Chapter 8:
Confrontation

I

Stitch scanned the celebrating water over and over again, searching for the undoubtedly crimson sight of the menacing voice's source. Lilo continued laughing her marvelous laugh, but the Experiment's pulse quickened in a less delicious way than it had done mere seconds ago. It wasn't long before he had distinguished the red from the abundance of blue; the sea seemed like rings as 627 was Saturn. He passed through the erratic water with a swiftness that Stitch could never have fathomed. The invisible force which had grasped the blue Experiment paid no mind to his red successor. Stitch recalled the warm feeling of being innocent while 621 shouted at and beat Pig, and now felt horrified at being the Pig to the invisible force's 621, while his foe was the innocent. Then Stitch remembered; 627 had been a servant of Lei and Akela from the beginning. It was going to take much more than laughing on a surfboard with Lilo to escape the blue death that lay everywhere.

"Sir, said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore…"

The reciting haunted Stitch much more than it had at the Rebellion's base. 627 voiced the words like a machine, as though somebody was making him talk without his knowing.

"But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping…"

The blue Experiment could not allow his foe to touch Lilo or Nani, nor did he wish for the sisters to see the furious red alien and discover his true heritage.

"So faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door…"

627 was ascending the wave now, leaving Stitch with a diminutive list of possible responses. From the list, he hastily chose to forcefully extend both arms sideways, sending Nani and Lilo hurtling into the crashing waves. He heard them both yelp before they became muffled by the boisterous splashes.

"That I scarce was sure I heard you. Here I opened wide the door…"

Stitch would've been reeling with regret at his action had he not been reeling instead with shock and fear when 627 tackled him. The terrorist clung to the surfboard with his feet. The two Experiments were in the air for only a few moments, which was enough for Stitch to strike his opponent across the face as hard as he could, sending the crimson creature hurtling like a top into the sea. The blue Experiment, dreading the inevitable splashing and sinking, took hold of the board attached to his feet with both hands, and when the towering wave finally toppled for the final time, he was relieved that the floating shield kept him from succumbing to the invisible force beneath the water. Stitch glanced around the calming sea, hoping to find the two sisters emerging from the water so he might excuse his earlier violence. He turned his head left and found nothing, and the same happened when he looked right, only he felt a hand close around his ankle. He did not panic straight away; at first, he considered it being Lilo or Nani, making sure he would be still long enough for them to join him with the surfboard. Then he remembered that neither sister's grasp was furry, clawed, or iron enough to disturb his bones. Stitch barely had time to breathe before he was separated from the kind surfboard.

The other realm was worse than what he had seen when looking at Pudge. When before it was a light blue with rocks, plants, and complexity, now it was borderline black, and the distant floor was like a wasteland that had once been a plentiful city. Stitch was not as immediately terrified on the desolate ground as he looked down, however, as he was of 627, staring up at him as he acted as an unwanted anchor. The red Experiment no longer sported the flaming glare that he had on the surface; now he seemed indifferent to the event. He did not even blink at Stitch, he only stared with unimpressed eyes, as if he was disappointed that their final battle only a tenth of the length of their first. 627 soon found himself looking down instead of up, as the invisible force began to pull more fiercely on Stitch than before. The blue revolutionary's foot was freed, and 627 watched him sink glumly to the sandy ocean floor.

Stitch could feel Akela and Lei dragging him down, and suddenly, he was no longer terrified of them. He could no longer be scared of tumbling into the terrible underwater realm, for it had already happened. The worst part was finished; all that was left was to fall asleep. For a moment, he looked forward to it. He would not have to worry if the two sisters would search for him at shore, he would not have to worry if 624 would ever find him, and he would not have to worry if Hamsterviel and Jumba were punished or if Lilo ever played with Scrump again. His war torn brain would feel like a welcoming pillow, and he would be able to relax for eternity in the blackness of the water's depths. Then he hit the sandy bottom.

He sat up, as if Lei and Akela would not even let him lie down. He immediately worried tremendously about everything he thought he would never worry about again. He rose to his feet, feeling every bit as disoriented and unnerved as when he walked on a ceiling for the first time. He took a step, and found that it was very much like taking a step on land, only gravity was more aggressive. Looking up, he found that 627, watching him and treading idly far above him, did not yet lunge at him once more. The blue Experiment was intrigued by the difference in gravity between them; was he somehow heavier than his successor?

