Author: Derek Metaltron PM
The Master is trapped in a prison of his own making. With escape not attainable, he must spend the time telling his lifestory in his own words. Classic and New Series, inspired by 'I Davros'. Chapter 5 Up - Autons and Aggivations.Rated: Fiction T - English - Sci-Fi/Tragedy - The Master & Harold Saxon - Chapters: 5 - Words: 4,425 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 04-07-09 - Published: 01-01-09 - id: 4760038
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Is… is that you, Doctor? Is it?
Ah, no. Someone else. How interesting. How droll. Go away.
You have me at something of a disadvantage. You see, under normal circumstances, I would probably try and kill you, or at least control you. I have this Screwdriver you see… Laser, not Sonic, far better than the pathetic Doctor could ever come up with… and I could use to… to, hm…
Heh, funny. I'm not sure I quite remember. This process I used to get here, to this… place, with the rocks and things, very nice by the way.... It's designed to house my spiritual form. I've kind of done it before, though last time I didn't have to sit here for hours on end. But I guess it's started to take away my memories, like that rude alien had to me when she flew it my way. The Ring. Perhaps this was her final revenge, for killing her or something.
Would that pathetic girl just…! Ah, look at me, losing my temper. I'm the Master, I'm a patient sort.
What do you mean, what kind of a name is the Master? It's mine. The one I choose, all those years ago, with the Drums beating. Or perhaps the Drums choose it for me. The Drums… I can't hear them right now, isn't that good? I hope it's good. I've heard them for so many years in the back of my head.
You want me to talk about myself? Oh god no. This is the Doctor, isn't it? You figured out that the Ring I wore could bring me here and… oh, maybe not. You could of course just be something that the Doctor flung in my general direction to… Nah, what am I saying? You're just a big stupid wisp of black stuff, living in this, festering, miserable place with stinking pits and unruly, utter useless…
Wait! Don't go! Don't leave me here alone! Please?
Ah, that's better.
Let us see. Memories are fragile. I need to remember, recall what has gone before. All those defeats, those set backs. Yes, the fun times and the bad times. The Doctor, in all his irritating shapes and forms. The old one, the clown one, the stylish one, the one with the scarf, the celery one, the annoying loud one, the mysterious one, the long curls one, the one with the black jacket and most recently, that one with the brown jacket. Or was it blue? Oh wait, I think he switches. In any case, that's not bad. Its shows that as long as the festering girl does do her job, I'll be out of here with most of my memories intact… I hope.
So, the Master's first and probably only account of his life. My wonderful, vainglorious life. And I'm telling it to a black cloud. Oh, how the Doctor would love that.
So, to begin.
Well, to start at the beginning, one must think… of Gallifrey. Of home.