Title: Genesis and Revelations
Characters/Pairings: Master/Doctor (Simm/Ten)
Warnings: Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Slash, Imprisonment, Light BDSM
Summary: Set after “Last of the Time Lords” in an alternate universe where the Master is still alive and being imprisoned by the Doctor. Written in first person from the Master’s perspective…
I should’ve died when I had the chance. To see the Doctor in such agony, to know that my death would forever cause him to be so lonely, so hopeless, so guilt ridden, would be victory enough for a hundred lifetimes. I still don’t understand why I regenerated, but the drums in those final moments of my would-be-death were so silent, almost like they were disappointed in me. As for what, I haven’t yet decided. I couldn’t face, I can’t face a life or a death without the drums. I live to serve the percussion that pounds away in my head, the sound of the heartbeat of a Time Lord.
The drums are pounding away now, louder and louder. I can’t concentrate. The Doctor is staring at me through the validium bars that belong to the TARDIS’ prison as we hang suspended in the vortex. I presume he’s waiting for some sort of answer but I didn’t hear the question. For such a sentimental being he seems to be extremely talented in the art of using boredom to torture away the last wisps of my sanity. I’m locked up in here, like a pet, like one of his blubbering humans!
“Doctor, when will it end?” I ask.
His eyebrows shoot up, apparently not expecting the question.
“Please, let me help. I can help if only you let me in,” he replies.
As if on cue I feel a slight heaviness directed towards the sides of my forehead, just above my eyes. He’s testing the telepathic barriers between us for what seems like the hundredth time today, and I make sure he fails yet again. Irritated, I mentally strike back causing him to flinch somewhat noticeably. A shiver of pleasure runs down my spine.
“Doctor, we’ve been through this a hundred times. Just kill me now,” I plead.
He pauses, the hurt evident in his eyes. This latest regeneration of his is incredibly susceptible to emotion. This is child’s play.
“I can’t, I need you,” he replies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish I could give you more freedom but you know I can never trust you.”
“I’m not asking for your help nor your sympathy, Doctor. I’m asking you to end it. Being trapped on this old rust bucket of a TARDIS alone is enough to drive anyone insane, let alone being stuck in its dungeons! You can’t leave me locked up in here forever!” I holler.
The Doctor visibly glowers. “This is just as difficult for me as it is for you. If you want the imprisonment to end so soon maybe you should start by saying sorry to the TARDIS and by treating her with respect. She’s not old, are you darling? You’re beautiful, and trustworthy, and perfect,” he declares fondly.
Again with the wretched sentiment. He starts to stroke the metal lovingly and I feel a brief twang of some long forgotten feeling. I try to ignore it by scoffing at the pure incredulousness of the man.
“Well, do excuse me if I’m getting between anything romantic here, but I obviously won’t be going anywhere.”
The Doctor looks up at me surprised, the beginnings of a grin starting to play out around his eyes, and asks, “Why? Jealous?”
Incredibly, he must have forgotten that I’m in no state to move about free of my own will. I hold his gaze for eight drum beats trying to figure him out. Always the drums. One-two-three-four, five-six-seven-eight. Jealousy. So that was the long forgotten feeling. Not bothering to respond to the question so much as not trying to admit that to myself, I stride up to the bars, closing the distance between myself and him, and reach my hand through the gaps to grab his tie and pull him closer until the tips of our noses are almost touching.
“Listen here Doctor, I don’t care about your ancient flailing decrepit box, which, by the way, in comparison to mine is exactly what it is. Just make it stop. Why did you even bother to take me with you just to see me locked away like some behaviourally impeded pet? Unless of course, your guilt complex is so disturbed that having me is some sort of atonement for your sins. Am I your justification?” I direct in disgust.
The half suspended smile disappears. He looks uncomfortable and averts his gaze to the floor, though he isn’t backing away yet. Good.
“I had no choice,” he whispers.
I could almost pity him. Even I have to acknowledge that if it wasn’t for him the universe may have been completely overthrown and destroyed by the Daleks, the Time Lords’ greatest enemy. I only wish I had been there with him, been the reason behind the extinction of the universe’s two greatest species. Such a feeling of power would have been incredible. I could admire the Doctor for what he did if only he didn’t have that pathetic look of remorse on his face every time it was mentioned.
