Stitch's Revolution

by Bennie Stardust

A reimagining of Lilo & Stitch and its sequels. In deep space, a revolution made of genetic creations mercilessly attacks the expansive Galactic Federation. Sensing betrayal by their creators, a small band of revolutionaries breaks away, only for one to find himself stranded on Earth, where a lonely young girl gives him a far greater victory than the one he was fighting for.

10. Disclosure

Chapter 9:
Disclosure

I

"You…" 89 slapped his bony right hand on the glass, making 345 jolt. The teary-eyed Experiment rose wobbling to his feet, like it was his first time standing up in years. His wide, cracked eyes fell upon 621. "One thousand...Eight hundred...And ninety-two," 89 muttered as he stared at the marksman without blinking. He turned to 300. "Three thousand...Five hundred...And eighty-eight." He still did not blink.

"The hell is this?" 624 turned to Jumba, who seemed to have forgotten the agony in his hand since 89 was revealed. She picked him up roughly by the collar of his lab coat when he did not answer. "What have you done to him?!" She demanded.

"J-J-Jacques wanted a prophet!" Jumba spat in fright, nodding to the choleric Hamsterviel. Behind him, 625 stared in terror at 89, while L.E.R.O.Y. seemed more concerned about his broken legs. "An Experiment that could envision future events," Jumba continued, doing his best to avoid the demonic fireworks of 624's gaze. "Number 89 was to warn you of oncoming dangers, b-b-but something went wrong as I was developing him..." His four eyes trailed off to the right, where he found 89's piercing stare to be no more comforting than 624's. The bony Experiment looked to his pink successor.

"One thousand...Three hundred...And two." 624 ignored him.

"So you know what he's murmuring about, then?!" She pressed, knowing that the answer would not make her any less outraged. Jumba hesitated in his answer, so the pink Experiment reasoned that he needed two whip-like slaps across his fleshy face as encouragement.

"E-Everything!" The scientist cried as his cheeks roared with sting. "He talks about what he's seeing! All the time! Things from planets' ancient histories or things I've never even heard of!"

"So, the past and the future?" 221 began, pondering his creator's words. "If you think about it, the future never really end, does it? If you could see all that, without end..." He went pale. "Do you see anything like that, 300?" The electrician inquired hesitantly. He was met with the attention of two gazes; one icy and stoic, and another sopping and demented.

"I've not tried," The telepath answered as 89 chuckled and shed tears. "And I would rather not,"

"You wanted an Experiment who could see the future," 624 turned back to her heavily-breathing creator. "I guess you didn't completely fuck it up." She thrust Jumba back to the floor without delicacy. As she did, 89's attention turned again to the spherical scientist.

"Two..." The would-be prophet muttered. 624 stared at Jumba for a few more moments, as the scientist felt the boiling demonic fireworks turned to fire at him.

"What do you think, 621?" The pink Experiment turned to her four-armed ally, who still knelt pensively in front of the glass. "In light of this little secret, you think maybe we should do something special for four-eyes?" She and her comrades had to wait a while for an answer. 621 looked a little longer at 89, staring into his diminutive pupils, almost seeing the black and abominable infinity that the wide, cracked eyes would never escape. The marksman thought of his friends, 501 and 502. He remembered them, day after day, standing on opposite sides of a glass wall; the closest they could ever come to each other. He remembered their faces, as long and blue as the most infinite and isolated sea. He imagined the anguish they felt every day, denied the simple pleasure of embracing because Hamsterviel wanted suicide bombers. He imagined the pain of dying in scorching flames, while their target, Captain Gantu, stood mere inches out of harm's way. Then he imagined the mind of the creature in front of him, being bludgeoned every second with an onslaught of information. 621 felt the weight of his short life, and then imagined the combined weight of all the universe's lives, and all the lives still decades a way on top of it. 89 must have been lying down, the marksman thought, because all that weight had pushed him down. All of this on one creature, born into the world and then beaten to death by everything in it, because Jumba made a mistake. Worse than that, he thought, is that the bastard did nothing to help his poor, ruined child except lock him in a closet and try to forget his misstep. 621 stood up and turned to his comrades.

"I have an idea," He said casually to 624.

"Do tell..." The pink Experiment pried with malevolent curiosity.

"Everyone huddle up," 621 ordered before turning to Jumba, Hamsterviel, 625, and L.E.R.O.Y. with a petrifying scowl. "So the scum will be surprised,"

Jumba and 625 both felt frigid, while Hamsterviel only returned the scowl and L.E.R.O.Y. simply glanced up briefly from his broken legs. The four traitors sat while the Rebellion discussed in a closed circle, without so much as a whisper escaping their conversation. It wasn't long before all heads except 621's nodded and they all turned to face their victims. Each of them, except 10, sported a grin that would've been welcome on the devil's face. It took Jumba a moment to notice that each demonic smirk was directed at him.

"Is there any means of entering 89's room?" 300 inquired, slithering towards his obese creator like a serpent preparing to bite its prey.
"T-T-There's a key," The scientist tried to be stolid but failed miserably.
"Where is it?"
"...I've forgotten." A lion pinning Jumba to the ground and growling into his face acted as the period of his sentence. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you!" The terrified scientist exclaimed, expecting 300 to release him in response. It became apparent to him that he would have to answer before he was freed, and not after. "I-In the leftmost drawer of my desk! The one in front of the screens!"

300, maintaining the lion's shape, turned to 149 and nodded at her to retrieve the mentioned key. "Ya couldn't read his mind for that?" She asked as she walked.
"I did. I wanted to amuse you all, though,"
"Aw, how thoughtful of ya, 300," The short Experiment joked.

The shapeshifter resumed his natural, blob-like form and picked his shaking creator up by his head. 621, 221, and 624 respectively picked up Hamsterviel, 625, and L.E.R.O.Y. "You're gonna love what's coming up," 624 whispered sinisterly into her captive's long ear.

"Don't suppose it's some casts for my legs?" The clone replied sarcastically.

"Here we are, fellas," 149 returned, flipping a thin, grey key into the air like a coin. "Oh, and get this; Jumba's got nearly as many cameras spyin' on us that he's got Experiments,"

"Seriously?!" 345 asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, he's watching the others down in their new base. He can see 'em train, talk, rest, shit, bang; Chubby here's gotta be the universe's biggest Peepin' Tom,"

"Makes sense," 621 responded. "That'd be how he found out about our double-rebellion in the first place. Hence moving the others to a new base, hence 627, and so on. Doesn't excuse making 627 a goddamn psychopath, but I wouldn't have done much different myself, in all honest," He continued as 149 unlocked the glass door. To her surprise, 89 had stepped to the side, holding a branch-like arm out like a doorman welcoming guests.

