The New James Bond (Patreon)

This story was a request from one of the new Bosa Tier patrons, Luke K. DeAn, who wanted to see James Bond featured in a body swap story.

“You look confused, Bond. What? Not who you were expecting to be behind this whole thing?” the bespectacled middle-aged man asked, his voice dripping with arrogance and mockery. “Struggling to believe that you were bested by a man who was cast off by MI6 for being a failure, hmm? Oh how the mighty have fallen! If only M could see what a predicament you’ve landed yourself in now!”

Loathe as he was to admit it, James Bond actually found himself agreeing with some of what his captor had just said. He really was struggling to accept that he had stepped right into a trap that had been laid by someone from his own past. The MI6 agent’s unshakable confidence had placed him in jeopardy a number of times in the past but something about this one felt different and perhaps part of that was down to how personal the other man made it sound.

Bond had only crossed paths with Trevor Edwin a few times in the early days of his career as 007 some ten years prior and truthfully the man had failed to make much of an impression on him. Trevor was an assistant in Q’s lab and the most notable thing about him was how wild his plans for gadgets and weapons were. Unfortunately for Trevor, very few of his plans actually ended up working and eventually he was released from his position at MI6. Q had confessed to Bond that he was happy to see the “crazy fool” go and it was that description that swam back to the forefront of the secret agent’s mind as he looked across the room at Edwin. He really was a crazy fool.

The contraption that Bond had been placed upon and strapped down to appeared to be a modified dentist’s chair, with a strip of white plastic that wrapped around his forehead and kept him from even craning his neck to look at his captor. Further restraints had been tied around Bond’s wrists and ankles to keep him firmly in place, and he had apparently had all of his gadgets removed from his hidden pockets while he had been unconscious. From the little of the room that Bond could see, there appeared to be a duplicate of the chair he was strapped down to, although it was currently unoccupied. There did however seem to be a multitude of wires leading from it towards a highly advanced computer terminal and there were more wires leading from that terminal towards Bond. A rare ripple of fear ran through the secret agent as he tried to determine exactly what the chairs and wires were used for. His best guess was that they were some sort of torture contraption and that didn’t exactly fill him with joy.

“Too stunned to speak all of a sudden, are we?” Edwin taunted, finally stepping into Bond’s limited field of view. The man was as far from physically intimidating as one could be; he was tall and thin with a gaunt face and wispy gray hair. He was only in his late fifties but looked at least ten years older and his voice was nasally to such a degree that it pained anyone to listen to for extended periods of time. Unfortunately Bond had the feeling that his time in Edwin’s presence would be significant, although he didn’t yet know how prophetic that thought would come to be.

“You seem to be doing enough talking for the both of us,” Bond retorted, keeping his voice perfectly neutral. This was hardly the first time he had been taken prisoner after all. “I’m curious though, MI6 to terrorism is quite the leap. All of this just because you were fired? Seems a little… dramatic.”

As expected, his remark caused clear irritation to flash across Edwin’s face and the disgraced inventor hurried closer, bringing his face down until it was a mere few inches from Bond’s own. “It runs so much deeper than that!” the older man hissed, spraying spittle across Bond’s face in the process. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Bond. You’ve always been M’s golden boy. Everybody loves you and, even those that don’t, have secretly wanted you…” The sudden presence of Edwin’s hand on Bond’s sternum activated the MI6 agent’s sense of fight or flight but given his state, neither option was actually available to him. Instead he was forced to endure as Edwin’s hands moved down across his abs and stopped just shy of his crotch.

Oh… that’s a twist. Bond was no stranger to being desired by other men and he’d even indulged in some some-sex action in the past, but Edwin wasn’t exactly his type, even without the involvement of his recent terrorist actions. “You can spare me the sob story, Trevor. I’m really not interested in hearing it,” Bond replied, suddenly struggling to keep his voice steady given the heat of the other’s breath on his face and the hand that remained dangerously close to his manhood. “But if you could kindly take your hands off of me, it would be much appreciated. Maybe I’ll be kind enough in return not to break you too badly when I get free.”

