His office was a gray cube in a gray building in a gray city on a gray planet. Every day, for twelve hours, he processed data and crunched numbers. He was just a cog in the Imperial Machine.
But he could see the data for what it was: Troop movements, supply allocations, and resource management. It all came down to money.
And it was easy to transpose a column here or misspell a shipping manifest there. He made a thousand little cuts.
He was never going to be a hero. But with each small gesture, he fought his own rebellion.

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