Hi! Thanks for the words! Guest: glad the pace is going pretty well for you and no, thank you for reading and reviewing! nowarning23: Can I just say that I just love you? Let's form a fanfic bff alliance. I love your work. Anyways…happy you're enjoying the pace. Annnnd I don't know, what is going on here? Elvenya: Loving the feedback =) Lauraa-x: I know…poor Arthur…he must have had it so rough. And you're reaction to the clue? Totally his. Too bad we have some catching up with Ari to do before we visit our Point Man and his investigation again. Oops…did I reveal too much? . : Thank you! Lazarus76: Lol I was tense trying to write it. consultingcydoniantimelord: You're a timelord?! Ah! Anyway…yay! Edge of the seat is good in my book.
Ok. Has anyone missed Ariadne? I have. Let's see how our Architect has fared, hmm? We're jumping back to see what she's been up to in the months Arthur's has been drowning himself in work and trying to give her space and not do recons on her.
Chapter 4: The Architect's Descent.
[Four Months Ago]
When Ariadne woke up she felt more than utterly alone.
The presence of Arthur was nowhere to be found. Even in the little things like his totem on the nightstand, the dent where his head laid in the pillow, his cufflinks and cologne on their—her dresser. She had hoped when she woke he would still be there; that he would've been unable to leave her. She blinked at the door, still expecting him to walk in in his freshly pressed suit, joking about how sleeping beauty had finally awoken and teasing her about sleeping so late (but of course eight thirty was late to someone who rose with the sun every morning at six). The Architect didn't even bother looking at his side of the bed; dragging her feet, she rolled out of the covers and padded to the bathroom. Mechanically, her morning routine set into motion. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and went to put on a pot of coffee. While it brewed, she decided to stay busy. To never stop for a moment in fear of having to think about what had happened. So she was off to make thei—her bed. If there was one thing Ariadne was known for (besides doodling) it was restless sleeping; the fitted sheets always ended the night pulled from the corners, the comforter on her side untucked from the foot of the bed and the top sheet floated in the middle somewhere, twisted around her like vines. It was no fun task straightening everything out and tucking the respective covers in the right places especially without aggravating teasing being hurled at her to detract from the monotony. When It came time to sit the pillows at the headboard, hers revealed a red and white pinstriped shirt crumpled underneath.
Arthur's scent filled her lungs before she buried her face in it and intensified when she automatically put it on. His shirt was like an overwhelming heaviness on her back, covering her chilled skin. It floored her but calmed her and soothed but drained…much like (but way different than) any drug that had ever washed her into sleep. Ariadne sunk to the ground with her back against the bed. Fiddled with the cuffs. Buttoned and unbuttoned them with a gentle veneration.
"I like that shirt on you," the Point leans up on his elbows. She was certain he was dead to the world when she got up to use the bathroom, put something (anything) on (she didn't want to wander around in her birthday suit if he happened to order up breakfast or something…) and brush her teeth. But here he is, expectantly waiting on her as she surfaces.
Ariadne hops back on the bed and lies on her stomach facing the tv. She powers it on quickly, Rachael Ray is about to start and if Michael Fassbender isn't reason enough to watch today, the thirty minute meals are always entertaining. She's rocking the hot shorts and a bright blue sports bra but all they comment on is his dress shirt, "I like it on me too." She's not paying attention to him. The beginning montage is flashing on the screen and the audience is clapping. "Ariadne." Yes, she hears her name. But it's sort of weird because the last time she heard it—she blushes furiously prior to finishing the thought. I mean where do they go from here? She's acting like nothing happened because Arthur can't possibly remember or he would've made up an excuse to throw her out or something by now and the air would be full with the awkwardness that its…already full of.
His face appears down by hers. His body mimics her position. "Do you think we should to talk about it?" Her eyes cut down from her beloved cook's. One shoulder shrugs. Oh crap, she's offended him; his eyebrows are crinkling, "Do you regret it?"
