A/N: Ok, so I know that I said that the first chapter was the end, but the reviews that I got just made me so happy that I had to do another. This time, it really is the end (for our dear favorite bad guy in any case).
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Twenty years had passed. Darth Vader reflected on the years that had gone by. Now, normally, our favorite bad guy would not reflect on the past, but it was just this morning when his Empire had come crashing down upon him.
Try as he might, Vader had tried his absolute hardest not to think about the entire Death Star disaster, but just this morning, Lord Sidious had approached him. Now, Vader had long given up on the idea of botox for Sidious, but he had just yesterday been reading about a new all natural wrinkle treatment. Apparently, there was a mix of muja fruit extract and natural taun-taun oil that was supposed to cure wrinkles in a flash...granted, it was really a cellulite cream, but Vader was sure that it could work anywhere.
But that's beside the point. The galaxy had fallen on poor Vader's head just that morning. I suppose it's a good thing that I have to wear this Force forsaken helmet. Lord Sidious had approached Vader and told him the news...the news. The news that made Darth Vader, the most feared man in the galaxy, dark lord of the Sith, crumble inside.
Nnooooooooo! All of the maturity, all of the evilness that Vader had been building up over the years disintegrated in an instant. A second Death Star. It was the bane of Darth Vader's very existence. The twenty years of Hell working on the first one had almost killed him, and now...another one?
Lord Sidious had shown Vader the designs just this morning, and Vader had rather thought that the new Death Star looked like a deranged Pac-Man. I cannot believe that he would do this to me. Haven't I been through enough? I've Force-choked enough people these last twenty years to fill an entire planet.
Vader rocked back and forth, trying to feel the dark side flow through him. The events of the past year had been entirely exhausting. He had killed Obi-Wan, which he tried every day not to think about, but his thoughts always came back to it. He had never imagined that his former Master could look so...old.
Stop it...Vader had vowed not to think about Obi-Wan. But the other events of the times were not things that Vader wanted to dwell upon either. It was now Vader's sole resolve in life to get his revenge upon that son of a Sith (A/N Quite literally indeed, huh?), Luke Skywalker.
He hated that scrawny farm boy with every fiber of his being...well...with every wire in his mechanical limbs in any case. But he did not hate the skinny, high pitched voice, whiny boy for the reasons that everyone thought. He did not hate him for being a rebel, or for being short, or for being trained by Obi-Wan...
He hated him for blowing up the first Death Star. After all of the pain, toils, trails and tribulations Geez, trails and tribulations? That's almost as bad as whoo-hoo...what kind of Sith uses a clichéd term like trials and tribulations? Where was he? Oh yeah, after all of the trials and tribulations stop it... of the first Death Star, THAT -censored to maintain K+ rating- SON OF A -again, censored!- HE CAN GO TO -my, my Darth, does someone need anger management?- TELL FARM BOY TO GO -Ahem! Erm...perhaps we should just find another topic of conversation until he calms down...wasn't the weather lovely today? That meteor shower was just lovely!- ... -(looks at Darth shocked. Waves finger in a very schoolmasterish fashion)-
Vader tried to calm himself. But really, the first Death Star had almost caused Vader numerous heart attacks and ulcers, and when it FINALLY was completed, it was blown up, along with all of Darth Vader's hopes and dreams of ever having peace. All of the sudden, our poor bad guy wished upon a star that he could somehow go back in time and fix it all.
The thought of going through all of it again made Vader want to throw up, but in his mask, that was truly not a good idea. Vader was left more scarred from the first Death Star project than he had been after Mustafar. Not only had the stress level caused him to long for a day at the spa, but he had sent his suit to numerous businesses, but none were able to fix the scratches from the nails. Vader had had to resort to coloring over the scratches with sharpies, which truly did not look very terrifying.
Vader had finally learned to be comfortable. He could stride powerfully along in his suit, and he never tried to meditate sitting down anymore. He had become a truly feared being across the Empire, and he was a symbol of power to beings across the galaxy.
But they did not know of his true fears. The fears that manifested themselves deep in his metal underwear… Force that sounded dirty. I was thinking more along the lines of the second Death Star...(insert involuntary shudder). How could Sidious do this to him? Why? No! NO! It can't be! It's impossible! (hmm, was that ESB Empire Strikes Back, not ESP deja'vu?)
