Post by Fitz Kreiner on Dec 21, 2010 21:29:30 GMT
Thursday, December 16th, 1999
The Doctor dashed around the console giving one his trademark lectures. The gleaming white control room held a conspicuous absentee; Jess. Tom was stood, his arm in a sling, as he listened to the Doctor’s tale; how a young Time Lord called Koschei and himself had planned to flee Gallifrey. Although their attempt went wrong and Koschei was captured by a dictatorial regime and tortured near to death, indeed it had cost him several incarnations during his short time there.
Despite his rapt attention being centred on the Doctor, there was still a burning enthusiasm bubbling under the surface of Tom to get after the Master and rescue Jess, who had been kidnapped by him.
“Look, Doctor,” Tom eventually said, cutting him off mid story, “we need to get Jess back.”
“That’s what we’re doing, you dimwit,” the Doctor snapped back.
Tom frowned. The fact that the voice and words weren’t the Doctor’s that was not the thing that got to Tom. The Doctor was wearing a grey polyester suit, and had a ridiculous comb over. His fat, ruddy face quivered when he spoke, reminding Tom strongly of someone, someone who wasn’t the Doctor.
The loud banging that indicated the TARDIS had landed came from the console, and before Tom could react, the Doctor had opened the doors.
“Now, get out there, and call ahead before you want to come back,” he yelled, pointing at the door. “This is my TARDIS and I’m in charge.”
“Erm, ok,” Tom said, as he walked through the doors.
He turned at the sound of the doors slamming closed with a bang, which continued with the banging sound of the TARDIS dematerialising.
“No, Doctor!” he shouted, his arms outstretched, the sling forgotten. “I’m still out here,” he finished lamely as he found himself in total blackness.
Turning on the spot, his eyes wide, Tom stared around in horror. He had found himself back in the black void and the non-doctor Doctor had abandoned him here. His breathing speeding up, Tom held his hands out before him as he tried to walk forwards. For some reason, he found that it was much harder to take a simple step forwards. Then he could hear something, a mocking laughter echoing around the void. The laugh was one he recognised; the Master. Looking behind him, Tom saw a monstrously large figure striding towards him, the figure of the Master.
“You’re blind to the obvious, Mr. Rowan,” the Master bellowed as he closed in on Tom. “You only see what you want to see you blind fool,” he laughed as he towered over him.
“What do you mean?” Tom shouted back up to the colossal figure.
“Look at the bigger picture, Mr. Rowan,” the Master laughed. “Something big is coming, and if you’re not careful, you’ll be squashed under foot.”
Tom looked up, helpless and unable to move as the Master’s foot hovered over him before slowly descending.
*
Morris checked his watch before knocking on the lab door again. It was nearly one PM and no one had seen or heard from Tom since he had disappeared from the garages yesterday. When he had come back on duty an hour ago, Morris had made a point of personally checking the garages and checking with Sergeant Lovatt. The car had reappeared and no one had spotted when. It was just there during one of the checks.
Rolling his eyes, Morris opened the door and stepped in. With a start, he almost jumped back as Tom sat bolt upright from the sofa and cried out.
“What the hell?” Morris asked, looking through the dim light of the lab at Tom.
“Wha-?” Tom asked sleepily. “What time is it?”
“One in the afternoon,” Morris said stepping into the lab and closing the door behind him.
“Oh,” Tom said as though the answer didn’t interest him before suddenly scrabbling at the small table beside the sofa and putting a slip of paper in the book which was lying open before closing it and putting it on another pile of books. “I thought I’d gone all day. I didn’t think you were in today? Unless, is it two days later?”
“What are you bleating about?” Morris asked, perching on the edge of a desk. “It’s Thursday, if you must know.” Pausing, Morris thought about what he was going to say. He had to stay on Tom’s good side if he was to continue his investigation, as much as he was loathed to. “Look, erm, about that business yesterday with that girl,” he said finally.
“Yeah, well, since you said that, don’t worry, I’ll run past you anyone I may bring back, dad,” Tom said sarcastically adding the last word.
Morris sighed softly. “No, I wanted to say I was sorry,” he said. “I may have overreacted slightly. If you trust her, then so be it. The Doctor has had companions and assistants during most of the time he’s helped us, so I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t.”
“Are you saying that you’re classing me at the same level as the Doctor?” Tom asked suspiciously.
