A/N: The Living Obstacle has now entered the building.
(And also, all previous A/Ns hold true but I hope everyone has a happy all-the-holidays and new year!)
Chapter 23:
"I knew you'd like this place. All this raw, unfiltered information. It's irresistible."
Ana jerked at the sound of the voice and suddenly the world around her seemed to shift, the details of the room going from hazy to almost painfully sharp and bright.
She shook her head to clear her mind. She had been so engrossed in the scale model memories of Matt that coming back to her own body felt like diving into frigid water. She could feel the movement of her chest as she took in a deep breath and let it out, the itchiness at her palms, and the coarseness of fabric against her skin. For a moment, she swayed on her feet, unused to feeling her own legs for what felt like an eternity.
"Careful. Falling in a dream hurts just as badly topside. Give yourself a second to re-acclimate."
Hearing the voice again, Ana looked up. Her eyes widened.
How? How is this possible?
She took a step away, even as her legs shook.
There was a woman leaning on a desk across from her, with one leg crossed carelessly over the other. She wore dark gray trousers and a white blouse, simple but flattering clothing, finished off by black boots with a slight heel. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low braid and there were a pair of what looked to be diamond studs in her ears. Her face was bare though there was a touch of color on her full cheeks and lips which, as Ana stared at her, began to tilt up in a faint smile.
This was someone who worked in an office with a conservative dress code. Someone who preferred close-fitting clothing that allowed her to move freely and comfortably. The soles of her boots were worn but the leather looked supple and conformed to her feet. On the surface there was nothing special or out of place about her attire, but there was an above-average level of maintenance and expense apparent – her clothing was expensive and tailored to fit her frame perfectly; she had manicured nails, clear skin, and shiny hair. The picture of vibrant health.
She wore Ana's face.
Or it was Ana. Or another version of herself, Ana didn't know. It was another entity, wearing an improved version of her face and her body, staring back at her with unabashed interest.
How long have I been here?
It felt like she'd been standing in place for days. Ana now felt the ache in her joints; her knees were stiff and her arms were sore from holding them up for so long.
She wasn't sure what to be more afraid of: the fact that she'd been standing in place consumed by memories, or that there was another her across the room where there'd been no one before.
How long has she been watching me?
"I'm not a threat," the other person – and it was safer to think of her that way, said. "You can tell, can't you? I'm not here to hurt you."
"Are you a projection?" Ana's voice sounded like a croak, her throat dry with disuse. She licked her lips, struggling to regain her thoughts and all the things Arthur had told her before. She glanced down at Matt's map and the fear that she'd forgotten where she was, that she'd forgotten she was in a dream and that she needed to be somewhere else, was definitely becoming greater.
"Are you a projection of myself? Is that even possible?"
"I am you and we is us," the other said, in an almost sing-song voice. She shrugged one shoulder. "But not exactly. I exist as I am because we had to."
"We," Ana repeated. She shook her head. "Am I just talking to myself?"
"I thought we'd be less tiresome."
Before Ana could respond, the other gestured vaguely with one hand. "You are talking to only to a fraction of your mind that I represent. I'm made up of what was left behind, the core features that we couldn't get rid of because they're inherent. I am pure curiosity without anything to hold us back. So, I am you but stripped down to bare parts. I'm the remnants."
"Of what?"
"You. Me. Your memories. Ours." The other – the Remnant glanced around again before looking back at Ana. "She shattered us but She couldn't destroy everything, right? There was a time limit. So She took the important bits and went deep down inside, and I came to be from what was left behind. Leftovers. Remnants."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ana snapped, fed up with riddles.
The Remnant fell silent and tilted her head to the side, studying Ana with a frank, assessing stare. The little smile had vanished and now there was only a glittering, cold gaze and a hard expression. Ana felt as if she were being dissected, as if she were being stripped bare and cut open by merciless hands.
"You could rip someone apart and they'd come back for more. Because they knew, that for one brief moment in time, all your concentration was directed on them and only them. There was no lie they could tell, no dream they could build to con themselves. You'd see right through to the very heart of someone."
