I have been challenged to write about Inception once a week until the end of the year.  Not that this really changes anything because I was planning on doing that anyway.

This week, we continue my adventure into the world of fan fiction.  It’s probably safe to say we won’t be getting any more Inception stories from Nolan and the Blu-Ray doesn’t come out till later this year.  So in order to get a fix, I’m pretty much gonna have to make my own so hopefully, you need a fix too.

The first is a story in parts.  Here is Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 and Part 9.  This would be Part 10.  It’s called

“The Human Vault.”

The first part of his body he felt was his hands.  His fingers fanned out and closed, back and forth until he got used to them again.  He found himself standing on the roof of some building and immediately ran to the edge, peering out at the world below.

Down below, one could only take the structures for what they were: deceptive approximations of reality.  From this height, he could see the genius sum of their construction, roads and streets as the trappings of a maze.  Judging from the complexity, he would have enough time.  And if he didn’t, he’d still have to make it work.

As he hobbled down the stairwell, he patted himself down, feeling out the silhouette of a sidearm in his pocket.  Digging into his jacket, his hands drew out a single ladies’ stocking.  He wished he had dreamt up something a little less humiliating before returning the makeshift mask into his jacket.

He felt winded as he arrived at ground level.  It was unfair, he thought, that he always seemed to be a little less athletic when he was dreamsharing.  The bottom of the stairwell opened out to a very sparsely decorated lobby.  The feel of it was unmistakably that of an office, but there were no company logos proclaiming their stake on the land.  Subtle?  Yes, and none of the projections seemed to notice, but this must have meant she had less time to prepare than usual.

Stepping outside, the sweltering heat’s presence made itself known immediately and it was impossible to ignore.  His shirt clung to him like a second skin as he made his way down the sidewalk.  In spite of the apparently hasty construction of the dreamscape, he couldn’t say it wasn’t sizeable.  From atop that roof, he could view its sprawling qualities, but down here, he was taken in by it, lost in it.  So much so that it probably took him a minute before he could regain focus on his mission.

“Excuse me?  Miss?”  “Do you think you could point something out to me?”  “I’m from out of town and…”  He crossed through crowds and tapped every shoulder he could, but all the projections offered was either a cold stare or total neglect.  He found himself on the business end of a projection’s rifle enough times not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but there was too much ground to cover to probe on his own.  Interrogating the subconscious was the only option.

A flash of yellow in the distance caught his attention and he began waving his hand, stepping off the sidewalk.  The taxi came to a quiet stop beside him.

“Need to make a withdrawal.  Think you can take me to nearest bank?”

“Around here, there’s only one,” the cabbie replied.

He smiled.  “Then that’d be it.”

The taxi pulled up to an unassuming little building easily dwarfed by the surrounding buildings.  If it weren’t for the cabbie stopping, the place would be simple to miss.  He slammed the door behind him as he started towards the bank.

“HEY!”  The cabbie glared at him from the driver’s seat.  “You forgot the fare!”

He marched right up to the window; grabbed the driver’s head; and pressed his gun underneath his chin.

“Did I?”  The two made eye contact, coming to a quick, silent agreement.  He let the driver’s head go with a push and watched as the taxi made a sloppy escape.

Alone again, he took a moment to survey the bank, collect himself.  A long deep breath and then he swallowed his pride.  The ladies’ stocking slipped over his face and he strode into the bank.

The inside area was basically comprised of two parts: behind the counter and in front of it.  It wasn’t peak hours apparently, judging from the limited number of customers.  At a glance, he could only make out four people working.  This amount of bystanders – this was manageable.

He took the gun out and mustered the loudest voice he could:

“EVERYONE DOWN ON THE FLOOR!  NO ONE BE A HERO!  I’M NOT HERE TO KILL ANYONE, NOT UNLESS I HAVE TO!”

Aside from a couple startled yelps, the projections all seemed to comply in subdued, orderly fashion.  He could make out the tapping feet of a couple nervous customers, but nothing needed to be quelled as he stepped over the prone bodies, approaching the counter.

He looked through the counter window, down to the floor, and knocked to one of the employees lying on the floor.  The woman picked herself up and opened the door for him, promptly reassuming her position.  He put a hand on her arm, watching the rest of the employees behind her for any sudden movements.

“Do you have any safety deposit boxes here?”

She nodded wordlessly.

He moved closer.  “Do you have one for Nathan Thomas?”

Another nod.  “All of them are.”