The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
Arthur is having an unusually good day. He's both morally and professionally pleased with himself for once, a rare occurrence in a profession where a man doesn't exactly make friends and always do the right thing. This time however, he's happy with the result of his actions because everyone benefits from said result. He exits the airport, suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other, mind focused on heading towards the hotel room he booked earlier that day; his next job might already be waiting for him on his laptop. He doesn't really take time off, he's one of those people that works and doesn't do much else. He finds the work fascinating, and that's his reason for spending days researching marks and risking his life for something as petty as business domination.
He steps off onto the... it wasn't a curb, not anymore, and he was standing in the middle of a park. This was wrong. Arthur glances around, immediately on guard, fingers reaching into his briefcase to pull out his Glock 17. It's his weapon of choice in the dream worlds, and his weapon of choice in reality. Then again, he's not actually sure now if he's in reality or not. There's always a chance that there were wrong about escaping all three levels of the dream, and now they're trapped, perhaps in limbo.
He reaches inside his pocket and takes out his red die, rolling it between his fingers. It feels right, but there's only one way to find out. He walks over to a park bench and rolls it. When the die lands on the proper side he snatches it up and takes a step back. Where the hell is he? A better question is, why is his die falling on the correct side? The only logical conclusion is that somehow the Architect of this dream has discovered the secret to his totem and wants him to believe he's still living in reality. He slides the die back into his pocket and walks purposefully through the park. The subconscious will eventually begin to reveal themselves if he causes some damage, but he know he needs to be subtle about it, or risk death. If he's not in limbo now, he doesn't want to risk ending up there.
He steps off onto the... it wasn't a curb, not anymore, and he was standing in the middle of a park. This was wrong. Arthur glances around, immediately on guard, fingers reaching into his briefcase to pull out his Glock 17. It's his weapon of choice in the dream worlds, and his weapon of choice in reality. Then again, he's not actually sure now if he's in reality or not. There's always a chance that there were wrong about escaping all three levels of the dream, and now they're trapped, perhaps in limbo.
He reaches inside his pocket and takes out his red die, rolling it between his fingers. It feels right, but there's only one way to find out. He walks over to a park bench and rolls it. When the die lands on the proper side he snatches it up and takes a step back. Where the hell is he? A better question is, why is his die falling on the correct side? The only logical conclusion is that somehow the Architect of this dream has discovered the secret to his totem and wants him to believe he's still living in reality. He slides the die back into his pocket and walks purposefully through the park. The subconscious will eventually begin to reveal themselves if he causes some damage, but he know he needs to be subtle about it, or risk death. If he's not in limbo now, he doesn't want to risk ending up there.