"Y-You're g-gonna lock us up with...Him?" 625 questioned as he shivered in 221's uncaring grasp.

"Aw, don't feel so bad, mate," The electrician began as he thrust the traitor into the closet of a cell with 89. "You guys get the best part!" Both L.E.R.O.Y. and Hamsterviel followed suit. 10 and 345 picked up Jumba by his arms and brought him in front of the open glass door. The scientist's eyes locked onto 89's watery two, and his heart raced in a terrified flee at hat would await him inside. Then the glass door shut and locked, as if mocking him for being hesitant. Hamsterviel darted up to the glass when he realized that his assistant would not be joining him.

"What are you doing?!" The sanguine-clad scientist demanded, a tone of fright beginning to consume his typically furious voice. "You don't want him! I'm the one who manipulated you! 501 and 502 are dead because of me! He just assisted me!" Had he dropped to his knees, he would have appeared no less pathetic from the countless preceding victims of the Experiments.

"We don't want him?" 621 questioned evilly as his vile smirk turned to face his imprisoned designer. "What would you know about what we want?" He took a step towards the glass, taking a blaster out of his gunbelt. "Don't be scared, Jacques. You get to enjoy the show." With that, the marksman turned to his other creator, leaving Hamsterviel breathing a hurricane and sweating a hailstorm. L.E.R.O.Y. finally looked up from his legs, 625 watched hesitantly from the very back of the cell, and 89 sat on his bottom beside his designer. Although the madman was still indecisive between a grin or a frown, he was finally silent.

Jumba found himself on his back, feeling closer to death from a heart attack than from his bleeding hand or anything external. Eight of his 628 creations stood over him, all smiling at him while pensive with malicious delight, and their hands hovering at their sides, anxiously awaiting the order of what to grasp. 10's clawed hands also hovered, but he looked more infuriated than excited, so Jumba was shocked when the medic's stomping foot was the first thing to touch him, right down on his chest. Although the scientist's one intact hand could wrap entirely around 10's leg, he was incapable of moving the determined limb.

"So…Do we just start?" 10 asked, his voice rumbling with an ominous mixture of anxiety and hesitance.

"On the count of three…" 621 responded, as all the Experiments surrounded their constructor like a horrible pall. "One…" Jumba clamped his four eyes shut. "Two…" The marksman's voice trembled with excitement. Hamsterviel's nose was against the glass; he felt like he was encased in ice. "Three!"

Waves of fists immediately crashed again and again above the crowd of Experiments. Jumba was practically invisible. He could only be heard in two ways; the screams that came clearly whenever his neck was not grasped, and the cracks that the prisoners preferred not to imagine the sources of. Hamsterviel would never know why he endured the pain of watching, but his best guess was that turning away would be ultimately futile. He heard a whistling sound amidst the cries and snaps, but did not take not of it immediately. He saw 150's silver left hand raised in the air, its fingers becoming crimson, before rocketing back down into the waves of other fists. He saw light glowing from within the crowd, and could tell from the boisterous buzzing that came with it that it was 221's courtesy.

"This is for 626!" 624's voice declared from within the crowd, right before a particularly noisy crack and an even louder cry from her creator. Hamsterviel did not turn away but his head did jerk down. His eyes, wanting to drip but refusing to, remained open. He felt two furry hands rest gently on his shoulders and did not need to look up to tell that they belonged to L.E.R.O.Y. As the sounds more violent than anything Jacques had heard in his military career continued, he finally took note of the whistling sound; it was 89. The madman stood right beside him, his hands behind his back, and whistling randomly as he watched the waves of fists continue crashing. Jacques thought concentrating on the whistling might calm him, but the exact contrary occurred. Instead, all the former soldier could imagine was Jumba's voice, at a time when it was still and soothing.

"It's working, Jackie! Look, you can see it forming! Hands with fingers and feet with toes! It's about as tall as you, Jackie! Do you know what gender you made it?! I—Did you see that?! It blinked! It has eyes and a nose and ears and…It's female! Now it's—She's standing up! And…Hello there. My name is Jumba and this is Jacques. You could say we're—Um, I mean…We're your parents. Don't be scared, we won't hurt you. Here, I'll help—"

BANG

Hamsterviel may have been shot himself, as his shock was enough to knock him off his feet. Standing up again, he returned to the glass, finding that the waves of fists has ceased, and in their place were eight Experiments standing perfectly straight, appearing to be made of stone. Their heads were raised to the ceiling but their eyes were shut and their breathing was loud. There wasn't a single finger that was not red. The closest one to the glass was 621, whose upper right hand gripped a blaster that gave off smoke. The crowd broke up and approached the glass cell, where L.E.R.O.Y. still stood beside Hamsterviel and 625 still cowered in the corner. Jacques noticed a short, red puddle in the distance, which 624 unknowingly stepped in. 621 was right in front of the glass now, and although Jacques looked with horror into the marksman's eyes, they instead were directed at 89, who continued to whistle.

"It's alright," 621 said warmly to the madman. "He suffered for what he did to you." 89 did not cease whistling right away.

"One thousand...Eight hundred...And ninety-three," Was all he responded with. 621 hung his head before looking back up at Hamsterviel.

"As for you," The marksman began with a growl. "Your turn will come soon enough,"

Jacques' terror-filled eyes narrowed. His gloved hands clenched into fists, and he spat. Were it not for the glass, the saliva would've hit 621 right between the eyes. From either side, the spit appeared as an uncolored blood splatter on either 621 and Hamsterviel's forehead.
"I look forward to it," The scientist snarled. Creator and creation glared at one another for some time, until it became clear to the marksman that Jacques had nothing else to turn to in the cell.

"Right, then..." 621 said stolidly to the prisoners after a few moments. "You three can sit there and think about what you've done." With that, he left them. Hamsterviel felt like sitting down, but he did not. "What's wrong?" 621 curiously questioned his allies, who he now noticed all seemed awestruck.

"...Nothing," 624 answered after a moment. "It's just...We talked a lot about killing him, and now he's dead. It's kinda weird that it's, like, real now,"
"Are you disappointed?" The marksman was not angered, but his curiosity was stern.
"No, no, I'm glad we killed him," The pink Experiment defended. "I just never realized how used I was to wanting to kill Jumba,"

"The future so quickly becomes the past," 300 added. "That it seems to never have been in the present,"

"...Yeah, pretty much," 624 nodded.