As Stitch looked up, he also found two pairs of legs moving behind the friendly surfboard, pushing it to Stitch's east. The blue Experiment knew just where they were headed, and, knowing now that he could traverse the dark ocean floor, followed suit. As soon as he started running, 627 swam after him, albeit like one of the world's slowest torpedoes. Stitch, however, had the advantage of being weighted to the ground. As he ran as fast as the water would allow, he looked over his shoulder at the struggling red Experiment, whose anger was only increased since the waves no longer helped his speed; Stitch could help but chuckle at the irony. Hamsterviel had likely already discovered that the 626th Experiment would sink like a boulder, and decided to remedy the supposed Achilles' heel for the 627th. Despite the combined anxiety he felt at his pushing Lilo and Nani and at his would-be assassin finding him, Stitch could not help but snicker with a closed mouth at this irony.

His smile was shattered quickly when his lungs suddenly felt tightened. Without a second thought, the blue Experiment broke out into a dash, or rather, the closest substitute of a dash that the invisible force in the water would allow. Just when he felt like his lungs would burst, he tasted the air again. He stumbled onto the sand, not caring at all that people turned from their tanning or sand castles to stare at him. Oxygen had never been so delicious. Stitch savoured every lick of it, forgetting, for a moment, that 627 was still in a handicapped pursuit. Just as he thought to stand up again, a warm embrace was spontaneously around him. He did not need to look to tell that it was Lilo, but while the hug was as warm as her numerous preceding ones, he was unsure if she did it with a look of relief or of disappointment. It wasn't long before he found the older sister standing over them. Looking up, Stitch knew for sure that the expression was not of contempt, but all the same, he could feel a dreadful stabbing in his chest again.

II

"You alright, hun?" 221 felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, but it did not immediately distract him from his glum scanning of the stars and constellations surrounding the accelerating pod.

"I'll be fine, love," The electrician eventually responded 149, resting a hand upon hers that was on his shoulder. "Soon as we get the bastards, I'll be fine,"

"That L.E.R.O.Y.'s a real prick, huh? No pun intended,"
"Hm?" 221 finally turned to look at her.
"You know, because he scratched us all with that knockout chemical,"
"...I don't get it," He responded blankly.
"Aw, it sucks to see your sense of humor fail," 149 genuinely stated as she hugged him.
"I'm sorry, hun. I'm still reeling with...I'm not sure. Disappointment?"
"I know what ya mean. We should-a known when he came in that it was too good to be true,"
"Worse than that, though. It's like…" 221 drifted off for a moment.
"Yeah? Go on," His lover coaxed gently.
"...It's like with the others we've lost, but different. It's quite like 89, because we know how we lost 626, and it's not like 501 and 502, because he could still be kickin'. You know?"
"And then L.E.R.O.Y. comes in and makes it feel worse?"
"Exactly!"

"He needn't wait longer for his comeuppance, 221," 300, the driver, began profoundly. "Nor does Hamsterviel or Jumba or any others at their side; we've arrived." Every Experiment peered out the windshield. The shapeshifter was lowering them onto a ship not unlike their own box-like base. The only differences apparent of its exterior were that it was black, much like the space around it, so that only one as observant as 300 might notice, and a large cannon protruding from a dome-like structure that covered the whole circumference of the roof.

"Camouflage," 621 denoted the black color scheme of Hamsterviel's base. "Very clever,"

Each Experiment had fiery butterflies ricocheting around their stomach as they stepped onto the vessel's roof. With the darkness surrounding them, they felt like children laying awake in bed, anxiously awaiting their birthday in the morning. They had all dreamed about this moment, and now that it was within their grasp, they were anxious to reach out for it. Every second that they were not confronting their designer was a year of torture. The only exception was 10, who was forcing his sweating hands into fists. He, too, was excited, but less for a birthday and more for the sudden, nauseating drop of an ascending rollercoaster. The medic had accepted that he would have to deal out some punishment; what agitated him was how much his comrades might expect him to deal out.

"He even put an oxygen field around it," 621 muttered with sinister glee as the Rebellion stealthily crawled down the base's wall. They came to a door which was pulled open all too voluntarily by a strangely silent 624. There was nothing inside the compressed round room but a grey pod and another door. The Experiments continued, finding the next round room to be a dozen times larger than the tiny docking bay that preceded it. The floor was like a rim surrounding a lower level that was like a giant pit, which was accessible through stairs that curved from the room's far side. The Experiments could not immediately see what was in the pit as they entered, partly due to the guard rails that bordered it. Looking ahead, they found a huge, curved screen that came with a keyboard only a third of its size. Next to the console, there was a short wall, bolted to which was a small arsenal of black-and-white blasters of all sizes, not unlike what the Federation's military used. The most peculiar weapon was a pair of metallic gloves that seemed like smaller versions of 150's substitute hand. What riveted the Experiments most, however, was the white-furred, rabbit-esque creature that stood between the two machines. He was about as tall as one-and-a-half Experiments, and his gloves, boots, and shirt were as black as ashes, while his coat and eyes were sanguine. His left hand pushed past his crimson coat to enter his pocket, and his right hand held a yellow plasma rifle on his shoulder. He was like a statue, awaiting his adversaries with a malevolent smirk on his face.

