2 of 4.
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(General P.O.V)
Peggy Carter stood in the SSR war room. But something was off.
The table was polished to a mirror finish, untouched by time. The mission maps on the walls were pristine. Everything glowed with a warm, golden hue that pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of the room itself.
"A dream?" She wondered in confusion while turning-and then she saw him.
James Bond stepped out into the light.
He looked exactly as she remembered him, but there was something unreal about his presence. He wasn't walking; he was simply there. Solid and spectral at the same time.
"James…" she breathed.
"It's me," Bond said. His voice was calm, steady. "But not the way you think."
Shocked, Peggy stepped back, a tide of emotions passing through her eyes. "The Wakandans said you died. That nothing was left of you after the explosion..."
"My body disintegrated. That part was real." He paused. "But I didn't die, not entirely."
He raised a hand, and behind him the walls of the war room dissolved into stars—an endless night sky filled with constellations that twisted into geometric patterns.
"I'm speaking to you through the dreamscape—sustained by a friend called the Watcher," he said. "It's a kind of dimensional layer bordering the astral plane. Your mind is resonating with my tethered memory field."
Peggy took deep inhales, and blinked. "You're alive? This...is real?"
A small almost cocky grin appeared on Bond's face. The same one she'd seen many times in the past.
"It is," Bond said after a pause. "My soul is currently contained inside a quantum singularity orbiting within an energy shell on the Moon. The Inhumans of Attilan have stabilized it—for now."
He didn't wait for her to process it. Especially the part about a moon civilization.
"I don't have long. Listen carefully. There's a way to bring me back."
He stepped closer, and the scene shifted again—showing her a floating orb of brilliant blue energy surrounded by a metallic halo.
"The Inhumans have developed a system—called the Quantum Phase-State Converter. It's designed to collapse raw quantum radiation into solid matter."
He waved his hand, and atomic diagrams appeared, hovering in the air.
"They're using a material called Isipho. It's a vibrational isotope of Vibranium. Extremely rare. It acts as a gravitational resonator—able to collapse plasma entropy into a stable lattice at a specific atomic frequency."
Peggy frowned. "You're saying it turns energy into matter."
Bond nodded. "Yes. And it's working. They're preparing to use it to condense the radiation around my soul into a physical form."
Unknown to the Inhumans, the Watcher was subtly and mentally guiding their actions. They thought the process would address the sun's ever growing energy problem, while giving them the opportunity to create a denser material than Isipho.
"But…" she said, catching his expression. "There's a catch."
He nodded again. "This only solves half the equation. Before the radiation fully turns to matter- and my soul is stuck as the core of a dense chunk of metal, there will be a brief instant where space will be weak enough for a dimensional rift to form and for my soul to pass through. At that time, I need a receiving point—a vibrational phase-anchor tuned to Isipho's unique harmonic signature that I can latch onto."
Peggy absorbed that. "Wakanda."
"They're the only ones who can build it," Bond confirmed. "The tech, the materials, the understanding of Vibranium—it all has to come from them. From Sw'Thandi."
He stepped back as the war room around them began to blur.
"You need to get to Wakanda. Share the plan. Coordinate the signal. The Inhumans will soon begin. You need to be ready by then."
"James—" Peggy reached out.
But he was already fading, his form disintegrating like ash in a breeze.
"Don't let me die so far from home, Peg." he said with a faint smirk. "And tell Sw'Thandi I'll owe him one."
The dream shattered.
Peggy gasped awake in her bed, heart racing, hand still reaching for the ghost that wasn't there. She didn't hesitate.
By the next day, she was on a private jet to Wakanda.
(Wakanda, Three Days Later)
Sw'Thandi stood atop a terrace overlooking the capital when Peggy arrived. She was escorted directly to him.
When she finished explaining everything—Bond's survival, the converter, Isipho, the need for a terrestrial phase-anchor—he stood in silence for nearly a minute.
Then a slow grin spread across his face.
"So… Bond's soul is floating around the Moon in a ball of fire," he said, still processing.
"Essentially, yes," Peggy replied.
"And you want me to build a station that can receive that fire and bring him back to Earth as a man again."
"Yes."