“You’re all we have,” Morris replied.
“Oh thanks,” Tom said, “make me sound like you’re scraping the barrel with me.”
“No, not at all,” Morris said, quickly. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was that I’m granting you the same liberties as we grant the Doctor. I value your input and help in this matter.”
“Ok,” Tom said slowly.
“Speaking of which,” Morris said, almost wincing at his upcoming bluntness, “how are things going. What’s the book?” he added, nodding at the book Tom had placed the bookmark in and on the pile.
“It’s about British history,” Tom said, holding the book up briefly, “the Stuarts, mostly. Y’know, that brew ha-ha with Cromwell and Charles, the Civil war and restoration, Guy Fawkes and parliament and the politics and all that jazz.”
“Has this anything to do with what’s happening now?” Morris asked.
“Well,” Tom said with a shrug, “if I’m gonna be stuck here for a while, I might as well know how to fit in.”
“But about this business now?” Morris pressed.
Tom shrugged again. “Well, you’ve probably gathered that I went back to the Wingmoore Institute yesterday. I wouldn’t be surprised if that news got up to someone in the dizzying heights and then sent back down to you.”
“I had heard,” Morris replied, remembering the phone call he’d had from General Bailey not long after he’d come on duty. “Why?”
“I had to talk to the Master again,” Tom replied. “The first time he made little sense, this time, he made not much.”
“I see,” Morris said, making a face to show that he clearly didn’t.
“He spoke in riddles mostly,” Tom said as way of explanation.
“Must be a Time Lord thing,” Morris replied with a wry smile.
“You’re not the first to say that,” Tom said with a dry laugh. “He was telling me to trust him. He said he’s not dishonest, just honest in his dealings. He never denies that he tries to kill people or destroy or control the Earth.”
“I can see your point there,” Morris replied. “I’ve read the reports that were filed on him by Lethbridge-Stewart back in the seventies.”
“Lethbridge,” Tom said softly, his eyes far away. “No, he’s been honest about his intent, but he hides the truth under a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a riddle, as whoever it was first said.”
“Not quite got the name dropping that the Doctor has, have you?” Morris laughed.
“I’m not as old as he is,” Tom replied flatly.
“Are you planning on visiting him again?” Morris asked. “Or have you done with him?”
Tom shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” he said. “He’s kinda handy in a way because he’s got the experience. Granted it’s the flip side of the coin to the Doc, but it’s experience none the less.”
“It’s still not ideal,” Morris said.
“You’re telling me,” Tom replied. “I’d rather take council with Atilla the Hun than the Master, but needs must. Unless the Doc does show up at any point in the near future.”
“So, other than that,” Morris said, trying a new tact, “how are things progressing?”
“No further,” Tom replied, trying to stay vague. “I’ve checked some of the things the Master said and they seem to be true.”
“And what were they?”
“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t discuss this issue so much,” Tom said, standing up and walking over to another part of the lab. “I thought you were getting pressure off your superiors?”
“Don’t forget, we did discuss all this before hand when Duncan was coming to power,” Morris replied. “I initiated this investigation, remember.”
“But in investigating your monarch, that’s pretty much treason, isn’t it?” Tom retorted. “Not being a citizen of any country on this planet, I’d like to see them arrest me for treason. And what you don’t know can’t implicate you. You handed it over to me for that very reason, didn’t you?”
“I see your point,” Morris said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he added getting to his feet.
Tom was giving nothing away and he knew that he wouldn’t get anything else from him. Like the Doctor before him, he could be stubborn. Talking in riddles and stubbornness must be traits of Time Lords.
Leaving the lab, Morris walked back down towards his office. He had yet another report to start writing to Sir Daniel about Tom’s activities. He’d visited the Master again, yet he was being very cagey about what he had learnt, if indeed he had learnt anything at all. However, he was still acting slightly suspiciously. He’d been very keen to hide the book he’d been reading. Thinking back to that, Morris wondered whether it really was the book that he showed him and not a sleight of hand and a different book to the one he had hidden.
Thinking further still about that event, the book had been a hard-back with a dust jacket. How could Morris tell that the book the cover showed was what was genuinely inside it? He’d have to wait and see if Tom went out again today and then have another look around the lab at the books.
