Some have asked about crossovers. The answer is: perhaps later. For now I'm focused on establishing our primary characters. By the way, this wait was unnatural. Now that I'm back in business the next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Regrouping

"Your highness, I don't understand the point of these bonds." The yellow and purple experiment on Jumba's head snickered at Delia as the evil genius turned away from her and Hämsterviel, both of whom were chained to the wall by their wrists and ankles.

"Yes, being under 029's influence effects your memory in ways it does not in any other race. Break time, 029." As soon as the illegal experiment removed itself from Jumba's head to have some time alone the attitudes of Jumba's prisoners soured, not that he particularly cared.
"This is absolutely outrageous, you outrageously outrageous person, you! Delia was the one with the plan to back-stab you with a stab in the back! You should begin with the releasing of me at once!"

"I will, as soon as you assimilate into your gerbil brain that you are not in charge."

"I am not a gerbil, you overgrown piece of fungus you!"

"You could have at least given me a more dignified cell," Delia deadpanned, "and putting me in here with the rodent is just insulting."

"What‽" Hämsterviel's energy tethers fluctuated as he began to hop up and down, indignant. "It is you or are insulting, you insult throwing insult thrower!" The argument was muffled as Jumba closed the sliding security door with the press of a button.

"624!" He called on his way to the main lab, his voice plenty loud enough for the excellent hearing of his experiments. They could probably hear everything that was happening on the moonbase at any given time. Jumba theorized that he would never be able to focus if bombarded with the same sensory overload. "Am needing your sweet voice for something other than maintaining evil demeanor; you must clear the stupid from my ears."

There were schematics open on dozens of displays in the lab all at once, as Jumba did his best work when surrounded by multiple projects. His skills extended far beyond genetics, and he often sent his experiments into battle with offensive and defensive equipment that he had invented himself. One such schematic was for a new combat suit that included energy shielding and moved the pocket-dimension pouches to the knees, but there was something missing, something that told Jumba he wasn't yet finished with it. In the center of the room was the unformed biomass of his current genetic monster project, experiment number 627.

Playing with a puzzle device on one of the shelves in the room was experiment 344, the method with which he could duplicate materials making him a valuable asset for dealing with insubordination. The recent conquest of Plorgonar had yielded many such physical puzzles, as Plorgonarians were quite adept at solving and inventing them. Jumba was stashing as many as he could get his hands on to test himself and his experiments.

As 344 continued to struggle with the difficult puzzle, 624 entered the lab a short moment after Jumba had. She'd been designed and programmed to exude sexual appeal, from her soft pink fur and encouraging curvature to her graceful and sly mannerisms. Not only was her voice soothing in a strangely insidious way, but it was always accompanied by seductive movements or poses. Any experiment that had been made with a libido that wasn't at least 87% crippled for task performance benefits was attracted to 624, despite some of them denying it and others being of the same gender. "Batookah, bagiti."

"There's my little sweetheart! Batookah, six-two-four." Jumba was not in denial about his opinion of 624's physique and demeanor; afterall, he had designed her to be what she became, and her attractiveness had to at least match Jumba's standards for her to be considered marginally successful. She was considered monumentally successful. She could hold the attention of most victims and sing away their goodwill and inhibitions instantly, which also made her helpful in removing the interference of Jumba's increasingly insistent conscience. He had heard her song so many times since her creation that her mere presence was comforting, allowing him to think and act freely without fear of feeling remorse or regret. Thus, it was with practiced ease that 624 returned to her place nestled on Jumba's shoulder, ready to whisper in his ear.

"Yo Jumbone," came a voice a great deal less soothing than that of 624. "What's the haps in mad science ville?" Jumba very specifically remembered NOT soliciting 625's attention, but in spite of his abrasive sarcasm the little saxophone player never interrupted lab proceedings without a reason. Mostly the reasons were asinine, but they were reasons all the same. "By the way, I made a sandwich with a new recipe that should keep your evil genius brain workin' real good… I mean bad." 625 had an inexplicable drive to absorb culture from any corner of the galaxy he could safely visit and very rarely expressed any inclination to cause destruction, though mayhem in any other form was fair game. He was a recent failure in design that reminded Jumba he wasn't perfect, but 625 had his uses and could be excellent company when in a decent mood. Most prominent was how well 625 had taken to his linguistic programming, as the experiment spoke more fluently than his maker in every language they shared, even adopting colloquialisms and imitating accents with ease.

