Chapter 4

Much to her chagrin, Dom's mother-in-law had been allocated a role in the mission: she was to monitor the systems while they were sleeping and prepare and initiate the kick at the right time, after by pressing the 'wake' button. She had complained long and hard about this, until her husband explained the situation to her in French and she reluctantly accepted its necessity. Thankfully, she had some prior experience with the systems, and so knew exactly how to operate them, and anyway, they were hilariously simple to explain even if she hadn't known how to work them.

The first, and only constructed level, was a subject of intense debate. Between Arthur, who didn't believe they'd find anything; and Eames who hated the idea of being caught in Limbo, but then again also didn't want to miss out on anything they might find down there; they were bickering loudly about who would be the one staying behind, who would administer the defibrillator to resurrect them out of Limbo. Miles was definitely coming, being the one who knew most about what they were up against, followed by Dom. And then Ariadne, who perhaps it was safest to leave on level one, but she was worried and insisted she needed to come too, being the only other one in the party with first-hand experience of Limbo. So grudgingly, Dom had to accept her presence, which made the mission all the more difficult.

"Eames, can you just make up your mind?" Arthur's tone was despairing "Are you going on the mission or are you leaving? Choose."

"I'm sorry, is that an ultimatum?" Eames chucked "Look at that, Dom, Arthur's giving me ultimatums. Will we be getting a divorce, I wonder? Who will get custody of the entirely fictional children?"

"Me," Arthur said bluntly "You are by no means responsible enough to be a parent. Even of imaginary kids. And since when were we married? We're not even a couple!"

"Really? Should we rectify that?" Eames grinned wickedly.

Ariadne laughed "Smooth."

"Arthur, it's Eames, ignore him. Eames-" Dom shot the forger a despairing look. "Please stop. This is serious."

"God, you've been around Arthur too long, you're going boring. Fine. I'll come down into Limbo. If nothing else, at least it'll be a laugh, even if we do come out as the intellectual equivalent of jelly babies," Blank stares, except of course from the Professor who turned away and pretended to set up the equipment. "You know, little chewy child shaped sweets? You don't have those? Of course not. America. Land of the brave and home of the free indeed."

"Seventeen," coughed Arthur subtly, to looks of confusion "Analogies for Limbo-related insanity that you've used in the past minute."

"Why Arthur, I didn't know you were keeping count! I'd have tried harder if I'd known. Some of those last ones were a tad half-arsed, if I'm being honest."

While everyone prepared for the dream, getting comfortable on chairs, cocktail of sedatives at the ready along with the rest of the equipment (provided to Arthur by Yusuf, in bulk, just after the inception gig), Ariadne took Dom aside and whispered "Do you really think we'll find anything?" He said nothing. "Cobb, seriously! Is this some crazy fool's errand we're going on for you? Because sure, there's evidence, and yes it's compelling, but is this worth going back to Limbo for? I know this is important to you, but I thought you were, you know. Letting go. Returning to Limbo could be disastrous, things might resurface."

"They won't," he insisted, hoping to god he was right.

"Cobb, I'm concerned. About you. You do not leave my sight when we're down there, understood?"

He smiled, despite himself, because Ariadne was a force of nature as ever, living up to her mythological name. "Understood," he replied, this time hoping it was a promise he could keep. You never knew when you were down there.

You never knew where Limbo's unwritten, undecided roads would lead you.

‡

When they went under, Ariadne found herself jolted awake in a small, compact concrete room, as she'd seen on the plan, surrounded by the others. Cobb himself stood over her, offering her a hand up. She thanked him, and got to her feet, surveying her surroundings. There was no door. No way in, no way out. Outside there was a maze, which she'd had a hand in designing, which also had no entrances, and several additional features Eames had placed which he had fervently denied were booby traps, more 'areas of increased probability of death' ("Booby traps." Arthur rolled his eyes "They're booby traps."). There were stairs leading up to the surface, solid ground, but they were Arthur's favourite kind, the impossible stairs. The surface was an isolated wasteland, and the entrance to the room was hidden. Apparently exterior locations were necessary for the scope of the dream, otherwise the mind filled in the gaps by itself and the mind could be unpredictable, and this was where the projections of Professor Miles' subconscious were - this was his dream - milling around the middle-of-nowhere, with no way to enter the hidden room.

In the middle of the concrete floor, there was a gun, loaded. Beside it was a first aid kit, bandages, defib, adrenal syringes. This level's kick. All of which was useless unless they killed themselves in Limbo first, and Arthur had to begin resuscitation at exactly the right time, so he was bringing each person out of it. He had only half an hour, Mrs Miles had even less at one and a half minutes, placing the headphones on Arthur's ears alone at the one minute mark. However, down in Limbo, this translated to a maximum 166 days and 16 hours, just over 5 months, though it would probably even out at a few weeks less, maybe even a month. A long time, regardless. The problem was giving Arthur enough time to resuscitate them all. Ariadne had assumed that due to a lack of other levels, Limbo's time passage would be shorter, but apparently not, it didn't even cut any time from the calculation. Limbo's time was funny. It behaved as if there were more levels even when there weren't. 5 months. 166 days, 16 hours down in Limbo. Scientifically, only three dream levels were possible to construct, each adding more time on. Those levels were left unbuilt here, but Limbo was still four levels down, and would always act that way.

