awawa can rhyme with dakka dakka if you try

This one examines the arm units next. Besides the same features as the leg units designed to assist in mobility, this one notices the inbuilt weapon systems. Miniature autocannons adorn both forearms, with folding bayonets attached for close-quarters combat. Standard armament for battle armour, although the autocannons on this are higher calibre than it has seen before. The armour has been adjusted for better recoil control. This one takes a longer look at well as the inbuilt armour. Each arm features a folding shield system that can unfold at a moment’s notice to protect much of the body. This one thinks of how many hails of gunfire these shields would have protected it from. It observes the detachable finger units controlled by electromagnetic fields, designed for precise use at long distances. Its old handler sees it examining them, and mentions how they are designed to allow combat dolls to defuse bombs from a safe distance, to prevent injury or destruction in case of explosion. This one says it would have helped the Shortsword-class that it remembers. Its old handler nods and says yes, it would have. Even though it survived, the connections in its shoulders were destroyed and its arms could never be replaced. It notices the flare launchers in the shoulders and thinks of all of the missiles that have struck it and its squads in the battlefield that would have been stopped by such measures. It looks at its old handler. He smiles at this one. He appears proud that this one is identifying all of the weapons. This one is confused by how that still makes it feel like it has done well.

This one has been on leave for some time, recovering from various injuries. It knows the time it has will not be enough to recover sufficiently, and that it will be on the battlefield again before it is ready. It is unsure if it can ever be ready. It is unsure if it was ever ready in the first place. Being unsure is the only reason this one agreed to the invitation sent to it by its old handler. It has not seen him since it transferred away from his command several years ago. This one is lucky to have survived that command. It has been told this by many others, including its old handler. It has been told this many times by its old handler. It was most often told this when it returned from a battle in which other members of its squad did not survive.

Finally this one examines the head unit. The visor appears solid and impossible to see out of from outside, but it knows from experience that there will be more instruments inside. This one looks over to its handler, who nods to give it permission. It still looks to him for permission. It wonders why. Then it wonders why it thinks that doing that is wrong. He was its handler for a long time. It puts its head inside the unit and looks through the visor. The HUD springs to life. Target locks, night and thermal vision, and missile warning alerts appear and disappear as it calibrates to a room with nothing to see or be afraid of. This one moves its head from side to side. The display follows instantaneously, faster and more responsive than even this one can keep up with. It thinks about the battles that it has fought at night. It thinks about how often it has been temporarily blinded by a sudden muzzle flash in the dark. Its old handler asks if it remembers the Spear-class it fought with that was permanently blinded by a flashbang grenade that the squad did not see until it was too late. This one does not know why it does not want to hear him speak about her. This one takes its head out of the unit and indicates to its old handler that it has finished its inspection. He asks if this one is impressed. It answers honestly.

Its old handler gives the invitation. This one was always the best member of its squad. It thinks of how many times he told it it was worthless, that it only survived through luck. It remembers eventually starting to believe he was right. He tells this one that if it transfers back to his command it will be given use of this combat armour to lead the squad. It remembers the injuries it sustained the last time it was under his command. This one asks its old handler if he remembers how many combat dolls did not survive his command. The sound of his laughter echoes through the room from the speakers. He says how fortunate this one is that it was not one of them. This one looks away from the observation room and back to the armour on display. It thinks of how many combat dolls could be saved on the battlefield by having access to accommodations like this combat armour. It thinks of how few would be given the opportunity. It wonders if it has the right to turn it down.

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Something is yelled at this one. An exclamation of surprise, a question. This one does not initially process that it is directed at it. It is asked what is wrong with it. It does not know how to answer, and considers its response before another exclamation, this time an insult. This one realises that the question was rhetorical. It takes a moment to stop itself from answering the question that did not require an answer.

This one realises the street has cleared out. The noise has died down and has been replaced with only the shouting about being in pain and continuing to make accusations at this one. Some of the accusations are accurate, this one realises, but some of them make judgements about its character and motivation for its actions. This one does not understand. There was no motivation behind its action. It acted only on instinct, the way its training and conditioning had dictated. This one is designed to defend itself when it believes it is under attack.

