Disclaimer: All rights belong to Disney, George Lucas, and all the men and women that created the Star Wars movies, books, and comics. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made. The cover art image belongs to peanutbutterroastedchestnuts. tumblr .com (remove the spaces)

Rating: T for violence, disturbing imagery, and dark themes

Author's Note: This is my first Star Wars fanfiction, and I am very excited about it. It follows the live-action movie canon only, though I might make mentions or bring in characters from the books/comics/animated series. When I incorporate those, I'll make sure to explain/describe it in a way that you don't need to see/read them to understand. The only movie canon thing I'm making AU is that Darth Maul is the second Sith to be seen in a thousand years, not the first. Everything else follows as far as I know. If I do mess something up or make a mistake, please point it out politely since I've already spent hours of research and writing on this piece to make it as unique and precise as possible, but sometimes things get confused in my mind.

That being said, this story is about the Sith aprentice before Darth Maul, and it is set up in a TV show episode format where almost every chapter is a new adventure with one or two bigger and ongoing plots eventually being introduced. As for characters, Minerva is the main one, and this is narrarated from her point of view, but as I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi trash he and Qui-Gon Jinn will be main characters once Minerva is established. (Sorry about the really long author's note! They'll be shorter from now on!)

Special thanks to my amazing friend and beta Vika, who has put in a lot of time and work into this story also, and continues to be my sounding board and constructive critic. I'd probably have quit writing this without her support and ideas. Additional thanks to tumblr user and fellow Star Wars fan peanutbutterroastedchestnuts (link above in disclaimer) who made the wicked cover art. I absolutely love it! They also have other awesome art works, so go follow them :)

Setting: 7 years before The Phantom Menace. BBY stands for Before the Battle of Yavin, which occurs during the original Star Wars trilogy. Like BC, it counts down.

Chapter 1

Outer Rim Territories, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, 39 BBY

"How much?" The voice comes from a nasty creature, one so ugly even his mother couldn't call him handsome. Large scales cover his body, and a long, thick tail pops out the back. The species is instantly recognizable - Barabel.

"Aren't you loyal to the Jedi?" I ask, fixing my orange-yellow eyes on his green ones. "Shouldn't you be chasing down some fresh meat or something?"

He grins, his sharp teeth flashing. "I work for the Hutt family." Quickly appraising me up and down, he smacks his wide lips and speaks again. "So, how much are you? Jabba's looking for some, shall we say, new entertainment."

I roll my eyes; it really had been a mistake to come to Tatooine. Sure, some of the best pod races in the galaxy are held here, but this is Hutt family home base. Meaning, of course, that the worst pimps in the galaxy come from here. If Jabba doesn't get his sexy entertainment, then you really don't want to be within two systems of this place.

Turning my gaze back to my drink, I pick up the cup by the top, twirl the liquid around a few times, tip my head back and swallow it all. I don't have to look at the Barabel to tell that he had watched every move like a hawk, from my blood red manicured fingernails to my peach-colored lips. Usually I'm quite proud of my beauty, but there are times - like today - that it brings unwanted attention.

Though, I could make the best out of this bad situation. I don't want to think about all the young girls in the past who had sat at this very table hearing his very offer and taking it up, knowing that the money they'll earn from it might keep their families alive just a little longer. They signed away their bodies, knowing full well that once Jabba became bored with them they'd be fed to to his pet monster. It's cruel and inhumane, even from my perspective. It sounds like something my old master would do, but I think even he's above that.

I raise an eyebrow at the guy, knowing I'm going to have to stop this. "How much are you offering?"

"Fifty-thousand Wuipiupi," he answers, taking a large money bag out of his pocket and jangling it. He is taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

"No republic credits?" I question. He shakes his head.

"But these are used by all the market traders," he insists. "Very valuable. Jabba is being very generous." Generous? More like desperate. I keep my face passive for show.

"Okay. But let's do the trade somewhere more private. You're giving me a lot of money, and it would be a shame if I was mugged before I made it out of the door." He nods in agreement and we slip out of the bar, walking to the shadows of a building on the outskirts of town. No one is in sight, which is perfect. I don't like witnesses.

"What's your name?" he asks as we stand in the heat. "And before we finalize this, can you take off your robes? I just need to make sure you don't have three arms. Jabba doesn't like extra limbs." Classic excuse, really. But if he wants a view, I'm going to give him one he won't ever forget.

"I'm Minerva," I answer, shucking off the black outer robes and letting them flutter to the sandy ground. A flourish, I know, but that's just my style. Beneath them I'm wearing a short black skirt, a red top that covers my chest and not much more with straps criss-crossing my bare midriff to the top my skirt, black combat boots that come halfway up my shins, and a black leather belt around my skirt that holds my beloved weapon.

