Re: SPECTRE: The Unofficial Novelisation

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 1: THE FIRST CHAPTER

Bond broke into that weird shortarse run of his, then turned and shot a cameraman. At least the gunbarrel is at the beginning this time, he thought, even if it's all downhill from here.

Iris out on Mexico City during the annual Dia de Los Muertos festival. Bond was in the lift of his favourite hotel. Hotel, named with the same bold minimalism as this film. He was dressed as Baron Samedi. With him was a woman named Estrella.

"Faster, I can't wait!" she panted in the hotel corridor, as he fumbled with the keys to his room. Finally, he got the door open. As she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, he pulled his wrist away and said "Sorry, I have to go".

"Already? You promised me more screen time than this on the casting couch".
"That's showbusiness", he smirked, as he grabbed a briefcase, pulled off the Baron Samedi mask, and jumped out of the open window.
"Oh well", she sighed. "At least I won't have to do that again. He looked so much better with the mask on."

Bond jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Eventually, he found a spot opposite a block of apartments, and pulled out his sniper's rifle and a laser microphone. His target's name was Gallo, and with the aid of his scope and the microphone, he could see and hear that he was talking to a man he recognised as notorious gangster Marco Sciarra. He noticed that Sciarra made a big show of waving a ring in Gallo's face. A ring with a silver hazelnut on it. Gallo was obviously intimidated by this, and Bond wondered why.

"So everything is arranged", said Gallo.
"Yes", replied Sciarra. "We kill the ambassador with the exploding Ferrero Rocher, fly out of here, and visit the Pale King".
"That's what you think", thought Bond, as he aimed the sight of the rifle between Gallo's eyes. Unfortunately, Sciarra spied the laser spot and pushed Gallo out of the way. The bullet whizzed past the pair of them and slammed into the box of Ferrero Rocher behind them, causing an almighty explosion.

"Mr Grimsdale!", Bond yelled, as the front of the apartment block came crashing towards him. Fortunately, he passed through an open window, silent movie style, and was left unharmed.

He wasn't the only one. Somehow, Sciarra had also survived, and was making his way through the Day of the Dead procession below, bloodied but alive. Bond had almost caught up with him when a helicopter descended. Sciarra got in. As it took off, Bond jumped onto one of the landing skids.

He opened the door and grabbed Sciarra. "Who is the Pale King?", he yelled. The pilot rolled the helicopter violently from side to side, trying to shake Bond out. Instead, it was Sciarra who fell out of the door. He grabbed Bond's hand. "Nice ring", said Bond, and pulled the hazelnut ring off his finger. The helicopter was almost upside-down now, and the motion sent Sciarra out of the door and into the helicopter's rotor blades.

"Looks like I made mincemeat out of him", said Bond, woodenly, his words landing with the same almighty thud as his single line of dialogue in the Heineken® ad.

"Don't", sighed the pilot. "Just...don't. Roger could pull off lines like that. You can't".

Bond shut up, and stared at the ring. He looked closer, closer, until....

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 2: Titles


The screen goes dark, a long monotonous tone is heard, through a barrage of images depicting Mickey Mouse masks, tombstones and pistols we find Bond wandering a dark maze with each turn down a blind ally he is greeted by the silhouette of a nude man dancing on the wall, then the lyrics begin:

Spectre, Spectre, when you've seen it you'll ask what the heck there!
There'll be incest and intrigue, daddy issues galore!
That's Spectre, for sure!

Spectre, Spectre, what a train wreak there
Fun and adventure have been shown to the door!
That's Spectre, what a bore!

Spectre, Spectre, we’re cutting a big check there,
Our money would be better spent if we just gave to the poor
Spectre, $300 million not a penny more.

Spectre, Spectre, we just don’t give a fleck there,
You’ll be asleep before the second lion’s roar
Spectre, you’ll snore!

Spectre, Spectre, a pain in the neck there,
Political Correctness has cut to the core
Spectre, my jaws on the floor!

Spectre, Spectre, you’ll wish a bird your eyes will peck there,
The script should be trashed right after its tore,
Spectre, your nerves will be sore.

Spectre, Spectre, plot hole the size of a hectare!
We've stripped the franchise of all of it's lore!
That's Spectre, forevermooooooore!

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 3: THE REBEL/M/C

Bond walked up Whitehall, and into the headquarters of Universal Exports. Cameras tracked him wherever he walked, lenses shattering whenever they saw his face full-on. "Rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb" said the administrative staff in unison as he walked through the open-plan section of the building towards M's office.

In the outer office, Moneypenny was doing some audio typing, a USB headset on her head. Bond reached for his hat to throw it on the hatstand, realised he wasn't wearing a hat, and quickly pretended to scratch his head in a vain attempt to avoid looking like a complete tit. Moneypenny looked up briefly, bit her lip to avoid laughing, then resumed her typing. The red light went on above M's door, signalling Bond to enter.

A spinning newspaper rocketed towards Bond. He could just make out the headline, "POUTAGE IN MEXICO", before it smacked him full in the face. "Ow", he said flatly.

"Would you care to explain this?", said M cooly.
"It's a printed daily publication containing mostly news stories, along with sports reports, crosswords and other ephemera. People used to read them before the Internet came along".
"I meant the headline, you dolt. What were you doing in Mexico City?"
There was a pause.
"Well?"
"Oh, sorry", said Bond. "I was just allowing a space for amateur video editors to insert a clip of one of the good versions of me, and put it on YouTube".

"If that's going to be your attitude, 007, there's not a lot I can do for you. C is going to be here in a minute. He's been itching for an excuse to scrap the 00 programme, and you just gave him one."

"C?"

"Yes, he's...." M was interrupted by the door opening. As a man who Bond didn't recognise walked in, there was a crash of thunder and a stab of dramatic music. Outside, Bond could hear the administrative staff booing and hissing.

"007, this is C. C, 007".

"So your real name begins with a C then?" enquired Bond. "Or are you just called that because you're a c...."

"Actually, d'name's Jim Moriarty, so 'tis", interrupted C in a thick Irish brogue. "The C actually stands for Cheaper than Chiwitel Ejiofor. You're dat feller who blew up Mexico City, aren't you?"

"Actually, 007 was just leaving", said M, hastily. "Report to Q in the morning".
"Very good, sir", replied Bond, and walked out of the door.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 4: the Plot Thickens


Bond read the note, "I knew I couldn't trust you! If you're reading this, it's because I knew you weren't up to solving the Skyfall matter."


"I wonder what that means" He thought. Flipping it over he saw more.

"It means you failed yet another mission you dolt, killing me in the process!" It continued, "There is a mole in MI6, and before you ask a mole is a double agent someone working for the other side."

"Thank god she wrote that down", he said to himself "I was about to go to the hardware store for rodent bait."

