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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The dream was Ágata’s construct.

Martín could always tell it because every reflective surface got a slight gold sheen, making him think about her rings and bracelets that chimed musically whenever she gesticulated.

The city they were walking through was a very detailed variation of real-life Córdoba, the age-worn and sun-bleached stones resembling the old city that should be unbearably hot at this time of the year. But Ágata liked to dream about the light breeze caressing the skin and cool water rushing down the riverbed instead of the sizzling hot air and draught barren earth even during the height of summer.

He took out his pocket watch, its weight a familiar comfort in his hand as he flipped it open. It worked perfectly, ticking away in a gentle rhythm. Its real-life counterpart stopped working years ago when it prevented a bullet from hitting a hole through his lungs - he got the case repaired, but never the inside.

‘Still checking your totem, despite knowing this is a dream? Are you daydreaming, Martín?’ Ágata asked, stepping up beside him while wearing the face of their target’s personal assistant. ‘I know you could easily tell why my Mezquita doesn’t compare to the real one.’

‘And you know I always check my totem when I enter a new dream.’ he said with exaggerated cheer, snapping the watch shut and tucking it into his pocket.

‘But only since Florence.’ she said, mock solemnly.

‘And we-’

‘Don’t talk about Florence.’ they chorused together.

‘Exactly, my darling. So let’s just get this over and done with. Aníbal and Mirko are waiting for us upstairs.’

Their target was a banker, Mario Urbaneja, who held some juicy secrets about the greatest competitor of their current client. 

It was child’s play, a simple two-level dream.

The first level was used to establish this meeting and perfect the illusion of how Urbaneja saw his secretary by following her projection around, then on the second level, Martín would act as the competitor’s proxy, making him think and talk about the very secrets they were after in this fake meeting while Ágata stole the metaphorical and very literal keys off his person while acting as his personal assistant.

From there, it was just a matter of getting into his mental vault to confirm everything.

They entered the hotel lobby and there he was, waiting for them like a good little mark, smiling warmly at Ágata.

‘There you are, Amanda! Thank you for escorting the gentleman here.’

It was ingenious how much trouble they saved by making the forger their dreamer - despite the man having a sophisticated albeit not too deadly mental security which Mirko could take care of on level one with little trouble - the instinctual trust Amanda’s face evoked sedated his bodyguards to alert guard dogs instead of deadly weapons, letting them waltz into his mental vaults with little resistance.

What he didn’t expect was to see him in here, idiotic glasses and university professor get up included.

Ágata jerked in surprise next to him, the sunlight dimming like a faulty bulb for a second and the guard dogs seemed suddenly more alert as the dream tilted off-kilter

‘Keep your wits, Amanda.’ Martín hissed, and her syrupy smile returned full force. ‘Do your fucking job. We’ll deal with the tourist as soon as you get me the keys... Mr Urbaneja, what a pleasure to finally meet you!’

He sat by the bar and watched subtly as Martín talked circles around Mario Urbaneja, making him describe the monetary dealings of their true target and the security of his own mental vaults in exact detail in an attempt to win Martín’s approval as his client’s proxy.

Ágata sent him a panicked look 20 minutes in.

Fucker.

‘Excuse me, sir. I must use the facilities.’ he smiled charmingly, motioning for Ágata to stay put. He would deal with this alone.

He passed the bar, and the bastard had the gall to smile at him, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Martín, instead of choking the life out of him like he itched to do, whistled a jaunty tune with four descending notes hidden in it. It was a silly old code they made for themselves back when they were both green and thought themselves oh so clever.

It meant: follow from behind.

Martín stepped through the door separating the lobby from the side corridor, waiting in the shadows for their tourist to make himself known.

‘You’re getting rusty, Martín.’ he chuckled. ‘You should’ve realised minutes ago that I already stole the keys.’

‘What do you want, Sergio? Better yet, how the fuck did you get into this dreamscape two levels down?’ he asked, motioning for him to lead the way - they might as well get the job done.

‘Martín.’ he chided, making him grit his teeth.

Shooting him would do them no good, even if it would be immensely satisfying.

‘Aníbal and Mirko are both amendable to negotiating.’

He was killing both of them.

‘You actually promised to bail Silene and Radko out of prison to infiltrate my job, didn’t you?’ Martín asked incredulously as they reached the entrance to the centre of the dream maze where the mark’s vault waited for them. 

Silene was a fairly decent point man and Radko was good at getting marks where they wanted them to be, but they fucked up a job in Madrid and now enjoyed the prison facilities while their client quietly got rid of the idiot that called himself an extractor. 

Getting them out of prison meant that whoever hired Sergio had friends at very, very high places if they could manage that without angering the client further. Or very low places, depending on how one wanted to view the more dangerous elements of their underworld business.

‘What the fuck sort of mess are you actually in?’

‘It’s Andrés.’

‘Of fucking course it’s Andrés. You are so far up in your brother’s ass I don’t even know how you ever manage to think for yourself - oh wait. You don’t.’

Sergio, to his credit, didn’t even react, just swiped the keycard and entered the secure area.

He continued to stay quiet while they navigated the maze, the two of them falling back on years of experience when they worked as an extractor and point-man together as they avoided the security of the place.

Martín got them into the vault with the key and the code they nicked from the first level and flipped through the files he needed for his job to be considered done.

Honestly, if he wasn’t the best, he might not have retained the information printed out in perfect little files for him because he was so damn annoyed by Sergio’s presence and everything it meant for his continued good health.

But Urbaneja’s subconscious didn’t even try to censor them.

Ágata was worth every cent he fucking spent on her, unlike those fucking traitors.

‘Now, talk.’ he snapped, tucking the files into his inside pocket.

‘I need your help.’ Sergio said simply.

‘I stopped dreaming with you three years ago. Why, pray tell, should I even think about changing my mind?’ Martín sneered, taking out his gun to show he was ready to end the dream early if he didn’t stop wasting his time.

‘Andrés accepted a job.’ Sergio sighed, pausing as if the sheer thought caused him pain. Good. 

Then he dropped the bomb.

Martín Berrote was the most sought after extractor in the cutthroat and illicit business of dream thieving, meaning he was alive and relatively sane, not comatose in a somnacin-den in some dusty old warehouse or disposed of as fish food by one of the many corporation-monsters he usually stole from.

Martín Berrote also refused to work with a select few people who occupied some dark corner of this highly-illegal business sector.

The reason was simple.

He’d been a fool enough to mix the matter of the heart with work and almost gave up reality for a single second in a dream, two levels down with only limbo to await him.

Martín Berrote’s totem was, however, foolproof.

His resolve wasn’t.

If an exceptionally tricky job was on offer, he couldn’t resist the challenge.

Not even when those select few tried to sabotage his job to talk to him about it.

‘Inception.’

Holy shit.

‘What an absolute fucking idiot!’

‘The client wants the best extractor on the job and everyone knows you are the best. Martín, please.’ 

Martín pinched his nose, letting out a frustrated growl. ‘Sergio, I’m not working with any of you-’

‘Something happened two levels down on the Florence job. I know. But without you… We’ll all end up dead or worse.’ he pleaded.

‘And how is that my problem? You chose to work with him instead of me, remember?’

Sergio paused again, and Martín braced himself. ‘He recruited your forger and chemists already.’

Martín glanced up sharply at him.

Ágata didn’t worth a single cent, and Aníbal and Mirko were backstabbing bastards.

No wonder she got so surprised by his presence - she knew why Sergio was there.

Oh, Martín was going to skin them all alive.

‘Sergio, I’m this close to shooting myself a level up to escape this nonsense if you don’t tell me something remarkably convincing in the next ten seconds. I have a team to send to the afterlife.’

‘Our client is waiting for you one level up and she won’t take no for an answer. Why do you think I came this far down to get you alone with enough time to explain everything?’

Another fucking tourist.

Of fucking course.

‘Sergio…’

‘A chemist synthesised a drug that has extraordinary properties unlike any compound of somnacin currently on the market. If the sources are to be believed, it affects lucid dreaming and the dreamer can experience the dreamscape without the need of a PASIV or somnacin.’ he said in a hurry.

Martín stared at him in disbelief.

If every fucker with a bit of money could indulge in this kind of lucid dreaming, the consequences could be insane… 

Martín imagined how addictive it would be, how many people would give up everything to escape reality for the dreamworld they could bend to their own will. He thought about those poor fuckers clinging to somnacin-dens and wasting away slowly and dared to imagine what would happen if everyone could do that without a PASIV.

He then tried and failed to imagine how much money was on the line.

‘Fucking hell, Sergio.’

‘The client wants to get the formula.’

Martín dropped his head in his hands with a loud groan, but it clicked then that Sergio didn’t say extraction. He said inception.

‘How does inception come into play in this job?’

‘The chemist escaped to Switzerland and asked for asylum when he realised the drug will never be used as a medicine as he intended.’

And it was illegal in Switzerland to dream-share due to how much sensitive information went through the country. It was also mandatory for people who worked in certain sectors to militarize their minds to high hell and no somnacin could enter the country that wasn’t overseen by their military.

‘Tell me there is a but in there, Sergio. Otherwise, you just signed everyone up for sure death.’

‘But he has a daughter, and that’s a fact no one but our client knows about. The client wants us to execute inception on his daughter to make her hand over the formula to them. They are willing to pay fifty million dollars.’

Martín threw his head back and laughed, Urbaneja’s subconscious be damned.

Fucking hell, but that was actually brilliant.

It was also highly dangerous and nigh suicidal if one considered limbo a suicide.

And the client certainly seemed to be capable of making them disappear if they fucked this up.

It was exactly his type of crazy.

Fuck.

The signal for the end of the dream echoed across the dreamscape, and Martín leaned his head back against the wall to meet Sergio’s eyes.

‘Tell me more about the client who was ballsy enough to meet me in a dreamscape. We have a minute left down here.’

‘Her name is Alicia Sierra, and she is the executive director of a minor pharmaceutical company, Vicuña Solutions.’

‘So she is in the pocket of the black market big guns and sits on a laundry machine about to become the world’s biggest company.’

‘Basically.’

‘Fucking hell. Your brother is an idiot.’

‘You won’t hear me argue that point.’

The time was up.

Martín woke to the sound of traffic and the soft light filtering through the curtains of the office they dreamed up to match Mario Urbaneja’s.

It could be considered one of his more pleasant awakenings. For starters, he didn’t need to use violence to come up and there was no kick to jolt him awake in a highly unpleasant way. Instead, it was the slow rise from a PASIV managed and somnacin-induced sleep that felt like rising from the bottom of the ocean, shedding depth until full clarity returned.

His good mood lasted until his memories caught up with him in this disorienting comfort.

Then he jolted right up, pointing a gun at the woman who sat in front of him on the windowsill with an unpleasant smirk in place as he surreptitiously checked his totem.

Still dreaming.

They had another six minutes before Mario Urbaneja woke up - they’d calculated his somnacin dose to give them a getaway window. That was all the time he needed to gauge this client and decide whether he wanted to expose himself to Andrés de Fonollosa to be part of this job.

Beside him, Ágata was already up and packing up the PASIV with a sheepish look on her face as Mirko helped her without meeting his gaze.

They would get what was coming for them, but only back in the real world.

It was time for business.

‘Alicia Sierra, what an unpleasant surprise.’

‘Mr Berrote.’ she greeted cordially. ‘Let me tell you, I love what you did with this place. Who’s your architect? Because they did a beautifully thorough job.’

‘Let’s not waste each other’s time now.’ he smirked back. ‘Tell me why you want me on the job when it’s an open secret we don’t work together.’

Her smile just widened at his reaction as she leaned forward. ‘I hoped Mr Marquina had already impressed upon you how vital it is to get the best team for this job. Andrés de Fonollosa chose you. We also chose you. It’s as simple as that.’

That he failed to share.

But he was not about to unpack his issues in front of this woman.

‘What if I said no?’

‘Let’s not demean each other with coyness, now. We know how much you enjoy a challenge, Mr Berrote.’ she waved dismissively. ‘I’ve come personally to offer you the same deal I did to Mr Marquina and Mr Fonollosa already. And I guess Miss Jiménez, Mr Dragic and Mr Cortés, too.’

‘Fifty million dollars.’

‘Exactly. We have a job. We put together a crew whose members you already know intimately. I see no reason we can’t both wake up from this dream happier than we arrived.’

Martín made a show of thinking about it when, in reality, they had him at inception.

He loved a good job more than he hated Andrés de fucking Fonollosa.

Sergio was already smiling in relief. The bastard.

Martín lowered his gun and reached his hand out. ‘Neither do I.’

‘Then we have a deal, Mr Berrote.’ Sierra smirked, shaking his hand. ‘We will be in touch with you.’

With that, she threw herself backwards, the motion of falling jolting her awake and out of the dream.

‘Thank you for agreeing. See you later, Martín.’ Sergio nodded, using his preferred method of a gun to follow Sierra out of the dream and escape before he could ask just what the fuck possessed his brother to nominate him for the job.

Martín sat there in silence for a minute longer, cursing his inability to say no to a complex job, but also feeling the rush that followed on its heels.

The rush of a true challenge.

‘Ágata, Mirko,’ he said pleasantly, making them freeze, ‘you’d better be ready to run as quickly as you can when we wake up because I will fucking hunt you down.’

‘They made us promise not to tell you, cariño.’ Ágata tried to placate him.

‘We thought you wouldn’t agree, and we didn’t want to upset you.’ Mirko nodded with wide eyes.

‘Oh, spare me, princess. You both failed to spare my sensibilities two seconds into our working relationship. Let’s not start now.’ he snorted, rolling his eyes.

Ágata exchanged glances with Mirko, before turning to him with a wide grin.

‘Well, in that case. Go on ahead, asshole. Hunt us down. But good luck finding someone stupid enough to work with you long term. Do you think idiots of our calibre come cheap?’

Martín threw his head back and laughed just as Mario Urbaneja began to stir.

‘Are you not mad, then?’ Mirko asked hopefully.

‘I’m fucking furious. But we got a job done and scored a bigger one in the middle of it… I think anything that goes that well deserves a drink for a chaser.’ Martín shrugged. ‘And I’m not drinking alone.’

‘It’s ten in the morning.’ Mirko noted as the wake-up call echoed across the level.

‘What’s your point?’

‘Let’s deliver the info and get wasted.’ Ágata grinned, snapping her fingers to get their attention. ‘Then you’ll tell me what your deal with this Fonollosa guy is.’

Martín sent her an unimpressed look, pitching his voice to match it. ‘You can’t make me drink that much.’

‘Is that a challenge, cariño?’

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Summer in Istanbul meant the streets burned so hot it felt like walking in an oven unless you found sanctuary in the great buildings of the Byzantine and the Ottoman Empire, and the sky was the pale blue of the shallow waters of the Bosphorus.

It also meant that by rule, Martín took his breakfast with a cup of coffee, his lunch with two, and his dinner of three cups with a glass of whiskey. When he heard who came to visit him, he called for whiskey early.

Aníbal brought the bottle in without question, doing his best to make up for the fiasco of their last job with a sheepish smile and uncharacteristic politeness.

Martín was glad to let him as their guest stepped in on his heels.

The last thing they needed was Aníbal’s interesting brand of humour.

‘Here he is, boss.’ he announced as if he couldn’t see his ego from outer space. ‘I’ll make your drink now. Anything for you, Mr Fonollosa?’

‘Same as him.’ he smirked.

‘You are still alive, then.’ Martín said, not rising to greet him.

‘Sorry to disappoint.’ he said pleasantly, coming to a stop in the middle of the room and effortlessly becoming the centre of it as Aníbal orbited around him to prepare both of them a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

Fucker.

Andrés de Fonollosa seemed taller than he remembered him - lean and sleek, eyes glinting like black diamonds in his shaded office. His light pants were pressed to crisp lines to emphasize his tall frame, his shirt tailored to match the ensemble with the jacket thrown artfully across his arm.

He looked like he walked out of a golden era Hollywood movie. 

Or one of Martín’s more lurid dreams.

‘I’d only be disappointed if I was a fool enough to believe you did us all a favour by biting the dust.’ Martín snorted, rolling his eyes.

‘I’m flattered by your faith in me. The last time we met, you called me a consummate liar.’

Andrés used the same tone, just like back then, when he said: ‘Check your totem, Martín. Your daydreams and fantasies are none of my business.’ 

That was also the moment he walked away for good.

And he didn’t call him a consummate liar so much as bellowed it at the top of his lungs.

Martín’s smile was wide and perfectly fake when he answered the taunt. ‘It’s hardly faith, darling, because if you ever decided to actually go down, the entire world would hear of it. And I’d have thrown a party to celebrate it.’

Andrés tilted his head to the side with an infuriating smirk, as if he was taking his words as a compliment.

What a bastard.

Better to move on before he felt tempted to throw something heavy at him.

‘So what made you climb out of the hole you like to crawl in to orchestrate someone’s demise to actually grace me with the dubious honour of your presence after three years, Andrés?’

He didn’t answer him immediately as he began a slow circuit around his office, and when he did, he addressed nothing he’d asked him.

‘I’ve been here and there, got divorced again.’

‘Congratulations. Number five, was it? ’ Martín drawled. ‘New record.’

‘And I wanted to see you.’ he said casually, tracing his fingers over his collection of antiques. 

Martín nearly snapped his pen at the audacity, but managed to keep his voice even. ‘The nice thing about the eyes is that you can use them to admire from a distance, so please, refrain from touching my antiques.’

Andrés turned to him and rested his eyes on him, making his skin crawl.

He refused to acknowledge his instinctive reactions because his best defence mechanism has always been reaction formation. It was that healthy little trick to make himself experience the opposite of what he was feeling, and he was feeling a lot of things when it came to Andrés de Fonollosa.

‘Ah, but the fingers are so much more fun to admire with.’ Andrés purred.

‘Fucker.’ he snapped, unable to hold his tongue.

‘You’ve spent so long with this crew you’ve forgotten your manners, Martín.’

He forced his gaze back to his work spread across his desk, feigning nonchalance instead of the violent anger - it was anger - his tone invoked. ‘You’ve outed me to a client without my explicit consent and recruited said crew behind my back. Now you want to preach about manners?’ he asked, sparing him a narrowed eyed glare.

‘Manners are for dealing with gentlemen such as myself. Not dream thieves with an attitude problem.’

‘Harsh words, darling. Did you miss me this much?’

‘I knew you would accept. We’ve always wanted to do an inception together.’

Yeah, before Andrés lied through his teeth about what happened in Florence and tore his heart and his trust in him into tiny little pieces.

Martín downed his whiskey in one go in answer, making him raise his brows.

‘Do you normally drink on the job? This early in the morning?’

‘No. You just bring out the worst in me.’ he laughed, pouring himself another.