"You're - you're a Jedi?" the Barabel stutters after he catches a glimpse of the sheathed weapon. Suddenly he's torn between his loyalty to the Hutts and his race's respect to the Jedi.

"No - " I flash him a sweet smile, and he tosses me the bag of money. I catch it easily with one hand, and he turns around.

"Meet me here in an hour and I'll take you to your new work. If you're not here I will find you."

" - I'm much, much, worse," I continue, my voice still sweet, but my eyes narrowing. He turns around at the sound of my weapon turning on, and the red glow of my two-sided lightsaber is reflected in his eyes. "I'm a Sith."

The fear in his eyes couldn't be more pronounced. He's frozen in place, his eyes glued to my dangerous weapon. I take a step forward, and he finally has the courage to move. "Keep the money, please. I - I won't make you come."

"Apologize to me," I order with a hard voice, and I see his eyes narrow. Barabels consider apologies to be insulting. He's mad now, a big mistake on his part.

"No," he says clearly. "I will not."

"Yes, you will. You will apologize for every single girl that ever stepped foot in Jabba the Hutt's palace, and for every single one whose bones lay scattered in the dust at the bottom of the Rancor's lair, picked clean and forgotten." My anger is flaring up a little. Too much. I need to calm down inside, but I still need to keep up the scary face for him on the outside. "You will apologize on behalf of every single one of Jabba's slaves that go out and buy women, and especially the ones that steal women. You will apologize now!"

"I'd rather die," he replies, though his voice is shaking and his lip is quivering. A tear tracks its way down his ugly face. He's so weak, I think. And foolish. He's willing to sacrifice his life for his ego.

Weak people make me angry. Weak people are the reason I'm here today. I was once weak, but no longer. I made myself strong, rose above everyone around me. And today I'm really not feeling second chances. But who am I kidding? I never give second chances. It's not the Sith way.

"That can be arranged," I snap, and I twirl the lightsaber quickly and deftly. Both blades of my weapons hit him, whirling in a circle like a pinwheel, and he falls over, severed in half. Retracting my weapon and using the force to summon my long black robes, I quickly put myself back together as I step over his body. As I'm about to step back into the main streets, I remember I'm still clutching the bag of money in my hand. I toss it onto his dead body and the coins scatter on his corpse.

"Was what little honor you had left really worth it?" I question softly before turning around and leaving, not a single regret in my mind.

Outer Rim Territory, Unknown Sector, Anthan System, 50 BBY

The rain pounds against the tin roof, and the thunder and lightning chase each other across the sky. I like it when it storms. It feels like a reflection of my soul and my mind, all those thoughts and emotions swirling around in chaos. My head always hurts, and I can never sort things out, just like you can never dry yourself while standing in the rain.

The noise also helps drown out the sounds of the shouting and the yelling, and sometimes the crying. It shuts out the sound of slaps and hits, of pain and anger and misery. The sound of suffering which always seems to surround me. Which seem to be a part of me.

I climb into the windowsill, my coarse blanket wrapped around my lower body and my small pillow clutched to my chest. I press my fingertips to the window, wishing I could sink into the glass, to disappear, and never return. Deep down I want to help, I want to throw my own words into the shouting match and tell them all off, but I'm not brave enough. I would flinch as a hand is raised, even without it being aimed towards me. And even without hearing the specific words of the argument, tears are already streaking down my face as if to reflect the sky.

There's the sound of padding feet, and a figure sits across from me in the other corner of the windowsill. It's my brother. He sees my tears, and he leans forward to grab my hand. "It's okay," he tells me. "I'm always going to be with you. We'll get through this together. I promise."

He leaves, probably to go comfort our sister, who I can hear crying in the room over. I lean my head against the cool glass and exhale deeply, thinking of my brother's words. My breath creates a circle of white on the glass, and stare at it as the edges shrink up and eventually it disappears. It isn't strong enough to stand on its own, not without help. Just like me. I don't have to be alone, though. My brother's with me, and he always will be, because he and I both know that by myself I can't do anything except hide.

Outer Rim Territories, Arkanis Sector, Tatoo System, 39 BBY

I enter the stands as the pod race begins. Toydarians are packed like sardines all around me, their little wings beating frantically to keep them aloft, their yellow eyes bugging out in excitement. Long snouts and ugly teeth wrap up the package. Yeah, no way I'm going to sit with them.

Jabba the Hutt has a personal little stand area with the best view, so I use a series of force jumps to make it up. He doesn't turn for the longest time, his eyes glued on the race. I stand next to him, a hand on my hip in impatience. I hope he sees me soon, because it is really hot out here. Long black robes look cool, but they don't breathe one bit.

When he finally sees me he's taken aback. He yells something to his albino Twi'lek assistant, but I check my nails in a bored manner. If there's one thing Jabba likes, it's attention and reactions. Neither of which I'm giving to him.

