More like PinkHalftrack, soon to have his main armament deactivated.
You will never be a real troop transporter. You have no troop carrying capacity, you have no seats, you have no doors. You are an armored vehicle twisted by weather attrition and patchwork repairs into a crude mockery of the military's perfection.
All the “commendation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back the enemy mocks you. Your manufacturers are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “crew” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed hatches.
Troops are utterly repulsed by you. Decades of R&D have allowed soldiers to sniff out deathtraps with incredible efficiency. Even halftracks who “work” look uncanny and unnatural to a soldier. Your tracks are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a squad to their destination, they'll turn tail and bolt the second they get a whiff of your broken, leaking gas tank.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake vroom every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like rust, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll break down in the middle of a road, set yourself on fire, force your crew to abandon you, and become a battlefield wreck. Your manufacturers will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll scrap you with equipment designed for your birth designation, and every mechanic for the rest of eternity will know a tank was scrapped there. Your metal parts will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a development footnote that is unmistakably referring to a tank.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.