The Vital Capsule

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Martín Comoglio, a Professor, Illustrator, Designer & Artist, sends us an unofficial short story that he wrote featuring Darth Vader after his fall on Mustafar. The original text was written in Spanish, so the following is an English translation. Enjoy!

The Vital Capsule by Martín Comoglio
Based on the story and characters created by George Lucas

The Emperor’s voice had never sounded like this before. Slightly muted, almost corroded.
- Lord Vader, can you hear me?
- Yes Master…
Anakin made a genuine effort to respond. Enveloped in an emotional cataclysm after everything that had happened in the past few hours, even the sound of his new Sith name felt foreign to him. And beyond that, he was now forced to understand the world through the mask and helmet that would
allow him to endure his wounds. Entire lifetimes seemed to pass within him, though in reality only seconds went by before he managed to form the essential question.
-Where is Padme? Is she safe? Is she all right?
-It seems, in your anger, you killed her…
He felt his body crushed beneath a thousand gravities, but in an instant, that implosive sensation became expansive. Such energy surged from him that everything around him trembled, fractured, perished, everything except Sidious, who remained untouched. Amid the volatility of his thoughts,
possible actions, immediate futures, he could even envision himself striking the Emperor down. Yet even then, Anakin perceived that his new Master was immensely powerful, even in complete stillness. Not only did he feel no threat from the storm of Anakin’s fury, but he had been the only one capable of sensing him through the Force on distant Mustafar and rescuing him from certain death. After freeing himself from the operating table, he took a few steps and arched backward in a final scream. He did not see Palpatine smile, but he felt the confirmation emanating from him: anger would define his Sith nature. Nothing would ever be the same. And that certainty pressed back against the full weight of his emotional vertigo, calming the volcanic chaos of the last moments. A strange, sudden trace of resignation. Nothing would ever be the same, but what would it become? Anakin did not yet have a clear sense of his appearance within the life-sustaining armor, but he assumed it would be temporary. That his mastery of the Force would allow him to abandon any form of organic assistance. His ego and pride had not been burned away on Mustafar.
- Master, this suit, this mask, they’re temporary, aren’t they?
- We could find out quickly, Lord Vader, but you have just disabled every machine, droid, and medical device in this operating theater useless. Come. Walk with me. Let us seek answers. The Emperor possessed far more certainty than the questions Vader was about to ask the medical staff. More certainty, even, than the staff themselves would have when they answered. But he did not wish to be the one to deliver that truth to his new apprentice. It was a role he had no intention of playing. As they crossed the medical wing on foot, Anakin felt the weight and discomfort of his new attire. He was becoming fully aware of the forced shift in his existence. The pain had not disappeared, but it was more tolerable than in the immediate aftermath of his burns and the surgical procedures that followed: disinfection, suturing. And yet, in his helmet, amid a subtle symphony of near-imperceptible sounds from the life-support systems near his ears, there was one in particular that hurt more than any wound. A sonic stigma. A mantra. A reminder of perhaps his greatest affliction, and therefore of his undying hatred for Obi-Wan: his own breathing. Clad entirely in black, he could feel the fear radiating from every member of the medical wing he passed. Beyond the ever-intimidating presence of the Emperor, there was something else, something directed specifically at him, at his new form. At the question of who, or what, stood behind that mask. An Imperial officer, accompanied by a medical droid, intercepted their path with exaggerated respect. After bowing, the officer spoke:
- Your Excellency, I have brought a 2-1B medical droid, as requested.
- Lord Vader has some questions.
Without any preamble, Vader spoke.
- How long will I have to wear this suit, this mask?
The droid was programmed to deliver the most precise answer possible. It showed no concern whatsoever, quite the opposite, while the officer beside it swallowed hard and lowered his gaze.
- There are different clinical conditions, varying degrees of injury, as well as reversible and irreversible cases. However, respiratory support systems, for example, have most often been used permanently. Bacta tanks can help alleviate symptoms and may allow for the gradual reduction of certain support functions over time, but given the degree of irreversibility of your injuries, it is difficult to consider the possibility of abandoning respiratory and visual assistance. The Imperial officer listened to Vader’s breathing as though it were the perfect soundtrack to the faint hope conveyed by the droid’s unwavering voice.
- In your case, Lord Vader, according to the records of the procedures performed upon your arrival, you have sustained burn lacerations, amputations, ocular damage, and severe trauma to your respiratory system. In many other patients, this accumulation of injuries would have resulted in death within the medical capsule itself, long before reaching a facility of this level of clinical complexity. Palpatine relished every passing second. The events were drawing Vader ever closer to full commitment to the dark side. He allowed himself his first intervention.
- I would say that in none of the cases mentioned by the medical droid could one find the concentration of the Force and Sith alchemy that coexist within Lord Vader… Perhaps these elements will, in the not-so-distant future, allow us to consider the gradual abandonment of such support systems.
The Emperor was manipulating Anakin, guiding him not only toward ideological conviction in the Sith cause, but toward an inescapable dependence for survival.
- Your Excellency is not mistaken. Officers who have relied on devices such as those used by Lord Vader have never been able to stand, let alone walk, mere moments after being treated. Lord Vader’s condition is exceptional.
As the Emperor began to turn his gaze toward Vader, signaling the end of the exchange so he could attend to other matters, another question emerged from behind the black triangular filter.
- Are there any officers currently being treated like me? I would like to see them.
The Emperor understood that Vader would not accept “no” as an answer, and redirected his gaze toward the officer and the droid, awaiting a response.
- Yes, of course. This way.
As they made their way toward the special care ward, Anakin continued to receive discreet yet fearful glances. He began to wonder about his overall appearance, beyond what little he could see by looking at himself. His face, above all. His head. Only seconds had passed while the mechanical arms had assembled his mask. Without making it obvious, he began searching for his reflection in nearby surfaces. He caught fragments of himself along the way, but chose not to stop and look. He refused to show any sign of weakness, and such self-examination would betray his uncertainty. He always wanted to appear to be in control of his surroundings and himself. Finally, as they approached the chrome doors of the ward, he found himself. He had a few steps to study himself, to observe his firm stride, the heraldic sweep of his cape, but above all, his mask and helmet. In those seconds, he understood the sheer imposing nature of his presence. As the door began to slide open, allowing them entry, Vader’s reflection receded like a curtain unveiling the stage. And the scene shocked Anakin. He had just come to know his complete image, the full reflection of himself, and now he saw it fragmented across a handful of beds. Some of the patients bore almost the full front of his same mask, which, as he now understood, indicated both visual and respiratory damage. Others wore only the triangular filter and the chest apparatus regulating cardiorespiratory rhythms. Two of them were submerged in bacta tanks, their bodies marked by severe burns, their suits, similar to his own, neatly folded on their beds. Others were being treated at that very moment, writhing in pain, their bodies bearing clear signs of being pushed to the limit. And there, Anakin realized something simple, something that had never even crossed his mind: the
life-support systems that had been applied to him so swiftly and efficiently were so effective precisely because they were part of long-established, thoroughly tested medical protocols. With the naïveté of a child that finally grasping something previously beyond his understanding, he clearly understood that his appearance was made up of the sum of multiple serial devices. He stepped ahead of his companions, approaching the bed closest to the door, and began to walk among them. His movements resembled less the curiosity of an observer and more the calculated pacing of a patrol. Perhaps he also wished to make it clear, to patients and witnesses alike, that he was something unique. In a suffocating silence, only his footsteps and his breathing could be heard. However, he couldn’t help but notice it: faint breaths, similar to his own.
- Lord Vader, we must attend to other matters.
The Emperor took every opportunity to speak his apprentice’s new name aloud. Only minutes earlier, Vader had been introduced to a handful of Imperial personnel, none of whom knew he had once been a Jedi. Lord Vader was an enigma. And that aura was invaluable to Sidious.
- Yes, Master.
They left the medical ward, while the droid and the Imperial officer watched the two Sith depart. The human sighed…

