《James Bland: Madskull》 Bland As the gun went off, James wasn''t prepared for this consequence. He had seemingly accounted for every outcome, every response, but he sadly wasn''t prepared for this. His gun was empty... he had missed his target. As Big Ben struck midnight, James Bond, double-oh-seven, fell dead. The man with the sniper rifle from the opening of all of his adventures, despite getting shot countless times, had finally found his mark. He walked slowly through the corridor, stepping quietly on the finished wood which complimented the white walls. He yawned loudly. "Oh, excuse me." James Bland said to fellow agents which looked at him with expressions ranging from disgust to curiosity. Everyone else found the job exciting, sneaking through dangerous areas, the suspense of avoiding searchlights, of using their charisma to leave people dry of information, these were, however, not exciting for James Bland, double-oh-eight. The thing arguably even stranger about him was that he found seemingly the monotonous parts of life simply exhilarating, practically racing over to a wall that was drying from being painted, or enthusiastically volunteering to mop the floor or iron clothes. In fact, he once spent all night "partying" by ironing his suit and tie which all male agents are required to wear. James Bland knocked three times on the wooden and glass door, which proudly stated was the office of the director of the secret agents, George Connor.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. James Bland opened the door walked in, and closed it, giving him a rush of excitement. He loved this part, opening and closing the door. "Come on in, James." George said. Now for the boring part, being given some top-secret assignment or something. James thought. Bland sat down in the spinning office chair. The office chair squeaked, denoting wear as he spun around to face his boss. "Mister Bland, I''m sure you''ve heard the rumors and theories about Mister James Bond''s disappearance." "I have." Bland replied with apparent indifference. "Well, I''m here to clarify why he''s not been turning up. He''s dead." "Excuse me?" Bland said, unsure whether to start laughing at a joke or grieve at a loss. "He''s dead, James. At twelve-hundred hours last night gunshots were heard, at thirteen-hundred the police were present and investigating, the body of James Bond was found, deceased. I''m sorry James; I know he was a close friend of yours." "If you will forgive me, I will take my leave sir." James said, beginning to leave his chair. "I did not call you in here only to hear bad news, Mr. Bland," Connor said, "I have a special assignment for you." James Bland proceeded to make himself comfortable in his chair once more. "This is an optional mission, but with promise of great reward. Can I count on you?" Bland hesitated, questioning why George delivered sad news, and then asked him to volunteer for a job. What if these events were connected? If Mr. Bland could do something, anything to give himself some closure over one of his most trusted friends'' death, he would undertake the job. He made a decision. "I''ll do it." I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This was a fanfiction I wrote all the way back in 2017, and has only been minimally edited to preserve the original spirit. I''ll be uploading on Thursdays and Fridays, so look forward to it :) Remember to vote and tell me what you thought of the chapter in the comments below! Jobs James Bland looked at his boss, anticipating that he would begin to talk about the first mission he would probably ever really find exciting, or at least give him any visible emotions at all beyond his stilted attitude. "James," said George Connor to Bland, "We have reason to believe Bond was on to something big. Here, listen to this." Connor pulled something out of his pocket as a gentle breeze rolled through the open window behind him. It wasn''t too big in scale, only about the size of a standard cell phone, but a prominently shown red button revealed that it was really a recorder. "Bland, this recorder holds a radio transmission from presumably the location where Bond''s body was found. This, as far as we know, was his very last transmission." An interference noise sounded, static accompanying it. A voice, garbled by the poor connection spoke. "This is James," it said, his voice barely audible through the static. "All dead, can''t see them. They watch me. They hear my every sound, my every breath. If I get out alive... they''ve spotted me!If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. (At this point a gunshot is heard through the interference) "No!" (Another gunshot) "Find, the Madskull..." (A scream is heard, and the transmission ends). A pause, lasting for at least twenty seconds took place, giving them time to think over these developments. This silence then was broken by a sigh from the director. "Mr. Bland, why do you think that I trust you with this information?" "Is it because I was his friend?" Bland asked. "Many people could say the same." Connor said. "I would have to concur with that statement." James replied, curious about why Connor truly did trust him. "Never, in your entire career have you given anything, not even something as small as your cell phone number to Specter." "True." James said. "You''re pretty much the only agent who hasn''t slipped up; even Bond gave away a few tidbits, however, your mind is an impenetrable fortress; you''ve given them nothing, making you the one I can trust the most with sensitive information. In fact most of the things you know, your fellow agents don''t know." James took a moment to register this information in his head, and then remembered something. "What''s Madskull?" George took out a sheet of lined paper from a desk drawer, and began to write. Then he held it up, showing what he had written: Bond was right. Madskull watches. Room is bugged. Meet me in wine cellar, seven hundred hours tonight. Bland took a quick look before Connor threw the paper in to the built in fireplace in his office. Bland wrote quickly on his own scrap of paper he kept in his pocket of his coat: We have a wine cellar? Madskull His director had given him a diagram of the base, which included all of the basic rooms everyone knew about, briefing room, meeting room, cafeteria, entrance hall, pool and recreation room, et cetera. But then George had drawn extra lines, adding on to the standard map, listing all of the secret rooms he needed to know to reach the wine cellar. But Bland didn''t really care for the hidden passages or the Specter-like organization he was about to be briefed on. No, he cared about the map. For hours he had looked at it, memorizing every detail. Most agents would have given it a quick look then forgot it was even in their pockets later, but Bland found this boring activity exciting. James Bland reached the wine cellar punctually at seven-o''clock sharp. He knocked on the door with the default secret knock, which was basically just playing "Mary Had A Little Lamb" by banging on the door. As he finished the last line the door squeaked open, granting him access to the wine cellar which was connected to the laundry room, which gave Bland the perfect cover due to his bi-weekly visits there to do the laundry. As he walked down into the darkness he had a thought, an actual, genuine, not-bland thought. When I was a kid I would''ve been scared to come down here. Bland stopped in his tracks on the wooden staircase. He had had a thought. He had started to remember something. This didn''t happen often; he often had trouble piecing together a memory, and he hadn''t had a memory since... James Bland''s brain shut down the train of thought. It was like he had trained himself to forget one year of his life. Over the years, though, he had started to remember things from that year, horrible things that no human being should have to endure. Occasionally Bland would remember bits and pieces, screaming as they were dragged away into the darkness by some sort of soldiers, and a person suspended by wires in some sort of green test tube. Beyond that, his mind had only memories of darkness, memories of pain. Bland descended into the void, flashlight in hand. He felt happy that he was walking on these steps. Why? Even he himself couldn''t give anyone a straight answer to that question, and he often pondered why he felt happy being the opposite of everyone else.