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- 1997 -James Bond is walking briskly through the busy halls of Vauxhall Cross. It’s been a mere three months since his recruitment and already the desk work has proven to be a challenge. It wouldn’t be a far-fetched theory if his superiors were giving him paperwork to spite his reputation of being rebellious to higher ranking officers. Nonetheless , the mundane office work is a necessary evil if he wants to advance beyond the special ops division. This morning, time has escaped him and now he’s late for a debriefing.Before reaching the office overlooking the river Thames , a commanding and slightly distressed voice echoes loudly through the thick glass panels. It appears someone is under disciplinary action and the scene seems all too familiar to James. Through the glass windows, he sees one tall young-looking man staring down at the floor. A field agent, perhaps? The agent keeps his cool composure, running his hand through his against-protocol long slicked back black hair. James surmises the man to be of Spanish descent and in his late twenties with strong dark features. Tall and attractive, James enviously wonders which division he belongs to; the bespoke suit seems to be priced well above his own pay grade.Tiago rolls his eyes when his superior once again chastises him for his freelance work. Poor Olivia. Couldn’t be here to deliver the lecture herself. It was an unfortunate misstep he took during his last mission and unlike him to be so careless; a mistake he is sure to never make again. Although he blocks out the yelling voice in front of him, Tiago is well attuned to the voices and thoughts around him. He credits the gift given to him at birth; a gift that science can’t explain. So very few people would suspect such a talent exists in the real world but his Olivia knows. Oddly, he’s never once been inside her head. He could bend her will to shower him with attention and praises until her voice runs out but there’s no satisfaction in that. He avoids strong-willed minds like hers; they’re too complex. Instead, he relies on his charm and skills to earn her affection.Minds like hers are rare which is why the man standing outside the office caught his attention immediately. Those eyes. He’ll never forget them. Such a rare intense shades of blue. Tiago has never seen the agent before -- he must be new. He makes a mental note to request a partner for his next mission after his transfer to Station H. As if an unexplainable force alerted of his presence, the unknown agent’s eyes locked onto James’. Those pools of darkness are alluring as he couldn’t look away from his intense gaze, incapable to deciphering the emotions behind them. James wills himself to back away but his body refuses to move. Finally, Tiago releases him as he directs his attention to the infuriated man. The invisible and undefinable grip that clouded his vision began to fade. James relaxes, knowing that would be the last time he’ll ever see that agent again.- Present Day -The morning beams of light seep through the Venetian blinds of another foreign hotel room he forgot the name of. James is up already, rubbing his eyes which are heavy from a restless night. Last night’s night cap turned into a drinking match with a frequent bar patron. Normally, he would decline the offer but the stranger talked a good game; the poor soul didn’t know what he was in for. Afterwards, an attractive lady winked at him but he paid his tab instead as it became evident that he drank too much and wouldn’t be able to satisfy her desires tonight. He wasn’t interested in a bruised ego. The phone, charging on the nightstand, reads 0600 hours. Today is the day he’s been dreading for the past few weeks. Today’s the day that M will betray him. Nevermind the bullet wound in his right shoulder or the failed attempt at retrieving the stolen hard drive. All his life, he’s been able to see into the future. A future that only he was a part of. Visions overlapped his dreams and it was easy to differentiate between the two. James is clairvoyant. He can recall his first premonition. Years ago during those days in Canterbury, news came through about his parents’ death. He didn’t cry, because he already saw the avalanche collapsing in front of their path as they futilely attempted to escape. It’s a unique ability he doesn’t dwell on because self-loathing is a waste of time.James plays his role well and no one is suspicious of his timely “gentleman’s luck” when the odds greatly defy him. But predictability leads to boredom and eventual heart break. He knew the moment he laid eyes on a certain agent from HM Treasury, that he would witness her death. It’s been six years and he still mourning. James pushes himself off the bed and walks into the lavish bathroom, turning on the overhead lights. The restless mornings are taking a toll: bloodshot eyes and thick stubble along his jawline. Nothing but a quick shave and a warm shower couldn’t fix. To his knowledge, he’s the only one that possesses a skill that goes beyond the natural. The lesser the better he believes. The events that/which lie ahead are going send him to/on a downward path of old vices and heavy drinking. In all honesty, he’s on that path already. Age isn’t treating his body well nor are the endless times of hitting the pavement for England’s sake.