"He wants to know why you're here," the assistant says to me. His voice seriously sounds like a snake's. It's actually kind of creepy and gross. Scratch that. His assistant is all-around gross. I guess they make quite the dynamic duo. Fat and Gross. Ugly and Albino. I could make up names all day, but there's more exciting action going on.

"A girl can't watch a pod race around here?" I reply innocently, watching a pod smash another one into the side of a cliff. The assistant's red eyes narrow before translating it back to Jabba. I turn back to the race again, just in time to see the same bully pod crash itself. Serves him right. Other that though, today isn't that great of a race. One guy is ahead of everyone else by about half a lap, and unless he wipes out no one else has a pod fast enough to catch him. I'm a big fan of the underdog racer who has all the odds stacked against him but still manages to overcome the pack leader.

"Jabba says Tatooine is one of the most dangerous places for a single girl on her own. He asks if you know about the human trafficking business that the Toydarians run." Again with the underestimating. This is starting to drive me crazy. Girls aren't always damsels in distress. We can take care of ourselves.

"Do they really?" I question, a hint of accusation coloring my tone. "Or does he mean his human trafficking business?"

Jabba lets out an enraged sound, and I roll my eyes. "Stop being such a drama queen. One of your Barabel slaves paid me fifty thousand Wuipuipi to be your new entertainment."

"Jezza?" Jabba asks. I reply by shrugging.

"He didn't give me his name. And he refused to apologize. So I killed him." My voice is nonchalant and I turn back to the race after delivering those lines, knowing my actions will drive the Hutt crazy. As per usual, I'm not wrong. Jabba screams something along the lines of "Capture her!" He calms down about one notch and then demands that I become his new entertainment (good luck with that one. I'd rather die). His servants are on me in a minute, but I don't react until one of them touches me.

In a second I reach into my black robes, grab my lightsaber, open up one blade, and swing it in an arc. Several bodies fall, and the others cower in the far side of the room, a safe distance from my weapon.

"Jedi scum," I hear Jabba curse.

"For the last time!" I exclaim, pointing to my lightsaber. "That is red! Red means Sith! I'm a bad guy. Please. It's actually quite insulting to call me a Jedi." All they do is cower behind politics and agonizingly slow decision making. I actually live in the now, changing things as I deem fit.

"Get rid of her!" Jabba shouts, deciding that Sith must be just as bad as Jedi. I sigh and extend my lightsaber by turning the other side on and then I point the whole thing at him. He quiets suddenly.

"Thought so," I mutter to myself. He's a coward, just like all of his servants. "So, Jabba, who's the pod racer that's winning?" I close my lightsaber blades but keep the handle in sight as a silent threat.

The abrupt change in conversation takes Jabba off-guard, but he signals his translator forward and murmurs in the guy's ear. The Twi'lek looks over at me. "His name is Sebulba. He's a Dug from Malastare. He's new here, but not new enough to have his cheating ways escape our notice."

Jabba lets out a disgruntled noise. "I take that to mean he didn't bet on him," I say to the assistant. Now that I think about it, he looks oddly familiar...perhaps his name is Bib Fortuna, but I've met a lot of Twi'leks in my travels, so I'm not sure, but I'll go with it.

"No, he didn't," Bib Fortuna agrees. "He's losing quite a fortune, too."

I scan the room, my eyes settling on someone I had caught a glimpse on earlier. "Who's he?"

Bib and Jabba turn to look at the boy huddling in the corner. He's absolutely filthy, but I can still tell he's very young. "That's one of Jabba's slaves. We found him wandering around the desert near the palace. He would be dead without Jabba's unending kindness."

Jabba being kind? Please. Bib Fortuna is such a suck-up. But I guess you kind of have to be if you want to stay in Jabba's good graces. What little of them he has, of course.

"Who is the one who bet on Sebulba?" I question, the boy in the corner of my eyes still.

"Some Toydarian scum," Jabba grunts, pointing him out. A plan is formalized in my mind.

"I'll make you a deal," I say to him. Both the Hutt and the Twi'lek lean forward, eager to hear my offer. "I'll convince the human to let you keep your money, but in exchange I want the boy."

Jabba nods his fat face up and down quickly. He's so easy to bargain with it's actually quite sad. I like challenges, and I like excuses to whip out my lightsaber or use the force, and I like showing off. Easy is boring.

"I'm not coming back, but I'll keep my end of the deal." I tuck my lightsaber back under my robes before walking over to the boy and pulling on his arm. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

I'm not kind, nor am I gentle, but the boy looks up at me like I'm some kind of hero. Great. I really am not. I'm a Sith...a Sith that feels bad for enslaved children. It's a weakness, I know, but one that's not entirely bad. It brings out the humanity in me, the humanity that my old master lacks. It's why I couldn't stay with him. I'm all for fighting Jedi and other people who do shady business or get in my way, but not children.

