"I know I said I'd go back to play with the ordinary people, but this is just tedious." The consulting criminal moaned, signalling for his hired muscle to tighten his grip. Strong, raw arms squeezed more breath out of the man tied to the chair. Jim looked down at himself, and tutted, before straightening the pin on his tie. The fox just refused to sit at the right angle now, so he refastened it while he waited for the screaming to stop.
"W-Who are you?" The man gasped, "I'll talk, I swear!"
"I'm the big, bad, fabulous wolf that claws through your nightmares. I'm bored and the only cure is a challenge. Fight back honey, so I can snack on your normal, little mind." Jim yawned, as the tethered man simply stared up at him in horror. There were several meters between them, but it hardly mattered: It was not as though Jim would be the one to get his hands dirty. Why would he risk ruining his new suit? Just going near the moron would kill the atmosphere. He loved the fragrance of his own brand, and one step closer would fill his nostrils with the odour of blood and sweat.
"Are you going to kill me?" The man choked out. Jim groaned, what a dull conversation this was,
"If you're only contributions are going to be to ask such blindingly obvious questions, probably." Jim responded, deadly serious, "Otherwise Sebastian will continue squashing those tiny lungs of yours. Don't ask questions, just dance for me. I like hearing you BEG!" Jim shouted at the man, frustrated that he was getting nowhere. Since Sherlock's death nobody had been able to keep him entertained. Faking his own death had been simple, and his men had confirmed seeing Sherlock fall. He had owed him a fall. But after a debt has been paid, how does one keep busy? Jim had already begun searching for a new muse, but they weren't easy to come by.
Jim was utterly fed up with this catch though. He clearly did not have any useful information, nor was he fun to torture. He took a step back, to avoid any blood spatter that might find it's way to his clothing.
"Okay tiger, kill!" Jim smiled, watching as Sebastian finished the job. A final shriek of fear escaped his victim, before the body went limp. "Oh you do make such sweet music darling."
Just then Jim Moriarty's phone rang. He had grown tired of his previous ring tone, after rising from his apparent death, and changed it to something more appropriate: Ladies Night. He was in a slightly better mood after snacking on the sound of death, so he pressed the 'answer call' button and chirped into the device,
"Helloooo." He began, as he had not recognized the caller I.D. He hoped and prayed internally that it would be somebody interesting. "Oh its you... yes... what?" Sebastian looked up at him, wondering if it was good or bad news, "No? You don't say... I'll have to pay him a visit." Jim smiled as he ended the call, beginning to feel a more positive vibe about his day.
"A new client?" Moran asked,
"Somebody wants a sponsor!" Jim sang, "Lucy called about her husband. Harold Saxon: That mysterious man at the MoD that came out of no where. And he claims to be pennyless! I'll have to see if he's worth throwing money at." He signalled for Moran to follow him out to the car. "He wants to fund a few research projects, but lacks funds."
"I don't understand. How did he catch your interest? You seem... brighter." Moran chose his words carefully, knowing not to imply that Jim had emotional capacity,
"Oh I am darling. You see this research project will take him far. He wants to be the new PM. Our own little campaign. That will be fun, I can get him into so much debt that he'll owe me control of the country." He laughed, "And I already have that." He snatched the car keys from Sebastian's hands, and slid into the driver's seat. "If he's useful, I might even let him win the election."
Lucy Saxon opened the door, fully expecting to see some lunatic. Instead she saw a fairly normal looking man in a suit. He was almost normal. His dark eyes gazed up at her momentarily, before moving past her and taking in the hall. Lucy swallowed. She had been making some pretty dangerous choices recently but they were slowly getting her mixed up in more and more dodgy business. She was crazy about her husband: she needed him, but she knew he would only be interested in her for as long as she was useful to him. She was high up in society, and she had the wealth he needed to get by in this time period. Harold was not really human though, and a human wife would only ever be temporary. He didn't need to tell Lucy that though. They entertained each other, following the path of lust that spanned between them, and Lucy kept promising herself not to get emotionally attached.
Lucy knew the man at the door was Jim Moriarty. She had spoken to him a few times on the phone, after becoming one of his informants. It was her husband who needed him now though, and Harold got what he wanted. She just hoped that he had heeded her warnings about Jim.