"This sandwich is circular." That was all Jumba could think to say to the odd sight before him. Apparently 624 was just as baffled, though she was likely more confused that 625 had yet to address her in a way he thought would win her over somehow. He did give her a suggestive wink, but that was literally the least she expected from him. It was possible he simply had more on his mind at the time, but 624 couldn't image what. "Why is this sandwich circular?"

"Made the bread myself, so it's like a cross between an overgrown bagel and a sub sandwich, complete with wheat and oats. As for the contents, lot's of exotic greens from five different planets, wilted by heat to bring out some flavor and help me compress them all together. Spicy mustard and Plorgonarian squid sauce complete the masterpiece. The flavors clash, but in a good way."

"…Be saying that again." Jumba had a far-away look in his eyes as he spoke, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides.

"What, the whole thing? Weren't you payin' attention?"

"No, just last sentence."

"They clash," 625 ventured nervously, "but in a good way."

"AH-HA! Jumba is knowing how to improve combat suit design!" Jumba rushed over to the schematic for the suits and began frantically typing out notations, his face shining with triumph. "Shields that become shock weapons when the distance is closed. Two directly opposed functions that work perfectly together in an actual field engagement! Heh… is genius, yes?"

"Sure is, buddy! And hey, if you aren't in a snacking mood you can always store this puppy next to six-two-four to keep it warm."

"Aka chata, keetcha-bum-pee!" 624 had another purpose separate from her powers, to breed with the most powerful and most destructive experiments of the same classification. 625 did not behave at all like he was programmed to, and as a result 624 saw him as unsavory and incompatible with her as a mate. Jumba was so accustomed to their bickering that he paid it no mind as he finished tweaking the suit design, turning back to the unfinished 627 and pondering how to proceed with his vision.

Just as 625 was starting to feel ignored, Jumba plucked the circular sandwich from his paws and broke it into four pieces, passing one to 624, tossing another up to 344, handing a third back to 625, and keeping the last for himself. "The gesture 's nice but I already had a few during the testing period."

"I made your stomach. You are still hungry." 625 couldn't argue with that logic, and they all dug in, save for 344 who was still working away at his puzzle with an increasingly irritated expression. "There are no thick meats in this one. No meats at all, in fact."

"A song is as much the silence as the notes. If you don't like it, don't eat it." 625 was extremely smug, but with good reason: the sandwich was delicious. "I've also been makin' rice balls so you lab monkeys can have somethin' bite-sized to scarf down. You know that's from the Earth file too? That place is boilin' over with great food and better music. Are you sure it's a totally isolated fringe planet?"

A dark look overtook Jumba as he stroked his chin, staring down at nothing the others could see. "I thought it was at first, but the more you are telling me about it the more suspicious I am becoming. Is just like when…" As if remembering where he was mid-sentence, Jumba stopped abruptly and smiled at 625. "You are worried for six-two-six, aren't you?"

"Why would I be? Considering how much better than me he is." 625's bitter tone made Jumba flinch as if stung, but 624 cooed in his ear and rubbed his neck comfortingly, restoring his composure. "It's just weird to me, that's all. I'll get my chance to investigate when the new guy is finished with it." Something solid harmlessly bounced off the back of 625's thick skull and he turned around to discover that the object in question was a duplicate of 344's puzzle. "Ha!" He scooped up the pastime that had been keeping 344 occupied and strolled to a nearby desk with a cocky swagger. "Watch the master work." 344 was impressed by how swiftly 625 began to make adjustments, the solving of the puzzle seemingly near at hand.

