Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who
Modern Crusaders
Chapter 3
"I see the blood all over your hands
Does it make you feel more like a man?
Was it all just a part of your plan?
The pistol's shakin' in my hands
And all I hear is the sound…"
Always- Saliva
Purr pussycat you have so many lives to live
Claws out dig deep and scratch away the skin
You know you own the night so go howl under the full moon
These streets are filled with killers and comic book goons
This is your life, flashing before your eyes
All the riddles and rhymes, echo in your mind
It looks as though the joke is on you, as your blood runs cold and the plot Thickens, inside the mind of a killer, this could all be yours…
Silent Film- Dog Fashion Disco
The Master hated humans.
He hated their cars, and their books, and their primitive architecture. He hated their economy, their money, and their politicians. He hated the way they slept so much. He hated the way they lived so little. He hated the way they were all hypocrites, and the way they looked down on anyone who did not fit their own image. He remembered that when he was a child, in those long days at the academy, he had had to learn all the names of all the known planets in the universe. With this all the planets were placed under many different categories, based on atmosphere and inhabitants and so many other things, but Earth's description had always been a contradictory one, and he found he would never forget it.
Planet: Earth.
Species: Human.
Inhabitants: Peaceful- marked with the note "proceed with caution."
He had never understood why anyone would have to be cautious around beings that were marked as 'peaceful.'
Well, now he knew.
The day before, he had found himself thrown off the bus rather than allowed to pay the full fair for his trip. Upon entering a shop where he could buy some clothes, he was also thrown out. He was then beaten bloody by police men after threatening to blow up the shop (which he still had half the intention of doing, if only to prove a point) and only just managed to escape them, his Time Lord legs carrying him faster than they could follow.
All because he smelled.
Rassilon help the poor humans who ever landed on the planet Terserus. They'd die of culture shock!
After much cursing and thievery, he had finally managed to put himself up at a cheap hotel, where he found he could at least take a bath. The prospect of clean clothes was still out of reach, though, and he yearned for the good old days when it would have taken him mere minutes to fashion himself a donation of disguise. These days, though, he had to work hard at things.
Of course he was always one to learn the hard way, and it had quite shocked him to discover that his nearly fool-proof "I am the Master, and you will obey me." Phrase had lost its touch, as he had not managed to hypnotize a single person into giving him their clothes; instead receiving a few good slaps from several women (and one man) with more than one person calling him a 'bloody wanker.'
This revelation had only resulted in more encounters with the police, and after finally loosing his new-found composure; he had attempted to strangle half of them to death.
Nevertheless, he had managed to out-run them, but not without receiving several bruises first.
And so it was for this reason that he lay wrapped up in musty hotel sheets, staring out at the rain, cursing the humans. The lamp beside him flickered, and he could hear spiders scuttling across the ceiling. From the bathroom he could smell the stench of his clothes, which were now soaking in their own grime. Any attempts to scrub them clean had failed, resulting in nothing more than a wasted bar of soap and a murky tub.
At least he himself had managed to freshen up, but it left him naked in his white sheets. He couldn't go wandering around London in nothing but his skin.
Sighing, he slid off of the bed, quite vacant of any dignity (but who was watching?) and crawled to the door.
Unlocking it with some effort on account of the rust, he stepped out into the cold night, and wrapped his sheet around him tightly. Exhaling to test whether he could see his breath, which he could, he looked around, as if hoping to see some solution to his rather pathetic predicament.
But the lot was empty, save for the pattering of the now receding rain, and the sounds of a stray cat foraging through the large dumpster at the side of the building. Eyeing it for a while, he slipped back into his room, and emerged a few seconds later with what was left of his dinner; the standard fish and chips.
The pavement was cold and wet against his bare feet as he made his way over to the creature, and he knelt down with some caution, fearful of scaring it away.
"Here, puss puss puss puss…" he muttered quietly to the cat.
It ignored him.
He grinned at it, teeth shining in the dim light. "C'mon, look what I have, eh?" He held up a piece of the fish, and pressed it to his nose. "Good, yes?"
The cat eyed him for a minute, but then went back to its rummaging.
The Master let out a low growl. "C'mon, you great, mangy, stupid little piece of-"
She hissed at him.
The Master smiled. "Oh, you wanna fight, do ya?" He chuckled, throwing the fish back into the basket. "Okay then, come here! Let me change that fur of yours into a nice new hat."
Clearly slightly telepathic, it growled at him, swatting at the air despite being a good three feet away from him. Arching it's back, it let out another, this time louder, hiss; walking sideways as to avoid loosing sight of him. The Master hissed back, displaying teeth just a bit too sharp to pass a human dental check-up… But then, did Time Lords not share ninety-eight percent of their DNA with vampires? Had he not spent days on a planet where he himself slowly turned savage, and yet was still able to crawl back to his sanity? Of course he could be granted some long lasting side effects.
The Cat finally turned tail and ran, still letting out a terrified growl as its paws hit the pavement. Cursing, The Master threw the basket of food into the dumpster. Let it dig it out of the trash, then!
