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Strange objects had been appearing around the monastery.
They were small, for the most part. Soft and brightly colored. Assuming the shapes of various animals, plants, different foods—even everyday objects—although the proportions and anatomical structures were often exaggerated, simplified, or blatantly incorrect.
(The majority of them had small, happy faces, with a shiny pair of black plastic eyes and a bit of thread in a “v” for a mouth—regardless of whether the subject was an animated life form.)
They consisted mostly of yarn (acrylic—affordable), polyester stuffing, and the facial adornments listed above.
Upon further examination, Zane determined that the objects were products of needlework—crochet, to be exact.
The stitches were often messy and uneven, and he could not recall a single member of the household possessing such a skill.
Where had they come from?
He inspected the objects for transmitters and explosives, but found none. They did not appear to be planted with malicious intent. Yet they multiplied by the week, appearing on shelves and the furniture, smiling mysteriously from every conceivable nook and cranny.
What was their purpose? He couldn't determine it for the life of him.
He decided to ask Jay, after finding a bundle of happy vegetables in the refrigerator and accidentally watering a non-living “houseplant.” He always seemed to know about these sorts of things. And the lightning ninja was usually happy to educate him.
“Purpose?” Jay repeated, making an odd face before it clicked.
“Oh, you mean the little UFOs!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Well, you've come to the right place, my nindroid friend.” He slung a reassuring arm around Zane's shoulder—which was always a bit awkward, with them being respectively the shortest and tallest members of the team—and leaned in close as if to share an exciting secret.
“...They don't have any,” he whispered delightedly.
Zane blinked at him.
Jay laughed. “Sure are cute, though. They’ve got character.” He patted a small blue octopus with stubby tentacles and a couple frayed stitches affectionately on the head.
(Which, technically speaking, was the body, since they kept most of their vital organs in the bulbous mantle—and the beak was supposed to go in the center of the tentacles! Not the front! Was it even an octopus at all?)
“...Guess that kinda is the point,” Jay mused thoughtfully, picking up the (slightly doubtful) cephalopod. “They're just these little…things, that look cute and smile and cheer up your day. They don't have to mean anything big, and it's nice that way. Don't you think?” He looked up at Zane with a smile himself, and those bright blue eyes.
“...I suppose that does make sense,” Zane agreed at last, after reexamining the creation.
It was rather cute, even if the anatomy was completely inaccurate. Perhaps he did not need to scrutinize its purpose for existence so harshly. It could just… be. And that was enough.
A smile tugged at his own metal lips. He could always count on Jay to refresh his perspective. He was so very…human.
…Although he did have some odd habits, nonetheless.
“But why did you refer to them as UFOs?” Zane asked in confusion, looking up at Jay again. “I do not believe they are suitable for flight.”
“Unidentified Fibrous Objects,” Jay quipped cheerily. He'd come prepared.
“...But they are not unidentified,” Zane protested. “They are amigurumi. I just have yet to locate the source.”
“Ah. I see.” Jay nodded, then paused. “...Unclaimed? Unknown origins?” He shook his head. “Ah, well. Good luck with that, buddy, but I gotta go. We Walkers are known for our punctuality, and I've got a reputation to uphold!” He thrust a pointed finger into the air, still holding the blue mollusk with the other four.
(After a moment's hesitation, he tucked it into his pocket.
“...It's my elemental symbol anyway…” he muttered “...And it’s blue… Agh! Who is making these things?! They’re a genius!!!”)
After seeking Jay's counsel on the matter, Zane felt more at peace with the cheerful yarn creations spontaneously generating around the monastery, but was no step closer to determining their creator.
He was almost considering getting a new detective hat and trench coat for the case—since the originals were, sadly, destroyed with the last monastery (though it was really just an excuse to buy new ones)—when a lead practically fell into his lap.
It was Lloyd. Zane had been passing his slightly open door in the hallway, and happened to glance inside.
It was a bit of a habit, admittedly, for him and the rest of the team—just checking to make sure their youngest brother was all right.
He seemed fine. Just… standing there, lost in thought, staring at something in his slightly outstretched arms with a strange expression on his face—somewhere between amused, happy, wistful, and pained.
…On second thought, perhaps Zane should take a closer look.
“Lloyd?” he probed, leaning into the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?” Lloyd startled and blinked. “Oh. Yeah. I'm fine.” He kept staring.
