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From the comfort of the shadows, you watched a man be put back together. Your stomach twisted in knots, discomforted by the sight. If you had been given the option, you would not be here.
You could not believe the sight when you first entered the room. A body, severed across three limbs, laid on the medical table. Your first impression was that of a corpse from how still he had been. It would not be the first time your master subjected you to one of his experiments, forced to bear witness to his destruction.
Burns swathed his body, leaving it blistered almost completely. His skin had been an array of angry reds and charred, bitter dead cells. From the charred bits of material along his chest, you feared he once had a tunic. The thought of his clothes burning into him did not sit well with you. His lower half sustained the brunt of the burns, though his face had not fared any better.
When the medical droids began their operation, you jumped at the twitch of his body. So, he was alive. A man in his condition had no chance of survival. Yet, here he was, struggling to inhale and exhale without choking on his own cries. He was at death’s door. You wondered the importance of you being here to watch a man, you assumed, die.
His bionic hand curled into a fist, slowly. Any movement took every ounce of focus he had dedicated to breathing. His concentration flew out the window, though, the moment the droids prodded him. A droid carefully, agonizingly peeled back a layer of black from his chest - you were certain, then, that had once been part of a tunic. He let out a scream, muffled by the fact his lips had been sealed from the burns.
Metal palm flat on the table’s surface, he arched his back, trying some way to find an outlet for his suffering. His cries of pain grew in volume, bouncing off the walls. Though his lips were sealed, he tried to stop the droids from touching him the best he could. His hand flew up, wildly swinging at the droid nearest to him.
It backed away and his attack missed. His hiss of pain held layers, hardly thinking the fact that he missed and more so of regret for moving. The focus towards his breathing had gone into that swing. All the more effort he had to put into breathing, wasted on his endless grunts of pain. Whether he did anything or nothing at all, he could only feel pain. He was trapped in a prison of blisters and tender flesh. He could hardly breathe at all under the stress.
His writhing had not stopped. If you blinked, you may have imagined him crying. However, he had no tears. The burns he suffered would not let him cry. Deep down, you found that pitiful to be denied your own release from the pain. All he could do was harden his stare and go through the motions, his eyes darting between soft and a hateful scowl. He blindly stared up at the bright light above him, fully aware of only his pain.
His failing breath hitched between each inhale he could find in himself. While the droids worked around his burns, he squeezed his eyes closed. For the dead flesh that had been peeled, his eyes flinched behind his eyelids and his grunts, by now weak, came curt and in agony.
It was pure torture to watch him suffer. You realized partway through the operation that, no, your master had no intention of you witnessing a man slowly die. For your eyes only, you would see him be brought to life. The miracle of how his near-corpse in front of you would somehow become a man again.
No, you did not recognize this man, nor did you feel that you should. All you were here to do was observe. The order that your master gave had made it mandatory that you be here for this. In all his secrecy, you could not comprehend your purpose here at this moment.
You would be lying to yourself if you did not admit how deeply unsettled you were. As his apprentice, you had taken your fair share of lives. Death, you had no problem executing, if only it was swift. A small mercy granted to those who stood in your way. This, you could not be certain was mercy in any form. It seemed kinder to put him out of his misery at this rate.
Your master, however, wanted this man to live. So much so that you stood rooted to your spot and watched this stranger painstakingly be scrubbed and preserved like some trophy. Given the utmost care to stay alive. Meanwhile, he writhed in pure agony. You felt a twinge of his pain, just then. The moment you did, you forced all your focus into blocking out any of that sensation. It was bad enough you had watched it, you would not dare let his pain feed into you.
The stranger’s eyes had opened again at some point. Towards the end of the operation, he grew quiet, compliant in his immobile state while the droids donned him with new bionic limbs attached to a freshly placed computer in the middle of his chest. At some point, he became numb to the pain, though his extreme hurt would flash into your mind at random intervals. He may have been silent, but he was in no way saved.
For several hours, you had to stand still and watch him be put together. You figured you neared the end of it as they began to dress him in a suit of black armor. The lower half of his mask had broken his silence when they put it on, but he had only let out a pathetic wince. Whatever fight he had left in him had wilted after the grueling eight hours of his surgery.
The final piece moved to a position hovering above his face. It descended slowly, the droid taking care to make a measured placement in order to have it just right on the first try. When it was closer to his face, no longer blinded by the bright light, his eyes widened with a twinge of fear and uncertainty. You most certainly caught a whiff of regret in the air. For what, you would rather not know.
For the first time in a long time, you felt small. Like you were a child, struck with a whirlwind of emotions that overwhelmed you and left you in a state of shock. It made you sick to your stomach to observe this deeply burned man fight for his life (a few times, you were certain he had given up) on short breaths. Whatever it was your master hoped to gain from this, you didn’t think it was you finding your sense of humanity.
