~This fic is just a little one-shot thing I thought up, and wrote on the spot, after I was pulled away from the computer (for pull, read: dragged kicking and screaming and locked in the basement), so I just watched the first few scenes of Lilo & Stitch in French, Spanish and English. . . I wrote it so I could have a break from Kauhale Ho'Okahua. This is written from Experiment 6-2-6's point of view. ~

~Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing! . . . Well, 'cept the notepad I wrote the rough copy on. . . o_O~

It was the day of the trial. Officially, it was His. . . Jumba's. . . but in every way, it was mine as well.

I remembered what Jumba had told me before we where both hauled off. . .

"Play stupid animal.* I will find you."

When I was first brought into the council room, in that horrible box, I couldn't see for the first time in my life. . . I mean, I can see in the dark! I've never been in complete darkness. . . the sole exception was that terrible box. . . Horrible experience.

But, after a while, I could hear Jumba. . . He was trying to protect me. . . Saying I didn't exist.

It was all a part of The Plan. . . We had outlined it ahead of time.

My mere presence would ruin this part of The Plan, but it had many more aspects. We had anticipated this portion to fail, anyway.

When I was revealed, he went smoothly into ". . . More than one."

. . .At least my brothers and sisters are safe. . . for now.

Perhaps the council members will believe him on this aspect. Shrug it off as 'Just the idiot scientist'. . . Jumba's no idiot scientist. He's an evil genius.

The council saw me. . .The abomination.

I snarled for effect. All a part of The Plan.

Still, even though it was a part of The Plan, I was still hurt to see all of the horrified faces. Am I really that horrible?

Those looks directed at me could burn me, rhetorically, of course, more than any standard-issue blaster.

Heh, when Jumba was telling them my capabilities. . . To them, he was an idiot scientist showing off his created monster. To me, he was a proud father showing off his son. **

When he said "Just a little one.", I nearly laughed. It was an ongoing joke between us. . . I was the 'Little Monster', and he was the 'Big Monster'.

When the grand councilwoman asked if I was good. . . That was the hardest part of The Plan to keep. I wanted to shout "Yes! If not now, I have potential!"

But I had to play the animal.

I was intelligent enough, as Jumba would say, to not let on to other intelligent species that I was as, or even more, intelligent than they were. I could fake animal-like behavior. . .And I'm a little ashamed to say that I enjoyed it.

If I didn't fake the 'uncontrollable experiment', I would be cloned as an army. . .Which was my original use, before Jumba turned over a new leaf. . . So he said.

Being a clone in an army would be no life for any of me.

. . . Did that make sense?

All my selves would be nothing but killers. . . Not to mention the people killed in the wars themselves.

Ironic. . .I was made to be the ultimate soldier, and I do not wish to go to war.

I needed to be, for the time being, the 'Uncontrollable experiment'. I could play the part.

I uttered a phrase that I'd heard on a late-night cini-movie on the multi-language channel, while Jumba was asleep one night last month. I'm something of an insomniac.

"Meega Nala Kweesta!"

The council members were horrified, to say the least.

I believe it means something along the lines of "May all your descendants drown in Trog waste."

Even Jumba was shocked.

I could see the reprimand in his four eyes.

"I didn't teach it that." He protested.

It?

. . . That was a bit to far. . . Not in The Plan.

Well, neither was that phrase. . . But still. . . It?

. . . No. . . I must be animal.

Suddenly!

Twip! Bebebeep. Fwooooosh!

Jumba was gone with a final protest of "I prefer to be called 'evil genius'!"

What about me? Little Monster?

. . . No. . . Must be animal.

I snarled a little, then began licking at my confining glass, for good measure.

Yuck.

It tasted like Trog sweat. . . Don't ask me how I know that.

All too soon, I was being carried away by two security personnel.

I struggled in my containment ring. The two thought I was trying to get at their paws, but really, I was working the claws of my second set of arms along the seam where the metal of my ring had been welded.

I was then locked in solidly. . . So they thought. It would take me a while to get loose, but get loose I would.

. . . Where was Jumba?

Oh, yes. In jail.

. . . That wasn't a part of The Plan. . .

