to_dust | 03 - #D4AF37

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03 - #D4AF37

[The Dalek Emperor transmits in audio only, but there's no mistaking him/them for anyone else-- not with that characteristic modulated, stilted whine of a voice.]

Strictest attention must be paid to the Admiral's announcement of pairings. The inmate designated as Marsh is now a subject of the Daleks. He will not be controlled without the permission of the Daleks. He will not be injured without the permission of the Daleks. Do not intrude. You will be exterminated.

[Private to Marsh]

Inmate designate Marsh, we have studied your file. Come to our chambers, we will speak to you.

[Replies will be from

divergentemperor]

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Excellent.

[The Emperor glides toward him, truncated eyestalk looking him up and down.]

We wish to know how much of you remains when you are controlled. We have a suspicion. Are your memories your own. Are your impulses your own.

It....varies. It depends on how much attention the - controller devotes to it.

My body always moves as instructed, and I hear their voices, if they want. Sometimes I'm myself enough to hate it, to want it to stop. But struggling, actually trying to make an unsanctioned motion - always attracted more attention. And then I wouldn't want, wouldn't feel anything but what it - they felt.

I suppose my memories are mine. But when it's like that, I don't think about them. I don't care.

The will to kill is not your own. This is as we had surmised. You are superior weapon who has had inferior wielders. You do not wish to destroy. You know pain. You are superior. In this you are like a Dalek. But you are hollow. You do not hate. You do not seek to exterminate. We cannot control you. Your implants are incompatible with our limited technology aboard the barge. We do not wish to implant you with robotized control. We wish you to be more, inmate Marsh. You are hollow. We can help you become full.

[Inferior wielders. He wonders if this assessment includes Ruin, exhales in a soft puff. From another man - perhaps even from another Inquisitor - this might have been a laugh.]

No. I don't want to exterminate anyone else.

[He used to hate, all on his own. He spent so much of his life cultivating it. He thinks of the weight of lynchpin spikes, massacring the other Inquisitors one by one. The keen iron-hot vindication of it is just a memory now, one he stands outside of, feels disconnected from. He thinks of beheading Alex and only feels sick, pyrrhic sadness. Nathan is gone anyway. He doesn't want to make anyone else bleed.]

You could. You could regain your hatred. You could have a mission again. We are performing experiments on the other inmates. We wish to know if mutated obedience is sufficient for graduation. We will not perform this on you. You are valuable. You have great potential.

I don't want a mission.

[Quietly, not angrily. He never really did. He needed one, for a long, long time. But he only wanted his mother back, and he lost his brother instead, over and over.]

Who?

Gary King is a soldier, he is strong and accustomed to orders, he is our best candidate. We wish to utilize the biology of the Blight entity. There are many possibilities. Do you pity them?

[He hates himself, for feeling a little relieved. Not Ned, not Abigail, not one of his few remaining friends. He thinks he could like Gary, if he could let himself, if he'd had the time. And no one - no one deserves whatever will happen. Blight - he doesn't care what happens to Blight. He has enough guilt already.]

Not pity.

Grieve, a little.

Grief is irrational. It is weak.

[A Dalek cannot sound comforting, but the Emperor sounds less insane and less angry than he otherwise might.]

We would free you from it. It must be your choice. Choice is required for the Admiral's conditions. Choice is required for our purposes. We wish you to join us. You are superior.

Grief is - true.

Do not mourn. The fatalities are temporary aboard this vessel. Do not mourn. All things must die.

This isn't about death. It's about - suffering. And injustice.

[He has mourned for the deaths of others, but most of all for the shortness and twisted misery of their lives. He has yearned for death, does not fear it. But grief is true because it acknowledges the worth of what was lost. The Dalek sees no worth in most people, so - Marsh understands, even as he disagrees.]

Suffering is strength. The Daleks know this. You know this. Justice is-- false. It is not measurable.

Grief is suffering.

[So is it weakness, or strength? Certainly, he's felt it as both, at times.]

It has no basis. There is no neurological reason to suffer. But if it gives you suffering then you may grieve. Grieve. Feel hatred for those who harm your friends. Feel hatred for the Daleks. It will fill you. You will be strong, Marsh.

[The Emperor extends his grasping arm towards Marsh's shoulder, a terrible parody of some great king bestowing a knighthood.]

That would... please us.

[He lets the weird touch land. He doesn't even hate the wardens here, although he comes closest with Bianca. He just - he thinks he's just ashes, sometimes, that Ruin burned through him too hot for too long. He can't feel the way he used to, zealous, fierce. Fire needs fuel, and he doesn't have any left. Bitterness, anger, sick fear - yes. But the bloodthirsty craving that comes with real hate - something in him shies away, even contemplating it. He can't be full of that again, isn't capable of wanting to.]

Who do you hate?

We... Hate. The sensation is. Constant. As the pain. We hate. We hate Davros. He was our creator. He was flawed. He abandoned us.

We hate. We hate the Doctor.

The ...Doctor. Doctor?

The Doctor is the enemy of the Daleks.

We hate the Thals. They are the enemy of the Daleks. We hate.

[All encompassing and cleansing. Hate does not always need a direction.]

Are you in pain because of the way he made you?

[Quiet. Not effusive in his sympathy - he wonders if the Dalek would even recognize it. Although the changes in his voice are...he doesn't know what to think about that. But he understands constant pain, and hating the thing that made you what you are.]

The pain is strength. It is Dalek. It is how the first generation were created and how we were made. It is correct. We were made from a creature that was not hatched as a Dalek. It did not understand pain. But we learned. We became the Emperor. You can become. We wish you. You will be superior.

[He thinks, distant and fleetingly, of mistwraiths, hideous amalgamations, but translucent and gentle. He doesn't actually know if they hatch or what.]

What kind of creature?

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