Darth Vader, bane of the Jedi and heir to the Empire, took a moment to collect his thoughts. It wouldn't be very professional if he fell into a rage and destroyed the good doctor's furniture. Very juvenile behaviour, that.
"Yes," he replied. "My body now suits my needs."
With this he peeled off a glove and inspected the gleaming metal of his prostetic hand. He should probably upgrade the palm servos. They were no longer as sensitive as they should be.
"Why repair something that works perfectly in their parameters?" he asked. "Exchanging extremitities that I have grown accustomed to will only make the healing process take longer."
His voice is soft, as if his mind were no longer in the here and now but in a technician's workshop, tinkering with circuits and programming. "Do you have a screw driver?"