Chapter 1 – It's what keeps me alive.

Bond stared out of the window into the raining world outside. He had been naïve. Trust was out of the question, and he had trusted somebody. He leant his head against the cold surface of the window and closed his eyes. Betrayal. That was all this world consisted of, and all he had known all his life. Yet he had trusted this man, and that's why he hurt. They had both come from similar backgrounds. Both had served Queen and Country. He was the closest to a brother James had ever seen in his career, given how quick his colleagues came and went, and that in itself was special. He had trusted him. And that's why he hurt so much now, because he had forgotten not to trust, so in a way, all this was his own fault. Physical pain? That came with the job. But the pain inside? He had learnt a long time ago not to trust anybody, all it did was hurt him, but over the years the pain had faded away, and he had forgotten.

"For England James?"

Bond swallowed, trying hard not to hit the window, to let the rain outside engulf him. But then it was gone. The memories that plagued him vanished. He was used to this, putting missions aside. So many times he just had to put the past behind him, and this would be no different. He turned around slowly, and dropped himself down on the bed, sitting facing away from outside. Grabbing the towel around his shoulders, he brushed it through his hair, and stood up, facing the mirror as he dropped the towel and pulled on a black shirt. Buttoning it up, he sat down and slipped on black shoes, their dull surface in desperate need of a shine. Sliding off, he looked over to the desk. The black casing of the Walter PPK sat there, pointing to the wall. Lowering his eyes, Bond managed a small if somewhat forced smile, before strapping on his holster and picking up the plastic handle of the pistol in his hand. Flicking the safety switch off, he slid it into the holster, and moved his hand over to the chair, grabbing the soft black jumper from it, sliding it on and buttoning it up. Running a hand through his still wet black hair, he stared once again into the mirror. The cold brown eyes showed no reflection. Turning around swiftly to the door, he picked up the wallet, shoving it into his pocket as he flicked the latch on the door, and stepped out. Letting the door close as he walked down the corridor swiftly, he struck a finger at the elevator button. Bond had been put on leave following his last mission, only for a couple of days; just enough to come to grips with any bruises he might have occurred during the mission. He was convinced it had done just that. He nodded to the middle-aged gentleman who stepped clumsily out of the elevator, and stepped in to take his place.

Walking out of the hotel, he stepped down onto the pavement, not bothering to look out for anybody passing by. He made his way down the street, not really paying attention to what happened in the world around him. This was London. He had grown tired of the old girl, only a faint fondness of this city remained. Still, he had a job to do. Staring onwards, his eye glanced around occasionally, mostly out of habit, but he tried to not too look overly conspicuous. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but then…

A small glare caught his attention from the top left corner of his eye. Reflexively, his eyes darted upwards to the window where he had seen. Was there anything there? He couldn't tell, and was about to return his eyes to their normal gaze, when he saw the glare again, and he suddenly realised. A small face, there was no way of making it out, but it was definitely there. The glare again, just below the face. There was no mistaking it. Somebody was about to be assassinated, and Bond had no idea who. His head darted around behind him, but he tried to keep the same pace up, unwilling to draw any attention to himself. It was only then he slowly realised his fatal mistake. He had seen the glare, and that could only mean….

Bang. Cursing out loud, Bond only just managed to dive into the nearest person as the bullet slammed past, and felt the pavement shatter behind him. Pushing himself up quickly, he tripped slightly on the people running around him, screaming. But he gave them no attention, only focusing on that rooftop where that shot had come from. But the person in question had now gone. Being so high up however, they would take time getting down, and for now that was all Bond needed. Charging through the panic angst street, he pushed and shoved his way through the masses, reminding himself why he had come to hate London like this. One particularly obese civilian pushed the opposite way, Bond could see him heading towards him, and as physically fit as Bond was, he saw no point in struggling to get this man out of his way. He pushed to the side, but the torrent of passengers just continued the opposite way, Bond had no choice but to head onwards, the awkwardly embarrassing target coming within range of him. He swung a jab right into the persons shoulder, then brought it crashing down into his neck, causing the victim to smash into the floor, probably causing more damage than was probably necessary, but Bond paid no attention to him as he leapt over the unconscious corpse lying there in the street. He had a license to kill, that man was lucky he wasn't pissed off.

Bond reached the boarded doors of the seemingly derelict building, and crashed into it with his shoulder. It stung like hell, but it was nothing that wouldn't heal, and he paid no attention to it as he pushed through and felt the boards collapse underneath him. Pushing forward over metal scraps on the floor, he reached his hand down underneath his jumper and grabbed the Walther. He dodged through boxes before coming to a window overlooking the Thames behind it. Grabbing onto its' edges, he looked down to see a young athletic woman jump into a small boat, brandishing a FRF2 rifle. A similar black clad male hit the levers on the boat and it reared forward, before Bond realised what was happening. Raising the pistol, he fired a few shots, enough to scrape the boat, but nowhere near the intended target. It was more than enough to alert the passengers to his presence, who turned around looking at him as they sped away. There was only one chance he had, as he raised the pistol to eye level, and tried to keep his hand from shaking as he stared at the barrels the boat sped under as it tried to navigate its way out of the wooden maze connecting it to the main Thames. Bond shot. The barrel shook from the successful impact, but only enough to topple over with a heavy clang, and rolling off the edge, but that was all that he had wanted. It smashed into the boat and caused it to veer off to the side, heading into the brick wall of the building next to the one they had left.

The girl slowly opened her eyes, looking sideways at the metallic floor of the vessel, a strange red tint squirming in her eyes. She squinted in pain, the blur of the world around her from the shock as the boat had collided off course into the wall. What had happened? Why was she lying here on the floor defenceless. Coming to her senses, she realised her target, a British police officer of some sorts apparently, would soon catch up with her. As her vision came back to her however, she saw her comrade lying dead on the floor next to her, a bullet wound in his head. The red tint….. she quickly turned over, to see the officer, clad in all black, pointing his pistol right at her, with a slight hint of a smile on his mouth, which quickly vanished. Towering above her on the platform, he seemed like a god, not least because he now held the power to choose if she lived or died as she lay here. A tear slowly formed on her eyelashes as she bit her bottom lip, staring into the endless abyss of the gun barrel pointed at her from so far away. She tried to mutter a word, any word, but it was too late. The sound of a gun, and a creeping pain all around her as she fell deeper and deeper into her own abyss, was all she knew for the last moments, even milliseconds of her life. Then it all went dark.