I'm sorry for the late!
This is the rewritten one, so I hope you like it!
Oh yes, I'm not a native english speaker, and because of that my english is not perfect.
I do not own Inception. Mr. Nolan does.
Love,
Isadora
Chapter 1 – First day, first screw up.
He heard a thin and high-pitched sound, some kind of instrumental music, but was far away. He changed his position.
Again, that annoying sound started, but he opened his sleepy eyes and found only darkness. Arthur couldn't see anything, not even his own hand.
That music started again, entering his ears, and making it impossible to ignore.
He rolled over his bed and found his cell phone, the only light in the room.
"Hello?" his voice was hoarse, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.
"Arthur?" a familiar voice said.
After three months not seeing each other, Arthur was eager to hear his friend's voice. This could only mean one thing, which made his bones rattle with excitement.
"Yes?"
"We've got a job. Be in the warehouse in one hour. I already called the others, except for Ariadne..."
"I'll tell her."
"Thanks." Cobb murmured before hanging up.
Arthur groaned, shutting his phone and tossing it on the carpeted ground, where it fell with a muted thud. He looked at his clock standing near his bed, the green light showed 5 AM.
A dim light came from his window, colouring everything with a golden glimmer.
His apartment was one of the old buildings that still existed. From the outside the building looked ordinary and even ugly, because of the antique edges and worn out iron balconies, which only made the inside more impacting. Arthur invested his sum from Fischer's Inception to transform every inch of it. Now, the kitchen was divided from the living room only by a bar counter, where his guests could enjoy a drink or just talk while he made the meal.
At the far end of the apartment, three doors were displayed. Two of them were bedrooms, one with a queen-size bed and a suite and the other with a single one. The guest bathroom was the third door.
The basic colour was white, the colour of luxury. White marbled floor, white walls and windows. White comfortable sofas and chairs, with only the feet in black. But it wasn't a cold place, not like a hospital. Arthur had splashed some primary brightness here and there; a Spanish rug in the center of the room, red and orange cushions laid lazily on the couch, silver and onyx sculptures contrasted with the walls.
He searched for his three-piece suit, opening several drawers, before finding dark grey trousers and a waistcoat, and an immaculate white shirt. Everything was nicely folded and clean, thankfully because of Louise: an enchanting maid that was also an old friend. She came each day to polish and wash, leaving his home with the delightful smell of soap.
The Point Man entered his suite, only to find a man looking at him. His eyes were fierce and dark-brown, without showing a single emotion, totally blank. The mirror showed the lazy part of him, his dishevelled hair and his unshaven beard, like a dark shadow on his chin. He grabbed a comb and started fixing his appearance.
Moving to Paris was showing to be his best decision everyday. He loved the sophisticated air and the rich culture of the "City of Lights", the intricate details of the buildings and the cafés standing right in the middle of the sidewalks. But the best of it was that he could keep one eye on the Architect, know how she was coping after her first job.
Arthur didn't want to call her, because he didn't want her to be involved with this. It was too dangerous and was too fragile, young, and innocent. Ariadne wasn't supposed to find out how hard and evil the world could be to the youngest, crowded with people thirsty for money and revenge. She had told him that she moved to Paris and started her architecture course to put some beauty in the world. She lived in a modern fairytale and he didn't want to be the mean stepmother.
Arthur looked at his watch and realized that he was running late.
He locked the door and started running, not calling Ariadne.
Arthur was the only one on the street, he could hear his own footsteps, pressing against the stones of the ground. The sun could be seen behind the charming edifices, its long and warm rays were already brighter than when he left his apartment. It was going to be a hot summer day.
He turned the corner and saw the old warehouse, the beige colour fading in some places. And yet, despite all the aging, you could feel the opulent air that oozed from it. Where, in the old days, it was probably a grand house from a wealthy family, just like most of the Parisian houses.
Without bothering to knock on the door, he entered the room. The musty smell pierced his nostrils, like a sharp knife, mixed with with a strange feeling of safety that overwhelmed him. The inside of the warehouse was the same way as they had left: papers scattered in the corner, two tables at opposite sides and five different chairs facing each other. There was only a new rustic wooden table on the left part of the large room, where three men were gathered looking over a file – the mark's file.
"Good morning." Arthur said.
The small group turned to look at him, leaving the mass of papers alone. Cobb had a rare smile on his face, which made him look a few years younger, but it faded when he looked over Arthur's shoulder and didn't see Ariadne coming.
"Where's our adorable architect ?" Eames asked with a raised brow, before the Point Man could grab the creamy coloured-clipped folder.
Arthur was expecting this question. He could see the plot unfolding just like a novel.
"She didn't want to do it. Not anymore."
"Did she say why?" Cobb murmured with a hint of suspicion in his tone, his blue eyes were squinted, reading every reaction.
"She said that it was too dangerous and she didn't want to be part of something so... illegal," He added with his famous poker face. "And... well, I kinda get it. She was starting to lose hold on reality."
