1. 2 a.m.
It is a strange feeling, to wake from perfectly-recalled chaos into this orderly world, this compulsively neat hotel sitting room, but Arthur said (in the same tone as every one of her professors) that practice makes perfect, and she is tired of being torn apart by projections of various kinds every time she loses focus and lets her creativity get the better of her.

She should have known that Arthur's projections would be perfect tacticians. They were, after all, extensions of his own subconscious. He apologizes the first two times they wake, but she laughs and thanks him for having such precise projections. One of Eames' projections had missed her head the first time it shot at her, in one of their early trials, and she had taken the bullet in the shoulder instead. It was not an experience she ever wanted to repeat, so when Arthur's projections take her down without her feeling a thing, she is more grateful than alarmed.

It is two AM the third time that they wake, in the night lights of Paris, and under these fallen stars she walks back to her own tiny apartment, watching the buildings fold and crumble into the scenes behind her eyes.