-*-Eve Moneypenny waits in the standard-issued jeep at the halfway point in the east side of Istanbul. James hasn’t been properly introduced to her but it’s understood that she’ll provide him with cover if needed. He knows her name but plays ignorant once again. She’s a tempting conquest with fire in her eyes but she’s inexperienced. It’ll catch up to her in the end. James resists the temptation to jump out of the jeep and save the lives of three agents, because he knows it’s futile. No one can change the future. You can change events but the end result stays the same; James’ unspoken law against his constant habit of doing before thinking. Through their earpieces, they hear gunshots. It’s time.Deep down inside, he wishes for once, that his premonitions were wrong. That he wouldn’t open the door in front of him to see Ronson, dying before evac could get to him.Using both car and bike, the assailant manages to be always a hair’s breadth away from his grasp. In a daring move, the chase continues on top of a moving train. The bloody excavator couldn’t spin fast enough. Patrice aimed his gun with his finger fast on the trigger. James braced for the incoming barrage of bullets that would soon follow. The bullet would enter his left shoulder, so naturally he shifted to the right. The few strays went over his shoulder as Patrice wasn’t exactly aiming with precision. But the semi-automatic weapon would eventually find its target. Visions don’t carry the pain or emotions felt during a premonition. The focus of the bullet threw him back in his seat.The assailant smirks and turns quickly to advance further along the train. Pure adrenaline pumps through James’ veins that blocks out the pain that would render him useless. A few inches more to the left, his shoulder joint would be shattered. Crippled for life. A few inches to the right, his heart would be punctured; instant death. Abandoning the excavator, the opportunity presents itself when there is a clear landing spot on the pedestrian cart. Not that he has a choice since the excavator is about to remove the entire back half of the train. Annoyingly, his cuff becomes undone during the jump but he fixes it as he lands perfectly onto the next cart.The pain starts to rear its ugly head as the blood stain continues to spread across his shoulder. He advances forward, and James has the element of surprise when he climbs up to the roof and attacks the assailant from behind. The tunnel narrowly misses both of them. James knows the bullet wound hinders his combat skills. He makes plenty of mistakes, leaving himself open for attack but James isn’t quick enough to take advantage. James’ left arm is pinned against his back as the assailant tries to crush his trachea. He’s losing and the nightmare is now a reality. There’s anger and slight desperation in James’ fighting. It’s hopeless since he knows he won’t get the list and that he’ll come crawling back to M, ready to serve because without structure or order, his life is meaningless. He’s angry that he won’t be able to tell her how much this betrayal will hurt him. Another tunnel is rapidly approaching and Eve is losing time. She’ll have to make a decision and so will M. He feels Patrice weakening from his grip from behind, James prays for a few moments longer before M gives the order.“Take the bloody shot.”The fall is longer than expected. His body goes limp and oddly enough the descent down is peaceful. The river isn’t shallow but he hits the water hard enough to lose consciousness. The world fades to black as his mind encounters the rare moment of nothingness.
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The darkness dissipates as light returns from a far-off distance; he’s alive. James doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The first sight he sees is a beautiful one. A woman in her mid-twenties with curly dark brown hair and a friendly smile against the deep blue sky greets him as he lies flat on the grassy mud near the bottom of a waterfall. She aids him to her decades-old jeep and drives off to her small open cabin off the shore of Calis Beach. She calls a local doctor to make a house call for a checkup. James doesn’t speak Turkish but the tone of the doctor’s voice is somber to the woman who saved his life. The doctor reaches for a bottle of white pills in his leather bag and hands them to her. James relaxes as the doctor leaves, grateful he doesn’t require immediate medical attention.As days pass, James avoids his duty as an agent to report his status immediately to his commanding superiors. It’s easier to stumble in a drunken splendor and gamble with the locals than to face the lack of trust M has instilled in one of her best agents. He opens another beer and saves the self-pity argument for another day.Three months pass as of midnight tonight and James notices his visions came few and far between. He ponders the unsettling causes, ranging from brain injury to the possibility of his own pending death. After all, he can’t see a future that he isn’t a part of. One night, James is restless. He tosses and turns in the bed he shares with his female companion. The dream is a hellish one. The store structure he’s in is coloured by reds, oranges and yellows from a burning fire. M is with him, dying in his arms. He weeps for the first time in his adult life, allowing the tears flow freely because the world’s never felt more desolate. This is a pain he can feel. In denial of what was obvious, the truth finally dawns on him. This isn’t a dream. It’s a premonition. “Olivia,” he gasps, startling himself awake. A thin layer of sweat covers his body and the tears fall down to the bed sheets covering his lower half. A warm and gentle hand makes contact with his shoulder. He listens to the sounds of the ocean, bringing himself back to the here and now.“Who is she?” she asks without any jealousy or judgment.“Someone dear to me,” he simply responds, squeezing her hand. His anger that he has carried for M was quelled by the image of her lifeless body in his arms. He wishes there was more but his mind can’t focus on the details.