Sleeper Cell, 2/22. NC-17.
Title: Sleeper Cell (Sequel to The Ghost Network)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur, Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. I like making his toys do naughty, naughty things.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU fic to the movie and a direct sequel to the Ghost Network, so you absolutely need to read that one first. There's violence, language, eventually graphic sex and torture (that will get marked) and various characters screwing with each others' heads. Also incorporates the following prompt from round 10 of the
inception_kink meme: Ariadne and Arthur have to rescue Eames from some debacle he's in.
Summary: Inspector Eames had several different roles to play in helping the British government. Not all of them were savory, and none of them were entirely safe.
Prior chapters:
One - An Impossible Request
Eames and Max skittered to a stop in an alleyway that was barely visible behind piles of garbage. Catching his breath, Eames leaned his head against the wall. "We're going to have to split up, mate," he told Max between heaving breaths.
Max eyed the way they came. "But Calliope..."
"If we get caught, what she did means nothing," Eames insisted. He reached out and squeezed Max's arm in support. "I'll try to find you, make the bastards pay, something. I just... We're going to get caught. We'll never make it out of here if we don't split up."
"Yeah. I can hide better than you 'round these parts," Max replied reluctantly, referring to Eames' skin tone.
"Pasty white sticks out," Eames agreed. "If you're the only one that survives this..."
"Shut up," Max interrupted. "We're getting out of here."
They parted, and Eames waited until he was in another dingy alley before throwing up. God, Calliope, I'm so sorry...
Eames shot awake in bed, still able to taste acrid bile on his tongue and feel the gritty brick beneath his hands as he leaned against a wall to throw up. It had been years ago in Mombasa, but sometimes he still couldn't shake the memory. Sometimes he hated the fact that he could still dream, that he'd never lost that ability. Chest heaving, he glanced at the clock on his dresser. Four thirty-seven am. He knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep like this, not with the adrenaline still coursing through him and regret on his mind.
He padded to his kitchen, feeling tired and slow. The smell of coffee brewing didn't perk him up, and he still wanted to throw something and hear it shatter. He knew exactly why he was feeling this way, too.
He was meeting his contact with MI6 today.
He had a feeling the entire mission was going to be a clusterfuck. The rogue agent was Chester Milton, who had worked as a chemist for their dream teams. He did a lot of classified work for MI6 in the field, usually as a sharpshooter, to back up teams sent out. He was known to be an excellent shot, often hard to track, and there was concern from his superiors that he wasn't as invested in shutting down sleeper cells in Kenya. He had seemed like the perfect company man until he had disappeared four months ago, his apartment and bank accounts cleaned out completely. His neighbors had said that he had quietly gotten rid of possessions for several months before that, so that it had been easy for him to simply empty his apartment and leave. Eames' contact would be Milton's partner at MI6, a weapons expert named Bertram Mailand.
The problem was, Eames knew Mailand, and had never gotten along with him before. The man was an insufferable asshole that thought he knew it all, and had always needled Eames to no end. He had constantly picked on Eames' spelling and maths, as if that mattered one bit when a gun was pressed against his head. They had parted ways seven years ago, and Eames had hoped never to meet Mailand again.
So much for wishing.
He checked his phone for the time and stared blearily at the fact that he had three text messages waiting for him. One was from Ariadne, and he checked that one first. Call when you can. Good to hear from you! Smiling, he checked the other two. Yusuf told him to check his PM folder and the other had no sender.
Do you remember how things fell apart the last time?
For a moment, Eames forgot how to breathe. His heart must have stopped. Fuck. Just one more reason why getting involved with MI6 was a bad idea. But this wasn't his choice, and he had no other options this time. He was going in with his eyes wide open, but he knew he would be left on his own again.
Eames went through the motions meeting up with Mailand at Vauxhall Cross, sounding as if he had his head in the game. Eames was given clearance to get further information regarding Milton and all the work he had been doing prior to his disappearance. One theory was that Milton had been taken, and whoever had done it was trying to make it look as though he ran. The most likely explanation was that he went rogue, though Mailand had no idea why he would do it. Eames collected all the documents regarding Milton's caseload without comment. He still needed to get a team together. Mailand couldn't come with him, thank God, but Eames had no backup. He wasn't going to drag Max into it again or disrupt Yusuf. Hopefully there was information in his PM folder on the Ghost Network that could get him started. Mailand and MI6 weren't going to wait around forever for him to get his act together.
Milton had been working on his own variant of somnacin, which wasn't very surprising. Just by talking to Yusuf, Eames supposed that every good chemist looked down on the original formula. Eames had poked around Milton's office, but it had been painfully bare and already picked clean by MI6 staff anyway. He tried poking at the man's computer, but it was clean as well. MI6 probably knew about the Ghost Network, and Milton wasn't stupid enough to allow automatic logins on his work computer. Milton had set his computer to wipe its history and cookies with every shutdown, and there were no key loggers or tracer programs on his machine. He had been in contact with a local chemist regarding raw materials to eventually build his compounds, but there were no notes left regarding what he had intended to purchase. Mailand had intimated that Milton was being consulted on three cases, but of course Milton hadn't kept any notes in his office. The files that Mailand had given him were calling on Milton's expertise as a chemist to analyze trace compounds found at various crime scenes, some of which had been perpetrated by an MI6 agent requesting Milton's help.
Sighing, Eames put his feet up on Milton's desk and leaned back in his chair. One consultation case had also asked Milton's advice regarding coated bullets. It seemed like an odd request at first, but Eames remembered Mailand's comments regarding Milton's sharp shooting. Mailand was a crack shot himself, so a favorable comment from the bastard had to mean that Milton was good.
He blew out a breath and let his eyes wander around the room. It was nondescript, no sense of Milton as a person. Mailand would never have understood why Eames would need to know what Milton was like. He saw things in black and white, and didn't believe that he had to bother with shades of gray. Eames knew that the majority of the world operated in the shades of gray, particularly MI6 agents. It was why Mailand didn't get along with too many agents, and why he happily treated everyone else like shit. Part of the reason Eames was good at his job was that he observed things about people, understood what made them tick. He couldn't have grifter skills and forging abilities in the dreamscape unless he understood interpersonal nuance.
He was staring at the ceiling for so long that his vision blurred a bit. Blinking, Eames frowned and stared at the tile that had sent his eyes crossing. The drop ceiling was pristine, but one tile in the corner had a chip in it. It was easy to miss, but in the low afternoon light, shadows made the chip seem larger than it was. Eames got up and dragged the chair underneath the ceiling. He popped the tile up and into the drop ceiling easily, then gingerly slid his hand into the hole.
