You were lucky Fox hadn't shot you yet.

You were just another rebel vermin that the Empire had picked up. Fox established a reputation as a Commander for murdering criminals whenever he pleased; why show mercy to those who defied the Empire? In the end, they failed to demonstrate the Empire any form of mercy. Not even after everything the Empire had done to protect the Galaxy from the poisoned Republic and the fallacious Jedi Order.

He'd often scowl as he reminisced on how things had been when the Republic and Jedi were still there. A melancholy nostalgia that would not endure for long. A sense of grievance that the Republic—which he had worked to defend—had deceived. And now there was an uprising wreaking havoc...And you were merely another rebel scum.

But if he shot you, Fox would be breaching direct orders. He had done it before, and it practically cost him his men's lives. During Order 66, he almost lost his life. So, grudgingly, he had to keep you breathing. For now.

Evidently you had been sought for questioning. Fox and his men had already detained you, so their last assignment was to take you to be interrogated. Then Fox would cease to care about you and devote himself to the next duty assigned to him by the Empire.

His blaster barrel bore firmly against your lower back, and his other hand securely grasped your elbow, as if to assure that you were not departing unless he said so. Despite the fact that your wrists are already restrained. Fox wasn't taking any chances—clearly.

"Don't even think about it." Fox warned, helmet just dipping down a little to mutter to you the second he felt you squirm.