The note went on, "Trust no one at MI6, except of course Bill Tanner, and perhaps Q branch as we would have a hard time shoehorning in all our lucrative product placement deal without them. Now make your way to Rome, that's in Italy you dullard, and look up the widow of the man you killed in Mexico. I know I shouldn't know about that as I was killed off, but we need to move this story along, and John Logan's head hurts!"...

[dirtybenny]

P.S. The note read "Get a life!"


Included with the note was a faded and burnt photograph. Three figures were in the photo an adult man and two younger boys, one of them Bond and the other's face was illegible due to a perfectly placed burn mark directly over the face and nowhere else.

"Who do you suppose they are?", Moneypenny asked.

"Let's see" said Bond looking at the picture, "I know me obviously, and I know Mr. Oberhauser my foster father, this third lad, I know Oberhauser had a son about the height and weight of this fellow, considering we grew up together he should be someone I would instantly recognize, despite the face of this photo being mutilated, oh well, one of life's little mysteries." Bond mused.

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 5: THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS

The next day, Bond and Bill Tanner were speeding up the Thames in a RIB, a Rigid Inflatable Boat designed for military use. Bond was wearing a hi-vis inflatable life jacket, in order to comply with health and safety regulations, and to rob him of any last shred of dignity. Sartorial elegance is so 20th century, don't you know?

"I hear the MI6 building above us is going to be demolished in a huge explosion", Tanner said out of nowhere.
"What does that have to do with me?", said Bond
"Nothing. I'm sure we need never mention it again".

The RIB turned off the river into an underground stream, leading to a quay buried deep beneath the bowels of Whitehall. From there, a corridor led to a white, zen-like room where Q and his staff were working on various devices. Q welcomed them.
"Ah, Bond, Tanner. All together as one big happy family, just like the one you don't have, being an orphan and all".
"Oh Christ" growled Bond. "Not another Big Theme".
"Well, I don't do gadgets any more, so spelling out the subtexts for the stupider members of the audience is all I've got left".
"Don't do gadgets?" Bond pointed to a shiny new Aston Martin DB10. "What do you call that?"
"I call it...The Car."
"Astounding!", gasped Bond. "How do you chaps come up with these names? It's...."
"Bold, yet minimalist" said Bond, Q and Tanner in unison.
"It's beautiful", continued Bond, stroking The Car as if he were groping a villain's sex slave while on a mission.
"It's assigned to 009. You get this Omega® watch."
"What does it do?"
"It tells the time."
"Anything else?"
"It has an alarm."
Bond looked at him witheringly.
"A really loud one" Q added, almost apologetically.
"Well, when 009 gets killed--and he will, 009s have a shorter life expectancy than Spinal Tap drummers--can I have it?"
"We'll have to see about th...."

Just then, Q was interrupted by a member of his staff handing him a black-bordered file. He studied it, gravely.
"Well, 007, it looks like you're in luck."

[Napoleon Solo]

CHAPTER 6: THE REWRITES ACCELERATE

"What is it?" James Bond asked.

"It's the latest rewrites," Q replied. "They're coming in much faster than before. It appears The Car does have some gadgets."

Bond's face wrinkled. "Well, what are they?"

Q was flustered. "I don't know yet! I just received the bloody pages. Here, let me study the pages, while you and Tanner engage in some expository dialogue."

The quartermaster walked over to the other side of the workshop, leaving Tanner with Bond.

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" Bond asked.

"Expository? It's where one of the character explains things to the audience. Stars don't like to do it, so a supporting character usually does. Remember the movie Airport?"

"Vaguely, I think," Bond said.

"The stars were Burt Lancaster and Dean Martin. At a critical point in the plot, somebody had to explain how decompression would occur on an airplane. So, George Kennedy, a co-star, provided the explanation but did so in an entertaining way so it didn't seem so obvious he was explaining something."

"Well, I'm the star," Bond said. "I suppose you better provide the explanation here."

"Right," Tanner replied. "You see, the head of MI5, whose name is Denbigh but goes by the letter C, has arranged for a merger of his department and Mi6. He's also the driving force for the formation of Nine Eyes. That's an international intelligence cooperative, sort of like U.N.C.L.E. in the old television show, but we're figuring that was so long ago nobody will remember. But we don't know yet if Nine Eyes will be formed or not?"

"Why not?" Bond asked.

"Suspense," Tanner replied.

"Oh," Bond shrugged.

Q returned.

"Well, what did you learn, Q?" Bond asked.

"I now know how The Car works," Q said. "And I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Really, 007. You go on all these rogue missions and you expect me to tell you how the pride of the MI6 technology works? Besides, I already told you it's assigned to 009."

"That was before the rewrite."

"Sorry." Q paused. "Is there anything else?"

Bond knew he'd need another ally before taking on his task.

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 7: OH YEAH, I ALMOST FORGOT THE NANOBLOOD

"Oh yeah," said Q. "I almost forgot the nanoblood"
Bond started to do a big comedy double-take, then remembered that he couldn't do comedy if his life depended on it.
"The what now?"
"Nanoblood. I inject these nanobots into your bloodstream and they send us all sorts of information about you. It's a part of the Nine Eyes program that's already up and running, like email surveillance and toilet sensors".
"Toilet sensors?"
"Yeah, didn't you know? Every toilet in Britain is equipped with a little sensor that sends out a signal to the parcel delivery companies when you sit down, enabling them to always ring your doorbell when you're in the middle of taking a dump."
"And why would Q division be involved with something like that?"
"For the lulz. Anyway, look over there!"
Bond turned his head and Q jabbed a needle into his arm.
"Oww, bloody hell Q!"
"Sorry. I knew if I asked nicely, you'd only tell me to piss off".
"Piss off."
"Too late. Now, let's see".
He looked at a computer screen.
"Your vital signs are performing nicely, location tracking is accurate and you're wearing Moneypenny's underwear".
"The nanoblood told you that?"
"No, I can see them poking over the top of your trousers".
"Sorry about that, got dressed in a hurry this morning. But how did you know they were Moneypenny's?"

Q blushed and hurriedly closed a laptop that appeared to be displaying CCTV footage of the ladies' toilets.
"Never mind than now, 007. I think you're all set".
"And The Car?"
"I told you, assigned to 009". He looked again at the black-bordered file. "Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot. Take it and bugger off".

Later that evening, Bond sat alone in his flat. The doorbell chimed the melody of Extreme Ways by Moby. He opened the door to find Moneypenny standing there.
"Can I come inside?", she asked.
"You usually do", bantered Bond, embarrassingly.
"Ooh, cheeky!" She entered the flat, holding a box of artifacts.
"What's that?"
"Some props from the last movie. We're reusing them to try and cut the budget of this white elephant somehow".

