Buckle up! This ride is long!
Nina.4444:Yay for breaks from studying! Lol. Saying they're very in character is the best compliment ever I think. I hope their reactions near the end of this one are about the same. Lauraa-x:You will find out who died in his chapter. ;) Um you can decide if the surprise is nice or horrible. It's near the end of the chapter but read it all to understand it. Eames is my much needed comedic relief. Can't wait to hear what you think of this long chappie. nowarning23: Nice to hear from you! Except the fact that you're hooked is a good thing in my book. Ahaha. JormunganDStyle: Thank you for favoriting both the story and I! I hope to hear something from you one of these days. If not, thanks for reading anyway.
Chapter 11: Switch. Ding Dong, Ditch.
In the Meantime, Five Days Ago.
Ariadne was thrust back into the van with no time to right herself before Wolffe had climbed in next to her and told the driver to take off. Before Mila could finish, "So what did the doc—" Bruce through up a hand and shot daggers through his eyes. The beast was incensed. The Architect rolled to her side and allowed herself a satisfied simper; for once, Bruce hadn't gotten his way. Not even by force or death threat. She had. Bumps on the road had forced her body over so that she was lying on her back. Naturally, her hands went to her stomach comfortingly (one just under her chest and the other under her belly button) and soothed circles with her thumb. The simper faded….to dread, to panic, to protectiveness as she looked over the man glaring out the window—she fanned her hands open and covered the expanse of her abdomen. She mentally tried to ease the alarm bolting from her center out to the ending of every nerve—lest the baby sense it and become scared too. Ariadne thought maybe her voice might echo through her body and tell the tiny being everything was going to be ok if she reassured it in her head over and over. As polar opposite as their views were, everything changed when they saw the sonogram. The mothering instinct in Ariadne leapt at the sight of the thing growing in her: Its tiny hands and feet and head. This little life that needed her. This innocent, blameless, life that was blissfully unaware of the world's cruelties and its heartbeat which seemed to plead, "Don't let him hurt another virtuous existence. Please don't let anything happen to me." All other things aside—the baby was half hers—and she already loved it.
When Wolffe saw the fetus: he felt no attachment at all. In fact, he wanted it dead. Even more so when he saw the first smile on Ariadne's face in months because of it. When the Doctor hadn't the right tools and refused to perform an abortion even if he did, Bruce promised Ariadne he would find a way to kill it once they were back in the Woods. Wolffe thrived on Ariadne being downtrodden and broken and since the child wouldn't be trophy of his conquest as much as it would be a beacon of hope it was only a matter of time before he destroyed it. The Architect figured his rough handling of her was a jumpstart at doing so. She wielded some strength to pull herself upright after Rusty's face looked at her over the back of her seat. Past Mila's concern about the Doctor's verdict (her and the others were told they were bringing Ariadne in to diagnose her suspected mental disorder) and the confusion at how Ariadne had been handled, there was curiosity. A curiosity so superfluous it was edging on suspicion. The least bit of wavering faith in Wolffe and Ariadne might have an ally to help her out of this. Curiosity may have been known for killing the cat but it could save one too.
xxxxxx
Mila may not have known Ariadne extremely well but from the girl she interacted with during and closely following the job she gathered that the Architect was strong-willed and defiant. So why was she cowering now? If Wolffe was playing the part of protector and caretaker then how come his patient tensed when she was in close quarters with him? The more she considered it, the more intrigued she became. Throughout the two day drive back to the Woods she monitored the two of them in the back but not so frequently that Wolffe would feel threatened and she feigned no particular interest. She observed several things that creeped her out. For instance, at any given moment, she could look back and the Black Hood's hands would be somewhere on Ariadne and not comfortingly but possessively. Maybe Rusty was more perceptive than the other Hoods because she was a chemist who dabbled in the medical field or because she was a woman but something here was wrong.
xxxxxx
4 Days Ago
Chaos was everywhere when the van of Hoods returned. Mila tried to keep up with Ariadne's whereabouts but was separated from her. Rusty, David and the Browns were ordered to go in through the hatch and Wolffe took Ariadne into the parking cave and supposedly brought her down through the stairwell on the other side. (He did so with impeccable timing because when Mila had reached the bottom, he was waiting for them and with no Architect in sight.) It must've been every Brown and Black Hood in the underground organization gathered in the main arena judging from the size of the crowd. Some of them filled the seats at the panel but wisely kept the head of the table empty and ready for Bruce. The team from the previous attack (the 11 or 12 crammed into the van) were ushered in, applauded and praised. One of the Blacks—female—welcomed them in and commended them for their service to the environment. The tv monitors were all switched over to the national news as another Hood bounded with joy to tell them, "This has been the headline story for two days!"
The screens flickered into focus and the speakers crackled on. Across the bottom ticker read, "Company Attacked for Eighth Time by Anarchists." The breezy ring of the newscaster explained, "And this is the damage caused by the individuals…" The camera showed the building half caved in on itself. Black and still smoking from the recently put out fire. The Hoods cheered for their destruction. "Tell us Kathryn, this isn't the first time Gatu-Geaux Oils has been attacked, am I right?"
The news lady recited, "You're absolutely right, Bob. What many people don't know is that Gatu-Geaux is an oil drilling chain that sells to the big wig gas companies not only in America but all over. They're kind of the unsung heroes in our fuel economy," The arena filled with a chorus of boos and heckling, "the middle man you might say. But they've been getting backlash in several of their establishments the globe over in the past year and a half since their company's involvement in the Mississippi River Leak. In the past six months alone their first, second, fourth, sixth and seventh branches have been targeted."
"Looks like someone isn't thrilled with their contribution to our economy…" The anchor commented, "You know, Kat, I can't help thinking there would be a better way to get the message across without a body count."
"Same here, Brock. So far there has been 206 presumed dead and 33 hospitalized in critical condition." It seemed sadistic to the Chemist when those numbers received thunderous clapping and hollering.
xxxxxx
Rusty joined Grant in their normal spot in the dining hall for dinner that night. Their corner of the long table was left alone (everyone preferred to sit closest to the food) so it acted as a bubble shielding them from the din of the rest of the hall as much as it could. What noise made it through seemed far away-even the anguished groans coming from the POW cells and Con Dig. They ate in a contented silence. Normally they would find small talk about the day such as the different accounts of Mila's rotational work and whatever tasks the Blacks requested Grant assist with. All news was small. Nothing got more interesting than a clogged waste pipe or beating of a prisoner both of which were the norm but conversation nonetheless. When one of them would have the duty of monitoring the cameras or tvs in the control room they would update the other on whereabouts or changes of their marks. That was where they got the most enjoyment because watching the marks' lives was like watching soap operas or television shows. One would move, one would cut their hair, one would have love troubles, one's company would fold and they'd drink themselves into a stupor. The faction of Browns who'd been a part of the organization longer than the dream division (and the faction brought in six months before them) were not permitted to discuss it but Ariadne and Mila had both been one of those marks they would watch and gossip about. Some of them knew the girls before they'd ever stepped foot into the hatch. Anyways, they'd spent the last week or so on a mission and there was a lack of information unshared by the two. Grant crammed the last of the grilled fish on his plate as the Chemist spoke the words she'd been chewing on through the meal, "In the meetings you have with Wolffe…does he ever mention Red?"
