Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan. Thanks to Moviemaniac12 for agreeing to let me co-write this fic.

The chill of the air conditioning grazed my skin, and made me flinch. Turning, I tried to burrow myself further underneath the light blanket. Closing my eyes, I tried to drift off to sleep. Eames was fast asleep next to me.

Thoughts were swirling inside my head. Where was this case going? Who was behind it? What was the purpose of it? The person I was to be interrogating had requested us. Suspicions were starting to rise and nibble at the back of my mind. Eames stirred, and mumbled something.

Over the years, a lot of cases had been done. Some had worked, some not. Was it someone who'd we helped? Someone we'd extracted? It had to be someone we knew. People didn't know who we really were – that was the whole point. And now it seemed we hadn't really known someone, either. Someone with motivations so obscure, they would actually plan to do this. Only to leave their accomplice to face us.

I rubbed my hand over my face. A bomber threatening to cause a trial of decimation. A possible terrorist, not just a psychopath. I shifted, and hoping I wouldn't disturb Eames, reached into the bag by my feet and pulled out my file bag. All my notes on terrorist attacks, methods and motivations were in there. An ugly tableau of humanity.

Terrorism. The word stuck in my throat. I'd considered it to be humanity exposing its ugliness, conducted by people so desperate to be heard they resorted to deciding to kill. I unzipped the bag, pausing as I remembered how I'd felt on the day of the Ohio bombings in 1995. I'd been a teenager. Suddenly, Math class was interrupted as we were ushered to the assembly hall, with the principle speaking to us in low, solemn tones. A bomb had been detonated, he said. It had caused devastation in a government building. The toll of the injured was still rising. The toll of deaths was high.

I saw the face of the suspect on the news that night. He'd looked stone faced, as though he didn't care. Then I'd realised – he hadn't. He'd done what he wanted. He'd caused death and destruction, purely to make a point.

School had been a different place after that. A couple of students had been suspended for running into the cafeteria one morning, shouting "BOMB!" and throwing a package in the centre of the room. They'd protested, claiming it was a joke. No-one was laughing.

What I found the most frightening about Ohio was the motive. The suspect had merely smirked his way through the hearing, and offered no reason other than he felt justified in doing it. I later found out he was a member of an extreme militia with a grudge against the Government, but I still found it hard to comprehend how someone could be so cold-blooded to actually kill like this to make a point.

I shivered. The air conditioning was beginning to chill me. I reached up and adjusted it. Eames stirred again, but didn't wake. Looking past him, Cobb was asleep, and Ariadne had pulled her blanket up so I couldn't see her face.

I flipped through my file, annoyed at how loudly the paper rustled. Terrorists don't consider themselves to be that. They would argue that they're freedom fighters. Fighting for the freedom of whom? What was this guy fighting for? A political cause? Religion? Trying to prove a point?

I shifted. I didn't want to meet him. I didn't want to talk to him. I realised I had no interest in what he had to say. He wasn't a hero, or a martyr. But someone demented enough, sick enough, to think that he could get what he wanted by threatening people's lives in a dramatic manner. I muttered angrily and shoved the folder back in my bag.

Of course, Eames started to stir. "Whassit?" He mumbled. His voice was thick with sleep, and though he turned his head, he could barely open his eyes.

"Nothing." My voice was slightly more curt than I'd intended. "Go back to sleep."

"Hmmmf?" He turned, and within a minute or so, I could hear his breathing had deepened again. I started to relax, and began to stretch. I closed my eyes. Tiredness was beginning to engulf me. A montage of images was beginning to blur in front of my eyes. I recognised faces, but then they started to fade.

Suddenly, I was in a building. It was anonymous – blank walls, endless corridors. I began to walk, a vague, puzzled feeling settling in my stomach. I had no idea what I was walking towards, but I began to hurry.

People were running towards me, pushing, shoving. I looked. Blind panic was on their faces – I swallowed. I needed to see where they were coming from. Pushing against them, I mumbled an apology and kept going. As the corridor started to clear, I broke into a run.

A door. A door loomed up in front of me. There was no number, no indication of where it lead to. I pushed.

Inside, a small black box. A figure was sitting by it. I began to walk towards it, calmly.

"Don't come any closer." A slightly muffled voice said.

I stopped. "OK, I'm not. I'm standing here."

"If you come any closer, he'll kill me!"

My heart began to race. I realised that the voice was coming from the figure in the chair. I swallowed.

"Look," I tried to sound calm. "I'm not going to move any further, just let them go, and-"

"Not your choice."

"Whatever you're planning to do, just-"

Suddenly I felt a jolt. My eyes started to flick open. We were approaching landing. A cold sweat started to break out on my skin, causing my forehead to prickle.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry. I looked at the others – still asleep. Envying them, and feeling shaken, I began to pull my jacket on, feeling slightly sick at what could be waiting for us.