As Bond looked through them, his blood froze. The nanobots switched to defrost mode instantly. As he studied an old photograph, the memories came flooding back. That fateful day at the Eton school assembly when the headmaster had uttered the dreaded words "Hands up all those whose parents are still alive...not so fast, Bond". His foster-brother, a bald 13-year-old boy in a Nehru jacket, stroking a white cat with one hand and touching his pinky to the corner of his mouth with the other.

"Who's that?", Moneypenny enquired.
"Dunno", said Bond, unconvincingly.
"Right. Anyway, I was just wondering why you blew up Mexico City", Moneypenny said, desperately trying to sound casual.
"M told me to."
"M? M was furious with you."
"No, not Voldemort M. Dead M". He turned on the TV and a Sony® Blu-Ray® disk started up. The face of Dame Judi Dench filled the screen.
"If I should die at the end of Skyfall as a result of your bungling, I want you to find a man named Lucio Sciarra, who I had somehow forgot to ever mention before, and kill him for me. And don't miss the funeral"

Moneypenny was dumbstruck. "You never told anybody because you didn't trust anybody. So why are you telling me".
"I was hoping to get a shag out of it".
"Sorry James, I've met someone else. A good-looking guy who isn't a complete psycho. When's the funeral?"
"Two days time, in Rome. Maybe we can shag when I get back?"
"Goodnight James".Moneypenny left, slamming the door behind her. From inside the bedroom, he heard Estrella's voice.
"You promised me more screen time, James!"
"Not you again! Sorry, darling, we have to cut to the next sce...."

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 8: Professor Moriarty Spells out Nine Eyes.


M entered the room awe struck by the large banks of video screens lining all four walls of the head of MI5's office.

C stood up from behind his grand desk, "Welcome M" he manically cackled "Welcome to Nine Eyes, MMMMUUUUUHHHHAAAAA" as he said this lightning crashed and music thundered DUN DUN DUUUUNNNN.

"My, this is an impressive set up" M responded, "What do all these screens do?"

"Come M, let me show you the POWER of Nine Eyes! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The two men walked over to the control panel of the largest video bank. C grabbed the joystick and tapped the keyboard cackling the entire time.

"Watch this center screen" C made a key stroke and the large screen flickered to life showing the street view of the front of MI6.

"That's a neat trick" M said "What else does it do?"

"Just wait" C snickered, "You haven't seen anything yet!"

C tapped the keyboard some more the image switched to the interior of MI6 revealing several office personnel including Moneypenny packing boxes.

"BEHOLD MY MAGNIFICENCE!!!!!!" C screamed, as he wildly moved the joystick.

The screen changed to the interior of the women's locker room. Female employees moved about in various states of dress.

"This is all truly impressive C" said M naively, "But, what would happen if this technology fell in to the wrong hands"

C muttered to himself "Let's see what's going on in the lady's room at Harrods", "Don't be ridiculous M, it's in MY HANDS MUHAHAHA", "Once we ace the vote in Japan I will have the POWER, I'll be the GOD, HAHAHAHAHA"

M could still hear the cackling as he left the meeting and made his way down the hall, M thought to himself, "My this Nine Eyes program will be a great boon to humanity, nothing could possibly go wrong, I can't wait until the vote passes."

[Blowfeld]

Chapter 9
Everything is Nothing

Bond felt the bile of ennui* rising at the back of throat. He had just watched a man die. In his mind he saw the look of surprise on the man’s face as a bullet pierced his heart. Bond could still see all of this vividly because he was looking directly at the man through the high power scope of his government(tm) issued sniper rifle.

Bond frowned deeply as the tragedy played out before him. Why did this man have to die? He questioned the gods accusingly as he neatly tucked away the weapon he used to take the man’s life.

Honk! Honk!

The calm quite evening previously shattered by Bond's bullet striking its mark was once again shattered by a car horn.

Honk!

Hoooonnnnkkkkk!

Agent Eve impatiently leaned on the horn of their rented Nissan Versa®.

“Christ!” He thought, “What does she want now?” Was he imagining it or was the pattern to how she pressed the horn sounding out –Get--a – Liiifffe!

Frazzled Bond tired to calm himself by straightening his tie and tugging at his cufflinks, which he was not wearing. He had refused to pick them off the Mohawk ColourCenter® carpet adorning the floor of their hotel room, after “that woman” (Eve) had chucked the Brooks Brothers® cufflinks at him and missed. “Get a life!!“ She had screamed as she threw the 24 carat mancessory at Bond.

Feeling properly dapper Bond was ready to disembark the roof of the Sherwin‑Williams® paint store he had used as his snipers nest. Then the “f**king” car horn started again.

‘For f**ksake! What f**king part of co-f**king-vert does she not f**king get!’ Bond swore bitterly under his breath.

Once more he did his calm down routine, first the tie then the cufflinks. He had seen it once in a sixties or seventies movie. The gentleman agent in the movie was a suave, confident, competent man. You know the traditional tall, dark, and handsome leading man. The kind of man Bond knew in his heart he could never be.

In the movie this secret agent had little mannerisms and one liners to coolly transition from killing a baddy to bedding the beauty next to him. Bond was working on his own one liner, something to do with Micky Mouse he decided.

Bond thought about the beauties in those movies as he climbed down. Dear god that was in the dark ages, before scientist discovered women did not like sex. Not at all as it turned out. He found this out when he had asked a girl he liked at Eton Community College if she'd like to "Shag now? Or Shag Later", the girl ,a scientist, explained the science to him so he would never bother another girl.

As Bond thought about it he realized what an unrealistic expectation those movie created. There was never a reason those women would want to be near let alone be touched by some handsome fellow who treated them like a lady.

Bond’s own experience with the fairer sex had been traumatic at best. He could still see the look of disgust in his first crushes Roan’s eyes when he told her he fancied her then asked if she would like to go with him some time to get a burger at the local malt shop. She began avoid Bond after this.

Bond was well into his late thirties before his first true experience with love. With as it turned out a traitor who rather killed herself than spend one second more with Bond. They had worked out the details, it was no problem, all she had to do was turn triple agent for the British and she would be home free. Then Bond made the fateful mistake of asking her to marry him.

Vesper’s voice croaked, ‘I’d have to marry you?’

Bond told her it would be wonderful they would be together forever. In Venice the next day Vesper for no reason at all made a break for it rushing into a building about to be demolished. Locking herself in an old fashion elevator she patiently waited to plunge to her death. As she choked on her last lung full of murky water Bond recalled her face wore a mask of relief.

One time Bond had described his experiences in detail to Bill Tanner, one of his few friends in the service, Bill clicked his tongue a few times, looked sadly at the tiny man with unfortunate looks before him.

‘Matey.’ Said Bill ‘Those were “pity f***s”’

Bond had tried to argue. Each time Bill shot him down in turn.

‘Nope. Those are “pity f***s” too’

The time Bond was capture and molested by the mad man Raoul Silva, Bond was secretly grateful for the attention.

