ext_145634 (
sinister-charm.livejournal.com) wrote in
paradisalost2007-06-25 10:32 am
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Entry tags:
[THREAD] Not Quite As I Appear
Who: 'Fifth Doctor' (
sinister_charm) and Tenth Doctor (
not_from_mars)
What: Ten gives a tour of the castle to 'Five' - but little does Ten know, this is the Master in disguise...
When: Noon, June 25th
Where: Around the castle - eventually in 'Five's' TARDIS
Rating: R (for violence)
The Master had long settled into the appearance of the Doctor from his timeline. Certainly, it was different being blond and wearing such light colors - not to mention the fact he now spoke with a different voice, his height was a tad different, and of all things, he found himself far-sighted in one eye. The Doctor always did have eyesight problems...
He stood near one of the staircases and quickly adjusted the tan-ish hat that came with his disguise, before promptly shoving his hands into his pockets. The Master rocked back on his heels and he grinned a soft, Five-like grin. He hadn't believed the Doctor would believe him this easily.
Oh, this would be delightful.
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What: Ten gives a tour of the castle to 'Five' - but little does Ten know, this is the Master in disguise...
When: Noon, June 25th
Where: Around the castle - eventually in 'Five's' TARDIS
Rating: R (for violence)
The Master had long settled into the appearance of the Doctor from his timeline. Certainly, it was different being blond and wearing such light colors - not to mention the fact he now spoke with a different voice, his height was a tad different, and of all things, he found himself far-sighted in one eye. The Doctor always did have eyesight problems...
He stood near one of the staircases and quickly adjusted the tan-ish hat that came with his disguise, before promptly shoving his hands into his pockets. The Master rocked back on his heels and he grinned a soft, Five-like grin. He hadn't believed the Doctor would believe him this easily.
Oh, this would be delightful.
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And there was that bit about his loss. He wondered, as he descended in the lift, if Five being unable to sense other Time Lords explained why he hadn't been able to sense Five's presence when he arrived. All very curious. Maybe there was more to the loss thing than he thought he knew.
Finally the lift reached the first floor and stepped out, glancing around the entryway for his Fifth. It didn't take him long to spot that hat of his.
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He almost pulled his hand out of his pocket to wave - but then remembered, he was playing Five as having lost connection to other Time Lords. He wouldn't recognize his future self. No greeting, no waving.
Instead, he slowly approached the lift, and wore a somewhat faint grin, one of a man unsure of who he is approaching.
"Yes, well... Are you me?" He asked, in Five's voice.
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He wasn't sure, but something seemed a bit... off about him. He paid no mind, however, and raised his eyebrows to show he was paying attention when the other spoke to him.
"I do believe I am," he said, nodding once. "Hello!"
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He rocked back on his heels. "Well, asside from being not ginger, I think we turn out rather well when we're you."
The Master mulled this over in his head, drawing off what he knew of the Fifth Doctor - his Doctor, really - then mentally nodded, and continued.
"Ah, yes, do lead the way. You've got more information on this place than I do."
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"Right!" He looked around the entryway, around to the hallways off to the sides. Start with Paradisa welcoming-tradition first? Sure. "The kitchen's here on the first floor," he said, gesturing in its direction, "and it's full of cupboards and pantries and stoves and things, all ready for use - and looking a bit anachronistic, considering the apparent era of the castle and the town... er, there are ghosts that bring things if you ask for them, though I'm thinking they're more of a..."
He continued on, introducing the rest of the kitchen, the library and other rooms that were of consequence. The minor things, he was sure he could find on his own. He gave him a quick overview of what they'd found out about the castle, and very soon all that was left was stepping outside to see the village from the top of the hill.
"Everything second floor and up is residential, though I assume you've found your room by now?"
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He listened, apparently intentive, as the Doctor gave him the layout of the first floor. Kitchen, library, music room, blah-blah-blah. Tenth Doctor certainly liked to talk - and it was a tad bothersome - but he kept up the soft, sort of innocent demeanor.
When he was asked about his room, he answered calmly. "I'm in 1305." He had made sure to find an unoccupied room before hand, so the Doctor couldn't say he knew someone already lived there. The Master made sure to be thorough.
The Doctor was a fool. If anything, the trust he was getting, the trust he would soon betray, would make this all the more sweeter.