He was spying on one of his own operatives. He hated being in this position; catch 22. He desperately wanted to tell Tom of the investigations being conducted into his activities, yet he knew that it would not only be mutiny but also, as Tom had pointed out, treasonous of him. As much as he hated it, those were his orders, and his was not to reason why.
*
Tom looked after Morris as he left the lab. The Captain’s interest in his investigation was slightly worrying to him. Yes, the man had been the one who initiated it, yet he seemed, almost clumsily, to be trying to check on him. There were signs of strain in his eyes and voice when it came to his questioning Tom about what he’d been up to and his meetings with the Master.
Thoughtfully, Tom stroked his beard as he continued to watch the door for several seconds, thinking things through in his head. After a minute, he reached out to the book he had shown Morris earlier; a concise history of the Stuart era of Great Britain. It had, as the Master had said, told of the legislation passed by Parliament to make sure only descendents of Elizabeth Stuart could ascend to the British throne. In fact, it backed up everything the Master had said.
Still, it wasn’t the book that was the important thing, it was the bookmark. A post-it note with a simple scrawled message; ‘Tom, you’re being investigated. There is a tap on your phone and your activities and actions are being monitored. A Friend.’
So, he had an ally in UNIT. Someone was willing to leak information that he was being investigated. Something that could result in their court-martialling and dishonourable discharge if they were caught doing it. Supplying information to someone who was committing a treasonable act was in itself, treason. Whoever it was, was risking their position and career, and indeed their very future.
Wracking his brains, Tom tried to think through the possibilities of who it could possibly be. Morris certainly seemed to be hiding something; he had spotted that of course. He clearly seemed to regret having to do what he was. Was it Morris who had left him the note though? There was that possibility, yet it didn’t seem to be too likely; Morris was a by the books soldier. He had carried out his orders before, even if they did seem slightly dubious, Tom thought to himself, thinking back to the Klil-Raäth incident. The Doctor made a valiant and logical point about reasoning with the creatures, yet Morris had been ordered to call in an air strike to destroy the alien ship. The Doctor had explained, on their way back to London from Norfolk, how he had been in similar situations before, but managed to make the military see reason for a while.
The only other options were Sergeant Lovatt and Corporal Loding. Lovatt, he had met before she joined UNIT, during the Krynyyl incident when she was a Corporal. He remembered the chat they had had on the roof of Bolsover Castle, and he had had some chats with her whilst he was stuck here. The same could be said for Corporal Loding, minus, of course, the Krynyyl incident.
Thinking about it, Tom had spent more time over the last two months speaking to Loding rather than Lovatt, not that he’d not spoken to her. He almost felt a pang of guilt that he didn’t tend to speak to the privates more than he did, he tended to focus his time on the officers. Mind you, the ranked officers were those who spent more time in UNIT, whereas the privates spent only short secondment times with the organisation.
Still, whoever his friend was, he had to carry on as usual. Slipping the post-it note into his jeans pocket, Tom stood up again and thoughtfully scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t want to leave the note about in case it was spotted and the handwriting recognised and the person responsible ending up in trouble.
This investigation into his activities was at the moment the least of his worries. He had been up until dawn last night reading through the books he’d got from a library near Wingmoore after making sure that Kelly had got home safely. The girl seemed interesting, he had to admit. She was willing to take him at his word and hung on what he said. He was thankful for that.
Thinking back to the books, he contemplated what the Master had said. Everything he had said about the parliamentary acts and the history of England had indeed been recorded and written down. It was true then. Maybe Tom could really trust the Master. After all, what had happened was past; at least it was to him, although it was still to come for the Master. Could he, or dare he, try to befriend the Master and alter their relationship? Would that effect what would happen on their first meeting? Would that be so devastating to the web of time or would it just create a paradox? Or was he destined to befriend the Master and then let him down, which would lead to his actions the first time they met?
Realising that he was tying his mind into four dimensional knots with this thinking, Tom snapped himself out of it. Whatever was going to happen between him and the Master, it would happen and indeed had happened. There was little he could do about it. Nonetheless, he had this nagging voice at the back of his head, one telling him to go back to the Master. Had the older Time Lord got inside his head? Were his actions really his own?
Tom shook his head, clearing himself of these thoughts, dismissing them as ridiculous. At the very least he owed the man an apology, if only to see what his reaction would be. He’d been very cold towards the Master until now and the man seemed used to it. How would he react if Tom went in with an apology? Would he be more forthcoming with any information? Still, it was worth a shot. He didn’t have anything to lose. If he didn’t go, he wouldn’t get a huge amount more information, what with his attempts being blocked and the investigation into his activities. If he went, it would be reported to Duncan in some form or other.
