[center][img]https://platform-ps-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/origin/large_007_BANNER_2775b2b1e0.jpg[/img] With many thanks to the great [@Exit] for their help with BBcode formatting.[/center] [hr] Bond entered the high-tech modern office, decorated with antique furniture and relics from another age. Polished mahogany shelves lined the walls beside transparent digital displays glowing softly with streams of encrypted intelligence. A centuries-old naval sabre hung beneath a holographic tactical map. Leather-bound books sat beside touchscreens worth more than most London flats. [i]M[/i] was a walking contradiction. Bond had remarked to Trevelyan more than once - always under his breath - that the old woman seemed determined to drag British intelligence simultaneously into the future and the past. One moment she was authorising satellite surveillance through SHIELD orbital systems, the next she was lecturing agents about proper decorum and the death of professionalism. Personally, James suspected she simply enjoyed intimidating people. The office windows overlooked a rain-soaked London skyline washed grey beneath heavy clouds. M sat behind her desk with reading glasses low on her nose, calmly reviewing a tablet filled with field reports without even acknowledging Bond's arrival. He knew better than to announce his arrival, and so he waited. This too was part of the ritual, a show of respect Finally, without looking up she spoke. "You look terrible." Bond glanced down at his bruised knuckles. Dried blood still lingered beneath the skin despite his efforts to wash it away. [color=0072bc]"Thank you, ma'am."[/color] "Was Kraków enjoyable?" [color=0072bc]"I've had worse holidays."[/color] M gave a faint hum of acknowledgement as she set the tablet aside. Her sharp eyes finally lifted to meet his. There was nothing warm about her gaze. No pride. No congratulations. A job like hers required a degree of self control so strong you could have mistaken her for emotionless. "Elias Blackwell is dead." [color=0072bc]"Yes, ma'am."[/color] "The stolen artifact?" Bond reached into the inside pocket of his coat and carefully produced the small glowing gem before placing it onto the desk between them. Its faint blue light reflected across the polished wood. For the first time since he'd entered, M's expression shifted slightly. She looked interested. "You looked at it?" she asked. [color=0072bc]"Briefly."[/color] "And?" Bond shrugged faintly. [color=0072bc]"It glows."[/color] M did not smile. "A SHIELD research division in New Mexico lost three laboratories attempting to understand that object. Six researchers died. One disappeared entirely." Bond glanced back toward the stone. [color=0072bc]"What exactly is it?"[/color] "If I knew that, 007, this conversation would be considerably shorter." The designation still felt strange hearing it aloud. Not lieutenant, not commander, not even 'Bond'. It was a number - a weapon that had finally been given its name. M leaned back slightly in her chair. "You completed the assignment despite entering hostile territory unarmed, causing substantial structural damage, losing local surveillance support, and leaving behind a body that Polish authorities are currently attempting to explain to the press." Bond considered his response for a moment. [color=0072bc]"With respect, ma'am, the body isn't particularly difficult to explain. He fell."[/color] M ignored him. "You also deviated from mission parameters to assist a trafficking victim." [color=0072bc]"I don't regret that."[/color] "No." She replied coolly. "I imagine you don't." A silence settled over the office, the only noise was the pitter patter of rain tapping softly against the windows. Finally, M folded her hands together on top of the desk. "The section chiefs were divided on you." Bond raised an eyebrow slightly. [color=0072bc]"Oh?"[/color] "Some consider you reckless. Others think you're emotionally compromised. One rather colourfully described you as a 'blunt instrument in an expensive suit.'" [color=0072bc]"Well, at least he noticed the suit."[/color] "But," M continued, "They also noted your adaptability, psychological composure under pressure, and willingness to complete the mission at any cost." She opened a drawer in her desk and removed a small black folder. "You've officially been granted double-oh status effective immediately." Bond stared at the folder for a moment without moving. It was strange. After all the years of training, conditioning, examinations and violence...this was all it amounted to. A simple folder pushed across a desk. M watched him carefully. "No witty remark, 007?" Bond slowly picked up the folder. [color=0072bc]"I was trying to think of something patriotic."[/color] "And?" [color=0072bc]"I couldn't."[/color] "Hmm. Quite." She reached into her desk once more, producing a golden bullet and placing it point up on the desk. "I'm afraid it's not all good news, Bond." [color=0072bc]"It never is."[/color] He picked up the bullets and rolled it in his palm. [color=0072bc]"What's this? A souvenir for my new status?"[/color] [table][row][cell][img]https://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Film/Pix/gallery/2006/11/10/m3.jpg[/img] [color=2e2c2c]____________________________________[/color][/cell][cell] "Quite the opposite. A threat." She rose from her seat, taking a long, slow glance out the window. "This is the calling card of one Franciso Scaramanga. [i]The Man With the Golden Gun.