He chomped with his mouth half opened, shook his head and then answered with the food still in his mouth, "We're not allowed to discuss her. He got tired of answering questions about her a month ago. So unless he brings it up it's a taboo topic." The woman drank more of the broth in front of her and hummed. "Last we heard she's staying in the medical boxes. Apparently she went off the wall in the head and started harming herself and I'm assuming that's why we drug her out with us and took her to Dean's brother."
"Yeah Wolffe made that announcement a couple months ago—about the self-abuse and quarantine-she's not in the medical boxes though."
Grant swallowed and crinkled his eyebrows. "I've been in the med boxes for rotation, she's not there." Rusty stated but he insisted, "I'm sure they keep her separate for obvious reasons."
The Chemist took another sip of her broth then set it down and leaned closer towards her friend (if you could call them that) "Separate as in Wolffe's box?" She received narrow eyes but trudged on to convince him, "He sends food to it, sheets, no one is allowed in or out—and he's the only who actually sees Red am I correct?"
He shook his head at her. Paranoia washed over his face. Grant took a good hard look at the empty seats surrounding him, at the other Hoods down the table, at the ones picking up their food share, at the entrance to the Con Dig…."We shouldn't be discussing this. Wolffe would have our hides. You know slander isn't tolerated…it diminishes the morale of the brotherhood. "
Mila's ears perked, her eyes held a daring theory in them. Slowly, her head turned to the side and she examined the Brown as if he'd admitted some sort of secret. He swore her next question one of the trick nature, "How is that slander? The fact that he's personally taking care of her? That's commendable." It was a fake approval, fake innocent smile, fake praise. "There shouldn't be anything wrong in deliberating it unless something is…wrong." Grant adjusted his Hood, Rusty further persuaded, "It shouldn't give us an odd spooky feeling in our bones to think of her locked away in his quarters. Should it? I mean—Ariadne has always been strong willed, level-headed, independent, comfortable in her own skin. Why would she all of a sudden want to injure herself?"
"Bruce, Liv (the female hooded in Black) and Don (another Black Hood) all clarified that sometimes when one decides to become a permanent member the stress and emotional strain of giving everything up cold turkey can cause psychological problems at first. We all handled it differently. I took it out on POWS, Eve starved herself-"
Rusty scoffed but kept her volume low, "Red never wanted to be a permanent member. She made that well defined. You were there in the plane when Ingams shot Kenji and blackmailed Ariadne into staying." Grant elbowed his plate to the side and grated (more out of nervousness of being caught than out of anger) "We are not talking about this."
"How did she look to you in the van all week? Today even? She's skinny as a rail except for her stomach, which she holds a lot. She gets nauseous easy…I think she's pregnant and if the way Bruce's hands roam all over her nonstop are anything to go by—I think he's the one who got her that way. A couple months ago she came to me and asked to stay in my box because she was afraid of sleeping alone in hers—I think Bruce has been keeping her in his box and raping her-"
The man across from her frowned at her from beneath his Hood, "It sounds to me like your conspiring against one of our Founders. You know it is my duty as a second faction Brown to report this to Bruce, don't you?"
"And you know it's your duty as a decent human being to recognize something dishonest and help a person who may need us. Right?" countered Mila, pushing her bowl of cold broth to the side.
Grant snarled, the anger now evident, "Wolffe would never do something like that. It's sick and demented that you're trying to tear apart this brotherhood with vicious accusations." With a huff he stormed off. Little did Mila know, he was scheduled for a meeting with the Blacks and the second and third factions of the Browns.
xxxxxx
They met in the Dream Division's old workroom. It looked dissimilar to the room he remembered pacing and keeping close eyes on the team in. It had been gutted and (since Bruce's move on Ariadne) the desks and chairs had all been pushed along the long wall. Grant was one of the last Hoods to enter; the other factions were already seated on the floor around the room. About four oil lamps sat in the middle for light as the task lights and lower floor lining lights used for the Dream Division had been taken out to conserve energy until their next use of the room. He'd informed Liv that he needed to speak with Wolffe and she encouraged him to sit with the rest of the group while they waited and told him he'd have to wait until after the meeting. Rusty's unabashed allegations towards Wolffe were all Grant could think of. He looked around at his fellow Hoods, this community he'd grown accustomed to, this brotherhood that he loved and saw a blinding red. How could her mind reach such notions? This was a man he'd worked with for years. A man who'd taken him in at eighteen and showed him how to navigate the resources of the earth, how to appreciate loyalty, how to defy the man. Who'd also…taught him how to load a gun and shoot through the heart with precision, how to build a bomb and crumble empires built on hard work, how to track down and erase a person's existence from record—how to end lives. Corporately, virtually, and physically.
Bruce bound through the door and announced as soon as his feet passed the threshold, "We have a problem. Someone has posed a threat to one of our own and I. Want. Him. Dead." The idea of executing someone wasn't a novelty but saying one of them had been personally sought out and jeopardized was. Some sat straighter at this and some removed their hoods. "The Architect in the Dream Division: her Point Man has been rootling around for her and he's in Maine. Landed here just under an hour ago with her team in tow: Mr. Eames, Mr. Yusuf and Mr. Cobb."
"Cobb…" Mac mulled over the name, "He's one of the marks on the monitors. He has kids…we can barter with them."
Wolffe gritted, "We've already looked into that. They thought ahead. The Cobb and Miles family are off the map. I've got Don working on it."
"I want the second faction to congregate here and come up with a course of action. You will have a plan of attack by morning. Third faction, I'm sending you out to the different counties. I want a full sweep and report. He will not slip through our fingers." Grant couldn't help but hear the subtle distinction in Bruce's orders. How they were suddenly I want instead of we need. He was ripped out of those thoughts when he heard himself addressed, "Grant, I want you in the control room. You're the quickest with the technology. Keep your monitors trained on the Point and eradicate any and all information that could be useful to them from the clouds. Mila is on rotation there, she'll aid you." Subserviently and routinely, he nodded back. "This man is dangerous, brothers, and he's detrimental to Red's recovery. He's the one who wanted to keep her from us, who filled her head with negative thoughts about our crusade for the earth. He's controlling. He'll want to keep her vulnerable and debilitated."
