Before their eyes, a dark-haired Master wheeled an elderly figure in a brown pinstriped suit into a bedroom, locking the door behind him. The old man reminded Rory of patients who'd found out they had brain tumors or other incurable illnesses: all slumped and empty. This past Master whirred a device that looked a bit like the Doctor's Sonic Screwdriver, but a different model, and screams filled the room, as if piped in.
"Aren't you going to ask me what that is?" The Master asked with a smile.
"I can tell that it's Jack, Master," the old man said quietly, staring at his hands.
Rory was glad he and Amy couldn't actually see Jack's torment. One or both of them might have been sick.
"He's being eaten alive by a few score army ants at the moment. If I have him left like that it's going to take hours. What would you be willing to do for me to have the ants sprayed with insecticide, the Freak to be painlessly chloroformed, and me to not kill him in any way for the next three days?"
The man mumbled something. The Master bent towards him. "I can't he-ear you…"
"Anything, Master."
Rory realized who the old man was just before the Master raised his device and pointed it at him. The knowledge was like a dry bit of toast caught in his throat.
Instantly the Doctor entered a seizure of metamorphosis, flailing, kicking, crying incoherently, until the young, slender incarnation from the previous sequences collapsed onto the carpeted floor. His hair and face were streaked with sweat and what might have been tears.
"Very good, Doctor," the Master said gently, pocketing his screwdriver and taking his captive by the necktie. He steered him towards the bed. "Now take those clothes off and show me you're mine."
"Yes, Master." The tie was clearly choking him a little. He was too weak to move fast enough for comfort.
"Smile for the camera, too. This will be your little friend's entertainment during his vacation." He gave the Doctor one long, lascivious lick across the neck, chuckling at the Doctor's shudder.