For a brief second, Daniel Craig allowed himself the smallest of smiles. The sudden flare of white-hot pain that shot through his entire jaw removed any of the humour from the image of reporting a giant mustache to the police. Jesus. It felt like his entire chin was detached. He groaned, and could feel the salty tang of blood against his lower lip. He moved his left hand to wipe it away, but felt his arm restricted by the cold embrace of metal on his wrist. He looked down, only to discover he couldn't see a thing. A rising panic began to overwhelm the throbbing aches and pains he began to feel throughout his head. A blindfold? Handcuffs? What the hell was going on?
A voice, cold and crisp, cut through the pain and confusion. "You're awake."
Daniel tried to strain his head towards the voice, but an electric current of pain shot down the back of his neck and cut his motion short. He gasped in shock, a bubble of blood escaping his mouth and starting to trickle down his lips.
"I wouldn't strain yourself." There was a trace of enjoyment in the British voice, a sadistic quality that sent a chill down Daniel's neck. He stiffened in fear.
"Good," the voice chuckled. "Stay."
Daniel could hear footsteps circling him, each click of heel-toe seemingly lasting an eternity. His heart was racing. There was another sound, consistent between the footsteps, a slithering, heavy sound that conjured the unlikely image of a giant cobra circling him. He quelled the panic in his heart and tried to focus on breathing.
The footsteps and the slithering sound came to a halt. "Mr. Craig." The voice dripped with icy disdain. "I'm sure you're feeling most ... uncomfortable at the moment."
Daniel opened his mouth, about to reply that yes, he was bloody uncomfortable, amongst more vociferous objections, but before he could form a word, he felt something cold and sinuous drop in his lap. He was suddenly aware that he was naked. The words caught in his throat, and his fear began to know an entirely new dimension.
The voice was suddenly close, a hiss in his ear. "But as uncomfortable as you might be now, I can promise you that there are entire worlds of discomfort that you have never even dreamed of."
The object in Daniel's lap began to move, drawing back up his chest and over his shoulder. He could feel the bumpy knots in the thin material as it tortuously caressed him. He was torn between moving away from the sensation and staying frozen in place.
"You are here to answer one question, Mr. Craig," the voice said as the rope-like material continued to stroke his body. The end of it finally dropped off his shoulder and made a wicked snapping sound against the floor behind him. Daniel could feel his entire skin ripple with goosebumps as he realized that this lunatic had a whip.
"Are you ready for the question?"
Daniel could only nod his head in agreement.
"Who's your daddy?"
The question was so ridiculous, Daniel could only laugh at it. His entire body was wracked in cold agony as he chuckled, then embraced in hot fire as the whip came crashing down on his back. His laugh vanished in a second, replaced by a gasp and cold air.
"Think that's fucking funny, eh?" The whip crashed down again. "Maybe I should rephrase it." The footsteps came up behind him, the whip gently coming to rest on his back. It began to lazily trace the area between Daniel's shoulder blades, like sandpaper to his nerves.
The voice was at his ear again, a cold whisper. "Who's your... progenitor?"
The injustice of this all began to grate against Daniel. "I don't understand!" he raged.
There was a pause as the whip fell from his back. The hot fire of the whip was gone, but now the air itself seemed to attack his chafed skin, a thousand tiny icicles in his back. "Let me make it clear to you, Mr. Craig. Who do you owe all your success as James Bond to? Who have you copied? Whose villains were down-to-earth gun- and dope-runners? Who was a human Bond with emotional motivations? Who?"
The whip crashed down, driving the icicles into his muscles.
"Who?"
The whip emphasized the repetition.
"I don't know!" Daniel protested
"Yes you do! Say my name! SAY MY NAME, YOU DIRTY BLONDE BOND BITCH!"
"SCREAM 'TIMOTHY DALTON!'"
The mustache. Jesus. It all made sense.
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