PROLOGUE

Hello everyone! For those of you who don't know who I am, you might be able to guess sooner or later, because by the power of Grayskull I'm gonna show up sooner or later myself!

Now, Lilo's had a pretty rough life. Her parents dead before she's out of elementary school. Living with her big sister. Almost taken away from said sister, ostracized for a good deal of her life for being weird. Then finally she caught a break: an amazing yet unlikely angel came down: an alien experiment with the title 626.

She renamed him Stitch. She taught him the importance of ohana, and gained an "aunt" and an "uncle". The rest is history.

But things changed greatly since that moment. Stitch found out he had cousins…other experiments. 625 of them to be exact, and that number increased by two with time! Now all of them have a one-true-place of sorts…even though a couple of their one true places are in jail.

Speaking of jail, somebody else is located there…on an intergalactic asteroid prison.

You see, Jumba had been led into creating the experiments by an old childhood friend, college buddy and business partner. An albino alien rodent named Dr. Jacques Hamsterviel. Now the work at first was a joint project between him and Jumba for the first batch…but then Jacques (who had never been the creative type) decided he'd rather pay for Jumba's future equipment and be a funder instead of a "hands-on" evil genius.

So Hammy paid for the experiments, you could say. And Hammy did say. But the thing was, Hammy also happened to be more evil than Jumba. And he tried to steal the experiments back (including 626) by hiring help. He failed time and time again. Ultimately he came up with a plan that involved Jumba altering an experiment…and the end result was Leroy.

Leroy almost destroyed Stitch and the others due to the fact that he had 10,000 clones made (that's one evil bunny!), but ultimately he failed, and he, his clones and Hamsterviel were sent to prison.

But what people don't know is that Hamsterviel's not exactly who you think he is…nor is his story over. For while he's trapped on the asteroid for now, he's got to deal with living amongst his former creations who are quite mad at him for getting them in jail in the first place…

And unlike Jumba, Hammy has no ohana to help him…so whatever steps he needs to take to change the eventual, cruel fate that awaits him at the end of his path…

He'll have to take them alone.

Or at least…that's what they all thought…

DEAR JUMBA...

Hello Jumba. First of all, I wish to say this is...very awkward.

Being stuck in prison is...well...it's not pleasant. At all. It wasn't before pleasant for me when I lost to you and your family, and it isn't better now, six months later.

The worst part of everything is I am surrounded on all sides by reminders of a foolish, stupid, idiotic venture of my own making. By which I mean Leroy.

Yes, Leroy. And yes, if it sounds like I'm sorry, it is because, quite frankly…I am.

I'd talk to you as Rupert, but I'm not...well, not willing. I'm still angry and-

Anyhow, I haven't much more room to write. I'm just grateful that the girl was nice enough to send me some paper...but I can only send one letter per week. So I need to make the most of it.

In any case, the food is not a problem. The beds are alright. But Leroy...Leroy SNORES, he picks and flicks his boogers on the walls, he likes to hog the bathrooms, and worst of all...

WORST of all, there are 10,000 of him and his clones here!...I do not believe I am going to be able to live through this ordeal without help.

Wishing you were here (so I would have someone on my intellectual level to talk to)...

Jacques von Hamsterviel.

DEAR JUMBA...

Once more, hello again, Jumba. It's been a little more than one week since I spoke with you and things have gotten worse.

Firstly, you might be wondering why I waited 6 months before writing to you...why not wait longer, or write sooner?

Well, I DO have pride...okay, not really, but I was sulking and waiting, and I'm trying to salvage whatever remains by writing now.

Leroy and his clones are beginning to make plans. They've been speaking with the other prisoners. They're up to something. There is a feeling of bloodlust all around.

If you don't believe me, let me share a story with you. Yesterday somebody yelled out "Food fight", and at first I was sort of excited, after seeing that movie...um...

Er, wait! Animal house, that was the name. I'd seen that movie and a food fight looked fun. But...er...it wasn't at all like I thought it would be.

Those ANIMALS went wild! This is the big house, not any Animal House...

It was the first time I have ever seen someone (in this case, a foolish guard) beaten to death with a vegetable...I'm never going to make it for 17 and a half more years.

REALLY wishing you were here and talking with me...

Jacques von Hamsterviel

DEAR JUMBA...

Yesterday, my fears were confirmed after an interview with a good, dear friend. Somehow I can't remember his name, yet...I know he's important to me...

