His thoughts went to the infamous revolution that happened in the year he was born. He couldn't remember it, he wasn't even living here at the time. But he listened about it all throughout his childhood. His family could never get tired of relating those events and warning of the dangers such cults pose. He would often think they were giving too much of a credit to those clowns.

But just today, he saw graffiti in the city - the very same that were being drawn throughout the capital by those fanatics prior to the revolution attempt. Yes, he knows that this one was probably written by a rebellious highschooler sick of history classes. Still, it bothered him. Not the graffiti, but the philosophy of that cult. It bothered him that he could see himself agreeing with some of their tenets. What if we really are slaves of the Force? What if its mighty river can be turned only by those who reach out to the dark si... Oh, stop it! Bunch of mumbo jumbo! he admonished himself. He couldn't believe he was considering the eccentric religious ramblings of the terrorists from times past. Their sacrifices to those that are Beyond. What delusion.

To break off thoseunprofitable thoughts, he got out his nearly finished product. It is unstableand the crystal is cracked, true. But he placed vent irises on each side. Now only to fixate the vent shrouds, and he could actually try and turn it on. Seemingly forgetting he was on top of the mountain beaten by wind gusts, he got into serious work. Finally, he thought the vent shrouds were fixated enough toguard his hands. As he was about to turn it on, he heard the voice, this time not in his head, shouting, "The Force is with you, thou mighty man of valor!"