I Was Beautiful Once

Written by
WatsonSword

Original Concept by
Taylorwwjd

Legal Disclaimer

Lilo and Stitch is © Walt Disney Co. and Chris Sanders
I hold no claim of ownership of Lilo and Stitch or any related characters. I hold no claim to any form of monetary profit for this or any other Lilo and Stitch related story I would write.
This story is strictly to be provided to the general public for free and under no conditions.

The concept for this story was conceived of by the Fanfiction author Taylorwwjd. The original story written by Taylorwwjd upon which this fanfiction is based was called The Redemption of Experiment 625.

I found the premise to be extraordinary, however, I felt Taylorwwjd's original version of it to be far too short. I offered him to rewrite the story keeping the same premise and he accepted.

These are his exact words.

To WatsonSword-
Okay. I will accept your offer. You can rewrite my story. I just have some conditions for the story.
1 - Try to keep the rating as low as possible. (Maybe K+ or under?)
2 - Be sure to say that this is your 'remake' (however you want to phrase it) of my story, the Redemption of Experiment 625
3 - BEFORE you publish it on -url removed automatically by this website-, e-mail me an advance copy just so I can check it out.
I am glad that my story was so appealing to you, and I look forward to enjoying your take on my story.
-Taylorwwjd

Author Notes: This will be a rather short fic. Say, about as long as The Only Thing Worse than Dying.
Also a little voice work. I'm imagining the voice of Past625 being done by Elijah Wood. I know you probably don't understand me right now, but you will.

It was the middle of the afternoon. That meant there would most likely be no one to come bother him… most likely. It wasn't a guarantee, so there was still reason enough to be cautious, but caution took too much effort. Utter limpness and apathy were so much easier. All he cared about now were three things. What he was sitting on, a cushy high ranking officer's chair built of visco-elastic foam upholstered with genuine artificial leather. It was made for something over fifty times his size, all the better to laze in. What he was eating, an orange soda in one hand, a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich with bacon and sliced banana in the other. It was called an Elvis. He learned the recipe from a local nine year old girl who was a fanatic of the sandwich's namesake. Finally there was what he was watching.

A butter knife, glistening like water in the artificial light, plunged into a jar of mayo. The entry was fast, but the exit was slow, so as to give the eye all the time in the world to behold it sliding back out with its creamy bliss so smoothly spread across its surface. The mouth watering, spine tingling slurp and fwap as the knife was brought out of the jar shot through the brain and the heart of onlookers, bringing out waves of heat and cold flowing through the body and making all hairs stand on end. The butterknife, covered with the froth of life, brought itself down ever so slowly to a slice of sourdough breath, toasted perfectly on both sides. The scrape as the mayo was spread across that piece of sourdough was both a shock, and expected. Aside from that though, it was such an incredibly sensuous sound, enough to cause one's heart to skip a beat, and knees to give way under the slightest of pressure.

The creature watched with stuttered breath and racing pulse as a hand came from outside the screen so delicately holding a slice of paper thin turkey breast. The slightest whimper escaped his parted lips as the slice of turkey was set down in the perfect rippled pattern. The hand went off screen, and came back with another slice, and placed it on the bread just as good as the last one. This time a tiny moan escaped his mouth as he could feel a force of ecstasy filling him up, but remaining just out of reach, remaining within the monitor across the room. That wasn't the end. More turkey was set on the bread. Slice after slice, it was becoming too much to handle. So lusciously moist, juicy and tender, it was giving him hot flashes on his neck and chest. Slice after slice of turkey caressed and stroked the surface of the thouroughly coated bread.

It was too much to take. Something had to give, and soon.

"And now we move on to the tomatoes." Spoke up a whiney, squeaky, granny voice with the most horrid pseudo-German accent imaginable.

That was enough to put the mood into a nose dive.

The creature in the chair scoffed and huffed at the painful voice that just had to come in and ruin his perfect moment of unequivocal lust. It just seemed to confirm the old saying, life sucks, and then you die.

The creature on the chair flopped himself back onto the backboard and tossed the rest of his Elvis into his mouth, swallowing almost without even chewing. There was no use for savoring the moment anymore, not after what that noxious voice did to it.

"Do not slice them too thick, but you do not want them to be too thin either."

There it went again!

The creature in question was a rather unpleasant looking creation of a banished mad geneticists. He was a fat, stubby, buck toothed thing with a twisted face, trying to masquerade as an adorable, fluffy little biped. His fur was a dirty tan, which wasn't made any better by the fact that he bathed far too seldomly. He was known only by his serial number, 625.

