The Master's eyes grew wide, the utter desolation - the fear - of his heart welling up behind them for the first time in what must've been decades. He drew back shakily, clutching the counter so tightly it seemed all his weight was put upon it. He bristled; the emotion could be seen rippling across his form, fear into anger, anger at himself for being so weak, anger at The Doctor for taking advantage of it... anger at everything. He snarled and his teeth were chattering. Even his mind seemed to shake. He flew through his own memories, searching desperately to prove him wrong.

But there was nothing, nothing but the endless drumming of deep time. The Master and The Doctor in an eternal spiral, two primordial gods locked in combat for all time.

He grimaced and opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come, turned to sand in his throat. They screamed through his mind.

The game is all I have. And I hate you, because you never had to play.