Tell someone not to think about something and it'll be impossible for them not to. Plant a seed of doubt and it will grow relentlessly. It was either the leechlike hypothesis of Mila's doing its dirty work in his mind or he really was hearing the secret grin in the founder's mouth with the words vulnerable and debilitated. "If he thinks he can come in here and claim her for himself than he is in for a rude awakening. She is mine—" Grant detected with horror, the labored turn of Wolffe's voice, his hand tugging on his waistband (subtle and harmless unless you were looking for it) and then his move to cover his lower half with his cloak and folded arms, "—Ours. We need to protect her." Wolffe cleared his throat and the Brown surveyed his companions. They regarded Bruce naïvely. Looked at him as if he was experiencing a heartwarming wave of emotion over their fellow Hood and not a wave of corrupt desire. It disappointed Grant almost as deep as it disgusted him. Bruce was a liar, a rapist and a killer and not only was he getting away with it but he was adored for it. The Brown felt like he was coming out of an immorally induced coma, like he'd been brainwashed. He'd forgotten all about his indignation with the Chemist and his intention to reveal her theories.
The meeting let out and the factions dispersed to carry out their instructions. But before he headed to do his job, he stopped off behind the POW cells and Con Dig in a box where they kept evidence, sentiments and belongings of those they brought in. If questioned about it he could reason that he'd needed Arthur's contact information from Red's phone. That he could use an email from him to track his IP address. If he threw in other computer science jargon they would believe him. For himself, he needed more proof. That proof came from what he could pull from the Architect's phone about what type of person this Point Man was. If he treated her like Wolffe claimed he did; If the Black was speaking the truth or manipulating them. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't find much incriminating evidence—he'd watched the Point too while Ariadne was under surveillance and then after she was brought in and he rarely displayed the demeanor Bruce had described. If anything he worshipped the ground she walked on. She didn't have a lock on her phone. It was simple to open her contacts and find: ICE Arthur. Grant put her phone on mute after noises exploded from it—texts and missed calls and emails flew in after the device was turned on. He scrolled down through her texts impatiently until Arthur's name appeared. There were texts from several months ago and he read from the bottom, up, starting from the most recent: You're worrying me. Please drop a line. –A
I know you're busy with work…or maybe you don't want to talk to me but I need to know if you're ok. I understand if you don't want to answer my calls or emails but a simple texted yes would suffice. A confirmation of your wellbeing is all I need and I'll leave you be. –A
Tried calling both phones and only received voicemail. Hope all is well. When you get a chance, contact me. I've secured a job with our Inception Team and they'd like you to pay a visit. We've already signed an Architect on but if you'd like, two would always make the job move faster. My number for the prepaid phone remains the same. –A
Knock them dead at the meeting today, Architect. And take care of yourself, though I know you would do so without my telling you. Again, I'm a call away if you ever need anything. –A
There was genuine concern and respect in the sentences on the screen. Being vexed and worried about Ariadne's welfare was something several of her friends had been. Grant then browsed through her album…maybe a facial expression or hand placement would say what carefully chosen words could not. There were several pictures of buildings. Corners of them, roofs, close ups of windows, such angles you'd expect to be documented by an Architect. There was a picture of the Point Man in the kitchen; he didn't seem aware of the photo being taken. His frame was relaxed (a way it never looked on the surveillance screens). Another picture was one of the top of his head while he sat at his desk, hunched over the computer. The next was the same, except he'd noticed the camera and was trying to glare at it but the side of his mouth curved up as his hand covered half of his face from view. The next was in the same setting, with the same clothes on but from an angle as if one of them was holding the phone in front. This time they both smiled at the camera. The next (and last one he looked at) was a duplicate aside from the fact that Arthur had turned his head and kissed Red on the cheek with a contented, affectionate smile pulling at him. This man couldn't be looking for Ariadne because he wanted to incur harm on her. It was evident Arthur cherished her and only wanted to make sure she was safe. If that meant digging around and tearing the world apart (something he was more than capable of) to see to it than that's what he would do. That's what he was doing.
And Bruce wanted them to kill him for it. Why? To ensure Ariadne stay under his thumb? Grant turned her cell back off and pocketed it.
xxxxxx
Rusty was flipping through the binder of different feeds to see if she could find what Ariadne's previous team was up to. Last recorded, they had collaborated again for a job in California. The execution wasn't scheduled for another week and yet they'd lost the trail. A hand slapped the edge of the control panel next to her and she recoiled. "Looking for something specific?"
The Chemist held her startled heart at first, then steeled. Two inches taller from her deep breath she bravely addressed the Hood, "I suppose you've been sent to dispose of me?"
Grant deadpanned at the row of screens in front of him, "Actually, I've been sent to do some handiwork in here. Bruce said you were on rotation. You're going to assist me. After all, I did keep my mouth shut." Mila was slightly stunned into silence. He evaluated the space around, the area where passersby could look in on them and pulled his cowl down over his face. The darkness hid the movement of his lips. "I agree with you. Something's wrong here."
Copying his lead, Mila shielded her face as well. The two of them talked with their heads facing down towards the control panel and their hands purposelessly tweaking it. "Red's Point Man is in Maine."
"What?!" She whispered harshly. There was an urge to whip her head up but she abstained.
"Landed in the capitol not too long ago. He's looking for her. And—Wolffe wants him dead."
"Of course he does," chided the woman.
He looked up at the monitors on the wall in time to see a few Browns and Liv passing by. Rusty bit her tongue and adjusted some sliders after Grant's hand flexed to signal others' presence. She presumed the coast was clear once he started the conversation back up, "He's trying to convince the brothers that we're protecting her. But—I don't know…you know when we were over at Gatu and Mac made me make sure the signal jammer was up and the payphones were disconnected so no one could contact the authorities until we were long gone?" He understood her hum as a yes. "The payphone closest to the van was already disconnected from the unit. And the door on my side was already unlocked." Erratic breathing, flushed cheeks. "You ok, Red? Too much excitement for you, huh?" Rubber band? Shifty eyes. "I don't think Arthur is magically in Maine. I think—somehow—Ariadne called him that day to get her out of here."
"What do we do?" Mila's mindless labor halted. She chanced a look at him. Grant took the abandoned binder and scanned through the pages. "Well I sure as hell wish I had someone that could get me out of here. But since I don't…I've got to help the person that does. First, we find the Point. It would take him months to comb through all of Maine and with hundreds of Hoods' shotguns aimed at his head he doesn't have that long. We need to forewarn them and find a way to slip them a hint about our location."
"And how do you suggest we herald such an alarm?"
Several tongue clicks later he quipped, "Saddle up your horse…Red's Coats are coming."