Deciding to bite the bullet, Tom drummed his fingers on the receiver of the lab telephone for several seconds. He could call ahead to Crompton to tell him that he was coming. He knew his phone was bugged and the call would be logged with someone and that would forewarn whoever it was who would get the report that he was going to see the Master. If he didn’t, they would still find out, given time, and it would continue to piss off Crompton. A smile crossed Tom’s lips at that thought; he really couldn’t stand the man.
Coming to a decision, Tom decided to try a leaf from the Doctor’s book. He’d play the game, see if he could draw out his investigators, give them willingly some information and see whether he could draw them into showing their faces. It was a long shot, he knew. He had some very strong ideas who these people were; James Duncan and Sir Daniel Ashfield.
It was then the realisation hit Tom; Ashfield had become rather a high flyer in the British government, even more so since Duncan had begun to come to the fore. The Master had been right there too, Duncan did have someone in government, someone who could act as his hand in government, and someone who could twist things to Duncan’s will. The man had his fingers in many pies.
Deciding finally, Tom grabbed the receiver, hoping that whoever had placed the tap on his phone was listening.
“Operator,” came the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Get me Governor Crompton at the Wingmoore Institute,” Tom said.
*
Tom sat in Crompton’s office, only half listening to what the man was saying. He was silently amused at the fact that his coming again had annoyed the man, albeit slightly less than had he arrived without calling.
“What more do you want?” Tom asked rhetorically, “I called ahead as you so politely requested.”
“You are taking liberties with my kind nature,” Crompton said, causing Tom to snort in indignantly. “And severely trying my patience young man,” he added with a hard edge to his voice.
“Young man?” Tom scoffed. “Compared to me, you’re barely even a toddler, Kevin,” Tom said, not bothering to look the man in the face.
“I’m not in the bloody mood for your childish games,” Crompton bellowed. “What with your two visits yesterday, your colleague this morning and then you again now, I’ve just about had it with you UNIT people disrupting my Institute.”
“We have full,” Tom started before trailing off and looking up at Crompton. “What colleague?” As far as he knew, no one else had come to see the Master from the HQ.
“Your female colleague,” Crompton said, leaning forwards and flicking through some of the papers on his desk. “What was her name,” he muttered as he flicked through before straightening up, “here we are; Lawton. Ms. Jessica Lawton.”
Tom’s eyes widened. That couldn’t be right. Jess had been in the TARDIS with the Doctor when it had dematerialised. If they had come back to Earth, why hadn’t they tried to find him? Why hadn’t the TARDIS brought them back to UNIT HQ? They must know he wasn’t there.
“Jess?” he asked, the astonishment in his voice barely concealed.
“Yes,” Crompton said. “His UNIT appointed lawyer.”
The alarm bells were ringing in Tom’s head now, all hopes that the Doctor and Jess had returned were dashed.
“I want to see a picture of this woman,” Tom said, leaning forwards.
“I can’t supply that, and you know it,” Crompton replied. “What possible reason do you have to believe that we have a photo of her?”
“Bollocks,” Tom snarled. “I’ve seen the security cameras and it’s not past the likes of you to take stills of the people who visit. You know full well you run background checks on people, and I know that you’ve tried to on me. Didn’t get you anywhere though did it? So show me a bloody picture of this woman.”
“Mr. Rowan,” Crompton sighed loudly, not bothering to mask his frustration. “Will you calm down? This woman was one of your colleagues.”
“Bollocks!” Tom repeated, slamming his hand down on the desk. “The UNIT appointed lawyer to the Master was a man. And I know damn well that Jess Lawton is not in this country. You’re so called security checks didn’t spot that now, did they? Otherwise you wouldn’t have let her into this building, let alone visit the Master on her own. Oh, of course, you did, didn’t you?”
Crompton shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Oh great!” Tom cried, throwing his hands in the air before slamming them on the desk before him. “You total idiot,” he yelled before getting to his feet and rushing to the door.
Crompton stared after the young Time Lord, unable to say anything for pure anger. How dare that young upstart talk to him like that? The little idiot clearly was unaware that he recorded all visits that the prisoner had due to some hidden security cameras.
