Before Perfection
by The Great Red Dragon


Chapter 2
I was forced onto my feet and half led, half kicked into another room.
Upon entering through a sliding door, I noticed that the two sets of walls [there were 6 of them in all] nearest to me were lined with large, metal lockers. Across the large space of floor were a variety of pain-reaping obstacles. Hoops and targets reeled the ceiling and remaining walls.
I was standing inside of a gym. Great.

"Vell now, vhat do you think?", I heard Jumba from behind me.

Like he cared about my opinion. He kicked me hard in the back, and I stumbled forwards. Kick, kick, kick, all the way over a specific corner of the room.
There stood another figure, though he was much smaller than Jumba. He was skinny-looking, and had pale skin. His head was oddly-shaped, and his mouth protruded a few inches off of his face.

"Is this it?", he asked Jumba curtly in a whispy voice; looking at me with both disappointment and disgust.
"I was expecting something a bit more..."

"Vell, I admit that my original dezign was a bit more pleasing to ze eye.", Jumba admitted; shrugging his shoulders heavily.
"But I vould think, zhat a zmall shape is an addition to speed and agility. Vouldn't you agree, Zimbel?"

"Zimbel...", I thought to myself.
"Weird name."

Zimbel gave me another look of disapproval and sighed.

"Very well. I have his suit ready. Shall I get it?"

Jumba nodded. Zimbel retreated into a dark room entranced by another sliding door, and returned carrying an orange and yellow bodysuit.

"How am I to get it on him?", he asked, eyeing me again.
"He doesn't look very tame..."

Jumba didn't even answer. I heard the dreaded click of the remote, and again I was on the floor, writhing and screaming in intense pain. Through the electric stabs and the blinding tears, I felt Zimbel grab me roughly by the shoulders, and force me into that tight, rubber-like garment; limb-by-limb.
That had been my longest 'shocker' yet, and it took me more than a minute to recuperate. Or more accurately, Jumba kicked me back onto my feet when he thought I was able to.
My new suit was extremely uncomfortable. It pulled at my fur harshly in the affect that unglazed rubber has on all materials, and I couldn't move my arms or legs very well.

"Is it too small?", Zimbel asked, scratching his elongated chin.

"No, it'z suppozed to be like zhat", Jumba said calmly.
"Ze restriction of body movement will enhance his strength throughout his training. After all, ve do need our little friend here -" [he gave another jolt, and I jerked violently. Although by some late reflex, long, sharp spines started to protrude from my spinal area] "- to be in zhe best shape he can be."

"Prototypes", Zimbel sniggered, in an obvious insider-joke.
"I must tell you, we're all very please with this, you silly old scientist."

Jumba went red in the face. He reached over my body and grabbed Zimbel by the neck. Zimbel's face went paler than it was before as he was lifted off of the ground, his scrawny feet dangling.

"Do not mock me, Zimbel", he hissed in a dangerous voice.
"Or you will be the one with a Z-chip implanted, and I tell you, it will not be only be inside of your brain."

Once Jumba had released Zimbel, he looked down at me.

"You!", he said loudly.
"You belong to me, and vill do as I say. Anything you do zhat goes beyond my tolerance vill be punished severely. Do you understand?"

"Jawohl, mein führer", I thought, but nodded instead.

Jumba pulled another remote from his coat pocket and clicked it. I thought I was going to be feeling pain in another part of my body, but instead I heard a sound of churning machinery behind me. I looked, and saw a panel on the metal floor rotate to reveal a set of six weights, placed in a row from small to large.

"Get over zhere", Jumba ordered, and I trotted feebly over to weights, scratching myself as the bodysuit created discomfort in my crotch.

"Lift the first!", Jumba called.

I looked down upon the tiniest weight, and I felt an urge to laugh. The thing was the size of a hotdog bun, and looked very innocent.

"Do it!", Jumba reinforced.

Wondering what this was all about, I reached down with a single hand and grabbed hold of the puny thing.
Surprisingly, this puny thing turned out to weigh a Hell of a lot, and I was very taken aback in this realization.
But I wasn't about to back down, and used both of my hands to get a secure grip. Then, I lifted with all of my strength, and began to raise this tiny thing several inches off of the ground.
As I did this, I felt sweat break out on my brow, and my chest tightened reflexedly. My body told me to drop the damn thing, but for some reason I felt the need to show Jumba that I could do this.
With my body being strained to an absolute maximum, I managed to raise the entire thing above my head, and in great relief, I dropped it with a thundering clang to the ground.

I fell back, winded with my chest heaving. The palm of my left hand showed the forming a noticeable blister, and it hurt very much.
I had barely time to blink away the sweat in my eyes when I heard Jumba say from behind me;

"Vhat are you vaiting for? Lift ze others as well!"

I turned around and looked at him in disbelief.

"You've gotta be kidding me!", the expression on my face read clearly.

"Do it!", Jumba ordered again.

But this was impossible! I'd die before I'd manage to lift the next weight!
I looked at Zimbel, who was still massaging his neck from Jumba's treatment. I silently pleaded for some help, but I should've known that I wouldn't have gotten it.
Still, I saw pity in his eyes. He felt something for me, but I'm not sure what. But he was surely too scared to speak out in front of Jumba once more.

ZAP!

