Alius111: This story is currently being edited for spelling, grammar, punctuation, and any other errors I can find. After all, I wrote this when I first came to this sight, and let's face it: my writing style was terrible. So, now that I had improved and honed my skills, I am going back and correcting one of the first story's I ever wrote. But if you can't wait until I'm done correcting, then by all means, go ahead and read on. But be sure to please review.
Simon's Experiments
By Alius111
Chapter One
Simon
You don't know me. If you did, then I suppose you could consider me a good person—despite the fact that I'm in jail. I don't presume to know your definition of a good person, nor am I pretentious enough to think that I fall within your criteria. So I'll make it your decision. When this story has reached its climax and all is said and done, I'll let you decide my character. But until then, you can call me Simon. That is my name. My name is all I have now; everything else was taken from me. It may not be as distinguished or as eminent as some names, but it's mine nonetheless.
To make a long story short, let me start off by saying that I am an Experiment. Well, that's not exactly true. 'Experiment' is merely the name my species has been callously dubbed by the populace. It is also common to refer to us as 'Trogs,' but I wouldn't recommend it. I might not take offense, but there are far more aggressive experiments who wouldn't be so lenient. It's not their fault. That's just how they are programmed to behave. I guess you have Jumba to thank for that.
Unlike my fellow Experiments I wasn't created by Jumba in his lab. I wasn't another one of his science driven perversions of nature. I had been born, that's why I am special. I am the youngest of the first generation of Experiments to be naturally conceived between a male and a female. In the beginning there were only a handful of us, but as long as my species continues to flourish in secrecy, I am certain that there will be more on the way. Unfortunately, I might never be there to see it.
My Father is Experiment 626, but you may know him better as Stitch. My mother was Experiment 624; her given name was Angel. Tragically, she is no longer with us. I don't like to speak of it out loud but in order for my story to be told justly: I might have to elaborate on the subject. But, I'll get into that later.
Jumba created six hundred and twenty seven genetic creations, and out of all of those creatures, my Father was the only one to produce offspring: My three elder brothers and myself. I guess you could I'm the runt of the litter. When I say 'runt' I'm not referring to my size or stature; I'm meant in terms of my physical ability. Each of us is an almost exact replica of our Father, only differing slightly with our own subtle distinctions. For instance: I am the spitting image of my Dad, both of us having a koala like appearance, but with only one difference: his body is covered in dark blue fur with lighter blue patches on his chest, abdomen, around his eyes and two large blotches on the back of his head and one on his back. But instead of my fur being blue, I am covered with a very fine coating of jet black fur with light grey patches in the same places my father has light blue. I don't know what brought on this awkward discoloration; my brothers all have the same color fur as my Dad. But as this story goes on, you'll quickly learn that I am very different from my family.
Unlike my brothers, I have inherited none of my Father's extraordinary abilities. Not one. I can't lift objects three thousand times my size; I can't see in the dark; I don't have a retractable set of arms or tentacles–Hell! I'm not even fireproof. And perhaps one of my most vulnerable traits: a single bullet would probably kill me. They all have these incredible powers, but I do not. They are indestructible and have minds that can think faster than supercomputers. I do not. But for all of their almost god-like powers; I have something they don't. I have one unique quality that sets me apart from the rest of them: my vast intellect.
My brothers might be able to think faster than a federation class supercomputer, but I say this now without an ounce of self satisfaction and without any inflation of my ego; that I am a genius. It's not just having all the answers that makes one smart; it's having all the questions. I have creativity and the ability to think without restraints. Personally, I like to be called an 'Evil Genius.' I got that trait from my mentor. I'm sure by now that I don't have to tell you who he is. If you guessed Jumba Jookiba, you would be correct.
Before I was sentenced to life in prison, Jumba had been my best friend and mentor. He taught me everything he knew about science and then some. The rest I learned on my own. We each had a great respect for each other because of our superior minds and our love for science. In a lab we built in secret with our own two hands, we invented many devices and concocted countless experiments all in the name of science. We created objects from weapons of mass destruction to household appliances. In fact, it was one of my own experiments that caused this whole mess in the first place. Looking back on it now, I wish I had never made that damn chemical. I never considered the long term effects; I should have listened to Jumba, but as always I was overconfident, and it had cost me dearly.
For the past year of what could be called my life, I have spent day after day confined in a prison cell. I know they will never let me out while I am alive. Sometimes I yearn for a window so I can see the outside world. But having a window in my cell would be a little redundant: instead of the lush green forests of Kauai, I would only see the empty void of space. It has been hell. Whether or not I belong here will be up to you.
