When I first talked to you, I knew there was something special

I was just a machine, but you were more than that

You stood for peace and justice

You were something worth fighting for.

~a PIXane tale~

I didn't even realize I had put a hole in the wall.

     I knew it was there, but my fists were numb. Everything was numb.

     The whole one hundredth floor was wrecked from my chaos. My storm. My grief and pain. There were snapped objects, smashed screens, and bits of glass scattered all around the floor. The lights were broken, leaving only the outside's cruel sunlight to illuminate the room.

     It was a mess.

     I was a mess.

     I looked down at my fingers, seeing the fresh dents in the metal among the older scratches. A normal human would be bleeding. A normal human would be bruised and sobbing. But I was a robot. I could do no such things.

     I had been so careful.

     I let no one in to see him. I cleaned the room constantly, even helping him build an antitoxin sprayer for myself whenever I entered. The stale air still smelled like the thirty-two different disinfectants I had sprayed around earlier. Every bit of his food was monitored for germs. I checked his health every day.

     And he still died from the virus.

     He had held onto me in his last moments, telling me I was his greatest creation. He told me he was proud of how far I'd come and told me to finish T.R.E.E. in his wake. He had smiled when the virus had taken his life. How could he smile when my whole world was falling apart?

     I still hadn't moved the body. It had been approximately two hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirty-three seconds since his heart stopped beating, and I hadn't even called the authorities. To everyone else, Cyrus Borg was still alive and well, working on inventions while staying away from the virus. I didn't have the will to crush that reality.

     Another reminder sounded in my head that if I were normal, I'd be angry. Rage often sprung from grief. It was part of denial, which was the natural first stage coping with loss. Psychology websites read the signs of grief to me inside my head, but all I could feel inside was a deafening hollowness.

     I was an empty shell of a being, not even worth being called a nindroid.

     At least Zane could act normal.

     I had been, and always would be, just a robot.

     My finger danced across different buttons hidden on my sides, gently unlocking my chest panel. Intricate glowing circuitry all connected up the power source that had been gifted to me long ago. In the bottom corner, where no one would suspect a vital part of me to sit, was my memory drive. Mr. Borg had painted it red, so I would 'know not to touch it.' I put the memory out of my mind, shaking as my hands reached to switch if off.

     If I didn't remember, then I couldn't feel the numbness. If I didn't remember, then I'd forget all about feeling less than human. If I didn't remember, then I could live happily like Zane did after his father died.

     Zane.

     Are we compatible now?

     I clattered against the ground as I crumpled into a shaking heap. His kind eyes looked at through the recorded memory, hesitant if I would accept his new form. He wasn't sure if he could do it, and he needed my help to get it right. We had worked together on Zane's body, fixing it so he could live on again. Ninjago needed him. I needed him.

     I couldn't do it. To destroy my memories of Mr. Borg would be to destroy my connection with Zane. I was a stupid, broken machine. Too human to be a robot, too mechanical to be a human. I was an ugly mix of both. A failure. An outcast. The one who's inefficiency to stop the virus ended up killing her father.

     I did the only thing I could think of.

     I called for Zane and let myself collapse.

     It must have been a sight to arrive in the room. It probably looked like a murderer had broken in and taken both of our lives. I know my lights were still flashing (my power had never gone out since Zane gifted me his heart), but my chest panel was open. I was twitching from either nerves or system malfunctions, and Mr. Borg's corpse was starting to add a creative smell to the room. When people finally did show up, I was too paralyzed to care.

     Warning messages flashed in my retinas, informing me there would a be a system reboot soon. My heart was broken, and it was causing literal damage to the circuitry around that area. It was overheating to a dangerous degree. I didn't do anything to fix it, because fixing it meant snapping out of the computer in my brain and facing the real world.

     And the real world was the whole reason I was broken in the first place.

     The last thing I saw were Zane's kind eyes performing a maintenance scan as he worriedly tried to wake me up. I could hear his words in the back of my mind as my whole world faded into the chaos of my ruined circuits.

     The next thing I knew was that I wasn't in a body.

     "Zane? Zane!" My voice echoed throughout an area, but I couldn't feel the sensors in brain ordering my mouth to move. I tried to perform a system reboot to see if all my limbs were still intact, only to find I didn't have any limbs at all.

     "It's okay, PIXAL. I'm here," Zane's sweet voice greeted me from beyond the darkness of zeros and ones. There was something behind his gentle tone, however. He sounded stressed.

     "Zane, where am I? Why can't I get my body to comply with my system reboots? What happened to my cameras? Zane, where are you?"

     "My deepest apologies, I did not realize you were not connected to the cameras. I will hook those up in a short amount of time."