"Thank you," the boy says quietly as we climb down the ladder to exit Jabba's stands. I shrug it off, knowing I'm not really worthy of his thanks. I'm just a powerful girl who travels around the galaxy, fighting for justice as I feel fit, whether it's freeing child slaves or killing people who do things I don't like. I'm not trying to be a good person, and I'm not trying to make this world a better place. I'm just making the most out of my life by adventuring around and occasionally (well, I'll admit, it's more like often) upsetting the Jedi order.

I find the Toydarian Jabba owes money to, and I instruct the boy to hide out of side. Really, though, I just don't want him to see what I'm about to do. I take the native Tatooinian by his arm and forcefully drag him to an abandoned area behind the stands. The fear in his eyes as he begs for mercy doesn't even touch my soul. "Jabba doesn't owe you any money," I say, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to use the force. It's a long shot, though, since Toydarians have a natural resistance.

"I need that money," he insists. I don't have time nor the patience to deal with his crap. Just by looking at his fine clothes and clean appearance I can tell he doesn't need any money. He's wealthy without it.

"I really don't like liars," I reply, pulling out my lightsaber and finishing him off quickly. He really is Toydarian scum, just like Jabba had said. Rich people who always need more money get on my nerves more than anything else. If you're already privileged, why not help others instead of collecting more? Then again, Jabba is the same type of scum. He probably has a dozen fortunes to gamble off.

Heading back the way I came, I find the boy. He's quiet as I lead him to my aircraft, a MagnaGuard Fighter. It's a new model, one I've taken directly from the workshop it was built in. The design hadn't quite been perfected, but I'd adjusted a few things on my own to make it unique, such as building in a seat on the outside to put my astromech droid in. Even as we approach, KZ-4 beeps a welcome, but I ignore him. He's used to it by now.

"Where are you from?" I ask boy as we climb in the cockpit.

"Bespin," he replies. "Cloud city, to be exact. My father's a senator."

"How'd you end up on Tatooine, then?" I question, looking at him from the corner of my eye as I prep the starship for flight.

"I was kidnapped as a political hostage," he replies. "And then they crashed here and died, leaving only me left alive. But you saved me, so I'm okay now." I take off and we fly in silence for a short while. He's the one to speak again. "I'm called Isaiah."

"I'm Minerva." The conversation dies again, but the boy is persistent. "Why aren't you a Jedi?"

"Because I'm not a good person," I answer shortly, not wanting to get into the specifics. Isaiah doesn't get the clue, though.

"But you saved me. That's something good people do."

"I do more bad things than good things," I say slowly. "And even if I was a good person, I wouldn't want to be a Jedi."

"Why not? They get to explore the galaxy and battle bad guys and fly all sorts of starships…" he trails off, the look in his eyes wistful. "I wish I was a Jedi."

"They spend too much time focusing on diplomatic solutions and lounging around the council room fighting each other," I inform him. "They talk too much and don't take action often enough. I have all the same powers as they do, but none of the restrictions. I do whatever I want, whenever I want. Saving you, for example. The Jedi wouldn't deem you important enough to risk their fighters for, or they would talk up Jabba until he sent them down to his Ranchor, whereas I was able to quickly make a deal with him the Jedi would consider under-the-table, and therefore not legal."

Isaiah is silent for a long moment. "I think I want to be like you when I grow up," he finally remarks. My head whips up quickly, catching the look of admiration in his eyes.

"Never say that," I order harshly. "That's not what I was trying to tell you. The Jedi are good guys, yes, but there's more to them than just swinging their lightsabers around. And I'm a bad guy who does nothing but swinging my lightsaber around."

"My father always has wanted me to go into politics," the boy tells me. "Sometimes politics are confusing. The good guys can be bad, and the bad guys can be good. What do you think of it?"

The change in topic makes me take a moment to think. "My old master wields politics as a weapon even greater than my lightsaber or the force. He makes people think he's good, but really they're just helping him further his evil plans. I think politics are important to people who are in power, but people like me don't deal in politics. I make decisions on the fly, and most of them make no sense. It just depends on what you're good at."

Isaiah thinks over my words for a while. "I don't want to be a Jedi anymore. I wouldn't be good at it. I overthink things and feel too much. My father was right." He beams up at me. "Thanks for helping me."

On the outside I smile tightly and nod. On the inside I curse myself for being a good person at times. Once you start being good, you get a good reputation and then people are disappointed when you make a mistake. When you're bad, people don't assume much of you, and it's easy to maintain a constant reputation. And currently I have a reputation for being a vigilante Sith who doesn't care how she accomplish things, and has a pretty high body count to my name. I wouldn't want to spoil that just because I saved a helpless little boy once.

"Just don't mention it again."