After a minute he calmed down, and wrapped his sheet around him again, staring up at the sky. Gallifrey's star was no where to be seen.
Good.
He could still see the flames; still hear the screams of the Time Lords as they died slowly, one by one, his own death quickly approaching. Rassilon, curse him, had personally dragged The Master to the great hall, where he was displayed to the Time Lords weak and dying, like a rat in a cage.
"This is your destroyer!" Rassilon had cried out. "With what anger you may harbor, in these final hours, my brothers and sisters! My sons, and my daughters, May it be directed at him, not I!"
The Time Lords all shouted, their fists punching the air, their words muffled and meaningless against one another. He had laid there, fading and broken, but with a smile on his face. It wasn't his fault the Time Lords were dying, oh no. Even Rassilon knew, it was The Doctor's. And he was so proud of him for it.
"You all righ' there, mate?"
Slightly startled, he turned. There stood a small, pale woman, her crimson hair falling around her face in dark curls. Leaning against one of the railing posts to light up a cigarette, she smiled at him. A large puff of smoke escaped her lips, followed by a raspy cough.
The Master eyed her up and down, taking it all in. She was dressed in a whore's finest, with a skirt much too short for her scarred legs. Glitter clung to her pink blouse, lined with a tight fitted jean jacket. Her emerald eyes were laced with drugs, her voice even more so, as she continued to speak to him.
"Heard a commotion over 'ere, so I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about." She sniffed. "Bloody cats..."
A pause.
"You like cats…?" Her voice rang loud with mock interest.
The Master considered, staring at her with equal boredom. "It's not really liking them, so much as it is a… duty, I guess."
"Duty?" She laughed at him, to receive a small glare in return. "What are you, Cat-man?" Her giggle continued to pierce his ears, until finally she broke into a coughing fit.
He looked back at the sky. "Someone like you wouldn't understand."
"Try me." She grinned.
He looked at her, and for the first time noticed that her eye was bruised black. She must have noticed his gaze, because her smile soon fell.
"Who did that to you?" There was no concern in his voice, merely bored conversation, if anything.
"My boyfriend, didn't he?" The smile returned to her face, full of dishonest amusement. She rocked back and forth on her heels, curious as to what he would make of her tantalizingly blunt answer.
"You mean your customer?" He smirked at her, and her face rolled back with laughter.
"Well, aren't you one to make assumptions. I'm only out here because' I want to be." She took another drag of her cigarette.
"Need the money?"
Her expression finally turned serious, and she eyed him quite viciously. "Now don't you' go judging' me, all righ'? I've got a wee baby. Got to put food in his mouth somehow, don't I?"
"There's a word for that." He smiled. "It's called a job." He said his words slowly, as if it would be hard for her to understand them.
She threw her cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. "As if I haven't tried that. You have no pity, do ya?"
He snorted. "No, love. None at all. Where I come from, our women wouldn't be caught dead in the filth you're wearing… nor the circumstances, for that matter." He looked her over again. "Where I come from we treat our women with respect, because they've earned it. Unlike you lot, you who prance around, whoring yourself out to the highest bidder, because you've somehow convinced yourself that you must. I'd sooner abandon that trash you call your child. Where I come from-"
"And where's that, Kensington?" She interrupted.
He let out a small laugh. "Yeah, something like that…"
She sighed. "You're not right to judge me, mate. I do what I have to for the people I love. Even you should be able to understand that."
He shook his head. "Don't have anyone like that."
She smirked. "Aw, come now, don't be a hard ass. There must be someone."
"Nope." He looked at her with honest eyes. "Not a soul."
She stared at him, then folded her arms across her chest, expression devious with interest. "You must be lonely."
He shook his head. "Not at all."
There was a long silence, and finally she spoke up, as if noticing for the first time. "Why you' dressed like that…?"
He laughed, and then beamed at her, a cunning plan evident in his eyes. Smile widening, he pointed to the bruise on her face. "I don't suppose you'd like to get back at the bloke who did that to you…?"
The Doctor ran.
The Pistol was still in his hands, bathed in the woman's blood. Furiously, he had tried to save her; from performing CPR to screaming at her to wake up, none of it had worked.
And so instead he ran, chasing the man responsible for her death. Because it wasn't his fault, oh no, it was the thief's. He was the one at fault. He was the culprit, not The Doctor. And he would pay for it.
Not just minutes ago he had felt weak, unable to carry on, but now his blood was boiling with revenge, and he soon caught up with the man, his hands seizing the back of his clothes. With an infuriated growl he swung the man into the nearest wall, and though he fought back, The Doctor could not have been any stronger in his ambition to make him suffer.
He screamed at the man, forcing him to look him in the eye, whose own were filled with tear-stained terror. He begged, he pleaded, he squirmed and kicked and tried to wriggle his way out of The Doctor's grasp, but to no avail.