     I could hear him rustle around in the noisy room. The beeps coming from a machine somewhere were consistent, almost like a heartbeat. I could tell from the movement sounds that there were other people in the room, but that was about as much as I could gather without sight.

     Suddenly, my internal hard drive sent me the message that I was connected, and the room flickered into view. The first thing I noticed was that I had a bird's eye view of it. Wires had been unhooked from various devices on the walls and plugged into the table in the center. Several white-coated scientists were wearing welding masks as they operated on a badly severed figure sitting on the table (though at least one had looked up to see where the disembodied voice was coming from). Zane looked up at my camera, his face tilting as he tried to figure out whether I was connected or not.

     "Zane, where am I?"

     He stepped closer, rubbing his arms self-consciously. "How much do you remember?"

     I didn't want to think about that. The last thing I could recall before my body's eye cameras shut down was his face as he tried to snap me out of my system failures. And that was right after Mr. Borg—

     I attempted to make a sobbing sound, but the speakers made a noise closer to a groan.

     "My deepest condolences, PIXAL. Loss is inevitable, but that does not make it any less hard." I could see Zane reach up to touch the camera's sides. I couldn't feel his cold hands, but I could feel my excited systems calming down at the mere thought of his loving gestures. "Your reaction to the death was not at all normal. You started overheating in your power source—heart—and the danger of it completely shut you down. The problem escalated quite quickly; you set yourself on fire. I was able to save your hard drive, and I am mostly certain your power source also came out of the incident intact. Your body, on the other hand, suffered a great deal of damage. I've had a team of Mr. Borg's top technical engineers working on it for the past hours."

     "My body is... destroyed?"

     "Mostly."

     "Zane, why am I losing everything? Will your power source fail next and my hard drive be forever lost?"

     "Don't be hopeless. We'll have it fixed soon."

     "But you can't fix Mr. Borg." A sob choked my words.

    Zane's voice trailed off. My vision went black again, and then I was transported to a different set of eyes.

     Come with me. Zane's internal microphone chimed as he excused himself from the small room. I could see his thoughts rolling around, his actions and internal systems lining up. I had lived in Zane's brain before. It was a pleasant place. He liked to look at the world with both logic and wonder, which was an interesting way for me to learn human emotion. Still, I already missed the sensation of walking alongside him as we traded private messages through our brains.

     However, Zane's brain was far from pleasant at the moment. I could sense a heavy cloud of something covering up most of his senses. It took me a second to realize I was seeing his grief.

     He walked down several of Borg Industries' hallways, avoiding any and every employee who tried to approach him. I could see their pity towards his condition. A couple employees had stopped to blow their noses as tears dribbled down their cheeks. A few of the younger ones were hysterically crying as the older ones warily offered them handkerchiefs. There weren't as many employees as usual walking down the halls; our numbers had been rapidly decreasing as the virus got worse. Everyone knew it didn't spread easily, but that didn't stop their fear of catching it.

     Zane's internal cloud worsened as he cleared his identity with a few security officers and was allowed into Mr. Borg's study. The walls were still battered. Circuits were still scattered in all of their torn-up glory across the room, though I noticed they had been moved to the tables. The floor had been scrubbed clean; I could hear Zane note that the whole room had been thoroughly disinfected.

     He stopped, slowly taking it in.

     I loved him like a father, and I know you loved him even more. It still... doesn't exactly feel real that he's... he's gone.

     I felt Zane's tear receptors fill.

     "What am I going to do now?" I asked. The question felt so childish, but I had always had Mr. Borg in my life. He had built me from scratch, being there when I first opened my eyes, being there when we debugged my system for the first time, being there whenever I questioned my humanity. Imagining a life without him there was like trying to imagine a life without functioning senses.

     Well, to start, Mr. Borg's will stated you would take ownership of all of his property as you are his only heir. That would mean you are officially the new owner of Borg Industries.

     "I-I..."

     I guess that would be your biggest social priority, seeing as we haven't had any villainous factions go after Ninjago in a while. I'll keep a lookout to see if any minor crime bosses appear. As for your mental priorities, well, I'm here if you need me for anything.

     He had started to pace the room as he talked, his hands gently running over the inventions. I felt both his and my insides lurch when he found T.R.E.E. sitting intact in the chaos.

     T.R.E.E. was a side project Mr. Borg, Zane, and I had been working on. Zane's friends had been settling down and raising families, yet Zane and I couldn't dream of being like them since we were not humans. Mr. Borg had suggested we build a child to raise as our own, and we had spent the next year trying to fashion another nindroid.

     T.R.E.E. was what we had named the project. It was not done with being built, seeing as no matter how hard Zane and I tried, it wouldn't say anything other than, "I am T.R.E.E, a Toggling Receptive Exceptional Entity." The limbs still needed a bit of work to cooperate fully, and Mr. Borg had been spending most of his quarantined days trying to figure out how to recreate Zane's infinite power source.