"No! No…I just don't know how to react. I mean, we've never had—it was the first time we've—"she's red as a cherry tomato. Or the stripes in the shirt he wore to dinner last night. The color in her cheeks physically stops her from continuing to speak.
Arthur smirks, "You're right. It was the first time we've made love." Ariadne knows he's amused with the deepening scarlet running down her neck and off the tips of her ears. His whisper tickles one of them, "And I certainly hope it's not the last."
"It might be if you mortify me to death before then." She avoids his eyes and picks at the hems of the cuffs.
"Sorry, I'm sorry." He kisses her shoulder. She can stop wondering whether the tingles where he kissed last night were real or a result of her glass of merlot because it's there. It's definitely real and burning through the thin fabric of the shirt. "Thinking about it just makes me happy." Ariadne melts when she turns and sees his rare dimples sinking into the side of his face. "And I like making you blush." Her eyes roll but they can't detract from the smile she's trying to hide.
Arthur rolls to his side and props his head on his hand, "Want a fun fact?"
She copies, fake glaring, "Depends…"
"The day we first met: After our first dream together, I thought I might want to wake up next to you every time I woke up." And it's borderline weird because this is clean cut, dressed to the nines, stand offish Arthur telling her these things. Telling her with ruffled hair, sweatpants and a giant boyish grin. Like he's her age. Like he's a human. Like he's a man with feelings. Deep feelings. Deep feelings for HER. It's surreal. "And though you were kind of already up and gone earlier, now, I know that I want to."
Ariadne thought if she swelled with any more joy, she'd pop. The Architect rolls over the Point and smirks down at him, "Fun fact…the day we first met, you were wearing this shirt."
"I know." For a second, she thinks she's said something wrong because the grin disappears and the Point Man face and voice is back. Of course he knew what he was wearing. He knows every detail of everyday. It's his job. The change actually grounds her back to reality though; reminds her that that's who she's with. That the Point Man and The Lover are the same person. Two sides of the same coin. "That's why I love it on you." It reminds her that even the robot can be sweet, even the business man has sentimentality. And ultimately she sees for the first time that no matter which version he chooses to be, they've reached a point where he's simply Arthur when he's with Ariadne. No matter which face he decides to put on for the moment, if she looks in his eyes, they soften just for her.
"Me too."
Only when the Keurig beeped was she pulled out of her reverie and into the kitchen. The day continued with the Architect in a trance…like she was sleepwalking. It was funny: Eames had always warned her that Arthur was bound to break her heart. That he was too rigid and closed off to care for her the way she cared for him. Yet, Cobb was constantly in her ear about breaking Arthur's. One evening during the intermission of Philippa's fifth ballet recital (one that Arthur, Ariadne and Miles had visited from Paris to see) when Arthur had retired to the men's room and he and she were left in the seats alone, Dom had bluntly requested, "Don't break his heart." To which her befuddled self stuttered, "W-What?" And he confessed, "He's a different Arthur around you. He worships the ground you walk on; I've never seen him so happy. I know you haven't been dating long now but I think you're it for him." She remembered her eyes widening like saucers and being at a loss for reply. It was back before they'd moved in together, before their first year anniversary, before they'd ever been intimate, before they had even said 'I love you' for the first time. Yet Cobb already saw where it was heading. He knew they were fixing to plummet fast and hard for each other. He already realized what she hadn't. "I know you're young and probably want to play the field—which is fine—but if you do, please do it gently. You could do some real damage to him." Ariadne could still recall when Arthur had come back from the men's room: his arm resting on her chair behind her shoulders, him pulling out a box of Raisinets and presenting them to her with a flourish. She'd memorized that moment. The exact moment she recognized Cobb's truth in Arthur's every move. When she identified the way he looked at her, the way he murmured "Your favorite, Madam…", how he leaned into her touch when she kissed him on the cheek in thanks. There was an intimacy in every touch, look and every word that she hadn't noticed before. It was in that moment she knew he'd felt the exact same way she did; that she wasn't the only one desperate for the other. They weren't just two people dating anymore. They weren't just a new couple. This wasn't going to be casual fling like they'd assumed. She missed the push and was in mid-air before she knew it.