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The narrow wooden staircase gave way to a cement floor. As James reached this solid ground he noticed that the walls had racks upon racks of aged wines. Bland was about to examine one when he jumped away. There was a giant spider that was skittering across the bottles. "Follow me." It said. James Bland believed he was going crazy. "Bland," James said, extending his index finger to the now still spider, "James Bland." The large spider came into view, revealing that it was a tarantula. It then extended one of its eight legs. "Now James-"the spider started. "You know my name!" interjected Bland. "Listen, I''m your director, George Connor, okay? This is a prototype spying technology. Now quiet down, I know you get excited and go beyond your... Blandness when you''re scared, but you have to calm down or one of their spies will come down here." "How can we talk down here when your office isn''t even secure? And what''s with prototype this and prototype that? Doesn''t anything ever get finished around here?" Bland said. It was a good point, after all. Bland began to wander around, exploring, when he checked the closet, didn''t like what he saw, or the smell and closed it. "Three years ago, Madskull implemented bugs down here along with almost every room in the entire base. But one day a drunkard agent found them after he stumbled around with a 1928 red variety. That inept, drunk agent was me. That''s how I know what I know about Madskull, James. Now, come with me." The spider began to skitter away when Bland said: "If you''re my director, then why is he dead, hanging from the ceiling in the closet?" The spider muttered a swear word under its breath. "Code Red," it said, "We have a Code Red." Bland had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen when the cellar door was kicked open by three men wielding guns. The tarantula then sprouted a machine gun turret out of its back. Bland ran, vaulting gracefully over a rack of wine as it exploded in a mess of glass and aged alcoholic drinks. By the time Bland had finished leaping over a barrel of hard cider three men in the standard tuxedoes or were they really men at all? Due to pitch black balaclavas adorning their faces, and the heavy body armor that they wore beneath their suits, this question remained Bland stood straight out in front of his assailants, and noticed the branding on their weapons. "That''s a Smith and Wesson. You''ve had your six." He then jumped into the air, kicking the two attackers on the sides. They promptly fell over. He took out the last one with a quick punch to the face. "Note to self: never trust a talking tarantula." James said as he ran up the stairs, and back into the base. Fear He panted as he sprinted up the stairs. Sunlight stung his eyes making him momentarily regret being in the dark, this would be the perfect opportunity for someone to attack him from the side of the doorway. As soon as his eyes adjusted he turned to the side in one swift motion, meaning to parry any attack. Thankfully no blow came, but he could distinctly hear footsteps coming down the hallway to the laundry room. He quickly ducked back into the cellar entrance as the sound of heavy boots grew nearer. He had stopped panting but was breathing fast and loud. A blood curdling scream pierced the air and was stopped short by the sound of a blade puncturing skin. James tried to slow his breathing, but to no avail. He was scared. His formality, his stilted attitude, his sharp clean cut look, all of that was gone. A mop of hair, drenched with sweat perspires on to his forehead. He was filled with a fear, a primal fear. "Can I be a secret agent too? I promise I won''t tell anyone that I am." This is what he had said to his father at the age of seven. "Not yet, son. Not quite yet." He had said as he had gotten into his jet black car and drove off for the last time. He had always referred to these trips as "a simple business trip", but James knew that that wasn''t the whole picture. He remembered stumbling across a folder one day, reading it, and putting it down. His father had found him with the folder later and yelled at him, saying something about "sensitive information". He had always been very secretive about his work and his co-workers, though he had mentioned one name: "Isaac Luther. Tell your mother to call him if anything happens." He had said. James didn''t know who this Isaac Luther was, but he told his mother to call him, and when she attempted to do so, she said that she couldn''t talk to him.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Those memories were the few fragments he had of his early life, aside from his parents'' names: Robert and Mary. The footsteps grew louder as Bland was torn away from his train of thought. Another sound of blade piercing flesh filled the air, closer this time. James crept back in to the cellar, he was much too afraid to face this adversary head-on. He ran down the steps. He was going too fast, and as he fell forward down the stairs something cut through the air overhead, missing him by centimeters. As his body connected with a combination of concrete and wood he cried out in a burst of pain. He felt like throwing up, he couldn''t assess the damage, nor did he care. He wanted to get off of the stairs. He wanted to get to solid ground. Footsteps pounded down the stairs. He was gaining on him. Bland rolled onto his back to see the person that aimed to end his short, precious life. A stench of blood amplified his nausea as his attacker came close enough to be seen in the dark. The man held a long, sharp blade freshly stained with blood. A sliver of sunlight glinted off of him, revealing that his body was completely covered in knives. From his arms to his legs, seemingly reaching around to the back of his long, black trench coat. All of these knives were held in small straps, allowing easy access to these implements of death. On his head was a black mask, obscuring his face, it looked like a leather hood, one that concealed the mouth. But his eyes were covered by sunglasses, which glowed blood red, creating a faint, lurid light. He walked closer to James Bland, and as he raised his knife to strike, the world seemed to go into slow motion. Everything sounded like it was underwater, and he made a decision. Despite the excruciating pain, he reached up to the dress pants, and tore away one of the many knives strapped there, ripping the fabric material in two. Poised to strike, James drove the knife into the leg of the pants. The man in the trench coat howled in pain and blood soaked James'' hands. He took one last look at his attacker before rolling to the side, missing the man''s fall. As the nightmarish assassin fell, Bland stood up. He surprisingly had gotten rid of the nausea, and he didn''t feel pain anymore. He stepped forward with his left leg experimentally, his results being better than he had anticipated, as he felt no pain. He stumbled tiredly over to the body, leg dragging over the concrete. "You shouldn''t have tried to kill me. Honestly, I wish I could''ve killed you quicker. " "You didn''t fight me this well when I killed your director." Said the masked man with the knife in his leg. Pain "Say that to me again!" James shouted at him, sound echoing through the wine cellar. "You may have really tried to stop me, but you failed Bland. You always do." Bland noticed the red puddle around the man''s leg growing, impeding his efforts to stand up. "Oh let''s see," he said, malice in his voice, "What was his name? George? It was sure fun cutting him up, a crowning jewel on top of my crown, a cherry on top of my bloody sundae... even after I killed all of those other agents too. " James rummaged in his torn coat for his pistol, a small magnum. He was going to kill him. "Listen Bland, I have a reason I am telling you all of this. I want to hear you scream before I kill you, but you don''t have to die Bland. You can fulfill your destiny. All I need is your fear, your respect." Bland grasped the handle of his gun, pulling it out with a shaky hand. As he held it in front of him, the assassin began to stand up. "It looks like you don''t want to help me, so join your director in hell!" Bland cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger, firing at the man with the glowing eyes. Firing shot after shot, he began to think he may have killed him. The hooded man stood there like nothing had happened. "The beauty of bulletproof armor." He chuckled as he drew his bloody machete up from the ground, eliciting an ear-piercing scraping sound. "Bad move." He growled as he leapt at Bland, knife in hand. He tried to pull the trigger, but it was out of ammunition. Bland didn''t have time to duck. The hooded man then pulled the knife out of his leg.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. "I think you need a lesson in obedience, dog!" he said as he thrusted forward with his knife. James tried to dodge the blade; but it caught him on the shoulder. As he stumbled back toward the stairs, he felt blood drip down his suit. "I guess there''s no fun to be had today." He heard the man growl as he walked up the first steps. "Traitor! You''re a dirty traitor!" he screamed after Bland. Bland dragged himself to the top of the stairs. He needed medical attention, and it was a good bet he wouldn''t find any in the laundry room. A stench of death invaded his nostrils and the room was dim and blood was splattered the floor. As he dragged himself toward the doorway, he heard footsteps from the hall. James Bland felt like he could collapse in a heap and never get up again. His nausea had returned, he was bleeding out fast, he was tired, and he was afraid. It''s a wonder I''m alive at all. He thought as he sat down against a washing machine. Then he remembered that he didn''t close the door to the wine cellar. Then Bland noticed something on the floor. As he crawled nearer, the stench of death grew more pungent. Holding back vomit, its features then fully came in to view. As he began to turn it over, he was shocked and crawled backward in to the washing machine again. I just touched a dead body. He thought, shocked. With what strength he had, he stood up and started toward the door again to the wine cellar to begin to trap his attacker in the basement. He pushed the door closed, and began to shove a washing machine toward the door. Despite him being battered and bloody, he pushed the washing machine against the front of the door. His hopes of survival shattered as he saw two more people walk in, balaclavas adorning their faces. "Well well, what have we here?" a voice said. Bland didn''t need to look up, he already knew who was there. "If you want to kill me just go ahead." James said. There was a pause, and James decided to look at his surroundings, noticing a window in a corner near a washing machine. "Time to die, traitor." Said one of the men as they raised a gun, aiming at him. "Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean ''traitor''?" said Bland. He recalled the man in the trench coat calling him that. "Don''t you know, Bland?" he said, cocking his gun. "How do all of you know my name?" Bland asked. He had pretty much ignored the fact that everyone seemed to know who he was. He wasn''t as big an agent as James Bond. "Because you worked alongside us once. You were going to join us. You betrayed us, so we decided that you needed to die. And congratulations! You wiped out half of our forces too after you escaped. " "Escaped," James said "Escaped from where?" "Escaped from us," the man said, "Escaped from Madskull." History
