Darth Maul is angry.
The once-mighty grip of the empire has withered into flailing seaweed. Jar Jar Binks still roams the earth unchecked. And the ninja-cool arse-kicking scourge of the galaxy has just been beaten in a fancy dress competition by a god damn wookie.
This is not the sort of glowering spiny-headed person you'd like to see in the front row when you venture on stage for a gig.
Chances are, however, that there are far scarier things lurking just out of sight. Because this is Star Wars Celebration Europe, the first large-scale homage to all things Lucas to be transplanted into London.
In the vast open halls of the ExCeL, Darth Vader strides around with his entourage like Pol Pot judging the Chelsea Flower Show. Jabba the Hutt gloops outside the entrance like a scoop of out-of-date Lidl chocolate ice cream. And somewhere, deep in the catacombs at the back of the merchandise stalls, an Ewok is buying a novelty key-ring.
It is in this sweltering pressure-cooker atmosphere that brave souls must perform that most daunting of tasks. Two acts must present a musical homage to the all-conquering Star Wars movies, and be judged by those who've not only bought the t-shirt, but invested in the Yoda mask, clone trooper mug and imperial march ringtone to boot.
Qualifying winner Darth Elvis and runner up Anchorhead were only confirmed three days earlier, following subjective attempts to eradicate "automated and spam entries" from the voting tallies. A swell of opinion on the Myspace comments section, so often a wretched hive of scum, villainy and horrendous grammar, decreed that unfortunate loser Jazz Flute had been "shot when he had his blast shield down".
But how can any Star Wars fan remain mad with the bean-counters when they're allowed to roam free in a wonderful haven of costumes, star interviews and unbelievably cool lightsabers with realistic lights and noises?
The battle of the bands itself was held in the twilight hours of Saturday's festivities, in the wake of the hotly-contested costume contest. The Lego Darth Vader and That Darn Wookie were already nursing their prizes, and an evening of drinking on the waterfront was on the horizon.
This was the cue for Australian-Brit hybrid Anchorhead to begin the most drawn-out, deafening public sound check since the French popped round to a few houses in the South Pacific, and asked them if they could still hear their nuclear bombs go off with the windows closed.
The monotony continued for ten to 20 minutes, before Jay Laga'aia himself kicked off the show with a brief introduction (what do you mean "Who?". Have you never heard of Captain Typho? Xena maybe? Ah, sod it).
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The powers-that-be were planning on turning off the power at 8pm, less than one spin of the clock away. So, without further ado, the hip-shakin' Darth Elvis was booted on stage so fast his sequins nearly fell off.
Aberdeen's own IT account manager Greig Robertson is a great Elvis impersonator, who has performed gigs as The King around the world. He's even wearing a black cloak over his white jumpsuit.
But does an Elvis set featuring hits such as Viva Mos Eisley and That's Alright Jabba really cut the mustard as a proper Star Wars act? If so, I'm taking a week off to enter Crufts with a dog collar on.
Careless whispers from the official programme suggested the judges would be something special. Ash were mentioned, causing excited chatter. McFly were mentioned, causing a large number of people to check the location of the fire exits.
But the mantle of responsibility was eventually handed to the massed lightsaber-wielding crowd, who were encouraged to cheer the winner with as loud a wookie whine as they could muster.
Darth Elvis was toast.
Even the gyrating pull of The King was no match for the voices of a million hairy fans crying out in the darkness for a death metal band.
Fearsome four-piece Anchorhead arrived on stage in stormtrooper, Boba Fett and Darth Vader helmets, picked up their instruments...and did nothing for five minutes.
But when the music finally piped up, the crowd was treated to a widdling Wyld Stallyns concerto of metal, with famous snippets of John Williams' Star Wars score sprinkled in like hundreds and thousands.
Civilisations rose and fell outside as Anchorhead launched into their opus, full of indecipherable growling, metal chugs and soaring solos.
And as the last spasms of cheering died into quiet shuffling, their callused fingers were on the trophy.
They were denied an encore. Sunday beckoned, and the real Darth Maul was expecting a big crowd for his appearance at 10.30am. And you wouldn't like him when he's angry.
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