RECAP (It's been some time): Jack has been given a job by Bunnymund to incept an idea into the mind of Princess 'Rapunzel' of Corona (a.k.a. the 'Mark') to convince her to take her 'rightful place as Queen'. He has gathered a team of experts to help him on the job:

Kristoff – The 'Point-man' a.k.a. Jack's trusty sidekick who hates humans and loves animals,

Flynn – The 'Forger' and an ex-co-worker with Jack,

Sandy – The 'Chemist' who helps with sedatives,

Bunnymund – The 'Tourist', the employer representing 'The Guardians', a mysterious organization that's largely anti-dream-sharing etc. Nobody really wants him here, but he insists, and not forgetting

Anna – The 'Architect', Jack's sister-in-law who still blames him for her sister lying comatose in the hospital….

Emotion has two sources: the individual and his surroundings. Surroundings includes people surrounding the individual. By manipulating the relationships of a Mark with the people surrounding him or her, you could introduce an emotional concept - an idea.

A political idea, like 'I will become the Queen of Corona.'

Of course, it was harder than it sounded. Which relationship should they focus on?

"Her relationship with her fellow Coronians? She has lived Australia all her life. She doesn't care much about them enough."

"What about with her family? Her relationship with her late father?" Kristoff suggested, flipping through his folder. "She was expected to be his successor, after all. That must have been a source of conflict-"

"Ah! But there was only conflict in her family because of the conflict between the Princess and her kidnapper," Flynn interjected triumphantly, raising his fist up as he proclaimed his epiphany.

"That's make no sense." Kristoff dismissed the idea, offended about the smug interruption.

"Oh?" Flynn raised his brow, as his eyes alight at the challenge. "The Princess Rapunzel had grown up believing that her kidnapper, what's her name-"

"Gothel," supplied Anna, who had until now not spoken a word. She was still the rooky in the team of experts, so she had been quietly taking notes and listening to the discussion. "Her name is really just … Gothel. No last name or anything. Unless her only name counts as a last name…"

"Okay. These people's names all sound strange in German," Flynn remarked, more to himself than anyone else, before carrying on. "So Princess Rapunzel had grown up believing that Gothel was her mother. Of course, after her little stunt with the anti-cosmetic protest and the Guinness Book of Records, she gets famous. She finds out that her entire life has been a lie, so she goes nuts. She flares up, the old woman snaps, catfights ensues-"

"Get to the point." Kristoff was more than happy to cut the forger off this round.

"-even if the Princess is now happily reunited with her blood family-" Flynn shot a hard glare at the blonde man, who only smirked in response "-she still holds a considerable mistrust for them. That's where the lack of confidence and distance with her parents are rooted in. Her relationship with her mother – not her biological mother. The crazy old hag that raised her – that'd be Rapunzel's subconscious mother. I'd say we attack that."

Most accepted Flynn's theory (it was expected that Kristoff was highly skeptical of it), and from there the first layer of the dream was conceived. Jack wrote it out on the board:

I am not my mother's daughter.

"The real bridge has fences on the sides of it, but the dream one can't, because you're going to drive off it at-" Anna counted the tiles of the miniature bridge she had built across the flat cardboard that represented Sydney Habour – or at least, something that looked very much like it in the dream world.

She had never designed anything in such detail before, so doing just a portion of it almost killed her. She had spent the last two nights designing in between tackling her assignments from school. North knew full well of how strenuous her new job was, but he still piled her up with the same amount of work as everyone else. Sometimes, she wondered if he was trying to deter her from doing it altogether, but dismissed the idea. He had been the one recommend her to Jack after all.

Jack, who thought she couldn't do it. Well, the miniature cardboard maze should prove him wrong.

Kristoff had shown her some sample models that they had designed for previous jobs before she starting designing, so when she showed him her work, he had been suitably impressed. Very impressed actually – he actually said that she was better than most architects he had ever worked with. Jack had only glided past her table, mumbled 'oh' before hustling off to do, well, whatever it was that he always did. Somehow, she also found him lying back on a lawn chair, with an IV tube joining him to the PASIV machine for no good reason.

Her current 'student' was the chemist guy from Germany. At first, she had assumed that he didn't understand English, because he never spoke up during the discussions. But after a while, she noticed that his communication more often than not through his hands, and it took an explanation from Flynn for her to realize that Sandy didn't – couldn't speak at all.

But let it not be said that he was no thinker. While she mused over the figures, she felt a tug on a shoulder. Glancing down towards him, she asked, "What's the matter?"