‘High praise, indeed. But I wouldn’t attempt this job with anyone but you.’ Andrés said firmly and Martín almost believed that he was serious.

‘Aren’t you working as an extractor nowadays? Why do you even need me?’

Andrés had been the best forger in the industry, but he stopped forging after that cursed Florence job.

It was the industry’s worst kept secret.

However, no one knew why, just like no one knew why they’d stopped working together.

Those reasons were buried in their mind with no extractor daring enough to unearth them.

‘This job is going to be bigger than anything we’ve ever attempted before. I’m good, but we need the best for what I’m intending to do.’

‘High praise, indeed.’ Martín threw his remark back at him.

‘Let’s bury the hatchet. I won’t hold your past accusations against me if you can maintain a professional attitude. We’ve always been great together,’ he smiled, reaching a hand out for him to take, ‘let’s achieve that greatness again.’

Martín met his eyes.

Inception.

It was an inception worth fifty million dollars.

Martín could act professionally, even if he wanted nothing more than to be as far from his cursed smile as physically possible.

Not for love or money. That had been his parting words.

Money seemed to win out in the end.

Martín shook Andrés’ hand and didn’t feel anything.

He came back the next day too, and since Martín had demolished most of his hard liquor in order to cope with the experience of feeling nothing, he only offered him coffee and no explanation for the dark bruises under his eyes.

His crew wisely decided to evacuate the building, for the time being, telling him pretty lies about preparing for the upcoming job.

‘Let’s discuss the matter of an architect, then.’

‘What’s wrong with Aníbal?’

‘We need an architect who can dream with us, so we can change the plans and the constructs on the go if needed.’ Andrés shrugged, taking the chair across from him, and Martín stomped on any feelings that resembled nostalgia. ‘He can’t dream share since Algeria, isn’t that right?’

‘No. He can’t.’

That had been a right mess, a case of a faultily militarized client they tried to decommission.

Whatever anyone wanted to say about Sigmund Freud, he certainly got one thing right. There was an ID deep within the dark recess of someone’s subconscious, that baser part of the mind that was normally tied closely together with the higher mental functions.

Whoever did the militarization of their client went too deep and released the ID from under this control, letting it pollute and dominate not only his dreams but his normal personality, too.

Aníbal got caught by the worst of their client’s projections, and it took them too long to find him and wake him up.

So Aníbal didn’t dream anymore, too afraid of what nightmarish projections his subconscious would haunt him with.

‘Then he can’t be our architect.’

Aníbal had been a damn good architect, but ever since the incident, he was only planning dream constructs if Martín asked him to - but just on paper. 

However, that made them fixed landscapes in the hands of other dreamers without an architect to go under with them to test the constructs’ integrity during practice runs. His crew had an attention to detail to make these work despite that. 

But others might mess up, especially three levels deep, while facing an unknown variety.

Aníbal at least found his place in his crew, doing better as Mirko’s assistant, getting lost in the world of chemical compounds and running their somnacin business together. 

‘Do you have someone in mind?’

‘No. But we both know who to ask, don’t we, Martín?’

‘I’m not fucking going with you to Budapest.’

‘Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.’ he chuckled. ‘We go separately.’

Andrés smirked at him and, with a sleight of hands, made a passport and a plane ticket appear in his hand that he handed to him without another word.

He was fucking going with him to Buda-fucking-pest.

Just separately.

Summer in Budapest meant the air between the buildings shimmered like the Danube that cut Buda from Pest like a ribbon, and the sky was the pale blue of the hot springs that filled the pools of thermal baths.

It also meant that by rule, Martín exchanged all his meals for coffee and his whiskey for whatever would wait for him in the bowels of the dream-sharing industry’s most notorious hub where people went to recruit people and offer their services to new clients.

He strode down the shimmering streets of the downtown districts, knowing by heart where the ruin bar was that their contact used as his hub for these kinds of dealings, ducking in the gateway with a quick salute towards the guards sitting by the table next to it. They knew him by sight already and they weren’t there to protect their boss, anyway.

Jakov didn’t need protection whatsoever.

The eclectic mash of the interior didn’t surprise him anymore as he hurried up the stairs into an airy office, where they were already waiting for him.

In an armchair that made him look less threatening than he actually was, Jakov sat like a statue, staring unblinkingly at Andrés.

He’d always liked Martín more, case in point how his disapproving stare turned to a smile and he stood to greet him.

‘Jakov, so good to see you.’ he greeted, ignoring the bastard as he rounded the table to give his old friend a hug.

‘Something to drink, Martín?’ he asked, motioning towards the bar set up by the wall. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘Surprise me.’ he grinned, dropping on the chair next to Andrés with a conscious effort to look more at ease than he felt as Jakov’s eyes narrowed - but his discretion was legendary, and didn’t press for a reason why they both appeared in his office at the same time after three years of continuous effort to avoid each other.

At least on Martín’s part.

Andrés, leaning back in his armchair like a lord, gestured extravagantly with his glass. ‘Had a nice flight?’

‘You ask as if you didn’t book it for me.’

‘Only the best for you.’ Andrés smiled.

He actually smiled just like back then, when they’d still been friends as if he hadn’t-

Jakov handed him a glass, and Martín felt immensely grateful for the interruption.

‘Unicum.’ he announced, and Martín shrugged, accepting it as his current poison. ‘I heard you need an architect.’

‘Preferably someone who is both good and desperate enough to do inception on behalf of an extremely dangerous client.’ Martín nodded.

‘What’s the cut?’

Andrés swirled his drink with casual grace as he answered, and he absolutely didn’t have to force his eyes away from the hypnotic sight. 

He stopped noticing these things three years ago.

Period.

‘Seven million if we detract your fees and our resources from it.’

Jakov, who’d seen everything there was to see in the business, raised his eyebrows as he smothered a small cough into his fist.

It was akin to someone else falling out of his chair in shock.

‘I might have someone in mind.’

Before the silence could cool as he refused to elaborate immediately - like always, and it made Martín’s day when Andrés’ jaw ticked in annoyance - the bastard leaned forward with a crooked smile to hide it.

‘Well, tell us more. The suspense is killing us here.’

Jakov met Martín’s gaze, sharing in his little vindictive joy.

It’s always been his job to deal with Jakov for a reason.

‘How about I show you?’

With that, he stood up and motioned for them to follow him deeper into the building.

‘Is this the part where you make me disappear and let Sergio take the blame when our contract falls through?’ Andrés asked, glancing up at Martín as he stood to follow.

‘There goes my nefarious plan.’ he huffed, moving to step away, but Andrés gripped his arm, pulling him back towards him. 

‘You wouldn’t.’ he whispered, as Martín looked down at him with wild eyes and a wilder heartbeat.

‘Stay with me.’ he heard instead, just like in-

He fumbled for his totem and, when it stayed blessedly silent in his pocket, he managed to pry his fingers off his arm, ignoring the feeling of his warm skin under his touch.

‘People always say that to me.’ he said with a smile he knew was bitter. ‘I thought you, of all people, would know better.’

‘I know you.’ Andrés said, turning his hand to catch his fingers, and he didn’t even have to use reaction formation. It was pure, unadulterated pain. ‘That’s why I can say that with conviction.’

‘You lost the privilege to truly know me when you lied.’ Martín whispered, pulling away. ‘But we agreed to move on. So don’t dig up past grievances now.’

Martín followed Jakov without looking back, shaking his head in answer to his questioning frown. He didn’t have time to deal with this - not when the bastard could see just how much he affected him still.

‘Just let’s get this over with.’

He nodded, taking them further upstairs where one of the old apartments got renovated and armed guards stood in front of the door.

‘What exactly will you show us again?’ Martín asked as Jakov opened the door by unlocking a frankly obscene amount of locks.

‘An architect.’ he answered as he pushed the door open.

Inside, the walls were stripped of old wallpapers and the parquet was in dire need of burnishing, but the summer sunlight spilt in through the tall windows, making the mismatched furniture look cosy and welcoming.

But the most baffling feature of the room was a family of three.

‘Daniel, I just found a way for you to pay back what you own me.’ Jakov announced and the guy hugged the child close to himself with a suspicious frown thrown their way. ‘Gentlemen, let me introduce Mónica Ramos, your new architect.’

The woman stood, the sunlight glinting on her golden curls as she took them in with a defiant look.

‘Credentials? Experience?’ Andrés asked, looking her up and down in a way that made her husband jump to his feet with a snarl on his handsome face.

But Mónica just put out a placating hand, brushing gentle fingers down her child’s face and Daniel’s hand. ‘I’m a university drop-out, but I’ve been constructing for two years in somnacin dens - I have experience with all sorts of somnacin compounds and dreamers.’

Andrés frowned, but Martín interrupted before he could make this day any worse than it already was. ‘Ever been two levels deep, darling?’

‘Yeah, but without a proper chemist - let’s just say the level fell apart quickly.’ she grinned and Martín grinned back at her, feeling it in his gut that he could work with her. Anyone ballsy enough to accept a PASIV line while dreaming was his type of crazy.

‘Mónica hasn’t cut her teeth yet in your type of dream-sharing,’ Jakov explained, ‘but her landscapes are stable. I’ve tested them.’

Andrés visibly shuddered. He probably tried to imagine what it would be like to dream with Jakov alone. 

The woman had certainly more mettle than he thought.

‘Let me test her too, then we can talk.’

‘Wait, just wait.’ Daniel interrupted, turning to Jakov. ‘I want to know exactly what sort of job you sign my wife up for. I owe you for the stolen somnacin, but I would rather you bury me somewhere than put her through something dangerous.’

‘Inception.’ Andrés said simply, making Mónica gasp. ‘How much do you owe him again?’

‘Five hundred doses of Grade 1 somnacin, ready to be mixed with sedatives.’ Daniel grumbled, the child giggling at his expression as Martín whistled in surprise.

‘So about a million.’ Andrés nodded with a crooked smirk. ‘How about I offer you seven?’

Daniel nearly dropped his child in shock.

‘That leaves us with six, Dani.’ Mónica said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

He could just nod dumbly.

‘When can I start?’

‘How about right now, darling?’

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

‘I can’t be the subject.’

‘What sort of nonsense is that?’ Martín hissed, as he set up the PASIV while Jakov drew up the contracts - he was that sure they would like Mónica’s work.

‘A simple fact.’ Andrés shrugged elegantly.

‘You don’t forge, you don’t dream… What’s next?’ he asked, sending an unimpressed look his way as he inserted the somnacin cases and set the PASIV to a short-run.

‘I might not fall in love again, either.’

That tilted his world out of its axis, but Martin had practice recovering from these non-sequiturs and his fingers didn’t falter as he finished setting up.

‘You? Really? Should I check my totem?’ he asked snidely.

‘If you want to.’ he grinned.

Fucker.

‘Why?’ Martín asked, double-checking everything.

‘Why what?’

‘Don’t play stupid. It’s highly unflattering.’

That went right under Andrés' armour of smugness and Martín celebrated his victory by viciously pulling on the IV lines.

‘I don’t allow people to make me the target of dream-sharing.’ he said with a frown. ‘I didn’t invite you to pry, Martín, I just let you know this to prevent future arguments in front of the team.’

‘Fine. Keep your secrets and your subconscious to yourself, then. God knows I don’t want to see a parade of your former wives.’ he grinned.

‘Will you share yours, then?’ Andrés asked, almost sounding uncertain.

As if.

‘Not normally.’ Martín frowned. ‘I’m actually this close to forbidding you from entering this dreamscape because I can’t fucking trust you not to go digging for my secrets the moment we go under.’

‘You have better security than that.’

Not since Florence.

But he didn’t need to know that.

‘Fine, you can come. But no fucking around.’ he said, offering the line to Mónica as she came over too, to do their test run. ‘Impress us, darling.’

She smiled in answer, accepting the challenge, and he turned back to Andrés with the other line.

He accepted it with a smirk, inserting it with practised ease, and just as Martín was about to press the diffusion button, he answered his previous remark in a low whisper.

‘I don’t fuck around, Martín. I make passionate love with intent.’

Martín got so angry he saw white.

Then they were under.

It was only thanks to his years of experience that his subconscious didn’t immediately eject them all from Mónica’s dreamscape as he swallowed back his rage. Then he forgot all about it as he saw the city she built for his mind to occupy.

‘Well, darling, colour me impressed.’ he grinned, turning in a slow circle to take in the sight, the sound, and the feel of the place.

The air was fresh, almost sweet and floral as the pace of traffic around them beat to a steady rhythm, the noise of it familiar in its unobtrusive normality. The buildings stretched like platinum trees towards the clear blue sky, while projections filled the cafes and restaurants with life that broke the monotony of the modern buildings with splashes of colours and scents.

It felt real, and he surreptitiously checked his totem.

Still a dream.

‘It’s ten blocks with loops to guide the thoughts towards the centre.’ she said, glowing with pride. ‘I can expand it, or shrink it, too.’

Andrés touched the walls, brushed his fingers atop the parking cars, and checked the temperature of the sun-warmed wares of the grocer’s before taking an apple into his hand and biting into it.

He came to the same conclusion as him - it was in the glint of his eyes.

‘Let’s see those borders and the centre then.’ Martín said, taking Mónica by the arm as Andrés grilled her about her foundations.

As they wandered, Martín kept a close eye on him, especially when they got closer to the centre of the maze.

Since he was aware of the dream, he could keep most of his secrets out of the dreamscape, but Florence broke more than his heart.

Andrés seemed inclined to behave, however, so he decided to do a real test of expertise.

‘Change the dreamscape.’ Martín suddenly commanded. ‘The target has a militarized subconscious, hell-bent on killing us - you need to restructure the centre without upsetting the integrity.’

‘Can you reign in your subconscious?’ Mónica asked, not balking at the challenge.

‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

She grinned at him, squeezing his arm in warning.

Then the city came alive around them, shifting and groaning around the middle block, raising both scaffoldings to barricade the centre building and construction fences in a clever secondary maze to distract the projections.

‘If the dreamer stays in the outer labyrinth, the extractors can work inside while they bring the projections on a chase.’

‘How did you come to be this proficient?’ Andrés asked, testing the new construct.

Martín knew by sight it would feel like metal warmed by the late afternoon sun.

‘This detailed building takes more than a half-complete degree and the decrepit somnacin dens you claim to work in with your smuggler of a husband.’

‘I have a score to settle.’ she said firmly, daring them to pry.

Andrés glanced at him and, for a perfect second, they were three years in the past, understanding each other’s thoughts without words as the sweet rush of excitement swept them up. 

She was the one they needed.

Then it passed, leaving only a bitter aftertaste as Martín turned his gaze back to Mónica.

‘Show us the vault.’

‘This way.’

Martín knew what they would find, but he thought it could serve as a lesson for them all.

It could certainly be his reminder to keep his heart out of dream-sharing.

‘Oh.’ Mónica gasped as she finally noticed the cleverly hidden vault.

It seemed surreal in the near-perfect dreamscape, this vault where his escaping thoughts were kept. It seemed like the vault’s edges were made of broken mirrors, reflecting both the dreamscape and flashes of his thoughts in a kaleidoscope of colours as they escaped its confines.

‘Martín.’ Andrés whispered.

‘Okay, end of the tour.’ he said, ignoring him and his intense gaze. ‘Let this be your lesson, Mónica. Every dreamer is dangerous, but we are only as good as our self-control. As an extractor, my control is flawless. As a subject? Not so much, but I’m a paranoid bastard - you can’t trap me in a dream anymore.’

With that, his mental security made themselves known as they stepped out of the shadows to guard his faulty vault.

‘Show is over.’ he smiled as he met Mónica’s gaze. 

To his pleasant surprise, she was not pitying him, rather she looked like she understood the lesson for what it was as the dream neared its end. 

It was a show of trust, but also a show of power.

She needed to reach this level to match them during this job.

‘For you, too, Andrés.’ he said as he turned towards him.

‘Martín.’ he whispered, eyes dark with something masquerading as regret. 

Whatever it was, it was too little, too late.

‘Don’t. We have a deal.’ he tried to smile at him, but the sudden creeping sense of being watched set him instinctively on edge.

Martin snapped his gaze upwards along with his projections at the source, but before he could make out the figure hidden between the drapes and cables of the scaffolding, watching them with a familiar intensity, the dream ended.

‘Jakov, we have a deal. Mónica, welcome to the team.’ Martín announced, smiling widely as he shook both their hands as soon as he unhooked the PASIV.

Andrés acted along, equally vain and unwilling to air out their grievances in front of other people.

It was a familiar dance, one they did back when they’d been friends.

This was what they were going to do in front of the team, too, when the job finally began.

The bitter taste in his mouth turned to ash.

‘When the client contacts us, we’ll give you the details where the team will come together to plan.’ he explained, turning to Jakov. ‘We’ll discuss the terms of their house arrest, too. Mirko might be interested in Daniel’s sources.’

Daniel’s eyes lit up with interest at that, and Jakov seemed to consider the offer.

‘For a price.’ he allowed.

‘Nothing is free in life, right?’ Martin grinned with a wink, then began making his way out.

‘Martín.’ Andrés called after him, as he slipped out of the room with loud bravado and louder goodbyes.

He came to a stop in the dimly lit stairwell that circled the old elevator, its wrought-iron cage casting intricate shadows across the wall.

‘What more do you possibly have to say to me?’

‘When we woke up in Florence, you changed. You… Just what happened to you on that job…’

Everything.

But back in reality, it all became a nightmare.

‘So you still lie, then?’ he snapped, looking back up at him with the ash in his mouth reigniting into his fiery rage. ‘You know exactly what happened and you still act like you don’t.’

Andrés had looked at him with cold eyes and a sneer, his hand a burning brand on his wrist as he stopped Martín from touching him. ‘Check your totem, Martín. Your daydreams and fantasies are none of my business.’ 

‘Again, these baseless accusations. Nothing happened. I told you.’ Andrés said firmly, waving it away. ‘But something still broke you and you never told me what.’

‘You broke me.’ he whispered, turning away as he let out a brittle, smoke and fire tasting laugh. ‘But as you said, it’s nothing. I don’t know why you wanted to work with me again, and I don’t care, just don’t bring this up ever again. Forget what you saw.’

Martín departed quickly after that, not willing to put himself through the wringer three days in a row and disappeared into the vivid press of the nightlife, letting loose in bars and pubs and dance floors to wash the erupting feelings away with the sweeter burn of alcohol and the soothingly warm embrace of nameless bodies.

He found himself in Jakov’s office the next day, too, hungover and worse for wear, but less inclined to destroy himself.

‘This has to stop, Martín.’ he said as he handed over a cup of coffee.

‘After this job, I’ll be done. With Andrés and with the dream-sharing business, too.’

He didn’t believe him.

That was fine. 