[/i] Heard of him?" [color=0072bc]"Of course. I don't know an agent here who hasn't tried to read his file. Acclaimed assassin for the highest bidder. Never seen, but his impact always felt."[/color] He turned the bullet over with his thumb. On the other side was an engraving - one that read [i]'007'[/i] [color=0072bc]"And it seems he's heard of me. Although none of my enemies have the sort of cash to spend on the worlds best hitman."[/color] "Yes, that's what's got us stumped. The missions you've completed so far aren't high profile enough to warrant this sort of thing. However impressively for us, he's never completed a hit on a double-oh agent. I believe this his attempt to change that." She turned back to Bond, resting a hand on the back of her leather chair. "There's only one thing for it, 007. We can't let you enter active duty until Scaramanga is found and disposed of. It's far too dangerous to have you on a mission that could be comprimised by an active agent like this." [/cell][/row][/table] James took a step back, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the ground. This was like all of his Christmasses rolled into one only for him to find he got nothing but coal each time. [color=0072bc]"And just how long will that take?"[/color] "I won't lie to you, Bond. We've been on Scaramanga's tail unsuccesfully for decades now. My predeccesor made it a priority of his and still made very little progress. Nobody knows where he is or what he looks like, so I think it's fair to assume he has a huge edge on you wouldn't you agree?" [color=0072bc]"I can't wait that long. What if I found him first ma'am?"[/color] "That might change the situation dramatically, wouldn't you say?" Finally a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. [hr] [center][i]James Bond in...[/i] [img]https://www.artofthetitle.com/assets/sm/upload/n8/1b/h5/tu/tmwtgg_t.jpg?k=ea99aba033[/img][/center] [hr] To call the research and development division of MI6 'cutting edge' would be to do it a disservice. The brightest minds and most abstract thinkers clamoured for a place amongst its alumni. Sure, their cousins across the pond led the world in their research and reverse-engineering of alien artifact, but their actual human development divisions were hampered by layers and layers of bureaucracy that preferred to aim its gun towards the stars. Oh yes, the average SHIELD agent was very jealous of a double-oh's gadgets. And the mastermind behind it all was Q. If M was the strict mother of the household, keeping everything together and running like a well oiled machine, then Q was the doting father. Ready to shower his children with gifts. "Ahh, Bond. Or should I call you, 007?" The unassuming older gentleman said as the agent entered his lab. He stood up from behind his desk and gave him a congratulatory handshake with a warm smile. [color=0072bc]"Bond is fine. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the codename."[/color] "Pish posh. Don't be modest. Everyone gets used to it sooner or later." He rounded around his desk and led Bond into the lab proper. Various lab coats were testing a variety of inventions far too complex for even the greatest minds to decipher. "I don't want to disappoint you bond, but the situation being that it is means the support I can give you is a bit more...subdued than normal. We just can't risk a man like Scaramanga getting his hands on any of our usual gadgets." [color=0072bc]"Well, there's a vote of confidence. My first mission and you're already expecting me to fail?"[/color] [table][row][cell]Q gave a look of feigned shock. "Oh, come now, Bond. We both know you work best under limitations. Plus-" He moved over to a desk, where a series of items had been laid out. "-I did manage to pull some strings with the bureaucrats upstairs. I've spent a bit of time working on what equipment I can provide you for this mission. Items designed specifically to combat Scaramanga." [color=0072bc]"You're a gem, Q. What have you got for me?"[/color] Q picked up what appeared to be an elegant silver cigarette case from the table and flicked it open with an effortless motion. Inside rested a row of immaculate black cigarettes banded with thin rings of gold. [color=0072bc]"Cyanide?"[/color] Bond asked feigning a tone of hope. "Good lord, no. Must everything with you double-ohs end in violent death?" Q sighed, though there was obvious amusement beneath it. He carefully removed one of the cigarettes and held it between two fingers. "These are trackers. Extremely sophisticated ones." Bond raised an eyebrow. [color=0072bc]"You want me to offer Scaramanga a smoke?"[/color][/cell][cell][img]https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/6c82fc95da36b4c70925cdd5272e1b9029758212/432_208_3035_1821/master/3035.jpg?width=1200&height=1200&quality=85&auto=format&fit=crop&s=ed980e89ac910342ec3dba372feb78ad[/img] [color=2e2c2c]____________________________________[/color][/cell][/row][/table]"Not Scaramanga." Q pressed lightly against the filter, causing the gold band to split apart and reveal a tiny adhesive capsule hidden beneath. "The filter contains a micro-transmitter with a magnetic and adhesive backing. Plant it on clothing, jewellery, handbags, vehicles, anything likely to stay in close proximity to the target." [color=0072bc]"And the cigarette?"