‘Nah! That was pity too.’ Bill’s voice still rung in his ears.

Now on the ground Bond put all thoughts of loves lost behind him. With a tug of the cufflinks and a straighten of his tie he was ready to move on. The shrill sound of the car horn jarred him once more. He was standing directly in front of the car. Bond had parked right next to the stores fire escape so he wouldn’t have a long commute to work this evening.

He glared at the car, his gaze met by the unblinking angry face of Eve. Bond tried to shrug it off, moving to the rear of the vehicle to stow his gear. Eve pressed the button for the horn again. Bond slammed the lid of the boot shut, stomped over to the driver window which was down and said in an exasperated voice;

‘What the slapstick f**k Eve!? I’m standing right f**king here!’

Eve glared at him from the passenger’s side of the Nissan.

‘I’m hungry. Let’s go.’

Bond couldn’t argue with that. As far as he could recall they never actual ate at the last restaurant they were at.

‘Fine.’ He said in his drab voice.

He shrugged his shoulders taking his place in the driver seat of the car. He was so angry at Eve he defiantly refused to put on his seatbelt. When the automatic door lock triggered as he put the car into gear he flipped them back to unlocked.

Eve and Bond fought and bickered like an old married couple. But the make-up sex was great. At least Bond assumed it was make-up sex.

As they drove Bond scanned for a Taco Bell® after all when in Mexico why not eat authentic Mexican.

They drove in blissful silence not speak a word to each other. This last for a few miles until Eve felt she had to speak up.

‘I don’t suppose the SAS thought you how to read?’

Bond was offended; of course he knew how to read.

‘I can read.’ He said flatly.

‘Really?’ Said eve in a surprised voice, ‘Then you should know it is against the law to not wear your seat belt in Mexico.’

Bond looked over at her giving his smuggest most contrite look.
‘I’ve got a licence to kill. I can do “whatev”.’

‘No, you can’t do “whatever”. You have to obey all local and international laws. Including traffic and banking. You wouldn’t just go out and rob a bank would you?’

Eve looked to Bond much to her shock he had a guilty look. Eve defeated and disillusioned sank lower into her seat as if to avoid being seen with Bond.

‘s**t.’ Was all she quietly mumbled.

‘Look I’ve been at this a lot longer than you. I pretty much do what I want when I want. It all works out.’

‘No. You f**king chimp. It doesn’t’

‘I don’t see how you can say that. You don’t know’

‘I do know.’

‘No. No, you don’t’

‘Look here Bobo. There is a standard and ethic we are supposed to uphold. You and me. Not just me, or M, or the boffins back at the shop. You and I are supposed to be the best England has to offer.’

Eve let the silence hang for a tick. Then a few more before she spoke up again.

‘It’s on our bloody rental agreement too.’

‘What is?’ Bond asked surprised ‘The ethics?’

‘The bleedin seatbelt. You’re supposed to be wearing it! Why do you think the obnoxious chime is going on and on. This bloody car is smarter than you!’

‘I don’t have to wear a seatbelt if I don’t wanna!’

‘You do. You really do!’

‘No I don’t!’

‘Yes, you do!’

Bond had had enough so he let loose with his strongest retort.

‘f**k you!’

‘No! f**k you!’

‘Nooo! f**k! Youuu!’

‘No! f**k you!’

As they paused catching their breath, angry eyes locking on to each other accusingly the smouldering fiery passion lingering just beneath the surface caught on.

‘Find a place. Now!’ Eve commanded.

So much for what the scientist know thought Bond.

Bond nodded his head, he understood his next objective perfectly. Bond forgot locating a Taco Bell® desperately looking for the closest Denny’s® with their sturdy tables.

‘Look, there!’ shouted Eve.

Bond saw it, the Rainforest Café®, swerving into oncoming traffic he cut across the grassy median running over a shrub in the process. He clipped two parked cars (a Volkswagen Polo® & Vauxhall Astra®) as he recklessly sped through parking lot. Nimbly he slid Nissan® into the handicapped parking space nearest the front of the restaurant. Wasting no time both agents of her majesty secret service bolted out of the car rushing into the restaurant crashing into an America tourist family as they crossed the threshold.

‘Jeeze. I’m sorry buddy I didn’t see you there. Ya all right.’ Said the large amiable man with a Texan accent. Bond had nearly knocked the man over if it had not been for Bond’s dainty size.

Bond realizing he was in a foreign land conducted himself as one should. Pulling his service sidearm, silencer already in place he shot the large man in his shoulder. The screams of horror from his family was deafening.

‘Lo siento, no hablo español.’ Replied Bond in Spanish. Forgetting his native tongue. Since he was already on auto pilot he belched out rehearsed Spanish phrases.

It was not long before mixed screams of terror from all nationalities were heard as young and old fled for their lives from this family friendly restaurant.

After this short "pit stop" Bond and Eve were back on trial of one of the most dangerous foes the world has ever known.



Ennui*

* noun
1.
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom:

[Blowfeld]

Chapter 10
What Dreams May Come

Part I

Irish Dreamtime

007 woke in a cold sweat in darkened hospital room. He fumbled in the dark until he found his lighter and pack of hospital issued cigarettes. Not his usual brand but they would make do. Flicker of the lighter illuminated the room for half an instant revealing its occupant completely. The lone occupant was a man with a slim build; a three-inch long, thin vertical scar on his right cheek; blue-grey eyes; a "cruel" mouth; short, black hair, a comma of which falls on his forehead. If you looked really close in good lighting the faint scar of the Russian cyrillic letter "Ш" was visible on the back of his right hand.

James Bond 007 rubbed his face sleepily, Klebb’s poison was really doing a number on him. Although if it were not for his good friend René Mathis he would be dead.

Bond thought over his dream, five different faces danced across his mind; a Scotsman who never lost his accent, a Australian underwear model, a middle aged English UNICEF volunteer and Royal Post spokesman, a serious young Welshman, and a posh photogenic Irishman. There was a sixth face however he felt was unrelated to the rest, as if this sixth persona had nothing to do the James Bond 007 he was, and yet show how they, the other five, had.

Bond shuddered a moment as he recalled a double taking pidgin and the Irishman hiding behind an invisible car. That fat southern sheriff couldn’t be real either he decided. Although he had to admit the Scotsman had quality toupees.

No it was still the sixth face that haunted him. Just as the fever dream of his life began to make sense it started over again with a short Stazi looking fellow as different from James Bond 007 as the sun was to the moon.

Smartly stubbing out the cigarette in the ash tray James Bond 007 turned his mind to more pleasant topics, namely Tatiana Romanova. He wondered what became of her. Such a sweet girl. His eyelids grew heavy as he wondered what she would make of him if fate ever allowed for them to meet again.