Unlike the rest of his kind, he didn't have an actual name, nor did he want one. In fact he loathed the very idea of anyone referring to him so personably. Why exactly that was, was a bit of a complicated issue. Nonetheless, you will come to learn it as this story unfolds.

A few more minutes of doing nothing and the annoying voice finally said something that piqued 625's interests.

"That's it for the turkey on sourdough. Coming up next on the sandwich channel, the French dip."

"French dip?" 625 repeated to himself with one eyebulge raised.

French dip huh. That sounded rather kinky, but still, when the mood's leaves, it doesn't come back. The only logical thing to do at that point would've been to change the channel, but that too would've taken some form of effort. He sat back and watched.

That how the rest of the afternoon went. That's how pretty much all afternoon's went around there. And that was how 625 liked it. Nothing would ever hurt him if nothing was all he ever did.

There was a slight downside to such an extreme form of laziness. You tend not to be able to keep track of time. Afternood faded into evening, and into night, when someone 625 knew very well was bound to show up.

625 let his head fall to the side as he heard the unmistakable humming of the elevator descending from the lower levels of the stranded ship he called home. When the elevator landed on the upper level, a silhouette of an sixteen foot tall something stepped out into the light reveling itself to be what looked like a bluish gray, humanoid orca in tights. The whale man took a split second glance around the room. Empty soda bottles, wrappers and magazines were haphazardly tossed throughout the floor, some of them with tiny round footprints smothering their surfaces. Open jars of condiments were piled atop tables, chairs, and control panels. A few of them had been knocked over. And the cause of it all, 625, sat in his chair watching a channel in the four hundreds devoted solely to the making of sandwiches, something he'd mostly likely had been doing for at least the past six hours.

"625!" The whale man screamed.

"Ouch man!" 625 responded, digging in his ear with his nail.

He brought out his nail to find it covered with bright earwax, which he promptly flicked away. It landed on the monitor screen.

"Do ya have ta yell so loud Gannster?" 625 continued. "I mean, yes I know the place is a little untidy, but yer' gonna give yourself a hernia with that attitude, if not a stroke."

"A little dirty?" Gantu yelled back, flailing one arm in the air. "You call this a little dirty? Living with you It's a miracle I haven't had a hernia and two strokes by now."

Gantu raised his head and sniffed the air just a bit.

"And what's that horrible smell? Did you leave the sauerkraut next to the heater all night again?"

"Actually that would be me you're smelling," 625 said, raising a hand. "not the sauerkraut."

"Urrrggghhh!" Gantu roared, and trudged his way through the bridge of his ship, but not before stopping in front of his chair to bend over and say something directly to his face.

"You are a fat, lazy, unreliable, useless slob!" He shouted so close to 625 that it ruffled his fur.

"Hey! I resemble that remark." 625 replied before taking a chug of his soda.

"And maybe if you bathed every once in a while you wouldn't be quite so ugly too!"

625 would blow off most insults like he did before. But what Gantu just said struck a nerve in him somewhere. Ugly. That was the one thing he couldn't stand being called, even though he knew it was true.

625 straigthened his posture and looked Gantu right in the eye. Gantu was caught off guard by this, not expecting it to happen since it never did before. Even more shocking was the look of seriousness on 625's face. Until then he didn't think 625 could be serious about anything if his life depended on it.

"How dare you ever, ever say that." 625 whispered.

"That's not a denial." Gantu remained headstrong.

"I know it's not, but still. Don't you ever say that again, because if you do, you're gonna be sorry. I don't know when and I don't know how, but you're gonna be sorry for it."

"Hrmmph!" was all Gantu grunted before trudging off to bed. He would have liked to have said more, but 625's sudden change in attitude had startled him, and he couldn't think of the words.

625 heard the shhhh sound of the side of doors opening and closing. This had been a very bad day for him, one that brought up things he preferred not to remember. He crushed the can in his left hand, spilling soda all over his hand and the seat, which trickled down to soak the fur on his hip. 625 pain no attention to it. He only stared at his other hand in wonder and in anger.

He was indeed ugly. His paw was an ugly light brown and his nails, the same shade of sickly cashew, grew in a bizarre pattern, with a near straight angle bent in the middle. This paw was an thing of shame, but wasn't always like that.

"I was beautiful once." 625 whispered to himself.

He tried to block out what was coming to him, but there was no such luck. Memories seemed to have a will of their own.

The world was liquid. Dreams were the only things that existed before. Now there was consciousness. Sight was denied. It was frightening. Struggles ensued, struggles for life that ended up being little more than wriggling. Struggling was useless. After relaxing, it felt a tiny part of its flesh lifting upwards. The world became light. Sight was given again, but it was different. Sight was supposed to be shadowy and confusing. This sight was bright, and very clear. Common sense came a few seconds later, telling it that the sight from before was only a product of the mind during the time without consciousness. That this sight was real.

