I only own Inception in my dreams.

CHAPTER ONE:

I grabbed a cab after I landed in San Francisco, CA, and gave him an address about a block away from the one that Arthur gave me, as he instructed. My suitcase rolled behind me, in a sort of obnoxious wobbling pattern because one of the wheels wasn't all that circular. My high heels (why the hell did I wear heels?) clicked against the sidewalk as I dug up some charisma and an enigmatic air about myself. If you don't present yourself with confidence with the first impression, it takes a lot longer to earn the respect afterwards. Your team has to look to you for the answers and view you as a leader if you want to get anywhere with them under your leadership, especially if the team is all guys. Although, apparently our architect is a girl. Ariadne, as in THE Ariadne who designed the levels for the Inception that is talked about in all the lofty circles of the dream sharing stratosphere.

Deep breaths as I tried to calm myself and focus on my appearance, I smoothed my black pencil skirt and straightened my cream cardigan sweater, taking a moment to play with the ruffles as I came closer and closer to the large office building that looked slightly abandoned and empty, not doubting for a minute that this was the place. It was a tall mirrored glass structure all around and I took the opportunity to fix my brown hair, which I had curled. It was soft, yet authoritative, right on the mark of what kind of image I wanted to present when I met the team.

When I got to the door, a smiling man in a pinstripe gray suit was waiting for me, checking his Rolex in a calmly neurotic sort of way. He glanced up and saw me, and a smile spread across his chiseled features. He had brown eyes, brown hair, and was very slim, just like me. I'd recognize my big brother anywhere. Despite being nearly five years apart, we were often mistaken as twins.

"Liz." He held open the door from me and his arms came around me in a brief hug; Arthur was nothing if he was not professional. We would have time to catch up later. "How are you?" He took my suitcase and left me with my two carry ons.

"I'm well, and yourself?" It felt stiff and formal. Probably because it was.

"I'm good. The team is anxious to meet my illustrious sister." A twinkle of amusement played across his features and flashed across his eyes for a moment. I could already tell whom he was talking about. Eames.

"I've been looking forward to meet them as well. Especially this... Ariadne?" Playful banter disguised innocently as a question was not so easily hidden from my big brother. Arthur recognized my subtle sense of humor from years of us being together. We were like clockwork, us two. Never changing. Everything was constant.

"Yes. She is excited to not be the only female in the room." He brushed off my insinuation as we made our way to the stairs, concrete and harsh, but forgiving since we were on the lower level. Without teetering on my heels, I began to climb down them, stopping for a moment at the bottom of the first flight to look upwards. The stairs looked like they went on forever, but in reality probably only six or seven floors up.

A not-so-subtle cough caught my attention as Arthur held open the door at the bottom, revealing a large room begging for someone to yell "ECHO!" The click of my heels had already begun to bounce off of the walls, revealing our entrance. There were basic stone pillars, and desks and chairs scattered around the room. A corner with a storage closet had a bunch of chemistry related flasks and tools. Another station had various art supplies strewn about, in an obvious state of disarray due to the attempt at organizing things. Another desk with not much on it. There was, however, a pillow, a blanket, and some random clothing articles. I followed Arthur to his desk, where he handed me a Manilla folder with the weight of important information and a big red CONFIDENTIAL stamped on the front. My name was neatly printed in the corner in Arthur's precise hand, underneath it written "Extractor." I noticed several other envelopes with a similar state on them. Ariadne Watson, Architect. Eames, Forger. Dylan Matthews, Chemist.

I smiled at my big brother, thanking him for his hard work and dedication, made my way to an unclaimed desk and began reading into each of the papers methodically.

Sort of.

I shuffled through papers regarding the target as well as various members of his family and inner circle. Peter Browning, age 63, married to Lucille Browning for 39 years. I flipped lazily to a photo of them on their wedding day, Lucy in a white expensive lacy gown and him in, of course, a tux. Penguin tails and all. Smiling as I eyed it over, I surveyed my team at work, easily distracted from my own.

Eames. He hadn't offered a first name, but I don't think I would have called him by it anyway. He had light brown hair that was carelessly slicked back, a likeable air about him, and a lopsided smile that was positively infectious. I liked him immediately. When I walked in, he'd greeted us with a boisterous hello and a warm hug that lasted a little too long and had definitely been meant to make Arthur feel uncomfortable. I'd laughed it off easily, but Arthur sent a blistering stare towards him when he thought I wasn't watching. At the moment, he was reading the same file, although a bit more fervently than I was. Secretly, I suspected he was on his phone or doing something equally distracting and pointless as Temple Run. I watched as he tilted the manilla file and barely concealed a smile. I'd have to go over there in a bit and check in on his progress and quiz him on the file... If I ever got through it myself.

Ariadne was charming, and I could see why my brother liked her. She had a quirky style that bordered between professional and hipster, leaning towards professional, with a dark suit coat, short khaki skirt a bright red scarf, she'd introduced herself politely and then somehow made her way next to Arthur, standing merely a half step too close, barely noticeable. It might have been nothing if I hadn't watched their eyes meet. You don't stand that close accidentally and then look at eachother like that without there being feelings for the other person. I watched her as she tucked a stray brown lock of her hair and snuck a look at my brother, and then him pretend not to notice. She sighed and turned her attention to her sketchbook, the remedial beginnings of ideas for the different levels in the dream. She'd already finished the packet that Arthur had given each of us. Damnit.

My eyes searched for another distraction and fell on Dylan Matthews. My eyes ran over him appreciatively. With slate blue eyes and dark brown, he was pretty easy on the eyes. Shaking the thought out of my head, grabbed my packet and forced my eyes to read the words, my brain to process my thoughts, and my hand to write down notes.

It's going to be a long night, I thought, rising to pour myself a cup of coffee and drown it in cream, then rise it effortlessly to my lips, down it, and get right back to work...