What If: Chapter Two
3 Years Later
James Bond walked through down the street quietly. He looked like the average man, returning home after a long day of work. Except his work had been just a little bit more stressful, and he wasn't returning home yet. Ironic, that on the eve of the day Alec had died, he would end up back in Russia, thirty minutes away from the Archangel weapons facility, now a ruined relic of the Cold War. Tourist busses often used the site as a picnicking ground, as the bodies of the Russians had been cleared.
Alec's funeral had been a small affair. M, Q, Moneypenny, James, and a few others had shown, but it had been nothing grand. Because he had no parents, all of his personal belongings had gone to Bond, although 007 never wanted to think back to that day. He should have been more careful. He should have made sure that Alec hadn't been shot through the back as he had.
Bond rounded a corner into a small back alley, and pulled a long metal tube from underneath his trench coat. He entered an old building that had been abandoned for a long time, and climbed the stairs to the top floor. He entered an apartment, and opened the cabinet holding the base of a sniper rifle, and the scope. After assembling the gun, he took his position at the window, aiming across the street. Any second now, a Soviet soldier would walk by. One who was slow to give up communism and move on.
James looked over at a street vendor, reminding himself not to hit the innocent as the Soviet walked by. He looked right into the shop window that his target would be in, and was shocked. There stood the Russian general, Ourimov, the man who, three years ago had been behind the killing of Trevelian.
"Put your hands into the air!" came a harsh voice behind him
Bond turned around slowly, to see three men, all with AK47's standing there. Bond slowly raised his hands, but then swung the rifle into the chest of the first man. He swung the sniper around and shot two shots, right into the others. Didn't want any loud gunshots in a crowded area. He looked down at the unconscious Russian. Then everything went black.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Bond awoke with a terrible headache. He was tied to a chair in front of a desk. A small lamp hung directly over him, lighting up only the desk. There was a small letter on the desk. "For England, James? Or for friendship?" It wrote, and had a small checkbox by each one. Bond managed to get one hand free, but was greeted by the click of a lock, somewhere in the dark room. Bond picked up a pen lying on the desk.
(Flashback! BWAHAHAHAHA!)
The coffin was slowly sinking into the dark dirt pit. A small cross-headed the grave, just like the other fifty graves in the small cemetery outside of Alec's town. M looked grave serious as always, and Q just shook his head. He had always been a good friend with Trevelian as he was with James. Moneypenny sobbed away, while the few 00 agents gathered there looked down at the wooden box with a dazed look on their faces. They couldn't believe that the man considered the most cunning 00 agent of all time was really dead.
Bond never cried. Not a tear fell from his eye as he watched the grave being filled with dirt. He was wearing a gray trench coat with black pants, and he held an umbrella in his hand. It seemed that even the sky mourned for Alec's death. James hadn't talked to anyone for days after that fateful mission. He couldn't bear to look at the body, and in Trevelian's will, it had stated that he didn't want any last respects. Just to be buried here, in this small cemetery outside of this small town. Trevelian had always been strange in a way.
(End of flashback. Back to reality.)
Bond pushed the cap of the pen and lowered it to the paper. Seeing Ourimov only brought back painful memories, and having to answer this pop quiz was just too much. He lowered the pen to the paper, and checked one box, in an unwavering handwriting. The lock clicked open, and Bond slipped free of his bonds. He checked the hallway outside, and seeing no one, left. Three blocks and he was back at his hotel. He checked out for the morning, giving him one night before he left. He wanted to get back to England soon.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What did Bond choose? I've decided to make that up to any fans I have. Review and post what you think it should be! Thanks to: Disc Inferno1-Thanks for the review! This story will be updated often, and hopefully that will attract more fans. If not, than I may take this story off, but who knows yet? This vote is up to you! You get to help write this story, and as soon as the votes are tallied, than I will post the next chapter.
FLAME US! BURN US! LOVE US! BUT REVIEW US PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!