"Clever."
xxxxxx
Mila kept watch while Grant did some magic on one of the Hood's computers. He was careful to cover his tracks. Having grown up with a computer engineer as a father and an encoder for a private intelligence firm as an uncle, Grant was at the top of the game. The Hoods had a few hackers on hand but the big stuff was always handled by him. She eyed a Brown strolling through the main area and whispered, "How is this going to work? We can't send them a warning without knowing when they've been found."
"I've got this duty until—Arthur's dead. We've just got to keep enough monitors trained around Maine. The program is ready, I just have to find where they're at, pray they're using the wifi in the hotel and break through their firewalls."
"Oh," she grimaced, "simple."
To the Chemist, it looked like he shut the program down and deleted all the effort they'd just put in. Of course, she knew better. It had to look untouched by other Hood's standards. Before leaving, Grant left her with the instructions: "Get as much of these screens on Maine as possible. I'll go to Wolffe—"
"Excuse me?"
"I'll go to Wolffe," he reiterated, "ask for permission to set up a jammer like I did for Gatu so her team and surrounding victims won't have access to help. That way I buy as many hours as I need on the computer without suspicion and one of the Browns will have to let me know when and where they've found them."
Xxxxxx
Three Days Ago.
Technically Mila's shift was over but through persuasion and Grant's acclaim of her help, they were able to take her off rotation and score her the monitoring duty for the length of the operation. It was seven fifteen am when the Black Hood came jogging over and announced, "This is it. We found their aliases and set some charges through the hotel they're in."
Grant and Mila shared a pointed look before he pulled up the computer, "What are the coordinates? I need to connect to the cell towers and wifi routers adjacent to them." His shoulders tensed as Wolffe walked around, threw a scrap of paper with a string of numbers next to the mouse pad and looked over his shoulder at the computer. He couldn't send Red's team a warning with the leader of the attack breathing down his neck; it doesn't need to be mentioned that it was not part of their plan. After some quick thinking, Grant took a marker and wrote the coordinates on his hand before balling the paper and tossing it to Mila. "Find a camera closest to those coordinates and pull it up. There should be some of our men in the main hub. I know Mac was given a micro cam." He smirked at the beast towering behind him, "I'm guessing you'd like to watch your victory firsthand?"
Wolffe removed his hood. His blue eyes sparkled forebodingly and his teeth bared, "I would." Sauntering over to the Chemist and giving Grant a respite to send their alarm he added, "Record Mac's footage. I think my dear little Red would enjoy watching this…" With Wolffe out of his hair, the Brown quickly entered in the coordinates and locked into the hotel's wireless router system. Every few seconds, he looked up at the back of Bruce's head to assure himself. It was deduced that he didn't have enough time to weed the team out of all the hotel's guests so he resolved to send everyone the warning. Bruce had sent Mac into the field with a micro cam on his person which would stream into the Woods so Bruce could have a first-hand look. Rusty had been triumphant in finding all cameras trained near the area and in connecting to Mac's. Grant pressed send as the group of Hoods dispersed and readied to merge with the inevitably frenzied crowds.
"Pressing the button, now." The figure with the camera declared. Simultaneously, a crack ran up the side of the hotel and that section of the building peeled off and collapsed. Glass broke and fell and screams emitted from the building while herds of people ran out like chickens with their heads cut off. A blast of the same nature struck the other side causing the top of the building to corrode and crumble on the lower half. The cameras scanned the crowds. For minutes they saw nothing but slews of people and when there were enough of them filling the parking lot, the Hoods—or the Hoodies in this instance—started mixing themselves into the victims. The rest of it happened so fast: The Point stepped out of the alley, virtually unharmed by the explosion. He walked through the crowd and out of nowhere a fight broke out. Wolffe cussed out all the men Arthur had bested and growled when he sauntered over to tussle with Mac. Things looked up for Bruce and dim for Rusty and Grant when Arthur's stomach was slashed open. But quicker than they could blink—Mac was soon dead on the ground and the camera saw only concrete. Wolffe had a tantrum. Screeching and beating the control panel. Especially when Mac was rolled over and Arthur picked the camera off of him. It was turned and they could see a plethora of dead bodies on the ground, many of them their men. Hoods ran back into the alley and they could pick out three faces they knew from surveillance feeds: Yusuf, Eames and Dom. Roughed up but very much alive. They'd never heard Arthur's voice before. It gave a daunting first impression: "You see them scattering to take refuge in the alley? Running like the cowards you Hoods really are?" Then they were looking at his face and if looks could kill then Grant felt his heart constricting into ash. "Keep sending your best men in myriads. I implore you. Because the fact of the matter is: I will get Ariadne away from you. I will bury you alive for what you've done. And there's little you can do to stop me." The camera dropped, the frame tilted sideways and then Mac's bloody knife struck the concrete and bent under Arthur's will. Then came the bottom of his shoe.
Then static.
Wolffe stormed off.
xxxxxx
The Chemist blew air out of her cheeks and plopped down next to Grant, "That was stressful…"
"Tell me about it."
"Only problem is," she stared helplessly at the computer screen, "Now we have no trace of where they've gone. We can't contact them."
Grant squinted, "But they're still looking for us. Maybe a news article could accidentally slip through the filters..."
Rusty shook her head, "No. They're too careful about that. It would have to be something—subjective. Something that wouldn't normally pop up on a search about us. What about a blog? It'd have to be tagged heavily in respect to us for our filters to catch it."
Grant pointed at her and opened up a blogging website, "Shall our blogger be a boy or girl?"
"Girl, duh." He smirked and clicked the male option. "Why do you ask if you already know what you're going to do?"
"Relax. The blog I hack and change around to drop them the link can be a woman's."
"Grant, Rusty." With no fluctuation in her voice whatsoever, The Black Hood stopped at the control panel, "Tearing the clouds apart to find those killers, I trust?" The Chemist sobered up and nodded stiffly as the woman strutted closer. Grant pressed a series of keys then grinned charmingly, "I'll have them in the palm of our hands in no time."
Liv's fingernails were long but naturally so. She didn't clip them. Ever. So they continued to grow long and white and square and sharp. Her favorite form of punishment was using them on people. They dug deep and hard and drew blood effortlessly. Liv valued clawing and slapping and pinching with them to teach her lessons and dole out consequences. So it wasn't out of the ordinary that Mila would tense her muscles and hold her breath while the lady in Black lightly ran three nails down her face as she otherwise ignored her and praised Grant, "Excellent work. Need anything from the dining hall?" He took a second to think about it and then requested broth and bread for himself and his assistant. After Liv traipsed to do his bidding, he simpered at Rusty. A Black Hood was serving them dinner while they helped the enemy.
