyway.” Ruztin brushed off. They were hardly disturbed by any of it.
Then again, with it also came more differences. An Eagle damn near shoving an elderly Raven to keep a wide berth around them. Another snatched their child away when they were playing with a young Raven.
By the time they reached the top floor, Pixal filed away what she knew in the parts of her memory bank that functioned. She suspected it to be another complicated situation. She remembered there’d been another complicated situation of hate before. She didn’t remember how they fixed it, if they did.
The top floor wasn’t the highest possible point, there was a solid thirty feet till the very top. Twenty feet up from that was the actual top, but it was replaced by a long metal pole. The pole led to a large eagle's nest.
Clever. One of her friends would find that funny—Jay? No, Jay didn’t like anything related to pirates. Maybe Kai would find it amusing.
Ruztin was wandering again. She’d come to understand most eagles preferred the higher floors, likely due to simply their animal nature. But most of the residents in the upper floors weren’t even Eagles or Ravens, but blends of other sentients she saw.
They also seemed more wary of Ravens, possibly because most things she saw higher up were, well, higher-end. Seafood restaurants, well-built apartments, or maybe it was a hotel. Stands that handed out some very valuable components for engineering. Granted, the ones higher up seemed more interested in receiving payment than lending anything. She made a note to come back and see if they had anything to offer her.
Ruztin was looking about with their usual nervousness, eyeing what looked like a shop of gems and shiny jewels. She elected to leave them to it, they seemed less interested in thievery than other Ravens anyway, and walked in-between a stand selling silks and some living complex.
Pixal gauged the way up. It was mostly smooth, but cracks were showing. There were bumps in the metal. Windows where one would’ve been on a skyscraper, but many of them were shattered, and clearly no one saw fit to fix it.
Pixal shook out her arms, took a step back, crouched—and leapt on top of the silk stand.
She balanced on one of the wooden poles holding the fabric roof up. No one seemed to notice, or care, so she looked to the complex, seeing a balcony, and leapt up onto that.
She barely spared a glance for whatever rooms the balcony connected to, peering around the building to find another. It was quite a jump, but she waited only a second before taking the leap, hands barely snagging the railing. She needed to increase the strength in her legs.
She thought she caught the wide eyes of someone through the glass door of this balcony, but she was already leaping up onto the roof, swinging her body up. Still had a ways to go.
She managed to take a leap onto the Spiral itself, foot catching in a dent in the wall, hands gripping a hole no one patched. It was a little difficult with the large blanket over her, but nothing she couldn’t manage.
It was a little slower than she would’ve liked, climbing up those thirty (forty, possibly) feet. It required her finding the best places to catch herself, and she slipped twice before managing to stop herself from tumbling straight to the bottom. She was sure a fall from this wouldn’t be much, but she was made of different materials, now. She might break easier.
Which was downright infuriating, really. She was going to fix that as fast as she could.
Getting to the pole was the easy part. Standing on the flat roof, looking up at it, was the hard part.
Calling it a ‘pole’ was underselling it a little. It was a little thicker than a person was wide, and it may have used to be some sort of construction beam before it somehow ended up here. Or maybe they built it themselves. It certainly had a number of scratches in it.
Pixal looked up at the pole, judging the distance. Twenty feet of a straight vertical rise. Easy to access with wings, of which she had none. Seemed like a design flaw to her, but what did she know about the infrastructure of a civilization that relied on flight?
Still looking up, Pixal unclasped the old blanket from her neck, hooking the safety pins into her shorts. She spread it out, circling it around the pole. Gripping both ends, she wrapped it tightly around her fists, placing one foot on the pole.
With a small jump, she tugged tight on the blanket, planting both feet on the pole.
With the force of her gripping the fabric around the pole, her feet stayed.
Perfect.
Climbing up the pole was slower going than the building, but it was at least more straightforward. Slide the blanket up, move a little higher, maybe slip once or twice and nearly tumble to a way more damaging drop, then repeat.
The nest itself was just that: a nest. Full of sticks and branches with some stray feathers and fur clinging all about it. The nest appeared to be over some metal platform at the top, with the pole sticking up through it by a few feet.
Pixal braced herself—then took another leap, one hand abandoning her blanket to grab onto the nest.
Some twigs fell out instantly, but the nest held. She swung her other hand up, legs dangling, tossing the blanket somewhere onto the nest as she secured her grip, hoisting up.
The nest, she found, wasn’t completely a nest. There was a sort of roof over the pole that went through the middle of it, providing protection. In fact, there was a hole carved into the side of the pole with a shabby door hanging ajar. The inside looked little more than a shelter to hunker down in, and greatly uncomfortable.
The nest had been used before, clearly. Black and white feathers all around, though she wasn’t sure why there were clumps of dark brown fur mixed in, and as she rolled herself in, it was found to be quite compactly built.
She gathered up her blanket, loosely swinging it back around over her shoulders. She used the pins to fold it back together over herself. As she did so, she looked up, to the view she’d been searching for.
And stopped.
Miles, miles, and miles of land stretched before her. She could see well beyond the mountains now, just cresting her view over their peaks. Valleys, bogs, rivers—those were all she could name. But there were so many more geographical features she couldn’t even begin to describe.
A section of flat terrain that looked pink and white, a desert next to what seemed like a rainforest, an island in the middle of a large moat on land, hunks of rocks floating around mountains, and a horizon that ended not because there was nothing more, but because the curve of the earth blocked her view of anything more.
It was endless. Walking around the nest, viewing every angle, it was endless. In one far distance, she thought she could see the sea, but then she swore she could see small crests of land on the other side, but it was endless further to the right.
That’s what it was. Endless on both sides. A sea that stretched forever to her right, and land that maybe stretched even further on her left. The sea looked lighter than it was supposed to be. Almost green.
She recognized none of it. Perhaps that was what struck her so violently, hands gripping the edge of the nest, eyes locking in on the land. Not one landmark was familiar. Not one single blade of grass. No mountain, no buildings, not even the towns she could see dotted across. So much less than there should be, and so much more.
Her memory was still fixing itself. Perhaps some of it would be familiar in time—but she wasn’t sure. None of it looked like it could be something she’d know. No one in that old stone tower knew of Ninjago. It wasn’t here, not in this land that grew for two years without her.
She knew, deeper than anything, that she was lost. Entirely, and completely lost, with a face that wasn’t her own, a body that failed her, and a mind in shattered pieces.
She was alone.
“There you are!”
Pixal damn near punched Ruztin in the face.
They squawked, flailing back in the air, wings sending out buffets of air. Pixal bared her teeth on instinct, knowing it wouldn’t really do much. She’d gotten a good look at what remained of her teeth, made to make her look more human and welcoming. They were either completely gone, eroded, or all twisted out of place. She’d been trying to patch them up during her repairs.
“What gives?” Ruztin huffed, flying over and around the side. Pixal barely heard it, shaking out her head, pressing one hand to her ear. It sounded like it was ringing within her head. Was that supposed to happen? “How’d you even get up here?”
Pixal ignored Ruztin landing on the other side of the nest, branches crinkling under their talons. She leaned forward, arms braced on the edge, shutting her eyes and mimicking exhaling. It was more like tensing and then relaxing her body again, a movement that made it seem like she was breathing, or sighing. She’d mimicked it before she realized it was an involuntary reaction to most organics.
She was fine. She was P.I.X.A.L, the greatest thing Cyrus Borg had ever created, the Samurai X, and…and she was part of the Ninja.
She had more than that. She’d done more than that. She knew she did. What had she done? She’d been greater than this. There was more.
No one was going to find her like this. She didn’t look like Pixal. She couldn’t even act like her. Pixal would know she’d done far too damn much to be gripping old branches so tight they snapped and splintered like toothpicks without her realizing it.
Something moved towards her.
She seized it before anything else moved. The appendage flailed, and a familiar stuttering and pianicking followed.
She moved her head next, locking in on—Ruztin, trying to wrench their arm away before catching her eye and freezing. Their eyes looked to the side, then back to her.
Pixal released their arm.
“Sorry, uh, X.” Ruztin took a few steps back, rubbing at their arm. “Just, uh, don’t want you breaking up the ol’ Nest, y’know? We kinda use this for lookouts and MergeQuakes.”
Pixal just looked at them. Then she turned away, forcing herself to flatten her hands over the broken wood. She needed to get a grip.
No one was going to find her.
So she’d just have to find them first.
She withdrew the map she’d tucked away. Unrolling it over the nest, she searched for clear landmarks while surveying the terrain. The edge of the map showed one corner of the endless sea, so she walked around the Nest, Ruztin following as she looked out the other way.
No, some features seemed off. It was going just off of the sea, this map was skirting the edge of it. Did she want that? Water didn't do well with machinery.
“Oh, here,” Ruztin suddenly said, and then—there was another map.
Pixal blinked. For a moment, she took the new map, looking up and finding it showed more details of the land directly opposite of the sea. It had the pink flats, the desert, the rainforest, even a few villages noted down.
For a moment, she analyzed it.
Then, she stopped.
She turned to Ruztin.
Ruztin hadn’t taken any maps made by those cartographers, they didn’t offer them any.
Ruztin just blinked back at her, unaware. Pixal frowned, looking at the map, then picked up the one she’d abandoned, holding it as well. She raised the map Ruztin had given her, then gave them an inquisitive look.
“Oh, well,” Ruztin waved off a hand, stepping back and chuckling, “maps can be quite useful to someone. I mean, you never know!”
Pixal’s eyes narrowed. She set down the map she’d started with, then rolled up Ruztin’s map and made another point towards it.
“They were giving them out.” Ruztin looked away. “Can never have too many maps, you know.”
They stole it. She summarized that they stole it.
She scowled, then whacked Ruztin’s head with the rolled up map.
They squawked, covering their head and jumping back. Pixal beat them with the map until they were well out of range, then shook it threateningly at them before bringing it back and tucking it away, doing the same with the map she had properly gotten.
Free or not, they said these maps were for communal use. Ruztin clearly had no need to travel, and they hadn’t offered it until she was already using a different map.
“Hey, hey, don’t get mad at me!” Ruztin protested as she situated herself. “It’s a Raven thing, you know! This is just what we do.”
Pixal still gave an unamused expression, stepping up to the edge of the nest. She wasn’t a personal believer in this is how the world is and hadn’t been since she decided she was going to be a hero with the Ninja. Yes, she thought that was it. She thought she used to believe that ideal, once, among all the facts and numbers.
She crouched on the edge of the roof, gauging the distance. Maybe she could snag her blanket around the pole as she went down? She probably should’ve thought how she would get down.
“Uh,” Ruztin started again, and Pixal didn’t bother looking back, “I mean…I know how you feel about it, and I’m not super strong, but…I could…help you down?”
Pixal paused, considering it. Ruztin was rather thin. They had a prosthetic wing that even she had noticed caused them to have a slightly wonky flight. There was absolutely no way they could effectively carry her.
However, they still had wings, and that could slow a descent. Not to a great degree, but enough to avoid damage that would be sustained from jumping off on her own. Provided they went about this carefully.
Pixal was efficient, and so personal matters could be ignored for the sake of practicality. She looked over her shoulder at Ruztin, held out her arms, and nodded.
Ruztin’s eyes widened in surprise before they quickly tried to brush it off. Their wings flicked, and they hurriedly hopped up onto the edge of the Nest.
“Oh! Well, alright, yeah, yeah,” Ruztin hesitated, a guard in their eyes before they gingerly reached forward and clasped Pixal’s forearms, and she clasped theirs. It was a little difficult, considering the cloth and feathers making her grip questionable.
And she was pretty sure her strongest hold would still be able to crush bones. So, she didn’t want to do that.
“Uh, I can’t do it super well, so,” Ruztin began, “prepare for a clunky landing. Oh, and don’t squirm a lot. Just, um,” They glanced up at her, “hold still?”
Pixal nodded.
Ruztin took a deep breath, and Pixal stood right up on the edge with them. They spread out their wings, and their prosthetic wing clicked as it compensated to be so wide.
Then, slowly, they stepped off the ledge.
PIxal went with them.
And almost immediately plummeted.
Ruztin let out some garbled yell that may have had a word or two in it. Pixal tightened her grip to what might have been a painful degree, tucking in her legs and looking wildly down at the ground rushing to meet them.
Ruztin’s wings beat frantically, but their grip was slipping on her arms. She tried to convey they should just hold their wings out, as gliding may be a better option, but they just kept beating their wings harder. She had no way to tell them, and they veered wildly to the side.
The platforms came spiraling towards them.
Pixal tensed as they started veering right towards the edge of the platform, where the much less survivable drop was.
She gave a sudden jerk away, and Ruztin pitched to the side, sending them in a spin. The platform came closer—and Pixal let go.
Ruztin dropped her instantly, crying out. Pixal kept her eyes locked on the ground, maybe twenty feet below now.
On an instinct she didn’t remember, she tucked on herself as the ground came up, then spun into a roll.
She felt a thunk as she hit the platform, rolling thrice over before pushing out her legs and springing up to her feet, arms out. A few warnings popped up from gears and wires coming loose.
Everything was suddenly still.
Well, to her, it was. She was still. Nearby residents also stopped, staring at her and the unexpected entrance. Most went back to their business rather quickly even as Pixal reorganized herself.
She was five feet away from the edge.
She took a few good steps back, closing her eyes and deciding, yeah, that could’ve gone worse.
“Dude!”
She opened her eyes to Ruztin stomping over, wings wide and fluttering. Their feathers were out of place, and some muck was on their face. They probably also crash-landed.
“Sorry,” She signed instinctively, refusing to take a step back even as Ruztin got in her face.
“I said don’t move!” They scolded, shaking themself out. “My wings can’t handle that kind of sudden movement!” They snapped, stretching out their prosthetic, which creaked louder and seemed a little crooked when they folded it in.
Pixal winced a little, trying to give an apologetic smile. She was still glared at, but she thought she could fix that prosthetic for them to make up for it.
“Next time you wanna go sightseeing this high up, at least have an escape plan.” Ruztin groaned, dragging a hand over their face before sighing. “Does this mean we can just go home now?”
Pixal nodded, pausing for a moment before offering an awkward pat on the shoulder. Ruztin startled and stared at it, so she elected to just pull away and spin on her heel, searching for the ramp down.
For once, Ruztin didn’t say all too much when they came into step beside her. Well, actually, they began walking ahead of her, probably grateful to be leaving. They really spent most of their time just walking, as she could see dusk would come soon, and would most definitely be upon them by the time they reached the bottom. She supposed the Spiral was made for those who could fly between the levels, much faster than walking.
She paused on the eighth floor, though. She began wandering, and it took a moment before Ruztin realized and fluttered to keep up with her. Their wing was still a little wonky.
“Hey, I thought we were done?” Ruztin complained, at her side, but leaned so their head was clearly visible in her line of sight.
Pixal shook her head, bringing out both maps and sending Ruztin a stern look. They blinked unknowingly for a moment before looking like they ate something rather upsetting.
“You’re returning them?” Ruztin outcried. “But we already have them, why bother?” They complained. “It's not like they can’t make more, Eagles are so stingy about stealing, and they’re the ones who say its communal—”
Pixal raised her hand to whack them with a map. They quickly shut their beak and scurried a few steps back.
She found the two Eagles again as they were closing up shop. The larger Eagle was smiling and nodding along with something Easton was signing, carrying satchels of maps and pulling the cloth off their table.
Pixal was aware of Ruztin hanging back as she approached, taking care to step a little heavier so the larger Eagle would hear her. She did, blinking and looking up.
“Oh, hey, it’s you!” The Eagle greeted, Easton turning and also lighting up. “Did the map not turn out how you wanted?” She asked curiously.
Pixal set down the map she’d taken on the table, then unrolled the one Ruztin stole and also set it down. The Eagle and Easton frowned down at it. The larger Eagle widened in slight recognition, looking up as Pixal nodded and turned her head back towards where she thought Ruztin still lingered.
“I was wondering what happened to that map!” The Eagle scoffed, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. “Honestly, Ravens. They don’t even use anything they steal, they just hoard it.” She muttered, wings sagging.
Pixal shrugged, pushing her original map closer. She then tapped Ruztin’s map, then pointed to herself. It was better, and it would be awfully nice if she could keep it in exchange for a trade.
Easton seemed to get it first, tapping on the larger Eagles arm before signing to her. She frowned a moment, then softened to a sigh as she looked back to Pixal.
“Yes, you can keep it.” She said kindly. “You’re clearly going to use it if you're telling us about that thief.” She glared over Pixal’s shoulder before focusing back. “Do you want both of them?”
Pixal shook her head, pushing the map closer. Easton easily took it, already stuffing it back into the satchel.
“You don’t have to return both, but if you’re sure.” The Eagle shrugged, seeming amused at Easton. Then, she frowned again, looking at Pixal. Her eyes flickered for a moment. “Hey, so, just making sure…you’re okay, right?”
Pixal blinked, confused. She rolled up the map again, tilting her head.
“It's just, the guy over there said he found you, and you’re trying to leave…” The Eagle trailed off. “Look,” She leaned forward over the table, voice quieter, “if you need help, we’re more than willing.”
Pixal frowned a moment, then puffed and shook her head, faintly amused. They probably thought Ruztin had truly stolen her. A noble sentiment, but in a situation of real thievery, it was much more likely she was some nindroid Ruztin had programmed for themself, and that couldn’t be helped unless someone reset the original program.
She instead pointed back to Ruztin, then to herself, then spread out her pointer and middle finger before bringing them together. They were together, no schemes to be had.
The Eagle frowned, but nodded all the same leaning back.
“Well, if you ever need anything, I’m Eirene.” She introduced, hand on her chest. “You gotta be careful around Ravens, you know?”
Pixal felt…a little miffed by that. It was irrational, even Ruztin was evidently a thief, but…well, it was the principle of the matter.
Still, she nodded, offering a signed “thank you” to both Eirene and Easton, the latter enthusiastically returning it.
When she turned back, tucking the new map away, Ruztin was standing still quite far away, hands behind their back, looking at just about everything but the stand, whistling. She rolled her eyes slightly, approaching until they caught sight of her.
“Did you snitch?” Ruztin accused, eyes narrowing.
Pixal puffed, giving a light shove to their arm before breezing by. She swept her blanket. aside to show she had the map still, then wandered back to the ramp downwards.
“Oh, so you did keep it!” Ruztin exclaimed, racing after her. “So all that complaining was for nothing!”
Notes:
pixal realizing ruztin is, in fact, just like the other ravens: >:O
pixal when ruztin is called out on it: >:[
Chapter Text
As predicted, it was dusk when they made it back to the tower.
Morel came charging off from who-knows-where when they entered, yapping excitedly and prancing around. Pixal was quick to hop out of the way and keep a wide berth as Ruztin crouched and cooed at the creature.