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Soon he was leading who he thought was Five outside onto the lawn, to the part of the grounds on which Cair Paradisa stood where one could have a clear view of the village down below.
"And that," he said, looking down on it, "Is the City Royal. Full of villagers, and they all seem to want to worship the people who live in the castle. Unfortunately, that's about the extent of their knowledge on the thing." He sighed, looking out over it. "And they make an excellent daiquiri." He grinned, but didn't allow time for an answer. "So anyway, that concludes the Grand Tour of Cair Paradisa. Wait until the tram stops before departing, hope to see you again." He shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Not a bad place once you get used to the sinister undertone, though I'm taking the first working TARDIS out of here."
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When Tenth went on, he walked a pace or so behind him, reminding himself that the Fifth was a touch more submissive, less like a leader-type than his previous incarnations. Others could lead and would lead. While this grated at him, he kept on the charade. He was the Fifth Doctor. He was blond, innocent, a cricketeer, and wore celery for who knew what reason.
As the Tenth talked, he absorbed the information given him. Most of it he already knew - though the bit of being worshipped was something new to him; he would need to visit the City Royal sometime in the near future to see if that was the case.
"Ah, speaking of TARDISes," he said, as Ten brought up the subject, "do you think we could stop by mine? I left something there earlier, and, well, I feel rather silly without it."
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He raised an eyebrow. "What'd you leave?" But he started walking back towards the castle, allowing leeway for the other to lead them to his TARDIS. He shot an indignant look up at the castle, remembering that Five's wasn't working, either. An odd, heavy feeling swept over him, but he paid no attention to it. He was busy thinking.
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The Master sped up to get ahead of Ten, then slowed to a looser pace. "It's outside. I wasn't lucky enough to have it... well, anywhere near my room."
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Ten, "Just the sort of luck we always have, right?"
After that was said, he walked to where he had left his TARDIS - a good chunk away from roads, or the castle, so that if something went wrong, he would have time to flee... and that the Doctor couldn't get help as easily.
The TARDIS, now in the form of the blue box so associated with the Doctor, was now just ahead of them. "Guests first," he said amiably, friendly like.
The Master's hand was slowly tightening around the gun in his pocket. That was why he kept that one particular hand unremoved - the Doctor might've noticed.
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The TARDIS came into view. So familiar, so... home. A notion was tugging at him, but he couldn't think of what it was; he was focused on following his alleged past self to the ship and trying to figure out what was off about this Doctor. Soon they arrived at the blue police box and Ten looked it over, hearing the other man's invitation for him to enter first. Slowly he reached out and took hold of one of the door handles, and that's when he realised what was wrong.
He was feeling nothing from this TARDIS. It was his TARDIS, wasn't it? The ship he had the symbiotic link with, from his past or not -- it was his. And yet there was no familiar feeling of recognition coming from the ship whose doors he was opening. But then he did open them, and he stepped inside.
This wasn't his TARDIS. It was familiar, but it wasn't his.
It only took him a second to realise that he had made a very, very grave mistake.
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"My dear, dear Doctor... I shall so thoroughly enjoy killing you," he whispered in Five's voice, amusing himself with the image. Then, after a pause, he added, "It'd be safer if you stayed still. This gun has such a... hair trigger."
He almost wanted to laugh now, to gloat and goad and rub it in the Doctor's face at how stupid he was, so moronic, so easily trusting and gullible.
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And then the perpetrator spoke, so close to him with that gun to his back, and he stiffened. He turned his head away, jaw tighened in anger. Both at himself, and at the man behind him.
He did stay still, but the tone with which he spoke was defiant:
"Master."
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"I'm so thrilled that you finally noticed, Doctor."
He pulled his free hand out of his pocket; then with alacrity, knotted it in the Doctor's hair, jerking his head back painfully - but not too bad. Just enough so he could look the Doctor in the eye... and have more control over him.
"I'll break you of that tone, my dear Doctor. I'll have you begging for your life."
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It was probably a mistake, but what the Master wanted was the satisfaction. He wasn't going to give it to him easily. Looking away and keeping his mouth shut, the only sound coming from him was his panting.
He needed to think of a way out.
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"You will speak!" he roared as he went through with the action.