Moriarty snapped his gaze back to Lucy. He enjoyed putting on the pretence of a polite businessman to keep his clients happy. He took her hand and gave it a gentle but firm squeeze. That was what he had learned made women more comfortable. She relaxed visibly, letting her shoulders loosen and straightening her posture. A subtle smile played about her lips,
"Welcome to our home Jim. Allow me to take you to Harold's office. He would have come down to greet you but he received a sudden call from the Ministry of Defence. He should have finished by now though." Lucy explained. Jim smiled sweetly for her, tilting his head back a little. She lead him down the hallway, and up a flight of stairs. Down the corridor from there was Harold Saxon's office. Jim turned to Lucy. He enjoyed keeping tabs on her; This woman who got herself tangled up with all the wrong people but still held strong. His interest was purely business related however. He was really more curious about her husband.
"Knock knock~!" Jim called, swinging the office door open. "I hear you need my help?" he asked to the room at large as he entered. He closed the door behind him, and took the seat in front of Harold's desk. The man was slim and sinful; his innocent looking face, framed by dark blonde hair. Jim scanned the room for clues about this man, but could see nothing of immediate interest. The book shelves were littered with political books, classic literature.
Harold observed his guest, noticing his rich, deep voice and the Irish accent, with undertones of slaughter. This was his kind of man: Someone pleasant. Jim had finished scanning the room with his eyes, and was now far more tempted when he spotted the plate of biscuits on Harold's desk, "May I?" He asked,
"Of course." Harold smiled, lifting the plate to offer Jim a bourbon. The criminal consultant wanted to pop the biscuit into his mouth, but there was a proper way to eat bourbons. He lifted off the top layer carefully, before using his incisors to scrape off the softer, more chocolatey layer. The creamy infusions of cocoa and sugar hit his tongue, sending sensations of pleasure through him. He then crunched the remaining biscuit, before returning his attention to his client. Harold was staring at him, "Is that how everyone eats these?" He was confused. It seemed illogical to eat a snack by tearing it apart when it was clearly intended to be eaten in two bites.
"It's a bourbon." Jim responded, as if that answered his question entirely on its own. "Now, Harry dear, tell me about this Lazarus project." He lay back in the chair, putting his feet up on his client's desk, challenging the man to scold him. Harold did not blink. In fact he answered immediately,
"Your dear friend Mycroft Holmes is assuming the identity of Professor Lazarus, who had an unfortunate and sudden run in with a machete. Mycroft will lead the project from now on, but I'm still working in the MoD."
"And you need me to fund it until you can get government backing?" Jim stated.
"That's the very surface of the matter. I thought however, that you would be more interested in the project itself." Harold smiled. Jim's ears pricked up, what could this man possibly have that he would want? "Harold Saxon is a pretence you see. I have another name: A name that means I need power. I can get that power but on this planet I need money. I've risen up the ranks of this pitiful organization and now I know how the weapons work. What I really need however, is my own personal brand. Mr. Holmes is making sure that I get it." He could see Jim nodding off, until he mentioned the word 'planet',
"Come again? You've been to other planets? I didn't take you for an astronaut Harry," Jim's eyebrow raised a fraction. Harold burst out laughing,
"I suggest you talk to Torchwood about that one. My name is not Harold, I told you. I am the Master. One of the last of my kind: a race called the Time Lords. Have you heard of them? No I thought not. I've been to hundreds of planets, thousands, and yet finally I come here. Why? Because there's someone who's buttons I want to push. I want to make this world mine, and mine alone. Its the only way to get to him." Harold continued, but Jim was still focused on an earlier point in the Master's dialogue. He was alien? Alien? Jim was about to get up and leave when Harold smiled.
"What is it? You going to try and prove your little fairy tale with a magic trick?" Jim was utterly disappointed. He had been hoping for a real find. He wanted crazy, but this man was a simple fool. Alien? World Domination? This was ridiculous. "And who told you about Torchwood? They're top secret, even from the MoD."
"Not from Mycroft, and not from me. And no there's no trick. I'm going to show you. Follow me." Jim turned to walk to the door instead. "Oh I see, the logical mind meets chaos and it runs in fear." The Master grinned,
"Fear? Logical?" Jim looked taken aback. He stood there for a moment, before he began laughing uncontrollably. "HA! That is priceless darling. You think I'm one of them." He fell to his knees as tears of hysteria ran down his face. He cringed and howled at the very idea that this man thought it possible. Him? Sane? What a joke. "Oh aren't you just precious. I'll humour you for a moment, but if you show me anything less than thrrrilling, I'll leave." He rose to his feet again.