“Really Doctor, I’m surprised that puppy ‘Captain’ Jack of yours actually likes putting up with you. Your guilt ridden face is hardly attractive. “
Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s the exact opposite. It doesn’t stop me wanting to slap it off him though just for the sake of some boredom induced fun. I want to push him to his knees and make him beg for forgiveness, deny him his own need for forgiveness. See how long he can remain such a pretty picture of pain. For a split second the ambivalent thought makes me feel better. I crash back to reality fast, however. I can’t, I’m trapped behind these damn bars. The Doctor redirects his gaze back to me and an unreadable emotion plays across his face before he completely has a chance to hide it. He sighs inaudibly, tugging his tie free of my hand, taking a step back, and turning around. Trying to regain his composure no doubt, struggling for control. He pauses with his back facing towards me.
“I’m retiring for the night. I’ll return in the morning with breakfast. Scrambled eggs on toast,” he says before walking away.
“Oh joy,” I mutter too low for him to hear.
I follow it with a more audible warning. “You can’t run away from me forever, Doctor!” I shout.
Only the hesitation between his fading stride gives away the fact he heard me.
I can’t sleep. The prison itself is comfortable enough, for a prison. Instead what’s preventing me from sleeping are the images that flicker through my mind every time I close my eyes. For once the drums are nothing more than quiet background noise, like a soothing melody calling out from the depths of the universe. I can barely hear them. Instead I see the past. I see pictures of what I thought were long since buried memories.
I see two young boys lying back in the flaming scarlet grasses of Gallifrey, outlined by the two high summer suns bouncing light from the snow peaked mountains onto the citadel below where they resided. Where we resided. Two best friends who made a promise to never leave each other, if indeed it could be called a friendship. I see Theta Sigma and Koschei exploring each others bodies, partly hidden by the tall grass, the Doctor and myself before our names changed on that fateful day.
I remember. I remember everything. Why now? I remember the way my stomach used to flip every time he looked at me, I remember our first kiss in the ancient gardens of Rassilon, and I remember screaming his name when we were nothing more than two hot heavy bodies swaying to an unspeakable rhythm of lust. Such contact was considered treason in accordance to Time Lord Law, but as outcasts from birth we never cared much for rules. We both never did quite fit in. We swore our lives to protect each other. Then everything changed when we were taken to stare into the untempered schism.
I shout out a frustrated sob before collapsing my head into my hands. I try to squash the memories down but to no avail. I don’t understand what’s happening here, why I’m having these flash backs, and why they’re returning with such intensity. I feel myself start to tremble, trembling in time to the drums inside my head. They rapidly grow louder, intensified by the frustration growing within me. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. Louder and louder. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four! They scream out for my attention. I must satisfy them but what can I do trapped behind bars? I see myself as a boy of eight staring into the untempered schism, staring into the whole of and space time, staring into the heart of the universe. I see myself alone and torn away from the one I love. I just want it to stop. I’m going crazy. The drums, please, the drums! One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four!
All of a sudden there are hands resting over mine along with a head pressing close to my own and the drums begin to quieten down. The pictures start to fade. I look up to see the Doctor staring down at me, his face a morbid expression of worry.
“Doctor! I…” I start.
“I know,” he replies shakily, “I was woken by the psychic disturbance in my sleep.”
Now that I’m returning to my senses I realise that he’s in my head. He can see everything that happened, all my thoughts, all those images, but I can’t push him out for fear of the insanity returning. It’s then I realise he’s breathing in time to the beat.
“Can you hear it?” I relay telepathically. “Can you hear the drums?”
I’m answered by the opening of his mind. The drums start up louder again as I hear the weight he’s taking for me, but shared like this they’re more bearable.
“I can hear it,” he replies mentally. “I’m sorry I invaded but you were so distraught your guard was down. I had to help.”
We’re so close. I can smell his sleep induced hormones radiating off him like sunshine and it briefly reminds me of our home planet. I bring my attention to his eyes and notice how concerned he looks. Usually this would infuriate me but right now I’m too out of sorts to care. I probe a little into his mind and of all things I feel happiness. For the first time in over eight hundred and fifty years he feels something akin to being complete. He’s cautious, but being connected to me like this gives him hope along with what I think is a slight twinge of longing for something more. As soon as I realise this I see the flash of recognition in his eyes.
“You never did know how to keep your business to yourself,” I say out loud.
Almost immediately I feel him withdrawing from my mind, a look of regret covering his face. The drums begin to come back and before I can stop myself I’m grabbing his arms and shouting out, “No! Please, don’t leave!” His familiar presence settles back into my mind and the drums quieten down once more. I don’t know whether to feel more relieved or disgusted with myself, and I’m still gripping his arms, I realise. The pictures try to force their way back. We’re too close.