The sharp, electrical stab sounded in my brain again, and I twitched convulsively.

"NOW!"

Slowly, miserably, I stood back up, curled my sore hands around the grip of the next largest weight, and attempted to lift it.
BWANG!

The last weight fell so hard to the ground that I was sure that it would dent it.
I didn't know how I did it, but I had succeeded in lifting each and every one of those goddamn weights. They must've been made out of some special metal designed to be so heavy, but that's only a hypothesis.
Now, I lay flat on my back, unable to move anymore. Sweat and snot ran down my face and collected below above my upper lip. My eyelids felt heavy, and I was more than happy to keep them closed.

From a distance, I could hear Jumba and Zimbel conversing about me.

"Is he dead?", Zimbel asked Jumba in a not-too-concerned voice.

"No", Jumba replied shortly.

A moment of silence followed before Zimbel asked;

"Should we let him rest a while?"

"No", Jumba repeated.
"Ve're not finished vith today's training."

And as I felt the shock of the Z-chip resound in my brain, something told me that there were going to be a lot of 'todays'.
For the weeks and months that past, I was put through many series of painful and intense training. Day in and day out, I was pushed to my limits both physically and mentally. For hours on end I would be put through a condition of 'physical and mental conditioning'. My speed, strength, agility, endurance, and stamina was put to the test, as I ran obstacles, jumped barricades, scaled walls, and grappled with training robots.
Although I sure as Hell didn't enjoy it at all, I have to admit that as the time passed, and as I passed out less and less, I became more and more physically impressive.

When I was to lift more weights, the bulging of my eyes was soon replaced with the bulging of my arms, swelling up to twice of their usual size. Muscles that I didn't even knew I had appeared at every strain of my arms and legs.
Soon after the physicality part was complete, I was instructed in the use and handling of computers, spacecraft, and weaponry; Zimbel taught me most of it. I learned how to commandeer a large variety of star-cruisers.
The computers were difficult. With so many buttons, dials, knobs, and commands, it was enough to send even my 'super-brain' into frenzy and dismay. Again I was taught by Zimbel. He knew a lot for an ugly guy, and on a mental note I suspected him to be more than he looked like...but that was just my thinking; maybe I was paranoid.

And then came the fun part. I had seen weapons and firearms in the hands of others [when I secretly watched Jumba with his recreational viewing screen, watching ancient gun-fighting movies], but never had I actually held or used one.
Jumba claimed that I would need to know all of this for when I was brought in front of the Commander of Intergalactic Assault and Biological weapons [when I would see him, I never found out].
When I was instructed in the usage of plasma cannons and vapor rifles [and all of the others, for that fact], I was held at gunpoint by remote- controlled turrets, for I still wasn't one hundred percent obedient. The auto-turrets stayed aimed at me throughout my entire training sessions, ready to fire at the first command of Zimbel, who sat behind a bullet/plasma-proof wall.

But I was a quick study, and soon I became an exceptional marksman [to say the least]; I liked dealing with weapons.

During all of my training, Jumba would remain in the close background, with a clipboard or holo-screen in hand, probably recording and calculating my progress, or lack-of [I still got shocked a lot].
And then, after an overpowering day of unimaginable labor, I was brought to a small cell that had been constructed inside the now-rebuilt lab. It wasn't much better than being out in the gym; I wasn't able to properly rest, much less sleep, in my metal 'cot'.
There was a blanket spread over its surface, but much too thin to actually soften it, and I didn't want to sleep under it (who would, after a day in torture, when your body was hot and sweaty?).
The cell was completely enclosed with strong walls. The only way out was a bolted door that served as the entrance. It was only possible to open the door from the outside, or with a remote. Above my 'bed' hung a video camera, surveying all of my activity. Like there was much of it.
I spent most of my time in there meditating, although I'm not sure that I was ever able to 'become one with my inner-self'. My anger and aggression had built a wall, too strong to be broken by any peaceful thoughts.

I was allowed out of my suit whenever I was inside my cell. They always took it to inspect, to make sure that I hadn't lessened the load on myself by tearing the material beneath the joints of my armpits and knees.
Breakfast and dinner were crap, but still a blessing. Before and after workouts I was served a bowl of some nasty-colored sludge, which I heavily expected to be organic meats from misc. species. With that was a bottle of water, and here and there I'd get an 'energy drink' that tasted liked sweat.
But there were some exceptional memories. I remember fondly the time when Jumba set the food down on the floor for me, and before he was able to exit my cell, he was hit in the back of the head with a large spoonful of greasy Mynark guts. I had decided that it was time for a test of his own knowing and agility, and, needlessly said, he didn't pass.
As I expected, I paid dearly for my moment of fun: I was shocked into submission, and then denied of food for the next two nights. But it sure was worth it.

So, what was my life like inside Jumba's and Zimbel's lab? I'm assuming you wouldn't have wanted to trade with me.
Nevertheless, I was toughened like the finest metal, and my mind had been unbreakable from the start. I was hungry for destruction; my body craved for it. And I knew that I wouldn't always be under the command of Jumba's thumb and the button on the remote. I just knew it.
I wouldn't, couldn't be contained all of my life. I would be strong, and one day, all my patience, pain, and suffering would pay off.

For I was 'Experiment 541', the prime-fighting species of the entire universe. I was the only of my kind; I would resist.