Inside a plastic baggie was a vial of clear yellow liquid and a flash drive.
Eames tucked the baggie into his jacket and carefully replaced the tile. Milton just got a whole lot more interesting.
***
From: Lookout
To: Eames
Subject: Shelley
Same girl, same username of RedKodiak. I sent a few feelers out on your behalf, so they'll reply to me rather than face a brick wall when trying to ping you directly. Shelley had a few choice words to say about you, btw. You might want to apologize first. ;)
It didn't take long for Eames to get permission to message RedKodiak; Arthur actually gave him permission to reply to whatever PM's he received from others. He wasn't allowed to seek out or start conversations without Arthur's intervention to unlock his account. It was a pain in the ass, as was Arthur's closing message to be careful who he picked to go under.
As if he didn't know that already.
Eames: Shell?
RedKodiak: You have some nerve, asshole.
Eames: I'm sorry, Shell. They were closing in on you.
RedKodiak: And?
Eames: I stalled them as long as I could.
Eames: I didn't want to, and they didn't buy the jerk I threw in their direction.
Eames: Shell?
RedKodiak: I knew you were coming that day.
Eames: What?
RedKodiak: You shot me, but not IRL.
Eames: WHAT?!
RedKodiak: Surprise, motherfucker.
Eames: Shell, WTF?
RedKodiak: I knew you were stalling. I had other guys in the field, remember? I KNEW you were coming that day.
Eames: You treated me like a subject??
RedKodiak: You didn't give me much choice, did you? It was that or kill you. Luckily for you, I kinda liked you back then.
Eames: ....
Eames: And now?
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: I'm not sure.
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: Lookout says you're a solid and you're being dragged into deep shit.
Eames: I don't want him involved, Shell.
Eames: I just need recs for a team.
RedKodiak: Depends on who you're working for now.
Eames: Payroll says Yard, but my strings are being yanked outside of the Yard for this one. MI6
RedKodiak: You better be joking on that.
Eames: I'm using the fucking GN. DO YOU THINK I'M JOKING???
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: I guess not.
RedKodiak: Fuck, Eames. They'll kill you.
Eames: I know.
Eames: I can't say no, tho.
RedKodiak: Why the fuck not? You can wind up the Yard, but not them.
Eames: Life expectancy = 0 then, that's why. I rather like breathing.
RedKodiak: You do look awfully good doing that.
Eames: ....
Eames: I really am sorry, Shell. I tried to make it quick. I wanted to be merciful.
RedKodiak: I know. My guys in the field told me what you were up to. I knew you'd have to pass a polygraph, since Jack knew we were fucking.
Eames: I believed I killed you, Shell.
RedKodiak: Well, Shelley's dead now.
Eames: Some on the street still throw your name around. Mostly players I had to force out of the game four years ago.
RedKodiak: Makes it hard to find a team willing to go up for MI6, doesn't it?
Eames: Definitely.
RedKodiak: What's the payout?
Eames: Whatever I want it to be. I've been given carte blanche for a team and payouts.
RedKodiak: Fuck. What's the job?
Eames: Rogue agent location.
RedKodiak: Funny, Eames.
Eames: I'm bloody serious.
RedKodiak: You know that's not all they want.
Eames: Pretty sure, yeah.
Eames: Nothing official, of course.
RedKodiak: Of course. So you need a full team, really. I wouldn't trust ANYONE they rec.
Eames: Pretty much.
Eames: The few I'd trust I don't want to bring into this.
RedKodiak: Well, isn't that lovely about me, then?
Eames: I'm not bringing you into it, Shell. I'm asking for recs.
Eames: I don't want you in this. Don't even think it.
RedKodiak: Most players out there won't want to work with you. Just letting you know. You burned too many bridges four years ago. The lure of being legit means NOTHING to this crowd, you know.
Eames: You fence and connect, Shell. Don't even think it.
RedKodiak: Times change.
RedKodiak: Tell me who it is. If it's a rogue, odds are there were feelers sent out ahead of time.
Eames: christ, Shell...
RedKodiak: You give a little before you get. You know how it is.
Eames: Isn't it enough to know it's MI6?
RedKodiak: No.
RedKodiak: You'd be surprised, Eames. You really would.
Eames: Milton. Chemist. Disappeared 4 months ago, suspected rogue. Sharpshooter also.
RedKodiak: I'll need to get back to you on this.
RedKodiak: I'm going to tell Eden and Pascal to write you. DO NOT PISS THEM OFF. You'll need them and i swear to fucking God if you ruin this for them I will hunt you down and kill you.
Eames: ???
RedKodiak: I'll need to meet you, too. Where's a safe location?
Eames: Probably doesn't exist.
RedKodiak: Punk.
Eames: Would you rather a tail see you?
RedKodiak: It'll be like old times. :D
Eames: Kinky bitch.
RedKodiak: You miss me.
Eames: There's no one else in the world like you, Shell.
RedKodiak: Good answer.
RedKodiak: I'm sending you coords by PM. Don't be late, don't stand me up and lose the tail before you get there. You're going to need help to do this right. You can't fuck with MI6 and expect to live.
Eames: That's why I don't want you involved. I don't.
RedKodiak: I cheated death twice now. Let's go for a third time, shall we?
Eames: Shell...
RedKodiak: You're not asking me, Eames. I'm telling you. Meet me there. Don't be late. Don't fuck up.
>>>Session terminated.
Eames stared at his screen with hollow eyes. Fuck. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to massage his temples. Shelley Baker had been a very unassuming kind of girl to look at her. She had long brown hair, brown eyes and was just a shade darker than pale. Her mother had been half Indonesian and connected to one of the triads in Hong Kong. While Shelley's father had been a perfectly legitimate lawyer, he had been killed when she was young. Shelley had wound up getting involved in the triad, then with other underworld figures fencing items and connecting dream sharing users for extraction jobs or pointing the way to illegal sleep labs. Eames didn't know what led to the first time she had to fake her death, but they were friends and had an on-again, off-again thing going around the time he had been commissioned to start eliminating the underground. His superior officer at the time, Jack Burlington, had known about Shelley. Eames had put off turning her in, citing her contacts and links as the way he was going about his job. Shelley was right, though; if she hadn't faked her death in the manner that she had, he would have ultimately had to kill her for real.
He called up the meeting place that Shelley had picked. It was a tiny dive of a place in an area of town that he wasn't entirely familiar with.
For the thousandth time since Mayhew had spoken to him four days ago, Eames wondered who he had pissed off to be put into this position.
