/ Sorry I'm so overdue for an update, I've had a busy few weeks with school starting and all. Have this. \\

"Greetings, people of earth!" a booming voice resonated with fluctuating and in-control intonation, "it is I, your Lord and Master. I would like for you all to know that from this point forth, in following to yesterday's shutdown of all communication devices, all forms of digital media will have their signals terminated after this message. That means there will be no use of televisions or radio, among other things. This will be a permanent change and will only be compromised during a need to broadcast specific announcements via myself, or an authorized other. If you notice or receive any unapproved uses or broadcasts, it is asked that you report it immediately. Failure to do so can be punishable by death. All illegal broadcasters will be found and sentenced to death, no questions asked. You are now permitted to switch off your televisions. Or if you'd choose not too, they'll cut out in 3...2..." a devilish smirk tugged at his lips, "1."

The light on the camera shut off, and the crew waiting nearby began opening suitcases and bags to put the equipment in. The Doctor, aged back aching and creaky joints seized up into near immobility, lowered the boom microphone he was forced into holding, and handed it off to a more qualified professional to be packed away. His legs, stiff and tired, shuffled toward his wheelchair on the other side of the room. A lanky body quickly blocked his path and a forceful hand fanned onto his chest. His eyes, still young despite his wrinkled skin, found glaringly amused orbs devouring his uncomfortable aura.

"Doctor," cooed a false sense of euphoria, "Care to walk with me? I'd like to have a little chat."

"Can I take my chair?" the broken Time Lord requested, his face expressionless, his voice raspy, and his eyes volatile.

The Master stepped aside, hands leaving an aged body. His lips smiled but his eyes held steady and his nose curled in pure displeasure, but he nodded, allowing the limping Gallifreyan to sit. Soon enough his side met with the senescent non-earthling, and without word or indication he began to walk toward the elevator. By that time the camera crew had cleared out, and the conference room was bare of human life. A few coffee cups and water bottles littered the table, but The Master was confident that by the time he had returned it would all be cleared away. A cheerful ding indicated that the elevator doors were soon to be open, and sure enough the shiny metal threshold receded, making room for entrance.

Koschei, his fraudulent charm wafting thick like waves of crashing fire, stepped aside with a shimmy and a grin, allowing the burden on wheels to roll past him. He slithered inside afterwards, extending a single finger to press the button for down, and watched apathetically as the doors slid closed again. Instead of quiet, idle music playing over the speakers, a moderately loud "I'm Going Slightly Mad" by Queen filled the stale air. Before long and halfway through the first verse, the doors opened once more to present ebbing darkness, lamented red light and chilling dampness. The elevator closed behind them, and they began their journey down the hall relatively noiselessly, as if self-inserted peace into a storm of busy people and passive chatter. It wasn't until further down, when the noise was behind them, and the only prominent sound being what came off as a distant holler, that The Master had finally decided to speak.

"I own your beloved planet, and all the measly little humans on its wretched surface. To have that power comes with a sort of..." he trailed off, gathering the words from the air with a few swipes of his hand, "reputation, correct? They may kneel with ease but in their minds they need to know who I am, and to know of the power I wield. I have an image to protect. You understand."

The Doctor hadn't even the interest to nod, let alone respond verbally. He had, however, swallowed well enough to clear his dry throat, though it had not assisted with his shortened breath much at all. The Master noticed and took the reins of his wheelchair, pushing it at a leisurely pace down the corridor.

"Because of this colossal responsibility, I have a favor to ask of you."

"What?"

"No, see it's not that simple," he insisted, his voice dropping an octave, "I haven't even asked of you anything but you seem entirely uninterested. I need your sincerity, are we clear?"

"...Yes."

"Good," sonorousness purred, "now, you're going to have to promise to keep your trap shut about our little... moments together. Because I have a feeling that last night wasn't the end of it," he grinned, craning his neck to show off his pearly teeth to the old man below him.

"...And if I don't?" The Doctor inquired, and despite his lack of mobility as well as energy, the question still came across as somewhat threatening. The Master only laughed, his hand now tight around the knob of a steel door.

The hollering was louder now and almost physical. For brief moments it would quiet down, only to erupt once more in a blood-curdling wail. The Doctor, panic-stricken and desperate, had tried to convince himself that he hadn't recognized the yelling at all, but upon gazing at an unforgiving smirk he knew all too well, his suspicions were confirmed without even a question asked. Nevertheless, The Master was fond of deriving all sorts of reactions from people in all sorts of ways, so his Time Lord opposite was hardly surprised when his grin had split and with eerie calm announced, "then I'll have you running the experiments from now on," and threw open the door, revealing a chained, tortured, and bloodstained face, "how does that sound?"

A head of dark, damp hair rose from its groggy position between a pair of broad, perspiring shoulders. Smoldering pity met with something of an opposition, something that never mixes quite as well with pity as it does with others. Something that shouldn't rest in agonized eyes. Something that, with the dim light and the grudgingly morbid surroundings, shines brighter than any tasing rod ever could; hope.

"Doctor."

"Jack."