Two of them. Both males, Chinese, powerful builds, dark dinner suits with long, formal silk ties. One of them had his hands clamped around Sylvia Hayden's arms as she squirmed, desperately trying to break free of the vice-like grip. They were dragging her towards the exit, Feng presumably waiting outside.

Bond ran across the room, sprinting down a straight route that ran through the sprawled mass of empty tables. His hand was suddenly out of his jacket, holding the PPK, aimed at the two men ahead of him. The one whose hands were free drew his own gun. It was a metallic monstrosity, certainly more powerful than Bond's but probably slower and less accurate.

There was a crash like thunder. Bond had ducked behind one of the tables, the bullet shattering a chair opposite him. He waited. Just a few seconds, to let their guard subside by the slightest amount. As soon as he heard the first slow footstep approaching him, he was up, gun pointed straight ahead. His finger quickly pulled on the trigger, releasing two shots into the man's arm, making him cry out in pain, his weapon releasing another explosion of a gunshot as he fell down. Bond ducked again, the shot scratching its way through the top of the table he took cover behind.

Then he was on his feet, walking over to the writhing figure of the man on the floor. Dark red stained his black dinner jacket, his face grotesquely contorted in agony. Bond looked down on this sorry figure, feeling nothing for him. He was the enemy, a man working with an organisation of terror and criminality. Bond simply could not afford to sympathise with such men in their moments of weakness.

It took only a single bullet to end his life.

Looking up, Bond saw the dining room was now empty. The other man had escaped with Sylvia. He leapt over the next table and bolted to the other side of the room, his arms pumping at a motor-like speed in synchronisation with his legs. He came to a sudden halt outside the door, quickly sweeping the area with his gun held out in front of him.

His gaze came to rest on the sleek black Mercedes sat in the narrow alley behind the casino. Feng was stood nervously by one side of it, his henchman on the other, attempting to force Sylvia Hayden into the backseat. Bond fired a single shot, the bullet whizzing past the man's shoulder.

All attention was suddenly on Bond. Feng pointed a quivering finger at him, calling out to the other man.

"Kill him, now! Kill Bond!"

The man threw Sylvia roughly to the cold pavement and drew his weapon, identical to the first man's gun. Bond hit the ground just before the shot was fired, blasting a crater straight through the door behind him. He leapt back to his feet, staying crouched, and charged at his assailant. Before the man could fire another shot, Bond had slammed into him, sending both of them to the floor. The man's gun made a loud rattling noise as it skittered away across the pavement.

Clamping his fist against the man's throat, Bond brought his own gun up, finger wrapping around the trigger. He was ready to fire when his target's hand slammed the PPK out of his grip. In the fraction of a second it took Bond to register the attack, the man had already landed a heavy left hook in his jaw. Collapsing to the pavement, Bond lost his grip on the henchman who was now back on his feet, towering above him.

An almost mechanical hand gripped Bond's collar and hoisted him up. The next blow smashed into Bond's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. A backhand blow to the jaw followed, sending him back across the pavement and into the wall opposite the casino. Bond's vision blurred, becoming crowded with dark spots. He quickly blinked them away, just in time to see the man striding towards him. Bond got there first. His fist landed at the base of the man's ribcage, winding him, putting him off-guard. As he buckled forwards, Bond landed his next punch in the man's jaw. He felt the bone shifting under the collision, the slight cracking against his knuckles confirming his blow had fractured the man's jawbone.

The large, muscle-bound man reeled backwards, staggering to a stop a few feet away. Not wasting a second, he was charging forwards again, like a mad bull, heading for Bond.

Bond moved quickly. He ducked out of the way of the attack, running forwards and stepping around the assailant. He suddenly pivoted, positioning himself behind Feng's henchman and leaping onto his broad back. In a matter of seconds, Bond's arm was wrapped around the man's neck, his other arm locking the man's head in place.

The struggle was fierce. Flailing his thick arms, the henchman desperately tried to wrench Bond from his back. His oversized hands gripped onto the secret agent, tugging against him, but only succeeding in tightening Bond's hold. Bond's arms grew tighter and tighter around the man's head and throat, locking around him like a snake, pushing the air out of his windpipe, stopping him drawing breath.