***
"Here. Have a coffee," came a feminine voice. Eames looked up from where he was sitting in a corner of the bistro. He was easily seen from the door, but hadn't bothered to look at whoever was coming in. The woman standing over him was tall and slightly pudgy around the middle, wearing a puffy vest and thick hooded sweater over denims and combat boots. The hood was pulled up and she was wearing purple tinted glasses. "Two sugars and cream, yes?"
Eames let his lips curl into a smile at the familiar accented voice. "My favorite Southern girl in London. Good memory."
"I still take mine black," Shelley said, sliding into the seat across from Eames, her own coffee cup in hand. She watched Eames stir the coffee before taking a sip. "How do you know I didn't poison it?"
"You were always more direct than that. I'd expect a bullet in the brain more than strychnine in my coffee."
"True," she allowed with a nod. "That part hasn't changed." She smiled, her warm brown eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. "It's good to see you, Eames. Even if you are a selfish fucker."
"Ah, the dulcet tones of a Southern belle," Eames snarked back at her. "Really, Shell, I don't want you involved."
"I know. But you won't get the others without me. You need me, and you need my connections. We've had to go even farther underground in the UK after what happened four years ago. The sleep labs are probably the farthest up that the players go. You're going to need the ghosts in the system for this one, the ones that don't exist anymore."
"I saw Denise on Tuesday."
"I know. She talks too much."
"I thought she was just out of the loop."
Shelley smiled. "She's one of the more visible dealers, Eames. She knows where to go and who to go to, but she'd never help you now."
"Why are you?"
Shelley shrugged and swallowed half of her coffee in one gulp. "I think it'll be nice for MI6 to owe me one for a change. I know Eden would want the money, and Pascal likes the idea of the hunt. He's fucking insane that way. He'd be the shooter, if you couldn't tell. Eden can make networks sit up and do her bidding. It's freakin' scary what she can make things do, and she's always looking for new toys. Computers like that cost money, and she constantly has to dispose of 'em when things get too hot."
"She ever crack the Network?" Eames asked in arch tones.
"Nope. No one can do that. But she did catch a location of one of its nodes, which was more than good enough for me."
"Really? Where was it?"
"Buried inside a Swiss bank," Shelley said, laughing. "Fucker's good, I got to say that. It's a secure place, and nobody can hack it. Believe you me, everyone and their motherfucking uncle has tried."
"I'm going to need more than just the two of them."
"They're to start with, Eames. If they roll with this, then I can rope in another one or two that might think the danger's worth it."
"Such as?"
"I have a field chemist wanting to pad his resume, and a for-hire itching to get back out in the field. Hates Pascal's guts, too, so they're constantly trying to swagger and show me who's got the bigger dick. I like playing them off each other. More kills to the game that way," she said with a tinkling little laugh.
"Same old Shell," Eames replied, shaking his head fondly.
"You're going to want the body count on this, if it's as bad as I think it is."
Eames looked up at Shelley. "What do you know?"
"Milton was on the Network, of course. On chemist boards and shooter boards. Fucker was prolific, too. I troll, mostly. But he was all over the damn place, like he was constantly online. Going back over his posts, he was messing around with the soma, tweaking its attributes. Higher order chemist shit I have no idea about, but my chemist says it's fucking crazy what he was doing. You got a chemist friend to look over the notes, more power to you. I told mine to shut the fuck up since it was giving me a headache. The shooter boards had nothing but posturing, but he wasn't lying on any post. I checked facts and all his bravado is earned."
"So if he went rogue, he could gun us down himself."
"Basically."
Eames gave her a wry smile. "When they fuck up, they fuck up badly."
"I did get a hit with the Kenya angle you didn't mention to me, by the way," Shelley said, leaning back in her chair. She unzipped her puffy jacket and slid a flash drive across the table at him. "This is from Eden, and it's clean. You can use it on your personal computer. If you get anything from anyone else, get a fresh one. Your place is wired up to hell and back."
"I figured," Eames said with a sigh. He pocketed the flash drive, keeping it next to the plastic baggie he had gotten from Milton's office. He was waiting for Yusuf to get back to him regarding the contents of the drive, and wasn't about to leave it out of his sight until then. He noticed two people detaching themselves from the wall and heading to their table. "Friends of yours?" he asked, nodding in their direction.
"Play your cards right and they'll be friends of yours, too," Shelley replied evenly.
The woman was of middle height, with dark hair long and loose around her pale face. She was in a thick winter's coat and big black boots with a dozen silver buckles on them. She had dark eye makeup and pale lips, sitting down beside Shelley across from Eames. The man was blond with green eyes, his hair cropped close to his skull. He had a black flame tattoo along his left temple and a thick, jagged scar in front of his left ear that curled below his jaw and disappeared beneath his gray turtleneck sweater. His own winter jacket was thin but insulated well, and his soulless eyes took in Eames for a moment before he sat down beside him. "Eden and Pascal, I assume?" Eames asked.
Eden nodded. "You have a job," she said, her voice without inflection. She could have been talking about the weather for all anyone would know.
"Getting the location of a rogue agent, officially. Unofficially? Making sure he and whatever cell he's affiliated with doesn't come back to haunt the government's nightmares."
Pascal smiled thinly, his mouth a grim slash across his face. "I can work with this."
"I have some preliminaries on the drive," Eden told Eames. "What's the payout?"
"Whatever you want it to be, paid up front."
"Cash or unmarked account?" she asked, eyes flicking between Eames and Shelley.
"I'll take the cash," Pascal added. "I can loop in Gray, if you like."
"He's fucking insane," Shelley protested.
"Better him than swinging Henri in front of me again. I know your game, Shelley, and I'm sick of it. If you want a second shooter, you let me loop in Gray."
Shelley sighed. "I hate Gray. I'd rather deal with Henri."
"You deal with him, you lose me," Pascal said with a shrug. "You know I'm better than Henri anyway, or you would talk to him first."
Eames looked at Eden, who was sitting stiffly in her chair. "What payment do you prefer?" he asked, leaving Shelley and Pascal to argue about how many shooters they would need.
"I want three million euros in an unmarked account before we leave the country. I'll shift the funds out and then head on the plane. You'll need someone good on your side, Mr. Eames." She smiled thinly. "Your target's not stupid, and he has some very scary and very powerful friends."
"Information's on the drive?" he asked. She nodded curtly. "I'll get you the money."
"I told you he'd be good for it," Shelley told Eden, interrupting her own conversation with Pascal. She turned back to the tattooed shooter. "Here's my compromise: Gray and Foster."
