*Sept 17, 2012 NOTICE* FFnet took down 25 of my stories because they deemed the content 'inappropriate'. Because of this, any story I post with this notice at the beginning will be censored and incomplete. I will have edited it to make it suitable for FFnet and will still be a 'story', but in my opinion the quality will be decreased. I have either taken out scenes for sexual content or violence. If you would like to read the full story, which I strongly recommend, you can do so on AO3 here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles.
At least 50% of my stories cannot be reposted on FFnet because they will be removed again and I could get banned. I strongly encourage you to simply bookmark my AO3 page and read all my stories there. You can also follow me on Tumblr for story update news, here: onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)
Thank you.
Shades of Gray
An Inception novel
I just wanted to take a quick moment to share some exciting news before we get started. I submitted a short story to my university, which does an annual magazine publication of selected undergraduate students' essays, stories, etc. I am very excited to say that my short story was selected for publication! Let's hope this is my first step on the long journey to getting more short stories and novels published in the future!
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the characters. This is not for profit (though I wish someone would pay me to do this)
Warning: M/M pairing, dark themes (abuse, violence, torture).
Rating: T for now, will eventually develop to M.
Note: The majority of this story is going to be pretty dark. I always associate the 'M' rating with sexual themes, rather than violence, so I'm leaving the story at 'T' for now. If you feel that what I am writing in terms of violence warrants the 'M' rating, please let me know!
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Notes: This is entirely post-canon. Yes, this will be a novel, so I'd recommend you placing it on "Story Alert" for chapter updates. Some of the chapters will be very long, others will be shorter. I debated back and forth about how to post and eventually decided to post each perspective as a chapter, even if some of them ended up being shorter than my chapters usually are.
Also, there will be a total of three perspectives used to portray this story. However, this will not be done in the same way as my other stories where I repeat scenes. You'll see what I mean soon enough.
Lastly, I'm a little nervous about posting this since I have never had to live up to people's expectations before. There's definitely a little pressure to live up to my last Inception novel, and this story is definitely going to be quite different. Feedback would be wonderful and I hope you enjoy the story.
Summary: After Inception, the team splits up. Arthur takes on a private job but is betrayed and forced to lock down his subconscious, dropping him into a coma. In the war-torn world of Arthur's mind, will Eames be able to save Arthur before he slips away forever? Arthur/Eames
Part I. Arthur
Arthur flipped through his wallet aimlessly as he rode towards a job in the back of a sleek, black town car. He had pulled the wallet from his inner jacket pocket the moment his back had moulded to the shape of the leather interior, counting out the exact number of bills that would be required for the driver at the end of the thirty minute drive. He had made the voyage from his high-end hotel to the rented floor of office space on the west side of downtown every day this week at precisely eight in the morning. Arthur knew how the traffic would be, and how much of a tip would be expected to keep the driver quiet about his movements.
He folded over the bills and slipped them into his suit pants' pocket, glancing out of the tinted windows to gauge their progress and ensure nothing was amiss. Today was the day they would be carrying out the job and he would hate to hold up the proceedings. Especially considering how edgy his employer had been about hiring him onto the team for a specialized job in the first place.
Arthur was about to return his wallet to its home pocket when they hit a pothole in the ill-maintained streets – a pothole the driver seemed to forget the existence of every single morning – and the leather flaps of the wallet fell open. The leather was still new, the creases in the leather still stiff, so Arthur had to pry the flaps open again when they threatened to fall closed. As he glanced over the rather simplistic wallet, he wondered privately why he had bought one in such a style.
It was a rather common style, with a centre pocket with a clear, plastic film over it and a set of empty slots generally used for photos of loved ones – friends and family. Arthur had filled up a few of the plastic pockets with credit cards, making his wallet look a little less barren, but there were still four empty pouches remaining. Maybe most normal people could fill it easily but there was hardly a point for Arthur to do so. The more cards you carried, the higher the chance that you would lose something important. Besides, Arthur had two backup wallets locked away in a safety deposit box, ready for a quick change in identity.
Still, Arthur couldn't help but wonder, idly, what he'd fill the empty slots with. He blamed it on the boredom of watching the same city route twice a day for a full week.
What was he supposed to put in the main slot of the wallet; the one that stood out proudly when he folded back the wings of leather? Something at the centre of his world, he supposed. A photograph of a child, maybe? A miniature version of himself that he was connected to through a reunion of love? Someone to be proud of as Arthur watched them grow and venture bravely into a world that wasn't ready for them? Unlikely. Arthur had sworn off the idea of having children ever since Diane.
Or a photo of a lover, perhaps. Someone whose face would make him feel content and confident with who and where he was in life. Someone who's smile and familiarity made him relaxed and smile at the memories the photograph would no doubt recall. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had smiled, when he stopped to think about it. Maybe it had been during Inception, months ago, when Ariadne had showed amazing progress on the mazes. Or maybe that one morning Arthur had been particularly sleep deprived and found himself smiling at one of Eames's witty jokes before he remembered to school his features back into a frown.
