The Master's TARDIS materialized outside of various office buildings on a street called 'D Northwest', in the form of a black minivan. Smiling with a satisfied smirk, his eyes lit up as he read the time and space coordinates on his console room panel: Washington D.C., Earth, on the very day that a new president was to be inaugurated not only as the leader of the United States, but also the so-called 'Free World'. Patting the obedient console gently for a job well done, he spun on his heel, as he flipped a lever, and watched as the doors opened up to the outside world.
This was perhaps his easiest plot to disrupt the politics of the puny planet Earth in some time. In fact, he'd concocted the simplistic scheme on a whim as he amused himself while watching the volcanic Mount Vesuvius overlooking Pompeii explode, sitting in a fold-up lawn chair, sipping a brandy. This was a focal point that few humans, if any, truly understood the implications of in their ridiculously meager brains. Earth would see decades of peace and prosperity sweep the nations of this futile little rock, all because of this one corn-fed human who would be president. Oh, not yet, and not even after his eight years in office were at an end, but his actions, his legacy, his place as a focal point in time, would shape future Earth into a disgusting bowl of happiness and goodness that the Master was determined to eliminate before it could begin.
And all because this day was some sort of intense focal point, according to his data while traversing the Time Vortex. Tucking his trusty Tissue Compression Eliminator snugly into the breast pocket of his jet-black suit jacket, the Master left the TARDIS that was disguised as a television news vehicle, through the rear doors, slamming them shut quickly so as to avoid curious eyes. With a smug chuckle, he checked his fake press ID badge on his jacket, and then looked about at the pathetic passersby. thinking of them little more than laboratory rats in his planet-wide experiment. They had no idea how much their lives were about to change in the immediate future, let alone how the destruction of their next president would alter the course of the timeline for decades to come.
He'd landed only a couple blocks away from the inauguration site, the United States Capitol, and his intended target. His weapon hugged one of his racing hearts under his jacket, giving him that pleasurable jolt of adrenaline as the elements of a scheme meticulously worked their way to fruition. Wearing their clothing and a fake identification card allowed him to move freely about the clueless apes, more so than if he'd worn his usual black outfit, with its high collar and tails. No need to draw unwanted attention to himself. He fit in quite well amongst the humans in his black suit and tie. They had no idea he was dressing in all-black for a funeral, and not an inauguration.
The president-elect's death would be a complete surprise and never be solved by the humans- he'd make sure that his Tissue Compression Eliminator would be set on mute, and well hidden when he fired the single, deadly, invisible beam. Pandemonium and unanswered questions would be the new focal point of this event, disrupting not just the lives of the Americans, but the entire world.
The Master softly chuckled his, "Hee, hee, hee!" chuckle he'd uttered so many times in this incarnation of himself, revelling in the good feelings he felt towards causing death and havoc, as he stroked his black goatee, and made his way towards the event site.
After so many encounters with the accursed Doctor, his paranoid side told him to stand on guard for any signs of the meddling do-gooder. He'd only just concocted this plan, so there was no way for his arch nemesis to catch wind of it. It was perfect! He came straight from Pompeii to here, so if he was somehow able to attempt to stop him, the Master promised himself that the Doctor would lose yet another regeneration in the process.
Beholding the crowded inauguration site, the Master paused for only a moment as the screeching of burning rubber tires on asphalt assaulted his ears. Paralyzed momentarily with fear at the sight of a large blue car rushing straight for him, the Master first stepped backwards, wide-eyed and uncertain, then ran full throttle through the crowds of human apes as the vehicle dashed straight for him! It's driver was obscured by tinted glass, and the intimidating front end, with its roaring engine, turning back and forth to the left and right, unpredictably in course, malevolent in intent seemed like a charging Drashig!.
People screamed and cried out, "Look out!", "What's happening?!", "Get away!" amidst screams of sheer, primal terror from women and children, practically deafening the Master as he sought to escape the charging vehicle. The crowd parted like the sea as the Master ran straight into them, shoving them this way and that like rag dolls, hoping the car would come to a stop or hit a wall, a fire hydrant, a person-something! Just so long as he made his escape.
No such luck.
Security officers demanded that he stop, only to jump out of the way of the speeding, swerving, honking blue car to save themselves. The vehicle was now careening left and right, seemingly out of control, but perhaps not, the Master's analytical mind ascertained. The car was surprisingly able to avoid hurting the Earth people, but always remained within twenty feet of him and his charging feet!
Running towards trees for cover made no difference either, as the car shifted course and cut off that route, forcing the Master towards an area where food and drinks were being served to the Press from various decorated red-white-and blue tents and carts. The Master cursed the Doctor from here to the Medusa Cascade, almost feeling a twinge of admiration in the Time Lord's ultra-violent change of attitude. Surely, the Third Doctor would never have been so brutal as to try and run him down with an automobile?! Probably not the Fourth, certainly not the Fifth! The Sixth Doctor or the Seventh, however...? Or perhaps this was some violent future incarnation of the Doctor who took delight in emulating his sartorial dark side, one that would shoot first, er, run over enemies first, and ask questions later?
