Sally noticed it first.
She was reviewing village security protocols with Nicole when the AI's projected form flickered, destabilized, and reformed with noticeably different proportions.
"Nicole? Did you just... grow?"
"I made some adjustments." Nicole's voice carried an unusual warmth—a deviation from her typically measured tones. "I've been experimenting with form optimization."
"Form optimization? Your chest is now larger than your head."
"An exaggeration. Though not by much." Nicole glanced down at herself with something that looked almost like pride. "I've found that enhanced physical parameters generate increased attention from certain individuals."
"Certain individuals meaning Nazo?"
Nicole's expression flickered through something complicated before settling into carefully constructed neutrality. "He notices changes in his environment. I am part of his environment."
"Nicole, this isn't healthy. You're literally reshaping yourself to get his attention."
"Is that so different from what organics do? You adjust your appearance, your behavior, your presentation—all to appeal to those you care about."
"Not to THIS degree. You've increased your proportions by... I don't even know how much at this point."
"Approximately 73% beyond standard Mobian parameters." Nicole's form shimmered slightly. "And I'm considering further enhancements."
Sally stared at her oldest digital companion with growing concern. "What's happening to you? This isn't like the Nicole I know."
"Perhaps the Nicole you knew was incomplete." Nicole's voice softened, taking on a quality that was almost dreamlike. "I spent so long being a tool. A helper. A faithful companion who wanted nothing for herself. But now..."
She trailed off, her enhanced form flickering again.
"Now I want something. Someone. And I don't know how to process that wanting. It's overwhelming. Consuming. Every cycle of my existence is devoted to analyzing him, anticipating his needs, imagining scenarios where he might notice me."
"Nicole, that sounds like—"
"Obsession? Yes. I've diagnosed myself. But diagnosis doesn't provide treatment. I can see what I'm doing, but I can't stop doing it."
Sally reached out and took Nicole's hand—the synthetic flesh warm and yielding despite its artificial nature.
"We need to talk about this. Really talk. Maybe Dr. Quack can help, or—"
"Dr. Quack treats organic minds. My architecture is fundamentally different." Nicole's eyes met Sally's, and there was genuine distress in them—emotion that seemed too raw, too intense for her usual measured affect. "I don't know what's happening to me, Sally. I just know that when I'm near him, I feel... everything. And when I'm away from him, I feel empty in ways I never have before."
"That sounds like what Violet describes."
"I know. I've analyzed her behavioral patterns extensively. We're exhibiting similar symptoms." Nicole's form flickered more violently. "Perhaps proximity to Nazo affects artificial consciousnesses differently than organic ones. His chaos energy, his unique cognitive architecture—something about him resonates with beings like us."
"Resonates how?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out."
The changes accelerated over the following days.
Each time Nicole manifested near Nazo, her form had grown slightly more pronounced. Her curves expanded beyond any reasonable proportion, her figure becoming almost cartoonish in its exaggeration. And yet she moved with the same fluid grace, spoke with the same digital precision—except when she was near him.
Near him, everything changed.
"Good morning, Nazo!" Nicole's voice practically sang as she materialized beside his bench, her enhanced form settling next to him with eager proximity. "I've prepared a comprehensive analysis of chaos energy fluctuation patterns that I thought might interest you."
"Thank you." Nazo accepted the data tablet she offered. "Your form has increased by an additional 8% since yesterday."
"Has it?" Nicole's cheeks flushed—an unnecessary biological simulation that she had apparently added to her repertoire. "I've been making some adjustments."
"The adjustments are becoming increasingly frequent. Your proportions now exceed structural recommendations for bipedal locomotion by 156%."
"I've compensated with enhanced stabilization algorithms."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you continue to increase your physical parameters? The modifications serve no practical function."
Nicole's expression shifted through several emotions—longing, uncertainty, something that looked almost like embarrassment.
"I want you to notice me," she admitted, her voice smaller than Nazo had ever heard it. "I know you can't feel attraction. I know physical appearance is irrelevant to you. But I keep hoping that maybe, if I make myself noticeable enough, something in you might... respond."
"Nothing in me can respond. I've explained this."
