Work Text:
It almost feels nice. The weight around her neck. The security that comes with it. No questions. No decisions. Just obedience. Or disobedience. Pain or no pain. Nothing else. Black or white, no endless layers of grey.
Not that Veklin is one who ponders the grey at any time. Morality is for the generals and philosophers to figure out. She is a soldier, her duty is to fight. And as a commander, to keep those under her command alive if possible. Her duty is to Gallifrey and it is to the War Room, and above all it is to obey.
To obey Ollistra. Her general, her commander, her handler. Her cardinal. She is a weapon and Ollistra is the one who wields her. For Gallifrey. Weapons don't have opinions. Don't have to make decisions. They kill without remorse or morality. That is what she wants to be. Nothing but a tool to be wielded.
But she isn't. For better or worse, she's a soldier. Alive. Time Lord hearts and mind and soul. Which means she can disobey, make mistakes, carries responsibility. And mistakes mean punishment. Which is why there is a collar fitted tightly around her neck, ready to unleash agony at the slightest misstep.
Veklin knows pain. Knows it well. Every soldier does and she has survived far more than most. This is not the first time she's worn the collar. It is made precisely to her anatomy, electrodes fitted against her nerves, as tight as possible without restricting her breath. She knows that later there will be marks.
But this is not what she wants to be thinking right now. She does not want to be thinking at all. She wants Ollistra to tell her what to do, who to kill or fight or subjugate or please. Every movement her cardinal's. No possibility of errors or inaccuracies because Ollistra has calculated it all in her sharp mind. She wants to fall into that muffled space in her own mind where she is nothing but a body, only action and movement, completely without conscious control. Where she is safe and free.
Except Ollistra is not that kind. Of course not. And Veklin is a weapon with a mind. And Ollistra will never waste any resource under her command. So she has been dropped on the battlefield with an objective and a team to lead and keep alive and she has to make choices while they eye the collar around her neck. The visual reminder she is not the one in charge but they do not yet understand she is the one in charge of them. That she does not need a tool so brutal to keep them in line.
Because Veklin commands. Even when her mind is racing with too many thoughts and options and uncertainty, they will not see. Will not see the fear that every step might be the wrong one. The one that will make the charge run through her body, make her convulse. Do not know how she needs to be needed, that the weight around her neck is what makes her more than nothing. That the fear and pain is what makes her want to be better. To be perfect. The perfect tool in this endless war.
She breathes against the uncertainty, barks out orders to untrained recruits. They will be dead before the day ends, if it ever does. In a Time War, time is another thing that can never be certain. Even death is not. Veklin has seen many under her command killed and fought alongside them or against them moments later. The only thing that is certain in this war is pain.
Her muscles ache, bruises and sprains pounding with every heartsbeat, scratches burning in the world of dirt and chaos and violence. She throws the bomb before she sees the Dalek. All instinct, no thought. Just as she likes it. For a moment, the explosion quiets the battlefield around her, her own blood rushing through her veins the loudest thing.
Then every sensation explodes into pain. Veklin does not scream. She focuses her eyes on the battle, on fighting to not sink to her knees, to stay standing. She is a commander and she will not fall. The electricity courses through her body. All she can think about is what she has done wrong. What mistake. The guilt, the feeling of failure is almost impossible to bear.
She runs through every action, every thought again. She can't pinpoint it. A thousand failures, a million disappointments. Could be any one of them. If she was Ollistra, she wouldn't bother with someone like her. But Ollistra does, so she has to be better. To not disappoint her again.
The weight around her neck is heavy and constricting and comforting. Because it means that Ollistra sees her. Needs her. That she is not nothing, but a weapon in her hand.
Veklin throws herself back into the fight.