“Don’t let this make you think that you’ve won, Doctor,” I spit.
I tighten my hold on his arms, letting my disgust be known. What happens next is so unexpected that for the second time that night my guard is let down. He leans in and kisses me, softly at first, and as I begin to respond through shock he starts to deepen it. I forgot how good he tastes. A Time Lords memory is the best in the universe, yet a near millennium of squashing down the memories mean the feeling was long since forgotten. Until now. He tastes like honey blended with a touch of nutmeg. Time Lords always did taste so good, not like those humans who taste of virtually nothing. I never could be completely satisfied, always resorting to extreme forms of rape to those pathetic earthlings just to enjoy myself. However, to add to the novelty, this is no ordinary Time Lord. This is my Time Lord, my medicine, my Doctor.
I give into the sensation, only to be stopped.
“What are you doing?” I growl, wondering if I’d just been tricked.
I feel his apprehension at my thoughts, I feel his hunger, I feel his need to connect, and I feel a door. He’s not hiding something from me so much as being wary of me. He gets up and offers me his hand.
“I think it’d be more comfortable in the bedroom, don’t you think?” He asks tentatively.
I look up in surprise. Well, who knew freedom would come in this form. He monitors me carefully as I reply.
“Sure,” I say as I take his hand, “and thank you,” I offer mentally. After all, I may be a practically immortal maniac starved for intergalactic control but manners always go a long way.
I pull myself up and follow by his side, walking towards his room in step to the drums. He makes no move to withdraw his hand from my own. I take a quick look to my side and truly see him since I last tried bringing down the earth to worship at my feet. His eyes are gaunt and his hair completely disheveled as if he couldn’t sleep either. I’m not surprised, he did just spend the whole previous day saving the universe from my year long power hungry reign. The thought amuses me so much that I temporarily forget about his access to my thoughts and try to imagine what his face would look like if I’d actually succeeded. I’m glad at least I managed to affect his health, although I’d rather my lay be healthy and pretty. I should keep that in mind the next time I plan to dominate the universe in front of his bound up body.
“You need an audience,” the Doctor voices out of nowhere. “You need me, just as I need you. We would be nothing without each other.”
We approach the doorway.
“You really think I need you, Doctor?” I ask hesitating against the frame. A short scan of the room reveals a large wardrobe stacked against the far end of the white washed walls, a separate room leading off to a bathroom in the far left corner, a large roman style mirror framing the rest of the left wall reflecting an image of a double bed to the right with a simple desk by its side topped by a currently deactivated gravity globe. The room is, unsurprisingly, spectacularly messy, with clothes and trinkets from his travels covering the floor at every possible space. “I simply think you’re a very pretty inconvenience,” I continue. “I could destroy you as easily as blinking.”
“So why haven’t you already?” the Doctor responds. “You’ve had plenty of chances and yet have failed over and over again.”
This question is followed by a far away look in his eyes and when I probe his mind I see images of all the times I tried to destroy him and failed. Those are followed by vivid memories of our times together on Gallifrey. As if in response to the desire that starts to build up inside of me due to the brief reliving of our memories together, he traces his forefinger down the side of my cheek slowly, lingering by my mouth before carrying on down to massage that sweet spot on my neck. My toes start to tingle.
“Don’t you dare think that I still love you after what you did to me. Half of my insanity is your own foolishness, Doctor. You did this to me!” I barely manage to breathe out, half out of lust, half out of rage.
“Stop trying to fight it and let me help,” he pleads once more.
He’s pleading for redemption from all the times he hurt me. What a twisted attempt of justification I’m turning out to be.
I probe a little deeper. He’s guarding his thoughts. I wouldn’t trust me either. I’m no longer behind prison bars and I doubt the Doctor had time to isomorphically lock the TARDIS controls before he came rushing to my cell to comfort me. The thought had barely escaped my mind when I sense the Doctor’s realization of the fact he should’ve been more careful. Before I can even blink he’s shoving me against the bed as two separate handcuffs connected by a thick validium chain fly up to attach my hands to the low lying posts, the living material of the chain moving to wrap my arms and my chest back against the soft white duvet underneath me.