Eames' words. Ana couldn't relate.
"Who is She?" Ana asked finally, forcing herself not to look away. She stared back at her own face. "Can you at least explain that?"
The Remnant stood and the corner of her mouth lifted up slightly. Not a smile but an expression of amusement.
"You know."
"I can guess."
"We don't guess."
"Me. From before. Us."
"She's not us anymore. She's something else now."
The Remnant glanced at the window and Ana realized the sunlight hadn't changed since she first entered the room. It remained fixed on the surfaces it had landed on before and the awareness of that made her tense. "She can't exist up here anymore."
How long have I been here?
Where's Arthur? Eames?
"They'll find you soon enough," the Remnant said, turning back to her as if reading Ana's… Their mind. But no, Ana thought – she'd only been watching her face and body language. "But you're safe here, for now."
Ana took a step forward, away from the table that held her memories of Matt and towards the Remnant, in alarm. "Safe from what? Where's Arthur and Eames? Why haven't they found me and why couldn't I find them?"
The Remnant nodded at the piles of maps and notes and books next to a couple of large wooden tables. "You did. There they are, right where you left them. I just tweaked the path a little. Listen, you really are safe in here and they're actually safer out there without you. We're militarized. You remember what that means, right? Here, now, it means there are projections that want to kick you out of the dream because instinctively, they don't like other people in our head – especially if those other people killed Matty."
Ana opened her mouth to ask how but the Remnant cut her off. "Conscious or not, we know deep down we don't want them in here. So parts of us will try to kick ourselves out of this dream before they can finish the job. Having you stumbling around out there will only paint a larger target on their backs."
"You led me here to help them."
The Remnant blinked then laughed and Ana could tell she was genuinely startled. "Absolutely not, I am not helping them!"
Ana pressed her hand over her eyes for a moment. It was an odd feeling to have a headache in a dream, but she could feel her head start to hurt with confusion. "If you're not helping me then what the hell are you even– "
"I am helping us. Arthur and Eames are just the unintended beneficiaries. Lucky them."
When she opened her eyes again, Ana was surprised to find that the Remnant had gotten closer, her pale eyes bright with delight. For the first time since the Remnant appeared, Ana could see the faintest signs of something unsettling in her expression. The respectable clothing, the neat hairstyle… Those were all a well-designed construction.
Pure curiosity.
No attachments. No care or compassion.
What would that turn me into?
"Besides," the Remnant said, her grin – unrecognizable on Ana's face, widening.
"Don't you want to know what happens next?"
###
Matt stared back at Arthur evenly. "You know where that door came from. What it means."
Arthur drew in a deep breath but he still felt as if his lungs were constricted by a metal band. He could almost smell smoke in the air, hear the burst of gunfire, feel the hot white burn of torn flesh and bullets all over again. "It's where I was shot. Where Ana… Where she…"
He trailed off, remembering the crunch of glass.
Eames' voice was sharp, "St. Petersburg?"
Arthur nodded but didn't bother looking away from the door. It was a large gray monstrosity, wide enough to allow for small machinery to be carted in. It had a strong lock and a reinforced surface. When he had first scoped out the location, he thought it meant safety and security for their team.
Instead, it had nearly become their tomb.
"Well, nothing for it then," Eames said after a long silence, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. "No sense in waiting, especially since we're on a timer – no offense meant to your skills, Arthur, but perhaps dear Matthew here could volunteer to enter first. That might at least give us a chance to duck any friendly fire."
Matt snorted and Arthur was surprised to see him roll his eyes. It was so familiar, so painfully close to the expression Matt used when he was amused but irritated at the same time. Ana had remembered him nearly exactly.
Because she wouldn't let him go. She couldn't let her brother die in her mind, not when she had the power to keep him alive.
"Fair enough, doubtful I'd be a target anyway," Matt said. He glanced at Arthur and for a moment, a touch of concern flitted across his features. "Are you going to be okay?"
Arthur clenched his jaw and forced himself to straighten, nodding. He reached into his side and pulled his Glock 17 out of its holster. Dream or not, it felt sturdy and comforting in his hand – a good anchor back into the job, into their mission.