Martín didn’t believe himself either.

Alicia Sierra contacted him five days later.

In another three, they were speeding along the highways that connected the greater Barcelona region together, following the coordinates provided to them by the client.

By democratic voting, Aníbal chose the car, Mirko picked the colour, Ágata wrestled the keys out of their hands, and Martín called shotgun before any of them could argue.

So the four of them came to a stop in front of a grandiose mansion in a red Bentley, tires screeching across the gravel and kicking up dust in a fashion only Ágata could coax out of any and all cars she got her hands on.

‘I believe we announced our arrival.’ Martín noted dryly as Aníbal whooped along with Mirko in the back seat.

‘Go big or go home, cariño.’ she grinned, winking at him over her sunglasses. ‘I know your ex-forger is a sexist bastard and I’m not about to let him walk all over me.’

‘I would like to see him try.’ Martín grinned back, stepping out of the car to look up at the two-story brick mansion Alicia Sierra provided them with. It seemed big enough to avoid people in it.

‘Guess it will do.’ Mirko announced as he got their bags from the back along with his kits and PASIVs.

‘Dibs on the room with the best Wi-Fi!’ Aníbal hollered, grabbing his share of luggage from the car.

‘You made it.’ Sergio greeted them in the foyer. ‘I see you are still travelling light.’ he added, nodding towards Martín’s single suitcase.

It had been their joke since, unlike Andrés, the two of them only ever needed one suitcase for their belongings, calling the habit their shared vein of sociopathy.

‘Easier to escape.’ he said, only half-joking as they shared a look.

Their friendship, if it could still be called that, was as old as the infamous Fisher job that prompted them to try their hands at dream-sharing when they both found their university life unchallenging and boring. They went down the deep end and didn’t look back, only acquired Sergio’s brother in the process and, well, the rest was history.

‘Bet this place has a wine cellar.’ Ágata whistled as she stepped in, too.

‘It has. But you can’t get drunk tonight.’ Andrés called, appearing at the top of the staircase like the lord of the mansion, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer.

He looked like he belonged in his crisp shirt and crisper pants and spotless leather shoes. He was also wearing his professional mask, which saved Martín the effort of trying to interpret his thoughts and feelings about their last encounter. That mask meant work and work only.

Thank fuck.

‘You’re no fun.’ she snorted, unmoved by his theatrics.

‘We’re not here to have fun, Ágata.’ he chided, making Martín roll his eyes grandly. ‘I need you sharp. We’re having a meeting as soon as our architect arrives.’ he said, and then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving a cool silence in his wake.

At length, Mirko spoke.

‘You know, he’s an asshole.’ he said. ‘I almost didn’t notice it because he’d been so polite while he recruited us.’

Martín traded an amused smile with Sergio, despite himself. 

He didn’t bother to disagree. 

Instead, he shrugged with ease of experience. ‘You’re only saying that because you’ve just met recently.’

‘Why? Is he better once you get to know him?’ Aníbal asked sceptically.

Martín threw his head back and laughed at that. ‘Oh, no. He’s much worse.’

Mónica and her family arrived a few hours later, so they all retreated to the drawing-room just as the sun set over the property, the team taking up the various coaches and seats as Andrés stood by the windows like a shadow.

As the antique clock on the mantelpiece chimed, he drew a photograph and a slip of paper from his pocket, walking over to place them on the table that sat in the middle of the room. It showed a vial that seemed to contain powdered cobalt, while the slip of paper depicted a structural formula, or at least a part of it.

‘By now, you should all know what this is.’

‘Isaac Fuentes’ formula.’ Mirko said, reaching over to study the paper, and Martín grinned at Daniel’s dumbfounded expression.

People tended to underestimate his intelligence when they first met him.

‘Exactly.’ Andrés nodded. ‘Its worth on the markets has yet to be determined, but the rough estimates are astonishing. And so far, no one replicated it anywhere outside of Isaac Fuentes’ laboratories - this photo and the partial formula were all they could get their hands on.’

Aníbal raised his hand.

‘He is a chemist. Worked out of Andorra.’ said Mirko, without looking up from the paper as he took notes in a journal. ‘His research papers on somnacin and its long-time effects are legendary.’

Aníbal lowered his hand.

Daniel continued to stare at Mirko with open-mouthed wonder.

‘What?’ Mirko asked, suddenly self-conscious as he pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

Ágata seemed ready to defend him, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

Daniel lit up like a Christmas tree.

‘Dude, you are my new favourite person - what somnacin base do you use for your concoctions?’ he laughed, introducing a sound to Martín’s life he really didn’t need.

‘Concentrate.’ Mónica chided before Andrés could show why exactly he was considered an asshole in the dream-sharing business.

‘I didn’t know Andorra had dream labs.’ Ágata noted.

‘It doesn’t. But the Spanish military has.’ Sergio amended.

‘The Spanish military doesn’t have dream labs!’ Ágata exclaimed. ‘The government ratified the UN’s decision that somnacin violates the Geneva Protocol on Chemical and Biological Weapons with reservations - it can only ever be used under strict medical supervision in the country.’

‘Who do you think is responsible for the mess we faced during the Algeria job?’ Aníbal asked darkly, and those in the known winced simultaneously. ‘Don’t ask.’ he added when Daniel seemed to be about to do so.

Andrés cleared his throat to get their attention. ‘Regardless of what the Spanish government is willing to admit. Isaac Fuentes synthesised a new substance that’s a game-changer and escaped to Switzerland when his employers decided to use his invention for monetary gain. Our clients only know about it because the owner of Vicuña Solutions is the ex-husband of our chemist’s daughter and her phone had been hacked by their technicians when the rumours began circulating amongst the interested parties.’

Martín chuckled, tapping his finger against the files spread in front of him. ‘But our client would rather not waste their time trying to recreate it. They proposed a simpler strategy: we find the one person who can get the information, and make her hand it over to Alicia Sierra.’

‘Inception.’ Sergio nodded, and it seemed to be the keyword to make everyone properly focus.

It was the most coveted job, the Mount Everest of the industry ever since the Fisher job - because everyone worth their salt had heard about that brilliant, near-suicidal job.

But the danger didn’t matter, because that team proved it could be done.

One just had to be creative enough.

Ágata looked at him expectantly as Mónica leaned forward, too.

They knew what they were about to attempt, but they did not yet know all the details of the job.

Martín enjoyed their impatient anticipation a bit longer, ignoring Andrés’ knowing smirk.

‘So who is the mark?’ Daniel asked, unwilling to play such games.

Andrés took out another photo from his pocket and flicked it like a card to settle on top of the files. It showed a woman with long hair, a nose piercing and a sort of expression that screamed she was not someone to trifle with.

‘That’s the mark.’ he said. ‘Raquel Murillo.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

‘Every presentation starts with a historical overview - which I hate. So we’ll talk about our mark later.’ Andrés said. ‘Sergio is already working on her profile.’

Aníbal raised his hand again. ‘Okay. Then what are we going to incept?’

‘That’s the first intelligent question I’ve heard since I got here.’ he grinned at him.

‘No wonder - you only got Sergio as a company.’ Martín drawled, earning a scoff from Sergio as that infuriating grin got turned on him, but he was nothing if not a professional ignorer.

‘I’ll get back to you about my competence later, Martín.’ Sergio drawled, spreading the map of the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum across their files and photos. ‘Level 0. Our mark will attend a function that’s supporting PTSD patients who are treated by dream-sharing - her father’s work was meant to be used for these patients, so according to my sources, she will attend in a silent protest and also because she works on the force and has friends in the program.’ 

‘So will Sierra and us.’ Andrés nodded. ‘This is yours, Aníbal. You will be part of the staff on hand so you know the drill.’

‘Aye.’ he grinned. ‘Sedate her, help get her to the PASIV and watch over you all.’

‘Exactly.’

‘How many levels are we talking about again?’ Ágata interrupted.

‘Did we forget to mention it?’ Andrés said with a condescending smile, so Martín intervened before they came to blows, no matter how entertaining that would be - they could do that while working on the forged personas together.

‘Three.’

Ágata barked out a laugh. ‘Fucking hell, Martín.’ 

‘Impossible.’ Mónica said immediately.

‘It’s not, you just need the right chemist.’ Martín corrected, squeezing Mirko’s shoulder. ‘And the guts to accept a PASIV line while dreaming.’

‘How can you stabilise three levels?’ Daniel asked. ‘There is no somnacin on the market that could do that.’

‘No.’ Mirko shook his head, reaching down to get his bag of samples he usually used to dazzle their high-paying clients, the ampules glinting gold in the room's light. ‘Sedation has to increase with each level because the smallest disturbances in the upper levels are magnified the deeper you get.’ he said, throwing a vial over to Daniel who caught it and began studying the label listing the used sedatives and drugs. ‘Two levels are theoretically stable with a normal somnacin dose, but it’s tricky and you have to be sure there are no shocks coming downstairs.’

‘Dude, this is not standard shit.’ Daniel whistled, handing the vial over to Mónica. ‘This could hold you down in an earthquake.’

‘What about the kick? This much sedation means straight to limbo with the usual methods.’ Mónica asked, making his team grin like hyenas.

Martín worked with them for a reason.

‘Synchronized kick is still effective. You just have to time it right.’ he said with a wink.

‘Is this going to be a problem?’ Andrés asked.

‘No.’ Mónica shook her head as Ágata cried as if.

‘What a good answer.’ he teased. ‘Now that we established the basic biology of dream-sharing and Mirko’s expertise, let’s move on. Level 1.’

Sergio took up a paper and drew the four concentric circles, marking down the levels as he began explaining - his chicken scratch was still the same and Martín smothered a grin into his palm.

‘The dreamer will be Mirko. We plant the beginnings of the idea on this level and use level 2 as the feedback mechanism, checking if it took hold. Ágata that’s you - you will make sure the forgery on level 1 is doing the job on level 2. As the dreamer, you’ll have more room to intervene if something doesn’t work out.’ 

That meant leaving Martín alone with the two of them and Mónica for the last level.

Mirko and Ágata immediately straightened up in their seats to argue.

‘I see you have complaints.’ Andrés interrupted before they could. ‘Be advised that I don’t really care.’

Martín waved his hand.

It was fine.

No matter what his feelings were on the matter, that was a sound plan, and this was a job that needed to be foolproof.

‘Moving on, then.’ Sergio continued as he checked if anyone else wanted to add something. ‘Level 3 is Mónica. I’ll take point on all three levels and the three of us together will be responsible for infiltrating Raquel Murillo’s mental security.’

‘When the time comes, we’ll plant the idea and you three will make sure the mark is calm and receptive on all levels.’ Andrés nodded, spreading some preliminary plans for the three levels. ‘Meaning the dreamscapes have to be convincing.’

With a single glance, Martín already had complaints.

This was going to be a long fucking prep job.

‘Mónica, design the levels according to this.’ Sergio said, and she smiled back, already taking up a notebook to write up ideas. ‘Aníbal, since you have experience with dream architecture, you’ll split your time between working with Mónica and Mirko.’ 

‘Daniel, you’ll get them the supplies - I know you have contacts in Spain.’ Martín grinned, earning himself the laugh from hell. ‘Mirko, you should have everyone’s medical records, right?’

‘Yeah, or I’ll have it soon.’ he said, looking at Andrés over his glasses pointedly. 'Level of somnacin resistance included.'

The bastard was still keeping his secrets too well.

‘As for the idea we plant,’ Sergio intervened, catching Martín’s eyes with such a long-suffering look that Martín knew who would be his partner in commiserating even after all these years, ‘Murillo will get the formula and hand it over to Sierra herself.’

‘And why the fuck would she do that?’ Ágata asked, shuffling through the data Sergio gathered about her already, slapping the picture of the owner of Vicuña Solutions onto the table. ‘She literally divorced the fucker Sierra works for.’

‘She’ll do it because we’ll tell her to. Because she’ll think it’s her idea.’ Andrés drawled, making her flip him off.

‘No shit, Sherlock. But why?’

There was his commiserating partner number two, but Martín was distracted by the pattern he could already see amidst the levels they were making. 

It was simple but all the more effective.

‘She will think it’s the only way to save her father’s life.’ he whispered.

‘Exactly, Martín.’ Andrés said with the intoxicating glint of excitement in his eyes that had always been there when their thoughts aligned. ‘I promise you all this: Raquel Murillo will have the most convincing nightmare we could make.’

After that, the week was spent in a whirlwind of dreamscape designs and profiling, all aimed to create the best route for that simple idea to conceive in Raquel Murillo’s subconscious.

They spent nights awake and days dreaming, going under with Mónica or Mirko to test both structure and concoction to prepare for three levels as Sergio relentlessly crossed out ideas with every new fact they discovered about their mark.

Every other free minute was spent as far away from Andrés de Fonollosa as possible.

As it turned out, the manor was indeed big enough to avoid people in it.

Like just then, when he escaped the ongoing argument between Ágata and Andrés about the quality of her Sierra forgery because free-entertainment was not worth it when he got dragged into it. Especially not when he had to agree with Andrés that her mannerism was not perfect.

But Andrés was not forging, and he was not agreeing with Andrés outside of the dark recesses of his mind, so he avoided and bothered Mirko instead.

He was in his room that seemed to be made of glass and light, his kits taking up all available surfaces as the bedroom began to resemble a laboratory and a disaster zone all at the same time.

Mirko was sitting on the floor surrounded on all sides by paperwork, his glasses perching on top of his beanie as he rubbed at his eyes with a tired sigh.

‘What troubles you, darling?’ Martín asked, swanning into the room to sprawl across his couch and mess up some papers spread there.

‘I still can’t find the balance.’ he said, swatting at his legs to get them out of his face. ‘I have to put as all into a mini-coma without overdoing it or you know what happens.’

Martín hummed in thought. ‘Since somnacin is already a sedative, mixing it with others can easily tip the balance between sedation and death.’

Most people would have found that an alarming fact.

Martín’s relationship with danger was both inspiring and, most certainly, unhealthy.

‘Too much and everything shuts down, right? It affects the circulation to the brain and then every other organ, too.’

Mirko pushed his glasses down to his nose to complete the incredulous look he sent him.

‘What?’

‘Just surprised that your thick head can retain that much information.’ Mirko remarked, leaning back to avoid Martín’s kick to his head. ‘But you are right- no, you’re not always right, Martín, don’t even think it.’

‘Rude.’ he pouted.

‘Which doesn’t make it any less true.’ Mirko grinned. ‘So the problem is this, I’m trying to figure out what other components to introduce to the mix - to elevate your heartbeat to a stable level and some anticoagulants to prevent blood-clotting in deep sedation.’

‘What did Aníbal find?’ he asked, miming tapping away on a laptop.

‘Exactly what you are using as a pillow, you oaf.’ he said affectionately, dragging said papers out from under him.

‘The only oaf in this building is that bastard.’ Ágata fumed as she marched into the room, throwing herself across Martín with a dramatic sigh. ‘How the fuck did you take working with him?’

‘Evidently, I didn’t.’ Martín drawled, getting her skinny elbows out of his solar plexus to arrange them more comfortably on the couch.

‘True.’ she grinned, tipping her head back to savour the sun that filtered through the tall windows, reaching her hands up towards the light.

She looked at peace there, leaning against him in a puddle of sunlight, the rays catching on her rings and glinting with her wicked sharpness.

When they’d met, she’d been a desperate thing - fresh out of prison and on the brink of complete despair - now she was more at ease and infinitely more dangerous, too.

‘So why do you do this to yourself?’ she asked and all the nice thoughts about her disappeared from his mind.

Backstabbing traitors, the lot of them.

‘Because I want to do this. It’s been my dream to do inception with Andrés. So I’ll stay and see this through no matter what.’ he said, closing his eyes to ignore their imploring or even pitying glances. ‘Then I’ll disappear and he won’t ever find me again.’

‘Well, that sounds depressing.’

Martín scoffed, jostling her.

‘Hey! Mirko! Tell him it’s true.’

‘It’s true Martín.’ he obliged and still managed to evade the kick aimed at him.

‘Do you know what he once told me?’ he asked instead. ‘If you want something, take it - by force if you have to.’ he quoted, tilting his head back with a smile he knew was anything but kind, burning with an internal fire of vindictive joy. ‘Well, I want this so I’ll take it even from him.’ 

The next time Martín tried to avoid Andrés he found solace in Mónica’s and Daniel’s room, sidestepping a discussion about the level 0 preparations that put a pinched look on both Sergio’s and Aníbal’s faces, meaning Andrés was spouting his usual nonsense about his preferred method to woo a woman.

He had less than zero motivation to be part of that.

Mónica sat with her laptop balanced on her knees, scribbling notes with one hand and stopping Daniel Jr. from ruining her work with the other, periodically pausing to slurp from her coffee mug that went cold a small age ago.

‘I brought you fresh coffee.’ Martín announced.

‘Don’t say things like that or she will divorce me for you!’ Dani laughed, scooping their kid up. ‘We’ll go shopping to let you work a bit in peace.’ he grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

‘For that, I’ll hold back the divorce papers.’

‘I’m hurt, darling.’ Martín pouted as Daniel left the room, accompanied by the kid and his stupid laughter.

‘You’ll be hurt if you don’t hand that over right now.’ she grumbled, holding her hand out for the mug.

‘Such disrespect.’ he teased but still handed over the coffee. ‘How is it going?’

‘I’m being pushed to my limit.’ she smiled, turning her laptop towards him and showing a battalion of references and plans. ‘I’ve been made to discard over twenty plans. Now I’m worked to the bone to make the remaining three perfect.’

‘Welcome to the high end of the business.’

‘I feel like during my university days.’ she muttered, slamming her laptop shut to return to a collection of sketches and textile samples. ‘But Andrés is a hairsbreadth better, maybe.’

‘Will you tell me what is your score to settle?’

‘Will you?’ she asked back, arching an eyebrow.

‘No.’

‘Then let me just say I thought I hit jackpot when I was offered a job as a student, but it was not what I was led to believe - if we do this job I will buy that bastard right out of his company and make him suffer.’

‘So this need to be perfect, even if Andrés is a-’

‘Insensitive bastard, who is utterly indifferent to the emotional needs of people?’

‘I was going to say acquired taste.’ Martín snorted.

‘I’m still waiting to acquire it myself. He is… I don’t know, somehow immutable.’

That was an interesting thing to say since the Andrés he knew had been the epitome of change, only set in the rules that guided his life. It made him both utterly unpredictable and maddeningly uncomplicated in a mesmerizing paradox.

‘I don’t know if he is immutable, but during a job, you’ll always know what he wants. It doesn’t matter if he likes you - I don’t think it actually makes a difference, just look at him and Ágata - but if you pay the price, he will make it his mission to make everything work perfectly.’