"Oh, but this is just the beginning," 621 declared. "We're in the center point of the revolution! It's ours! With Hamsterviel and Jumba out of the way, we're closer to taking the Galactic Federation than we've ever been!" He saw color return to his comrades' faces. "There are a few things to take care of first, though." The marksman was thankful that his allies listened. "We need to check the rest of the base. Jacques may have left a trap somewhere in case he was captured or killed. We should check the place over just in case,"

"Sounds good," 150 replied lowly.

"Also, would anyone be willing to volunteer to take Jumba and throw him out or something?" The marksman added, looking at their reddened and permanently-horizontal creator.

"I can oblige," 300 answered.

"Thank you, 300,"

"Anything else?" 149 inquired.

"Yeah..." 621 hesitated in his continuation. "I'm not sure if Pig's body got flushed out with L.E.R.O.Y.'s knockout gas. I'll go see if she's still there and get rid of her if she is,"

"Well, al-righty-tighty," 624 clapped her hands together. "We can split up and double check the place, 300 can get rid of Jumba, and you can see to you-know-who,"

"Excellent," 621 said, trying not to sound angered. "And once we know for sure that this place is safe, we can get back to finding 626," He smiled a genuine smile, and so did his comrades. 624's was the widest of them all. "So, let's get started." The marksman was quick to leave the room, heading back the way the Experiments came in. The others went in the opposite direction, 300 dragging his late creator by his coat, towards the still-unknown parts of the base. 345 exited behind 624, and was quick to notice the crimson left footprints she left in her stead.

"Hey, 624," The clown called without any immediate concern.
"What's up, 345?" As the pink Experiment turned around, she noticed the wet trail that was following her. When she did, she laughed. "How long have I been making those?" She merrily asked her green comrade.
"Since after you finished with Jumba, I think," 345 was similarly chipper.
"Suppose I should go wash this off then," 624 suggested, lifting her left foot to examine its bloodied sole. "Well, at least if anyone else needs the bathroom, it'll be easy for them to find it," Both Experiments laughed as the pink one continued as she was.

345 continued laughing for a short while, but found it gradually becoming hoarse. He looked at one of the crimson footprints left by his ally. He knelt down and looked closer. Its color did not amuse him. Its shape did not amuse him. Its position on the floor did not amuse him. The clown spent several minutes observing the footprint, trying to find even the slightest aspect of it that could make him laugh as he and 624 just had. He examined it so much that not only did he not laugh, but he frowned. He looked at his hands that he had pressed to the floor, and how his the red of his fingers looked ominously inconsistent with his otherwise green-and-white fur. The clown remembered 10 once telling him that frowning required more muscles than smiling, but he had never considered it until now. His jaw hurt from frowning. Frowning, he thought, hurts even more than being grabbed, except in a hug, of course. Hugs. He remembered, years ago, the first hug he ever experienced. He had shared it with Jumba. The same Jumba that now lay in a bloody puddle in front of his partner and a few of his creations. 345 jumped to his feet as if someone had stabbed him with a spear used to pull him up. He traced his mouth with one finger; the frown was longer than he feared it would be. He thought about returning to Jumba's lab, but could barely bring himself to look at the doorway. He knew he was supposed to check for hidden dangers on the base, but could not spur himself to follow 624's red footprints. The only way the clown could bring himself to move was where 621 had gone. His pulse was stable but his head was in a painful knot. Somehow, he thought 621 might have an answer for him.

II

345 was surprised that the room the Rebellion had begun in was totally empty. He did not check the pit in the center, but he noticed a surprising absence of both 621 and the late Pig. The only things, besides the huge computer and wall of weapons, were Hamsterviel's discarded metal gloves and plasma rifle. The clown picked the weapons up and replaced them on the wall with their family, thinking they could be useful later. 345 turned to the door that he had previously opened to remove L.E.R.O.Y. and 625's knockout gas. His irritable comrade may very well be in there. With the oxygen field back on, he thought, there's no harm in checking. He approached the circular door, and when he was near enough, he heard a soft sound from behind it. The clown didn't need to understand the words to know that it was 621's voice. He leaned against the metal, listening carefully at the melancholic tone.

"I'll admit, I was a bit surprised when I found out he killed you..." The marksman said to someone. 345 knew just who the conversation's other participant was, if she could be called that. "It's not like I wasn't expecting it, more like I just wasn't thinking about you right then and there..." 621 sounded strangely depressed to 345. He sounds disappointed, he thought.
"How did it feel when he put the gun to your head? Did you make eye contact? Was he smiling? Glaring? How quickly did he do it?" The marksman unknowingly disturbed his eavesdropping comrade, who thought he sounded like a lifeless interviewer questioning an even deader guest. "And how did you feel?...Scared? Angry?...You look disappointed." His last statement sparked a recollection in 345. The clown remembered when Hamsterviel revealed Pig's body. 345 had not taken much notice in her final expression, but in hindsight, he agreed with 621 that her frown and lowered eyebrows looked very much disappointed.
"By your death? Or by your life, looking back?" 621 continued. "Don't know why you'd be disappointed with your life," Anger slowly replaced melancholy. "Every time you pushed one of us, every time you insulted one of us or beat us up in training, and let's not forget your...perverted fucking treatment of 502!" Spit was audible as the fury grew. "All of that was your choice! You've no excuse for any of that, so why you'd be disappointed, I haven't a goddamn clue!" There was a pause. 345 thought about intruding, but hesitated.
"I don't know if you noticed while you were wallowing in your own self-pity, but he never smiled again after that. It was bad enough that you took away his pride and his dignity, but you know the one thing he wanted then? Even more than the Grand Councilwoman's death or even Gantu's...He wanted to hug 501. And she wanted to hug him, too," Another pause as the depression returned. 345 thought he heard 621's voice quieten as one's does before crying, but still he hesitated to pull the door open. The marksman continued, although his deep voice was broken like shattered glass.
"They always wanted that, yes, but after you, they wanted it more than ever. 501 just wanted to hold him and tell him that it would all be alright, and that she was there for him. But she couldn't do that, just because Hamsterviel apparently had to make them suicide bombers..." Another pause. The marksman's breathing was like a volcano nearing eruption. "...Just like you had to tie him up and...They were sad enough without you...That's just the problem with you; there's no fucking need for you!" A shifting was heard. 345 assumed it was the rattling of 621's gunbelt as he stood up. "502 didn't need you! I didn't need you! None of the Experiments got along with you except 276 and 133 anyway!" The second mention made 345 jolt; he had nearly forgotten his old lover. "345 didn't deserve to have his partner betray him! There was no fucking reason for you to encourage 133's behavior!" The clown suddenly felt an ancient pain consume his body. He remembered feeling like one half to a whole that the comedic 133 completed. Every time they talked together, joked together, or laughed together, the clown believed that his partner thought similarly of him. Then 345 found him with the to-be Pig, neither making even the slightest effort to hide their intimacy. 345 had not felt that sting in a lifetime, but it felt worse as he continued to listen to his friend's broken voice.
"And you know what?! It should've been you born with fingers missing, and with the whole universe in your head, and unable to touch someone you love because you'd both die!" 621's rage could now be heard without leaning against the metal. "You know, I've watched lots of people die; people I love like 501 and 502, and people I hate like Jumba, and the one fucking time I miss it is when it's you!" A boisterous whack was heard, and 345 jolted again. "The least you could've done is let me watch the light leave your one working goddamn eye!" Another whack. "But you couldn't even be that kind, could you?! YOU FUCKING PIG!" Five more whacks, and then a bang. Water poured from more than one place on 345's face as he tore the door open. He didn't care if he was accused of eavesdropping; he only cared for confirming that there was only one corpse in the room and not two. To his overwhelming relief, it was so; to the right of the pod, 621 stood over a splayed Pig, gripping a smoking blaster in his lower hands. The yellow-furred body's face, despite having gained more bruises, had no bullet wounds aside from the one donated by Hamsterviel. The marksman and the clown looked at one another for a while, both breathing heavily and with moist eyes.