Find Ana. Help her.
Get her out of here with her mind intact.
"Alright then, guess I'll take the lead. Being the new guy, and all." Matt reached out and touched the door lever with his fingertips. He hesitated and looked back over his shoulder at Arthur and Eames with an odd expression of uncertainty. "I don't know what's behind this door, but it feels… Dead. Like, it was occupied once by something… And now it's gone."
Arthur glanced at Eames who looked back, equally troubled. "You don't think anyone is behind the door, do you? No projections?"
The corner of Matt's mouth lifted in an almost smile. "Oh, there's something there. I can feel it. But it's not a projection."
Before Arthur could press him to explain, Matt pushed the lever down and opened the door.
###
"Oh, good."
Ana whirled around from where she'd been at the wall, trying fruitlessly to find even the barest hint of an outline of a door. She had tried breaking the glass of the windows but they remained solid and unbroken. Ana had tried willing an exit into existence but that hadn't worked either. She'd been trying for the past… Hour? Two hours? To leave while the Remnant watched in silence. Those words had been the first sounds she'd uttered since.
"What?"
The Remnant seemed to be staring up into some distant horizon beyond the map room. Her eyes were glassy and her gaze was unfocused, as if she were daydreaming. Ana wondered if she'd ever had that expression on her own face before.
"It's about time."
"For what?" When the Remnant didn't respond, Ana snapped her fingers, alarmed and impatient. "Hey, look at my face. Our face. Whatever. What. Happened?"
The Remnant drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out equally as slow, almost meditatively. She lowered her head and faced Ana, looking satisfied.
"They've found what's left of us."
###
It was a depository.
Eames stepped in after Matt, who stood off to the side away from them now, and glanced around quickly before taking a slower, more careful look at the space.
The room was large, with a concrete floor and high metal shelves, most of which were pushed rather haphazardly back against the walls. There were wide, tall windows along one side, most of which were shattered from the outside in. Bullet holes, plaster and other debris littered the space.
It was a space that had seen a lot of violence.
Eames looked at the splatter and streaks of dried blood on the floor and pressed his lips together. There was one splotch that could have been a palm print…
Hers or his?
…that made his stomach churn.
But the most interesting feature, the one that drew Eames to the center, were two approximately ten-foot-high mirrors standing amidst an absolute mess of broken shards. Beside them, placed in the formation of a half circle, were the empty frames of other mirrors equal in height and distance.
Eames made a small sound of curiosity as he stepped as close as he could to the feature without involuntarily harming himself. His shoes were tough, a figment of his thoughts though they were, but a slice across the foot was still painful in a dream.
There was so much more dried blood here. It seemed like every polished, shiny surface had been marked with the stuff.
"Arthur, I take it the room topside didn't actually have such a striking tableau the last time you were in it?"
"You think I'd haul in an art installation for a job?" Arthur snapped. Eames heard him step to the side and stop, staring at the pile before them. "This is completely Ana's creation."
Eames watched as Arthur knelt down carefully, studying the mismatched shards on the ground. He seemed steady again, his hand no longer shook as he placed a careful finger on a particularly sharp-looking piece of broken mirror. His other hand still clutched the Glock though, resting carefully on his bent knee.
Something flickered in the pile a few feet away, catching Eames' eye.
"Did you see that?" he asked, feeling uneasy. The room felt cold and… Not empty, necessarily. But emptied. As if it once held multitudes – a party, but now the guests had gone and left behind only ghosts. The air seemed to hang still, like the weighted pause before the chorus of a song.
Holding its breath.
Waiting.
What is that?
Another flicker, but this time in a closer pile. He stared just past it, unfocusing his vision.
There.
Both Eames and Arthur moved, pushed forward by a glimpse of something that wouldn't have been possible outside of dreams. Arthur kicked aside shards until they saw, completely, what had captured their attention in the first place.
As Eames watched, realization filled his mind.