“Did you hike halfway around the world?” Came a drawl, and Pixal looked up to find what seemed like Charble on the couch, though the back of it hid most of him from view, save for his feet hanging off one end and his head poking above the other.
“X wanted to climb all the way up the spiral.” Ruztin scoffed, but Pixal wasn’t paying attention as she unrolled the map and took another once-over. “And then, it sold me out to some Eagles when I got us a free map that it wanted in the first place!”
“Tragic,” Charble drawled, making no indication to move, “what else?”
“I had to help it off the Nest!” Ruztin outcried, storming past Pixal, and she looked up to see them dramatically thrust out their prosthetic wing, which creaked loudly. “And look what happened!”
Morel gave some loud squeaks to that, still dancing around Ruztin’s feet. Er, talons.
Charble looked up at that, Pixal saw his head move. She elected to re-roll the map and begin gingerly making her way to the basement.
“Is it mendable?” Charble asked.
“Well, yes, a few gears just popped loose, but still!” Ruztin snapped. “This’ll have to be my project in the morning!”
“How sad.”
Pixal paused at the entrance to the basement, reaching for the door. She hesitated a moment, then stepped back and turned towards Ruztin, whose back was to her. She thought over it, then knocked against the wood.
Ruztin turned to look at her. Charble, similarly, leaned up on the couch to watch her.
Pixal pointed towards Ruztin’s wing, then to herself, paused, then mimicked using a wrench.
Charble slid his eyes to look at Ruzitn. In the low-lighting, because apparently only a single lamp was turned on in the darkening house, she couldn't tell if he was asking to know what she meant, or if he was looking for Ruztin’s reaction.
Ruztin squinted for a moment, glanced at their wing, then visibly had a light bulb go off.
“Oh!” They straightened, “oh, well, that's—no, no, that's alright, I’m more than used to fixing it myself.” They said quickly.
Pixal nodded, leaving it at that. She hadn’t figured they would agree. She had no real expertise in prosthetics, anyway, and would only be basing it off of mending herself, Zane, or the samurai suit.
Besides, it was personal. Though she hadn’t been granted to mend her personal self in the beginning, she’d been granted it now, and would extend that courtesy.
She gave them a wave, then, pulling open the basement door and descending down.
They didn’t follow her, of which she was grateful. She flicked on the crummy lights in the basement, because her night vision still needed improving. Walking over to one of the tables, she cleared out a space before setting the map down and searching around.
There were many old pieces of paper that seemed to be from half-used notebooks, and she looked for a larger one than the one she had been using. But she grabbed the same pen, taking them over to the table.
She used random inventions and tools to weigh down the map, took a quick new glance over it to print it into her memory, then began sketching.
A part of her felt offended at writing on a map meant for all to use, but by all accounts, so long it was being used, then it didn’t matter. Besides, they could always make another map. She couldn’t find other friends.
She referenced her memory from the Nest to write down points on the map. There were plenty of little blurbs written there already, but they were in whatever language the Eagles used, so she crossed them out and rewrote it as Ninjago’s lexicon, signalling ‘desert’ or ‘forest’ or ‘sea’.
She found where the edge of the map was, which seemed to have the Nest on it. She rewrote that name as well, including adding the names of what she believed was how one would spell Ruztin, Charble, and after a moment's deliberation, Morel.
It was a start. One couldn’t start to find others until they understood where they themselves were.
The map wasn’t professional, but it was nicely hand-made. It was thicker than most papers, and it was somewhat stylized with squiggly border markers and brighter colors to signify changes in terrain.
On the new blank piece of paper, she wrote down what she knew under the title START. What she knew was this:
- No knowledge of Ninjago or Ninjas
- Most sentient life is animal in nature, very few humans
- No hostility towards outsiders (except among Eagles and Ravens)
And…that was it.
Pixal glared at the paper, like it was at fault for this. She supposed she hadn’t exactly asked around much. Perhaps she should do that come tomorrow. Then again, communication in charades would be difficult, and having Ruztin trying to translate her could lead to more confusion or hostility.
Maybe Charble? If the residents took issue with a walking sentient statue, neither him nor Ruztin had implied it. The problem was that Charble seemed to not like doing anything, and he wasn’t the most sociable, either.
It was certainly a puzzle.
Pixal decided to leave the map and notes for the time being. Instead, she pulled off a toolbox, set up her small mirror, and decided to get to work. She didn’t need to shut-down for the time being, and may as well continue to perfect herself.
It was more productive than the alternative. Right now, that was a mantra she just needed to keep repeating.
Pixal didn’t realize it was morning until she heard the basement door open.
Her internal clock was still broken, as it required WiFi to work. Once more, it was something Zane hadn’t been built with, and thus he functioned perfectly fine without it. But she still had a timer (and she mentally noted to set up a clock sometime later) and it said it was probably morning by now.
A shadow slinked down the stairs, then Ruztin came into view. She faltered with the wire she was gently connecting in her leg when she saw their weaker wing was in a sling.
Before snapping herself out of it, finally connecting the wire and closing the panel. Ruztin likely wasn’t injured, the sling likely just kept their wing from hitting things. She probably hadn’t seen it before because they rarely came down without their prosthetic on.
“Still workin’ on yourself?” Ruztin asked. They sounded nervous.
They were in much more comfortable looking attire, with significantly less belts. They did have a satchel at their side, though, and a toolbox in their other hand.
Pixal nodded, though she set her tool down and pushed to stand, stretching out her leg. They should be stronger now, and her hands had less delay. Similarly, the muffled noise in her ears seemed to have vanished completely.
“Cool, I’m, uh, just down here to work on me.” Ruztin chuckled, inching over to a bench—then found her map and notes on it. They faltered, then moved to a different one, gently pushing junk away before setting down the toolbox.
Pixal would admit she was curious. Besides, she just wanted to tighten a few joints in her left hand. So, picking up the few tools she would need, she meandered over to Ruztin, taking up space in the far corner of the table.
Ruztin blinked at her, pausing. She just nodded to them, then went about popping off a panel on the back of her hand.
It was an odd conflict. Ruztin, logically, did not seem like a bad person. She knew she’d met many bad people, though she only remembered a few faces and names. They stole, but they seemed to have good intentions. They shoved themself into her mechanisms, but they hadn’t known she wouldn’t take kindly to it. They saw her as a project…
Logically, she knew that wasn’t their fault. They didn’t come from a world with nindroids. She repeated that reminder to herself: they had no reason to think she was as real as them.
It still made her churn. But a stubborn part of her knocked against her insides and thought well, now I can prove that I am.
Ruztin didn’t move for a few more moments, then warbled some odd noise before lifting their satchel and setting it down. They withdrew their prosthetic from within—then a different one.
It was very similar to the first, but Pixal instantly knew it was older. Its parts were similar, but it had a few minute differences in how gears connected to each other, a sharper bend halfway up the cover, and was longer than the first.
“I got to thinking about your offer.” Ruztin said after a moment, and she looked up to their contemplative face. “And you seem to know an awful lot about mending things. So, I mean, I don’t use this one anymore,” They gently pushed it a little closer, “but I’m sort of curious… how would you go about fixing it?”
Pixal blinked. After a second, she gently shut the panel on her hand.
Well, she wasn’t about to pass up that opportunity.
She gently slid the prosthetic over, taking a moment to lift it up and turn it around. Rather crude by her standards, but most of the inventions in this house were. She mentally noted that Ruztin clearly had made their own prosthetics, then, and wondered why there was no one selling them. Or perhaps someone was, and they were too expensive. She was a little miffed at that thought.
“I pulled loose the gears that popped out on mine.” Ruztin added as she inspected. “And the little metal bar. It's not the same, but it's close.”
Pixal nodded, not looking up. She saw where the loose gears were, even heard them jangling around.
Then, without looking up, she grabbed a small screw, and she went to work.
It was awfully easy, she thought, to put all her focus on something that wasn’t about her. There was a certain stress involved in mending herself, knowing she was at risk if she wasn’t quick or precise enough.
But this wasn’t. This was something she could fix because she’d been asked to. She could experiment. Try to fit new gears in old places, twist up a few wires so they fit together better, take off a cover and replace it with something sturdier, and so on.
At some point, it went beyond fixing the original issue. That was an easy mend, it took her seven minutes. So the next twenty-three minutes were her improving upon the original however she deemed fit.
Once she had reached those thirty minutes, she lifted it up and turned it over how she did in the beginning. She bunched it together, how a folded wing would, then stretched it out. She moved it as a wing would mid-flight, then tilted it down and bunched it up again.
And beyond the prosthetic, she finally caught Ruztin watching her.
She blinked, lowering the prosthetic. Ruztin tilted their head inquisitively, opened their beak, closed it, then said: “you did a lot more than fixing it.”
Pixal shrugged, sliding the prosthetic over. She did still fix it, technically. Now it bent a lot smoother. Granted, this version didn’t add much support, but she was working on that. It was difficult to make prosthetics that moved smoothly and weren’t ridiculously heavy, brittle, or prone to breaking down, but she thought it might be a good challenge.
“Interesting.” Ruztin said anyway, gently setting aside their main prosthetic, of which they had been working on with a few mutters and chirps. They did the same as Pixal: bunching and stretching it out, moving it around, though they also tapped at a few new gears.
Then, they said: “I’m quite glad I rejected your offer.”
Pixal frowned, leaning back in her seat. Ruztin gave a sheepish smile as they set the prosthetic down.
Instinctively, Pixal was offended. She was a damn good mechanic, and that wasn’t even boasting, it was the truth. Sure, she didn’t have all the fancy machinery here, but she thought she did a pretty grand job in thirty minutes with what she was offered.
“It’s very good work,” Ruztin said, returning to their original prosthetic, “but it's not what I want. I need a lot more support than that. And besides,” They continued before PIxal could mentally retort with ‘ well, I can make it have better support just as easily’ saying, “I’m told I have my own sort of ‘spunk’ when creating things. I like to have it with my personal inventions.”
Pixal scoffed, waving Ruztin off. If by ‘spunk’ they meant jerky movements, sure. She could make it such a vast improvement they wouldn’t need to worry about mending it so often, but whatever.
It occurred to her, briefly, that she didn’t believe she’d seen Ruztin look so serious about something until they were mending their prosthetic. All other times, the closest they’d gotten was nervous.
Then, Ruztin reached into their satchel. With it, they withdrew a smaller sack, and they set it between themself and Pixal.
Curiously, she reached out and pulled it open.
Mechanical parts. Nindroid parts.
Pixal quickly dumped it out on her side of the table, shifting through them. They were very old and outdated, but they were solidly Borg Industries, her scanners recognized them. Pieces of eyes, machineries for movement, some heavy enhancing metals—it was a melting pot, but it was compatible.
“I, uh, got these while we were out yesterday.” Ruztin coughed.
Pixal paused.
These were stolen parts, then. Clearly not from functioning nindroids, she didn’t even see any. Possibly some shop was selling them, or they were left otherwise unattended.
They couldn’t have been easy to find. Namely, they were probably quite dangerous to steal, even though they were outdated, considering how hard it was to find any of those parts when Pixal went looking.
And Pixal was practical. She could push aside the morality of certain actions when it made the situation more desirable.
“Thank you,” Pixal signed, and she didn’t really feel any control over the small smile that formed.
“Um,” Ruztin blinked at her.
Pixal sighed, rolling her eyes before nodding at Ruztin, taking the sack. She offered a half-wave before slipping back to her own table, so Ruztin could continue working on their prosthetic.
She couldn’t be a project, she thought, if they went through this much effort.
The next week was easier.
There was a sort of routine to it. During the day, Pixal went out to the town. Ruztin was always the one to follow, and Charble never offered nor seemed interested. At the town, Pixal went about searching for anything involving Ninjago, or anyone who knew Ninjago sign language. Most of the time, it was a fruitless day.
On the times Ruztin followed her out, they often acted as a guide, sometimes a translator, and rarely were they successful. Once, Pixal lost them in the crowd, and found them only an hour later. They were in hysterics. She thought that was a bit overdramatic.
Other times, she grabbed parts. During the night, she worked on fixing herself. The looming threat of her voice box still hung dangerously over her head.
Once, Ruztin came to her one morning, hands clasped. “We can’t go to town today.”
Pixal paused where she was sorting good and bad parts, looking up.
“I’m meeting with a friend.” Ruztin said nervously. “Inventors and the like. They also offer cash for certain inventions and, uh, I don’t think you’d like it there, is all.”
Pixal read between the lines. Her immediate thought was that a group of inventors, who paid for inventions, might think she was something that could be bought. Ruztin might have thought that, too. If so, she gave them credit: they were more self-aware than she believed.
“Can’t it just go on its own?” Charble’s voice called from the living room.
“I just don’t think that's safe.” Ruztin shook their head. “That’s all.”
Pixal kept a neutral face for that. She stayed neutral all through Ruztin grabbing their meal, and through them packing up some odd hat-like invention. She even stayed neutral as Ruztin walked out the door.
She lasted twenty minutes.
Then, calmly, she set aside all the work she’d been doing. She picked up the notebook and pencil she’d begun carrying to try and communicate with others, and she steadily walked towards the front door.
“If you get dented out there,” Charble called, making her freeze in place, “it's not my fault, you got it?”
Pixal silently huffed, looking over her shoulder. Charble wasn’t even visible, save for his foot on the chair he was sitting on, directly out of sight of the front door.
She gave two knocks on the side of the door to signal she heard him, then she stepped out and left.
Ultimately, it was a normal day. More failure to find out anything from Ninjago, so instead she sought out where the non-bird people were. She hadn’t seen any nindroids, which dampened any hope she had, but not nearly enough to douse it completely. Never.
She came to understand that the Ravens were a very technological-based society. Many inventions she saw there turned out to have been made by them, most by spare parts. It wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t too proud to admit it was impressive.
It reminded her of someone. It took a little while before she remembered, yes, Jay, that was it, Jay. He lived in a junkyard, had inventions made of scrap he slowly had less time for. He would think this was impressive. Maybe, when she found him, she could bring him here.
Most Ravens, she also noted, had a prosthetic of some kind. Some were simple aids like Ruztin’s wing, others were entire placements, like their beak. Ravens mechanical eyes, hands, legs, body bracers, one even with half of her head covered in machinery.
She quickly found out this was due to two factors. The first was easy, because she was nearly rocked to the ground with a loud explosion, conveniently on the day she’d gone out on her own. When she’d leapt to her feet, she saw a small army of people (most being Ravens) all running around what seemed to be some odd sort of ramshackle car, all yelling at one another as they figured out what went wrong. Few seemed overly worried by this.
She came to understand that working with poor materials often led to frequent mishaps, and frequent mishaps led to frequent need for prosthetics. But the second reason she found came from being observant, and it seemed to be that Ravens simply weren’t…born very healthy.
Young children who coughed and wheezed after a normal amount of running with their friends, some Ravens straining under weights that people smaller than them could lift with ease, naturally crooked limbs…
On the day Pixal came back from being out on her own, Ruztin had apparently returned before her. She knew this, because she could hear them yelling from inside, and was swarmed as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
“Are you mad?” They exclaimed, beak clacking like the hum of an old machine. “You can’t do that! What if something happened to you?”
Pixal could only wave them off, for she didn’t have a proper way to say ‘I can take care of myself.’ She was still not as pristine as she used to be, but she was not weak. She was no longer simply scraps of metal sitting on a stranger's floor anymore.
It was quite frustrating, though. She knew she used to be better, but she didn’t know to what extent. It drove her mad, knowing she was weaker, but not knowing what specifically made her stronger, how she could improve herself.
It was just too much for her memory drive. It worked in conjunction with the rest of her, and thus keeping herself online meant it was splitting its resources. If she were to shut down, it could reorganize itself much faster, determine where the holes were quicker and find where the mending needed to be.
She was absolutely not going to do that. Particularly when she wasn’t sure how long she’d have to be off, and unknowing if she could turn herself back on. She was made of spare parts. She used to be able to set a timer, she knew, to wake herself back up. But that required more of her internal clock she didn’t have, and advanced machinery she had lost.
No, she’d suffer this instead.
Ruztin pestered her all through that day, but she had grown adept at ignoring them. After a while, just to change the conversation (which Charble seemed to want more than anything the longer it went on), she began drawing.
She put it bluntly on paper. Quick sketches of a Raven, then of an Eagle. She detailed points of prosthetics, mostly on the arms and feet so it didn’t look to be like it was about Ruztin specifically, then an Eagle without any of that. She circled the prosthetics.
Next to that, she also drew a smaller, near-comically sickly Raven, with hunched shoulders and downturned features. The Eagle next to it was standing much straighter, wings out further.
Then, she showed it to Ruztin, who stopped in their tracks to read, as they always did. She tapped her drawing with the back of her pen, then drew a question mark.
Charble, who had meandered over and quite looked like he wanted to conk Ruztin over the head until that point, also squinted at the drawing. He snorted, but his mouth downturned slightly, eyes flicking to Ruztin, then to Pixal. He seemed properly displeased, now.
“Oh,” Ruztin said after a moment, wings fluttering and coming closer to their sides, “well, um,”
“Ain’t your place to judge now, is it, scrap?” Charble gruffed, standing up straight again and turning away.
“Well hey, hey!” Ruztin spun to him, and Pixal automatically glared and roughly set her notepad down. “It wouldn’t know!” They looked over their shoulder at Pixal. “It—it’s just a Raven thing, really.”
Pixal couldn’t make much sense of that. She shook her head, frowning at the notepad before also standing. Charble had left for the living room. She supposed she could retreat back downstairs. She didn’t really need those answers, anyway, it wasn’t vital to her.
“We just, well,” Ruztin continued anyway, “back in our home realm, we Ravens didn’t live in a very nice place.” They fiddled their hands together, shrugging. “Nor had a very nice diet. We steal and scrounge for everything, you’ve seen it. So, with our hazardous inventions, we’re not very…big.” They shrugged, but above all, seemed their regular amount of nervousness.
Pixal tilted her head, filing off that information. She supposed that made sense. But it made her wonder about Ruztin’s world, Chima, if she recalled. The Eagles didn’t have such issues. Were there disputes, she wondered, when it came to land and resources? It didn’t seem to be that dire around the Spiral, surely those old grudges would’ve carried over, it’d only been two years.
“But, you know,” Ruztin continued after a moment, and when she looked back, they were looking off to the side. But they seemed to be smiling, in the odd way a creature with a metal beak could, “some Ravens have had hatchlings after the Merge. They’ve seemed…healthier.” They seemed to rise a little at that, a little puff to their chest. “We might be getting better.”
Pixal couldn't think of anything smart to write for that. She was beginning to re-learn some things about herself, and this was one of them: she was pretty terrible at emotional moments.
Notes:
hey, I like you *sprinkles in worldbuilding*
Chapter 7: tentative peace
Chapter Text
By the second week, she’d gone out on her own a number of times.
