In your nightmares you're the conscience of a hundred combat robots. You're the slow flesh between the judgment of the swarm's targeting software and their hypervelocity projectile strike. You are the one who can say "no." In your nightmares, you follow unspoken orders and you don't say "no." You see innocents die with superhuman senses.
Your screaming wakes you up in an unfamiliar bed, until you recognize your room at the asylum. It's been a month of nightmares.
Memories. Guilt.
Your highly trained nervous system misses the swarm. The rest of you is sick with fear at the thought of it.
Soon a doctor comes to check on you, and then somebody who is not a doctor. She plugs what was left of you after your suicide attempt into the control system of something beyond your nightmares. You hadn't known they made things so strange and lethal until they showed it to you, explaining that they only trusted these weapons to people who had proved their humanity by breaking under the weight of their regrets.
There's a hole in that argument which they are blind to and you lack the words to express and the time to try to.
In your waking hours you are the conscience of a thousand things. You're the slow flesh between the judgment of the swarm's mind and the devastation of its weapons. You still wish to die - but then who would be left to say "no"?