Getting up, still shaking slightly in rage, Crompton crossed to the hidden security camera control section. Pressing the hidden switch, the carefully disguised panel slid back and revealed the six screens which showed the images from the security cameras dotted around the institute.
Smiling to himself, he flexed his fingers before typing at the keyboard to bring up the images of around the prisoner’s cell that morning. This Jessica Lawton would have been caught on camera. The smile disappeared from his face as the images relayed nothing but static. The security system here was top of the range; it had to be due to the nature of the prisoner. It wasn’t possible for the system to be down. It had regular checks.
Frowning, Crompton tried the footage from the hidden camera in the prisoner’s cell. The footage just showed the prisoner sat in his regular chair reading. There was nothing unusual about that, the prisoner did a lot of reading. The frown on Crompton’s face deepened as he looked closer at the footage. The footage started to flicker and blur before crackling into static. Fast forwarding through the static, the image finally cleared to show the prisoner just sat there again on his own.
His face now a scowl and reddening in rage, Crompton banged his fist against the screens before turning back to his desk. Whatever that young man knew, he’d have to find out. Especially who this mysterious Jessica Lawton was.
*
The Master was sat in his chair, one of the two in his cell, the day’s copy of ‘The Times’ unfurled on his lap, a radio programme playing softly in the background. Casually he took a puff of the cigar that was sat smoking in the ashtray to his right hand before turning over the page to the stocks and shares. He liked to keep abreast of the financial matters of Earth, despite his attempts to destroy and conquer the planet. Sometimes, financial wealth was necessary in his plans, and to help control primitives.
His heightened Time Lord hearing picked out the sounds of a commotion at the end of the corridor to his cell over the sound of the radio. Casually and with a look that verged on contempt, he lowered the paper and glared at the door. It was still closed. Looking back at the paper, he rolled his eyes as he heard the sound of the servos of the door opening and the sound of swift and heavy footfalls on the metal grid on the corridor floor.
He could feel the anger emanating from the Time Lord mind approaching long before Mr. Rowan appeared at the door. In a few long paces, Tom stepped across the cell and with a swift and violent action, swiped the newspaper out of the Master’s hands and, screwed in a ball, threw it into the corner of the cell. At this action, the Master merely raised an eyebrow and looked up at the young Time Lord inquisitively.
“May I help you?” he asked casually.
“You know full well why I’m here?” Tom yelled, completely forgetting his prior reasons for coming to see the Master.
The Master held his hands up in faux surrender. “Alas, I’m afraid I don’t, Mr. Rowan,” he said. “Please, do enlighten me,” he added spreading his hands to indicate the vacant chair.
“Who was she?” Tom asked the anger still prevalent in his voice.
“To whom do you refer?” the Master asked continuing to maintain his polite mood.
“You know full bloody well what I’m on about,” Tom snapped, turning to face the Master, “that woman who was here earlier, the one pretending to be Jess.”
“Please, won’t you sit down?” the Master asked. “You’re likely to rupture a blood vessel if you carry on like this.”
“Can the crap,” Tom yelled leaning into the Master. “Who was she?”
“Mr, Rowan, please sit down,” the Master repeated. “If you would kindly calm and sit down, either order, I don’t mind, I will tell you.”
The conflict flashed across Tom’s face as he tried to hide it, but too late, the Master had seen it.
“I assume that you did indeed go to a library yesterday and verify all that I told you,” he continued. “How late did you stay up checking through what I’d said? The fact of the matter is, I was telling the truth and you came back here to tell me as such, didn’t you? Your anger betrays you. You wanted to know if I knew anything else. You’re starting to trust me, aren’t you? I told you that you would.”
Gripping the back of the chair, Tom looked down at his hands; his knuckles were white. The Master had seen through the anger to the real reason he had come to see him. Not that his wanting to know who the woman was wasn’t valid, that was just a new factor.
“So who was she?” he asked sitting down. The Master had told the truth before, he was silently holding out hope that he would again. “This woman, she wasn’t Jess. If she were, the Doc would have been here too.”
“Ah, the delightful Miss. Lawton,” the Master sighed. “You really are a lucky man, Mr. Rowan, to travel the universe, sorry; to have travelled the universe with such a delightful young lady.”
“You’re stalling,” Tom growled.
