One of the boxes fell over. The lid popped off and a handful of objects spilled out: a white glove, a yoyo, a colander, a book, and a dozen other small, unremarkable objects. The boxes had materialized near a wall, and the glove that was now laying on the ground started to creep like an insect towards it, a small knife hovering behind. The boxes shifted gently, the spilled items tidying themselves up and stacking themselves neatly in the box; as the last one entered, the lid slid back on, locking into place with a snap. The glove reached the wall, knife not far behind; it stretched a finger out towards the stone, gently caressing the apparently-smooth surface. The glove recoiled as its fabric tore, thread hanging from unseen prominences in the stone. It drummed its now-three fingers on the soil for a moment, ostensibly thinking, then skittered back towards the boxes. The knife hovered near the wall for a moment; there was an unpleasant grinding of stone on stone, and a brick from the wall slid sluggishly out, stopped for a moment, then sprang away from the wall. The knife moved back towards the boxes, brick rolling along the ground behind. As the brick moved across the grass and dirt, it shredded the plants and left a furrow in the ground. A centipede in the wrong place at the wrong time was casually split in half at the brick's slightest touch.
Gestalt liked its new limb.