"Hello," Hamsterviel greeted them furtively. "Oh, Number 10? I thought Number 627 killed you,"

"Then the illusion was effective," 300 responded stolidly.

"Hm, so it would seem..." Jacques Hamsterviel had a strong German accent that may have sounded pleasing long ago, but was now like an insidious serpent that hissed in each Experiment's ear. 621 did not hesitate; he drew his own gun and fired straight for his parent's stomach. Tensing into a less relaxed stance, Hamsterviel shot the bolt with a sickly green projectile from his own weapon, destroying both bullets in midair. "Come, now, 621," The crimson-coated scientist began slyly. "Is that any way to greet your father?"

"You're no father of ours," The marksman retorted through gritted teeth. His previous glee had been substituted with a throbbing irritation since his attack had been countered.

"No, I suppose not. At least, not to you," Hamsterviel lowered his weapon. "I'm excited to have you all here, I truly am. I was quite disappointed when I heard about your so-called double-rebellion,"

"I still like rebellion-ception better," 345 whispered.

"Many of your were valuable assets," The suave scientist continued. "300, your shape-shifting abilities were invaluable in the assassination of General Egregious, and 150, your substitute hand has been very helpful recently with a new project of mine and Jumba's. Nonetheless, I can always make L.E.R.O.Y.s of you, as I did of the late 626-"

"Is this going anywhere?" 624 coldly interjected when 626's name followed the word 'late.' "Because I'm gonna come over there and break your spine over my knee-"

"All in good time, 624," Hamsterviel responded with an interruption of his own. "I want to talk to you, and for once, that is not a lie." He saw 621 raise his gun again, joined by 221's electrified hands and 150's hand in cannon form. "Now, now, don't be hasty. If you must know, I have something that I think will take to your interests." The scientist lowered an ebony glove directly downward over the railing, attracting the Experiments' vengeful gaze. To their surprise, they found another Experiment sitting on the floor of the centre pit and leaning against the wall. She had sallow fur, and her ears curved like two inverted letter 'V's, but the right one had a jaw-shaped gap in it. Her claws were the same shade of black as Hamsterviel's gloves. Her left foot leaned further to its outer side than her right, as if something were forcing it flat on the floor, while the other stopped at a forty-five degree angle. Her hanging jaw revealed the absence of several teeth, and her left eye was nearly invisible behind the hideous, scarlet and black spheres that surrounded them. The first thought that zipped through the Experiments' minds was that it was Pig, and the second was that she was as stiff as a statue. Then they noticed a gaping hole on either side of Pig's head, each topping the dry, crusty ghost of a crimson waterfall. Their eyes widened in shock before narrowing in resentment, except for 621 and 300, whose eyes simply narrowed. "You denied her any medical attention after her...Violation of 502," Hamsterviel continued. "Well, good job, because her eye got infected as a result," He said entirely without malice, as if he was glad of Pig's demise. "I saw no point in keeping her with the other Experiments if they all despised her, and I similarly thought it pointless to waste perfectly good medical supplies on this Experiment you destroyed, 621,"

"This supposed to scare us?" The marksman retorted, unimpressed. "She deserved that! I only wish I was there to see her face when you put the gun to her head."

"I realize you hated her, but you should know how easy it was to pull the trigger. And believe me, it will not be difficult to do the same to any of you," Hamsterviel held up his rifle. "I was a lieutenant in the Federation's military, and I was very, very good with a blaster. As good as you, 621. Come on, let's talk, just for a little while. What have you to lose?"

"Talk about what?" 221 inquired irritably, twisting sparks between his fingers.

"I'm curious," The creator hesitated in making his question. "I've made you all angry, and you hate me for it. Perhaps you even hate me more than you hate the Galactic Federation; enough that you want to kill me, torture me, make my final moments worse than my ultimate death. I know what it's like to hate someone that much, trust me, I do. I know what it feels like to be so far away from someone when you want nothing more than to feel their neck in your grasp. I don't know what it feels like to finally confront that person. You hate me, but I do not hate you. You betrayed my revolution, yes, but I've known others to do much worse, and I confess, I would have done no different were our roles reversed. I cannot feel whatever it is you are all feeling. I just want to know, now that he who has wronged you and angered is here with you...What do you have to say to him?"

