Bond took a seat opposite M. “James. You’re two days into your mandatory sabbatical and you’re already back in my office. What is it now?” Bond relayed the events of the safehouse and M thought over what to do. “I need to get out of the country until things have cooled down and this is sorted out,” Bond said 

“I wish I could James, I really wish I could get you away and out of the country, but since our budget has been drained, the only way I can authorise this is if it’s on a mission. And you’re in no condition for that.”

“Sir, I assure you, I’m in perfect condition, I’ve been out of the field resting for long enough.”

“Bond, a week ago you were in Peru hunting down a bounty hunter with three wooden limbs and a cybernetic nose. And besides, you couldn’t possibly pass the physical test like this”

“M, I don’t need a physical, I’m fine, I promise”

“What do you mean you don’t need a physical? You’ve been out of your leg brace a day, you still have fractured ribs, your third degree burns have barely healed over, and your mane is caked in blood from that open bullet wound!”

“Fine. I’ll take the physical.”

Bond’s bronze coat of fur gleamed with sweat, his muscles ached and his face was a sickening mix of snot and saliva. M stood opposite looking down at a clipboard and pulling an unreadable face. “The results say that your weight broke the treadmill and your burpees were atrocious but you managed a pull up, which is impressive given that you weigh nearly a tonne and you don’t have any hands. That means you’ve done it, Bond. You’ve barely passed, you probably shouldn't’ve and you look revolting, but you’ve passed.”

Bond cleaned himself up and met with M in his office for a briefing on the mission. “This is your target, Matteo Bucher, also known as Matteo the Butcher, the head of all organised crime in Switzerland, we think. We don’t have any actual evidence, but the hat he wears tells us he’s wealthy and likely up to no good. We want you to infiltrate his inner circle and report back on what you learn.”

“What other intel do we have on him?”

“Very little, it doesn’t help to over plan this sort of thing.”

“Excellent. When do I leave?”

“In about twenty minutes. You’d better go and see Q. And James, good luck.”