“The Infirmary’s that way, morons!” yells the Master as he throws one of the yellow chair pillows out into the hall in the proper direction. “Hey! You! Don’t let him walk- carry him! Bloody ingrates!”
Everything will be fine now, the Master tells himself. The Doctor is notorious for at least attempting to bring out the best in almost any situation under his control. Why, then, had he, the Master of all save one, felt such relief when the troupe of guards finally did as he’d wished and turned around?