Habitat
Element n. 6. Habitat: An environment especially suited to or associated with an individual; he was in his element.
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The Master raised his head, staring into the middle distance, breathing deeply, then he glanced over at the half-breed glaring at him from the isolation booth and smiled gleefully before returning to the computer. I'm almost finished. You're too late, Doctor. As usual. Tracking the Doctor's progress to the Gate room by scent with one corner of his churning mind, he raced through adding the last few parameters to his program, locking the last one into place just as a familiar tousle-headed string bean burst through the side door.
"Stop! Whatever you're doing, just stop it!" the newcomer cried as he cast his horrified gaze around the room, seeing first his caged, helpless twin, then the owners of the mansion gaping stupidly at him from their observation seats, and finally, his old nemesis, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms while giving him the familiar superior smirk.
"Oh, right!" replied the Master. "Has that ever worked? 'Stop, just stop!'" he mimicked the Doctor's habitual cry. "Has anyone ever just dropped what they were doing just because you barge in and tell them to? I didn't think so." He sprang to his feet, the chair crashing away behind him, and started twitchily pacing around the Doctor. "And you can forget about your friends down below saving your ass, whoever they are; I've locked them out of the system and disabled their transporter." He stopped pacing suddenly a step away from the Doctor, whirling to put his face inches away. "Where's the TARDIS? I know you brought it here. Where is it?"
"What are you doing? What are you up to?" The Doctor ignored the Master's useless questions to ask his own, but then, realizing it, went on without an answer. "Whatever it is, you don't have to do it. Leave it. Leave this place. Come with me, let me help you. We could go traveling together, just you and me, and see the universe."
Mike, listening silently from the booth, was struck anew by his twin's desperate, fatal relationship with his old nemesis, seeing it for the first time as an outsider. Just the two of you? What about Rose and Davey? What about me? Will you EVER be able to let go of this obsession with being the only Time Lord in existence? Will you EVER see how horribly it's warped you? Will you EVER be free of it, and of him?
The Doctor was still pleading. "You don't have to conquer the universe. Just seeing it is enough. Come with me. Let me help you. I know we could figure it out together, whatever this madness is."
"Could you make it stop?" The Master was caught. "Can you make it finally stop? The drumming, Doctor, the incessant, unceasing drumming. There, in my head, my whole life, my entire life, on and on and on and on, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four!" His hand had crept up without his realizing it, and was pounding his head in time to the beats. "One-two-three-four! It never stops, it never stops!"
The Doctor shook his head, bewildered. "Your whole life you've heard them?"
"Since I was eight years old, taken as you were, as we all were, to the Untempered Schism, to gaze upon the rip in space and time." The Doctor nodded, remembering all too well the initiation ceremony all young Time Lords had to undergo before joining the Academy. "It started then, and it's never stopped. Never. Every moment of my entire life, it's been there in my head, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four! Can't you hear them? Can't you?"
"No, I can't. They're not real, Master!"
The Master stared at him for a long, long moment, conflicting emotions flooding through him. He wanted to believe the Doctor, but... the drums were always there. They were real, even if only inside himself. "Oh, you're bloody useless! This is pointless, Doctor!" He spun on his heel and stalked around the perimeter to the Gate, entering commands into the computers and throwing switches on consoles. The huge structure began to hum and glow with unearthly energy, ripples of green and blue plasma flashing through the interior.
"What are you doing? No, wait!" The Doctor whirled to Naismith, sitting silently by. "Why are you letting him do this? Stop him! You don't know what he's capable of!" He broke off as the billionaire simply gaped at him, then whirled back to the Master at the Gate. "What have you done to him? To all of them?" Every technician and guard in the room was simply standing by, waiting and watching.
"Don't ask me, I didn't do anything. Ask your half-human pet, it was his doing."
The Doctor looked at Mike, who simply shook his head. He wasn't about to launch into an explanation, though his insides were churning. What have I done? My little tweak couldn't have done that much damage. It was only supposed to tone things down the tiniest bit! He couldn't figure out how it had cowed Naismith and the others so completely – the Master must have been reinforcing it somehow. But there was no time to get into that now.
The Doctor let it go, and turned back to the Master. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Watch and learn, Doctor!" He walked into the center of the Gate and whirled, a huge grin splitting his face. The Doctor started to lunge at him, but he raised his hands, blue electric energy building and swirling around them, then it shot out and touched off a firestorm, reacting with the energy of the Gate.
Suddenly, everyone else in the room besides the two Time Lords and Mike began whimpering, shaking their heads as if to clear them, rubbing their temples and then clutching their heads and moaning. "My head! It's going to explode!" one of the guards cried. Even the talking heads on the banks of monitors at one side of the room, tuned to live news channels from around the world, began mimicking them – whatever the phenomenon was, it was global.
The Master began a countdown, "Five, four, three, two, one, NOW!" and another firestorm roiled through the gate. This time the Doctor could see and feel a wave of crackling energy streak out from the gate, through the room and beyond – from the feel of it, it went right around the world. The Master's form fizzed out, every molecule in his body gyrating wildly, blurring the sight of him to other's eyes – and then everyone else began the same molecular dance, even the ones on TV. The Doctor kept spinning around, trying to keep everyone in sight, sharing horrified, speechless stares with Mike behind the glass, the only one they could see who was unaffected.
Mike lunged to his feet, terrified. He put a hand to the glass, shouting "Donna? The family?"
The Doctor gasped, then shook his head, remember the shield he'd put in their minds before he left. Thank all the stars I thought of that. "They should be OK," he told his twin quickly, and Mike wilted in relief, leaning his forehead on the glass.
Just then, the fizzing began to fade, each person in the room and on the TV screens coming back into focus. The Doctor and Mike stared unbelieving from one to the next, as each one stood up straight, removing helmets, loosening tight clothing, and began laughing – the exact same maniacal laugh as was coming from the Gate.
For every person in the room – and every person on the face of the planet – had been turned into the Master.
"What have you done?" whispered the Doctor, beyond horror.
"What I was born to do! I've wiped out the entire, stinking, stupid human race!" came the Master's gleeful, insane reply.
"Welcome, Doctor! Welcome to my family! To me! Welcome to the Master Race!"