Meeting him made me realize how much I miss the way things were back in school, back when we were in E.G.O. Why, I even miss that sleazeball Rahry...

Do you miss those days? I know I do. I find myself longing to feel my fiddle or my violin back in my hand, but...it was broken into pieces by Omega Leroy a week ago...

In any case, one of the aliens who regularly meets with Omega Leroy and his clones threatened to pull a "Stephen Lynch" on me. I had never heard of him until that moment.

Then, perhaps out of pity, one of the guards allowed me to use the internet on his laptop. I looked up "Stephen Lynch". I had just discovered who he was and the songs he'd done when I was pulled from behind...I realized too late that what they planned to do was exactly what happened to my uncle, the revolutionary. They tried to kill him three times, and the first time didn't work. Neither did this attempt. ...I wish it had.

Even worse, my cell mate finally opened up to me. "Why is that so bad?" I can already hear you ask. Well he says he "Strangled East Turo".

...and he's not a sports enthusiast.

Jumba...please...

GET ME OUT, GET ME OUT, GET ME OOOOUUUUTTTT!

Your friend...

Jacques

DEAR JUMBA...

I wish to apologize for not writing sooner. I know it's been almost a month since my last letter, but there was a problem.

You see...I have been...moved.

I'm in my own private room in the most secure room I could have ever imagined myself being in.

The walls are colored black, cold and harsh to the touch. There is an unmistakable chill inside that frightens me. The only light comes from a single bulb above the toilet in my room and the door to my cell. The floor is stainless and grey, and slippery at times. The bed is the only comfort I have, it comes with a down blanket and is fluffy and soft. Curling up within it, I feel safe, I feel protected. It is the only true light that keeps me going through the dark tunnel that is my life now. A dark tunnel that will take 18 years if I am unlucky.

I know that if I do well and are lucky, they will cut my sentence down, but I am afraid...afraid of leaving. I don't belong out there, or with you. You belong at that island. I don't. I don't know what I am supposed to do anymore.

All I do know is that the bed is amazing. I dream frequently, you know, and...

And I'd love to tell you more about it, but I feel so sleepy all the time...I need my rest. I will write more later.

Sincerely...

Jacques

DEAR JUMBA...

I'm always so tired.

I don't know why, but I am. And so my bed has become my only solace. Slowly but surely I am drawn into it day after day, into blissful sleep.

I dream all the time now. Often they have a home-movie quality around them...of the old days, of back when we were in school together, back when we were partners and friends, destined for greatness.

So my life becomes routine, slowly but surely...

I drift in and out, and my nights are so much like my nights I've had to keep a calendar to remind myself how many days have passed. My dreams and my reality intermingle, swirling together until I don't know when I am awake or asleep anymore.

Nothing seems truly "real" except when I'm in bed or writing to you. I wish I could SPEAK with someone, but...well, I haven't seen anyone passing by my door, haven't heard anyone come to me. My food is teleported in, as are your replies...

I am grateful for your words. And I am glad that the girl sent that scratch-and-sniff stamp of...what was it? Oh yes, "The Wolfman". It really does smell like wet dog!

Give my regards to her. I hope to write more later. I'm sorry my writing has become monthly instead of weekly, but I am running out of paper...and noteworthy things to write of.

Farewell for now...

Jacques

DEAR JUMBA...

I think it may soon be time for me to say "Au Revoir" to my sanity. I do not honestly believe I will be able to last much longer.

I only have found comfort in the letters you and your ohana write back, and the bed I stay in all the time. But I cannot continue like this. I cannot last in this state. I am sleeping awake...I am hallucinating occasionally, my dreams crossing the barrier of sleep to wreck havoc on my well-being.

I don't know if I can ever, ever expect you to forgive me, yet...I am afraid. Afraid to lose my sanity, my mind...after all, my mind is what I treasure the most.

My head is swimming as I'm writing. I blink constantly. The light flicking...I've been COUNTING it, Jumba...every third flicker takes longer, do you see how desperate I am for something to do?

I've been living in a fishbowl for so long that I'm starting to imagine that Leroy and the other experiments are...are...well, they whisper to me at night when I sleep...

Leroy's voice is gruff and harsh, but there is a dark, authoritative quality to it. I feel I ought to listen, or he'll rend my very soul. He puts his clawed hand on my neck and tells me to drown myself in the toilet...

Then 627...I forget, what does he call himself now? I can't remember...he always pulls me away, and I hear that tough, growl as he laughs and says I should escape and get revenge upon all that wronged me.