Sometimes, this was by simply getting separated from Ruztin for a few hours and managing entirely on her own. Perhaps this made Ruztin desensitized to it, for while they still worried, they did not panic when they found her again, and only gave a mild scolding when she came back.
Charble was still gruff with her. He didn’t seem overly upset anymore about her questioning, and she personally thought it was rather idiotic. It was only a question, and it was obvious how unhealthy the Ravens were. She jotted it down to Charble caring a little more than he liked to say.
She found it odd that he never left the house. Never once had she seen him anywhere else. The furthest he got was lounging on the roof, either watching the clouds or, sometimes, trying to read. He tried to hide it whenever someone seemed to notice, and she personally thought it was a rather silly thing to be embarrassed about, but whatever. That was all he seemed to do. Read, watch, and sleep. Sometimes, on an exciting day, he organized the house by putting Ruztin’s inventions in some sorted places.
Pixal moved around him, and he never intercepted her. Once more, she was sure he was waiting for when she’d leave.
She finally got herself proper clothes on a trip with Ruztin. She was confident enough in her measurements that any further tweaks wouldn’t make any clothes become too big or small, and, above all else, she’d just like to have pockets.
Ruztin was oddly excited about that. They flitted about a dozen stores lending clothes, even ones run by Eagles. Their suggestions ranged from fits with an atrocious amount of belts to something so flowy it’d get caught just by walking around the Spiral.
Pixal settled on practicality. She managed to find a deep purple sleeveless shirt that ticked something in her memory she couldn’t grasp and black, slim pants with multiple pockets.
Originally, that was the end of it. Ruztin even paid for it. But while passing by one last shop, she noticed some sewing kits and old fabric being handed out by Eagles. She grabbed those without giving it a second thought.
Within her blanket-turned-poncho, she got to work sewing large pockets to the inside of it. She was, perhaps, overly meticulous in making sure it matched and looked neat, but she didn't really care. They were deep pockets, and they were practical. Ruztin hadn’t given any complaints, probably still too happy to see her finally wearing proper clothes, so she didn’t bother stopping.
Even still, the following day, Pixal forced herself to get her head in order. As nice as it was, she was getting off-track. She needed something more, not just making her life vaguely easier.
One day when she went out alone, because Ruztin had caught a mild sickness, she decided to finally steel herself and go into the library.
The reason she hadn’t before was due to the cursory glance she’d offered it once. Namely, all the signs were in a language she didn’t know. Likely Chima’s, considering that was who mostly came to the Spiral.
But she pushed herself inside, now. A few stares were leveled her way, probably because she was a nindroid in some old cloak wandering about, but no one stopped her.
Her eyes skimmed the shelves as she passed. She didn’t know how to convey Ninjago to the Eagle at the front desk, so she didn’t bother asking them. All she was looking for was a single familiar letter.
If she had WiFi, she could look up the language with ease. Be as it may, the Merge seemed to have ruined most technology of that sort. Figures.
Near the back of the library lay one wall with a rather odd assortment of books with a sign over it. None of them looked similar to each other. She wondered if this was the result of some idiot not caring where their books went until she glanced once more at the jumble of shapes on the spines.
She looked closer.
Two books, one thick and one thin, placed next to each other, with titles along the side. One of them had shapes that looked like stamps, clear and pristine like hieroglyphics. The one next to it was a jumble of swirls and lines, then letters.
Those were two different alphabets.
She didn’t know much, but her basic programming as an assistant remained. She knew, without having to give it much thought, that these were two completely different alphabets. They surely weren’t Chima’s, as theirs reminded her of purposeful chicken scratch and paw prints.
Her gaze raked over the whole line of shelves.
No, this whole section all had different lexicons. This, she realized with a start, was the ‘other’ corner. Books that Chima residents couldn't read.
Pixal wouldn’t say she tore through the shelves, because she was not a barbarian who mishandled library books. But she was quick in her search, pulling books aside and scanning each and every one as quick as the supercomputer she was.
There.
She seized the book before she even properly read the title. She knew that she recognized it, knew it as Ninjago’s language.
Looking at the cover, she was a little disappointed to find it was nothing more than a fantasy novel. Even still, she flipped it open, just to make sure.
Yes, she could read this.
She looked back up to the wall of books.
Well, she had some work to do.
In her search, she also decided to begin sorting the books. Because, really, even if this was the ‘other’ section, one ought to put the books in their proper realm of origin.
Some were difficult, a few languages looking rather similar to each other, and two that seemed incredibly similar to Ninjago’s. From what she could glean, one language seemed to be from the Underworld, the other from the Realm of Oni and Dragons, though something told her there weren’t many people there, and they’d likely all come from Ninjago, anyway.
Though, she wondered why the Underworld’s was different. Those were the deceased, were they not? Perhaps their language was based on a past version of Ninjago’s.
By the time she finished sorting everything, she had twelve books from Ninjago. Eight of them were simple entertainment, three were biographies, and one was partially-fantasized history. Two of the biographies were of people who she had no care for, and the history book ended on the first rise of Garmadon.
That was a name that jogged her memory a little. Garmadon, Garmadon, yes, she knew that. He was a villain. But something told her his first rise was still much too far back.
It was the third biography that had her coming to a stop.
Dr. Cyrus Borg: From the Ground Up.
She clutched that book tight when she found it, distraught to find it had mild water damage. She opened it fast enough it had a risk of being torn, eyes scouring and burning through the paper.
Most of what she read felt familiar, though she couldn’t say her memory was good enough to properly ‘remember’ it. Born to a family that got by well enough, overtaken by illness as he grew, could barely afford to care for himself, an immediate take to inventing, skyrocketing to new heights, yes, she felt familiar with this. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been told, or if perhaps Borg had programmed her simply to know, a memory from her first creation.
Borg Industries took up much of what she gleaned, then a large section dedicated to the nindroids. It was very odd to see a sketch of herself, to hear the details the author researched about her creation.
A part of her knew there were holes, but there always was in biographies, even in autobiographies. It spoke of how Borg rejected prizes he didn’t feel himself worthy for, but something told her there was more to it than that, told her there was something about hating feeling pitied. It spoke of how he borrowed the late Dr. Julien’s blueprints to create nindroids, but a little twinge whispered that Dr. Julien hadn’t been dead when Cyrus got them, though she wasn’t sure why. It spoke of how his first nindroid became his assistant, but she knew, clearly, that she’d been the result of many, many failed attempts, knew that she’d frustrated him, and that was why he kept pushing.
She skipped to the end, just in case. It ended on something involving Merlopians, and a check at the publication date told her it was longer than two years ago.
Still, she tucked it close to her chest. She needed more than just this.
Luckily, the ‘other’ section also had slots filled with scrolls. Though they hadn’t been of much use either, she also sorted them similar to the books. Most of them were quite old.
One of them, though, caught her eye. It was clearly ancient, brittle under her fingers and requiring immense care when pulling it free. It had a broken seal that sparked in her memory, and when she rolled it open, she was greeted with an old ink sketch of a ninja, and the bright words: The Green Ninja.
She knew this scroll. Not in the way she knew the biography like she knew it to be her father, she knew this scroll.
She read words she recognized, ones that came back to her as ones she’d read before. The one destined to save the world, defeat the lord of evil, she knew it.
Someone had shown it to her. Or she’d found it herself, and someone came over to explain it. They were sarcastic when they spoke about it. Sheepish, she thinks. An old memory, fighting over being the best.
Someone kept scrolls, it—Sensei Wu. He had hundreds of scrolls, some older than himself. A collection that would’ve made historians weep. He referenced these in times of trouble, kept himself entertained with the others. He could read one scroll a thousand times and still enjoy it over a cup of tea.
This was from home.
Pixal was at the front desk before she remembered moving. The Eagle looked up at her, blinking but smiling all the same.
She set the scroll down, thoughts running rampant, then tilted her head.
“Oh, why, yes, you can check that out.” The Eagle said kindly. “Just remember—”
Pixal shook her head, frowning, then pulled out her notepad. She didn’t care to seem apologetic by taking up the librarians time as she sketched. She drew a rolled up scroll, then an arrow to an Eagle head, and a question mark over it.
The Eagle frowned, blinking confusedly. Pixal would’ve growled if she could've, crossing out the Eagle head and instead drawing a shoddy looking library with books in it to make it clear what it was, then drew the arrow to that.
“When do you have to bring it back?” The Eagle guessed kindly. “Well, typically that's about two weeks—”
Pixal slammed her notepad down.
It startled the Eagle, and she knew it was the wrong course to make. Frustration would not help the situation. But she knew this scroll, she practically owned it. Where, in all the realms, had they found a scroll like this? Sensei Wu was protective of them, how could one escape his grasp?
“Sir,” The Eagle began, “please do not do that, I don’t understand what you—”
Pixal snatched the scroll back again, then her notepad, and stalked off.
This wasn’t helping anyone. She was too hopped up on energy to bother. No, instead she stalked to the back of the library again, finding some old chairs near the ‘other’ section. She set her biography and scroll down, then went back and continued organizing the scrolls.
None else were familiar to her. One was detailing the history of ‘the New Ninja’, though, so she took that, and the slightly fantastical history book, just because it was familiar.
Then, she took her seat with her scrolls and books, and she got to reading.
Despite her damage, she got through them all quickly. Here, she took out her notepad, sketching out words, ideas, and anything that may be of use. Events that lined up, ones that didn’t, possible locations, and landmarks.
The history of ‘the New Ninja’ stopped at something involving crystals. She had faint memories of that, so she wrote it down. It was the furthest she’d gotten before.
Everything else was tuned out. She’d already spent hours sorting everything, and she couldn’t care how long else this took. Her notepad was nearly completely filled in what felt like no time at all, sometimes filled with entirely new memories as a few came back to her.
The Green Ninja, she remembered green. He was the youngest. Lord? No, Lloyd, that was it. Lloyd, he was also in the book about the rise of Garmadon. That’s right, he was the son of the lord. He was also the Green Ninja. They’d fought, surely, then. Why didn’t she remember that?
She came to find there were differences in her memory. Some felt like deja vu, some felt familiar, others felt lived in. She didn’t know the exact reason for it. Perhaps some of these memories were only details she’d been told? Ones she’d seen from afar?
Her notepad was incomprehensible to anyone who couldn’t read such small print as her. She felt mad.
Thump.
Pixal wasn’t sure why that made her look up. Some instinct in her processors said she should. So, grudgingly, she looked up.
It was completely pitch black out through the windows. She couldn't see the moon, so it was either early or late at night. That wasn’t very worrying to her. No, the thump came further away, and she leaned back in her chair to look through the shelves towards the center of the library, to the front desk.
Now, she could hear quieter thumps. And she saw what was causing them when a large heap of stone stomped into view.
The librarian seemed a little nervous, but not overly so. Charble had his back to her, and she couldn’t pick out words, but she could discern something grumbling. What in the world was he doing out here?
Frowning, she began setting down her scroll. Here, the librarian turned her head, looked straight at her, and pointed.
Charble’s head followed it.
“There you are!” Charble snapped, booming across the library, echoing slightly due to its shape. Heads raised, a few gave out angry shhh!
Pixal blinked, quickly standing when Charble began stomping towards her, ground shaking slightly. He’d never been light on his feet, easy to hear when he was roaming around, but he was loud, now, and she wondered if he was doing that on purpose, or if it was due to how the floor was made.
“Come on.” Charble gruffed, hand suddenly reaching out to grab her arm. “You’ve garbled your weird robot brain more than enough—”
Pixal jerked back, more on instinct than anything. She glowered, also taking a step away and jutting her chin up.
Charble leveled her with a hard look. Something in Pixal’s head said they were being watched. Not maliciously, just observed.
“Rusty’s about to lose their head because of you.” Charble eventually growled. “Convinced you fell in a ditch or something. Typically, when someone doesn’t plan to come back,” He lowered his head a bit, voice low, “they let people know.”
Pixal met the glare.
Then, silently, she turned away from it, and began gathering her books and scrolls.
It was night. She hadn’t come back this late before, always at dusk, because she figured that was acceptable. It was later than that, now. Not because she forgot, but because she didn’t care to set herself a timer on her outing as soon as she found those books.
She didn’t know how to feel about that. She knew Ruztin stressed, obviously, but to send Charble out when they couldn’t look themself? It was an odd feeling.
Oddly, she felt almost a little happy about that. Maybe, if Ruztin worried that much, they would understand she wasn’t something just to be found and rebuilt again. Though she told herself anyone would worry when their project didn't come home.
She turned back to Charble when she had all her things, shoulders squared. She would not feel guilt, but she would dip her head in what she hoped he knew was an apology.
A snort came.
“You’re worse than them.” Charble muttered, and then he turned to depart.
She followed after, veering only to go to the librarian. She heard Charble stop when he noticed, a loud sigh behind her as she set down the books and scrolls, patting them and looking expectantly, also pulling her notepad and pen free of her pockets.
“Oh, yes, you can check these out.” The librarian nodded kindly, pulling out a binder and looking for the books to announce them as gone. “Remember, we prefer they be returned within two weeks.”
Pixal nodded, flipping to one of the few blank pages left on her pad. She scribbled out a scroll in a cart, then drew an arrow to a more clear drawing of the library. Before the Eagle could take the Green Ninja scroll, she placed a hand on it to stop her, then lifted up the pad.
The Eagle visibly deflated, sighing and shaking her head after barely sparing a glance.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” The librarian reiterated. “You can take these scrolls back however you want—”
“Mountains sake,” Charble growled, and a shadow fell over Pixal before the notepad was plucked from her hand.
She whirled around, automatically elbowing Charble in the side. It didn’t do anything, because he was made of stone, but he squinted at the picture. Then, he looked down at the scroll she was still clinging to.
“How’d it get here?” Charble asked her.
Pixal lit up, nodding quickly. Charble sighed, turning his attention down to the befuddled and faintly annoyed librarian. He set the notepad down for Pixal to take again, then tapped over the scroll.
“Where’d you get this?” He asked, tiredly.
“Oh, well,” The librarian blinked, squinting at the scroll for a moment. “That’s one of the ‘other’ scrolls, we don’t have any linguists in that language—”
“I’m aware, this ones from Ninjago.” Charble spoke right over her, deadpan. “Who brought it here?”
“Erm,” The librarian frowned off for a moment, then shook out her wings, “some merchant, I believe. One moment,” She looked back to the binder, flipping around a few pages before looking back up, “it was five months ago, the merchant had old stories from heroes, I believe. But I’m afraid he’s long gone now.”
“Which direction does he come from?” Charble asked before Pixal could even ask him to.
“Oh, I don’t know, it was five months ago!” The Eagle puffed, arms crossed. “Couldn’t tell you where he came from, couldn’t tell you where he left. What, is,” She paused, then squinted curiously, “is this a collectors item?”
“No clue, ain’t my scroll.” Charble shrugged, sparing a look towards Pixal.
She shook her head, because it was true, and she also didn’t want anyone trying to buy or take it off of her for being ‘rare’. Well, technically, that was true.
“We don’t care where they come from, so long as it's a book, it goes here.” The librarian said stiffly. “Most of the ‘other’ section is just ones we find, really.”
Which was obvious, if you asked Pixal. Even though she couldn’t read most of them, some looked like they were haphazardly plucked from wherever. She swore one of them looked like a diary.
“Great, thanks for nothin’.” Charble gruffed, then stepped away and waved. “C’mon, bot.”
Pixal glared at his back, but quickly pushed the scroll forward to be checked out. The librarian scoffed, but continued with her job. She’d barely finished before Pixal was snatching up all her things, shoving her notepad and scrolls into her pockets and tucking the two books under her arm before jogging after Charble.
He hadn’t faltered in his speed, already walking down the platform. Pixal hurried to come into step with him, and even then, had to walk a little faster to keep up with his longer strides. Despite the fact he was made of stone, and, comparatively, he wasn’t walking all that fast at all.
It was quiet on the walk back, which Pixal didn’t mind. Most of the shops she passed were closed, some in the midst of it, and some still in full-swing. More Ravens were about now, and she knew now not to look any of them in the eye.
“Any of that actually useful?” Charble finally grumbled, surprising Pixal slightly.
Pixal frowned a moment, thinking it over. They weren’t use less, it was something from Ninjago. But in regards to getting her closer to home…?
Pixal shrugged. Charble scoffed like he found it amusing, shaking his head before facing forward again.
“Just keepsakes from home, huh?” Charble muttered.
Pixal shrugged again, looking off to the view the Spiral offered as they descended. In a sense, she supposed they were. The Green Ninja scroll was nothing more than something she had to keep, regardless of those librarian late fees, because she needed to return it to Sensei Wu. The two historical texts were really nothing more than reminders of a memory she missed. The biography was…well, it was entirely just something from home.
“Who knew you had a heart after all.”
Pixal blinked, looking up at Charble. He was faintly amused, smirking before shaking his head as he took a heavy step down the next platform. He seemed almost…approving? Pixal wasn’t sure what else to describe it as.
They didn’t say anything else. When the silence was finally broken, it was by the sound of Ruztin’s nasally yelling, and their feathers in Pixal’s face as they insisted she swore to never, ever do that again.
Charble, predictably, went right back to his place on the couch, as if nothing happened. Pixal was beginning to think it wasn’t that he was pretending—but that he was just Charble, and that was how he operated.
How odd.
When Pixal ascended the stairs two mornings later, Ruztin was gone.
“Helping out their weird inventing friend with their whackjob workshop.” Charble called before she could even think to ask him. “Won’t be back for a while. No idea where the hell they go, but it ain’t at the Spiral.”
Well, that was annoying. Pixal had hoped to use Ruztin to speak to any merchants who came by today. But she couldn’t do it effectively with just her new notepad, and she once again felt annoyed at her lack of speech.
Not like she could do much, though. It required two hands. She’d be damned if she let Ruztin shove their fingers between her wires again.
She decided to then just stick around the house. She stayed upstairs, because the basement felt confined some days. She still added tweaks to her vision and wandered about the old inventions, reading and re-reading her texts.
It was mind-numbing.
It hadn’t been before, on the days Pixal didn’t leave, but that was probably because she was choosing not to go out that day, and she had a plan. She had to rework her day, and it felt monotonous to sit in the small room that housed Ruztin’s inventions and just make her motor skills even smoother.
She elected to ignore any mirrors after she finished working on her eyes. She still wasn’t a fan of how she looked. Just looking at her face, she wanted to reach out and paint those purple lines back on, perfect symmetry that her father had lovingly detailed her with.
A memory flickered. She had a paintbrush—no, someone else did, and she was holding still as they went over her lines. Scratched paint, that was it. She couldn’t remember who was holding the brush and helping her. Not even a color.