Simple as pie, he opened a blog as UlysS—a nod to one of America's greatest generals whose last name just happened to be Grant. After he had the initial account running, he logged out and went back into the system as an admin or a mod for the site and edited the info that would show up about his blog. For instance he set it to say it was created in 2009 from the central time zone. He then used the pages that were popular on the "explore" tab and fed their content to his. It soon looked like he'd posted text posts, pictures and re-blogged tons of crap for the past five years. But he also made sure that through the gifs of grumpy cats, pictures of cars and vids of SNL skits that there was also a common thread such as posts about being unhappy with the government and an interest in political science. That way the post he typed and inserted somewhere in the 2011 time frame about the Hoods wouldn't seem random. Once the information was in place, he set to work finding an anarchist-curious webpage where people went and shared thoughts, theories, conspiracies. It was giant discussion and analysis on the anarchist community. Luckily there was a fairly new one with a thread called "The Hoods. Real Collective or Anarchist Scapegoats?" in which several hypotheses were relayed and people shared info they could dig up of them. The reason they hadn't been deleted by the Hoods was because all information seemed irrelevant and skewed. It was based on people's opinions and proclaimed self-experience so none of it was useful to authorities or the like. That and anarchists were on their side; whatever they found or chose to believe just lured new recruits closer to the brotherhood. So it was on one of these sites that Grant subscribed to a membership with the username WD40gurl (yes, like the cleaning substance for rust)and carefully embedded the link saying it was "proof!" In roughly five and a quarter hours from 2 am…the link had accumulated 124,606 hits. Hopefully one of those was a member of Red's team.
xxxxxx
The Hoods that had been launched into the field came back defeated that morning at 4:57. More than that, they came back terrified. They had retreated instead of fighting until either the death of Red's pursuers or their own and they knew they would feel the retribution. Grant and Rusty were given a mandatory respite when all Hoods were instructed to report to the Main Arena for the homecoming of two Brown factions. The six or seven left of the Second Faction that'd been sent out were made to sit at the wooden tables. Grant was called to stand by Wolffe and Ingams in Mac's place at the head of the table and Liv and Don stood behind those seated on the sides opposite one another. In sheer contrast to the last repatriation, the arena was silent. No claps on the back or smiles or violent applause. Taciturnity.
Wolffe found himself so enraged his head ached as if it were fixing to pop off. He barked at the brothers in front of him, "By what stretch of the imagination did you all believe you could waltz back into our home with heads held high?" If they weren't too afraid to make a sound surely some would have protested the angle their heads had been. "You were that close," His voice and his hand shook while he gestured with his index and thumb, the small space in between, "THAT CLOSE to him and you let him go. All of them."
"But Mac—" It was unwise for one of them to speak unless told to. Bruce cut him off with a sneer, "Mac was terminated. That didn't alter your orders…but you still scattered like cockroaches! You ran like cowards and we, Hoods, ARE. NOT. COWARDS." Wolffe's shout bounced off every crevice and surface in their underground empire and shot right back at the guilty. "You should've mutilated them or died trying," Wolffe seethed, "your blood is only worth something to this brotherhood when it's mixed with the blood of our enemies. Understood?" The arena remained quiet. The apprehension and the fear of each individual mingled in the air and created friction against another's. Grant's face was hardened and glared unforgivingly at the brotherhood in an exact replica of Bruce's. He met Mila's eyes in the middle but they were cold. Incensed at no reply, Bruce growled, "Understood?!" Then the mass of Hoods repeated obediently and firmly, "Understood."
Don (the bald, thick boned, Black Hood) hollered, "What do we do Hoods?!"
Again, the malleable horde recited the self-written proverb they lived by, "Hold everyone accountable."
The pack of Browns sitting in the panel chairs as if on trial widened their eyes and lifted their eyebrows at this. A few of them swallowed hard when Liv chided, "You didn't think we would make an exception for you, I hope. Wolffe?"
"Con Dig." His once oscillating waves of anger fell flat with his monotone. "If you're not plucky enough to fight to the death with your enemies…then maybe you'll feel more comfortable practicing among brothers."
A couple started to protest, one started apologizing profusely, a few began to beg and the rest were stunned silent. (Or shitting themselves.) They still shut up when he held his hand in the air. Like God, Daniel and the lions' mouths but the one shutting them up was nowhere near as virtuous or noble. Wolffe was the complete opposite though his narcissistic ways made him view himself godlike. He then directed Liv, Don, Ingams and another Brown to split the failures of the Second Faction into twos and threes and group by group let them fight until only one of them stood. He reasoned, "I only need three alive with decent survival skills to head out with the next faction." He wanted Grant and Mila back on the monitors but assigned two other hackers to accompany them in tracking Arthur's IP address at least. Then it was ordered that some other Browns set up in the research room to dig up whatever dirt they could find on Ariadne's team to blackmail them. When asked if Wolffe was going to supervise any of this he responded, "I have a lesson of my own to teach."
They saw nothing of the Hood until dinnertime the next day. Grant, Rusty and the two other Browns were rewarded a two hour breather at dinner for finding a connection to Arthur's laptop that morning. Unfortunately (or fortunately—depending on whose perspective you look at) besides finding his server and a way to livestream something of Wolffe's to it (they were not allowed to see) they couldn't unearth where he was getting his signal from, which wifi router he was connected to and so on. More or less, they could toy with him by form of pop ups and such but they couldn't uncover his location because of some sort of cloaker and advanced encoding he was using. An encoding so complex even Grant was unable to crack it. This time not by bias and pretend but because the Point was superior to him in that field. They used their appreciated reprieve to get their allotted showers and then have a nice relaxing dinner. They were rewarded with their pick of hot venison sausages and squirrel fillets, the fresh bread normally held for the Black Hoods and a berry salad. So the lot of them ate until their hearts were content, not used to feeling so overly stuffed, and then loitered around. Then—Wolffe in controlled alarm and curiosity sought out Mila at the table. His hand ran down her shoulder and he lowly asked in her ear from behind, "Is there a vaccine for Tetanus in the med box? Little Red cut herself with a dirty knife." She nodded and her eyes cut up at Grant sitting across from her. "It's been a day; is that too late?"
She whispered back (head turned slightly. She talked to Wolffe but stared at Grant, wordlessly telling him to listen, "Usually tetanus symptoms aren't caught until the third day and people who aren't treated until then do fine."