Quietly, I lay on my bed, snuggling up in the dry and coarse blankets, looking around my darkened cell. It was a small room with a single bed, a toilet, and a sink. The bed was small and hard as a rock, it was terribly uncomfortable but good for the back. Instead of bars, my cell was sealed shut with a thick plate of unbreakable glass. I didn't have a chance in hell of getting through that. The impenetrable glass plate could only be opened by the Warden from the other side. I could never get out. That glass was designed to keep even the strongest aliens from breaking out of their cells. At least the facilities made up for it in a way. Yes, as far a dark, stinking hell holes go, my cell was the Ramada. Using my claws I had etched scientific and mathematical equations into the walls until my claws were worn down to stubs; it was something to pass the time and keep my mind sharp. Unfortunately you could barely notice; they sort of blended in with the rest of the scratches and tally charts that had been chiseled into the walls with disturbing detail.
Sighing, I looked up, gazing longingly through the cell door. Sometimes at night I can hear the tormented screams and agonizing wails of my inmates echoing throughout the prison block. At first it was hard to sleep when the prisoners are screaming into the late hours of the night. The inmates' crazed and maniacal lament was almost enough to drive me insane. But eventually you get used to it. After the first few sleepless nights, their deafening shrieks almost sing you to sleep like some kind of morbid lullaby.
Every grotesque and misshaped alien that inhabits the damned hell holes of prison Asteroid K-37 was either a terrorist, a murderer, some poor, unfortunate creature who got on the wrong side of the tracks, or had committed some other heinous crime against the Galactic Federation. Murderers, killers, psychopaths–every last one of them. Can I be counted among the worst of them? Yes, I suppose I could. But I wasn't always here. Prison Asteroid K-37 wasn't always my permanent residence. I had a home once . . . and a family. I'm sure you're wondering what I'm talking about. Well, I believe I may have time to tell you the tale before the lights go out.
Some time ago . . .
Hawaii. If I had to describe it in one word, it would be 'deceitful'. The small tropical paradise was like the poisoned apple the Wicked Queen offered Snow White. Sure, it was beautiful on the outside, but on the inside it was rotten and deadly. Everyone thought Hawaii was such gorgeous island. And why wouldn't they? It had lavish five star resorts, tropical forests, a warm climate, crystal clear water and white sandy beaches. Yes, I'm really painting a pretty picture here aren't I? But to me Hawaii wasn't beautiful. To a mind such as mine, it was a prison surrounded by ocean. It was like a brighter, sunnier Alcatraz without the stone walls. Hawaii was the place everyone wanted to be; it was a chance to escape from your normal life and live it up in a tropical heaven. For me it was always the exact opposite. I often found my self thinking of large cities abundant in steel and concrete, the air slurred with car exhaust and smog. I felt like an animal locked away in a zoo, and Kauai was my cage.
In a way, I lived my entire life imprisoned. But not by bars and impenetrable glass. I felt like I was trapped in my own life. I grew tired of the same routine and the endless repetition and consistency. I was tired of looking at the same people and the same places. I felt like I was losing myself to apathy. The only excitement I experienced was in my laboratory when Jumba and I would spend hours tinkering away, so I buried myself in my work. Being the youngest and having no special abilities, I was always the black sheep in my family. I was accepted as a member of my Ohana, but I often faced neglect at the hands of my father; and my brothers had taken every opportunity to make my life miserable. They liked to spend their time coming up with new and inventive ways of tormenting me. It was sort of demented hobby of theirs.
The only one who ever understood me was Jumba–probably because we were so much alike. We were the greatest minds on the island–even on Earth. The small minded humans of the planet couldn't compare to us. In our laboratory there was nothing we couldn't accomplish. We would spend hours–sometimes days-- meddling and altering the laws of nature. It was what Jumba like liked to call 'Evil Genius work.' In many ways I was smarter than Jumba, but I would never tell him that. I like to make people think I'm not a smart as I actually am; I find it harder to relate to people if they think you're more intelligent than they are. But still, I always felt I understood the world better than everyone else. I saw things in a different light; the glass was always half-full in my mind. To me the world was like a book, a book I could read for hours, taking in all the information it had to offer. There was always something new to learn, and believe me when I say: I remember everything I learn. One thing I pride myself on is my photographic memory (which you could imaging comes in handy when you don't have a paper or pencil).
Life in Kauai went on very much as it had since I entered the world, full of its own comings and goings. Tourists always crowded our streets with their cameras and suitcases. But that one fateful day when I would make the most significant scientific discovery of my life; a breakthrough that would send my mind spinning with questions as I calculated the endless possibilities. It would be my greatest accomplishment but it would also be my doom. Maybe if I hadn't fallen asleep at my computer, maybe after years of trying and failing I said "To hell with this experiment," things might have turned out differently. At the time I was working on the formula for what would unknowingly become my downfall. I'm not going to bore you with the details; even if I tried you probably wouldn't understand a word of it. Right now, the only thing you need to know is this formula would soon set off a chain of events that would send my life crashing down in flames.