She couldn't read sign language, and even less a German version of it, but fortunately, Sandy was adept enough in English to write it down his thoughts, so write he did. A question scribbled on his notebook was shown to her, 'Won't the Mark recognize the changes to the bridge? She did grow up in Sydney.'

"Oh, it should be alright," Anna replied as she whipped out her ruler to measure the bridge. "The file says that she grew up in the outskirts. She hardly went to the city. Besides,-" she checked her own notebook. It was cluttered with bits of words and clumps of scribbling here and there, but she still found the details she needed "-she shouldn't be conscious when we get to this part of the city."

Sandy nodded, adding some notes to his little pad, before closing it, gesturing her to continue.

"Okay, so you would have stop in this intersection over here-"

As she continued her explanation, Anna couldn't help feeling slightly frustrated about it all. It was her design, after all – why shouldn't she get to build the dream herself? But no, according to Jack, she wasn't doing the job at all. Her task was to design all the necessary layers, teach the dreamers the outlines and that's it. She would never get to see her creations at play. This must have been how Da Vinci felt after designing the world's first flying machine, but never getting to see it fly.

"Here's what we're going to feed her in the second level."

Marker scratched onto whiteboard. A new sentence joined the first two:

I want to create something for myself.

"It's a build up from the previous one. We need to establish to that she is her own independent woman," Jack explained while capping the marker. "Make her feel good about herself. Good emotion always makes an idea easier to swallow."

"That second cousin of hers – the one that'd take the throne if she doesn't take it? I bet we could use him." Flynn mused out loud.

"I thought we've pretty much established that he's a crook." Kristoff pointed out. "How can we use someone untrustworthy to create a good feeling?"

"Precisely that he's untrustworthy," the brunette man didn't batter a lid at the critique. "Betrayal turns into righteous fury turns to self-confidence. We show that he's been manipulating her to give up the throne so that he can take it for himself. That would teach her how to be guarded."

"Has he really been doing that?" Anna whispered to Sandy.

The chemist wrote a reply back on his notepad. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's doesn't matter really. It's all just a dream, after all."

"I'm going to have get close to him," Flynn continued on, since there were no objections. "I'll to have to learn his mannerisms, his speech – if possible, how he behaves towards the Princess." He rapped his knuckles against the arm of his chair. "I don't suppose anyone knows if this-" he squinted at his info-sheet "-Prince Hans of Westergaard has a secretarial job opening? A clerk, perhaps?"

"I think I can arrange something." The Guardians agent had been quietly listening in the discussion so far, so his input was unexpected. Jack shot him a suspicious look. The older man stared him down, defending himself quietly, "I intend to protect my investment, Frost. Of course I'll render my assistance, if needed."

"Splendid," Flynn's cheery voice broke into the hostile atmosphere. "I hope you'll cover the flight fees and the visa? And food? And lodgings? Five-star residence with free massages?"

Bunnymund sent him a withering glare.

"What?" The actor was unabashed. "You said that you would 'render assistance'."

A rare grin could be noted to appear on Jack's face.

He woke up sweating, and immediately started to shiver. The night, for some unnatural reason, decided to be desperately cold. He sat himself from the lawn chair, yanking the needles out from his skin with more force than necessary. This caused his wrists to begin to bleed, and he cursed himself for his own careless when the edge of his sleeve earned a crimson blotch.

"You could afford to be more careful with those."

Such words were often uttered by his co-worker. But Kristoff usually grumbled it in an annoyed tone, and this voice spoke with a calm reserve, almost gentle. And it obviously didn't belong to a man.

He heard the scrapping of wooden legs against the floor as a chair dragged beside his own. For some reason, the lights had been switched off. Darkness usually put him off, but the pale moonlight filtering through the glass chased the shadows away, granting him reprieve. At least, till he saw the face of his companion.

She took his bleeding arm in her own before he could draw it away. Ever prepared, it seemed, a piece of gauze was procured from the first aid kit on her lap. She straightened his elbow, dabbing the piece on the site of the wound, her head bent in concentration. Her fingers were cold, icy even. But the years, whether real or dreamed, in which he had held this freezing hand in his own and raised them to his lips, he had imagined that he was warm enough for both of them. Or perhaps he was just as cold. It didn't really matter.

Once most of the wound had been cleaned, she proceeded to set a plaster over it - one of those bigger ones, precisely for these kind of cuts. It was only then that he could will himself to draw his arm back, though something in him cried for her touch again. But to indulge in such would erroneous, even dangerous for his sanity.