"As our hooded guy said, you have a chance to fulfill your destiny." Said one of the masked men. "I don''t think I''ll like it there." James Bland said. He could feel his energy draining; he could feel his life slipping slowly into the void of death. "You''ll love it there, Bland!" replied one of the assassins, "Plenty of ironing, drying paint, opportunities to grout tiles..." He trailed off, giving James time to think. Grout... Wait! Get a hold of yourself Bland! You have to pull through... "Bland." Said one of the men, snapping him out of his train of thought, "You have a choice. Die here, or come with us. "Or wait for a savior to show up." Said the other masked person, a female voice this time. Bland heard the sound of a gun firing and the sound of a body drop. He looked in awe as the assailant that had threatened him with a gun now lay dead on the floor. "The name''s Kelly Drake and I am a doctor." She said, taking off her balaclava. "Umm..." Bland said, distracted by her. He had long, brown hair that complimented her green eyes and athletic features. In other words, he was distracted by her. "Umm... Bland, James. Yes. I..." She was rummaging through a first aid kit that he had failed to notice her pull out, searching for the correct medical equipment to treat the injury. "This is going to hurt," she said seriously, "A lot. I''m going to knock you out for now." Bland woke up on a bed like you would see in an emergency room. He checked his surroundings, seeing that he in fact was in the emergency room. "Wha... where am I." "Emergency room of an abandoned MI6 base." Said a woman''s voice. "Kelly, right?" Bland said, still taking in his whereabouts and noticing Kelly sitting in a chair in the corner, reading a paperback novel. "I had to stitch you up pretty good," said Kelly, "It''s a wonder you pulled through at all."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Thank you for helping me," Bland said, "I really mean it." "It''s my job." She said, putting the book on a coffee table beside her. "Do you know what they mean by ''traitor''?" Bland said, surprising himself with his eagerness to know. "Absolutely." She replied. "So, what does it mean?" Bland asked "You sure you want to know?" "Absolutely." She sighed. "Several years ago Specter began a new program called Madskull. It was meant to create conditioned super soldiers of some type, so that they could kill James Bond and kill MI6 simultaneously." "Did it work?" asked James. "You tell me, you fought one." "Well I sure don''t like it, but he probably would''ve won if he didn''t let me live like he did." He admitted. "These super soldiers took over the MI6 base you were working at completely." "Were?" James asked, puzzled. "I had to move you out of there or you would have died." a sad look passed over her face. "Like everyone else when they destroyed it." "If these Madskull guys are so powerful, why don''t they use them all of the time?" James asked, "Why haven''t they replaced the workforce entirely?" "Because they''re on a timer. After they complete their mission, they''re dead. The first ones weren''t like that though. The first ones didn''t have timers, so after they completed their mission, they lost control of their minds. You and I were lucky, we escaped." "Escaped?" "We were going to become Madskull soldiers, but we hatched a plan. We needed to break out of there, since we knew what was going to happen to us. We escaped as they were injecting the heightened strength resistance, and intelligence chemical combinations. That''s why we both have superior abilities compared to other people. For example, I can remember everything I''ve ever seen or heard." "Neat." Said James simply "What can I do?" "Well, your excitement limiting chemical combination got screwed up big time, and you broke out of the chemical tube before they had a chance to correct it. In other words, you''re... Bland. You consider uninteresting activities to be absolutely exhilarating. You finally live up to your last name, so that''s a plus." "That''s it?" James said. "I guess." Kelly replied. "Also your name sounds weirdly like-" "I know." James said flatly. "So, where am I anyway?" "The official headquarters of MI6." She said. "Where James Bond trained." James thought for a moment. "Kelly?" "Yes?" she replied. "Do you think James Bond was killed by Madskull?" "I think so." She said. "Also I found something weird in your suit coat pocket." "You went through my stuff?" "Security measures." She said. "What did you find?" "A dark, robotic tarantula. It looks like it has a microphone and camera on it. It''s basically a mobile spider-shaped webcam." "Kelly, you need to get that thing out of here." James said, panicking, "It''s a robotic spider that one of the people from Madskull tried to trap me with." "Care to explain further?" "I went to the wine cellar to discuss Madskull with George. This spider claimed to be him, but I found him hanging in the closet. That spider tried to trick me." "Crazy." She said. "Kelly?" "Hm?" "Thank you." She smiled and returned to reading her book.
Truth
James Bland stared out the window in to the busy street, lazily watching the city''s night life as it rushed by. He felt like he had truly been in his Bland emotional state his entire life. He thought he could remember being excited doing his basic chores at home, although he wondered if those memories were implanted. The thing that bothered him most was the possibility that Kelly was lying to him. Over the past few days his wounds had begun the process of healing, he had learned about Kelly, and who she was. He had even learned that Kelly had even lived across the street from where he grew up. Watching cars roll slowly by in the night made him calm, yet so many questions ran through his mind like an ever-flowing river of consciousness. Can I trust Kelly? How does one determine who really works for Madskull? Who was Isaac Luther? How''s my mom doing these days? Bland decided it would be a good time to call his mom, even in this top secret crisis. He looked at a table near the bed and saw a telephone, which he proceeded to pick up. He dialed in the number and waited. "Bland residence, Mary speaking." His mom''s voice said over the line. "Hi mom I wou-" "Where are you, honey? I was so worried! I hope you''re all right." "I''m fine mom. Listen, this may be one of the last times you ever hear from me." "Then why are you going on and on about some weird guys ''tracing the calls'' all the time? Are you just trying to give me an excuse about how you have to go back to work?" "No mom, I''m actually serious. My work comes second to you." "Are you working a dangerous job like construction?" "Nope. I''m actually working for the same company that dad worked for." "You mean that place? Honey, I hope you''re all right." "Just a few cuts and a laceration to the preorbital area." "Sounds nasty. Do you need to call a doctor?" "The doctor got to me first." "Well I hope he fixed you up good and you''re back to doing whatever you''ve been doing for the last ten years." "Actually it''s a she." "Oooh! A girl! You''re finally finding romance in your life. I''m proud of you Jimmy."This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. "My co-workers call me James, and she''s not my girlfriend." "James, you can''t be afraid of rejection. Just be yourself." "I think she saw more of ''myself'' than I''d show to anyone else." "Did she see you naked?" she asked in surprise. "No, nothing like that!" "That''s sort of good and bad at that same time, Jimmy. You''re thirty years old and still a virgin if you can believe it." "I was there." James said flatly. "And here you still are. You know that I want grandkids, right?"