"I, um..." 621 began, sounding much calmer than he felt. "I forgot that I had no plasma bullets." He looked briefly back at the abused corpse before turning back to his elastic comrade. "A bit silly to shoot her with just regular bolts, huh?"

"I thought you shot yourself!" The clown was not as subtle.
"Again, no plasma bullets...Why would I shoot myself?"
"Well..." The confusion of 621 nearly passed on to 345, but he defended his assumptions. "You sounded so sad,"
"So you were eavesdropping?" Despite the accusation, the marksman sounded no more troubled.
"I-...Yeah, I was,"
"When you should be going over our new base with the others?"
"I just wanted to talk to you, 621,"
"...First things first." He picked up the late Pig by her arm. "You turned the oxygen field back on, right?"
"Yeah,"
"Good." 621 pushed a button on the wall, and the second door, which revealed deep space, opened. He threw the body carelessly into the blackness, where it fell until it reached the limit of the transparent oxygen field, after which it floated without life or end. 345 stepped up beside his comrade, and they both watched the yellow body turn slowly to an icy gray.

"What I've learned from serving the Rebellion, 345," The marksman began. "Is that, kind or evil, selfish or generous, everything is temporary," He finished with a growl as he returned inside the camouflaged base. "Just like Pig, and just like the Federation,"

345 was pensive for a moment before following his waspish ally. "And the Rebellion?" He was direct in his questioning, but not challenging. 621 turned, visibly irritated.
"The Federation has had their time, 345, while ours is just beginning,"
"But is that good?"
621 was unpleasantly surprised by the inquiry. "Of course it's good. Where is this coming from, 345?!" He disguised a demand in a question. "With all the progress we've made today, why do I see you risking suffocation in space one minute and then doubting our cause the next?!"
"I..." The conflicted clown hesitated, but his lust for explanations overpowered him. "I've been thinking about Jumba-"
"Who you helped to kill barely minutes ago!"
"I know, I know!" 345 raised his voice in the hopes of improving his boiling comrade's listening. "But it was different from politicians or generals or things like those. I saw Jumba after I was created. I saw him all the time on that screen at our old base, briefing our missions. I only saw those other people a little bit before we killed them, but with Jumba, it's like..." He paused for a moment, searching for the words. "Like you see somebody a lot, and then not at all, you know?"
"Then what about Pig?" 621 pressed. "You saw her just as much! Don't tell me you-"
"Oh, no, never!" 345 quickly detected the disgust in the marksman's voice and face. "Even after we punished her, she still glared and scowled at everyone, and she never said sorry to 502. And I heard that, when you were beating her up, she tried to fight back. Right?"
"Right," 621 listened more closely now.
"Jumba didn't. I know his hand was shot, but still. He didn't even look angry at us; he just looked...Sad." The unhappy clown anticipated a response, but 621 looked pensive, so he continued. "I know Pig deserved it, but I'm not sure Jumba did. I knew those two, but I didn't know all those soldiers and politicians and...I don't know how many of them deserved it,"

The two green revolutionaries were silent for a while. 345 felt his brow moisten as he awaited a response like anticipating a soaring fist. Before long, 621 rested the higher of his three-fingered hands on his comrade's shoulders. "I don't know either, my friend," To 345's surprise, the marksman spoke softly. "What I do know is that they were killed on Hamsterviel's orders, disguised as Jumba's." 621 was unsure why, but seeing a smile absent from 345's face lessened the day's delicious aura of victory.
"But now we're in control. We will decide who will be punished, and nobody will be who is undeserving." He smiled in the hope that the clown would mirror it. 345 inverted his frown, but the smile paled to his many preceding ones. Nevertheless, the marksman settled.
"But there are some things to do first," He continued. "300 said that 627 and L.E.R.O.Y. found out where 626 is, so why don't you check that computer again? We haven't seen 627 here, so there might be something to tell us where he and, henceforth, 626 are,"

"Well, L.E.R.O.Y.'s here. You could ask him," 345 merely stated a fact.
"Yes, but he could lie,"
"Ah, touche...Alright, I can do that." Although he was dissatisfied by the marksman's answer, 345 nodded with his sparse smile.
"Good," 621 patted his comrade's shoulder. "And...Don't ever be scared to talk about these things with any of us," With that, he walked away, assuming 345 would do as he was asked.

The clown did approach the huge computer, although there were still swords clashing in his mind. He would like to only murder deserving people, as 621 had promised, but then he realized that the Rebellion's success hindered on the termination of the Grand Councilwoman. As his fingers hovered over the console, 345 was hypnotized by the reality that he had longed to kill someone who was little more than a title to him. 626's location was near his fingertips, but the clown was idled by the thought of, wherever his blue ally was, if and how much the population had decreased there.
In the moment that he spent on these thoughts, the pensive clown heard something like an echo. Turning around, he found that the sound persisted. It came from the pit that centered the room, and it was undoubtedly weeping. 345 approached the pit, entering it via the stairs that curved beside the pit's wall. As the elastic Experiment descended closer to the sound's source, he found that the pit was home to a metal table, attached to which were several cuffs that would restrain at least four creatures to the table. More importantly to 345, though, was finding the back of a green Experiment, seated on a bottom step with his trunked face buried in his arms, which were folded on his knees.
He must've come down here while 621 and I were talking, 345 thought. He arrived at the step that the sobbing 10 sat on, and discovered that the medic's fingers, like 345's own, were still filthy with red.