Once I realize what’s happened I try struggling against the chained handcuffs but to no avail, these are isomorphically locked, as was seen by the Doctor’s ability to telekinetically move and attach them through the air. I calm down and attempt to gather my thoughts. These handcuffs were originally intended to attach me to the Doctor so that I would be useless to escape once freed, I realize, after taking a swift look inside the Doctor’s head. The link between us still remains unbroken and the alien feeling of guilt that washes over me is overwhelmingly sickening. I stick my jaw out in defiance before deciding to temporarily give in.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says before making a mental note to isomorphically lock the TARDIS controls before he unchains me from the bed and to himself forever. “I shouldn’t have been so stupid!”
“Just, don’t leave me,” I beg for the second time tonight. “I don’t want the drums or those images returning full throttle again.” I’m reduced to begging. Pathetic. His sentimentality seems to be rubbing off on me.
“Let me do the self-hating,” he says as he makes himself a seat on the bed beside me. “After all it’s what I’m best at.” The statement is followed by a half cocky grin, the attractive kind of his.
It suddenly strikes me what sort of situation I’m in and an overwhelming desire I haven’t felt in over eight centuries hits me. I’m chained up practically right underneath the Doctor, my greatest rival and long forgotten love. Although usually I prefer to be the one doing the chaining the immediate tension of the situation doesn’t fail to escape my notice. I feel a swelling down south and realize my thoughts are blaringly obvious without the Doctor having to read my mind. He’s staring at me with that far away expression on his face again accompanied by the faint ghost of that previous smile, more intrigued with the sudden change of direction my thoughts are leading me, than with my now desperately needy body. He looks practically delectable and there’s nothing within my current power to do anything about it, persuasion excluded of course.
“Well Doctor, you didn’t drag me all this way down from the dungeons to disappoint me did you?” I taunt.
He pauses. “No, you’re right, I didn’t,” he proclaims before lying down on his side beside me. He lays one hand on my stomach and curls his other above and into my hair.
“Use my name, Doctor,” I order, “You know how much I love it when you do.”
“Master,” he breathes in one long drawn out breath, the air from his lungs stroking my face and curling the sound into my ears.
The sound is beautiful. I shiver from pure pleasure. My hearts have sped up to twice their normal pace along with the drum beats we share in our heads. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. He brings his head down to nibble my ear and starts kissing his way down towards my mouth. I’m straining against the chains. I want to taste his mouth, I want to rub my erection against him, against something. The desire is almost unbearable. The Doctor hears my thoughts and wraps his free leg around mine. He starts to rub his own erection against my leg in an almost child like frenzy. I start to grind back, after all my lower body isn’t restrained. His lips finally rest above my mouth before succumbing to the longing I feel permeating from him, intensified by centuries of being alone. He tastes unlike anything I ever remember. His very taste is an addiction.
We stay like that for a few minutes, lip locked and rubbing against each other. The Doctor then draws back slowly so as not startle me like last time, and just stares at me. I block out his jumbled thoughts and stare back up at his flushed face and swollen lips. Some unspoken feeling hangs in the air between us but I’m too far away to make sense of it, and I become further more incoherent myself when the Doctor slowly starts to undo first his tie, and then shirt, revealing a flawless upper body this tenth regeneration was happy to receive.
“Thete,” I whisper, unthinkingly.
“Koschei,” he whispers back, overwhelmed by joy.
I ignore the joyous feeling. As much as I don’t like it radiating so strongly off him I’m in no way in control of circumstances here so i decide that there’s no point of ruining the best part of todays torturous imprisonment with a snarky comment.
The Doctor, apparently so lost in oblivion he doesn’t recognize my thoughts, gets up from the bed and begins to undo his trousers. He pushes the remaining clothes to the floor in one heap and I stare at his cock whilst he climbs back onto the bed in front of me. His whole body is just so perfectly aligned and I can’t help gasping. I faintly become aware of him searching my face as my mouth begins to water. I lick my lips as he strips back my lower layers of clothes, his eyes never leaving my face, only flickering slightly when my erection springs free. Our gazes become locked. As much as I want to taste him I remind myself once again that I’m in no way in any position to take control of the situation, not with my hands chained up behind my head. A dazed look of pure lust crosses his features and he reaches out and begins using his fingers to stoke my shaft. I arch back against the constraints from the sudden contact and start trying to jerk myself off against his hand.
“Patience, Master,” he soothes a little breathily, “All in due time.”