‘Sounds right.’ Mónica hummed, leaning back on her arms to stare up at the ceiling rosette and the warm brass chandelier that hung from it, studying it with single-minded intensity. ‘What’s the price, then?’

‘Loyalty.’ Martín smirked ruefully.

‘That sounds simple.’ she remarked.

‘Not the way you think. He demands perfect loyalty, Old Testament loyalty.’ he chuckled, because sometimes even that wasn’t enough. ‘He doesn’t take well to rivals or disobedience.’

‘Charming.’ she huffed.

‘Yeah.’ Martín smiled, bittersweet. ‘Now, let’s see those plans. I think I can figure out what that perfectionist bastard wants.’

‘You win. You’re more clever than me. Tell me whatever it is I don’t know.’ Martín sighed as Sergio stared at him across the kitchen counter, their extraction map spread across the surface with the completed details.

‘I don’t have that amount of time on my hand, Martín.’ he said drolly and Martín picked up a pen to throw at his head.

He had way too good reflexes, though.

‘Fine. Then tell me what got your panties in a twist, Sergio. I know it’s not Raquel Murillo’s subconscious security. Bad dreams?’

‘Is there any other kind?’ Sergio asked, his unnerving stare not easing up the least bit.

‘So? I know we don’t sleep the night before the job, but I still didn’t plan to spend it with you.’

‘It’s not my idea of a good time either, but I wanted to talk with you about Andrés.’

Martín’s easy smile took on a sharp edge as he leaned forward. ‘You want to talk? Now? You’re a cruel bastard, Sergio.’

‘This is no time to flirt, Martín.’ he sighed, making him bark out a laugh. ‘I don’t want to pry. I just thought you should know he’s been using a PASIV every night for the past week. Ever since you arrived. But I don't think it's a new development.’

No wonder he tried to hide his somnacin resistance from Mirko.

That seemed like a developing case of addiction.

‘Yeah, and why should I care?’ he asked because he really shouldn't.

‘Because he lied about it when I asked.’

A silence befell the table.

Only the soft swish of the curtains broke it as the flowery scent of the night breeze stole its way across the kitchen.

Silence never used to turn stale or heavy between them, but Andrés managed to taint that as well.

‘He is a vicious, greedy man, but he never lied to me before.’ Sergio whispered, eyes sad.

It was true, and it used to make him jealous in the most self-destructive way, too.

Andrés had never in his life lied to his little brother. He was the only person who was allowed to know what went on in his mind at all times if he dared to ask for the truth.

‘What do you want me to do about it?’ Martín asked, feeling the same sort of desperation Sergio was hiding under his near-perfect mask. ‘Sneak into his dreams? Tomorrow is the day of the job!’

Sergio shrugged helplessly. ‘I just know something is wrong and it could jeopardise the job. Help me keep it on track.’

Which was a blatant blasphemy. 

Loyalty demanding Andrés de Fonollosa would sooner die than jeopardise a job. 

The job. 

The Inception.

‘Fucking hell, Sergio. Why did you drag me into this again?’

‘Because he asked me to.’

And Sergio was loyal to a fault.

‘I will help. But if you dare to do this again...’

‘You’ll kill me?’

‘Don’t be so boring, Sergio.’ he chuckled grimly. ‘I know what your nightmares look like. And if I were you, I would be far more scared of dreamers than killers.’

Martín then stood from the counter and walked outside without a backward glance.

‘Thank you.’

‘Fuck you, Sergio.’

To leave would be to cut his losses. 

He would lose the money from the job, but there would be others. 

There would always be others...

What bullshit!

Martín would sooner die than jeopardise a job, too.

The real cruel bastard had always been Andrés for trapping him in this perfect challenge of a job.

He sat outside for hours, the lights from the house shining across the small pond and the lush grass even this close to dawn as the flowery scent curled around him coyly.

‘I thought you might be out here.’ came that cursed voice from the direction of the kitchen. 

‘It’s the night before the job. Where else would I be?’

‘Gossiping with Sergio.’ Andrés said lightly, and he fought the instinctive tensing of his body. ‘I saw him leave the kitchen a few minutes ago.’

Martín let loose a great sigh of both relief and exasperation. ‘Well, I’ve been out here. I’m not the staff, darling. I’m not here to babysit you or be at your back and call.’

Andrés sat down next to him, shirtsleeves rolled up artfully and dark trousers perfect as if he didn’t spend the whole night awake too. Only the slight crease of his smile hinted at his pre-job jitters, which still made him unfairly attractive.

Martín forcefully revoked the thought.

‘Well, allow me then.’ he said voice low as he pressed a bottle of red wine into his hand. ‘Since you’re in the habit of drinking on the job, anyway.’

That wasn’t the full truth, because opening a bottle before the job had always been their ritual.

But he didn’t have it in him to tear up that old wound that night, so he let him get away with lying by omission.

Then Martín nearly dropped the bottle when he saw the label. ‘Is this a 1984 Romanée-Conti?!’

‘Evidently.’ he chuckled, handing over the corkscrew.

‘Get two glasses, you heathen! We’re not drinking this from the bottle.’

‘We?’

Martín paused, but only for a moment. ‘We.’

Andrés went to collect two glasses and Martín couldn’t really say why it felt right to allow this, but he thought it was better to establish a sort of peace before they risked limbo together. Especially after what Sergio just burdened him with.

‘The sun will rise soon.’ Martín said when Andrés returned. ‘Will you sleep before then?’

‘You know I don’t.’

So there was no sneaking into his dreams, after all, which was a pity because Martín was dying to see all this was about.

‘Bad dreams?’ he asked the same question he asked Sergio.

‘I don’t dream.’ he smiled, pouring them both a glass.

‘Immaculate.’ Martín sighed when he took a sip of the exquisite wine.

‘It ought to be.’ Andrés chuckled, swirling his own around. ‘It’s your favourite.’

‘So you still remember then?’

‘I never forgot.’

Martín was almost brave enough to ask why he lied then, why it took one look at him back in reality to break his heart...

But the sun broke the eastern horizon and whatever strange mood fell on them disappeared, fading away along with the secrets of the night.

‘Let’s do this, Martín.’ he said, clinking their glasses together before standing up to leave. ‘If we survive, the rest of the bottle will wait for us here.’

‘Let’s.’ he whispered, staring into the blood-red liquid and wondering just what exactly would happen three levels deep this time around.

He drank the whole glass with the respect the wine deserved, then took his totem out and stared at its deep silence.

It was reality.

Shame, he was sure the dream in Florence tasted like satin in a bottle, too.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The Thyssen-Bornemisza was a pandemonium of preparation while the fundraising function took shape amidst the peach coloured walls and gleaming marble floors as masterpieces followed their every move.

Security was on high alert, but there were perks to getting hired by a company with connections to the underbelly of society. Namely, letting their team of four responsible for preparations waltz right in with a flash of permits their gracious employers provided for them in advance - the threat that it wouldn’t work if they tried to leave without completing their assignment was clear.

Martín so enjoyed an employer who knew how to apply subtle pressure.

Sergio’s grimace begged to differ, and he pulled his cap lower as they entered on account of a burst pipe.

There was nothing of the sort, of course, but Martín and Sergio chose one of the rooms the organisation prepared for the performers as their base of operations and staged a burst pipe incident to close it off for their perusal.

Mirko was a very convincing maintenance worker in a nondescript coverall and their PASIV case, regretfully informing the people on-site of the accident as he placed all the appropriate signs around the perimeter while Aníbal worked on the cameras and adjusted the angles of those that watched the back corridors - no one would notice when hundreds would mingle amongst the priceless paintings.

Then Aníbal exchanged one uniform for another and joined the waiters, who were getting their last orientation before the function.

That was their cue to get the hell out of there to exchange their own uniforms for their new disguises in the back of the van they arrived in and wait for the others to enter at timed intervals to leave no trace of doubt that they were all just strangers at the same event.

The function would start with an hour-long reception, which was their window of opportunity to ensnare their mark and get her in position for the inception.

They had to make it count because every wasted second meant lost hours in the dreamscape - something they couldn’t afford.

Martín went to collect Ágata, helping her out of a taxi as Sergio slipped inside.

‘I think we are early.’ she noted as she locked arms with him, gliding across the red carpet and expertly avoiding the photographers of the event.

‘There is no such thing, darling.’ he grinned, sending an appreciative glance at her black maxi dress that was both elegant and artfully immemorable.

He was dressed similarly in a black suit and black shirt combination, the only colour he allowed was a burnt sienna coloured pocket square to match Ágata’s jewellery. 

Every other accessory was something a witness might notice and remember, and they could never afford to be any of those.

‘Is he an idiot?’ Ágata hissed as she chanced a glance behind them from the entryway and Martín followed her line of vision.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud.

Andrés, naturally, didn’t get the memo. Or maybe he was just incapable of being low key when Martín wasn’t there to tone down his eccentricities to a palatable level, not that he wasn’t a vision in burgundy and black with his handsome smirk in place…

Martín felt irritated at wasting time on that thought.

‘He is Andrés.’ he bit out, ushering her inside before they caused a scene, just as Mónica arrived with Mirko on the heels of the bastard.

‘Whatever difference you think that makes, consider it observed.’ Ágata rolled her eyes. Then they were inside through the metal detectors and accepted their earpieces from Aníbal, along with their flutes of champagne.

‘Talk to me.’ he said as the crowd mingled in the reception area, keeping an eye out for their mark.

‘At the bar by the orchestra.’ Sergio answered immediately and Ágata sighed in relief.

They cleared the first real hurdle.

‘Company?’

‘None. Although, she spotted Sierra… and Vicuña.’ he added, and Martín could just imagine his chagrin.

‘No wonder she is at the bar.’ Ágata noted.

‘Yeah, but that’s good news for us - she won’t find your forgery suspicious and an upset mark could be more receptive to accepting a drink from a stranger.’ Martín murmured as he followed the team’s movements amidst the crowd as they took up position.

Aníbal was making his way towards the bar as Andrés glided through the floor, effortlessly making people part for him like the Red Sea as he cornered his prey.

‘Tell me he knows what he is doing.’ Mónica whispered. ‘Because I would pour a drink on his head if he tried to approach me like that.’

‘I might take him on a ride first.’ Mirko chuckled.

‘Gross, dude.’ Aníbal snorted. ‘I thought you had better taste.’

Martín bit his lips to keep his laughter in check as he watched Sergio massage the bridge of his nose in an admirable impression of bourgeois impatience, fitting for his role as a donator.

‘I knew being in a museum would make finding a true work of art easy. I just didn’t think she would be this gorgeous.’ Andrés said, his tone a perfect tenor of very interested wealthy entitlement.

‘It got worse.’ Aníbal commented, and Ágata nearly snorted champagne up her nose.

Raquel Murillo seemed to think similarly because she turned to Andrés with a single raised eyebrow that packed a punch. She was less than impressed and her opinion of Andrés dropped to a new low as she looked him up and down.

‘No.’ she said simply and motioned with her head for him to get lost.

Andrés seemed to be floored by this immediate and firm rejection.

‘Are we sure she is not into women instead?’ Mirko asked dryly.

‘I think she just has good taste.’ Ágata smirked, clinking her glass to his to celebrate their mark’s good sense and to drink in despair because now they had to improvise.

‘Fucking told you it wouldn’t work.’ Aníbal grumbled. ‘Andrés is too much of a peacock.’

Martín rolled his eyes. Because of course.

He just had to take one look at her ex-husband to see the similarities in style and behaviour.

‘Sergio, rescue the lady - she might need the exact opposite of Vicuña. Full offence, Andrés. All the offence.’

Andrés caught on quickly, pressing a bit more only for Sergio to gently but firmly usher him away, then turned all his non-existent charm on to placate the lady by getting her a drink and chatting to her about the function and all the good somnacin could be used for.

Sergio was unbeatable when it came to rambling about dream-sharing. He could bore statues to tears.

And by some miracle, it worked.

Aníbal got to fulfil their wishes immediately with a carefully laced drink.

‘You are aware that I could hear all of you, right?’ Andrés asked snidely once he was out of Murillo’s immediate field of vision.

‘Yes.’ came the chorus of replies.

Martín and Ágata shared a look, then made their way towards their base of operation without comment to set up, before either of them drew attention by laughing way too loudly - Mónica could handle getting Murillo backstage with Sergio.

Mirko was kneeling by the PASIV when they slipped inside, its bed of cases and wires glowing with his concoction as he unspooled the IVs and Ágata and Martín moved to pull the recliners in position for the job.

Andrés was next inside, and Ágata shot him a wide grin of utter glee.

‘Nice job out there, cariño.’

Andrés’ answering smile was shark-like as he threw his suit jacket with nonchalant elegance to the back of his recliner and took his seat with the same lazy grace. ‘Knew you would appreciate my talents.’ he drawled, rolling his shirtsleeves up and stripping the needle off its cap with his teeth, slotting it into his vein without fanfare.

Martín failed to not stare and decided to save face by adopting a similar smirk of nonchalance. ‘Is your ego hurt, darling?’

‘I can’t be everyone’s taste.’ he shrugged, looking up at him through his eyelashes. ‘You have to know how to enjoy a Romanée-Conti.’

What an absolute fucker.

So much for peace offerings.

‘So what’s your brother, then? Instant wine?’ he asked back, raising his eyebrows.

‘More like a fine bottle of rosé - enjoyable on all occasions, but not especially exotic.’

A knock interrupted them, and Mirko went to get the door with his gun in hand.

‘Excuse me, we need help. A woman was taken ill. Could we let her rest here while we call a doctor?’ Mónica said, miming concern in just a tad bit fake way.

Martín stepped up beside Mirko as they opened the door, Sergio dragging Murillo inside as Mónica fluttered around them like a concerned mother.

She was drowsy, basically unconscious, but that didn’t mean they didn’t need to make it convincing as they went under. So they acted like the spooked guests, letting her lay down as Mirko’s sedative mix did its work and finally, let her fall unconscious for the job to commence.

‘By the way. I heard that, Andrés. Thank you for the endorsement.’ Sergio remarked, dry as dust.

‘You’re welcome.’ he grinned, magnanimously motioning for them to take their seats as they all inserted the IVs and went through their pre-dream preparations.

‘Totem check.’ Martín ordered, and everyone reached for their various trinkets. 

His pocket watch stayed blissfully still in his hand.

Not dreaming.

Mirko fiddled with the dials, flipping switches, then let Aníbal take over after he secured the room to kick-start them.

‘Any last wishes or confessions to make?’ Ágata asked, getting comfortable.

‘Yeah, don’t die or it’s straight to limbo.’ Sergio said.

‘Don’t make promises.’ Mirko cut in before Mónica could reprimand him. ‘That’s just asking for trouble.’

‘Martín?’ Andrés prompted, catching his eyes with a raise of his eyebrow and Martín rolled his eyes but decided to use the phrase he hadn’t used in three years.

For luck.

It was their dream job, after all.

‘Wrapped in the arms of Morpheus, we meet-’

‘And before the night is over, let us see each other on the other side too.’ Andrés whispered and, as if a spell fell over them all, the rush of somnacin pulled them under gently.

‘Good night, everyone.’ Aníbal said, then Martín let his eyes flutter shut and dreamed.

‘Good job, Mónica.’ Martín whispered as he found himself in the sweeping grandeur of a masquerade ball that acted as a mental bridge between the fundraiser event and their dreamscapes.

The ballroom, with its impressive height of 15 metres, was the jewel of Level 1. It was a neo-baroque masterpiece of gleaming hardwood floors and pilasters topped with capitals of carved marble and gilded bronze. The room was crowned with a ceiling of tasteful and intricate carvings of vines and flowers, accented with warm gold of lavish elegance. Between the tall columns, opulently decorated balconies and intimate alcoves hid amidst deep red damask curtains, making the room even more breathtaking.

The ballroom was fit for even the Royal Palace of Madrid, but Martín knew Mónica worked from places long destroyed by war and human idiocy, making this palace a perfect dreamscape. 

Familiar, yet completely new.

He reached for his pocket watch anyway, finding it on a delicate silver chain that matched his midnight blue tuxedo. It ticked gleefully in his hand, the time mocking him like it did Cinderella, so he ignored it for now and checked himself in the tall mirror that stood by one of the entrances to coyly reflect the intimate light of the crystal chandeliers.

‘This will do, Mirko.’ he smiled, admiring his coiffed hair, the luxurious tuxedo, and the silver stars that decorated his delicate midnight blue mask. ‘You are a genius.’

The music was certainly his style, always partial to the tones of Slavic composers like Dvořák and Shostakovich, dramatic but smooth. Projections in glittering gowns, tuxedos and masks moved in gorgeous rhythm to match the rolling notes of the music played by the orchestra in the corner.

Martín accepted a flute of champagne to check if Mirko still enjoyed the sweet muscat ones, walking the perimeter of the room and graciously nodding to projections to slip under the radar for now.

As he took a sip, for a moment, the room swam. His heartbeat was suddenly loud in his ears before it got slower, almost sluggish, then with a snap, everything returned to normal, vision clearing as he gasped for air.

Mirko warned them about this adjustment he made in the somnacin-mix to accommodate the next levels, especially for those going deeper, but it was still disconcerting.

Martín just hoped Murillo would dismiss it since her projections seemed stable so far.

That could change any minute now.

Mirko and Mónica stepped away from the rolling wave of dancers to greet him, both dressed to match the set. Her periwinkle ball gown was a marvel, the skirt flaring wide to swish gently to the rhythm of the music and Mirko matched his tuxedo to her dress, their rose-gold masks catching the light of the chandeliers.

‘Exceptional work. But this was horrible.’

Mirko, very elegantly, jabbed his elbow into his ribs. ‘This horrible thing is what will keep you alive.’

‘Did I say horrible?’ he chuckled, sidestepping another attempt. ‘How odd. This champagne, I swear. I meant ingenious, much appreciated.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Do we have eyes on our mark?’ Martín asked, drawing the three of them towards an alcove that opened into the more intricate maze of corridors and salons of the dream palace where Mirko and Mónica could disappear once they began setting the base of the inception.

Sergio’s voice filled his ears through a discreet earpiece. ‘By the grand windows, looking out over the courtyard. Should I deliver the note instead of Andrés?’

Martín caught sight of him on one of the balconies, dressed in all black like a raven, the bearer of grave news. Following his gaze, it was easy to spot Raquel Murillo in a delicate cream gown, glittering like moonlight in the opulent room as she watched the magical display of the gardens Mónica hid in the courtyards to draw the eyes away from the edges of the dreamscape.

Andrés was nowhere in sight yet, even though originally it was going to be his job to kick-start their operation and provide comfort to manipulate her. However, since Sergio was the one who evoked any sort of positive feelings in her, the switch seemed like a necessity.