"...10?" The clown asked hesitantly, feeling now that his enlarging misery was like a contagious flu that 10 had unknowingly passed on to him. The medic removed his crimson hands from the two spherical waterfalls on his face to look at his comrade. They were both statues for a few moments, with the only things moving being 10's trembling lip and his raining tears. As if spurred by some invisible force, the two terrorists moved in to embrace, and 10's weeping grew louder. 345 hugged 10 more tightly than he had strangled Jumba. Soon enough, his eyes felt wet, and not long after, so did his cheeks. He could barely recall ever feeling the salty liquid on his face, but he knew that he had hated the feeling in the past. Now, however, the tears were like cool rainfall and petrichor after enduring the blistering sun for days. The green Experiments were one gray raincloud, and remained so for a time they did not care to estimate. As 345 held his broken friend, he knew that he was satisfied by 10's answer.

III

There was a knock at the door. As Nani hurried downstairs to answer the visitor, she could not help but ponder the rarity of such a mundane sound. Even in the days of her mother and father, the door was knocked upon by non-Pelekais so infrequently. She had not minded months ago, but in a much lonelier age, it was enough to make her jump. She would have jumped with joy, even, had she doubted for a moment that it would not be a certain tall and suited social worker.

"Good morning, Mr. Bubbles," Nani found the formal response leaping out of her throat without her even hearing it. The tower of a man had put his sunglasses in his breast pocket, so his abyssal eyes were exposed for the world to see and cower before.
"How's your dog, Nani?" Cobra's strict inquiry sliced the air like butter.
"Stitch? He's fine," She sounded calm, but was anticipating a cruel verbal blow that would strike her at any moment; at the very least, any unpleasant surprise would be lessened.
"Forgive me for prying, but I attempted again today to take my boat out, but before I could make it seaborne, I looked out into the sea and saw a certain blue-furred animal maliciously pushing two certain people into the chaotic waves," He was responded by a silence laced with guilt. "It was a while before I saw any of them resurface,"
"S-Stitch was just-..." Nani began talking before deciding on what to say.
"And I heard from Mrs. Hasagawa about the trouble your sister and dog created yesterday,"
"...They were just playing around," This response was more definite, but Nani still wished that she had not said it.
"Perhaps you'd disagree, but I can't help but think of how little improvement has been evident since my first visit,"
"I'm doing my best!" Nani temporarily forgot that she was even intimidated by the monumental social worker. "I'll improve! It won't just happen overnight-"
"Then when?" Cobra interjected. "In a week? In a month? Since we met, you've become unemployed, disrupted an elderly woman's business, and harbored an aggressive animal who came close to drowning your sister. Stitch, himself, came very close to a similar fate, as well," Another brief silence. Nani's heart hammered against her chest, longing to be released so it may leap onto the social worker's throat and tear it open. "It's not so much a lack of improvement as it is the overwhelming presence of the contrary..." Cobra shut his eyes in frustration when he felt that his diction had distracted from his message. "It's not good enough, Nani," He added firmly. "It's not good for you and it's not good for Lilo,"
"You said I had three days!" Nani argued desperately. Although she had dried herself since leaving the beach, she found water was returning to her face. "I should still have today and tomorrow-"
"And today two people under your care nearly drowned,"
"But they didn't!"
"No, they didn't today, but tomorrow..." Another silence. Nani saw something in Cobra's eyes like they were trying to soften, but they were hopelessly sharp. "I don't do this because I enjoy watching you struggle, Nani. I can see that you believe Lilo deserves more and that it's eating away at you. Trust me; it's best to solve the problem before it spreads; before it's too late for either of you,"

Time froze for Nani. For a moment, she was convinced that she was enduring a nightmare, and at any moment she would feel a sickening jolt in her stomach and jerk up in bed, just in time to take Lilo and Stitch surfing. Any second now, and she'd feel the soft fabric beneath her and Cobra would not be standing at her doorway and she would have endless days to spend with her sister. Several seconds past, though, and Cobra was still in front of her, stabbing her with his magnetic gaze.

"Do you understand?" The social worker asked. Nani was a statue for a while; her eyes were wide and her body was frigid. The closest any part of her came to moving was a phantom sensation in her right arm, like it was asking permission to break Cobra's nose just as Stitch had done to her former employer.
"Yes," She lied, her face unaltered.
"Alright..." Another, shorter silence, during which Cobra took a deep breath. His piercing expression seemed close to crumbling. "I'll return tomorrow morning. You'll tell Lilo?"
"Yes," Nani may as well have been answering the same question twice.
"Good." With that, the social worker turned began to descend the house's front steps. For a moment, he might have been walking away from a museum exhibit that would not at all register that he had visited it. For a while, Nani was an icicle, but before Cobra had halfway traversed the steps, she felt like an inferno; one that had been freed from its prolonged containment in a furnace and was now allowed to obliterate the surrounding building.

"Fuck you, Cobra!" Nani exclaimed for a crowd, and its attention was captured like a fleeing animal on a thrown spear. "Have you ever had everything planned out just like you were asked, and then had it all taken away for no reason?! You think I don't have enough to deal with, or that I take care of Lilo by choice?! It's not because I enjoy it, but because it's my responsibility to make her happy!" Her face was scarlet enough to appear burnt, but Cobra's disposition was static; now it was his turn to be an unconscious exhibit.
"I've thought about giving her to an orphanage; just making her someone else's problem! You think I didn't consider how much easier that would be?! But she couldn't bear to lose anyone else! Not after Mom and Dad! That's just not fair!" As she shouted, she struggled to resist the urge to run up to the towering man and tear his head off; she didn't care that it might be more physically feasible for him to do so to her.
"And you what what?! I wasn't doing too bad until you came poking your nose around and fucked everything up! So don't give me any bullshit about solving problems before they spread because you've done exactly the opposite, you...Accident!" Nani fired the last word like a shotgun shell, and still Cobra was stolid. She may as well have been talking to a brick wall. The oldest Pelekai took a deep breath before berating the tall, suited hindrance more quietly.
"You breathe down my neck and then walk around and play with your goddamn boat and get paid to make my life shittier! You come here with your pretentious suit and your vocabulary, like you're such a cool badass. You know what? You're just an ass!" With that, Nani slammed the door like a fly swatter on an irritating wasp, and then it seemed like the world had been muted. Cobra was left to look at the unwelcoming wooden door for a while. For a moment, he considered listening to Nani's tirade, but was quick to dismiss it as an impulsive symptom of losing Lilo. He turned to resume his own life, but was taken aback by a bright crimson face with eyes that could've burned Cobra, the house, and the array of trees behind it with a single blink. The social worker was reminded instantly of the Pelekai's aggressive pet. He also remembered when he watched Stitch's unkind behavior on the waves; the social worker had thought for a split second that he'd seen something red in the midst of blue, but the ferocious blanket of water had smothered Stitch before he could confirm. Cobra grasped 627's neck just as the Experiment did so lightly to him, hushing as he did.