And now she was on the ground and reality had hit her with the collision. Both Eames and Cobb had been right: they'd shattered each other's hearts. How two people could be so in love and yet so heartbroken was one of the paradoxes she wished Arthur hadn't taught.
Did she love dreamsharing more than Arthur? Was the promise of adventure worth it? Sitting in his shirt, unaccompanied in the kitchen, drinking her coffee unusually black and staring at the clock apathetically—Ariadne didn't think it was. Certainly the job that had started the fight wasn't worth losing him over. There would have been other jobs after…he just wanted her to refrain from one particular job. Not everything ever. If she'd just agreed, they could've compromised. He would've never been pushed to ask to quit altogether. He wouldn't have had to make a choice. And if the rest of her team—all of whose opinions she trusted and respected—thought against it maybe her head wasn't in the right place. Was she too optimistic? Going in, teaching how to extract and persuade and then expecting them to change their ways was a big task. Yes, it very well could give them a better alternative for making companies see the consequences of their actions…but it could also give them more fuel for the fire. Eco-terrorists? That is still a terrorist. Would dreamshare have stopped the 9/11 attackers? She went into the living room and retrieved the thirty three page document from the coffee table to read over again.
The contract was for a month in their facilities, under their watch, chained to their guidelines and decisions. If they decided they wanted to blow up a paper mill she would be under contract to go into the field with them whether she agreed with their mission or not. Had she not read it thoroughly enough the first time? Or maybe it was because she had been looking at it with a different, hope filled mindset. She shouldn't have signed it. So Ariadne tore it up and put it in the trash. Perfect timing too because then her phone rang with the pair's good friend David Ingams on the caller id. "Hey, where are you? I thought we were gonna meet up at my place and ride to the meeting together?"
"Yeah." After a quick survey of the time on the wall clock, she sighed, "I'm sorry David. I went back over the contract and I mean really studied it and the more I think over it," Her eyes grazed the text of the last page again (the only page still intact), "the more it seems like a bad idea. I feel like it's just short of signing my life away—"
"You already signed it, though. We signed it together at the café. Don't make me do this alone."
The page is ripped in half, both halves crumpled and thrown in the bin by her feet, "The Team's right."
David scoffed, "It's just a month."
"Just," she repeated, "Arthur says it's never 'just' with people like that. If you're just a pawn in their huge agenda then they'll figure how to rope you into more. I don't feel comfortable jumping into something like this without the rest of the team, after all."
"Oh come on Ariadne," coaxed Ingams in what sounded like a whine, "Remember what we talked about? It's the power to save innocent lives."
The Architect pursed her lips and corrected, "Or the power to damage them more. Look, I'm sorry. I'm not doing it but I hope everything works out for you."
He hung up on her.
xxxxxx
After dinner, as she was washing her plate and shoving some spaghetti down the disposal, there sounded a knock on the door. Quickly, she opened the scissor drawer and pulled out the handgun for protection before she looked through the peephole. It was only David and she'd wondered how the meeting went so she answered. "Hey, how did it go?"
The gun was snatched out of her hand from behind and when she turned three hooded figures were in her living room and one was staring down at her, "That's a question you should know the answer to." David stepped inside, slammed and locked her door behind him (wait but how did he get in in the first place. It was dead-bolted when she checked the peephole) and pulled his own moss green hood over his eyes. "I told you to come, Ariadne. I didn't want to have to help them do this."