"Mom, please. Stop." "And I mean, who''s going to support me? It''s not like you''ve discovered uranium or something big like that. And what does your job pay, a hundred thousand a year I mean-" "Mom, I gotta go. Umm... someone''s tracing the line or something." He said as he pressed the button to end the call. He let out a deep sigh, and thought about what his mom had just said about him. About how she wanted someone to ''support'' her. "Maybe if you didn''t spend three quarters of the money I got from discovering uranium you wouldn''t ask me to support you. But then again, I guess I should''ve told you I discovered uranium in the first place." He muttered under his breath. "Was that your mom?" James jumped at the voice, and accidentally the phone flew out of his hand. James watched in awe as the phone fell perfectly back on to the hook. "Well that was pretty boring." James said. "Are you serious? That was amazing!" Kelly said. "Yes I''m serious, and that was my mom." "Sounded like you and she aren''t exactly on the best terms." "You could say that." Bland said. "So, I came in here to check up on how you were doing." "Adequate." Bland said. "Bland, we ran some scans on some brain tissue of yours and-" "You lobotomized me? Okay." "I just revealed that you got a scan run of an extracted part of your brain and you just brush it off?" "On the excitement meter it''s nowhere near waiting for toast to finish toasting." "Bland, I''ve concluded that the chemicals they pumped into you are actually wearing off now. Interestingly, you haven''t changed a bit." "How do you know?" "I''m one of your co-workers. What I''m trying to say is, you aren''t bland anymore because they did it to you; you''re doing it to yourself." "No I''m not." "Yes, yes you are." "But-" "Admit it to yourself; you''re bland because you''re letting yourself be." "Kelly, I have my reasons to be bland. It comes with great benefits." "Like what, not having a love life? Trying to hold in excitement when you ride a roller coaster? Or feigning excitement when you file paperwork?" "At least I have an excuse as to not socialize with anyone, not only that but I can use big words without everyone looking at me like a weirdo." "You''re supposed to be bland, not introverted." "I want to win this impassioned debate." "Listen, I''m not trying to say that there''s anything wrong with being bland, but try something different instead of feigning excitement at watching paint dry." "But, I enjoy some of that stuff that people consider me ''bland'' for." "I''m just trying to tell you that you shouldn''t try to hide behind your persona, especially one that doesn''t even work anymore." "What?" "I mean, don''t try to keep being bland because you''re afraid of rejection. Not only that, but the effects of the experiments they did on you are finally wearing off." "You know that because you lobotomized me?" "Basically. My scans show different brainwave patterns for different points in time so that I can compare them. For example, before the incident you had- let''s say- an A type brainwave. After the year you and I were captured, you had a B type brainwave. Slowly you''ve been turning back into an A type again." "Radical." Bland said, trying to hold in excitement. "You''ve officially filled my head with an image of you riding a skateboard with a baseball cap on backward." "Yeah, I guess I do that sometimes." Toy James straightened out his tie on his crisp, clean suit that he had recently washed and ironed. "James, your mission hasn''t changed. We both need to hold tight on to any leads we can get so we can find Madskull." Kelly said, wearing another crisp and clean suit that James had also recently washed and ironed. "Got it." James said to the woman in front of him, Kelly Drake, co-survivor of what had become known as Raze 1, the incident that had wiped out an entire MI6 base. "James, you are as versatile as you are intelligent." Kelly said, "I mean, these suits have been in use for years but these look brand new." She said. "I wish I could hold up some detergent, say a tagline, hear some jingle from an advertisement and be done with this reality. I mean, look, Raze 1 took out a huge chunk of M16 agents. Not to mention we''re being hunted." James said. "James, you''re a pretty respectable guy." "Thanks." "But you need to lose the attitude. I know this is a big thing that''s happening, but nonetheless we must remain professional." "Absolutely." James replied. "From what little intelligence I''ve gathered about Madskull it seems like they have two messengers, informants, in the field." "Let me guess, my job is to find an attractive babe at a bar, deliver a pickup line or two, and ask her a few questions back at my place." James predicted. "Umm... no." "No?" James said. "We don''t need to develop a relationship with the enemy." Kelly said. "But I''ll do it like Bond did." He said. "How did Bond do it?" "Well, he took her back to his fancy apartment with a good view of the beach, gave her a massage, and then-"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "You aren''t like Bond, and that''s the beauty of it. While he was a playboy, you seek a steady relationship with a woman." "That''s good, right?" "Only if you want to have a happy life with children, and a wife who loves you." "Kelly?" "Yes?" "Umm... well... yeah..." "Just say it, Bland." "Umm will... would..." "What?" she said, growing a bit impatient. "Nothing! Nothing is wrong!" Bland said, eyes darting around wildly. "Okay?" Kelly said, a bit caught off guard by the sudden crazed outburst. "Professionalism, it''s what counts." Bland said, returning to his original demeanor and giving thumbs up, forcing a weak smile out of himself. "Yeah, good, right." Kelly said, returning the gesture and facial expression. "So, look for a girl who calls herself ''Needle'' okay?" "Absolutely." Bland said. "I''ll be tracking a guy codenamed ''Warden''. Now, we''ll be obviously separated in the field so I made these." she said, holding up a tin that prominently displayed the word ''MINTS'' on the front cover. "I thought I brushed my teeth just fine." Bland said. "No, hold one up to your mouth and speak into It." she said, opening the tin revealing an assortment of small mints. "So they''re like radio breath mints?" James asked. "In fact, M.I.N.T. is an acronym. It means," she cleared her throat and began to recite: "Mega Intelligent New Trans-communicator. They have a number of uses. Spying, communication, tracking, a few of these are even actual breath mints." "Neat." He said. James started walking toward the exit of his hospital room. "Stop," Kelly said, "how are you going to get information if you don''t know how to?" she asked. "I assumed I''d just wing it when the time came." "The art of gathering information is an important one, James," she said, "You can''t just ''wing it'' like you say you will. You need training." She said. "Who should I ask for training of that kind?" he asked. "You''re looking at her." "First order of business," Kelly said, pacing back and forth in front of James, "you need to strike up a conversation with her about something. Here''s a list of topics I pulled off the internet that might be interesting to women." She handed him a thin stack of papers. He scanned it, eyes darting back and forth, until he concluded: "None of these interest me in any way. How could someone be interested at all in this stuff?" "Did you check my pick-up lines index in the back? Maybe that could start one regardless of an actual topic. You know, your attention to details might actually be an interesting conversation all in itself." "A few of these are kind of interesting," James said, "but they''re missing excitement." "Write me a list of what kind of conversations you''d like to have that could lead to information gathering in the next few minutes." She said, turning to walk out the door of the hospital room. "Alright," he said, "but there''s a weird question I''d like to ask before you go." "What''s that?" she replied. "How can one exactly have a party in their pants?" Drake
"Be careful, Bland." Kelly said as he opened the passenger side door of the car. "You know I will. I mean what could go wrong?" He said, climbing out, leaving the leather seats of the car behind that he had thoroughly enjoyed sitting in. "Bland, there''s something I need to tell you." "Can I take a guess?" "Why not?" "You love me, but you''ve been hiding your feelings?" "No. Something a lot more dark." She checked her watch. "Uggh." "What?" "You''ve got a half an hour before the bar closes. You should go." "Ah. Okay." "You seem pretty indifferent. I mean, I know that I should learn to expect that though." "Bye Kelly. I''ll be careful." He climbed out; shutting the door behind him. Kelly watched him leave toward the bar. It bore a neon sign saying ''Myriad''. It was almost blinding to look at its blue luminance, to the degree that the whole parking lot was bathed in a pulsing blue light. What am I doing? She thought as he closed the glass door behind him. Much like the outside, the inside was covered in a blue light, pounding music filled the air and he made his way to the bar. He took a seat, and the bartender turned toward him. "What can I get ya?" he said in a gruff voice as he cleaned a glass. "Information." "Excuse me?" "I''m looking for a girl, calls herself ''Needle''." "She''s sittin'' right next to you." He said, pointing to James'' right. He turned to his right. She smoked a cigarette between sips of her margarita. Her hair was tied back, unlike Kelly''s which was mostly hanging down most of the time. "Can I buy you a drink?" "Already got one." "May I ask what you''re drinking?" he inquired, already knowing the answer. "Margarita." She replied simply. "Bartender!" James called, "I''d like what she''s having." "Got it. One Margarita on the rocks. Also, my name''s Jim." He said, walking away to prepare the drink. "So, may I ask the name of the man that offered to buy me a drink?" "Bland." "Huh?" "James Bland." At this point the bartender had brought the drink and set it down. "Thanks Jim." "You''re welcome." He said walking away once more. "You can''t be James Bland." She said in disbelief.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "Well why not?" he asked back. "Tell me, is your name really James Bland?" "What reason would I have to lie, Needle?" "Because-" "Because you''re supposed to be dead." James felt cold metal on the back of his head, a gun. "Give me one reason I should come quietly." Bland said, confidently.