Where would Vader even begin? He still found himself unwillingly humming the music that the contracting companies had played when they had put him on hold, even to this day it was stuck deep in his head. This time I will do it right. Vader made it his firm resolve. The second Death Star would not be the disaster that the first one was.
The first thing that Lord Vader did was order nails...lots and lots of nails. And he made sure that the suppliers knew the consequences of delivering them to the wrong place. He firmly warned them that he would go easy on them, but Lord Sidious (though slightly more cracked over the years), was still powerful, and his Force lightning had gotten brighter and more...electric over time.
But what should his next step be? He needed a good, reliable contractor this time around. And preferably a sober one. The last inebriated contractor that the Sith had tried had been a complete and utter disaster. Finally, he called up Boba. Bounty hunters always knew the right guys for any job.
Now, Vader felt good. Everything was going well so far, and he was showing them who's boss. Now what? Of course, Lunch time. Vader always preferred to eat alone so that he could remove his mask without the entire staff staring at him. He went to his quarters with his tray, and entered his egg-thing where he conducted all of his most serious business (again, that was not meant to have a dirty implication of any kind).
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The weeks passed, and he felt better than ever. Everything was going according to plan. When he had spoken to Lord Sidious about it, the man had been so happy, his wrinkles had twitched with such joy it made Vader feel queasy.
Vader found himself walking with a new spring in his step. He felt young and refreshed. His days were going better than ever. He was on his Master's good side, he hadn't had to Force-choke anyone in weeks, and he had tried out a new mouthwash, so that when his breath bounced back to him inside his mask, it felt minty-fresh and cool.
In short, Lord Vader was ready to take on the world. He would often pour over the designs and he found himself growing fond of the darn thing. Days were looking brighter, and Vader received word that the rebel base on Hoth had recently been discovered. Finally! Farm Boy will pay for destroying my first Death Star! He will pay for my twenty years of discord and strife!
Soon enough, the frame for the Second Death Star was built, and progress was going smoothly and quickly. The only problem was that the entire thing seemed to be going too smoothly. Stop it Vader, you're hallucinating. There is no such thing as something going too smoothly.
Stop it Lord Vader! You are a Sith! Things are supposed to go smoothly! But of course, all good things must come to an end, and for our favorite bad guy, he was no exception.
As he was strolling down the way to check the progress of the construction, a scared and weary-looking worker came up to Vader. "Um...excuse me...Lord Vader?" The worker shuffled his feet and avoided eye contact with Vader.
Vader rolled his eyes. "Yes?"
"Well..." the worker stammered, "There has been a...small...well...not really small...um...problem?"
Vader felt like he had knocked into a brick wall. A problem? Oh Force, please no! His knees felt weak and he began to feel faint.
"Please, Lord Vader. There was a small problem with the nails that we used. Apparently, they are the wrong size and the whole structure could collapse any second. We have evacuated everyone and we needed you to tell us what we should...um...do about it."
Vader had stopped listening the moment that the worker had said the words nails. Nails? Nails? Oh, Force, please, I beg you! I am sorry that I killed the younglings. I am sorry that I destroyed the Jedi! Oh I am sorry, but please, Oh, oh please! Not nail problems.
Vader simply stood there, wobbling in his armor, not knowing what to say or do. Of all of the things that could happen to him...it had to be the nails. Just when the galaxy was beginning to look up for our favorite bad guy, just when things were a little more sunny, just when he had discovered his new fresh breath, just when he had not had to Force-choke anyone in a long while...and then it all comes crashing down. The light in the world flickers out, the breath becomes bad again, the Force-choke becomes a regular activity, and life suddenly becomes not worth living.
Farm Boy has won.
The rebels have one.
It was the wrong kind of nails, and because of that, our dear favorite bad guy would now face his demise.
Oh how cruel the galaxy is.
The End. (For real).
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Another A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This story made me so happy when I was writing it. I love Darth Vader, but after everything he's done, it's fun to torture him just a little bit! Anyway, again, thanks for reading and feedback is most appreciated! --Swifty