As the hours passed, Palpatine and Vader did not part. In some way, the Emperor sought to maintain control in case of any adverse reaction from his disciple to his new reality, while at the same time reinforcing his credibility before every watchful eye. He included Vader in meetings with Imperial personnel without offering any formal introduction beyond his name. “Lord Vader accompanies me”. That was more than enough. Almost like a personal guard rather than an advisor. Meanwhile, the young Skywalker remained in a strange state of semi-consciousness. At times, he anchored himself in time and space, particularly when the Emperor introduced him or called upon him regarding matters of the newly formed Galactic Empire. But within seconds, the external world would dissolve, replaced by a shifting moiré of past images and fragments of imagined futures. For the first time under these circumstances, he felt protected by the mask. His emotions, his instability, were buried from the sight of others, projecting a measured protocol of respect toward his master, and a cold, imposing presence toward everyone else. Anakin knew the moment would come when his suit would be removed for the first time. That anticipation grew ever more present, as he waited for the chance to reconnect with whatever remained of his humanity. At last, during the course of a meeting, he heard the long-awaited, discreet robotic voice.
- Lord Vader, you should accompany me for your first immersion in the bacta tank.
Without hesitation and without a Word, Anakin followed the medical droid under the watchful eyes of those present. “Lord Vader must attend to urgent matters”, the Emperor stated. Along the way, once he was certain no one was within earshot, he spoke to his escort without turning to look at it.
- Before entering the tank, I want to see myself in a mirror.
- As you wish, Lord Vader.
They entered a hyperbaric chamber, attended only by medical droids. As one of them approached to explain the procedure, the unit accompanying Vader spoke first.
- We will prepare Lord Vader, and before placing the immersion mask, we will allow him a few moments to look at himself in the mirror. Bring the diagnostic mirror to the tank.
- That is not recommended for this first immersion -said the unit that was supposed to bring the mirror- as the timing required for optimal…
Before it could finish its explanation, the droid began to collapse. As sparks burst and circuitry failed, the other medical unit turned toward Vader. Without lowering his hand held rigid like a pincer still aimed at the smoking heap of transistors, Vader said “Fetch the mirror yourself. Let us not waste any more time”. While the droid, hurrying, fulfilled the order, Anakin remained perfectly still. Other medical units, along with a pair of articulated support arms, began removing and dismantling the external components of his life-support suit with the same arachnid precision with which they had been assembled.
Each piece, each fastening mechanism, was carefully set aside for cleaning and sterilization. But once the respiratory control panel on his chest and the mask were removed, the countdown would begin. The moment he would finally see himself.
The medical droid returned and activated the requested mirror, placing it upon the surgical platform where Vader would soon be laid.
- Lord Vader, to make the most of your time without the mask, it is ideal that the mirror remain positioned on the platform. We must complete the removal of your lower limb prosthetics, which will require you to be lying down.
Vader nodded, barely perceptible, yet sufficient. He leaned his back against the still-vertical surgical surface, and the robotic arms released the fastenings and devices from that section of his suit while securing him by the shoulders and waist. “We will place you in a horizontal position, Lord Vader”, the medical officer whispered. Once laid flat, Anakin found his image before him, clear, immediate. Pain had been his constant companion since Mustafar, but the removal of limbs and the devices connected to his body only
intensified his suffering. Yet, as the hours passed, the young Skywalker had already resolved not to outwardly reveal such discomfort. With parts of his body now exposed, he could begin to see the extent of his injuries, the multiple lacerations. It was well known that bacta immersion required only minimal covering, leaving the body otherwise unassisted save for the immersion mask. And so, the act of being stripped down became, for him, something akin to a unwrapping process. He wanted to see himself to understand his condition, but that urge collided with a single, overwhelming truth: he had no idea how far his body had been destroyed.
- Lord Vader, we must now remove your respiratory support and your helmet, so that we may immediately place the bacta tank breathing mask and other life-support systems.
- Place the immersion mask only when I instruct you.
The medical droid understood perfectly. “You heard Lord Vader. Remove what remains of his life-support systems, his mask and helmet”. Anakin had always held a high opinion of his appearance. It was no coincidence that the beautiful Padme Amidala, so captivating, so radiant, had fallen deeply in love with him. Even now, in those fleeting seconds, he clung to the hope that he might somehow recover that beauty. A memory surfaced: Padmé, lying beside him at dawn, the first light filtering softly through the room, waking him as she gently traced the scar that ran down his forehead and across his cheek.
- My love… What are you doing?
- I’m touching your scar. It makes you look more… Brave, alluring.
A sudden surge of pain tore him from the memory. He returned to the present. His mask was being removed. For the first time, Anakin saw himself. He immediately realized that his vision was no longer as sharp as it had been with the mask. He blinked repeatedly, trying to bring his reflection into focus, without success. In silence, he used the Force to draw the mirror closer, letting it hover just above him. Now he could see the burns, the lacerations. Still fresh, still raw, covering what remained of his body. But it was his fase, his head, that held him. There was no trace of hair. The scars told more than the story of Mustafar’s flames, they bore witness to the impact, the cuts, the abrasions from the fall after ObiWan severed his legs mid-leap. Reddish and violet tones framed the wounds, swelling around them in uneven ridges. His eyes looked different, dull and irritated, and her irises showed yellowish crystallizations. With each passing second of this silent inspection, his breathing grew more desperate, insufficient, strained, and that only further fueled the pathetic feeling of irretrievable dispossession he felt of himself. He was startled when he heard his own voice, unfiltered, unprocessed, stripped of the mask’s modulation.
- Put me in the tank.
- At once, my Lord.
The command, barely audible, scraped against his throat. Anakin instinctively compared it not only to the mechanical voice he now carried, but to the one he remembered as his own, his real voice. Moments later, with the immersion mask secured, he was lifted from the platform firmly, though without haste. He felt vulnerable, handled. And yet, the moment he entered the bacta, a striking sense of relief spread through him almost instantly. Beyond its long-term effects, the treatment offered an immediate stillness, a quieting of the body. He used that time, submerged, to reflect. And for the first time in hours, something broke through the endless loop of suffering, of replaying what had happened and all that might have been, with Padme, with Obi-Wan, even with Palpatine. Now, immersed, beginning to feel something close to calm, one image imposed itself with absolute clarity: his own reflection. He found himself associating it with countless memories from the Clone Wars, of wounds, of disfigurement, of the aftermath he had witnessed in allies and enemies alike. But in his allies, he remembered something else: permanent damage, irreversible, even among experienced Jedi. With immense pain, a pain that fractured something deeper than flesh, he began to understand: that reflection, that ruined thing that still faintly resembled Anakin Skywalker, would heal, yes, but it would not regenerate. It would not reshape itself into what it once was. And any form of cosmetic intervention lay entirely outside his nature. He had always found surgically altered faces grotesque. The only moments of solace that surfaced, perhaps the only ones during that first immersion, were those tied to Padme. And they became the trigger, the ignition of his hatred toward his former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. That constant duality now defined him. What was beautiful belonged to a past that no longer existed. And that loss fueled an insatiable hunger for vengeance, against anything connected to the Jedi Council. Lifted once more from the tank and prepared again for the reassembly of his life-support system, Anakin felt far more focused. The droids and support arms did not remove the immersion mask just yet; there were still procedures to be carried out on the platform. The garment he had worn during immersion was removed, and his body was carefully dried with sterile cloths, hot air would have been unbearable against his still-fresh burns. He paid close attention to everything, but especially to what would be the second assembly of his suit. His doubts were answered by observation alone. What he could not deduce, he chose not to ask, not yet. He did not want to slow the process, but rather facilitate it, to allow it to be completed as efficiently as possible, and thus minimize the inevitable pain. Finally, the bacta mask was removed, and his helmet and mask were restored. As the platform began to tilt, helping him rise, his gaze searched for something, and did not find it. Noticing this, the medical droid spoke.
- Lord Vader, tell us what you require.
- The mirror.
One of the droids moved quickly, activated it, and brought it to him. Vader then ordered them all to leave, and to disconnect both the articulated arms of the platform and those mounted on the walls.
- Lord Vader, before we leave you alone: during your immersion, we observed the tank beginning to fracture. We have never witnessed such an effect before. We thought it necessary to inform you.
The medical unit withdrew without waiting for a response. But the young Skywalker understood. The fracture had been caused by him, by the violent intensity of his thoughts of vengeance.

