He woke up with a start. With new thoughts, new feelings. He was still insane. He was always insane. But, he no longer had a bloodthirsty desire for the Doctor's death. He...respected him. And the sound of the drums had gone. He also felt empty. He had been using up his life force ever since he was brought back. The resurrection had gone wrong, thanks to dear Lucy. That was one bitter break up. His life had been draining for so long, that he only had room for one more regeneration. And he needed it. The teleportation from Earth to Gallifrey had injured him severely, and the other Time Lords had left him to die. He looked around. He was lying in rubble, a couple of miles outside of the Citadel, it's once gleaming towers, now collapsing, under the cracked shield. He knew he couldn't stay on Gallifrey. If the Time Lords found out he was alive, they would have him put in front of a Staser squad immediately. The Time Lords would be gathering in the main Council Room right now, the rest of the Citadel would be barren. He made his way towards the large tower, at one point hiding inside the shell of a Dalek spaceship to hide from an Outsider. After climbing through a crack in the shield, the Master made his way through the corridors to a particular room. It was full of computers, and had a chair, that looked like an electric one, that they used on Earth to execute criminals. He typed something in to a computer monitor, trying to ignore the pain. He had to regenerate soon. But not here. "Dammit." he swore. The power was low. One more go at least. "Actually. Aghh. That's brilliant. They can't follow me." He typed in some co-ordinates, and climbed into the chair. Strapping himself in, he grinned. "Thank Kasterborous for Emergency Temporal Shift!" before vanishing in a flash of white.
He woke up in a dark alley. He quickly checked his surroundings, out in the street next to him, and made his assumptions.
Earth. Northern Hemisphere. Europe. Britain... England, I'd say...London.
He realised that he couldn't hold his impending change any longer. He ran back into the alley, and threw his head and arms back, as a blast of orange fury shot out. He tried not to scream, anyone heard him and found out would have him sent off to the CIA for disecting. As abruptly as it had started, the regeneration stopped and the orange Artron energy dissipated. He was a new man. Vocal test. Irish. Young. Quite young. He decided to integrate into normal life in London, although he couldn't stray from his criminal ways, besides the fact that he kept his crimes strictly human, no alien technology. As far as he was concerned, he was human. He had no regenerations left anyway. He later gained a new arch-enemy, and his own criminal network. He died at an early age, on a hospital rooftop. And that marked the end of the story of the Master. Or, as he liked to call himself...Jim Moriarty.