Then...that, that dark 561, the most frightening being of all, his black eyes gaze into me, as his draconic wings stretch out impossibly far, and his calm, charmingly dark voice tells me to give into insanity, allow the darkness to claim me, it would be kinder than death...

621 is next to come...I wish I could remember his name, or 561's now...why, why can't I remember their names? I used to be able to name all of the experiments, now everything is fuzzy. 621 tells me I should beg for help, someone, ANYONE might come when I call out from my cell. Though his aura of rebellion surrounds him, there is a subtle kindness to his tone. He...he pities me...

But he is just like the others at times...at times when they torture me in my sleep, they tear me apart from each other's sides, demanding I follow THEIR ideas, not anyone else's. I am so afraid...

Jumba...what can I do?

...Jacques

DEAR JUMBA...

I'm scared. Very scared.

I hear voices now. I am definitely being driven insane...

There is a dark force that tempts me now at night. The others fade away after trying to make me follow their suggestions for how to end my turmoil, my suffering, my pain.

The force comes sooner and sooner...at first the experiments I would dream of would torture me for hours, but now it becomes minutes, and then seconds...and then it appears.

"Come to us. Join us. All things return to the darkness, give in and we shall break you free.
All shall fall before the darkness, before the supreme, blackest hearts.
All has now been prophesized, all shall come to pass.
We know what has been, what happens now, and what shall come to be. Come forth, come forth, supplanter...it's time to play your part."

That voice has become more and more appealing.

Oh Jumba, I'm losing my sanity! Maybe I'm self-delusional...or what if this is some horrific joke being played on me by who-knows-who?

It's not unusual for this sort of thing to happen to people who are locked up and secluded, but what I fear is that this is not merely a slow shedding of my sanity, but...but something far more sinister.

Jumba...please...send somebody...I'm scared...

Rupert "Jacques" von Hamsterviel

DEAR JUMBA...

It's happened. I saw it. I saw it. Not a he. Not a she. An it.

Its face was hidden. I only saw eyes. They had no light. They had no soul. They carried only a sense of something frightening and on a higher level of...of EXISTING. It was like some dark entity of supreme power.

And it beckoned with a hand that had no hair, no folds, no fur, no fingernails or any kind of features. It beckoned me.

I know I screamed so loud I finally alerted the guards, but before they could open the door, the thing was gone.

Jumba, thank goodness they came...but they think I was causing trouble. Nobody trusts me, I DID try to take over the galaxy and I DID succeed...though not for very long.

I have only two pieces of paper left, including this one. Please, please...send something to help me. Ask the girl. Build something. I'm begging you...

I can't stand another night...I know this letter will take a few days to reach you from the prison, but I will not sleep...closing my eyes tempts that thing to come back, I know it does.

Please, PLEASE help.

Rupert von Hamsterviel

DEAR JUMBA…

This is it. My very, very last letter to you.

I had been going insane. But that girl...what she sent was genius. I couldn't believe it worked.

That cross of hers was incredible. It was "baptized", correct? By a "Father Joe" and experiment 620?

I remember 620, he was a very gentle, kind being. Also he liked to hug people and say "oh brothers and sisters, is it not a FINE day" or some other such statement.

I hid the cross in my clothes and waited for sleep to take me. When it did, the thing appeared again. But this time I was ready. I did what the girl said and held the cross up.

The thing reeled back, but what really finished it off was the song the girl told me to sing. I pronounced it PERFECTLY. "Quand vous pleurez parce que ça fait mal, cela ne signifie pas que vous n'êtes pas entendus. Parce que à haute voix dans le ciel, les anges pleurent avec vous!"

It worked! That thing screamed like somebody was screwing rusty nails into its skull and it vanished in a blurry haze.

Now it's gone...but I'm still in prison. At least I don't have to worry about that...that whatever it was. I just know it wasn't anything good.

...I don't know when I'll be able to get more paper. So I want to say something.

For everything I have ever done to you Jumba...I'm sorry. Je suis donc très, très désolé mon cher partenaire…mon ami.

Goodbye...

Rupert

Author's note:

I just like the character far too much to simply let him stay in prison and do nothing but rot away without anything interesting happening to him. So what do you think so far? Read and review by all means! And yes, "Hammy's" real name is Rupert, for those of you who doubt. It's revealed in "Nosy".

Note: this is, by no means, the end of the story either. I intend to see this through to the beginning so as to develop the story, the character of Hammy and those who he'll interact with. So stick around. (Winks)