If there's anything positive I have learned from being a Dalek, it's that you've got to make sacrifices for the greater purpose.

I sighed as I walked down the corridor, away from Robert's cell.

I just barely met him. It shouldn't mean anything to me.

I'm a Dalek. This shouldn't bother me.

He is a breath of fresh air, I thought. Someone like him comes along only once every thousand years, of that I was certain.

Or maybe I was just getting too attached to our prisoners of war.

There was a mother and child a few months ago. I watched the others kill them. It was supposed to make me less sensitive to exterminations, but it only broke my heart.

Tears fell from my eyes as I continued on my way down the corridor.

I was going to lose him.

Room 330 could only be described as that.

It was not a hospital, because we tortured and tested prisoners there, in a Nazi-ish Mengle-like fashion.

It was not a true science lab, because, in addition to the torture, Daleks also received medical treatments there.

But yet there was chemistry and electrical engineering being done. All in one place.

The walls were filled with meticulously organized racks of chemicals, and any conceivable scientific or medical device. Robotic arms brought down whatever tools Dalek 8885915 needed, so that he never had to ask for help.

Rows of examination tables and work tables occupied the floor. The rest was plain concrete.

One end contained a small morgue filled with the bodies of our enemies, which we often experimented upon, and later threw into the caves to eat or get eaten by other beasts. There are dozens of apes with human brains running around down there.

Or, at least, there were.

8885915 had a bright aqua colored vehicle with a tie dyed pattern. He says that it used to be blue and he got attacked by a chemical grenade on one of his war missions, but I suspect he only got attacked by a custom auto body coloration specialist. The black sense bubbles on his chariot weren't even touched. I wouldn't have been surprised to see flames on the sides.

He had cameras on each side of his eyestick, so the vision of the creature that piloted the machine would never have to worry about impaired vision.

"I require a syringe," I told 8885915. "I have authorization from Dalek Commander to synthesize a compound to cure our prisoner's eyesight."

It felt awkward, so I added, "To aid in the interrogation."

"I have received the authorization," 8885915 said. "You are late."

"This strategy is a last resort," I blurted. "Was attempting to extract information without this procedure."

8885915's eyestick bobbed up and down.

"Command approved," he said, making whirring clicking sounds.

The odd thing was, he made those sounds with his mouth.

Regardless of the eccentricity, the machine arms obeyed, and after a few minutes of grinding across tracks along the various cabinets, a syringe was dropped into my flipper.

"Your assistance is appreciated, 8885915," I said.

"You are welcome," he replied.

As I turned to leave the room, he asked, "Are you...fond of this prisoner?"

I blushed hotly. "...No. Of course not."

But, not wanting to do Robert harm, I added, "Just the same, I would like to have his vision...intact for questioning."

"Yes, yes," 8885915 said with a chuckle. "Would you also like me to operate on his brain so he will appreciate the first female he sees?"

Tempting.

I blushed even deeper. "I...no. That won't be necessary."

"You could have him as a pet..."

I shook my head violently. "No. Thank you."

8885915 chuckled. "You are weak, 92419901."

"It's Des-" I stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing," I stammered. "I am definitely not weak. This is merely an interesting experiment, and I shall be fascinated to know what will come of it."

And I stomped away.

As I'm leaving, I hear him laugh and call out to me.

"Don't get sent to the Dalek Asylum!"

The tears I cry then are out of fear.

How does he know?