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked, perhaps more harshly than necessarily. Or perhaps not. The image of her stabbing Anna still flashed in his mind, a vicarious thought that led to him digging in his hoodie pocket. The desired token was taken up in his hands, but in his haste, it slipped from his fingers, clattering to the marble wooden floor with a thud-thud. He sighed, pushing himself to edge of his seat to give him more room to reach for it, but she retrieved it first.

"Here." She proffered the hexagonal case to him.

He scowled as he snatched it back. "You're not supposed to do that. You created totems in the first place. You should know."

She raised a cool brow at him. "It's not as if I know what's inside, Jack. Or-" there's a warning gleam in her clear blue eyes "-do I?"

Frowning, he turned from her, such that his torso blocked her view. Jack ran his fingers up against the golden carvings on the sides of the gold cylinder, his right thumb brushing over the white diamond-shaped pieces on his lid. He pressed down, and there was click. Gingerly, he lifted the flap, and peered inside.

He had snapped the box shut before he heard her speak again, "When is this going to stop, Jack?" When he didn't reply, she continued, "You can't keep running from the truth."

"Truth?" He spun to her, a sardonic scoff escaping his lip. "Elsa, you're the one who lost sight of the truth. You're the reason I'm in this mess in the first place."

There was no remorse, or even the slightest shame in response to his accusation. Somehow, her fair countenance retained its steely visage as her cool reply echoed in the darkness, "I'm just trying to save you."

"Well, maybe you should stop," he answered her pointedly, folding his arms to his chest just in case she tries to hold either again. He had to keep his distance, limit contact and proximity. Because the longer he stayed, the longer he noted bitterly how detailed the projection was, from the quirk of her eyebrows to the turn at the corner of her lip, from the glint in her eye to the gleam of her flaxen locks – it was all so real. "Look at what happened when I tried to save you."

Her gaze on him was level, expressionless. By right, Elsa should have been less able to contain her emotions in the subconscious - after all, it was the subconscious precisely because it could not be controlled. But this woman - this shade that stood before him was not quite his wife, and did not suffer this issue.

"I can't wait forever, you know," she told him. She wasn't real, he told himself over and over, but her piercing cerulean eyes still scorched his soul in a way that only hers could. "We're running out of time."

"There's always time," he contradicted, unconsciously getting onto his feet, just so that he could use his slight advantage in height to peer down at her - so that he wouldn't always feel small, so insignificant in her chilly aura. "There's always time here."

There was a ghost of smile, a sad one. "But not till infinitum, there isn't."

He shook his head as he pocketed the golden case, pressing his lips together. He knew what she said was true - he could see it by the rolling numbers in the blanks of his cellphone. He wasn't getting any younger. It was only a matter of time.

"I miss you," he told her without meaning to, yet that didn't lessen the sincerity. Three words held eternity in it - an eternity of feeling, of sorrow, of regret. "And your sister t-"

When Jack turned, he saw that the woman - the shade - had vanished, and only the sound of the curtains flapping against the metal windowsill echoed in the moonlight.

Without warning, the light vanished, and shadows hidden around the furniture sprang to life, darting and flittering around him. Jack raised his arms to protect himself, but the streaks of black only got more vicious, tearing against his flesh as they swirled around him. He felt warm liquid dripping down off his elbows, and his teeth gritted together automatically.

'This isn't real.'

He batted against them, shaking his head, trying to run, but the ground had disappeared. He might have screamed, but the somehow it was lost in the whirl.

'This isn't real.'

He was spinning. Some unseen force was sucking him down, swallowing him into a hole of darkness. Was there a hand around his ankle? Or was that just his imagination? Was there a difference?

'This isn't real.'

He needed his totem. He needed to be reminded. His fingers tore into his pocket, or they tried to. There was something latched around his wrist. Something rough, something cold...

...something that came with a sinister cackle.

And then it dawned on Jack. He was afraid, and fear to some was like nectar to the bee.

'Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them know.'

Don't let him know, rather.

And then Jack woke up.

Warm colors. Orange and yellow. The sun, peeking over the cloud, streaming in through the side window, reflecting of the metal tables. He exhaled deeply. He was safe.

There was a poke on his arm and his eyes met those of the short man seated on the seat across his own. 'Sandy' had earned his nickname from the bright golden hair on the top of his head and a round face usually full of cheer. That face was now scrunched up in worry, and this was further emphasized by how the shorter man scrutinized the scribbles on his notebook.