A notification ping at the long distance communications console drew Jumba's attention and he hurried over to answer it, 624 still on his shoulder. The communication request came with coded identification, letting Jumba know to expect long-awaited news. "Yes, six-two-one?"

"Naga gengibay. Kha keetcha-bum-bum aga keetcha-bum-ting araimi shol." The search had been fruitless: the missing 620s had not been found.

"Keesha Mi Guts?" 624 asked in disbelief, not prepared to accept the loss of her most recent predecessors. Jumba gave her a sympathetic look and the other experiments in the lab shifted their focus to the tense exchange. "Watugi?"

"Soka, keetcha-bum-jan. Aba loosha-"

"Ahem!" 625 cut in loudly from across the lab. "Could you explain what happened in a language with a few more words? One that isn't a glorified code, perhaps?" Jumba quietly swallowed his anger; it was no fault of 625 that he had neglected to tell him nor any other experiment the true origins of Tantalog.

"Fine," 621 complied after a short pause. "The fleet they were combating is nowhere to be found, not even remnants from hull damage. I've measured the distances from here to nearby star systems, and the numbers don't match any records. In fact, all of the distances are shorter than they should be, as if something destroyed this part of space. In other words, aba loosha hagata."

"The space is gone." Jumba took a moment to process the report, mulling over the information. 621 was known for doing his research in the field and never gave false reports, so the idea that he could be wrong never entered Jumba's mind. "Is peculiar. Could be new weapon designed to obliterate spacetime itself. Have considered making one before, but such a thing is beyond even my genius. We are facing either a never before recorded phenomenon, or else a superior foe. We know six-two-two and six-two-three engaged the enemy, and were still fighting when the signals cut out, so is unlikely that this was the work of the Galactic Alliance but not impossible."

"What should I do, Master?"

"Will you stop callin' 'im that!‽" 625 interrupted indignantly. "He's gonna start makin' the rest of us do it if ya keep that up! It's bad enough that oh-two-nine has his old partners calling him 'highness' all the time."

"Pleased to be shutting up now, six-two-five!"

"I love you too, daddy-kins," 625 mocked back, as he was wont to do.

"Be silent, little sandwich boy." 621 shot back over the communication link, but Jumba cut back in before the conversation could devolve any further.

"Be coming back to base, but in roundabout way so to be preventing whoever did this from following you here."

"I'm plotting a course that will take me to nine different star systems surrounding a point of space with no special significance before heading there. Then I'll cut to a wormhole several parsecs away and jump back from the other end to the asteroid belt." With that, the message cut out.

"Show off," 625 declared, 344 gawking at his solved puzzle duplicate, having missed how the sandwich maker had completed it.

"Ha! Six-two-one has fooled any eavesdroppers into thinking base will be on asteroid in an unnamed belt that he will lead them to before taking another course to return here. Is a genius ploy!"

"Ochika, keetcha-bum-hum isa tikka." 624 enthusiastically agreed with Jumba's sentiments.

"Oh yeah, the lanky bastard has perfected the art of being both submissive and secretive. He give's the best tight-lipped kisses to his 'master's' ass I've ever witnessed." 344 snickered hearing this, enjoying 625's humor a great deal more than Jumba and 624. The older an experiment was, the more resentment it seemed to harbor for the newer models, but 625 was an exception to the rule because of his nondiscriminatory insults. 625 treated all the experiments with a strangely affectionate contempt, including the other 620s and even himself, which seemed to extract respect from cynics. "I think I'll hang here for awhile and solve the rest of these Plorgonarian trinkets, just let me get those rice balls first."

"We will be landing on the island of Izayoi, which does not officially exist." The Will of Shadow was making its final approach to the planet as the grand councilwoman instructed the navigators, a nervous Plorgonarian fidgeting nearby. "The coordinates should be on your screens. Now, agent Pleakley, you will assist Gantu in establishing peaceful contact with the local human population. Their advancements are not restricted to culture as you have been led to believe in your research, and they have in fact taken primitive projectile weapons to their most effective and advanced extremes. Do be careful not to anger them."