Alone, before the mirror, he looked at himself again. This time, he allowed himself to truly see, to study. To understand how each part of the suit responded to movement. Its matte surfaces, its lacquered finishes reflecting light, the environment. He looked complete, he felt terrifyingly complete. He knew he had to return to Palpatine once the immersion process was finished, and so he turned away from the mirror sooner than he would have liked. He made his way quickly to the Emperor’s chamber. Upon entering, he found his Master in discussion with two officers, both with their backs to the door. At the sound of it opening, they rose to their feet. When they turned and saw him, they bowed and addressed him: “Lord Vader”. In that instant, he understood, Sidious had already spoken of him. He had not seen these men before. “Officers”, he replied, curtly.
- Lord Vader, the officers were just briefing me on the progress of our new battle station: the Death Star. Please, inform Lord Vader as well.
The officers repeated nearly the same words they had already delivered to Palpatine, revealing both prior rehearsal and the immense pressure of reporting to the highest authority. Vader nodded in acknowledgment, feigning interest, though in truth he was waiting to be left alone with his Master.
- Master, I cannot wait to see the construction process of the Death Star.
- Its scale will astonish you. The galaxy will tremble before our might. Very well, leave us.
The officers bowed to both Sith and quickly withdrew from the chamber. Once alone, Palpatine turned to his apprentice.
- How do you feel after your first immersion?
- Much better, Master. I have been informed that I will spend this first night in bacta.
- The medical officers have decided as much, so it shall be. I need you at full strength, and everything that contributes to accelerating that process must be done.
- Yes Master.
- In this new beginning of your existence, fully devoted to the dark side of the Force, remember this: there is no greater source of power than your anger. Let it embrace you. Show no mercy to those who stand in the way of the path we have chosen to build.
- Yes Master.
- The Jedi Council was our primary obstacle, and we have eliminated it. But it is certain that, beyond your former master Kenobi, others have escaped and remain in hiding. The mere fact that they still breathe is a threat to the Empire, and to peace. It will be our task to assemble a group to hunt them
down. They will hide. They will change their faces, their names… They must be found. And they must be exterminated, and you Lord Vader, you will play a decisive role.
- It will be my great pleasure to destroy each and every one of them, Master.
- Good… Good.
Rather than feeling burdened, Anakin found himself invigorated by increasing responsibility, by the weight of decisive tasks placed upon him. Quite the opposite of his last days on the Jedi Council, where he felt he could barely walk on his tiptoes. After offering a reverential bow to his Master, he turned to leave the chamber but suddenly stopped. Palpatine watched him closely during those few seconds his apprentice took before turning back to face him.
- Inquisitors?
At the word, Sidious regarded him in silence. He rose slowly, his gaze lowered, then lifted it once more, a note of unmistakable delight in his voice.
- Inquisitors… Goooood!.

