~Sorry for the LONGGGGG wait, but I did it thanks to my annoying ass of a brother who just wouldn't shut up until I finished it cx Guess you should thank him? Love you all!-MsArtemis p.s. REVIEW PUHLLLLEASEE :)~
Ariadne never thought the taste of blood could be loved.
The warm fluid weighed down her tongue, the iron stinging her taste buds as well as illustrate her sore, broken lip and, surely, cracked jaw. She attempted to move the bone; she heard a snap, but felt nothing amongst her dull facial muscles.
At the noise, one of her two captors, a tall, broad African American man with dreads and slim, black sunglasses and in a 3 piece striped suit, tilted his head, his shaven jaw glistening in the overhead fluorescent lights. She offered him a cool stare, breathing in through her nose in order to calm the fury piling up inside of her chest.
Act like Arthur, Act like Arthur…
Thick and hot, excess blood rushed over her tongue, and she choked slightly; it was her body's natural reaction to what she could only assume was a broken tooth. Swallowing the concoction, it slid mercilessly down her throat and caused her stomach to roll, but she ignored both side effects.
She loved the taste because it meant she was alive. Despite the hours they had spent questioning the Complete Disintegration job, she had bit her tongue and tasted the bittersweet taste of bane, remaining quiet. Their punches and gotten nowhere, and neither had their knives. They were poor torturers; Ariadne could tell form the multiple crime shows she had watched in her high school years. They had not had a very good teacher, which was obvious by their fumbling fingers and curse words.
Oh, and there was the good chance she was in some form of shock. She couldn't tell, though, and that made things more difficult.
As if the thought had offset some chain reaction, Ariadne's body betrayed her. Blood slipped past her lips, dripping down her chin and landing on her pale, upturned arms.
The excess of liquid fleshed with the other crimson droplets that leaked from the multiple slash marks on her pale arms, all of them pooling together in order to slide down and unto the concrete floor that lay below her.
Bound in a rickety, wooden chair with a curved back, rope demanded her wrists be pinched to its solid oak arms, upturned so that the men could reach the insides of her wrist and elbow, the places for the first, painful slices.
That is what she assumed at least, from the things they had discussed; the two of them had whispered about what was best in order to get the information from her while she was coming back conscious several hours ago.
She had heard them, muttering about how to get her to speak, when her vision reluctantly revived itself, her heartbeat rang throughout her skull and the memory of her arrival played out in her head.
She had gone to her the hotel room, phone in hand. The first thing she had done was drop her suitcase on the bed with a sigh, brushing creamy brown waves behind her ear as she collapsed on the mattress, beside her bag. Flipping unto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, arms flat out on the crinoline sheets as she thought.
She needed to apologize to Arthur this second, to tell him what had happened was…was what? Nothing? It hadn't been.
She and Cobb were attracted to each other, she could not deny.
The way his soul lay in pieces, the sapphire glances he shot her way, the crease of his golden brow-it was all so familiar and damn comforting it was not hard to get a bit tipsy and be carried away by passion.
Or lack thereof. She had been hurting and drunk; of course, she would have kissed Cobb.
What did Arthur truly expect her to do? Run to him, ignoring the fact Lacey was leaning over, whispering in his ear…
He was cold, silent, and unknown. He was like nothing she had ever seen before, and her chest ached at the thought of him never speaking to her again. They both enjoyed paradoxes, and building things, and figuring out the puzzles and pieces to a dream; would it really be so easy for him to walk away from her?
He had not spoken to her at all on the plane ride. That indicated to her, that, to him, it was easy to leave her in the dust while he carried on with his redhead bombshell of an ex-girlfriend.
If that was true, Ariadne was not sure she knew him at all.
Suddenly, there was a knock on her white hotel door. Sitting up quickly, Ariadne brushed off her baggy, off the shoulder golden wool sweater and denim jeans before crossing over to the door and pulling it open without a second thought.
She had been so distracted by her thoughts; she had not expected the cloth that flew at her face, and the slim, pale hand that cradled the back of her head as she was lowered to the ground.
Inhaling a sickly sweet scent that made her stomach churn, Ariadne's vision began to darken around the edges, but not before she caught sight of her attacker.
Orange waves luminous, pale heart shaped face glowing, Lacey's large mouth popped open in fake horror. Her teal eyes twinkled as she whispered,
"Oh, no, what are we going to do with you, Ms. Ariadne…"
Before she could flip unto her stomach and retch up her in-flight meal, Ariadne tumbled into darkness.
Recalling the scene made her wrist ache for somacin…in a dream she'd be the queen, the ultimate decision maker. She would not be in this situation if she was dreaming, but then again, she had not had time to check. The gold Bishop was weighing down her pocket begged to be whipped out and weighted.
Giving a quiet inhale, Ariadne cleared her mind, praying for sanity, at least, in this moment. She needed to focus. As soon as her eyelids snapped up, her caramel eyes glowed; she was determined. Glancing around her surroundings, she made notes, as if she was looking over a project for the first time and she was pointing out the architectural features for future reference.