Hidden in a secluded part of the jungle, about half a mile away from the house, was my laboratory. On the outside it appeared to be nothing more than a small warehouse, no bigger than a tiny house. The walls were made of concrete lined with a metal alloy of my own creation. It had no windows and only one door in and out. This was only a small section of the laboratory; the bulk of it was underground.
My laboratory lies dormant in pitch darkness except for the bright blue light shining from the supercomputer's massive screen. A series of graphs and an endless jumble of equations shined on the monitor. As usual I had fallen asleep at my computer, my face planted on the keyboard, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of my mouth. I stayed up all night working tirelessly on the formula for my next experiment. Finally after hours of pounding on the keyboard, fixing every error and calculating every numeral; I had collapsed from exhaustion, falling asleep right there in my chair. I had been working on this formula for the past two years. Every night had been devoted to getting it just right. Any miscalculation or glitch—the slightest error—could ruin everything.
It was almost noon by the time I awoke. Yawning loudly, I sat upright in my chair, stretching my cramped limbs. There's something abut sleeping face down on a computer that tends to give one terrible back cramps. The computer's light stung my sensitive eyes in the darkness of my laboratory—it was like having a spotlight pointed at your face. I cursed myself for falling asleep at my computer again. When I turned around I found the large steel complex deserted. From what I could see in the light cast by the screen's ghostly glow, my lab was empty. Jumba must have gone home after I fell asleep. Sighing, I stared up at the supercomputer. My formula was nowhere near complete.
After all of that work—another night wasted—I still wasn't any closer to perfecting my formula. I was close, but there was one thing I couldn't get right; it didn't fit with the rest of the formula. It didn't make sense, everything should have added up. I must have tried over a hundred times last night—and still no results! Maybe this slight mathematical anomaly wasn't the problem; maybe the problem was further back. But how as I supposed to rectify the problem if I didn't know what it was? I was lost. I suppose I could have miscalculated. But in my pride I would never admit to that. What was I to do? Unfortunately, my formula was driven from my mind as a loud, angry growling sounded from my gut.
Cringing in pain, I held my stomach. Hunger was gripping my insides like a cold vice. I had neglected to eat the previous night, and the night before—so lost was I in my work that I had forgotten one of the most essential necessities of life. I spotted a candy bar lying discarded on my desk next to an empty coffee cup (probably left by Jumba) and I immediately began to salivate. It was of my favorites: a delicious Twix bar all mine for the taking.
Licking my lips, I reached out for the candy, but in my tiredness and fatigue my hand struck the coffee cup, accidentally knocking it onto the keyboard. Before I could stop it, the arrant coffee cup rolled along the keyboard, causing a jumble of random numbers to be typed on the screen.
"Dammit!" I cursed, angrily throwing the coffee cup to the floor. I gazed up at my formula, appalled at the mess the cup had made. I had my finger poised over the delete button, ready to erase the random numerations the cup had caused—but at that instant, my eye caught something; it was so small and obscure in that mass of calculation I might never have seen it at all.
Some people believe in destiny, that everything is predetermined. But was it fate or coincidence that when the coffee cup hit the keyboard, it struck just the right keys. Because I saw something there in that random pile of numbers. Something I had overlooked. Typing madly, I rearranged some of the numbers, fixing them into curtain equations. When I was finished I looked up at the screen and crossed my fingers. Pressing the enter key, I watched amazed as the computer input the new information. I was only waiting a few second as the supercomputer calculated the outcome of my experiment. Yes! It had worked! It all added up! Of course it all made perfect sense, how could I have not seen it before? The computer finally showed a positive result. I had done it (In a matter of speaking). By some amazing coincidence a rogue coffee cup had shown me the way to completing my life's work.
Gently I caressed the massive computer screen, my fury palm smearing the glass. I couldn't believe it. It was finished; my formula was finally finished. Completing that formula had been—in my mind—the greatest achievement of my life. Everyone has a purpose in this world; I believed I had just completed mine. Of all the things to be discovered by accident: penicillin, Newton discovering gravity, but this had to be the greatest. Not because of its use, but because of its brilliance. Quickly I saved the information to my hard drive and with newfound energy, I sprung from my chair. I took the stairs up to the forest level and headed for the door. Punching my password into the small terminal, I ran through the moment the metal doors opened. The sunlight nearly blinded me, but I didn't care. I had to tell Jumba!
Alius111: I would like to thank my Beta Reader Shay for re-reading and correcting my mistakes.