‘Andrés?’ Martín asked since he wasn’t going to deal with any ego-related drama on the first level.

‘Switch with me, Sergio. You know the script. Make sure she follows you to the Circle Tea Salon to meet Ágata.’ he said, and he almost didn’t sound as put upon as he felt to be side-lined even before the game started. ‘Martín, did you collect the others?’

‘Of course, darling.’ he chuckled. ‘We are by the exit point. Did we do a good job?’

‘We don’t have time to reward basic competence, Martín. Or an exceptional one, either.’

‘There is nothing wrong with a little positive reinforcement.’ he chuckled, making Mirko roll his eyes as Mónica shook her head.

They were, or at least becoming familiar with his unhealthy relationship with danger, even when it was a danger in the form of one Andrés de Fonollosa.

‘We have to move as soon as her mental security is triggered by the bad news.’ Andrés announced, ignoring his teasing, and Martín grinned in victory and anticipation. ‘Be ready.’

The note was the trigger.

It was a simple sentence, reduced to the base emotion of fear, allowing them to manipulate her reaction by introducing Ágata’s forged Sierra as a crutch for her.

“We took your father.”

‘Brace yourselves.’ Sergio whispered as he moved through the room like a wraith, and the music swelled in Mirko’s own anticipation.

The moment Raquel Murillo read the note, the shift in the room was palpable. A prickly tension set over the whole ballroom that hadn’t been there before as her mental security realised her distress.

‘Oh, so this is what you meant when you said I will know if something goes according to plan.’ Mónica noted quietly because Mirko was drawing the attention of well-dressed projections.

Martín just nodded with a grin, turning to their chemist with a salute. ‘It’s time to disappear, darling. It’s nearly midnight.’

He just chuckled, slipping between the curtains to calm the upheaval by being far away from Raquel Murillo. ‘Meet me at the lower level, Mónica.’

‘I’ll follow you in a sec.’

‘Are you ready to set up the kick under the Blue Salon?’ Martín asked her, making sure she was fine on her first real job.

Mónica just pulled her skirt up to reveal a small mountain of C4 charges, strapped to her crinoline as she kicked her heels off. She seemed like the real Cinderella of the ball, albeit armed and ready to tear the heads off an evil stepsister or two. ‘What do you think?’

‘Darling, you know the right way to my heart.’ he laughed with a wink, making her chuckle as she slipped away too to follow Mirko one floor down to set the explosives.

‘I thought it was through expensive wine.’ Ágata remarked in her new skin as Alicia Sierra, flawless in an emerald green gown and scaled mask.

The snake of temptation herself.

‘That too.’ he shrugged because she was more observant than he wished to acknowledge. ‘Ready?’

‘I was born ready.’ she laughed and even that was a perfect forgery. ‘I will go ahead to the Circle Tea Salon and set the scene. See you there and don’t be late.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

She just scoffed at his brilliant pun as she checked herself one last time in a mirror before going to offer her help to Raquel Murillo.

“Alicia Sierra can help save him.”

These were the two ideas they needed to plant on this level so they would shape the next level according to their plans.

Raquel Murillo needed to trust Sierra to do this for her through her ex-husband’s many connections. Ágata would make the connection on this level by making a promise. Then they would stage an ambush to make the threat of the note more real and Sierra’s help more sweet a deal.

The formula could only come in on the next level after they gained her trust or they risked making her suspicious.

‘Shouldn’t you be going already, Alicia?’ Andrés asked from behind, and Martín turned to reprimand him for being late.

Only for his breath to catch in his chest, because damn, but Mirko did a flawless job when he dreamed Andrés into a wine-red tuxedo and a mask glittering with golden suns.

Whatever else Andrés might have said got swallowed up by the tinkling sound of a delicate lock snapping open, but when Martín looked around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

‘Did you hear that?’ he asked quietly, catching Ágata’s eyes.

‘I only heard the sound of condescension.’ she griped, glancing towards Andrés meaningfully. ‘Will you be alright? There is some hostility in here already.’

‘I’ll have to be.’ Martín smiled with a shrug. ‘It’d be a bit of an anticlimax if the whole job fell through on level one.’

‘Fine. I’ll go on ahead.’ she sighed and there was a dissonance between her personality and the forged features before it smoothed out again.

‘Break a leg.’

She flipped him off, then disappeared through the curtains too as Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 washed over the dreamscape like a soft embrace, leaving them alone in the ballroom of projections.

Andrés was meant to head out after Ágata in order to do Sergio’s original job of collecting their guns and meet up with everyone by the Circle Tea Salon to stage the attack.

Years of experience taught them the beauty of confusing their mark’s subconscious by perusing the maze in different patterns to make it less obvious what their target was - hopefully Sergio’s charm would tide them over any other hitches.

Now if only he could do just that and leave already.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

‘You’d better wish me goodbye like a gentleman.’ Andrés chuckled, stepping close in the intimate half-light of the alcove, hand reaching for the curtain behind Martín to lift it out of the way, but he still didn’t leave.

He just stood there, close yet so far away.

Years of experience also taught Martín that his sanity could only be kept if he got out of Andrés’ magnetic orbit while he could still resist the pull.

Stay with me.

Reaction formation.

In a dream, it was all possible.

‘I thought we established I didn’t have manners.’ he grinned and with the mask in place, it was almost convincing as he sidestepped him and sauntered backwards to the dancefloor to do his rounds and collect the PASIV. ‘I’m a criminal, darling.’

Andrés followed him with his eyes, something heartrending flashing in his intense gaze behind the mask, but a couple swished by between them and he disappeared through the curtains before he could even try to decipher it.

Then a projection knocked into his shoulder and Martín knew he was running late if Raquel’s mental security was already perceiving him as a threat - or maybe he just wasn’t great at acting the part of someone enjoying the ball.

He didn’t have the manners for it, after all.

Like then, when he walked into someone in his distraction.

‘May I?’ came a voice he didn’t immediately recognise as he got swept into the waltz with a twirl, making the projections back off of him for the moment.

Then he came face to face with someone he hadn’t seen in six years, who he’d worked with occasionally, who’d been a good acquaintance that introduced Silene and Aníbal to him.

Someone who’d succumbed to a job years ago.

‘Hello, Martín. Do my eyes deceive me, or are you actually running on schedule?’

Someone who couldn’t be there because he was, by all accounts, dead.

‘René?’

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

‘René?’ Martín asked, and he smiled down at him in answer from behind a black mask decorated with silver moons.

He couldn’t be there.

Unless…

A shade.

Martín tried to grab the gun Mirko dreamed for him, but René’s hold on his hand and waist was firm as he guided them along the dancefloor, trapping him close.

‘Ah.’ he chuckled. ‘That’s no way to greet an old friend. Especially when I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Martín asked, trying to get any hint because even keeping the shade talking was better than the panic that threatened to flood his veins.

He’s heard all the horror stories.

He even met one before.

But whose shade was he? 

Aníbal was not dreaming, never again, and no one was attached to him enough for their subconscious to create a shade of him.

‘I’ve been waiting to see your work again, Martín.’ René grinned, his hold tightening almost possessively.

It set his teeth on edge.

Shades were creatures who were obsessive, almost consumed by the dreamer that created them. Living in someone’s head tended to do that.

But he wasn’t Martín’s.

He had problems, but nothing of this magnitude.

Something didn’t add up here.

‘Come along, you’re not welcome here anymore.’ René whispered, pulling him close to his chest by the waist and reached into Martín’s inner pocket with uncanny accuracy to draw his gun. ‘Let me just add a silencer to this.’

He was too warm for a shade, that’s what he noticed immediately as René twirled them around, shooting at an approaching projection mid-movement that collapsed to the mellow sound of the waltz, then pulled him along to escape from the ballroom into the corridors.

The next thing he noticed was the way he navigated the palace to avoid the worst of the hostile projections with the same uncanny accuracy he knew where his gun hid.

Then, as they approached the grand staircase of marble and gold, he spotted something that shouldn’t have been there. A gilded cage that stood wide open in a place where he knew nothing of the sort should’ve been. It was such a jarring sight that it snapped him out of his shock.

Martín had enough.

He grabbed the shade and pulled him into a side corridor to press him against the wall with a knife against his neck as the curtains swished close behind them while projections ran past their hiding place to the reverberating sound of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.

‘Alright, that’s enough fucking around.’ he hissed, earning an amused smirk. ‘Speak.’

‘I don’t fuck around, Martín.’ René chuckled with a lazy shrug, as if he wasn’t held at knifepoint. ‘Shall we say I’m riding shotgun.’ he added, reaching out to touch the material of the curtain with an appreciative humm. ‘It’s Mirko’s dream, isn’t it? He’s always been partial to red.’

A chill travelled down Martín’s spine.

‘I see you are surprised. It may be someone else’s architecture, but at the end of the day it’s his head that’s dreaming it and when you are in someone’s head, you can overhear many delicious things.’

‘What were you doing in Mirko’s memories?’

‘Trying to get my bearings mostly, getting familiar with the present situation. It’s not every day I’m let out of my cage. But I’ve been very close to the surface.’ he said, pressing his neck against the knife’s edge. It drew black blood. ‘You look magnificent, dear.’

‘Martín, where are you?’ Sergio hissed into his ear, snatching his attention for a heartbeat, and René flickered out of existence with a chuckle, taking his gun with him.

He finally had a second to panic, so he indulged in it, crumpling to the ground to take a few deep breaths. Then he collected himself and the knife and stood on shaking legs to return to the job at hand.

He still had a PASIV to collect.

‘Ran into a bit of a problem.’

‘Whatever it is, we don’t have time. The kick is almost set and we need to stage the ambush soon.’ Andrés drawled, his reprimand working like the best grounding effect he could ask for.

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Mr Sunshine. We’ve got a shade, all right?’ he bit back. ‘I tried to deal with it.’

The silence was heavy, the unsettling tension obvious as everyone listening tried to comprehend what he just said. 

‘A shade? Whose?’

‘No idea, but it looks like René.’

‘Impossible.’ Sergio whispered. ‘We had nothing to do with his death unless you count working with him occasionally…’

‘Who would drag him in here?’ Mirko asked, fury and worry warring in his voice.

‘I don’t know. I would say I don’t care either, but it’s been around in your head, princess. We have to hurry before it messes with our plans.’ Martín said, checking the perimeter for stray projections.

‘Are you ok?’ Mónica asked in worry because she was a gem.

‘Where are you?’ Andrés asked impatiently because he was a bastard.

‘I’m fine.’ he answered the lady first. ‘Grand staircase, I will collect the PASIV and meet you as we discussed.’

‘Hurry.’ he ordered, proving him right.

Martín laughed and got moving.

Sergio stopped him before he reached the others, pulling him into a luxurious study. 

Mónica didn’t go easy on the details, even in these parts of the maze.

‘You know everyone on this team.’ he said without preamble.

‘I’m fine, thank you for asking. You shouldn’t worry about me, Sergio. It ruins your brooding complexion.’

‘Martín.’

He rolled his eyes but answered him, nonetheless. ‘That’s so complicated a statement, darling, that we don’t even have time to scratch the surface of it. But the answer falls closer to no - have you met your brother?’

‘You know them better than I do.’ Sergio amended, not rising to his baiting and frayed nerves.

The bastard knew him better than that.

‘Fine. Yes.’

‘Do we have things under control? Are we still on track?‘

Andrés lied before.

That hung above them like Damocles’ sword.

‘Martín.’ he sighed when he didn’t answer him immediately. ‘Someone has a malignant presence living in their brain and we don’t know whose it is or what it wants. Just answer me honestly.’

‘We’re malignant presences living in people’s dreams and I’d bet on our sorry asses against any monster our subconscious could dream up.’ he grinned, the mask still helping to make it more convincing.

He could almost fool himself, too.

‘So we go deeper.’ Sergio nodded, not calling him out on his act.

‘And if we lose this gamble, we’ll all duke it out in limbo.’

‘Let’s just pull this level off first.’

Mónica, Mirko and Andrés were already checking their guns and blank cartridges by the Circle Tea Room, ready to play the part of the aggressors and kidnappers as they covered their faces completely.

The room they chose for their forger to work her magic in was the centre of the maze, where they usually extracted secrets. Now they used this natural safe-place of the subconscious to make their mark more receptacle to their suggestions.

‘How is Ágata doing?’ he asked, securing the PASIV to his back and accepting the sedative from Mirko they needed to make Raquel transition to the next level easy.

‘Slow going.’ Mónica smiled, showing him her new running shoes at his silent prompting. ‘It’s like an interrogation combined with a chess game in there.’

‘Are we winning?’ he grinned, stealing a new gun for himself that earned a worried frown from Mirko.

‘Go in and see for yourself.’ Andrés answered him, dislodging the earpiece they used to monitor Ágata’s performance.

That was his cue.

‘Watch out for the shade and the projections, it’ll get rougher.’ Martín warned. ‘Oh yeah, and don’t shoot me even with the blanks.’

Then he staggered into the room, as Sergio took up position behind him with his own gun as a defending shadow.

The two women were sitting in the middle of the circular room, made for comfort and safety like an intimate pocket in the palace's grandeur. It was the perfect malachite green stage of drapes and rugs for their forger and Mirko’s citrus scenting tea.

‘Boss, they are coming. We need to go!’ he cried, panting as if he ran all the way here.

Ágata pulled a gun from under her dress, standing to shield Raquel who, to her credit, immediately rolled with the situation like a decent policewoman as she stood as well.

‘Alicia? What’s going on?’

‘We’ll talk somewhere safe.’ Ágata said, pulling Sierra’s fiery red hair into a ponytail as Mirko and Sergio exchanged fire. ‘I’ll help, but now you have to go with them!’

‘But Alicia!’ Raquel protested as Martín began pulling her towards one of the three remaining exits that led back into the maze and to their next destination. 

The Blue Salon.

‘I’ll be fine.’ she smirked. ‘You know what they need.’

‘I don’t understand!’

‘I’ll help! Trust me on this!’

Mirko made his entrance as Martín whisked Raquel away along with Sergio and blank cartridges making the act of escaping by a hair’s breadth seem real.

‘Hurry!’ Martín barked, running down a corridor of marble, glass, and gold. ‘This way!’

They reached the stairway that led to the salon without problem but were met by armed projections, because now they really pissed off Raquel Murillo’s mental security - delivering bad news was one thing, but actual danger was a horse of another colour.

Sergio threw him a cartridge of live bullets without hesitation and they made a stance on the landing, using the higher ground to their advantage.

His blood sang from the adrenaline of a chance to fight. The orchestra was playing Prokofiev, probably Mirko’s fault, and Martín hummed along to it as he fought off the first wave that came at them on the landing.

But there were too many for it to seem natural and they couldn’t risk Raquel recognising any of them.

Martín handed the PASIV over to Raquel and slapped the sedative into Sergio’s hand, and pushed them out of the way of the next round of bullets. ‘Go! I’ll keep them busy!’

Raquel took Sergio’s hand without hesitation and firmly pressed lips, her eyes sharp from the rush of adrenaline. ‘Will you be alright?’

‘You’ll see me soon, darling. Don’t worry.’ he winked, ducking and firing back at the projections dashing up the stairs.

One projection caught a bullet in the chest and dropped immediately. Another caught the shot in the leg, toppling to his knees. Martín gladly kicked him down the stairs, then dived to avoid the next volley of fire, feeling the sting of a shot coming too close for comfort as a vase broke by his head and blood bloomed from a cut on his cheek.

He saw colour flash in his periphery and rolled, his gun coming up to shoot.

‘Stop! It’s us!’ Ágata - now back in her own skin - cried as she held her hands up while Mónica provided cover for her.

‘Fuck, darling. Don’t sneak up on me.’ he huffed, resting his head against his knee for a second.

‘What are you doing? You should be with the mark!’ Andrés barked, dragging him to his feet.

‘You weren’t here, had to improvise.’ he shrugged, watching as Ágata threw her heels at an approaching projection and followed it up with a kick to send her tumbling down the stairs as Mirko shot the others.

‘You are bleeding.’ Andrés said flatly as their chemist got fed up with the stubborn projection still struggling against him and threw him over the railing.

‘No shit. I don’t know if you noticed, but we are in the middle of a gunfight.’ Martín grinned and Andrés tore the mask covering his mouth away to brush away the blood from his cheeks, flooring him momentarily.

‘Duck!’ Mónica shouted, and Martín snapped out of it, glimpsing black and silver in the mirrors of the stairway.

René.

The next shot broke the mirror above their heads, the pieces raining down on them as they ducked for cover behind a balustrade.

The next shot cracked the marble right in front of them.

‘Shit.’ Martín cursed, leaning forward to see his approach.

René walked up the stairs without care, stepping over bodies with grace and a smile in place, and Andrés seemed to freeze next to him.

‘You can say that again.’ he breathed as the girls and Mirko took cover behind the door that led back to the corridor.

‘Martín, don’t be difficult.’ the shade sang, mocking him with his own gun.

‘What does he want?’ Mirko hissed, glaring at him for losing his gun to a shade.

‘No idea.’ Martín shrugged, feigning ignorance on both accounts.

But he had a hunch, and he didn’t want to voice it out loud.

Not yet.

He had to do something first - if he didn’t force him out of here, somebody might end up in limbo.

But this was a dream.

‘Close your eyes and begin running on my mark.’

‘What are you doing?’ Andrés whispered, catching his sleeve for a moment.

‘Property damage.’ Martín grinned as he imagined his knife changing into a stun grenade and Ágata snorted in surprise, despite the mess they were in. 

The stun grenade rolled down the steps as bullets struck their hiding place.

René glanced down at it with an exasperated sigh.

‘Now!’ Martín cried and pulled Andrés after him as they made a dash for the door.

The explosion was loud, but Martín knew how to dream up a charge that caused just the exact amount of damage.

They didn’t stop running to check what remained of the stairwell. 

The Blue Salon was a fortress despite not looking any way different from the luxury of the dreamscape, but Martín knew Mónica designed it to keep projections out while they dreamed, letting Mirko guard them without trouble as the countdown for the kick ran its course.

Raquel was already out-cold on one of the armchairs as Sergio paced the room when they dashed inside, letting the locks snap into place while they tried to find their breath.

‘Finally, you are here…’ he sighed, pinching his nose.

‘It was the shade.’ Andrés said, dropping his mask on a desk with a frown.

‘So we are sure it wasn’t a projection?’ Mirko asked, checking on Martín’s injury with a shake of his head, then moved to set up the PASIV. ‘It was really a shade?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Anything to share with the class?’ Ágata asked, eyes finding Andrés immediately.

He stiffened. ‘What makes you think I’ve got anything to do with the shade? It seemed obsessed with Martín.’