3 Years Later
James Bond walked through down the street quietly. He looked like the average man, returning home after a long day of work. Except his work had been just a little bit more stressful, and he wasn't returning home yet. Ironic, that on the eve of the day Alec had died, he would end up back in Russia, thirty minutes away from the Archangel weapons facility, now a ruined relic of the Cold War. Tourist busses often used the site as a picnicking ground, as the bodies of the Russians had been cleared.
Alec's funeral had been a small affair. M, Q, Moneypenny, James, and a few others had shown, but it had been nothing grand. Because he had no parents, all of his personal belongings had gone to Bond, although 007 never wanted to think back to that day. He should have been more careful. He should have made sure that Alec hadn't been shot through the back as he had.
Bond rounded a corner into a small back alley, and pulled a long metal tube from underneath his trench coat. He entered an old building that had been abandoned for a long time, and climbed the stairs to the top floor. He entered an apartment, and opened the cabinet holding the base of a sniper rifle, and the scope. After assembling the gun, he took his position at the window, aiming across the street. Any second now, a Soviet soldier would walk by. One who was slow to give up communism and move on.
James looked over at a street vendor, reminding himself not to hit the innocent as the Soviet walked by. He looked right into the shop window that his target would be in, and was shocked. There stood the Russian general, Ourimov, the man who, three years ago had been behind the killing of Trevelian.
"Put your hands into the air!" came a harsh voice behind him
Bond turned around slowly, to see three men, all with AK47's standing there. Bond slowly raised his hands, but then swung the rifle into the chest of the first man. He swung the sniper around and shot two shots, right into the others. Didn't want any loud gunshots in a crowded area. He looked down at the unconscious Russian. Then everything went black.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Bond awoke with a terrible headache. He was tied to a chair in front of a desk. A small lamp hung directly over him, lighting up only the desk. There was a small letter on the desk. "For England, James? Or for friendship?" It wrote, and had a small checkbox by each one. Bond managed to get one hand free, but was greeted by the click of a lock, somewhere in the dark room. Bond picked up a pen lying on the desk.
(Flashback! BWAHAHAHAHA!)
The coffin was slowly sinking into the dark dirt pit. A small cross-headed the grave, just like the other fifty graves in the small cemetery outside of Alec's town. M looked grave serious as always, and Q just shook his head. He had always been a good friend with Trevelian as he was with James. Moneypenny sobbed away, while the few 00 agents gathered there looked down at the wooden box with a dazed look on their faces. They couldn't believe that the man considered the most cunning 00 agent of all time was really dead.
Bond never cried. Not a tear fell from his eye as he watched the grave being filled with dirt. He was wearing a gray trench coat with black pants, and he held an umbrella in his hand. It seemed that even the sky mourned for Alec's death. James hadn't talked to anyone for days after that fateful mission. He couldn't bear to look at the body, and in Trevelian's will, it had stated that he didn't want any last respects. Just to be buried here, in this small cemetery outside of this small town. Trevelian had always been strange in a way.
(End of flashback. Back to reality.)
Bond pushed the cap of the pen and lowered it to the paper. Seeing Ourimov only brought back painful memories, and having to answer this pop quiz was just too much. He lowered the pen to the paper, and checked one box, in an unwavering handwriting. The lock clicked open, and Bond slipped free of his bonds. He checked the hallway outside, and seeing no one, left. Three blocks and he was back at his hotel. He checked out for the morning, giving him one night before he left. He wanted to get back to England soon.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What did Bond choose? I've decided to make that up to any fans I have. Review and post what you think it should be! Thanks to: Disc Inferno1-Thanks for the review! This story will be updated often, and hopefully that will attract more fans. If not, than I may take this story off, but who knows yet? This vote is up to you! You get to help write this story, and as soon as the votes are tallied, than I will post the next chapter.
FLAME US! BURN US! LOVE US! BUT REVIEW US PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!