Chapter Text
"Inception," says Ichirou Moriyama.
‘You're crazy,' Neil does not say, but it's a close thing. "It can't be done," he says instead, after a too long pause.
Ichirou does not look at him, but at Kevin instead. Neil fights a scowl. He doesn't want the attention of the likes of Ichirou Moriyama anyway.
Next to Neil, Kevin very carefully does not move; he is unnatural in his stillness, and that makes Neil turn to look at him too. "Kevin?"
"It's complicated," says Kevin. But it can be done hangs in the air.
"I understand," says Ichirou, and draws out a cheque book. Neil watches him write out an absurd amount of money, and thinks, You definitely do not understand. Neil's not stupid enough to ruin their facade of a united front when they're facing a new client, so he settles for giving Kevin an appropriately squinty glare instead; Kevin studiously avoids eye contact.
"I need to know the target and the idea first," says Kevin quietly, though Neil notices that he only speaks up after Ichirou's finished writing the cheque.
Ichirou holds up a hand, and one of the men standing behind him passes him a dossier. He sets it down on the coffee table, too low to be comfortable for any of them apart from Neil, and flips the cover to reveal a photograph on the top.
Both of Neil's eyebrows rocket into his hairline as Riko Moriyama looks back out at him. "Your brother?"
"Yes."
Neil waits for an explanation. Kevin is too busy staring at the picture. He knows Riko too well, from a lifetime ago, back when dreamsharing was in its infancy and Kevin was the military's rising star, Riko its undisputed genius.
"He is," says Ichirou, "inconvenient."
"Oh," says Neil, throwing up his hands. "Then by all means, let's fuck with his head."
"Neil," says Kevin warningly, as he finally pushes the picture aside to look at the rest of the documents.
Ichirou watches the interaction between them, missing nothing and yet not caring one iota. "I want him to try to usurp me," he says.
Neil stares at him. "Why?"
"Because," says Ichirou as if Neil is being particularly dense, "then no one will mourn him when he dies."
A shiver runs down Neil's spine. Ichirou looks still, almost serene and Neil suddenly knows that the only thing worse than taking this job would be to not take it. Kevin is frozen next to him, his hand still resting on a stack of building schematics.
Neil swallows as his brain scrambles to keep up. Kevin's useless right now, and there's a lot they need to know if they're going to pull this off. If they're going to pull this off. He still doesn't believe in inception. "Do you have a deadline?"
"Soon, I suggest." Ichirou tears out the cheque, and slides it across the table. "Half up front, for expenses. The rest, paid on completion." Neil's never going to have to work again after this. (Then again, it's not like Neil does this for the money.)
Neil takes it, folds it carefully and slides it into his pocket. He closes the folder, pushing Kevin's hand out of the way, and packs it carefully into his bag. He's probably going to have to do his own research too, but it's a start.
"Now," says Ichirou, raising his hand again. His lackey steps forward again, this time with a silver briefcase. He sets it on the table, open to reveal the familiar tubes and mechanisms of a PASIV. Ichirou rolls up one arm sleeve, and waves a hand to indicate that they should do the same. "Join me."
"What," says Neil, narrowly swallowing the two words that nearly tumbled out after that. "Why?"
Ichirou passes him cotton pads of steriliser, and Neil takes them, automatically reaching for Kevin's elbow. Ichirou swabs himself with a practiced hand. "So, Mr Wesninski, you will not be tempted to do it again."
One hour later (alternatively, three minutes later)
"I am going to shoot myself," says Neil. Impatience cracks through his voice.
"No!" Kevin barks at him. He doesn't even turn back to look at Neil, concentrating instead on running. "Not yet."
Neil huffs, but palms the gun he'd just dreamed up instead. They're in a vague replica of the hotel they'd met Ichirou at, though they'd been deposited in the lobby instead of a private suite. They'd pretended to be casual, strolling towards somewhere less open. It hadn't really worked; heads had snapped towards them as Neil kept them slow and steady, blending in with the other ‘guests'.
They're at a huge disadvantage really; Ichirou had come in already anticipating a dream, so his projections are on high alert. Neil had modified his appearance the moment he'd moved out of sight, giving himself dark brown hair and an extra eight inches.
By now, the floor is drumming with footfall, Ichirou's subconscious actively trying to seek them out. They've been found twice already – Neil is studiously ignoring a broken nose and Kevin is cradling one broken hand to his chest with the other.
They've moved into the residential areas, where the carpets muffle their footsteps and the corridors will limit how many projections of Ichirou's subconscious can fit through at once. Neil isn't great at building dreams, but he knows the easy way, which is to collapse walls on top of projections. They're fast running out of hotel, and Kevin's idea of building more is just to create endless winding corridors.
The walls start to close in around them so that the corridor is barely wide enough for one person at a time. Neil shoots a startled look at Kevin before realising that this is Ichirou's work, not Kevin's; he puts on a burst of speed and squeezes past Kevin, stretching his legs out to the fullest.
Behind him, Kevin barely manages enough spare breath to groan, "Fuck you, Josten."
The sprinklers burst into life over them, drenching them in seconds, and the fire alarm starts wailing. Room doors start bursting open up and down the corridor, revealing dozens of Japanese businessmen armed with briefcases and, even more alarmingly, a wizened old lady holding a meat cleaver. Neil barrels past a couple on sheer momentum before one of them bodychecks him into the wall.
He gasps, and rolls away, grabbing one of the opened doors and smashing it into their face. He dives into the room, swinging the door shut behind him, blinks at himself in the mirror. Blond hair becomes black. He smooths down his shirt, and it folds into a suit. He picks up his new briefcase and rejoins the fray.
Kevin is getting mobbed outside. He's given in, dreamed himself up a gun because it's not about stealth anymore, and is shooting as fast as he can. Unfortunately, that's not fast enough. Neil slides in whilst his back is turned, and smacks him across the back of the head with his too-heavy briefcase. Kevin sinks like a rock, and is immediately set upon. Neil takes the chance to just fucking shoot himself already.
When Neil wakes, Kevin is looming over him with a disapproving frown. Neil knows what he wants to say, but there's Ichirou, already standing and removing the needle from his arm. Neil follows suit, recoiling the tubing out of habit.
"Three minutes and six seconds," reports one of Ichirou's men.
"Congratulations. That is the longest anyone has managed to stay inside my mind," says Ichirou.
"Thanks," says Neil, surreptitiously checking his nose. "Good militarisation you've got going on there. Top notch. A+. Let's not do that again."
"Indeed," says Ichirou, and leaves them alone with a vast amount of money and a serious amount of planning.