Inception doesn't belong to me, sadly.
Hello ducklings, it's been a while since I last wrote anything. Now I'm back with something great (yeah, right). Here goes, my first Inception fic.
Another note at the end.
Hope you like it.
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Yells and explosions could be heard on the background as a single silhouette made its way through the alleys and dark streets of the city. Its breath made little clouds in the freezing weather and its footsteps echoed on the tall buildings. It turned a corner and bumped into another silhouette half illuminated by the street lamp above them. Both figures drew their guns and pointed them at the other's chest.
As soon as they realized who the other was, they let their arms drop to their sides.
"Mr. Eames."
"Arthur, long time no see," said the forger, smirking. He became serious, "How long?"
"Three minutes," answered the point man; sharp and precise. Non, je ne regretted rien could be heard, faint, but there.
"And where's our bloody extractor?" Eames looked behind Arthur.
"I thought he was with you," he frowned.
"I thought he was with you," said Eames, looking around. As if by mentioning him he would magically appear.
Arthur inhaled slowly, imitating the forger and trying to see past the growing fog. It was a simple extraction. Two levels. Four team members. The extractor, the point man, the architect and the forger.
Both men heard heavy footsteps approaching them. Soon enough they found the source, and again they put down their already pointed guns. Phil, their extractor, looked tired and dirty, with his jacket and shirt ripped here and there.
"Where were you?" asked Arthur.
"I got swarmed by projections, barely made it out-"
"There'll be plenty of time for that when we are up there, right now we should worry about that."
Arthur and Phil turned to see what Eames was pointing at, just to find a hoard of projections running at them. Men, women, even children; all holding torches and butcher knives. It almost looked like a Frankenstein movie.
"I guess that's our cue," said Arthur, and the three ran.
It wasn't even two blocks away when another hoard met them right in their faces. They were surrounded now. No walking away, at least not easily. Not without some painful injuries. The three men held out their guns just as the projections lurched at them. Then…
Nothing.
Blink.
Once.
Twice.
And then came the storm. Arthur jumped from his chair in the hotel room they were at, and walked towards the poor architect, who looked afraid by Arthur's sudden outburst.
"What the hell, Kingsley?"
"Wha- what happened?" replied the thin man.
"They found us. The projections walked through your 'maze' –if you dare call it that- and almost ripped our throats," Eames got up as well, checking the mark was still sedated.
"We should go. We got the info, time to deliver," Phil straightened his dress shirt.
"And after that?" inquired Kingsley.
"We disappear," answered the point man, expressionless. He rearranged the IV's in the PASIV and closed it, taking it by the handle.
Phil left first, then Kingsley. Eames stood by the door and turned around.
"If you call me for another job, Arthur, make sure our dear Architect is in on it too," and he left.
Arthur didn´t need to ask who he was talking about.
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Almost nine months without dreaming. At least not the kind of dreams Ariadne longed for.
After the Fischer job she had returned to Paris, to college, to her friends. But she found that she cared little for what had happened while she was gone. She wanted –needed- more. But they wouldn't call her again. Not to offer her another job. Cobb called her almost every month, asking about her well-being. Arthur did too, and even visited her twice. Eames returned to England and, given they were close geographically, visited her every two months, or so. He'd invite her for ice cream or dinner, but it was always as friends. Yusuf went back to Mombasa. She hasn't heard from him ever since.
Professor Miles finished his lecture on Mediterranean architecture and dismissed them. Ariadne found his gaze and smiled at him. He was definitely her favourite teacher. He returned the gesture and she left.
Back in her apartment (one she had bought with a small amount of the big number Saito had placed in her account), Ariadne kicked off her shoes and removed her scarf, leaving it on the living room table, and tied her wavy brown hair in a loose bun. She laid down on the couch and turned on the TV. She couldn't decide whether to watch a British TV show (she liked those) or a classic French movie. She ended up watching none, but a cooking show that made her hungry. She was halfway through to the kitchen when she heard rapping at her door.
She walked up to it, looking through the peephole and saw no one. She opened it just a bit, so she could close it fast in case it was some bad intentioned person. Still no one, just one thing.
A single, cream coloured envelope.
She picked it up and looked around again. After a minute considering her options (after all, who receives an unmarked envelope and keeps it without doubting its origin?), she went back inside.
The envelope was so elegant, that was the more accurate way to describe it, that she didn't want to rip it open just like that. Lacking a letter opener she took a thin knife and slowly cut it open. Inside was a rectangular piece of expensive paper, with only one line of cursive-like writing in black ink.
I believe you remember where the warehouse is?
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Simple and short, I know. I want to try this out, see if it sticks haha
Anyway, I hope you liked the simplicity of this chapter because little by little it will get more complex.
Thanks for reading. If you liked it and think I should continue please review, if you don't review anyway. Constructive response to my writing is everything to me.
-CLR.