"I can deal with Foster," Pascal agreed.
"So what's the team looking like?" Eames asked, looking at Shelley.
"One forger, one point man, one hacker, two shooters, one architect, one arms dealer and one field chemist."
"We might be able to survive this, then," Eames said with a smile.
"Check the drive before you come to that conclusion," Eden intoned, standing. "I think we're evenly matched."
Eames watched her leave the cafe. "Cheerful girl."
"You want her brains, not her personality. Not your type, anyway," Shelley told him sweetly. She laughed when he rolled his eyes at her and shook his head. "I'll contact the others, you get Gray," she said to Pascal. "Usual channels by tomorrow. The Crown wants to move fast on this, I assume," she directed to Eames.
"I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm slower than molasses," Eames replied.
"Tomorrow, Pascal," she said in brisk tones. "Eden and I are good to go, and I know our chemist is. Foster should be able to move by tomorrow or the day after."
"Gray will be ready whenever we're good to go," Pascal said stiffly. "He's between jobs at the moment. He needs it."
Shelley nodded and watched him get up to leave. "I'll send you the payment list via the Network tonight. I'll redistribute for everyone else, since Eden already asked for her fee."
"Stiff price, don't you think?" he asked in arch tones.
"She's good and it's not your money. Shut the fuck up."
Eames held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just a question."
"She's come the closest to cracking the Ghost Network, blew open InGen and she's the one that was behind InteLiv losing its bid to make generic somnacin. InteLiv bit us in the ass pretty damn hard, so it was only fair that the bastards lose out on their big score."
"You're just as vicious as I remember, Shelley."
Her smile was wicked. "Yes, indeed."
"Fine, she's worth three million euros, then. What kind of damage will I be asking for, then?"
"Let's just say that remaining under the radar in multiple countries doesn't come cheap. I'm pretty sure no one else is going to be as expensive as Eden, though."
"We'll probably move within the week, then. I'm going to need approval for the payouts."
"I'll find you," Shelley said, standing and leaving a few quid on the table to pay for the coffee. She gave him a fond smile. "It'll be good working with you again, Eames. You always had the interesting jobs."
Interesting was sometimes a curse, and they both knew it.
***
Lookout: Those files were some piece of work, even with the password.
Eames: What do you mean?
Lookout: I fried two computers before I remembered your trick with the offline laptop. Apparently, the files were encrypted with a virus. If it sensed any kind of internet activity, it fried the motherboard.
Lookout: IT isn't too pleased with me at the moment. Miles covered for me on one desktop, tho.
Eames: Sorry.
Lookout: Worth it to get a look at the files, though.
Lookout: You still have the actual compound?
Eames: I'm locking it into a safety deposit box. I'll mail you the key.
Lookout: You definitely don't want to take that shit, man.
Eames: Why?
Lookout: I usually go for heavy sedation, myself. Less chance of really nasty side effects. Not that sedation and respiratory depression can't be bad, but you know what I mean.
Eames: No, but let's pretend I do.
Lookout: :)
Lookout: He used neuroleptics in combination with a couple other things.
Lookout: Somnacin has some anticholinergic effects due to its activity in the frontal lobes, and there are some downstream effects that affect the reticular activating system.
Eames: gibberish, Yusuf!
Lookout: :P
Lookout: basic somnacin = nasty side effects, messes with your ability to sleep and dream with long term use. Short term use will help make the dreams more vivid by altering the balance of chemicals in your brain.
Eames: Why didn't you say it like that?? Not all of us are genius chemists.
Lookout: :P
Lookout: Anyway, he added some neuroleptics and sedatives in his variant. Plus, the actual structure of his version of somnacin is wacky.
Eames: Wacky how?
Lookout: basically, the variations will all work together to boost the dreaming. But there are some pretty high risks involved with the dosing if you don't get it right. Especially to someone who's neuroleptic naive. There are serious side effects to that shit, which is why I don't use it.
Lookout: neuroleptic naive ppl are really sensitive. It'll knock you the fuck out, especially with the benzos involved at the start, but I don't think the benzos are enough to counteract the side effect risk. ESPECIALLY since his protocol involves the use of more neuroleptics over time without the benzos.
Eames: english, Yusuf!
Lookout: Extremely high risk of anticholinergic delirium or neuroleptic malignant syndrome.
Eames: those don't sound too good.
Lookout: They're not. Easy enough to treat if you catch it, but I have the feeling by this protocol that he's not very interested in catching it.
Eames: what are you saying?
Lookout: Milton is going for hardcore data mining and doesn't care if he fries your brain or leaves you dead in the process, is what I'm saying. This protocol flays your mind open, leaves you open to some scary ass shit, wrecks your body and could possibly kill you if it's not treated.
Lookout: Whoever he's working for, this is serious business.
Lookout: You have to be careful, Eames.
Eames: thanks for the heads up.
Eames: How far along in his research did he get? Is this thing workable?
Lookout: Judging by the data? He's already using it.
Eames: fuck.
Lookout: Exactly.
Lookout: Whatever you're involved with, it's no joke.
Lookout: I'm worried, Eames. This isn't good for your health. This guy doesn't give a shit about life in general, let alone whoever he puts this protocol on.
Eames: Any way to counteract it ahead of time?
Lookout: No.
Lookout: Any "antidotes" are short acting. You'd have to be on an IV drip. Or eating Benadryl like candy, which would really only make the anticholinergic symptoms worse.
Eames: All right, the answer is no, then.
Lookout: What are you getting yourself into?
Eames: Hell if I know.
Eames: I haven't worked for these guys in years. They didn't exactly do me any favors when I worked for them directly, and made things difficult for me while I was working for the Yard.
Lookout: My guess is that they want you dead.
Eames: The question is why.
Lookout: I kinda asked shelley about that.
Lookout: I'm worried about you, man. After what happened here, it makes me wonder if they're considering you a liability.
Eames: What happened in DC has nothing to do with the UK side of things.
Lookout: It doesn't take a genius to figure out why you were sent over. And if the Dream Killer is still at large, your bosses can't be very happy with you.
Eames: ....
Eames: Stay out of this. You're in a safe gig right now.
Lookout: I'm not stupid. I wouldn't ever say this off the Network.
Lookout: Be careful.
Lookout: Shelley knows some good people, but Milton is working with people that just don't give a fuck.
Eames: Yeah.
Eames: thanks, Yusuf. really.
Lookout: I'll pray for your safety, my friend.
Eames: Thanks. I think I'll need it.
>>>Session terminated.
