Inception: Dreams or Reality? Part 1
A/N: I almost forgot to post this today since I've been busy with work this week and I'm looking forward to the weekend.
Read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Inception, Batman, or Doctor Who. I only own the characters that I created.
CHAPTER FIVE: RISKS
Soon they were back in the dream, which looked very similar to last time, only there were different people walking, driving, and biking around.
"It's good," Cobb remarked, looking around with approval. "You've got the café, the layout…you forgot the book shop but pretty much everything else is here."
"Who are the people?" Ariadne asked, looking around at the people, noting that they were completely different from before.
"They're projections of my subconscious," Cobb answered.
Ariadne glanced over her shoulder at him as they walked through the streets, avoiding the cars and bikes. "Yours?"
Cobb nodded. "Sure, you are the dreamer, I am the subject," he explained. "My subconscious populates your world. That's one way we get at a subject's thoughts, his mind creates the people, and so we can literally talk to his subconscious."
"How else do you do it?" Ariadne asked, curious.
"Architecture," Cobb responded. "Build a bank vault or a jail, something secure, and the subject's mind will fill it with information he's trying to protect."
"Then you break in and steal it," Ariadne guessed.
Cobb nodded. "Exactly."
Ariadne looked around in wonder at the dream she'd built. "I love the concrete sense of things," she commented, stamping her foot on the ground for a moment. "Real weight, you know? I thought a dream space would be all about the visual, but it's the feel of things." She then thought of something that she'd always wanted to test. "Question is, what happens when you start to mess with the physics?"
She then started concentrating on the street in the distance, and with a grinding and bending of metal, the street started to bend in half − the buildings on either side was folding in until they formed the inside of a cube of a city, and the gravity was functioning independently on each plane.
Ariadne looked up, or down, at the people on the opposite city surface, and Cobb watched her, surprised and impressed. "It's something, isn't it?" she asked, pleased with herself.
"Yes," Cobb agreed quietly. "It is."
They then resumed walking until they reached the edge of the street and, together, they stepped up and kept walking, now upward, as they walked, she noticed that the projects were starting to stare at her. "Why are they looking at me?"
"Because you're changing things," Cobb explained, not surprised that the projections were starting to notice the changes being made. "My subconscious feels that someone else is creating the world. The more you change things, the quicker the projections converge on you."
"Converge?" Ariadne repeated, confused.
"They feel the foreign nature of the dreamer," Cobb told her, "and attack like white blood cells fighting an infection."
Ariadne didn't like the sound of that. "They're going to attack us?" she asked.
"Just you, actually," Cobb corrected, smiling slightly as they kept walking; soon they were walking down a street toward the river, and as they drew closer, steps suddenly emerged from the flagstone, and Ariadne led Cobb up onto a small jetty. As she concentrated, pillars emerged and a bridge started to telescope out from the jetty; they stepped onto it as it grew, and Cobb was completely amazed by it all, but he was also concern, noting the reactions of the projections and how there were more of them now. 'Not good.' "It's beautiful," he admitted, "but if you keep on changing things…"
The point became apparent when, as they were crossing the bridge, people crossing from the other direction were staring at Ariadne now, and several bumped into her as they passed.
"Mind telling your subconscious to take it easy?" Ariadne requested as a woman bumped into her on either side, nearly knocking her down.
Cobb shook his head. "That's why it's called subconscious," he pointed out. "I don't control it." And yet he admired the bridge, which now spanned the entire Seine. "Arched stone, iron pillars…it's…" he trailed off as several memories were triggered: memories of him and Mal standing together, laughing and smiling on the exact same bridge. "I know this bridge. This place is real-" he realized, alarmed. 'This so isn't good!' "You didn't imagine it, you remembered it…" and he hurried after the young woman, kicking himself for not warning her against this sort of thing sooner.
Ariadne nodded, pleased with herself in getting the details right. "I cross it every day on my way to the college."
"Never recreate places from your memory," Cobb advised, now keeping an eye out for a particular person, positive that she was nearby. "Always imagine new places."
Ariadne didn't see anything wrong with her drawing from her memory. "You have to draw from what you know-"
"Use pieces," Cobb interrupted, tensing up, "a streetlamp, phone booths, or a type of brick – not whole areas." And his heart sank when he saw that more and more projections were starting to close in. 'Crap! I gotta get her to understand and get her out of here!'
"Why not?" Ariadne asked.
Cobb sighed, frustrated, now running to catch up with her. "Because building dreams out of your own memories is the surest way to lose your grip on what's real and what's a dream," he told her seriously. 'Something that I learned the hard way.'
"Did that happen to you?" Ariadne inquired, trying to figure out why Cobb needed her to do something that he could do himself.
Cobb winced at the question, keenly aware that the people in the area were starting to turn hostile, and then grabbed her arm, making the young woman face him. "Look, this isn't about me-" he began.