Her partner in crime gritted and looked down at his food. He simulated ignorance to Wolffe's machinations as well as the rest of them trying to tune out his conversation. Grant heard the demand, "Get it and get to my box, now." Then, "Grant." The Brown was in the process of shoving more wild berries into his stomach but looked up and dreaded the task he was fixing to receive. "Come with me. We're finding that Point Man." Grant pushed his food away and got up to walk around to the villain. Wolffe acknowledged the other Browns with a nod and 'Brothers…' and then practically pushed Grant back to the control room. "You're not sleeping until Point Man rests in peace."
xxxxxx
Her eyes felt heavy. After they cracked and she saw a sliver of the world around her, no matter how hard she tried to pry they wouldn't open the rest of the way; but following some lolls of the head, incoherent groaning and consciousness regaining—Ariadne understood that the reason for her limited eye mobility was that they'd swollen. The intense throbbing pain on the left eye reminded her that Wolffe had favored that side and it was most likely the one blackened. When the bells in her ears ended their symphony and her heartbeat jumped to her eardrums less enthusiastically, the Architect heard the sounds of someone wading in water and then trickling. Then wetness and cloth covered her face and by animalistic instinct she starting combatting the source expecting she was about to be smothered or water boarded. Ariadne felt with her palms and heard with her ears flesh being slapped and she could see a blurry olive skinned arm retract (taking the rag with it.) "Shhh, shhh…" Soothing and maternal. The Architect fleetingly wondered and hoped it was her mother. Her right eyelid (the one that wasn't black) folded uncomfortably atop itself so her vision range and clarity improved. Ariadne saw a face she hadn't seen in what felt like a century. "I'm not going to hurt you, Red, I'm just cleaning the blood off."
Ariadne eased and let Mila dab around her face and neck. It wasn't uncommon for her entire body to be sore but it felt like the knots in her back had gotten bigger. She remembered the deep slash in her palm and did her best to elevate her arm to see it. It was covered with a fresh bandage and probably either clotted or scabbed over because it didn't throb anymore. But something else did…and it grew stronger with each passing second. Ariadne's stomach contracted, and her legs snapped together and pulled to her chest. Mila advised over Ariadne's grunts and screeches, "No…don't move your legs too much or you'll start bleeding again—"
"Bleeding?" Ariadne croaked in a panic, "Bleeding from where?!" She pushed to sit up and see her stomach and legs. Her Chemist friend held her down, "Stop. You might make it worse." Ariadne's eyes looked past Mila and darted around the room. On the floor by the entrance were bloodstained sheets. On the desk across from her an empty bottle of sedative, another vial she didn't recognize, several medical looking instruments and a coat hanger…all blood crusted. She was certain they had something to do with the pain between her legs. The Architect yanked at the sheet covering her only to reveal a fresh patch of blood under her seat and seeping through her underwear and—bandage? Her hand flew to her mouth and smothered a sob, "What did you do to me?!"
Rusty dropped the rag back in the bucket and tried to keep Ariadne's restless limbs still, "I didn't. I'm only here to clean you up and," With force, she pressed Ariadne's shoulders to lay her back down, "make sure you're gonna be ok." That's when the puzzle pieces came out of the woodworks and started fitting together for the Architect. Images from earlier—the camera, the knife, her hands smearing against the wall…then the beating and then…then being strapped down, screaming, crying, begging. Then incredible pain. Then having a fit, then the sedative, more insurmountable hurt but fading into blackness and then finally nothing. Wolffe had come in hell bent on making the point that she was an object and she belonged to him. He set up a camera and put her through this twisted torture that he said he was going to send to the team. It humiliated her more than it hurt. After he'd had his laugh about that, he revealed a collection of intimidating medical tools and a wire hanger he started bending and twisting. "I'll get rid of that creature if I have to scrape it out with this…"
"No!" Ariadne howled. She ignored the pain and fished under the edge of the mattress for something. As soon as she latched on to the golden knob atop her chess piece, it slipped from her hands to the ground. The Chemist went to pick it up for her but was startled when Ariadne slapped her back, "Don't touch it!" Ariadne all but tumbled to the ground maniacally staring at her totem, grasping for it, frantically setting it up and tipping it over. It fell as it should. No, she tried again. It fell as it should. As Mila, wrestled her back onto the bed, The Architect chucked her good for nothing bishop across the room. "Red, stop! You're going to bleed out again, settle down."
"Where's my baby?" And it was confirmed. What Mila had suspected and been afraid of came straight from the horse's mouth. Ariadne had been impregnated. What was worse was that with the knowledge that Ariadne was expecting was the last piece of evidence in the bloody scene she stepped into. It was clear why the instruments were there and crusted, it was clear what was attempted, it was clear by the devastation on the Architect's face that she had not done this to herself. She had not been harming herself all this time. Rusty had never been more convinced that the actions she and Grant had taken were justly and necessarily done. It could be true that Wolffe had already disposed of the fetus but seeing more of the amniotic fluid seeping out with the blood, the Chemist believed Ariadne hadn't passed the body as of yet. "It hasn't…It hasn't come out yet."
"But it's dead?"
Mila could explain that with water broken, there was a lack of nourishment and protection for the baby. That with so much internal bleeding the baby had most likely suffocated. But the medical details only made it sound worse so she settled for, "…yes, Ariadne. It's dead."
Tears sprung from her eyes but she was soundless, motionless. She laid back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling as if made of Novocain. Mila cautiously resumed her gentle treatment of the Architect. Her bandage on her lower half needed to be adjusted. As a woman herself, the Black Hood's deeds made her toes curl and her insides drip with not only sympathy but resentment. He'd marred Ariadne in more ways than one for his own revolting pleasure. The condition Red was in now compared to the condition she'd stepped into this world in—bright eyed, bushy tailed, curious about the mind and thirsty for adventure—Mila had already treated her with a cautionary shot for tetanus because of the nasty, infected looking slice in her palm, she'd cleaned crusted blood from her nose, given her something for the swelling in her cheeks and jaw, cleaned up the mess down there as best she could and that was only Ariadne's freshest wounds. She was sure these were not the only injuries, sores and lesions she'd accumulated. Bruce had had her at his whim for months—Mila scolded herself for being blind to it in the early stages. She couldn't help but feel partly responsible. The Architect had trusted her and came to her for help before it had gotten to this point and she'd brushed her off and thrown her to the wolves. Not so figuratively speaking. Especially when the U-Key Card put her life on the line. Even if she'd seen Red again after that or Red had come back to her for help, she knew her mindset during that period was angry, reproachful. Mila wouldn't have listened to any plea Red would have made because she wasn't about to put her head on the chopping block again. Until now. When the Chemist was done with the bandage, she pulled the sheet back up to Ariadne's chin and started over with the wet rag to sooth her aching eyes with. It'd been a ringing silence but Ariadne whispered, "It's so dark down here." Mila didn't know how to respond. Should she agree? Should she come up with a comment to make it seem better?
The words of the Architect filled the room again, "It's dark everywhere, all the time. There's no sunlight. There's no morning. There's no sunrise and sunset. It swallows up candlelight…the glow of the oil lamps…it's just darkness. And it lays on top of you and it gets heavier by the second. There's no comfort in not having to see what's happening—Arthur told me never to watch—but then all you can do is feel. And all I can feel is darkness oozing into me from all sides. And I've had to feel so much that I don't feel anything at all. I'm cold, dulled, blurred."