"A guy has a gun leveled to the back of your head." Needle said, taking another sip of her drink. "Nice trick barricading the basement door," the guy said that was holding the gun, "but I managed to get out just fine." "Congratulations." Bland said flatly. "So tell me, Bland. How did you get out? I mean, Isaac here sliced you up pretty good. You shouldn''t be breathing." Isaac, I remember that name. Why? And from where? "A girl got me out." "I want a name." "Too bad." "Isaac here quietly took all of the patrons hostage while we were having our little chat." Needle said. "Every time you fail to give us the information we want, we kill one. Comprende?" "Fine. Her name''s Kelly." He said, reluctantly. "Is her last name Drake by any chance?" Needle said, getting up in his face. "What is it to you if it was?" Bland retorted. "It would mean she failed in her mission to put you down like the dog you are." "You lying whore! What mission?" Bland said, a mix of emotions flowing through him. Betrayal, anger, the adrenaline flowed through him like a river. "The mission I personally gave her the contract for." She said, matter-of-factly, leaning against the bar. "Then why did you send Isaac to kill me? You make a poorly fabricated lie, you can''t even prove-" "Because Ms. Drake was late on her return, so I sent in Isaac here to do the job. If you''d like a written document I''d be happy to supply one." "But now I get to finish the job, right before I finish all of the hostages off." Isaac said behind him. "Best wishes from you-know-what skull!" Needle said, she then climbed out of her stool and began to walk away. A gun cocked behind James. A gunshot sounded, James fell out of his chair. Another sounded. It seemed to last for eternity. He didn''t feel pain. He felt tired. He just wanted to sleep... "Get up, James!" He snapped out of it, looking around frantically. It was Kelly standing next to him, a gun at her hip. He pushed himself up, first into a seated position and finally he stood up. "We need to get out of here. I''ll talk to you later." Bland said, remembering what had occurred. "Both Madskull members are incapacitated," She said, "but we have to get out before they send more!" "You won''t hear me arguing." Bland said, starting to run toward the door. "Wait, you''ll need to defend yourself." She said, handing him a revolver. "I''ll assume it''s loaded." Bland said, seeing that Kelly was starting to run toward the exit. She didn''t respond, but they trekked through the huge bar toward the door. They drove home in silence, tacitly daring the other to start the argument. Bland didn''t know what to feel; for the first time in several years he had broken out of his emotional cage of blandness. It gave him a weird feeling, almost like he was coming back to really being himself. Kelly had helped him, trained him for the past few days to try and snap out of it. For a time he was thankful, but tonight changed everything. They were in the lobby of the abandoned base, giving each other occasional glances in silence. They walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. The elevator slowly came to life and brought them to their destination. They walked down a series of hallways to a large living room, where she and he had strategic meetings and Kelly trained him to be more emotional. They sat in two chairs across from each other. Kelly spoke first. "What did Needle tell you?" "Plenty." Bland replied, projecting a bit of anger in to his voice. "Listen, whatever she told you I can explain." "Okay. Explain about the part where you''re an assassin. Explain about how you betrayed me." Kelly sighed. "I was paid to kill you specifically by Madskull. The experiment thing with your blandness? A lie. The only truth is that Madskull is creating super-soldiers through experimentation. You were forced in to the program for about a year. I wasn''t. I was however the scientist who came up with the program. It was to enhance strength and speed, even granting slight precognitive abilities. However you escaped from Madskull and I was hired to kill you." "Why''d you spare my life? You should be thankful you don''t have a bullet in your head." "Because I fell in love with you. Sure there was room for improvement but you were a guy who wanted success. You had good financial skills, you were smart, you didn''t have anything negative about you that really stood out. You were ¨Cin a sense- bland." "You loved me?" "Yes Mr. Bland, I did." "This is sort of like a book I thought about writing once, where a hit man falls in love with his target." "Kelly?" "Yes?" "Who else is like me? Who else has been experimented on like me?" "Only one other guy survived. A guy named Isaac Luther." "Isaac Luther was a friend of my father''s." Bland said, finally connecting the dots. "I''m sorry." Kelly said. "Oh, sure you''re sorry. Because now, everyone you killed gets to live! And everyone gets candy too!" He said, anger and sarcasm leaking in to his voice. "I didn''t say that apologizing would fix anything!" she argued back. "This might." James said, pulling a gun from his jacket. "This might fix everything." End "Don''t make another move, Bland." Kelly said. "I''m the one with the gun Kelly." He said back. "I''ve done so much for you, now you hold the gun to my head in the end. I saved your life." "Everything is just so confusing. In one story we break out together, you even told me a story about how you lobotomized me? Is that true too?" "Put down the gun." "I asked a question." "The only reason you are still standing is because I have decided to spare your life so far." "And what was with the guys calling me ''traitor'' over and over? Was this everyone''s plan?" "Technically the traitor was your father." "Explain." He said, not lowering the gun. "From what they tell me your father was killed by Luther. They used Isaac to get close enough to him that he could be taken care of quietly." "Kelly, you are an evil person." "I don''t deny that I''ve done some horrible things." "But you saved me, so I''m willing to let you live." He lowered the gun. "Thank you." She said. "Under one condition." "What''s that?" James punched her in the face and she fell unconscious. He walked away, questioning his decision. Will anyone else die by her hand? He sat down on the floor, his head buzzing like a whirlwind with thoughts and conflict. What the hell is going on? James never expected his life to be like this. He always wanted something simple, something he could wrap his mind around. He was never at the head of his class, or necessarily the best at anything. What little he truly enjoyed, he grasped it by the hand and told it who it belonged to. Even with Drake''s lies to try and formulate in to something that could make even the slightest bit of sense, he persevered. He stood up, fire in his eyes. They killed his director, and repeatedly insulted him by their constant attempts on his life. He would play their games no longer.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. He turned around, heading toward the front door of the building, leaving behind a murderer to eventually realize what had happened. It didn''t feel right to him, letting Kelly just stay there with nothing more to try and turn her away from evil than a solid punch to the face. He felt like he should have finished the job, made sure she never hurt anyone again. He walked out through the double wooden doors and stepped out in to a rainy night, illuminated only by the streetlights all around him, and the sporadic lights of cars as they drifted past. The abandoned base wasn''t in a very populated area, only some countryside surrounded it, and it was a long drive to the nearest urban area. He felt at peace in the rain, as he walked along the road, soaking wet. He saw the pouring rain create puddles on the sidewalk and the road. This excited him. He almost missed the next cab as it drove by, and he hailed it. It stopped and he took a seat inside. "Where to?" a voice said from the front. "Fallen Leaf." He said, stating the town where his mother lived. "Fallen Leaf it is." The driver said, driving off. James almost dreaded going there; it had been so long since he had actually talked to his mother in person. She always seemed to have something to bug him about. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. She always wants me to get married, but the only time I''ve ever really talked to a girl is Kelly, and look how that turned out. The cab drove up to the side of the road in Fallen Leaf, and Bland paid his fare and got out. It had been a long time since he had visited that the town felt strange to him. He started walking down the long street towards his mother''s house. He felt that he needed someone to talk to, someone he could really trust. If that was his mother then so be it. His mother''s house was the second last house on the right at the end of the long street, and that''s where Mister James Bland knocked on the door at eight o''clock at night. He waited a minute and the door creaked open. "Jimmy?" A woman said, her face lighting up as she opened the door. "Mom," He said. "I have the craziest life." "Well come on in, you''re soaked!" She said, ushering him in. A few minutes later they sat across from each other in an old living room, in an old house. "So son, tell me all about this ''crazy life'' of yours." She said, sipping a glass of tea. "I just learned that my unofficial girlfriend was actually an assassin sent to kill me, but fell in love with me. It''s a literary trope turned in to real life. Not only that, but the company has been attacked by weird guys that call themselves ''Madskull'' They killed my boss in cold blood too." He was almost bursting with excitement at sitting in his chair. His quirk had kicked in again. "I don''t know what to say James." She said. "You chose the life of a secret agent, I didn''t. We''ve always chosen different paths in life. There''s not a similar thing about us. Your life of some super spy like from the old movies isn''t an easy one, I can tell that at a glance. You need to stand up and control your life, you can''t just go with the flow or let everything just happen to you. You''ve got a crazy ex-girlfriend? Move on. Your boss was murdered? Move on. " "How can you say these things, mom? Are you that cold hearted that you would just casually say ''move on?'' What is it?" "I''m just saying that complaining about life will get you nowhere. Doing something about it will." "You''re right." He said, and then the phone rang. "I''ll get it." She said. After listening for a moment she held it out to him. "It''s for you." He held it to his ear. "Hello?" He said reluctantly. "I know where you are, Bland." A female voice said on the other end. "You will pay." The other end hung up. "Who was it, Jimmy?" His mother asked. "Just my evil ex-girlfriend that wants to kill me." He said with a smile. He was going to have to finish the job after all. "Aren''t you even a bit worried?" His mother asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Once you realize that you''re going to have to make a choice anyway, how can you be scared?" "Huh?" "I''m saying she''s not getting rid of me that easy." END OF PART ONE Call Midnight. A phone was pressed to an ear; through it spoke a voice of not malice, but suave conversation. Malice however, was what hid behind that mask, that smooth voice. "You failed, Drake. You screwed up, the Circle''s going to have a fit." "We can''t contain Patient 14, we need to kill him. He escaped Luther; no one''s ever done that." "I don''t care what he can or can''t do, Agent Drake. Find him, kill him." "I''ll send a tactical squad to take him out, shouldn''t be a problem." "Chances are he''s going to attempt to contact MI6 to alert them of situation, we can''t let him do that."