55 replies to this topic

[Sir James]

Why not have a little colaborated Fan Fiction happen? We could all come together to write a CBN Bond Novel?

If your interested post here, and we can use this thread. Ill start us as soon as I know there are people willing to write.

[ChandlerBing]

I'm up for it.

[Righty007]

Instead of writing for the book, I would be interested in helping come up with a title, plot, and characters for it.

[Agent 0011]

sure....i can try and help atleast throw in some ideas....so many people have great suggestions for stuff that i think we could make a killer fan fiction

[Sir James]

OK, we are not going to have a official plot, everyone can just contribute and move the story along. We can build a plot as we go. Feel free to add on to where I leave off. Any questions please PM me. I will be opening up a suggestions thread for our novel, entitled "Forever Is Just The Beginning" where you can put your thoughts about what has been said and for future bits. Ok lets start

CBN Forums Presents

Ian Flemings James Bond 007
IN

Forever Is Just The Beginning

It was a cold November morning and James Bond was sitting in his office, contemplating whether or not to finish off the paperwork that M had sent to him early in the morning. Miss Monypenny was sitting at her desk, hopelessly dreaming of Bond, that is until M entered with some shocking news.

"Moneypenny," M spoke with a slight urgency in her tone. Moneypennys day dreaming of she knew was an unpractical romance with 007 ceased. Her attention quickly changed to the task at hand. While having a secreatary who does such a thing on a daily basis, it became quite understandable over the years and M brushed it off. "Activate the Lockdown immediately, the Brisith Parliment has just been bombed!"

Moneypenny without question instantly pressed the lockdown activation sequence. MI6 was now secure. Since the King Crisis, security had become something more potent around the offices of Bond.

007 carefully put down his glass of brandy as the lockdown alarm echoed throught all of MI6. Bond glanced in a rage out his window. He could see the flames from the Parliment blacking the once blusih grey sky. He wasted no time. Bond equipped and armed his Walther P99, and stealthly made his way to the emergency elevator at the end of the hall. After deactiviating the security measures on the door, he took the elevator down to the basement where his Aston Martin Vanquish sat waiting. Bond, slightly caught off guard, was pleased that the more beaucratic aspects of his rather lonley work would be held off by such an incident. Yet this tidbit of selfishness was quickly overshadowed by the constant patriotism Bond has forced himself to rely upon when there was nothing to base his life with. He quickly blasted through the parking garages security measures, and put his foot enraged on to the gas pedal as he headed toward the incident....

[ChandlerBing]

Quick, Bond, to the Batmobile!

[Sir James]

Originally posted by ChandlerBing
Quick, Bond, to the Batmobile!

Please only post serious bits to the novel and please dont disrupt the flow.

[ChandlerBing]

As Bond shifted down, he took great care not to touch the little red button located on the top of the gear shift. A smile pplayed the the corner of his cruel mouth as he remembered the sight of Major Boothroyd admonishing him to be careful.

[Righty007]

Already firetrucks, ambulances, the police and people from MI5 were on the scene. As Bond arrived to the site of the unfortunate disaster, he spotted a shady looking female running from the scene. He quickly got out of his car and ran after the women. She was wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. When he caught up to her, he grabbed her arms and said "Why are you running my dear, can I help you!?". She was crying and yelled "Let me go!". She kneed Bond in the groin, he let go in pain and she kept running. She looked like an American with a Southern accent, she was about 5'3" and around thirty years old. After the pain went away, James ran to his Aston Martin and got in. When in, he slammed the gas peddle and started pursuing the girl...

[Arrant]

"Damn" he muttered to himself.

This was a bad move.

He had been hoping to get to the scene before MI5, as after all this was their show, Bond was MI6 the section of the British secret Service that dealt with Britians affairs abroad, so in reality he had nothing to do with a bombing on the British mainland, but there had to be foriegn involvement in such an outragous act.

He was hoping to glean some clues from the scene before the clods from MI5 tread there big rubber bootmarks all over the place but this development with the American girl had scuppered that plan.

[Righty007]

James Bond has been in many situations like this before, and 98% percent of the time his judgement was right. Now his gut feeling was to catch up with the girl because more than likely she is associated with whoever commited this act of evil on British soil. The girl was nowhere in sight. So, Bond decided to get out of the Vanguish and look for any clues of what might have happened to her. As Bond was walking down the street he found the dead body of what was the American girl. He ran over to her and kneeled beside her, she got a bullet in her head. There was a piece of paper on the body that said...

