Hello.

My first Doctor Who only related fic. Inspired by the End of Time. And the lovely clip of the Master wearing a collar.

There's a reason for the rating.

D: I do not own Doctor Who, but someone owns the Master. (Oh like you didn't think of it.)

It was within the first hour that someone came in.

The operation was a success. She had brought him back correctly. His new body felt stronger, faster and more powerful. He looked around at those surrounding him. She told him of the two nearest. He smiled, earning a smile and a steady stare with fire, but not unpleasant fire, behind it.

The others that were standing at the sides, he was informed as he was dressing, were dressed for parts in order to deter those that came. He looked at the choices in clothes. "I had to get something that wouldn't raise suspicion. A black tux and cape would have attracted too much." Black jeans, a red shirt and a black hoodie didn't inspire fear into anyone, unless he was going to be a mugger in the back streets. His boots at least fit.

It was one of the guards, leaving his rifle at the door and closing it after him. He held something in his hand. He could only make out the slight movement before he felt electricity course through him. It gave up after thirty seconds. His body was weakened when the guard handled him.

It was a breaking window that alerted them. Three of the outlying ones were dead before the others had weapons out. A minute later, all were dead except him and her. Several men carrying automatic rifles surrounded them. Someone just outside of the room nodded to the commander, who shot two tranquilizer rounds into him. He was falling just as he heard two rounds go off. He saw her fall beside him, a hole in her head matching the spreading blood directly over her heart.

"Get him contained, quickly, or we never will," he ordered. He couldn't lift his head as the apparent ringleader walked over, and couldn't see his face. "Harold Saxon, former Prime Minister. Now why would someone go through so much work to resurrect you? More importantly, how did they succeed?" He didn't bother answering as the drugs finally forced him unconscious.

Bruises were being left at each thrust. His hips were held and clawed at viciously while he tore on the inside. His wrists were pulled against the handcuffs and the pipe they were wrapped around. His mouth would be set to a very thin line if it hadn't been gagged with a rag.

He woke up during the ride. Even two loaded rounds couldn't keep him down for very long. He could feel handcuffs around his wrists and a chain wrapping around his legs. Something was pushing into the back of his neck, but he couldn't feel it out among the dark and the drug induced haze he was still in. He tried not to make noise as he moved his head around to see how many, and who was there.

"You're awake. I thought two would have been enough. At least it lasted until we were away." He was unsure of his ability to talk.

"Wh-?" he cut himself off when he couldn't even get that out without some trouble.

"Don't worry yourself, we're almost there."

The wounds inside him burned as the guard finally finished. He gritted his teeth on the rag as the man pulled out, bringing more along wounds further down and pulling out fast. He pulled up the jeans and fastened them, not bothering with making sure they were straight or anything.

"It won't matter if you say anything; you're the means to the end. It doesn't matter the condition you're in." He pulled the gag out and undid the cuffs before hitting him in the stomach, forcing him to his knees.

He didn't get back up even after the door was closed again. He put all of his efforts into remaining separated, but pain flared when he tried to sit on the ground. You've gone through the Academy, the council, hell the Doctor a few times and this gets you. He lay on his side, closing his eyes to fight off all the little thoughts that his brain was going through.

Lucy is dead. I got that. You don't know who's behind this. Also got that. You're expendable. Or easily replaceable if he ever found the Doctor. The Doctor would never help him. Are you sure? The Doctor would rather die. He's shown that rather easily. They also underestimate you. I'm fairly sure the guns, sedatives and the locked room prove they don't.

Complete darkness was not a wonderful thing to wake up too. In fact, it terrified him more than he will ever show. His hands, now freed, checked over himself, trying to find anything. Laces were taken, there was no metal and pockets and hidden items had been taken. He moved his upper body to sit up and felt something moving around his neck. He felt leather and the clasp and tried to take it off. An involuntary yelp came out when the collar shocked him. He felt around again and received a shock by the clasp. 'Well, no use trying for that, is there?'

He moved back against the wall and drew his legs up, shuddering a couple of times.

He tried the nose thing for a couple of minutes before punching his kidneys. The gag was tighten twice, the second time after he tried fighting. He strained at the handcuffs, but heard the click of a bottle being opened. 'What the hell?'

He wasn't given much time as his jeans were dropped and he was entered without a second thought. 'Not to me. This does not happen to me!'

He pulled himself out, noticing with a grimace that he had started crying during the reliving. Damn it, stop that.

He felt a small push in the back of his head. His shields were low enough that someone else could feel him. Shit, they were low enough for a front row seat.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

What are you sorry about Doctor? Wasn't your fault.

The next thought was interrupt as two sets of footsteps came down the hall. He forced his shields back up and wiped all traces off of his faces. He dug up reserves of anger and pushed the thoughts to the furthest corner of his mind. Don't show weakness. They're not getting to me. He forced himself up the wall and stood to face the door.

Thank you for reading. Please review.