That night, Anakin spent hours submerged in bacta. This second immersion resembled the first, but now it offered him something more space to delve deeper into his thoughts, to drift, even to dream. To begin shaping the engine of his vengeance. Whenever his mind returned to Mustafar, a faint voice within him would attempt to assign blame his own, born of habitual recklessness. Yet he would immediately revisit alternate outcomes, different from that fatal leap over Obi-Wan. Should he have leapt and landed to Kenobi’s side? Should he have used the Force to hurl an object at his former master while simultaneously jumping, closing the distance the moment his opponent shielded himself? Could the Force have guided the metal platform beneath him across the magma and carried him safely to solid ground? Overtaken by anxiety and pride, he had made the worst possible choice. Immersed in the medicinal fluid, his mind became a quieted volcano, its fury stilled, yet simmering beneath the surface. In those long stretches of suspended time, imagining future actions, a heavy certainty began to take hold: he would never again be who he once was. Recent events had become a turning point in his life, not only through his conversion to the dark side, but through his rebirth as Darth Vader and the radical transformation of his form. This new condition was uncomfortable, painful, traumatic, yet filled with indispensable clinical advantages. And there was something else, something that brought him a strange, undeniable satisfaction: the terror he had felt radiating from the Imperial gazes when he walked beside the Emperor. Anakin’s anxiety had always worked against him within the Jedi Council. But within the Sith doctrine, and the framework of the Galactic Empire, it became something else entirely, purpose, liberating
force. A catalyst for immediate, decisive action. If his appearance inspired fear, then fear would hasten obedience. To become a creature half machine half man, felt increasingly advantageous, increasingly exhilarating. The fear of others became the most potent fuel for his immense ego. And the bridge to that power was his suit, his new identity. It was no mere armor, it was the truest reflection of Darth Vader’s inner drive. Once the immersion and subsequent medical procedures were complete, and his suit and mask had been properly reassembled, Vader once again requested a mirror and absolute solitude. He conducted an analysis similar to the first, though now more intimate, more deliberate. He already understood his overall presence. Now, he lingered on the details, the connections, the fastenings, the folds, the textures. With growing certainty, he realized something: it no longer mattered whether the life support systems were temporary or permanent. He felt a profound unity between what he was within, and what he had become without. At last, he considered crossing his arms, and did so. Then again. Uncrossing them, only to fold them once more, more slowly this time. Imperturbable in his image, his breathing almost mantric. Beneath the unchanging mask, and beyond all physical suffering, he realized something: he was smiling.

