In an often unsure universe, the Master was sure of one thing and one thing only: he had extremely bad luck. Yes, he had resourcefulness and cleverness that often allowed him escape the usually dangerous effects that his misfortune caused, but it was without a shadow of a doubt that he just had plain bad luck. It seemed that everywhere he went the ever-so-annoying Doctor was close behind and managed to foil his plans in just the nick of time. Even as a young child, when he looked into the tempered schism, he was cursed (seemingly by a stroke of bad judgement of the Timelords) with the infamous drumbeat that haunted every millisecond of his existence. Some say the drumbeat drove him mad—and perhaps they were right—but for now all he knew for sure was that it gave him one hell of a headache.

He had arrived on Earth on accident (or maybe it was that bad luck of his). The TARDIS that he had nicked from the Timelords was shabby and didn't like him very well (not that he liked it either, thank you very much), but he didn't have much of a choice in transportation and dealt with it accordingly. Instead of landing him in a very low-tech planet named Vilreach like he wanted, it dropped him on this Godforsaken planet with their annoying degenerate humans. Earth. Disgusting.

Still, though, he was tired of being cooped up in the TARDIS, and decided to walk around a bit. As long as he kept a low profile, the Doctor wouldn't be able to find him. He was walking down the city of London, remembering how he used to have power—when he was Prime Minister. He missed that power that he once held, craved it. But that was the past and now he was back to square one.

And here he was, walking among these degenerate second-rate human being. Like one of them. Although maybe it would be nice to be one of them. What was the saying? 'Ignorance is bliss'? If he was one of them, he wouldn't have had to look into the tempered schism when he was eight years old. He wouldn't know of the vastness of the universe, and therefore wouldn't have the need to rule it. He wouldn't be an outcast.

'What am I thinking?' He thought to himself. 'I'm a Timelord—one of the last no less—I wouldn't ever want to be one of...them. Those unsophisticated little apes.'

Still, despite his naturally destructive instincts he almost wished for a more simple life.

The Master was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize he had just stepped out into the road and in front of an oncoming car.

{•••}

Clara Oswald wasn't normal, and it was clear to anyone that took a glance at her. Perhaps it was the way she looked at everything, so calm and logical. Perhaps it was the spring in her step that she always carried. Whatever it was, it was clear to see that she was different. Despite this, Clara was leading a pretty normal life at the moment, only when the Doctor barged into her life every now and then would her life be turned upside down. For now though, she was simply living in London by herself.

Right now, she was walking through city window shopping and wasting time. It had been a few days since the Doctor had picked her for one of his adventures, and she begun to feel very bored and restless. So, Clara thought a nice walk through London would satisfied her. But the problem with this idea was that she needed no new clothes, wasn't hungry, and didn't feel the need to sightsee.

In short, she was tired of the normal life.

Sure, London was beautiful and had many distraction, but she longed to see the universe with the Doctor. The Doctor, however, was nowhere to be seen at the moment. So she was stuck here.

It was then that Clara was snapped out of her thought by the sound of a honking horn. She looked out beyond the sidewalk she was walking on and saw a man—clearly not paying attention—walking right in front of a car.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh Go—

Without thinking, she launched herself towards the man, tackling him and knocking them both out of the way of the car. The man's head made a sickening thud as it connected with hard pavement. Clara landed on top him, his body taking most the force of the impact.

Alive. Oh God, they were alive. And the man was still miraculously conscious, though some blood was running down from the cut on his head onto the pavement.

She raised her head up immediately, her face just a mere inch or two from his. She could feel his labored breathing against her cheek and could see his deep brown eyes staring into hers. His close proximity made her almost blush.

"Ow!" The man groaned in pain, his hand grasping his injured head. "Get off me, you imbecile."

Clara, still on top of him, scowled. "Um, excuse me, but I just saved you life. The correct response would be thank you."

"Well, at the moment, you're squishing me and people are staring at us. So get off me."

She quickly stood up and brushed herself off, offering her hand to help the man up. He swatted her hand away and tried to stand up by himself. Still obviously dizzy from his injury, he was unbalanced on his feet, but he seemed intent on walking without help and ignored her offers of help. People were crowding around both Clara and him now and they were bombarding him with questions.

"You banged you head pretty hard, sir."

"Do you need help?"

"Can I call an ambulance?"

Again, the man ignored them and half-walk, half-stumbled away from the crowd. It looked as though any second now he would pass out from his injuries. He looked angry, as if he wanted to strangle each and every person that was around him. Clara, quick to intervene, backed the crowd up. "Hey, give him some space! Give him some space!"

She joined the man and wrapped his arm around her neck to support him as he walked.

"I don't need you help." He growled the clenched teeth, trying to take back his arm.