***
***
To Chapter three...
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur, Ariadne/Arthur/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. I like making his toys do naughty, naughty things.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU fic to the movie and a direct sequel to the Ghost Network, so you absolutely need to read that one first. There's violence, language, eventually graphic sex and torture (that will get marked) and various characters screwing with each others' heads. Also incorporates the following prompt from round 10 of the
inception_kink meme: Ariadne and Arthur have to rescue Eames from some debacle he's in.
Summary: Inspector Eames had several different roles to play in helping the British government. Not all of them were savory, and none of them were entirely safe.
Prior chapters:
One - An Impossible Request
Eames and Max skittered to a stop in an alleyway that was barely visible behind piles of garbage. Catching his breath, Eames leaned his head against the wall. "We're going to have to split up, mate," he told Max between heaving breaths.
Max eyed the way they came. "But Calliope..."
"If we get caught, what she did means nothing," Eames insisted. He reached out and squeezed Max's arm in support. "I'll try to find you, make the bastards pay, something. I just... We're going to get caught. We'll never make it out of here if we don't split up."
"Yeah. I can hide better than you 'round these parts," Max replied reluctantly, referring to Eames' skin tone.
"Pasty white sticks out," Eames agreed. "If you're the only one that survives this..."
"Shut up," Max interrupted. "We're getting out of here."
They parted, and Eames waited until he was in another dingy alley before throwing up. God, Calliope, I'm so sorry...
Eames shot awake in bed, still able to taste acrid bile on his tongue and feel the gritty brick beneath his hands as he leaned against a wall to throw up. It had been years ago in Mombasa, but sometimes he still couldn't shake the memory. Sometimes he hated the fact that he could still dream, that he'd never lost that ability. Chest heaving, he glanced at the clock on his dresser. Four thirty-seven am. He knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep like this, not with the adrenaline still coursing through him and regret on his mind.
He padded to his kitchen, feeling tired and slow. The smell of coffee brewing didn't perk him up, and he still wanted to throw something and hear it shatter. He knew exactly why he was feeling this way, too.
He was meeting his contact with MI6 today.
He had a feeling the entire mission was going to be a clusterfuck. The rogue agent was Chester Milton, who had worked as a chemist for their dream teams. He did a lot of classified work for MI6 in the field, usually as a sharpshooter, to back up teams sent out. He was known to be an excellent shot, often hard to track, and there was concern from his superiors that he wasn't as invested in shutting down sleeper cells in Kenya. He had seemed like the perfect company man until he had disappeared four months ago, his apartment and bank accounts cleaned out completely. His neighbors had said that he had quietly gotten rid of possessions for several months before that, so that it had been easy for him to simply empty his apartment and leave. Eames' contact would be Milton's partner at MI6, a weapons expert named Bertram Mailand.
The problem was, Eames knew Mailand, and had never gotten along with him before. The man was an insufferable asshole that thought he knew it all, and had always needled Eames to no end. He had constantly picked on Eames' spelling and maths, as if that mattered one bit when a gun was pressed against his head. They had parted ways seven years ago, and Eames had hoped never to meet Mailand again.
So much for wishing.
He checked his phone for the time and stared blearily at the fact that he had three text messages waiting for him. One was from Ariadne, and he checked that one first. Call when you can. Good to hear from you! Smiling, he checked the other two. Yusuf told him to check his PM folder and the other had no sender.
Do you remember how things fell apart the last time?
For a moment, Eames forgot how to breathe. His heart must have stopped. Fuck. Just one more reason why getting involved with MI6 was a bad idea. But this wasn't his choice, and he had no other options this time. He was going in with his eyes wide open, but he knew he would be left on his own again.
Eames went through the motions meeting up with Mailand at Vauxhall Cross, sounding as if he had his head in the game. Eames was given clearance to get further information regarding Milton and all the work he had been doing prior to his disappearance. One theory was that Milton had been taken, and whoever had done it was trying to make it look as though he ran. The most likely explanation was that he went rogue, though Mailand had no idea why he would do it. Eames collected all the documents regarding Milton's caseload without comment. He still needed to get a team together. Mailand couldn't come with him, thank God, but Eames had no backup. He wasn't going to drag Max into it again or disrupt Yusuf. Hopefully there was information in his PM folder on the Ghost Network that could get him started. Mailand and MI6 weren't going to wait around forever for him to get his act together.
Milton had been working on his own variant of somnacin, which wasn't very surprising. Just by talking to Yusuf, Eames supposed that every good chemist looked down on the original formula. Eames had poked around Milton's office, but it had been painfully bare and already picked clean by MI6 staff anyway. He tried poking at the man's computer, but it was clean as well. MI6 probably knew about the Ghost Network, and Milton wasn't stupid enough to allow automatic logins on his work computer. Milton had set his computer to wipe its history and cookies with every shutdown, and there were no key loggers or tracer programs on his machine. He had been in contact with a local chemist regarding raw materials to eventually build his compounds, but there were no notes left regarding what he had intended to purchase. Mailand had intimated that Milton was being consulted on three cases, but of course Milton hadn't kept any notes in his office. The files that Mailand had given him were calling on Milton's expertise as a chemist to analyze trace compounds found at various crime scenes, some of which had been perpetrated by an MI6 agent requesting Milton's help.
Sighing, Eames put his feet up on Milton's desk and leaned back in his chair. One consultation case had also asked Milton's advice regarding coated bullets. It seemed like an odd request at first, but Eames remembered Mailand's comments regarding Milton's sharp shooting. Mailand was a crack shot himself, so a favorable comment from the bastard had to mean that Milton was good.
He blew out a breath and let his eyes wander around the room. It was nondescript, no sense of Milton as a person. Mailand would never have understood why Eames would need to know what Milton was like. He saw things in black and white, and didn't believe that he had to bother with shades of gray. Eames knew that the majority of the world operated in the shades of gray, particularly MI6 agents. It was why Mailand didn't get along with too many agents, and why he happily treated everyone else like shit. Part of the reason Eames was good at his job was that he observed things about people, understood what made them tick. He couldn't have grifter skills and forging abilities in the dreamscape unless he understood interpersonal nuance.
He was staring at the ceiling for so long that his vision blurred a bit. Blinking, Eames frowned and stared at the tile that had sent his eyes crossing. The drop ceiling was pristine, but one tile in the corner had a chip in it. It was easy to miss, but in the low afternoon light, shadows made the chip seem larger than it was. Eames got up and dragged the chair underneath the ceiling. He popped the tile up and into the drop ceiling easily, then gingerly slid his hand into the hole.