Then again, even with those old lines, she wasn’t sure she’d still be recognizable. Her face was in a different shape. The metal was just a few shades of the wrong color. It wasn’t smooth and perfect. Her eyes themselves were different.
At some point, she left the room to find some gears that weren’t in Ruztin’s. They had bins in the living room, where Charble was reading yet another book. She thought he was hypocritical for judging her at the library as she reached into a bin, digging around.
Only for a squeak to ring out, and a little red and white head to pop up.
Pixal jerked back, tucking her hand close to her chest and stepping away. She saw Charble raise his head out of the corner of her eye.
Morel squeaked again, climbing up onto the rim and making some barking noise at her. She huffed silently, and Morel shook out his little body before leaping off the edge of the bin.
She took many new steps back, warily eyeing him. Morel blinked at her for a moment before squeaking again, bracing his body and yapping as he got a little closer. She narrowed her eyes, aware of a wall behind her.
“Morel.”
The mushroom stopped, blinking and turning towards Charble. Pixal did the same.
Charble seemed only mildly annoyed, sitting up instead of lounging over the whole couch, book down and raising a brow. “You’re gonna give me a headache.”
Morel squeaked, probably not understanding what he was saying. But the creature sniffed, wobbling over to the couch in an odd trot. Charble watched silently as Morel hopped onto his foot, then used the cracks in his body and loose clothing to pull up to his lap.
“You’re doing it wrong, for the record.” Charble said, and it took a moment for Pixal to realize she was being addressed. “He’s just gonna get worse if you keep doing that.”
Pixal frowned, then glared. She puffed, shaking her head and leaning over the bin to ignore them both.
“He’s like any animal.” Charble continued anyway, which was odd, he was usually fine to not talk. “Or, like, I dunno…a parrot, I hear, but Rusty finds that offensive. You show him you’re afraid, then he thinks he can get away with it.”
Pixal paused a moment, hand around the gear she wanted. She looked up, squinting.
Charble leveled the same impassive look back at her, Morel hopping up onto his shoulder and batting at his neck. He didn’t even spare the creature a glance, but he did raise a hand to mess a finger around him.
“You seem like a fighter.” Charble went on, looking away now to examine Morel nipping for his finger. “I mean, you were shit, but you seemed like you’d fought before when Rusty got you online. Does it ever go well when the guy you’re fighting knows you’re afraid?”
Pixal didn’t think it did. She didn’t have great memories of specific fights, but she didn’t think she’d shown fear all that often to begin with. But she thought, no, no it did not go well. Logically, enemies become bolder when you show your fear. They think they’re winning.
“It's like that.” Charble said, flicking his eyes back, little lamps in his face. “Morel could probably eat me alive, but I don’t show him it bothers me, scold when he’s a pest, and he doesn’t try.” He said, bapping Morel on the head with his finger. Morel bit at him, then let him go, like it was a warning. Charble didn’t even blink.
And Pixal once again felt there was a sudden distance in these similarities. Morel had eaten through metal, he could probably eat through stone. Except, unlike her, Charble probably couldn’t rebuild himself. Unless he used mud, maybe? Regardless, he couldn’t be repaired like she could. He had an awful lot of cracks, after all.
Pixal tucked the gear into the palm of her hand, and she approached.
Charble raised a brow, but he didn’t stop her. He stayed still as she walked up next to him, eyes locked in on Morel. Once the creature noticed her, he growled and brustled.
Pixal slowly lifted up her other hand. Morel snipped and made a few mock-bites. Charble growled wordlessly, and Morel cowed until her fingers were by him.
After a moment, she turned her hand over, palm up.
Morel took an instant bite for her finger. She flinched—but didn’t move further. It was fine, she could rebuild it. It was fine.
Morel latched his jaw over her ring finger, shaking his head like he was trying to tear it off. Pixal didn’t pull away, but she jerked her other finger down, knocking against his head. Morel yelped, pulling back and growling. Her finger had a dent where he’d bitten down, a hole in the tip.
She put her fingers back in place and still outstretched her palm.
Morel growled again, making another nip. He didn’t latch on, but he made a mock bite. Pixal narrowed her eyes, then curled her fingers slightly. Morel drew back.
A few moments passed.
Then, reaching out a wiggly little nubby foot, he stepped onto her palm.
She lifted him up slightly, eyes flicking as she took him in. He growled and paced, and looked very much like he still wanted to eat her, but he didn’t. He crossed his little arms and glowered back at her.
He was kind of cute. Pixal felt what was almost a smile pull.
“Ain’t so hard now, is it?” Charble chuckled, and she almost forgot he was there as she blinked back to him. He had a near-smile, too. “He grows on you a little, somehow.”
Pixal didn’t think he’d do that, but she shrugged all the same and set Morel down on the back of the couch. He eyed her for a moment before skittering back over to Charble, sitting on the couch behind his head.
“He prefers to eat up mold and dead things, anyway.” Charble said casually, reclining in his seat once more and opening his book back to its previous page. Before she could process that, he added: “I threw Ruztin a bit around when we first met, anyway.”
Pixal tilted her head, suddenly very curious at the abrupt switch. She hesitated a moment, then left to the other room, grabbing the toolbox. When she came back to the living room, half of the couch was still open, so she took a seat.
She was aware of Charble watching her as she set down the toolbox, then leaned forward to pull up a leg and cross one over the other, foot resting on the couch. Silently, she began unscrewing her ankle to work on its flexibility.
A minute passed. Then five.
Ten minutes later, Charble sighed like this was the most annoying day he’d ever had.
“I don’t know shit about Ninjago,” Charble began, and Pixal was careful in not looking over at him, pulling off a few wires in her ankle, “but your books are about some heroes, aren’t they? Have an annoying amount of those back in my realm. Bastards, I’m sure you know.” Another pause. “You fight yours often?”
Pixal paused for a moment.
Fight. As in, fought against the Ninja. Like an enemy.
Her eyes flicked to Charble. She wasn’t sure what expression she was making, but it prompted him to continue.
“Hey, ain’t no shame here.” Charble chuckled. “I’m retired, anyway, shit gets tiring.” He waved a dismissive hand, Morel squeaking and flopping off the couch to presumably wander elsewhere. “But the Knights are a sacrificial lot, they’re soft on questionable people all the time. Not sure where they wound up, but I heard rumors they’re somewhere west.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “So, you know, maybe heroes talk with each other. They might know where yours are, and your friends might be nearby.”
There were a lot of things Pixal could say. For someone so normally quiet, it sure was new to have a gallon worth of new information all dumped on her at once. The biggest surprise being, well, it was Charble offering help.
Or thinking of a new way to get rid of her. Either way…
Pixal gave a stiff nod, staring just behind Charble’s head as she thought. He huffed, still smiling as he settled back into his book.
“Just don’t tell ‘em where you got your info.” Charble added.
Pixal gave another quick nod, thought for a moment, then resumed mending to her ankle in silence.
You know what? That wasn’t her problem. Charble was talking to her, and that was kind enough. She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Notes:
I have never watched nexo knights. take my lore with a grain of salt
Chapter 8: how did you get here?
Notes:
well this is now officially VERY non-canon thanks to s3. luckily I'm stubborn and didn't make over 40k words out of this thing for nothing!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The fourth day, Pixal realized something.
They hadn’t gotten anything out of the few merchants coming through, though a few seemed to recognize her as a nindroid, even if they called her an ‘odd-looking one’. But in all her and Ruztin’s questioning of where they came from, a sudden question hit her.
Where had Ruztin found her?
She was surprised she’d never thought of it before, but figured it was reasonable. First she had herself to worry about, then she had to figure out where she was, and then she had to see if anyone had any news on Ninjago.
But Ruztin had to have found her somewhere. With her luck, she was just some scrap yet another merchant brought through before vanishing away again.
She did some math when she got back to the tower, mulling it over. Ruztin had been working on her for about a year. The Merge was three years ago. So, there was an entire year that was left unaccounted for. She could have been anywhere during that time.
Moreover, it was impressive she was something that could be salvaged. If no one had heard much of Ninjago way out here, either Ruztin was somewhere far away when they found her, or she’d traveled a long, long distance, and she had no idea how.
So, on that morning, she came up the stairs, notepad already prepared, and found Ruztin chewing on some granola bar as they looked at blueprints upside down on the living room floor, Charble offering one-word unwanted advice to the spider-looking machine on the table.
They both looked up when she entered.
She held up her drawing, which looked similar to the one she’d made at the library. Herself, in a cart, with an arrow pointing towards a Raven head. No preamble.
Ruztin frowned, but Charble blinked in understanding near-instantly. The surprising part was how suddenly gleeful he seemed, lounging back on the couch and crossing his arms behind his head, eyes closed as he grinned at the ceiling.
“Sorry to say, droidsy,” Charble sounded unnervingly chipper, “you’re nothin’ but a junkyard treasure.”
Pixal instantly deflated.
“Oh, is that what it's asking?” Ruztin straightened, then looked sheepish as they tucked their word machine closer to themself over the coffee table. “Er—well, yeah, I found you in the junkyard further up the canyon.”
“It was a free-for-all, wasn’t it?” Charble hummed, cracking open an eye.
“Oh, yes, it was.” Ruztin stared off for a moment in mild horror before shaking it off and facing Pixal again. “The canyon has a river through it, and the winds are really tough. However, it gets really thin at the mouth, so we ended up getting a lot of trash that stuck itself there. It was worse when the Merge started, but every once in a while we’ll get some big surplus of trash—not that you are!” They added quickly.
“Nah, you were trash.” Charble said, maybe only half-joking. Pixal certainly agreed she was barely more than glorified trash in that state, but she didn’t enjoy it being said. “Ravens bulldoze that area sometimes to let the water back through, and that junkyard got big. Swear half the Raven Tribe was down there.”
Pixal sighed, but she pointed towards the door. Charble frowned at her, so she turned to Ruztin and gestured between them, then towards the door.
“You…want to go to the junkyard?” Ruztin guessed. At her nod, they frowned. “Um, sure, I guess, but it was a long time ago. I don’t think you’re going to find anything useful there.”
Pixal figured that, but it was worth checking anyway. If anything, that river gave her hope. In theory, all she had to do was follow it, right? A river was a clear route she could track.
And it explained all the water damage her gears had.
“I mean, alright.” Ruztin shrugged, glancing at their invention once more before standing. “I don’t think it's busy today, anyway.”
“Have fun, don’t get crushed under scrap.” Charble went right back to ignoring them, as per usual.
Pixal was quick to pull on her cloak from where she lay it over a chair, tucking her pad and pen into the pockets. She was still out the door before Ruztin, halfway through putting their invention aside before scrambling to follow.
It was a lead. And certainly one better than she’d ever been graced with before.
The junkyard was pathetic.
Pixal didn’t even know how that was possible, but it was. When she pictured a junkyard, her memory went to one place in particular, she thought it belonged to a friend. But this?
Right where the canyon began, where the river fed in through an opening that could maybe fit three of her side-by-side, was a measly pile of junk. It was barely big enough to be called a junkyard. It looked more like a hoarders backyard than one specifically for junk.
A few Ravens were dotted about, plus two humans, rifling in what remained. Pixal felt some old soda can crush under her foot, and that was one of the few things she could determine the origin of. Everything else was so bent and rusted she didn’t know what it used to be.
“Huh,” Ruztin had their hands on their hips, “this used to be a lot bigger.”
Pixal sighed, just gesturing for them to take the lead. It was fine, she still had the river she could track.
And seeing how far it went, she had a long lead. The river before the canyon was big and very fast-moving. The wind was no joke either, buffeting her cloak around and causing Ruztin to duck behind small piles of trash to shield them.
But the river stretched on endlessly. It took a bend, however, and she was all too aware of the sea hidden over the crest of the ridges just to the right of them. If the river led to that sea, then her lead ran dry. The ocean was massive, it could’ve picked her up anywhere.
“Found you down here, uh, I think.” Ruztin chirped, and Pixal turned back around.
It was against the stone of the canyon, with more scattered junk about. Ruztin lazily gestured somewhere around it. Considering it’d been a year, it certainly didn’t look like anything of importance had been there.
Pixal sighed, waved Ruztin off, and began prying trash away.
She really wasn’t expecting much. However, simply knowing this is where she’d been was enough. Maybe a piece fell off of her, like some gears she found herself lacking. If anything, she was wondering where her armor had gone.
Particularly, Samurai X. It was possible she’d been separated from it before ever reaching the canyon, and if that were the case it was guaranteed to be written off as a lost cause, but there could still be something.
“Um,” Ruztin began after a few moments, “what are you looking for?”
Pixal remembered, once again, that she wasn’t alone. She tossed aside the hub cap she’d been moving and pulled out her notepad.
She thought a moment before drawing out herself, then highlighting the armor she recalled, particularly those over her shoulders. She turned it around, pointing to it.
“Huh,” Ruztin squinted, then straightened, “oh, that stuff was important? Oh Legend Beasts, I’m so sorry!” Their hands flew up to their face. “I thought all that stuff was in the way, I took it off ages ago! Wait, wait, I might have some back at the tower.” They began walking back. “I think I put it in the assorted junk piles.”
Disappointment pricked at Pixal, but she moved past it. This wasn’t even a matter of not understanding nindroids, but of not knowing who she was. She was immensely annoyed they’d just pried off her armor, but she couldn't fix it now, nor blame them. It was probably scattered halfway around the new world by now.
Instead, she started a new sketch. It alarmed her to realize she wasn’t entirely…sure of it.
She knew what Samurai X was, could name it as soon as she saw it, but she couldn’t…draw it. Was there black paint over this hand, or just metal plating? Was her seat high or low? How much of it had her own flair, how much…
She settled on a rough sketch. A clear mecha all the same, then drew herself in the seat. When she turned it to a still-worried Ruztin, they stopped.
They stared at it, squinting and leaning forward.
And their face lit up.
“That's yours?” Ruztin’s wings fluffed and flared, a bright smile bursting out.
Pixal perked up. That sounded like familiarity. She tapped at the drawing again, stepping closer.
“Okay, okay, so when I found you,” Ruztin began, though they were speaking quite quick, “it was a huge surplus of trash, everyone was there. I found you here,” They pointed down, “but right over there,” they then pointed about ten or so yards away, where a few random spare parts now lay, “there was this huge chunk of metal.” They spread their hands wide. “We didn’t even realize it was all connected at first till someone knocked some stuff out of the way! I could never in a million years cart it back to the tower on my own, so I let the others begin picking at it, but!” They raised a hand when Pixal began to deflate again. “I know who did take that machine!”
And Pixal’s mood considerably spiked. That was a rare chance, handed right to her. It was probably someone who’d since moved out, knowing how this went, but Ruztin knew them. Considering they were so excited, Samurai X was probably still kept instead of thrown away.
“He’s a friend of mine.” Ruztin grinned brightly. “Goes by Cinahcem, and in fact, I asked him about some nindroid stuff while I was still fixing you up!” They chirped. Then paused for a moment. “Um, he’s since made a few edits to the machine.” They added after a moment. “He said he couldn’t salvage all of it, so it's kind of, uh, janky. But its still incredible work.” Their eyes positively shone. “I was lucky enough to be some of the few who helped him work on it, actually!”
Cinahcem brushed at Pixal’s mind a bit. What an odd name. She felt she should know it. But right now, there was hope, and who had the time to care for things like that?
She nodded quickly, a smile pulling. This was fantastic, this was a chance. If he knew nindroid things, then he might also be from Ninjago, might recognize her. And if they were a Ninjago citizen, they were much more likely to happily hand over what remained of Samurai X.
“I think his shop is open today, we can probably go now!” Ruztin grinned, wings fluttering and taking them a few feet in the air before already hurrying off. “Come on, come on, I’ve been meaning to introduce you two, anyway!”
Pixal didn’t much believe in praying, but she hoped one would be heard now. If there was any chance of getting her one-way ticket to familiarity, please let it be now.
She tucked her notepad away, and she followed.
As it turned out, Cinahcem was a bit of a hermit.
“He needs a lot of space for his inventions.” Ruztin explained, taking them well away from the Spiral, over bridges across canyons and…well, away from most people. “He also doesn’t want a lot of people stealing it. I mean, he does have a lot of Ravens working for him, but he’s really on top of thievery.” Ruztin whistled. “That’s the one annoying part, I guess, but other than that, he’s a genius!”
Pixal tried to see if she could recall any people by that name. She wasn’t all too disappointed when she couldn’t, her memory was still returning to itself. There was still a possibility he wasn’t from Ninjago, Ruztin hadn’t said if he was, after all. Unless he had a reason for not saying.
But that was odd. Why would anyone hide it?
The place they came upon reminded her of a barn. It was certainly out in the country enough to be one, with just a few houses dotted in the distance. She could already see some Ravens flying about the roof, cawing at each other and taking parts around, flying in and out of large garage doors.
“Heya, fellas!” Ruztin chirped, spreading their wings to fly the rest of the way.
“Ey, it ain’t your turn to be a kiss-ass!” One of the gruffer Ravens instantly snapped, with bald patches in her feathers and metallic fingers on her left hand.
“Oh, don’t be a whiner.” Another Raven scoffed, knocking her upside the head as he grinned and bonked Ruztin’s back with his wing. “Here to steal some good work from us, huh?”
“No, no, not today!” Ruztin said cheerfully, though it still had a hint of strain to it, as they always had when talking to…well, anyone outside of the tower. “I actually have a surprise.” They lit up, looking back as Pixal approached at a more leisurely pace, mostly because she was wary of all the safety hazards from the Ravens flying with machine parts.
“You brought a gift?” The first Raven rolled her eyes. “You are such a kiss—”
“This is a friend of mine.” Ruztin interrupted quickly. “And it says it knows that mech suit Cinahcem made!”
“And you believe it?” The second Raven raised a brow.
“I see no reason not to.” Ruztin said easily, surprising Pixal before waving their wing and herding her towards the open doors. “Come on, come on!”
Looking inside the barn…it was chaos. Ravens and beasts she didn’t even recognize ran about, though it really couldn’t be any more than a dozen. Some were very obviously stealing a few parts before a huge Whack-Rat (how did she know what that was?) came out of nowhere and smacked a thieving Raven upside the head, taking the parts and putting it back where it belonged.
Seemed this inventor had bodyguards.
No one paid them any mind as they wandered through. They were probably partially hidden through the endless machinery. Hanging from the ceiling, against the walls, laying haphazardly about, there seemed to be no order to it all. All of the inventions seemed half-finished, and most of them looked like one wrong gear would pop them apart.
Then again, to Ravens, that probably was remarkable.
Most of them she didn’t recognize. A few, she noted, had parts that flickered in her memory. Some of these were Ninjago inventions. At the very least, they had Ninjago parts. She was making progress.
“Heya, Fleas!” Ruztin greeted, and the Whack-Rat that bashed someones head in slowly turned to them, head down. “We’re lookin’ for Cinahcem, we got a big surprise!”