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "I''ll have him taken care of in the next twenty-four hours, tops." She pressed the button to end the call and sighed. She had failed her first job to assassinate her target. Her target was Patient Fourteen, also known as James Bland, the last surviving agent of an entire division of MI6. Madskull ¨Cher employer- wasn''t getting any more patient. She was only thankful she hadn''t been executed for failing. Apparently she was still important to Madskull. She dialed in another number. "Hey, Frost?" she said. "It''s midnight Kelly, you know I''m off duty." "It''s about fourteen. I need you to get a team together to eliminate him. I''ll send you his last known location; I traced him through a phone call." "Fourteen?" "Yeah, we held him here for a year. We ran some tests, tests that would kill the average human being. And at the end of every day his heart was still beating. We thought wiping his memory of the whole thing would fix our problem of having a whistleblower." "You planned on him escaping?" "He didn''t escape, we let him go after wiping his memory of the year we imprisoned him." "I''ll have him in a body bag by daylight." He said, an almost happy lightness to his voice. The call ended. Traitor James Bland, agent of MI6, unknowing experiment of Madskull, a man that had been betrayed by an assassin that loved him, sat drinking tea, a loaded gun on the table next to him. "Mom, I need you to get away for a while." He said after taking a sip of his warm chamomile. "Why?" His mother asked, sipping her own cup of tea. "It''s the same reason I stayed up all night, a gun in my hand. Madskull''s going to hunt me down to the ends of the Earth. My only chance is to warn MI6, and we both know damn well that they''re going to try to kill me before that happens. I don''t want you dying because of me." "I can take care of myself. I can shoot; I won that trophy a few years back in the competition where they were shooting those plates." "Mom, get out. Please, you have to trust me." She sighed and put down her cup, putting her head in her hand. "As far as you say it''s just your murderous ex and a bunch of groupies." "It''s not. It''s far worse than any of us could imagine. I saw a man slay another with dual machetes. Only by tricking him did I escape with my life. I need you to leave. Chances are they''ve traced the line here." "Through that phone call?" "Probably. If they can create a robotic spider that can talk, I''m sure they know how to trace a call." "How long do you think they''ll be hunting you?" "Until I''m pronounced deceased." "Then that''s what we need to do." "Excuse me?" "For them to stop hunting, you need to die. We''re going to fake your death." "How''re you coming up with this stuff?" "Did I ever tell you how I met your father?" "No, not really." "We met at work, at MI6. I''ve got combat training. As I said, I can take care of myself." "I guess so." He said, setting down his cup and putting his face in his hands. "Mom, what''s going on? My life''s turned topsy-turvy in a week or so. You, a secret agent. The only woman who I''ve ever had any feelings for is going to kill me. I''m getting tired of sleeping next to a loaded gun." "It''s the life of an agent. You wake up, brush your teeth, shower, eat breakfast and by the end of the day you''ve assassinated some Specter groupie and cracked a data vault protected by crocodiles. Then you go to sleep at night clutching your service pistol and half-hoping you wake up in the morning." "What''s the other half hoping for?" James asked. "That you don''t wake up. That in the morning you won''t have to live the paranoid life where you have to look over your shoulder, where you don''t worry about whether the guy running the hot dog stand is going to pull a gun on you." "I know the feeling." "There have been tons of agents that have died from stress. Insomnia, paranoia, almost encroaching on insanity. That is what an agent turns in to. We may be doing good, but is your own mind worth it?" His mother asked. "As long as Madskull is around no one is going to rest easy." James replied. "It''s not just Madskull; it''s tons of mysterious factions, shadow groups, cartels. Where does it end?" She asked. "It doesn''t. The way I see it, it''s our job to make sure no one gets hurt from these endless opponents." He said.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Two cars drove up to the house. James turned toward the window to see two long, black cars outside. "I don''t like this." James said. He put the gun next to him in his coat. It was only when he saw the people that stepped out of the cars were carrying assault rifles and wearing body armor did he know for sure. It was Madskull. "Mom, they''re here." "We can hide upstairs." She said, taking her own gun and heading toward the wooden stairs. The armored soldiers advanced up the driveway toward the door. By the time they kicked it down the two agents had disappeared up the stairs. The agents of Madskull silently stalked the corridors, looking for their target. One Isaac Luther headed up the stairs. He wielded two long blades in each hand, stained from the blood of previous victims of his horrific practice. Under his dark hood he smiled. He smiled, for soon he knew he was going to confront the only agent that he had failed to kill, the only blemish on his record with Madskull. Isaac Luther had been an agent once, he was extremely skilled with bladed weapons from throwing knives to swords. One day, he had been taken by force in to one of Madskull''s cars. Despite being a man of great skill, he was not a man that was moral. "I''ll give you an offer and one minute to accept. If you do not, we will kill you and your family." A Madskull agent had said to him. Here he was now, hunting for a man that hadn''t done anything wrong, anything to hurt him. That made no difference to Isaac Luther. "Come out, come out." He said. No response. He chose a room to search, the master bedroom. "You know, I studied forms of spiritual arts. They teach you that if you strip away the flesh..." Nothing in the master bedroom. "...your spirit makes itself evident." He chose the bathroom to search next, nothing. Only one room and a linen closet left. "Do you want to know how your father died, Mister Bland? Why one day he didn''t come home?" Closet was empty. One room left. "I helped his spirit become evident, to seep through the cracks. Mister Bland, be happy they didn''t let you see the body. That''s why there wasn''t a wake or anything." He opened the door to the last room, a bedroom. James'' old room. "Now it''s your turn. Where could you be, Mister Bland?" He checked the closet in the room. Empty. Only one place left to look, under the bed. Luther shook his head. "I know where you are now." James Bland put his finger on the trigger. Luther walked to the bed. He crouched. Bland knew he was going to have to take a life. It wasn''t his first time. He knew what he had to do. One bullet, one life taken. Luther was now lying prone, looking under the bed. All he saw was a pair of feet standing on the other side. "Mister Luther, I won''t be so merciful this time." James said. Isaac rose up, brandishing his dual machetes in his gloved hands. "Neither will I." They both moved at the same time. Luther threw his machete across the room, crashing through the sole window as Bland threw himself to the side. It was now James'' turn. He got up and started firing. Luther blocked the bullets with his one and only machete near effortlessly. "Traitor." Luther said. "To what? Madskull? Drake already tried to sell me that line." "You betrayed us all. Everyone''s a traitor, to the one true power. That power is Madskull." They fought in a dance of death. Machete sliced the air, gunshots rang out like screams. James could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, the orders of whoever was commanding the team being spoken in rapid fire succession. Bland was quickly outnumbered by the soldiers and hid behind any cover he could reach, whether it was the bed, dresser or even the chair or mahogany desk. James could hear sirens in the distance, but he knew that he''d be long dead before the police got there. He cast a quick glance out the now shattered window, and that''s when the knife pierced his chest. A machete stuck out of his chest, a good two feet in front of him. Red filled his vision and he sunk to his knees and coughed. What came out of his mouth only partially surprised him: Blood. He dropped the gun to the floor. He could hear voices speaking all around him. But two sentences grabbed his attention, taking his mind off the fact that he was dying. "Patient 14 has been contained." "Drake should come up, she specifically requested to see him." Kelly? Her? His thoughts were disconnected and jumbled. He saw her enter the room, dressed in a business suit, heels and sunglasses which completely hid her eyes. On her coat was a silver colored pin in the shape of a skull. "Kelly... You betrayed me..." He said in a raspy voice. She crouched right in front of him, a slight smile on her face. "No, you betrayed us." "I... never worked for you." "You worked for one of our people." "Connor?" "Yes, exactly. The pieces are fitting together nicely now, aren''t they Mister Bland?" "Why''d you kill him?" "He''d failed the Circle. The attacks on the MI6 bases were to eliminate key rogue members we thought would tell everyone about us. Connor was a Madskull agent that had a bit of information regarding operations. He was about to tell you about it, but we don''t just put audio recorders in the offices. We have full, real time view and audio. Every mission you performed under him was one of our jobs. Heck, we even experimented on you the one time you were shot during a mission. You were in the hospital for a little bit, I''d say a year or so. After we killed your director we realized that you also had heard of Madskull, so I sent Mister Luther to take care of you. I''m not a fighter; I make people trust me than crush them under my boot. Thanks to Needle''s slip-up you know who I am. I assure you, she''s been taken care of appropriately." "You people are sick." He said, coughing up blood. "James, I really did love you. We could have been wonderful together." Captivity
Red filled his vision. He could feel his life slipping away from him, almost like trying to catch a ball that was just barely out of his grasp, slipping away relentlessly. Something in his distorted mind sparked his interest; one simple question. Why am I still alive? How long had he been kneeling there like that, trying to hold on to his fleeting existence? In one instant, the half-dead James Bland stood up. A rage was in his eyes, and courage filled him. Why was he still alive? For one moment, that question filled his mind. It gave him a strength he didn''t know he had. "Do you think the experiments worked a little too well Drake?" Luther asked. "I didn''t expect him to live this long. This is totally unprecedented by any of our patients. Even our most optimistic outcomes didn''t predict anything like this." James Bland simply stared forward, but the knife through his gut was the least of his problems at that point. It had lessened to a dull ache. He was dizzy, he felt like falling over, giving up. "Bring him back. We need to run further tests." Drake said. James'' vision went dark. When James Bland awoke, we was in a metallic grey room. One door on the far side away from the bed he was lying on. One mirror and a sink in the corner. A small hallway led to a bathroom. That was all he could see through his groggy vision, all he could see from turning his head. He reached down to his abdomen, expecting to find a blade sticking out. Nothing but bandages. He tried to remember what happened. One thought kept popping up over and over again. Mom. While she''d escaped out the window, he hid under the bed. He told her he needed to face Luther. To face Madskull. "James, I''m not letting you do this. I''m your mother, and I''m saying you can''t." "My childhood was killed along with Dad. My innocence is long gone. I''ve killed, I''ve lied, I''ve done things I''m not proud of. It''s all part of being an agent. Please, let me atone." "You think my hands are clean? I lost the right to call myself innocent too. You don''t see me going around killing people to atone for some nebulous amount of sins." "You don''t have a crazy ex and her private army to worry about." "Granted, you have a point. Bland, leave with me. We can''t take them on, none of us can." "It''s my job. Go Mom. Go now." She had heard Luther coming toward them. She leaped out the window safely and James hid. Now here he was, a man whose boss was a traitor and a patriot, and he''d done all his dirty work for him. He tried to sit up, surprisingly he could. He felt pain, but nothing like what he''d expected. "Don''t try to sit up." A voice said. Kelly''s voice. James looked around and saw a large speaker mounted to the wall above the door.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "Shut up Drake. I''ve had enough of your voice for one day. Heck, make that forever." "Fine James, you''re going to be in here a while and I thought you might like someone to talk to."