Part II
Dream a Little Dream.

“Put, Ya f**king hands up!” a chavy voice bellowed. A short elderly man face disguised by a green bandana was violently waving a black Walther PPK around.

Moneypenny was standing in line waiting to deposit her pay cheque at the bank. She was unsure sure why because she had always used direct deposit. Frozen in her dream state she couldn’t react as she would in real life so she studied the figure robbing the place. There was something about the closely cropped head of grey hair and combination of stupid flower print shirt and khaki pants. It was familiar…
Suddenly she knew it was Bond.

‘Austin Powers fucked us so we got to rob banks now!’ he declared loudly.

d**n him! If she could move in this dream she would shoot him dead. And if you die in the dreamworld you die in reality. Or did that only apply to the internet gaming and gambling? You go broke on the internet and you’re broke in real life she knew that without question.

‘You f**king 1% are pissing on the rest of us! Now it’s time to piss on you!’

For a moment she was very afraid Bond was about to whip ‘it’ out then begin urinating with wild abandon. Thankfully her dream state was not so depraved to allow this to happen.

Instead Bond walked up to a scared girl scout, ‘Hey little girl. I’ve got a riddle for ya. What is part monk? Part hit man? And all up in ya grill?!’

Bond laughed at his own wit. The little girl whimpered and cried, scared senseless by the thuggish Lilliputian before her. Well, she was almost senseless, she retain the wherewithal to remember who to call for help.

‘Save me Sean Connery!’ she cried at the top of her lungs.

Bond looked back at the girl confused. What had she just said? For some reason it made Bond’s skin feel like it was burning, the effect was like pure sunlight caressing a vampire.

Moneypenny quickly scanned the room looking for the name of the bank. She finally found it over the glass door in the front. In big bold letters it said; The Royal Bank of Scotland.
Yes! she thought relieved. He would be on call here. Maybe just maybe a miracle would happen.

The door flung inward as a tall, proudly bald as he was proudly Scottish, elderly man wearing a kilt came through.
Thank god for you Sean! thought Moneypenny.

‘What is all the fuss?’ he slurred his words in his delightful (Scottish?) accent.

The room was calmed down just by the very presence of the man in the kilt. Connery walk over to the crying girl who so bravely called for his help, gently wiping away her tears he looked over to Bond.

‘Making a child cry? Really what kind of man are you?’

Slightly shaken, not stirred, gun trebling in his hands he replied, ‘I’m James Bond. Who the f**k are you?’

‘Ah. Bond. Yes. A British agent!’

Connery looked back to the girl and in gentle voice said ‘You see this is why we must win our independence. It is a essential.’ The little girl smiles nodding her head knowing without a doubt the wisdom of Sir Sean Connery.

Bring his full attention back to the enemy agent Connery spoke.

‘Bond. Yess. I have heard of you. But never, not once, did I think you would be brazen enough to come here to steal money from the good people of Scotland. I certainly never thought to have you darken my doorstep.’

‘What?’ Bond said ‘this money is Box Office receipts! It’s mine!’

‘No.’ Connery replied calmly ‘It’s stolen goods. This money belongs to James Bond, and a good man named Ian Fleming. Seeing as neither of them are around I don’t think they would mind the good working people of the world holding on to their money for just awhile longer. Until the real James Bond reappears that is.’

Oh no! thought Moneypenny, Bond is never one for words. If he feels he is losing a verbal exchange, as he usually does, this could get real ugly real fast.

And it did. Losing what passed for his cool, Bond ripped off the bandana covering his face exposing the ugliest snarl the world has ever known.

‘Now that’s a face for radio!’ quipped Sir Sean Connery.

The room filled with an easy laughter. Bond glared across the room threatening each and everyone who dared laugh with those piercing blue soulless eyes of his.
Those are the eyes of madman killer thought Moneypenny.

However Connery was not impressed. Not in the least. Paying Bond no mind he looked at the weapon Bond waved around so freely.
‘What an interesting weapon. Certainly you would not mind if I take a closer look?’

A wicked idea occurred to Bond. Without a word he loosed his grip on the gun allowing the old Scotsman to relieve him of his weapon.

A flood of relief rushed through the room. Everyone thought the crisis was over, but Moneypenny knew better, Bond had a contract.

Sir Sean looked over the room, he made a merry show of weighing the gun in his hand as if it felt a tad too light.
‘I thought for sure he’d hold out for a Heineken! At the very least!’ Sir Sean said addressing the crowd. Addressing Bond he said ‘You like your product placement? Don’t cha’ boy?’

The audience loved it, nearly breaking out in applause. However Bond’s evil smile only grew in intensity. At once Moneypenny could see the workings of Bond’s simple mind. Sir Sean, as the people called him, thought he had disarmed the menace and would soon send the troublesome lad home to nurse his wounds with a cuff behind the ears and maybe a liquorish. If Bond causes any trouble Sir Sean would dispatch him as he had so many enemies of the UK. Bond on the other hand knew the gun he so easily handed over would only work for him and when it came to outright violence nobody beat Bond in berserker mode.

But Bond did something that surprised Moneypenny, he produced a submachine gun out of nowhere declaring.

‘Keep it old man. This is much more my speed!’

He then proceeded to shoot the elder Scotsman in the left leg.

‘The names Bond, James Bond.’

Sir Sean didn’t flinch. In fact he showed no sign of being injured. The only change in his countenance was his face now wore a mask of disappointment.
‘Nobody was asking laddie.’

Dismayed Bond shot Sir Sean in the right leg, when once again Sir Sean failed to show any reaction to being shot, Bond let out a quiet.
‘How?’

‘It something an old friend of mine said once.’

The look on Bond’s face asked what it could be.

‘Never let them see you bleed.’ Sir Sean finished simply, looking at the weapon in his hand as if he was weighing the consequence of using it. Not a violent man by nature however Sir Sean understood well how to make use of the tools of violence.

‘Ha, ha!’ shouted Bond, ‘It will not work for you! Only me! Stupid! Welcome to the f**king 21st century!’

‘He also showed me this’ Sir Sean said in a quiet voice.
‘Boothroyd, Boothroyd, Boothroyd’ he chanted and with a wave of the hand the gun was transformed, it now looked like a piece strait out of the 1960s.
He really should have been Gandalf! Moneypenny gushed.

Flustered Bond shot Sir Sean once more aiming this time for his left shoulder.

‘It will take more than three bad movies to ruin my memory!’ declared Sir Sean the people’s hero.

‘How about four!’ Bond said shooting Sir Sean in his right shoulder.

‘You’ve had your six!’

The tide had turned against Bond and he didn’t even know it.

‘Six?’ Bond laughed cruelly, as he did all things cruelly, laughing was no exception. ‘Can’t you count old man?!!’

Those who knew Sir Sean the best knew what would happen next.