Sw'Thandi folded his arms. "Why didn't you lead with that? Of course I'll help."
Peggy allowed herself a smile. "Then let's begin."
Two years passed.
In Wakanda, Sw'Thandi and Peggy oversaw the construction of the Harmonic Receiver Array—a vast vibranium-structured device housed beneath Mount Bashenga. It was designed to catch the specific oscillations of Isipho, to lock onto a vibrational echo emitted by the collapsing energy on the Moon and stabilize it into a physical form. The engineers called it the Bond Gate.
Wakandan minds fused ancient metallurgy with cutting-edge quantum resonance algorithms. A prototype failed in the first year—vibrational desynchronization caused a localized tremor in the Great Mound—but the second iteration showed promise. Slowly, painfully, it came together.
At the same time, in the sealed city of Attilan on the Moon, King Agon watched his own project near completion.
The Phase-State Converter, a towering metallic lattice spiraling around the now-massive Blue Star, was ready.
The Blue Star had expanded to the size of a football field, pulsating softly in the void like a living organism. At its core: Bond's soul, still adapting, but not yet evolved to contain all the blue star's energy.
On the day of the experiment, the Converter's systems powered up. The chamber was filled with Inhuman scientists running final calibrations.
King Agon entered, accompanied by his son: a boy no older than ten, quiet, composed, and sharp-eyed.
"Blackagar," Agon said, "what you see today is history. Matter created from energy. This ore will be the strongest metal in existence. Our legacy."
In his invisible state floating above the converter, Bond's consciousness observed silently. His thoughts wandered to Earth, to Peggy, to Wakanda, to the life he once had...
To Shaw and his Hellfire club.
For the billionth time, Bond thought of what he would do to the mutant supremacist.
But then something pulled at his senses.
He turned slightly—drawn to the boy standing beside Agon. Blackagar. There was an invisible ripple in the air around him, faint but constant.
A consequence of his soul's adaptation to exotic radiation was a new perception of reality. Without trying, Bond was constantly aware of the electro-magnetic fields surrounding him.
Streams of leptons, photonic vibrations, and quantum harmonics were being pulled toward the boy as if the universe were feeding him information, unconsciously responding to his presence.
Bond narrowed his eyes. "What… is he?"
The Watcher, standing on the air behind him and invisible too, answered, "Like you. A soul forged for something greater."
Bond looked again.
Black Bolt said nothing. But the air around him was always listening.
The Watcher continued. "He will carry his own burden in time. But your moment has arrived. Are you ready?"
Bond nodded. "Yes."
Another voice joined them—soft, familiar. Erskine, appearing to Bond's left, smiling gently. "They're waiting for you, James. It's time to go home."
Bond exhaled slowly and straightened. "Thank you. Both of you."
His words of gratitude elicited a rare smile from the Watcher, similar to the one Erskine had.
The man Bond considered as his mentor stepped forward and hugged him. Erskine then tapped Bond's chest.
"In case you're still clueless, you've always had it. The Heart of a hero. You've never been a replacement or a temporary protector. You've only ever been you, James Bond, extraordinary spy and reluctant hero. Not what the world deserves, but EXACTLY what it needs."
The experiment began.
Inside the sealed lab chamber in Attilan, the Phase-State Converter activated. The platform around the Blue Star hummed with rising energy.
Isipho vibration emitters released gravitational waves — tuned precisely to Isipho's atomic frequency. If everything went according to plan, the resulting matter would be a much stronger, denser and more valuable version of Isipho.
The converter array focused the oscillating graviton field into the star.
The effect was instant.
The Blue Star's surface trembled. Plasma arcs twisted inward, as if suctioned by invisible hands. A low-frequency tone filled the air, rising in pitch. The collapse had started.
Above it all, invisible to the material world, 3 individuals hovered, watching as the blue sun begun shrinking.
Bond felt it— a pull.
A suction force tugged at his consciousness, reeling it back into the Blue Star's core. Bond's awareness spun, compressed, and screamed.
His essence returned into his soul.
Pain followed.
It wasn't physical. It was dimensional — as if every fragment of his being were being funneled through a cosmic syringe.
Then the pressure hit.
All of him collapsed inward.