I was interrupted from my five-second thinking spree by a quick movement to my left. ***

Shining. . . No!

Needle!

Jumba told me never to let anyone prick me with one of those! 

. . .Especially an empty one. Empty needles are usually used two ways.

Toxins, my body could deal with. . . But not air bubbles in my blood-stream.

. . . Or, they could take a sample of my DNA, which was worse, what I wanted to avoid at all costs.

No! They were taking a sample!

Two huge weapons whirred into place: aiming at me. . . Adjusting to my slightest movement.

Oh, look. . .Big Grey & Ugly was trying to taunt me. Trying.

Oooh, finger!

Crunch.

. . . Hey, it was close, he deserved it. What was I supposed to do?!

It wasn't a part of The Plan, but fun anyway. . .

Of course, the idiot aimed a gun at me. . . Didn't he hear Jumba at the council? Bullet Proof?! . . .Jeeze. . . Makes me want to bite his finger again. . . And I hope it does get infected. . .

I sighed imperceptivity in the nozzle of his blaster.

The little flat-headed guard 'reminded' the captain that he couldn't kill me 'on duty'.

Shyeah, like he could, on or off duty. . . The trog. . .

Soon Big Grey & Ugly left my cell. I memorized it's proportions in five seconds.

 I was bored.

 What to do while I was still working my ring loose? . . . What to do until Jumba would come for me?

. . . He's in jail, though. . .

. . . But would he rescue me, if he could? Does he care?

"I didn't teach it that. . ." It?

Oh, great. Now I'm depressed.

Think, 6-2-6, think! You have the mind of a supercomputer. Put it to use!

You don't need Jumba to escape! You have a plan! . . . Better than The Plan. . .Where's that gotten you? On the way to a desert asteroid!

Hmmm. . . Genetic signature?

Does that include. . .?

Hork. . . Grrwaaaaaaa. . .

Yes, it does!

It trailed my spittle again.

Okay, it wasn't helping my escape plan, but it sure did annoy that guard!

When he spun around on his hover-chair, an idea hit me. I growled, mainly for effect. . . I'm such a dramatist. . .

Bwaaaaaah. . . Splat!

Even without my advanced hearing, you could hear his knees clacking together when the blasters aimed at him instead.

I spat at the guard again, and the blasters conveniently opened the door for me.

All this while I'd been worming my claws in between the two parts of the ring. . . and with a clatter, I was loose! I

Jumba would have been proud. . . If he cared. . . It. . .

I pushed these thoughts from my mind as I picked up the two halves that were the remains of my containment ring. I was never one to waste an advantage.

Blasters of this class cannot kill me. . . Not even close! But they could still stun me, so I used my containment ring.

I bet Big Grey & Ugly regretted that he had put me in the deluxe plasma-proof model now!

It was fairly simple to get into the ventilation system. Although I didn't need to, I made a detour over the ship's bridge to clack my claws loudly over Big Grey & Ugly's head, just to spite him. He even tried to shoot me! I had to laugh.

After dispatching of the power grid, I had to find an escape vehicle. . .and find one I did! It was beautiful. . . A red police cruiser. . . a whole class ahead of the blues!

To my hyper-sensitive nose, it smelt strongly of lubricant number 34. . . a scent I recognized from one of the training sims that Jumba had run for me.

Once I was out in space. . . I knew that this was freedom. . . Forget The Plan. . . Freedom like this didn't come with Jumba, in a lab.

I could almost taste the freedom in the condensed air of my police cruiser. . . even as I was shot at, or maybe because I was shot at.

I had escaped with the intention of rescuing Jumba. . . But not anymore.

I activated my hyper-drive with no qualms, even as the automated system spoke in that annoying voice that all ship's computer's use.

So what if the guidance was not functional? What did it matter?

I didn't need too much nourishment. . . I could survive for weeks, or even months in space.

I'd find a nice planet. . . If Jumba cared for his Little Monster, he could find me there.

It.

. . . But for now, I was free.

I knew what freedom smelt like.

Lubricant number 34.

*Remember how Jumba has some kind of Russian accent?

** 1. . .2 . . .3. .. Aww. . . WAFF

***His left, our right.