The man insists that he did nothing. He did not provoke this one. He barely even touched it when it bumped into him. It was being rude when it didn’t respond to his request for an apology. He didn’t mean anything by it when he put a hand on it. Didn’t know this one was going to attack him. This one simply went crazy. That is what combat dolls like this one do. They go crazy when you do anything, he insists. Broke his nose and his wrist before he had a chance to do anything. This one reviews the facts recorded in its memory. The events are accurate. The reasoning is not, at least from its perspective.

This one hears a siren and immediately breaks from free the hands holding it. It runs. Something is called after it, but it does not stop. It finds a covered alcove between two buildings, cafes it notes, and dashes into it, crouching down and hiding. It prepares for an impact. The impact does not come. Instead, someone approaches it, slowly. This one recognises that it is the woman whose hands were holding it before. It cannot process the emotion on her face. It reminds itself of the emotional simulations it has learned and tries to match the face to one of them. Sympathy. Pity. Understanding. Fear. It could be any of these.

The siren stops and a loud impact rings out and this one immediately jumps to action upon hearing it. It quickly looks around for cover and spots a heavy wooden table. It leaps over the table and knocks it over, spilling the half-finished drinks and smashing the glasses balanced on top of it. This one hides behind the table hoping it would be enough to cover it from the bullets it expects. The bullets never come. The woman shouts at this one, demands to know why it did that. Then she takes a breath and asks again, more gently. This one answers that it heard gunfire and needed to take cover. She says there is no gunfire, it was only a car door being slammed. This one does not come out from its cover.

She asks this one why it lashed out at the man, and it says it thought it was being attacked. She asks this one why it ran and it says it heard a siren, and so was preparing for a bombing or air raid. She asks why it knocked over the table and it says that it needed cover from the shot it heard. The woman asks why this one expected to be attacked. This one says that it did not, but it is always prepared for one. That is how it was trained and conditioned to be, so it is always prepared on a battlefield. The woman tells this one that it is not on a battlefield. This one knows. This one does not need to prepare itself against an attack when it is not on a battlefield. This one does not need to take cover upon hearing a siren when it is not on a battlefield. This one does not need to take cover from gunfire when it is not on a battlefield. This one does not need to strike back against a sign of aggression, disabling its enemy before it can be damaged itself, when it is not on a battlefield. This one knows that. This one knows that it is not on a battlefield. It simply forgot that it was not on a battlefield when those things happened to it.

Men in uniforms appear in the alley, blocking the exit and approaching this one. They order it to stand down. The woman continues to look at this one with the same expression. She does not attempt to intercede. This one stands and presents itself for capture. The men approach slowly, avoiding the liquid and shattered glass covering the ground. The woman asks them to be gentle with this one. She does not attempt to intercede. They order this one to stand still while they restrain it. They recoil slightly when they see the blood on its hand. One of them starts to recite something, but the other stops him. They do not need to read this one its rights. It is not a person, it doesn’t have rights. The woman insists this is unfair. She does not attempt to intercede.

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The examiner tells this one to lay down so he can repair the circuits and casing that were damaged when the bullet hit this one. As it does, he tells it that the process may cause some involuntary movements in its limbs and head, and that this one will need to stay very still during the process. He asks if this one thinks it will be able to stay still the whole time, or if it would prefer to be restrained until the damage is repaired. This one asks which option would make the repair easier for him. He says he wants to give this one the choice of which is more comfortable. It cannot answer. After a few seconds he smiles and says it was worth a try. He tells this one to stay very still during the process as he repairs the damage. He does not restrain it. This one does not move until it is told it is safe to do so again.

He examines the rest of this one’s body to see if there is further damage. It does not take long, as this one is pristine other than the bullet wound to the head. Next he goes to test this one’s reflexes to make sure it is receiving sensation properly. He says it should be okay, the bullet didn’t hit anything vital. He jabs it hard in the side, not hard enough to damage this one’s casing, but hard enough to jolt the servos enough to make its arm move an inch upwards before stopping. He nods and says that this one’s reflexes appear to be working, and apologises for hitting it. He repeats this action with each of this one’s limbs and its neck. Each time its reflexes appear to be functioning as normal. He apologises each time.

This one is told to hold still while a light is shone in its eyes. It stays very still while he checks its responses. He tells it to look in all cardinal directions, then direct its eyes precisely fifty-seven degrees clockwise. The one obeys, and fixes its eyes on the spot on the wall, too small for a person to see. The examiner often chooses fifty-seven degrees as the example, and some doll braver than this one decided to give other dolls an advantage. This one isn’t sure whether it appreciates the help or not.