The feeling you feel when you're leaning back on the last two legs of your chair and accidentally push too far? That's the feeling the Architect's stomach filled with. A sharp fear all the way down to her toes. Like a kick except there was no waking up. The three figures standing scattered in the living area with hoods of dark brown moved ominously closer to surround Ariadne and The Hood closest to her—the only one in black. His voice hummed when he spoke. It was velvety smooth and if his presence didn't smother the room with a dangerous aura, it was a voice that could soothe her to sleep. "David told us that you'd both signed the contract together and yet you stood us up. That isn't a very professional thing to do."
"I signed it before I really understood—" miraculously, she found words to say.
The Black Hood cut her off, "But you signed it. You're our property."
Ariadne spit back, "I'm no one's property. Besides, I tore it up; that makes it null and void," and gave them a curt half smile.
She swore she saw teeth before she heard, "Search the place."
David and the three other Hoods dispersed through her apartment. She watched and tried to bite her tongue as they flung cushions off the couches and opened drawers, leveled bookshelves and picked through her trash—"Wolffe." The taller of the Browns handed the Black shreds he'd found in the bin by the kitchen table. So that was the Black's name? Wolffe? Maybe it was his last name…didn't sound too kind and heartwarming of a guy. The man aforementioned picked through her hand torn papers and found a half (Damn. Why didn't she tear it into tinier strips?) he could salvage. A perfect rectangle bore her signature. A chuckle bubbled from the black hole his hood made of his face, "And there we have it." Wolffe displayed it proudly in front of her face, "You're agreement in full effect."
She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it. She should never have signed it…What would Arthur do? What had Arthur told her to do in a situation like this? Ariadne formed a stone face, determinedly swallowed down the increasing bubble in the hollow between her ribs, tried to hear anything besides the pulse in her ears. "Now I trust you read the clause about the consequences of breaking contract. They're anything but pleasant…and I would find great displeasure in having to assert those punishments on a pretty thing like you. That's a waste of potential." Glossed were his words. Ariadne's blood went from chilled in fear to boiling with annoyance when his hand reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear like she was some china doll that would conform because of the steamy look he was trying to seduce her with or something. Out of nowhere, Wolffe caught an object Ariadne hadn't even realized was being tossed across the room but rapidly identified as her cell phone. He grinned, "Perfect, now we can monitor your outside relationships and delete your existence when people start to miss you." The lock screen lit up as his doing and revealed a picture of her and Arthur, the park behind the Eiffel (they had had a picnic for her 23rd birthday and it was her favorite because it was the best of the few pictures she'd luckily caught Arthur's dimples in.) "Who's this?" The Black Hood didn't wait for her to answer, "Ah…Ingams did say something about you and the Point Man having a fling…" he handed it to the same Brown that threw it. Ariadne watched as her phone was sealed into a Ziploc back and slipped into his cloak. Cruelly, Wolffe, pouted his lower lip teasingly at her, "I heard it didn't go too well. Not together anymore are we?" The Architect's teeth bit her cheek. "You'll get over that real soon, I promise." His hand brushed down her shoulder again and she involuntarily shivered when the feel of his fingernails lightly scratched her. And it definitely wasn't the type of chills that came over her when Arthur did the same.
"Brothers." He called to the rest of them and they—including Ingams—left the flat without word. Now she was alone with the Black. She leant away from him but he didn't say or do anything else like the above. "I will give you fifteen minutes to collect personal effects and supplies. No electronics whatsoever. Your phone lines have already been cut so attempts to call the police or your Point Man would be futile. If you choose to leave with us, your one month will begin and we'll pretend as if our misunderstanding never occurred. If you choose to lock your door and remain inside or try to escape out your two bedroom windows or the fire escape in the study—we will have to identify you as a prisoner of war." He waited until she could only see his back in front of the door before he let his hood fall. Wolffe's black hair had been shaved close to his head and various scars and closed up gashes were visible on his scalp. It made the Architect even more uneasy that the man who seemed to be the leader, had himself been deeply injured. It was a fleeting relief when he stepped out the door into the unsuspecting streets of Paris and left her standing on her own inside.