     Now Mr. Borg was gone, and the project was left unfinished.

     Two weeks later, I had piles and piles of work unloaded onto my newly refurbished schedule as head of Borg Industries. Zane had kept true to his word; my body had been repaired within the day it broke. I had spent most of my time trying to console the frantic investors of Borg Industries that just because Mr. Borg was gone didn't mean the company was going to collapse. They were also all over the engineering facilities for updates on the antidote-in-progress to the virus. Zane helped me through the paperwork whenever he could and ardently defended me from any protests that were against a 'robot' being the owner of such a big corporation.

     As my work started to calm down into a comfortable load, Zane drifted over to his main surgical job at the hospital a block down the street. Since there weren't a lot of villains to face lately, the Ninja had been branching out on their careers. Zane confided to me that he enjoyed working in the medical field, as it was a job devoted to helping others. He was the one who had taught me how to check on Mr. Borg and make sure his health didn't fail. He was also one of the lead engineers trying to develop an antidote to the virus, but that was mostly confidential information.

     The virus continued to rampage across Ninjago as the months dragged on, but at this point my fear towards it dimmed into nonchalance. Neither Zane nor I could catch it. Like all viruses, it would spike and fall. People would die; that was inevitable. I would still make sure my staff was protected, but I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it anymore. What did I have left to lose?

     PIXAL. PIXAL, do you read me? Zane's text message popped up on my visual interface as I signed checks for the employees.

     I'm here.

     I need you to bring T.R.E.E. to Surgical Room #76 on the fourth floor. We are quickly losing the patient and need cybernetic help to save her.

     T.R.E.E?

     It's the only piece of machinery we have almost fully operational right now. Please, PIXAL, she doesn't have much time.

     I'm coming.

     Thank you, PIXAL.

     I got up from my chair, sadly picking up the work in progress.

     "I am T.R.E.E, a Toggling Receptive Exceptional Entity."

     "I know," I sighed, slinging the nindroid over my shoulder and rushing to the elevator.

     After nearly getting into a fistfight with the hospital's security over where I was allowed to go, I finally made it to Zane's room. Androids were spraying the outside area with different chemicals and doctors were avoiding the door like the plague—that could only mean one thing. I burst through the door as quickly as I could, much to the horror of everyone around me. The virus had a fifty percent killing rate, and there was no way Zane could possibly save someone with cybernetic attachments.

     I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my boyfriend hunched over a small girl. Her curly hair had been burned off, leaving only random chunks of it across her scarred skull. She was missing several appendages, and I could clearly see the virus' puss scattered across her dark skin.

     The whole room stank of rotting flesh.

     "Thank you so much, PIXAL," Zane gently lifted T.R.E.E. from my arms. "I know we wanted to make it a nindroid, but this girl needs the parts."

     "You can't stop the virus with technology!"

     "The virus is not the thing that is killing her," Zane started to dismantle T.R.E.E.'s right arm. "I've injected her with the newest batch of the antidote we've been working on, and so far, her vitals have been battling it off pretty well. The other injuries came from an incident with her parents. They were trying to rush her to the hospital and got into an automobile accident. We have already lost the parents because of our lack of immediate mechanical solutions. We cannot lose her as well."

     "What does she need?"

     Zane gestured for me to come closer. The girl's chest had been sliced open for surgery, and what I saw would have made normal human heave.

     "She is having heart failures as we speak. She needs T.R.E.E.'s power system to help keep her alive."

     "She's... the surgery... I'm no professional..."

     "PIXAL," Zane's voice was calming, like watching fresh snow fall from the sky. "I just need you to help me dismantle T.R.E.E. I will take care of the rest."

     I nodded, blocking the girl out of my head as Zane began his operation. He worked very fast and carefully, using his elemental power to help silence and numb his modifications. I felt months of hard work slip away with each part of T.R.E.E. I unlatched, but I tried to remind myself this was for the greater good. Zane and I could make another T.R.E.E. We couldn't make another human girl.

     By the time Zane led me out of the room, I felt ready to break down again.

     I know how hard it was for you to do that, but I wanted to thank you. You've always been selfless.

     T.R.E.E. was going to be our child. I wanted to sob, but Mr. Borg never installed tear ducts into my eyes. It was another reminder that I was nothing more than his little robot. And it was our special project with Mr.... with Mr. Borg.

     Zane rubbed circles in my back, messing with my wiry hair. You saved her life. Think of it as avenging Mr. Borg's death by beating the virus.

     She wasn't dying because of the virus.

     She still had it. Technically, you could count it as a win.