The Chemist was stilled; Held immobile by the prose that fell from the Architect's lips and stained her guilt-filled, sorrowful core. "I don't remember what it felt like to walk the streets of Paris. I don't remember what it felt like to curl up in bed in clean, cozy pjs and just sleep the whole night. I don't remember what it feels like…not being sore, not being bruised, being in control of my own body. I'm being deadened in this darkness…" Ariadne's hand shook as a tear ran down her cheek and she felt her stomach…"And that baby was going to be my source of light."
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry, Red…" Mila didn't know what else to say. What could she have said? No amount of optimistic phrases could lighten the prospect. Except, "Your Point Man's coming for you."
Red's head moved back and forth on the pillow, "No. No, he's not."
"Yes he is. Red, he's in Maine. He's here and he's coming for you."
"He's coming for Ariadne," She pulled the rag weakly from her eyes and gave Mila a rueful, acceptant smile, "And she died a long time ago."
"Aria—"
"He's not going to want the person he finds. Or the shell of a person, I should say."
The Chemist proceeded to argue with her, "Yes he will. Grant and I are going to help you. We're going to get you to Arthur and—"
"I just assume you kill me. If you really want to help."
There was a hopelessness and a helplessness in Ariadne's brown eyes that could not be cured. If there was anything reaching out at Rusty in Red's demeanor it was pleading. But she wasn't serious in her request was she? She denied she ever heard it, "You don't really want that. You're not yourself."
Ariadne used all the vigor she could muster to pull herself so that she laid on her side at the edge of the bed facing her former teammate. "And I'll never be me again. I can't ever escape from what you've all done to me because I can't escape from myself. Put me out of my misery, please…kill me."
There was beeping and hooting. No communication between the two women needed to ascertain who was at the door. They rapidly silenced, Ariadne returned to a sprawled out position and pretended to be out while Rusty replaced the rag on her eyes and took to wringing out another bloody rag into the bucket. Wolffe stepped in warily. It was a risky situation, leaving his toy alone with someone else. He inquired, "How's my Little Red fairing?"
"Still conked out…" Mila turned to him wearing a frown (and detected a thankful sigh), "What on earth did she do to herself?"
"Beats me. I found her like this after our big meeting for the second faction." He feigned concern immaculately. Even took the effort to sit on the edge of her bed and rub her feet, "It's getting worse." After his display of fabricated affection and caretaking, he dismissed the Chemist with little thanks.
xxxxxx
Mila sought Grant out. He was still slaving tirelessly for Wolffe to obtain Arthur's location. What drained him most was the stress of skirting around it while Bruce's ominous presence watched him like a hawk. She went around and leaned over his shoulder to speak as quietly as possible. The two other Brown hackers were not involved during this shift but there were other Browns perusing the main arena who could stop in at any given second. He spoke first, "How was she?"
"Worse than we could've imagined.
"I don't know what else we can do…Wolffe has us on short leashes. He's got her under lock and key…she's not getting out. We're working on the impossible here. The only way he'll let her out of his grasp is if she's dead." The way she looked at him wasn't heartening…in fact it scared him. "You're not thinking—that defeats the whole purpose of helping her. That makes all of this drudgery of keeping her Point Man in the know and alive all for nothing. We'll be no better than the rest of them."
She reasoned and for the life of him he couldn't hear her words seriously only fanatically, "She asked me to. She doesn't want to live like this anymore."
"Yes, like this. That's why we've been fighting so hard and risking our own necks to get her out."
Mila groaned, "You said yourself this was a lost cause."
Grant practically slammed his fingers against the next few keys and then harshly whispered to her, "I'm not going to be responsible for what you think is a mercy killing. Those two words shouldn't be used in the same sentence. Ariadne trusts us."
"Which is why it should be easy."
Xxxxxx
Present Day: Arthur and the Gang.
There was a knock on the door. Grabbing his gun, Eames cautiously checked the peephole and found no one there. What he did find a few moments later when the hallway seemed clear and he opened the door was a manila envelope with sharpie scrawled on the back: "Look what you've done." Now, on the norm Eames was nosy but he dared not touch it until the rest of them came back. That proved to drag on and on when Eames was chomping at the bit to know what it was. It had to be from the Hoods.
He pushed it into Arthur's hands as soon as they traipsed in. Arthur first shook the envelope…it was light, sounded like more paper inside. Not much of it. He put on a medical mask in case there was harmful power inside when he opened it and then stood in front of the desk and carefully pulled out a note from which several pictures fell. All clear, he removed his mask. At first he didn't look at them, he unfolded the yellowed paper and read, "It's too bad you wouldn't leave well enough alone…I loved her. And I would've loved the baby too. Now neither one of us can have her...the coyotes will get to her ditch before you can." The Point's eyes darted to the pictures. Dull brown eyes, matted brown curls, bruised pale skin and lithe limbs mangled in a heap. They were pictures of Ariadne, without a breath of life, lying on dirt floor. Her shirt dirtied, the bottom of her shirt (his red striped shirt) and underwear stained with blood. Her mouth was crusted over with foam and her nostrils crusted over with blood. "Dear God, no…" Cobb had looked over his shoulder just as Arthur's knees went weak and he caught himself on the desk. Eames and Yusuf both walked up to see what was revealed; The forger covered his mouth and cussed and Yusuf tried to be optimistic for the Point because he absolutely didn't believe what he saw, "Maybe these are photoshopped…"
"You can't photoshop Polaroids," Arthur snarled back at him. Cobb rubbed his forehead and tried to calm him too, "Well maybe they staged the pictures. They made her do that so they could con us into leaving."
The picture that was a close up of her face was snatched up and shoved in front of their faces, "Do you see spark in those eyes?! Do you see life and color in them?! Because I don't!" Dom was at a loss for words. His mouth open and closed several times but he could see Arthur was right. Her eyes did look unseeing. "That bastard got her pregnant and then killed her! He killed—" With another look at her pitiful discarded body, Arthur swiped his arm across the counter and knocked everything off. He gaited past the three of them to the living room and flipped the coffee table and everything on it. He picked up the PASIV and slung it like a Frisbee across the room. "Arthur—" started Cobb. The Point whipped around with the telephone book (the one they'd used for research) in his hand, tears in his eyes and hissed, "Arthur, what?! Arthur, calm down?! Arthur, be reasonable?!" He threw the book. The three of them stepped further back into the kitchen, eyeing him warily. Dom was trying not to look too affected for Arthur, Yusuf was in shock of it all—of Ariadne's sudden death and of Arthur's behavior—but Eames was already beginning to tear like his colleague. Ariadne was like a sister to him. They were good pals and to see her like she was in the pictures, he was sick to his stomach. Apparently Yusuf was already at that point: Swallowing and squinting. "You made me wait!" He grabbed their notebook off the table and started tearing pages out. He flipped the side table (the lamp and books flew off). "And now she's dead. Ariadne's gone," in the middle of the room now, Arthur threw his hands in the air maniacally. "The only good thing I've ever had in my life is gone, Cobb! For-fucking-ever!" shouted Arthur, as he ripped off his jacket, crumpled it and threw it at the floor lamp, which fell and busted. They stared blankly at him and only flinched when he let out a guttural groan and kicked the couch hard enough that it flipped.
