"All that eloquence," the Doctor nods. "But how many people have you killed?" The Master is nearly offended, offering almost in explanation: "I am so hungry." The Doctor explains how his resurrection must have gone wrong, and how he's dying now. The Master ignores him. Most of their conversations are like this, doctor to madman, parallel and never meeting. "And that human Christmas out there! They eat so much! All that roasting meat. Cakes and red wine hot fat blood food..." The Doctor stares, sadly, coughing as he recovers. Binary binary binary.
"Pots plates of meat and flesh and grease and juice and baking burnt sticky hot skin hot it's so hot!" The Doctor begs him to stop, but he can't. "Sliced sliced sliced it's mine it's mine it's mine to eat and eat and eat!" The Doctor begs him to stop, but he can't. "And feast and eat and eat and eat and eat!" He holds his head, going mad. The Doctor offers to contract his help, instead, and the Master laughs at his cheek. "There's more at work tonight than you and me." The Master's never believed that. The Doctor's been hardpressed to remember it, sometimes. "I've been told something is returning," the Doctor says, and the Master camps it up: "And here I am!" The Doctor shakes his head: "No, it was something more." The Master shivers: "But it hurts!"
"I was told the end of time," the Doctor beings to explain, but the Master's moved on: "It hurts, Doctor, the noise... The noise in my head, Doctor, one two three four one two three four. Stronger than ever before!" The Doctor stares, now, at this new information. "Can't you hear it?" the Master begs, and the Doctor's so sorry; he screams at him now, to listen. Just to listen. The madness of the Master is that he believes he is alone. "Every minute, every second, every beat of my hearts, there it is! Calling to me. Please, listen." The Doctor shakes his head, sadly, and finally the Master grabs at him, shoving his head to his temple angrily. Listen.
And he hears it, finally. After all this time, the drums. The Doctor shudders, but the Master's flipped again, and leaps into the air, screaming. "It's real!" The chase begins again. "All these years, you thought I was mad. King of the wasteland!" That was all he wanted to be. Earth is just a playground, he never cared about humanity. King of a dry wasteland was all he could imagine for himself. "But something is calling me, Doctor! What is it what is it what is it?" When the helicopters suddenly arrive and the men comes down on their ropes, the Master raises his face to their spotlights like an annunciation, and when they take him up into the sky, they are like dark angels. They shoot, downing the Doctor just long enough to get away, and then he is alone again.