"So, them being a culturally diverse food source for mosquitoes is an egregious lie?"

"Not at all. The lie is that mosquitoes are more important than humans. In the event that you aren't well received you will need to know how to use one of these." The haughty and nameless councilwoman quickly tapped a series of holographic keys on the arm of her seat which opened the arm to reveal a compartment filled with diminutive laser pistols designed to be used by physically weaker species with no recoil or weight problems. Her own race fit the category, as did plorgonarians like Wendy Pleakley, and with this in mind she passed the researcher one of the pistols.

"You will need to spend some time in the virtual reality combat simulator before your mission," she continued. The simulator she spoke of was capable of hyper-stimulating brains with the evolutionary acumen to function under such pressure, and plorgonarians typically had very capable and complex brains that coincidentally produced vivid dreams. For such a creature, several hours of experience could be packed into one hour of real time in the physical world outside the simulation. "Landing should take just enough time for you to become acceptably efficient for your task. I apologize for the short notice, but the captain and I had trouble deciding who would accompany him due to our distinct lack of experienced foot soldiers."

"With all due respect, I don't think shooting anyone will be necessary. Assuming most of the information on human culture isn't a nest of lies, I'm supremely well qualified for this job. Plus, all I have to do is let them know we're the good aliens who don't want to conquer them, if I talk to the right people. Bypass the most populated areas and speak directly to the military leaders. Piece of cake."

"…Get in the damn simulator."

"Initiating combat simulation versus Earth soldiers in street, iteration 5"

"I know how many times it's been!" Pleakley yelled angrily within his own mind, gripping the simulated laser pistol tightly. "Why am I fighting alone, anyway?"

"Your mission parameters dictate a 85% chance that you will be separated from all available reinforcements within the first week of operation," the computer running the simulation said emotionlessly in answer to Pleakley, who was already weaving through the alleyways in search of his virtual targets.

"Maybe if I could just fight one at a time-" As with the last four failures, Pleakley didn't even see where the shot came from, but at least this time it missed his head. In reaction to the shoulder wound Pleakley pulled the trigger on his weapon before recalling that he ought to aim it somewhere. "Owe!" After shooting himself in the foot and falling to the ground, he heard a metal clang, then a boom, and finally a voice.

"In the interest of time this program is proceeding to the apartment complex combat simulation. Rating thus far: universal liability."

The night was deep and dark as the mercenaries working directly under 062 and 177 waited for their aloof commanders to return to their ships, the guarding of which had been dull and uneventful thus far. The five of them had avoided interacting for the most part, as they each came from a different species with a different cultural background, and each had their own reasons to be working for Jumba's abominations.

One of them was a gelatinous mass of sinew with one spherical eye at the top with a large field of view and poor depth perception. The mass of its form was mostly translucent and many of its cells glowed with a orange light that it could use for visual communication. It had stopped bothering to communicate when its mate had been killed on the battlefield. A plasma repeater had been grafted onto it to allow it to be somewhat useful in combat. There were also two stout, beaked creatures who both looked nervous, but for some reason they avoided speaking to one another.

Most of the mercenaries assigned as bodyguards for the experiments terrorizing underdeveloped worlds were only mercenaries in so far as they were being paid to kill things, and they were strikingly sub-par fighters. 620's unit had been an exception because he had proven himself and had requested professional help for the joy of seeing the destruction they could potentially unleash. 626 and 303 had never bothered with a bodyguard unit in the first place, and so were also exceptions. Another two exceptions were Bal and Kryptar, as both were actually competent fighters.

Bal was a talbokk, a burly, furry creature with five legs and meaty fists at the ends of its two arms. His species was conquered by Jumba's experiments a few months back, and of the primitives he was one of the most intelligent. The conflict had not lasted long, since talbokkian tradition valued might and the experiments had proven quite mighty. The talbokkii had surrendered eagerly, and Bal was one of the most enthusiastic bodyguards.