Ariadne had no choice. They were partly right. She had signed it. (She shouldn't have signed it.) The Architect had at one point agreed and that was enough for them. The Hoods would not take no for an answer. They would not relieve her of the contract on conditions of cold feet. And realistically…how long could Ariadne run from them by herself? With them sitting outside every possible entrance and exit of her apartment? Four of them had broken into her home and crept up on her before she could sense a change in the air. There was no choice but to do the job and pray she did it well enough that they'd leave her be afterwards. Without dawdle, she pulled out her duffel and filled it with jeans, sweaters, scarves, her toiletries, her sketchbooks and pencils, protractors and rulers, she could live with her one pair of shoes so she skipped packing those…and last but not least—Arthur's shirt. Ariadne contemplated leaving a note for the landlord to contact Arthur, or a note for anyone that came looking to give them a hint to where she'd disappeared to…but the possibility of the Hoods re-entering and searching her house for those kinds of things afterward changed her mind. They were thorough. They wouldn't be gullible enough to let her leave and not make sure she hadn't left clues of her whereabouts. There was a reason the Hoods lived invisibly.
When she walked out of her flat, one of the Browns was standing on her steps with his hood off to ease suspicion. He only briefly moved his sunglasses to give her a once over; his green eyes were hard and they squinted unattractively small and his hair was shaved to his head to mirror Bruce's. He gave no smile from his full lips as he took her bag and silently motioned she follow him down the side of the building and into the alley. Once in the corridor of the streets, in the shadows of the day, his hood once again covered his eyes. Ariadne kept in step with him even as his longs legs traveled with speed—At the end of the alley where it curved into a back street waited a black SUV. The Brown who'd escorted her held out his hand to halt her from coming any closer to the car and went around to throw her duffel in the back. Whereas the rest of her collectors were in the vehicle, The Moss Green Hood—the squealer, David Ingams—was leaned against the open door with a cloak folded over his arms. Ingams pushed himself off of the SUV and walked the few steps to Ariadne and held out her hood. Hers was a muddled, rustic burgundy color and the feel of it when she shrugged it on was heavy and scratchy, almost woolen. Ariadne swallowed hard and clenched her fists for inner bravery while David pulled her hood over her eyes and then guided her into the SUV with his hand on her lower back.
And in a matter of seconds, Ariadne was Hooded.
They took her to the airport and caught the first available flight to the area near their headquarters. All of their hoods were stashed away in favor of peacoats, trench coats and beanies to blend with the crowds. The lone detail that gave them away—at least to Ariadne-was that they donned sunglasses…inside. Other than that quirk, it baffled the Architect how they could all look so normal; how they could treat the passing travelers and flight personnel with politeness and respect like kind strangers. She'd read in one of Arthur's criminology books that most sociopathic criminals could be falsely charismatic to gain trust—he meant to show it to her as a joke about Eames but the menacing way they'd treated her in her home and then the social butterflies they were now was proving his point. The first class cabin had been bought out by the lot of them but she was never left alone. Despite the roominess of the empty cabin, one of the Browns sat directly in front of her, one behind and the last in the seat beside. Where they thought she could get to on an enclosed vessel hundreds of thousands of feet in the air was beyond her. Another black truck was waiting for them outside the airport and the ride was long. It concerned Ariadne how tinted the windows were… almost like a wall of black. Surely over the federal law limit. It wasn't the legality that troubled her of course only that her safety was in the driver's hands and if she had to press her nose against the glass to see outside…than how was he seeing through the windshield? She watched the orange-ness of mid-day fade into a dark blue (except it really just all looked black) and watched the rear window, struggling to keep her eyes on the city lights as long as possible. The car turned into an icebox quickly and she was ignored when she asked them to turn the air conditioner off. It blasted into her face and on her feet and as much as she wanted to rip the cloak off, she used its thickness to wrap herself up. Soon they were off any known road, not even following the dirt path anymore. The vehicle made a turn into the woods and though it may have seemed that all the driver did was dodge trees, there was a worn tire track path he followed. After an hour, of twists and turns in an endless sea of browns and greens they came up to a rock formation covered in limply hanging moss. It had a wooden door like any normal house would; Not that Ariadne was high maintenance but the thought of spending the next month in a rock with who knows how many other people was less than thrilling.