Moneypenny woke up to her alarm on her phone her heart pounding away. She let out a moan as she recoiled from the dream; there was a certain leprechaun she would like the opportunity to shoot again.

Part III
Silence of the Lambs

f**k! Bond woke up unsure of what just happened. Five minutes later his keen cat like reflexes kicked in. There was a shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bunk bed. Probably brandishing a weapon he deduced.

‘I knew I couldn’t trust you.’ Said a nagging hollow ghostly voice.

‘Emm? What are you doing here?’

Bond was surprised, he had been involved in a lot of violence. Killed a lot of people. But never experienced anything quite like this. Well there was that one time he was haunted by the ghost of chicken he shot out of pure boredom. Then there was the ghost of René Mathis who was angry with Bond for dumping his body in a random dumpster. He wanted Bond to dig him up so he could be properly buried. Well Bond certainly was not going to do that! After all Mathis was in a rubbish pit all the bloody way in bloody Bolivia! He’d be damned if he’d use his frequent flyer miles for that. So Bond slipped a gypsy palm reader a fiver to banish both spirits to purgatory. But those were outliers, certainly nothing like this he reasoned. None of them said they could not trust him.

‘You looked were you should not have! You know that you should not!’ M continued.

‘You mean the fugly bulldog? Get off it! You gave it to me! I could do as I please with it! Besides Antiques Road Show(tm) said it was a bit of old bobbins. What do you care if I broke it?’

‘What?’ now it was ghost M’s turn to be confused.
Was Bond playing stupid? No. She knew all too well Bond never played dumb. He is completely, totally, authentic in all aspects of what he does.

‘No you fool! It’s Sony! You’ve read the leaks! You know the story! You’ll desperately try to fight fate! Changing how the story ends! This is the one thing you must not do!’

‘Err.. What?’
Bond had no idea what she was on about. It was like old times really.

‘Lesbians! Arch nemesis! Plot points! Nanoblood! Emails! You know them all! On the internet for all to see!’ M then let out a ghostly howl.

Bond hadn’t paid his bill so he was actually cut off from the online world. Luckily Bond remembers his Dickens. (Thank you Sir Jim Carrey!)

‘Begone spirit! There is more gravy than grave about you! Whatever you are! My senses can be upset by little things! Like a bean burrito from a British truck stop vending machine!’

The former Madam M let out a howl bringing Bond to his knees. Pointing a skeletal finger at Bond she said;

‘I knew you could not be trusted! Be warned! Change one jot from the fished script and you will bring ruin upon the franchise!’

Two more ghost appeared beside M, a writer bloke of spy fiction Bond seems to remember from somewhere, and a producer of spy movies Bond wanted to say was called.. ‘Chubby’ maybe?

The new apparitions spoke in unison.
‘Already the ground shakes as we spin in our graves. If you do not heed our final warning and leave the role to more capable hands, the series will be no more. We can no longer stand by allowing legacy, our names to be misused!’ As they spoke the room shook with increasing intensity.

f**k this noise! Bond was going to pull out the Ghostbusters Proton Packs® he kept hidden under his twin sized Serta® mattress and cross damned beams. That’ll learn Marley and company to mess with Jimmy Bond!

Before Bond could put his brilliant plan into action a voice from above call out;

‘Remember our warning! There will be no others! Now awaken!’

Jesus Christ! Who was that? “f**king God?!” Bond wondered.

Bond woke up in the real world. He was surprised he fell asleep standing up. Like a barn yard animal. But he reasoned that was just the kind of bad ass he is.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 11

"A New Day"


Bond rushed to the bathroom and began to furiously splash his face with water, "It was all a dream thank god!" when he looked bleary eyed in to the vanity mirror he was shocked to see a chimp with bright blond hair cut in a close crew cut!

"My god am I still dreaming!" he exclaimed, then a rush of calm came over him, it was just his own reflection, a chimp couldn't look that old!

As the rain poured out side, Moneypenny began the monotonous daily process of opening the office for the day when she spotted an item on her desk.

It was a cell phone with a note "In case I should need to call on you. LOL, Bond." because that is what passed for witty banter these days.

Just then M walked in with a wheeled flight bag. "Good morning Miss Moneypenny what have you there?"

"Uh nnnnothing, sssssir. Wwwwhy do you have a bag? Did you go on a tttttrip?" she stammered.

"Oh uh yeah, I had to go to Thailand for uh research, yeah that was it, research." M said as he began to blush and scurry off to his office.

Q begins his day with the prospect of finishing work on the Aston Martin DB10™, when he reached the place it was parked he found in it’s place a bottle of Bollinger Champagne™.

“d**n you Bond, you know I’m not old enough to drink yet!” Q thought.

Bond races through Rome in his ill-gotten toy noting the switches and toggles on the dash.
“Atmosphere” “Exhaust” “Air” and “Backfire” subtle he thought at least there are no exploding pens in here. “Wait!” he checked the glove box, “Thank god! None in there either!”

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 12: THE UNDERTAKER'S FLATULENCE

A familiar Aston Martin lurked outside as mourners filed into a cemetery chapel. It wasn't the most spectacular cemetery chapel in Rome, but at least filming was allowed there. Bond's eye was diverted momentarily by a partially obscured bald man in a Nehru jacket. Bond could only see him from behind, but he could see that he was holding a giant bar of Cadbury's Whole Nut.

Then he saw her. A beautiful woman, dressed in black. The widow. He got out of the car and sidled up to her.

"So sorry to hear about your loss. Enrico was a great guy".
"Marco"
"Marco was a great guy. I wrote you a poem about death. Would you like to hear it?"
"Oh my God, you're a poet? You must be so sensitive."
Bond rolled up his sleeve. Words were carved into his arm in scar tissue.
"Death.", he started to intone.
"It totally takes your breath.
Away.
We all go away.
In death".
"Oh my God, that's so deep", gasped the widow. "You're like...Morrissey or someone. I'm Lucia".
"My names is Bond. James Bond".

The next morning, Bond and Lucia lay in bed together.
"I know it's too soon after my husband's death, and that I should be in mourning. But I feel I can trust you. I feel I can tell you anything. Like about the big meeting tomorrow between my late husband's Mafia family, the Chinese Tong, the Spangled Mob and the Union Corse to discuss a new organisation that's being formed".
"You should be careful saying stuff like that. I might be a spy or something."
"Well, then it's lucky that I didn't tell you that the password is Octopus. Oh bugger."

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 13: Rogues Gallery


Bond noted the banner strung beneath the the sign for the hotel as he pulled in to the parking lot.

"The Rome Airport Ramada Inn Welcomes: Spectre Terrorism Conference"

He wasn't sure but he began to suspect he may be in the right place.

As Bond entered the lobby he noted a paper sign taped to a stanchion in the middle of the floor.