No, a photo of a lover simply wouldn't do; he had no one like that in his life. Except maybe...no! He cut off that line of thought quickly. He never had the time or ability to commit to an idea – an ideal – like that. He rarely felt the desire for it in the first place. The thought of returning to the same bed, the same embrace each night. Of quiet domestic nights in where they'd cook an easy dinner and curl up watching a movie on a familiar and worn couch. No, it wasn't for Arthur. He didn't see the point in committing to a relationship like that. Any night he might wake up with the cold, biting metal of a gun's barrel pressed against his forehead, aimed there by a disgruntled client or a maddened mark.
What was the point of making promises you knew you couldn't keep?
Arthur shook his head lightly and turned his attention to the four empty pouches, their companions dutifully protecting his credit cards. What photos would merit the privilege of getting lodged into these little plastic protectors promising to maintain and guard his assumed happy memories? It was a stupid notion to even entertain, he knew; he lived a life far too dangerous to take the liberty of totting along photos of people he cared about with him. Nonetheless, he still had another twenty minutes of heavy commuter traffic to deal with, so he indulged his mind's curiosity.
He supposed that his parents would be the likely choice for the first slot. Most people had a photo of their parents or close family in their wallet, right? Assuming there were no family tensions or conflicting pasts, granted. Arthur couldn't help but scoff at his own idea of keeping a photo of his parents in his wallet; they had probably accepted that he was dead by this point in time.
Of course, that was mainly his doing. Arthur had been gone for so long now, only surviving another two and a half years under their scrutinizing...disappointed gazes after Diane before he had fled. It hadn't mattered that he was just about to enter high school; he had been smart enough to figure things out by himself. Besides, if he hadn't fled, they would have simply sent him off to boarding school – no longer able to look at him without disgust.
He had set up a generous bank account and had forged all of the documents required to legally give his parents the money under the pretence of 'The Last Will and Testament'. He had dropped off the grid for a few months after putting his true identity on something as dangerous as a paper copy to ensure everything remained smooth. He had hoped, secretly, shamefully, that giving his parents the money might wipe away his guilt. It hadn't, but by then he hadn't really cared enough to be disappointed; he had learned to live with the weight of the guilt.
A photo of his parents was out.
Maybe a photo of Dominic and his children, Phillipa and James, could take one of the slots. Though Arthur would have to deal with the decision of whether it would be a photo with or without Mal. It would seem almost silly to choose a photo without her; she had and always would be the defining person in Cobb's life. From the moment they had met, Dom had been bewitched; almost enchanted. The Extractor had worshipped Mallorie during life, and still mourned her in death.
Arthur knew, one way or another, that he shouldn't mind a photo of the Cobbs in his wallet; tucked away to recall all of his forcefully buried memories. There had been a time when he had considered Dom to be a brother of sorts – a best friend he could rely on no matter how bad things spiralled out of control. That had changed though, after Inception. As soon as the Extractor – Arthur's leader, friend, brother – had stepped onto American soil, it had been as though Dom became a new person.
Arthur had been cast aside like the crutches he had always known he was to the man, no longer needed as he raced away to his home and children. He couldn't find fault in Dom for it; Arthur understood and had always known he was the support that would someday become obsolete. Dom had certainly called a few times after that, like someone recently recovered checking over the state of the crutches in a fleeting moment of fear that they might need them again; the supports needed to be in good condition to be leaned upon. But that had tapered off as Dom had adjusted and become wrapped up in the reunion with his children.
There was no blame to be placed, no bitterness to choke down. He knew the Extractor wasn't going to return to the PASIV, the chemicals, the dreams. That was fine; Arthur simply didn't want to bother the man and drag up old memories Dom was clearly better off without. And honestly, he didn't think that was the type of person you kept a photo of in your wallet. The person you were unwilling to contact because you knew, one day, that they would be forced to tell you that you were no longer necessary.
Arthur flicked the second slot aside to consider the third one tiredly, taking a moment to take in his surroundings. They were pacing through the central district of the downtown area; not long now until the job would begin. He wondered if the mark would already be there, prepared, or if the team member snatching the man would be caught in a similarly embarrassing rut of morning traffic.
He angled his gaze downward once again.
Who did you keep a photo of, after children, lovers, family and best friends? Other friends, he supposed; team members, coworkers. Ariadne, his mind supplied easily – still on the memories of Inception. But that thought immediately sent Arthur's stomach twisting unpleasantly. The girl was a brilliant Architect, there was no question about it; she would someday be the best, Arthur was sure. He had tracked her loosely after the job, mildly protective despite himself and wanting to make sure she was alright after her first dream job.
Of course, it hadn't been all that hard to keep track of her; she had texted Arthur near-daily. She had returned to Paris to finish up her degree while under the careful tutelage of Miles during private sessions. Arthur had almost been forced to change phone numbers and not give her his new contact details with how frequently she texted him. However, he had been saved from that decision when her texts had slowly wilted away; she had become engrossed in the life of a student, as she should.
It would be odd keeping a photo of her in his wallet, he decided quite quickly. She was incredibly intelligent and witty and Arthur would certainly not turn down another job with her – something he knew would be inevitable someday with how addicted she had clearly become to dreaming. But he would feel uncomfortable keeping a photo of her when he knew she had a boyfriend at university, especially after the crush the girl seemed to have harboured towards Arthur until she realized her vast connections with Dom. He had kept her at a distance during her obvious advances, lacking the desire to attempt an effort.