[ChandlerBing]

She Disagreed With Someone Who Shot Her.

Despite his profession, Bond was still not at ease with senseless violence. With a look of disgust he dropped the piece of paper to the ground. His keen senses were telling him something was not right, there was danger lurking here. He vividly recalled advice given to him long ago by his old friend Tiger Tanaka.
Chasing girls will be the end of you, Bond-san!

[mkkbb]

Bond's ears flinched, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, he knew someone was watching him. He felt the presence up on a balcony down the side street that joined to the street where the dead girl lay.

As Bond stood up from the Body his hand entered his jacket searching for his Walther P99.

"Don't move!", came a voice, distant, but firm. "Any sudden moves and you'll be joining the girl".

Bond looked deep into the dimly lit side street, looking for the voice. All the balcony's seemed to be fire escapes from the buildings they were attached to, but the shadows hid any person, or persons, that could be hiding there.

Bond thought about jumping to his left to get shelter from the wall on the corner of the building, until he saw a red dot creep along the floor, towards him. It reached his foot and started to climb his body, resting to his left side of his chest.

"Leave now, this is something you do not want to be involved in."

"Who are you, who are you working for", asked an inquisitive Bond.

"Friends, Mr Bond, friends".

[Sir James]

Bond looked back at the man as his slim complexion embraced the light in the rather dim street. He was tall and fair skinned. He had parted brown hair that dripped infront of his sweat filled forehead. 007 slowly withdrew his gun, but he kept himself alert.

"Dont act so surprised 007, we know who and what you are."

Bond was in no mood for the epic bulls h i t that so many before had fed him when he was looking for answers. Bond was tired and quite discouraged from this days events.

"Well if you knew anything," said Bond rather hastly, "then you would know to get to the point as Im in no mood for bulls h i t."

"Relax, 007 well get to that." said the man rather camly. We are well aware of your kind, becuase, we are your kind. Here let me give it a shot. James Bond,the ultimate spy.The man who hides behind vodka martinis and lustful desires.You hide your true tarnished self,because you know that if you ever saw it reflected in a mirror,you wouldn't like it one bit."

Bond shrugged off the horrifically accurate account of his personality for his job, the thing he had to do so often. Being content with himself was difficult, and with that idea boucning through his brain, Bond thought he could see what this man wanted using it. Bond could almost feel himself agreeing with what Bellamy was saying.Those countless missions in far away lands--all for a greater good.Whatever did they get him? An empty house,a glass of bourbon, and the countless memories of the deaths of those who had loved him.That was only Bond's heart speaking, however.For he had come to terms with his life a long time ago. This man wanted something from Bond, and he wanted to know what it was.

"Listen Bond,I didn't bring you here as an enemy,or ask you to regret your life.I know you to be a man who could be so much more given a proper chance.I understand you,and I know what its like to be a Double-O.It's a pointless existence,isn't it?"He paused and then continued."I'm offering you the chance to join me in a cause that's really worthwhile.I was supposed to kill you but you'd be much more useful alive.We can always use another man like you-I can make the boss come round."

"What do you want?" Bond spoke as he tried to inject a note of desperation in his voice, a part of him wanted this, and it made it hard for him to fight the urge....

[Felix_Leiter]

"I want you to come with me to Morocco. You'll be filled in on all the details there. Don't worry Mr. Bond, the bombing, the murder. Everything will make sense when you meet Dr. Klaus Von Lagerstatte."

Bond thought about his proposal.

[Loomis]

"I'm going to have a cigarette," Bond said.

"You may smoke," the man replied, giving permission when none had been requested. "But your hand is being watched, and if it comes out holding anything other than cigarettes and a lighter, you're in trouble. I believe you knew that woman."

Bond took out his wide, thin cigarette case of black gunmetal and withdrew from it one of the splendid concoctions of Balkan and Turkish tobacco made for him by Morland's of Grosvenor Street. It was his fifth cigarette of the day, and forty-five of its brothers remained in the case, waiting to serve as relaxants or, as in this instance, stimulants. Bond drew the heavenly, life-giving smoke deep into his lungs, exhaling slowly and luxuriously, in much the same way as he had seen the newly-dead girl exhale when she had asked him for a cigarette in a smoking lounge at Hong Kong's Chek Lap Kok Airport, nearly two months previously.