“Indeed,” the Master smiled, picking up his cigar. “The fact of the matter is; you’re perfectly correct, that wasn’t Miss. Lawton who came to see me,” the Master paused and put his cigar down and smiled.
The look on Tom’s face suddenly changed as the realisation dawned, the only other person who would come to see the Master, the only other woman who would. Someone who had seemingly been under his control yet was very possibly part of a backup plan.
“It’s her, isn’t it,” he said softly. “Your assistant from the plastics factory. Angela or whatever her name is.”
The Master clapped slowly. “Well done, Mr. Rowan,” he said mockingly before picking up the cigar again. “Why, I don’t think even the Doctor would have got there quicker. You aren’t the only one with your contacts. I told you that this Mr. Duncan fascinated me, I don’t think I could have done better myself.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked. “You know more about what’s going on than you’re letting on, don’t you?”
“If by that, you mean I’m involved with Mr. Duncan, then you couldn’t be more wrong,” the Master said taking a puff of his cigar.
“What was she doing here?” Tom asked, his voice rising. “Filling you in on sensitive material she’d illegally acquired?”
The Master laughed. “You hardly think I’m going to tell you that now, do you Mr. Rowan?” he said before narrowing his eyes. “Oh, you do? Well, I’d have thought the dear Doctor would have taught you better.”
Tom narrowed his eyes; the Master was seeking out to hit at sore spots again. “I’m not the Doctor,” Tom said slowly and carefully. “I work differently and I want to know the answers to my questions. I can make this cushy life you have here very difficult.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Mr. Rowan,” the Master said casually sitting back. “You’re one of the Doctor’s little crusaders, I know your type. Like him, you’re afflicted with a conscience. It torments you, the agony over decisions that the weak minded agonise over.”
Tom narrowed his eyes further, the right twitching slightly. He knew the Master was trying to get his goat. “I’m so weak and feeble that I was able to escape from your holding me prisoner and then capture you. I’m so weak minded that I put my mind to helping other people.”
“You model yourself on the Doctor?” the Master asked.
“He’s a better role model than you,” Tom replied.
“And would you kill?”
Tom blinked. The question had come out of the blue and hit him in the chest between his hearts. He was taken aback for several seconds.
“Would you kill?” the Master repeated. “End the life of another in cold blood? Yes, I can see that you have done.”
“Only when I’ve had to,” Tom said softly, looking away and not meeting the Master’s gaze. “But yes, I have.”
“And would you say the ends justify the means?” the Master asked.
“What are you trying to get at?” Tom snapped trying to hold back.
“By your own admission on an earlier visit, to counter my question with a question is rude,” the Master replied gently. “When you’ve killed, did the ends justify the means? Would you kill again?”
“I’ve only killed when I’ve had to,” Tom said thinking back to his having to kill Drachnith to escape their ship and his dual with Krell when he first met the Master. “And sometimes it was an accident,” he added sadly.
“Who are you trying to convince?” the Master asked, continuing to press Tom. “How did it feel to end those lives? Do you think the Doctor would have done that?”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the Doctor, and don’t you forget that.” Tom said, grimacing as he recalled the feelings of guilt over the necessity to do what he had to.
“Then why do you carry on his noble crusade?” The Master asked.
“Look, don’t push me, I’m not the Doctor, and that means I don’t work like him. You want proof?”
“Mr Rowan,” the Master put his cigar down in the ashtray to his right hand. “I’ve met many a person in my life, and you can’t intimidate me. I know your type. One who follows the Doctors crusade? When you’ve met one, you’ve met them all.”
Within seconds, Tom jumped to his feet and grabbed the Master about the throat. Using all his strength, Tom threw the smaller man against the wall and pinned him there, their faces mere inches apart. Tom’s mouth was a grim line and his eyes burnt with pure rage.
“I’ve told you, I’m not like them. You want to know how far I’ll go, then push me further. Go on, I dare you.” He spat, glaring into the Masters eyes.
The older man seemed unfazed by the outburst and stared back, as if bored. The Master raised his eyebrows as the two guards burst into his cell and dragged Tom off him. Smiling, the Master waved as they dragged Tom out towards the door.
“Just you push me, go on; see what I’m capable of.” He was screaming, struggling against the two burly guards.
“Goodbye, Mr Rowan.” The Master said casually as he took his seat again and picked up his cigar. Taking a puff, his smile turned into a laugh, as he threw his head back, laughing harder as the door was closed.