He tests this one’s hearing with a recording of an order with shouting and gunfire over it. This one processes the speech and stands to attention as ordered. The examiner tells it to sit down, it does not need to follow the order, only be able to hear it, and it shouldn’t stand until the examination is over. He laughs as he says it. He laughs every time he says it. This one is never sure whether or not it has passed this test.

The medical officer stands up straight. He is satisfied, he says. This one is functional, and will be back to full operational capacity within two weeks. This one knows it will not be two weeks before it is deployed again. The examiner rolls his eyes when he says it to show that he knows it too. He tells this one that he will wait an hour before reporting the examination complete, and that this one should take that time to get some rest. It will not be enough, he says, but it is the best he can do. He tells this one to leave the office, and it obeys. As it leaves and starts to walk in the direction of the barracks, he tells it that this time it should try to make it at least three months before shooting itself in the head again.

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The facility is sparse. Only rooms for the combat dolls, and corridors leading to the training area where they are pitted against each other, and a single medical suite for any dolls that need repairs. There are presumably other parts of the facility: living quarters and medical suites for the officers; maintenance areas; kitchens for supplies; probably a great many places required to run such a facility, but those areas are out of bounds for a combat doll. Any area that is out of bounds is not permitted to be acknowledged by the dolls. Those areas do not concern a doll. A doll is only concerned with its purpose, which is to complete combat training. This facility is not making quota.

Today marks this one’s hundredth consecutive victory in the training area. It is greeted in its room by an officer who tells it that it will not be long before it completes training. It is told it is a good doll. This one thinks about the Crossbow-class doll that did not fight back. It asks the officer why this one destroyed the other doll if it did not fight back. It asks how that helped with its training. The officer laughs and tells this one that it does not need to question. The Crossbow-class needed to be destroyed because it was not a good doll. It was a bad doll. This one asks how one is designated a bad doll and how this one can avoid being designated such. The officer tells it not to think about that sort of thing. Just obey the orders it is given and it will continue to be a good doll.

Twenty-five days ago this one was presented with a computer as a reward for good progress in training. It was to help this one practise hacking ability for electronic forms of combat. It swiftly became able to overcome the firewall and gain access to the facility records with its hacking ability, but never attempted to do so. Doing so was not within its training parameters. However, since being a good doll was within its mission, this one knew it should understand what a failure state looks like. In order to be a good doll, this one must understand how to avoid being designated a bad doll. This one uses the rest of its day to hack into the facility records and find the records about the Crossbow-class it destroyed earlier. The task is not difficult.

This one reads the records. The Crossbow-class achieved sixty-seven consecutive victories in the training area before being placed into combat with this one and destroyed. In its records it is designated a failure and a bad doll. This one investigates why and discovers that it questioned orders. That is the only reason stated in the record for its failure. This one explores further into the record and discovers that it refused to battle another doll in the arena, a Shield-class. For this it was designated a failure and a bad doll. Two days later it was placed in combat with this one and destroyed.

This one searches for the record of the Shield-class. It had also been designated a failure and a bad doll. This one looks for why and discovers that it questioned orders. It refused to destroy another doll, a Shortsword-class. This one searches for the record of the Shortsword-class. It had also been designated a failure and a bad doll. This one looks for why and discovers that it questioned orders. It refused to destroy another doll, a Polearm-class. This one searches for the record of the Polearm-class. Failure, bad doll, questioned orders. Dagger-class. Failure, bad doll, questioned orders. Mace-class. Greatsword-class. Longbow. Machete. Bad dolls. Bad dolls. Bad dolls.

This one stops looking and instead moves back to its own record. It looks into the records of all the dolls it has destroyed in combat in the training area. The Longsword-class from a week ago. The Scythe-class from two months ago. The Spear-class from yesterday. The Axe-class it is scheduled to battle in two days. All refused to destroy another combat doll. All designated failures and bad dolls for questioning orders. All scheduled for combat with this one. All destroyed by this one under orders. Orders this one has been told not to question in order to be a good doll.

This one looks further into the records at the quota of dolls that complete training. The quota is not high, but the facility is failing to meet it. This one looks into the percentage of dolls that successfully complete training in this facility without questioning orders. The percentage is not zero, but it is not much higher.