After being told, she hooded herself once again and followed the Browns and Ingams while Wolffe pulled the car into an etched out hole and a sliding door with a surface that blended with the rock and elephant ear plants shut after him and created the illusion of a solid side of the rock formation. One of the brown Hoods sauntered over to her and challenged, "Think you can find the way in?" She looked at him as if he was joking, "You mean the door?" He shrugged and made the 'after you' motion. Ariadne eyed him wearily but tried the handle—it was unlocked. The door swung open and revealed—the rock? The Brown hood received a confused glare from Ariadne. There was nothing but a frame, hinges and the door. No oddly shaped parts of the rock to press on, no cracks, no secret levers or pulleys…Then he belly laughed at her, "I love doing that to newbies."
Another Brown scolded him, "Mac, you asshole."
"Frick you, Grant," Mac retorted.
"Hey Red," The third Brown—the one who'd waited on her doorstep in Paris—was the one to show her. It took a beat for Ariadne to realize he was addressing her by the shade of her hood. "You already passed the door. And the skylights."
"What?" Her eyes shot upwards. Were they in an invisible lair?
Once he moved, her eyes were glued to him for the answer. They followed him several paces back and observed as he crouched down to the ground. She heard beeping of some kind and then the hatch was opened. It was a passage down and down and down with tight steep stairs. The man who'd just addressed her hopped in and started his descent. David followed and waved at her to do the same. The two Browns left (Mac and Grant) jumped in after and when the last one had, he reached up, slammed the hatch down and turned the wheel until it clicked. It was pitch black. Ariadne froze and death gripped the thin, good for nothing, rusted rail. Felt around with her foot for where the step she was on ended and the next one began, after all she didn't know how far of a fall it would be. Though if she guessed, she'd say it was never ending like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. A series of electronic sounds followed the click and with two last loud beeps a string of lights (the size but nowhere near the illumination of generic white Christmas ones) flickered on down the sides of the stairs. Enough illumination to see their feet only. And that was pushing it.
The downward slope was endless; it was easy to lose track of how many steps they'd covered. Ariadne started out the journey counting them to help her balance like she did when she was two and helped her baby cousin do last Thanksgiving at her Aunt Helen's multilevel house. The Brown hood before her was descending with a comfortable speed and she seemed to stumble as she did her best to keep up with the other practiced Hoods on her tail, patiently waiting for her to get her footing. Or one of them was patient. Mac—the asshole, she decided to agree upon—actually kicked at the back of her knee and nearly sent her spiraling to her death to pass the time.
At long last, they reached the bottom-a destination Ariadne had started to think they'd never arrive at. That would be on an episode for the next season of Mythbusters. The tunnel like staircase opened into a vast underground complex. Once they turned the corner, warm lights lit up the outline of the area and she could see the different modern day devices and architectural details built into the rock around them. It was a masterpiece to her. The main arena they stood in was roughly the size of a standard high school auditorium. Flatscreens showed security footage of the woods on one side and more screens monitored random people (persons of interest she assumed) from all over the globe. There were three stripped wooden tables in the back at the center. The longest set across the middle and the other two facing longways on the sides with mix matched bar stools along the edges to create a panel of sorts. The wall behind that were several clocks, some digital, some analog with an etched plaque of the city it was set to coincide with. Another tunnel like staircase opposite of the one she'd come out of but farther to the left was the one the Black hood—Wolffe—had just stepped out of. Ariadne assumed it led to the compartment the SUV was hidden in. The arena only extended to the right, with three different boxlike hallways—or tunnels—you could maneuver through.