     I guess. Zane cradled me as my body shook with what I hoped appeared as sobs. I was sad, and Zane always brought out the more human side of me. A few people gave us strange looks as they passed, but I didn't care about them right now. Zane was here for me. He was all I had left. I had to stay sane, for him and only him.

     The girl's survival started causing legal chaos. Her parents weren't on good terms with their relatives, so no one wanted to take her into custody. Mentions were made at putting her in a foster care system, but the lawyers brought up the very valid point that a half-robot wouldn't be popular in households.

     Zane took me to visit her while she was still recovering. Zane's surgery had worked extremely well, even if he hadn't been able to perform any skin grafting to make the robotics look natural. The girl appeared alive and well, despite half of her face being composed of machinery. She moved her cybernetic limbs with ease and smiled when the Ice Ninja greeted her.

     "How are you doing?"

     "I made it all the way across the room today," she suddenly quieted when she saw me.

     "This is PIXAL. She is like you," Zane crouched down to the girl's level. She shied away from me, backing into Zane for comfort.

     "Hello, I am PIXAL, a Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Lifeform," I kneeled down as well, trying to appear friendly. "What is your name?"

     "I don't know," the girl's voice had a hint of T.R.E.E.'s in it, but the noise was so quiet I could barely hear it. "I don't remember."

     She's lost a bit of her memory in the crash. We're still working on helping her with that. Zane patted her head as he texted me. Her curly hair had been growing back quite nicely; her skin was mostly free of the scabs and puss. "Do not worry, little one, we will find a name for you soon."

     "Have you found my family yet?" I wondered how Zane could even hear the shy girl. I had my audio receptors up to the maximum volume and I could still barely pick up anything she was saying.

     "We will find one soon," Zane repeated as he helped her get situated on the hospital bed. He explained to me that it took the girl a while to warm up to new people, especially since she was self-conscious about her appearance. He also told me the about the struggles the foster care system was having at finding the girl a family to stay with.

     "No one wants a cyborg/possible-virus-carrier in their house. While news of our antidote-in-progress is helping dispel some of the fear, people still are not sure if it will really work against the virus. Our trial on this girl was merely that: a trial. I suspect her youth played a big part in the trial's success. It still might be a while before we can mass produce a proper antidote. The legal assistants need to find this girl a family, however, because she still has quite a few more years until she is not underage." He led me down the steps, stopping as his systems whirled with an idea. "PIXAL, I had an inquiry for you."

     "What would that be?"

     "We could never get T.R.E.E. to work, yet we still persisted because we wanted a child."

     "Zane—"

     "We should take custody of this girl."

     I suddenly felt very small. The idea had not occurred to be, and Zane bringing up so casually made me suspicious. It was almost like he'd been considering this for a while. How do you reckon we raise a girl? I asked. I have no idea how to be a parent.

     We're the most compatible options. She needs to learn how to accept her nindroid side while also being human. We can all learn together.

     That sounds... nice.

     Images flashed through my head. Zane, the girl, and me all making cookies as it snowed outside. I would show her how to build circuits. Zane would teach her how to use shurikens. We could be an actual family. We could be like Zane's friends, just like I'd always wanted.

      "Zane." He looked at me, his shining blue eyes brimming with hope. He loved me, and he would love this child. We could make this work. We could have a family. It would please Mr. Borg to see us happy and together, and I would be pleased if my late father would be pleased. "I think your inquiry has merit."

     Two months later, Zane and I sat in the adoption center with the newly healed girl, ready to take the first big step together.

     "As the parents of this child, you have the option to name her."

     "How about Cypress?" Zane said, gently taking the girl's hand. "It's a tree that symbolizes mourning. It would make a logical harmony since she was built with T.R.E.E. during a time of death."

     "Mr. Borg would have loved that name." I murmured, offering my hand to the girl. She tentatively took it, offering me a shy smile. I had spent more time getting to know her, and we got along well. She especially liked to hear stories of my time as Samurai X.

      "I like that name," she whispered to me.

      "Well then, do you both agree to take Cypress on as your child?" The officiant asked, pushing the final papers in front of both Zane and I.

     This girl was my last connection to Mr. Borg through T.R.E.E. She was the survivor of the virus, the avenging of my father's death. She was the human in our system of robots, and she was going to be our daughter. We were going to be a family.

     Zane signed the paper with so much care that I realized that it didn't matter if he was made of metal. Zane was able to love, and so was I. Just because I was a robot didn't mean I was worthless. I could choose to be more human if I wanted. I could choose to be a loving mother.

     Smiling, I signed the paper, finally quieting the psychological websites blasting how to feel emotions in my head.

     I had a new family now, and together we would make it through this virus.

Finis.