Anderson is too professional to protest that she doesn't consider herself aligned with the Imperials; internal feelings mean nothing compared to her actions. She's never deceived herself that she's not complicit. Staying where she is in her position, trying to make what little differences she can, gets harder to swallow every day. At least in the Megs, everyone knows what a Psi-Judge is, knows the second they see her badge that she's going to read their minds. Something about hiding it from people in order to sell them out to the Empire is starting to wear on her, eroding her composure.

In any case, she's spent enough time in the heads of true scum to not bat an eyelash at the jumbled trauma flashing beneath his surface thoughts. Keeping her mental touch light for now as she gets started, mostly what she notes is that he's frustrated, angry, and wanting to escape. It's completely normal - which is what's weird for a clone. But in the end, that doesn't matter. She's here to do a job, and it's not to hear another horrible story about galactic injustice. She's sure she'll get that out of this anyway.

"Well, Rex," she replies mildly, reorienting herself, "for someone who wants to lecture me, you made a pretty dumb mistake getting caught." Anderson comes further into the room and casually sits in the empty chair left purposefully for her by the guards. She folds her arms, leans back, raises an eyebrow at Rex. Interrogation tactics are totally different for psychics: make a leading statement, see where their minds go.