The Whack-Rat, apparently either named Fleas or going by an unfortunate nickname, gave them a stony look. Then, they gruffed, and they nodded further past.
Ruztin saluted, and Pixal hurried to follow after.
It was more shadowed in the back of the barn, with lots of tables filled with gears and parts dotted around. Some were working on inventions, others ferrying boxes of stuff. She glanced at some of the inventions hanging from wires, then paused.
There was something that looked like a control panel room—no, it reminded her of the small building outside of fancy establishments, where someone sat with a dozen screens and buzzed people in. But it wasn’t all the way against the wall. It seemed to have a newly made wall of wood coming off one side, and a narrow strip leading to a sectioned off corner.
Pixal left Ruztin chatting away, and she slipped into the narrow space.
It was dark, but she fumbled around a moment till she found a switch. Curious, and stepping out into the sectioned area, she flipped on the light.
Some old lights flickered to life, from the ground and ceiling. It lit up a machine hanging partially from wires, though it seemed to have some of its weight on a platform. Multiple panels were open on it, and there was a ladder leaned against it.
And Pixal thought, with so much familiarity it hurt, there you are.
Samurai X looked awful.
It was much smaller than it used to be. When an average person barely reached its knees, now their head would reach about its waist. The torso similarly looked very shrunken, as did the legs. The arms were just a bit too long, brushing too low on the ground.
Many of the metals were replaced. Some were half-rusted over. Any of its reinforcing armor-like metals were completely gone or had been shoddily put back together. Its legs had too many gears for walking to be an easy feat, and one of its shoulder sockets seemed to be in the process of being welded back on—not latched together at a joint, welded. Welded!
The open chest cavity was also much smaller. While there had been decent enough room in the former compartment, she knew it’d been spacious, now it looked like it was specifically form-fitted for someone taller and thinner than her. She couldn't see if it still had a small control panel, but if it did, it was way too small. Many features were probably removed entirely.
It looked like someone's first attempt at a mecha. She hated that she couldn’t tell exactly how it used to look, only that now it looked wrong. Felt that someone was going to be pissed about this alongside her—yes, a friend had created Samurai X with her bare hands. And now it had joints welded on, was entirely lopsided, and just looked like plain shit.
Here is what logic said: it was a miracle this much was even left of Samurai X.
While someone could have removed the armor the same way Ruztin did, she doubted that. From what remained, and the fact she was found so close by, logic dictated that it might be thanks to the suit that Pixal was recovered the way she was. To be drafted down a river? That did incredible damage when she didn’t know how long she’d been in there, and Samurai X probably had its whole body picked apart by the elements. For that, she felt a painful sort of thanks for it.
And it was impressive the suit was…well, this wasn’t good condition, but in the grand scheme of things, and by all accounts, it should have been much worse. The fact she even found it, and could still recognize it as Samurai X was a miracle. This was something that could be fixed.
However, emotion, which Pixal rarely liked to let dictate how she acted, saw what a horrible state Samurai X was in, and that emotion was distraught.
Whoever this Cinahcem person was, she was going to kill them. And then probably grudgingly thank them for not taking Samurai X apart.
She heard sudden voices raise, and she snapped out of it. She hadn’t realized she’d come as close as physically possible, a table and platform separating her from reaching out and touching her suit. Oh, the poor thing.
Pixal blinked, looking back. Her hand went down to the table on instinct when she heard voices coming closer, and saw shadows in the narrow passageway she entered from.
“But, um, really, I just need to go find it.” Came a nervous voice— Ruztin. “I swear, it was right— there!”
Pixal blinked as Ruztin came through the narrow passage, running up to her. They flared their wings and babbled, beak clacking.
“You cannot go poking around here, there’s too much stuff lying around!” They scolded, hands fluttering over her before they looked back, clacking. “And…” They paused, glanced at the suit behind her, then to Pixal herself. “Is this it?”
Pixal looked back. She felt the tiniest of smiles, flicking her eyes back to the suit as she gave a small nod.
“Hallelujah!” Ruztin burst out with a laugh, spinning around out of the corner of her eye. “Sir, I am so sorry it just ran off like this, but I think we are going to make your day!”
“Well, I sure hope so.” Came a low drawl. One that shot through Pixal, similar in the feeling she had when finding Borg’s biography, but less…excited. Huh. “Breakin’ and enterin’? You ain’t programmed that thing too well.”
“Oh, no,” Ruztin was nervous in their laugh as Pixal looked back, watching them step closer to the new person, “I–I didn’t make it.”
The man there was in some old bowler hat. He had old, dirty clothing on, clearly worn for the purpose of fiddling with the messy equipment. He had a stubble, and big black boots. There was a different, large Whack-Rat next to him.
Pixal blinked at this man, who focused first on Ruztin, head turning down as they stuttered. He was missing an eye, and in its place was a heavy piece of black machinery with red, glowing dots.
Pixal’s hand gripped the table so tightly she felt wood give way. Luckily, with the noise of so much machinery elsewhere in the barn, it went unnoticed.
“Right, um,” Ruztin finished up their stuttering, then gestured out a wing her way, “This is Cinahcem. Cinahcem, this is the project I was telling you about.”
The Mechanic followed Ruztin’s wing, and he looked right at her.
Fuck her entire life.
Notes:
surpriseeeeeee
Chapter 9: problems, problems, and more problems
Chapter Text
In hindsight, it was so obvious it was painful.
Cinahcem. It was Mechanic backwards, that was the stupidest secret identity she’d ever heard of, and she couldn’t even remember another time when a secret identity was needed.
Something told her he looked different. A little…older. Messier. He was certainly less extravagant in appearance, but his smile was still too…twisted.
And it was focused right on her.
“Well, now!” The Mechanic chuckled. “That is a fine piece of machinery right there now, isn’t it?”
Pixal locked her eyes on him, and she didn’t dare look away. Were she flesh and blood, she wouldn’t breathe.
Her memory went into hyperdrive, frantically searching for files that were still too damaged. Vague recollections of chairs and leering laughter, something bright, goons, and—something about Zane. She was honestly surprised she recognized him so quickly. Suppose that was the way of memory, remembering things like some third-rate villain but chugging when it came to recalling some of her friends' names.
She slowly uncoiled her hand from the table, ignoring the fact she’d left a sizable dent in it, feeling around for something solid and smaller. The Mechanic was focusing back on Ruztin again, who was blabbering.
“Nindroid! You, um, said you knew them.” Ruztin chuckled, entirely unaware. “This is what I was working on, actually, when I was asking those questions? Um, it handled most of the other work itself, though.”
“Daw, you’re only learning.” The Mechanic grinned sleazily, and Pixal felt her hand enclose around a wrench left on the table. When she flicked her eyes up, the Whack-Rat was staring right at her.
She calculated everything as fast as she could. Two against one. The Mechanic didn’t look strong, and she hoped that if he was, she’d remember it. The Whack-Rat was most definitely heavy-built and used to machinery. It would be a dicy fight, but she was confident she could make it out. Ruztin might prove difficult, but—
“You sure that's a nindroid?” The Mechanic asked, and Pixal stopped. She held perfectly still when he and Ruztin looked back at her. “It ain’t look like most of the ones I seen.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure.” Ruztin nodded, fluttering back over, entirely unaware of Pixal frantically calculating the quickest escape route. “It had to have a lot of parts replaced due to the damage, of course.”
“Clearly,” The Mechanic chuckled, and his eye made a whirring sound as he looked over Pixal. She tensed her arm. “I’ve seen odd nindroids before.” He said, narrowing his eye. Then all at once, it was gone. “But this ain’t one of ‘em, so probably just some scrap.”
What.
“We actually wanted to, um—see, it's about your mech suit.” Ruztin went on, popping up at Pixal’s side and gesturing behind them. “Incredible work, I’m sure I’ve told you before.”
“Hey, what can I say?” The Mechanic chuckled, wiping his hand on his shirt before proudly inspecting said hand. “I’m always a genius, of course, but sometimes a strike of unimaginable brilliance just… hits me.”
And that statement was sure to be accurate—should Pixal get the chance to bash him over the skull with her wrench.
“Right, of course,” Ruztin went right along, “but, see, my friend here, you’re gonna love this, so it’s from Ninjago—”
“Nindroids tend to be, yes.” The Mechanic hummed. He barely even glanced at her.
“Right, you know that.” Ruztin stuttered. “But, well, I found it in that old scrapyard. And it says that—”
Pixal pinched Ruztin’s side.
Ruztin yelped, jumping a moment and whirling their head around, confused. Pixal darted her eyes to the Mechanic, then to Ruztin, trying to convey they needed to shut up.
“Uh,” Ruztin blinked.
“Malfunctioning?” The Mechanic snickered, beginning to step forward. “Here, I ain’t messed around with nindroids for a while.” His eye was glinting far too brightly. “I’d be happy to take a look, for a price of cou—”
Pixal seized his wrist in an instant, forcing it up and back—pushed to the side due to how it had been reaching out, winding up in a very awkward and likely painful angle. It was a physical struggle to not punch him in the face with his own fist. Or actually bash him with the wrench.
The Mechanic yelped, wrenching his arm away only because Pixal loosened her grip to let him, clutching where she grabbed him. The Whack-Rat stepped closer.
“I’m so sorry!” Ruztin squawked, frantically grabbing Pixal’s hand and shoving it down. She let them, too busy glowering at the Mechanic over their head. “Oh my great Legend Beasts, I have no idea what has gotten into it—”
“Infernal machine,” The Mechanic spat, clutching his arm close, red eye flickering with the sudden force of his scowl.
Pixel gripped Ruztin’s hand from where they were keeping hers down, her other grabbing at their arm after she ditched the wrench. They gave her an alarmed look when she pulled them back, glaring intently as she took a half-step in front of them.
“I have no idea why it did that, I swear!” Ruztin insisted, but their eyes kept going from Pixal to the Mechanic, nervousness growing, beak clicking. “I’m—I’m so sorry sir, maybe—maybe we should just leave—“
“If you leave,” The Mechanic hissed, raising his hand when the Whack-Rat began to advance, a darker look in his eye, “I expect the next time you come back, you’re giving me a weeks worth of your hardest labor, or that thing,” He spat as he pointed Pixal’s way, “is gifted to me in pieces.”
Pixal pushed Ruztin a little further back, eyes narrowed and waiting. Ruztin, she saw out of the corner of her eye, looked between them again. To Pixal, the Mechanic, the Whack-Rat, then the samurai suit. They looked back at her. Then the Mechanic.
“Yes, sir.” Ruztin was uncharacteristically quiet, pulling on Pixal’s arm as they stepped to the side. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Consider this a warning.” The Mechanic grunted, eyeing them as they passed. “Uncontrollable machinery ought to be discarded. Even half-machines.”
Ruztin tucked their wings very close, the metallic prosthetics clicking, then yanked Pixal past the Whack-Rat when he took a threatening step towards them.
Pixal only let her eyes leave the Mechanic when they slipped through the narrow entryway. And even then, it was with great struggle.
Ruztin didn’t say a word.
This was very unlike them. It was putting Pixal on edge.
She didn’t even notice for the whole first half of the walk. Her mind was too busy running amok, sorting everything into place.
The Mechanic was here, in this land. He had a business in machinery, big shocker. Based on the fact he had the samurai suit, he probably stole a lot of these machines. He had a number of people working for him, most of which seemed very inclined to do so. How’d he get them on his side? Money? Threats?
The Mechanic was going as Cinahcem. Some merchants had known he was in the area, however. Perhaps they used to be from Ninjago? Or maybe the Mechanic only started using his new name more frequently—no, Ruztin knew him and seemed close, so he had a few months. It was possible, but slim. Maybe he only gave a fake name to a select few?
She’d never seen him around. Had he seen her on the Spiral? Probably not. He must be keeping himself isolated. That implied he had a reason to be. Did he not trust the inhabitants, or did he have a nasty reputation already? That would explain the fake name. She hadn’t found anyone from NInjago in a place like this.
But he had the samurai suit, and that would not stand. She needed to take it back. That would prove difficult. She searched through all the images she had in her memory of the barn. Very big, easy to hide. But there were also plenty of people around, and they’d notice a nindroid. He had guards, and big ones at that.
The Mechanic didn’t know who she was. That much was evident. She didn’t think a man like him played the long game, or dumb (at least not on purpose). Three years was a rather long time to not be up close with her—actually, it might’ve been longer than that. She also…looked different. Different enough that the Mechanic found her familiar, but didn’t tip off any big warning bells.
Maybe if Ruztin introduced her as X, he would’ve connected the dots. Luckily, they didn’t.
This is when Pixal remembered, oh, right, Ruztin. Who was very, very quiet. She glanced at them.
They were walking stiffly, wings close at their sides. She saw the muscles by their beak twitch, but not enough to start clacking. Their eyes were focused straight ahead, and their hands kept flexing. Anxious? Upset? Impatient?
Pixal was wary, feeling all the more worried the longer they didn’t speak. They clearly respected the Mechanic, no doubt believing he was just as much of a ragtag as the other Ravens. And they’d been tricked into believing the Mechanic built all his machines, when he clearly at least stole a few and employed others to do the dirtiest work.
Was Ruztin upset with her? It wasn’t like she could’ve conveyed who he was. The offer the Mechanic gave didn’t sound good. Ruztin clearly loved all the inventions there, but working nonstop for a week in a place like that, where Whack-Rats could bully people into continuing despite exhaustion, could not be nice.
Would they hand her over?
Pixal fought with the idea. Tried to see it more reasonably. One bad confrontation probably wouldn’t make Ruztin cut all their losses and hand her over. But she’d no doubt sullied their reputation in a world where they were already clearly nervous enough around people.
She needed to act fast. Knowing where the samurai suit was, and with the risk of the Mechanic figuring out who she was, she needed to do something. Ruztin was upset, and she didn’t know what could happen. No, she needed to get that suit and leave. Yes, that was a good plan. That was—
“Why do you hate everyone?”
Pixal faltered, realized she’d stopped eyeing Ruztin, and looked back at them.
They were glowering her way as they walked. Exasperated? Bewildered? Annoyed?
“I just—I don’t get it.” Ruztin went on, waving out a hand. Frustrated, then. “You’re pissed off at just me? Fine, sure, that’s normal. But then you’re all angry at Morel, and then you’re all tense with Charble, and you keep eyeing everyone like they’re going to jump you! Charble told me the librarian looked wary of you. You either ignore or glare at any shop-owners trying to help, you avoid everyone else like the plague, you attack Cinahcem—I think the only people you’ve ever actually been nice to were the Eagles!” They exploded, and suddenly they whirled, wings half-flared.
They were well past the city, now. Pixal could almost see where the tower was, in the far distance. But there were still some houses around, and some people. They all looked over when Ruztin shouted, and Pixal came to a sudden halt.
She had to look down at them. She thought she almost always did, when it came to talking with everyone.
“I just…” Ruztin seemed to grasp at air for a moment, then gave her a look that was near helpless. “Were you made for this?” They asked, gesturing out one hand. “To–to fight? Charble seems to think so. Is that why you need that suit? Because it's for fighting? Are you, like, the reverse ‘technology bad’ type? You know, ‘organics bad’? I just, I don’t, you don’t—”
Pixal took Ruztin’s wrists. For no other reason than they kept flailing it around, and she didn’t think they wanted to accidentally hit her or one of their low-hanging wings.
Ruztin stopped, breathing a little heavy from their ranting. They stared up at her, eyes a bit wide, and—bewildered. Concerned. And frustrated, just like she thought.
Did she hate everyone?
No, she already knew that answer. The better question was: did she really act like she hated everyone?
She rationalized it. Of course she was wary of her housemates, one of them dug inside her, the other was unreadable, and one could eat through her. Of course she was wary of others, anyone could be dangerous, and she was lost. But that sounded off…maybe it was instinct, to be wary. Perhaps it was second-nature to her, and harder to understand from someone who had lived safely among them.
Easton was a glimpse of familiarity, knowledge in sign language. It ended in failure, but—it opened up a nicer introduction. Everyone else had just been selling wares or some person in the way, after all. She had to go home, not make more acquaintances.
She blinked at Ruztin, looking to their arms, then slowly sliding her hands from their wrists and to their hands. She tilted her head inquisitively.
Was this care, she wondered? Did Ruztin care? Surely they did in some capacity, but they asked like they were worried. They could always just kick her out, they had no obligation to her. They asked why she hated. Part of it was clearly just letting off steam, but from the look in their eyes, she suspected they really did want to understand.
The truth was that Pixal didn’t hate, not really. Annoyed frequently, sure, but not hate. The truth, she thought, was exactly as Charble had said: showing fear never got her anywhere. To show fear was to show she could be pushed around. She wouldn’t allow it, because she’d be damned if anyone went and risked turning her into someone she wasn’t.
But Ruztin wouldn’t know that. All Ruztin knew was that she was a lost droid who forged ahead with whatever she needed for herself, and who watched most anyone with a sharp eye. At the same time, she loved to invent, but was alien in her methods. And she really couldn’t remember when she’d been openly, unapologetically kind, instead of tolerant and subtle.
This was…complicated.
Pixal enclosed her fingers between Ruztin’s, then looked at them. She tried to give an expression that seemed…conflicted. Not apologetic, she wouldn’t say sorry for treating the Mechanic as he deserved, or reacting accordingly to dangerous situations, but—Ruztin didn’t know any of that. It was like being five steps ahead and explaining it to the others afterwards. Had she done that before? It felt familiar. She must have. Perhaps this still made it her fault, in a way.
Ruztin blinked at her.
Then, they sighed, and she thought she felt a squeeze before they dropped her hands.
“I really wish I could help you.” Ruztin admitted, eyes down before sighing, rolling their shoulders, adjusting their wings, and resuming their walk. “I just don’t think I know how.”
PIxal watched them walk ahead.
Then, silently, she fell in behind. They didn’t talk for the rest of the walk.
The first thing Pixal did was go down to the basement.
Ruztin didn’t follow nor call after. Pixal believed in situations like these, it was typically best to leave each other alone. When she got to the basement, she began devising a plan. More importantly, she began drawing.
So, when morning came, she was alerted to the fact the time changed only because she set an alarm. When that alarm went off, she closed all the repairs she’d done on strengthening her limbs, grabbed her notebook and pen, and went upstairs.
Charble was on the couch, as per usual. He was frowning over the top of his book, where one of Ruztin’s tables of gadgets lay in utter disarray with more chicken scratch on any nearby pieces of paper. He didn’t look up when Pixal stopped behind the couch.
“Do I wanna know why you did all that?” Charble gruffed, not looking back. Clearly he and Ruztin had conversed.
Yes, actually, Pixal thought, coming around and drawing a quick picture of a Raven to point to, you do.