"I think thrilling is an understatement for most." The Master smiled subtly as he turned his head, and lead Jim out of a side door from his office. The next room was small, and cramped: made claustrophobic by the presence of an old police box blocking anyone from moving inside.
"You wanted to show me a relic from the fifties?" Jim frowned, annoyed already,
"Oh its far older than that 'darling'." The master unlocked the door to the police box, and held it open. "Take a look for yourself." Jim's frown grew deeper, as his expectations lowered more and more by the second. He strode into the box, expecting to meet a wall with a phone and a fat book. Instead he wandered into an enormous room, filled with green and blue tints of light. He frowned.
"Easily faked, you make the room before it look like a closit with a box. The box is a door." He stepped out again, barely phased by the pretty lights and the strange device in the centre of the huge room. He stood in the tiny closet in front of the blue, wooden doors. "You disappoint me." But he caught the hint of amusement in the Master's eyes. Jim glared. He held eye contact, and then walked around the side of the box. He continued walking, until he had walked in a full circle around the room. He glared at the Master again, before walking around a second time, and then back the other way. Jim felt around the floor for trap doors; the roof of the police box for a mirror. He slammed his fist against the blue frame. The Master watched on in amusement.
Jim was fed up. He needed control. He had to be in control. How could there be no explanation as to how this thing worked? It should be simple! There had to be some trick that made it look bigger on the inside! He walked back into the police box, and began searching the interior for clues. He carefully observed the door frame from the inside, before walking over to the device in the middle of the room. The distance it took him was far greater than the length of the tiny closet outside.
The Master walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Jim sank to the floor, and began laughing again. The Master walked past him, and over to the console,
"I'm afraid its been tampered with, so we can't go far, but if I must prove my point." He muttered. Jim looked up at him. There was more? He stood up, and straightened his suit. He composed himself, before placing his hands slowly into his pockets. The Master pulled on levers, pushed some buttons and the engine whirred into life. The console began making a loud, grinding noise. "It's a shame you have to see her like this. She's been trained well you see, she'll only obey him. So we can't go further than three-hundred miles, and she can't even travel through time. Typical isn't it?" Jim took in the words but failed to make much sense of them. Clearly this man was frustrated; had stolen the police box from someone else, but what was this talk about travel?
Jim watched in steadily rising intrigue, as the Master continued hammering buttons, until finally the engine ground to a halt, and the whirring noise faded to a light thrum. The Master looked a little shaken,
"Something wrong Harry boy?" Jim asked, sauntering over to him,
"No, its just that noise..." He shook his head, then smiled, before walking over to the door. "That damn noise reminds me of..." Jim paid no attention to the man's insane rambling. He walked straight past him, and opened the door, expecting to see the closet. Instead, he almost fell off the top of a towering sky-scraper. He took a step back, then edged his way around the side of the police box. The roof was small, and reminded him slightly of the one where he had made dear old Sherly take a tumble. He walked over to the edge, and gazed out over the city before him,
"Belgium..." He commented, "Okay, you win, daddy's impressed." He placed his hands back in his pockets, and walked back over to where the Master was standing with his arms folded, leaning against the blue box. "So what is this?" He asked, gesturing by cocking his head towards the machine.
"She's the T.A.R.D.I.S. I won't bore you with what that stands for. She's basically transport. But there's something wrong. She's supposed to go through time and space. And a lot further than this. While I'm busy making repairs, I'll need staff. I'd do it myself, but campaigning for PM takes up a lot of one's schedule." He mused, "Now that my identity is a little clearer to you, perhaps we should get down to business."
"Oh hold on there." Jim smiled, and walked right up to the strange man, "Look at you; a bloody leopard in human skin. But don't try to tell me you're alien." He looked the man over. Definitely human in appearance.