The time disparity would be their biggest obstacle. The distance between Arthur and themselves. A minute on his end was almost six days for them. If they needed to get out of Limbo before he began playing music to signal he was about to begin resuscitation on them, they could just kill themselves.

Cobb picked up the gun and, with terrifying precision, shot Eames, Miles and Ariadne in the chest in quick succession. A sudden rush of pain. Then cold. Somewhere, she heard another gunshot, Cobb joining them en route to Limbo, but-

Saltwater filled her mouth. Spluttering, she pulled herself up onto her forearms, shakily assisting Professor Miles.

"You could have told me about the sea!" Eames, covered head to toe in sand, hair dishevelled and sticking out in all directions stiff with salt, brushed himself down and tried to regain his admittedly already lacking dignity.

"We did," Cobb muttered. "And you were flicking paper pellets at Arthur at the time. ADHD, much?"

That would really explain a lot thought Ariadne.

Limbo was even more desolate than the last time she'd been here. It had decayed to the point of no return. Most of the collapsing skyscrapers she had seen last time had subsided almost entirely into the inexorable blue. As they walked, drying themselves off by consciously manipulating the dreamworld - without projections, it was theoretically safe to modify their surroundings as much as they liked, though safety was debatable - they headed through the the walk of memories. Where Cobb's reality filtered in.

"My," Eames surveyed their surroundings and made a clicking noise with his tongue against his teeth. "You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"

"I remember that house-" Professor Miles cut off, staring at the small building, the one Mal had grown up in. Of course he did. "Did you build all this with her, Dom?"

Cobb nodded wordlessly. Ariadne was surprised too. Because the memories were intact. Preserved. The cityscape further out, the rest of Mal and Cobb's world had fallen into ruin, but someone, or something, had protected the memories. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Where do we start?" she asked him "Where did you see the Sandman when you were first here?"

Before Cobb could open his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by an impossible noise. The sound of wings. And the raucous caw of a raven, which settled down in front of them on a gatepost. It preened itself a little, then cocked its head and looked at them. The dreamers exchanged baffled looks. Life, in Limbo? Not just life, but animal life. A bird. A raven.

"Impossible…" Ariadne murmured, staring at the creature in wonder

"I remember the raven. From last time," admitted Cobb "Yes. There was definitely a raven, sat on his shoulder, watching us from a distance."

"Of course!" Professor Miles sounded elated "In some of the accounts, the figure of the Dream-Lord is accompanied by ravens."

"Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore'," quoted Eames.

The raven fixed its beady eyes on Eames and ruffled its feathers in an almost indignant fashion. And then, with no warning whatsoever, it opened its beak and spoke. "Quoth the raven, 'shut your face', that's more like it mister." If ravens could grin, this one would be, as it laughing a rough sort of cackling noise, in response to the dreamers' dumbstruck expressions. "I'm Matthew. The Lord of Dreams - yep, that one, Dream, you know, let me make this clear for those at the back, the Sandman stupid name though that is, the kid- that is, I mean," The raven seemed ill-at-ease for a moment, rephrasing himself "The Lord of this place sent me to collect you and escort you back to his palace. And please, don't make any more Poe jokes. Trust me, I've heard 'em all. Mostly from Merv. Any questions?"

The bird cocked its - no, his, he was called Matthew - head. What a mundane name for a raven. Ariadne would have expected something dramatic like Nyx or Obsidian, or even something relatively ordinary like Lucien. But Matthew? What kind of name was that for a raven?

It was his name. And they just had to go with it. Suck it up. Roll with the weirdness. At least they had a tour guide now, even if he was of the avian variety, with a disappointing name. It really was a shame Arthur was missing out on this.

He was never going to believe what had happened.

‡

Fortunately for Ariadne, Arthur's bubble of rationality is about to be, quite violently, burst. Only a few seconds, maybe even less, have passed since the murder-suicide, and Arthur is thinking of things to keep his mind off the corpses scattered around. He decides to move them into one section of the room, and face the other way, pretending they are not present. No sooner than he has stood up, he hears a noise immediately behind him.

Nothing is there. Nothing can be there. Certainly not the palest man he's ever seen, porcelain skin, a mass of white hair, and dark, infinite eyes, in which the stars might be beheld. No such person exists. He is only an inherent human delusion. That is what Arthur tells himself.

"How did you get in here? This room is impenetrable!" Arthur insists.

The pale man, Arthur refuses to think of him as the Sandman, waves a hand and the world comes undone, falling apart a piece at a time, steadily unravelling, replaced instead by a vast palatial hall.

"The Dreaming is an extension of myself," the pale man says, as if reciting something that is common knowledge "Or perhaps it is the other way around. It depends on your perspective."

"What have you done to my friends?" Arthur asks, uncertainly. The man smiles, almost amused. It is concerning. "Tell me what you did to them!"

"Nothing," the man sounds offended. "I sent Matthew, my raven, out to bring them here. They should arrive shortly. In the meantime, might I recommend visiting the library? You are rather the type to enjoy such things, are you not, Arthur?"

"Who are you?" Arthur asks, staring at the pale man, afraid to meet his terrible, piercing eyes.

The man smiles, and he looks so very young in that moment. "I," he says, softly, in a gentle, amiable voice. "Am Dream. It's a pleasure."

Arthur thinks he might take a look at that library after all. If only to get away from the personification/human delusionhumandelusionHUMANDELUSION standing before him. That sounds like a very good idea.

A very good idea indeed.