When he came to, James Bond found himself tied securely to a chair, his forearms clamped to the broad struts, his legs to those of the chair. A familiar face was peering at him from the far side of the room. Blofeld.
"I must say, Mister Bond", he observed quietly, "I am disappointed to find you alive. I had hoped... well, that doesn't matter. The need for your death has abated. " He shifted his stance. " An opportunity has arisen for you to be of service to -"
Bond tried the strength of the clamps, and Blofeld paused. "Lucifer! " A voice replied from behind Bond. "Yes, sir?" "Should Mister Bond attempt again to leave that chair, kill him, immediately. Do not wait for the word of command." Bond started. "Hardly sporting, Blofeld." The stocky man simply looked at him, considering, watching.
"Now that that's out of the way, Mister Bond: as I was saying, you can be of service to me."
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