Next came awareness of the self. There were bizarre sensations, soft yet restricting, and warm. Could that somehow be related to sight? Everything was orangey. Perhaps the orange was causing the tactile sensation.

But if things could be felt places other than the eyes, that must have meant that the places that could feel belonged to it. If that were so, maybe it could control these places. It tried. A small, flat surface with four protrusions lifted itself through the murky orange until it could be seen. The orange resisted the movement, which meant it was something rather than nothing. It couldn't feel through the orange, which meant that the orange must have been something outside itself, something liquid.

It moved all parts of its body, trying to get a feel for just what size and shape it was. Knowledge came quick. It was very small. It had six limbs extending from a central body, and a ball that concentrated four of its five senses sticking out of the top of that body. Four digits, two thin and wriggly, two large, flat and floppy stuck out of that ball, while three quills stuck out of the back of the body. Such a things would be easy enough to get used to.

No sooner did it realize these things than a wooshing sound was heard. Yet another sense that was unfamiliar! The orange disappeared, and the resitance to movement was gone.

There was a solid wall in front of it. It was clear, but it could still be seen as the wall reflected the light. It put its paws up against the wall, feeling its smoothness and coldness. Everything was so new.

The wall lifted up, and what stood before it now was a very large thing. This thing was alive, its gut told it. It was deep purple and olive, had four eyes and wore a long white coat. Purple? Onlive? Gut? Eyes? Coat? How did it know the names of these things? Screw that, how did it know what those things did? It must've had that knowledge since before it first became conscious. The knowledge wasn't natural though, since it had to be searched for.

The large living thing picked it up in a white towel and brought it over to a metal basin, where it was washed of all the orange liquid. The sensation was pleasant. Though it was still wet, it was no longer sticky. A few minutes inside another clear wall that blew warm air around it, and it was now dry as well.

The large living thing lifted the round, clear wall away from it, and picked it up again. It was placed on a table and given a very hospitable and comforting look from that thing.

"Can you be understanding me?" The thing said.

That was communication. It was another thing it knew but not naturally. After a second or two, the words started to make sense. Another second or two of searching and the appropriate word to respond with came to mind.

"Yes." It said.

It's voice was masculine in nature, but soft, and so silky smooth. It was given a feeling of smugness listening to its own enticing voice.

"You are being 625." The thing said. "I am being Jumba. I created you. I built you."

Now everything made sense! Its name was 625, a series of numbers which meant that there were probably six hundred and twenty four that came before him. The thing in front of it was called Jumba. 625 felt he could trust this Jumba implicitly.

"Tell me more." 625 asked.

"Gladly." Jumba answered. "I am a scientist. My dream is to create ultimate biological, zoomorphic weapon! For many years have I been to toil and research for creation of such experiment. At last now, I have been succeeding. You are my experiment 625. You are my ultimate biological, zoomorphic weapon."

625's heart raced at at those words. The details were still a little hazy. But what that essentially meant was that he was built to be powerful. Weapons are things that are respected and feared. he is something that will be respected and feared. 625 wiggled his figertips as they tingled with excitement.

"You are being best." Jumba continued. "No other experiment can be being better than you. No other experiment can hope to be. You, 625, are beginning of new species, with physical and mental prowess far surpassing all others. You are beginning of new species, a species that will be destined for to rule over stars."

Passionate heat filled 625's blood as he heard more. He, and many others like him were going to rule someday. He was the beginning of a legacy that would lead to the monarchs of the stars. His purpose in birth was to be given power, so it would be his purpose in life.

"I want to be showing you something." Jumba said.

Jumbe bent over and picked up a large disc and held it in front of 625. Within the disc 625 could see the image of another living being.

"This is being you." Jumba said. "This is being your reflection. It is what your appearance is."

That disc was somehow showing him what he looked like. It was incredible. The body was lean and muscular. Almond shaped eyes glistening like black diamonds. Great golden fur seemed to glow and radiate an aura of the most exquisite velvety smoothness. Four mighty arms surely had the strength to rend even the toughest of materials. Two fangs protruded from the mouth, pointing down. They looked downright lethal in their sharpness, and they shined like freshly polished chrome, only pure white. Finally, ears swept back from his head, ovoid but with tapered ends that looked like the tips of daggers. Those ears were positively majestic.

625 could only stare in awe at his image. He brought his hand up to the reflection as if trying to touch another him, even though he knew it was impossible.

He was beautiful.

Life was going to be good.