"Is that why you need me to build your dreams?" Ariadne interrupted, wanting to know, and then yelped when one of the men passing by grabbed her shoulder.
Cobb shoved him away. "Leave her alone," he ordered, but, like he'd said earlier, he had no control over his subconscious, and for every projection he pushed away from Ariadne, two more took that one's place, and soon five of them restrained him, despite his struggles, and three more grabbed Ariadne, who was starting to get scared. "Let her go! Let her go!"
"Cobb!" Ariadne screamed, struggling against them. "Let go! Let go!"
"Mal!" Cobb yelped, spotting his wife walking through the crowd toward them, her eyes fixed on Ariadne. "Mal! Don't!"
"Cobb!" Ariadne cried, terrified when Mal pulled out a large knife. "Wake me up! Cobb, wake me up!" she kept screaming as Mal, who was ignoring Cobb's pleads, plunged the knife toward her stomach-
Ariadne woke up with a strangled gasp and cry, alerting Arthur and Emma, who were quick to run to her aid as she clutched at her stomach, clearly still feeling the pain of being stabbed.
"Hey, hey! Look at me," Arthur advised. "It's ok."
"You're awake now," said Emma reassuringly, wondering what had happen down in the dream to wake her up so soon.
"W-why wouldn't I wake up?" Ariadne gasped, shaking as Arthur worked on removing the tubes from her wrist.
"There was still some time on the clock," Arthur explained. "The only way to wake from inside the dream is to die."
Just then Cobb woke up and, before Emma could go help him, he pulled the tubes off and stood, staggering slightly. "She'll need a totem," he announced, throwing the tubing at the case, panic crossing his face.
'Uh oh,' Emma realized, guessing what must've happen. 'She must've shown up again.'
"What?" Ariadne asked, not understanding, still spooked by what'd happen down in the dream.
"Some kind of personal icon," Emma explained, knowing better then to be near Cobb when he was like this after waking up from a dream in a traumatic way; the one time that she had been too close when Cobb had woken up suddenly, she'd gotten clocked in the face that'd left her nose sore and throbbing, but unbroken. "A small object that you can always have with you, and that no one else knows-"
Ariadne interrupted, yelling after Cobb, who was now rushing into the bathroom, her expression now filled with anger. "That's some subconscious you've got, Cobb! She's a real charmer!"
Arthur sighed, guessing right who was responsible down in the dream. "Sounds like you've met Mrs. Cobb."
Ariadne stared at him, surprised. "She's his wife?"
Arthur nodded, rolling up the tubing, and continued the explanation of the totems. "So. A totem. You need something small, potentially heavy…"
Bent over a marble counter, Cobb pulled out his top and began spinning it.
`"Like a coin?"` Ariadne asked.
`"Too common,"` said Emma. `"You need something that has a weight or movement that only you know."`
Cobb watched the top spinning until it finally wobbled and fell over; picking it up, he sighed, both relieved and disappointed at the same time.
"What's yours?" Ariadne asked.
Arthur pulled out a red die from his vest pocket. "A loaded die," he answered and then held it away when Ariadne tried to touch it. "I can't let you handle it," he explained. "That's the point. No one else can know the weight or balance of it."
"Why?" Ariadne asked, confused.
"It's because when you examine your totem," Emma explained, "you know, beyond a doubt, that you're not in someone else's dream." And then she held out what appeared to be a crystal ball. "This one's mine, and I'm the only one who knows the weight and balance of it."
Ariadne considered this and came to a decision. "That's not an issue for me."
"Why not?" Arthur asked, surprised.
"Arthur, Emma, maybe you both can't see what's going on, maybe you don't want to," Ariadne explained angrily. "But Cobb's got some serious problems he's tried to bury down there and I'm not going to open my mind to someone like that." She then grabbed her jacket, stood, and stormed toward the stairs.
Both Emma and Arthur sighed, not bothering to go after the young woman since it was clear that she wasn't going to come back.
"She'll be back," Cobb announced as he came out of the bathroom, slightly more composed, startling his friends.
"You sure about that?" Emma asked, skeptically. "'Cause it sure didn't look like it based on how she just walked out."
Cobb knew that he was right. "I've never seen anyone pick it up so fast," he explained, rolling down and buttoned his sleeve. "And one reality won't be enough for her now. When she comes back, get her building mazes."
"Where will you be?" Arthur asked, putting away the tubing and shutting the case.
"I've got to talk to Eames," Cobb answered, pulling on his coat while ignoring the couples' alarmed expressions.
"Eames?" Arthur repeated, worried. "But he's in Mombasa. Cobol's backyard."
Cobb knew that, but he was determined to go. "Necessary risk."
"There are plenty of other thieves," Emma pointed out.