“What do you need from ‘em now?” Charble muttered, glaring at the picture, then her.
Pixal tapped it again, more insistent. She then walked over to the table, sorting through the gadgets—a squeak rang out, and Morel popped up from the pile. She hesitated for a moment before offering her hand, and Morel climbed aboard.
“Is it an apology? Is that it?”
Pixal shook her head, paused, hesitated, then pointed to Charble with her pen. She then flipped to the first of her many drawings.
Charble blinked at it. Then, he sighed.
He pushed himself slowly up to his feet, rock creaking. He towered above, and Pixal realized his head was only a few inches below some sections of the ceiling. He raised a hand, then, to that ceiling.
He knocked his fist against it. She saw some dust fall from the ceiling.
“Better be worth it.” He warned, then dropped back to the couch so heavily it squeaked in protest.
Morel yipped, and Pixal absently stroked her thumb over his head. Morel seemed more tolerant of her now, and when she clutched her notepad and paced, he happily crawled up to her shoulder and perched there. She was painfully aware of his presence.
A thunk sounded upstairs.
About three minutes later, steps appeared from the stairs up.
“Whaaat,” Ruztin groaned, in perhaps the loosest un-belted clothing Pixal had ever seen them in, one wing hanging so low it nearly touched the ground. No prosthetic, “it’s too early…”
“X wants something.” Charble huffed, and Pixal had only a minute to realize he hadn’t called her some variation if the bot before Ruztin was suddenly wide awake, halfway down the stairs, and looked at her.
“Oh,” Ruztin blinked, then walked down much more cautiously, “okay, um, what is it?”
Pixal gestured for them to take a seat on the couch. Ruztin and Charble met eyes, unsure and tired respectively, before Ruztin gingerly walked over and took a delicate seat, tucking their weaker wing close and halfway in their lap.
Then, Pixal stood in front of them. She tucked her pen into her hand, then turned the notepad around, back to the first drawing.
It depicted a drawing of the Mechanic. She had all night, and was a nindroid, so there was more than enough detail to make it clear who it was. The Mechanic, in this drawing, had a less defined nindroid tied to a chair, and he seemed to be grinning evilly as he took out part of their wires.
This was not accurate. Maybe the chair, but not so much the rest. However, sometimes, artistic liberties had to be made.
Ruztin stared, eyes a little big. Charble kept his face neutral, as always.
The next picture she flipped to was of a drawing of herself, kicking the Mechanic away from the nindroid. It led to a smaller sketch of her taking the nindroid away.
Her third picture was of the Mechanic walking up a path, to a familiar looking Spiral. It led to a picture of a junkyard, where the Mechanic was grinning evilly again as he stood in front of a rough sketch of the suit, and of a shut-down Pixal far in the corner.
The fourth picture was of the Mechanic, shaking hands with a familiar looking Raven, and the samurai suit behind and between them. He had two fingers crossed behind his back, smirking.
The fifth and final picture was simple. The Mechanic, then an arrow pointing to a sketch of herself. This sketch of herself had X’s for eyes. She lingered on this one before handing over the notepad.
Charble was the one to take it. His expression still hadn’t changed. Ruztin leaned over, pressed against his side. They blinked a few times in rapid succession, reaching out and flipping back a few pages, looking them over.
Pixal waited there, pen twiddling between her fingers. Morel began squeaking, to which she impulsively raised the pen and bopped him on the head. She got a loud uproar of clicks and high noises at that, to which she just leaned her head away and felt a little body hitting against her neck.
“So,” Charble said after a final moment, “I assume this is Cinahcem.”
“You think he’s going to hurt you.” Ruztin finished, frowning before giving her a complicated, pitying look. She squeezed the pen so tight she had to think about not breaking it. “Look, I know what he said before we left, but—”
Pixal shook her head frantically, frustration bubbling. She took the top of the notepad, then forcibly flipped to the first page. She gestured aggressively at the picture, where the Mechanic was harming the nindroid. Then she flipped and, with similar aggression, gestured to her saving said nindroid. Once more, accuracy was not important, just the message.
“He… has hurt someone.” Charble tried, frowning at her. “Do you…know him?”
Pixal nodded, clinging to the notepad perhaps a little tightly. Maybe Charble didn’t notice, he had a pretty good grip himself.
“You know Cinahcem.” Ruztin’s brows pulled together. “But…he didn’t know you?”
Pixal would’ve growled if she could. She jerked around and paced, flipping to a new page and quickly sketched out two versions of herself. One was how she knew she was supposed to be, the other was more exaggerated. Different hair, one eye shaded in, lack of stripes, the works. She showed this and gestured between the two.
“Oh,” Ruztin said, “you look different.”
“Okay, okay, heaven’s sake this is confusing.” Charble muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and slumping over his knees. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “Here’s my theory: you know Ruztin’s weird friend. Ruztin’s weird friend has apparently fucked up another robot. You obviously don’t like him for this. This guy then somehow got here during the Merge, and he found your suit. Is that it?”
Close enough, really. Pixal nodded.
“But you didn’t say anything!” Ruztin protested. Paused. “Er, well, you didn’t seem all that bothered when I told you we would visit Cinahcem!”
“Maybe it didn’t know his name.” Charble shrugged.
“No, no, come on, that’s not Cinahcem.” Ruztin shook their head, looking between them frantically. “Sure, he’s rough around the edges and pretty, um, lax about tech, but he’s smart! And–and look, you’re right, he shouldn’t have tried to have you in pieces.” Ruztin sat up and stepped forward, not noticing Charble’s sudden look of alarm at their words. “But he–he probably just didn’t know that you were, um, different!” They said with a nervous smile, holding their weak wing close. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have if he knew you wouldn't like it.”
Pixal stared.
That she was different.
What in the hell was that supposed to mean? That she was alive? Had a conscience? Did Ruztin realize she had a conscience? Is that different? From, what, other tech? An exception?
Ruztin took a step back, eyes darting. She realized then her fingers had torn through part of the cardboard on the notepad from how hard she clenched it. The papers were crumpled and ripped.
Cinahcem told Ruztin he knew about nindroids. Did they think she was the only nindroid in existence that acted this way?
Pixal chucked the notepad at Ruztin.
It was childish, she knew it was, and helped absolutely nobody. But sometimes a rare flicker of emotion grabbed her, and she felt like throwing the notepad. Ruztin yelped, stumbling a few more steps back as they caught it against the chest, a few torn pieces of paper falling to the floor.
Pixal tossed her pen aside too, not caring where it went. She stormed right back out of the living room—nope, there was Charble.
“Hey,” He said, hands out. He wasn’t worried, but he was…not concerned, but close, “look, that suit or whatever is what you need, yeah? And this guy has it, but you don’t like this guy.” He began. “This guy did something bad.” He squinted his eyes for a moment. “Did it involve your friends?”
Pixal glared. But, curtly, she nodded. She wasn’t staying because he stopped her, but because it felt like too much of a hassle to fight past him. So she said, at least. She didn’t want to find out if she was still so weak she couldn’t take on a lay-about like him.
“Okay, so, Cinahcem hurt your friends, and you think he’s gonna hurt you.” Charble summarized. “Considering the fact he apparently said he wanted you in pieces, I believe it.”
“Maybe he just didn’t know!” Ruztin protested, sounding frantic. “But he…” They stopped. “I–I mean, he said he’d seen nindroids before, but…”
“Well, unless this one here is a special case,” Charble’s eyes flicked behind Pixal’s head, “then I think maybe X has a point.”
“So–so, what, what, then?” Ruztin demanded, throwing out a hand. “Cinahcem doesn’t like X, and X doesn’t like him. He’s certainly never going to give us the suit now! And frankly, it was a stupid idea to think he’d consider it in the first place.” They groaned, dragged that hand down their face. “It’s Cinahcem, and I would certainly never part with any of my inventions—”
“Well,” Charble hummed, “if the suit belongs to X, then it’s not even his.”
“He could’ve built it!” Ruztin glared. They glanced at Pixal. “Did he?”
She shook her head, then pointed to herself. Half-truth, half-lie.
“You built it?”
“I think maybe we should get what you went for in the first place.” Charble gruffed, one hand coming to his hip. “I could rough him up.”
“He has security, and you can’t go doing that.” Ruztin began pacing. “Look, it’s really stupid if X lied about this, so I don’t think they are.” Pixal tried not to be offended (or maybe a little hurt) by them even bringing up the possibility of a lie. It was fair enough. “But we need more than this. Blueprints of the suit to prove ownership, maybe ask him a few questions, hell, if they know each other, he probably knows X’s written language, and then we can finally know what they’re saying!”
“Blueprints of which I’m sure are lost, and I don’t think he’s gonna be answering questions if it really went as bad as you said.” Charble raised a brow. “Again, this can be solved pretty easily with a couple well-placed punches.”
“That’s not going to fix it!”
Pixal sighed, tipping her head back. She shook her head, then knocked the back of her hand against Charble’s side. He blinked down at her—then moved to the side when she started to squeeze past him.
Ruztin was ranting about something behind her. She didn’t really listen, storming off towards the basement steps. They could hash it out all they wanted, she frankly didn’t care anymore.
She made plans. She intended to follow through with them.
They didn’t follow her down.
Pixal didn’t emerge until dusk.
She double-checked her gears, happy to see it felt like practically all of their strength had returned. She slipped on shoes that she’d just found in a bunch of junk, then tied on more cloth to create extra padding, that way she could walk silently. She tied her cloak tightly around her shoulders, and she forwent any notepad. She had spares, but she didn’t want them.
When she creeped up the stairs, no one was there. Not Ruztin tinkering away, Morel making a mess, or even Charble on the couch.
This was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it. She just ducked and slipped out the front door.
It was a long walk to the barn. And a tense one, since she had to navigate in the dark. A few times she second-guessed herself before stubbornly continuing forward. The Spiral was always in view, she wouldn’t get lost.
Then, she saw it. The barn.
Pixal pulled over her hood, the one from Ruztin’s sweater she stole, and picked up the pace.
Nobody was around when she arrived. No one fluttering in and out, and the barn doors were shut. More importantly, she could see what looked like two Whack-Rats standing post outside the main doors.
Pixal went around the side, low to the ground. Windows. Bingo.
Pixal looked around a moment before she took a leap, hooking her fingers into the old boards of the barn, feet doing the same. It was weak and shaky, but the barn slanted pretty quickly, and she kept low to her stomach as she scooted up to the window.
Locked, predictably. Good thing she was prepared, having found very thin pieces of cardboard, plastic, and even some sandpaper before she left. It was ultimately the plastic she was able to sweep under the window, unlocking it and allowing her to silently push it open.
It was a far drop to the bottom. She could still see all those machines hanging up, one just in reach, covered partway in a sheet.
Pixal glanced around, leaning down—then jerked out of the way when she heard footsteps.
A Whack-Rat passed below, looking lazily about. It didn’t hesitate once as it moved down its patrol, and then out of sight.
Lovely.
Pixal grit her teeth, then hoisted up over the window and clung on when she swung in. She tucked close, then dropped to the floor. It wasn’t perfectly silent, but more so than if she didn’t have any covered shoes. She crouched and ducked behind a machine instantly, one that reminded her of a racer car, just with massive wheels.
After a moment, she peeked out.
The only light was from the moon through the high windows, but she could see the narrow passageway to where the samurai suit lay. Sure enough, two Whack-Rats were in the little building, messing around with magazines. They didn’t even glance up.
Pixal kept her body low, hand skimming the ground as she darted her eyes before racing across the wall of the barn. She stayed light on her feet, hiding behind inventions as she went. A few Whack-Rats passed by, but they didn’t so much as glance her way. Lazy and sloppy, which is what she was hoping for.
When she made it to the narrow passageway, she began creeping out—then quickly stepped back and hid behind the old machine of some motorcycle.
She could see the back of a Whack-Rat through the passage. They were facing in the direction of the suit, not the barn. They weren’t moving. No doubt purposefully posted there as extra security. Either the Mechanic was rightfully anxious about someone stealing Samurai X, or he felt alarmed by her and Ruztin’s visit the previous day.
Pixal watched one patrol of Whack-Rats pass. Then, hyping herself up, she sprinted out from her hiding place and into the passageway. The Whack-Rat began to turn around.
Pixal slammed a hand around their mouth, shoved her body against theirs so they stumbled away, then brought her other arm up around their throat.
The Whack-Rat flailed, noises muffled. They did their best, trying to kick and claw her off. Pixal leapt up and wrapped her legs around their waist, freeing her arm off their mouth to instead grab one of their wrists and force it away. Her arm was tight around their neck they still could barely make a sound. Her weight caused them to fall over, a quiet thud sounding before she rolled them over and sat on their back, both hands pressing into their neck.
They flailed, but they were weaker now from a lax of airflow. She was heavy, and they couldn’t hope to buck her off as she pressed harder.
A few moments passed. Their strength wavered. She pulled them up by the neck and slammed them back down, and their eyes rolled as their body went still when their head hit the ground.
Pixal slowly released their neck, rolling them over to see if they breathed, because her touch sensors weren’t precise enough for a pulse. Faintly a breath was taken in, and she nodded once before moving on. She didn’t really mind if a nameless figure died, but something twitched that, well, a hero still shouldn’t actively murder someone.
The samurai suit was still there, but a few panels were closed. Pixal smiled, despite herself, and climbed up onto the podium. She poked her head into the cockpit, looking around. Significantly less buttons, a wider dashboard a much too-roomy space, and far less secure. A panel to control movements instead of syncing up with the wearer. She frowned, but it would do. She began to pry it open, fitting a foot inside—
Shink!
Pixal’s head snapped to the huge, metal claw digging into her shoulder, piercing through old metal like it was flesh.
“Evening.”
Pixal was yanked out of the suit and to the floor in a split second, a clunk sounding as she hit the ground. Warnings flashed in her eyes about torn wires and stuttering gears.
“Well, well,” Cackled a voice, the thunk of metal on the floor, and she squinted her eyes up at the shadow with a piercing red eye peering down, “of course it’s the little scrap droid.”
Pixal grit her teeth, digging both her hands into the claw on her shoulder and wrenching it off, rolling to the side and springing up to her feet.
The Mechanic—she didn’t recall if he had an invention like this before. Four metal arms coming from a pack on his back, holding him aloft. They still shook, clearly not wholly stable or functioning, perhaps a prototype. But he was grinning all the same, feet hovering a few inches off the ground. Most definitely showing off.
“I’m afraid that beauty isn’t for sale.” The Mechanic chuckled, one metal arm moving forward and digging into the ground, its wide, flat fingers spread out. “But I bet you could fetch some pocket change.”
Pixal turned and grabbed the first item she could find on the table. That turned out to be a small pair of pliers that she then turned and chucked full-force.
The Mechanic twitched his real hands—he had two controllers in them, with some rolling joint on the end. He moved one of these, and in turn one of his metallic arms came up and easily parried the plier away.
But that was alright. Because it distracted him for a split second, which was all Pixal needed before she took a running leap onto him.
The Mechanic cried out, stumbling back as she managed to grab onto his legs and waist. She tried to flip up and wrap her legs around his, gripping so tight she hoped she was grabbing skin and hurting.
Two of the Mechanic's metal arms shakily came up as he flailed, hollering words she didn’t care to make out. She felt a push as one of those metal arms hit her side, and she kicked back to fend it off. Instead it just grabbed her ankle and tried pulling her off.
She clung on tighter, satisfied to hear the Mechanic yelp in pain. She tried kicking the metal arm off her ankle—before she felt her arms suddenly ripped away, and then her face slammed into the floor.
“Finally!” The Mechanic barked.
“Sorry, sir.” A Whack-Rat gruffed, holding Pixal’s wrists together with one hand while the other held the back of her neck to the floor.
Pixal grit her teeth and braced her legs under her, then shoved up.
The Whack-Rat dislodged enough for her to escape. She spun and punched blindly, stepping back and drawing her fists up. She heard outcries—and there were about three other Whack-Rats in the room, she realized, and more were definitely coming. The on the floor from earlier was being dragged off by a friend.
Shit.
That’s alright, she had this. She fought before, she knew she did. Her memories were a little hazy, but it was like muscle memory, right? Like a computer suggesting a familiar tab when someone typed in a few key words. She was practically at her normal, full strength again. She had this.
A Whack-Rat charged at her.
Pixal stepped to the side, then instantly had her arm grabbed by another. She spun around and kicked, making the rat stumble back. She saw the original rat coming back and turned to punch them in the face. They dodged, then tackled her midsection.
Pixal grunted, legs too close together to keep herself from falling. She went down, then grabbed the rats shirt uniform and kicked a leg up, rolling them to the ground. She saw more were coming.
A punch thrown here, then another grab to her hand. Twisting her arm down—a kick to the back of her knees, making the joints wobble, damnit. She stumbled, and weight fell on her back. She tried to fumble around before dropping to a roll, but the rat still clung on when she tried to stand again.
She braced her hands on the ground to push up—and spun when a kick hit her square in the face. Warnings flared, her metals weren’t tough enough to spare her from that dent. She thought she heard the glass of one of her eyes shattering, the protective layer gone. It wasn’t supposed to be that fragile, she thought.
“Don’t damage it too much, boys.” She heard the Mechanic chuckle, straining against the rats now piling on top of her. One grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face down, another holding her legs while two more grappled with her arms. “Come on, get some rope, s’gotta have a shutdown button somewhere.”
Panic flared.
It was bad to panic now, she knew this. But she flailed all the same, smacking against a rat with her arm and wrenching it away, then reaching out again and grabbing the leg of one of the others on top of her, yanking it forward.
It made the rat stumble back. Her head was free, and she instantly shot it back to slam into the face of the one on top of her. She heard a curse and a squeal, then multiple voices all raising, some crescendo of “get it!” and “watch out!”
She tried to spin, but another was grabbing her by the body and pushing down again. She lashed blindly, finding something moving and pushing, kicking, seeing warnings pop up as some screw came loose. She would not do that again, she would not miss another three whole years, she couldn’t—
When the voices suddenly rose all at once, yelling and panicked, she thought she must’ve hit something. When she felt a lot of the rats suddenly leave her, she thought maybe she did something right. When she rolled to her feet and leapt many paces back, she realized she was mistaken.
“You know,” Charble hummed, holding two Whack-Rats by the scruff in one hand, another by the front of their shirt, and one being crushed under his foot, “I always kinda thought you were nothin’ but trouble.”
“What in the—” The Mechanic, a few paces back with a few other Whack-Rats, straightened. “Who in the hell are you?”
“Does it matter?” Charble shrugged, then turned and chucked the two Whack-Rats he had by the scruff straight into a wall. It made a dent and a loud thunk!
No, Pixal thought, it didn’t matter. She booked it for the suit.
“Don’t just— get them already!”
