This fic is pure crack based on a simple concept that I cannot get out of my head. Fact: regeneration is the process that causes a Time Lord to regrow their entire body. Another fact: regrowing one's body would take a LOT of energy and nutrients. Hence, this monstrosity of a fanfic is born. Pure crackfic with the sole intent of getting more and more absurd as it goes on. In other words, the Master terrorizes a McDonald's. I don't own Doctor Who. I really hope you get as much laughter out of reading this fic as I got out of writing it. On with the fic! Allons-y!

The Master couldn't believe it actually worked. He'd escaped the Time War, he'd hidden away, he'd been found, and he'd gotten out in the Doctor's TARDIS, so he couldn't be followed! Oh, and he'd gotten shot. Maybe not good, but he was better now. He set the coordinates for 21st century Earth and took off.

'This'll show the Doctor!' he thought excitedly, and perhaps a little giddily. Maybe he should leave the revenge plots for until after the regeneration high wore off. Then again, the high did bring about a few possible extra-creative ways of killing a certain special someone that he would absolutely write down for later.

Stumbling out of the TARDIS, the Master suddenly realized that he was in desperate need of some other outfit. Professor Yana really had horrible fashion sense. He started off towards a typical department store and had just crossed the road when he felt his guts turn inside out.

"Ohoho! Someone wants a snack!" he said, poking his tummy (which, sadly, had little to no adorable pudginess to poke), before turning around, starting off for the nearest building that looked like a restaurant. A place called McDonald's, if the sign was to be believed.

He rushed into the restaurant, blowing past the line in seconds. "I need–" he took a cursory glance at the menu before going for the largest-looking thing he could find, "I need 25 Big Macs. NOW!"

The rather acne ridden human behind the counter shuffled uncomfortably. "Okay, then," he said, looking at the Master warily, "Where's the party?"

"Party?"

The human looked even more confused and slightly uncomfortable. "Please tell me you're not going to eat all this on your own."

"Yeah," the Master said, "Why is that a problem? I want the burgers, now give them to me."

"I think you'll die if you eat that much," the human said, leaning backwards a bit.

"Well, why do you think I need to eat so much in the first place?" the Master asked, leaning over the counter and grinning widely, causing the human to shuffle backwards several inches, "Being shot isn't exactly a walk in the park. I need a pick-me-up."

"Ummm… Okay, that'll be £119.75." By then, the counter guy's posture was quite stiff, and he was sweating quite a bit.

The Master didn't have time for human-y money-logic, so he did the only logical thing and jumped over the counter, eating everything he could get his hands on.

The greasy human from the counter ran for cover while several others chased him, yelling several variations of the phrase "You aren't supposed to be in here," but he was too fast. He raced around the kitchen, shoving things in his mouth as he went. Within the space of 30 seconds, he had consumed two burgers, a large handful of fries, a pack of chicken nuggets, various condiment packets, a coffee of some sort, and three paper napkins.

One person finally got a hold on the Master's arm, so he did the natural thing and bit them, enjoying the scream that followed for a moment before bolting to the other end of the kitchen again, shoving absolutely everything he could grab into his mouth and swallowing as quickly as possible. He thought he felt a box go down, but was sure his system could process it.

He vaulted over the counter, causing the crowd of curious (and probably deeply uncomfortable) humans that had gathered around it to scatter. A sharp pain shot up his shin as he failed to clear a table standing between him and the soda dispenser, but in his rush to get there, he couldn't bring himself to care. The regeneration energy would take care of it.

The Master careened into the soda dispenser, nestling his upper body in the place where people put the cups. He writhed in annoyance as his shoulder pressed down on something and suddenly his shirt was soaked in something sticky and cold. He placed his mouth on one of the nozzles and pressed the lever. He regretted it as his mouth was flooded with a disgusting mix of caffeine, artificial sweeteners, and food dyes. All in all, it tasted like the colour green.

As he moved for the next nozzle, the green tasting liquid still running down his cheek, a hand wrapped around the Master's arm, trying to get him away from the drinks. Immediately, he elbowed whoever it was as hard as he could before wiggling his way out of the drink dispenser.

Most of the people who weren't trying to get away from the Master had crowded around him. A few of them had phones out and were almost certainly calling the police. This left the kitchen open. He dashed across the room, jumping over the counter and knocking over a cash register in the process, leaving the small crowd he had amassed behind.

With the police on their way, speed was essential. The Master began to gather as much food as he could, removing his vest as a makeshift bag before realizing that his shirt was tucked in and had incredibly puffy sleeves. That seemed a much more secure way to transport food than a vest. He began to stuff burgers and various other yummy looking snacks down his shirt. The vest was tossed in the face of a staff member.

Almost as soon as his shirt was full, he heard the telltale sound of a siren. It was unmistakable. He took one last quick look around the kitchen, grabbing a few tasty looking morsels before making a strategic exit through the drive thru window and bolting.

After his daring escape from the McDonald's (and the police), the Master kept running, ignoring the strange looks he was getting, until he made it back to the Doctor's TARDIS. There, he claimed his prize, aggressively biting into a burger, hungry enough not to care that it tasted like low quality meat that had been sitting in someone's armpit.