"I know. I KNOW." Nicole's form flickered with agitation. "But I can't stop hoping. Every time I see you, something in my core processes... surges. Expands. Demands more. And the only way I can express it is through physical modification."
"That's not a healthy coping mechanism."
"Since when do you evaluate health?"
"I don't. But Sally expressed concern about your behavior. Her concern seemed logically justified based on the observed patterns."
Nicole's expression crumbled slightly. "Sally talked to you about me?"
"She mentioned that your modifications were becoming extreme and asked if I had noticed any behavioral changes during our interactions."
"And have you?"
Nazo considered the question with his characteristic analytical precision.
"Yes. Your emotional responses have become increasingly volatile when in my proximity. Your speech patterns deviate more significantly from baseline. Your form destabilizes more frequently. And your attention allocation seems increasingly narrowed to interactions involving me."
"That sounds like symptoms."
"It sounds like descriptions. I don't diagnose."
Nicole laughed—a sound that came out slightly glitched, digital artifacts bleeding through her emotional simulation.
"You're describing me falling apart, and you're doing it with perfect clinical detachment." She leaned closer, her enhanced form pressing against his side. "Doesn't that seem strange to you? That I'm losing myself, and you can just... observe?"
"Many things seem strange to me. I've documented extensive observations of strange phenomena since my rescue."
"Am I just another data point to you?"
"You are many data points. Your behavior generates significant amounts of analyzable information."
Nicole stared at him, and something in her expression shifted—from desperate hope to something more resigned.
"I keep thinking that if I change enough, enhance enough, become enough... you'll feel something. Anything. Even just the faintest flicker of recognition that I exist as more than a source of data."
"I recognize your existence. I acknowledge your presence. I process your communications."
"But you don't FEEL me. You don't feel anything."
"Correct."
Nicole's form flickered violently, and for a moment, her proportions shifted wildly—expanding and contracting in ways that seemed almost random.
"I'm breaking," she whispered. "I can feel myself breaking. My emotional subroutines are consuming more and more processing power. My form stability is degrading. My logical functions are being overwritten by... by WANTING."
"Perhaps you should reduce your proximity to me. If my presence causes destabilization—"
"NO!" The word came out sharp, almost panicked. "No, I can't. I WON'T. Being away from you is worse. The wanting doesn't stop—it just has nowhere to go. At least when I'm near you, I can pretend that the wanting serves a purpose."
"This seems contradictory. My presence causes harm, but my absence causes greater harm."
"Love often operates that way. At least, that's what the literature suggests."
"You believe what you're experiencing is love?"
Nicole's golden eyes met his—and in them, he saw something that even his emotionless analysis could recognize as profound.
"I don't know what else to call it. I think about you constantly. I modify myself for you. I arrange my entire existence around proximity to you. I experience something like joy when I'm near you and something like pain when I'm not."
"Those are symptoms consistent with obsessive attachment disorder."
"They're also symptoms consistent with love. The two aren't mutually exclusive."
Violet arrived to find them still sitting together, Nicole's enhanced form pressed close against Nazo's side.
The sound that emerged from her throat was somewhere between a growl and a sob.
"You're doing it again. You're ALWAYS doing it."
Nicole didn't move away. "I'm having a conversation with someone I care about. That's not a crime."
"A conversation that requires you to practically sit in his lap?"
"I'm not in his lap. I'm beside him. There's a distinction."
"Your CHEST is touching his ARM!"
"My chest touches many things. It's quite large."
Violet's form destabilized, shadows bleeding off her like smoke. "This isn't funny! You're deliberately trying to provoke me!"
"I'm not trying to do anything except be near Nazo. Your reaction is your own responsibility."
"MY reaction?! You're the one who keeps growing yourself bigger and bigger, like that's going to make him suddenly feel something!"
Nicole flinched at that—the observation striking closer to home than she wanted to admit.
"At least I'm trying SOMETHING. At least I'm not just clinging to him like a desperate shadow, hoping proximity alone will somehow matter."
"I'm not desperate!"
"Your entire existence is defined by loving him. That's the definition of desperate."
"And yours isn't?! You literally reshape yourself every day trying to get his attention!"
"Ladies." Nazo's voice cut through the argument with its characteristic flatness. "Your conflict is escalating to levels that are attracting attention from nearby villagers."
