Jim and the Moore Bond were startled as a man in ordinary clothes who could only be described as Pierce Bronson walked up to them.
"Beat it, this is my mission," Pierce Bronson told the Moore Bond.
Bond studied the man curiously. "Who are you?"
"My name is Pierce Bronson. I'm a kind of clone hybrid of Pierce Brosnan and Charles Bronson. I miraculously and inexplicably combine the suave pretty-boy ruthlessness of the Brosnan Bond with the self-secure leathery authority of Bronson. They've started me out young, so this is actually Brosnan fresh from Remington Steele doing that Noble House miniseries, combined with Bronson when they were trying him out as the protagonist in the Vincent Price movie Master of the World, or even as, believe it or not, a beatnik artist in The Sandpiper." He faced the Moore Bond. "So be a good little Saint and beat it, punk. Go to bed with Grace Jones and let her give you a coronary, why don't you."
The Moore Bond frowned, but stood down. "Far be it for me to ruin a view to a kill."
"Actually you already did, but never mind."
The Moore Bond gave a sickly smile, as he would have to Jaws from a safe distance, and nodded. "I'll be along, then. Good luck." He went down a corridor.
Bronson held Jim's attention. "Okay, kid, here's the deal. Reality as you formerly knew it is now warping before your very eyes -- and no, you're not on drugs. I've got some time on my hands before they shoot the next 007 movie -- Never Wish For Death -- so I'll help you out a bit. There are some people who want to use you and your DNA for weird crazy kinky depraved reasons, and I've been assigned to set you straight and rescue you."
Wed Jan 28 04:05:26 2004