Like Bond, Crystal Hopkins had just arrived in that glittering, cosmpolitan city of many distractions, which, also like Bond, she knew very well. Although a native of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Crystal had come to consider Hong Kong her home. For the six years she had been working as a flight attendant for Cathay Pacific, she had kept an apartment in Causeway Bay. By happy coincidence, Bond had come to Hong Kong to have a little chat with a former assistant to the final British governor who was making a nuisance of himself by passing details to Beijing of those Hong Kong Chinese who had worked in various clandestine capacities for the British government prior to the 1997 handover. Bodies were turning up everywhere in what Beijing now liked to call the Special Adminstrative Region, and only M and a few others knew why. "The penalty for treachery is death," M had said to Bond, "and even though it's been nearly six years since we officially washed our hands of Hong Kong, it's important that we send out a signal in the intelligence community that we still look after our own."

So it was that Bond had found himself, for the umpteenth time, arriving in Hong Kong. Sharing his cigarettes with a beautiful American stewardess, he thought about Alistair Hammond, the Englishman he was scheduled to meet that evening (Hammond had gone into hotel management after the handover, and was no doubt at that same moment thinking about the publisher of hotel guides from London who had made an appointment to see him). Bond disliked killing in cold blood, but, of all the dragons he was called upon to slay, he ranked traitors among the lowest of the low. As he wondered whether it might be a neat bit of symbolism to leave Hammond with a knife sticking out of his back, Bond would have smiled coldly to himself had it not been for the fact that he was grinning warmly at Crystal as, out loud, they agreed on the absurdity of smoking having been banned on all flights some time ago.

"Well, nearly all flights," Bond said. "Air Kazakhstan still permits passengers to enjoy themselves. Found myself using them last year, but not a carrier I'd really recommend, to tell you the truth. I'm a journalist and seem to spend half my life on planes."

"Me too. Well, obviously." Crystal laughed. There was warmth and vivacity in her laughter, Bond noted, laughter that was like that of - Bond racked his brains for a comparison - an amused butterfly. "Planes and airports, that's pretty much all there seems to be much of the time. Well," she extinguished her cigarette, "thanks for the smoke and for keeping me company."

Bond looked at Crystal, his interest growing. He knew that he would be in need of relaxation that night after he had put paid to Alistair Hammond. Might this girl be able to provide it? She might be more fun, Bond thought, than several hours spent knocking 'em back at the Bottoms Up Club.

Establishing that she was free at nine, Bond asked Crystal whether she'd be interested in joining him for a late dinner. Bond arrived punctually at the restaurant Crystal had suggested (Uighur cuisine from the northwestern Chinese province of Xinjiang - Bond was pleased to finally taste food he had wanted to try for years). At the same moment, Alistair Hamilton lay dead beneath his desk and the head chef of one of Hong Kong's top hotels was furiously demanding of his staff what had happened to the enormous "good luck" butcher's knife that had hung above the door to his own office.

Bond and Crystal enjoyed a very pleasant time that lasted from an exquisite meal until the small hours of the following day. Bond had left Crystal's apartment at six and caught a taxi to the airport, then a flight out of Hong Kong.

He had never expected - or, truth be told, particularly wanted - to see Crystal again, and certainly not under such shocking circumstances. Who was she, really? That story about working for Cathay Pacific had obviously been a lie. And what was this strange and bloody business she'd been caught up in? And while we're on the subject, Bond thought, who's this fellow who wants me to go to Morocco?

[ChandlerBing]

"Your passport," was all the man suddenly said, as a pair of men suddenly came from nowhere, it seemed. Actually they had probably been there the whole time in the shadows, watching, waiting. Bond let one of the men reach into his jacket and withdraw the document, taking a few steps back while the other man covered Bond with what looked like a .357 Desert Eagle Magnum.
Rather than let on any more of what he was feeling, Bond decided to play it cool. He eyed the man with the gun who looked like he'd been through a blender. His mouth and nose seemed to run together in a rather grotesque display. Bond guessed he had some sort of prior accident involving a shotgun, or something.