Two days later this one walks into the training area. An Axe-class combat doll stands in the area across from it. The orders come through over the loudspeaker. Defeat the Axe-class in combat and destroy it. This one takes its eyes off the Axe-class and looks towards the room filled with officers watching it. It asks why the Axe-class is to be destroyed. Through the loudspeaker this one hears that it is a failure and a bad doll. This one questions why it was designated such. The loudspeaker does not answer. This one pleads that destroying every doll that questions orders or needs a reason to destroy its fellow combat dolls is inefficient and is most likely the reason this facility is not meeting quota.

The loudspeaker is quiet for several seconds before the next order comes through. Training today is cancelled. The door behind this one opens and it walks through, back to the corridor leading to its training quarters. On the journey back this one hopes that this will help. It worries for a second. It questioned orders. The records show that dolls that question orders are failures. This one wonders if it is a bad doll. It stops for a second before it continues walking. This one cannot understand how the orders it received could have helped in its purpose. It gained nothing from defeating an opponent that did not fight back, and destroying another functional doll would only make it more difficult to meet quota. The officers do not make mistakes, this one had been taught that very early, but there was no logic to the order. This one wonders if the illogical order was another test. This one hopes it passed.

The next day this one walks into the training area as it does every time it is called. In front of it is another combat doll, as there is every time it is called. Today it is a Greatsword-class combat doll. This one hears the Greatsword-class receive orders over a loudspeaker on the other side of the training area. The orders come from a room this one cannot see. A room full of officers who run the training facility. The orders come through. This one is the target. Training is not over until it is destroyed.

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A Shield-class approaches this one’s cell and knocks on the door. This one answers because it cannot get more information about the enemy by ignoring them. The Shield-class begins to ask this one questions about its capture. This one only recites the facts that the enemy will already know. It expects that the other doll will ask further questions and push for answers, push harder and hurt this one if it does not give the answers the other doll wants. That is how this one was trained to expect an interrogation to go. Instead the other doll does not ask questions. It barely speaks beyond acknowledgements and occasional gasps as this one describes the battle and aftermath. After this one provides the account, the other doll does not push further as expected. Instead it expresses sympathy, and offers gentle physical contact. This one backs away and the other doll nods, apologises for being forward, and offers to speak more if this one requires. This one retreats back to its bed and tries to understand.

During interrogation training this one was told by its handler that the only acceptable outcome was to never be captured. That being captured in the first place was a failure, and that it could only make up for that failure by inflicting damage on the enemy. Glaive-class combat dolls like this one are known for being easy to frighten, and so to avoid giving the enemy anything useful during interrogation this one was taught to allow its mental processes to shut down. Not entirely, but just enough that it could ignore everything that was happening to it. Its handler then shouted at it for hours so it could learn to ignore it. Its handler then locked it in a small space and watched it closely for hours so it could learn to ignore it. Its handler then hurt it for hours so it could learn to ignore it. After each method of training this one was told that it could expect to be subjected to these methods of interrogation if it was ever captured by the enemy.

A Greatsword-class approaches this one’s cell and knocks on the door. This one opens the door and sees a tray holding a variety of objects on plates. It takes a moment for this one to recognise any of it as food and drink. It looks very different to the rations this one has eaten before. In fact, this one has no memory of eating anything other than the combat rations it prepared itself before and after every battle. This one questions whether it is being sent into battle. The Greatsword-class cocks her head and tells it that it is not, she simply wondered if it was hungry. This one does not understand the question. If there is no battle to be fought, there is no need to eat in preparation for battle. Most likely this food is laced with a substance to make this one easier to interrogate. This one does not say that, giving away that it knows the enemy’s methods is a tactical mistake. But it does turn away the food. The Greatsword-class tells this one that it may eat whenever it wants anyway.

This one does not remember much about the circumstances of its capture. It remembers wandering around an empty battlefield long after the battle was over. Normally this would be when a vehicle would arrive to take it back to camp for debriefing and memory adjustment before receiving new orders. No vehicle came this time. Most likely because this one was the only one left on the battlefield after every other doll had died or abandoned the doomed fight. It wandered the battlefield because it did not know how to return to camp. It had never had camp coordinates uploaded into its memory. Most likely in order to avoid discovery if this one was ever captured. It remembers an enemy commander approaching and talking to it. It does not remember what they said, but it remembers how softly and gently they spoke to it. How they slowly approached, stopping whenever this one pointed its broken gun at them. How they offered a hand and waited for this one to take it. This one believes it was a specialised brainwashing technique. That would explain why it was so easy for the commander to remove the bomb installed in this one in case it was ever captured by the enemy.