Kryptar, a reptiloid, was the other. From the same planet as the species that seemed drawn to police work within the federation, but a different region on that planet, Kryptar sported many feathers of a stunning navy blue. His scales were likewise colored, save a few shades darker. Furthermore, he was shorter than most and more ornery as well, though neither had anything to do with his sub-species. He had hatched a runt, and certain events in his childhood and following adolescence had left him quite aggressive and mean spirited. Despite all that he had a strange affection for Bal and the experiments, the pair preventing defections with the strength of their presence. He carried a hard-light laser rifle with him as if it wasn't a deadly weapon, but a mere trinket, keeping the safety off and gesturing with it occassionally.

Finally there was 177's pilot, since 177 was not physically equipped for manipulating consoles, and she had a plasma pistol trained on the human woman whom 303 had been using to pilot his own vessel. She was a short little thing, with a small trunk for a nose and emotionless black eyes which always seemed to be staring into oblivion. Only the experiments showed any immunity to her unnerving stare, and none of the mercenaries could work up the nerve to ask for her name, let alone any other personal information. The human who was apparently free of 303's control did not have this reservation and was trying to talk her way to freedom somehow.

"Don't you have a family? People you care about? I just want to get back to my family. Whatever you want with Earth, I can't help you get it. I'm not politically important, I don't have any useful information…" The woman trailed off when the pilot guarding her made a strange noise through her trunk, similar to a typical human sigh but much more resonant. She didn't have to wait long before her captor spoke.

"You must be new to this situation. I think it only fair that I warn you that explaining your worthlessness brings you much closer to death than to freedom." The human blanched, remaining silent after that.

Meanwhile, Kryptar stormed out of 062's ship for the fifth time, a frustrated scowl on his face making his sharp teeth visible. "The overconfidence of our employers irks me greatly, Bal." The massive talbokk simply grunted in response. "Not a single piece of defensive equipment in there, and we're all just standing around out here waiting to be shot."

"You know," when one of the beaked creatures spoke with a nasally voice the other glanced at her before turning away in contempt. "I don't remember any of those fr… experiments telling us that we can't guard the ships from inside them."

Bal gave the speaker a quizzical look and Kryptar quirked a brow in her direction. Before she could get too skittish, Kryptar began to speak. "What's your name, anyway? You don't talk much." Kryptar gave the back of the other beaked thing a suspicious look, but his attention didn't waver for long.
"Merth."

"Mirth? As in-"

"No, it's not common. It's from my own language."

There was a pause as Kryptar waited for Merth to elaborate, and when she failed to do so he prompted her. "Well? What does it mean?"

"…Smart one." The other beaked creature let out a short bark of a laugh, slapping his knee.

"So what the hell are you doing out here?" Kryptar asked with an odd, possibly sadistic grin.

"I didn't grow to match my name."

"Please, dear sister," began Merth's counterpart, turning to face the others with a scowl. "Do explain to our partners in crime why we are stuck helping these monstrosities! I'm sure they'd love a decent comedy to pass the time."

"Would you rather be dead, Bret?" Merth asked with the exasperation of someone who had had the same conversation plenty of times.

"Yes!" Bret sneered, stalking toward his sister and shoving his beak against hers, gripping her shoulders to complete his angry display. "I was ready to die fighting them for what they did to our family, and to our people! But who should surrender to them but my little sister? Then those things-"

"I didn't know!" Merth broke into tears, interrupting Bret's rant and resting her head on his chest as she sobbed, making Kryptar feel quite uncomfortable for having started the exchange. He distanced himself from it by scanning their surroundings.

"I'm sorry I…" Bret swallowed as he rubbed Merth's back, his anger evaporating. "I'm just really tired of being on the wrong team. It's not your fault that they…" He trailed off, not able to say the word he would need to complete his declaration.

"What things are we talking about, exactly?" Kryptar asked conversationally, earning him a glare from an unamused Bret.

