(Note : This James Bond will be more similar to the books, meaning basically he has black hair, is more suave and less Daniel Craig-y, and M. is a man. Leave reviews! P.S : I do not own James Bond or anything else created by Ian Fleming.)
CHAPTER ONE
007, Meet the Mojave
Slowly Bond's eyes opened, his vision turning from blurry to clear. He blinked a few times and noticed the middle-aged man sitting beside him. His skin had a deep tan and was wrinkled. He had a moustache and a hair of white.
"Well," the man finally said. "I guess you woke up."
He had an American accent.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked.
Bond shook his head.
"Well, where you all together are is Goodsprings. You probably already know where that is," the man said.
Bond shook his head again.
"Hmm. The Mojave. Anyway, do you remember how you got here? It'd be a hard thing to forget," the man said.
Bond shook his head once more.
"You were shot and apparently buried alive. A local RobCo robot dug you out and brought you here. By the way, what's your name?" he asked.
"Bond, James Bond," Bond replied.
"Hmm. Not exactly what I'da picked for ya, but oh well. I'm Doc Mitchell. By the way, how are you feeling? You think you can stand up all right?" Doc Mitchell asked.
Bond shrugged, and slowly sat up. He groaned a bit as he made it to full height.
"Good, good, now why don't you try walking around a bit?" Doc Mitchell asked, standing up with Bond. Bond walked to the opposite end of the room and back.
"Well, you certainly look like you recovered from that bullet mighty fast," the doctor said.
"Do you have a lavatory around here I could use?" Bond asked.
"Sure, sure, right by the Vigor Tester over there. I'll tell you what that is in a minute. Here, take this mirror if you plan on brushing your hair or teeth or anything, most of the kinds of mirrors that you hang up on walls are broken around here," Doc Mitchell said, handing him a small mirror.
"Thanks," Bond replied, and made his way to the lavatory. He then relieved himself, washed his hands and looked into the small mirror.
Two cold, gray eyes looked back at him with a hint of ironical inquiry in them. Surrounding the two cold eyes was a face. Hanging above the face's right eye was a black comma of hair, which, even after he in a few moments would try to brush away, would remain hanging away from the rest. On the right cheek of the face containing these two eyes and one black comma was a faint vertical scar (Please note, readers, that this is how Bond was described in the books).
Well, at least something felt familiar. Bond brushed his hair, and couldn't find a toothbrush, or toothpaste for that matter, so he decided to let his teeth rot for a while.
"Ah, I guess you're done with all your business? All right, then, let me introduce you to the Vigor Tester," Bond heard the doctor say as he (Bond) exited the lavatory.
Bond closed the door and looked over at where the man was standing. There, against the wall, stood what looked more like something you'd find in a casino.
"This baby can recognize all your traits and characteristics as soon as you pull the lever. Go ahead and try it, we'll see how healthy you really are," Doc Mitchell said.
Bond pulled the lever. A sound emitted from the machine that once again reminded him of something out of a casino, and then something popped up. Seven categories appeared on the screen in slots with numbers beside them. They were basic statistics a person might have, strength, intelligence, etc. Most of Bonds were at a five, except for agility, which was at a 6. But one really stood out from the others. Luck. That was at a nine.
"Huh. With your luck, I'm surprised the bullets didn't just turn around and go back the other way!" Doc Mitchell exclaimed. And to think, I was gonna invite him to a game of caravan! Doc Mitchell thought, mentally reassuring himself of his money.
Bond grinned at his results then said, "So now what?"
"Well, I guess that's about all. You can stay here for a few more days if you want, but you seem to be perfectly healthy. But, seein' how you have no place to stay, you're welcome here any time you want. I'll walk you to the door," Doc Mitchell said, and did so.
"Well, here are a few things I found on ya. Hope they can be of some help," Doc Mitchell said by the door and handed Bond a Walther PPK, a gray lighter, and a Mojave Express order.
Hmm, that's odd, Bond thought. Something in the back of his mind told him he was usually with Universal Exports Co. He shrugged it off and said, "Thanks for fixing me up."
"No problem. By the way, take this Pip-Boy. They gave them to us in the vaults, but I don't have much use of it anymore. You look like a wanderer, so you probably can find some use of it, though. I'd offer you some clothes, but the ones you've got on look fine. Heck, they even look Pre-War," Doc Mitchell said.
Bond looked down at his clothes. He wore a black suit and black tie, covering a white dress-shirt, hanging above a pair of black dress-pants, hanging above a pair of shoes.
"Well, like I said, come back anytime you want. You should probably see Sunny Smiles before you leave town, she can teach you how to survive in the Mojave," Doc Mitchell said.
Bond grinned and replied, "I think I can handle myself. Goodbye, Mitchell."
The doctor hated it when people just called him by his last name. So formal. "Bye, Mr. Bond," he replied, and the expert gambler and shooter made his way out the door.