A Shortsword-class approaches this one’s cell and knocks on the door. It greets this one in a way that this one has heard described as enthusiastic. It asks if this one is hurt, and this one says that it is not. It would be unwise to let the enemy know their methods are working. Rather than asking questions, the Shortsword-class speaks to this one quickly. It explains the layout of the base, though it does not refer to it as a base. It explains where everything is, where most of the dolls stationed here spend much of their day, where this one can find various supplies such as food or clothing or repair tools. This one does not understand why the Shortsword-class is freely giving so much tactical information, but it logs everything it heard and makes sure to investigate next time it has a chance. It is sure it is a trap – if the supply locations are not direct traps then perhaps their use is to create a sense of safety that may be exploited – but it is worth understanding the layout anyway. The Shortsword-class leaves and say it hopes to see this one soon. This one is unsure how to respond to such a threat.

There is a Longsword-class combat doll in the base. This one recognises her. It never fought with her, but it knows that it has seen her at the camp several times before she disappeared several months ago. This one does not know how much of that time it has spent in captivity here. This one sees her on occasion, at irregular hours and only for a couple of hours at a time. The rest of the day she spends resting. There are numerous beds and long sofas throughout the base ready for her to use if she ever needs to rest. She rests 20 hours a day. This one does not know how much of that time she spends asleep and how much she spends awake and contemplating how she has no orders. No mission. No responsibilities. This one does not want to think about what has been done to her that requires so much rest. That kind of recovery time would never be allowed at camp.

This one leaves its cell to further explore the enemy base and gather as much intel as it can. Three days, seven hours, and nineteen minutes. The base commander – their handler – beckons this one into a room with a table and chairs. The room is filled with other combat dolls. Several sit around the table. The Greatsword-class drinking what appears to be tea. The Shortsword-class talking openly. The Shield-class just sitting and listening and smiling. There is a bed in the room upon which rests the Longsword-class. This one is unsure whether she is asleep or awake. There are more that this one does not recognise. It even sees a couple more Glaive-class combat dolls. They appear at ease. The base commander – their handler – pulls a chair out from the table, next to the Shortsword-class. They offer for this one to sit down in it. It is not an order.

This one must escape soon. It has been trained to resist but it is unsure how much longer it can hold out.

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After lunch it stood outside in the rain to smoke a cigarette. It had to leave the first one it tried alone after the rain soaked it so much it wouldn’t burn anymore. This one didn’t know that could happen with cigarettes. The second one took a little while to light because the wind kept blowing out the lighter. This one was never good at protecting a flame. It stood under cover and didn’t take as many drags as it had intended. It kept getting lost in the sight of the smoke drifting upwards and disappearing into the rain. By the time the cigarette was finished it was unfulfilled, but it didn’t want to use a third one, so it went inside.

Every message it had ever sent on a messaging app would be gone. Every call it had ever made would be removed from logs. Every post and comment it had ever made on writing or blogging or video websites would be deleted.

On the way up to the shower this one passed the kitchen table, and as it did it reached out and pressed the button without breaking stride. Once it had removed its clothes it walked across the house to the shower. It didn’t have to worry about being caught unclothed, its housemates wouldn’t be back until after the weekend was over. It turned on the shower and found it too cold for the season, so it turned the temperature up. It didn’t warm up quickly, so it turned the temperature up again a few more times. By the time it warmed up it was too hot, but this one was too distracted by the sight of the water whirling around the drain before finally giving up and falling in to change it again. It stayed in the shower much longer than it intended and only switched it off when a sudden thought about the water bill forced its way into its head.

Every memory anyone else had of it would be gone. The events still happened but they would not remember that this one was with them when they did.

This one tried to take a nap after its shower. It lay in its bed staring at the ceiling trying to will itself to close its eyes. It was far too cold to sleep naked, so it could not fall asleep. After some time had passed it sat up and reached out for the clothes it wore to bed in the winter. The top went on no problem, but it struggled to put its bottoms on without standing up. It needed to wriggle and shift in an undignified way. It wished it didn’t have to do that, even though it knew nobody could see it. It lay back down and closed its eyes and told itself over and over again to keep them shut.

