<span class="mu-i">You are utterly invisible to the naked eye. Only devices or beings able to see in the infrared spectrum could spy you in the world of utter white. Your full-body outfit shields you from the worst of the bone-gnawing cold and is constructed from the pelts of creatures adapted to this hellscape of frozen tundra. Their thick fur and heavy hide insulate you from the snow that you are concealed within. Still, the cold slivers its way through your suit, jealously groping at you with ethereal hands, stealing your warmth. Gaunt limbs rattle and shiver as you hold your silent vigil, waiting for the perfect moment. Your emaciated body appears as ghostly white skin stretched too tightly over frail bones and atrophied muscle; despite your frailty, or maybe because of it, you make an imposing figure with red eyes blazing with purpose and hatred.

From your vantage point, you spot the doors of a shelter sliding open through the magnification of your scope as heat escapes in a cloud of steam. Your stilled heart rate begins to quicken with excitement, and a cruel revanchist grin grows across your ugly visage. You watch three figures languishing by the opening, conversing and smiling. Only their faces are visible through their coats, which, unlike yours, are dark colours to stand out against the snow rather than to blend in with it. All three are Bothans, only their faces are visible, not that you would need to see their faces to determine their species. This world was given to the Bothans to colonise and rule, as long as it stayed loyal to the Hutt Empire and kept supplying the region with the plasma reserves of the planet. For this task, they were gifted thirty million beings roughly a hundred years ago, all your people, all slaves, to toil and die for the extraction of the planet’s plasma. </span>