Rey
In the beginning, she remembers fear.
Remembers it curling up her throat and freezing her limbs and making her shake. Making her hide from Unkar Plutt because she thought if he couldn’t find her maybe—who knows what. She was little, and dumb, and didn’t understand the one ironclad rule of Jakku: parts for portions.
She was small, and slow, and stupid, but she learned fast, figured out that small meant she could slip into places the rest of them couldn’t, that they might not see her if she stayed very still before darting out to steal a screwdriver, a long-handled wrench, a knife. Learned about leverage, learned that her long wrench would loosen a stuck bolt, but would also hurt enough to make a thief leave her alone, if she swung it hard at his kneecaps, his groin, his face if it was down low enough to reach.
Rey was scared all the time, in the beginning. Now she doesn’t usually bother getting scared, not when she can get out, or get even.