"Spectre Terrorists Check in at Ballroom B, B.Y.O.M. Bring Your Own Mask"

Luckily Bond noticed the hotel gift shop was running a special, in honor of the grand opening of Disneyland Rome located adjacent to the Colosseum, all Disney Character masks were 50% off!

Bond selected a Mickey Mouse mask and approached the Ballroom entrance guarded by a large man in a Harlequin mask.

"What's the password?" the man asked.

"d**n!" thought Bond "what was it?" It had something to do with the sea!

"Starfish" he muttered.

"wrong" said the large man.

"Crab" Bond whispered.

"Try again" the guard replied, "Think hard now" he said as he motioned to the infamous Octopus logo.

"Squid" Bond squeaked.

The guard sighed, "Your getting closer" he said as he craned his neck at Bond.

"Octopus!" Bond yelled "Octopus! I got it!"

Inside the Ballroom many representatives from criminal and terrorist organisations were gathered milling about in masks, Bond saw a stool in the corner with a dunce cap perched a top it.

He thought back to his childhood when he was told to wear a similar hat and sit on a similar stool. He instinctively sat on the stool, donned the hat and began sucking his thumb. "What an insight to my early days!" he thought.

As the Meeting began, Bond's reminiscing was broken by an effeminate voice attempting a menacing tone, "JAMES BOND" the voice intoned, "I am the author of all your pain". "You are? What a corny line! So does that make you Pervis or Wade?" Bond replied. Just then the guard working security at the door approached, placing his big meaty hand on Bond's shoulder.

"Who are you?" the guard asked.

To wit Bond uttered his famous catch phrase, "I'm Micky Mouse Asshole!"

Bond could hear over the roar of the ensuing knockdown, drag out fight he was having with the guard that Mr. White, Bond's old enemy was slated for execution at his home by the very organization he worked for.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea if I checked up on this" Bond thought surprised and proud of the genus thought he just had.

Just then Bond sent a crashing blow with his right fist to the face of the guard with all the hulk like, door handle ripping, wall smashing force he has exhibited in the past, sending the man flying across the room.

"I suppose I should show myself the door... man" Bond said out loud, proud of his little pun.

Bond sprinted in to the night, firing up the Aston and screeched off on to the roadway.

[Kristatos]

Chapter 14: ATTENTION, SCUM!

Bond's pulse raced as the Aston slammed into high gear. He....

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM EON FILMS: It has come to our attention that the following sequence was to have been far too reminiscent of those awful Bond films that Daddy used to make, and that as a result, the proles were getting too excited. You didn't come here to be entertained, you know. Here instead, for your education and edification, is an Open University lecture on Non-Euclidean Geometry:
[video]https://youtu.be/an0dXEImGHM[/video]

Followed by a montage of symbolist art:
[video]https://youtu.be/BXXckIx_U_c[/video]

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 15: Falling to Earth


Yes ladies and gentlemen, that was a thrilling chase! I hope none of you blinked, if even for a second as that was in all my years of broadcasting the finest case I've witnessed in recent memory! You won't soon see another chase like that one!

As James Bond descends gently to earth in his parachute which he used to escape his DB-10 just before destruction, I would like to remind you all to book your holiday trips to Mexico, yes beautiful, scenic, and majestic Mexico!

So long as you stay behind the bolted and barricaded steel doors of your all inclusive resort, it is unlikely you will be decapitated and have the name of the local drug cartel carved in to your corpse as a warning to all who see it. Yes Mexico!

Just then Bond came to a gentle landing upon a historic and reputedly haunted bridge when...

[acid]

Chapter 16: A SAD State of Affairs

Suddenly everything went black. Flailing, disorientated, Bond clawed at his eyes and jolted with shock as he felt a small pair of hands there.

"Guess who!" the cheerful voice said.

Bond jumped so hard that he lost his footing and landed hard on the ground, kicking up dust and rolling on to his back.

"Oww, owwwwww get it off me!" the voice said, in some anguish.

With great effort, Bond managed to twist his aged, aching body around and turned to look at the diminutive figure.

"Holy f*ck. You're a, midge, erm, what is it, a midget!"

"Oh Monsieur, you're one smart man."

"But how? Wha-? Wait a minute!" Bonds eyes glazed over and he froze for what seemed like minutes, as if poorly lubricated, neglected cogs, poisoned by years of wonderful smooth and mild British American Tobacco™ and cool refreshing Heineken™, were barely turning.

"F*ck, that's it! I remember dammit! That briefing I was half an hour late for! The case refresher workshop! F*ck! What was it again?"

The small figure, that was getting somewhat tired and bored, glanced wearily at an ornate golden pocket watch, sighed and started to walk slowly away.

"Ohh oh, this is good!" Bond cracked his face painfully into his best approximation of a smug grin. "I know who you are!" he shouted.

The figure stopped casually in his tracks but did not bother to turn around. Then he resumed walking away.

"Nok nok! No! Oh, crap, I know this! Erm, Nook. No! F*ck what was it! Nick Nack!"

The figure paused again "Getting warmer Monsieur!"

Bond's face looked agonised. He felt somehow cheated, outwitted by the nuances of this particular quandry.

"There was a midget. In our refresher. A midget by the name of Nick Nack. You're Nick Nack! Your f*cking name is Nick Nack! Admit it you bast*rd or I'll beat the sh*t out of you!"

The figure carried on walking calmly away, but picked up the pace slightly.

"Stop it! I demand an explanation now! Now!" Bond shouted.

"I'm an homage!" the figure called back.

"A what? What the f*ck?"

"An homage. I'm not allowed to form an integral part of the plot or to remain visible or in any other way influential for any significant length of time." He glanced urgently at the pocket watch again. "In fact Monsieur, it's four thirty. I am already five minutes overdue. This will all be cut." He broke into a sprint.

"Uhh.. Plot? Whassthat?" pleaded Bond, still not moving.

"Life's rich tapestry Monsieur!" shouted back the curious figure as he disappeared over the brow of a hill.

Bond's heart suddenly dropped and his eyes filled with panic. What time did the midget say it was? Some time after four, wasn't it? He cast his eyes skyward. The sun was getting lower. He shuddered and his body started shaking uncontrollably. A tear welled up in one of his eyes. He whimpered slightly. It was happening again.

Three months ago, that awful, monotonous, drawn out affair shadowing that ambassador's downtrodden nephew inside the dark, damp Groundrise apartment block had surely taken its toll on Bond. It had eaten away at his soul somehow. He could never quite remember the name of the condition that Medical had repeated countless times to him. As another tear rolled down his face his pouting lips tried to spit the words out to himself.

"Seasnall aff-ive. Fafftive. Affave.. Affahhhh." the words trailed off into heavy sobbing and moaning as his body shuddered again. Why was the world so cruel, so unfair? He needed a break. He sobbed again.

