pawnofrassilon | For Eileen <3<3

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For Eileen <3<3

On a cold spring evening in Wiltshire, in the year 2011, a man falls to Earth.

Some children look up and think they see a shooting star that night. Adults, knowing that whatever it is is far too large, think it might be a comet or meteor. Or else they assume it's a trick of the eyes, an afterimage of a headlamp on the road. Some, oddly enough, think of angels. News reports are non-definitive.

Much like the film, the man isn't quite a 'man' at all-- not by the twenty-first century Earth definition, anyhow. He's alien, though it's only by the doubling of his pulses and the nature of his abrupt appearance in the first place that any human could tell.

Unlike the film, he isn't particularly concerned with saving his home world. Not anymore.

The Master lies very still for a long time, heedless of the fact he's crumpled up in the middle of an open field. He's fallen quite a distance, even for a Time Lord. And many of his injuries are much, much older than that. His clothes are little more than rags, torn to shreds and singed to the point of near purposelessness. If it's even possible, he's dirtier than ever. Exhausted. Parched. Hungry. So hungry.

Eventually it's the hunger that gets him up and keeps him moving. Feeling the click and slide of bones that are likely dislocated if not broken, the Master struggles to his feet, heaving and wincing in pain, his skin becoming momentarily translucent with the effort. He's in trouble, his energy stores dangerously low and his body in real danger of being ripped apart. But it's nothing a little snack won't fix. Taking a great whiff of the night air, he cracks a grin just short of sanity... and lets his nose lead him staggering through the darkness.

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"I won't," she says, promising in those two words much more than she has any idea how to deliver. "Just rest. I'll take care of it."

Somehow...

The answer seems to satisfy him, or perhaps he's simply too weak to hold onto her any longer. Either way, the Master's grip relaxes and he lies back, watching her with eons of exhaustion in his eyes.

The other agents watch uneasily, remembering all too well what happened to the medic and to Anderson. One of them finally speaks up.

"We should get him to a more secure location, Tyler."

Rose nods, and looks up at her team members.

"I was thinking the crypts," she says. "We could put him in cryo-stasis, and bring him back when whatever happens with the Time Lords... or whatever... blows over." She stands, wiping her bloodied hands on her jeans. "Help me move him?"

The agents hesitate, quite understandably... but also because although the Master's eyes have slipped closed, his left hand has begun tapping out the beat of the drums on his right, the cuffs clinking together ominously.

"Can't we just..." the agent trails off, not bothering to voice what they're all thinking. Can't we just let them have him? So far he's been little more than a pain in the ass. A creepy, dangerous pain in the ass.

Rose shakes her head.

"No," she says. "No, we can't. I promised. I promised."

Any of the agents can see she's trembling. She feels responsible, for this man, paradoxically both for what he's done and for his welfare.

"We'll deal with whatever happens on our terms. If they have a good reason to take him... so be it."

"I don't get nearly enough for this," one of them mutters under his breath, but the three of them step close to the Master, one on each side, and one still training a weapon on the Time Lord. Just in case.

"On my count," Rose says as she takes the Master's feet. "One... two... three.... lift!" With that they all lift the limp form of the Time Lord and move to the door, through it, and carefully to another section of the basement. "Open a chamber," Rose orders the agent with the gun, and he obeys her, punching numbers into a keypad on the wall. There's a hiss, a release of cold mist, and a long, body-sized drawer slides out from the wall.

"In there. Come on... and... down." The agents ease the Master into the drawer, and Rose turns to a nearby console to program some parameters.

"What's he doing?" one of them asks, still watching the Master's tapping fingers. They seem to be increasing in frequency, tapping that four-beat rhythm faster and faster.

The agent never gets an answer, at least not directly, because at that moment there's a cracking sound somewhere close by, as if lightning has struck. The perimeter alarms immediately start blaring.

The Master's eyes snap open.

"Bloody hell," Rose swears as she whips around from the terminal, pulling her weapon. "We're going to have to do it this way, then?" She glances down at the Master. "Are you going to hide or are you going to help us?"

The Master looks back at Rose, exhaustion and terror warring on his face. Terror is winning.

"Unlock the cuffs," he whispers, extending his wrists toward her.

"Tyler..." one of the agents says in alarm. She isn't really going to set the Master free, is she?

She is.

She takes the keys from her belt and does so, stepping back as the chains fall clattering to the ground. The other agents train their weapons on the Time Lord.