That relationship certainly didn't warrant an awkward photo in his wallet.
One plastic slot was left remaining and Arthur wondered who might be able to fill it. He was quickly losing choices that remained above the 'job contact' level. Yusuf was programmed into his phone – no dream chemicals more reliable than the Chemist's – but that didn't mean he needed to be in Arthur's wallet. He didn't think normal people kept photos of coworkers in their wallets. Saito was also a clear negative. People definitely didn't keep photos of their bosses in their wallets – unless there was something else going on behind closed doors, anyway.
Eames, Arthur mused carelessly before he could stop the thought. It seemed like a silly thought at first, but with another seven blocks of crammed traffic to go, he considered it. Would Eames merit a photo in Arthur's imaginary wallet? The man was a genius at his art – though Arthur would never tell him so – and a handy man to have on his contacts list in case of emergencies. Though, when he thought about it, Arthur had never taken Eames's offer to call him for a job after Inception. He couldn't bring himself to admit he needed the Forger; the man's ego was large enough as it was. Arthur also hated the temptation of always having someone to rely on; it left you too vulnerable.
Eames didn't seem to fall into any category, even 'co-worker' and 'friend'. Arthur had barely tolerated working with the man for longer than ten minute intervals for their meetings; obviously they had never progressed towards friendship. And yet Eames knew Arthur better than any other human being currently alive on earth with him. It was what the man did, naturally; he had the incredible ability to know everything about a person – facial expressions, movements, voice, morals, thoughts – that he could effortlessly recreate them in the dream.
So, through sheer stubbornness and determination, despite Arthur's attempts at scaring the Forger off, Eames had come to know most of what there was to know about the Point Man. Arthur still had his secrets – he wouldn't be a professional if he hadn't managed that – but it was still discomforting to know Eames had gotten so close. Closer than his parents, than Dom, than Ariadne, the girl driven by infatuation to learn everything about the object of her affection.
Though it hadn't meant much, obviously, since Eames had disappeared after Inception. It had all been for the job. Arthur wasn't entirely sure why, but he almost found it...rude. That Eames would have the gall to dig under his skin and pry away Arthur's secrets without his consent all for a job and then simply trot along when all was over. Nonetheless, Eames had taken on his own string of jobs, similar to Arthur, and then eventually wound up lounging in Mombasa to squander away his hard-earned millions.
You didn't keep a photo in your wallet of someone who only got close to you for a job and then forgot about your existence the moment it was over. So: no Eames.
The town car pulled up to the familiar curb then and Arthur handed over the previously selected bills, noting his accuracy with the paused meter on the dashboard. He clasped his wallet closed and slipped it back into his jacket pocket easily, stepping out onto the busy sidewalk. Arthur was a fan of travelling light with the type of work he was in; the idea of a wallet, heavy with memories, was unappealing to say the least.
As he wove his way through the pedestrian traffic and pushed his way through the main doors of the office building in front of him, Arthur decided that his wallet was better off left empty.
He caught the elevator up to their rented floor of office space, thankful that for once he wasn't stepping into a dank, damp warehouse to work. Arthur had been taking job after job once Inception had been completed and it had been safe to return to the field; he had been taking jobs long after Eames had given up and gone home. The Point Man liked being busy though, liked researching and organizing and leaving the dull world of reality behind.
The elevator dinged its arrival to the sixth floor and he was immediately greeted by Amelina, the Extractor leading this close-knit team. In many ways her work in the dream world reminded Arthur of Mallorie, which set him on a cautious edge; her intelligence was sharp and she was skilled, determined and worst of all, impatient. However, she acted worse than Ariadne after two cups of sugar with a sip of coffee when in reality. "Arthur! Good to see you!"
Arthur merely nodded in return, seeing no reason to outright lie just to return a greeting. He wasn't very fond of his teammates – their histories reeked of alterations. Arthur could understand that; you were a fool to step into an illegal profession without editing and hiding some of your past. But his team members were too clean and innocent. It was smart to leave some negative information floating around out there.
The more perfect your record made you look, the more you were clearly trying to hide. The more spotless, often times the more ruthless. And the more professional and clean the alterations, the more skilled you were – through practice – at editing information in your favour. Nonetheless, he had needed something to keep himself busy and the number of zeros that would be appearing on his paycheque was satisfying.
Arthur stepped past Amelina, footfalls muffled by the carpeting – the only furnishing on the floor besides some chairs and desks the team had brought in. He scanned a critical eye over their work space, comparing the set up to the day before when he had powered down the lights and disappeared down the elevator the night previous. Nothing was out of place. Well, if you didn't count the man bleeding from a gash on the forehead, unconscious and tied to a chair. "You already have the mark here," he stated in mild surprise as he inspected the PASIV device, already cleaned and prepared. Arthur had not held much confidence in the team's ability to capture the mark and get him here, though he had never voiced the concerns.
