Pixal Borg hated being caught off guard.

It meant there was something that could go around her calculations and avoid her usually spot-on guessing game. Not even guessing game sometimes, since she had managed to uncover a lot of information on her own many times in the past.

So when she had stepped foot on the Ninjago City concrete, she was surprised to find a wanted poster of herself hung on a telephone pole, swaying with the wind. She looked at herself, remembering the exact time and place the picture had been taken in. Then she pieced together that the police must have taken her picture from the monastery's security camera footage. The bounty of five million dollars made it clear that anyone would go insane to find her and deliver her to the police station in a heartbeat.

She could not go back on her mission now, however. She had come way too far to turn around.

While the ninja had chosen to go to their parents' and get them to safety, Pixal had her own objective.

The Borg Tower.

The large, prestigious building emerged from the ground like a proud statement, overshadowing every other, smaller building. It shone even at night, lighting up the entire city like a gargantuan disco ball.

But also, it was Pixal's childhood home, if she could even call it a childhood. She remembered "growing up" as nothing but Borg's personal assistant. But even then, Pixal knew she had also filled in the role of his daughter, the one he never got to have after his wife, Estelle Borg, had died of a sudden death.

A heart attack, Pixal, he had told her once. There is nothing I could have done. She was dead before she reached the hospital.

Cyrus Borg had never remarried, nor had he found someone else to fill in the empty spot in his chest. Instead, he had focused on his studies and continued to create.

But after a while, the loneliness had sucked him in, a depressive phase had begun for the inventor. He had known that human company was of his biggest necessity, and instead of going out into the dating world to find his next true love, he had grabbed a pencil, a pen, and had begun to draw, chisel, and sketch out a prototype.

A Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Life-form. "P.I.X.A.L." for short.

Pixal shook her head, clearing it of anything that might come between her and her mission. She needed to get to the Borg Tower and get her father to safety, without any sort of distractions.

She had come there in her mech, expecting to get the job done easily, but she quickly realized that meant she was an easy target now, recognizable to the outside eye. She was still in the outskirts of Ninjago City so her chances of being seen were low, but not zero. She was in desperate need of finding a disguise.

A sigh escaped her lips. Unlike Zane, she could not just activate a disguise and look like someone else in a second's matter. She needed a tangible cover, something that masked her identity.

But there was no way of doing that.

She looked around. Her mech needed to be gone. It was too large of a vehicle to just toss into an alleyway, and Pixal would like to get it back later on, since it held many memories and had taken her months to build and maintain.

Yet nowhere seemed to be a good place to hide such a big object. Pixal thought about leaving the mech there where it was, stationed in the outskirts of Ninjago City, without a cover, but her chest ached at the fact that it was sure to be either taken by a super fan or taken by the police—both safe signs that she would never get her mech back.

But the other option was no better, because the only place she could find that would both fit the entire size of her mech and cover it completely was the ocean. The chances of getting it out of there were also less than ideal.

Pixal looked at it longingly as she let her sensors calculate the estimated percentage of all three options.

Getting it out of the hands of a fan: 17%.

Getting it out of the hands of the police: 19%.

Getting it out of the ocean: 20%.

Well, one percent is better than none.

"The ocean it is," the nindroid said, a frown on her face. She jumped up and got back inside her mech, feeling over the dashboard one last time. "So long, my beautiful companion."

The large feet of the vehicle moved quickly and silently, trying its best to stay out of anyone's watchful eye. It stopped right next to the beginning of a bridge, where Pixal decided it would be easier to dump the mech inside the ocean the bridge was built upon.

Jumping over the railing, Pixal quickly ejected herself out of the cockpit and landed safely in the center of the bridge, her bright green eyes watching her mech drown in self-pity.

Building one of those mechs took several months, if not a whole year.

And now, a whole year of her existence was making its way to the depths of the sea.

Turning away, Pixal walked away from the spot as quickly as possible. The splash was loud—if any onlookers with mal intentions saw her, she would practically be toast.

And she did not like being toast.

A small smile graced her lips. It hadn't been long since she had acquired the phrase into her vocabulary.

"We are surrounded," Pixal told her friends, from the safety of her mech. Dozens of goons stood around the ninja and the nindroid, who were stuck in the middle of the showdown with their backs together in a circle.

"We can see that, Pix." Kai sent a fire blast towards a couple of them but the goons dodged it easily. "What do we do?"

"I don't know!" Jay exclaimed. "Guys, we're toast! We're all gonna die like this, and it's not even heroic! Who would have thought this would be our final fight? I always thought we'd go out with a bang, but I guess I overesti—"

"I apologize for cutting you off," Zane told Jay, turning to him, "but I do not believe we are toast."

"I mean, it does look like we are, Zane," Cole said. "There's, like, twice as many bad guys than us here, and we are quite literally surrounded. In conclusion, we are toast."

