A/N: The plot unfolds! Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuun... Yeah forgot those disclaimer things people seem to do... I never really understood it cause like, obviously Mr. Nolan isn't me on this site making his characters flamboyantly homosexual... Or is he? :] Don't own Inception or any shit that belongs to other people. Obviously.
It felt like Eames had been kicked back into reality, and not the 'good' kick either. This was not the 'oh ha-ha' kick in which Arthur went crashing to the floor with a small yelp. That one was bloody funny and most certainly not like running headfirst into a concrete wall then consequently being picked up and dropped several more times on said wall. His face pressed against a carpet, Eames winced as he slowly opened his eyes, his throbbing head ache somewhat limiting the details he could pick up within his surroundings.
Nice carpet. 1960's, wool, Turkish design. Medium lighting. Soft, more likely to be a residential room rather than an interrogation chamber. 'Well that's brilliant,' he thought to himself sarcastically, 'at least the place where you're probably going to die isn't an interrogation chamber. Big fucking load of difference that makes.'
There was a slight buzzing in his ears that he couldn't pinpoint resulting from damage or voices being blurred together due to the sudden, and very rude might he add, awakening from the dream.
Eames started to assess the possible damage he'd received so far. Several toes broken. Legs seemed okay. Two, maybe three broken ribs. Arms and hands fine, albeit sore from being bound with rough rope. Neck hurt from this bloody awkward position on the ground. Head was being a little bitch but then again they tended to do that every so often. His jaw was probably the worst pain wise. He let out a small groan as he tried to move it back and forth. 'Well… This sucks.'
The noise he made seemed to alert the men in his company of their captive's growing level of consciousness.
"Ah... Mr. Eames. I'm glad you've joined us at last. I have to admit," the mans voice lowered in mock conspiracy, "I was worried that you weren't going to wake up! Even with our little, what do you people call it? Oh yes, kick, that's right."
Eames could already tell two things. One: he hated this man. Two: he was most likely completely fucked.
"Sorry mate, must've dozed off there. Perhaps you should work on improving your arts of conversation so peop-" Eames was cut off with sharp boot to the stomach. He inhaled sharply through his teeth but he stopped speaking. Something told him they wouldn't appreciate his unique brand of humor.
"Much better," the man drawled as he moved into Eames' line of vision, what little of it that wasn't obstructed by carpet. "Now… As much as I would love to play this little game with you, I am a rather busy man, so I'll make this quick." Eames saw two men move to either side of him and loop their arms under his, lifting him up. He was thrown into a cold metal chair. Eames panted heavily and winced as his burning lungs strained against his shattered ribs.
"Do I have your full attention, Mr. Eames? I greatly agitates me to repeat myself and I don't think you want me any more aggravated than I am already. Are we clear?"
Eames forced his face into a cheeky smile, "Crystal, darling." He didn't even think about his reaction until it was a bit too late, but immediately regretted it. A fist swiftly made contact with his face, his lip splitting from the force.
Eames closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the pain. He felt a hand dig it's nails into his cheeks and force his face up. He made eye contact with his captor. The man looked about in his 60's, Australian, clean-shaven, gray, slicked back hair, and a black suit. Cold, coal colored eyes looked down a beaked nose at him, "I have no patience" he sneered," for any of your back talk. You will answer quickly and concisely or there will be repercussions."
It was at this point that Eames actually started to think that he missed Arthur. There had to have been hundreds of snarky comments towards the point man, deliberately intended to annoy and the most he got in return was a glare or some witty retort. Eames sighed and nodded his consent. "Very good," he replied, "let us begin then."
"Are you aware of the recent dissolution of the Fischer Corporation?"
Of all the topics Eames didn't ever want to be associated with in the context of interrogation, it was the successful Inception. If anyone within the corporation found out that he, or any of the team really, was behind it, there would be hell to pay.
Eames responded as quickly as the initial shock would let him. "Of course, mate. It's been headlining the news even in such delightful little towns as Mombasa…" Eames paused, "not everyday that someone with so much money makes such a bloody stupid mistake." Gut feeling told him inject some offensive comment towards the act, after all these men didn't seem the type to congratulate him on this particular feat.
A grey eyebrow rose slightly. "Indeed… So it would be safe to say, especially to someone in your line of work, that such a sudden switch in reasoning could be the result of Inception." The man turned so he was facing away from Eames towards the back of the room.
"Listen, mate… I don't know how much you think you know about dream sharing, but anyone even remotely familiar with the field will tell you Inception is impossible." Eames shifted slightly, trying to gauge the reaction of his captor. Inception was, as of now, obviously possible, but that didn't change the fact that no one else knew that they had for sure done it or even who was involved if the rumors were true. "The depth required for stealing from trained dreamers is pissing difficult enough. Now multiply that times, say, a thou-"
Smack.
Eames' neck snapped to the side from the sudden impact of another fist to his jaw. 'That fucking hurts,' he thought to himself, but repressed a visual response, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.
"Concise answers, Mr. Eames."