"It's okay," 627 tried unsuccessfully to comfort Cobra, who failed similarly in choking his melancholic attacker. "Just rest..." The blood-colored assassin squeezed the back of Cobra's neck, being careful not to harm him, and watched as the piercing eyes fluttered. "You don't have to worry about it..." 627's somber voice became a jumbled echo as the world as Cobra saw it became as black as deep space.

IV

In Lilo's bedroom, the young girl and her unearthly friend were left petrified with confusion by the clamor downstairs, undoubtedly courtesy of Nani. They stared at the shut door, as if it itself were the older sister, boiling like lava.

"Who make Nani angry?" Stitch inquired, concerned. His fur had become much puffier, like a small cloud, as a result of being dried.

"Probably that Bubbles guy," Lilo, newly dried and in a lime green muumuu, answered innocently. "He must really be pissing-I mean, ticking her off." She smiled as she corrected herself, and Stitch returned it.

The Experiment would accept cursing if it was not with malice, but was thankful all the same that the girl would retract her foul language. He supposed that any curse not encouraged by Scrump might as well be cheerful whistle. He looked over his shoulder to find the doll just where she had been left the night before; on her side by the bottom bunk like a rotting husk. Scrump had been still for longer than she had in months, and still she glared vigorously at Stitch like she longed to drown him in the ocean. It was this fabric glare that erased the smile from Stitch's face, reminding him that he was not yet entitled to smile. "Um, Lilo?" He expected his pulse to quicken, but instead he felt a sensation alarmingly similar to when he was sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

"Yeah, Stitch?" Lilo replied, much more chipper than her friend felt.
"...Stitch is sorry he pushed you,"
"It's okay." She sat beside him on the rug and hugged him as tightly as ever. "I forgive you,"
"Hurt?" The blue Experiment felt only heavier with Lilo embracing him; he knew she would regret her action come his next confession.
"Kind of," She was honest; her side still vibrated with a painful echo, although it had quietened since leaving the beach. "You're stronger than you look." She pulled away, smiling when she noticed his pensive frown.
"Stronger than Stitch knows," He added. He took a deep breath before continuing. As afraid as he was of hitting the bottom of the ocean, he was more afraid of sinking any longer. "Stitch need tell Lilo something,"
"Alrighty," Lilo chirped, blissfully unaware of the brutal truth that was struggling to reach Stitch's lips.
"...Stitch not know what Lilo will say." With every second he was not revealing his chemical and extraterrestrial heritage, the terrorist's sinking grew longer and less bearable.
"Well, I promise that I won't get mad-"
"No," Stitch was adamant but warm. "No promises. No pretending. No lies." He gently took both of her hands in his own, looking down and realizing that she'd soon know that he had twice as many as her. "No more lies..." Another deep breath. Lilo was listening intently, concerned as she felt the faint vibration persist in her side. "Lilo is so nice to Stitch. So nice, Stitch not think he deserve. I want be nice like you, but it hard. Stitch not nice, but Stitch will try. Start now..." It was approaching like the blade of a swinging pendulum. "Stitch is-" There was a knock at the door. Stitch stopped sinking but had not hit the bottom; he merely floated uncomfortably in the black water. Lilo looked at the door and then back at him, asking wordlessly if Nani could enter. Stitch nodded; perhaps he could confess to both sisters at once, assuming that the elder was now calm enough to listen.

"Come in!" Lilo called from where she sat. The door creaked miserably open, revealing, instead of Nani, a figure with fur like flames and a face like a grey sky of storm clouds. Still holding the doorknob with his feeblest grip, 627 found the room's entire contents banal except for Experiment Number 626.

"What's wrong?" The crimson Experiment asked somberly when he noticed the color flee from both Stitch and Lilo's faces. "You said I could come in,"
"I thought you were my sister," Lilo said blankly, frozen more with shock than fright.
"I can understand that," 627 was still, speaking like they were strangers meeting peacefully in a park. "Don't worry, I didn't hurt her," He sounded sincere. "She's just sleeping. She'll be fine,"
"You look a little like Stitch," The girl only stated facts, thinking the creature would become less alarming once she knew more about him.
"Like who?"
"Like Stitch." She gestured towards her more petrified friend, who, despite his frightened expression, was ready at any moment to duck a projectile before grabbing his old foe and throwing him out the window.
"Stitch?" 627 sounded confused as he ventured slowly into the room. "Why did you name him Stitch?"
"I didn't wanna name him something like Fluffy or Gigi; Stitch is a much cooler name," Lilo's stomach had tied itself into a painful knot, but she kept a stolid tone as she spoke to the red alien. Stitch was silent, awaiting for the most ideal opportunity to strike. He wanted to give Lilo recompense, and he did not deem needless blood on her floor as helpful for that end.
"I can think of hundreds of other things to call him," 627 was no right next to them. He knelt down to be level with the sitting human. "Look, there's something Stitch and I need to take care of. I'd thank you if you left us alone for while,"
"Why do you need to be alone?" Lilo questioned hesitantly.
"Because it's...Private. You can't...You shouldn't have to see it." The red Experiment was on the verge of pleading.
"Well...Too bad,"
"...Right, then," 627 muttered after briefly shutting his eyes, which was like shutting a slow and weary garage door. Without another word, 627 picked the girl up under her arms and made for the door.
"Hey! Put me down!" Lilo demanded, thrashing her limbs in vain.
"I'm sorry." The tall Experiment's grip was like stone. "I just don't want you to see this."

Color returned to Stitch's face. He leaped to his feet, swiftly driving one into 627's calf. The assassin's painful kneeling allowed Lilo an opportunity to tear herself from his clawed hands. Stitch saw her flee in the bed's direction as he grabbed each of 627's long ears, hearing a thin cracking sound as he did. After spinning his opponent around once, the blue Experiment released him, sending him crashing through the window above the desk with a boisterous clatter.

