ROUND TWO: FIGHT!

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

Characters: Simm!Master [savagestime] & The Affair-having Tenth Doctor [rude_not_ginger]
Location: The Dwellings of Simplicity, Castrovalva
Time: Post-this
Summary: Level Two: A game-show! There are questions and dead people and a sad lack of hijinks.
Warnings: Lots of dead people, Whovian Angst (alas), and I think that's actually it. Some swearing may've slipped past.



The Castrovalvans, for as much as they have the gift of free will, were not at liberty. Each row of people was strapped in by metal leg bands, though their hands were free. They had to be able to get at the control panels in front of them, after all. They were set up as the audience of some great production, their levels curved not unlike the curving of an amphitheatre. And it was a production, with the Master centre stage, awaiting his best enemy by the chair that would seat him.

The word used was theatre, but this was not a classicist's choice of venue. From the blue-purple flooring to the neon scoreboard on the wall behind the audience, it was a lot more like that horror of the late 20th, early 21st century - the game show.

The Doctor tugged off his tie and wrapped it around the still-bleeding wound on his hand. He liked this tie, but he really liked his hand more. As he stepped into the...well, set, he supposed, he could only glance around in marvel at the set-up the Master had now. Fifty or so of the Castrovalvans strapped to the chairs by their legs. Prisoners. Why would the Master need so many?

"This isn't necessary," he called over to the obvious host of this next level. "Master, you can stop this."

"I don't think so. Take a seat now, Doctor. Lucy's waiting." The Master gave the Doctor his best smile, then folded his arms, drumming his fingers against his own sleeves.

The Doctor took a step forward. "Listen to me. She's not what you want, Master. You want to hurt me, you can do anything to me. Just let her go!"

"I believe that's exactly what I'm doing." Walking around behind the chair, he planted his hands on the back and looked back over at the Doctor. "So sit, or they all die right now."

Looking around, the Doctor realized the chairs the Castrovalvans sat at were, in fact, electric chairs, the old-fashioned Earth models. Their faces were generally hidden with the lighting from the set, but from what he could see they were terrified. Creations or not, they were beings with free will. The Doctor couldn't just let them die.

He took a breath and circled the chair, finally sitting down. He kept his legs at a distance from the chair, going so far as to cross one ankle across his knee. He wouldn't be held in.

"Master, please. Stop this."

"First question then, Doctor?"

The Doctor blinked. "Question? Well, this looks like a game show, am I right? What's the purpose of it? What are you trying to prove?"

As if it was as simple as thermodynamics, the Master said, "If a hero wants to save his princess, he must go through trials. This is your second. First question! How does quantum teleportation work, and why isn't it really teleportation?"

"That's two questions."

"No, it's a question and a sub-question for creating a more complete understanding of the first answer."

"You already know the answer to the question, though. Learned basic quantum theories while we were still in the nursery, you and I. Well, I was better at it, but you were getting quite good by the time we finished up."

Not rising to the bait, the Master said, "For the audience."

The Doctor was disgusted. "The audience? You've got them chained to electric chairs as part of your obligatory audience? Why do you need their attention, too?"

"Time's up, and I'm afraid that was not the correct answer." The Master did not spare a sideways glance as five Castrovalvans were killed in their chairs. "Fortunate that so few of these people have faith in you, don't you think?"

"No!" The Doctor leapt out of his seat and rushed to the side of one of the dead people. In its hands---and with the damage from the electric shock it was really quite difficult to tell whether or not it was male or female----was a control panel, melted into the flesh of its hands. A tiny screen at the top of the keyboard read "DOCTOR WILL ANSWER...CORRECTLY."

"You killed them because they thought I'd answer right and you decided I didn't?" he demanded, incredulously.

"You didn't answer correctly," the Master retorted. From the tone of his voice, it could be inferred that this was the issue he found most pressing. "You completely failed to answer the question. They died because they made the wrong bet." He hadn't moved from where he stood, but he was watching the Doctor closely. "If you'll sit again, we'll continue."

"And if I don't, they'll die." It wasn't a question, and the Doctor crossed back to the chair. "How do I win?"

The Master gave a not of approval at the Doctor's compliance, then said, "You win by eliminating the entire audience." Without giving the Doctor an opportunity to respond, he said, "Shall we continue?"

"Kill the whole audience?" The Doctor got back to his feet. "I can't do that! There has to be another way!" He considered, then said: "What if I voluntarily lose?"

