The Master didn't respond to his question, sitting on the floor, his back resting on the door at the back of his cell. So he was right, after all. Just another exhibit in Torchwood's archives. Master, Time Lord, Second to Last. He watched Jack, wondering how long it would take him to go mad with the sound of the drums, alone in his cell, in the darkness.

"Extremely. First class hospitality." The bite to his words seemed to lose it's edge near the end.