Dedication: To Sven, James and Edd, my 3 favourite guys (baring Hayden and Ewan of course)

They had brung the mask.

Of course it had been brung under absolute secrecy. Those who could not be trusted would be killed later, not realising their fate, not knowing they had been betrayed until the silent hand closed around their throats. Nor did they realise the importance of their package which must be delivered into the depths of Coruscant, for a reborn broken man, disfigured, mutilated, with those burning blue eyes the only reminder of the past. Those who had the ability to keep their mouths shut flew down the maze of passages, twisting and turning down the flights of stairs for no one must see. No one must see the creature that was being created in the depths of the Imperial Palace.

Not yet.

Doctors had slaved for hours on the creature. The burns had been extensive and most doubted whether or not the creature would live a real life again. The creature would live again, but only through the aid of machines and the Force. But he would never again live a normal life. For he was a sith.

Several had dared to argue with the Emperor. Arguing that the machines would only prolong the creature's life and he would never achieve full speed or capability. They argued the machines prevented the creature from dying a honourable death and what the Emperor wanted was not only sadistic, it was a crime against nature.

They had not kept their mouths shut. No other explanations were necessary.

But then neither did the creature. He was rarely silent. The troopers at the door found it hard to repress a shudder or a shiver when the creature screamed. He did not like himself now. No. He hated himself now. Mirrors, metal trays, medical droids were destroyed if the creature caught a glimpse of his reflection and that happened frequently in his metal medical room, his metal prison.

Oh it was such a cruel irony. That someone who had been so talented in building and rebuilding machines would find himself rebuilding his own body. He was just another of his droids. Only one real purpose, unable to think for himself, completely restrained by his Master. He would not have been surprised if he found a restraining bolt on his body now. And droids could not cry. The creature could not cry for Sith, nor any dark creature could cry. So he screamed. He howled. He lashed out. And his Master loved it. This was more than anger. This was sheer rage in its purest form.

Few realised the cause for this burning fury. And they never would. They would label him a monster. Even those who stood by his side and swore their loyalty would despise and hate this-man? -Creature. His friends would hate him. She would hate him. For the Emperor hated getting his hands dirty, it was only his soul that was as murky as hell. It would be the creature's hands that would be stained with blood. He would kill and destroy everything in his path, but his anger would never be satiated. And so for his crimes they would hate him. No other explanations were needed.

But the creature hated his master. Why was he still around? Why hadn't he managed to die yet? A black storm raged within him. He wanted to kill his master, but what would that accomplish? He held an image of himself standing over the Emperor's body, holding his blazing power in his hands. But that would not be. Not for a long time anyway. Needless to say, the Emperor knew his prize hated him, that his creature longed to slice him down with the scarlet swirl of a lightsabre or slide his hands around his throat, watching with inhuman glee at the Emperor's hands flailing, struggling to draw breath. Then at least he would know how it felt then. The Emperor's heart (not that he had one, you could not call that black centre the base of emotion) would grow still, he could choke on his evil, and not even machines would help him breathe again. Yes, choking would be the best method; it was the cruelest, tainted by shades of irony.

It was cruel that they even made him wear a mask in the first place. They said they feared someone might recognise him. But how can that be so if he could not even recognise himself. Most of his sandy hair was gone, his skin was paler and a face that had once been handsome and charming had been completely desecrated. How could anyone recognise him? Apart from those eyes. Those blue eyes, once so naive and trusting, they had hidden away. His friends would remember those blue eyes and they would know about his betrayal. They must never be seen. The mask was not merely to strike fear into the hearts of others. It was to hide a truth.

So the doctors fixed the mask in place for the first time.

Blue eyes stared into the eyes of others for the last time.

Then they left. Or more accurately, they ran. None dared to stay with the creature after the final elusive piece had snapped into place. But their fears were all for nought. This time, the creature-or more precisely, a beast-did not scream. It did not howl. It did not lash out. Leather clad fingers ran along the durasteel for the first time, almost thoughtful. Over the eyes, no longer blue. Over the nose. Over the mouth, seemingly admiring the purr that came when he spoke. But as he gazed into his new reflection in a mirror that had been left for him, the fists tightened with barely controlled fury.

