James cantered about the streets of Reading with no haste or direction; he was simply taking in the grey skies and boredom. Since the targeted hack of MI6’s finances, the sabbaticals had slightly lost the sense of being a well deserved break from the job, and have become closer to M laughing at you for getting injured in the field. Even so, James couldn’t feel too disappointed, given that two other 00 agents had been sent to Slough.

Eventually, as it neared lunchtime, he decided to head to the supermarket to pick up some leaves, apples and sugar cubes. However as he left the Sainsbury’s, he couldn’t help feeling that something was off. Perhaps it was the darkening sky, or the flock of pigeons stood on a roof, or the six foot tall man in a trench coat watching him through a hole in his newspaper. James began to trot faster, cautiously peering over his shoulder only to see the man was following him, still watching through the newspaper. Fearing for the worst, James broke into a speedy gallop, while the trenchcoated goon tried to follow with a sprint, but his newspaper was restricting his vision and his trenchcoat wouldn't allow such vigorous movement.

Bond reached the safehouse, a hideous Georgian style terraced creature, with uneven brickwork and green accenting. James rushed up to the door and fumbled with the keys for five or six minutes. Eventually he managed to get inside and clumsily climbed the stairs. The front door was triple reinforced and grenade tested, while the windows and walls were able to withstand up to a kilo of plastic explosives. Hastily, James flipped over the bed, strewing straw everywhere, and reached into the secret arsenal. At this point, the pursuing man had caught up and, upon seeing Bond in the window, seemed to be making a call on his phone. Was this call for reinforcements? Or telling a boss that he’d caught him? These were questions that agent Bond did not at all think over as he’d propped open a window and fired an RPG-7 anti-tank grenade launcher at him. After the explosion and caving in of the house opposite, James calmly made his way down the stairs and out to the street, hailing a cab for the airport.

The flight from Luton to Heathrow, and subsequent taxi ride to MI6 headquarters was uneventful. Bond stepped out of the cab, feeling relaxed to once again rejoin the world of spying and espionage that he so enjoyed. Bond took the lift straight up to M’s office, squashing several suit-wearing employees against the walls. As the doors opened, Bond called out to Moneypenny, M’s assistant. “ James! You’re back already? And you sound like you’re a little hoarse.”

“I’m not little, Moneypenny, I’m just far away” Bond replied as he walked down the hall. “Is M free?” he asked.

“He’s currently in a meeting with the head of the Chinese secret service. The MS-”

“The MSS, yes, I’m well acquainted,” said Bond with a grin “a lot of horseplay in Beijing with that lot, waterboarding and so on. Anyway, I’m more important than China.” Bond pushed open M’s lead lined door. 

“Ah, Mr Bond, Jiang this is who I was telling you about” said M. The smaller well groomed man in the chair opposite him turned to face Bond. “Oh, you are Mr Bond”

“Correct.”

“You are one who blew up wrong boat and started war that killed 8,000 men in Libya?”

“Errr-”

M stood up, “Mr Jiang, I believe we have finished for today, I’ll ask Moneypenny to direct you to our section VIII people.” They shook hands and Jiang left.