"Saurians, like you…"

"But bigger," Kryptar added. "Always getting reassigned too quickly for anyone to keep track of, and sadistic enough to enjoy their jobs almost as much as I do?" Merth disengaged from her brother, staring at Kryptar with an open jaw. His response was simply to point at the bodies from the struggle that had ended 620. When Bret saw the saurians amongst the corpses, he shook his head with a small smile.

"I guess that's a silver lining. I had no idea they were on the same planet." Kryptar just gave a cocky grin, shrugging his shoulders.

"We should take out the big fucker first, then rush 'em." Convinced that some conspiracy was at play to keep such a small number of alien invaders alive, a group of civilians and retired military veterans had convened on forums to discuss the supposed plot. What no government knew was that this group had grown quite massive, and through private messages had decided to take matters into their own hands. Some of them were from the island of Kaua'i, and they had rounded up several of their neighbors for an assault on the downed alien spacecraft.

There were a dozen of them, five had handguns, another a hunting rifle, while another man held a chainsaw of all things. The remaining five held various improvised melee weapons, and they had managed to sneak close enough to have a real chance at putting them to use. From the cover of the bushes a shot was sent into Bal's left eye, passing where the shooter assumed the alien's brain would be. The brain was not behind the eyes, however, and the talbokk roared in pain and anger as the humans charged.

Kryptar's left shoulder bled from a glancing shot, and he immediately dropped to the ground clutching the wound, feigning that it was severe. 177's pilot impulsively fired on the prisoner when a bullet grazed her arm, causing the woman's head to explode in a haze of plasma. Bret was killed instantly by a shot to the back of the head, dark brown blood splattering over his sister's face as she fell backward in shock.

Bal charged, but in the wrong direction, as if he couldn't see at all, his ears still ringing from the shot that went through his head. This was a horrible development for another group of humans who were ignorant of the others until that moment.

"Shit! We have to call off the bombing. Civilians are-"

"No! Those ships have to be destroyed, no matter the…" That's when the sergeant and a few of his squad of six saw that the biggest of the alien invaders was barreling toward the palm trees they were hiding behind. "Fan out!" The man the sergeant had been speaking to a few seconds ago was crushed under a felled tree, another soldier firing his KAC Master Key from under his M16 assault rifle into one of the beast's legs. It quickly switched directions, trampling the source of its pain underfoot. "Hold your fire!" But it was too late, as more shots had been fired from the remaining four soldiers, and two more were crushed by the rampaging talbokk. "Retreat!"

The human extremists attacking the invaders were more concerned with exterminating them than destroying the ships, so several turned to chase Bal before three were cut down by the plasma repeater grafted onto the gelatinous creature, their handguns hitting the dirt. The man brandishing the rifle had stayed hidden in the bushes, and fired into the gelatinous alien's single eye. Kryptar saw where the shot came from while feigning serious injury on the ground, but it did his ally no good as the man with the chainsaw eviscerated what was left of the blinded creature.

Another man moved to stab Kryptar with a broken rake, but the saurian's footclaws cut open his throat while a tail tripped him, Kryptar rising with a flourish and firing his hard-light rifle into the bushes. The green leaves where stained red as Kryptar hit his mark, and another man fell to a ball of plasma, Merth screaming angrily at the sudden loss of her brother. With 177's pilot rejoining the fight as well, the remaining humans were quickly cut down in a crossfire.

"Where's Stitch going?" Lilo questioned 062 as 626 propelled himself miles ahead of the others, not having given any indication as to the reason for his increased pace.

062 shrugged, his beam rifle resting on his shoulder. "I am unsure, mademoiselle. Something must have caught his interest."

The sergeant and what had remained of his squad were no more, but they were a mild distraction compared to 626's true targets. He rushed past Kryptar feeding a blinded Bal bits of human flesh and dove into 062's armory of a ship, emerging with three plasma grenades in his claws and a flight pack on his back, but when he saw the bloody chainsaw lying on the ground he harmlessly discarded one of the grenades in favor of the human device. He cackled madly as he revved the chainsaw in his upper claws, quickly redoing his calculations as it shook in his grip.

