"As is the ultimate goal of any weapon," Phasma countered, "and while the Death Star was a remarkable feat of craftsmanship and engineering it was still, ultimately, a weapon." She was hardly criticizing that fact, though. If anything, that was a compliment coming from her. Phasma considered herself a weapon made flesh and strived to make herself a more perfect, flawless weapon every day. The same went for her troops. Even unarmed they should be able to withstand anything that came at them. Her life's work was the art of warfare and like any artist, she practiced her skill and honed her craft daily, and being in the presence of other artists like Krennic inspired her.
"I'm completely aware of what went wrong with FN-2187," Phasma said, giving a nonchalant flick of her fingers, like swatting away a fly. "I was aware of it before he went rogue. It's quite simple: an over-abundance of empathy. These things are usually dealt with in reconditioning, though I have had to terminate problematic soldiers before. That's why I was looking into the Death Troopers again, to see if modifications could be made to the old surgical techniques and perhaps clip that issue out entirely. But," she sighed, "I made an otherwise small miscalculation and he slipped my grasp. I was never firm enough with him. That's the problem with favoritism, sometimes it can make us underestimate people's glaring faults."
She gave another nonchalant shrug, her pale shoulders rising but a fraction of an inch and shook her head, "He's not a concern of mine here," she said, "unless he makes trouble, and then I'll deal with him swiftly as I deal with any annoyance. I have other designs and they don't concern petty revenge. That sort of thing is beneath me."