The Master quickly retrained the gun on the Doctor - focusing it on the man's head. It was indeed a pistol, something from Earth, a silvery little weapon that looked entirely out of place in the Fifth Doctor's hand. But then again, that wasn't the Fifth Doctor. It was the Master, wearing his visage.
"Tell me, my dear Doctor," he panted, trying to regain composure, "do you think you'll regenerate if I blow off your head?"
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"Don't do this," he panted, deciding to speak. "Just... just think."
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"What was that, Doctor?" He asked, sickly sweet, entirely mocking. "I'm afraid... you weren't speaking clearly."
The gun was still focused entirely on the Doctor's head. He lowered his hand from Tenth's face, and grabbed up his shirt and tie in his fist. With one harsh movement, he jerked his fellow Time Lord closer to him and sneered with Five's face. It was delightful, this sort of thing, mocking the Doctor - hurting him - while wearing one of his faces.
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"I said, don't do this," and he was still panting, but mostly with anger now, which removed any pleading from his words. He paused, eyes moving to the gun only for a second. "You don't deserve to wear that face."
What could he do? Distract him and grab the gun? Knock him over while he was crouched, hope he didn't shoot him in the process and run for it? He hated guns. Sensless and violent, a quick, brutal and messy way to kill a person. Next thing he knew he was grabbed, now held face-to-face with his captor. The Doctor gave him the most mutinous of looks, looking hatefully into the other man's eyes.
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The blond Doctor faded out and was replaced with a young man with shaggy brown hair. Brown eyes went bright blue, half-moon glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. A replica of him back at academy - but dressed in the Master's typical black velvet, glaring, and with a gun in hand.
He stood, and jerked the Doctor to his feet. "Get up, get up, get up," he snarled in Koschei's voice, before proceeding to stalk off, the Doctor's shirt still tightly gripped in his fist. "You will beg, Doctor. I will find what will break you, and you will beg."
He dragged Ten through various winding hallways and through dark, poorly lit rooms. After what must've seemed like ages of the Master dragging the Doctor about, he slammed open a door and threw the man in before entering as well and closing the door behind him.
The room itself looked like it was designed for the express purpose of torture. Chains, shackles... and, to the heightened sense of smell possessed by Gallifreyans - old blood. It smelled of blood.
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Suddenly he was jerked up to stand, being dragged along by Kos -- no, the Master. He almost wrenched away from his grip, but the gun was aimed expertly at him. The door to the TARDIS was getting further and further away... he felt weak, stupid. He needed a plan. Very soon.
He was being dragged through the Master's TARDIS, through rooms he'd never seen before and couldn't really make out for the lighting, anyway. His head was throbbing from the earlier blow, and so he wasn't completely aware of where they were anymore until he was thrown to the floor in a room that smelled sickeningly of blood. He didn't want to think about who it might've belonged to once.
"Where are we?" His voice remained firm, fierce.
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The Master confidently strode over to the Doctor, "This will be the last place you'll ever see." To accent the statement, he kicked the Doctor in the gut - hard, with full force. "Now, you have a choice. Get up against the wall willingly, or I will force you there."
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So he actually intended to kill --
He let out a heave of pain as he was kicked in the stomach, sure that he felt something break. He coughed a few times, winded, wincing at the new pain.
"No."
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After kicking the Doctor again, he blithely grabbed at the other Time Lord's shoulder, knotting the suit jacket and shirt as best he could in his hand before actually dragging him across the floor.
"Now, will you be a good boy and stand on your own?" He laughed, "Or will you insist on stubborness?"
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He was sure that even if he wanted to stand he wouldn't be able to, but doing him in was what the Master wanted. He looked up, tried to locate the gun, tried to think of some way to get it from him and turn the tables. But now he was working on standing, steadily as he could even with all the pain he already had. He pushed it to the back of his mind. He wasn't going to let the Master think he'd done him in - because in the grand scheme of things, he wasn't even close.
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The Master chuckled, "I'm afraid that there isn't one. You are here on my terms now, my dear, dear Doctor. That truce gave me so much time to think."
He stepped away from the Doctor, and kept his back turned. There was silence from him for a while, before he turned - grinning like the devil himself.
With all the force of a supernova (well, not really), the Master smashed at the Doctor's mind and mental defenses. He would tear them down and he would wreak havoc in the Doctor's mind.
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There had to be a way out. There had to be.