Inside a plastic baggie was a vial of clear yellow liquid and a flash drive.
Eames tucked the baggie into his jacket and carefully replaced the tile. Milton just got a whole lot more interesting.
***
From: Lookout
To: Eames
Subject: Shelley
Same girl, same username of RedKodiak. I sent a few feelers out on your behalf, so they'll reply to me rather than face a brick wall when trying to ping you directly. Shelley had a few choice words to say about you, btw. You might want to apologize first. ;)
It didn't take long for Eames to get permission to message RedKodiak; Arthur actually gave him permission to reply to whatever PM's he received from others. He wasn't allowed to seek out or start conversations without Arthur's intervention to unlock his account. It was a pain in the ass, as was Arthur's closing message to be careful who he picked to go under.
As if he didn't know that already.
Eames: Shell?
RedKodiak: You have some nerve, asshole.
Eames: I'm sorry, Shell. They were closing in on you.
RedKodiak: And?
Eames: I stalled them as long as I could.
Eames: I didn't want to, and they didn't buy the jerk I threw in their direction.
Eames: Shell?
RedKodiak: I knew you were coming that day.
Eames: What?
RedKodiak: You shot me, but not IRL.
Eames: WHAT?!
RedKodiak: Surprise, motherfucker.
Eames: Shell, WTF?
RedKodiak: I knew you were stalling. I had other guys in the field, remember? I KNEW you were coming that day.
Eames: You treated me like a subject??
RedKodiak: You didn't give me much choice, did you? It was that or kill you. Luckily for you, I kinda liked you back then.
Eames: ....
Eames: And now?
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: I'm not sure.
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: Lookout says you're a solid and you're being dragged into deep shit.
Eames: I don't want him involved, Shell.
Eames: I just need recs for a team.
RedKodiak: Depends on who you're working for now.
Eames: Payroll says Yard, but my strings are being yanked outside of the Yard for this one. MI6
RedKodiak: You better be joking on that.
Eames: I'm using the fucking GN. DO YOU THINK I'M JOKING???
RedKodiak: ....
RedKodiak: I guess not.
RedKodiak: Fuck, Eames. They'll kill you.
Eames: I know.
Eames: I can't say no, tho.
RedKodiak: Why the fuck not? You can wind up the Yard, but not them.
Eames: Life expectancy = 0 then, that's why. I rather like breathing.
RedKodiak: You do look awfully good doing that.
Eames: ....
Eames: I really am sorry, Shell. I tried to make it quick. I wanted to be merciful.
RedKodiak: I know. My guys in the field told me what you were up to. I knew you'd have to pass a polygraph, since Jack knew we were fucking.
Eames: I believed I killed you, Shell.
RedKodiak: Well, Shelley's dead now.
Eames: Some on the street still throw your name around. Mostly players I had to force out of the game four years ago.
RedKodiak: Makes it hard to find a team willing to go up for MI6, doesn't it?
Eames: Definitely.
RedKodiak: What's the payout?
Eames: Whatever I want it to be. I've been given carte blanche for a team and payouts.
RedKodiak: Fuck. What's the job?
Eames: Rogue agent location.
RedKodiak: Funny, Eames.
Eames: I'm bloody serious.
RedKodiak: You know that's not all they want.
Eames: Pretty sure, yeah.
Eames: Nothing official, of course.
RedKodiak: Of course. So you need a full team, really. I wouldn't trust ANYONE they rec.
Eames: Pretty much.
Eames: The few I'd trust I don't want to bring into this.
RedKodiak: Well, isn't that lovely about me, then?
Eames: I'm not bringing you into it, Shell. I'm asking for recs.
Eames: I don't want you in this. Don't even think it.
RedKodiak: Most players out there won't want to work with you. Just letting you know. You burned too many bridges four years ago. The lure of being legit means NOTHING to this crowd, you know.
Eames: You fence and connect, Shell. Don't even think it.
RedKodiak: Times change.
RedKodiak: Tell me who it is. If it's a rogue, odds are there were feelers sent out ahead of time.
Eames: christ, Shell...
RedKodiak: You give a little before you get. You know how it is.
Eames: Isn't it enough to know it's MI6?
RedKodiak: No.
RedKodiak: You'd be surprised, Eames. You really would.
Eames: Milton. Chemist. Disappeared 4 months ago, suspected rogue. Sharpshooter also.
RedKodiak: I'll need to get back to you on this.
RedKodiak: I'm going to tell Eden and Pascal to write you. DO NOT PISS THEM OFF. You'll need them and i swear to fucking God if you ruin this for them I will hunt you down and kill you.
Eames: ???
RedKodiak: I'll need to meet you, too. Where's a safe location?
Eames: Probably doesn't exist.
RedKodiak: Punk.
Eames: Would you rather a tail see you?
RedKodiak: It'll be like old times. :D
Eames: Kinky bitch.
RedKodiak: You miss me.
Eames: There's no one else in the world like you, Shell.
RedKodiak: Good answer.
RedKodiak: I'm sending you coords by PM. Don't be late, don't stand me up and lose the tail before you get there. You're going to need help to do this right. You can't fuck with MI6 and expect to live.
Eames: That's why I don't want you involved. I don't.
RedKodiak: I cheated death twice now. Let's go for a third time, shall we?
Eames: Shell...
RedKodiak: You're not asking me, Eames. I'm telling you. Meet me there. Don't be late. Don't fuck up.
>>>Session terminated.
Eames stared at his screen with hollow eyes. Fuck. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to massage his temples. Shelley Baker had been a very unassuming kind of girl to look at her. She had long brown hair, brown eyes and was just a shade darker than pale. Her mother had been half Indonesian and connected to one of the triads in Hong Kong. While Shelley's father had been a perfectly legitimate lawyer, he had been killed when she was young. Shelley had wound up getting involved in the triad, then with other underworld figures fencing items and connecting dream sharing users for extraction jobs or pointing the way to illegal sleep labs. Eames didn't know what led to the first time she had to fake her death, but they were friends and had an on-again, off-again thing going around the time he had been commissioned to start eliminating the underground. His superior officer at the time, Jack Burlington, had known about Shelley. Eames had put off turning her in, citing her contacts and links as the way he was going about his job. Shelley was right, though; if she hadn't faked her death in the manner that she had, he would have ultimately had to kill her for real.
He called up the meeting place that Shelley had picked. It was a tiny dive of a place in an area of town that he wasn't entirely familiar with.
For the thousandth time since Mayhew had spoken to him four days ago, Eames wondered who he had pissed off to be put into this position.