With a mighty push he leapt into the sky, keying his flight pack and steering it with his lower hands, the plasma grenades deftly held between two fingers in each case. He could feel the wind from his full-speed assent on nictating membranes as his ears and antennae were thrashed about by the air of the Earth. The three stealth bombers he'd spotted from the ground were now much harder to track through the translucent secondary eyelids, but the bombers moved too quickly to track by sound and, even disregarding that they were out of range, his antennae were useless for precise strikes while being blow about so chaotically. 626 was relying almost entirely on his previously made calculations, and the assumption that the bombers would not change their course. He was correct.

Daniels flinched in his cockpit when two bright blue explosions lit the sky where his companions had been a second prior, exhaust from some small but powerful engines softening the layer of bulletproof glass protecting him from the outside world. The gravitational forces pooling his blood in all the wrong places was about to get a lot worse, as a clawed hand punched through the glass and Daniels heard the engine of a chainsaw join the sound of his flight craft. He would not go down without a fight.

Stitch had overestimated the durability of the chainsaw, having mistaken a household maintenance tool for a weapon of war. As he tried to dig it through the glass the heat from his exhaust trail melted the metal and glass together. It gave him something to cling to as the bomber began to spin out in a tight roll using its elevons that it really wasn't designed for. 626 closed the eye taking the brunt of the wind completely, keeping his nictating membrane tight over the other as he reoriented himself, clawing his way down the ruined chainsaw carefully. Every limb but one held on whilst his last punched through the quickly cooling glass before it could fully regain its firmness.
He fell into the cockpit, beating angrily at the glass surrounding the ruined chainsaw in an attempt to free it. He could feel harsh stings in his back as he was pelted with handgun bullets, but he didn't care; this human would pay for making an effort to damage Redship further. The tool was free, Stitch turning around to roar and cackle in triumph as he prepared to impale the pilot with the metal tipped in shredded glass and shredded pieces of broken chain.

A pistol was shoved into his laughing mouth as Daniels said, "Right where I want ya!" and pulled the trigger. His last bullet caused a great deal more pain than all the others, embedding itself in the experiment's throat and concussing it's body back into a launch switch. Daniels pulled a release lever as the bomb began its descent, his escape smashing Stitch's flight pack into the console and tossing him out of the cockpit.

626 spun head over foot, in great pain, and having no idea where he was or which way was up. He couldn't tell if the bomb would hit his ship or his allies below, but in his stupor he searched for it. He keyed desperately at his flight pack, but it sputtered and kicked, inelegantly bursting him in the general direction of his target. He swam in the air, still several yards away, but a beam of energy lanced through the bomb as 062 shot it from the air, the explosion slamming into 626 and rattling his bones.

When 626 awoke he was between his ship and the beach, sand marring his ruffled fur and his vision swimming. He thought he saw a shape that reminded him of 624, and a voice said in galactic basic, "I hope you had fun," before sand was kicked in his eye.

He twisted away from his aggressor, crawling toward the water pathetically and coughing up a trail of pink blood. He couldn't stop until he could think, and he couldn't think until he could stop feeling, and he couldn't control his emotions because he didn't understand them. On and on he clawed his way through the sand, another's shadow not far behind him, until his claw caused a ripple at the edge of the sea and he suddenly stopped. A wave came in and the salt water washed into his wounds and over his ankles. He bolted upright, stumbling backwards and shaking in fear as wet sand clung to his padded feet. "I'm sorry." He turned his head to the human girl, Lilo, studying her face. Her eyes seemed moist. Crying, he remembered; he'd done so once himself, but she was stronger: her tears didn't escape her eyes. He was uneasy, and not due to his wounds, but because he didn't know why she felt the need to apologize, nor why he was so relieved that she had.

"Come on." He grabbed her wrist, but his grip was shaky and loose as he began to lead her back to Redship. 062 and 177 were near, having watched from some distance away. By the time 626 reached them Lilo had entwined her fingers with his. He didn't know what to make of that either.