As Jack removed the tubes and needles attached to his arm, he pulled out the hexagonal case from his hoodie pocket. Finger pressing down onto the central button, he pulled open its flap. The contents of the case was sufficient to confirm the reality of this world, so he closed the case. It was then that he noticed that his companion forming gestures at him.

"Sorry, could you do it slower?" the white haired man asked, slightly embarrassed. His sign language reading skills were still pretty rusty, and Sandy's version was pretty specific to German, so the translation was twice as tricky.

Roughly, the gestures questioned why his heart patterns were so erratic.

Naturally, Jack was slightly puzzled by the question, until the chemist pulled over the screen showing the heart rate recorded by the EMP machine, which the chemist had strapped to him prior to the study. The tip of the pencil rested on the sudden the peak in heart rate near the end of the graph.

The only thing that Jack offered as an answer was, with a shrug, "Falling."

Sandy appeared slightly skeptical, but made no further comment, choosing to peer at the note pad again, then at the various instruments he had lain out on the messy table. As he did, Jack let his attention wander across the room, peering at the cluttered tables, the messy pin-up boards and the lawn chairs strewn all around. Bunnymund hadn't come today, thank goodness, since he had some 'business meeting' to attend to, and Flynn was still on his 'holiday' at Corona. Jack hoped that the forger had the common sense to go in a disguise – it would be unfortunate if he should run into their Mark prior to the job. But Flynn was an expert in dishonesty as much as Jack was an expert of secrecy, so the latter trusted that precautions had been taken.

With two teammates absent, that left only Sandy, Kristoff, Anna and himself. The brunette girl was now absorbed teaching Kristoff his own maze. He had to give it to her – she was good. At her age, he would never be able to churn out half the blueprints that she could under such tight conditions. It was the fifth day since they had started working on the job and she had already completed the maze for the second layer. He never allowed himself to get a close look at, only taking fleeting glances at the patterns sketched on the sheets, or the cardboard structures stacked on the table, but whatever little he derived from his peeking, it was good enough. If she ever chose to pursue dream extraction as a career – though Jack would wish no such fate upon her - she would be quite successful.

He watched as his partner-in-crime and his sister-in-law discussed the layout of the building – or was this one also a miniature city? She appeared rather excited about it, chattering about one matter before flinging into another, then grabbing another blueprint and shoving it in Kristoff's face. The tall blonde seemed slightly flustered at the amount of work that had been abruptly dropped in his lap, and Jack couldn't help chuckling at the sight. No doubt Anna had presented to him some ambitious, highly decorative and creative design. Kristoff was a reliable fellow, but as Flynn had said once before, he didn't have much imagination and anything extravagant would be difficult for him to handle. Considering that their Mark was a Visual Arts major with ambitions of being an illustrator though, such staidness couldn't be afforded this time.

He had realized that he had been staring until Anna had lifted her gaze from the models. The thrill that those dancing eyes had died when they met his, yet Jack felt no blatant hostility in her expression. There was only interest and inquisitiveness. It was then that Jack realized that she was ogling at the golden case in his hands, and he swiftly slipped back into his pocket, hoping that she wouldn't notice the haste that he had adopted. But the suspicious glint had entered in her gaze now, and her eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly in his direction.

Feeling rather uncomfortable, Jack pushed himself off the lawn chair, shoulders hunched as he strode off to another section of the warehouse under the guise of finding another file chart for Sandy. He could feel her eyes burning a hole into his back.

"And then the third level."

A last sentence was scrawled out, and Jack drew a line under it:

I will embrace who I was born to be.

"Oh, that's good," Flynn murmured approvingly, rubbing his stubble as he nodded.

"Wait." Kristoff stared intently at the whiteboard, holding out a hand of caution. "Three levels with six people plugged in? A dream like that is far too unstable. It'll collapse at the slightest disturbance."

Sandy's hand shot up immediately, not that anyone noticed for some time given how short his arm was.

"Well, inception's complex task, Kristoff," Flynn retorted. "Two layers would be insufficient to for a build-up."

"I'm not suggesting that we cut the number of layers – though that would help tremendously. I say we cut the number of participants." This suggestion was emphasized with a glare at the brunette man.

Sandy waved his hand vigoriously back and forth.

"Oh." The forger nodded slowly. "You mean kick me out? Well, good luck with that." He rose from his chair, looking exaggeratedly lofty and annoyed at the same time. The greyed-haired employer, Bunnymund, watched the scene with groan of exasperation, before burying his face in his palm.