Pixal ducked to the side when more Whack-Rats came. She crouched and kicked at the waist of the next one, then managed to grab their wrist and fling them to the ground. She caught Charble picking up where the Whack-Rat fell and kicking them like a crumpled plastic can. The Whack-Rats were split in two, now. Some were guarding the suit and the Mechanic next to it, while others were trying to grab her and Charble.
Pixal feigned left, and when two Whack-Rats followed her, she went right and ran past them. She spun when they did, snagging both by the ears and smacking their heads together. They stumbled, and she shouldered them away.
She was then grabbed by the shoulder and kicked. She hissed in her head, attempting to turn and wrench free. She could barely get a foothold, the Whack-Rat just clung onto her cloth tighter and got one arm behind her back. She had no way of unclasping and freeing herself from it.
Just as she began backing up, trying to trip up the rat—she heard a squeak.
“The hell?” She heard the rat mutter among the clamor, seeing two more running at her. Then, while she was focused on the approaching rats, she heard the first one shriek.
She tore away instantly, looking back to find the rat frantically flailing about, yelling something like “get it off!” as they kicked.
In the blur, she saw red and white. She thought she saw it make it to the rat’s eye-goggles and bite, no doubt going straight through.
She was very glad Morel wasn’t any bigger than a guinea pig.
She tore off for the suit again, the formerly approaching rats momentarily shocked still at whatever was going on with their comrade. She dodged around a different one—and was slammed by a force hitting her head.
“You,” The Mechanic spat, that same metal arm shoving and grabbing onto her head again, keeping her down as his arms took him over, “are proving to be very bad for business, you hunk of garbage.”
Pixal grit her teeth, trying to kick up to her feet while her hands grasped at the arm. She could hear Charble punting a few more Whack-Rats in the background, they had to be getting tired. She tried prying at the arms fingers, but every time she thought she got one back, the Mechanic pressed harder.
“Do all nindroids love causing problems,” The Mechanic hissed, legs touching down so he could crouch, far too close for Pixal’s liking, “or am I just that unlucky?”
Both, probably, if he was asking Pixal’s opinion. But especially the latter, considering the Mechanic was now close enough for Pixal to jolt up her fist straight into his chin.
The Mechanic yelped, stumbling back. It weakened the metal arms grip, and Pixal shoved up hard enough to tear free. While the Mechanic rubbed at his chin, she came around his side, reaching for his neck while the other grabbed at the pack on his back.
The Mechanic flailed, yelling incoherently for help as his arms all raised up and tried to grab at her. It was difficult with one arm, but she tried pulling at the straps to get it off, hearing a few tears in the leather.
One of the arms managed to grab her, and she clung on with grit teeth. It kept pulling, the Mechanic stumbling back, disbalancing them both, and another arm went for her head again.
Ping!
Until a wrench hit off the offending arm, which also lightly bonked the Mechanic in the head before it clattered to the floor. He snapped, jerking his head up in the direction of the wrench, and for a moment, Pixal did the same.
“Uh,” Said the familiar Raven perched on Samurai X, midway through ripping off one of the last of the hangers keeping it in place, “whoops?”
Pixal stared. Then, she smiled.
Which is when another arm grabbed her by the leg and threw her off.
She went down hard, airborne a few moments before hitting the ground and sliding a few paces. Her back hit the platform, hissing as some warnings popped up. She shook her head, quickly standing.
“X!” Ruztin called, beak clattering, “X, come on, come on, I’ve almost got this down, just—”
Ruztin squawked when a Whack-Rat was kicked by Charble, soaring and hitting a wall close to them. They began turning their head back to complain before instantly taking off when a metallic arm slammed into the top of the Samurai suit, nearly hitting them.
“X,” The Mechanic hissed, sounding a little crazed and tired, red eye flashing towards Pixal, as if testing out the letter.
Pixal dodged around the suit when an arm failed to grab her. She could see one last wire holding the suit in place, but she believed it was strong enough to tear off on its own. She came back around the other side—saw the Mechanic, then went back. She leapt onto the suit, climbing up to the top. She thought she could hear Ruztin yelling from where they were—duck?
Pixal ducked before a metal arm speared her head off.
The Mechanic rose up on three of his other arms, level with her. His teeth were bared, and Pixal did the same. She admitted she was impulsive when she decided to leap off the suit and tackle the Mechanic, but could you blame her?
The Mechanic went down, landing straight on his pack. It sputtered as soon as it did, sparks flying. Pixal got one hand around his neck while the other pulled at one of the straps, bent with one leg pinning his own, the other with her foot against his wrist.
She saw the Mechanic’s eye go wide, maniacal. It looked furious.
“It’s you!” He spat.
Pixal grinned, just a bit vindictively, pressing closer before she tore her hand back and finally saw the strap snap.
“Why can’t you just stay dead for once?” The Mechanic shrieked, managing to get one leg under himself and kick up. “You Ninja are all pointless anyway!”
That felt wrong, Pixal thought, even as she rolled off from the force and had to jump away. Being called a ninja, that is. The suit was a samurai, wasn’t it? Yes, ninja was wrong, technically—she was a samurai. She knew this all too well.
The Mechanic spat, pack hanging off his shoulder as he got to his feet. The arms flailed, glitching and sputtering. Pixal assessed all that for a moment—then spun around and bolted back to the platform.
She heard the Mechanic cry out, no doubt chasing after. She leapt over the table and managed to grab onto the suit, hoisting up. Closer, closer, she was nearly there. Open up the hatch, climb inside, here she thought she could hear Ruztin squawking, turn around, find the controls…
She glanced out for only a moment.
Ruztin was flying over the Mechanic, trying to dive-bomb down and kick him in the head. The Mechanic kept trying to swipe at Ruztin, much too occupied to notice Charble chucking another Whack-Rat, surrounded by a pile of unconscious guards. She couldn't see where Morel was, but he was small, so that made sense.
Then one of the Mechanic’s flailing, glitching arms managed to smack into Ruztin’s side, and they yelped as they went down into a roll.
Pixal randomly began slamming over the samurai suit’s buttons. One of them had to be the on switch. Did it even have an on switch? She jammed one arm into its holder, grasping the joystick-like device while the other kept pushing buttons.
Something must have worked, because there came a sputter, a lurch—and the suit came online with a blinking crescendo over the dashboard.
Samurai X was back.
Finally.
Notes:
upholding the DR tradition of "well, you're not really WRONG, per se, but you maybe could've done that...differently..." (i love making things complicated)
Chapter 10: we're so back
Notes:
s3 babey LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I would've released this on the 4th but y'know. Silksong also released so I had to go a little crazy
Chapter Text
For a moment, everything froze.
Then the Mechanic let out a war-cry: “Just kill them already!”
Pixal shoved the suit forward.
It was unsteady, and the legs seemed to move due to some touch-pad at the bottom of the seat rather than hooking into anything. Her footsteps were unsteady, but she heard the snap of the last line coming off, loud metallic clangs and stomps as she stumbled off the platform. She might’ve almost fallen over, but she wouldn’t admit that.
“Do you have any idea how hard I worked on that?” The Mechanic snapped, but he was stepping back now, wary, arms still twitching. “How many Ravens I had to bribe? You weren’t even around!” He accused, pointing a finger, still walking backwards. “You don’t deserve it!”
“Well,” Charble rumbled, and the Mechanic froze when his back hit Charble’s front, “life just ain’t really fair now, is it?”
The Mechanic slowly looked up. Then he turned and bolted.
Pixal chased. She didn’t know if the others were behind her, but she vaulted over the wall, which was just a little shorter than Samurai X itself, and locked in on the Mechanic making a break for one of his other inventions. One of the larger car-looking devices.
The suit stumbled when it made it over, Pixal still figuring out how these infernal controls worked with the fingers and movements. She knew it wasn’t nearly this complicated when she had it. How hard I worked on it her ass, the Mechanic put forth all that effort just to fall short of what greatness used to be.
The suit went careening on the landing, Pixal frantically trying to right it. She managed to get one of its hands down, keeping it from falling. It was disorienting, the suit acting more like…well, not like the large mech it used to be. It was much too small, and much too light on its feet. It was supposed to be heavier, with weight behind its steps and movements. She was also rather squished in the compartment.
The Mechanic leapt into one of the cars, doing something to get it started. She heard the revving through the garage, pushing the suit upright and racing towards him.
“Oh, just call it off already!” The Mechanic snapped, car tearing out of its placement just before Pixal could get there.
Pixal thought she normally would. No—something always happened, and the Mechanic got away. She recalled, somewhere, a memory that they had to keep pursuing to get all the enemies, but…no, her friends weren’t machines. They had to break, or come back, or said “just let them go”. She never understood it, but she agreed with them.
But she wasn’t with them now. And this was the only person who knew absolutely anything about Ninjago.
When the car raced past, Pixal instinctively slammed everything down. One of the hands of the suit hit the back of the car, but she didn’t grab it, because, again, the controls were stupid. But the car sputtered and squealed, sharply turning before the Mechanic righted it. Smoke billowed out, it was slower now. Pixal ran after it.
The Mechanic frantically hit some buttons, and fire began spurting from the back. Pixal still managed to hit her hand against the back of the car, getting her fingers around one of the large wheels. The Mechanic looked back with wide eyes and hit the gas, the car squealing and sputtering in protest.
Pixal had to brace the suit, leaning back. It wasn’t enough, either the car was powerful or the suit was too weak, because her feet were sliding. She heard metal creaking in protest, would the hands snap off the suit, she wondered?
“Time made you all the worse, huh?” The Mechanic grit his teeth, hitting a few more buttons, then spinning around in the car and shuffling through the seats, where junk was strewn. He grabbed what looked like an old juice box someone left behind and threw it.
It did nothing, obviously, but Pixal paid attention to it, just for a moment. Which was a split second she wasn’t hanging onto the car for dear life, and so the sudden burst of flames from the exhaust caught her off guard, as did the sudden speeding up of the wheels.
Pop!
The tire in her hand completely deflated under her grip and the car tore off.
The Mechanic whooped, car zooming off and straight into the barn doors, partially open from the Whack-Rats that had previously come in to help out their boss. The doors slammed open, and the car twisted and whirled to the side, struggling on only three wheels—but it had the momentum it needed, and it was gone.
Pixal raced to the barn doors.
The car was still sputtering smoke, but it was well out of reach. It’d crash eventually, wouldn’t it? The fuel would run dry, it couldn’t have that much excess fuel. She gripped the controls tighter and—
“X?” Came a call. “X? Where—are you okay? Charble, go—“
Pixal paused. The words puttered off into something quieter, instead of a yell. The Mechanic was growing further and further away.
Pixal grit her teeth, forced herself to relax, and turned away.
Morality was such a pain in the ass.
.
Some of the Whack-Rats weren’t as woozy as before. Charble had them handled pretty well, but Pixal still returned to find Ruztin fending two off with a wrench.
As soon as Samurai X stomped its foot down, one of the Whack-Rats decided to book it. She grabbed the arm of the other one (she would’ve liked to just throw them by the head, but she wasn’t confident in her control of the strength of the suit yet) and tossed them away.
“Oh, there you are!” Ruztin perked up. “Where...” They looked around, “where’s Cinahcem?”
“Who cares,” Charble muttered, then got a Whack-Rat launching onto his back. Pixal reached over and flicked it away. None of the other conscious Whack-Rats decided it was much worth it anymore, their boss left. They followed suit.
A squeak, and Morel appeared on Ruztin’s shoulder. Morel looked a little rounder than she recalled, and bounced around with energy. Ruztin clacked their beak and pat Morel’s head, and she realized one of their wings was heavily sagging. Seemed the prosthetic had gotten rather broken. She felt a flare of indignation at the audacity.
“Now, what did we learn?” Charble hummed, meandering over and kicking aside an unconscious goon.
“That sometimes you have a point.” Ruztin sighed heavily, turning their eyes upwards.
“That was actually directed at that one.” Charble pointed a thumb towards Pixal. “But I appreciate it all the same.”
Pixal poitned at herself, looking between them. Ruztin looked a little sheepish, but Charble couldn’t be bothered.
“Figured you’d sneak out,” Charble shrugged, “Ruztin wanted to think better of you, which was just plain stupid.”
“I didn’t word it like that!” Ruztin squawked. “We–we just really wanted to avoid any trouble. Thought there might be quite a bit of it if we didn’t keep an eye out.” They chuckled, face a bit pinched as they gingerly drew their weak wing closer. Their feathers were all torn and lopsided, and they began fiddling with a few. “And I…well, I felt bad for being so…well…”
“I kinda wanted trouble. Been a while since I got to fight something.” Charble huffed, but he was smiling, just a little.
“You just want to fight for the sake of it.” Ruztin sighed, fiddling with their wing and looking down. “I do hope this was the right thing.” They paused. “But you seem like you want that, so…yeah.”
Pixal felt her face scrunch. It was foolish to feel guilty, she didn’t bring any of them along. They probably deliberately made sure she didn’t realize they were following. And yet…
Pixal offered out a hand.
The three of them stared at it.
She made a ‘come here’ gesture with the fingers, reaching for Ruztin. They stared for a moment, shared a look with Charble—and then Morel squeaked and leapt off Ruztin’s shoulder, landing on one of the suits fingers.
“Lazy ass.” Charble gruffed, but he seemed amused all the same.
“Well, I’m glad Morel likes it, at least.” Ruztin said, hesitating a moment before nervously smiling, inching over to hold Samurai X’s hand.
Pixal had to maneuver around a little in her new suit, one that definitely couldn’t hold a Raven in one hand, but she managed to situate Ruztin so they were perched on her shoulder, one hand bracing them as Morel hopped onto her head.
“We goin’ home, then?” Charble guessed.
“Oh, can we?” Ruztin leaned down to try and look at Pixal’s face. “Not that—well, I’m sure I could go on, but—“
“No you could not.”
“I could!”
Pixal wished she could chuckle. Instead, she smiled, which seemed to make both Ruztin and Charble stop, then nodded. With that, she turned, and began walking out of the barn.
“Right,” Charble said behind her, then she heard his stony footsteps following, “home it is, then.”
Pixal could vaguely see Ruztin relax in relief. Morel clambered over to sit in their lap, trilling happily as the Samurai suit lumbered along.
Pixal supposed, all things considered, this night had gone rather well.
Samurai X did not fit in the doorway.
It was too wide and too tall, and Pixal was still figuring out how to bend it at the waist without fumbling. Upon realizing this, she gently took Ruztin off her shoulder, then walked around to the back of the tower, where no other buildings faced it, and set it down there.
She then went right inside, walking past her bewildered housemates and to the basement. She searched only a few moments before finding two old tarps for the machinery, dragging them off whatever they were over and taking it upstairs. She nearly tripped Ruztin as they tried to walk in.
She put both of those tarps over the suit, which just barely covered it. She nodded once, taking the edges and standing on it before sitting down, holding it in place. With that, she shut her eyes for a moment, leaned back, and just processed.
This shouldn’t be exhausting for her. But some screws still popped loose, and her battery was straining itself. Some rest just to bring it back up. That’s all she needed.
A few moments later, she heard footsteps.
Her eyes snapped open, automatically tense.
Charble didn’t falter if he noticed. He just stopped in front of her, then dropped down an old, thin blanket.
“Rusty was worried.” He gruffed, paused a moment, then nodded. “Well, they’ve been worried for a while. So, you know.” He shrugged awkwardly. Then he left.
Pixal stared after for a moment.
Then, rolling her eyes with a smile, she took the blanket and pulled it over herself, leaning back once more. She never did understand the worries one had for sentient machines, as if a blanket would do much for a being that couldn’t feel cold, but she supposed when one came to acknowledge another as alive, it was instinctive to think of them like themselves. If Ruztin worried she was cold, then perhaps she knew how they felt about her now.
It was nice.
Pixal was far too anxious to leave her suit unattended. Sure, it had a tarp overtop, but anyone looking around the tower could very clearly tell something was underneath it, and the Mechanic could still be around.
In the end, her pacing must have worried Ruztin enough, or annoyed Charble enough, for the latter to eventually throw open the door and snap: “I’ll watch the damn thing from the roof, would you just quit it?”
Pixal promptly quit her pacing and went back inside. Only after she confirmed Charble had, in fact, gone to the roof and was keeping an eye out.
Ruztin was working on their prosthetic again, and at a glance Pixal knew it’d take more time to fix than the original repair.
“Oh,” Ruztin startled when she appeared at the workbench, “uh, hey.”
Pixal gestured to the prosthetic, then stuck out her pinkie and thumb, gesturing between herself and Ruztin. They blinked a moment, hesitated, then nodded off to the other side of the room.
“You can assist, yeah.” Ruztin said. “Grab that screwdingy?”
Pixal didn’t know what a ‘screwdingy’ was, but she had noted a number of unrecognizable tools in the tower before, so maybe Chima just had different ones.
But she did know what assisting meant, tied within the very beginnings of her circuits. She wouldn’t admit how pleased she felt, digging around until Ruztin said she had the right tool to bring over, but Ruztin noticed her lighter mood and smiled, just a little.
Then it faded, eyes flickering with something. They took the tool, but hesitated, eyes downcast. Before Pixal could get their attention with a question look, they raised their head.
“Are you…” They paused, eyes darting over her face worriedly (even if it was their usual state), “are you an ‘it’?”
Pixal blinked. A bit surprised, she shook her head.
Ruztin’s face fell. “Oh, I’m–I’m so sorry.” They recoiled, clutching the tool closer. “That–that was so rude of me, and I–I didn’t even think about it—you know,” They sighed, turning back to the desk and placing their hands on it, including the tool, “I had the thought a bit ago.” They admitted. “But then I thought, oh, it—they,” They scrunched up their face, “would’ve told me, but, you don’t really tell anyone anything, and…and it was still rude of me. ‘It’ is rude. You’re not an ‘it’ unless you say you are. I apologize.”
Pixal, under most circumstances, would probably agree with a minor lecture. Right now, she saw the twitching, lopsided wings and she just felt relieved. She waved a hand, leaning against the table.
“You may be the most patient and impatient person I know.” Ruztin chuckled, and before Pixal could internally cheer at being called a person, they went on, “let me guess, then. Are you a they?” At a shake of her head, they tried again. “He?” Another shake. “She?”
When she nodded, they brightened. Pixal wished she could add her name to that as well, but as of now, all she could do was glance at the prosthetic and turn to grab some screws from the toolbox. She set them down before Ruztin could even ask why.
“Oh, yes,” They blinked, “I do need those. Thank you.” They reached out, paused, then glanced up. “Do you want to see how I fix my things? It’s not quite how you seem to go about it, but…”
Pixal stepped away. Ruztin deflated a little, then perked up when she returned with one of the chairs from the other room. She set it down next to the table, herself between Ruztin and the toolbox for easy access, and sat down.
Ruztin smiled, then turned to their prosthetic.