"Yes, Nikolas got Louis here about ten minutes ago." Arthur raised an eyebrow at the woman calling the mark by name; most were too morally conflicted to do so. "We got him tied up and sedated before preparing the device." He felt Amelina's gaze on him as he checked and rechecked the device, the wires, and the needles. It wouldn't be too late for him to fight his way out and drop off the map if things were about to go sour. "So is everything alright to continue?"
Arthur straightened and took a step away from the PASIV, clasping his hands behind his back as he regarded their Extractor, their leader. She really didn't act like a leader. She undoubtedly had the expertise to lead, and the skill with weaponry to back herself up. Nikolas, the Architect, certainly followed her around like she was an all-knowing deity, but there was something lacking. Amelina had random flashes of nervousness, suddenly sounding unsure and requiring reassurance. She didn't seem lost – she knew what she was doing – but she did not seem comfortable in the role.
"Yes," Arthur nodded, sparing a quick glance to their Architect – a young boy, younger than Arthur to be sure – to see him shifting nervously. "Everything is ready."
The Point Man grabbed a lead along with his other team members and crossed the small space to the four chairs that had been set up in a sort of cross-like shape. He took the seat opposite their unconscious mark, having no qualms or conflicts of morals as he studied the man. The blood had begun to congeal along the cut and down the man's face; the gash would heal quickly but not as neatly as Arthur would have liked. Arthur preferred to grab a mark in a way that left no trace when he was finished, but he was more than capable of becoming a ghost whether the mark had a reminding scar or not.
He doubted Louis, the bleeding businessman, would mind the scar either way. From the extensive research that Arthur had pulled up, the man loved to boast and make up stories to impress and entertain anyone within earshot. The man would no doubt proclaim he had fought off a gang from killing a little old lady one night, flashing around his 'battle scar'. Either way, Arthur felt less than inclined to mention to his team how stupid it was to leave evidence behind as he watched Nikolas fumble with the needle being slid into Louis's arm.
They had already discussed the plan last night before they had split up for the night; no one needed to ask questions or reconfirm steps. They would be dropping down into Louis's subconscious and attending a fancy dinner party held in the man's honour. There would be plenty of alcohol and beautiful women but if that did not loosen the businessman's tongue, Nikolas would also be constructing a vault in the basement of the hotel. Amelina, feminine beauty and charm personified, would position herself with Arthur at her side for backup while Nikolas remained at a safe distance to ensure the dream's stability.
Louis's records had been somewhat sketchy as well, more than a few discrepancies and blanks being drawn up no matter how deeply Arthur probed. But the history was solid and Arthur felt confident in his assumption that no one was as skilled at Eames at forging documents and identities. Few were that gifted. Apparently, Louis was a god when it came to the stock market and had been raking in millions for years. However, that hadn't seemed to be enough for the man since he had fallen into the habit of selling American secrets to the highest bidder – happily creating a second, lucrative income for himself. Amelina had been hired by a client who had decided that the price of the dream workers was more manageable – or more entertaining – than the price Louis was asking for. They would be retrieving the information at discount price.
It was a simple job, almost embarrassingly so. Four hours in the dream, one hour in reality – Yusuf's chemicals putting this set to shame – and Arthur would be millions richer. And hopefully his boredom would be satisfied for longer than a week this time around. He was finding that as time wore on he was able to remain in one place – to remain outside of the dreamscape – for shorter and shorter periods of time. It would be nice to someday settle down and actually use some of the money he was hoarding away.
"Alright, it's in," Nikolas finally announced as he pulled away from the unconscious mark and took his own chair. Arthur chose not to comment on how embarrassingly slow the Architect had been, thankful to see that he was at least more apt at inserting the needle into his own arm.
"Are you ready?" Amelina met Arthur's gaze. He simply nodded, tired of providing assurances. He was ready for this job to be over. "Alright, here we go..."
A moment later, Arthur was blinking his eyes open, a glittering chandelier above his head, lush, red carpeting beneath his feet, and a swarm of people chatting around him. Amelina was beside him, hand barely resting on his forearm as she conversed with an elderly projection in an expensive suit. Arthur glanced down and was pleased with the suit he found himself in, pants and jacket tailored to his form, shirt crisp and pressed beneath his knotted tie and waistcoat. The Extractor was decked out in equal fashion, both the emerald green of the dress and her doubled string of pearls gleaming in the light. Nikolas was nowhere to be seen, as was planned.
They chatted amiably with projections to remain hidden and to see what they could draw out of the mark's subconscious. Amelina masterfully quizzed each projection on information, jobs and 'business partners' in a way that would even disarm Arthur's caution should he meet the woman in a different setting. Arthur allowed her to do what she did best for a long time while watching for Louis, who was taking longer to appear than he had planned. However, his attention was drawn back to the conversation at hand when he noticed the projections being grilled for information. They kept glancing at him, as if silently asking for support.
Perturbed, Arthur kept a more attentive ear on Amelina's questions as he continued to watch for Louis. As the time continued slipping away and they kept mingling in search of their mark, Arthur couldn't help but begin to notice the architecture with a queasy feeling deep in his stomach. He had seen Nikolas's drawings and had the Architect teach him every aspect of the maze that would be created in the intricate hotel. All of the elements he had seen in reality were still present, but there was more detail filling the atmosphere than Arthur was willing to give Nikolas credit for.
