The Asylum was run by the CIA. Only full Time Lords were allowed beyond the front door, and, war criminal or not, the Doctor was a full Time Lord. He was admitted into the lower levels and left there. Security cameras dotted the ceiling, covering every angle, but no guards were actually around. The Asylum was built like a Tardis in terms of security, only things permitted to get in got in, and only things permitted to get out got out.
He trekked to the lower levels in an eerie silence. He knew the iron cells he passed were occupied, but the sound-screening was even more unnerving that if they'd let the cries of madness echo in the halls.
Finally, in the deepest, darkest part of the Asylum, where only one cell sat under a flickering light, he stopped. Each cell door had a small panel next to it. The Doctor put his hand on the panel to request access which was promptly given. The door opened to a two-part cell. His part was merely a small corner with a chair and table sat between the sections. No papers or cards could be passed through without approval from the CIA, but that was not this kind of visit.
"Have you seen this latest issue of Home and TARDIS?" the inmate scoffed. "I swear, it's more advertisements than articles these days."
"That's what happens when you make a magazine that's bigger on the inside and can hold an infinite number of little advertisements," the Doctor said, standing at the near-invisible barrier and shoving his hands in his pockets. "But that's not why I'm here."
"No, I didn't think so." He sat up from where he'd been lounging on the couch and slapped the magazine on the floor, sending dozens of adverts and coupons skittering across the floor. "You never come around just to say hello. In fact, you've never come around since they stabilized my biochemistry and locked me in here."
"And if I'm right, I'm the only visitor you've ever had anyway for the past ten or so years."
"You say that like you're expecting me to contradict you."
"Have you had any other visitors?"
He leaned back on the couch. "Like who, exactly? The CIA brings me magazines." He rolled his eyes. "When I remind them. But if you mean anyone from the outside, then hardly. The physicians want nothing more to do with me; Rassilon declared me an enemy of Gallifrey and locked me in here. He doesn't execute me simply because I helped you settle the planet into orbit."
"He said as much about me."
"I can imagine. And Romana? Well, I don't think we need any words to describe that. But, no. No one comes to see me, Doctor. Not the Lord President or any Time Lords, and no regular Gallifreyans. Not a one."
The Doctor folded his arms and leaned against a wall. "How do you get your news, then? Does the CIA bring you newspapers?"
"Like I said, only when I remind them."
"You have the latest Home and TARDIS, though."
"I'm only allowed one at a time. They don't want us getting creative."
"So you're not aware of the attack?"
He leaned forward, listening intently. "No? What attack? What have I missed?"
"My Consulate was attacked and torched earlier an Earth morning. I just spoke to Rassilon and he says he ordered it."
"Well, there you go."
"He says he was trying to diffuse tension, like slowly leaking water out of a dam before it bursts."
"And you're here to borrow my genius to figure out his real motives."
"Something like that."
"Oh, it just burns you to ask for my help, doesn't it, Doctor?"
"Will you help me?"
He leaned back again. "What's in it for me? After all, you're going after the Lord President. You can't do that without risking everything; this is all or nothing. If you lose, he'll rip your remaining regenerations right out of you."
"Never stopped you."
"Very true. But if you win, you shift the entire balance of power, especially when it comes to our relations with Sol III."
"What do you want?"
"You know what I want. I want out."
"I can't do that."
"Oh, but you're the Doctor. You've gotten out of tighter situations than a meager Asylum. You can do it, I know you can."
"Physically, I can do it. But I can't let you loose on Earth or even home on Gallifrey. You've caused far too much trouble. This Asylum is the only place to keep you."
He stomped his feet. "And what kind of existence is that? To live out my years reading back issues of Home and TARDIS?!" He kicked the magazine, sending more leaflets flying. He stood and walked to the barrier. "Even you would not be so cruel, Doctor."
"I can do nothing else. Unless there is something else, I guess I'll have to do this on my own."
He turned to leave, but then the inmate sighed. "There is something else."
"What?"
"Come here and I'll tell you."
Reluctantly, the Doctor returned to the barrier. "All right, what is it?"
"Don't speak English," the inmate hissed. "And don't speak Modern. You do still remember Old High, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good. I do know something about what happened. And in return for it, I ask only one thing."
"What is it?"
"Just say my name."
He was narcissistic, that was certain. The Doctor nodded and took a step back. "I'm sorry for your lot, Koschei."
"I'm flattered you remember those bygone days, Theta Sigma."
"Well, that's a name I've not heard in a couple centuries."
"Indeed. Now then, I mean it this time: Say my name."
The Doctor shifted uneasily. "Very well, Lord Master."
"Oh, you even used my title," the Master said in Old High Gallifreyan. "Things must be really desperate out there."
"What do you know?"
"About a year ago, Rassilon came to me. He asked what I thought of Sol III and its inhabitants. I told him. He then wanted to know what I thought about becoming a being of pure consciousness, like what he'd been planning toward the end of the War. And I told him."
"I knew he wouldn't give up so easily," the Doctor murmured.
"No, he wouldn't. Anyway, he told me he thought the humans would become a liability if he announced his plans. So he wanted to know what the best way would be to provoke the humans into either surrendering everything to us or destroying themselves."