The Experiments were surprised by this. Was he trying to lower their guards? If so, it was ineffective. Despite everyone's hesitation, 300 was the first to amuse his designer. "Why hide your existence from us?" He questioned stolidly.

"You ask me why…" Hamsterviel whispered, as if intrigued by the inquiry. "You must have all deduced that you would not be governing alongside Jumba, as he lead you to believe," The scientist continued at a higher volume. "It was my intention from the beginning that I would be responsible for government after the so-called Grand Councilwoman was indisposed," He spoke the name with a malicious snarl. "Remember I said I would do the same as you if our roles were changed? Would you fight and kill so that somebody else could rule? You'd be more motivated and, most importantly, obedient if you believed you were doing it for yourselves and each other. Plus, I believed you would take more kindly to the benevolent Jumba as a leader, and you did, initially, at least. Additionally, it is difficult to be suspicious of somebody who you don't know exists, wouldn't you agree?" He seemed impressed with his own explanation.

"Hm, how clever," 300 responded, giving a faint smile. His comrades' faces, though, were unmoved.

"You seem disappointed…" Hamsterviel whispered again. "Was the answer too rational?"

"Tell me…" 621 began sharply, resisting the urge to fire at his designer's head. "Why did you have 501 and 502 designed the way you did?"

"501 and 502…" The scientist muttered stolidly, like the names were nothing more than random numbers. His sinister face became suddenly mellow and casual, and it made 621's heart combust. "The suicide bombers? I wanted suicide bombers, so I made some; simple." He gazed statically into 621's hellish glare, which distracted the revolution's founder from the bullet of slimy saliva that struck his forehead. "You know, just because they meant something to you…" Hamsterviel snarled as he wiped the spit off with his glove, shaking it swiftly off afterwards, "Doesn't mean they mattered at all to me,"

The furious marksman wished he had 345's elastic function, so he could simply reach across the room and tear the head clean off the cause of his anguish. "I know," He growled. "And just because you don't care doesn't mean you'll be excused from your punishment." He took one blaster in each three-fingered hand and fired four bolts at the scarlet-clad scientist. As before, each projectile was shot down by Hamsterviel, who now held his weapon in both three-fingered hands and was on one knee.

"Touche, 621," He grumbled, reaching into his coat. "Pepin!" He declared seemingly to the air, taking a grey, mask-like thing dotted with three circular filters from his coat. All the Experiments were befuddled, and 10 and 624 were surprised at the objects that dropped onto their heads. As the cylindrical objects fell at the Experiments' feet, they quickly realized what they were and held their breath as each cylinder emitted a translucent gas from either end, although there was no noticeable scent. The Rebellion looked up, finding the unfortunately familiar scarlet and brownish-yellow sights of L.E.R.O.Y. and 625, both sporting a masks like the one their designer now put on. 345, like his allies, held his breath, frantically scanning the toxic room for inspiration for a counterattack. His eyes soon fell upon the console and screen near Hamsterviel.

'He even put an oxygen field around it.' The clown recalled 621's words as they entered the vessel. An idea pierced his head like a sharpened arrow. It would be a dangerous and desperate stratagem, but 345 could see few other methods for banishing the gas. His legs extending to increase his speed, the clown swiftly found himself in front of the oversized computer. He kept his breath imprisoned. As the clown worked, 221 shot bolts of electricity at 625 and L.E.R.O.Y., ultimately sending them both plummeting to the floor. 149 and 621 respectively took on the red and yellow lackies, reaching past their blocking arms at their gas masks to little success.

345 looked over his shoulder once he arrived at the computer, seeing the masked Hamsterviel aim his rifle at him. The clown was quick to send an elongated leg to kick the firearm from his co-creator's hand. Hamsterviel was then surprised and infuriated to be seeing nothing but the bottom of 345's foot.

"Get off, you childish dummkopf!" The scientist's voice angrily echoed from beneath the mask, prying at the rubbery foot that obstructed his vision.

