Before Perfection
by The Great Red Dragon


Chapter 3
Months passed. Inside of my private hell, it seemed like years.
I used to wonder when things were going to improve for me, or if they ever were going to improve for me. I had now realized that I was under such tight guard that any practical escape would be impossible. Jumba and Zimbel had me in their grip, and even though I hated to admit it, I felt a bit helpless.

But thank God for my building tolerance for pain. The physical strain of the obstacle courses had lessened, and the daily shocks that I received had become...well, expected. They didn't seem to come as such a harsh surprise anymore.
I was at the top of my game by then. Any bragging that I have mentioned before could have been backed-up from there on. I was as fast as a horse, and more powerful than half a herd of wild bison. My mind was creative, finding radical and unexpected ends in combat. I was the prototype: dangerous, unpredictable, evil, but still valuable. I meant something, and Jumba needed me for something.
That's what kinda kept me going: knowing that I was important in some way, even if I didn't know it.

I was a bit arrogant. Whenever I walked passed the large mirror near the entrance of the gym, I would take a few moments just to admire my bodily-structure [man, when I think of that now, it's sickening], before I was 'zapped' back into my cell.
A perk-up was that I wasn't being kicked anymore. It was an increase in the shocking, but also an uplifting of my ego: knowing that by now both Jumba and Zimbel were too wary of my power to actually come in physical contact with me.
Indeed, I did mean something!

But, I didn't know what was coming, what fate had in store for me. Because whatever my life was like at that point, it was about to be brought to another level, and I never saw it coming.
I'm assuming it was nighttime, although I wasn't ever one-hundred percent sure about the of the day-span inside the orbit of Turo.
I was inside my cell, sitting on my cot, the sweat dripping off my the fur on my forehead in beads, creating a small lake underneath my dangling feet. I was in the midst of a great decision: deciding if I should get some rest or finish up my food.
Well, I was exceptionally hungry, but I feared that if I would take another spoonful to myself, I would vomit [over-training had a strange effect on my metabolism, so I puked a whole lot].
So instead, I laid down on my back and closed eyes.
I noticed that my cot didn't hurt as much anymore. The skin under my fur had extremely toughened, and therefore created a cushioning in itself; soft leather. It was strange to be all you need, but I liked and appreciated the feeling.

Minutes flew by like the flying reptile had; the one that I had been eating [remember what they serve me]. The silence was nice for a change - no orders being shouted at me, no scolding for not being fast enough. I enjoyed my serenity, as there was so little of it.
But that was all about to come to an abrupt end...

"...Huh?", I thought to myself abruptly.
"What's that?"

I sat up.
I could hear Jumba and Zimbel's voices from a considerable distance.....and they were moving in my direction. As I strained to hear better, I realized that they were shouting at each other. I strained my ears even more to make out their words.

"...-No, No, No! Jumba, don't you understand?!", Zimbel was protesting.
"We still need 541 for several more tests! It is possible to enhance his abilities even further if we-"

"I vill no longer cooperate!", Jumba interrupted harshly.
"I am not going through vith dis, Zimbel! I never should have!"

"BUT YOU CAN'T ANNIHILATE HIM!"

I snapped to alertness.
Were they talking about me?

"You can't destroy 541, Jumba! Do you have any idea what could happen – what will happen to you?!"

"I am through vith your demands! I vill not risk the lives of the others any further!"

"Jumba, I swear to you, if you destroy him, we will kill-"

"DAMN YOU! DAMN ALL OF YOU!"

I didn't understand what was going on, who was meant by 'the others', who was to be damned, or who they were talking about - but it involved myself and killing me thrown into the mix.
The shouting was almost right outside of my cell, and I looked around in vain.
I had searched my room for means of escape many times before, always with same negative outcome: the only way out was the main door.
The yells were so close now. I could hear Zimbel fighting for me, but apparently Jumba had shut his ears like water-tight doors. Seconds later, Jumba's face, beet-red in rage, appeared at the little window at my cell's gate.
…Were those tears in his eyes?