The henchman's voice had turned into high, desperate, animalistic rasping, trying breathlessly to cry out, to scream in pain. Bond pushed the man's head forwards, pulled his Adam's apple back, crushing his throat as much as he could. The man's maddened movements, his arms writhing uncontrollably, his whole body shaking, became evermore violent. The fight was a bestial struggle for survival, Bond on the verge of destroying his prey.

The man fell to his knees and Bond found proper footing at last on the pavement. Slowly, the henchman's movements became smaller, weaker, his energy fading along with his life. His eyes rolled back, his arms fell limp at his sides and his whole body slumped. Bond let go. The lifeless husk hit the ground.

Walking quickly across the alley, Bond retrieved his Walter PPK from where it sat on the ground. He then turned to Feng.

"Mr Feng – the British government doesn't look too kindly on crime lords or men who take hostages."

"Then take me prisoner, Mr Bond. Send me to a secure facility, watch my men destroy yours and ultimately you will lose everything, while I walk away. My organisation-"

"Is long since dead. You're fooling no-one, Feng." Bond spoke levelly, a grim tone to his words. "You're all that's left."

"And with what evidence can you detain me, Mr Bond? Do you think I would have been foolish enough to allow any evidence of my activities to survive?"

"If we don't have the evidence to put you in a cell," Bond raised his weapon, "then how about the evidence to put you in a coffin?"

One shot, between the eyes. Feng dropped to the ground.

Bond turned to Sylvia, who was still lying uncomfortably sprawled on the ground. Helping her up, he guided her towards Feng's empty car.

"Here, sit down. You're probably going to be in shock, you'll need to rest."

"Me?" she said, taking a seat in the back of the vehicle, "What about you?"

"I'm all right. I've had more than my fair share of close encounters before." said Bond.

"Would you care for one more, Mr Bond?" she whispered in her luscious, silken tones.

"I need to get back to the poker table immediately and finish this game."

"When do you need to be back?" she asked, her lips delicately brushing Bond's ear.

"Immediately."

Sylvia slid herself further along the backseat, tugging gently at Bond's collar, encouraging him to join her.

"When?"

"Almost immediately."

Obliging, Bond lowered himself into the car, his hands gripping at the leather of the seats as Sylvia Hayden's arms wrapped around him, one resting on his neck, the other on his back. Bond allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace, his lips meeting hers as she slowly pulled him closer. Her makeup coated touch was soft, like satin, gently caressing Bond's lips.

As he kissed her he felt her hand slide down to his collar, her slim fingers nimbly undoing his bowtie and then the first few buttons of his shirt. She slipped her slender hand beneath the fabric, her palm brushing in smooth, swift motions across his chest. Her other arm moved away from his body as she slowly pushed away her sleek black dress. She had soon unveiled her body entirely to Bond, her arms clinging tightly to him, her legs intertwined with his and both their mouths pressed firmly together.

Felix Leiter was stood in the spectators' area, watching the game of poker progress, when James Bond approached him, dressed immaculately as he always was. At least when he was in public.

"Well?" asked Felix.

"You'll find Feng and his friends in a dumpster just out the back. Miss Sylvia Hayden you will find naked, tied up with her own dress, in the backseat of a black Mercedes." Bond handed Leiter a set of keys. "When this mission's over, remind me to thank Q Branch for the PPK. If I hadn't gotten that through the metal detector this night could have gone very differently."

"Just get back in there and finish this lot off, James. And be careful – we just found out the guy who's been sat next to you throughout the game is Karl Jono, in charge of a violent, powerful drug ring. He has a whole bunch of operatives in here with him and he is not prepared to give up all that money."

"So if I win, I get shot. That adds a new dynamic."

Bond left Leiter and retook his seat at the table as the next round began.

"Nice to see you back, Mr Bond." Schaal commented dryly. "I do hope your break was refreshing enough for you."

"It certainly was, Mr Schaal. I just wanted to make sure Miss Hayden and Mr Feng got a proper send-off." said Bond.

Four piles of chips and plaques, Bond's and Schaal's the biggest. A deadly double-agent, a vicious drugs baron and a SPECTRE representative. Bond knew this was it. The final round. The fight to the death.

All or nothing.