A name. What is in a name that defines one's psyche and gives essance to their core? Is it that we must classify ourselves to belong to a certain grouping? Is it that certain inpowerment we gain from being recognized? Is it that fear that we feed from as we see the horrid expectation swell the eyes of the beholder, his knees quaking as he attempts to cry out. However, he cannot, for he knows the end is near, his lung passages closing, valves of flesh and sinew suddenly ceasing to opperate at full functionality, the oxygen no longer being transported by red blood cells as his chests heaves, his pulse quickens. His body's programing becomes corrupt, everything lost in the splendor of chaos and everlasting anarchy, a melee of thoughts flashing into the dying mind, the very life flickering from his format, his construct falling limp.

All because of a name. All because of a general census of fear as they hear a mere word that strickens them like a plague. Their spirits cling to me in the Force, echoing behind this wiring and circuits, pounding and screaming behind this mask, haunting the very depths of the Force. It is the absence of life in the Force that flows through this format of mine; a sickening mesh of flesh, sinew, and technology. It is in this that I am a wound in the Force, the name bestowed upon me upon my rebirth into power.

Hark, for I seek vengence with this name for that which the very Force that serves me robbed me of. Oh, my love how I long for your touch once more! But you do not know my name any longer. You would not recognize the beast that I have become. With this name, I crush my foes, power flowing through every inch of my body. All due to a name.

...What is my name?

My name is fear.

My name is hatered.

My name is anger.

My name is suffering.

My name is Vader.