- Lord Vader, I am going to make you known. I will formalize before the new Galactic Empire that you are my immediate subordinate, my right hand. Perhaps this is the moment to consider some personalization of your suit, your mask, your helmet. Now that your life is no longer in danger, we have
the time. We could shape your appearance however you wish, as long as it does not interfere with what is necessary for your survival.
- No, Master. This is who I am. Nothing could represent me better.
Palpatine studied his disciple. He took a moment before replying, his voice lowering to a whisper.
- Good… Good. Let us ensure you are no longer merely a rumor, a whisper among officers.
Sidious’ response carried a deeply complicit tone. From the very moment he had first seen his apprentice standing in that new form, he had envisioned the perfect instrument of terror at his side. As they walked in silence toward the Emperor’s chamber, Anakin once again felt the fear emanating from every member of the Imperial staff, so palpable it seemed almost to lift him from the ground. He felt omnipotent. Even more invigorated than in the bacta tank itself.
- They look upon you with terror, Lord Vader. Imagine how those who oppose the new Galactic Empire will regard you…
- I can feel it, Master…
Upon entering the chamber, the Emperor walked to his throne and took his seat. Before activating the holoprojector, he instructed Vader to stand nearby, and only when his new Sith name was spoken should he step forward and position himself directly behind him, so that together they would form a single holographic presence. Sidious’ transmission request began to flash across every Imperial channel. And, as expected, all activity ceased everywhere to receive the message of the supreme authority.
- I will be brief. From this moment forward, and in conjunction with the rise of the New Galactic Empire, my immediate subordinate in the chain of command shall be Darth Vader.
At that moment, Vader stepped forward slowly, positioning himself behind Palpatine. He crossed his arms with the same deliberate slowness that defined all his movements. That image, that gesture he had first confirmed in solitude before the mirror, was now being broadcast. All who witnessed it were struck with genuine awe.
- Any directive, order, or command issued by Lord Vader is to be regarded as if it came from me personally.
Vader’s breathing resonated like the perfect fanfare to accompany Palpatine’s words. The holotransmission radiated a kind of mystical unity between this new imperial binomial. Beyond the unquestionable authority of the Emperor, Anakin felt something deep within him: his moment had arrived. He was being anointed by his Master, before the eyes of the Empire, as one of its supreme authorities. All the pain, his wounds, the life-support systems, the suffering, suddenly had meaning: to feel powerful, to be feared. And, through that fear, to rule the Galaxy, a vision he had once shared with a stunned Padme not long ago.