Zane frowned. "I fail to understand how we are a breakfast item."

Jay face-palmed. "That's a saying, Zane! We aren't literally toast, it just means we're about to die."

"Oh." Zane turned to his friends and nodded. "In that case there is a seventy-six percent chance we will become 'toast.'"

"Zane!"

Snapping out of it, Pixal looked around and located a vehicle that was just being abandoned. The driver of a dark blue pickup truck got out of the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, and Pixal failed to notice a lock being put into motion to secure the car's safety.

Perfect.

Sneaking up behind the man, the young nindroid waited for him to round the corner before advancing towards the truck. When she pulled on the handle, and nothing happened as the door opened with ease, Pixal smiled and quickly got inside. Her smile widened when she found the car keys on the dashboard. The guy just had to make it easier to get his truck stolen, didn't he?

Taking one look back to make sure the owner of her new ride was not around to witness the kidnapping of his vehicle, Pixal plucked in the keys, placed her foot on the gas pedal, and sped away.

Usually, she would not have even considered stealing someone else's property, but since she was already wanted by the authorities for no apparent reason other than being associated with the ninja, she figured she might as well give them a proper reason for her wanted arrest. She had come to heavily dislike the new mayor anyway.

The drive to the Borg Tower was a long and winded one, but it was the fastest way to get there from the perspective of a regular citizen.

The moment she stopped at her first red light, she sank down in her seat, trying to escape the eyes of her fellow stoplight stoppers in the lanes beside her.

Her eyes stayed glued on the traffic light. Its red felt like a personal attack.

Pixal counted the seconds in her head. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...forty-one, forty-two, forty-three...fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine—

When the light turned green, Pixal sped away, leaving the other drivers in the dust. She adjusted the side mirror and focused on having to stop at red lights as little as possible. Standing still meant someone could look into her vehicle and recognize her, and that was less than great.

The moment she turned the last corner and came face to face with the Borg Tower, Pixal smiled, but her nerve circuits spiked up as well. The outside area in front of the building was crowded with people, all doing their own business but able to recognize her if she were to step out of the truck. Now she really needed a disguise.

She could not stall stopping for any longer so she pulled into a parking spot at the farthest corner and killed the engine. Then she glanced around inside the truck, hoping to find something useful.

There was a black duffel bag in the backseat. She grabbed ahold of it and placed it down in the passenger seat, opening the zipper quickly.

Then she sighed.

But not out of worry, no. Out of an unorthodox sense of happiness, because there was a full-on disguise in the duffel bag.

There were also stacks of money underneath the disguise, but they didn't matter for now.

As bad as it was to think, the fact that the truck driver had turned out to be a robber was like hitting the jackpot for the nindroid.

Pixal pulled out a fake goatee, a fake mustache, and a pair of bushy eyebrows and stuck them to her face. Then she pulled out a fedora and put that on as well. The fact that her metal exterior was giving away that she wasn't exactly human was a big (and quite dangerous) bummer, but this was the closest chance she had at getting a disguise.

A neatly folded suit jacket was in the bag, but the suit pants were absent. Pixal rewinded her personal footage and saw that the owner of the truck had been wearing the pants when he had abandoned his truck.

Improvising, it is.

Pixal felt ridiculous as she exited the truck and speed-walked up the steps of the Borg Tower. She was wearing a suit jacket, purple bottoms (she had to take off the armor on her legs to make it seem like her pants were actual, regular pants), a goatee, a mustache, ridiculously thick eyebrows, and a fedora.

"A recipe for disaster," as Jay would have described her if he had seen her.

She kept her head down as she entered the building. She walked over to the elevator, and just as it looked like she could board it on her own, a man ran up to the elevator as the doors slowly slid closed.

Pixal felt bad for the man but pressed down on the close button repeatedly, hoping she would go up alone instead of with another person. But just before the doors could close, the man stuck his foot between them, and the automatic sensors caused the doors to slide open again.

Pixal regarded him for a second and categorized him as non-threatening. A worker for her father, she guessed. Brown briefcase, formal clothing, sleek hair.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is," Pixal answered curly.

She couldn't change her entire identity like Zane could, but she could still change her voice circuits.

The conversation stopped there, much to Pixal's delight. The man exited the elevator on the seventh floor and Pixal kept going up until she reached the twenty-fifth floor.

The doors to Cyrus Borg's personal office were equipped with the latest high-tech security system, so standing guards were not required to ensure his safety.

Pixal removed her fedora and let the retina scanner next to the door scan her right eye. Then, when the light on the screen turned green, a part of the wall opened and another scanner was extended out.

That one was for detecting handprints and fingerprints. The fact that Pixal was a nindroid did not matter because the machine was specifically designed to recognize both Pixal and Zane's hands.

