… The dream…

Arthur was being drug. Where? He had no idea. All he knew was his legs weren't responding. His breathing was shallow. As his captures hauled him away from the wretched curb and down the street, Arthur glanced back. What he saw was blood, too much blood. 'I should be dead now'. The happenings weren't adding up and Arthur's tortured mind could not categorize and formulate them into any type of equation that would prove solvable. Not because there wasn't an answer, there is always an answer, one just has to look deep enough, ask the right questions, and have the right knowledge. No, Arthur couldn't understand his predicament because there was barely anything to him left. He was a shell: empty and alone, more so then usual.

Arthur knew why no one in the world was close to him. He pushed everyone away. He told himself that it was best. The line of work his life was committed too did not permit relationships: good, bad, or ugly. Point-man, dreamscapes, marks, the entire profession of stealing secrets and building falsities was the pinnacle of loneliness. That must be why now he was alone in the hands of this psycho. Eames and Cobb hadn't returned. Arthur didn't blame them, it was too dangerous. If he had had the option to advise their actions, he would have recommended they proceed as they obviously did.

Everything was good. Arthur could feel himself slipping. He felt all of his sealed fears rising to the surface and washing away in the steady stream of blood flowing down his legs and trailing upon the pavement. All he had to do… was let go.

… Torturer…

"He is in-route here now, sir," the man with sunken will informed his sadistically cruel master hell-bent and blindly devoted to a single cause.

"Ah, music to my ears. He is alive still?" the employee nodded. The boss raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side.

"Impressive, if I do say so myself. But not for too much longer. Will breaks, it always does. Isn't that right," the man across from him shivered before again nodding. The boss leaned back in his chair and brought his fingertips together.

"This will be it." He spoke to himself, withdrawn. "It will taste so sweet…"

"Uhhh, it should only be 15 more minutes, sir. Where would you like him taken when he arrives?"

"Here. Bring him here, to my center of operation: to where I have been planning my revenge for years. I would have never thought my ultimate desire would play into my hand so easily… Yes. Bring him here. Bring him to my heart."

The timid man nodded and disappeared at once. The room was empty, aside from the boss.

"Arthur my friend… you simply are going to love the show!"

… Reality…

Barricaded in a metal and concrete tomb, Cobb and Eames had no choice. They would enter the dream currently being shared between Dago and Arthur. Their point-man would be saved from the demons grasp.

Cobb and Eames were just returning from the door, ready to tell Yusuf it was time when they heard a high-pitch plea.

"Nooooooooooo! Please Arthur! Pleeeease!" Ariadne cried. Tears were dripping down her cheeks are she tried to do something, anything to save the life of the young, troubled, and lonely man before her. The man she considered a friend…

Eames and Cobb bound forward, bursting back into the room almost side-by-side. Both froze. Eames looked shattered, but only for the moment. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened, his mouth despaired, and air rushed from his lungs. Cobb was not as quick to recover. He looked traumatized as his mouth hung slack, eyes wide. His posture was defeated, shoulders slumped forward: right hand slowly and unsurely coming to run his fingers through his hair.

"What is this?!" Eames was once again on the move.

"I…I… I don't know," Ariadne babbled. She was shaking from distress. Eames gently moved her aside, taking her place at Arthur's left-hand side. Looking up, he saw Yusuf standing off the in corner: watching the scene with horror.

"Come here," Yusuf didn't budge, "Come here now!" Eames demanded. His tranquil demeanor was slipping, his British accent becoming more pronounced. Yusuf came forward cautiously.

"How do we fix this? Hmm? What do we do?" Eames was kneeling in a pool of blood, Arthur's blood. When Yusuf didn't respond, Eames broke eye contact and reached for Arthur's wrist to check his pulse. As soon as the forger's fingers brushed Arthur's skin, he stopped. Mouth open, Eames looked down to Arthur's hand. Arthur's suit jacket was cut off and shirt unbuttoned in record speed. Ariadne barely had sob:

"What are you doing?!" But Eames didn't acknowledge her. He realized unbuttoning the shirt wasn't enough. He cut down the sleeved and slipped all of the fabric effortlessly away from Arthur's torso.

