"Fuckers." Oops, did that slip out? That absolutely slipped out. Whoever did that to Misty deserves all the invective and, in fact, all the shooting. "Anybody tries to send you there again, I'll put some bullets in them. You're mine. My handler. Nobody hurts my handlers." That tone of intense certainty come with a couple plates shuddering in the arm, the sound of a few gears tightening, as if they be preparing to shoot someone right the instant.

The flesh hand stays gentle on her back, though. That's the joys of having one arm be a machine: it does shit entirely independent of the rest of Soldat's body, sometimes.