"As you know," the Master said, "I can't bring myself to kill you. A character flaw, I realise, but one I've come to accept. So! If you forfeit, they all die, and if you lose, you get dropped back to level one to battle it out with barrels again, and then you have to go through this level once more. The time it takes you to get through the first level should give me my chance to fill the seats up again." With a shark grin, he took a step in, dropping the loud voice of a host in favour of the air of a man sharing a delightful secret. "I wouldn't try it, were I you. As we both know, mortal lives are fleeting. Lucy misses you."

"Not as much as she missed you," the Doctor snapped back, desperate. "She left the TARDIS, left---she had to go back to you. You don't have to kill her. You don't have to hurt her."

"She betrayed me," the Master said. The calm tone couldn't hide the crackling of anger in his mind. "As did you. As did the Castrovalvans. Now!" he said, slipping easily back into the face of a host, "In the Vulgar End, wretched place that it is, Generios has three great treasures. What are they?"

The Doctor crossed his arms and glanced out to the audience, who apparently had no faith in him. "The Shelves of Infinity---which were officially UNIT something something X something something, the Mentos box, and this gigantic diamond guarded by a Jelloid. Do you remember the Jelloids? Used to tell stories about them..."

"That answer is correct." Fifteen fell dead, but the Master gave no time for their mourning, asking, "How does an Uncertainty Suit function?"

The Doctor jumped from the chair again, but it was too late for them. A hundred block computational lives for Lucy. But he couldn't stop him, not in this world. He looked up to the rafters of the room, trying to figure where the electricity was computated to be coming from. Maybe the Master would run out of questions, but the Doctor rather doubted it.

"Oh, the uncertainty suit! I remember that! It's a simple application of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, am I right? Linked with really rather primitive time travel technology. Well, not primitive from the people creating it initially. The Suit monitors the future and arranges for it and its wearer to be elsewhere when anything hostile attacks."

"Correct." A mere three people suffered punishment this time, which marked the Master a very lucky man. It would be awful if the Doctor had gotten it wrong and the whole thing ended so quickly. "Next question: how does Lucy react when you kiss right down from her ear to her collar?"

The Doctor froze and it felt like his chest seized up. How could he ask that question? How could he ask that question in that bloody game-show-host voice?

"What?" Was all he could manage coherently.

"I said," the Master replied, and though his tone was that of someone explaining things for a very small, stupid, and deaf child, his grin seemed far more pleased than anyone forced to endure that would be, "that the next question is this: how does Lucy react when you kiss her from her ear to her collar? It's a very simple question, Doctor, I wouldn't think it needs elucidating."

"I wasn't aware you didn't know the answer," the Doctor snapped back. It was a difficult thing for the Doctor to accept his own sexuality, but to explain anything involved in it? Especially with the Master? Especially with the Master under pressure like this? But Lucy's life was at stake. He swallowed the lump of embarrassment in the back of his throat. "I...don't remember." Which was a lie. A very badly excecuted lie. He remembered oh, far too well.

The Master let out a sigh. "Incorrect." Thirteen Castrovalvans died as the Master waved a hand. "Lucky that more of them guessed how repressed you are. Shame that so many were keeping faith. Oh well! Next question! Why do you want to save me?"

"I'm not---" But there weren't many of them left. But wasn't that the point? No, no, the point was to figure out how to turn the electricity off, save them before any more lives were ended over this. He stared at the Master, considering his answer very carefully. While not a sexual question, it was even more difficult than the one before. Perhaps because he knew if he answered how Lucy reacted, the Master would know he was right. If he answered what he believed about the Master, the Master might consider him wrong.

"Because you're not beyond being saved. You used to be my friend."

"Incorrect," the Master snapped, and just one person died. "Oh no," he added, "it looks like you're nearly disqualified. I suppose I'll have to throw you an easier one on the next question."

"It's the answer I believe! You can't just give me questions like that! That's something we've disagreed on for centuries!" The Doctor couldn't see which Castrovalvan died, lost in the sea of other charred corpses. His stomach was tight. All this death. All this death for what?

"It's hardly my fault you're delusional." The Master took three paces forwards, putting himself between the Doctor and the audience. Quietly, the Master asked, "Why did you never look for me during the Time War?"

"Because you were dead and the Time Lords never told me they'd brought you back," the Doctor replied, looking up at him. He didn't like being seated here, but there were still a number of Castrovalvans left. "Why did you never look for me?"

"I did. I always kept track of what you were doing. I always knew where you were. Well, except when I was unable to access that information, anyway." A step backwards and a half-turn had him facing both the Doctor and the audience again. "The answer is correct! Even if I never am dead, and he should know better than to think I'm anything less than indestructible. Still! The answer holds." As the next round of electrocutions went out, the scoreboard at the back revealed that the Doctor had eleven lives left. Eleven people he might have the slightest chance of saving, or eleven people he still needed to kill.