"What are they doing down there to you love?" Eames mumbled. Arthur's arm was bubbled and blistered, pink raw flesh exposed in patched along its entirety. His ribs were bruised, some likely broken given the amount of internal hemorrhaging, cuts an angry red were decorating his pale skin.

Cobb had broken away from his trance and was kneeling in the blood same as Eames.

"What have to turn him over," Eames said. Cobb nodded. The gash was long, but clean. It needed to be stitched

"Yusuf! YUSUF! Get over here now Cobb screamed. Spittle flew from his lips and his face turned bright red, veins bulging. Yusuf was at his side in moments.

"What do you have that can patch this up? Do you have a needle, thread, wire, anything?!"

"I am a chemist not a doctor!" Yusuf declared finding his voice. Eames stood and walked up to Yusuf. He grabbed the man's upper arm.

"I can do this. I just need something to work with. Bring me anything you have. We have to get this closed, or else our worries are soon to be over," Eames finished, looking over his shoulder. Ariadne squealed before pulling her knees to her chest and rocking, back and forth.

"Cobb, I will take care of this. We still need a plan. Who knows what is to come. We must get Arthur out of there."

… Torturer…

Arthur wasn't keeping track of his surroundings. That was unlike him. Usually he would be keen to notice or remember as many details as possible to aid him, and his team, in the future. But there was no team with him this time. He was alone. Soon the projection of his body would die and he would be lost. So what did something so miniscule as details make a difference.

*ding*

Arthur heard big, electric doors opening. He was pulled forward only a short way before again stopping. Given the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the electric door sound that had followed their short journey, Arthur knew they must be in an elevator. 'Strange. I don't even remember coming indoors'.

Time stopped, the brigade went up or down many levels, or Arthur's grasp on everything was slipping. For he felt they had been in the elevator for a life time. It was a startling shock when a hand was slapped across his face. He head bobbled to the side.

"Wake up! We are about to be in the presence of the Boss." Arthur didn't care. The man wasn't his boss. But he was slapped again, and was curious, so did his best to crack upon his swollen eyes. He was in the hallway. All of the walls and many doors were white. The door knobs and hinges were all steal. The carpet was very short, almost not carpet at all: adding to the industrial feel. It was colored a deep navy blue with white and silver specs of highlight throughout.

It was a ways down the hallway before they stopped as a door, it looked the same as the rest. Arthur was being held up by his elbows on both sides, legs dragging behind. He was still bleeding and thus, had left tracks on the pristinely clean carpeting.

*knock. Knock. Knock.*

"Enter," called a man from the other side of the door. The door opened and Arthur was drug inside.

The room was dim, a red light somewhere cast an earie glow. There was a chair in the middle of the room. That is where the man sat.

"Here ya go boss."

"Leave him. Leave me. And clean up that mess you all surely left dragging him down the hallways like animals!"

"Yes boss." The men all scurried from the room and shut the door behind them.

"Ahhhhh, Arthur. At last. Don't you know me? Remember me? I can guarantee I am one you will never soon forget." It was a mockery. Of course Arthur remembered him, knew him. He knew every details about this man. Dago had brown eyes, dark black hair. He had a daughter, seven years old, who now lived with her mother in the U.K. He almost had a son, but his wife, Elizabeth, had a miscarriage at 5 months. It was traumatic. The two were not officially divorced but acted like such.

Dago drove a white Mercedes. He never was anywhere without his Glock 9. He wore only Joseph Abboud designer suits, usually colored either navy blue or slate grey. He was pulled over for speeding twice in 2008, four times in 2009, and once in 2010. He had never been officially charged with a felony. Dago's parents were dead, died when he was young. His father's sister lived a party life and had no interest in the boy. His mother's brother took him in for a while, but Dago was troubled and soon ended up in the system. He was there until age 15, when he escaped to live on the streets, alone.

There was more. More tat Arthur knew, but his mind was hazy. Dago stood and came to crouch at Arthur's head. He reach down and drug a finger over Arthur's cheek before viciously grabbing a hand full of his dirty hair.

"This will be fun. Surprised you haven't died yet, that you haven't let go. No matter. It will add to the fun!"

Woah! Been some years, but here is an update for anyone who is perhaps still interested. I am not going anywhere this time. Please review and await another update.