‘It’s not mine.’ he snapped without missing a beat. ‘I spoke to it earlier… Whoever is keeping that thing in their head is using a gilded cage. Sounds familiar to anyone?’

‘And you believed it?’

‘I saw the cage!’

Andrés rounded on him. ‘And how long were you chatting with this shade, exactly? Don’t you know how dangerous they could be?’

‘As if I had a choice in the matter!’ Martín snapped back. ‘You know that only the dreamer who hosts it can kill a shade!’

‘So you decided to flirt with death instead, is that it?’

‘Sorry,’ interrupted Mónica, who seemed reluctant to do it but was headstrong enough to try, while the others watched their argument with interest, ‘but what is a shade exactly? I’ve heard rumours, but he… He didn’t seem extraordinary?’

‘Yet.’ Martín muttered because that was the problem with shades.

They evolved faster the more time they spent free of the mind that dreamed them up.

And something set it free in the middle of an inception.

A pause followed his observation. 

Andrés was still staring at him, eyes dark with something indescribable.

And that intense gaze made something click, and he had to close his eyes before the realisation overwhelmed him.

He knew who the shade belonged to.

‘A rogue dream construct.’ Sergio whispered, answering Mónica’s question. ‘An inverted projection, if you will. It attacks the subconscious that hosts it, instead of defending it.’

‘In some countries, shades are considered curses.’ Mirko added with a slight shudder. ‘A punishment to haunt the dreamer for their sins.’

Andrés cut in before anyone could come to the same conclusion as him, even though Ágata was still looking at him in silent accusation.

She was too clever for her own good sometimes.

Sergio was carefully avoiding looking at anyone.

‘The only punishment here is that we are debating this instead of concentrating on the job we need to pull - or do you all want to wait around on Level 1 until the kick comes, then face Alicia Sierra and tell her we failed? Because that can be arranged. I’m sure she has a body bag ready for all of us in our sizes.’ Andrés said languidly with a cold, crooked smirk. ‘Time is running through our fingers, so if your sensibilities are offended by this problem, I have to warn you again that I don’t care. Either we do this or we are dead, so locate your fucking backbones I recruited you for. We can deal with the shade on the go.’

There was a beat where no one said anything. 

‘Okay.’ Mónica nodded, unspooling the IV line for herself with a determined set to her shoulders. ‘So what’s the bad news then?’

Sergio huffed as Ágata burst out laughing and Andrés nodded, as if he got all the answers he needed.

‘We’ve got two levels of dream left and I have to share it with you.’ he said flippantly. ‘So let’s go.’

‘Alright, cariño.’ Ágata said, shaking her head. ‘But if we end up in limbo, I will haunt you until all eternity.’

‘Concentrate on your level instead. Your Alicia was maybe a 9 out of 10.’

‘Mirko, did you hear that?!’

‘Ágata,’ Sergio interrupted, ‘walk me through the plan again.’

As Ágata began reciting her level with an eye roll, Sergio caught Martín’s eyes and he pulled Andrés back before he could step over to the PASIV.

‘Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. I know it’s yours.’ he began, because no amount of clever manoeuvring could be enough to avoid that fact. ‘Somebody followed us during Mónica’s test too and it’s not hers.’ Martín continued urgently before he could deflect again. ‘Andrés, I know you use PASIV to sleep and to keep something in check. Just tell me the truth.’

‘What do you think the truth is, then? You had some wild daydreams about it before.’ he whispered, eyes flashing in a warning and cutting back immediately with viciousness because there was only one thing Andrés hated more than getting called a liar.

It was his image getting tarnished. 

His greatest fear was that the image he projected, this perfect alter ego of hedonism and dazzling lifestyle of money and mad brilliance, was questioned because he needed constant confirmation of his own greatness.

A shade did not fit.

Well, fuck that.

They’d been the best because he knew how to navigate his bullshit and push forward.

Martín took a deep breath and didn’t fall prey to the obvious trap to rile him up. ‘You’re deflecting because you know I’m right. Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to hide and I don’t care. Just tell me you can deal with this before we end up dead or worse. Please.’

Andrés stared him down and Martín prepared to get hurt like back in Florence, cut up by cruel, cruel words.

Instead, he was disarmed with surprising gentleness. ‘So you still remember then, how to see through me?’

‘I never forgot either.’ Martín said softly, reaching up to take his mask off before he got swamped by memories of when they both failed for reasons still so damn unclear.

‘Check your totem, Martín.’

‘When we woke up in Florence, you changed. You… Just what happened to you on that job…’

‘You broke me.’

But they didn’t have time, not on a job.

‘I’ll handle it.’ Andrés said finally, reaching forward to trace a silvery star on his mask as a comfortable silence fell on them, something that was sorely missing these past years. 

Something Martín didn’t know he missed, like a bone-deep ache until this second, when he got it back.

They really didn’t have enough fucking time.

‘It’s not really René, is it?’ he asked instead of dwelling on it longer. ‘Is it the idea of failure?’

‘What gave it away?’ Andrés asked back, sidestepping his question without really answering him.

That, at least, was familiar.

‘He’s never been quite that good at dancing.’ he smiled, knowing some of his bittersweet feelings were spilling into it but refused to care at that point. ‘Neither are you, for that matter.’

The tension left Andrés with a soft chuckle, as if he just discarded another mask. ‘When we get out of here, you can teach me how to do it to your standard. How about that?’

‘If we can complete the job with no more pointless arguments, I’ll hold you to it.’ Martín chuckled and moved to sit down and reached for his IV.

‘Are we ready?’ Sergio asked, eyes fixed on him.

‘As ready as we’ll ever be, lover boy.’

‘I don’t date our marks, Martín.’

‘Sleep well, everyone.’ Andrés interrupted, nodding at Mirko to start them off.

Their chemist checked everything one more time, one hand on Martín’s ankle to show his silent support.

‘You’ll hear the kick coming. Make sure you are ready.’ he said, holding up the detonator with red numbers counting back for them mockingly.

Martín leaned back to watch the twisting golden lines on the ceiling and the crystal chandelier as the rich blue damask stretched towards it like the sky towards the bright noon sun.

‘Лаку ноћ свима вама.’ Mirko whispered like a light breeze.

Then they were under with a shade lurking close by.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The second level welcomed them with the gentle sway of a ship moving up the river, fog giving the illusion of a lamplit riverbank where the outlines of their dream palace connected the two dreamscapes together.

Only the slight gold sheen of the night air gave it away as Ágata’s dream construct while the gentle summer breeze of the night complemented the hum of the engines and the rolling sound of the waves lapping the side of their ship.

Martín was dressed for the part of the guard on the run, shirt, tie, and pressed trousers only slightly rumpled and he couldn’t help but scoff at the elaborately decorated holster he found under his neatly cut jacket.

He reached up to check, and yes he got saddled with a stud earring to match the chain his pocket watch hung on, pointedly gold.

Ágata just couldn’t help herself.

The watch was ticking away at the end of it.

It was a dream.

‘Totem check.’ he announced, finding the pack of cigarettes she was kind enough to tuck into his pocket and took out one.

Clove.

Of course.

‘May I?’

‘Why, Andrés, I didn’t know you still carried a lighter around.’ he drawled, letting him light his cigarette as he puffed out the spice and vanilla-scented smoke. ‘Didn’t you quit two wives ago?’

‘It’s a conversation starter.’ he smiled with an elegant shrug, resplendent in a black suit.

‘Spotted Raquel in the dining hall.‘ Mónica announced, the smart girl already making her rounds.

‘Any Sierra projections?’ Martín asked, walking to the railing that looked down on the lower deck and the glass ceiling of the dining hall.

‘Not yet.’

‘Alright, keep watch.’

‘So how will we deal with the shade?’ Ágata asked, stepping up next to him in an elegant jumpsuit to flick his earring with a satisfied hum.

‘Only the dreamer can take it out.’ Sergio remarked, adjusting his glasses and frowning at Ágata’s idea of subtle cufflinks.

Martín surreptitiously chanced a glance at Andrés under the cover of turning his head skyward to blow the smoke into the foggy night.

Yeah, no. 

Whatever his business was with the shade, he didn’t seem willing to get rid of it on the job. Or even capable of doing so.

Plan B it is.

‘I can distract him until then. He certainly seemed interested.’ Martín noted, earning the angry glare of everyone around him. ‘What?’

‘No.’ Andrés said firmly.

‘I can keep killing him and you can make sure Raquel actually comes up with the right solution to her predicament.’ Martín reasoned, ignoring how they all tried to interrupt him. ‘The formula for her father’s safety.’

‘I don’t know why we’re having this conversation when I just said no.’ Andrés said in a clipped tone. ‘Didn’t we just agree to not having pointless arguments?’

‘It’s a discussion,’ he bit back, ‘and I didn’t hear an actual reason for your no.’

‘If the shade gets in a lucky shot, you are on a one-way trip to limbo.’ Sergio hissed.

‘Yeah, well, I’m not the dreamer of this level or the next. I’m not the architect or the forger or the one the mark trusts - but I can be security.’ he grinned around his cigarette, turning in place with his arms spread to show he has dressed the part.

‘You don’t know what the shade wants.’ Andrés whispered furiously, stepping closer.

‘And you do?’ he asked, making him flinch.

So he knew something, after all.

Damn it.

‘This idea is stupid. I mean astonishingly stupid even by your standards, cariño.’ Ágata stepped in, cutting their not-argument short. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. Mónica will set up the kick. You and lover boy will go and do your actual job. That is categorically not shade-hunting. There won’t be shade-hunting at all unless it’s needed. Andrés… you will shut up. Your tone isn’t helping anything.’

‘That was unprovoked.’ he said with a raised eyebrow.

‘You provoke me.’

‘Trust your team, Andrés.’ Martín interjected, grabbing Ágata’s hand as they began drawing the attention of the projections.

She needed to move soon.

‘You know what they say about teamwork?’ she grinned, squeezing his fingers.

‘Don’t even go there.’ Sergio despaired, his sigh long-suffering.

‘Then all aboard the Nightmare Run. We will make the Titanic look like a fairytale.’ Ágata announced, detangling their fingers to begin her distraction run.

‘I’d thank you for curbing the dramatics.’ Sergio called after her.

‘You know, I’m sure you would.’

‘Guys,’ Mónica said, voice slightly panicked, ‘she is talking with somebody… it’s not Sierra, hers or anybody else’s.’

They looked at each other and Martín saw the dread that spread in his chest reflected in Sergio’s and Andrés’ eyes.

If the shade blew their work before the idea could take shape…

‘Shit.’

Sergio and Martín made their way below deck to see how much damage was done, only to find Raquel sitting alone, with a cocktail and a slight frown in place.

‘Mónica?’

‘Here.’ she called, dressed as a waitress and keeping her eyes on the mark by the entrance with a tray prepared with their drinks and sedatives.

‘Was it the shade?’ Martín asked as Sergio kept an eye on their surroundings.

‘No. She was talking to a red-haired woman, but it wasn’t Sierra.’

Martin shared a glance with Sergio, who looked equally baffled. 

They were going in blind then.

‘Go. Andrés is on his way with the equipment.’ Martín said, taking the tray of drinks off her to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Be careful.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ she nodded, closing the hall after them and drawing the curtains across the glass doors to redirect the projections gliding on the level.

Martín and Sergio picked their way across the room, their point man slipping in by Raquel’s side, earning an unsure smile as he dropped down across from the pair.

‘Do we look familiar to you?’ he asked, watching the slightly hazy look of someone still disoriented by a new level.

She had the right training then.

It was up to them to lull her back to compliance.

‘Yes. Somewhat… I can’t remember, but I feel like I’ve seen you before.’ she said, furrowing her brows and giving exactly nothing away about what she discussed with the mystery projection.

Maybe they got lucky.

Time to press their advantage.

‘There was an ambush. You lost consciousness.’ Sergio explained softly, his voice visibly soothing her. ‘We are going to save your father. Sierra knows where he is and you know what the kidnappers need.’

‘If you hand it over, we can help.’ Martín agreed, watching her closely.

‘I don’t… he wasn’t. He couldn’t have been… You can’t help.’ she whispered as if she was actively fighting against the familiar situation and that was a no-go. 

Most importantly, because it upset her mental security.

‘Of course, we can help. Sierra promised.’ Martín pressed and Sergio stepped in to add to their feedback.

‘We are going to save him. You know what they want. Hand it over to her and she can help.’

‘He is… he was in Switzerland.’

Something was wrong. Just who did she talk with…

‘He’s kidnapped. We’re going to rescue him.’ Sergio repeated.

‘You know what they want.’ Martín added, doing his level best to keep his voice pleasant but urgent enough to trigger the right response, no matter how incomplete it was.

‘Yes. I know.’ she said with a frown, tracing the outlines of a chemical formula into the condensation that gathered on her glass.

Sergio took that as their cue and handed over the drink they laced with sedatives while murmuring reassurances her Sierra should’ve done for them until she slowly fell asleep.

They couldn’t help the inelegant solution.

The idea was there, but pressing more right now would just agitate her and Raquel couldn’t know she was dreaming.

They had to finish this quickly before something else upset the careful balancing act of their levels.

Ágata could talk to her once more as Sierra before they went deeper if they had the time.

‘Let’s go.’ Martín was about to stand when a delicate but strong hand pushed him back down and Sergio turned white as sheets as a gun’s safety clicked next to him.

‘Ah, and here I thought you’ve been done with using unnecessary force to keep your marks in check.’

Martín turned to glance up at the intruder, who sent Sergio into a mute shock, coming face to face with a petite, red-haired woman who wore a smirk that looked out of place on her delicate features. 

And her gun was pointed straight at Sergio.

‘Who are you then, darling?’ he asked pleasantly, trying to keep his cool in the face of Sergio’s panic.

‘Martín.’ she chuckled, tilting her head at him with a mocking pout. ‘I thought you were smarter than this.’

‘Tatiana.’ Sergio choked out.

‘Who?’

‘Andrés’ fifth wife.’ he said, and Martín frowned in confusion.

‘Don’t tell me you forgot this easily!’ Tatiana laughed, tinkling and high. ‘We just danced a level up. But I admit Ágata’s taste is not too bad either.’ she purred, running a finger down his ear. 

Martín shivered as Sergio turned impossibly whiter.

The shade.

She was the shade.

Impossible.

Unless… No, that couldn’t be right.

A shade couldn’t forge. That was simply impossible…

Fuck.

Martín was reeling.

How could a shade forge? 

They were supposed to be fixed malignant projections, unable to change forms since they were tied to the individual the subconscious based them on.

And how could Andrés’ shade forge when he could not?

This was completely unprecedented, or if anyone had a shade like this, they didn’t live to tell the tale.

Sergio pulled a gun on her, pressing Raquel close to his side, but the shade just sighed.

‘Don’t be rude, Sergio. I thought you liked me.’

‘You are a danger to this team.’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Just because we’re at cross-purposes doesn’t mean we need to forget all our manners. Here, I’ll demonstrate for you, Sergio.’ she tutted and sat down next to Martín, draping an arm around his shoulders to trace his neck with feather-light touches as the gun stayed firmly trained on Sergio. ‘Dear Martín, would you do me the honour of staying with me without resistance while we chat for a bit?’

‘I believe you’re supposed to let me answer first.’ he gritted out, shivering at the shade’s too-warm touch that traced a path back around his neck and down his arm.

‘You can say no, of course. I would never dream of imposing my company on you contrary to your desires.’ she purred, snatching his hand before he could reach his gun with surprising strength. ‘Don’t make me take that from you again.’ she whispered the almost threat into his ear.

It was deeply mocking and absurdly familiar in a way that shook him to the core. His mind was racing with possibilities, yet he couldn’t figure out how this shade fit into the picture and everything he knew about dream sharing.

‘Done? Good.’ she chuckled. ‘Now what should we do about Andrés?’

‘We will do nothing. I’m not having this conversation with you.’ Martín gritted out.

‘No? I thought he hurt you, Martín. You of all people should indulge me in this little chat.’ she said, poisonous words lethally precise.

‘We don’t negotiate with shades.’ Sergio cut in before the hit could fully settle in Martin’s heart.

‘My. How tight-laced you’ve become, Sergio. I was hoping you were more creative than this.’

‘You are a malignant presence, nothing more.’ he argued as Martín tried to get himself under control.

The shade knew too much.

‘I’m a dream like any other existing on these scapes.’ she shrugged, mocking in its carelessness.

‘I’m not terrible, just dreamed that way? That’s your excuse?’ Martín croaked out and earned her attention for his troubles.

‘Well, the truth is always too hard to swallow. You saw my cage, didn’t you?’

A lock snapped open then, much as it did on the first level, and the gilded cage’s door swung open by the other end of the dining hall, mocking and sinister.

It was a prison of comfort, elegant furniture and artworks littering its inside in studied chaos. 

But it was still a prison.

‘I know what you think, but if Andrés wanted me gone, would I be here?’ Tatiana asked, pleasant voice turning venomous at the sight of her cage, setting them both on edge. ‘Did he not tell you- Of course, he didn’t. What am I saying? Did he feign nonchalance? Acted like he didn’t close me into the corridors of his mind himself?’ she laughed cruelly and Sergio’s fingers flinched on his gun.

Tatiana pulled the trigger first, shooting Raquel in the shoulder, and making them cry out in alarm.

Shit. Shit. Fucking hell.

What were they supposed to do?

The mood of the dream shifted immediately, and they knew without a doubt that the projections wouldn't take it lying down. Not when Raquel’s time in the dreamscape just got shortened, maybe fatally so.

‘What did I just tell you about manners, Sergio? Another attempt and I’m ending your mission early.’ she said mock sweetly. ‘I’m proud of Andrés, though. He didn’t need to use a PASIV to keep me in check for years. You’re a bad influence, Martín, but he is still the better liar. He’s been lying to everyone for years, even himself, no matter how great a dreamer he is. And believe me, he knows the possibilities and the true depths of dream sharing.’

‘Just stop.’

‘Did I offend you?’ she asked, caressing his hand she still gripped with a gentleness that contrasted her words. Then she leaned in close to whisper into his ear. ‘Why don’t you stay-‘

‘Enough.’ Ágata snapped, a gunshot ringing out in the hall. ‘Get out of my dreamscape.’

Tatiana flicked her hair with a disappointed pout, then flickered and disappeared.

‘Thank you.’ Martín whispered as Sergio frantically checked on Raquel.

‘Next time, just shoot it. You rely too much on your ability to talk yourself out of everything.’ she said, then she noticed their mark too. ‘Shit! I left you alone for ten minutes! How is she?’

‘Up here, still.’ Sergio said in a hurry, pressing down on the wound that bled with vengeance. ‘But we don’t have time to waste. We need to take her down to the third level or it’s over.’