"Christ." The word was sharp, nearly a gasp, like someone had punched Arthur to get it out. "So this is how she… Just threw everything she could into these things and then pulverized herself."
Consolidation. Then a Purge.
Eames could only nod in return.
Bring yourself together and then break yourself apart until only useless fragments are left.
Arthur kept muttering to himself. "She was fighting herself. Fighting her own fucking fears, her own reflections. Jesus Christ, she was so scared of these damn mirrors."
My poor love.
A young woman's face passed through the surface of a shard, laughing silently as she seemed to call out to someone. Her hair was short and blond, her lips a bright red, and she grinned and spoke and laughed again, in conversation with someone past the image.
"I woke up here."
Eames didn't jump but it was a near thing. Matt had seemingly crept like a cat to stand on his other side. He shifted over to look at him and the other man seemed paler, staring at the standing mirrors like he'd seen a…
"That one, on the left." Matt gestured before glancing over at them. Though he was a tall man, he seemed smaller, made so by his palpable fear. "We were here. Just… Here."
"Who's we?" Arthur asked. "What do you mean you were just here? Like appeared?"
"First question first, please," Eames said. "Matt, who was with you?"
"It was… Angry. Scared," Matt shifted his weight and looked away from the mirrors with some effort. It was clear he wasn't comfortable; his gaze kept being drawn back to the two as if against his will. "This thing. All red and gore. But it was Ana. I could feel that it was her. It was my sister but it wasn't… It was a mess. Cut up all over. There were so many… It was a bad thing."
Eames felt a cold shiver, like a touch of ice, run down his spine. His own weapon lay heavy against his hip and he widened his stance, feeling the need for greater stability. He glanced down again and realized all the shards he could see now had flickers of other memories. Of faces, of buildings, trees, animals… The impossibly small face of a sleeping infant. There was a page of a book and a hand turning that page… A door opening then being closed, the steering wheel of a car.
Disconnected. Incoherent. Remnants of memories.
"Where did she go?" Eames glanced at Arthur whose face was tense with grim focus. "Is she still here, you think?"
Eames knew the answer. The room felt abandoned after all.
Matt shook his head and his voice was uncertain, shaky as he went on. "It noticed me, it was my sister but not. It was clawing at itself, its face, its eyes. I think it, um, blinded itself. God, it was screaming and bleeding – it crawled into the other mirror. Then it was just gone…"
Matt fell quiet, eyes large in his shock-white face.
"You said you didn't know what was behind the door before we came in," Eames said, after a few seconds of oppressive silence. "What happened after you appeared and the… Whatever thing you tried but failed to describe, disappeared? How did you leave this room without noticing the door?"
A trickle of annoyance cut into the fear on Matt's face. He had Ana's same expressive face and Eames wanted to smile, even though just a moment ago he'd been ready to get out of this nightmare of a room and not look back.
But at least he'd made Ana's brother less afraid too.
"I was kicked out. One minute I was standing over there and then the next I was somewhere."
"Where?"
"A hallway? Made of stone. Like something out of a fairytale. I just went from one place to another." Matt huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't have any real control here. I was created, not the creator. But if I had to guess – a castle. I was in a castle."
Eames straightened. "The citadel in the distance?"
"Maybe? I don't know. Because the next thing I remember, I was–"
A shot rang through the air, cutting Matt off, and Eames fell back reflexively, his instincts kicking in faster than his mind could form thought. Arthur was already returning fire at something near the entrance and Eames reacted in kind, pushing Matt back.
"Take him and take cover!" Arthur yelled without looking back. He was crouching down, making his way towards the area behind the mirrors while Eames heard Matt's footsteps run off to the side.
Shit, he's leaving himself open.
Matt was a professor of myths. A bookworm who probably only jogged in the mornings and had no sense of any real self-preservation. Eames gritted his teeth as hurried towards the man.
A bullet flew past Eames' ear making him wince, momentarily deaf but he pushed forward, firing back at…
"Oh, bloody fuck!"
A tall man holding a gun and wearing a manic shark's grin made his way towards Eames through a haze of smoke.
It was Gideon Klein.
###