What had he become? This metal abomination? This fearless figure which physically defined a Sith.

Oh, Obi-wan, what have I done? The beast asked the endless spiral of time and space. But his old Master would never reply. He was dead.

Palpatine! He screamed into the Force, I did not ask for this!

His Master would never reply. Temper tantrums were so amusing.

It took the beast all his strength to control his rage. Control, control he must learn control! But Force it was so hard! So hard when your hands did not sweat under the leather gloves, when your eyes and ears were fed information like a droid and you could no longer see the shimmering heat waves of Tatooine or smell the fresh air around you or touch another's skin. His heart and lungs were regulated, his heart would never leap with happiness or excitement again and he would never be able to catch his breath after exercising again. Everything was done for him.

Control? It was all about control. This was his Master's way of controlling him. This horrible machine he despised restrained the usual human impulses. The Emperor could not have his favourite prize rebelling against him after all. He already had his hands full with those blasted rebels never mind the creature disobeying him too.

A loud bang almost made the Sith jump. For a moment he thought the noise had come from another of his tantrums but his eye and ear sensors made him aware of someone knocking on the door. A helmeted trooper stood waiting, barely visible through a thin plate of glass.

'You wear a mask too?' the creature whispered to himself, 'why must you need one? You are not evil like me, you are only following orders.'

Perhaps this was Palpatine's way of distancing blame within the War. His men wore masks so no one knew who they were; they had no one to blame for the atrocities that existed throughout the galaxy. What hope must a rebel gain if they saw the trooper after their lives grimacing with every shot of his blaster? No one liked killing, the eyes betrayed you.

The storm trooper motioned with his head towards the lift after the beast opened his door to him. The trooper must have been used to dealing with Sith for he did not show much fear. The beast's predecessor had never been the nicest of people, swift and cunning with the ability to strike fear into many. The trooper must also have been used to dealing with traitors, either that or he did not particularly care for them, for the trooper did not show any consideration to the beast that was still getting used to his new body. The escort did not enter the lift though, once again betraying his dislike of traitors.

Strange that the lift vanishes heavenwards towards your throne, Palpatine, shouldn't it be descending downwards to hell?

His Master did not answer. But the stars glittering like thousands, millions of accusing eyes stared after him as the glass lift rose to its destiny. The Sith could almost swear that he saw her eyes staring in at him too, clearly disapproving but overflowing with sadness.

I'm sorry. I cannot resist anymore.

No one heard him.

The doors opened like the sound of one gasping for breath, not much unlike his own regulated breathing. He exited the list and strode out in the throne room alone, across the unlit antechamber, up the grated stairs to stand before his Master.

But then he paused. He sensed something, and had the strangest sense of déjà vu. He saw fear in the Emperor, fear of his apprentice's rising powers. This was greatly amusing but he did not let it show.

His master's face was not as amusing. More horrifying. The eyes sunken, devoid of any human feeling. Its smile like the jeering grin of a skull. The skin rotten as the leech that was the dark side ate away at it. One could scarcely believe the Sith before him had once been a man.

Like me.

The Emperor's leering face twisted into a smile, approving the arrival of the beast. However the beast obviously didn't approve of the Emperor very much for the black hands clenched out of sight under his cloak. The beast seethed with hidden fury as he ascended the steps to meet his Master and his Destiny, both being pseudonym for Extreme Pain. He was thankful for the mask shielding his face or his master would have seen the hate radiating out of those blue eyes.

His Master beckoned him closer and the creature obeyed, both loving and hating the darkness that emanated from this wizened evil. It had become almost a drug, the darkness. He wanted more. He wanted the strength, the power, but when he looked upon the wrinkled visage of his Master, he did not particularly like the side effects. But this Monster would take advantage of the Emperor's knowledge, using it as a stepping-stone for his own plans.

There was not enough room in this galaxy for two Sith, despite the ancient rule.

'Welcome young Skywalker, I have been expecting you.'

The Emperor laughed, trying to get a rise out of his new apprentice.

But the monster that had once been Skywalker, had once been a simple farmboy who had dreamt of flying through the stars, who's name once meant Light, not the errant father, held a hidden smile from his master, and purred from beneath the mask.

"That is not my name"