‘Come on.’ Martín said, trying to snap out of the insanity of the situation. ‘I can stitch her up for the ride - can you do a Sierra forgery before we put her under?’

‘I didn’t even hear that, cariño.’ she drawled, helping Sergio secure a makeshift pressure bandage to her wound as she eyed the cage with distaste. ‘I’ll meet you there. Her projections are out of their fucking mind.’

‘Let’s hope the kick is in place at least.’ Sergio muttered and Ágata groaned.

‘Don’t jinx it. Please! I still have a job to do here!’

‘Let’s just get out of here.’

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Andrés asked with uncharacteristic bluntness when he spotted them, dragging an unconscious and bleeding Raquel into the cabin they chose for the occasion.

‘The fucking shade happened,’ Martín hissed as Mónica gasped, ‘who can apparently forge.’

‘Forge?’ he blanched. ‘How?’

‘You’re asking me?’

‘Enough. We need to stabilise her, or she will slip down to limbo before we complete the job on the third level.’ Sergio cut in and Martín swallowed back his temper, held back his vitriol and only gave Andrés the darkest look he could muster.

‘This is not something we are equipped to deal with. How do you expect us to go forward?’ he hissed, not looking away from Andrés.

‘We can’t give up.’ Andrés answered him as Sergio and Mónica made quick work of Raquel’s wound. ‘That’s as good as a death sentence.’

‘Her wounds are serious but not fatal - at least not yet.’ Mónica reported, her focus unwavering as she worked on the wound but Sergio was less kind in his observations.

‘But it’s only a matter of time because it will soon cause real problems. Our only chance is going deeper, so by the time Mirko’s kick carries us all up, her wounds should not matter anymore.’

Martín squeezed his eyes shut as he released a deep sigh of frustration, since nothing made sense anymore. ‘Why is the shade trying to push us deeper? Why not go after Ágata or the host? Why isn’t it going for the kill for real?’

Everything about this shade was irregular. 

‘Maybe it’s playing with us. Maybe it wants to snatch victory from our hands at the very end and then finish us. Maybe it’s something worse.’ Andrés said uncharacteristically softly, and that was worse than any shouting or flare of temper could’ve been.

‘Well, that was very reassuring to hear.’ Ágata announced as she closed the door behind her, looking worse for wear. ‘I left you alone for barely twenty minutes to save our collective asses and you’re already burying us for good. Again.’

‘What did you see?’ Martín asked, trying to refocus. They still had a fucking job to do, despite the sheer absurdity of their situation.

‘The shade reappeared not long after I shot it. It was headed away from us, towards the upper deck, but I couldn’t follow and dodge the projections both.’ she said, pointedly brushing away the blood that gathered at the corner of her mouth from her split lip.

‘Do we need to restructure?’ Mónica asked, blessedly still at the top of her game.

‘Might be a good idea. We could do with a bit more secure lockdown for you-’

Her words were cut short by the loud groan of the ship as the whole structure shook and the electricity blinked in and out for a long moment, everything tilting ever so slightly left.

‘Shit.’ Martín cursed, catching Andrés’ eyes. ‘Did we just-?’

‘Bust our emergency kick? Our little Titanic escape if we can’t place the explosives safely?’ Ágata asked, voice getting higher as the ship groaned even louder. ‘What do you think, cariño?’

‘Restructure now! Make it waterproof and secure your way to the primary kick - we can’t afford to miss it.’ Andrés snapped, reaching for the PASIV to set up. ‘Mónica, walk her through it. The dreamscape needs to hold out until we finish.’

‘Right.’

‘Martín, help Sergio! We need her ready to go under now.’

‘Not yet! We have to reestablish the connection between the component and Sierra - it was shaky at best, and she was fighting our suggestions.’ Martín argued, but Andrés just shook his head firmly.

‘No time. It will have to be enough.’

‘We don’t even know what the shade told her.’ he tried again, earning a sharp grin for his troubles.

‘I thought you can talk yourself out of every situation, Berrote.’ he teased, and Martín knew it was all-bravado, but couldn’t help but feel a bit more anchored by this show of confidence.

‘You’re such a piece of work, Fonollosa.’

‘Yeah, and you’re still working with me. What’s that say about you?’ he asked, getting ready to go deeper as he settled down on one of the armchairs of the suite.

‘That I have a death wish.’ Martín sighed, flopping down gracelessly.

‘If you are quite done flirting,’ Ágata interrupted as the ship shook around them in a clear shift of the dreamscape, ‘it’s time for your beauty sleep and if you dare to mess it up, I will end you both personally.’

‘Not Sergio?’ Martín teased even as they set up, and Sergio sent him an unimpressed look.

‘That remains to be seen.’ Ágata hummed. ‘Now be good for me. I still have to make sure our return trip works out.’

‘When am I ever not good for you, darling?’

‘Do you want the long or the short version? Because I’m afraid we don’t have time for either.’ she grinned with blood on her lips and Martín couldn’t help but grin back at her in unspoken understanding.

He was not to be stupid down under, or she would personally hunt him down.

Easier said than done, but they were nothing if not stubborn to a fault and, most probably, crazy.

‘See you on the other side. Don’t miss me too much.’

‘Good night, cariño.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Martín felt the swoop in his stomach, his ears ringing to the drumbeat of his heart as Mirko’s concoction fought to stabilise the third level against the quasi-panic they all worked themselves up to. 

It was worse than any less-than-stellar dreaming he had thanks to mediocre chemists, so the cool fog that hugged the tall trees of the forest Mónica built was a welcome comfort.

Even if the faraway sound of the river was the only noise that broke the eerie stillness of it.

They were dressed for the occasion, fatigues matching the earthy tones of their surroundings, and Martín applauded Mónica for her ingenious work as he pressed his hand against the nearest tree - it felt real and right, like every constructed dream should.

And an architect’s dream was always a thing of beauty.

‘Check.’ he said lowly from behind his mask, acutely aware that Raquel Murillo was right there with them as he reached for his totem.

‘Done.’ Mónica answered him.

‘We are getting close, Raquel.’ Sergio said ever so softly. ‘If the handover is successful, we can save your father.’

‘Handover?’ Raquel asked, even as Sergio checked her wound.

‘Yes.’ Sergio nodded as they began their way towards the laboratory hidden in the forest. ‘You were shot while we transferred the data… It must be psychogenic amnesia from the stress, but don’t worry, soon we will save your father.’

Martín watched their mark closely, because the fuckery on Level 2 could still mean the end of their work here if Raquel’s subconscious didn’t draw the right conclusions and produce a projection of her father into that laboratory.

They needed her to meet Isaac Fuentes, and she had to feed the lines of the perfect script to him herself.

Martín and Andrés would use another disguise and hold Isaac Fuentes hostage, and Mónica and Sergio would bring Raquel in to meet them - and then all their delicately planted suggestions would come to fruition, and Raquel would truly realise that offering the secret of the formula up was the only option for his father’s life. 

This many stages deep in her subconscious, an idea like that held powerful sway and it would carry over when she woke up. 

It was a simple enough concept to implant, and it wasn’t even a lie. So long as he held the formula, her father’s life was in danger and handing over the formula to Sierra meant safety and success for everyone involved.

The rest was up to her.

And Raquel, by some miracle, didn’t argue as she glanced at them all with a slight frown that held only a hint of the confusion from the other level. Hopefully, it all set in her mind right. 

‘How long until we reach him?’

‘We will secure a way into the laboratory. You three will follow us from a distance.’ Andrés answered her, motioning for Martín to come along.

He ignored Andrés and turned to Mónica instead, who was frowning in concentration.

‘You know what you have to do.’ Martín noted, keeping his voice down so Raquel would not hear them.

‘Of course.’ she huffed as if continuously shifting the dream structure that hid behind the fog just to separate them from the projections was nothing sort of extraordinary.

‘Then we will make it easier on you.’ he grinned, stepping between the trees. He was, after all, an irresistible bait.

‘Watch out for the shade.’ Andrés warned when they were out of earshot, so only their team could hear him over the comms.

‘No sign yet.’ Sergio answered.

‘Then we proceed as planned.’ Andrés nodded, then they fell silent as they approached the laboratory through the dense forest and the denser fog, dodging projections that outmanoeuvred Mónica’s loops and traps and shooting the ones that came too close.

‘You know, this is almost too easy.’ Andrés whispered even as he shot another projection out, the silencer keeping their work discrete.

‘Don’t fucking jinx it.’ Martín hissed as they crossed the clearing at a low crouch and stopped by the hatch that led into the laboratory proper, the true maze of Level 3.

‘My apologies. I thought we were already over that part by the time you engaged the shade in small talk.’ Andrés sniped back and whatever truce they reached fractured like glass.

Predictable.

‘Fuck you.’ Martín snapped, as he used the handy device Mónica dreamt for him to open the hatch while Andrés kindly provided cover with a frown in place.

Well, fuck that too.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

With that, he dropped down the hatch, squinting against the bright light of the complex as he tried to find the hidden pointers Mónica set for them.

They slipped within the maze proper, now, and the projections were about to be momentarily off their backs for a blessed few minutes since Raquel was still calm in the face of that breach.

And those blessed few minutes were crucial, because everything hinged on the fact that Raquel’s subconscious filled the centre of the maze with what they needed and they could set up the perfect scene to match it in that time.

But that was the simple genius of Mónica’s last maze: it utilised elements of the previous levels to lure the mark’s subconscious into giving them exactly that, reminding Raquel time and time again of the kidnapping as the complex glittered with the lights, textures and colours of the ballroom and the ship in a way that was not immediately obvious. It was in the linoleum floor’s gleam, which almost looked like marble. It was in the rooms they passed, the metal and the glass of them glinting with the golden hues of Ágata’s dreaming. And it was in the red markers that led them towards the centre, like the blood that slowly spread from a wound, like Ariadne’s thread.

And in the middle, Isaac Fuentes should be waiting for them.

Andrés didn’t talk, which was amazing for his nerves, because he didn’t want to either. Not with the shade and everything else hanging over them. But by the time they reached the centre of the maze, Andrés’ not-talking lapsed into a sort of pointed silence which grated on his nerves even more.

‘Just spit it out.’

‘The shade is my concern.’

‘It was.’ Martín agreed, pushing into the lab that held their disguises and discarded the fatigue for a black tactical vest and a mask. ‘But then it fucked with our plan and shot our mark. So now it’s mine.’

‘It’s only an oversight on my part. Next time I won’t make the same mistake, I’ll have it under control.’ Andrés vowed, but his words lost their weight two levels up.

Or three years ago in Florence, if he wanted to be precise.

‘Under control, he says.’ Martín scoffed, securing his outfit with a harsh tug. ‘As if it didn’t waltz through both levels as it pleased.’

‘Regardless, it is not your problem. Your life shouldn’t be collateral in this just to make this work.’ he argued as if he was a novice on his first job who needed empty platitudes.

As if they weren’t in mortal danger from the get-go.

‘But it is, Andrés. All of our lives are just bets in this gamble and mine just became the one you can use to make sure the pest is controlled while you make this work.’ he said with carefully controlled temper. ‘Besides, you couldn’t keep it in check before. Why would it change now?’

‘Because I’m going to kill it.’

Martín stopped short at the declaration, turning his full attention to Andrés. ‘Really? And how exactly?’

‘It’s the construct of my mind. I wish it and it dies.’

‘That’s not how it works and you know it.’ Martín snapped, slamming the door open to head for the centre of the maze. He was done with this conversation and the pitfalls of Andrés’ messed up psyche.

A shade wasn’t just the construct of the mind. It was also part of it, meaning there were deeper reasons at play than only mere wishes could solve.

Andrés followed at a brisk pace, his boots striking a staccato rhythm against the metal of the corridor, only to grab his arm and halt his progress before they reached the railings that surrounded the steep drop into the darkest depth of Raquel Murillo’s subconscious. The centre of the maze.

‘Martín.’

Martín refrained from breaking his arm, knowing it would set their already perilous plans back. He instead took a deep breath and turned back towards him. ‘What?’

Andrés just watched him with something indescribable lurking in his gaze, and Martín struggled to keep eye contact in the face of it.

But the choice was taken from him because he could’ve sworn he heard the familiar snap of a lock, and he turned towards the sound on instinct.

Yet there was no gilded cage to match the sound.

Maybe it came with the maze like the golden lights.

Maybe it was just paranoia.

‘Fine.’ Andrés said, and Martín turned back to him, only to come face to face with his professional mask, eyes as flat as his voice. ‘Do whatever you want. Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘Please. Careful is my middle name.’ Martín smirked without mirth, tugging his arm out of his hold with more gentleness than he deserved. ‘Now stop trying to educate me on how the mind works as if I’m not an expert, and let’s fucking finish this job already.’

Andrés watched him for a moment longer with a familiar exasperation. He loathed it when he was flippant with him, so at least they were back on familiar ground.

‘After you, then.’

They stepped out onto the walkway that bordered the steep drop and crossed onto the catwalk that connected to the central room suspended over it, its tinted glass walls reflecting the dizzying depth and the golden lights back at them.

They exchanged glances, both beyond prayers and hopeful wishes at this point in their careers, and only nodded at each other.

It was all or nothing.

The door slid open and a man in a lab coat was waiting inside, tied to a chair. He was middle-aged, with greying hair and a familiar nose and just like his daughter, he frowned at them in apparent distrust.

‘Doctor Fuentes. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ Andrés said politely, his courtesy somewhat wasted on the fact they were holding him at gunpoint.

‘So nice of you to come prepared.’ Martín grinned behind his mask.

‘What do you want from me?’ Isaac Fuentes asked and Martín had to congratulate themselves and Raquel’s subconscious because he looked roughed up and exactly like someone who got kidnapped.

‘Nothing anymore, Doc.’ Andrés shrugged, checking the time discreetly as he finished setting their scene. ‘Your daughter handed over the formula already. Once we make sure our contact has it, you are a free man.’

That seemed to incense the projection. ‘You don’t know what you are playing with.’

‘No.’ Martín agreed. ‘But that’s not in our job description. We just have to secure it.’

‘Why did you drag Raquel into this? Wasn’t I enough?’ the doctor asked, his reactions authentic and everything they could’ve asked for.

Just maybe, the second level worked out fine after all.

‘We needed guarantees, Doc. Your word was not enough.’ Andrés said and pointed his gun at him. ‘Now be quiet. It’s almost time.’

The door slid open then, and it wasn’t the security. Rather, Raquel entered, flanked by Sergio and Mónica.

‘Raquel!’

‘Father!’ she cried, moving to step closer, so Martín raised his gun to keep her in check and Sergio gently tugged her back to his side.

‘The handover happened. Release him.’ Sergio said, giving a convincing act. 

‘Not so fast. We need to make sure it’s authentic - if you tried to fool us…’ Martín trailed off, letting Sergio put down the idea in its rightful place.

‘Sierra knows the price of lying. Doctor Fuentes’ life and safety matter more than the formula.’

‘Don’t worry, darling.’ Isaac Fuentes added, looking at Raquel with a smile. ‘You did well. It’s better this way.’ 

Beautiful. 

Martín would applaud, but instead, he reached towards his comms in a show of listening to orders. ‘Understood.’ he smirked, motioning for Andrés to release Isaac Fuentes. ‘Everything seems to be in order.’

Sergio released Raquel then, letting her have her tearful reunion to finish the job.

She stepped close as the projection of her father stood to hug her.

Martín tasted victory as Raquel’s mouth twisted, as if she was holding back actual tears.

‘Father.’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

And before any of them could react, she drew a gun from a holster that should’ve been empty and shot her father in the head.

Martín tasted ash as Isaac Fuentes fell to the floor, blood glinting almost black as it spread on the white floor.

He was frozen, shocked beyond any reaction as he tried to understand what he just witnessed.

‘Raquel?’ Sergio whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

‘I don’t believe we should be on a first-name basis, seeing as you tried to rob me in my own mind.’ she stated with deathly calm, staring them down with a cold gaze. ‘Nevertheless, excuse this gruesome scene, but I prefer this method for dealing with projections.’

‘Explain yourself.’ Andrés croaked out, raising his gun at her.

‘Put that away. We all know you will not send me to Limbo.’ Raquel Murillo drawled.

Sergio stepped forward with raised hands, ever the point man who tried to keep things on track even as they crashed and burned right in front of their very eyes. ‘Raquel - Miss Murillo, please tell us what exactly you think you know.’ 

She laughed then, derisive and humourless. ‘What do I know? About dream sharing? My father was the leading scientist in the field. Do you seriously think he’d never told me about his work?’

‘Since when did you know?’ Mónica hiccuped.

‘I admit, you nearly had me at the ball.’ she shrugged and Martín finally had the capacity to curse. ‘But I wanted to see what you were after, so I held my security back. And then I realised you had a shade in here with you, well… Are you quite sure you are professionals? That’s a mistake no extractor team should ever make on a job.’

‘Was.’ Andrés chuckled mirthlessly, and Martín squeezed his eyes close with an empathic fuck when it clicked for him, too. 

Sergio turned to them with a frown. So Martín explained.

‘You said your father was the leading scientist in the field.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Raquel said as she treated them to a broken little smile that still had all its sharp edges. ‘He’s dead, you see.’

The silence that fell was deafening.

That couldn’t be true. That-

‘What?’ Martín hissed, taking a step towards her, only to be halted by the business end of her gun.

‘He died a week ago.’ she whispered.

‘That’s not possible.’ Andrés said with a bleak laugh. ‘We should’ve heard about that.’

‘Do you think the government would’ve advertised it? My father died from the complication of using his own formula! The one they financed and tried to use for their gain - until the side-effects manifested…’ she sighed. ‘Why do you think he was in Switzerland? For diplomatic immunity? They were fighting for his life!’

‘The formula is toxic?’ Sergio asked tonelessly.

‘Lethal.’ Raquel hissed. ‘And you- you vultures invaded my mind to steal it from me? Well, you’ve wasted your time on a poison that should’ve stayed nothing more than a daydream.’

No one had anything to say to that, but Raquel was not done digging their grave for them.

‘I can’t believe I have to thank your shade for helping me see through your lies and protecting me from falsely believing my father was actually alive.’

‘You’re welcome.’ came the chuckle from the least expected corner and they all flinched, pointing guns at a supposedly dead man. 

But Isaac Fuentes just stood up without a care, brushing black blood away from his face. He smiled at Martín. ‘Hello again.’

Andrés snarled, stepping forward. 

But the shade just chuckled. ‘Put that gun down, Andrés. We all know how futile it is for you to fight me.’

‘Then, try me.’ Mónica said coldly, her rifle aimed at the shade unerringly. ‘I’ll drop you to Limbo so fast you won’t know what happened.’

