~Yay! Another chapter! :3 The title will become apparent by the end of this chapter. . . Believe me. :) ~

'text' = mental conversation

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I was currently banging my head against the wall of my former cell. How could I have been so stupid as to not realize that Jumba might turn bounty-hunter on me?! . . . Especially if he would profit from my capture.

What was I to do? My former confidence was waning. . . This was going to be a long day. . . The block that my head was hitting my head against was coming loose.  I jokingly thought that perhaps I could tunnel from here. . .Live underground until Jumba gave up. . .Yeah, right.

I heard a voice. . . One of the juvenile natives. I peeked out of my cell after it passed, sniffing, just to be sure. I smelt of salt, sweat, and several other things I didn't recognize. Then I saw a picture on the wall. . . a juvenile similar to the one I'd just seen, hugging one of the whimpering natives.  I'd realized by now that the furred ones seemed to . . . belong to the dominant species of this planet.

It was then that I came up with my plan. . . Hey, I don't have the mind of a supercomputer for nothing! . . . I'd pretend to be one of the furred ones, and take refuge with the strange natives of this world.

I looked myself over. There were some obvious dissimilarities between myself and the furred ones.

. . . Number of limbs, for instance.

Crack! . . . Slllllp.

. . . They didn't have feelers, either.

Zlllpt. Zlllpt.

. . . Or back-spines.

Kkkkkrrpk.

There. . .passable. I hurried out, hoping that the native was still there. It was! I scurried behind it, and pretended that I'd been there the whole time.

"Hi. . ." it made a tonial noise. Was it trying to communicate? I tried to replicate the sound it'd made.

"Hoh. . . ha. . . hiiii. . ."

I then grabbed it up in an embrace like the furred one in the picture. It seemed pleased. I followed it out to the two larger natives I'd seen before, from above. The lighter haired one seemed to panic upon my arrival, swooping down upon me. I schooled myself not to react. I needed to go with the juvenile. The other native; I assumed it to be the mother of the juvenile, dragged it away from me in a defensive posture. The older one put on an expression of was I assumed was disgust as the one that was 'holding' me spoke.

I had no real idea of what was being said . . Fortunately, the juvenile still seemed to want me, reaching out with its paws in my direction.

 I was happy to oblige.

The light-haired native wasn't exceptionally strong for it's size. I crawled up the side of the other's body.

It didn't seem too happy.

It asked the younger one a question. I was beginning to pick up the language now. . . Aparently, the furred creatures where 'dogs' . . .and they thought I was one. Just as I'd hoped.

It seemed that neither of the adults wanted to juvenile to take me. The juvenile asked me to repeat what I'd said before. What was it?

"Hel. . . Hell. . ."

. . . Dogs can't talk? Oops. I'd be mute from now on. . . Maybe it'd forget. . .I did the submissive-servant gesture that was universal throughout the galaxies; I cleaned out my nose. Since many species use scent to communicate, a clean nose demonstrates clean reception to orders. The juvenile seemed to respond favorably to this.

I was glancing out of the window for any sign of Jumba while the two larger natives where discussing something.

I now know, thanks to my superior brain, most of what was said.

. . .Name? I have a name! 6-2-6!. . . The juvenile say says its Stitch.. . . Oh, well. . .Never heard the word before. I just hope it means 'Great Warrior', or something.

. . . Okay, so I don't have a complete grasp of the language, yet. . . 'Two dollar license fee?!' But, I was distracted just then. . . I couldn't see Jumba, but maybe I could hear him. I filtered out all the background noise. . .

. . . There! Two voices, clearly conversing in Turian. I stepped outside, I could clearly see where the red light was coming from, now. I looked right into my creator's eyes. I knew something he didn't. . . I recognized the voice of the other alien. And, now that I could see him, I was sure.

It was Agent Pleakley. I'd seen him on the news a few times in the lab, blathering about the protection of something called mosquitoes. . . This had just gotten easier. Pleakley was no bounty hunter, and the plasma cannon in Jumba's grasp was Council-issued, meaning that they where going for a quiet capture. I snorted mentally. If he killed one of the natives, it would spoil his plan. . . They wanted a quiet capture for a reason.

I barked like one of the dogs inside. As I thought it would, the juvenile came out and embraced me. I looked over its shoulder and almost dared Jumba with my eyes to shoot. As I suspected, Pleakley intervened. I could hear Jumba's shout; "This is low, even for you!"

I taunted him in a gesture universal to everyone in the universe, even on this strange planet.

"Whoo-hoo!" I cooed as I waved my rear end in Jumba's direction. I had to stifle a laugh. Jumba always had a temper. . . I barked once again. The two obviously didn't want to be seen. . . Spoiling their plan was good enough reason for me!

"What is it, Stitch?" Grack. . . This juvenile was slow on the uptake. . .

Pleakley forced Jumba into the foliage as the other two natives immerged from the building. The light-haired one squirted me with something. . . It reminded me of rain. . . The memory was uncomfortable in itself. I quickly rubbed it off.

I walked with the two natives to an area more populated by ones of their species.  All the while, I was gleefully thinking of how I had avoided Jumba and Pleakley.

'If you had been a little bit nicer at the council, you know, we wouldn't be in this mess. . .' A voice taunted me in my mind. I turned my consciousness inwards.

'Who are you?' I snarled. In my mindscape, I could see two figures. They where both me. . .

One was what I'd looked like right after the crash. . . All my limbs where out, and I was wearing that nice, red-orange suit. I took an instant liking to that one. The other was the one that'd just spoken. I was like the form I was using now, similar to the 'dogs' of this world.

Man, my usage of personal pronouns is horrible when I refer to these guys. . . They where both walking on two paws, upright.  The suited one shoved the other.

'Shut up, Stitch!'

'You shut up, 6-2-6!' The other shot back, albeit he seemed a bit meeker.

'Umm. . . Who are you guys? . . . And what are you doing in my head?' I asked.

'I'm you!' they chorused together, then both growled at each other.

In my body, I groaned and rubbed my temples.

Just what I need. . . I'm an escaped genetic experiment with two people, including my creator who knows exactly what I am capable of, out for my head, and I'm forced to trail along behind a juvenile of an unknown planet like a pet, and I've been run over by three ground-based transports, and now I have MMD. . . Multiple Me Disorder.

This was going to be a long day. . .