"We don't just need a thief," Cobb countered. "We need a forger."
Emma sighed. "Ok, so a forger, fine, but why my ex-boyfriend? He's a jerk!"
Cobb didn't bother to answer since he'd heard Emma's complaints about her ex before, and headed out the door to the stairs.
"Looks like we'll be working with your ex again," Arthur remarked and his wife just glowered; neither of them liked Eames that much, and the thought of working with him on a job like this wasn't heart-warming either.
It was going to be long week.
Two plane flights later, Cobb arrived in Mombasa and it didn't take him very long to find the person he was looking for; in a gambling den, a westerner in his early 40's with brown hair, brown eyes, and was wearing a slightly shabby brown suit was seated at a dice game and was rubbing two red chips together when Cobb came up behind him.
"Rub them against each other all you like," he teased, "they're not going to breed."
Eames glanced briefly at the younger man before returning his attention to the game. "You never know." He set the chips down on red 13 and watched as the dice rolled across the table.
"Drink?" Cobb offered as the dealer took the chips.
Eames sighed and stood up. "You're buying." And he headed toward the front of the den with Cobb following; arriving at the cashier, he pulled out two stacks of red chips and set them down in front of the security gate.
While the cashier began counting out a stack of money, Cobb picked up one of the chips and examined it. "You're spelling hasn't improved," he remarked.
"Piss off," Eames muttered, taking the chip back and shoved them over to the cashier, who handed him the money in return.
"How's your handwriting?" Cobb asked, deciding that he'd teased the older man enough for the time being.
"Versatile," Eames answered after thanking the cashier and they headed out.
"Good."
Out on the street, Eames and Cobb headed for a nearby bar, and the British man gave the younger man some important information.
"Word is, you're not welcome in these parts," said Eames.
"Yeah?" Cobb asked.
Eames nodded. "There's a price on your head from Cobol Engineering," he explained. "Pretty big one, actually."
This didn't surprise Cobb that much since he figured that Cobol Engineering wasn't too happy with him for failing to get Saito's plans. "You wouldn't sell me out." 'I wonder if they've hired the League of Shadows to come after us again?'
Eames frowned at him, offended. "'Course I would."
Cobb smiled; he knew when Eames was joking. "Not when you hear what I'm selling."
After collecting two beers and a small bowl of peanuts from the bar, the two men went upstairs and seated themselves at a balcony table that overlooked the busy street below.
"Inception," Cobb began, making Eames pause in his peanut eating for a moment. "Don't bother telling me it's impossible," he added, having heard enough from Arthur and Emma.
"It's perfectly possible," said Eames, now sipping his beer. "Just bloody difficult."
Cobb was both surprised and delighted to hear that. "That's what I keep saying to Arthur and Emma," he remarked.
"Arthur and Emma?" Eames repeated, eyebrows raised at hearing the names of his ex-girlfriend and her, in his mind, boring husband. "You're still working with that stick-in-the-mud and my ex?"
Cobb smiled around his beer, not surprised that Eames' attitude about his friends hadn't changed very much; he'd worked with Eames on a few jobs and the tension between the British man, Arthur, and Emma when they were in the same room together, much less the same dream, always bordered onto the comical, and there had only been one time when Arthur had actually slugged Eames, when the later had groped Emma's backside. "He's a good point man, and I've yet to meet anyone with Emma's skill when it comes to interior details."
"I'll concede to Emma's skill since she is unique in that respect," Eames admitted. "And Arthur is the best at what he does…for someone who has a degree in psychology, but he has no imagination," he added. "If you're going to perform inception, you need imagination."
"You've done it before?" Cobb asked, interested.
"Yes and no," Eames answered hesitantly. "We tried it. Got the idea in place, but it didn't take."
Cobb was disappointed. 'Looks like I'm the only one who has actually done it successfully.' "You didn't plant it deep enough?"
"It's not just about depth," Eames corrected, eating another peanut. "You need the simplest version of the idea – the one that will grow naturally in the subject's mind. It's a very subtle art."
Cobb nodded since that's what they were going to need for the job to work. "That's why I'm here."
"What's the idea you need to plant?" Eames asked, sipping his beer.
"We need the heir to a major corporation to break up his father's empire," Cobb answered, smoothing back his hair, recalling the little that Saito had told him.
Eames nodded, already spotting the complexity of the task. "See, right there you've got various political motivations, anti-monopolistic sentiment and so forth," he explained. "But all that stuff's at the mercy of the subject's prejudice – you have to go to the basic."
"Which is?" Cobb inquired.
"The relationship with the father," Eames answered, sipping his beer and popping another peanut in his mouth. "Do you have a chemist?" he asked.
Cobb shook his head; they were going to need a chemist for the depths they were going to go on this job. "Not yet."