“Go to her.”James turns around and stares at her. During these past few months, she’s fallen for him and he could see it in her eyes. Wordlessly, she snuggles back down to his shoulder, planting kisses along the painful tender scar on his right shoulder. She knows it hurts and the expired painkillers he bought at the local bar will only last him for a few more days before the pain becomes unbearable again.As James finishes his dinner at a food stand, he watches the sun setting over Orka Mountain. It’s a futile attempt to pick apart the vision of M’s death. Even if he could pinpoint the exact location, time and cause, the future can not be changed. Much like Vesper, he spends every waking moment calculating the probabilities, the outcomes. He can anticipate, prepare and even warn about these events but alas the end result is always the same. M’s death is inevitable and she dies on his watch and under his protection.A small part of him still clings to something that vaguely resembles hope. The “what ifs” fill his head with undiscovered and untried possibilities that could turn this torturous ability into something useful. He’s too stubborn to quit and too stupid to know better from tiresome experience. But he’s of no use here; he needs to go back to London. A few more games of poker should get him a charter plane back to Istanbul but without a valid passport, he’s limited to which mode of transportation he can take. It’ll be a long trip back to London.James walks over to a bar designated for the frequent tourists that travel to Fethiye during the summer time. Fortunately, the season is over and only the locals take up the seats. Kerem, the bartender, nods at him as James takes his usual spot near the beer taps. Tuesdays are reserved for gambling and drinking challenges, in both of which he’s extremely skilled. Normally they draw up a big crowd which is why James questions the empty bar. Something’s off.“Slow tonight, Kerem?” James inquires as he’s handed his usual.Kerem doesn’t answer and walks away. Quietly, the few patrons scatter about the bar walk in unison towards James’s position. Tonight’s going to be an interesting night.Without turning around, James draws up a physical profile on each based on his peripheral vision: six foot tall, about two hundred pounds, late-thirties. Not impossible to take these men down but he won’t be leaving here without a couple of dislocated somethings-or-other. Two take the bar stools beside him as the third positions himself behind James. It’s James that takes the initiative.“Good evening, gentlemen.”“We heard you’ve been emptying too many pockets around here.”“Not my business, nobody is forcing their hand in participating in a foolish bet.”“We want you to leave, Agent.” James grabs hold of the collar of the man to his left and violently slams his head against the counter. Immediately, he throws his fist at the thug sitting to his right. Jutting upwards and letting the bar stools fall to the ground, the three men close in on him. From behind, James is locked in a grappling hold, limiting his movement long enough to receive a powerful blow to his right flank. The numbing soreness from Eve’s missed shot reverberates strongly once more as the punch revives old pain. It’s enough to draw a short grunt from him but he quickly twists the thumb on the hand applying pressure over his chest, releasing the joint hold over James. Bending forward, James throws his head back with enough force to headbutt the man behind him, knocking him down to the ground.One down, two to go and James doesn’t waste any time. He uses the barstool to his right to block the incoming kick to the chest. He takes the cheap steak knife sitting on top of an empty dinner table and drives it through the man’s hand. It’s gory and James prefers a less intimate method of incapacitation but three months living in an intoxicated haze did a number on his reflexes and strength; he has to fight dirty. Two down, one to go. But before he can spin around and face his last opponent, two deafening gunshots stop James dead in his tracks.He raises his hands as a sign of surrender. James slowly turns around and to his lover standing with a Beretta in her hand. She lowers the gun; he isn’t her target. Calm and collected, she tucks her gun away in her jeans’ waistband. Before James can speak another word, she rushes behind the bar counter, stepping over Kerem’s now dead body. James hastily peaks over to see Kerem still clutching a gun in his right hand; he was one of them.“How did you-” James begins to ask, still attempting to process the sudden turn of events.“Those men were hired to kill you, James. You’re no longer safe here.” She bends down underneath the cash register, working the safe’s lock combination. The first attempt is successful and thankfully, Kerem didn’t deposit the cash for this week’s earnings. She collects the stack of mangır and hands it to James.“This is four thousand. It should be enough to get you back to London.” James shakes his head no, “I can’t take-”She takes his hands and wraps them around the bundle of money, holding his hands in her grasp, “You WILL. Go back to London. Go back to Olivia.”“What about you?” he asks, implying the mess surrounding them both.“I’ll handle it. Now go before more of them arrive.” Before she can shove the stubborn man out of the bar he quickly pulls her close for a passionate kiss. She savors the moment, knowing it’ll be their last.“Goodbye, Naþide,” he whispers in ear. Her eyes flutter at the gentle breath of her name against her neck. Before she can say another word, her eyes fully open with James nowhere to be seen.