The tattered flesh before me on the bed –
More like a corpse than of a living man.
I’m tasked to raise this carcass from the dead:
To restore him a meaningful lifespan.
Throughout the night I labour to extend
The casualty’s grip on life. He cannot breathe
Without support. My skills I do expend
To bring him back. Around the corse I wreathe
A working tissue of tech-nano fine,
With cybernetic limbs, augmented strength,
Mechanic lungs, as servo-motors whine
And hum along his ebon, cyborg length.
Days later, I am done. ‘Tis early morn.
Before me on the couch Lord Vader lies.
I have rebuilt him. He is now reborn!
I indicate to Vader he may rise.
He is my finest creation made yet.
The Emperor is impressed. He offer makes
Me to continue research: he’ll abet
And aid my efforts. I accept. This takes
Me where I now can open wide the portal
Researching how to make myself immortal.