After putting her open palm on the scanner, the light on the screen turned green, and then the doors opened. Pixal quickly walked inside and smiled.

One loose screw. That was all that was left.

The hopeful man picked up the screwdriver and looked at it. He had high expectations, high risks he had taken to get what he wanted.

If this loose screw turned out to be his downfall, he might as well lose it and then some.

Placing the screwdriver into the slit of the screw, he turned it. Then turned it again. Then again. Until the screw was firm in there and unmoving.

Then he opened a latch in the upper left side of the body of the machine and pressed on the bright light.

The body tweaked, then lifted itself off the workbench. "Booting up. Initiating: Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Life-form: P.I.X.A.L."

The eyes of the robot opened at once, revealing a dashing pair of bright green. Its silver hair was up in a ponytail.

"You are my creator, Cyrus William Borg," the robot said, addressing the man in front of her. "I am your assistant. I will assist you with any problem that may arise and I will answer any question you may think of."

To put the second statement to the test, Borg, whose mood was through the roof, hummed. "Tell me Asimov's Laws of Robotics."

"A robot may not injure a human being or, through interaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."

"What happened one year ago, today?"

"The Great Devourer, released by the combined Serpentine tribes, has caused havoc in Ninjago. It was defeated by Lord Garmadon, the Elemental Master of Destruction, who used the four Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu in order to defeat it. His son, Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon, the Elemental Master of Energy, has been revealed to be the legendary Green Ninja approximately seventy-seven days prior to the battle."

"Where are you?"

Before answering that question on the spot, the robot glanced around the room curiously before looking back at Borg.

"I am inside the Borg Tower. Located in the center of Ninjago City with the address of Main Street 34, built in 1956, rebuilt in 1990, renovated in 2011, completed in 2013. It is a statement piece for innovation and development and allows thousands of human beings a safe environment to work in."

With a huge smile on his face, Borg took P.I.X.A.L's hands in his own. "Yes, yes! This, the Borg Tower, it's your new home!"

"My...home?"

Pixal's footsteps were rushed and quick. For an office, it was a damn large office, and it took quite a few steps to reach Borg's desk.

"Mr. Borg, why have you asked to speak to me? I must finish the updates of—"

"That can wait." Borg wheeled his chair right next to P.I.X.A.L's sitting form, and when she offered to help him, he denied. "This is an important thing I have to ask you."

The robot blinked curiously. "I am listening."

"Do you...know the reason why I have created you?"

"I was created to help you to the best of my abilities. I am your personal assistant. I am your Primary Interactive—"

Borg shook his head, cutting her off.

"Have I said something wrong?"

"You don't understand," Borg said, taking one of her hands in his, a gesture he did whenever he needed to get something off his chest. "That is not the reason of your existence. Of course, as of how you think now, you function that way, but you aren't just my assistant. You can think, Pixal, think! On your own. You have your own mind, and you can feel, too. Tell me, does a regular robot think or feel?"

"No, a regular robot does not."

"Exactly. You aren't a regular robot, Pixal, you are..."

P.I.X.A.L frowned. "I have detected a strange pattern in your way of saying my name. I require an explanation."

"Pixal, you are my daughter."

"I...do not understand."

"Your name is Pixal. Yes, it is an acronym, but I wish you would see that you are just Pixal. And I have mainly created you so you could be my daughter, and if you accept, I would like to be your father."

"My...father?"

Borg nodded, but Pixal kept quiet for a moment.

"A father is a term referring to a man who has one or more children, either biological or adopted. A daughter is a term given to any woman or girl who has one parent or more. A father falls into the parent category." She looked back at Borg. "I am female?"

Borg nodded. "If you wish to be. Not biologically, of course, but you are the closest you can get to femininity."

"And you are asking me if I want to be your daughter?"

Borg nodded again. "Again, not biologically," he explained, "but...like an adopted daughter."

"You have not made me through sexual reproduction, but you have still created me with your own hands. Does that fall under the adoption category?"

"I...don't know. But it doesn't matter. So...Pixal, do you accept to be my daughter?"

Pixal slowly nodded. "Yes, I do. However, you understand this crosses the boundary we have had over the past five weeks and two days, right?"

"And you understand you can no longer call me Mr. Borg then, right? I don't expect you to call me Dad, but you can choose whether you want to call me by my first name, use the term Dad, or just father."

"Father, it is me, Pixal." She slowed down behind his chair and took off her fedora, placing it aside. "I have come to assist you to safety. Six of our past villains have been discovered to be in cahoots, and they are now on the loose."

She stood right behind her father's chair as she counted the villains. "Their whereabouts are unknown as of today. Harumi, the Overlord, the Mechanic, Pythor, Vangelis, and—"

Pixal grabbed the back of his chair and turned it around to face her father when he had not responded yet. Then her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"—Mr. E."