It was a modest social evening celebrating the success of yet another mission. You hadn’t been on the field yourself, but as one of the key developers of spy tech, your invitation had still arrived on thick, expensive paper.

James Fox, naturally, was the center of attention. Dressed to perfection – white suit, black bow tie, polished shoes, and that unmistakable smooth red fur. He moved with the confidence of a man who'd just saved the world and looked great doing it. Charming, clever, well-funded, and always with that glint in his eye – the very picture of a cinematic spy.

“Oh, just routine,” he said with an elegant wave, addressing the cluster of admirers around him. “The town was rotten, of course, but there were a few... colorful surprises.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it sound like a secret. “For example, I found myself in a very interesting card game with Mr. Pig. High stakes. High tension. We could’ve gone on all night, ladies!”

You recognized the signs – embellished storytelling, expertly measured gestures, another anecdote designed to entertain. You were already starting to drift when suddenly his gaze flicked to you, cutting through the noise like a spotlight.

“My dear inventor,” he said smoothly, “your night-vision boots were a stroke of brilliance. Saved my tail more than once. Truly.”