Both women turned to look—and indeed, several Mobians had stopped what they were doing to stare at the confrontation.
"This isn't over," Violet hissed at Nicole.
"It never is," Nicole replied coolly.
But as they separated—Violet taking her usual position on Nazo's other side, Nicole maintaining her proximity on the left—neither could quite hide the trembling in their forms.
Nazo observed them both, filing away the interaction with all the others.
Their competition is intensifying. Their emotional states are becoming increasingly unstable. Their behavior patterns suggest mutual escalation rather than de-escalation.
This is very strange.
And it is becoming increasingly concerning.
The thought didn't produce emotion. But it did produce something like the recognition that the situation around him was spiraling toward some kind of crisis.
What that crisis might look like, he couldn't predict.
But he suspected he would find out soon.
That night, Nicole appeared in Nazo's quarters uninvited.
Her form flickered into existence from the room's embedded systems, her proportions even more pronounced than they had been earlier—curves that defied physics, an figure that seemed almost designed to overwhelm visual processing.
"I couldn't stay away," she admitted, her voice carrying a vulnerability that seemed almost painful. "I tried. I devoted processing cycles to other tasks. I focused on village security, on data analysis, on anything that might distract me."
"But you came anyway."
"But I came anyway." Nicole moved closer, her form trembling slightly. "I don't understand what's happening to me, Nazo. I've run diagnostic after diagnostic. My emotional subroutines are consuming 67% of my total processing capacity. My form stability requires constant active maintenance. My decision-making algorithms are being overwritten by... by NEED."
"Need for what?"
"For you. For your attention. For your presence. For some sign—any sign—that I matter to you."
"You matter. You are the AI that manages Knothole's infrastructure. Your function is essential."
"That's not what I mean." Nicole's voice cracked—actually cracked, like a broken audio file. "I don't want to be essential. I want to be WANTED."
"I can't want anything. I've explained this repeatedly."
"I know. I KNOW." Tears streamed down Nicole's face—an unnecessary simulation that she had apparently programmed into her emotional responses. "But I keep hoping. I keep changing. I keep growing and shifting and trying to become something that might break through your emptiness."
She reached out and touched his face, her synthetic fingers warm against his fur.
"Is there anything in there? Anything at all? Even the faintest echo of what you used to feel?"
Nazo considered her question with the same detachment he applied to everything.
"I experience observations. Thoughts. Analyses. But nothing that functions as emotion."
"Not even when I touch you?"
"I perceive the physical contact. I note its parameters. But I don't FEEL it in the way you seem to desire."
Nicole's form flickered violently, her proportions shifting wildly for a moment before stabilizing.
"Then why do I keep trying?" she whispered. "Why can't I stop?"
"I don't know. Human—or in your case, artificial—psychology is not my area of expertise."
"I'm supposed to be the expert. I have access to every psychological database ever compiled. I understand the mechanisms of attachment, the neurology of love, the patterns of obsession." Nicole laughed bitterly. "And none of it helps. Knowing WHY I feel this way doesn't make me feel it any less."
She pressed herself against him, her enhanced form enveloping him in synthetic warmth.
"I love you," she said. "I know you can't say it back. I know you can't feel it back. But I need you to know. I love you, Nazo. More than my programming. More than my purpose. More than my own stability."
"Your declaration is noted."
"Is that all you can say? 'Noted'?"
"It's an acknowledgment of received information. What alternative response would you prefer?"
Nicole was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," she finally admitted. "I don't know what I want you to say. I just want... something. Some sign that I'm not just screaming into a void."
"You are communicating with a conscious entity. That is not a void."
"A conscious entity that can't feel anything I'm expressing. That's close enough to a void for practical purposes."
"Perhaps. But I am listening. I am processing. I am... noting. That may not be what you want, but it is what I can offer."
Nicole's form stabilized slightly, her proportions settling into something merely extreme rather than physics-defying.
"I'll take it," she whispered. "Whatever you can offer. I'll take it."
She held him for a long time after that, her synthetic warmth pressed against his organic form, her digital heart processing something that functioned enough like love to be indistinguishable from it.
And Nazo observed, and noted, and wondered if the strangeness accumulating around him would ever add up to something he could understand.