Spitting blood from his mouth onto the floor, Eames grimaced a red dripping smile. "Apologies," he bit out trying to sound indifferent to the sharp pain in the mouth but it probably sounded something more like 'apowogys.' 'Not very intimidating,' he thought disdainfully, 'not very intimidating at all…
His captor turned slowly on his heel, picking invisible dust off of his spotless suit, "I'm going to tell you something Mr. Eames. Something very important so listen carefully." The dark eyes looked down with certain distaste towards his captive. "I work for Mr. Browning, I'm sure you know who he is. Understandably, Mr. Browning is very concerned for the mental wellbeing of his former closest friend's son."
Eames almost, almost, snorted at this. After spending a good few weeks watching Browning, observing his mannerisms, his habits, his aspirations, his deepest most ugly secrets that even his family would be repulsed by, he found it tediously hard to believe that Mr. Browning had any concern for Robert Fischer apart from the money he was connected to. But pointing that out would be detrimental to, oh, living. In general.
"It was a very uncharacteristic move to put it lightly. Especially since this little change of heart happened within roughly a twenty four hour period that involved only an isolated plane ride and sleeping in a hotel." The man pulled a cigar out of a silver tin, lighting it. He took a long pull, exhaling the smoke through his nose. "Which brings us to you, Mr. Eames. You must be awfully curious as to why you are here so I feel mildly obligated to enlighten you." He took another drag as he pulled two photos out of a small briefcase that rested on a nearby table.
Lifting the photos off the table and bring them close to Eames' face, he said: "We have reason to believe that these two are connected with the incident involving Mr. Fischer. Do you know the people in these photographs?" Eames focused on the figure in each picture. Cobb and Arthur stood frozen in each respective frame. His stomach sank. Cobb was well known in the business for being the best, so he wasn't as surprised at his captor's knowledge of him.
It was the photo of Arthur that disturbed him. It was the point man's job to arrange cover stories, to cover the tracks, to make sure none of them could be tied to the job. If there were anyone that he would have expected to get away with any job, it would be Arthur. Which did not spell well for him. Absofuckinglutely excellent.
"Never seen either of 'em," he added with all the conviction only years of acting could provide, which was a damn lot if he did say so himself. There was a small pause in which the silence seeped in uncomfortably and he saw his captor give a small nod to one of the muscled thugs who had shoved him into his chair. Eames saw the large man move forward and start winding up his fist.
"Come now, darling, we really don't need to-"
Smack.
At least this time they had the decency to hit the less tender side of his already battered face.
"Don't lie, Mr. Eames. We know who both of them are and we have it on good authority that you have worked with each of these men in the past." The smoke had grown heavy around the man at this point, obscuring any facial expression. "If you make any more pathetic attempts to deceive me, the consequences will be much, much greater."
"Even if I did know them, it doesn't really help you a fat lot does it?" Eames couldn't help replying. He winced as he braced for another punch to connect. He saw the man hold up a hand to stop any movement.
Putting the small remainder of his cigar out on the black, plastic ashtray, his captor moved forward, bracing himself on each arm of Eames' chair until they were eye to eye.
"The largest energy corporation in the entire world has just dissolved its empire to indulge the fancy of a boy who had some well known unfortunate daddy issues that just happened to be reconciled after the father's death within two days of the event happening." The man moved closer still forcing Eames to fight the urge to move back as far as he chair would allow. "Now, stop me if this becomes too complicated for you, but this event is a rather large deal that is affecting many, many extremely powerful men and not in a good way. If there was even a hint of espionage, do you honestly think we wouldn't know about it?"
Eames saw the man's grip on the chair tighten until his knuckles shown white. "Billions of dollars are being thrown away because of this. A certain other Japanese company is being saved from total obliteration and benefitting a great fucking deal, which is just a little to convenient for my, and Mr. Browning's taste. All I need to un-fuck this colossal disaster is a little proof that Mr. Fischer was somehow mentally unfit to make the decision, which is where you come in Mr. Eames."
Eames started to get just a bit nervous at this point. This man apparently knew a whole piss load more information regarding their job to leave him with any minute sense of comfort. 'Well it was a good run' he thought to himself, feeling just a little insane with the sudden wave of panic that hit him, 'I suppose now is as good a time as any to check the fuck out. Good-bye sweet world and so on… This is fucking pathetic.'
A hand roughly grabbed his face once more. "Am I boring you, Mr. Eames?"
Not wanting to test any fleeting sentiment of luck he may have had left, Eames forsake his usual reply and settled on a swift shake of the head.
"Good, as I was saying. What I need you for is to, how to put this delicately, smoke out the rats. Unfortunately your type has become uncannily good at hiding yourselves over the years and I have neither the patience nor the time to lower myself to such activities as finding them. You, on the other hand, are the best forger in the business," he said the last line as if a not particularly bright two year old could have done the same thing. Blindfolded.
"And are very much in with the right people to find these two men. You will be the smoke that forces these filthy rats out of hiding and right into my hand where I will crush them. Do you understand what I am asking Mr. Eames? I need you to get me the proof that will save this entire company from ruin and I will not accept failure. Either you hand me their heads, along with anyone else who was involved, on a silver fucking platter, or I will be forced to make due with your own."
The man let go of the chair and backed away, collecting himself by straightening the lapels of his suit coat. "I expect positive result by the end of two months time. Do not disappoint me Mr. Eames." With a quick nod to his thugs, the man left Eames still tied to a chair, bleeding profusely from his mouth, and completely at a loss as how exactly this particular cluster fuck was going to un-fuck itself before he got himself or the entire team killed.