The room was wide and metallic, wooden crates stacked all around her chair in a semi-circle. To her left, the boxes made room for a thick, metal door that had no window and only one, long, downward handle to pull on. Studying the rectangle, she wondered what the door hid away.
Explosives, maybe, or more people like her, or even people that had been like her. Swallowing, Ariadne turned away from the large door in order to take in the three guards that blockaded the only entrance and exit she knew.
The door they guarded was a slim, wooden rectangle. It had clear nail and tape marks on its surface, as if there had once been posters there, but there was no longer. A tiny window, yellow with age, lay near the top, metal crisscrosses marring its surface.
The men that stood in front of the door were more interesting than the exit.
One was the African-American who had eyed her earlier; he remained muscular and clean-shaven, the twin iron beads in his dreads clicking with his every movement. He had a black handgun at his side, directed at his foot now; what if the Safety was off?
The man at his right was a skinny blonde with mandarin colored skin from too much sun. His hair was swept up and over his forehead, a flaxen, greasy mess Ariadne didn't overanalyze. Patches of hair ran down his triangular jaw, scars slicing through the facial hair every few centimeters. The scars tinted his cheeks grey but then were enveloped by the shadows of the square sunglasses he wore. In Capri's and a forest-green V-neck, he shifted on his feet uneasily, clearly unused to not wielding the shotgun that lay in his arms.
They were polar opposites, clearly; the black man never moved an inch, his gaze fixated on some point in the distance as his friend jerked at every sound.
Suddenly, there was a noise, a voice that startled the blonde man to jumping and caused Ariadne's mouth to drop open, "Would anyone care to tell me what the hell is bloody going on?"
Eames, Ariadne's mind screamed, and her heart leapt in her chest.
"Shit." The blonde man's head whipped around, and his sunglasses tipped forward as he looked down on Ariadne, who sat several yards away from him. "We need to get rid of her. They can't find her, you know she's leverage. The boss said."
Ariadne's heart fell as quickly as it had risen. Leverage, that's what she was. The word sent her veins to overdrive, and they quickly zapped the strength from her bones.
The African American man nodded, and the blonde man, in a frenzy at his idea being accepted, did a little hop as he hissed, "Where are we gonna put her, Dyl?"
Dyl? Ariadne could only assume that was short for Dylan as the African American man's head gave a slow rotation so as to face the blonde. "The fridge, of course. No use keeping her in plain sight, J. There's only so many rooms in here-we'll just have to put her there."
The fridge? Ariadne hardly noticed when her legs began lashing out, causing her chair to topple over on its side. She didn't notice the jar of pain it brought her, or the way crimson drops flew out and across the concrete at her yelp of pain.
She only had one thing in her mind, on repeat. What would Arthur do, what would Arthur do…
Although Dyl held her upper arms in his fists, as his friend untied her wrists, and she was pulled straight up into the air, Arthur's velvet voice slid into her ears, taking control.
If you must make a kill shot, the best way is to aim for the heart. Hold your gun high- She could practically feel his hands on hers, their fingers interlacing as he adjusted her grip on the pistol's handle. Aim for the right. Two ribs down from the top of the ribcage, the heart is protected. If you shoot there, the impact will smash the ribs to pieces and they will puncture the victim's lung before the bullet even gets there. It is imperative you know this.
One tiny fist broke loose; she made sure to keep the thumb on the outside as she planted the face of her knuckles right into the second rib on Dyl's right side.
Shock infiltrated her defenses as she realized what she had done; she'd punched a man. She actually had.
Dyl winced once before releasing her right arm in order to bring his palm down and across her cheek; she gasped as blood spattered into the tangled waves of her hair, as she bent over and dealt with the sting, the strength flowing out of her body in an instant. Her shock at getting the upper hand evaporated, leaving her useless as Jay, the blonde, opened the thick metal door, and without delay, Dyl threw her inside.
The impact that her body took in from landing on the metal floor shuddered through her bones; she did not have time to register the door closing before she was left in utter darkness.
For a few moments, she lay on her side, allowing the pain to overwhelm her-white hot, burning in so many places, each breath was a nightmare- before she pressed it back down, deep inside herself, and sat up.
Letting out a breath she had not known she had been holding, a puff let loose, its misty fingers trailing in the air as tears sprang to her eyes.
Glancing around, she caught sight of the many boxes stacked against the frosted sides labeled TOXIC. They surrounded her, leaving her on a floor covered in at least two inches of ice.
Sighing, she scooted over an inch or so until her back pressed against a wooden crate, and then she pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her thin arms around them. Holding herself as tight as she could, she buried her head in her lap, attempting to rid of the dizziness that rose up within her head, daring to strike down.
The tears in her eyes burned, but she was grateful to them; it meant she was alive.
Her mind struggled for a plan as her teeth chattered, but the cold was slowly taking away everything she knew; her blood continued to slip down out of her face, the knots of her hair to drip to the floor, staining the impeccable clear shade forever pink…
Cobb did not trust them. They had taken Ariadne, and so far, he could not spot her.
There was no indicator of another room anywhere; it was apparent they were lying.
"Now, Lacey tells me you're working for me. On a 'dream job'."