"Well clearly you do. You can hardly walk." Replied Clara stubbornly, keeping a firm hold.

"Where are we going?"

"My flat."

"No, I have to be somewhere. I can't—"

"Just shush."

"But I—"

"Hush."

And he did.

They finally made their way to Clara's flat and as soon as they entered, the man collapsed unceremoniously on her sofa, fast asleep. Honestly, she was surprised he made it this far before he passed out.

She stood just a few inches away from the him, staring. Did she need to take him to the hospital? She wasn't an expert, but a blow to the head as hard as he had sustained, he could have a concussion. The blood flow had stopped by now and all that remained was dried splotches of blood on his forehead and shirt.

She took a seat in floor next to him.

Now that everything had finally calmed down, All her past action came flooding back to her. Hmmm let's see... In the past few minutes, she had jumped out in front of a car in order to save a man she didn't know, had taken him to her flat, and now had him lying unconscious on her sofa. Great. Just bloody great. For all she knew, the man was suicidal and had meant to walk in front of the car. Or he maybe he was a psycho maniac that could very well kill her. And here he was in her flat.

Silently, she wondered who exactly this man was.

He was dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie and with his nearly bleach-blond hair, he was quite a sight to behold. Surely he wasn't just some homeless guy, right? If not, he sure dressed like it. Clara swept a unkempt hair from his face, and continued to search his face for answers. One thing was for sure, he definitely was not ugly, especially for a might-be hobo. His facial features were...very pleasing to the eye to say the least. (Not that she noticed. No. Of course not.)

The man had very peaceful expression now, which was a very big (and rather welcomed) contrast to earlier when she'd seen him. When she looked into his eyes earlier, it held a wild, almost crazed look.

Despite his hideous fashion sense, Clara couldn't help but feel as if there was something more to him. Something that mere appearances couldn't reveal. The feeling tugged at her, but as much as she tried, she couldn't work out what it was.

It was late. When Clara checked her phone it had read nearly 11:32 p.m. How long had she sat there with the man? She rubbed her eyes, stood up, and glanced once more at the man. Would he be alright? Would he sleep thought the night? Surely, with a hit that bad to the head, he'd be asleep until tomorrow, perhaps longer.

Satisfied that she'd be fine with him in her living room, she turned to leave.

"Night, Mr. Strange Man." Clara whispered more to herself than anyone, and went to her bedroom, leaving him alone.

{•••}

Clara was awakened by a pair of hands shaking her hurriedly. It was dark in her room. Still half asleep and a bit shaken, Clara turned her lamp on. The mystery man stood over her, that wild look back in his eyes.

"W-What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?" Clara nearly yelled as she got out her bed.

The man held his hand out to her, motioning for her to accept it.

"Come with me. No time explain. Just do it."

"Wait, what? No! What do you want?"

"I don't have time for this, dammit! Come on!"

Stubbornly, Clara crossed her arms.

"I'm not moving until you tell me why You woke me up at 1:30 in the morning!"

Looking more than a little aggravated, he swept a hand through his hair. "Look, you saved my life yesterday, and I'm about to save your life. You know, payback and all that. So if you intend on staying alive, I suggest you come with me!"

"Save my life? Save my life from what exactly?"

The man grinned crazily. "The end of the world, sweetheart."

End of the world?

"You're delusional!" Yelled Clara, backing away from his slowly.

"No, I'm serious. Something bad is coming to Earth, and it may or may not be my fault."

"You're crazy!"

Suddenly, a loud thunder sounded from outside her flat and the ground shook violently.

The man swore loudly. "It's already beginning." He looked back at her. "Last chance for you. Either you take my hand now, or I'm leaving you here to die. Your choice."

Clara looked into his eyes, to his hand, and back eyes again. And then, slowly, she took his hand. He smirked. "Good choice."

"Now what?"

Then the smirk faded, replaced by seriousness. "Come with me."

They ran together out of her flat and down several street blocks before stopping suddenly.

"Wait, why are we stopping?" Asked Clara, looking to the man. He was digging inside his pocket and produced a key.

He smiled again. "Just found our ticket out of here."

"A key? A key for what?"

"This." Then suddenly a phone box appeared n front of them. A TARDIS. Except for the slight difference in color, it looked exactly like The Doctor's. What? Another TARDIS? No, that was impossible. The man unlocked the TARDIS door and stepped inside, beckoning her in as well. Almost numbly, Clara went inside. Already, the man was busy bustling about, pulling and pushing levers and buttons.

What's going on? How is this possible? Who's this man?

"Who...who are you?" Clara asked, trembling slightly.

Just as he was about to push down the last button, the man look at her and grinned maliciously.

"I am...The Master." Then he pushed down the button, and Clara felt the TARDIS leave Earth.