"There's a man here. Yusuf," Eames told him. "He formulates his own versions of the compounds."
That sounded good to Cobb. "Let's go see him," he suggested.
"Once you've lost your tail," Eames countered and noted the younger man's confused expression. "Back by the bar, blue tie," he explained, referring to a young man in a cream-colored business suit. "Came in about two minutes after we did."
"Cobol Engineering?" Cobb guessed, not bothering to look as he finished off his beer, recalling that Eames had mentioned there being an award on his head.
Eames nodded. "They pretty much own Mombasa."
Nodding, Cobb eyed the balcony and the drop to the street below, having noted a small pile of reed mats near the entrance. "Run interference," he suggested. "We'll meet downstairs in half an hour."
"Back here?" Eames asked, surprised.
Cobb nodded. "Last place they'd expect."
Bemused, Eames finished his own drink, gathered the bottles, and then headed over to the small bar, where the businessman was seated, and Cobb peered over the balcony, eyeballing the distance. "Freddy!" he exclaimed loudly, blocking the man's view of Cobb, and was enjoying his "deer-in-the-headlights" expression. "Freddy Simmons, it is you!"
Cobb hopped over the balcony and landed on the mats below, grunting slightly as the impact shot through his legs; upstairs, the businessman realized that his target had just escaped, and he bolted.
"Oh," said Eames, faking disappointment. "No, it isn't." 'I've done what I can, Dom. See you in an hour…hopefully.'
Recovering, Cobb straightened up and headed into the crowded street, hoping to put as much distance as he could between him and the guy in the building when a second man in a business suit grabbed his arm roughly.
"We need to-"
Cobb head-butted him and ran through the street as more agents appeared, giving chase; after a few minutes, he managed to lose himself in the crowd, and ducked into a dark, crowded coffee house. Spotting an empty seat, he slipped into it and nodded to the startled men already seated at the table; unfortunately, when the waiter arrived with a tray of coffee and saw Cobb, he set the tray down and began to protest loudly in Swahili.
Worried that the agents would hear, Cobb tried to shush him by ordering a coffee for himself. "One café. Shh! One café." And when he glanced toward the entrance, he saw two agents, one of them was the guy from the bar, and he bolted, pushing past the waiter; he'd only taken a couple of steps when a third agent appeared out of nowhere and tackled him to the floor.
More agents arrived as Cobb punched and kicked the agent until he stayed down, and was getting to his feet when the new arrivals began firing their guns at him, accidentally hitting the guy from the bar in the back as the customers screamed and dove for cover; realizing that they were bent on killing him, Cobb jumped out a nearby window, colliding with another agent, knocking him out, and ran down the narrow street.
One of the agents almost caught him when a produce truck pulled into the street in front of them; Cobb managed to jump to the side while the agent collided with the hood and was knocked down with a startled grunt. Two more agents pushed through the crowd and opened fired, forcing both Cobb and the driver in the truck to duck.
Climbing over the truck with the agents in pursuit, Cobb ran down the street when he saw that it was a dead end, and then he saw a opening right next to the building blocking his way, and he dove inside it as the agents continued to give chase, having to reload their guns; squeezing himself through the opening, he found himself getting stuck close to the other side where it was much narrower.
Hearing the agents drawing closer, Cobb nearly dislocated his shoulder as he finally got out, stumbling out into a much larger street just as the two agents entered the opening; he started down the street, passing several cars going into the opposite direction, stopped when a black SUV blocked his way with more agents pouring out, and ran back the way he came.
One of the agents managed to squeeze his way through the narrow opening and was aiming his gun at Cobb, when one of the passing cars suddenly stopped and the back passenger door swung open, knocking the man to the ground, and Saito, of all people, poked his head out and waved to Cobb.
"Care for a lift, Mr. Cobb?"
Cobb dove into the backseat with Saito, slamming the door shut as the car zoomed down the street, and he stared at the Japanese businessman in shock, breathing hard. "What're you doing in Mombasa, Saito?"
"I have to protect my investment," Saito answered with a smirk and Cobb rolled his eyes, suspecting that the businessman had been keeping tabs on him this whole time without him realizing it, and if Arthur and Emma, or even Eames, ever found out, he was never going to hear the end of it.
Back at the bar, Eames was waiting outside, wondering whether Cobb had managed to lose the agents or not, when he heard a whistle and saw the young man waving to him from the back window of a black car that pulled up. "This is your idea of losing a tail?" he asked, spotting Saito as he opened the front passenger door.
"Different tail," Cobb responded with a shrug and Eames scoffed as he got into the car. "Eames, meet, Saito. He's the one backing the job." And Eames was now very interested.
"Really?"
A/N: I couldn't help but laugh when Saito helped Cobb escape from Cobol's agents like that, and Eames is so funny, too. R&R everyone!