Rex's own mind is a nightmare of its own making, though not one that contains the chilling, empty depths of his brothers. And while he's gone through more trauma than even most soldiers and carries it as such, it's not so terribly different than what so many have gone through in the army, in this long and bloody war that they keep on finding themselves in. But Rex doesn't know that it matters, has no idea that people like Anderson even exist. Learning about the intricacies of other human beings or other species had never been in his briefings unless it was directly pertinent to his mission. He's got the rudimentary shielding up on his mind that is unusual among natborns, but nothing that someone with skill would have a difficult time breaking down. He keeps them up the best he can. You never know when a Force-user is around the corner -- a Sith, not a Jedi, Rex thinks grimly. All the Jedi are dead.

This woman strikes him as neither. She's just a normal natborn, as far as he's concerned, hidden behind the authority and power that come with her position in the Empire. New position, he thinks. She'd never known clones before as men. She's only known them as shambling flesh-droids. It's almost depressing, that generations of people will die thinking that this is what they've always been.

It's a surprise she's even allowing him the luxury of being called by his name.

"No. Not since I was a kid. None of us did until you people got your hands on us," he spits out. "My name is Rex."