Adequate

Another week. 2 of the new eyes have opened permanently. Yesterday, finally, you managed to get the drop on that combat doll. Quite literally, as a matter of fact. You dropped 500 feet directly into it. The steel carapace on the front ridge of your wings tore through its armor like aluminum foil, and by then it was over. It was reduced to scrap by the time the two of you hit the ground. You ripped its pieces into smaller and smaller fragments the entire way down, until the landing nearly knocked you out. After the few moments it took to regain your senses, you sprung back to your feet. A shoulder had gotten dislocated by the impact, but it was easy enough to pop back into place. You rooted around in the wreckage until you found the combat doll's core. No point returning without evidence of your kill. When you turned it in, the look that He affixed you with was very… appraising. His eyes lingered on the metal shell protecting your wings. It seems He did not find you wanting this time. He had no sharp words for you. No words at all. Today, you're recovering. In addition to the dislocated shoulder, it seems your internals took some damage in the fall. You barely even feel it, but periodically you spit blood, and the medic units have insisted that you not go back out until you're back up to strength. You hate it. Restlessness fills every waking hour, and sleep is still exceedingly rare. You want another mission.