"We're not kicking anyone out, Rider, so sit down," Jack ordered firmly, himself too weary of the unnecessary bickering. "Can both of you stop acting like kids?"

"We're not," both Kristoff and Flynn answered simultaneously, then glared at each other as if accusing the other of stealing his lines.

At this point, no one had noticed Sandy at all, so the other silent and only female member of the team couldn't hold back any longer.

"HELLO!" she cried out in frustration just as Flynn was about to make another snip at the Norwegian. When the group finally turned towards her, she waved at the chemist next to her. "Sandy has something to say."

Mutters of apology were handed to the short man, who despite his tired arm, was still patient enough to communicate his ideas through gestures. It was then that Anna realized that every one of the team except herself actually could read Sandy's sign language, so that left her as the only person out of the loop.

"What's he's saying?" she hissed to Kristoff this time, who seemed very focus on trying to translate.

"Sedation. It'll stabilize the dreaming. That would be the perfect solution," he told her ruefully, as if sorry for not thinking of it himself. "Sandy says that he has created his own mixture that would also increase brain function, so that we have more time in the dream world."

"That's great!" Anna exclaimed, then realized it wouldn't really matter for her anyway. It wasn't as if she going on the job. She couldn't help the tinge of disappointment.

"But if we're too deeply sedated, how are we going to wake up at all?" Flynn asked Sandy. "Unless you're planning to have us all kill ourselves. Grisly, but not impossible."

Anna shuddered as she recalled the burning stab that she had felt through her chest on her first run. Involuntarily, she dug into her pocket for the glove – her totem. Her anchor to reality. The stitches on the fabric reminded her that those experiences were just a dream.

The question was answered with more gestures from the small man. Anna turned to Kristoff expectantly.

"He modified the sedative such that it leaves the … the what?" Kristoff frowned at the word.

Sandy repeated the motion, but it was still not understood, even by the other members of the party. With a sigh, the small man took out his writing pad and scrawling out the words. Then, he lifted the book for all to see.

'Inner-ear function,' it said.

"Oh." Everyone now nodded their heads in understanding, except Anna who still found it all rather puzzling.

"He modified the sedative such that it leaves inner-ear function intact," Kristoff continued his translation as Sandy went on gesturing. "Thus, the person can experience the sensation of tipping or falling in a dream, however deep the sleep. Important for kicks."

"Kicks?" she repeated, a brow shooting up.

"The feeling of falling in a dream that jolts you awake." This answer was supplied by the white-haired man chairing the discussion, was apparently listening in to their exchange. When Anna frowned at him, he merely smirked back, before continuing on, "We're going to need to synchronize the kick through all three levels if we're to get a hasty escape. Any ideas?"

There was a pause as the company considered this, then Kristoff suggested, "Music - through headphones, of course. We'll be able to hear it even when sleeping, so then we can all prepare for the kick when it comes."

"Sorry to drag everyone back," Flynn said, writing some notes on his file, "but I need to check on the time limit." He turned to Sandy. "How much time would your sedative gives us on each level?"

Sandy pressed his lips together as he thought, before making starting to sign at him.

"Err, okay, math was never my strongest point." Flynn pulled a face, turning to the rest of the group. "How much is that exactly?"

"We'll have ten hours in the real world," Jack answered, since Sandy looked too peeved at the other German to do so. "In the first layer, it's a week. In the second layer, it's six months. In the third layer, it's ten years."

"Ten years?" Anna repeated louder than she meant to. All eyes immediately flipped to her once more. Though unnerved by the unwanted attention, she still stuttered out, "Who-who'd want to be stuck in a dream for ten years?"

There was silence on the floor. Heads were abruptly downturned. Jack was staring at the collar of his blue hoodie as if there something very interesting about it.

Eventually, Anna's answer came after a nudge in her arm. Sandy had written out in words his reply, and though it was on paper, it felt surprisingly sober: "It depends on the dream."

"Good news – or bad news, depending on how you look at it," she heard Kristoff say. "Flynn will be back tomorrow morning and will definitely extra full of himself. You'll need to bring down Mister-I'm-So- Smart-And-Snarky a peg or two before you can teach him the dream layouts."

"Really? I thought that was your job to ruin his groove." At this point, Anna no longer found the enmity between Flynn and Kristoff irritating, but a quirk that she had come to accept, like Sandy's energetic signing and the employer's unexplained grunts. The only thing that still bothered her was Jack's distance from her. It was funny, since they hadn't seen each other for the last three years.

