PART III

Chapter 12 – Step by step

"So you're telling me Ariadne, Saito, and Yusuf are up there acting as a diversion as we speak?" Cobb exclaimed.

"Yes. And?" Eames answered, his matchstick twitching against his lip with each syllable.

"Dammit, they could be in danger. We need to stop jabbering and get the hell out of here," Cobb urged, panicking. He struggled, pulling himself up with wobbly legs of rubber, trying to tell every ache and pang to save it until he got home.

Eames stepped forward to help him up although he wasn't, in that moment, the biggest fan of Cobb's I-told-you-so attitude. "We should wait until the fireworks have started before starting out. There may still be guards wandering around in this sector."

Cobb gritted his teeth as he rose, one hand on Eames' dependable shoulder.

"In the meantime, you want me to dispose of this little rat right here, right now?" Eames suggested, digging into his holster for his gun.

"No, no!" Cobb protested, nearly buckling as he let go of his guidepost for a second to push Eames' hand away from his side. Nash blanched and shrunk into even more of a ball.

"Hm? I thought this was the bloody scoundrel that betrayed you and Arthur?" Eames looked puzzled.

"He... he was. But it's a long story," Cobb uttered tersely, signaling that he was finished on that point.

"Lots of storytelling to be had today, I s'pose. Eh, whatever you say, Cobb," Eames said, shrugging his free shoulder, not bothering to inquire any further as he could care less about the details. "Can you walk, uh..."

"Nash," he replied, still quite intimidated by Eames' trigger-happy manner of dealing with contingencies. "And yes, I can. I wasn't beat up as badly as Dom."

A rumbling sounded above them, as if someone had unleashed a stampede of cattle onto the ground floor of the Cobol building. "There's our cue," Eames grinned. "Get up from there, Nash, and let's get out of here."

Cobb found that once he was standing, he could walk without leaning against Eames: it was just getting up that was the problem. He and Nash shuffled towards the door, significantly slower than their knight in Cobol body armor.

Eames went first, sliding his card through the slot and opening the door as the LED light flashed green. He ducked his head out, searching the hallway, and motioned for the other two to start moving once he'd ascertained that it was clear.

As he stood in the doorway between prison and freedom, Cobb felt a strange and inexplicable reluctance to part ways with his place of emotional rebirth. Here he had aged more than he'd done all those years in Limbo and other dreams in terms of maturity, and he wondered if he would be able to keep from degeneration when once again bound by the pressures of society. And if it weren't for the prospect of facing torture and execution, he didn't know if he would be strong enough to take the next step forward.

He put one foot forward. And the other followed. Standing on white tiles with grey streaks resembling the striations of marble, he realized he had made his first independent choice outside, as himself. One step at a time, he thought, and it's not so daunting.

The corridor resembled a wing of a hospital: everything was sterile white, the walls, the doors, the ceilings. The ex-prisoners wavered between the two directions until Eames nudged them towards the right.

"Good thing even the security camera operators are being used upstairs to guard the Proclus Global meeting," Eames laughed, "or we'd be in deep shit."

"Where are we heading?" Nash questioned, keeping his voice low, his eyes darting back and forth on alert. He didn't want to end up like Rian after all.

"Obviously not the front doors," Eames replied as he walked backwards to face the two of them. "Although they wouldn't be able to tell you apart thanks to the great glut crowding the entrance. Our target is the end of the sector, where there's a nice convenient back door leading to the parking lot leading to the get-away vehicle."

"And the others'll be waiting?" Cobb asked.

"No, they have their own exit strategy," Eames winked as they reached the end of the hallway. Turning to the side, where there should have been a door to the outside, there was instead a man with red hair and eternally blushing skin, holding a Beretta in his right hand.

Cobb could have sworn his heart stopped right there.

Red.

"And just what d'ya think yer doin'?" the uppity guard asked smugly, looking almost comical in his ill-fitting black suit and uneven tie. He was shaking with excitement at the prospect of having done something right.

"I'm taking them to the incinerator," Eames stopped in his steps and explained smoothly, trying to calm the guard down. Cobb and Nash each hugged a separate wall in case the Cobol agent decided to start shooting wildly.

"Nice try, new kid. The incinerator is down in the basement, and the stairs leadin' ta it are on the other side o' the sector." Red took a step forward, brandishing his weapon aggressively in their direction.

"Like you said, I'm new here. Don't know my way around yet." Eames put his hands up, displaying their emptiness and his lack of illicit intentions. He kept on smiling his confident, disarming grin, body language loosened and relaxed. Just like that, keep cool, Eames. Cobb crossed his fingers for him, admiring his level of physical control in staying in character.

