A waifish teen creeps through the alley, stomach growling. The blue hue of her skin helps her blend with the shadows and her natural grace allows her to dart from hiding place to hiding place while she watches and waits for the right opportunity, for the right target. Preferably one who's drunk or distracted, but at this point she can ill afford to be picky. Her last meal was days ago and she's weak with hunger.

It wasn't always this way. She vaguely remembers warmth and regular meals and family. At 13 the memories already are starting to fade, however. It's been three years since her parents were taken away, ripped from their home in the middle of the night by a squadron of black-armored Stormtroopers. The local governor accused them of conspiring against the Empire, locked them up and that was that. No trial. No appeal. Quite literally overnight Vilanna became an orphan. No family members or goodwill organizations would take her in out of fear of reprisal.

So she learned how to survive, first relying on the kindness of strangers with a credit or a bit of food to spare. Then, as she got older, by sneaking from people what they weren't willing to share freely. Relieving careless passers-by of their property.

This night, however, she's fatigued, not as sharp as she should be and as her small hand reaches out for the pouch on the belt of a passing man, it's stopped by another hand with an iron grip around her wrist.

"Tsk tsk, little one," the man she'd come to know as Benathor says. "You need to be more careful with your marks. You might pick the wrong one someday."

She struggles to break free of the man's grasp, but it's no use. She's a child, a weakened one at that. No match for a grown man. Finally she relents.

"That's better. Now, you, dear girl, are filthy and quite obviously hungry. Which would you like to fix first?"

Vilanna's eyes narrow at the stranger and she remains silent as she scowls.

"Well then, if you're leaving it up to me, I prefer to dine with clean people. So, let's head over there," he says, gesturing toward a tapcafe with a hotel over it, "we'll get you a room so you can get cleaned up and then we'll have a bit of dinner. Sound good?"

Tears well up in her eyes. No one's treated her with kindness in so long she doesn't know how else to respond. "Yes, please," she says through choked sobs.

Benathor pats her head and changes the course of her life.

***

"I've been thinking," Benathor says, taking a long pull from his flask of Whyren's Reserve, "we've maybe been riding the fence too long."

Vilanna watches the bluish-white streaks of hyperspace rush by the cockpit of their YT-2000 and regards her adoptive father with a quizzical look.

"Things have only gotten worse in the five years since you found me," he says. He always refers to that night as the night she found him, not vice versa, and she always smiles warmly when he does. "The Empire is crushing everything under its boot. I think it's high time we took a more active role in stopping it."

"Aether, how? What can the two of us do?"

"Little one, it's not just the two of us. There's an entire movement that thinks the same way we do. I've been in contact with a cell on Ord Mantell. They think they have a use for our particular skills."

***

"Aether! I've been made!" Vilanna whispers hoarsely into the headset.

"It's fine, don't panic, you know the protocol. You know the extraction point. Get to it and I'll see you soon."

The 20-year-old woman puts all of her training to use, moving silently through the munitions facility. Hiding when she can, killing when she can't. Sweat and blood commingle on her arms as she progresses ever closer to her escape route. She can hear the boots running toward her from both directions, but they're too late. Again she's slipped away with data that's critical to the Rebellion's struggle for freedom, leaving behind no trace she was ever there.

Making the galaxy a place where another living being doesn't have to endure the life she's had.

Obligation: 10
Family: Vilanna's determined to find out if her birth parents are still alive and break them out if they are. At the same time, she feels a tremendous loyalty to Benathor and does her best to balance her feelings for both her biological and adoptive parents.

Duty:
Intelligence: The path to victory will be found by those who don't mind getting their hands dirty. Vilanna's are filthy.

Appearance:
Vilanna is 1.7 meters tall with vibrant blue skin and a lithe build. She's eschewed the yellow tattoos common to her people as she feels less Pantoran than human, considering how she was treated when her parents were imprisoned. She keeps her black hair just below her shoulders, though it's usually pulled up into a messy bun.