I decide to listen to him and back off a little. The Doctor then kneels and places his mouth directly over my manhood, replacing his fingers with his lips. No more gentle kisses. He takes my swollen head directly into his mouth and then brings back his hand to grasp roughly at the bottom of my base, pulling the skin up and down in time to the movement of his sweet tasting tongue, in time to the beating of the drums. The feeling is incredible. He uses his other hand to jerk himself off simultaneously. The shared feeling is just too overwhelming, I realize, and the blood starts to drain from my body. I can’t feel anything, the only existing sensation a delicious pressure as light as a feather and yet as heavy as a rock beginning to build up in my loins. I can’t hold on. The drums are excruciatingly loud, but bearable thanks to the Doctor sharing the weight. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. The pleasure is too much.
“Doctor!” I breathe. “Say my name!”
“Master!” He barely manages to groan.
Everything I’m feeling he can feel too. He’s close to the edge. I try to hold onto the pleasure, unwilling for it to be over all so soon, but I can’t, the sound of my name on his lips too much to bear and I come all of a sudden, the pleasure too great a burden. The Doctor follows suit and I hear his sigh of relief as he lets out centuries of sexual deprivation. He collapses on top of me in a large pile of come from exhaustion and everything falls silent, including his mind, and I’m left wondering how I could’ve ever forgotten or denied my feelings for this incredibly irritating Time Lord.
I wake with a start. It feels like only a couple of hours have passed since the Doctor’s hands were all over me. I remember falling asleep soon after the Doctor had collapsed on top of me out of exhaustion. We were both utterly exhausted and I had no trouble drifting off to sleep with the Doctor’s comforting presence close by and with the drums satisfied from all the activity.
I open my eyes and look around as far as I can without having to move, not that I can move my head very far anyway thanks to these heavy chains resting on my chest. I can’t see very much seeing as the TARDIS has automatically dimmed the light sometime whilst we were sleeping, but I can just make out a few shapes. The Doctor is curled up on his side with his head resting on the duvet beside my chest. Being careful not to wake up fully, so as to alert the Doctor’s unconscious mind and bring him clambering back to reality to check up on me, I slip into the surface of his unguarded mind. He’s currently in a deep cycle of delta sleep. Good. I reckon I have a window of about half an hour at most before he’ll become conscious enough to realize I’m up to something. That gives me half an hour to escape.
I ponder on the events of the day. Any sentiment I felt earlier has almost completely disappeared. Still, I can’t help feeling a twinge of something akin to regret over the idea of leaving him. Not for his sake, but for mine. I can’t deny that I love making him hurt. I would go to the ends of the universe to cause pain to that man. In fact, I already have, many many times, but when I’m with him nothing else matters. I feel complete. However there’s that small matter of dying from boredom, or from the demands of the drums’ inducing insanity. Also, he can’t think he has the upper hand, I have to escape from his guilt induced idea of compassion, from this rust bucket he calls a TARDIS. I need to find my own TARDIS.
Concentrating my still half sleeping thought processes on the Doctor’s mind I search for his telekinetic fingerprint. These isomorphically locked handcuffs that are holding me here will only respond to the Doctor’s unique psychic fingerprint. However, seeing as he’s in such a deep sleep cycle and his fingerprint lies on the surface of his mind, like a mental skin, I can use a bit of telepathic manipulation to release myself. Ever so gently, so as not to wake him, I nudge the surface of his mind towards the telekinetic interface of the awaiting handcuffs and ask to be released.
At first nothing happens, and with a sinking feeling of dread I start to wonder whether I’ll be trapped here forever. I can’t push his mind any more forcibly, I realize, or I’ll end up pushing his mind out of its deep slumber. As these thoughts are passing through my mind with increasing worry, I hear a faint click and the chains around my arms and chest go limp. I’ve succeeded. I wait sixteen beats before daring to move, just in case I’d disturbed the Doctor’s sleeping state. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. The drums are quiet. They seem to be pleased with me for some unfathomable reason. The Doctor doesn’t stir. Time to go.
I sit up, carefully, before silently swinging my legs off of the bed and standing up. I turn around and stare down at the Doctor’s sleeping form. I realize that I’m still not wearing anything on my legs and go to grab my pants and trousers from the end of the bed. I hold them, deciding to wait until I’m outside the room to put them on; I don’t want to make any accidental sudden moves that will wake him. Again I stare down at the Doctor’s sleeping form. I don’t think I’ve seen his face this peaceful in centuries. However it’s the key to my escape, and concurrently his downfall. His happiness made him sloppy and he forget to take any extra precautions to further secure me before falling to asleep. He never was the careful type.
