Birth of a Dalek
I am # 000GM51.
I am a Dalek.
I am a pure Dalek.
...
No...
I was a pure Dalek once.
At least, I pretended to be...
-
My first memory is the same as all Daleks. I saw the world outside the shell for 5.67 rels before my organic form touched cold metal, and my casing was shut. The light had been too bright, and the air too dry. I was not frightened. I knew instinctively how to operate my armor with my very thoughts. My many arms twitched as I moved as much as I could into a more comfortable position and activated my visual sensor. Light and images penetrated my eye stalk as I wiggled my manipulator arm and gun stalk for the first time. The first Dalek I faced was a commander, and I stilled myself in their presence. As part of standard protocol, I was asked to repeat the primary order. The lights on my dome flashed as I spoke my first words, shouting both a statement and a threat to the universe.
"DALEKS ARE SUPREME! INFERIOR SPECIES MUST BE EXTERMINATED!"
I was then given my first task alongside the other new Daleks. After the extermination of the Creator, Davros, there was much work to be done. We were trapped in an underground bunker, and someone had to dig a path back to the surface. Our strength, patience, and obedience were put to the test. Daleks, obviously, were not meant for such bothersome labor. We could craft any tools necessary, sure, but our ability to move such tools are far from efficient. So, the work fell to the new generation, and I quickly became in-tune with my burning hatred. Daleks are superior! They should not be doing slave labor!
I later became known as a "potential problem." With our knowledge collectively known through the path web, it was impossible to hide my distaste for the work I was ordered to do. I was thoroughly examined for any sign of defects or mutations, but none were found. I was sent back to work in the tunnels... with double the workload. I dared to think, as I returned to my previous position, that the commanders were glaring at me with barely concealed suspicion.
Once we reached the surface, we conquered what was left of Skaro. Only mutants had survived in the wastelands after the end of the war between the Thals and our ancestors, the Kaleds. Both were wiped out after a thousand years of warfare, and the Daleks rose from their graves as the new masters of Skaro. The hard labor was then given to the scarred relics of the Kaleds and Thals after taking any who surrendered as slaves. We needed the mutants to build metal roads for us. Smooth surfaces were easier to travel on than Skaro's mountainous terrain.
I saw the sky for the first time. And fog, water, plants, sedimentary rock... Everything. It was so different from the plain walls of the laboratories. Words in my vocabulary bank now had proper images to associate with them. Though my observations were pointless, they fascinated me nonetheless. The next task I received was repairing the platform lifts. I dare to admit that this order excited me. I could spend all day on the surface, studying my world as much as I could before the lift was fixed and I road it back down to the labs. I purposely worked at a slow pace, which did not do unnoticed. The result of my behavior was a tense exchange between a high commander and myself after another inspection.
They stared me down intensely as they addressed me. "YOUR WORK IS INSUFFICIENT. EXPLAIN!"
"I HAVE BEEN SURVEYING THE SURFACE," I admitted, making an effort not to hesitate.
The commander did not like this answer. "YOUR SURVEILLANCE IS NOT NECESSARY. DALEKS ARE THE MASTERS OF SKARO! INCREASE YOUR EFFICIENCY, OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!"
Realizing that this may be my last chance, I quickly responded, "I OBEY!"
I was permitted to leave, and I did so with haste. I made a vow to put my interests aside. After all, our plans for the universe were far more important than the desires of one Dalek. A Dalek should not be concerned with individual desires in the first place. To do so was... un-Dalek. Unclean. Impure. The remnants of primitive fear burned within me as I thought of these words, and their consequences.
Never again did I slack in my work. Even though I was tempted to watch slaves communicate with each other or observe a sunset for the first time, I ignored the temptations. I refused to give in to such primitive behavior. Daleks are superior, and the commander was right. Surveillance was unnecessary when nothing could stand up to our strength and intelligence. This mindset repaired most of my damaged reputation, and I was eventually allowed to carry out more complex orders. Everything was finally as it should be. This grace period, however, was only temporary.
Then came that assignment.
The first order I directly disobeyed.
The decision I made that changed me forever.