"Do you know what you've done?" The Doctor bellowed. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"
Seething, he pulled off the Man's mask, to reveal the face of a mere teenager, blonde locks falling greasily over his face. He cried out to The Doctor, tears streaming down his cheeks, his whole body shaking; but was cut short when The Doctor grabbed a fistful of his hair, and began slamming his face into the wall. Over, and over, and over; crimson globules stained the concrete.
It was not long before his anguished cries died down, and before the Doctor knew it, he was facing a blood-spattered corpse.
His initial thoughts were ones of triumph; for he had avenged the dead woman! But as he panted, his knees wobbling and teeth clenched; he slowly felt the regret sinking in. With it came the realization that he had truly, honestly, murdered a human. The blood was still warm on his hands, mixing with the blood of its predecessor. It stained the gun, which was cold against his skin, and he felt his whole body shaking in protest at what he had done.
He clenched his teeth.
No. He was not at fault. This one had it coming. He deserved it.
Right…?
He looked around, fearful of watchful eyes, but none greeted him. Somewhere, a rooster called, and he could almost see the first rays of daylight breaking through the rainclouds. Glancing up at the sky, he searched for any remaining stars, but was only met with a dark canvas of gray.
The blood had soaked the ground now, working its way onto his shoes, which he took off in a frenzy, carrying them with him as he fled the scene. This way he would not leave prints, but neither would they find evidence of who had been there.
He ran for miles, exhausted both mentally and physically, but he had to get away. He had to run and run and run, because he was a criminal, now, and they would find him. Wet tears streamed down his face, and he could feel the shame and fear quivering up his spine, as he fled past the early risers. They would find the bodies, soon, he knew, and he had to get away.
Doctor.
Donna's voice rang excruciatingly painful in his mind, quiet and unbelieving.
What have you done…?
"I didn't mean to!" He shouted, knocking over an old lady as he ran. His bare feet had become victim to several pieces of broken glass, and he could feel the blood leaving footprints behind in his wake. Damn it all.
Oh but you did. Echoed the other voice. You had it all planned, didn't you? You wanted it.
He shook his head furiously, screaming back at the voice in his head. "No. No. No. No. No no no no no no no NO!."
"NO!" The Master bolted upright, staring around frantically for whatever it was that had scared him. But there was nothing, and he soon came to his senses, unsurprised at the still snoring figure laying next to him. To any wandering eyes, this scene would entail an all too common scenario, but alas it was not the case. It had taken two bottles of cheap brandy, and a willing ear to listen to all her problems, but The Master had eventually convinced her that it was indeed in her best interests to steal all the possessions (including the clothes) of the man who had roughed her up the night before.
In all honesty the easiest thing to do would have been to bribe her to go buy him some new clothes; but then there was no guarantee that she would not simply run off with the money given, and on top of that he already knew that she had no fashion sense.
Slipping on his new boots, (which were two-sizes-too-big for him) he snatched up the man's wallet, in turn emptying the contents of his accomplices' purse, before slipping quietly out the door.
The air was still wet with rain, but at least the sun was shining, and he skipped (quite literally) on his way to the nearest bus stop.
After a while he finally found his destination, and took rest upon an old wooden bench. The air was still nauseatingly wet, and a large fog seemed to encircle the whole bus stop.
Time passed.
Now, the Master had always been a patient person, but even he had to admit that waiting for more than an hour was downright ridiculous. Just as he was about to kick something, he heard a distinct mewing from behind.
Spinning around, he came face to face with the cat from the night before. It was pitch-black; it's hair long and gleaming in the damp miasma. Though obviously feral, it sat with a dignity that only cats and Time Lords seemed to achieve in their posture, and in its eyes shown with a brilliant green intelligence.
He eyed it curiously. "Come back for another round?"
The cat licked its chops.
He smirked. "Well, I don't have any food for ya."
It stared at him.
"And you're not comin' with me!" He put his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone, turning away from the cat.
Suddenly he felt an object rubbing up against his legs, and looked down to see the cat smiling (could cats smile?) up at him.
"Don't you even try it." He warned.
It purred.
"I'm warning you. I know I smell like a cat lover but I assure you I could not be farther from my brethren pacifists."
It mewed.
"No." He held up his index fingers. "No. Don't even think about it, don't you dar-"
The cat jumped into his arms.
"Bollocks!" The Master cursed.
Author's Notes: More cats lol, please don't hate me. This chapter was a bit hard to write because I really wasn't sure whether to keep the Master's encounter with the girl, but in the end it had to stay as I felt things would just not be as easy for him to accomplish as they had been in his youth. I try to avoid bringing original characters into things but I don't think she'll be popping up again, so…
The planet "Terserus" was featured in the Doctor Who comic relief sketch "The Curse of the Fatal Death" Where the Doctor and the Master kept bribing an architect to set trap doors for both Time Lords and the people of that planet communicated by farting. Yes. I know. The Master got stuck in the sewers for like nine hundred years before finally going off to have some fun with the newly-regenerated-into-a-woman thirteenth Doctor.
I don't live in the UK so I had to look up posh areas around the greater London area, and according to Google, Kensington is one of them. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.