The decompressing air hissed around him, as the meditation chamber opened with a whiny hum of the servomotors. He breathed in heavily, feeling the metallic aftertaste of the mask's filter, while he dragged his heavy, artificial limb to full stand. In such moments his primal fears sometimes returned, where he could not draw a distinct line between the human and the machine and it made him loose his balance and give a threatening feeling of not being a part of the Force. As the years of his mechanically suspended near-death progressed and more and more tasks arose for him to deal with, he felt less and less of that fear, but it was still there, somewhere at the back of his skull, just below the black, shiny plates of the helmet that sustained a proper environment for the tormented head of wh