The following morning the Doctor groggily awoke to the tolling of a bell. His brow knotted as awareness slowly crept back into his mind. He was sure that that sound meant something, but he could not remember what. It grew slightly louder, and he could hear footsteps approaching.
"Come on, get up!" The Master's voice invaded the darkness of his sleepy mind. The Doctor's eyes shot open to take in the bright morning light as he remembered what that sound was. In his 'training' the previous day the Master had taught him, like a dog, that he must wake up and come out of his tent whenever the Master called with his hand bell. The consequence of disobedience to this command had been fully and painfully explained to him by the repeated use of the Master's laser device, and the Doctor had no intention of feeling such retribution again. Not for something as stupid as this.
He moved quickly to respond and save himself from the Master's wrath when he discovered, or perhaps re-discovered, that he could not. As he pushed himself off of the back wall the chains around his wrists and ankles caught, and he ended up only tossing himself straight onto the ground, smacking his face on the hard floor as he did. A thousand needles seemed to pierce his aching limbs as blood rushed back into his fingers and toes, but they were the least of the Doctor's worries. Grunting with effort, he struggled against his bonds to make his way out of the tent and appease the Master's demands – if for nothing other than to make that horrible ringing stop – but his efforts were in vain.
Just as he felt sure that the Master was about to put down his bell and take up his screwdriver, the door to the tent opened and the Scottish guard Charlie leaned in, grabbed the bound man, and dragged him out. The Doctor nodded his thanks as the man saved him from what would have been a pointless punishment.
"Ah, there you are." The Master said, turning to him. "That took long enough." If he noticed the way Charlie had dragged him out, he did not seem to care. "Oh, I forgot, you're a bit tied up at the moment, aren't you?" He laughed, once again spinning his screwdriver playfully in his hands. "Bring him over here." The Master ordered and he slipped the device back into his pocket.
Charlie and one of the other guards obeyed, and the Doctor was soon kneeling at the Master's feet once more. His head sagged pitifully against his chest. His wounds had healed a bit overnight but they left him with little energy to spare and his poor rations did nothing to assist his worn out body. He shifted uncomfortably in his chains once more as the Master looked down on him with a dark smile.
"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor…" The Master shook his head as he squatted down in front of the other Time Lord, coming down to his level to look his face over. He took hold of the purple tie that still hung securely around his captive's neck and played with it as he spoke. "Look what's become of you…" He muttered. "Chained up like the killer you are." He whispered, smiling at the nerve he had hit in the Doctor's broken hearts.
The Doctor's eyes rose up to lock onto those of his captor at the accusing words, but he remained silent. The unchangeable knowledge of what he had done flooded back into the Doctor's mind, along with the Master's words to him. 'All of those people – those friends of yours. What would they think of you if they saw what you really are? A traitor. A murderer…A monster.' He could still feel the Master's blade pierce him with each word. The worst part was not the Master's accusations, but that the Doctor had no defense against them. He told himself that he had done what was right – that the Time Lords had to be stopped, and that they were themselves the monsters. But each time he questioned himself a bit more.
"Well," The Master's voice brought his mind back to the present, "Here's your last chance to repent." He said harshly. Standing to his feet, he dragged the Doctor's necktie with him, forcing the Doctor to lift his head and stretch his neck uncomfortably. The Master continued pulling until the Doctor was forced to sit up forward on his knees, his arms still pulled behind him and his body even more exposed that before. His balance wavered as his tired muscles attempted to support him and he fought to stay up, still trying to make sense of the Master's priest-like words.
Standing now and holding the Doctor in place with his left hand, the Master addressed his captive before the room. "I will remove your chains under one condition." He announced. A sinister gleam entered the Master's eyes, and his ominous smile grew.
The Doctor swallowed hard and thought that he would rather not know what the condition was. His restraints were painful and debilitating, and he wanted nothing more than to get them off, but his heart clenched in resistance at the Master's next words.
"Confess your crimes," The Master began, still looking the Doctor in the eye. "Repent, and pledge your allegiance… to me." He added threateningly. Then as Lord of All, the Master lowered his right fist before the Doctor and presented him with his Gallifreyan signet ring. "Kiss it." He ordered, that his new servant might obey and somehow be forgiven his sins.
