CHAPTER 1: A Mysterious Call
"James! Philipa! Time for school!"
"Coming, Dad!" James yelled as he jumped down the wooden porch steps.
"Come on," said Cobb as his two kids-now teens-piled into the car. "Don't wanna be late for the first day, do you?"
"It's just senior year. No one really cares anymore," replied Philipa.
"Well, it's James' first day of high school, and I wouldn't want him to miss a single minute of it. And you guys are making me late for work."
James rolled his eyes. Cobb's sleek black sedan rolled up towards the school, where hundreds of pubescent teens milled about, either jittering anxiously or screaming in delight at the sight of their friends after the long summer break.
James and Philipa bid their father goodbye, rather unceremoniously at that; then again, they were just like any other adolescents who refused to be caught sight with their dad. Deep down, Cobb knew that they loved him as much as he loved them. As Cobb watched them walk away, backs turned, he couldn't help but think back to the time where he had only been able to see their backs and nothing more. But that had been ten years ago. Now Philipa and James were seventeen and fourteen, and ever since the job for Saito had let Cobb return home with all charges dropped, he hadn't made any more trips away from reality. The dark times with Mal in limbo (and twice for that matter) were enough to keep him away, despite the strong craving to go back under and build like crazy now that her projection was gone from his mind.
Before he knew it, Cobb was in his office at work: Southgate Security, a private security firm. There was no dream business done here. Cobb had found it fitting to continue working in security, but now he protected his clients from what he viewed as relatively mundane threats. He still worked for large corporations, but now protected the most powerful members from murder, theft, and sometimes cyber attacks. There was always the occasional celebrity to be shielded from aggressive paparazzi and overzealous fans, and it often humored Cobb to think of these as just real-life versions of vicious subconscious projections converging on the dreamer.
After ten years with Southgate, he had managed to work his way up to a respectable position. His personal office was spacious and modern, a construction of metal and black and glass with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a magnificent view of Los Angeles, the renowned Hollywood sign just visible in the distance. Cobb straightened his tie and sat down at his polished desk. He was the director of the department called "Preemptive Protection," where he met with clients to foresee any potential risks and discuss security plans. Being head of the department, Cobb only dealt with the trickiest and most difficult of cases. His secretary had already placed today's list of client meetings complete with notes on his desk in a neat black leather folder. He was just about to open it as the phone rang. It was the secretary's voice.
"Good morning, Mr. Cobb. There's someone calling from an unknown number on a secure line demanding to speak to you. Wouldn't give me a name, and he seemed pretty adamant. Should I put him through?"
Cobb sighed. Sometimes clients thought they were so clever like that, calling from random locations and refusing to reveal their identities.
"Put him through. I'll deal with it."
Beep.
"So," started Cobb into the receiver, "my secretary tells me you won't say who you are. Think you're being sneaky, huh?"
A raspy, accented voice replied calmly and quietly.
"Is that how you speak to all your clients, Mr. Cobb?" A suspenseful pause. "I'm calling because I believe we have a mutual friend."
"Oh? And who exactly would that be?" asked Cobb, nonchalant.
The caller gave a soft laugh.
"That would be…. a certain man named Saito."