Starlow Hawk grew up in the impoverished underbelly of Coronet City's ghettos on Corellia, where crime syndicates preyed on desperate families through smuggling, person-trafficking, and glitterstim distribution. Born amid the chaos of the Clone Wars, he never knew his father, a war hero who died in the fighting. His single mother raised him alone, scraping by in poverty but instilling a fierce sense of right and wrong—she was the one constant in his life, dying poor but proud of the man he became. Starlow watched friends and extended family—some his own criminal cousins—get pulled into the life: blackmailed, addicted, or just too broke to see another way out. He could've gone the same route, but instead, he enlisted in the Corellian Security Force (CorSec) right after the Empire's rise, channeling his rage into the badge. Stationed back in his old neighborhood, he spent over a decade as an undercover operative and pilot, busting inter-system drug rings and trafficking ops. His crowning achievement: a year-long infiltration that shattered the biggest glitterstim network in Coronet, putting away dozens and stabilizing the streets for a generation.But the job cost him everything. Family rejected him for ruining cousins' lives; friends died in crossfire he couldn't prevent. Promoted to captain, he built a rep that made him a target—syndicates knew his face, his routines, his address. CorSec brass didn't care: no protection, no relocation, just "keep the arrests coming." Burned out and pragmatic, Starlow walked away after the New Republic's birth, post-Endor. With Coruscant liberated and a shaky ceasefire holding against the Imperial Remnant, he saw a chance to pivot: enlisting in the Rebellion's ranks gave him a clean break, a way to keep flying and fighting without getting knifed in a Corellian alley by some small-time thug he'd grown up with. Left behind his CorSec-issued X-wing and loyal astromech droid—they went to his replacement. Now he's a drifter: no homeworld, no roots, just a lone operator dispensing justice in the galaxy's cracks. The enemies he made still have his name on low-priority hit lists, but distance keeps him breathing.

Ambition (Prove Himself)—Outfly the ghosts of Rogue Squadron; turn Grey Squadron into a legend.
No fixed home or assets; drifter life means scraping credits between gigs. Old enemies might recognize him in a cantina brawl. The K5's his anchor—lose it, and the past catches up faster.

Bounty (10)—Low-heat warrants from Corellian syndicates. They want payback for the glitterstim bust and ruined ops, but Starlow's off-world status keeps it simmering, not boiling.

Personnel (5)—Mentoring the misfits, keeping the squad's fragile pieces from breaking.

Starlow's a sharp operator: confident without the ego, quick with a dry jab that cuts through bullshit. He's got a competitive edge a parsec wide—always measuring himself against the next hotshot—and a real talent for reading people, spotting the lie behind the smile. Grew up reading the streets like a book, and it stuck. But grudges linger; that knack for seeing facades doesn't always catch his own blind spots. Leadership comes natural—he's the guy who steps up in a pinch—but trust? That's earned slow, after you've proven you're not another politician promising fixes that never stick.

Bitterness runs deep from the Rogue Squadron audition: he chased Wedge Antilles' nod like it was the galaxy's validation, only to get the boot for being "good, but not elite." It stings, fueling snide cracks about Wedge's overrated skills in Starlow's estimation and a relentless drive to grind harder. Now in Grey Squadron—a pack of misfits—he's gunning to eclipse that rejection: become the best damn pilot and squad lead they didn't see coming. Side gigs like navigating the bad blood with Kira Thorne (whose brother he jailed back on Corellia) or watching out for fragile types like his roommate Damen van Harr? Just more knots to untie. At core, he's in it for the underdog—the desperate folks syndicates chew up—because no one else is fixing it but guys like him.