The clown nearly opened his mouth to say, "Nuh-uh-uh, Jacques. You're stuck with that!" He remembered the gas that was ready to dive into his lungs, though, and kept his breath in. With the blinded Hamsterviel wrestling with his creation's foot, 345's hands were free to enact his unorthodox plan through the computer. Defenses. Oxygen field. Disable. The clown was thankful for the diminutive length of the procedure. He looked over his left shoulder; he abhorred the feeling of Hamsterviel's frigid gloves squishing and pulling at his ankle, but could not help but grin at his enemy's helplessness. He looked over his right shoulder; L.E.R.O.Y. and 625 maneuvered over and around their foes, the latter Experiment doing so much less gracefully and acrobatically than his scarlet partner. Now or never, 345 thought, his bright beam contradicting his panicking heart.

"Everybody hold on to something!" He exclaimed in a very high-pitched voice that required little breath. Any temptation to laugh at the squeaky demand lasted only a second, and then 624, 150, 300, and 10 had an airtight grip on the railing, while 621, with his lower hands, had L.E.R.O.Y. and 625 unkindly by the backs of their necks. 345 pushed a final button, and the doors the Rebellion had entered through opened like a furious whirlpool in a malevolent storm, and everyone suddenly could fly. 624's secondary arms emerged to grasp 621's primary ones, while 149 took hold of 10's ankle and 221 levitated. The medic looked over his shoulder after feeling the weight on his foot. The smaller Experiment simply nodded at 10 with a concerned but optimistic expression, while the trunked one tried and failed to do the same in response. His pulse rocketed as his fingers tightened around the railing, praying that the glue-like feeling between his palms and the metal would maintain.

345 had his arms firmly around the console like a rope, and his leg had returned to its original length, albeit with Hamsterviel still in tow, much less enthusiastic to part with the limb now than he had been before the storm began. The clown kept a careful watch on his allies below, both to see if any of them would require his interference, and to ensure that every speck of the translucent gas abandoned the camouflaged vessel. He was indifferent to Hamsterviel's vise-like grasp on his foot; the scientist would not harm what kept him safe from the blackness outside.

In the midst of the struggle, 221 saw Pig's corpse, flying as clumsily as a discarded newspaper, hit the wall beside death's door, and the electrician was distracted just long enough to lose his duel against the deadly wind. Just as he began to fall, however, a swift metal hand caught him by the arm. Both 150 and 221's hearts were in their throats for a dreadful split second, but they exchanged grateful smiles when they felt confidently secured. As the handicapped Experiment gazed into the smiling, golden face, the cogs in the clockwork of his brain turned in an unusual way. The smile on the cocky electrician's face always brought a brighter smile to another Experiment's face. That smile was something 150 loved much more than he could love the revolution, yet nothing he could do could create that smile the way 221 could. It occurred to the him then, as his flesh hand gripped metal and his metal hand gripped flesh, that he was holding the reason for his suffering in his substitute hand. 150 looked left; after 300, 624, 621, and Hamsterviel's two lackies dangling by the backs of their necks, he found 149, clutching 10's foot and looking confident that the Rebellion would survive in its entirety. Were his heart not already racing at the predicament he found himself in, it would've been started by her smiling in the face of death. He wished he could smile similarly. 150 looked back down at the golden Experiment, who still smiled at him with gratitude, ignorant of the resentment that slithered within his savior's head.

Without 221 here, the huge Experiment thought, 149 would grieve, like 624 when we lost 626. She'd need someone to make her smile again. Who better than me? It would be the simplest thing he'd ever do. She would practically run into his arms. He could already feel her silky fur on his one genuine hand, and suddenly the hammering wind was barely a breeze. He considered it for only a second longer, thinking about how easy it would ultimately be to release his pain. And it was. His cold, metal fingers opened like he was dropping sand through his fingers. The electrician's smile was finally broken, and he descended as easily as Pig's corpse had. 150's pulse quickened, but now for excitement instead of fear. At last, he would make 149 smile. His mouth begged to be moved into a grin, but he did not want the deed to appear intentional. Just as the temptation of beaming became too great, an elongated, rubbery arm appeared and twirled around 221, just before the electrician could enter the suffocating darkness. Then, all at once, the door slammed shut, everyone fell flat on the hard floor, and 150's heart clenched like a fist.

"Not the best time for butterfingers, mate," 221 scolded his former rescuer. His hands emitting thin, levitating, electric streams, the electrician took to the skies once more as 345's arm returned to its owner like retracting measuring tape. 150 has to repress the urge to use the cannon setting of his metal hand to shoot 221's head off. His burning brain did not even consider that he had done anything repentful. It was only when he heard a revolting snap and a blood-curdling cry of anguish that the huge Experiment felt like a blade was in his gut. Leaping to his feet, he turned left to find that 621 had seized the opportunity to grab the disoriented L.E.R.O.Y.'s leg and push it too far forwards.