He began recognizing some of the tastes he himself favoured. Sprawling, marble staircases, detailed, painted ceilings, a warm but efficient lighting; yet no matter how lavish the architecture, the environment was still dominated by rigid, controlled lines. Even the projections, now that he was looking, were dressed in the styles and cuts Arthur preferred. There were far too many similarities for him to pass this off as coincidence. They were in his mind, rather than Louis's. Arthur was building the world Nikolas had created, picturing every detail and yet adding his own to the creation.
It was just then that the projection Amelina was talking to fell silent, looking resolute, defiant, and a little affronted that someone would dare attempt to pry information from him. Of course, Arthur's projections were well trained; that was why they had been successfully skirting the Extractor's attempts. It was clear that Amelina was growing frustrated but just then Nikolas appeared by their side, Louis – the 'mark' – in tow.
"I have been informed that you were searching for me," Louis greeted warmly. The man was dressed like a businessman, missing only a briefcase glued to one hand and a mobile phone glued to his ear. However, Arthur was now picking up a distinct aura of military in the man now, in the way he stood and demanded attention; no wonder Amelina had seemed somewhat unsure of taking the leader position.
"Yes," Arthur spoke quickly before anyone else could realize what the Point Man had just realized. He extended his hand and shook Louis's hand warmly, forcing a pleasant smile. "We were hoping to speak with you in person. Congratulations, by the way," he kept to the script as if nothing was wrong – as if his brain wasn't scrambling as he planned his next move, as if he wasn't realizing how utterly screwed he was.
Arthur was granted one small miracle when he was able to introduce Amelina without a hitch, no one yet sensing that the true mark had become aware of the web woven around him, binding him tight. "Shall we retire to my suite?" Louis offered generously, watching Arthur carefully. "We can be alone there."
Arthur knew he was being watched for the right responses to ensure nothing was amiss; Arthur should be thrilled for the opportunity to have the 'mark' alone to wear down. So he portrayed mild accomplishment, moderate smugness, and nodded his consent. "Please, lead the way."
As he trailed down the maze of hallways behind Louis and Nikolas, Amelina comfortably on his arm, he tried to figure out what he was going to do to get out of this. He wanted to chide himself on his foolishness, for allowing his boredom to win over his sense, but there was no time for that now. He was tempted to materialize a gun and shoot himself in the head before they even made it to this private suite. He would have a fifteen second head start on the others as the dream world collapsed around them. Arthur would be able to get away and disappear until they stopped looking.
He didn't though, because he needed to know why this was happening. Who had hired this team of three, or were they acting on their own accord? What, exactly, were they after? It was important to know what information they were after since that would give him a better idea of how long they would attempt to hunt him down before surrendering. And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd extract enough information in return to tear this team apart in reality.
So Arthur bided his time silently, calm as he was led into a suite and the heavy wooden doors fell closed behind him. Arthur was offered a seat on one of the patterned couches but he politely refused. Everyone else remained standing as well. The air immediately grew thick and tense. The Point Man had to admit that he was embarrassed to allow this to happen. However skilled this team was to hoodwink him and get him this far, it was upsetting that his competition had taken this long to realize he was no longer an oblivious mark.
"So, Arthur," Louis drawled, stepping closer to him while Amelina and Nikolas slowly fell into the background, "What was it you wished to talk to me about?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Arthur replied calmly, too stubborn to acknowledge any fear that his confidence might not be a strong enough bluff to get him out of this alive.
Louis stopped and stood still with a short distance between them, probably acting under the rumours floating around in reality about Arthur's expertise at hand-to-hand combat. Smart man. The dream worker smiled at him, looking equally entertained and condescending. "Oh yes, I knew you would be a fun mark, Arthur. Many speak of you as a challenge – like Everest – to someday conquer."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Arthur responded, sharp with his sarcasm.
"Do," Louis nodded as he slowly drew a concealed handgun from beneath his jacket. "Do. Now, since the pleasantries seem somewhat unnecessary, shall we just move onto the main event?"
Arthur calculated mentally how quickly he would be able to materialize and raise his own preferred handgun; his chances of getting an effective shot off and escaping into the hallway before he took a wound serious enough to hinder his getaway. The odds were against him. He couldn't act yet though, no matter how much his trigger finger was twitching for revenge; he needed to know what they were after. Arthur smirked, forcefully keeping himself from shifting his weight. "Please. I was growing bored."
"You know, I don't think I like you," Louis gave a little disapproving noise as he cocked his gun. "You're a smartass."
"That's alright; I wasn't planning on asking you out on a date after this was over," the Point Man drawled in return, hoping that his enemy would make a mistake if he got too angry. He desperately wanted to clench his hands into fists at his sides to release some of his nervous energy but remained still and waited.