"You thought wrong. How long have I been out?" "A day. Now stop moping around. But, if you want to be utterly alone, I won''t object." "Good." "Still, I think you''ll be happier if we talk." "Okay Drake, where should we start?" James asked sarcastically. "Should we start with our first meeting, or the fact that you''re a traitor to the nation as a whole?" "Our first meeting of course." "You sure you don''t want to choose the other one? I have some extremely explicit commentary on those events." "Go ahead James. Complain away like the little wimp you are. I''m tired of your whining. I thought you were nice but you have just so many issues. Being bland is a big part of those issues." She said with a hint of disgust. "Are you considering yourself a prime specimen?" "I consider myself a prime speciwoman." "Let''s talk about what I dislike about you. Well for one, you are an assassin that was hired to kill me, but didn''t follow through. So for one, you''re disloyal. And you don''t get the job done. I''m not sure whether I should be happy for me or sad for you." "James, talk all you want, I won''t have to listen. I just need to turn off the part where I can hear you..." A click sounded on the other end. "...and here we go!" James sighed. He was tired of living like this, under threat of death all of the time. He slowly got out of bed. He needed to stretch his legs. I hardly feel any pain at all. He thought, struggling to understand why he was recovering so fast. Only a day? He walked over to the mirror on the wall. Each step he tested, he felt more or less in perfect health. This is impossible. He thought. He stared at his reflection; it was like looking at a stranger. Last time he had checked, he wasn''t this well built. His piercing light ice blue eyes stared back at him through the glass. In other ways he was -at a glance- average. His posture, a good portion of his mannerisms, and his dark brown hair that until these recent events had been nearly immaculately smoothed down. All of these would portray him as a completely normal person, only a few people cared to look deeper. People like Drake. He startled himself with the thought. He startled himself with the notion that on some level, he did still care about her. It''s just your hormones getting the best of you. Just try not to think about her. He thought. In another room, on another floor sat a rejected woman, her name Kelly Drake. "Luther, I feel like I''m in some sort of science fiction novel." "Do we get to tear his throat out yet, Miss Drake?" Luther asked. "No, he''s going to become one of us. We''ve brought him home, now we''re going to treat him as a member of the family." "Then why''d you have me attempt to kill him?" Luther asked. "To weaken him. We needed to get him to a point where he couldn''t fight back." "So you were predicting this outcome?" "I was hoping he would live. Honestly, I could have lived with that heart ¨C wrenching moment I had with him a few hours ago where the machete was sticking out of his chest and I told him I loved him. He could''ve died right there for effect." "You treat everything like a stage play, and not the reality for which it is! We have jobs to do, realities, blood on our hands, nothing''s going to be ''happily ever after'' for us! We made him, now we''re complaining about the job actually turning out even better than we planned? What we need to do is kill him here and now while we have the chance. The project worked on me, but the fact this man is still breathing is a miracle and a curse in their own rights." "Stop treating me like a child, I know the difference between fantasy and reality! I love him, but I have to kill him!" "Still treating this like some story, huh? Want to develop your character a little more? Listen, it''s not like we never shared anything special together. Remember the first time we met? The first time we kissed? Does that not count now?" "It counts for nothing when you''re not the man I love." At this Luther shut up, tired of arguing when he was getting nowhere. "I should reprimand you; dock your pay or something. But I don''t care that much." This was her attempt to further belittle Luther. He however had worked for Kelly for quite a few years. He was used to it. Luther sighed and walked out of the dark room as Kelly went back to watching the man she loved try to figure out what happened to him. What happened to his life. Rebirth James Bland hated captivity. He made it work by exercising. He knew it was clich¨¦, but what else did he have to do? Talk to Drake? I wouldn''t talk to that chick in a million years. He thought as he completed his last set of hundred pushups for the day. One week ago he''d lost freedom itself, he hated Drake, Luther, Madskull, and anyone that associated with them. Above all, he hated himself. He hated that he''d been played by Madskull for years, at least from what Kelly had told him. He used his new training regimen as an escape from the harsh reality that was his life. He threw all his anger toward Drake in to energy he could use. He was tired, breathing hard on the cold white metal floor of his cell. "James?" A voice said through the speaker. James didn''t recognize the voice, it definitely wasn''t Kelly. Kelly''s voice was not the voice of a man. "What the heck do you want?" He asked through heavy breaths. "I''m coming James. Prepare to die." "Who the hell are you?" "My name''s Frost. You are going to die. You killed my whole squad, almost killing me. I pulled through, thanks to the Project." "What''s the Project?" "To create warriors of supernatural ability. Specifically to create psychic abilities artificially. Wonder how I can survive a gunshot? Wonder how Luther is that strong? We can truly be alive this way. We are superior to humanity itself!" The door to James'' cell opened. In the doorway stood a man James knew couldn''t be alive. "Bond?" "Sorry, but I killed James Bond a long time ago. My name''s Frost, Roy Frost." "Bond, how the hell are you alive?" "I told you, I''m not Bond! I killed Bond, I saw his body fall dead in the snow!" "The snow?" "Don''t you know where you are? You''re in the Arctic! Too bad you won''t be here for long. Torture is too much fun to pass up though." He pulled a long blade out of his suit coat. "Old friend or not, you''re going to die if you so much as touch me." "We''ll just see about that." He put the long blade down for a moment, Bland lunged at it, but stopped when Bond pulled out a second long blade. "Oh, Bland. It''ll have to be a fair fight, that''s all." Bland noticed the long blade pressed to his neck, a small drop of blood hit the floor from the puncture wound.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "Now Bland, slowly pick up the other blade." Bland did as he was told, thinking it was crazy what was happening. Blade in hand, Bland stepped away from Bond. "En garde!" Bond yelled, and lunged at Bland. A beaten, bandaged man fought one of the most deadly, most charismatic men in the world. Blade clashed against blade repeatedly in a cacophony of grunts of pain as their blade caught each other. Crimson drops ran across the ground as they dodged and parried lunges and slashes. "I''m not going down again!" Bland yelled as he made that fateful strike. The one that set up the death James Bond once and for all. Or, what was left of James Bond. One of Bland''s strikes caught Bond off guard, knocking him back toward the mirror. Bland saw this as the perfect time to strike. He charged forward, hitting him with his shoulder, knocking the wind out of Bond. Bland grabbed Bond''s head in his hand and revealed his inner darkness that had welled up inside for longer than he cared to admit. He smashed Bond''s face repeatedly in to the glass, blood sprayed and ran down Bond''s face. Bland face was full of hatred, anger. He was no longer the socially stilted weird guy that everybody would just try not to notice. He was a primal beast. He finally decided it was enough, and he threw Bond to the ground. "Who... who the hell do you think you... are?" Bond stammered weakly, gurgling blood. "Bland, James Bland." He said as he rammed the long blade through Bond''s neck, silencing the agent. Silencing a symbol of charisma, intelligence, hope. The agent walked purposefully across the room toward the now open door, holding a long blade aloft. He was tired, stained crimson, and had just killed one of the most loved people of his time. I really didn''t want to kill him. What Madskull turned him in to, what Kelly turned him in to... I hate them. I hate her. I hate Luther. I hate Connor. I hate them all. Hate. Hate. Who will I kill next? Hate. I didn''t want to kill him. He left me no choice. James collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. A tear dropped from his face, hitting the cold hard floor upon which he was kneeling. "Why''d it have to be him? Why couldn''t it be Kelly? Why couldn''t it be Luther? Why?" He said. "I didn''t know you hated me so much." A figure with long reddish brown hair stepped in to the open doorway. She wore a blue-black suit; James knew all too well who it was. "Not now Kelly. I''m tired." He said