"Some good that knockout chemical did you this time," The marksman spat at his grunting victim. 625, removing his gas mask, attempted to attack the four-armed Experiment from behind, but found his legs swept out from beneath by 624. The pink Experiment placed a foot on the traitor's back and took both of his arms, pulling until she heard a crack and a cry just as 621 had.

"Should've done this to you ages ago, 625," She taunted him coldly. "And you scream like a bitch,"

"Get the fuck off!" 625 begged furiously as tears darted down his cheeks. 624, 621, and 150 then abandoned their contempt temporarily to follow their comrades to Hamsterviel's side of the room. 10 stopped when he found 345 hopping sadly on one leg, as his other had been tied into an uncomfortable-looking knot.

"Was that really the best way to get rid of that gas, 345?!" The medic exclaimed as he split from the group to undo the knot in his ally's leg as quickly as he could.

"Yup," The clown answered curtly. 10 opened his mouth to respond, but quickly shut it. The rest of the Rebellion found Hamsterviel, putting on the two metallic gloves they had seen on the wall of weapons when they first entered.

"I can be more than just a man with a gun," The scientist snarled at his creations. The gloves emitted a boisterous whirr as he made them into fists. "I can empower myself just the same as Jumba and I empowered all of you." He anticipated a bolt of electricity from the airborne 221 and sidestepped swiftly out of its path. The very next thing Hamsterviel faced was 621 over the barrel of a blaster, which he was quick to crush within his newly metallic grasp. He followed up by bringing his other fist upwards into the marksman's elbow. 621 muffled his yelp through barred teeth before landing a roundhouse kick across his designer's face. Hamsterviel, spitting blood, was still able to catch 624's foot during her sidekick, although a backflip kick to his chin quickly changed that. After rising from his back, Hamsterviel found himself faced with three oncoming dangers; 621's fist, 624's two antennae, and 300 looming over him like a nightmarish wave. The scientist blocked the fist and caught the antennae, but was only barely able to hop backwards to dodge the shapeshifter.

"You fare better against us alone than any army under the Federation," 300 complimented sternly.

"Unlike their armies, I'm not blinded by fear," Hamsterviel replied, scowling as he struggled to keep hold of 624's violently squirming antennae. "There are far worse things in this galaxy,"

"Do you?" Faster than even Hamsterviel could anticipate, one of the telepath's frigid hands grasped his co-creator by the head. "Enlighten me." 300 could've crushed Hamsterviel's head in his hand right there, but he knew that it would be merciful. Instead, he flipped through the numerous pages of the scientist's mind; every invention and each deception was detailed in its own chapter. Finally, he fell upon one that was far too fascinating not to read aloud. He thrust the bloodied page into Hamsterviel's face, emphasizing each line of horrific text. The shapeshifter could feel the face growing moist in his hand. He finally came to a quote, and could not help but utter it himself, in a voice like the most deathly terrified child's. "Daddy!"

"GET OFF ME, YOU GODDAMN PARASITE!" The scientist exclaimed in a fury that rivaled 627's, striking 300's outstretched arm repeatedly. The shapeshifter barely acknowledged his own physical pain; what he felt in his creator was far more delectable. 300 dropped his victim to the floor, where 621 grabbed Hamsterviel's arm and snapped it just as what had been done to him seconds before.

"That is for 501, 502, 89, and every one of us that you tormented behind your assistant!" The shapeshifter snarled at his petrified opponent. As their co-creator shouted in pain, 621 and 624 stripped him of his mechanical gloves and discarded them like litter. Hamsterviel attempted to get up again, but his pink creation stomped on his back. 621 was about to kneel down to his designer, but then he noticed 10 eyeing his limp right arm.

"Later, 10," The marksman commanded. The medic backed away with a short jolt. "Now, then…" 621 knelt down and raised Hamsterviel's face unkindly by his long ears using his upper left hand. "We'd very much like to visit our other parent,"

"Wouldn't you, now?" The scientist muttered angrily, blinking tears away from his eyes as he looked his creation right in his inferno-like eyes. He did not regret his disrespect, even when 624 picked up his left hand and pulled on the middle one of his three fingers until it cracked like a wishbone. He screamed again, but his heart was still at his opponents. He knew that the physical pain would eventually cease. Regardless, he saw no purpose in breaking more of his fingers. "Fine, fine! I'll lead you to him!" He clenched his teeth so his voice would not rise indignantly in his temporary agony.