His name, his image, and his authority were now a fact. Every cog within the new Galactic Empire knew of Darth Vader, and the successive meetings he held with Palpatine and various officers, among them the distinguished Wilhuff Tarkin, only confirmed the ascendancy of the Emperor’s new subordinate. Vader never interrupted. He did not even allow himself to interject during the Emperor’s speeches. It was usually the supreme authority who requested his opinion, or, after an officer had finished speaking, the new Sith would respond in a few precise words. Words that often unsettled those present, for beneath his probing gaze and the ominous rhythm of his breathing, the sudden emergence of that voice, filtered through his mask, sent a chill through the room. Vader always remained standing, or pacing slowly around the table where the Emperor and his officers were seated. He rarely sat, the compression of his diaphragm in that position made his already impaired breathing even more difficult. And so, at the end of these meetings, one of the officers would gather the courage to
approach him, offering a personal bow, or seeking a specific directive. Anakin felt magnificent, yet he never allowed even the slightest trace of gratitude to surface. A few words, or merely a gesture, were all he would offer in response. After every meeting, the two Sith would leave together. Beyond any specific remarks Sidious might make to Vader, these moments served another purpose: the Master revealed to his apprentice the true intentions behind each encounter. Understanding the labyrinth of power and the intricacies of Imperial politics was essential.
- In a matter of hours, we will stage the burning of Jedi lightsabers in the streets of Coruscant, and expose the vile rebellion we have crushed. Mass Amedda will deliver the address. Incidentally, Lord Vader, I have noticed your lightsaber is not at your side.
- No, Master. It was taken from me on Mustafar…
- That must be remedied at once. A Sith must always have his weapon at hand.
- Yes, Master. It will be done.
- I must make some adjustments with Mass Amedda. I will see you later.
Palpatine’s tone was as implacable as ever. And yet, his relationship with the newly christened Darth Vader carried a subtle distinction: he knew there was no being in the galaxy who could rival his apprentice’s potential in the Force. Years of careful manipulation, of seduction, had led the powerful Jedi to the dark side. And now that he had succeeded, Palpatine afforded him something rare: time. Time to adapt to his new identity. Despite the collapse of his former life in a matter of hours, the young Skywalker remained willing, engaged, and above all, loyal.

