Are you comfortable, Mr. Bond? Your restraints nice and tight? I think you will find escape
is quite impossible, despite your proficiency for it. You perhaps wondered why I dispensed
with the usual steel table, the laser pointed threateningly at your crotch. Why instead
you find yourself stripped, held up by ropes, laid bare before me? I have created the ultimate
trap from which you can never escape. So arrogant, so sure of himself. We shall see. I have read
your files, Mr. Bond. All of them. Even the classified ones. You have an impressive record.
So many successful missions. You always get your men, it would seem. Except when it comes
to me, Mr. Bond. I seem to be the lone exception. So many times we have sparred with each other,
and yet you have never managed to kill me. I wondered to myself why this is, Mr. Bond.
You have a license to kill. Clearly, there is no moral obstacle. You are an impressive
shot, having outperformed world-class assassins. Numerous times you have had the opportunity
to dispatch me, and yet still I live. Oh, you have stopped me many times, but never
killed me. So why am I the sole blemish on an otherwise spotless record?