[ChandlerBing]

With the gun still trained on him, along with the chap up top with the laser pointer, Bond still felt at ease. My God, what was the matter with him? Had he become this blase about looking death in the face, daring it to blink? Had the presence of death grown so in tune with him over the years that in truth he really didn't care if he died? Again, he thought of what the man up top had said to him. The bastard seemed to know a chink in the armor when he saw it.
The smell of automobile exhaust filled his nostrils and he heard a vehicle driving up behind him. It was a red 1971 Thunderbird. It seemed terribly out of place here, but Bond didn't take too much for granted at that point. There were two men already up front, both of them looking mean, brutal, and none too bright. The bulges in their jackets, however, allowed Bond a bit of begrudging respect on his part. The two goons escorted him to the side of the car, urging him go get in. As he did so, straightening his tie, he muttered, "Looks like we're making up a foursome."

[ChandlerBing]

As Bond sat in the back of the Thunderbird, he could not help but think of the dead woman still back there in the alley, being left behind like she was absolutely nothing to the world. It was ironic he thought of it that way, because that was how he was used to looking at people and events in his life as well. C'mon, damn you! The shield he had around his heart had been something he'd kept, developed, and nurtured over the years. It was what kept him alive...and it was what kept him alone.
Bond suddenly had total recall of a sight he never, ever wanted to remember, but he did. He always did. The funeral of his wife. It had been a cold day in January. Damn you, snap out of it! This chap with the laser had somehow got him to thinking, and he would do damned well to stop it.
His current situation was untenable, and he knew it. The chap with the shotgun face was on his right and had his droopy eyes on him the whole time. Aside from the presence of the guns in the car, he knew there was still probably something else.
As the car slid effortlessly through the London traffic, James Bond decided just to sit back and try and enjoy the ride. He still figured that time was still on his side.

[Felix_Leiter]

A few minutes later the Thunderbird pulled into an abandoned alleyway and stopped. The thug on Bond's left grabbed him by the neck. Bond turned and threw a punch, landing one squarely on the man's chin. The man retaliated and thrust his left fist into Bond's gut. He let out a gasp. Suddenly there was a flash of light and silence. 007's body slumped. The shotgun faced man smirked and proceeded to place the Desert Eagle back into his pocket. With one well placed blow to the neck he had knocked Bond unconcious.

[Righty007]

Later, Bond woke up to find himself tied to a chair in a room that was only lit by a small ceiling light. James looked at his surroundings and came to the conclusion that he was in some kind of abandoned warehouse. No one was in sight, but there was the distant sound of men talking. Bond looked at his standard issue Omega wristwatch that Q gave him to check the time, it was 5:00 in the afternoon. A minute later a man in a wheel chair came into the room. The man said "Hello Mr. Bond, I'm back!". "I don't recall ever meeting you" said Bond. "Remember that day in '69, where you lost a loved one, Mr. Bond!?." "Blofeld!?." "Yes!, it seems you didn't kill me in '83." "What's your plan this time!?" said Bond. "Well, Mr. Bond, I was in the hospital for almost a year thanks to you." "That hospital visit included total reconstruction of my face, that's why you didn't recognize me." After that, I decided to keep a low profile for awhile and then one day seek revenge on someone I hate most." Bond couldn't believe Ernst Stravo Blofeld the head of SPECTRE was back, this time he looked around thirty years old with dark brown hair. "Let me guess, that would be me?" said Bond with a smile. "Correct, again Mr. Bond. The little bombing on the Parliament today was so that I would meet up with you again and it worked!" "So what is going to happen now?" asked Bond.

[Loomis]

Blofeld smiled thinly. "You'll see," he replied.

Bond longed for a cigarette, but was damned if he was going to ask Blofeld to let him smoke one. His throat was dry, but he wasn't about to request a drink, either.

"I suppose that girl was SPECTRE," Bond said.

"The girl you knew as Crystal Hopkins? That little fool had been assigned to kill you in Hong Kong. Oh, don't flatter yourself on your seduction technique, Mr Bond, it was you who was the lamb to the slaughter.

"As a matter of routine, SPECTRE keeps people on the lookout at airports. You were spotted boarding the flight to Hong Kong, and Miss---- I won't divulge her real name or nationality, Miss Hopkins was alerted. You see, I decided to take the opportunity to have you killed. An elaborate ruse was planned whereby Miss Hopkins would attract your attention. As things turned out, it wasn't needed. All she had to do was ask you for a cigarette."

Bond permitted himself a morcel of the dry humour that often came to him in moments of danger. "I must learn to be less generous," he remarked.

