James Bland hated captivity. He made it work by exercising.

He knew it was cliché, 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.

"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.