“...What is that?” Zane asked.
“Oh! Nothing,” Lloyd said quickly, hiding the lumpy green object behind his back. Zane’s sensors picked up that the temperature of his face rose slightly. “It's just, uh… it was a gift.”
Ah. He'd always been a little awkward as the recipient of such things. That made sense.
“Oh. Could I see it?” Zane requested politely, curious himself as well as trying to put Lloyd at ease with the practice. There was nothing to be ashamed of about receiving gifts. “If you don't mind, of course.”
“Not at all,” Lloyd mumbled, and sheepishly drew it in front of him, held close to his chest. “I…I think it's a dragon. I kinda like it.”
It did, in fact, resemble a dragon—in that simplified, artistic style of the yarn creatures which Zane was now beginning to appreciate. It had floppy green limbs and large eyes, golden horns. Darker wings, little nostrils. A slightly tilted, slightly awkward smile that reminded him quite a bit of Lloyd himself.
It was larger than the other amigurumi, but the material had the same messy look about it, with uneven stitches and several frayed bits like it had snagged on metal. The mysterious creator had improved much, however, from their earlier attempts, Zane noted. Almost as if those were practice for this.
Lloyd had said that it was a gift. His fingers clutched it tightly, like it meant something more to him than what it was.
“It is a very nice dragon,” Zane agreed, straightening again from where he'd bent down to admire it. “Who gave it to you?”
“It was Pixal,” Lloyd admitted, fondness in his voice. “I didn't know she could make stuff like this. I-I mean, not that I thought she couldn't, or anything—Pix is awesome—I just didn't know that she did.” He played with the tips of the wings, then looked up. “Did you?”
“No, I did not.” Zane blinked, filing away this intriguing new data. “Thank you for informing me.”
“Yeah. It was really nice of her,” Lloyd murmured. He petted the dragon. “Thoughtful.”
Zane observed it, contemplative.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, it was.”
“Pixal?” Zane knocked twice on the door to her room. “Permission to enter?”
“Permission granted!” came the prompt reply. Zane pushed it open.
Pixal's room was in an unusual state.
There was yarn everywhere. Dozens of colorful skeins, sorted by weight and by hue, in clear plastic storage tubs lining the walls with most of the lids popped open. Half-finished projects were strewn across the dresser and the few closed containers—still somehow organised amidst the seeming chaos.
There was a large bag of stuffing propped up against the wall, and a case of shiny black safety eyes on the nightstand, complete with the backings and several different sizes. One of Pixal's old toolkits—now filled with crochet hooks, stitch markers, embroidery floss, and yarn needles—sat on the bed.
Pixal herself, previously absorbed with her project, looked up at Zane and gave a little start in surprise.
“Oh! Just give me a minute—don’t look!” she exclaimed, covering the mass of white and blue yarn with her hands. “You weren't supposed to see that.”
Zane had dutifully shut his eyes with a snap. “Of course. Although… Why would you let me in, if you were not ready?”
“I suppose I got a little… ‘zoned out,’ you might say. I was distracted. My apologies.” A drawer slid open and shut. “There. You may open your eyes now.” Pixal granted his sight with a metal kiss on the cheek and a small spark of static, charged from the fibers. “Oops. Sorry.”
“That's all right.” Zane smiled as he adjusted his optical lenses, her beautiful circuit patterns and green LEDs coming into sharp focus. “I only saw the colors—though I could delete them from my memory database if you wish.”
“Don't,” Pixal scolded lightly, with a tap where his power source once lay. “You know that's not a good habit, Zane.”
“My apologies.”
“Accepted. Now, how can I help you?” she asked, sitting back down as she took up the hook again. It twisted and pulled in and out of a different project—what looked like another member for growing pod of purple toothed whales.
“I believe the query is a bit… redundant at this point,” Zane admitted, with another glance around the room. “But… I believe you are the source of the amigurumi that has been appearing around the monastery?”
“Yes, that is correct.” Pixal nodded to confirm his speculations. The yarn snagged on one of her finger joints. She frowned for just a second, before picking out the frayed thread and carrying on.
“...I was not aware you crocheted,” Zane remarked, mesmerized by the flashing movements of her fingers and the hook. She reached one of the white patches on the whale's face, and switched to a lighter color.