"I wouldn't bother. Just do me a favour." The Master whipped a large stethoscope from one of his small trouser pockets. Jim's eyebrow raised a little higher, "Check my pulse." He held out the doctor's instrument. Jim frowned again, before laughing,
"Role play is it? I don't mind. Whatever floats your boat honey." He tried to stop giggling as he took the stethoscope. He put in the ear pieces as the Master unbuttoned his shirt "I don't know why you had to take me all the way to Belgium to get away from your wife but-" He stopped his teasing mid-sentence, at the sound he could hear though the instrument. He moved it from one side of the Master's chest to the other, down, then up again. That was definitely... impossible. "You've got a real drummer in there." He commented, in disbelief,
"Two drummers. Drumming. Constantly, non-stop." He wrapped on the T.A.R.D.I.S's wall with his knuckles. Four times, over and over. That was the sound of his heart beat: The sound of every Time Lord's two heart beats. It was the sound of the drums.
Jim slid off the stethoscope and tutted, before palming it into the Master's hands. He reached out with his other arm, and held the man by his jaw, tilting it back, as if examining a patient. He let go a moment later, and rolled his eyes skyward, as if this were a normal dose of insanity for him. He was used to weird, strange, out of place: But this? He giggled all through the short trip back to the Master's office, and didn't stop until he had popped another bourbon in his mouth, still taking care with how he ate it.
"So, you're the Master, and I'm the big bad wolf. Which one of us do you think should be taking over this world?" Jim pondered,
"Me of course, I'm the one with an army." The Master laughed,
"You're not the only one, honey." Jim yawned, wondering whether this was worth his time, crazy or not,
"Mine's better. Mine's bigger." The mad man smiled,
"You want to bet? I highly doubt it Mr. I-Need-Funding." Jim slouched in his chair, and picked up a cup of tea that had been brought in while they were gone. He took a sip, waiting for the man's response,
"You got over six billion snipers?" The Master's smile broadened into a far more menacing one than Jim had seen him use so far. He spat out his tea,
"Six billion?" He put the cup down back on the desk, resting it in it's saucer. "You're bluffing."
"I'm not. Its four at the moment, but with your funding, I'll fix the T.A.R.D.I.S, turn her into a paradox machine, and bring my army to this time period. I like to think of them as my children." He smiled in a way that mocked nostalgia. "I'd bring them back now, but they'd kill their ancestors and die. Not a good plan." He explained. Jim was getting tired of all this alien waffle.
"Look darling, I'm sure we can agree on a nice little sum for you, but if you do plan on killing the human race, I'd rather not be left out of the loop. I want reports on every stage of your campaign, the technical progress, and this Lazarus project. I want it in a file, on my desk, every week. No more than five hundred words. Get one of your pets to do it." Jim nodded to the Master before standing.
"Oh and one last thing." The Master piped up. Jim spun around. "A gift. Or more like a token. To celebrate our new partnership." He handed Jim a small box,
"A pen? Oh thank you." He said, confused by this change of character. He spotted the knowing look on the Master's face, and opened the box. There was a small pen shaped device. It was clearly not a pen though. "Show me." Jim ordered. The Master took the device from the box, and pointed it at the wall. He pressed a button, and a red light glowed at the tip, before shooting out a thin blast of energy, that created a small chasm in the wall. The damage was contained, but the smoke came from a good nine inches into the wall. "It's like the iPad of sniping." Jim smiled, genuinely pleased with his new toy.
"Its a laser screwdriver, but call it what you like. There are several different settings. Mycroft is working on a new one for me. I'm giving you the most recent prototype. This one can do that." He gestured to the wall, "As well as open doors, and hack software." He stated. Jim grinned,
"Oh I feel so exclusive! And what's this new feature adding to the mix?" He eyed the man carefully, his curiosity reaching an all time high,
"Ageing. Literally. I could point it at anyone, and age them physically. Most of their life slipping away in seconds. More fun, pretty useful. Stops them running away if they have some other use." Jim nodded slowly. Maybe Harold Saxon was going to prove a good client after all.
Jim slid back into the passenger seat of the car, as Sebastian had moved into the driver's seat in his absence. Jim gave him a familiar look, that he knew was signal for a specific command. The assassin reached for a packet of chewing gum, and pulled out one of the pieces. He pulled the wrapper off, and held it lightly between his teeth. Jim leaned forward, and took it from him with his lips, savouring the taste of obedience. He began chewing the minty snack as he fastened his seatbelt. Sebastian was eyeing him cautiously, searching for any signs of anger, or anything to be worried about,
"Good client then." He said after a while, and turned on the ignition,
"Fabulous."