Instead of working on a new chapter for Determination, I ended up publishing this new story that involves a newly regenerated Master beginning his journey of universial domination to only be delayed by saving a little boy so he can save his evil plans and peace and quiet. Isn't that so nice of him? A second chapter will definetly be published! Provided people even want me to continue. So, review if you like the story!

The Master, or "Harold Saxon", as he was currently known as, sat in his leather arm chair, reading a useless human book on etiquette. Did he really need to know how to use proper human etiquette? No, but it would make blending in with the apes a whole lot easier. They all had those fickle rules...

The Master was alone in his newly bought house. He had been for quite a while now; his "girlfriend" that he had just moved in with, Lucy, was spending time at some resort that her friend had won a trip to on a radio show for the next month or so and had told him that she was going to have her phone off the entire time she was there. She needed "girl time" and didn't want him to bother her unless it was important. This was all fine and dandy to the Master for it left plenty of time for him to plot and do devilish deeds. He was diving deep into the game of politics and though it was nothing like Gallifrey's, he was finding it incredibly easy. It'd only take him mere months before he had this disgusting planet under his control! He still needed to plan though, in case something went wrong. After all, there were factors like the pathetic U.N.I.T. and Torchwood that could meddle with him. Oh, and the Doctor; mustn't forget him. He had to make sure, for certain, that he couldn't get in his way. However, for the four days or so, he hadn't been able to plot or relax at all.

Every time the Master tried to relax, read a book, cook dinner, plan evil plans, or even sleep, it was disrupted by a small, puny, little voice that kept playing over the regular hum of the electrical devices in his house. From the radio, to the television, to even the phone, this "plea" was following him continuously. It played in his car from the radio; it played in house from the tele; it evened played in his pocket from cell phone! He received letters sent to his mail with the message and while he was at work, his secretary would come in and say that someone called and left him a message and it was always that same message. It didn't matter if he turned off the radio or tele or his phone or if he put every message sent to him in the damn shredder! It always came back.

It was beginning to became more aggravating that the steady beating of drums in his head, and nothing was more aggravating that the never ending noise of drums in one's head. It played even now: Tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap. It never ended. But he could stand that far more than this new noise following him! He had had the drums for centuries. Sure, it drove the Master insane, causing him to create chaos to ease the drumming… if only for a little while. But it was not nearly as annoying as the plea of a child that persisted on asking you and only you for help. It didn't specifically ask for "The Master" or "Harold Saxon"… but he knew it was for him.

"Uncle… Uncle, can you hear me?"

The Master looked up from his book and turned to gaze to the radio that sat so unassumingly on the end table. He had turned the radio off earlier. But, it had seemed to have switch itself on, and over the noise of the regular broadcast of the radio, there was that voice.

"Uncle…. Please help me…. Uncle? I'm scared…. Please help me…."

The Master gritted his teeth, enduring the plea that would continue even if he turned off the radio. He had tried to before and it only returned three times as louder within in a matter of minutes on his television and when he had turned that one off… well, it was just something he didn't want to experience again.

"Please please please… help me… I'm scared… they're everywhere at night… Uncle? ... Why won't you help me? Why? ... Am I bad boy? ... I don't want them to get me… please Uncle…"

Right after that, the message ended, his radio playing its regular broadcast of annoying human music, which led him to lean over and turn the radio off. He sat in the silence for a moment before closing his book that laid in his lap and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it him of all people this child was begging for help from? He was called a villain, evil, despicable by almost everyone who knew him. He was no hero, no savior. It was the Doctor, the person who made people better, who was such a person. If he heard this message, he would have been there to help this pathetic human child in a heartbeat (a Time Lord heartbeat of course).

But it wasn't the Doctor that the child was asking to help him. It was "Harold Saxon". It was the Master. And after nearly four days of this message stalking him (him, of all people!), he knew he had to help whoever this person was so they would leave him the hell alone. He had no other choice if he wanted a normal amount of peace and quiet. It was never truly quiet with the drums. Then again, he could just kill the kid… but he wasn't that evil. Please… a child? Where would the enjoyment be in that to begin with? They weren't old enough to make the drums in his head calm nor did it bring him any satisfaction when he killed them. No, they just made the drums louder and cause an odd pain his chest and he didn't need any of that. Besides, if this child was really that persistent, then he probably wouldn't stop bothering him, even if he did kill him. They only way to deal with a nuisance like this was to just help them and hope they left you the hell alone.

The Master looked at the clock on the wall. 2:34 A.M. … though he didn't sleep very much, that was a little late for Harold Saxon to be out and about looking for a missing child. He supposed he would wait until morning for the mail to come. A letter was sure to be in it. There had been for the past four days. He could see if it had a return address of some sort. He had put all the letters in the shredder, so he'd have to wait for now... might as well finish that rubbish etiquette book.