A crushing force drove every ounce of radiant energy, every memory, every thought into a singular point within the Star. Bond's soul stayed conscious. Barely.
The converter's main console flashed.
"Stabilization at 86%. Gravity field synchronized," one of the scientists called out.
Another added, "Compression rate accelerating."
At 90%, the star shrank to half its size. By 95%, it was no larger than a vehicle, glowing with harsh, violet light.
At 98%, its glow shifted again — deeper, almost black-violet, and its edges distorted the air. Bond's form inside began to blur. His essence couldn't hold one shape. He was not matter, not spirit — stuck in transition.
He hovered at the quantum event threshold — the exact point between being and not being.
Then came 99%.
Bond's soul, strained beyond stability, completely pressed in from all directions, collapsed into the core of his very being.
Inside the converter chamber, the Blue Star imploded, it's radiation seeping through into the collapsed soul core- Now the size of an atom's nucleas.
An impossibility for so much compressed plasma to fit within a space infinitely miniscule.
A surge of distortion shot out in every direction. In the span of milliseconds, the field's gravity intensified.
The star became a micro black hole.
Roughly the size of a beach ball — yet gravitational scanners went red across the board. The pull was now in gigatons, and rising.
"Warning," someone shouted. "Containment breach!"
The converter array cracked. Then failed.
The chamber's energy dampeners buckled under the weight. Lights flickered. Readings spiked.
Bond's shattered soul was now trapped inside the singularity, pieces of his being floating around a vibrating immortal soul core on the edge of annihilation.
The lab's gravity fields tried to compensate. They failed.
The singularity pulsed — drawing matter inward.
Panic exploded through the Inhuman lab.
Sirens blared. Lights flashed red. Instruments failed to recalibrate. The gravitational readings were off the charts.
King Agon stormed into the control chamber, eyes blazing. "What is happening?!"
A scientist turned from the console, pale. "The singularity my liege... it's not stable. Its gravitational mass has exceeded the projected limits necessary to form Isipho's atomic structure."
Agon's voice was ice. "Stabilize it."
The scientist's voice cracked. "The harmonic disruptors were destroyed with the Phase Converter. We... we can't reverse the collapse."
On the monitors, the black hole's gravitational pull intensified. Dust and loose metal began to lift from the floor, pulled gently toward the beach-ball-sized void.
The projected models lit up in real time.
If nothing was done, Attilan itself would be consumed.
-
Outside time, on the astral plane, Erskine turned to the Watcher. "Are you going to intervene?"
The Watcher stood still, watching the unfolding crisis. "No need."
-
Inside the lab chamber, a silent despair fell.
Then all eyes turned as Black Bolt stepped toward the black hole.
The boy's face was calm. Focused.
Agon saw his son heading to danger and desperately shouted, "Blackagar! No!"
But the boy didn't stop.
He approached the edge of the singularity's field. The gravity tugged at his royal garb, distorting the air around him. He didn't flinch.
He opened his mouth.
And spoke one word.
"CEASE."
There was no echo.
No blast.
Just a wave of pure vibration — inaudible save for the word and unstoppable.
The sound hit the singularity with pinpoint precision.
The black hole's event horizon rippled, like water struck by a single drop.
And then it buckled.
Space-time shuddered.
A moment later, the black hole folded into itself.
Not outward. Inward.
It didn't detonate — it vanished.
A rift flickered in its place — a seam in dimensional space, pulsing faintly before it too collapsed into nothingness.
The gravity leveled.
The lab fell still.
No alarms.
No sound.
Just quiet.
Bond's soul was gone — but not yet destroyed.
-
Millions of miles away in Wakanda, the Bond Gate's sensors powered on.
Vibrational grounding fields across the receiver array activated.
Sw'Thandi stood near the console, arms crossed.
Peggy was by his side, holding her breath.
Sw'Thandi turned slowly to her, eyes on the array.
"It's started," he said quietly. "The fishing line has been cast."
Peggy didn't blink.
"Now we pray," she said, voice steady, "that he bites on the hook."
She exhaled slowly. "We only get one chance at this. Come home to us James."
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This fic ends at chapter 30. Only 2 chapters left to go.