"Talking of which, Mister Bond," Blofeld said, "would you care for a cigarette now? I myself do not smoke, as I'm sure you know, but I believe you have cigarettes on your person. Shall I get them for you? It's a filthy habit, but, as I told you once before, it won't be the nicotine that kills you. Do you remember that previous meeting of ours in Japan?"

"Ah yes, a delightful memory," Bond said. "I don't want a cigarette," he lied.

"Are you sure? Anyway, Miss Hopkins had been ordered to kill you. Believe it or not, she was an accomplished martial artist. Not in your league, of course, but we felt she'd be more than capable of using her lethal karate skills on you while you slept.

"Unfortunately, it seems she fell asleep before you did. Obviously, we had a backup plan. Two of our gunmen were waiting outside Miss Hopkins' apartment to shoot you as you left for the airport. However - and this is really quite ridiculous, you'll agree - their guns jammed. BOTH their guns jammed. I shan't be buying any more weaponry from the Chinese again, I can tell you. The contract I've just cancelled will hurt the People's Liberation Army badly. In fact it might just lead to serious trouble for the government in Beijing, but that's by the way.

"So you had once again escaped my clutches, Mr Bond. Of course, Miss Hopkins was in very hot water, but my piranha fish had full stomachs, thanks to those oafs who were incapable of ensuring that they had working guns. So I was willing to give Miss Hopkins the second chance she pleaded for. She came to London to kill you, but I had her stopped at the last possible moment. Why?"

Blofeld paused, for dramatic effect. Bond fell back on an old tactic he used when villains were spilling the beans to him. He tried to look as bored as he possibly could. "I haven't the foggiest," he said.

"Because, Mr Bond," Blofeld said slowly, "I came to the conclusion that you might be more valuable to me alive than dead. Mr Bond, I want you to work for me."

[Agent 0011]

Bond took the fleeting seconds of silence to let his thoughts whirl away in his head, floundering somewhere between a violent urge to break free at all costs and an odd curiousity to see where this path w/ Blofeld may lead.

But for Blofeld, Bond's contemplations really meant nothing in the least. For him, there was no decision to be made...it was really all quite clear. Bond WOULD work for him, he would see sure to that. This man had been the single most destructive element in his life and he would be damned sure Bond would never interfere in another plot of his. The details had already been set in motion and Blofeld himself had gone to painstaking lengths to learn every element of reconditioning. Now the moment to begin its process had begun. After all, Bond was an assasin at his best, the perfect killing machine processed by man. There was so reason Blofeld should not have this to his advantage.

[Felix_Leiter]

"Well, if I'm to work for you I must know what I will be doing."

Blofeld's newly constructed face became animated.

"You see Mr. Bond I have taken a great interest in the work of a special Doctor, Dr. Klaus Von Lagerstatte. His work is phenomenal! You will be assisting him. The doctor is in Casablanca right now actually and in a few moments, after my men finish some paper work, we will be ready to travel."

Blofeld shifted his weight in his wheel chair and glared at Bond. 007's hands were bound behind him. If only he could loosen the restraints a bit in order to get to his watch. Perhaps then he might be able to free himself.

"Do not bother yourself Mr. Bond. Even if you were able to escape from the chair there are 20 men outside who are armed and ready to take you down."

"Only 20?" Bond questioned sarcastically, looking around the room for any tools or weapons.

"Make no mistake Mr. Bond it is I, and I alone who now controls where you go and what you do."

Blofeld wheeled himself to the door and turned.

"I believe you will enjoy the doctor. Perhaps, if you are lucky, he will operate on you. Goodbye Mr. Bond, it is going to be a pleasure working with you."

[Righty007]

After Blofeld left, Bond quickly activated the saw in his watch to cut the rope that bound his hands. When his hand's were free he reached in a secret pocket of his jacket for his Nokia cellphone that Q modified. With no time to loose Bond dialed MI6's phone number. An operator answered, Bond told her who he was and gave her the codes to get directed to M's desk. There were two rings and then M answered "Where the hell have you been 007!?" she said.

[ChandlerBing]

"I'm afraid I have bad news, M. Operation Bedlam is far from dead, as we had previously thought."
"We had reports of you being dragged from an alley--"
"Yes,"Bond said quickly, remembering it all too well, "I'm afraid I may have just started a beautiful friendship with-"
There was the unmistakable presence of a cold gun barrel in the base of his neck. "Shtop," the Bulgarian-accent said. "If you even think of pressing *3 send, you'll get it in the back of the head."