“I…found some extra time on my hands,” she explained. Being a nindroid, Pixal could not blush, but her cooling fans whirred a bit faster. “I thought I'd try out a hobby. I may have gotten a bit…carried away. But if my services are needed elsewhere—” she began hurriedly.
“No, no—you're fine,” Zane assured her, cutting her off. “There is no pressing need at the moment. And…” He smiled fondly. “...It is good to see you doing something that makes you happy.”
“It is rather enjoyable.” Pixal admitted. Her fans whizzed. She changed colors back again, to the darker purple. “...I'd like to make the others happy with it, too.”
“I believe you are successful in that regard as well. Lloyd seems quite taken with your gift.”
Pixal smiled. “He's always like that.”
“I’m just curious. Why crochet?” Zane asked. “It took me a while to understand the meaning of amigurumi myself.”
Her mouth twitched with amusement at his honest words, and she gave a little laugh, though not unkindly. “Oh, that. It's just—machines can't crochet, Zane.” An odd smile crept onto her face. “Only people.”
Her mechanical fingers kept on most decidedly crocheting the yarn with her hook.
“...Oh? Is that so?” Zane echoed, with a tilt of his head. His curiosity had officially been piqued.
(The query could be confirmed or denied online in an instant, but he often preferred the patience of a true conversation.)
“Yes.” Pixal nodded with satisfaction. “Unlike knitting, producing textiles with only one hook requires tremendously complex movements and dexterity, not to mention constant sensory feedback. Modern machines are incapable of meeting such requirements to this day.”
“Ah.” Zane blinked, processing. It was true. “Fascinating.”
“—Except for you and I, of course,” Pixal continued. “And any other nindroids of our design. We are the only mechanical forms able to do so.” There was a hint of pride in her voice.
Zane frowned thoughtfully as he examined his metal fingers, flexing the joints. They were quite advanced.
“But…could not the design of our hands be replicated?” he asked. “The process would be extremely inefficient, of course—but only our sensory capabilities would be necessary. Sapience would not be required for such a machine.”
“That is true.” Pixal hummed in assent, no doubt imagining the contraption. An odd picture, with just a few intricate parts of their bodies, and no life behind it. “But, as of now, it remains in the sphere of human-like beings. People. And I am still the first.” She switched to white yarn again for the whale's belly.
She had made quite a lot of progress, Zane realized. And not just on that one cetacean.
Crochet was not something that had come naturally to her. Pixal’s hands were meticulous and extremely precise, but the nuanced motions of manipulating yarn into knots with a hook were not anything like assembling technology. Even for such complex forms as themselves, it was difficult with mechanical fingers and a limited sense of touch.
The struggle had shown in her earliest attempts. They were frayed from being caught in her metal joints, and the material was uneven in tightness as she’d tried to adjust the proper tension of the yarn.
But she had persisted in the craft, and while these particular difficulties were still evident, they had been greatly reduced. And all of her creatures were quite charming, regardless of when she had produced them. Zane had never known her to be so loose in creative expression before—which was something that had confused him at first, but which he now rather admired.
She was truly an artist, in the pattern of many—and yet the first of her kind.
“Indeed you are,” he agreed. “It is quite the accomplishment.”
Pixal smiled as she sewed the whale closed. It was a small, round, purple-and-white shape fitted with eyes, ready and waiting for fins and a tail.
“Thank you,” she said.
“...Would you be interested in teaching me as well?” Zane asked at length.
“I would be delighted,” came the reply. “You shall be the second.”
Jay screeched to a halt in his tracks when he saw the pair working side by side on the couch.
“Pixal? Zane?! It's you?!? But robots can't crochet!” he exclaimed, bringing his hands to his head like it just might explode. “It’s a technological nightmare! How?!?”
“Nindroids can,” they echoed in unison, then matched each other's smiles as they looked up.
“You guys just stay right there. I'm gonna get my camera!” Jay had already sprinted halfway down the hallway in the direction he’d come from. “This is a day for the history books!” he shouted. “It's a miracle!”
Zane blinked in amusement, fingers tangled with yarn.
“...Well, I suppose someone recognizes our achievement.”
Pixal laughed.
The monastery was successfully overrun with amigurumi.
“...What is the meaning of this?” Wu asked in bewilderment.
Zane stepped forward.
“Do not worry, Master. I can explain.”
It was a difficult concept to grasp, after all.