The silence dominated for a long moment as Louis seemed to consider him. Then, finally, "Tell me about Inception." Arthur's eyebrows rose before he thought to control his expression. No one should know that Arthur was involved with Inception. No one should know about Inception at all. He remained silent for a moment as he schooled his features back into neutrality, trying to discern what the best response should be. "Specifically," Louis continued into the tense silence, "I would like for you to tell me about your teammates. What were their names again?"
"Dominic, with his two little children. Wife, Mallorie, sadly beyond our reach," Amelina supplied helpfully, like an eager student.
"Ariadne, Eames, Yusuf," Nikolas added easily. Arthur noticed that the youth's stance was much more confident down here in dream space, and that Nikolas's voice was much harsher.
"Yes," Louis glanced back at his team members, pleased. "That was their names." The man's gaze refocused on Arthur almost lazily.
Arthur felt his blood run cold in his veins, his heart beginning to race at a quicker pace than what had been adopted with a gun pointed at his face. If they had been after some information about Arthur, or about one of his marks or clients, he could have gone into hiding and not given this encounter a second thought. But now the team – his team – was at risk. Dom, finally moving on and happy. The baby Cobbs. Ariadne, blossoming and just beginning a long and successful career. Eames, somehow making Arthur feel more secure in his jobs just with the knowledge that the Forger was alive out there, somewhere. Yusuf, brilliant enough to cure cancer some day, if the goal ever popped into the Chemist's mind.
He swallowed thickly, suddenly realizing what he would have to do. He could not simply hold out on the information until he eventually found an opportunity to kill himself; nor wait for his enemies to get frustrated enough to make a mistake. He could not run away and hide in reality and assume that things would blow over. They knew his teammates' names and who knew how much else; that was enough to endanger them all if Arthur didn't do something.
And no matter how much he wanted to return to reality and finish the three dream workers off there, that might sent out some signal to someone else connected to this extraction. Arthur had no way of knowing if there was anyone else vying for this information. That was even more dangerous; having no face to associate with the threat. No, he needed to handle things down here.
"By the way, Arthur," Louis interrupted his thought process, looking somewhat bored now. "I should probably let you know now, before we get too deep in conversation, that I am very impatient."
Arthur knew he had to act now, before things escalated further. He kept his gaze firmly on Louis as he mentally directed his attention to the chandelier bolted to the sculpted ceiling. The only warning any of them received was a small jingle of crystal shards touching before the ceiling opened up and released the heavy framework of metal and crystal. The chandelier hadn't been overtop of Amelina and Nikolas, much to Arthur's disappointment, but their startled shrieks were just enough, mixed with the clattering of the impact, to drag Louis's gaze back for a split second.
The Point Man didn't wait to consider the effectiveness of his damage, instead turning and dashing for the hallway the moment Louis had turned his head enough for Arthur to be in his periphery. The intricate brass door handle was slick under his palms with nervous sweat, slowing him down for half a second as he wrenched the door open. Amelina let out an enraged scream at his escape as the door handle slammed into the wallpaper, denting it beyond repair, and Arthur heard a shot ring out in the air as he skidded into the hallway.
He felt a searing pressure pierce his left bicep before a burning pain shot through his entire body, the bullet lodging against bone. He didn't take the time to consider it though, already halfway down the hallway and stumbling into the stairwell as he heard the other three dream workers crash out of the private suite in hot pursuit.
As Arthur continued down toward the main floor of the hotel, the only building in existence in this particular dreamscape, he focused on shifting the landscape to his favour as much as he could manage. Each layer of stairs he covered looped in on itself behind him but he quickly realized that Nikolas was much more skilled at his profession than he had let on. The staircases did slow them down, Arthur easily able to dodge the haphazard bullets with the distance between them, but his enemies were by no means stranded.
He considered abandoning the stairs in favour of finding or creating a suitable place to hide but he quickly realized that they would find him before he was able to accomplish what needed to be done. Their angry shouts and curses were echoing off the walls of concrete, chasing his heels as he burst through the door onto the main floor. Arthur needed a maze so complex that even Nikolas would be stalled and focused all of his attention on building up a dreamscape outside of the hotel, blatantly ignoring the small headache that flared up with the added exertion.
When he made it into the main lobby, formerly a peaceful, relaxed congregation of people, he saw that an all out riot had broken out. There were streaks of blood marring the white marble of the staircases, more blood no doubt soaked into the red carpet. Arthur was forced to jump over a few dead corpses strewn across the floor, having neither the time nor inclination to determine if they were his projections or the projections of his pursuers. He dodged a toppling chandelier, crystal shards skidding across the floor, and rushed through the doors into a newly built city.
Arthur heard a chorus of furious shouts from his projections as Louis, Nikolas and Amelina stumbled into the violence of the entrance hall. Not considering it further, he ducked into the nearest alleyway and ran as fast as he could, doing his best to keep his heart and breathing steady. This was far from over. He continued to shift the world around behind him until he finally stumbled and came to a stop, panting and supporting his weight against a worn brick wall.
He blinked a few times, trying to dispel the little black spots swimming in his vision. Arthur spared an annoyed glance at his arm, realizing that it had been blood, not sweat, wetting the left side of his body as he ran; the adrenaline and his racing heart kept the blood flowing more than he could afford. He used his hand to put pressure on the wound, cursing with the little breath he had at the sensation of pushing the bullet harder against the bone.