The spell the stranger had you under broke when the mask obscured his face from your view. It had been too late, though. His expression etched itself permanently into your mind, scared and pained beyond human capability, but you chose to bury that with all the horrors you faced in the past. As long as you didn’t see his face, you would learn to forget what it looked like. And, hopefully, you could bury this memory as well.
The table shifted and the droids moved back. As it brought him to an upright position, your master was at his side in seconds. Unlike when he was first brought in, his form no doubt towered over yours. Your master had especially seemed dwarfed beside the mass of black armor. The suit gave him a neutral, intimidating appearance. It masked that pain and fear that infested the room the past several hours.
For a moment, you forgot he was human. A melodic inhale and exhale from his respirator rendered you stiff. He looked alien, a machine like the droids in the room. Not at all the scorched man who first entered here. Your master smiled as he turned his attention to him. The cuffs that restrained him to the table did no service in reminding you of his humanity.
“Lord Vader,” he began. Tentative, observing his trophy with intrigue. He inched closer to the light. “Can you hear me?”
There was a pause. The man, Lord Vader, as your master deemed, grew more conscious by the second. First testing his breaths, the weight of his new body, then exhaling. His head shifted the slightest.
“Yes, master.” From there, you heard the first use of his new modulated voice. Machine-like. You picture his pale, burned face, rightfully afraid as the mask descended onto him. This man had no right to call him master, you thought bitterly as your master retreated back into the shadows. He waited for a breath before speaking again, his mind clear. “Where is Padmé?
Padmé. The name rang a bell, one you could not forget if you tried. It was your master’s wish to have you memorize the names and faces of every member of the Senate. For a purpose unknown to you. This man’s first words were about a senator’s whereabouts. Odd.
“Is she safe?”
If you only went by the sound of his voice, you would not believe that the question came from a tortured man. The composed disguise of the modulator made him sound false. That he inquired for no reason other than curiosity. Or, perhaps it was the fogginess in his mind that gave his voice a lull. But you felt it, this tug in your mind, fear and love entwined into one.
“Is she alright?”
Your nails dug into your arms. Bile rose in your throat. How sick for a man in love to be under the wind of your master. Did your master realize this flaw? Did he still see a use for him? You were never like this, vulnerable. It made you look down on this man, even after what you witnessed. You still could not wrap your mind around the purpose of you being here, or why he received a second chance at life.
“It seems…” From your position, your master’s face was obscured by his hood. His tone balanced on a state of caution, reserved, unlike your master’s tone with you. The care he put into his words with this man, it made you furrow your brow. The brief second you opened your mind to read his intention, you only felt the tension of Vader. “In your anger, you killed her.”
“I? I couldn’t have.” He stuttered. Your expression softened. Weak. The man exhumed remorse, guilt, and shame. He was in denial. In pain, unworthy of your master’s attention. “She was alive. I felt it!”
The droid off to the side began to collapse in on itself. It’s fuel canister burst from the sudden implosion. Other objects, you noted, shook with violence. A tremor blanketed the room. You were not safe from such a wave of pain that made you bite your tongue. It wasn’t your own.
The man’s voice gargled through the modulator. He fought and pulled, forcing his wrists out of their binds. His legs as well. Stumbling a few steps forward, the gargled sounds you now realized were a different pain. Something you hadn’t felt in years, as you watched his body convulse into an unsteady upright position. Grief.
His body bent forward before he threw his head back. He choked on his inability to cry, overcome with the terrible weight and let out an agonized, “ Noo! ”
As if you were the one afflicted by this knowledge, as if you lost someone you loved, your face pinched tight. A tug on your heart brought you back to your youth, a brief flash to a time you’d long forgotten. Where your hands, much smaller at the time, shook as you stared in horror at the bodies on the ground. At what you’d done. At what he made you do.
Now, no hand enveloped your shoulder with warmth. No scraggly voice cooed in a breathy tone that you had only done what was right - you still had your doubts. Your breaths seized involuntarily, overcome with emotion. No - you clasped your hands together, burying the memory under years of training, and focused on the men in front of you.
Your master stood to the side of him, completely unaffected by the outburst or the burst of destructive energy. His head turned the slightest and you caught the pull of his pale, wrinkled cheeks. He smiled, sinisterly delighted by the agony that blanketed the room. Almost proud.
Your eyes drew back to the suited man in despair. It dawned on you, then, with a heavy heart how much power he wielded. In the state of injury he had been in, he displayed such raw strength. This was what your master had wanted you to see. Firsthand, you witnessed the birth of his new apprentice.
He was going to replace you.