"Get a life, Monsieur!" the voice shouted from over the brow of the hill, but Bond could not see through his tears and when he crawled forward four feet to where he could just see past it, the figure had gone. It would be getting dark soon. Bond broke into a full on flood of tears, screwed his eyes up tight and rolled into a tight foetal position, rocking backwards and forwards slowly on the hard, dusty ground.

SAD. That was it. Medical said he was SAD.

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 17- MONDSEE, MOND-DO

Bond headed his Range Rover through the Alps. The satnav told him that he was arriving at his destination, in the voice of Mr T. It had seemed funny at first, when he was still in Rome, but it had been a long drive.

The clinic was clean, modern and very expensive looking. The reception desk was unstaffed. Bond looked at a list of room numbers laid casually on the desk. He noticed a name; "ROOM 25 - MR GERALD RESPECTABLE". An instinct told him that it might be an alias.

He crept into room 25. There, hooked up to a drip, was an old, dishevilled Mr White.

"I always knew that death would wear a familiar face. I didn't think that it would be yours", he croaked.
"Whose did you think it would be?" enquired Bond
"I was thinking maybe Alan Titchmarsh".
"But I'm a trained assassin. Wouldn't I be a more logical choice for the face of death than Alan Titchmarsh?"
"I suppose when you put it like that, it does make more sense, yes".

Bond assembled his weapon. He put the silencer on the barrel of the gun.

"Would you put on a cardigan when you do it?", wheezed Mr White. "Alan wears such lovely cardigans."
"Will you shut up about Alan Titchmarsh?", snapped Bond."What the hell happened to you anyway?"
"I made some ill-advised comments about Bond films being s**t. The next thing I know, Amy Pascal is handing me a special studio cellphone, and insisting that I use it".
"Let me guess - the Sony Ericksonn Thallium, right?"

White nodded.

"But why did you stray off the reservation in the first place? Trying to preserve your reputation, were you? Look your wife in the eye?"
"My wife left a long time ago."
"Your son?"
"She took my son with her".
"Niece?"
"I'm an only child. No brothers or sisters."
"Nephew?"
"I'm an only child. No brothers or sisters."
"Son?"
"We've already had son."
Bond struggled.
"Son?"
"No. Try again, but with a different relative."
"Daughter?"

Finally, a flicker of emotion. "You're trying to protect your daughter!"
A pleading note entered Mr White's voice. "Please look after her, cold emotionless psychopath who's come to kill me".
"I promise".

Bond reached for his gun, but it was already in Mr White's hand, pressed to his temple.
"You are a kite dancing in a hurricane, Mr Bond".
"I'm a what? What the hell does that even mean?"
"I have no idea. But your fans seem to like that sort of thing. Makes them feel all intellectual and stuff".
He squeezed the trigger, but just as the bullet was about to release, ending his life, he stopped.
"The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and g...."
"Oh for f...."

Bond grabbed Mr White's hand and squeezed, sending the bullet shooting through his skull. He felt a pang of regret, but a sign on the wall reading "NO BYRON - PENALTY: DEATH" convinced him that he had done the right thing. He straightened his tie and left the room.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter: 18
The Vote for Nine Eyes

C stepped out on to the stage and walker over to the podium situated in front of a large banner that read Pan-European Recognizance Video Eavesdropping Recording Tele-monitoring Symposium P.E.R.V.E.R.T.S.

As C spoke lightning began to strike out side in the Tokyo sky.

“Welcome my fellow P.E.R.V.E.R.T.S. today we make history, today we vote for the Nine Eyes surveillance program!”

The lightning continued striking out side, crashing with emphasis as C spoke.

“Just think of it gentlemen, all the world security cameras funneled straight to our offices!”

“All you need to do is vote yes today and every locker room, changing room, and rest room will be ours to CONTROL!!!!!”

M stood off stage face resting in his palm, this was not going well. He knew this power should not rest with any one man, let alone this maniac. Suddenly he heard from the audience a chant of “YES, YES, YES” and he knew the final nail had been driven in to the coffin of global privacy.

[Kristatos]

CHAPTER 19: SORRY, BUT IT’S HARD TO MAKE THIS STUFF FUNNY
As Bond had left Mr White’s room, he had taken a photo with him of Mr White with a young woman. “Must be his daughter”, Bond thought. “Definitely shagging her later. But for now, I have a sudden inexplicable urge to turn the photo over and look at the back instead”. Written there were the words “If some bloke comes to kill me and I make him promise to look after my daughter, it’ll probably make the plot move a lot faster if I tell him that her name is Madeline Swann and that she works at the Hoffler Klinik in Austria."
“Well,” Bond muttered under his breath, “that was convenient”.

* * *
Back in London, M had come to see Professor Moriarty. After admiring his new, state-of-the-art surveillance facility, he offered his commiserations on the loss of the Nine Eyes vote. “Must have come as a blow”, he said.
“Not really, M”, replied Moriarty. “It’s a matter of time before the South Africans see the light. You know what they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Day and a half, maybe”.
“You what?” said M, his normally unruffled veneer slipping. “Was that supposed to be a joke or something? I mean, it’s vaguely sort of joke-like, but there’s no wit or mirth, like a lot of the dialogue in this film.”
Moriarty’s face remained jovial on the surface, but there was anger in his eyes. “A-nee-way! You may be wondering why I brought you here. PERVERTS has picked up some very interesting noises from your secretary’s apartment.” He pressed a key on his computer keyboard, and M’s face flushed red with embarrassment at what he heard.
“Is she…?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And you would listen in on an MI6 agent doing that?”
“We watch everybody.”
“But it’s immoral!”, M exploded! “There are some things that a person simply wouldn’t want the whole world knowing about”.
“I agree”, said Moriarty, smoothly. “It’s terribly embarrassing to be caught in the act when listening to Barry Manilow. But that’s not what’s really interesting on this recording. Let me fast forward a bit”. With a couple of clicks of the mouse, the recording skipped and M heard another voice saying “At this time of night?”
His jaw clenched. Bond!

* * *
Back in Mr White’s room, BIG BIG HANDS appeared. He looked around, something appeared unusual. He could swear that the pot plant in the corner seemed to start dancing every time he looked away. Then he spotted the elephant in the room. And by elephant, I mean dead body. He turned it over, stared into the dead eyes, then strode out of the room, smiling into the surveillance camera in the corner.

* * *
A snowplane soared over the Alps. In the cockpit, Bond looked down on the Hoffler Klinik, a luxurious clinic for the hyper-rich that in no way resembles the Bleuchamp Institute for Allergy Research. If anyone were looking, all they would see in his eyes was focus. This was a man who has sensed the distant thunder. Ahh, who am I trying to kid? He had exactly the same expression that he always does. He landed the snowplane on the Hoffler Klinik’s private landing strip and strode into the lobby.