"Is Lilo okay?" Stitch asked with concern as he turned around.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry," The girl answered with a deep breath. Stitch looked at her feet and, to his surprise and greater relief, she was standing on a sickly green bag of mush that seemed to be bleeding yellow. A few jagged, shell-like bones protruded here and there. Attached to the crushed mulch was a shape that Stitch recognized immediately as Scrump's body. Lilo took one look at her handmade doll, which looked more dead than it did when its head was intact. She quickly kicked it beneath the bed as she approached Stitch.
"Who the heck was that guy?"
"Someone who hates Stitch," As he answered hastily, the terrorist could not help but recall when he first saw Scrump, and thought that she looked like a corpse. Were it not for his sprinting heartbeat, he might have chuckled at how inaccurate that analogy was in hindsight. "Stitch promises Lilo will know everything, after Stitch make sure 627 not hurt you or Nani,"
"627?"
"Stitch will say later!" He interjected urgently. "Go make sure Nani okay. Stitch will fight Six-Two-um, bad red person,"
"Okay!" Lilo obeyed, and they each darted in opposite directions; Lilo out the door and Stitch out the window. 627 was already scaling the outside wall, which stood only feet away from a lush forest of cool green and brown colors that paled to the shade of the crimson fur. Rolling off the windowsill, Stitch stomped on his nemesis' face, sending them both to the sandy ground. The blue Experiment removed his foot from 627's head before grabbing him by the fur on his chest and thrusting him against the side of the house.

"You are persistent, aren't you?!" Stitch sneered with furious sarcasm as he struck 627 twice across the nose. "Hamsterviel, too. Even on another planet, neither of you can give me any peace!" Another blow, but this time it was caught in an outraged grip.

"Don't blame Dr. Hamsterviel," 627 growled before pushing fiercely into Stitch's chest, knocking the blue Experiment onto his back. "It was my decision to come here. The two doctors didn't mind leaving you here, but the idea of you being lightyears away, still existing, would've bit at my brain like a parasite such as you." The flaming Experiment kicked his enemy in the chin when he tried to get up.
"Speaking of which," Stitch began, rubbing his struck chin. "How did you even find me?"
"The transmission you sent reached your friends," 627 explained lowly as he placed a knee on his opponent's chest. "While I was killing them, so they couldn't hear it. I did, though,"
"Ah." Stitch squirmed and sweated as his rib cage was upset by the red Experiment's knee. His movement was restricted further when two of his foe's four spare arms pinned his hands to the sandy ground. "Did you kill any of them that time?" He questioned with a broken voice of hesitance. "Of my allies?"
"...I did," 627's answer was not immediate. "One of them." Stitch had a demonstration of a heart attack. 624. 621. 10. 221. 300. 345. 149. 150. Even if he ever did see his fellow revolutionaries again, his final exchange with one of them was already long past.
"Who?!" He demanded as water appeared in his eyes as it did on his furry forehead. 627 opened his mouth to respond, but then he had a realization, and his mouth curled into a malevolent smirk.

"Oh, now this is intriguing," The assassin sneered. "You don't know which of the other scum is dead, but I don't have to tell you." A moment passed before the following silence was broken by a bullet of a right hook across Stitch's face, unblockable thanks to his restrained arms.
"It could be any of them!" Another blow from the left. The blood made Stitch's nose hot. "It could be the bitch with the antennae!" Another punch from the right. "It could be the gun-toting psychopath!" Another from the left. "It could be the chickenshit!" From the right. L.E.R.O.Y. appeared in the eye of 627's mind for barely a second, and then he returned to his lust.
"Who knows?!" He picked Stitch up by the neck, holding him so all either of them could see were one another's faces; Stitch's was nearly as red as 627's. "Care to chance a guess?" He snarled, grinning as his predecessors had grinned beneath a burning flag of black and white.

"...I really don't know," The blue Experiment coughed. His nemesis let out a single chuckle.

"This is surprisingly fun," 627 snarled with pleased malice. "Making you suffer as you've made me suffer,"

"It is fun," Stitch replied quietly and angrily, watching his attacker's eyes burn. "Isn't it?" The flames in the red Experiment's eyes turned to ashes, but quickly reignited like an infuriated phoenix, much less forgiving than its predecessor. With barred teeth and cruel hands, 627 electrocuted Stitch until he saw smoke, and threw him powerfully against a nearby palm tree. The crimson assassin approached his antagonist, twirling electricity in all six sets of fingers. Stitch, digging one hand's claws into the tree, rose to his feet with a numb and scarlet face and smoking fur.
"It might feel fun..." He began, spitting blood from his mouth. "But you suck at it." He was responded only with a nightmarish glare, electric hands, and heavy breathing. "You couldn't kill me with a frickin' pod! What makes you think that just hitting me is gonna do any better?"

627 did not reply. His eyes only glowed sanguine. Before he could fire the projectile from his eyes, however, his target was knocked down by a green bullet, which opened as a net that snared the blue Experiment entirely. 627 looked right, discovered four figures clad completely in black; even their faces were obscured beneath dark helmets. On their arms was the black oval with six protruding limbs against a white background that 627 associated immediately with the Galactic Federation. Each figure gripped a blaster of a dark orange like that of fire within shadow. The one in front had fired the net, and he had a long snout and stood on the toes of his long feet; he resembled a raptor. Another, shorter, skinnier of his species was present. Next to that one was a creature just as skinny, but his head was a sphere and he stood on three short legs like a tripod. The fourth man was the largest, with a short head and arms thick enough to hold his firearm in one hand, unlike his comrades, who used both.

"Officers," 627 greeted them with blatant irritation. The other three Federation soldiers responded by firing nets of their own. The crimson Experiment gracefully evaded each projectile without even shifting his footing.
"I haven't caused the Federation any grief!" He scolded. "So don't cause me any! Look, I hate these creatures even more than you do!" He gestured a clawed hand back at the entrapped Stitch, who seemed to be listening particularly carefully.
"You've actually made thing easier for me! Instead of shooting at me, all you have to do is stand there and watch me do your job for you! You can even take all the credit. Really,"

"That does sound reasonable, Lieutenant," The skinny officer with three legs whispered to his raptor-like superior. He sounded younger than his associates.
"Yeah, well, you also thought fleeing the Ambush at Venus was reasonable, Pleakley," The Lieutenant impatiently whispered back. "Have you forgotten the change in plan?"
"What...Oh! That,"
"Yes, that," The leader grunted before turning back to an ominously patient 627. "That could work, but our orders now are to apprehend Number 626 alive,"

"And why, may I ask, would anyone prefer this murderous turd alive?!" 627 questioned with increasing fury. "He's killed your allies, friends, maybe even families. Maybe your friends' families, I'd be willing to bet,"

"Beyond personal matters," The shorter of the Lieutenant's race, audibly a female, stepped forward. "There's this thing you might've heard of called tactical advantage. See, our Captain went back to blue boy's base and found nothing. Number 626 might know where his buddies ran off to-"

"I don't!" Stitch called, still netted, but had ceased squirming.