He lifted his head enough to look at the back of the Master's head after he turned away, wondering what he was up to, if he would be able to do something about these shackles while he was looking away. Clearly, he was about to do something, but what --
He was caught off guard as the Master turned and he was hit with a blow far worse than the physical; his mind was being ravaged, attacked -- he had to fight back. He couldn't help it; he let out a yell of pain.
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"Beg, my dear Doctor! Beg me for mercy, and I'll stop!" he shouted over the Doctor's screaming.
Even as he spoke, he shoved further and further against the Doctor's mental protection. He felt a brush against his own mind - the Doctor must've been trying to strike back.
He stepped forward, closer, to better enjoy the man's suffering. Let the Doctor try as he might to destroy the Master's mind. He was certain that the Tenth would get no where.
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"Never!"
That seemed to give him a burst of strength, and he used it to his advantage: he countered against the Master's attack, fighting back. He would not give in.
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Enraged that the Doctor dare strike back at him, he moved quickly up to the Doctor and slammed his fist into the man's stomach, then smashed his hand against his face.
Even as he did all this, he kept up his mental assault - while trying to keep his own mind defended.
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While the screaming was thrilling, exciting, completely wonderful - the agony in his own head, his own pain, tarnished it all. The Doctor, the Tenth, had more years and experiance - but if there was one thing the Master ever outdid him in... it was in powers of the mind. Psychic abilities were his specialty.
He sent once more massive push of power against the Doctor's mind. He drew strength from his own defenses, weakening them almost completely. It was a last ditch effort to smash right into the Doctor's mind - if it failed, the Doctor could get into his head with just the slightest nudge.
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He wouldn't. Not as long as he could help it.
Suddenly the Doctor felt immense pressure against his mind; he could've guessed it to be the equivalent to a physical hun - hund --
His thoughts whited out as he focused everything on fighting back against the blow. He wouldn't let him win, would never let him win... straining, pushing, probably screaming, he gave all he had to defend himself against this one massive assault.
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He turned away, stalking, angry. It was almost palpable, his hate and displeasure for the Doctor, for his resistance.
"You always had to be the best," he snarled, before turning back to face him. The Master tried to console his ego with the fact the Doctor was at his mercy, in pain, suffering. He could kill him now, if he so wished. He had the gun. He had anything he wanted.
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"I've been around longer than you," and it was a grainy, weathered sound, "I've learned a few things."
Ribs burning with pain each time he took a breath, he tried to clear his head as well as keep up a defense - albeit a weak one now - against another possible attack. Every plan he came up with needed resources he just didn't have; his mind was exhausted, his body pained, and he was finding it harder to focus on the here and now.
He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't think he had much more time.
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"Strangulation, my dear Doctor... such a primitive form of murder, isn't it?" He slowly began to tighten his grip. "Mostly useless on us- but not even we can can go without oxygen forever." He tightened his grip further, "But aahhh, such power it grants over others."
His look of hate and displeasure was quickly replaced with twisted, deformed glee. For a few moments more, he continued to squeeze at the Doctor's throat before he released it, and lightly stroked one of the Doctor's shackled hands. He chuckled darkly, indulgantly, then stepped away.
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He couldn't see the Master now, for his eyes were screwed shut, but he could hear him -- feel him as he took his throat in a gloved hand. He was going to strangle him? He didn't have time to say anything - not that he was going to - before the grip was tightened and his airway was restricted.
Luckily he was a Time Lord, because he was sure a human would've passed out or even died in the time he took to let go. Even he, however, was feeling lightheaded by that time, and he gasped for air until and after the other released his airway. He cringed at the touch, at this twisted, sick mutilation of a boy he'd once known and cared for who was standing before him, gone from choking him to --
He twitched, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could send the Master a look of anger, of distaste. "Enjoying yourself?" His tone was all disgust. He'd forgotten the Master's habit of close contact with him, and at the moment he would've killed to not be chained to the wall.
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He turned around and grinned widely at the restrained man. Ever defiant. He strode over to the Doctor, moving in close to him. The Master still had a grip on his gun - in fact, he hadn't put it down once. His free hand, though, was now placed on the Doctor's shoulder, and the Master leaned in to whisper to him.
"Tell me, Doctor; are you frightened?"
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He stared ahead, gaze boring into the wall as he tried to ignore the Master's contact and the pain all over him.
