Author's Note: I love the way that I write the Master in this story. So many fanfic writers depict him slashy or just mindlessly sadistic and evil. However, I really did try to capture the essence of the Master in this. You'll see bits of classic Master mixed in with the new-style version. But always, always, always, there's a motivation.

I'm not sure how I did with the other voices.

But I think I got the Master just right!

(By the way, I might not get around to updating tomorrow. There's going to be some medical stuff going on with my great uncle, and it's probably going to get kind of hectic. We'll see if I get a chance.)

I'm going to take a brief moment to reply to some of my guest reviewers. If you aren't one of my guest reviewers, you can skip down and read the story, now.

Enjoy!

For the reviewer identified only as "Guest":

I've got no idea about Susan. She's not my invention - she's canon. In the first season of Doctor Who, the Doctor is an old-looking guy, who's traveling with his granddaughter, Susan. (In New Who, the Doctor brings this up, again, with Clara. He mentions the last time he went to the Rings of Akhaten was with his granddaughter.) I liked Susan. She was my favorite character until she left and the Doctor stopped being grumpy and annoying and started being cool.

I believe that the Time Lords reproduced using genetic manipulation, essentially. Something called "Looms".

There's probably a lot more about Looms that I don't know, but it doesn't come up in this story, so I wouldn't worry about it.

For the reviewer "Rebecca":

If you look on my profile page, you'll find a list explaining in what order you should read my stories. I don't know when I last updated it - so I'll do so after I update this chapter.

Hope this answers all questions!

Martha's World:

"So, one of yours, then," said the Master, crouching down by the withered, aged Doctor, chained to his wheelchair. The Master grinned, musing over the name. "Ria… Hiskaloph."

The Doctor didn't answer. Just looked away.

The Master could see the bitter pain in his eyes. The worry and fear digging through him.

"Ria Maria Hiskaloph," the Master repeated. He looked over at the underling who'd brought him news of Hiskaloph's rebellion — now lying dead on the floor. "Better send the Toclafane after her. She won't last long."

"Leave her alone," the Doctor said, very softly.

"Ooh, is that you begging?" the Master cried, nearly leaping with excitement. He spun the Doctor's wheelchair so it skittered across the floor. "Who would have thought I'd see the day! The Mighty, All Powerful Doctor. Reduced to begging. Who would have thought?" His grin widened. "Oh, that's right! Me!"

The wheelchair toppled.

But somehow remained upright.

The Doctor still said nothing. Just stared at the ground, being Mr. Grumpy-Pants again.

From the other end of the room, Francine Jones walked in. Her eyes glaring at the Master, murderous and biting.

The Master waved his hand at the dead body on the floor. "Clean up that rubbish, would you? It's making a mess of the décor."

Francine said nothing, just trudged over to the body, holding her breath so she didn't have to smell the burnt flesh from the hit of the Master's laser screwdriver, as she removed the corpse from the room.

"And as for your… Ria Hiskaloph," said the Master, turning back to the Doctor. "Once my little children are through with her, she'll be—"

The sound of a whining, moaning, bitterly upset crowd of Toclafane broke through the air, as the metal spheres drifted into the room. Bobbing up and down, sulking, their voices overlapping in a wave of complaining.

"Not fair!" they cried. "Not fair! Don't want to go back!"

The Master's cheer dropped, a bit. "Who said anything about sending you back?"

"Mean Lady," said one of the spheres.

"Mean Lady told us not to destroy," added another.

"Mean Lady told us not to kill," added a third. "Or she'd send us back."

The Master sighed. "And you didn't just… oh, I don't know… kill her?!"

"Mean Lady is invisible," said one of the spheres.

"Can't kill Mean Lady," said a third. "Tried. Didn't work."

The Master's eyes fixed squarely on the Doctor. As this all began to make sense. Invisible, was she? "Well, well," said the Master. "Seems your companion's been making her presence known. Martha — the would-be-Doctor. Trying to fix all my little children." He leaned down, in front of the wheelchair, so he could look straight into the Doctor's eyes. "You should know by now, Doctor. Can't fix everyone. Can't fix them — same way you can't fix me."

"I can help you," the Doctor said, his voice very quiet.

The Master groaned, kicked the wheelchair away from him so it slammed against the back wall. Turned to the Toclafane.

"Don't worry about the Mean Lady," the Master assured them. "I'll deal with her, soon enough."

This seemed to cheer the Toclafane up, immensely.

"Will you make her pretty?" asked one of the spheres. "Like you made us pretty?"

"Will you fly her away?" asked another.

The Master's cheer fell, once more. As he struggled to work out what they could possibly be going on about, now.

"Mean Lady's one of us," said the spheres.

"One of us!" chanted the others.

The Master stared at them all. Then turned to the Doctor, who seemed equally at a loss. No answers there, then.

The Master planted a smile on his face. "Tell you what, kids?" he said, clapping his hands. "How about, just to cheer you up, I give you a little assignment? Playtime!"

The Toclafane cheered.

"All you have to do," said the Master, "is find me Ria Hiskaloph. Kill everyone around her. But I want her alive." His eyes darting over to the Doctor. "It's time to teach my pet a lesson about defying his Master."