“Now then,” They said, picking up their tool and gesturing to the lopsided springs, “these can’t be screwed in too tight, you see, because then everything starts to creak…”
Pixal was in the basement.
She wasn’t there long, never was. She spent her nights out by Samurai X, afraid someone may take it. Charble still offered to watch it during those hours, but she figured either he’d sleep and lie about staying awake in the morning, or he’d just read the whole time. That was fine enough in daylight, but anything could happen at night.
So she rested out by her suit anyway, even if she could only do minimal work on herself when outside.
But right now, three days later, she was in the basement. She was sketching on a large piece of paper, movements sure from the image behind her eyes, but yet felt hesitant. She looked up to the broken mirror that still remained downstairs. Unfamiliar eyes stared back, with glass that still needed to be replaced.
Gingerly, she raised a hand to her neck, pressing at it. She tried to hum, and felt zero sparks. Nothing was connected to it anymore.
She didn’t know if she’d even sound the same anymore.
But nevertheless, this fact was obvious: she did not need to just survive anymore. She was functional enough to accomplish that, she had her suit, and she felt…she trusted these people. They fought off Whack-Rats and the Mechanic based on nothing but her word (and perhaps the need to avoid trouble). They didn’t have to believe her. Maybe they only slightly believed her story, but…they’d still done all of that.
For her.
Pixal placed her whole palm over her throat. Then, she closed the book with a snap, and began gathering her tools.
Trust came with risk. It always did. Most importantly, it came from both sides—and they’d risked more than enough when trusting her.
.
When Ruztin woke up and came downstairs, they found her sitting at the desk of their study room on the ground floor, patiently waiting.
“Oh,” Ruztin blinked, “hello. Um, did you need something?”
Pixal nodded, and it was through sheer willpower she kept the nerves from showing on her face, in her movements. She gestured to her sketchbook, where she’d spent hours creating a blueprint that existed solely in her mind, what few of it that remained unburned.
“Did you want to make something?” Ruztin sounded excited, hurrying over and twitching their wing, prosthetic semi-functional by this point, reaching out to pull the sketchbook a little closer.
Pixal stared at the table as Ruztin read. She saw them frown out of the corner of her eye, fully picking up the book and examining the blueprints. Tapping at it with a finger, putting it to memory.
Their eyes flicked to her.
Pixal dared meet their gaze. She looked down only a second later, then, in a hand she made sure didn’t shake at all, she held out a screwdriver.
Ruztin stared.
“You…” They swallowed. “You want me to fix you?”
Pixal gave them a look. She tried to keep her expression blank.
Slowly, very slowly, Ruztin started to smile. It wasn’t one of sheer giddiness, or nerves, or anything of the sort. It was touched.
“Of course,” They said, immediately taking a seat, and gently picking up the offered tool, “of course! Just—I mean, I’ll have these blueprints so down they’ll be practically glued behind my eyelids. I mean—right,” They cleared their throat when Pixal’s look turned deadpan. “I’ll, um, I’ll stop talking.”
Pixal allowed the tiniest twitch of a smile, moving to take off her metallic face and neck coverings. She politely ignored the glee radiating off of Ruztin from every twitch of their feathers.
The repairs went…honestly, much faster than she expected.
They had to be interrupted a few times. First by Charble coming down and doing a double-take when he saw what was going on. Ruztin assured Pixal asked for this, and Pixal just shrugged with a smile. Charble hummed, then left again, but occasionally poked his head in to watch.
Ruztin had to take breaks, obviously, because they were organic. It annoyed Pixal, just a little, but Ruztin at least did their best to stop only when it was safest to do so. Charble even came in with reading material when Ruztin left on food breaks, talking about some idiotic plots with her she could only make faces at.
They didn’t react as much to seeing her ghastly face without the covers. It felt kind of nice, even if it was uncomfortably vulnerable to have her whole neck exposed. Not in the way an organic would be uncomfortable, but more so from how far back her wires were visible.
Morel wanted to hang out, too. He chirped and kept nipping at her fingers until she realized he wanted to play. He was apparently quite entertained with her ‘attacking’ him with her fingers, letting him bite (never hard enough to break anything) and dangle, giving him gentle shoves so he’d roll away before racing back.
Charble found her like that once, and she remembered she was smiling a little too bright. She tried to cover it up when she noticed him, but gave up rather quickly. Charble was smiling back, as rare as it was.
“Told ya,” Is all he said, and then sat down with her for the next fifteen minutes until Ruztin returned.
And when it came to Ruztin, they talked about just anything. It became clear they weren’t expecting a response. Some of it was just plain ranting, and Pixal could understand the need to let all of that out. With their mannerisms and complaining, she realized they reminded her of a friend…Jay, she thought. Yes, Jay liked to do something similar. Though this felt somewhat less annoying for some reason.
Maybe she’d let Jay work on her someday. She wondered if he’d want to do that. It wouldn’t hurt asking.
It was odd, she found, watching someone hold a piece of herself and maneuver it around, getting gears fixed and adjusting the dials. Intimate felt too strong a word, but it was certainly trusting. It made her feel odd, but never enough to tell Ruztin to give the item back (most of the time).
She tried to remember watching someone else do this to her so closely, someone she loved. But those memories had yet to resurface. If they existed at all—surely they must.
Pixal kept herself busy, anyways. When Ruztin had to sleep, she worked on her suit. She had to travel at some point, she knew this to be true. But her suit required fuel, so she couldn’t walk with it everywhere. Unfortunately, it was much smaller and not what it once was. Fortunately, that meant if she could find a way to make it become smaller, carryable, then she could take it with her.
The helmet did that, she knew. The helmet that was now missing, but…it could be done. With a lot of trial and error, it was possible. She did that whenever she could, recharge be damned, and then sat patiently while Ruztin worked.
“When we fix you up,” Ruztin said once, sitting next to her, turning over the voice box they’d carefully removed from her (and really, she could have meddled with it herself, but Ruztin was extraordinary gentle, and it was clear the voice box couldn't be fixed in a conventional way), “you have got to tell me how to make that suit of yours.”
Pixal snorted (or moved like she did), resting her chin on her fist and giving Ruztin an expression that said will I, now?
“It’s a technological marvel.” Ruztin persisted, cracking open the box and peering inside, frowning. “Hm, yeah, we just shot it through even more. Did you make that suit all on your own?”
Pixal frowned. Did she? She thought she did, but something told her that wasn’t the full story. She didn’t think she built the whole thing. She shared it with…with…Nya. Nya had shared the suit, once. Or…had it once. Maybe she didn’t build it at all.
She realized the silence was lingering only when Ruztin awkwardly went back to picking apart the voice box.
“Well, we’ll figure this all out when you can tell us.” They said simply. “Oh, wait, but you must tell me,” And when she met their gaze, their smile was cheeky, “do you have a crazy accent? Like, you know, the one all crazy mad scientists have. I could never understand those.”
Pixal moved to smack their arm. They managed to shy away, laughing all the while. And Pixal felt…at ease.
The first try was a failure. But it was meant to be—the voice box was clearly far too busted, but they still attached it back into her neck when they were sure it would turn on, just to see how bad it was.
All she could emit was static. It wasn’t even speaking—she couldn’t turn it off. Once it was secured, horrible crackling noise came, with sparks flying, and they quickly removed it again. Considering the hassle to take it in and out, both of them agreed to try and make each attempt their only attempt, though they knew that would be impossible. There would be multiple attempts to this, that is simply how it was to be an inventor.
On one attempt, Pixal could choose when to turn it on and off, but when she tried to speak, it sounded…well, like a poor impression of a growling Oni. Ruztin removed it and joked they sure hoped that wasn’t correct.
On another, the volume was wildly off and hyper-sensitive, and was just random, blaring noise that shrieked like a siren or whispered like a breath of air. Charble was rather miffed about that attempt.
At one point, Ruztin suggested making it a radio. One that could connect to signals that she could play out. Pixal found no use for it, frankly, but it was honestly such a small addition it would hardly disrupt anything else. And with her internal WiFi receptors completely shot, she knew connecting to old-school waves was the best she could get. She relented, but she was the one to personally put the radio into her voice box.
And then, one attempt got so very, very close.
“Alright,” Ruztin gently removed their hands from her neck, “all connected. Say something.”
Pixal folded her hands in her lap, and lifted her head. She had no need to move her mouth, because it came through clear with the gaping hole in her throat.
“Teeeeeee,” a crack, “tiiiiiiestiiiiiiii,” A snap of static, “ooooonnnnne tooooooo reeeee!”
It wasn’t good. It wasn’t even okay. But it was one thing: her voice.
She could hear it, ever so faintly. Hear it trying to create words, the infliction of her voice. Her accent, and the slight robotic tang to it.
There she was. It was her voice. It was in there—she was there.
“Alright, well,” Ruztin shrugged, not noticing her as they began writing down their notes, “its progress! Gosh, it’s kinda weird hearing you almost say a word. Okay, so, we’re getting closer—X?”
Pixal just stared at Ruztin’s concerned face. Her hand was over her neck, and she stared off. She wasn’t even smiling—perhaps her processors hadn’t connected to it yet, with every emotion swirling through her.
There was a piece of her still in there. She…didn’t realize how much she missed it.
“Are,” Ruztin frantically set down the pencil, “X, you’re leaking, is that normal?”
Nindroids did not have tears, were not built with it. She didn’t know if Zane was originally, but he wasn’t anymore, and neither was she. It caused too many problems for a simple action Borg likely hoped she’d never have to feel, however impossible such a wish was.
However, sometimes, the fluid pumps kicked into overdrive. Sometimes, they leaked. And Pixal was so very, very broken.
There was the tiniest trickle of fluid dropping down her neck, from somewhere in her head, hidden behind wires. It wasn’t dangerous, she was built quite water-proof and she’d only further ensured that remained true, but oh…Pixal thought crying might not be such a bad thing. It could still be done in joy, after all.
She tried to laugh, like the kind a broken person would do. It came out as a disjointed, unpleasant noise, and she didn’t even care. She clutched at where the fluid fell, over her voice, and her smile split wide—as haunting as it was, when she had no face. It was just gears moving, trying to contort her face to mimic what a smile would look like.
It was more than just code that had her smiling without even thinking about it. A nindroid was no different than anyone else.
“Is this…are you okay?” Ruztin hesitantly hovered their hands around her.
And she nodded, quick and jerky, hoping Ruztin wouldn’t realize what the fluids were for. But she took their hand quickly, and they startled. She rested her elbow on the table, and she drew their hand up, closing her eyes as she pressed it to their forehead, smiling and giggling through static.
Slowly, very slowly, Ruztin’s other hand lay on her shoulder, and it squeezed. She had the tiniest bit of active sensors to know the feeling.
What a glorious thing, to be so sure in the fact of being alive.
Every new attempt got them closer. Each ‘nearly there’ spurred them on, and Pixal hadn’t been so ecstatic for repairs in quite a while. She even let herself recharge one night, taking a break from the suit, because she noticed herself drooping when Ruztin was trying to work.
“Is this the one?” Charble asked from where he leaned on the doorway one day, reading a book. He’d asked this twice before.
“Time to find out,” Ruzin leaned back. “All you, X.”
Pixal sat up straight, experimentally ‘clearing’ her throat. It came out like someone speaking too close to a microphone (though luckily not as loud), so not perfect, but it was something.
“Hhhharrg,” Came out, and she tried clearing her throat again, sending a quick glare in response to Charble’s snort. “Heeeeeeeek looooowwww. Helllllllkkoooo.”
“Hello,” Ruztin grinned all the same, “you’re saying ‘hello’.”
Pixal smiled. Just one attempt before, they couldn’t even guess what she was trying to say. They were getting somewhere.
“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” Charble teased.
Pixal narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. Then she lightly thumped herself on the chest, feeling her voice box shift a little with it.
“Ooooooo beeee a aaassssssuull,” She got out, “ssoommmmeewheeeeeee ellllsee.”
“I think she’s insulting you.” Ruztin cracked a smile.
“Hm,” Charble lifted his head, looking down his nose, “you know, I always thought this, but now I just know it's true. Somehow, you picked up the meanest, biggest pain-in-the-ass of a robot in all the realms. How lucky we are.”
Pixal flipped him off, since he’d clearly understand that. Ruztin barked out a loud, cackling laugh, and Charble just grinned in a smug, infuriatingly taunting way.
“Right back at cha, prick.” Charble said, returning the gesture.
The giggle that came from Pixal’s voice box was a distorted one. But, for once, she thought they could really tell what it was trying to be.
“Alright,” Ruztin yawned, leaning on the table, “okay, try, try now.”
“Go eat dinner, Rusty.” Charble called from way off into the living room. “Maybe take a nap.”
“Just, just after this one.” Ruztin mumbled, eyes crossing a little. “Just this one.”
Pixal raised a brow, looking towards the door, then back at Ruztin. She silently took the screwdriver from their hand and brought a hand up to her throat, feeling for the screw she knew was loose. She had to tilt her head further back, they’d put her face plate back on, since the current repairs were minor and didn’t need more than her neck plating to be removed now.
“To the left,” Ruztin mumbled, and Pixal moved accordingly, felt the screw, then tightened it together. Her system pinged as it synced up with the box, “okay, go…say somethin’.”
“Rusty,” Charble’s voice came warningly again, “I made the sacrifice to cook and everything.”
“It just has to be heated up.” Ruztin’s voice was a bit high, slumping their face into their hand. “S’fine.”
Pixal sighed, standing up and taking Ruztin by the arm. They weakly protested, but she had zero trouble promptly dragging them to the door.
They complained, wings lopsided and dragging on the ground. Charble looked over the couch and snorted at the sight of them as they passed. Pixal just gave him a pained expression until she dumped Ruztin in a chair at the counter through the doorway.
“Neither of you are m’bloody mother.” Ruztin complained. “You—you’re all better than her, for…for one.”
Pixal opened the old fridge with the light that never worked and was always just a little too warm. She got the tupperware of food out, apparently Charble was a decent cook for Ruztin’s palette, then popped off the lid and put it in the old microwave that was never warm enough.
“X, come on,” Ruztin groaned, “you don’t…gotta. I can do it.”
“Can you?” Charble’s taunting voice came.
“I can!” Ruztin complained, slouching in their chair as Pixal ignored them, punching in the numbers for a minute. “I can, I got it. I can do it. I can…I got it. X, come on. S’just…I’m fine.”
“Oh, shut up.” Pixal huffed, pressing start.
Crash!
Pixal jumped, spinning around.
Ruztin was on the floor in a heap, wings splayed out at awkward angles. But their head snapped up in a flash, beak open and eyes saucer-wide.
Charble, she noted belatedly, had appeared in the doorway, his own eyes wider than she ever thought they could go, looking at her like she had just blown to smithereens.
She hastily looked over her shoulder, but nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be there. It all looked like the same dirty kitchen as always.
“Am I too tired?” Ruztin croaked, sounding much more awake when she turned back around, “Charble, am I too tired?”
“I don’t think you are.” Charble murmured, something contemplative as he took one step into the kitchen. “Was that you, X?”
Pixal frowned, head turning. She wondered, “Was what—”
Her hand flew to her neck.
That was her.
She stared at Charble. At Ruztin. They stared back at her.
“You can talk.” Ruztin got out. Then they tried to jump to their talons so fast they nearly hit their head on the counter. “It worked!”
“I’ll be damned.” Charble hummed.
“I…yes,” Pixal said, very slowly, and she felt the words reverberate in her neck. She stared off at nothing at all, “it…works.”
It wasn’t quite right. There was too much static in how she spoke, letters clipping together, like trying to talk through an old-school telephone with a few too many filters.
But by the First Spinjitsu Master, she could speak. She could hear it.
“Say something!” Ruztin grabbed at her arms, and for once, she didn’t stop them. “Any–anything! Anything at all!”
“The first thing she said was tellin’ you to shut your trap.” Charble said, and he was grinning. “Ain’t that just beautiful?”
“Shut up yourself,” Ruztin didn’t even turn around, “anything, something! Oh, you sound nothing like how I imagined!” They laughed wildly.
A loud beeping came. Pixal jerked, remembering the microwave. She huffed out a breath (and how did she not realize her sigh from earlier, that it had been audible?) and opened the microwave in one smooth movement. She didn’t even bother bringing out the food.
“It’s not quite complete.” She said, gently testing out each word, and she as also smiling much too wide. Or perhaps it was the right amount, given the circumstances.
Ruztin made an excited squealing noise, letting her go to pump their fists in the air and do an odd dance around the kitchen. Charble just laughed, leaning on the wall, as if he wasn’t giddy himself. Pixal even saw Morel appear out of a crack in the wall, dropping down to skitter over the counter.
“You sound good,” Charble nodded to her. “Well, better than all your other attempts.”
“You sound beautiful, yes!” Ruztin practically yelled to the high heavens, both fists raised and head tilted back. “Oh, I have peaked!”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Pixal couldn’t help saying—her own voice had never sounded more melodic. “I was hoping you could accomplish much grander things than this, what with your potential.”
“Nothing will ever feel as good as this.” Ruztin’s grin was manic, possibly with sleep, but also just with the situation at large. “Except for when I got my wing prosthetic to work, maybe, but it's a very close second!”
Morel squeaked, and Pixal looked down to see he had come up to her. She offered a hand for him to crawl on, and he hopped up on it. She lifted her hand to be eye-level, and though she smiled, she said: “I apologize for holding you hostage.”
Morel may not have understood what she was saying, but he squeaked with delight, possibly just to copy everyone else. He rubbed his face into her hand, then scrambled up her arm. She blocked him from getting on her neck, but he settled on her shoulder, and…she dropped her hand. She trusted he wouldn’t go into any wires.
“Oh, of course that's who you apologize too first.” Charble snorted.
“I also apologize for the assault.” Pixal dipped her head politely. “Though I imagine you can gather why I would do such a thing.”
“Oh, you sound so wonderful.” Ruztin clearly hadn’t gotten over it, hands stretched out and in excited awe. “You incredible work of machinery!”
“They’re having a moment,” Charble brushed Ruztin off. “I’m frankly disappointed you sound so…proper. Don’t tell me you’re rich, I can’t handle it.”
“If you are, I would love a donation, but not the point!” Ruztin snapped up back to their full height. “Welcome to the speaking world, X! It is a delight to have you!”
“Hm,” Pixal tilted her head, then curled her mouth up at the edges, “Pixal.”
“Huh?” Ruztin was still grinning.
“X is not my name, actually.” She said simply. “It was simply easier that way.”
“Oh,” Ruztin blinked, “oh, fair enough. Sorry, um, repeat that?”
“Flixel?” Charble leaned forward.
Pixal rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t be anything except delighted. For once—life felt that it was going her way.
“Pixal,” She repeated, stronger, “my name is Pixal.”