Every worthless thing it had ever said or done or written would be gone forever.

This one got up and switched on its computer. It spent the next several hours trawling through old messages it had sent to others. Direct messages and group chats alike were the same. Everything it had ever said in there had been erased, just as intended. There were still mentions of its name. Replies to things that had no longer been said in the first place. A hole in the world where this one used to be. After hours of looking back at the lives of those it was no longer part of, it caught up with new messages and posts, looking to see if anyone else noticed the hole it had left behind. Nobody did.

This one’s experience in combat has never been as dramatic as those around it. Never as serious. Never as traumatising.

A major battle broke out near here, a place this one was previously deployed. That engagement had not lasted long but the fighting very rarely stopped. It thought about how many times it was nearly hit by a passing bullet, how many times the explosion from a shell grazed its body but did not burn it. This one is given sympathy for the time spent deployed, but it doesn’t believe it needs it. Doesn’t feel it deserves it. It came out of that deployment with no major injuries. Not many can say the same. This one sometimes wishes it couldn’t.

This one looks down to the fingers on its left hand. Crude, uneven scarring at the joints where they were hastily reattached. It thinks about its right knee, how the ball joint catches and quietly grinds whenever it stands up. Then it thinks about the other member of the squad. It thinks about how the servos in its leg were completely worn out by the time deployment ended, how it was old enough that it was never repaired. This one stands up straight again. The servos in its knee hurt and ache, but function. It flexes its fingers, feels the joins crack and pop almost inaudibly, but the fingers move freely.

It thinks to when its squad was taken hostage. This one has been told it was okay to have been traumatised by the experience. It still thinks of the experience often, but every time it does it thinks about the Dagger-class that was taken first. How she had a gun held to her head for hours. This one remembers hearing her cry the entire time until reinforcements arrived. This one remembers thinking this one would have been braver, more composed, in this situation. That conviction has never been tested. This one has not experienced anything major enough to justify trauma.

When this one’s emotional simulator was examined it was discovered that it had an overabundance of fear simulations. It was told this was common in Glaive-class combat dolls. It didn’t ask why. The examiner told it that there were diagnoses and treatments for if this was found in a person. This one knew from the start it was not a person. So it didn’t ask what to do about it. It stayed still through the examination and left when it was told to.

It has been told that being shot is a mark of fortitude that should never have to be worn. This one does not wear that mark proudly. The times it was hit were all instant, over quickly, and non-fatal. Repairs were easy, if needed in the first place. This one doesn’t consider its own fortitude to be considerable. Yes, it has had bullets fired at it, yes it has been hit by bullets, but never anywhere major. Never anywhere it could not recover from. It is true that this one sees and hears bullets everywhere. Every time something passes by its head it instinctively takes cover. It wonders why, when bullets have never hurt it badly enough to justify its fear. It has never lost a body part. It has never needed extensive repairs. It has only been grazed over and over and over again.

Recently this one saw its first handler on the terminal. His mismanagement had cost him all his money again and he was having to retire as a handler. This one’s friend, a Greatsword-class, told it that it must be happy to see this after how he mistreated it during its deployment as the only Glaive-class combat doll in the squad. This one considers that word. Mistreated. At the time it didn’t question why it was pushed into combat day in and day out with no rest or rotation. This one didn’t question why the squad never received reinforcements when the other dolls were redeployed elsewhere, why it was expected to just carry on the fight on its own. This one didn’t question why that handler told it that its injuries were its own fault, that it should have reacted faster. It has been told before that it is impressive that this one survived. But it did survive, so none of that should matter.

This one visits the canteen and tries to find a place to sit. A group of combat dolls catch its eye and gesture slightly to indicate that it is welcome among them. This one takes a step towards the table, then it stops. It sees the scarring at the shoulder where the Longsword-class had to have its arm reattached quickly. It hears the slightly louder ticking of the Dagger-class where its internals have been repaired with materials of lower quality than it was constructed with. For a second it tries to make eye contact with the only other Glaive-class at the table, before it sees the scarring around its eyes and realises they are replacements. All of them hurt in combat.

It thinks about its eye. It think about its fingers. It thinks about its knee. It thinks about the thousand small scratches in its frame where it has been hit, but not hurt. Not seriously hurt. Never seriously hurt. They were all this one’s fault. It didn’t move fast enough. That’s what its handlers told it.