"Yeah, sure," The officer responded sarcastically. "We just wanna talk; us, him, and some pointy things, about the terrorists' new hiding place. He'll suffer, and that's what you want, right?" She pressed with another step forward. "For him to suffer?"

"I want him dead!"

"That can be arranged," The Lieutenant interjected. "You can come with us, and once we're done interrogating Number 626, you can carry out his execution,"

"I will not kill him as a soldier!" The assassin retorted. "I won't let my grief become your convenience!"

"Well, like it or not, your grief is already convenient," The biggest officer responded less carefully than his comrades had. "We only knew where to find Number 626 by following your pod. If you think about it, it's best to help both the government and yourself. Two Sakaraans with one bolt, as they say,"

"Alright, I'm thinking about it," 627 said firmly before a long pause, during which the soldiers leaned in slightly closer. "I disagree," 627 answered curtly. He was replied with a frustrated sigh from the Lieutenant.

"Whatever you say, my friend." The soldier aimed his firearm at the Experiment, and his comrades followed suit.

"Yes, because we've seen how effective the nets are," 627 muttered before extending an electrified hand. A swift bolt shot out of each fingertip, zapping each weapon and reducing them to fractured messes of fire and metal in their wielders' hands. The assassin was frozen for a moment, as if trapped in a room with a ravenous beast, as he watched each officer hold what once were their hands beneath their armpits. Their nightly uniforms became soaked with red. The Lieutenant, amidst his moaning subordinates, looked back up at 627, whose frozen state melted at the military's continued presence.
"Go!" The Experiment demanded in a roar, his hands emitting green and his eyes glowing scarlet.

"I-I can't feel two fingers!" The three-legged officer cried, scanning the sandy ground in a panic. "I-I don't see them!"

"Fall back!" The Lieutenant commanded through clenched teeth. He allowed his comrades to begin running before he did. 627 watched them vanish between the trees, leaving behind nothing but jagged pieces of orange metal and dots of red. After shaking his head forcefully, the crimson alien made to turn back to his netted foe, only to be struck across the face and sent a distance through the sand on his back by something undoubtedly made of thick wood. In the two seconds he was given to look up, he found a freed Stitch dashing furiously at him and gripping an uprooted palm tree with two hands. 627 was thrust back into the sand by another blow from the three. Then another. And another. And another. And another. It wasn't long before the tree snapped in two, with the leafed top landing on the red Experiment's face, but he slept through the experience. Stitch hunched over as he panted, for once thankful for the interference of the military, despite their entrapping him in an ultimately ineffective net. He could still smell smoke on his fur, and the sweat that dropped from his fur was mixed with blood. It wasn't long before he heard his name being called.

"Stitch!" He knew it was Lilo well before he turned to see her, but he did not know that she would hug him despite his horrifically reddened face. Even after fighting on her property, she still rewarded him with hugs for nothing. Compared to what he felt when receiving the undeserved embrace, 627 might as well have been massaging him. When she pulled away, he expected her to appear disgusted, but rather, she smiled just as wide as when they surfed.
"You did it!" She cheered. "You beat-What did you say he was called? 16-7?"
"627,"
"You beat 627!"
"Yes, Stitch beat him to sleep with tree," The Experiment said quickly. "Is Nani okay?"
"Yeah, she's a dizzy," The girl's perkiness mystified Stitch until he figured that the excitement was a result his defeating 627. "She was unconscious, but I woke her up with a bucket of cold water. She said she saw the red guy, 627, and then this weird pinch on her neck, and then she fell asleep,"
"Aha..." Stitch muttered with a hand on his chin. He only wants to hurt me, he thought. Even Gantu back at base and the soldiers just now he didn't shoot at right away, so is he programmed to exclusively kill me and the other traitors?
"You okay, Stitch?" Lilo asked, her excitement fading into concern at his pensive expression. "Oh, stupid question; you're all bloody and stuff. Do we need to take you to the vet?"
"No, no, Stitch get better." Slowly without 10, he thought. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm his erratic mind as he looked Lilo in the eyes. "Stitch needs-" He shook his head again; another introduction was redundant. "627 look like Stitch, yes?" He allowed blood and sweat to drop, but tears were a different matter.
"Yeah," Lilo's smile had vanished completely as she listened as intently as she had listened to her father's delightfully gruesome stories.
"Stitch is one before 627; Stitch is 626. Experiment 626," Another breath, and then his mouth became a leak, spewing out all the water inside the pipe. "626 came from machine. Machine made by bad people, tell 626 to be mean to people. 626 mean to people with other Experiments; 621 shoot them, 624 break them, 300 scare them. We all mean, but differently...And it was fun...Then 626's...Daddies; they mean to 626. They mean to Experiments. We want to kill them, but they make 627 to kill us. 627 try kill 626, but just trap me here..." The rain was coming. Stitch looked Lilo in the face, and could not describe her attentive expression as anything but disappointed.
"626 alone, 626 stuck. I needed safe place; place to find way back to Experiments..." He stopped again, but could not stop the rain. Lilo's face had not changed. "626 go inside building, and in morning find..." He trailed off again, but decided he was practically finished. Lilo responded with nothing but her turned back and hung head. "Lilo?" He took a step forward, but was answered only with silence. When the girl finally did turn her, she was glaring at him with a grimace he had only ever seen on a face made of fabric. Despite the numbness of Stitch's face, he could feel the warm rain forming in his cloudy eyes. He took a step towards the angered girl, but suddenly found both him and her surrounded by a bubble of glass. Lilo's glare was shattered as they were lifted into the air inside the sphere. Looking down, they both found that the floor of the glass appeared grey, but then they heard a voice that was alien to the human but unfortunately familiar for the Experiment.

"How shockingly easy. I wish you terrorists would become stranded on primitive planets more often." A shark-like face hovered over the glass prison, grinning a grin that was missing a tooth.