Cobb nodded resentfully, but he couldn't help the feeling of guilt filling his body, like water being poured in an empty glass. He was the one who introduced her to the Dream world, who showed her the infinite possibilities of creation. But Eames is somewhat eager.
"How do you know?" His tone of voice light with amusement and expectation.
"We talked, of course."
"Arthur! I didn't know that robots could talk! At least, not with pretty girls! We should show you to some Japanese company, they are always looking for something new."
The Point Man glared at Eames humorlessly, his eyes had a savage glimmer. The Forger chuckled and went to stand at Yusuf's side, who was absorbed in chemical fluids.
"Behave, children," Cobb said, a smile tugging at his mouth, because he knew how annoying Eames could be, but staying with these two men and listening as they mocked each other reminded him of his children with their grandmother. "Well, our mark is Jeremy Carey-Lewis. Married and with one child. He is the owner of the Carey-Lewises Robotic company."
Arthur grabbed the file and started looking at it. Several photos and transcriptions were clipped within the pages. There was a picture of the mark with his family, looking satisfied. Names and addresses passed his sharp vision, his mind taking note of business meetings, favourite places, and bank accounts. But a particular detail caught his attention.
"Wait! His wife want us to do the Extraction?" he asked bemused.
"Why the confusion? It's not that we've never done something like that."
Eames' voice was grave with suspicion. The Point Man shrugged, scratching the back of his neck.
"Anyway," Cobb interjected. "His wife wants to know, aparently, some dirty secret, so she can blackmail him to not give his part of the firm to their son."
The always present human greed, reinforced by the non-stop capitalism. She wanted the firm all to herself. They couldn't judge, of course, because it was a job. And dream jobs are really rare, but once they come they receive a lot of money, which isn't something that you can easily deny.
"How much time do we have?" Arthur asked, practical once more.
"Two weeks of preparation," The Extractor answered. "He has a massage appointment every month and stays there for an hour and a half. Plenty of time to do the job."
"How many layers?"
"Two, I guess. Nothing too deep."
And dangerous. Cobb added in his mind, the thought of being trapped in his own subconscious still worried him. Even if Mal was already something of the past, there would still be a black spot in his mind, like a lonely alley in a dangerous neighborhood.
"We need a new architect." Eames stated.
Arthur forced his brownish eyes to remain on the file, he fiddled with a turquoise paper clip. If he twitched or his eyes flickered to somewhere else, the Forger could realize that he lied, if he hadn't already.
"Not quite." Arthur's voice was no more than a whisper. "Someone here can be the architect."
He let go of the paper clip and glanced at Cobb with pleading eyes. He didn't want to find any other architect and he didn't want Ariadne to be of it, but couldn't substitute her either.
"I can try." Cobb murmured so low that they had to lean closer to hear him.
"C'mon, Cobb. You always were the architect when we did our Extractions," Eames reminded him. "It's not as if you weren't capable. Your lovely wife isn't disturbing you anymore, is she?"
"No. She is not."
"So, here is our new architect!"
Arthur remained silent, fighting a sigh of relief. Cobb was reliable and it wasn't like replacing that petite woman that had messed with his systematic type of living.
"Cobb," Yusuf was holding a test tube, where a light orange liquid was waving slowly. "I've developed a new compound, in which you can feel whatever happens to you when you are dreaming. Y'know, if you get wet, you can feel and can even guess what is happening around you."
"That's interesting. Can we listen to the music more clearly, then?"
"Yes. That's one of the reasons why I made it, because one old friend of mine was só focused in a dream that he didn't hear the song that I played for him to wake up. When he woke up he was mad that I didn't alert him that the dream was coming to an end." he sighed, lost in long forgotten memories.
"Who do I have to forge?" Eames asked abruptly.
"Nobody, in fact." Arthur's voice was low and distinct, as if he was choosing his words carefully. His long fingers were playing with the edges of the paper, lifting and drumming his nails on it. "But, if you want, you can pretend to be their son, Derek."
The Forger wasn't at ease with this option, it was too dull. He wanted something more lethal, provocative.
"Or, you can be that blond bombshell." Cobb intervened, cocking his head to take a better look at the Englishman.
"Nobody can resist that gorgeous lady." Yusuf, who was quietly mixing his compounds, said.
The Forger, flashing his teeth, moved his head slowly, a plan already forming in his mind. He knew very well that even a married guy couldn't resist his – or her – charms. He could flirt with the mark, only to fool him, and then the team could do the Extraction without worry. Later, he would tell Cobb his ideas, but now he had to work.
"I'll be somewhere else. See you all tomorrow." Eames said halfway to the door. He needed to find some preferences to forge the perfect girl for the dirty job.
With that, he closed the door and walked through the bright French morning. There were a few people on the street, walking swiftly past him; the sun was bright, he could feel his body getting warmer. Eames took off his dark-mustard jacket, undoing two buttons of his magenta shirt. He looked at his silver watch, it was only 8 AM.
He was definetly going to need some coffee.