"Hurray!" shouted the Toclafane, zipping out of the room.

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak. Then stopped. Hesitated. "What… are they?" he whispered, his eyes drifting after the Toclafane.

"That depends," the Master challenged. "Who's the 'invisible girl'?"

The Doctor didn't answer.

"Well," said the Master, turning to head down to the bowels of the Valiant. Killing the freak might make him feel better. "You'll just have to keep guessing, then."

The UFC troops swarming Long Island had gone door to door, searching and dragging out any survivors. Toclafane, around them, were giggling, supervising, making sure no one disobeyed.

The New Yorkers had tried to fight back. Resist. They'd blown up every bridge leading to the island. Caved in the tunnels. Armed themselves, and attempted to push back the UFC forces from their homes.

But the UFC had won, in the end.

Dragging the survivors of the human race onto boats, heading for the mainland. Warning them not to resist, not to fight back.

"What's there to fight for?" one man said, staring at the bedraggled survivors, around him. The ruins of his home. "The world's dead, anyways. Saxon's won."

The man was shot.

"He's not Harold Saxon," said the UFCA that had shot him. "He's 'the Master'. That's what you call him. And you will obey your Master in all things."

The survivors on the boat huddled together. Trying not to make waves. Not to fight back. Just trying to survive. And the UFC troopers accompanying the boat all grinned, and retreated into their cabins.

Where they came face-to-face with a group of armed men and women, in UFC garb. All pointing guns at their heads.

"He's not our Master," said the leader of the group, stepping forward. There was an ugly scar down the side of her face, and her arm was in a sling. But she looked as fierce as any warrior they'd ever seen.

They all knew her. From the briefings they'd been given.

This was Ria Hiskaloph.

"Your mission's failed," Hiskaloph said. "This boat's not on the way to the labor camps. It's on its way to a refugee safe haven. You report us to Saxon, and he'll kill you on the spot for failing to eliminate me." She gestured at the people around her. "You join us… and you get to live."

One of the UFCA men raised up his rifle. "Eliminate you, and I get a promotion," he said, aiming at Hiskaloph.

But before he could shoot her, the gun was jerked from his hand by a gigantic monster, standing just behind him. A massive demon, its face in a snarl, its eyes cold and calculating.

The UFC agents turned. And discovered they were surrounded by demons and monsters, on all sides.

"Meet my allies," Hiskaloph told the UFC agents.

"That's the problem," said ADC Victor, slumping into his chair, on the command center of the Valiant. "Hiskaloph isn't killing our agents. She's using their fear of the Master against him. They know the Master will kill them if they fail. They'd rather side with her than take chances with his temper."

"The Toclafane haven't found her, yet?" asked one of the staff members.

"No," ADC Victor answered. "She's been keeping too well hidden. Too much on the move. The Toclafane can slice down a population, but — looks like they can't outthink her."

"Her main operation is diverting labor camp shipments," ADC Dexter cut in, studying a file. "Her own agents sneak onboard, posing either as staff or as passengers, then they hijack the boat or lorry and redirect it somewhere else."

The operations manager groaned. "Depleting the labor force. Holding up work on the rockets," he muttered. "The Master's going to be furious."

"He's already furious," said ADC Victor. "Hiskaloph's been uniting humanity under the slogan, 'He is not our Master!' And spreading the message that Martha Jones will save the world. The Master hates that." He put a small smile on his face. "But I think… I know how to get the Master to direct his rage at someone else, besides us."

Everyone looked at ADC Victor, hopefully.

"How?!" they cried.

"Easy," said ADC Victor. "We know Hiskaloph has a connection to the Doctor. And we know the Master's suspicious that the Doctor and Martha Jones have a plan. All we have to do is tell the Master… that the Doctor's behind everything Hiskaloph's doing. That way… the Doctor will get it in the neck. Not us."

"You know, when they said 'first class service onboard the Valiant', this wasn't what I had in mind," Jack mused, as Tish spoon fed him his typical meal of cold mashed swede.

Tish said nothing. Didn't even meet his eyes.

"Although, got to say," said Jack, "three days in a row with no one killing me. That's a real perk. Best running streak, so far." Then, in a much, much softer voice, "How bad is it?"

Tish looked up. Met Jack's eyes.

Jack knew, by now. When the Master wasn't going after Jack… it was only because he was focusing his destructive rage somewhere else.

"Bad," Tish whispered, back.

Okay. Not somewhere else. On someone else.

"The ADCs couldn't stop a rebellion down on Earth," said Tish. "They knew they'd get shot, if they reported it. So they blamed it on…"

She didn't need to go on.

"Can't rough him up too much," Jack said. More to reassure himself, than Tish. "Now that he's aged a hundred years."

"The Master knows exactly how far he can go," Tish muttered. "And he goes there."

She turned to leave, the mashed swede finished. UFC guards flanking her, prepared for anything.

"Hey, Tish!" shouted Jack, after her.

Tish glanced back, over her shoulder.

"See if you can't get the Master to take a few pot-shots at me, instead, huh?" said Jack, with a wink.

Tish didn't answer. Just turned, and went back to her life of servitude. Both Jack and she knew… when the Master was in one of these moods… they could try all they wanted. But, in the end, there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.