I don't own Inception, but I plan to, someday, because Nolan's really not working on it anymore, and I am.
2 years later-
It feels like a dream.
Yusuf is running- running much faster than he thought he ever could. The crowd protests, a bit, as he dashes through them and weaves his way through the streets. Clearly, the man is in a hurry though, and this is Amsterdam, so they let him pass. He does his best not to look behind him, to stay focused; two steps ahead. But it's hard.
The men are only yards away now, dressed in light crisp suits and apparently much more in shape than he is. His own linen pants, creased, and rumpled shirt (sweet and sour sauce below the left collar, from dinner) and jacket make him appear frumpy and haggard by comparison. If anyone was watching the chase, Yusuf would appear to be the bad guy. Most of the crowd is keeping an eye on the situation- a few try to stand taller to see over the crowd- but most are simply going about their business and speculating why the man is being chased by these two official-looking types.
Yusuf knows he won't be able to shake them- they are trained for this, after all, and it's been so long since he's been in the field. He knows he must shake them, and fast, because the others need more time, and he can't believe things are this bad.
He remembers, with a sense of nostalgia almost, the good old days. The warehouse was the opposite of his usual working preferences. His space in Mombasa had been cluttered, eclectic, all dusty bottles and muted warm light. The dinginess had provided an air of mystery, the hiss of the PASIV working below him more natural than the hum of an A.C. unit. And yet, that warehouse in Paris was more than just another dream. It was the gravity of what they were doing- the progress of it all. Dream-share was not dead, it was growing, expanding, and evolving. Yusuf's compounds had never been clearer. Science was demanding greater challenges from him, and he felt more than willing to heed the call. They were elitists in the field- experts.
He simply wishes he would have gotten to enjoy a little of the fame and notoriety.
Still, it doesn't hurt to double-check, just in case, and he ducks behind a white van (the license plate is N649C285, but even though he's fast at anagrams he never heard the numbers, so he does not care) and then he's pulling out a lighter from an inner jacket, looking completely shifty and not like Yusuf at all. He flicks it once, twice, to no avail, but on the third it works, and there's a hint of green in the flames and a hint of Boric Acid in the air.
He accepts whatever this seems to mean quietly, because he already knew what was coming, and then the chase is on again, because some stupid busy-body tried to be helpful and pointed out his location. Have these people never seen movies before? You never, ever tell anyone where their quarry is, unless they appear to good guys after the bad guy. Yusuf hasn't watched proper television in years, but even he picked up on that lesson.
There's a corner up ahead, and Yusuf thinks of evasion, and hope, and coincidence, and he's turning, nearly stumbling, approaching the end and ready to turn and slip into a quiet passageway the Cobb had evaded them in Mombasa- he'd told them the story on the rooftop- only he turns, and there's no passageway, only smooth wall, and a dead end, and footsteps at the mouth of the alley.
Yusuf turns around, enough to watch, and puts his hands on his knees, leaning over and valiantly trying to catch his breath. He's already searched around for an escape or, less desirably but still acceptable, some form of a weapon. But he seems to have stumbled into the only completely safe and harmless alleyway in Amsterdam.
"Why…is it…always me?" He asks, but it's rhetorical. Good old Yusuf, the Chemist, accomplishing whatever distraction the team needs. The projection-like men in suits are closing in now. "Killing me won't accomplish anything," He informs them with that serious smile only he has. It's tinged with regret, and a hint of fear now, for the chance of pain here is very, very real and probably very near. "I have nothing to tell anyway."
He grunts in pain- his arm is twisted around behind him and he's been kicked in the kneecaps at least three times. "Why is it always me?" He repeats.
"I know the feeling," A new voice says, and all three pause and look up. There's a man coming around the corner now, adjusting an off-colored suit jacket. Yusuf's never met the man before, but can recognize his horrible taste- his shirt, while not Hawaiian, is pretty close in the grand scheme of collared shirts not to wear with suit jackets. In fact, he looks like the kind of man who doesn't wear suit jackets, but in the profession, it's a necessity, so Yusuf understands.
"Who…the hell…are you?" Yusuf pants. The pain is very real now, his nerves screaming at him inside, but he valiantly fights it off.
"I'm the architect," The man replies, with a hint of pride, and a slight perk in his face, but then it fades. "Well…was the architect," He elaborates, "before Arthur."
Yusuf remembers them talking about the man who sold them out to Saito, and indeed, he can see the resemblance now. Sleazy, cheap, awkward and a bit ashamed of himself, Nash stands before him, pulling something out from behind him. There's a click, and Yusuf realizes it's a gun.
"Shooting me won't help you at all," He says again, feeling the need to remind the newcomer. Nash only smirks.
"I want to know about the job. What did Arthur build?"
"Arthur wasn't the architect," Yusuf corrects, that funny smile on his face now, the one with a tinge of irony but pride in his own work, and a quiet love for his job. He wonders where the rest of the team is, with regret.
"Bullshit." Nash snaps, jiggling the gun in his grasp. He looks so out of place here, in the sunlight, in charge, with a gun- Yusuf's not sure what all is wrong with him. "Cobb can't build. Was it you?"
"I'm simply the Chemist-" Yusuf corrects. And considering they found him in a shop buying components for Somnacin, their critical thinking skills seem to be…thug-like at best.
"Then it had to be Arthur. Unless Cobb can build again?" Nash kicks him in the stomach, and Yusuf doubles over, though he's actually relieved. Ariadne and Eames appear to be safe.
"Cobb didn't even let Ariadne teach him the levels; he couldn't have built without endangering the job. Surely if you did your research correctly at all, you would know that?"
He says it without thinking, barely paying attention; trying to prove a point, gently, because he's learned through experience it's the passive-aggressive ones that really make people mad. But he's really concentrating on the odds of him escaping in time to warn them- before anything more is compromised.
"Ariadne?" Nash asks, cocking the gun and un-locking the safety, and Yusuf realizes what he's said, and who he's implicated, and there's nothing for it but back-tracking, and quickly.
"No!" He says, attempting to sound embarrassed and found out. "It was me- I was the Architect and the Chemist- a simple job like what we did hardly requires any thought…"
"Don't let anyone hear it-"Nash warns the two projections, then bends down to get in Yusuf's line of vision. "Team loyalty never gets you anywhere." He straightens up, meets Yusuf's eyes, and pulls the trigger.
He walks away, out of the alley, into the streets of Amsterdam. A cat watches from the rooftop, still and silent, like the dead body below.