He forced himself into silence though when he heard Amelina scream in rage only a block or so away. The sound sent a shiver up Arthur's spine; she sounded like some feral hell hound that had lost sight of her prey. It was Nikolas he heard yell next, accompanied by the sound of a metal trash can being kicked over. "How the hell did he create an entire city that quickly? You said you shot him! He should be bleeding out by now!"
There was a pregnant moment of silence in which Arthur could imagine the no doubt angry look Louis would shoot at his Architect. However, it was Amelina who yelled next. It was hard to hear her though, over the sound of the riot spilling out onto the streets. "Who cares? Why hasn't he just killed himself already? And why the fuck are we just standing here?"
Arthur was thankful when Louis spoke then; allowing the Point Man to ensure the dream worker was the same distance away from him as the others. It was clear that the man was yelling just to make sure Arthur heard him. "He is making a stand to protect his friends. Noble, but stupid." There was a moment's pause and Arthur quieted his breathing, hearing that the warring projections were coming closer. "Very well, Arthur; we accept! Let it be war between us!"
And then it was only the sound of the projections and buildings quickly falling to ruin assaulting his ears. Arthur remained completely still for another few minutes, breathing as quietly as he could. He couldn't believe his enemies would simply give up, suspicious that they were silently surrounding him. But eventually he was forcing himself to keep his eyes open, shaking away the lightheaded sensation from blood loss; he couldn't afford to be cautious anymore. He needed to get the barriers up before he passed out and the dream workers realized they could escape unscathed.
So he pushed himself away from the brick wall with a small grunt, eyeing the smudge of drying blood on the bricks with distaste. He took off through the maze of alleyways again, distrustful of the wide main roads. Finally he found a semi-underground alleyway built through a hill that had a road overtop. He dashed into the long echoing tunnel, knowing that he would be able to hear anyone approaching from a long distance away. Arthur was forced to assume that his enemies really had split up and disappeared into other sections of his city to regroup.
He took a steadying breath and slumped against the arched concrete wall that was smooth and free of graffiti. He couldn't even believe he was considering this, but there really didn't seem to be any other viable option. When he had begun getting into dream work – when it was still a form of addictive escapism rather than a profession for him – he had quickly grown bored of what he had been taught and begun experimenting. Arthur had done some reading on meditation in the past, when he was trying to learn how to 'let go' and 'dispel guilt'. It hadn't been helpful for him in reality, but he wondered if it might be more effective in the dream world.
He just wanted to forget.
Arthur had gone under with some random boy two years ahead of him in school, holding little concern for his wellbeing at that point in his life. He had explained his thought process and the other boy had encouraged him, insisting that 'everything would be fine' – 'it would be totally Zen'. Arthur had closed his eyes and taken careful note of his breathing, slowing it down far past the point that the meditation books had recommended. He had felt his whole body begin to feel weighed down with his heart and breathing remaining slow; then he had opened his eyes.
They had only created a park, still simplistic in their endeavours, but Arthur could see a shimmering, nearly invisible dome surrounding the boundaries of their dreamscape. It had been an interesting experiment and Tyson had been thrilled, but Arthur had been silently disappointed; this did not help him forget at all. They had traveled the short distance to examine the boundaries further, the barriers made of a glass-like texture, and then moved on to other things until the chemicals ran out.
They had been far too young – far too squeamish – to consider experimenting with different methods of waking up from the dream. However, as they talked and waited and grew bored, they had quickly come to realize that whatever Arthur had done had stopped the clock. There would be no 'waking up' from this, at least not pleasantly. They had discussed it for a while, both of them with their string of issues but neither of them entirely keen on killing or being killed. Finally though, they agreed to do it themselves, rather than burden the other with a death – even if it would only be temporary.
Arthur had watched the older boy go first, flicking back his shaggy blond hair and sending him a courageous wink before shakily pulling the trigger. Arthur had winced at the sound, swallowed at the sight of blood, and watched morbidly as the other boy crumbled in on himself and fell to the perfect grass in a puddle of blood. He had to admit it to himself, when he was finally alone with his thoughts, that he wasn't ready to do that to himself. It was too close to what his mind occasionally suggested when thoughts of Diane plagued him from sunset to sunrise.
Instead, Arthur had focused his attention on the barriers again, which he noticed, with growing fear, had shrunk closer to him. He could see a swirling, darkening fog looming beyond the boundaries, as if eagerly waiting to claim him. He had focused his attention again and had felt his heartbeat picking up again, his breath quickening, and the barriers fading away. Once that was finished and he was left alone again in a quiet park, no fog on the horizon, he had simply had to wait for a few minutes until the timer had run down.
It was when he woke up that things had gone wrong. He had been confused at seeing the ceiling and walls painted a blinding white. It didn't take him long after that to realize that he was in a hospital bed, Tyson in the bed beside him. "Hey, Tyson, what's going on?" he had whispered, terrified. Tyson had glanced over him at the sound of his voice, but Arthur saw that the teen's bright green eyes were glassy and void of recognition. "Tyson, what's wrong with you?" Arthur hissed, praying silently that he was still dreaming.