"I don't mind, really. We can take turns." His semi-serious remark earned a laugh from her.

It was nearing midnight now, so all that illuminated the cluttered warehouse now was the yellow glow of the swinging lamps above, and the white table lamps standing on table corners. Most of the party had left to get a good night's rest away from the workplace. Who wanted to sleep in place that smelled off chemicals, dust and paper? And whiteboard markers. Don't forget the stench of whiteboard markers.

Even Kristoff was about to leave himself, if the way he picked his coat off the rack was any indication. That left Anna, rushing her essay about spatial justice on her laptop. She had been focusing so much on finishing the formats for the final layer of the dream that she forgot that the assignment was due for submission at 6 a.m. the following day. Her roommate would complain if she decided to burn the midnight oil doing the work back in the dorm, so she reckoned that she might as well wrestle the essay in the quiet solitude of the warehouse.

Solitude, save her white-haired brother-in-law.

She gazed down the room. Jack was on the other end, his body lying limp on a lawn chair, his arm hooked to a PASIV machine and his lids drawn shut over his pretty-boy face. She had grown accustomed to seeing him in this position; relaxed on recline with the dream machine whirring next to him. She had seen him this way almost every night. It didn't mean she felt comfortable with it.

"What's he doing?" she inquired of Kristoff, who was picking up his knapsack from a chair near hers.

The blocky man merely glanced at the sleeping – dreaming – figure, then shrugged. "Running tests on himself, I guess."

"What for?" Anna probed, more curious then suspicious.

"No idea." Kristoff swung the bag over his shoulder, shrugging again. "Jack does a lot of strange things."

With that, he bade Anna goodnight, and soon the girl found herself feeling very much alone in stillness of the warehouse. She couldn't stop staring at Jack, hooked the dream machine, sunken into the world of the subconscious. She wondered what he dreamed about.

Her essay was screaming at her to finish it, but she was very good at ignoring common sense. Before she knew it, she was already ten steps down from her seat and counting, striding determinedly towards the sleeping man. There was lawn chair in her way, so she dragged it along the ground, but quietly. She didn't want to wake him.

Anna set the lawn chair next to the table where the PASIV was. She cocked her head to a side, studying his expression. It was blank, telling her nothing about what he was experiencing inside there. Against her better judgement, she pulled out an extra tube connected to the PASIV. Seating herself down on the lawn chair, she began to strap the tube to her wrist.

By this time, Anna had entered lucid dreaming several times – many in Kristoff's, five in Sandy's, three in Jack's and eight in her own. She was familiar to the lurches in reality, the shifts in dimensions and the seduction of the dream. She had learned how to construct her own dreams, and learned how to dive into those of others, extracting facts the way her brother-in-law extracted facts for his criminal livelihood.

Drowsiness washed over her as the liquid somnacin entered her blood. Anna stuck her free hand into her pocket, feeling for her fabric totem and finding solace again in the knots along it. She felt a pinch of guilt, just a little. Perhaps she was intruding in something private, but Anna still couldn't – wouldn't - back out on her decision. Jack claimed that he would give her the answers for all her questions after the job was done, but would he? Maybe he'll just disappear after it's all over. Maybe he'll pretend to have forgotten it all.

Well, she wasn't going to take any of those for an excuse. She had to know how her sister got into a coma in the first place, and if dream infiltration was the only way she could find out, then you could be sure she'd take it.

S/N:

The heist planning! Sorry about all the technicalities, but they are needed to explain how the job works.

And Elsa's first semi-sane appearance in a dream!

And after much hitting my head against the wall, it was settled that Jack's totem is his teeth case – the golden one in ROTG film. His way of checking reality is by ensuring that the correct contents are in the box. And before you ask – no, it isn't teeth that he keeps in the box.

Up Next: Anna invades Jack's mind. Weird stuff ensues.

A/N:

I really take my time when it comes to updating this story. It's not my most-popular, nor the closest to my heart, but I don't think I'll abandon it. That said, writing the actual Inception job is not going to be easy. I don't actually have a solid plan for it. I am, however, looking forward to the next chapter.

Guest Mailbox:

Anna the Amazing (Jan 12): Hello! Thanks for your review! I do plan to continue this story, but as stated above, I don't really have a regular schedule for this. You have probably also forgotten that you wrote this review….

If you do like this story, do drop a review if you can. It might motivate me to write out some concrete plans. But it's really your choice. I'll be happy enough if people even read this.

See you all someday.

Review. Ask Questions.