His thinly disguised threat brought laughter out of his captor, but his request was granted as Edwin lifted his hand and took several steps back. “As you wish, Mr Bond,” the older man remarked, his tone suddenly filled with glee. He turned his back on the captive agent and approached the computer terminal, beginning to type out a series of commands. After several minutes of this Edwin then waved over one of his assistants (who had been just out of Bond’s eyeshot the entire time) and instructed them to “run the programme”. Such words very rarely meant anything good, so Bond was understandably expecting the worst, but he was caught by surprise when Edwin walked towards the other chair and had a second assistant strap him into it. Okay, so maybe this isn’t a torture device…

Before he could speculate any further though, his thought process was interrupted by a high-pitched noise that seemed to come from the various restraints across his body. All at once, the bonds tightened and began to attack him with short and sharp static shocks. The secret agent’s body convulsed, his large muscles tensing in response to the unpleasant sensations and his skull suddenly throbbing from the worst headache he’d ever experienced. His heart raced in his chest like never before and even breathing suddenly felt like a momentous effort. The screech of the machinery soon became ear-splitting and Bond actually attempted to will himself into unconsciousness just to give him some relief from it. His desires were achieved just a few seconds later as the pressure on his body and mind was simply too much to bear and he blacked out for a brief moment of respite.

When he finally began to rise back to the waking world, the first thing Bond noticed was just how weak he felt. It took him several moments to even pry his eyes open but when he did, he seriously wished that he had kept them closed, because he was greeted by quite the startling sight: his own body, freed from the restraints and up and moving without him in control! The fake James Bond noticed his staring and a smirk instantly spread across his face as he swaggered forward a few steps. “Ah, finally awake! You really had me worried there. I thought that old heart of yours might have given out before I got the chance to do a bit of gloating,” Bond’s doppelganger remarked, clearly relishing every moment.

“What… how did--” Bond broke off the instant he heard his voice because he knew instantly that it wasn’t his own. No, his words had been spoken by the unmistakable nasal whine of Trevor Edwin. Does that mean… Due to the restraint around his skull, Bond couldn’t actually crane his neck to look down at himself, but the weakness of his body suddenly made a lot more sense. He’s bloody switched our bodies, the bastard! Such things should have been impossible but Bond had long ago learned that his line of work meant that he had learned to adapt to whatever was thrown his way without fixating too much on the technicalities.

“Worked it out now, have you?” Edwin asked from within the muscular body he had stolen from Bond. As he spoke, he ran his hands down his front and then used one to grab at the bulge in the front of his tight trousers. “Nobody’s going to call me a crazy fool anymore. Well, I guess that’s what they’ll call you, given you are Trevor Edwin, currently the most wanted man in Great Britain. How the tables turn, eh?”

Despite knowing it was futile, Bond struggled against his restraints. His actions only made the body thief laugh and pat him mockingly on the cheek. “Now, old man, don’t tire yourself out. Then again, I don’t suppose that will matter for much longer,” Edwin remarked ominously, before summoning one of his assistants. In the assistant’s hands was a submachine gun and Edwin collected it with visible glee upon his face. Bond silently said his prayers but to his surprise, the gun wasn’t turned on him. Instead Edwin opened fire on the computer terminal, unloading a whole clip into it and causing a cascade of sparks to burst forth from the destroyed device.

Realizing that the route back to his body was now beyond repair, Bond let out a whimper of despair, but his fear rocketed up to new levels when the impostor turned his attention back to him. “That solves one issue… now to take care of the other,” he declared menacingly, a dark look upon his face as he handed the SMG back to the assistant. Edwin then stepped in close until their faces were once again mere inches from each other, only now Bond was forced to look directly into his own face. “Thank you for your service, 007. Trust me, I’m going to take very good care of your legacy…”

When reinforcements from MI6 finally arrived at the headquarters of the latest terrorist to plague to the nation, they were surprised to find that the entire compound had been brought down in an explosion. The only man left standing - like always - was their very own James Bond, who seemed particularly proud of himself, despite Trevor Edwin supposedly being killed in the preceding events rather than being captured to be put on trial, as M had originally ordered. Leaving behind a team to go through the rubbish and see if they could learn anything of Edwin’s ultimate plan, the MI6 reinforcements happily accepted Bond upon their transport and began the long journey back to London.

Sitting in the middle of men and women who now regarded him to be a hero of British espionage, the former Trevor Edwin couldn’t stop himself from grinning even though he knew it was out of character for Bond. MI6 could do all the digging they liked; he had scrubbed all mention of his body-switching invention from the harddrives and the device itself had been at the heart of the explosion, so there would likely be nothing left of it to be put back together. Stealing James Bond’s body had been his ultimate plan all along and everything he had done prior to that had just been to get himself on MI6’s radar so they would send their best (and hunkiest) agent after him. It had worked like a charm and now he was reaping the rewards with nobody left behind to reveal the truth!

Once he was back in London though, the new Bond was going to be kept busy. He was going to be setting up a shadow organization right underneath M and MI6’s nose and once it was all said and done, he was going to be a very rich man with the whole world under his control!