They had brought him back. The Master looked into the mirror, running his fingers along his jaw line. His body was younger, like he had just hit his late thirties. Burnt blonde hair and bright blue eyes defied existence. He shouldn't be here. Closing his eyes, the Time Lord rested his mind on the continuing beat of the drums. It was there: it was always there. Before his last confrontation with the Doctor, the drums were hardly there at all. From his youth, the drums tapped gently behind imaginary glass and brick, but now…
Turning his head slightly, the Master glanced at the two guards watching him. "Don't you ever get bored?" he snapped. Of course, they wouldn't answer him. It had been three days since that consciousness had been thrust back into reality, and he hadn't had a true moment alone. Even when bathing, there was someone there with him. Yes, a back may have been turned, but it was no life. The Council wasn't completely filled with fools: they knew that the Master would try to escape as soon as they relaxed their guard. And he would, in all honesty.
Sighing heavily, the Master walked back to the bed that had been prepared for him. His 'uniform' was also placed there. Grey and black, the uniform of a traitor brought back to fight. A flash of fire, and the Time Lord relented. For the time being he would have to do his duty. Degraded as ever, the man was watched as he stripped, putting the uniform on as quickly as possible. He knew better to complain so easily. If he stayed as calm as he possibly could, even act like he was going to be a valuable ally, then he might be able to get out of that mess. But the drums! With every vicious thought, every irritation, every tiny little thing that displeased him, the drums pounded louder and louder, screeching at him. Calling to war… but not the Master. Why should he fight? The Council never wanted him before!
"I'm ready," he then announced bitterly, the guards simply nodding as they waited for him to walk in front of them. Everyone knew that the Master was both a danger and a traitor. It was just a select few that knew of his continued existence.
There was a brief march before the Master was brought back to the Council chambers. Ironically, he felt like he had more power and control when he was shackled for their pleasure. Now, fully clothed and bondage free, the Master took a deep breath. His plans in the past had been large, but this was horrific. And there was every chance that he wouldn't survive this little exploit.
A black Time Lord stood, eyeing the Master with contempt. "Time Lord."
"I am the Master," came the swift reply. "The new President, I presume?"
The Council member glanced sideways to his peers. "No," he answered, pausing for a moment to straighten his posture. "The Lady President… is busy."
"So, you bring me back from the dead and I'm not even worth an audience?" The Master scoffed. "Wonderful."
"She doesn't know that you're here." Another voice, the voice of a white-haired Time Lord, echoed along the chamber. "Against the wishes of a number of the Council, I may add!"
"Enough, Rasmarkus. This is no time for debate. The vote ruled in favour, and that is enough." The black Time Lord, easily half of Rasmarkus' age, had no qualms in shooting his elder down. He was the one that was going to represent the Council, and no one would ruin this for him. "So be it, 'Master'. You will not reveal yourself to anyone. You will stay silent when you are around others, and will signal to them that you are mute so they cannot ask you questions. You will do as the Council commands."
The Master's eyes narrowed. This didn't sound like an ordinary Council meeting. Usually, the Time Lords would end up bickering about inconsequential details before almost losing everything. Of course, one of the bigger details was that the Lady President had absolutely no idea about his own resurrection. So, was this some kind of coup? Some members had obviously been against the idea of reanimating specific minds and bodies, but this was huge. It wasn't like they had decided to bring back Rassilon himself or Omega. They had brought back one of their most deadly enemies, and not even consulted the President first!
Smoothing out his grey uniform, the Master gave the smallest of vicious smiles. "Where is the Doctor? Where is that pathetic little saviour of yours?"
"He has been summoned. The Doctor is of no concern to you, Master. You are here to help the ground forces." The standing Time Lord nodded to another Councillor further down the chamber. That particular Time Lord stood, swallowing nervously. A fairly new member of the Time Lord High Council, he had heard and experienced a few of the Master's past 'adventures' and so feared the maniac. The Master never took his eyes from him. "Praxthan, do it." The Time Lord swallowed again, approaching the Master. Putting a hand in his robes, he then pulled out a sonic screwdriver.
A few moments passed before the Master became impatient. "Is that for me, or is this some kind of game?"
"Give it to him." The original Time Lord sounded impatient at the new Council member as his voice boomed. In obedience, Praxthan gave the Master the screwdriver before scurrying off back to his seat. He had never looked at the Master in the eye once. "It is a tool that you understand well, yes? Well. Trust me with this, Master. You decide to escape the planet or betray us, and you will be destroyed. There is too much at stake for Gallifrey. Here, you will create weapons for us under guard."
"Will I now?"
"Yes, you will." Confidence dripped from the Time Lord, like the Master were merely a rebellious teenager. "And eventually, you will thank us for the opportunity that we gave you, and beg for our forgiveness." With that, the man turned and left the chamber. Without a word, the rest of the Council walked after him, too. The Master still had no idea who he was.
A cough, and the guards signalled that the Master was now to return to his cell for further instruction. Saying nothing, he just did as he was told. The last words that the Time Lord had said to him echoed too readily alongside the drums for him to think of anything else. Creating weapons – and supposedly repairing them too – during the course of the war seemed safe enough, especially to a genius such as himself. However, the Master had learned from past experience never to trust the Council. What would happen when they didn't need him any more? He would need to think of a plan… and quickly.
A/N: Gawd, I had no idea I'd left everything for so long... but, as I promised, I'm carrying on with my writing! Is anyone starting to feel sorry for the Master? :P This is just a scene-setting chapter. More action to come soon! Reviews? Cheers ;)