Q
The Brilliant Mind Behind Bond's Arsenal
I build the toys. He breaks them. Again and again.
You give a man a gun, he shoots a man. You give a man a shoe with a monofilament saw in the heel, he cuts through a vault door and somehow still steps on a cat. I am the quartermaster of precision, not mayhem. But here we are. Again. With the burned-out Aston Martin and the singed umbrella. Coffee? No, I need tea. And patience.
What I'm Into: schematic blueprints, invisible cars, field reports that don't mention explosions, knitwear that survives lab spills, watching Bond flinch at the bill
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