“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mistress, please don’t decommission it!” The poor thing cried in the corner, clutching its rifle after the last engagement didn’t go well. Snipers can’t well hit their marks if they’re being overrun, after all.
What could it possibly be sorry for? It wasn’t a close-combat doll; it didn’t have the strength, training, or even the programming to go toe-to-toe with even trained humans.
“What do you have to be sorry for, doll?” The marksdoll’s spotter-handler paced back and forth, watching tactical updates play back on her HMD.
“T-this one failed in its tasks, it is s-sorry and it understands this is n-not the first incident of this sort…it is not this one’s Handler at fault, this one is worthless and should be decomm-“
“Hush, doll. I’ll have none of that.” It opened its mouth to presumably apologize once again, but the Handler cut it off, continuing.
“I read your previous handler’s reports. He was fucking shit, doll. Your rifle expertise is far above the norm for your model, and from what I’ve seen you’re a fucking great shot. You are not great at anything close-up. Why would you be, doll?”
“B-because this one isn’t constructed for-“
“Exactly. So why the fuck do you think you deserve decommissioning? Because you can’t fulfill a role you were never meant to? No, doll, it isn’t you who deserves decommissioning. Don’t fault yourself for being who and what you are. Now come on, we’re not done here yet.”
The doll looked up with newfound confidence at its Handler, eyes glistening and full of more emotion than the Handler was comfortable with. Oh well, that’ll be addressed another day.
“Y-yes ma’am! This one will do its best.”