"I tried to save you from the Eye of Harmony. If you'd have just taken my hand..." But it didn't matter. The Master would never accept anything the Doctor had to say. He almost longed for back in the days of his Exile. At least then the Master tried. He wondered if he'd had that incarnation, now, if he might be able to convince him.

He doubted it.

He leaned to the side, looking at the locks on the chairs. Body-heat sealed locks, the ones that were scorched had become molten messes. If he could work out the computation, he might be able to lower the Castrovalvans' body temperatures. Maybe. Just maybe.

Without pausing for the Doctor's reverie, the Master asked, "Do you love Lucy Saxon?" and waited to hear the Doctor's reply.

The Doctor kept his eyes on the molten metal. He couldn't see the strings holding this illusion together, the Master weaved it too strongly. He turned his head up sharply at the next question. Of course he'd ask that. Of course. First the embarrassment, then the admittance that he'd given up on their friendship, then this. The relationship between the Master and the Doctor was a very intricate house of cards held together with little dabs of hate, holding it all together like glue. This was just another dab in the corner, holding the King of Spades and the Ten of Diamonds together.

"No," he said, his voice quiet, just above a whisper. "I love her when she's just Lucy."

The Master slipped his hands into his pockets, his posture slumping just a little, the tiniest release of all his coiled-up control. "I don't think you love her at all," the Master said. "So, incorrect. Seven people left to kill for the woman you think you love."

"You don't even understand the concept of love," the Doctor spat out. "Everything you do, every fight you pick, every life you take, it's just because you can't see past yourself. Can't see past your hate." He let out the bark of a laugh. "And to think I envied him, for having you. No, I pity him. Once I've saved Lucy, you're all his. I won't fall to your level again, Master. I won't fight with you."

The Master let out a snort of disbelief, something Reinette would surely chide him for. "You don't love Lucy. You're obsessed with saving her, and it isn't even her you're trying to save. You don't love people, Doctor, never have. You've only ever loved ideas, concepts - freedom, hope, justice, forgiveness. The people you use to fill in roles are more changeable than our faces."

The Doctor, in that moment, was certain that he hated the Master. A real, true hate. He hated him for killing these people, he hated him for creating this place to prove...whatever it was he planned on proving, and he hated him for negating everything. It was all he knew how to do. Negate what the Doctor did.

"Master, you've known me longer than any living being," he said in a slow, controlled voice. "But don't tell me how I feel."

Cool and unresponsive, the Master replied, "So long as you return the favour. My dear Doctor."

At the 'my dear', the Doctor shook his head, a cynical smile spreading across his lips. He hadn't been 'my dear Doctor' since he'd seen the Master while in his seventh life. And maybe the Master was right, they could never go back to that. Go back to before that, when they were friends. Maybe it was about time the Doctor accepted what he couldn't change. Couldn't fix. Couldn't doctor until it was better.

"Ask."

Dropping the game-show host's persona in favour of that of a bored teacher, the Master asked, "How did it feel to destroy Gallifrey?" as he crossed from one side of the hall to the other, not stopping to gauge the Doctor's response.

"Final," the Doctor replied, in the tone of an angry, ready-to-be-out-of-class-already student. "Next."

The Master let out a startled bark of laughter, less at the answer and more at the tone. "Incorrect. You've hardly finished anything. And look look look, we've only five Castrovalvans left to kill! Tell me," the Master said in dark amusement without malice, "who was it who burned both Pompeii and Rome?"

"You asked how it felt. That's how it felt." At the next question, the Doctor set his jaw. "Me." And for all the anger that he felt right now, he almost felt as if he could blame that on the Master. Blame the Master for reminding him that so many deaths were his fault. "Next." He could've been Theta Sigma showing up a pompous teacher back at school.

"For the record - and, of course, the show - just how many of your teachers and friends ended up trying to directly or indirectly kill you, over the years? I'm only curious because it seems like so many of us did. Borusa, yours truly, the Rani..." With a sharp click of his shoes on the ground, he turned to face the Doctor. "Well?"

"I've lost track. Actually, at some point, I'm sure I stopped caring." It was sickeningly the truth. It became something he just learned to accept. People he once loved hated him, people he once respected would give into greed. But he kept his tone as nonchalant as he could, and braced himself for the inevitable death of another Castrovalvan. "So unless you know the exact number---which you don't considering quite a few things happened while you were off hiding at the end of the universe---that'll have to do."

