"Enjoy it while you can, Doctor," the Master calls back, outright refusing to answer the rest. "It's the last one you'll get." He's reached the wreckage by now, his limp gradually evening out, and he crouches down with barely a wince. Now relatively free of the drums, his mind is clear enough that he is able to focus even with the pleasant buzz of Anetrizine hovering in the periphery of his brain.

He spares the Doctor an impatient glance. "You know, this would go faster if I had something to work with," he snaps, holding out one hand.