Missing Q

Bond held up the gun and raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me, R,” he said. “What does this do again?”
“Pay attention, Double Oh-Seven!” admonished R. “First, it kills a person for just ten minutes. Then, it turns their hands bright orange, enough to see from 8 kilometers away.”
“Eight kilometers?” asked Bond. “Lovely.”
“Of course, it also turns your hands blue,” said R. “And you get only one shot.”
Bond put the gun down and sighed.
He looked around Q’s old lab, tables piled with other useless creations of R.
“I miss you, Q,” he muttered. “This fucker’s a loony.”