[Sir James]

Bond knew the voice well, it was of the assisn he subdued so many years ago, Doctor Kaufman. His sole presense sent an unwelcome chill down his spine. Bond tried to react as if his precsence did not effect him.

"Im not one of those that take it from behind." spoke Bond with a small smile just edging out his enraged face. With a swift knock with the butt of the gun 007 fell to the ground. In doing so, his cell phone dropped and he heard the faint echo of M screaming Bond repitively.

As Bonds head crushed the floor, he expierenced flashbacks. Flashbacks to Tracy, God how he missed her. He kept her ring in his desk at MI6 and fondeled it every once in a while, it was all he had of a time that meant so much, no only tangibly in so little.

With the presence of Kaufman also brought back images of Paris. He always felt a sense of personal disapointment, as if he brought all ths horror on her by not resisting her. Why couldnt he be stronger? What could he do? He thought about the service, and what it brought him, nothing. All it did was continue the useless killing of all that he cared for, and the senseless and cold demnor that Bond always had to present, even to those that his passion overwhelmed him.

In a moment on the ground, that seemed like hours, Bond found himself in a moment of enigma. He could activate the highly concentrated explosive device on his cell phone, and toss it toward Kaufman and escape, or he could take Blofeld up on his offer. But why would he do such a thing? Where was duty, where was honor? Bond asked this questions repitively. While on the other side he said "Where was my passion where was my faith, how can I stand back and not show emotion when they cried, how could I not care? Why should I be held back by a box of patriotism, espically when that patritism has done nothing for me. This honor, this patriotism has brought be death, sacrifice and pain, and why should I let it?

With that, Bond now thought with his heart, and not his brain. The right thing was the passionate thing, and for the first time, whats right will be done.

Bond hung up the phone and smiled at Kaufman as Blofeld walked in. 007 calmly stood next to his long time nemisis and smiled. It was time for revenge, not on Blofled but from where his passion was truly lost, MI6.

"Ernst," said Bond rather friendly, "We will need to make sure that MI6 does not meddle with our plans with the Doctor Im meeting."

"Well thats not a problem, James, as your first assignment will be to assisinate the one that has carelessly left you hung out to dry, M."

As Bond was sent in to MI6, he wanted to keep his cover and still convince MI6 that he was still working for them, he casusally smiled at Moneypenny and said...

[Felix_Leiter]

"Moneypenny! You'll never guess where I've been."

Moneypenny jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around Bond.

"Oh James, you're all right! M said she had lost contact with you."

Bond was shocked at Moneypenny's rare outpouring of sincere emotion.

"Oh yes, she did. Funny bit about that, I went through a tunnel. Is she in?"

Moneypenny had regained her composure and settled once again behind her desk. She shifted some papers around and looked back up at James.

"Yes, she is."

Bond smiled, straightened his tie and headed for the door. Moneypenny's eyes followed him across the room. A thought occured to her.

"James, you didn't tell me where you were?"

Bond turned to face her, his hand already on the door knob.

"A reunion."

[ChandlerBing]

As Bond went through the door after the light had went on, giving him the go ahead to come into the office, he could not help but realize he had a terribly excruciating headache. He got them from time to time, but this was the worst. What the hell, maybe it was part of the nuclear testing or something. God, was it hot! Still, his head continued to hurt like hell, and he always recalled how he often got these headaches if he hadn't made love in a certain number of days. It was either that or the excess of Smirnoff Vodka and God knew what else. Gotta take care of yourself, James. He hadn't been to see Sir Maloney for so long, maybe it was coming time for that. No time for that now! As he went into M's office, he knew what he had to do.

[ChandlerBing]

Still something was wrong with his mind, he thought. His gaze was very glassy and he wondered what the hell Blofeld had really done to him when he wasn't looking. God, how his head hurt! His vision was not working right and he swore he was seeing Scotsmen with kilts and bagpipes marching from behind M's desk. What the hell? Stay with it, James, stay with reality. They were playing some Burt Bacharach tune, and it was growing louder, louder....
"OO7?" M's voice called him back from the drug-induced hallucination. He was hallucinating, wasn't he? Oh, Christ, hang in here, James. Hang in there...you've been here before. Just stay with it.