"So you told him to attack the Consulate."
"I told him if the humans did something stupid to us, like for instance an attack on a diplomat, we could threaten war. Then either the humans would bow to our superiority or else enter into a war they are sure to lose. Then Rassilon got real quiet, then he muttered to himself for a minute. He told me if I told anyone of our meeting, he would publicly execute me. He hasn't been back since."
"But why? Why does he care about the humans if his plans for pure consciousness could destroy the universe?"
"I don't know. You tell me. And when you're about to hang, I was never part of this."
"You don't really expect that."
"No, I don't. You're clever enough to go up against Rassilon. Not as genius as me, of course, but good enough for Rassilon."
"Always the flatterer."
"Though my request still stands."
"I can't let you out."
"No, but when you're standing over Rassilon, before you kill him, don't. I want him."
"I will not kill him, nor will you."
"Kill him? No, I don't want to kill him. I want him to make the drums stop."
The Doctor softened. "You still hear them."
"They stabilized my body but Rassilon ordered them not to help my mind." The Master put his hands on the barrier. "Every day, every hour, they're going. No sleep, no rest, no relaxing on the couch sifting through leaflet advertisements." He closed his eyes and whispered, "The drums, the drums, they're always pounding."
The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and gave the Master a sympathetic look as he walked toward the door. He looked back as he put his hand on the inside panel. "I'll see what I can do about that."
"Yes, please, Doctor. Without the drums, without this noise, I can be good. I know I can."
The door opened and the Doctor stepped out, leaving the Master alone again in his prison.
The Tardis door opened just as the phone started ringing. He dashed up to the console and, with a dramatic spin, answered it.
"Hello, you've reached the Doctor. Please leave a message," he said jokingly.
"Doctor, this is Detective Brooks! I-"
"Oh, Detective, hello! How are you?"
"I thought this was an answering machine."
"Oh, it's just something I do when I want to listen and not engage in conversation. What's on your mind, Detective?"
"Something's happened to Kyle. I left to get a donut, and when I returned, he'd passed out and was blue. At the hospital, they said he'd overdosed. I swear, Doctor, I didn't order any more than what you prescribed. And all of my men deny giving him more. Security cameras show nothing."
"All right, what hospital is he in?"
Even as the detective told him, he was dematerializing. A moment later he stepped out of a storage closet and into a rather deserted hall. He stopped a nurse walking in the opposite direction.
"You, what's your name?"
"Rory, Rory Williams."
"Well, Rory Rory Williams, where can I find Detective Brooks? He came in with a young man suffering from a drug overdose."
"Oh, yes, that's where I'm heading now. If you'll come with me."
They hurried to the designated room. Detective Brooks was at Kyle's bedside. The young man looked terribly sick, but not on the point of death. While the nurse did his thing, the Doctor went to Kyle's side.
"Kyle, how are you? Feeling better?"
Kyle took a breath but only nodded weakly.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"I already asked him, Doctor; he doesn't remember," Detective Brooks said. "Did you find out anything?"
"Yes, and I don't like it."
"Well?"
"Sorry, we can't have prying ears."
The nurse, Rory, stopped for a split-second what he was doing, and continued, hurrying and flushing red. The Detective regarded the Doctor for a moment, then gestured to step out into the hall. Another nurse passed by before the men spoke.
"Rassilon ordered the hit on the Consulate," the Doctor hissed.
"The Lord President of Gallifrey?" Brooks asked.
"Unless you know of another, yes."
"Why?"
The Doctor pursed his lips, wondering how much to tell the detective. After a moment, he admitted the Master was right; this was all or nothing. "Toward the end of the Last Great Time War, Rassilon had found a way to shed flesh and become pure consciousness. Understand that the general mentality of Gallifreyans, and especially Time Lords, is that incarnation is insulting. We're so much better and we could be so much more if we didn't have these restrictive bodies. Rassilon figured out a way to do that."
"So? If you have the technology…"
"Detective, the War drove every Gallifreyan to madness of some sort. That's primarily why our relations were not so well-received as they might have been pre-War. Rassilon wanted so badly to change form that he would destroy the universe to do it. I was lucky enough to escape the War and recover mentally, even a bit. Everyone else is slow to come around, as you've no doubt seen. Detective, we're an entire culture of PTSD victims. But Rassilon…he's gone far beyond that. He knows what he wants and will destroy everything to get it."
"How does attacking the Consulate help him?"
The Doctor was briefly surprised at the detective, seeming to brush off the whole revelation. Nevertheless, he replied, "I don't know, and it's no coincidence that he ordered my Consulate the one to be attacked."
"What are you going to do?"
"Go back there, see if I can dig something up."
"Go back…to the Consulate?"
"Yes. I don't know why, but I think something might be waiting for me there."
"You summoned us, Lord President?" the CIA agent said humbly.
"Yes," Rassilon mused. "Return to the Doctor's Consulate. We don't need him doing any more digging. If he returns, make sure you send a very clear warning about what will happen if he continues this…escapade."
"Of course, Lord President."