***
"Here. Have a coffee," came a feminine voice. Eames looked up from where he was sitting in a corner of the bistro. He was easily seen from the door, but hadn't bothered to look at whoever was coming in. The woman standing over him was tall and slightly pudgy around the middle, wearing a puffy vest and thick hooded sweater over denims and combat boots. The hood was pulled up and she was wearing purple tinted glasses. "Two sugars and cream, yes?"
Eames let his lips curl into a smile at the familiar accented voice. "My favorite Southern girl in London. Good memory."
"I still take mine black," Shelley said, sliding into the seat across from Eames, her own coffee cup in hand. She watched Eames stir the coffee before taking a sip. "How do you know I didn't poison it?"
"You were always more direct than that. I'd expect a bullet in the brain more than strychnine in my coffee."
"True," she allowed with a nod. "That part hasn't changed." She smiled, her warm brown eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. "It's good to see you, Eames. Even if you are a selfish fucker."
"Ah, the dulcet tones of a Southern belle," Eames snarked back at her. "Really, Shell, I don't want you involved."
"I know. But you won't get the others without me. You need me, and you need my connections. We've had to go even farther underground in the UK after what happened four years ago. The sleep labs are probably the farthest up that the players go. You're going to need the ghosts in the system for this one, the ones that don't exist anymore."
"I saw Denise on Tuesday."
"I know. She talks too much."
"I thought she was just out of the loop."
Shelley smiled. "She's one of the more visible dealers, Eames. She knows where to go and who to go to, but she'd never help you now."
"Why are you?"
Shelley shrugged and swallowed half of her coffee in one gulp. "I think it'll be nice for MI6 to owe me one for a change. I know Eden would want the money, and Pascal likes the idea of the hunt. He's fucking insane that way. He'd be the shooter, if you couldn't tell. Eden can make networks sit up and do her bidding. It's freakin' scary what she can make things do, and she's always looking for new toys. Computers like that cost money, and she constantly has to dispose of 'em when things get too hot."
"She ever crack the Network?" Eames asked in arch tones.
"Nope. No one can do that. But she did catch a location of one of its nodes, which was more than good enough for me."
"Really? Where was it?"
"Buried inside a Swiss bank," Shelley said, laughing. "Fucker's good, I got to say that. It's a secure place, and nobody can hack it. Believe you me, everyone and their motherfucking uncle has tried."
"I'm going to need more than just the two of them."
"They're to start with, Eames. If they roll with this, then I can rope in another one or two that might think the danger's worth it."
"Such as?"
"I have a field chemist wanting to pad his resume, and a for-hire itching to get back out in the field. Hates Pascal's guts, too, so they're constantly trying to swagger and show me who's got the bigger dick. I like playing them off each other. More kills to the game that way," she said with a tinkling little laugh.
"Same old Shell," Eames replied, shaking his head fondly.
"You're going to want the body count on this, if it's as bad as I think it is."
Eames looked up at Shelley. "What do you know?"
"Milton was on the Network, of course. On chemist boards and shooter boards. Fucker was prolific, too. I troll, mostly. But he was all over the damn place, like he was constantly online. Going back over his posts, he was messing around with the soma, tweaking its attributes. Higher order chemist shit I have no idea about, but my chemist says it's fucking crazy what he was doing. You got a chemist friend to look over the notes, more power to you. I told mine to shut the fuck up since it was giving me a headache. The shooter boards had nothing but posturing, but he wasn't lying on any post. I checked facts and all his bravado is earned."
"So if he went rogue, he could gun us down himself."
"Basically."
Eames gave her a wry smile. "When they fuck up, they fuck up badly."
"I did get a hit with the Kenya angle you didn't mention to me, by the way," Shelley said, leaning back in her chair. She unzipped her puffy jacket and slid a flash drive across the table at him. "This is from Eden, and it's clean. You can use it on your personal computer. If you get anything from anyone else, get a fresh one. Your place is wired up to hell and back."
"I figured," Eames said with a sigh. He pocketed the flash drive, keeping it next to the plastic baggie he had gotten from Milton's office. He was waiting for Yusuf to get back to him regarding the contents of the drive, and wasn't about to leave it out of his sight until then. He noticed two people detaching themselves from the wall and heading to their table. "Friends of yours?" he asked, nodding in their direction.
"Play your cards right and they'll be friends of yours, too," Shelley replied evenly.
The woman was of middle height, with dark hair long and loose around her pale face. She was in a thick winter's coat and big black boots with a dozen silver buckles on them. She had dark eye makeup and pale lips, sitting down beside Shelley across from Eames. The man was blond with green eyes, his hair cropped close to his skull. He had a black flame tattoo along his left temple and a thick, jagged scar in front of his left ear that curled below his jaw and disappeared beneath his gray turtleneck sweater. His own winter jacket was thin but insulated well, and his soulless eyes took in Eames for a moment before he sat down beside him. "Eden and Pascal, I assume?" Eames asked.
Eden nodded. "You have a job," she said, her voice without inflection. She could have been talking about the weather for all anyone would know.
"Getting the location of a rogue agent, officially. Unofficially? Making sure he and whatever cell he's affiliated with doesn't come back to haunt the government's nightmares."
Pascal smiled thinly, his mouth a grim slash across his face. "I can work with this."
"I have some preliminaries on the drive," Eden told Eames. "What's the payout?"
"Whatever you want it to be, paid up front."
"Cash or unmarked account?" she asked, eyes flicking between Eames and Shelley.
"I'll take the cash," Pascal added. "I can loop in Gray, if you like."
"He's fucking insane," Shelley protested.
"Better him than swinging Henri in front of me again. I know your game, Shelley, and I'm sick of it. If you want a second shooter, you let me loop in Gray."
Shelley sighed. "I hate Gray. I'd rather deal with Henri."
"You deal with him, you lose me," Pascal said with a shrug. "You know I'm better than Henri anyway, or you would talk to him first."
Eames looked at Eden, who was sitting stiffly in her chair. "What payment do you prefer?" he asked, leaving Shelley and Pascal to argue about how many shooters they would need.
"I want three million euros in an unmarked account before we leave the country. I'll shift the funds out and then head on the plane. You'll need someone good on your side, Mr. Eames." She smiled thinly. "Your target's not stupid, and he has some very scary and very powerful friends."
"Information's on the drive?" he asked. She nodded curtly. "I'll get you the money."
"I told you he'd be good for it," Shelley told Eden, interrupting her own conversation with Pascal. She turned back to the tattooed shooter. "Here's my compromise: Gray and Foster."