[/color] "A disguise. Nobody questions cigarettes in casinos, bars, or nightclubs. Especially attractive women." Q handed it over carefully. "The transmitter is SHIELD-assisted technology. Nearly impossible to detect unless one knows precisely what they're looking for." Bond turned the case over appreciatively. [color=0072bc]"And here I thought smoking was bad for me."[/color] "It is. Try not to inhale." Q moved further down the table and lifted what appeared to be an elegant Omega wristwatch, draping it over the back of his hand as he displayed it for Bond. "This one I fought very hard for." Bond slipped it onto his wrist and glanced at the watch face [color=0072bc]"It tells the time?"[/color] Q gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Astonishing deduction, 007. Yes, amongst its many miraculous capabilities it does indeed manage to perform the basic function of a watch." Bond strapped it onto his wrist. [color=0072bc]"And the [i]other[/i] miraculous capabilities?"[/color] Q clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly beside the workbench. "Scaramanga is, above all else, a marksman. One does not earn a title like [i]The Man With the Golden Gun[/i] by missing. The moment he decides to take a shot, you'll likely already be dead." [color=0072bc]"Comforting."[/color] "Which is why we've designed the watch to detect focused optical surveillance. Rifle scopes, high-powered sights, long-range targeting lenses - anything directing concentrated magnification toward the wearer triggers the sensor array hidden beneath the bezel." Bond raised an eyebrow. [color=0072bc]"Meaning?"[/color] "The watch flashes and vibrates the instant someone sights you through a scope." Q smiled faintly. "Think of it as a polite tap on the shoulder informing you somebody several hundred yards away is about to remove your head." [color=0072bc]"So no checking the time while using it."[/color] Q ignored him again, already reaching for the next object: a polished set of cufflinks. Bond paused. [color=0072bc]"Nice pick, Q. These will go great with the new suit."[/color] "Yes, well, I know you like to be a snazzy dresser." Q pressed top of the cufflinks with his thumb and it clicked open. Inside sat an impossibly thin filament wire wound tightly around a miniature motor. "Garrote wire. Monomolecular edge. Strong enough to cut through steel handcuffs." Bond gave an approving nod. [color=0072bc]"Subtle."[/color] "You'll notice a recurring theme." [color=0072bc]"Meaning?"[/color] "You're hunting a man who survives because he expects spectacle. So I've equipped you with things he won't expect." Q finally stopped at the last item resting alone near the edge of the table. A small ivory-coloured radio no larger than a cigarette packet. Bond picked it up carefully. [color=0072bc]"This doesn't look very dangerous."[/color] "It isn't. That's why it's important." Q folded his arms behind his back. "Long-range encrypted transmitter disguised as a standard civilian radio receiver. No satellite signature. No digital footprint. Entirely analogue." [color=0072bc]"Bit old fashioned."[/color] "Exactly." Q pointed at him with a surprising amount of irritation. "Scaramanga is believed to intercept military communications before agents even know they've been compromised. The man practically lives inside the modern surveillance state. So for this assignment we've gone backwards." Bond looked over the collection once more. Nothing exploded spectacularly. Nothing invisible. Nothing absurd. No lasers. Very different from the normal Q-branch modus operandi. [color=0072bc]"You've gone to a lot of effort here Q. What's the occasion?"[/color] "I can't put in a bit of extra legwork for a friend?" Q's expression dimmed slightly. "Scaramanga killed two agents I equipped in Hong Kong." He adjusted his glasses carefully. "One of them was a friend. I don't intend on having another die on my watch." The humour in the room evaporated. Bond chose not to make the obvious pun. He gave him a quick nod. [color=0072bc]"Understood. Don't worry Q, we'll get our man this time."[/color] For a moment neither man spoke. Around them the laboratory buzzed with life - engineers shouting measurements, prototype drones whizzing through testing chambers, sparks showering somewhere deeper within the facility. Finally Q cleared his throat and forced some levity back into his voice. "Now then. Before you go getting yourself murdered, there is one final matter." Bond sighed. [color=0072bc]"There's always one."[/color] Q reached beneath the desk and produced a set of car keys, dropping them into Bond's palm. [color=0072bc]"Oh no."[/color] Bond muttered. "Oh yes." [color=0072bc]"You do remember what happened to the Aston Martin in Marseille?"[/color] "I remember what happened to three Aston Martins in Marseille." [color=0072bc]"That wasn't entirely my fault."[/color] Q looked genuinely offended. "One of them ended up on a roof." Bond slipped the keys into his pocket with a grin. [color=0072bc]"Then I'll do my best to only lose two this time."[/color] "Do try. Treasury's begun referring to you as an active financial threat. Regardless, I think you'll like this one, Bond."