He nodded. He couldn't put a face with the name she provided, but Eight-Seven had probably at the very least heard mention of the man. It was interesting to hear her make mention of familial ties, too. He wondered what it would be like to have been trained by a mother or a father rather than the perpetually faceless Captain Phasma and the repressed, refined General Hux who no sooner looked like Eight-Seven than his helmet did.
Eight-Seven nodded again. "Simulators are where we get the most of our training. We run various scenarios with varying objectives to hone our response times," he answered. He blinked at the question if he'd seen combat yet. Countless times in the simulators but never in real life. "Not yet," he answered honestly. There had been a time where he looked forward to seeing combat. "My unit is looking forward to being deployed, but the opportunity hasn't arrived yet." He wasn't quite sure he felt the same way anymore. His faith stood shaken after being reprimanded for protecting Slip and Eight-Seven worried his excellent marks might not hold up. Could he really leave his fellow trooper to die in a real-life scenario? Could he really kill people who screamed and bled and didn't vanish into nothingness at the end of a simulation? They were thoughts he didn't enjoy entertaining.
"Have you fought the Resistance yet?" Eight-Seven knew what the holovids said, he understood the depravity of the Republic and the needed to stop them, but he had no actual experience with them. He'd never met anyone who was anything but absolutely loyal to the First Order.