"Thank you, 624," 621 said sinisterly as he and his resolute comrade exchanged friendly smiles. "Some of you go back and get L.E.R.O.Y. and 625; make sure they can't stand up," He ordered firmly as he pulled the scientist to his feet and pushed him forward, pointing a blaster at his back with one of his three intact arms. "And please don't attempt another counterattack; your punishment will come at our convenience, not yours,"

"I know; I wouldn't combat you without weapons, dummkopf," Hamsterviel growled.

621 felt a tap on his shoulder before he heard 624 whispering to him. "Can I break his jaw later?" She inquired like a child anxious for a previously promised treat.

"624…" The marksman turned to her and smiled with sadistic delight. "You'll all be able to do whatever you want to him,"

III

As the Experiments followed their powerless creator down the tall, chilly hallway, 150 carried a practically armless 625 by his head with his metal hand. He would have been irritated by the traitor's moaning at his dislocated shoulders, were it not for the more painful sight in front of him. 149 and 221 had brought out their lower hands to drag L.E.R.O.Y. by his broken legs, while their primary hands held each other. 150 watched the warmly intertwined fingers as his heart became schizophrenic; it felt crumpled in frustration in one moment and then shriveled in repentance in the next. His plan to win over 149 had been ingenious, and yet he abhorred it for being so. Then he abhorred his allies for not leaving him alone with 221 so he might shoot him discreetly in the head. The handicapped Experiment looked beyond the eyesore hand-holding, seeing his designer being held at gunpoint for his cruelty to Experiments. He then realized that he was standing behind the gun, and felt horribly misplaced. 150 was suddenly drawn to look left, where he was unpleasantly surprised to see the icy, yellow eyes of his glob-like comrade, glaring into him with an intensity that he did not even look at Hamsterviel with. 300 glared at the metal-handed Experiment for several moments, during which 150's heart felt neither shriveled nor crumpled, but rather like a burdensome rock. After what felt like a millennium, 300 slithered to the front of the group without so much as a scoff at his tall ally, who was left blinking rapidly.

"Turn right," Hamsterviel said stolidly to the Experiment holding a gun to his back. Everyone looked right, where they found an opened door leading to a room scattered with paper, as if a tornado and run through it. At the very end of the room were dozens of screens, displaying images the Experiments were currently too far away to analyze properly.

"See? That wasn't so hard," 621 sneered as he grabbed his designer by the back of his neck and forced him into the room. As the Rebellion scanned the unkempt lab, finding that the littered papers were, in fact, blueprints for Experiments. 10's heart skipped a beat when he noticed his own blueprints. It contained three pictures; his front, his back, and his side, all in a t-shaped pose. There were notes dotted all around the paper, each pointing to a different part of his body. What sent the iciest chill up the medic's spine, though, was the disturbingly indifferent expression upon his likeness' face, like it was depicting his corpse. 10 forced his gaze away from the image, even though it was like walking against a tempest.

"Oh, Jumba?" 624 called to the air before whistling. "Come on, be a good host and come greet us!" No response; only a clicking sound. The Rebellion looking and found, pointing a blaster at them, the violet, spherical, four-eyed figure clad in a white lab coat, who they knew from a screen in their former base. Jumba's hands shook like a miniature earthquake as he tried to aim his weapon. Even if he found the valour and sense to pull the trigger, he would most likely merely graze the skin of one of his targets. Jumba's creations stared at him with a flat, unimpressed look, and then they all chuckled, save for 10. To his own surprise, 345's chuckle was the shortest and quietest of them all. Following the laughter's early conclusion, 221 shot a bolt of electricity into Jumba's weapon, triggering an explosion the size of the round scientist's hand. Jumba fell to his chubby knees, screaming and gripping the incomplete fleshy mound, leaking blood like a faucet, that was once his hand. 621, pushing Hamsterviel to the floor by his bleeding accomplice, could not help but to kick the weeping scientist cruelly onto his back. 149, 221, and 150 threw L.E.R.O.Y. and 625 next to their two fallen creators, where the electrician maliciously twisted the ankle of his only intact leg, making him harmonize with Jumba's cries.

"My friends..." The marksman turned to address his comrades, holding all four of his arms out like a cross as he smirked his most malicious and victorious smirk. "We have had many small victories and enormous defeats over the years. The weight of our challenges might be exhausting, but now we can put it down...Upon these two!" He gestured to his two creators. "These two, who would call themselves our parents, are at your disposal. Any regret, anger, depression you may feel if now theirs to carry!" 621 then gestured at the room around them. "This is our new base! This is just the first in a streak of glorious victories for our revolution! Remember, remember; this is the beginning of the end for the Galactic Federation!" His allies saluted him, all smirking just as he was, save for 345, who simply smiled with excitement, and 10, who did not smile at all. "Now then..." The marksman continued, gesturing again to his creators after returning the salutes. "Shall we begin?"