The Browns dispersed when Wolffe winked at them and stated, "The others, please." His hand gravitated towards Ariadne's shoulder, "Come on Red, let's meet the rest of your new Team." The Architect nodded mindlessly, still marveling at the spaciousness. She heard the clap of Wolffe's hand on Ingams' back and looked where the noise came from to see them heading towards the wooden tables. Out of nervousness, she picked the stool next to David to be comforted by the closeness of someone she'd known and trusted. One by one, other Hoods trailed in from the boxed halls and picked their own chairs and when those filled, they stood. Across from her was a rust colored, brownish orange Hood. On their left, a dark navy blue hood. While Ingams in his Moss hood was in the stool next to her, on the other side and another stool down was an aubergine purple Hood.
Wolffe, in black, at the head of the middle table announced, "Welcome to the Worldwide Organization. I assure you my fellow Hoods are as enthusiastic about our new division as I am and we are all—across the globe—eager to welcome you into our family as we take this next step." The crowd that gathered (there's at the very least a hundred) applauded and howled in appreciation. Ariadne couldn't help the tension in her muscles. Especially since it only took the raise of Wolffe's hand to silence the room. "Our first task will be the oil company responsible for the recent leak into the Mississippi river. We'll start with extractions of the company's financial records and under the table sins and then scare them shitless as a warning. Mac," he turned the attention to the Brown hood standing behind him whose turn it was to speak.
"Everyone will receive specific instructions, living guidelines, and restrictions based on their occupation in the Organization. This is also determined by the shade of your hood. Traditionally all brothers and sisters are hooded in brown, we live in equality. The founders-also known as the advisors-are hooded in black. We have given you a separate color scheme to differentiate you as part of the new division and to be able to quickly identify whose profession is which." Mac stepped back and Wolffe began speaking again. He pointed towards Ingams, "David Ingams for example-please stand—is your Extractor and hooded in a green tint." Second, his hand moved towards Ariadne. Her heart sped up and her face flushed as she followed David's example and stood. "This is your Architect, Ariadne Bourgeois, hooded in red. Next to her is Brannon Vargas, the forger, he will wear purple…In the navy is our Point Man," strangely his eye cut to hers, "Mr. Kenji Nyada. And finally, in the orange is Mila Nguyen, our Chemist." The newly formed team exchanged glances around the panel. Some of them sized the rest up and some of them seemed harmlessly curious (none seemed as uneasy as Ariadne). "Now our projected attack date," continued Wolffe, "is a month from now: October 21st. What makes this goal a challenge is the scale of our attack. We plan to infiltrate the minds of five integral personnel. The Chief Executive Officer, the Chief Operating Officer, the Chief Financial Officer, the Chief Informations Officer and the Chief Administrative Officer."
The Point, Kenji, questioned aloud in stark doubt, "And how do you plan on getting the five of them together at once?"
"They're having a Contract Management meeting in which they all have to be present to discuss and vote on their new branch and oil rig location. We have a Hood on the inside that's been able to confirm."
"And the timeframe allowed for the dreams?" Ariadne's head twisted towards David who'd jumped right in easily. Like he was meant to be here.
Mac clipped, "An eight hour work day."
Then the chemist (Mila in the Orange) put in her two cents, "If we're looking at not only extraction but mind manipulation…that's time enough for two dreams maybe three."
"It'd be nearly impossible to do five in the allotted hours even with the slowed bend of time in the dream," Agreed the Forger. All of them looked at Wolffe bewilderedly…this is when Ariadne found her voice. "Actually, it is possible." All eyes squinted at her and waited for explanation, "The further in the dream you drop the longer we have. All we have to do is send each of them multiple dreams down from the start and use that timeframe to complete each individual job."