Red laughed. "Yeah sure, like I'd believe that horse hockey. Why ain't ya at the Japanese dude's party?"

"Why aren't you, hm?" Eames pressed.

"Me? I had a feelin' y'all were up to somethin'. Ah'lways git this gnawin' sensation behind mah ear, and it's never wrong. I knew y'all were up ta no good," Red smirked, giddy with adrenaline. "Now I'll finally get some much-deserved acknowledgement from mah higher ups."

"Not if your little theory doesn't hold water," Eames tsked. "They will be more than a bit peeved at you for wasting their time and bringing another of your false reports."

"Shut yer mouth. I know you's got a gun in there somewhere. Now throw it down, boy," Red commanded, lifting his gun and aiming it right at the center of Eames' forehead. He was getting quite comfortable with the idea of wielding authority.

Eames pulled his pistol slowly from his shoulder holster, setting it on the floor before him and kicking it forward to Red.

"Good, good," Red chuckled as he leaned down to pick it up from beside him. "Finally a subordinate at my beck and-" His speech was interrupted by a most disturbing gargling noise.

As Red took his eyes off of Eames, he'd thrown a knife—which had been tucked into his front jacket pocket—at the Cobol lackey. The sharp blade landed on its bull's eye, stabbing into the side of Red's neck. He dropped both guns, eyes bugging out as he choked on his own blood, which flooded his lungs; Red fell to the ground, quickly losing consciousness as the blood spurted from his carotid artery.

Nash and Cobb watched in bewilderment as the guard, who was smiling proudly before them a second ago, succumbed to a painful combination of asphyxiation and blood loss. After he stilled, lying crumpled on the waxed floor, Eames stepped forward, taking back his own gun and wrenching the knife out of the lifeless body, wiping the blade on Red's shirt before replacing it in his pocket.

"What?" he asked in mock defense as the others transferred their thunderstruck stares to him. "It's my favorite knife. I'm not going to lose it on account of this bloke." Same goes for your unscrupulous conscience, it seems.

Stepping over the fresh corpse, they finally reached the door. Once again Eames swiped his card, the hydraulics releasing air from a valve as they pushed the door open.

Although the pathway was merely an underground tunnel leading upwards towards the surface, Cobb couldn't help but notice the subtle scent of fresh oxygen mixed into the dusty stale air of the concrete hole. The tunnel was constructed entirely out of concrete, wires and pipes running along the side of the drab gray sphincter of the compound. Each step they took echoed loudly, sound waves ricocheting against the sides of the structure, so none of them spoke lest another guard hidden up ahead decided to make himself a hero and martyr.

One leg forward. Then fall onto it. Yes, that's right. Next, alternate and repeat ad infinitum. Away from this place, away from everything.

Finally another set of doors appeared at the end of their quiet journey, this one marked with an "Emergency Exit" sign in incandescent red. Patches of sunlight peeked out from the crack under the doorway, and Cobb could hardly contain himself at the prospect of seeing the sky again.

They opened the door and walked outside.

But instead of the expansive blue sky or the green of the grass framing the black asphalt, the first thing Cobb noticed in the glare of the sunlight was the color of Nash's eyes as he tilted his face upward to bathe in the rays, typically a dark brown but now a warm honey, as viscous as a medallion of amber.

"Hey, I liked your presentation in class today," Cobb said, holding his books under his arm as he caught up to his classmate. The one with the sad eyes which glowed under the bright sun. "Really impressive design."

"Uh... thanks, I guess," Nash replied uneasily. "I think I've seen you around, but who are you again?"

"Dominick Cobb," he answered as the spring breeze blew gently over them. "Nice to meet you."

His mouth curved upwards in an involuntary smile. Nothing could have recaptured this feeling.

"What are you staring at?" Nash raised an eyebrow, noticing the intense focus of Cobb's gaze as people in all variations of business attire spilled out into the parking lot from the main building.

"Nothing," Cobb grinned. "Nothing at all."


"I'm afraid I'll have to think over your offer, Mr. Saito, as generous as it seems to be," the elderly Mr. Cobol said lackadaisically after skimming over several relevant provisions of the proposal. Mr. Wilcox and the rest of his team nodded vigorously, indicating their agreement.

"Wait, you can't pass this up, sir," one of the young executives, who'd been wiggling in his chair the entire meeting, finally blurted out. "What if he withdraws the offer? We'll never get a chance at merging with Proclus and gaining the clean energy technology again."

The old man coughed once and raised his thumb. Three of the guards immediately approached the out-of-line midlevel manager and, one of them placing a hand over his outspoken lips, escorted him quickly out of the room without a scuffle.