Dom hadn't seen this behavior from Arthur in years but he had seen it before. Once. Back when they were first training under Miles. It was their second job together and due to lack of experience and practice on Arthur's part, the job had gone under and they were chased through the streets of Prague by the Mark and his bodyguards. Arthur and Cobb had escaped by the skin of their teeth but their architect hadn't been as lucky. His name isn't important now but he had been brought into the dreamshare program with Arthur in ROTC during college and they'd become close friends. The young Point Man blamed solely himself for the death and caused a scene (very much like but not entirely the scale of the one he was in middle of throwing) when they made it safely back to LA. From that point on, Arthur would not accept failure. And he never saw anger or emotion like that in Arthur's eyes since Miles had told him to calm down and keep his personal feelings out of the business. To see that part of this man resurface was like taking a time machine back nine years and reliving nineteen year old Arthur's anxieties. He was like his younger brother again instead of his business partner, his best friend, his confidante, his equal. Arthur was again a young man, inexperienced in this aspect of life that needed Dominic's guidance. That much was clear when Arthur stomped over to the kitchen and crouched to the floor to grab and rip up the Polaroids.
He stopped on her headshot and slowed, heaving, apologizing to the eyes on the paper. His knees pulled into his chest and Cobb took the opportunity to slide down the counter next to him. The Forger and the Chemist tiptoed around them and to the living room. They felt useless so busied themselves by righting everything Arthur had flipped or cleaning up what he'd damaged. Solemnly, Yusuf found a broom and dustpan and swept up the shattered bulbs from the lamp as he overheard the hushed conversation between the Extractor and the Point.
"I don't know how to take this, Dom. How do I handle this? She's my everything. I've lost everything." Yusuf looked up and found himself meeting Cobb's eyes sympathetically and then saw Arthur running his hands through his hair, pulling apart the crusted gel. For the first time, Yusuf heard breathiness in the Point Man's voice. He'd never witnessed the display of any emotion from the man before this and realized he'd rather the vacant coldness on Arthur's face than desolation. The Chemist had always seen Arthur as someone his age, maybe even older than him sometimes from the dignified way he carried himself and how he spoke with wisdom and poise. But with a scrunched up face and unruly hair, a loosened tie and bare feet, for the first time Yusuf saw him as a young man instead of an old soul. After all, out of the four men, Arthur was the youngest. Eleven years younger than himself, nine younger than Eames and ten younger than Cobb. He averted his eyes before there was a chance of Arthur looking up and continued to sweep shards. "Trust me; I know how you feel," soothed Cobb.
"She called me for help and I took too long. She waited for me…being beaten, raped, God knows what else…I didn't try hard enough…"
"Yes you did." Yusuf heard a tinkling plastic sound on the tile and looked over his shoulder. Arthur was rolling his die. "I only feel halfway real." He rolled it again before pocketing it. Arthur buried his head in his knees again, "I still loved her. I still loved her and she didn't know."
Cobb rubbed Arthur's back, "Yes she did. Trust me."
"Oh God…why did I leave? Why did I leave her?" The Chemist's own tears were falling now. He'd always been a softie anyways and the fact that sweet young Ariadne was brutally killed and that their strong Point Man was reduced to a puddle of inconsolable despair because of it made it worse. Made it sink in. "I told her dreams would take her from me…I begged her not to go."
Yusuf couldn't fathom losing his wife, Nita, much less being sent grotesque pictures of her in a ditch. His heart panged for his team member. He wanted to say something comforting but only felt like he annoyed Arthur every time he spoke so instead he stood to throw the glass away. His ears caught the accent of Eames addressing Arthur, "Who could kill a woman that's pregnant with their baby?" The Forger sounded raspy from his sorrow too.
Cobb gruffly answered, "An animal."
The Point laughed without humor, "Fitting. She called him Wolf."
Eames' eyes alighted, "Is that a nickname or is that his actual name?"
"I'm not sure…"
"Is it Bruce Wolffe? Because I've worked with him before…" Arthur's head shot up and tilted. "It was several, several years ago. He was a neurotic fellow and conned the rest of the team out of our money, took it all for himself and disappeared."
Yusuf pulled his own phone out, "Isn't there a whole span of land somewhere in Maine that's been bought out for the protection of the wildlife there?" A website came up all about the State Park. Acres of woods were bought out and turned into private property so that the land would remain untouched and un-commercialized for the protection of the wildlife there-in. Two buyers had gone in together; their names disappeared from the record ever so conveniently. Yet, it was fittingly named Wolffe State Park. How many state parks demanded no visitors or tourists, "No visitors allowed on premises for the safety of yourself and animals…" Yusuf read off and added, "Wolf is not a hard word to spell. I don't think that's a dumbass typo, it had to go through a shitload of paperwork to be named that I'm sure."
"I bet that's natural habitat for the Hooded." Eames smirked.
The Point chided, "Great. We've finally found them…and the reason is dead."
Cobb asked Yusuf, "It's five hours from here. Think we can make it before dark?"
Yusuf looked at his watch, "Absolutely. But we'd need to leave now."
The Extractor rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder, "Come on, let's see if we can find her body, take her home."
Everyone collected their belongings- phones, guns, Arthur pulled out an extra blanket meant for the pull out bed and brought it to wrap Ariadne in. As Eames shrugged on his jacket and held the door open for the team's army to fall out, "Hang on sweet girl, we're coming after all," he stated and then followed Arthur who strode determinedly in front of them down the hallway. The Forger barely heard the infamous sound of a cocked gun and cracked knuckles before the raspy bark so unfamiliar from the Point Man's mouth, "And then I'm going Wolf Hunting." Eames eyeballed the other men to see if they'd heard the murderous indication too. Cobb and Yusuf glanced back at him tensely and then cocked their own guns as they all stepped into the elevator.
Xxxxxx
Next chapter: How and exactly who/what "killed" Ariadne + finding the body + the introduction of two small characters. Think she's really dead? I will say I'm pretty evil about it.
Guesses? Thoughts? Theories? Review pleeease! They make me update.