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Missy and Nardole had wandered off to the far edge of the village, murmuring to each other about a defense plan, how to keep the remaining villagers safe from the advancing Cybermen. The others were scattered about, busy with their small, desperate tasks of survival.
The Master, however, stood apart. His eyes flickered restlessly over the horizon, before fixing on a single shape in the distance: the Doctor. He watched as the Time Lord disappeared into one of the houses, the weathered door closing behind him.
A faint, predatory smile curved the Master’s lips. With Missy gone, there was no one left to interrupt him. No one to soften his resolve. He could finally act on the plan he’d been perfecting in silence.
He followed, boots sinking into the damp earth, the door creaking softly as he stepped inside. Then click, he turned the key in the lock behind him.
There was a man inside, a villager perhaps. The Master didn’t bother to remember his name. A faint whir from his laser screwdriver, a flash of red light and the man fell wordless to the floor.
“Sorry,” the Master muttered, almost cheerfully. “Wrong house.”
He took the stairs, his steps deliberate and silent. The old wood creaked faintly beneath his boots. He could hear the Doctor’s movements upstairs—the faint scrape of a chair, the weary sigh of someone who has seen too much.
By the time the Doctor turned, it was already too late. The Master swung hard. A sharp crack echoed through the small house, and darkness swallowed the Doctor whole.
When consciousness returned, the first thing the Doctor felt was the ache. His head throbbed, his body screamed. He tried to move, only to find his wrists and ankles bound tightly to a chair, thick rope biting into his skin. His mouth was sealed with duct tape. Panic stirred for a moment before he fought it down, forcing himself to breathe.
Then, through the haze, a shape emerged from the shadows. The Master.
He grinned, wide, gleaming, merciless.
“Well, hello there, Doctor. Having fun with my female incarnation, are we? She’s quite the charmer, isn’t she?”
The Doctor’s eyes darkened, defiant and silent.
“I was going to have this little chat up on the roof,” the Master continued, pacing in slow, deliberate circles. “But Missy didn’t like the idea. Such a killjoy. I don’t know what went wrong with her regeneration she doesn’t remember what I remember. None of it. Maybe it’s a mercy.”
He stopped, leaned close until the Doctor could see the gleam in his eyes.
“But that’s not what matters. What matters, my dear, is that you never forget.”
He struck him hard. The sound cracked through the air.
“Do you understand me?” he shouted.
The Doctor glared, then gave the smallest, reluctant nod.
“Good,” the Master said softly, satisfied. “Then we can begin.”
He drew the laser screwdriver from his coat pocket, turning the settings with the casual air of a craftsman preparing his favorite tool.
“Tell me,” he said, almost conversationally, “why didn’t you come for me? I threw myself into the fire for you. I stood against the President himself for you.”
He pressed the trigger. The air hissed; a thin beam of light struck the Doctor’s abdomen.
A muffled cry tore from behind the duct tape as pain seared through him.
“And do you know what he did to me?” the Master went on, his voice trembling with fury. “Rassilon opened my mind, Doctor. He cut it open. Tried to silence the drumming, to rip it out by force. He tore me apart from the inside.”
He adjusted the beam again, firing at the Doctor’s leg. The smell of burnt fabric filled the air.
“I thought, when the drumming stopped, I’d finally be free. But I wasn’t. It was worse.” His tone cracked, just for a moment. “The silence was unbearable. Like losing a part of yourself. Like being hollow.”
He raised the screwdriver again, sending another sharp surge of pain into the Doctor’s arm.
“Rassilon sent me here, as punishment,” the Master hissed. “You once did the same…left me to rot in a black hole, remember? Do you know how many regenerations I burned through trying to escape?”
The beam flared again this time across the Doctor’s chest. He convulsed, breath tearing raggedly through his nose.
“All those years… wasted. All because of you.”
He fired again.
Tears streamed down the Doctor’s face, hot and helpless. The ropes dug into his wrists as he strained against them, trying and failing to speak.
“They used me, tortured me, broke me. And still I waited. I waited for you.” The Master’s voice faltered now, trembling with something that was almost grief. “I thought you’d come. I thought you’d save me. But you never did.”
He fired again. The Doctor’s body jerked violently, then went limp.
The Master slapped him sharply across the face.
“Oh no no no you don’t. I didn’t tie you up so you could sleep!”
His smile returned, wild and sharp. “Tell me, what does she have that I don’t, hmm? Why her? You nurtured her. You saved her. But me? You left me to Rassilon’s knives.”
He leaned close, his breath uneven. “Where were you, Doctor, while I was being torn apart? Playing savior with your precious little humans?”
Another surge of energy ripped through the Doctor’s body. His muffled scream broke into a sob.
“Where were you?” the Master shouted. “Why didn’t you save me?” His voice cracked, the fury collapsing into pain. “Why couldn’t you save me?”
He pressed the trigger again, again, again—each pulse weaker but more desperate. The Doctor’s breathing came in shallow, shuddering gasps. Blood trickled from his nose and ears, staining the duct tape dark.
“You can take a break,” the Master whispered finally, his tone almost tender. “Just tell me it hurts.”
The Doctor tried, made a sound through the tape, but it was only a muffled groan.
The Master laughed, cruel and manic and pressed the button one last time.
“Enough!”
The word struck like a thunderclap.
Missy stood in the doorway, her eyes ablaze, Nardole behind her holding a gun awkwardly in hand.
The Master froze, the color draining from his face. He pocketed the screwdriver with forced nonchalance.
“We were just having a little talk.”
Missy’s stare could have turned steel to dust. She crossed the room in three strides, tearing the tape from the Doctor’s mouth as Nardole cut the ropes from his wrists.
The Doctor slumped forward, trembling. Missy’s hands were unexpectedly gentle as she steadied him.
The Master took a step toward the door.
“Master.”
The Doctor’s voice stopped him cold. It was hoarse, shredded, but full of quiet power.
The Master turned.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, the words almost a whisper. “You’re right. I didn’t come for you. I never did. Because you always came for me first. I should have found you… and I didn’t.”
His eyes glistened.
“Missy is proof that I did try to save you. I wanted to save you, all of you. I still do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the Master said, his voice low, trembling with bitterness. “You were too late. And because of that, Bill paid the price. Don’t you dare forget that.”
He turned sharply and walked out, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor.
The Doctor collapsed against Missy’s shoulder, shaking. She held him, one hand at the back of his head, the other smoothing his coat as if she could comfort away the pain.
I’m sorry,” he whispered again.
Missy’s expression softened.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” she said. “Would’ve been here sooner if it weren’t for that snail-paced Nardole.”
The Doctor gave a weak laugh, half a sob.
“Missy… for everything…for what you’ve suffered…for all the things I didn’t say…I’m sorry.”
Missy sighed, resting her chin atop his head.
“Oh, my dear,” she murmured. “It’ll never be enough. Not for him.”
Outside, the Master stepped into the cold air. He filled his lungs, as though breathing for the first time in years. He had thought that confronting the Doctor, releasing all that venom, would finally ease the ache.
It hadn’t.
Perhaps if he burned Gallifrey to the ground, wiped out the Time Lords and danced in their ashes, his fury might finally be eased. The Master shut his eyes and smiled, dreaming of that day.
“One day”, he told himself. “One day.”