There was an awkward silence, but Mr. Cobol continued to speak as if nothing had happened. His voice remained barely audible, but general reverence for his person had greatly increased within the last few minutes. "As I was saying... we need some extra time, Mr. Saito, if that is all right with you."

"Perfectly acceptable," he replied, unimpressed by Cobol's practices. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise."

At that moment a guard burst into the room, breathless. He rushed to the side of the decrepit old man and, like a royal messenger, began to deliver the news. "I apologize," he huffed, "sir... but... ugh... there are fires, explosions, strange gases... downstairs. We need guards... to help... with the emergency..."

"By all means," Cobol said, waving off the dozen guards in the room and motioning for the exhausted man to call off those stationed just outside as well. "I believe our meeting is in its denouement stage anyway."

After a few words of thanks to their hosts, Saito and company stood, shaking hands with their counterparts and exchanging business cards before following the guards out through the intricately carved doors.

Once in the hall, they could hear the blaring of the alarms calling for people to evacuate the building. Panicking high-level secretaries pushed by the mass of suits as they rushed to the stairwell. The elevators were, of course, non-operational.

He felt a pat on his arm, turning to see Mr. Wilcox with a strained smile on his face. Calling off his guards who were ready to restrain the presumptuous man, Saito asked, "What do you need?"

"I just wanted to put you at ease about the current situation, Mr. Saito. Sorry to bother you, but I've received inside information from the guards on the third floor—yes, I am the head of Security—which details that the fires are no more than multicolor flames drawn into patterns and that the gases are only variants of laughing gas and tear gas, nothing toxic," he shared eagerly, words running into one another.

"I see," Saito said, turning away as they reached the top of the stairwell. But this Mr. Wilcox was persistent.

"Please don't take this whole ordeal to be an accurate illustration of Cobol's day-to-day management abilities. It seems that an Engineering intern with a grudge decided to bring in his chemistry set, nothing more," he continued, tone becoming more desperate.

"Thank you, Mr. Wilcox, that will be all." Saito muttered a gruff command in Japanese, and the bodyguards at the caboose of his procession detained the sycophantic manager where he stood, allowing them to travel down the endless flights winding stairs without interruption.

Taking advantage of the short break in his schedule, he asked one of his legal team to prepare to rescind the offer outlined in the merger agreement as soon as they'd left the premises. He'd never intended to make good on that deal anyway as he didn't want his empire to be associated with the likes of Cobol. Causing the disappearance of one's adversaries needed to be conducted with finesse, after all.

After traveling what felt like a mile, Saito stepped onto the ground floor, which was already teeming with people—mostly administrative assistants and pencil-pushers from the lower floors. He spotted Ariadne and Yusuf standing on the ledge of the fountain, the latter's waistline quite a bit less bulky than it'd been at the beginning of the day due to his lightened load.

"I see you've done your part successfully," Saito said, gesturing at the waves of frightened employees, who chatted amongst themselves about far-fetched rumors such as terrorist threats and government conspiracies.

Ariadne grinned at the star of the operation, her accomplice, who shrugged in humility. "All in a day's work."

"It seems that most of the guards were concentrated first on our meeting and now these fires, so I doubt there were any personnel left to monitor the basement floors," Saito assessed.

"I sure hope you're right," Ariadne said, still not entirely relieved because she had yet to receive any feedback from Eames' end. She had her cell phone in her hand, checking it every minute or so for new messages.

"What are you worrying for?" Yusuf smirked. "This is Eames we're talking about. He'll pull through even if he has to tackle a few guards on his way out."

They assumed their places in the long line at the front doors, the buzz of activity not unlike a crowded morning at the Mombassan market. Yusuf thought fondly of his city, where his little shop on the corner, his cat, Maggie, and his oldest friend, Musa, were awaiting him. It had been a breathtaking trip, and they'd put a nice dent into those Cobol bastards' morale... But after this badassery overkill, he was ready to return home for a nice nap on his cot.


Home. It was unbelievable to contemplate for a second time. Almost too good to be true, if the last visit were any indication.

Luckily they'd been able to make it to the house without a problem: Eames guided Cobb and Nash to the car as fast as he could and expertly dodged numerous pedestrians as they maneuvered their way off of the Cobol grounds before the brunt of the evacuees hit the pavement. I wouldn't want to see that traffic jam.

He'd garnered quite a few stares on the road, doubtlessly due to the swollen, dirt-covered face he'd pressed against the window, enthusiastically swallowing as much as he could about the city where he lived. So many things he'd never noticed before, that never would have entered his mind, if not for such an experience. Every familiar sight plucked at his heartstrings with the bow of nostalgia. I never would have known what I'd missed.

