This is my own version of a 007 adventure, set after the events of Skyfall. Daniel Craig is the Bond unless otherwise stated. I obviously do not own any of the James Bond material mentioned hereonin. Constructive reviews are greatly appreciated!

Prologue.

"An unarmed man can only

flee from evil, and evil is not

overcome by fleeing from it."

- Lt. Col. Jeff Cooper

15th December, 2013

Paris, France

A portly shape scurried from one pool of golden light to another, peering around into the darkness that gnawed intently at its refuge. The sound of rattling garbage cans made the figure spin around and clutch something to its chest. A sigh escaped chapped lips as the source of the noise was identified: nothing more than stray felines fighting over a scrap of meat. Other than the cats, there seemed to be no souls between one end of the street and the other. It was midnight in Paris and most everyone in this part of the city was taking their rest.

Still, not everyone was sleeping. The man's nose began to twitch. His eyes flicked from side to side, desperately searching for the danger he sensed. Paranoia was one of his closest friends, but tonight was not the night to merely brush off suspicion. Tonight he was Atlas, holding up the world. If he failed… His eyes began to ache from the strain of the dark and every blink felt like a death sentence. The package was slipped into an inner coat pocket as he prepared to make another dash.

One step forward took him to the edge of the light. A bullet pinged off the sidewalk where he had just been standing. Terrified, he plunged into the darkness and found himself stumbling into an alley. Deciding it was at least better cover, he careered forward. His agonised panting echoed off the damp walls and filled the night around him. Cursing the ache deep in his left leg, he skidded on the wet stone and almost lost his footing.

A hiccup of panic escaped him. Light was pouring in through the end of the alleyway. Car headlights. He threw up an arm to block out the blinding white illumination, his eyes struggling to make sense of anything after so much dark. His mind clicked into gear and he twisted around, one hand grasping at the package hidden in his coat.

The muzzle of a gun glinted in the harsh light. He pulled up short, his eyes widening.

A silky American voice emanated from the shadows. 'Master Harris, if you would like to leave this city alive, I suggest you hand it over before my trigger finger gets itchy.'

If Harris had been scared before, now he was terrified. 'Hades…' he breathed.

'You know,' the voice began conversationally, 'I had thought you would know better after the last time we met. You made me a promise, Master Harris –' The nonchalant tone turned dangerous – 'And I do not take kindly to promise breakers.'

'I – I don't have it.' Harris straightened up, gritting his teeth together in a desperate attempt to stop them rattling. 'It's already out of your reach.'

The gun floated closer until its cold metal was resting against Harris' forehead. It seemed that a ghost was in control, but Harris knew better. Hades drank the light and cloaked himself in darkness.

'You're lying.'

Harris swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. It felt as though the cold gun muzzle was eating into his flesh. 'I have a family, children. If I had it I would give it to you.'

'I regret to inform you that those facts are now obsolete.'

A chill even colder than the metal at his temple washed through his veins. For a moment Harris' heart stopped beating. 'Wh – What do you mean?'

The gun twitched as though it were impatient. 'I mean that you will only be seeing your family anytime soon if I blow your brains out.'

The world stopped spinning. Time creaked to a halt. Harris wasn't breathing. And then anger and sorrow flooded him and everything moved faster than it ever had. A roar tore from his lungs as he leaped forward. The gun clattered away. The slim man whose hand had held it, fell heavily backward. Harris was upon him in an instant, dodging a wild punch and tangling his fingers around Hades' throat.

'You bastard!' he screamed, drowning out the terrible noises of the man he was choking the life from. 'You fucking bastard!'

Two men hefted Harris away from their leader, struggling to hold their heavy, hysterical burden. A third man stepped smoothly from the black car and strode forward. Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he raised his gun and aimed its muzzle toward the back of Harris' head.

A shot rang out.

An agonised scream rent the chill night air. The would-be shooter dropped to his knees, letting the gun fall. He clutched at his hand, blood pouring like a crimson stream down his arm.

