Arthur grumbled when Eames put the handcuffs back on.

The van had dramatically decreased its speed after at least half a day of driving. From the way it was shifting, they must have been moving over uneven ground. The unpredictability of the bumps suggested tree roots.

Great, Arthur thought. We're being taken deep into an isolated forest, far from the city, and no one knows where we are.

"Remind me again how we have the upper hand," he demanded as the hood was dropped over his head.

"We both have something Yusuf wants, don't we?" Eames guided Arthur to sit against the wall.

"Did you see the man power back there?" Arthur snapped. "There's nothing to stop him from just taking whatever he wants."

"Don't be so tense, love."

Arthur's foot lashed out and connected with something. He heard Eames curse and fall over before catching his foot as it was going in for another kick. It angered him further when he tried to yank free and couldn't.

"Let go!" he barked.

An arm snaked around his thigh to hold his leg immobile while another yanked off his hood and then pressed against his neck, effectively pinning him against the wall.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Eames' breath was hot against his face. "Stop fighting me. I'm not the one who locked Ariadne up. I'm not the one who shoved you into this van. And I'm not the one who addicted you to the compound you wish you had right now."

The tension slowly melted from Arthur's shoulders and he looked away. Somewhere within him, he knew Eames was right. He was beginning to withdrawal again. Irrational irritation was the first sign.

When he met Eames' eyes again, it was with a reluctant expression of apology. As soon as Eames realized he was done fighting, he released Arthur's leg and removed his arm.

"This whole situation…" Arthur muttered.

"I know."

Eames picked up the hood again and motioned for Arthur to lean forward. As soon as the hood was replaced, he heard Eames put his own hood and handcuffs back on.

They sat in silence for the next five minutes or so. With the plan loosely put together on the way, there wasn't much left to say.

The soft squeal of brakes made Arthur straighten as the van came to a stop. A rush of adrenaline flooded his veins and his breath came faster. He heard the muffled sound of another van stopping and the slamming of doors. Foreign shouting made him strain his ears, but he didn't recognize the language.

"Just breathe," Eames muttered. "Try to stay calm. Your system is under enough stress as it is."

Arthur tried to calm down, but he wasn't the one with military training. As a Point Man, he had no idea what to expect from their captors. A cement cell with nothing but a toilet bowl came to mind.

He heard the van door unlatch and slide open.

Someone climbed in and grabbed his upper arm, dragging him out. The moment his bare feet hit the ground, he tried to stand and walk, but the hood over his head made it impossible to judge the terrain. Grass. Dirt. He clenched his jaw. Roots. Smooth pavement.

He kept stubbing his toes and rolling his ankles as the terrain changed. From the scuffling sounds behind him, Eames wasn't faring much better. The grip on his arm shifted. Whoever was holding him yelled something in frustration.

They released his arm before an iron grip around his waist stole his breath. He was slung over a shoulder. Hard muscle ground against his stomach and hips. It was painful, but the shift in gravity gave him the opportunity he needed to try to get the hood off.

Arthur was in the process of shaking his head back and forth when he was tossed onto something soft. He struggled to sit up. The hood was yanked off his head, revealing a blinding white light. As his eyes struggled to adjust, someone grabbed his arm and rolled him onto his stomach. He heard the jingling of keys before the handcuffs were yanked off his wrists.

Scant seconds later, a door slammed.

He was alone.

The transfer from the van had only lasted seconds, which meant the men were well trained and knew their way around the complex. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something.

Arthur rolled over and rubbed his wrists as he sat up.

A glance around made his heart lurch. What he saw was more frightening than the dark, dank holding cell he expected.

Everything was white. The tiles on the ceiling and floor seemed to be emitting light, though with how bright it was, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that light was also coming through the walls. The room looked sterile.

Even more terrifying, however, was how permanent it felt. There was a wooden desk and a chair. A bed and a dresser. A toilet, a shower without a curtain, a sink… everything immaculately, blindingly white. Everything he would need to permanently reside here.

Damn.

Each upper corner of the room also housed a white camera. Arthur had a gut-wrenching feeling that he'd just become a permanent human guinea pig for Yusuf's compounds.

His head was reeling as he noticed the intercom system near the door. Where would Yusuf get the funding? He stumbled to the control panel. How long had Yusuf been experimenting on dreamers? Arthur pushed the call button. Was the man brilliant, insane, or just the same greedy chemist he'd revealed himself to be on the Fischer job?

"Hey," he barked into the speaker. "Someone answer me, dammit."

"Yes?" an accented male voice asked.

"I want to speak to Yusuf. Now."

"Sir," the voice began, sounding bored, "You are being held for observation and further testing. It is in your best interest to wait until we can further access your physical and mental condition. That is all."

The intercom button no longer lit up when Arthur pushed it. He pushed the button again and again, eventually punching it in frustration. Feeling like a trapped wild animal, he ran both hands over his hair and began to pace. Thinking clearly was impossible. If only his heart stopped pounding, he might have been able to manage it.

As it was, anger simmered inside him until he stubbed his toe on a leg of the desk chair.

Then it boiled over.

He picked up the chair and threw it against the wall with a yell of exertion. When it didn't break, he picked it up again and slammed it into the desk. It felt equally gratifying and painful as the recoil jarred his hands. Ignoring the pain, he slammed the chair into the desk as hard as he could. Again. And again.

A hissing sound drew Arthur's attention to small holes in the wall that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. They were releasing a thin smoke, and it didn't take a Point Man to realize the vapor was a sedative.

If I'm going down, he thought, turning to the far left camera, It won't be without a fight.

Arthur launched the chair at the camera. It collided with a satisfying crunch, the chair falling to the floor as the camera dangled by its wires. He smugly noted the cracked lens before his legs gave out.

As his head hit the floor and his eyes fluttered closed, Arthur clung to the mental image that, just maybe, the bored man behind the intercom had displayed an expression of indignation at the realization that one of his cameras was broken.

12/02/13 Update: I don't know what kind of author would leave you all hanging this long, but they should be jailed with nothing but a word processor and a toilet... okay, okay, I hear ya. I want this story to continue too. The thing is, I write for a living, so... I've got projects on top of projects.

Three original projects, one WIP fanfic I'm actively writing, and then the lowly three or four WIP fanfics I've haven't touched in a long time. Sadly, this is one of them. I want to give it a facelift before I continue as well, since I think one reviewer was right when they suggested I write "the man" too much (instead of a name or he). I haven't done that in a long time. SO, point is, I'll get to this. Don't know when. But I will. As far as I can tell, revising it might take a month or two. Then I'll need the enthusiasm to continue it. But don't worry. I've set the realistic goal to complete all my fanfics within a year. Seems like a long time, but trust me, it ain't.