"Multiple dreams aren't stable enough for that," argued the rusty colored hood (the Chemist) as if Ariadne didn't know what she was talking about and just because she played around with bubbles all day that she was superior to the one who drew lines. So Ariadne smirked and rambled off Yusuf's technique from Inception. "No, they can be more than reliably stable when the Somnacin is paired with a sedative. So long as you keep the inner ear function unimpaired so we can still kick ourselves up and out."
"That's why I wanted her." She heard the Black murmur to Mac and felt self-satisfied. "Now how about a tour?" The team stood and huddled near Wolffe like a tour group and stared at the three box openings. All that was missing was him holding a paddle with a tour number on it and all of them flashing picture, mused the Architect. "The far left is the tunnel to the living quarters, the middle is where you'll find your work stations and the right corridor leads to the eating grounds and behind that the passage to the P.O.W cells and the Consequence dig. Like a pack, they traipsed behind him into the left tunnel. The same lights that had lined the stairs from the hatch ran along the ground at both sides of the hallway and rectangles of strangely shaped white light hit the ground. Looking up to see where they came from, the Architect caught sight of the skylights mentioned earlier, the sun still shone through them, only creating shadowed splotches where the leaves had fallen over them. The end of the box-like hallways funneled open into an area as large as a football field with rows of closed-boxes very much like cubicles but larger. Each had a sliding, automatic metal door and code pad. For reference, Wolffe swiped in his universal card into one of the pads and showed them the inside. It was just like a master bedroom but very boxed, dark and chilly with an attached bathroom. Everything hard lines and simple, no embellishments or personal sentiments lying around. But they followed him down a row into a rectangle cubicle at the end of everything. The inside was set up just the same but instead of a single bed there were several beds screwed against the wall like bunk beds and a stall formatted bathroom…They had to share this for a month? "I know it's not ideal but really you'll only end up sleeping here and only when you find the time." Her duffel bag had already been thrown on one of the bunks for her; she barely noticed before they were on their way out.
From there they twisted and turned and found their workspace. And thank God it was more impressive than their sleeping quarters. They had wooden desks like the wooden tables in the main arena set up in corners with the supplies each needed for their unique task. Ingams and the Point Man, Kenji, had the PASIV, extra needles and tubing, a desktop computer, file cabinets, a whiteboard and cork board. The Chemist's desk was unlike the others in that it was vinyl for easy cleanups. There were test tubes and Bunsen burners, funnels, measuring cups, a cooled refrigerator with ridges for the different size containers. On the wall beside her were hooks holding face masks, gloves, scrubs in case they were needed and safety goggles. The Forger's desk was the least exciting of them all because his work was mostly done in the dream but his desk had a file cabinet and a mirror. Ariadne's desk looked like paradise. The Hoods had given her a whole corner of the room for all her supplies. And a desktop computer with software so she wouldn't have to sketch everything by hand but all the utensils she'd need if she wanted to. There was a plotter and graph paper and foam board—she couldn't wait to get to work.
The dining hall looked like that of Hogwarts with rows of long tables and another corridor in the back leading to cells. Thankfully, he hadn't taken them back into that section because the yells of pain she could hear over the din of the room was enough to make her sick to her stomach and feel guilty about her anticipation to start working. Clearly, the Hoods hadn't thought that floor plan out very well. How were they all eating contentedly with the sounds of moaning bodies close by? They were given the rest of the day off to get accustomed to their surroundings. It would take hours for Ariadne's eyes to get used to the darkness alone but so far the next month didn't seem like it would be that bad. She could make it through this successfully and before she knew it would be back up in the light, home in Paris and free to really start her dream career.
Or so she would think.
xxxxxx
Hmm…thoughts on Wolffe and the Hoods we've met so far? Ingams…trustworthy friend? This job seems pretty drastic, I hope the Dream Division isn't being set up to fail. :L What do you think? Ariadne could probably survive the next month alright, eh? We'll find out next chapter. As always feedback is mucho appreciated.