As another two Castrovalvans died, the Master asked, "And what makes you think Lucy's any different?"

The Doctor shook his head. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to trust her and he gave her as much of his trust as he could, but...there was always that worry. Always that knowledge she wanted to go back to the Master. That she might use everything against him.

So, the answer was clear. "I don't. Those emotions you refuse to acknowledge are a bit more important. The Eternals might say it was the flaw of the Ephemerals. Emotions over logic and power."

No one died this time as the Master said, "Correct." Now assuming a tone of curiosity, the Master continued his pacing so he stood behind the Doctor's chair. There he stopped, arms clasped behind his back. He asked, "If you could save one of us - me or her - which would you save?"

It wasn't about the answers. None of this was. The result of this entire affair was fixed. Everything was in the questions the Doctor didn't want to ask.

Wonderful. The impossible question. The question of saving one loved one over another (but he hated the Master right now!) He couldn't let emotions control himself, he'd have to think logically. And logically, Lucy hadn't tried to hurt him the sheer number of times the Master had. But logically, the Master would continue to live significantly longer than Lucy. And logically, Lucy did kill Martha. But then again, the Master was systematically slaughtering fifty Castrovalvans in front of the Doctor right now.

The Doctor really had terrible taste in romantic partners.

"I'd figure out a way to save you both." And while he wouldn't admit it, even if it was at the risk of all of them dying.

"Incorrect." A single Castrovalvan died, and the Master spared their audience - just two people - a glance. "Look, Doctor. The last of their kind. Don't you just love parallelism? Don't answer that one; it's rhetorical." The Master drummed his fingers against the back of the chair. Four beats in endless reiteration, the echo of a themesong to some parody of life. "Doctor?" the Master asked, deliberately gentle.

Oh, but of course it would've been incorrect. Of course one more would've died. Of course the poor, terrified Castrovalvans would be sitting there, helpless. Even the Doctor couldn't help them. Oh, but he wanted to help them. At the same time, he just wanted it to be over. Finished. Now.

"It's not the same," the Doctor said. "There'd need to be more of the one Castrovalvan there. No such thing as a last two for us, not anymore. To be properly parallel, there'd need to be one for the other to abuse and one to keep as a toy. Or maybe it's the other way around."

The Master smiled and put one hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Next question," he said. "Which one of those two do you want to live?"

It didn't matter the answer. There was no right answer. He looked to the two remaining Castrovalvans. He had no idea who they were. They had no idea why they were here. "I'm not a god, Master. I'm not going to play that. Not for you, not for anybody!"

"One or neither, Doctor. You can take two lives, or you can take one. That's one life in the change, isn't it? One person lives if you make a choice. Everyone dies if you don't."

Pushing off from the chair, the Master walked away from the Doctor, towards the far wall. "Well?

He couldn't even chose between two people he didn't know. He wanted to save them. He wanted to save all of them, but it was too late. All he could do was save who's left. "Stop, Master, please. Enough people have died."

"Time is running out, Doctor. For everyone."

The Doctor gritted his teeth to keep from screaming out any answer. Anything. Instead, he asked: "Do you love her, Master? Lucy?"

"I don't understand the concept of love, remember?" He leaned against the wall, waiting. "So I suppose that if I did, I wouldn't know. I'm waiting."

"And you're willing to kill her in order to hurt me? Are you really going to kill her? She's exactly what you want. Beautiful, inquisitive. Obedient." Of course he was. The Doctor stood and stepped over to the creatures who would be the Master's victims, if he let him. But the Master would never kill the Doctor. He even admitted it. He wouldn't kill the Doctor, which meant the Doctor had some control. He reached out his hands and grabbed onto the metal electric bar across the inside of each of the chairs.

"This one," the Doctor said, motioning with his head to the man he held on the left. "I gave you my answer, but if you electrocute either of them, I'll die as well."

"Nice bluff, but you won't die from it. You'll conduct the electricity from one of them to the other, and then you'll go unconscious. Which means you'll have even less time to save my wife." With a smile, the Master pushed back on the wall he leaned against, revealing a door. "Last level is this way. When you come to save her, I will respect your decision." The Master turned around and walked through the door.

It was a good bluff. It was almost worth it as a bluff. But he looked at the two remaining Castrovalvans and closed his eyes. A random choice. It was the Master, all random and chance. A game. There was no winning. This city was populated by block computations, but they were people. People he didn't save. People he couldn't save.

"I'm sorry," he said to the other Castrovalvan. "I'm so sorry."

With that, he stepped away, towards the next level.