Tyson opened his mouth slightly, Arthur desperate for some sort of explanation, but instead all he received was a nonsensical string of babbling noises before the teen fell silent again. And with that, the teen had rolled onto his back again and smiled blandly at the ceiling. Tyson didn't look angry or even a little upset. He didn't know – didn't remember that Arthur was the one to blame for this. In fact, he was acting and sounding like an infant who had not yet grasped the complexities of language.
Arthur had swallowed thickly, feeling tears sting the corners of his eyes. What had he done? He had just wanted to forget. Forget everything. He hadn't meant to hurt Tyson, to make him forget. Arthur could barely comprehend how it had happened, knowing only that it had to be something to do with the glass barriers he had created. It didn't matter how it had happened. All that mattered was that this was all his fault.
He was wound up and about to bolt out of the bed when a doctor came in to peer down at Arthur from the bedside, checking over his vitals. Then the doctor, apparently satisfied, turned his attention fully towards Arthur. "Hello, can you tell me your name?" Arthur had raised a confused eyebrow, barely managing to choke down tears of sheer panic, but answered with his full name. That had spurred a long list of questions about Arthur's birth date, school, principal's name, and so on.
Finally, when the questions seemed to cease and the doctor returned his attention to a clipboard, Arthur found the courage to speak. "What's wrong with Tyson?"
The doctor didn't answer for a moment, busy scribbling down notes. Then he gave a tired, defeated sigh, and met Arthur's gaze. "We don't know. Your landlady found the two of you hooked up to a crude dream device-" here Arthur received a disapproving scowl, "and called an ambulance. You were both under for a day and when Tyson woke up, he had no indication of possessing any memories. He seems to have reverted back to a state of infancy in terms of knowledge."
"Oh," was all Arthur could whisper, throat tight as he struggled to keep from crying.
"Furthermore, despite you waking up with your memories seemingly intact, you were far from unaffected. You showed all the signs of being in a deep coma and you were fading fast." The doctor stared down at him, seeming to realize that Arthur wasn't grasping what that meant. "That means that you probably would have died if you had stayed in the same state for another day." Arthur had merely blinked, barely able to comprehend the notion of nearly dying at fifteen. "Rest for now. We'd like to observe you for another few days and then a psychologist will be coming in to question you about what happened while you were both asleep."
After that, the doctor had turned on his heel and disappeared out into the hallway. Tyson kept glancing over at him and babbling, curious as a newborn baby, but Arthur feigned sleep. His heart was racing, his body was trembling, and he wasn't entirely sure he'd survive the night. The way the doctor had said that someone would be coming in to talk about the dream made it sound like this would be turned into a legal issue; Arthur would be surprised if it didn't. He couldn't stick around for that. Nor could he wait to see if someone had managed to dig through his past to find the contact information for his parents. What would he do – what would he say – if he woke up tomorrow morning with his parents looking down at him from his bedside – disappointed again?
Arthur had been out of bed and dressed as soon as the nurses had left that evening to continue on their rounds. Tyson had called out to him wordlessly when Arthur was in the doorframe, but Arthur hadn't turned around; he had no idea how he would manage this new guilt. He had forced himself to walk slowly and calmly as he joined the foot traffic in the hallway. He had bluffed his way through the halls, doing his best to act as though he belonged there, and eventually found the main entrance.
He had waited until he was a block away from the hospital before he began running. It didn't take long after that for the tears to finally overwhelm him and spill down his face as he ran. He wasn't running towards anywhere; he had nowhere to go. All he could do was run away and promise himself that he would never use this new technique again. He would just have to learn to live with the guilt; learn to live with the memories.
But now...now he had no choice. But that didn't bother him as much as it had for years after his last view of Tyson's glassy eyes. These dream workers – Louis, Amelina, Nikolas – were the enemy, and not just his enemy. They were the enemies of his entire team and that made it quite easy for Arthur to forgo any conflicting morals. It helped that the idea of dying wasn't as scary for him to consider now as it had been when he was fifteen.
Arthur was surprised by his resolution; he had never thought he would choose to die for someone else. But he thought back to his empty wallet, void of any real connection to life. The rest of his team members had something – or someone – to live for. If Arthur faded away into death, no one would notice. No one would cry. No one would suffer from his permanent absence. It was only fair.
And with that thought in mind, Arthur closed his eyes and began locking his subconscious down. He felt a small weight tug on his mind – a weight that would grow and consume with time – as his body in reality shut down with his mind. His breathing and heart slowed, body calming as he fell into what he knew would be a coma he would never wake from.
When he was finished and the barriers around the city were fully erected, he peeled himself away from the wall and made his way out into open air again. The sun had hit the horizon by this point, time no longer dependent upon the chemicals in the PASIV. He took a calming breath of fresh air and scanned his view of the city. Arthur could see the fog that would soon consume him and drag him down into darkness roiling behind the translucent dome that surrounded the outer boundaries of the city.
With a small sigh, Arthur scanned his surroundings and dashed into the darkness once again. The sound of violent rioting and ruin was his companion as he searched for a place suitable for staging a war.