to her. In the background he heard the shuffling of feet toward him. A growl, then a gunshot. Kelly stood there, a gun in her hands smoking from the shot she had fired at the corpse of Bond. She holstered her gun and kneeled, facing Bland. "Bland, I love you. I always have, I always will. I hope you still have some feelings toward me too." She said quietly. "Drake, I''m sorry. I know it sounds stupid, but I''m tired of going against everything. I want a friend in life. I''ve always been an introvert, hiding in the dark. I carried out my missions with nothing but the highest discretion, never allowing myself any fun, any joy. I saw it as unprofessional and scorned it. I saw emotion as unprofessional, something to make me weak." He sighed. "I think I know where I went wrong in life." "Do you love me too?" She asked. "I''m scared to admit it, but yes. I want to hate you, I really do. I can''t." "I''m sorry too. I''m sorry for lying to you, for trying to trick you, but how could you love a killer?" "I loved you," James said. "I wanted to pursue something meaningful with you. It''s sad to think I wanted to kiss a killer." "Then let''s have that kiss." She said. "You blew your chance." He replied, a little jokingly. "Are you sure? Not even one little smooch?" "If it makes you happy, fine." They looked in to each other''s eyes. Staring in to each other''s endless optical seas of color. Of wonder, of intrigue. Their heads moved closer, their lips met. James felt absolutely incredible. Like every cell in his body was relaxed and filled with energy. With warmth. It felt amazing, every long moment of it. He closed his eyes. The torment and harrow of the events preceding this melted away in to an abyss that he didn''t care to look down. He knew, with all his heart, that he loved her. Luther
For a day they''d talked, laughed, eaten, and drank their fill. The two lovers, the most unlikely pair ever. One of them, and honorable MI6 agent, now technically promoted to the rank of double-oh-seven, James Bland. Then there was his girlfriend, Kelly Drake. She was a high ranking scientist and commander in Madskull, a research division of Specter itself. A splinter cell, as it were. Over the course of a couple hours Kelly had filled him in on the details of what Madskull''s true purpose was really. The reality shocked him, but he realized he should''ve seen it coming. Madskull''s purpose was to use unorthodox means of science, research, and development that Specter simply did not care to partake in themselves. Madskull was to take the concept of psychic ability and multiply it through intense training, or a drug. The drug was to give the user a certain ability that could be attributed to something psychic or greater, sheer will. Madskull could not fully test the effects of what they called the ''Pandora''s Box'' drug, and she could not figure out what Bland''s was supposed to be. Apparently after they''d killed Bond, they stole his body and performed the experiments on him. Bland decided that he would go after his mother, and that he would systematically destroy Madskull by taking out prominent figures one by one. It didn''t matter how they died, as long as they were "in a body bag by the end of the day." Drake agreed to help. So there they were, trudging through the cold darkness of the Arctic. Warm clothes on their back and a singular goal in their minds. "Hey Kelly?" Bland said, his voice being a bit muffled by his mouth covering attached to his parka. "Yeah?" "Why are we walking?" "All Madskull vehicles are engineered to self-destruct on a command from headquarters. We''d be dead right now if we took one." Time passed, walking through the seemingly endless fields of white cold. "Hey Kelly?" "Hmm?" "So you''re talking about these psychic powers all the time. What can you do?" "I didn''t say that I went through with the experiment." "Oh, sorry." "But... I did go through with it." "Weird. I guess I just knew." "Well, I''m able to change people''s thoughts to whatever I want. Well, more or less." "More or less?" "I can only do big changes while the subject is not conscious." "Ah." "So, let''s keep walking some more." That night they set up camp in a cave they''d found. They sat next to each other by the fire. Their relationship was getting serious, and James liked that. His mission haunted him, but the darkness in his life could be forgotten as he was with her.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Snow crunched outside. James'' senses picked it up near-immediately. "Did you hear that, Drake?" "I did. Something''s wrong. We''re miles away from a government research base or anything." "Madskull." James took a gun out of his pocket. Kelly did the same. "Are you ready?" She said.
"I always am. It''s impossible to be an agent without feeling as if you''re being watched by someone, something. As an agent you always have to be on alert mode, to guard against that something." A figure stepped in to view, and James'' blood ran cold. It was clad in full white armor. In its hands were two long machetes that it toyed around with, denoting extreme confidence with the weapons. James knew who it was, even underneath the full helmet with mask, he knew for sure that it was Isaac Luther. "You slut!" Luther yelled. "You take off with Bland here? The guy you were supposed to kill? Very insubordinate. Don''t worry; Bland here will be gone before you know it." The big man stepped forward toward Bland. "Don''t bet on it, fatso." Bland said as he fired the gun at the hulking brute. Luther didn''t even seem to respond. "Nice shot. Too bad this armor is bulletproof." He said, he was getting closer. Kelly''s voice manifested itself in his head. "It''s now or never." James knew she was using her power. He took the long blade the fight with Bond had given him. "It''s over Bland. This ends tonight." Luther said. Dual machetes swung at him, Bland dodged and stabbed the knife in to Luther''s side. "Did they ever tell you what I can do Bland?" Luther said, grabbing James'' knife and throwing it toward Bland, which he then dodged. "I can ignore pain. Completely." The hooded figure in the armor said. James picked up his now extremely bloody knife. The stood across from each other and a knife plunged in to Luther''s side. Then another, and another. Kelly was throwing knives at him. Each sharp point embedded in his skin and he stormed toward Kelly. "Don''t touch her!" James ran toward Luther, he leaped in front of him and swung at him. Flurries of blades collided in the air repeatedly. "Don''t you dare touch her!" James said as he repeatedly cut Luther. Luther''s vain attempts to counter or parry were met with forceful slashes from Bland. Then Luther caught James'' blade in his armored hand, and in one instant threw him across the room, swinging him by the blade. "I can''t die. Not without killing her." He said. "You have an utter disregard for anything serious! We had something intimate. It''s like nothing ever happened between us to you. I''m not going to accept your reality. I''m going to cut you apart." "No Luther. You''re not doing a damn thing." She said, pulling out a blade of her own, and ramming it through the visor on his helmet. Gurgling sounds came from the inside of the suit, and on that night, Isaac Luther fell dead. Once and for all. "Why couldn''t you just accept that we broke up?" She said, putting a hand on Luther''s body. "It''s okay, I''m glad we don''t have to fight anymore." The next day they buried the body in the snow. "I haven''t really written a eulogy." James said. "I have a few words to say." Kelly said. She stood before the grave. "Luther was a good man. He really was. He was strong, smart, dedicated. He could always commit, in every way, to what he loved. Even if he hurt people, I believe he thought he was doing the right thing." She walked over next to Bland. "Do you want to say anything, James?" "No. I can''t." "Why not?" "Because I don''t have anything to say to respect him with. Nothing to grasp on to that would tell anyone about the good man he might have been." In silence they walked away from the grave, leaving the body of Isaac Luther buried beneath the snow. That night they camped in another cave as they continued their trek across the Arctic. "James, not all failed experiments died." "Why are you bringing this up now?" "Because I have to warn you. There''s a possibility that you''ll see one of my... projects. I don''t want you to hate me." "Kelly, I''ve already made my decision of how I feel about you." "Good." "What did you mean by not all of them died?" "I mean that we created inhuman abominations. We destroyed people all for a stupid secret war." "Secret war?" "You heard me. MI6 and Specter, and by association Madskull, have warred between each other for years." "I guess so." "Now it''s down to the equivalent of gang rivalry. There''s no honor, no justice anymore. It''s just pawns following orders. I''m tired of that. And all these names like ''M'' or ''Q'' or ''H'' or whatever. What do they have to hide?" "Their identities. I have to admit, those letter names can get confusing." That night Bland had a terrible dream.