He was a cyborg.

It was on all his records, now. It'd always been human before. Not that they'd checked, or anything. With the Rebellion, it was enough to say so. Except now, because everyone knew about the hand.

Oh, it was better than the stump, but it didn't itch, it fumbled, it was too strong, it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same. He was part machine now, just like—just like—just like he'd been in his vision. How much longer before—

No. No. It wouldn't happen, he'd stop it, always in motion, do something, not do something. He wasn't going to turn, wasn't going to turn into that, would never threaten his own child's life.

Though Vader hadn't killed him, in the end. Distantly, Luke wondered why.