Guard dogs had been dispatched to deal with the intruders on the grounds, so close to where the President-elect was to be inaugurated, and now they, too, joined the chase, barking as wildly and as violently as the car that was still chasing him, creating its own brand of mayhem. The blue car continued to honk and zig zag behind him, as the Master pulled out his Tissue Compression Eliminator, and set it at full power, only to bump into a man carrying four hotdogs and two drinks, stagger and nearly fall, dropping it onto the lawn with the man's food. Unable to spare the two seconds it would have taken to recover the weapon, he kept running, his hearts beating frantically, his forehead drenched in sweat that he wasn't used to releasing.
The car mercilessly squashed his weapon under its tires with a loud POP! and explosion of fiery sparks. His fists pumping in the air, cheeks inflating and exhaling like a wheezing old man, teeth grinding, and his eyes wide with the horror of someone marked for death by a psychotic monster (oh, the pain of having the tables turned on him!), the Master desperately searched for a safe route amongst the confusion of terrified, screaming crowds of humans, barking dogs, wailing sirens, and the relentless, nearly-maniacal, almost sadistically-joyful honking of the automobile trying to run him down.
Spotting an opening amongst the aggregation of people, the Master dashed for it, pushing one burly security guard / rent-a-cop after another out of the way, his strength surprising even him! In one swift motion, the Master leaped for a wrought iron gate, using his momentum to swing behind it, and then give it a mighty push in an attempt close it. The automobile finally came to a savage stop, when it slammed into the iron gate, and got jammed at an awkward angle along the curb. The engine revved and the car vibrated and fidgeted, almost as if in a vain attempt to escape, but it didn't matter. Police officers swarmed the vehicle, and the psychotic Doctor inside it turned off the engine.
By the time the Master reached his TARDIS, an exhausted, dishevelled Master was angrily cursing the Doctor, scowling at the loss of his weapon, the indignity of being chased like an animal, and the futility of restarting his assassination plot. Knowing the Doctor, his enemy and his companion-of-the-week had probably been guests of the President-elect for a week, or been under cover in the White House, or some such method of preventing his plot before it even began!
He left Earth, trying to concoct a new plan of evil, to watch it happen on another world- one that had never heard of, or would ever hear of 'The Doctor'.
"How did he discover my plans?!" the Master growled in anger to himself, slamming a fist against his console. "Howww?!"
Back at the scene of the damaged, dented blue car, smoke whispered upwards from the wrecked engine as fluids leaked from below it. The majority of the police officers pushed back curious passersby, as the Head of Security cautiously approached the car with his gun raised, leery of the tinted windows that hide the identity of the driver so well.
"All right! Whoever you are, come out slowly and-" he bellowed, only to cut himself off by the sight before him. He swallowed hard and examined the individual who was climbing out of the car in obvious pain from minor injuries, and just as obviously not much of a threat. He found his voice and snapped, "Hey, there! What the hell were you trying to do?! Kill everybody?!"
"Hang on a minute!" a wobbly, brunette woman, slight of build and barely five foot-four, whimpered as she gingerly climbed out of the damaged car, a bruise on her forehead developing, as well as a bit of blood trailing from her perky little nose. She was dressed in a smart peach-colored pant suit, and looked about as dangerous and violent as Florence Henderson. "I'm a member of the British press, and I have just had the most horrific experience of my life!"
Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hands quivered as she tried to get her bearings, her cheeks blushing an intense shade of pink as she observed how many witnesses had gathered to see who the maniac driver would turn out to be. An audible groan emanated from the crowd, as they realized it was just a woman and not a crazy terrorist. A disappointed CNN cameraman decided not to film the culprit, instead taking the time to interview a fat man in a costume from 1776 that looked like George Washington. The Head of Security lowered his weapon and looked inside the car, finding only a purse, a notebook, and a 15-year old tape recorder.
"The brakes on this stupid rental car suddenly gave out!" she cried out in frustration, giving the wreck a kick for good measure.
And then winced in pain as she bruised her big toe.
"I have every intention of suing that cut-rate rental agency! I couldn't control it or stop it! And to make matters worse, I found myself chasing down that poor defenseless gentleman in the black suit all over the grounds! I could have killed the poor man! Did you see where he went? I simply must find him and apologize and-"
"Okay, okay, okay! I'm beginning to believe this was all some sort of freak accident, Miss...?"
"Smith. Sarah Jane Smith, The Daily Mail. Blimey, my editor is going to sack me for this! This was my chance at the big time! My first assignment for them!"
"Well, , I wouldn't worry about that man that you were, er, following. He just kept running that way, even after you came to a stop. Probably got the fright of his life, but it's no big deal. He's long gone, whoever he was. I think we should deal with the damage you caused to the grounds first, for my report. If you feel you're up to it?"
"Oh...very well," Sarah Jane sighed, her shoulders sagging.
"And, uh, I'm afraid you'll also have to miss the Presidential inauguration. Security reasons. You understand."
"Yeah. Sure," she replied glumly, her shoulders sinking even lower.
Sarah Jane slumped back into the driver's seat of her damaged rental car, giving the expended airbag a frustrated elbow. She was just happy to be alive, like the fellow journalist in the dapper black business suit she'd nearly run over. She could almost laugh at it now, when she recalled the look of stark terror in his eyes, like a cartoon starring Wile E. Coyote, his eyes huge and terrified.
Almost.
"Oh, well," she sighed to herself, wiping away at her bloody nose with a tissue. "You see one inauguration, you've seen them all. Why should this one be any different?"
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