His home looked just as it did before, although the lawn needed a mowing among other types of gardening care. But this didn't matter to Cobb. He swung his limp body out of the car as soon as the ignition was extinguished, spirits soaring with each additional step forward. Cobb paced as quickly as he could towards the front door, which, for some strange reason, was unlocked.

The kids. Are they okay? He felt guilty for the fact that his thoughts hadn't turned towards them in quite awhile, Nash taking precedence over any competing priorities in his one-track mind. What kind of father am I?

Leaving Nash and Eames behind, he dashed inside, ignoring the warning signs put out by his frail body. "Phillipa? James? Daddy is home. Where are you?"

No answer.

He heard his two companions enter behind him as he stumbled to the kitchen, guiding himself along the wall towards the patio door. He opened it to the backyard, which stood empty, except for the swing set in the distance and a few dried, sun-bleached sheets next to a caked over mess that used to be a set of finger paints. The weeds stood high among the yellowed grass, and it was apparent that no one had set foot into the yard in quite a few weeks.

His temple throbbed. Where are they? Where have they taken them? Oh God, was it Cobol? Could they see this escape coming? Or did that scum of the Earth, Miles, kidnap them and leave for France?

Cobb reentered the house, scuttling along the floor until he came upon Eames, who was propped up on the couch for a well-deserved rest. Cobb almost collapsed from the pain in his sides in front of the man as he pushed his body for speed that it did not possess in its weary, wounded state. "Where are my kids?" he managed, pressing a fist into his side to halt its protest.

"At Arthur's, why?"

Arthur? Another pang not unlike jealousy pricked his heart. Why the hell would he have them?

"We need to go over there. Right now." He narrowed his eyes as he winced, letting himself drop onto the couch as his legs just quit.

"No, I'm afraid this is where we're all meeting," Eames shook his head as he flipped through the channels with the remote in his hand. His place is far too small for a congregation of this magnitude."

"Okay then, hand me the keys," Cobb demanded, reaching out with an open, trembling palm. "I'm driving over there."

"Cobb, they're probably on their way already. And frankly, you are in no state to operate heavy machinery."

He wanted to stand and argue, but he couldn't anymore. Cobb felt himself falter, seeing the world in a tinted daze as if someone had run a high contrast filter over his retinas. No, don't pass out. Take deep breaths, stay with me.

"Okay. Okay... I will wait," he finally uttered, riding the crest over his wave of near loss of consciousness. Then as the stars blinked out of his vision one by one, he scanned the empty room around them. "Where did Nash go...?"

"I think he went to take a shower. And no offense, love, but I'm fairly certain you could benefit from one of those as well," Eames mentioned, wrinkling his nose oh so subtly.

Might as well, Cobb mused, to pass the time before my kids get here. And Arthur... oh, Arthur, haven't you taken enough from me?

He sniffed at himself, finding his sense of smell dulled by recent events. Well, I'm sure he's not exaggerating. "Sounds like a plan."

He could hear the sound of water flowing through the pipes in the direction of the master bedroom, so Cobb was relegated to the guest room where some of his clean clothing was sitting in the hamper where he'd last folded it. Eames aided him through the door and shut it softly behind him. "Happy scrubbing."

Alone again. Shut into a little black box, he felt secure once more. Nonetheless he flicked the light switch.

Who is this?

Cobb stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. They often say you don't recognize yourself after a haircut, a shave, or a change of clothing... but Cobb literally did not believe it was his own reflection staring back. Scraggly hair matted, the loose locks dangling over his eyes; his facial hair unkempt and serving only to age him further. Sunken bloodshot eyes—one of them bruised and swollen—dried blood caked in his hair and down his face, stemming from dark lacerations and extending along his cheeks. He was much thinner, although he knew the bulk of his loss was muscle mass, and, as he looked down, Cobb noticed that his once-pristine suit and once-polished loafers were filthy and stained with a cocktail of dirt, mold, and every body fluid imaginable.

He discarded the clothing, which had become like a second skin to him in these weeks, letting the fabric fall naturally to the linoleum, pooling around his feet. One foot, two feet into the porcelain tub. One turn, one pull, and the rain poured.

He then proceeded to take the longest shower in known history, emptying out the Amazon River in pure volume. He didn't touch the soap or sponge, just let himself sit there as the torrent massaged his skin. The pressure and heat stung at first, but then he became numb and at peace with the calm of his mind as physicality vanished: the nothingness of being. Drowning in his own bathtub, he was home.