[The Master is lying sideways on a couch in his living room, shirtsleeves undone and rolled up, legs curled up towards him and back, elbow leaning on the arm of the couch. He looks relaxed, wearing only a white dress shirt and black trousers, his tie hanging loosely, haphazardly around his neck. He hasn't noticed that he's being filmed. In one of
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I suppose I'm expected to not regard this as spying? Considering as you're being so kind as to be obvious about it.
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[Trying to pull himself together]
You can hardly be held accountable.
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Should I bother alerting the staff? Can't guarantee if they'll arrive in a timely fashion.
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Ngh.
[He laughs humorlessly, teetering on the edge of breaking down.]
Well, I don't know. I died from this, last time.
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Something to look forward to, I suppose.
[His expression registers hopelessness.]
Not in terms of excitement, obviously. Only inevitability. This would be easier if the City weren't determined to make me live this out exactly as before. Only alone.
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[He ponders this.]
True.
[Looking up and around him, he sees his jacket, and therefore, laser screwdriver, all the way over draped on a chair in the kitchen and his expression hardens.]
If they weren't blocking my regenerative ability I'd...
Perhaps as a last resort.
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