"Get us through this," Rose says, "and we'll talk."

He nods, climbing carefully out of the chamber. "Thank you." And then he raises his head to regard Rose, his voice stronger. "Thank you, but... there is no 'us'."

The Master's been marshaling most of the rest of his strength for this, so he'd better make it count. With a brief flash of bone, he explodes his artron energy outwards in a short, sharp blast designed to take out the four people around him. Luckily, he doesn't have enough strength to kill-- only stun.

[ooc: can has escape?]

Rose collapsed, twitching, along with the other Torchwood agents.

[ooc: go for it!]

And the Master takes off, limping his way to the secondary exit. Behind him, just outside the room now, he can feel the drums pounding. Or maybe that's just his own hearts. It's only the instinct for survival keeping him going now-- he doesn't have much energy left-- but hopefully the prone bodies he's left behind will create at least a little distraction for whoever's come to claim him.

As it is, he gets out just in time. Mere seconds after the door clicks shut, the main ones burst open and a group of robed Time Lords armed with sophisticated weaponry strides in.

"Secure, Lord President," one of them barks. Instantly the group breaks down the middle to make way for whoever that might be.

[ooc: Rassilon, a successor, Romana IV, your pick ;)]

Rassilon strides in, his long robes sweeping behind him, his steely eyes taking in everything about the base.

"Where is he?" his voice booms. "Where is the fugitive?"

"We don't know, sir," one of the Time Lords says. "But there are some humans here who seem to have been incapacitated. Perhaps they know."

"Prepare them for questioning," Rassilon orders.

On the floor in the med bay, Rose stirs and groans softly.

Time Lord guards haul the Torchwood crew roughly to their feet and restrain them with energy-dampening cuffs. Another produces a small, metal headpiece from the pocket of her robes and places it on the first human. The Torchwood agent begins to struggle and cry out.

Rassilon, meanwhile, seems to have been distracted by another of the Torchwood crew. He approaches Rose, closing the distance between them quickly with vicious purpose in his face.

"You. You're one of his, aren't you?" His lip curls in disgust. That a human should not only experience, but harbor the energy of a TARDIS is unthinkable, revolting. But she's got the smell of Vortex all over her.

Rose grimaces in her restraints, but does not allow the man to frighten her. He didn't actually say who he was talking about, but she can guess. She stares back at him, her breath ragged with stress and an edge of anger.

"I'm the Doctor's," she nearly spits out.

Rassilon grabs for her chin. "Insolence won't help you now," he hisses. "You may as well learn a little respect."

But before he can get much further with teaching her, the guard administering the mind probing calls out.

"Lord President! The fugitive was just here!" As the helmet is removed, the Torchwood agent slumps to the ground, drooling sightlessly.

"What have you done to him?!" Rose asks in alarm. "You didn't have to do that! We would have told you anything you wanted to know!"

She struggles against the bindings, wanting to go to the fallen operative.

The cuffs hold fast, matching her energy output with a cancelling signature of their own.

"Our way is faster," Rassilon replies nonchalantly, turning to the guard.

"Yes, we know he was just here. Where is he now?" he barks. The other Time Lord shuffles uncomfortably.

"He didn't know," she stammers.

"How can he?" Rose says with a shake of her head. "The Master must have done something to us and ran. Do you think he would tell us where he was going? He knew you were coming!"

"Yes," and there's a bit of a smile on Rassilon's face now. "He had to know. He called us here."

He waves his hand at the guards. "Bring the Doctor's human. Kill the rest."

"NO!!!" Rose screams, but there is nothing she can do. The Time Lords turn their weapons on her team, and there are screams, then nothing. Rose gasps in shock as she stares at the bodies of her agents, her friends.

"No," she breathes, tears coursing down her cheeks.

The Master, sat on the floor of the Torchwood kitchen having a small breather (and, consequently, a not-so-small snack), hears the screams and sounds of laser weapons from a few rooms away and freezes, pulses beating rapidly. He gets to his feet and resumes running.

Meanwhile, the other agents dispatched, Rassilon turns again on Rose.

"Tell me what you know," he snarls. "Where would he have gone?"

Rose swallows, looks over at the Time Lord who's holding the mind reading device. She licks her lips. Should she attempt to protect the Master?

Why should she bother?

"He has a chip," she near whispers. "A tracking chip."

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