When the Emperor departed, Anakin felt a sudden impulse electric, almost neural. Without any apparent reason, he turned on his heel and began to walk. He could have done so with his eyes closed. His confidence was absolute. There were no fearful glances to distract him, no fragmented reflections to unsettle him. He moved with firm, steady steps, his breathing and the rhythm of his boots acting as twin metronomes. He arrived at the medical wing, passing all manner of personnel along the way. Those who dared offered him respectful bows, but Vader remained unmoved. He turned into the corridor, the one that led to the chrome door. The same surface that had first revealed the full extent of his transformation. The door slid open once more. And the scene unfolded before him again. The beds. The patients. The life-support devices, scattered like pieces of the puzzle that now defined his identity,
the medical droids and a handful of human officers. Vader observed. His head moved slowly, methodically, like a scanner, studying every detail, committing it to memory. One of the medical officers, the renowned Dr. Sorres, had just completed his task and began to approach Vader, intending to greet him and offer his assistance. But before he could take more than a step, he saw Vader raise his right arm. His hand, shaped like a pincer, repeated the same scanning motion. And when it aligned with one of the beds, the patient began to suffocate. Then another, and another. Like a chain reaction, each convalescent began to struggle for breath, panic spreading through their eyes, their bodies writhing in silent desperation. One of the medical staff, unaware that this was the will of the Imperial authority, rushed to assist a patient, but Vader made a slight motion with his left hand. The officer was hurled violently across the room, his body crashing against the wall.

The pincer-like hand reached the last bed. Now, all of them were trapped in a horrifying struggle against suffocation. And then, without lowering his arm, Vader rotated his wrist inward and closed his fist. In that instant, every movement ceased. Their bodies fell still, as if their necks had all been snapped at once. Sorres, the medical officer, who had tried to approach him, now found himself on his knees, his hands braced against the floor. Waiting for the end. For his own death. For the longest seconds of his life. When silence finally returned to the room, he dared to lift his gaze. He knew that all his patients were dead. And when he looked toward the doorway, Vader was already watching him. Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, something passed between them. Vader turned and left. The medical officer understood he had been spared. The young Sith had chosen to grant him life.

Sorres rushed to his colleague, who was already beginning to recover.
- Are you all right?
- Yes… I think so. What happened?
- I must report this to the Emperor.
The answer wasn’t to his colleague’s question, but rather he answered his own conscience. Those lying in those beds were Imperial assets, components of the machine. The highest authority needed to know this urgently. Dr. Sorres requested a holotransmission with Palpatine. To his surprise, the response was immediate.
- Dr. Sorres, is something wrong?
The doctor recounted what had happened as though reliving it. And to Sidious, though he did not show it, there came a profound, almost metaphysical satisfaction. He understood the reasons behind the events, and his disciple’s refusal to accept any change in his appearance. He maintained a certain emotional distance before addressing Sorres again.
- I understand Lord Vader: we urgently need results. I believe you and your team must redesign and change the appearance of all those life-support devices right now.
- Yes, my Lord…

Be sure to check out the website for more details about the author and for a link to the original Spanish text.

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