"Of you?"
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"There is one bullet in that gun, Doctor. You have two choices. You may kill yourself - and be done of this... or you may kill me. I've told my TARDIS to, upon my death, expel anyone inside. You've just enough free range to do one or the other. Now choose."
He kept up the look of disdain, the sneer - while inwardly, he was grinning. He knew how the Doctor hated weapons, loathed them so; through most of his regenerations it was a common theme. Putting a weapon in the Doctor's hands and forcing him to choose? Delightful. Though... he was already fairly certain of what the Doctor would do.
And he already knew how he would respond.
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For a moment he pointed the gun at the Master, hands shaking, and gulped. Maybe if he could wound him, not kill him... but his hands were trembling with pain and anger, and he was sure that in this state he would miss or actually kill him. Not looking away from the Master, he loosened his grip on the weapon and tossed it on the floor a few feet away from him.
"I'm not like you." His voice was shaking. "Tell me, what's it like to be a coward and a killer?" And with this he banked on his last bit of intuition; that the Master, once again, would be unable to kill him. Because from the look on his face, he most certainly seemed like he wanted to.
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He scooped up the gun and momentarily looked over it before pressing the barrel against the Doctor's forehead.
"Cowards survive. Killers do as well."
The Master leaned in, smiling sickly sweet. "Goodbye, my dear Doctor. I'll miss you entirely."
And he pulled the trigger.
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For a fleeting moment, he thought the Master had changed his mind. But a split second later he felt the barrel being pressed against his forehead, and he looked pleadingly at the Master one last time. He did not speak. If he was going to go, he was going to go without leaving him the satisfaction of the Doctor having begged, his final words, for his life. They locked eyes for a long moment, Ten hoping to find some sign of resistance in the Master, but there was nothing.
He closed his eyes, thinking of Martha, thinking of Rose and Nine and back on all of his years, numbering at least one thousand since he'd taken his first breath on Gallifrey. All the suffering he'd seen since, planets and beings destroyed, all wearing on him for over a millennium. Such a long, long time.
He wasn't afraid of death.
I'm sorry was the last thing to cross his mind before the trigger was pulled, but to whom he meant it, he didn't know. All he knew now was the cold metal of the gun and the click of it cocking, the sound of the trigger being pulled. He took a breath, bracing himself for death.
But nothing happened.
Dumbstruck, he wondered if that was death; quick and silent and painless, but he opened his eyes, gaping slightly, hearts pounding.
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"Get out," his voice was barely audible. "Get out before I do kill you." It was almost pleading.
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Letting him go. He was being unshackled, he felt his arms drop and nearly slid to the floor for the weakness in his legs, but he leaned against the wall and pushed himself up. He watched after the Master as he moved away and made his request, but he did not comply right away. He merely stood, watching him, gobsmacked.
He didn't say anything, though his head was throbbing and fogged and reeling, anyway. He merely stumbled to the door of the chamber, arm around his chest protectively as he grabbed the doorframe for support.
He gave the Master one last look, the pained mess that the Doctor was with his hair hanging limp in his face, his cheek quickly bruising and the amount of blood coming from his lip only now thinning.
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When the Doctor stopped, he almost cringed. He peered over his shoulder at the mess of a Gallifreyan. Blood. Bruised. He could only imagine what his kicking had done, followed by his punch to the Doctor's gut.
"Do you really want me to kill you, Doctor?" He asked quietly. "Get out while I still have the sanity to realize you're much better off alive than dead."
Then, almost as if trying to urge the Doctor on, he touched his mind, instilling the exact directions and layout of how to get from this room to the exit of the TARDIS.
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Get out while I still have the sanity to realize you're much better off alive than dead. Still gripping onto the doorframe, he rolled that over in his mind. The Master, he realised, had been wrong about the destruction of Koschei, of any kind of conscience. He looked away as anger welled up in him again, flinching at the sudden psychic contact as though he thought it another attack. But instead it was the way out.
He said no words, just gave the corner the Master was in one last glance before he pushed himself painfully out the door and into the corridor. No more time to focus on thinking about the Master's actions. He was becoming dizzy, and he needed out. And so he went, leaning on the wall at times for support, hoping like hell that he wouldn't pass out before he got there.
He wasn't going to thank him.