This is a short story which I wrote as my own small tribute to the actor Anthony Ainley who died last week. His portrayal of the Master was a great inspiration to many of us here. This is my second story to feature the Anthony Ainley version of the Master. At the time of writing this my other Master story (Calculated Evil) still awaits completion. That one is a light comedic piece which doesn't do full justice to the way in which I view the character. This new story is much darker and I hope that it serves the purpose for which I have written it. Please read and review.

I do not own the character of the Master. I merely take great pleasure in writing about his evil activities.

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ALL FOR ONE

They had been through so much together in this tiny underground cell. In the three weeks since their dramatic capture, up on the surface, the silent bond between them had grown steadily stronger by the day. In the beginning Wilde had not been sure what to make of his fellow captive. Masters had seemed strangely aloof and resolutely uncommunicative for the first week or so. It was almost as though he had regarded his incarceration in this stinking pit to be a minor inconvenience. Or perhaps it had just been a shock to his system both physically and mentally? Wilde still knew almost nothing of his new friend's background but he could tell from the quality of his clothing and the manner of his speech that Masters was most likely a very wealthy man. Probably a man of great influence and power too. Consequently he must be totally out of his depth in this situation.

Wilde remembered nothing about being placed in the pit. The last thing that he remembered happening before finding himself in here was being shot in the leg - presumably by some kind of stun gun. Whatever the weapon was it had left no wound. Masters had had a very similar tale to tell. Masters had been the first to regain consciousness and Wilde had awoken on the bare earth floor to find the black-clad, sinisterly bearded figure of the smaller man kneeling over him checking his body for wounds. With an accompanying smile he had reached out an elegantly gloved hand and helped him up to his feet.

After that Wilde's training had kicked in and his first instinct had been to try to locate an exit. Groggily he had stumbled over to the wall desperately feeling the smooth surface for some kind of weakness. For some kind of hope. There was nothing.

"I'm afraid that you're wasting your time. Our captors have been most thorough."

Had there been a hint of admiration in the bearded man's voice? Or perhaps it was wry amusement? Wilde had turned around and scowled but then his ankle had given way and he had found himself back on the floor once more.

"I would rest that ankle if I were you. You must've taken quite a jolt when we… ah, dropped in. I believe that's the most apt description. Take a look around you while you're down there. And look above you too. Up there lies the only solution to our predicament."

Wilde looked up and realised with a sinking heart that escape was close to impossible. They were in a deep pit. A very deep pit. A pit that was thirty metres deep and shaped like the inside of a cone. The single curved wall was as smooth as marble and there was clearly no prospect of climbing it. Even if a climb had been possible the spiked grill which covered the top of the pit would tear them to shreds if they ever reached the top. The strange man was right. Their captors had indeed been most thorough.

"I think we're going to be spending a considerable amount of time together. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Masters."

That had been pretty much the last conversation that they had shared during the first week. Later that evening Masters, seemingly lost in thought, had retreated into himself. All of Wilde's subsequent attempts to start any kind of meaningful conversation had been met with either curt and dismissive single word answers or complete silence. Wilde was starting to feel like the forgotten Christmas pet that was enthusiastically toyed with on Christmas morning but abandoned and unwanted by the middle of Boxing Day.

The hours of captivity were broken up only by feeding time. Every now and then their captors would lower down a bucket on the end of a rope. The bucket always contained water and a kind of stale bread. At first, Masters and Wilde had both eaten hungrily in order to preserve their strength but it was uninspiring fare and over the last week Masters had stopped eating the bread altogether and was now existing solely on the water. Wilde knew how dangerous this was and had repeatedly urged Masters to eat some of the bread but he was always met with the same kind of reply.

"Don't worry about me, Wilde. I'll survive. It's more important that you keep up your strength and eat for both of us. Your strength is our only chance of getting out of here."

The big muscular soldier had felt guilty at eating his fellow prisoner's share of the food but, knowing that otherwise it would only go to waste, he did so. He too was starting to weaken now though. Food deliveries had become less and less frequent and their time would soon run out. Masters surely could not last more than a couple more days yet Wilde felt sure that his friend had some kind of escape plan in mind. Well, if so then he really ought to share it before it was too late for both of them.

Tomorrow he would discuss it with him. Talk some sense into him. But now it was time to sleep.

The Master was weakening rapidly. Even a Time Lord frame can not stand this level of physical deprivation for long and the Master's body was not even truly that of a Time Lord now. Perhaps he could survive one more day like this? Two more days at the most. It really was not worth the risk though. No, he would have to carry out his plan tonight before it was too late for him.

He stared across the room to where Wilde was sleeping on his bench under one of the flea infested blankets that they'd been provided with. After observing his companion for a moment the Master nodded to himself. This would be his best chance. Weakly and slowly he hauled himself up to his feet. It was too much for him. He had not stood up for over three days. His legs could not support him any longer. No matter. He did not need legs for this. Summoning his last reserves of energy the Master crawled painfully across the dirty ground towards Wilde's slumbering form.

Towards the Master's next new body.