Sill chained and upon his knees, the Doctor's breath caught at the very suggestion. His eyes locked onto the ring before him. To obey would be simple. To simply lean forward and press his lips to the metal band and be released from his chains at last. But the Doctor knew that it was far more than that. To obey would be to seal his submission to the Master's tyrannical rule and testify his own defeat; it would be to recant all he had ever fought and died for, to betray all that was good and right in the world. It would be to forsake the earth and the rest of the universe, and to become a Time Lord of old once more by joining the Master in his terrible war campaign.
For a long moment the Doctor could do nothing but kneel frozen in place, staring the signet ring down. Upon it were the symbols of Gallifrey – the most glorious empire the world had ever or would ever know; the symbols of his home. They spoke of strength and power and wisdom and might. They spoke of his childhood and the Master's own. They spoke of a time when the two Time Lords had not been so different after all. But in the Doctor's eyes, they spoke something more. They spoke of pride and destruction and the disregard of all other life. They spoke of the Time War in all of its terror and unstoppable wrath. They spoke of the Time Lord's great fall; not at the hands of the Doctor or the Dalek, but at the hands of themselves. He held no hatred for the Time Lords, only remorse; remorse that they – the greatest race in history – had fallen so far and become no better than the Dalek after all.
The longer he sat there the more powerful his resolve became as he realized the true choice which he made. He would deny them again – his people, and all of their crimes. Like he had before, so long ago, he would stand up alone and fight. For the sake of all creation, and for the sake of the Time Lords themselves, he would stop this war no matter the cost. In the end, the Doctor's choice was simple. What were chains compared to what he had already done? To give in now would relieve him of no guilt or shame, but only heap more upon his head. It would take far more than chains to stop him now.
Having made his decision, the Doctor did nothing to spite the Master or dishonor the symbol of Gallifrey. He did not spit at the ring or its bearer, although he could have. He did not yell or even raise his voice. He simply lowered his head as best he could around his necktie and whispered, "No."
The Master's smile did not waiver at his words but grew. He knew which path the Doctor would choose. He knew that he would place honor above power, and mercy above strength. He would place the human race above his own people, and their lives above his. And that was his weakness. "Fine." The Master told him in what might have been a growl as he pulled his ring away. He waited a tense moment and then forcefully backhanded the Doctor across the face, letting the ring smack into his captive's right eye. "If you will not take your place as a Time Lord, you will bow with the rest of the world at my feet!" The Master thundered, yanking the Doctor's tie forward and sending the uncomfortably bound man crashing to the ground in a heap, unable to catch himself.
The Doctor let out a sharp moan as his chest and face made hard contact with the floor just beside the Master's shoes and his sore arms tugged his feet out from under him, forcing them sick awkwardly up in the air above his back.
Bending down with a satisfied grin, the Master grabbed a handful of the Doctor's messy hair and lifted his face harshly from the ground, forcing his aching back to arch and stretching his torn abdominal muscles painfully.
"And so the Oncoming Storm was cast down. And the human race with him." He pronounced passionately through a wicked smile, as if adding to the biblical story he wrote for and of himself. He released the Doctor at last, dashing his head back down upon the hard floor, then straightened up and stepped over his defeated form, rubbing his hands together happily and walking away as if he would never need to deal with the Doctor again.
"Send him away." He added flippantly to his men as he approached Lucy at the other end of the room, who alone shared his smile. She took his hand and kissed his ring before taking his arm and walking with him out the door.
For a moment, the Doctor simply lay against the cold floor, his tired body still recovering from his fall, and the Master's words ringing in his head. But the Master could say whatever he wanted, it did not change anything. By the Doctor's reckoning, it was he that had emerged victorious; for his hope lived on, despite his chains.
The Master's guards obeyed him and picked the Doctor up again by his arms, moving him back into the small tent in the corner. Although Charlie was one of them, neither spoke a word. But as they helped him back into his shelter, the Doctor felt Charlie's hand quickly press something small and warm into his own. He did not know what it was, but he grasped it tightly and made a single small nod of recognition and thanks, which Charlie mirrored as he backed away and returned to his post.
As the Doctor was left alone again in his tent he moved the small gift around in his hands behind his back, trying to figure out what it was. As he realized what he had been given, he smiled for the first time that day: It was a small metal key. And if he had to guess, he would say that it fit perfectly into the locks that bound his wrists.
He would not try it now; it would be too dangerous, and he would not be able to re-chain himself once he escaped. He needed to plan and be careful. He did not relish another night locked in his uncomfortable kneeling position, but he only had one shot to make things right. He would wait until Tish came back that night and see if he could get a message from Jack. If all went well, then tomorrow they made their first attempt to fight back.