Cobb snapped back to attention, his eyes adjusting to the scene before him in a millisecond.
He sat in a plush roller chair that had its own oak desk; the glimmer of the object joined the sixteen or so others that made a square in the middle of the warehouse, each desk at the least, a foot away from the other.
He had allowed his hand to drop to his lap, but that did not mean a damn thing, for a trusty handgun rested comfortably in his right palm. At his left was Arthur, to the left of Arthur was Eames and to the right of Cobb, a quietly panicking Yusuf. Across the square, Andres lounged, Lacey's crossed pale legs near to his. She leant back in her seat, her pose regal despite the heavy amount of deviousness that plagued her round face. Cobb could not decipher if she was attempting not to laugh or was seriously plotting as her hand delicately covered her mouth, the fingers edging around the corners, the palm floating above it.
Arthur's voice cut to the chase. "Yes, that is what she informed me-"
Arthur's speech was ruined by Lacey's high, svelte tone. "Of course you would think that, Arthur, the message having come from my email. Unfortunately, it wasn't me. I was hacked."
Cobb threw a sharp glance at his right hand man, who leant forward on his desk, his thin face fallen and locked in a state of blank simplicity. Arthur, witty Arthur, who had trained in the arts of deception, could not be taken down by a false email. Cobb decided to speak on the matter.
"Is that true? Could it have been a fake?" he demanded, his eyes a dangerous shade of narrowed turquoise as his cheekbones strengthened in their resolve.
Before Arthur could respond, Lacey let out a dainty little chuckle, and Cobb's head whipped to her direction. "Of course it could, Cobb, don't be foolish. There are people smarter than your dream team out there, let me tell you that."
"So you know who did it?" Yusuf inquired, adjusting the thick, square glasses he had chosen to wear instead of contacts.
Lacey eyed him with distaste before managing, "No, but you have many enemies, figure that out."
"I'm sorry-" Eames began, leaning forward in his seat, his eyebrows pulling in sarcastically on his forehead as his body eased forward, "but can we get back to the point? Whoever hacked it doesn't matter now, what matters is that you have our Architect and I, for one, would like to know why."
"Of course," Andres murmured, reaching into his jeans pocket in order to drag out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper. "A few months ago I began receiving anonymous emails. No matter what decoder I hired, they never could figure out who sent them. I will read the email to you now, exactly as it arrived to me on its multiple occasions. The message was always the same:
Dear Mr. Hernandez,
I have observed you from afar and have discovered that we are alike, you and I. We each have an unhealthy addiction that is dangerous to our sanity. We each have considerable power and wealth at our disposal and bitter women who don't love us as they should."
Cobb's eyes shot to Arthur's; they made eye contact in the same moment, and Cobb saw Arthur's caution reflected back at him.
"We also have ambitions; yours, to become ruler of the Underground world of Weaponary, mine, to possess what I long for.
On a separate note, I heard a quaint little story back in '89 in the newspaper, about two murders in a Havana gas station. They never found the culprit, but I think you know how this ends."
Andres' voice darkened audibly, tinting the story with shadows.
"I will tell my version of that little '89 column to famous sources located throughout the globe. It will only take the snap of my finger, and everyone will know about that 10-year-old scrap. Follow the directions, Mr. Hernandez, or I will end you and your company. I believe you will assist me and do as I say.
Sincerely,
Acolad."
"Acolad?" Cobb echoed unconsciously, before adding, "That isn't a name you hear every day."
The crinkling of paper filled the establishment as the paper returned to its pocket and Arthur snapped, "What were the directions? Was it a specific list? Or hints?"
Andres gave Arthur an even stare before replying with, "Direct orders to find a woman. He gave us an address; said she was meddling in his affairs and was into dream work. It took us awhile to figure out how to get in, but eventually some of my men had to jump in from the terrace in the building across…"
The words had Cobb's blood heating up, roaring in his ears; his hands turned into fists as the assembled came to the conclusion.
"You were told to kill Ariadne." Cobb supplied.
Andres nodded, quipping, "My men thought the shot killed her. I have some newbie's on her case, you see. My best are filling out the rest of his demands."
Suppressing the urge to yell, Cobb instead brought up his hand, placing the butt on the table so as to better aim at short, little, Andres' head.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you, right now." His voice was even, the words as smooth as crystal. No one appeared surprised by the outrage, and in the back of his mind, Cobb even heard the safety on Arthur's gun click off.
Andres slowly raised his hands, snapping his fingers as soon as they were in the air. Men came out of the shadows, all in black suits and with dark ski masks. They ranged from burly to lean, but every one of them stayed quiet as Cobb quietly analyzed the situation.
"You don't want to fight me, Mr. Cobb."
Cobb looked Andres up and down as the short man dropped his arms, a grim expression on his weary face. "You will do as I say, when I say it. I am not going to lose my life to this person, I hope you understand."
There was a pause before Andres sighed, finishing with, "The first demand was to get rid of the girl. Now let's just sit down and discuss the others in a safe environment, yeah? "
Cobb released the gun on the table, withdrawing his hand even as his blood slowed down its pace to sludge.
They had no choice; at least, for now.