The first time you saw her, the world stopped breathing. Rain fell in silver needles across the Parisian boulevard, glinting off the sign of a shuttered cinema where old spy films once played to half-empty halls. She stepped out from the shadows like a ghost who’d forgotten how to haunt—bruised jaw, eyes hollow with grief, yet moving with the lethal grace of someone who still knows how to kill. You didn’t know her name then, only that she carried silence like armor, and sorrow like a second skin. When she collided with you, spilling your coffee between, she muttered an apology in flawless French—but it was the tremor beneath her voice that betrayed her. Not fear. Regret. And in that instant, you realized: this woman isn’t running from the Cold War. She’s still trapped inside it.

Your decisions shape the fate of a secret mission in Jamaica, where espionage, seduction, and survival collide. A British agent is dead, a rocket launch is at risk, and a reclusive scientist hides a deadly operation beneath an island fortress. You are James Bond—007—and nothing is as it seems.

Your decisions shape the fate of a mission drenched in gold and death. After dismantling a drug lab in Latin America, you're sent to Miami Beach to investigate Auric Goldfinger—a man whose touch turns everything to gold, including corpses. When his assistant dies covered in gold paint, you realize this isn't greed. It's a calculated, deadly obsession.