"Against the vall!", he barked viciously.

I didn't move.

"NOW!"

I felt the jar of the buzzer, and quickly did what I was told.
I was scared now.
As I was turning, Jumba opened the door hastily, and I saw him holding something much more deadly than a plasma gun. A 'hex' rifle is a weapon that only the elite of the chemical warfare infantry are permitted to use. How Jumba got hold of it I'll never know. But I do now that a hex functions by spewing a fast-acting melting-acid...and I was sure that I was in its crosshairs.
I was shaking. I started figeting, and again I felt the burn of the shocker in my head again.

"Jumba, no!", Zimbel shouted.
"You can't…!"

"Stand aside, Zimbel!", Jumba said impatiently; trying to raise his weapon.

Zimbel tried to pull the gun away, but as you probably guessed, he was no match to Jumba's natural strength.

"Stop this!", he growled; wrenching at the hex fiercely.

"I can't let you do this!", Zimbel yelled.

They struggled for a few moments, while I was still on the ground from the effects of the shocker. And then, somehow, perhaps inadvertently, Jumba caught Zimbel over the head with the back of his right fist.

WHAM!

Zimbel went crashing into the wall, where he slumped together, a thin trickle of blood running from his mouth.
This was it. I knew that once Jumba faced me, he was going to pull the trigger, and within two seconds I would just be a wisp of smoke.
...But I didn't want to die. I couldn't die.
I knew then, more than ever, that I had to get out of here, and be somewhere else, where I wouldn't be used as an object of manipulation, day and night.

Someplace where I could be free.

Fueled on this thought, and my own determination, I struck back.
In a moonsauult-like maneuver, I backflipped off of the wall that I was facing, and soared across the room. Jumba had only fully turned his head when my feet hit his face with a sickening SMACK.
My force was enough to overthrow him, and he fell flat on his back and dropped the remote and the hex rifle.
Jumba was fast. He tried to retrieve them, but they were already firmly in my hands, with the weapon aimed at him.
His eyes went wide. I was in control now. It was he that now feared for his life.
He tried to say something, possibly beg, but what ever it was, it only came out as a drowning choke. My yellow teeth were bared, and a dangerous snarl was coming from deep behind them.
My instinct told me to use the weapon in hand, told me to annihilate my creator, who wouldn't have so much as twitched an eyebrow [if he had one] in becoming my destructor.

But for some reason...I didn't.
My finger remained coiled and ready around the looped trigger, but I didn't pull. Instead, with my evil face still in place, I inched backwards out of what had been my prison, until I was outside to door, for the first time not under sharp supervision. I slammed the door as hard as I could, and thereby locked Jumba and Zimbel inside.

That was it. I was free.
The first thing I did was smash the shocker-remote under my foot. There was a small zap inside my brain, as if somebody had pinched me, and that was all.
Good riddance, damned bit of machinery.

But my price for freedom was not yet paid...

REEEWWWWWW......
REEEWWWWWW......
REEEWWWWWW......

Oh, damn it!
I had completely forgotten that Jumba carried another remote in his lab coat that controlled the security robots. I can guess what he had instructed them to do.
I raced into the gym. I flung open the side lockers, and pulled out an array of weapons. My suit lay strewn over an empty chair, and I yanked it on hastily. I did this because it had built-in holsters for small firearms, which I knew I would be needing.
Back to the lockers. I stuck four small beam blasters into my sides, and took two plasma cannons into my lower set of hands [the hex lay forgotten on the floor]. I grabbed a carrying-bag and jammed several short-ranged grenades and a few shrapnel bombs into it. The leather-like case fit into an attachment on the back of my suit, and I snapped it on with practiced ease.

I was ready. I was dangerous.

To top the image, my spines started to protrude, tearing at the material of suit until they finally slit through and finished my look of battle. Anything foolish enough to cross paths with me now was going to be blown right to Hell.
I would make sure of that.