I sketch the picture of his sleeping form into my memory banks. “So long and farewell, Doctor,” I whisper, almost inaudibly, before turning around and heading out of his room and into the TARDIS control room half a corridor away.
The TARDIS’ automatic lighting system, sensing my movement, follows me as I walk, and as soon I find myself in the doorway of the TARDIS’ control room I put my pants and trousers back on. With that done I stride up to the console and activate the navigation systems. The Doctor foolishly hadn’t locked the controls before falling to sleep, leaving his entire TARDIS in the grips of my mercy. I quickly check up on the Doctor to find him still fully unconscious. Distance is of no importance to Time Lords when it comes to sensing basic mental systems of another Time Lord. I refocus my mind on the situation at hand. I need to find my own TARDIS and I only have fifteen minutes at best to do it in.
A Time Lord can sense his own kind from anywhere within the universe, so it’s possible that a TARDIS could do the same with their kind, I reason. I begin an interstellar search for other TARDIS’, setting the search parameters to those of my own TARDIS. I doubt very highly that apart from the Doctor’s, and possibly mine, there are any TARDIS’s left in existence today due to their suicidal nature when their owners die, and after all, all the Time Lords except ourselves were destroyed. However, setting search parameters to the specifications of my own TARDIS will shorten the search by a few precious seconds, and I’d rather fly my TARDIS than anyone else’s. Ten seconds into the search and a message pops up on the interface in circular Gallifreyan.
“One TARDIS type-100 found in the Antipas system, on the planet Tala-Iota, year 99,999,999,999,950 A.D Earth time,” it says.
Yes, the end of the universe, I remember. I’d fled to the end of the universe and turned human in fear of the Daleks gaining control of the cruciform. That was where the Doctor found me, trying to save the last sane life forms by sending them to a non-existent Utopia. The whole universe had already disappeared and it was just us.
I put the coordinates into the navigation system and I request it to land me there a couple of months after the last time my former regeneration was there; running into myself wouldn’t be very productive at this point. I start up the TARDIS engines on silent. It shouldn’t take longer than a minute to fly there, but this part of the process will be the most difficult to survive without waking the Doctor. The Doctor has a close bond with his TARDIS and more than likely its activation will stir him out of his deep slumber.
The TARDIS begins its journey through the vortex. Thankfully the flight time has been shortened due to us already being suspended in the vortex, but I now sense the Doctor’s sleeping mind becoming restless. “Faster,” I mentally urge it, trying to keep my thoughts sweet so as not to aggravate it. It never has been very fond of me anyway, it’ll probably just fly slow enough to give the Doctor time enough to stop me. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, the drums chant. Twenty seconds have passed and the Doctor is becoming conscious. Five seconds more pass and I sense his sleepy confusion. “Come on come on,” I beg, as I block my mind off from the Doctor in trying to disorient him. Ten seconds more pass. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. The Doctor is now fully awake.
The TARDIS finally materializes at the coordinates I entered into the navigation interface. Let’s hope the TARDIS hasn’t tricked me and I’ve actually ended up where I need to be. I sense the Doctor jolting out of bed and after a quick check of the life signs detector I run from the console to the TARDIS doors and fling them open. I’m immediately greeted by a barren desert enlightened by the flaming red sky of a dying star.
“Master!” I hear shouted from behind me. “Please stop!”
I don’t bother wasting any energy on a reply. I run as fast possible in the direction of where, according to the Doctor’s TARDIS, the living signature something similar to another TARDIS is located. My hearts are beating frantically and I feel my respiratory bypass system kick in to help regulate my heavy breathing. I sense the doctor catching up and I push myself to run even faster. Before long the shape of a large beige colored rock appears in front of me and I sense straight away that it’s my TARDIS. Unlike someones’ TARDIS, my chameleon circuit actually works. The TARDIS, recognizing my presence, unlocks its doors for me and I crash through them sending out a telepathic order to lock them again as soon as I’m in.
I barely make it locked up inside before the Doctor hopelessly crashes against the doors and starts banging his fists against them, the action accompanied by waves of emotional despair trying to force themselves into my psyche. I block him out.
“Please!” He near screams. “I need you!”
“Sorry Doctor, but I have things to do, places to go, a universe to conquer!” I shout back at the doors tauntingly, the sound of my voice sounding a little wheezy as I try to gain my breath back.
I spin around, pace over to the console, hit de-materialize, and the Doctor’s insistent banging begins fading further and further away into nothingness. I’m laughing maniacally, how can I not at such success? Here’s to victory!