'Oh, sorry, did you need those fingers?' A smooth British accent emanated from the shadows, just shy of the revealing course of artificial light. When he stepped away from the alley wall, he took the form of a well-dressed, blonde thirty-something, with a Ruger CC 9mm pistol in-hand. A quick movement with the butt of the gun saw the wounded man collapse unconscious. Silence fell, aside from quiet sobs from Harris and the heavy breathing of the two thugs now taking stock of this new arrival.

Hades had risen to his feet. A crisp black suit shirt and stark red tie could be made out, but the man's face remained hidden. 'States. Missen. Kill.'

Immediately, one of the thugs grasped the glock in his belt. Missen was still taking aim when the bullet hit him in the chest. His overly-large form gradually toppled forward like a giant felled tree. A heavy thud and a scatter of gravel heralded the victory of gravity. Missen didn't move again.

The suited man slowly lowered his Ruger and matched gazes with the remaining henchman. 'Still going to try your luck?'

States stepped forward, a sneer on his tanned face. The light shone on his bald head and accentuated a deep silver scar along his left cheek. An experimental flex caused his thick muscles to convulse beneath his blue button-up shirt. A wall of leering meat, States charged at his foe with all the force of a speeding freight train.

The Brit raised his gun, but States' fleetness belied his girth. The two men crashed to the ground, toppling a garbage can that clattered away down the alley. States was the first to regain his feet. A meaty fist soared toward the Brit's head. Still prone, the blonde rolled clear of the blow and swiftly hauled himself upright. States roared as his fist connected with cobblestone. Taking the opening as a chance, the Brit grabbed him around the neck from behind.

States stumbled backward, the sudden weight of his attacker unexpected. Grabbing at the Brit's arms, the henchman desperately tried to break free of the grip that was cutting off his air supply. The Brit held on grimly, his eyes searching the dim alley for his gun. He was so intent on locating his weapon that he failed to take note of States' course. The thug slammed into the alley wall, using his considerable bulk to shove his foe against the hard surface.

The Brit grunted as the back of his head met the bricks. Involuntarily, his arms slipped from around States' neck. The thug pulled away with renewed vigour. The Brit sunk to the cobblestone, a crimson smear vivid against the damp grey wall. Blinking hard, the blonde tried to rise. He slumped back, hoping the world would stop spinning.

States grinned broadly, showing three missing teeth from some past fight. There was a sickening crunch as he cracked his knuckles and loped forward. 'I'm gonna have fun with this,' he gloated, eyes glittering as he advanced.

His fist connected with the Brit's face. The blonde's head jerked to one side. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheekbone. States raised a hand again and bought it down on his victim's collarbone. Then he was striking again and again. Nose, shoulder, chest. The sound of the Brit's ribcage breaking echoed like a nauseating whip crack, closely followed by a hoarse scream of agony.

States laughed savagely. He grabbed a chunk of his victim's dark blonde hair and pulled the Brit upright. Bleeding now from a broken nose, cut cheek and split lip, the man who had originally arrived to save Jeremy Harris' life now faced his own death. A brutal end at the hands of a thug.

The Brit doubled over as States' knuckles pounded into his stomach. In between the sounds of retching, States realised his prey was gasping something. 'What are yew on about?' he asked, genuinely confused. The Brit tried to speak louder but failed. Frowning, the henchman bent his head down to hear better.

The Brit moved like a caged viper. He smashed the back of his head against State's nose as the man's face came closer, shocking his foe into releasing him. With effort, he used his good shoulder to toss the large man a few steps backward. The Brit's knees gave way. He fell to the ground, leant his back against the wall and fired the gun that suddenly appeared in his hand.

States went down like David's Goliath.

'I said,' the Brit told the unmoving body, 'Ah, that's where my gun was.'

From where the fight had only lasted a few minutes, Harris stared with disbelief at the last man standing. 'Who are you?' he blurted out, one hand on the package inside his coat.

The well-dressed, blonde thirty-something with a Ruger CC 9mm pistol in-hand, released a weary sigh.

'Bond. James Bond.'