Both Hamsterviel and Jumba looked up at their creations. The larger scientist watched the smirks, scowls, cracking knuckles, sparking fingers, and hovering antennae, his heart sinking as he realized that each bloodthirsty appendage existed thanks to him. Jumba remembered as clear as day the first time he laid four eyes on each Experiment, and the first time the Experiments laid eyes on anything. He remembered 150 and 149 staring in awe and confusion at the former's fingerless left hand. He remembered 300, like an infant, struggling to walk as he unknowingly spoke Jumba's thoughts allowed. Jumba remembered 221 being like a thunderstorm the moment he awoke. The worst recollection of all, though, was that the very first thing 345 used his elastic abilities for was to wrap his arms around Jumba in a warm hug. The obese scientist shut his four soaking eyes, still gripping his gory hand, anxious for the brutal, hammering arms that had once felt so soft.

"Hey, what's in there?" The clown suddenly inquired. Everyone turned to find 345 distracted by a small door behind the two fallen scientists.

"Ah..." Hamsterviel muttered angrily and wearily.

"Ah?" 345 questioned. "What's so 'ah' about what's in here?" He approached the door curiously.

"Nnnno..." Jumba panicked through clenched teeth, grabbing 345's foot in a desperate attempt to keep him away from the door.

"Hey!" The clown felt a dreadful chill penetrate his spine when the sausages of fingers squished his rubbery leg. He did not feel discomfort for long, as 621 was quick to stomp on Jumba's forearm.

"You don't touch him!" The marksman exclaimed over his creator's cries. "You don't touch any of us! The only time you do is when we hit you!" He dug the two claws on his foot into Jumba's flesh, amplifying the deafening but satisfying cries. Jumba was only silenced when 345's arm extended to punch him in the jaw.

"Thanks, 621," The clown smiled, shaking his freed leg. 621 smirked and nodded in response.

"Hold on, now," 300 said quietly, looking intently upon the crying Jumba's head. The telepath, ignoring the beautiful screams, slowly approached his creator, as if he were trying to read some macabre message scrawled above the four eyes. "Oh..."

"Oh?" 345 questioned, tilting his head.

"What do you see, 300?" 621 inquired as he tore his reddened foot claws from Jumba's arm, nearly stumbling as he did. It took some time for the shapeshifter to reply, during which all he did was raise a glob-esque hand to his glob-esque mouth. His comrades thought they saw drops of sweat on his pale green face.

"...You should see this," 300 finally said as firmly as he could. "You should, but you should not have to." He approached the door, and was surprised at how quickly his allies followed. A faint sound could be heard behind the door, but nobody was certain if it was weeping or laughter. "I would apologize..." The shapeshifter began somberly. "But he is to blame." He nodded to Jumba, who watched with flooding eyes as the blob slid the door open. To their surprise, the room behind the door was inaccessible, but the glass barricading it was transparent. The room was more of a closet, with nothing in it aside from a creature lying on his side. He was clearly an Experiment. His ears were small, and his fur was an ominous violet, like the color of an aged, decaying corpse. He was skinny enough that, under his fur, his bones might be outlined upon his skin.

"John Wilkes Booth...Eobard Thawne..." His voice was a mumble, but undoubtedly gleeful, although a hollow glee like the creature was laughing while impaled. "Davros...Adolf Hitler..." The Experiments' eyes widened, all of a single color throughout, while the horizontal prisoner's eyes were white where they weren't pink, and each centered by a black dot of a pupil. Both eyes were tailed by a thin stream of tears. "Osama bin Laden...Sheev Palpatine..."

The Rebellion assumed that he had acknowledged their presence, and were petrified when he only stared into space and continued his list. His mouth seemed uncomfortable remaining still; it alternated inconsistently between a mad, toothy grin and an agonized grimace. Finally, his shattered eyes rolled slowly, as if they had never been moved before, to stare up at his audience. His abyssal gaze strangled each Experiment.

"You..."

The three closest to the glass; 621, 345, and 300, knelt down to look more closely at the dubious sight. The Rebellion, at first shocked, became crestfallen at their simultaneous realization. They did not need either of their creators to tell them that this was Experiment 89.