"I can deal with Foster," Pascal agreed.
"So what's the team looking like?" Eames asked, looking at Shelley.
"One forger, one point man, one hacker, two shooters, one architect, one arms dealer and one field chemist."
"We might be able to survive this, then," Eames said with a smile.
"Check the drive before you come to that conclusion," Eden intoned, standing. "I think we're evenly matched."
Eames watched her leave the cafe. "Cheerful girl."
"You want her brains, not her personality. Not your type, anyway," Shelley told him sweetly. She laughed when he rolled his eyes at her and shook his head. "I'll contact the others, you get Gray," she said to Pascal. "Usual channels by tomorrow. The Crown wants to move fast on this, I assume," she directed to Eames.
"I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm slower than molasses," Eames replied.
"Tomorrow, Pascal," she said in brisk tones. "Eden and I are good to go, and I know our chemist is. Foster should be able to move by tomorrow or the day after."
"Gray will be ready whenever we're good to go," Pascal said stiffly. "He's between jobs at the moment. He needs it."
Shelley nodded and watched him get up to leave. "I'll send you the payment list via the Network tonight. I'll redistribute for everyone else, since Eden already asked for her fee."
"Stiff price, don't you think?" he asked in arch tones.
"She's good and it's not your money. Shut the fuck up."
Eames held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just a question."
"She's come the closest to cracking the Ghost Network, blew open InGen and she's the one that was behind InteLiv losing its bid to make generic somnacin. InteLiv bit us in the ass pretty damn hard, so it was only fair that the bastards lose out on their big score."
"You're just as vicious as I remember, Shelley."
Her smile was wicked. "Yes, indeed."
"Fine, she's worth three million euros, then. What kind of damage will I be asking for, then?"
"Let's just say that remaining under the radar in multiple countries doesn't come cheap. I'm pretty sure no one else is going to be as expensive as Eden, though."
"We'll probably move within the week, then. I'm going to need approval for the payouts."
"I'll find you," Shelley said, standing and leaving a few quid on the table to pay for the coffee. She gave him a fond smile. "It'll be good working with you again, Eames. You always had the interesting jobs."
Interesting was sometimes a curse, and they both knew it.
***
Lookout: Those files were some piece of work, even with the password.
Eames: What do you mean?
Lookout: I fried two computers before I remembered your trick with the offline laptop. Apparently, the files were encrypted with a virus. If it sensed any kind of internet activity, it fried the motherboard.
Lookout: IT isn't too pleased with me at the moment. Miles covered for me on one desktop, tho.
Eames: Sorry.
Lookout: Worth it to get a look at the files, though.
Lookout: You still have the actual compound?
Eames: I'm locking it into a safety deposit box. I'll mail you the key.
Lookout: You definitely don't want to take that shit, man.
Eames: Why?
Lookout: I usually go for heavy sedation, myself. Less chance of really nasty side effects. Not that sedation and respiratory depression can't be bad, but you know what I mean.
Eames: No, but let's pretend I do.
Lookout: :)
Lookout: He used neuroleptics in combination with a couple other things.
Lookout: Somnacin has some anticholinergic effects due to its activity in the frontal lobes, and there are some downstream effects that affect the reticular activating system.
Eames: gibberish, Yusuf!
Lookout: :P
Lookout: basic somnacin = nasty side effects, messes with your ability to sleep and dream with long term use. Short term use will help make the dreams more vivid by altering the balance of chemicals in your brain.
Eames: Why didn't you say it like that?? Not all of us are genius chemists.
Lookout: :P
Lookout: Anyway, he added some neuroleptics and sedatives in his variant. Plus, the actual structure of his version of somnacin is wacky.
Eames: Wacky how?
Lookout: basically, the variations will all work together to boost the dreaming. But there are some pretty high risks involved with the dosing if you don't get it right. Especially to someone who's neuroleptic naive. There are serious side effects to that shit, which is why I don't use it.
Lookout: neuroleptic naive ppl are really sensitive. It'll knock you the fuck out, especially with the benzos involved at the start, but I don't think the benzos are enough to counteract the side effect risk. ESPECIALLY since his protocol involves the use of more neuroleptics over time without the benzos.
Eames: english, Yusuf!
Lookout: Extremely high risk of anticholinergic delirium or neuroleptic malignant syndrome.
Eames: those don't sound too good.
Lookout: They're not. Easy enough to treat if you catch it, but I have the feeling by this protocol that he's not very interested in catching it.
Eames: what are you saying?
Lookout: Milton is going for hardcore data mining and doesn't care if he fries your brain or leaves you dead in the process, is what I'm saying. This protocol flays your mind open, leaves you open to some scary ass shit, wrecks your body and could possibly kill you if it's not treated.
Lookout: Whoever he's working for, this is serious business.
Lookout: You have to be careful, Eames.
Eames: thanks for the heads up.
Eames: How far along in his research did he get? Is this thing workable?
Lookout: Judging by the data? He's already using it.
Eames: fuck.
Lookout: Exactly.
Lookout: Whatever you're involved with, it's no joke.
Lookout: I'm worried, Eames. This isn't good for your health. This guy doesn't give a shit about life in general, let alone whoever he puts this protocol on.
Eames: Any way to counteract it ahead of time?
Lookout: No.
Lookout: Any "antidotes" are short acting. You'd have to be on an IV drip. Or eating Benadryl like candy, which would really only make the anticholinergic symptoms worse.
Eames: All right, the answer is no, then.
Lookout: What are you getting yourself into?
Eames: Hell if I know.
Eames: I haven't worked for these guys in years. They didn't exactly do me any favors when I worked for them directly, and made things difficult for me while I was working for the Yard.
Lookout: My guess is that they want you dead.
Eames: The question is why.
Lookout: I kinda asked shelley about that.
Lookout: I'm worried about you, man. After what happened here, it makes me wonder if they're considering you a liability.
Eames: What happened in DC has nothing to do with the UK side of things.
Lookout: It doesn't take a genius to figure out why you were sent over. And if the Dream Killer is still at large, your bosses can't be very happy with you.
Eames: ....
Eames: Stay out of this. You're in a safe gig right now.
Lookout: I'm not stupid. I wouldn't ever say this off the Network.
Lookout: Be careful.
Lookout: Shelley knows some good people, but Milton is working with people that just don't give a fuck.
Eames: Yeah.
Eames: thanks, Yusuf. really.
Lookout: I'll pray for your safety, my friend.
Eames: Thanks. I think I'll need it.
>>>Session terminated.
***
***
To Chapter three...