‘An admirable threat, from an admirable architect.’ the shade bowed mockingly, still wearing Isaac Fuentes’ face and a grin that didn’t match it. ‘Unfortunately, it’s all it is. As you very well know, I stay as long as he stays.’ he added, pointing at Andrés. ‘However, if you truly wanted to get rid of me, you could always shoot Andrés and we could all be on our merry way.’

Martín stiffened, eying Raquel warily.

‘Raquel.’ Sergio pleaded, trying to stand between her and Andrés.

‘I’m not a killer.’ she scoffed. ‘I thought you knew me, Sergio. Or were you lying about everything?’

‘I-’

‘How moving.’ the shade chuckled, turning back towards Martín and Andrés. ‘So what will it be? Will you shoot me or stay with me?

Martín's eyes widened because that was a phrase that haunted him and the shade seemed to know it too. ‘You fucking bastard.’

‘Now, now, Martín. Where are your manners?’ he asked, reaching into his lab coat to draw Martín’s gun from the first level. ‘I thought we were making progress.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Andrés snapped as he moved to step in front of Martín, taking aim.

But he couldn’t do it, Martín realised. 

He couldn’t kill his shade.

He knew Andrés, and there was something stopping him from firing. It was visible in the slight tremor that shook his whole body, and it wasn’t anger.

It was fear.

And it was exactly what the shade wanted.

‘Say bye, Andrés.’ he grinned, features shifting ever so slightly to match its wicked glint as he cocked the gun.

No!

Martín moved before anyone could.

He couldn’t kill his shade for him, either. But he could buy them some time. 

Enough for them to get out of this mess before the shade could come back. Enough to salvage the situation with Raquel, to negotiate for their lives. Or at least long enough for them to wait out the kick and ride it all the way back to the surface. 

Besides, Martín’s relationship with danger has always been both inspiring and, most certainly, unhealthy.

The first shot caught the shade in the heart, driving him back a few paces, his face naked with shock and something akin to betrayal.

Martín had no time to savour it. Moving closer, he continued to shoot at him as he cornered him against the glass wall. 

That was where his last bullet went, breaking it. 

Mónica was quick to react.

That should’ve been bulletproof.

Someone shouted, but he didn’t hear them. 

He smirked instead, even as the shade dripped black blood on the floor.

‘Martín.’ he breathed, voice fluctuating between different tones.

He threw his gun away and buried a knife into his chest for it.

More than one person was calling his name then, their voices chasing him as he pressed the shade back to the precipice of the fall.

But the shade just closed his spasming fingers around his wrist with unforgiving strength while his other hand gently caressed his cheek, spreading black blood with both touches. Then he wrapped his hand around his neck, hauling him flush against his too warm body. 

‘My dear, so you decided to stay with me after all.’

Martín didn’t get the chance to recognise the voice it settled on, because the shade tipped back and they fell together into every dreamer’s worst nightmare.

Limbo.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

An eternity passed in a second even as waves lapped rhythmically against the impossible, infinite landscape of that cursed beach. Time was an oxymoron and space existed outside the realms of mortal conception, making one forget the borders of the mind and humanity.

Forever stretched between the dull grains of sand as perception unwound under the never-ending monotony of the rolling dark foam of the water. It was that simple.

It was that terrible.

And it did not end.

Martín did not need to check his totem to know he was dreaming. He listened to the rhythmic sound of his watch and fell deeper, dissolving into the fabric of a memory and a touch both familiar and foreign.

‘You are playing with fire, dear.’

‘I thought we agreed you’d keep the mark in check.’ Martín noted, stopping in his effort to open the safe that resided in the dreamscape's heart. ‘What are you doing here?’

Andrés stood by the archway that opened into the centre of the maze, expression hidden by the flickering torchlight as the soft song of the choir resonated through the old walls.

The rustic monastery they dreamed up was meant to serve as an exotic concert hall for their mark, and while Martín deemed it mostly decrepit, Andrés and Sergio both agreed that it was romantic.

But Sergio was one level up, so his opinion didn’t matter and Andrés was the dreamer and… and Martín lost the ability to say no to his whims a while ago.

However, he was nothing if not a professional liar, so he smirked and jested and stayed close to the flame even when it burned him soul-deep.

‘I am keeping him in check. The mark is otherwise occupied and so are his projections - the choir is fantastic, if I can say so myself.’

‘Yeah, yeah. You have incapable taste, darling.’ Martín huffed, looking through the contents of the safe as it creaked open under his deft fingers.

A job well done.

‘I do.’ Andrés whispered, standing much closer than before as he slipped his palms to Martín’s shoulders, squeezing slightly as he leaned over his crouched form to read over the forms, too. ‘I work with you, after all.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’ Martín chuckled, standing up to put some distance between Andrés’ burning touch and himself, only to be snared by his intense stare.

‘I sure do hope so, especially because up there you don’t receive enough of this simple luxury.’ he grinned. ‘The truth.’

Martín tried for nonchalance and missed by enough to be noticeable by a predator like Andrés as his voice strained to stay flippant. ‘We should go back out and make sure everything is in order before the kick arrives.’

‘Stay.’

‘Stay where, darling?’ Martín asked as he stood to prepare for the kick that loomed ever closer.

‘Right here.’ Andrés whispered and turned him around with firm and warm hands, pressing him against the wall. ‘Right here with me.’

Then he kissed him, and Martín’s world shattered from its ferocity.

‘Stay.’ he whispered against his lips, pressing in once more and Martín snapped out of his daze to kiss him back, to hold him close with everything he got.

It was too much.

It was everything.

It was a dream come true.

‘Andrés…’ Martín gasped, gulping for air as Andrés moved to press his lips against his neck, nibbling and biting his way down. ‘Andrés.’

‘What do you say?’ he asked, fingers tracing a path down to his breast pocket where his totem hid.

And Martín didn’t stop him. 

He would gladly take this as his reality. He could if it meant this euphoria never ended.

Andrés rose to his full height, dark eyes full of the same kind of passion and heat that Martín always tried to hide from him, and whispered. ‘Stay with me.’

He opened his mouth to answer, to say yes and always, but the kick arrived then and mercilessly tore them apart as his consciousness got pushed two levels up without a break.

They made plans for a quick exit and he couldn’t be happier.

He could finally live his dream.

When he opened his eyes, he turned to Andrés immediately, barely needing a second to shake away the cloying embrace of the somnacin.

But instead of the glowing passion, visceral fear greeted him.

‘Andrés?’ he asked tentatively, reaching a hand for his face to brush away his fears.

Only he didn’t get the chance, because every emotion got swallowed up as Andrés’ mask slipped into place with terrible coldness and he caught Martín’s wrist before he could reach.

‘What are you doing, Martín?’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, trying for a smile even as dread spread through him with every heartbeat. ‘You were fine just a second ago when you pressed me against the monastery wall.’ he teased only for the grip to tighten on his wrist.

‘What are you talking about?’ he whispered, deathly and frigid, and Martín couldn’t fathom what could’ve happened. 

Just what went wrong between their dream construct and the waking world?

‘What- But you kissed me!’

And Andrés looked at him then with that terrible coldness in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. ‘Impossible. Check your totem, Martín. Your daydreams and fantasies are none of my business.’

‘What happened, Andrés?’ Martín asked, begged, despair choking him.

Only indifference met his plea. ‘We have to go. Check the mark and clean up. We’ll talk about whatever delusion you dreamed up later.’

But this nightmare never ended.

It did not end.

Forever stretched and stretched, and he wanted.

Oh, how he wanted.

But time was meaningless, and he forgot what he so desired.

‘Martín?’

A sound, foreign, familiar, something he hadn’t heard in decades.

‘Martín?’

Again that sound, but his withered body was too tired to turn towards it… Too tired…

Who was he again?

‘Martín? It’s me. Look at me.’

‘Look?’ he asked, voice half dead and unfamiliar to his own ears. It clawed its way up from deep within his chest with the wet rattle of a painful cough.

His vision swam as he tried to breathe through his cough, unseeing. 

What was he doing again?

There was a sound, rising and falling in a melody he thought he should know.

‘Who?’

‘All right. Enough. I didn’t crawl through eternity and literal paradoxes for weeks to lose you to this Limbo damned, sand-induced dementia, Martín. Where’s your totem?’

Totem?

Something was pressed into his hand and his frail and shaking fingers wrapped around it, a muscle memory he couldn’t remember anymore kicking in.

It was a watch.

It was his watch.

His totem.

And suddenly he was back in the body he left behind on Level 3.

‘Andrés?’ he asked, anger flaring to life in his chest as much as his joy. ‘Are you insane? This is-’

‘Limbo. Yes, thank you for stating the obvious.’ Andrés bit out, and Martín stared at him in greedy incomprehension.

‘What happened? Where are Mónica and Sergio?’

‘Where you left them with a homicidal mark? On the third level?’

‘Raquel?’ Martín asked, feeling idiotic for it, but fuck.

Limbo was messing with his head.

Andrés’ lips twitched as if he wanted to point out the same thing but, by the grace of whatever dwelled in this godforsaken place he spent a lifetime at, he kept his scathing remarks in check.

‘Yes, Raquel. That was a nasty surprise, but not as much as your self-sacrificing idiocy.’

Maybe not completely.

‘My self-sacrificing idiocy? Tell me then, darling, how did you end up here? There was nothing in the plan about saving anyone from Limbo.’

‘The shade killed me.’ Andrés answered immediately, a bald-faced lie, and Martín didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or hit him for it.

‘Lies. You came down here by your own power.’

‘I don’t know what else you expected! I told you, your life shouldn’t be a collateral in this just to make this work.’

‘And I told you this was the only way! That’s what I expected after I held back the shade from completely ruining everything and stopped it from taking you down here! But there you are anyway!’

‘A thank you would suffice.’

‘Thank you? Thank you?!’ Martín sneered, the urge to hit him getting stronger. ‘Now we’re both stuck in Limbo, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid! Why did you do this?’

‘Martín.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’

He was very angry. He was so angry it felt like a relief. 

They haven’t fought this honestly in years.

‘You should change your totem.’

It was such an unexpected thing to say that it knocked him fully off-kilter, despite being used to Andrés’ brand of non-sequiturs. ‘What?’

‘It’s dangerous for us to dream together now that I know what your totem is.’

‘It’s dangerous for us to do anything together, full stop.’ he said automatically.

‘True.’ Andrés smiled, pressing something else into his hands and once Martín realised what it was, he nearly dropped it in shock.

It was a lighter, the same one Andrés used on Level 2, but instead of butane, it was filled with something red. A quick sniff confirmed what he knew instinctively, it was filled with red wine. But not any red wine. It was full of Romanée-Conti.

His favourite.

‘We can’t dream together now.’ Martín said in a daze, too overwhelmed to even begin to comprehend its meaning. ‘We know each other’s totems.’

‘Good. I never intend to be in this position ever again. I’m not doing this again.’ Andrés said with a sudden gentleness.

‘It’s not like I went out of my way to get myself killed.’ Martín muttered, tightening his hold around both of their totems.

‘Could have fooled me.’ Andrés grinned.

‘Shut up, darling.’ Martín snapped back without missing a beat. ‘So how do we get out of here?’

Not many were crazy enough to come down to Limbo of their own volition, and even fewer were sane enough to properly document how normal kicks worked down here without destabilising both their minds and the multi-level dream going above them.

No venerated process of peer review for those who went over the edge of human comprehension.

But Martín’s relationship with the groundbreaking edge of dream-sharing had always been both inspiring and, most certainly, unhealthy.

‘Because I have a theory, darling.’

‘Of course you do.’ Andrés chuckled. ‘Does it involve another stunning swan dive off the ledge?’

‘If we can dream up one pretty enough, sure.’

‘You’re such a piece of work.’

The words were harsh, but they sounded almost fond. Exasperated, but not angry. Not laced with the sharp acidity that used to coat most of Andrés’s words to Martín in recent memory.

‘Yeah, and you’re still hanging out in Limbo with me. What’s that say about you?’

‘Too much, but there’s something I need to do first.’ Andrés said.

‘Where are we going?’ Martín asked, standing shakily on his feet and feeling the decades that passed in Limbo like a phantom pain.

‘Where would you follow?’ Andrés asked back and held out his hand to him to help him keep stable. 

It took him a moment to come to the conclusion he arrived at time and time again, but once he did - again and always - he didn’t hesitate. He laid his hand carefully on Andrés’ and laced their fingers together. ‘To the end of the world.’

They left the collapsing building together that looked remarkably like the monastery from the Florence job, only eroded by never-ending years and the dark water that lapped against its base.

But instead of the desolate beach, a familiar cage was waiting for them, with its occupant reclining against the golden bars.

It was the shade, and it was wearing Raquel’s face.

‘I thought this was appropriate for the occasion - I so loved to use her to get you right where I want you.’ the shade announced, gaze fixed on their clasped hand with a seer. ‘Now if only we could get rid of the spare once and for all.’

Martín reached for a gun he knew would appear.

‘There’s no point.’ Andrés said, squeezing his fingers. ‘You can’t do anything to it.’

‘I can certainly try.’

‘Yes, but that is never enough for him, is it?’ the shade chimed in with a smirk.

Oh, but it would be enough for Martín, to keep destroying this shade as long as the effort stopped her from looking at Andrés for one second longer with those horribly hateful eyes.

Even if it wouldn’t make a difference once they left the Limbo.

‘You need to end this, Andrés.’ Martín told him. ‘Kill it if you must, but you need to get rid of the shade.’

‘Harsh, dear.’ the shade said with a mock pout. ‘I thought you wanted to stay with me. After all, your job just fell through spectacularly - what could even wait for you up there?’

‘Anything is better than this.’

‘Anything?’ the shade asked, Raquel’s face stretching unnaturally to accommodate the smirk. ‘You don’t even know the fate that awaits you.’

‘So what? Even if you kill Andrés, your sick fantasy won’t come true. He will wake up and you’ll disappear back to the dark corner of his subconscious. You are nothing but a shade.’

His tirade was met with deafening silence and a satisfied smirk.

‘Andrés?’ Marín prompted, but he was just staring at the shade without blinking. ‘It’s enough already. Do it now.’

‘He won’t.’ the shade said, voice full of sugary condescension. ‘He can’t.’

Martín ignored her. ‘Do it now. Do it for yourself.’

‘Where are your manners, Martín?’ she sighed, tracing her fingers down the golden bars as if supremely bored with the whole discussion. ‘You’re not listening.’ 

‘All I hear is your yapping. We are all in this shit because of you.’

‘Is that right? Why don’t you ask him who I am? Maybe you’ll understand the conundrum better, dear.’

‘Be quiet!’ Martín snapped, raising his gun.

‘No, tell me, Martín.’ the shade chuckled, ignoring the gun pointed at her as she stared at Martín with mirth glittering in her eyes. ‘Do you think Andrés here would have any trouble killing anyone who stood in his way - who messed with his plans? Do you think he’d struggle to end me who took you to wither away in Limbo? Do you think he’d hesitate even for a fraction of a second before putting me down? We both know the answer to that, so just ask him why he can’t. Ask him who I am.’

‘Andrés?’ Martín asked, glancing at him and feeling increasingly helpless at what he saw.

Andrés was pale as a sheet, fingers shaking in his hold, but he remained resolutely silent.

And that was the worst of it all, because Andrés never just took anything in silence.

‘I’m not René or Tatiana. I’m obviously not Raquel either.’ she said, running her fingers through the long strands only for them to shorten and curl. Colour spread out from the roots, turning the hair several shades darker.

Andrés’ grip on his hand tightened until his fingers turned numb, but now neither of them could say anything as they watched the change in morbid fascination.

‘I never introduced myself despite all the talk about manners.’ the shade chuckled, rolling their shoulders next as their form changed shape, getting taller and wider in build. ‘Not properly, at least. I know you, of course I do, because I know him. My jailer of many years who built my cage of every forbidden desire and sweet memory he wanted to forget. Memories of you…’

The shade’s features melted like wax as they continued to change, but the eyes remained fixed on him.

Martín repressed the urge to shudder at the intensity of that look, which cut through him as swiftly as any merciful death he met in the dreamscapes.

‘Andrés...’ he whispered, but Andrés remained silent and unmoving.

Waiting.

Waiting for that other terrible shoe to drop.

And like lightning, the realisation hit Martín with all the ferocity of one. A horrible reality he never thought could happen, not to them, never to them. But it made perfect, insidious sense.

Because Andrés was nothing if not extraordinary in everything he did, be it an exceptional feat of genius in dream sharing or an unimaginable atrocity against the human mind on a quest for deeply hidden secrets. 

Secrets that were always in abundance in the vast and intricate corridors of the mind, where no one should go.

Only one made sense, however. 

One, whose devastating aftermath they saw first-hand before, one that ruined Aníbal’s dreams, too.

The shade chuckled as if they saw the moment Martín understood what was happening, and the lines of their face settled into a charming smile he knew all too well. A snapshot from the past stood in front of them, like a sun-bleached photo or a faded memory coming to life.

The ID resided deep within the dark recess of someone’s subconscious, that baser part of the mind that was normally tied closely together with the higher mental functions.

An entity that should never be separated from the self.

Yet now he stood right in front of them, younger, but no less beautiful in his horrible realness. The sea spray scattered jewels of glittering light into his hair, the ever-blowing wind of Limbo painting a blush across his cheeks.

‘Did you miss me, Martín? You haven’t really seen me since Florence.’ he grinned.

Andrés spoke up then, resolute as he confirmed this living nightmare before them. ‘Meet my ID, Martín.’ 

‘I’m Andrés, too.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The rogue ID of Andrés lounged on the opulent settee of his cage, watching them with apparent interest, as if he was a lazy cat observing his prey. He made no further attempt to hurt them, since he had already achieved what he wanted. They were there to keep him company for as long as Limbo lasted unless they figured something out.

And despite everyone’s wishes, there was no killing him. He was part of Andrés’ psyche no matter how far removed he was.

He was not simply a shade, a twisted memory, to get rid of.

It was truly a conundrum, one that sent Martín’s already frayed nerves reeling.

This was what Andrés needed to face, the journey he asked Martín along to.

He squeezed his hand in encouragement.

‘Tell me exactly how this happened, darling. And do start from the beginning- No, you shut up!’ Martín snapped out, pointing at the languid hanger–on with his gun. ‘I finally want to hear this magnificent idiot’s version!’ he added, motioning towards Andrés.

The ID closed his mouth mock-obediently, miming locking his lips with a wink.

‘It started as an experiment.’ Andrés said with a rueful smile. ‘An idea we discussed with Sergio. What could we achieve if we used dream sharing and the opportunity it provided to reach our own subconscious for something other than stealing secrets - what could happen if we used it to better ourselves, discard distractions and open new avenues for our genius to spread.’

‘Of course you would entertain messing with your own subconscious.’ Martín sighed. ‘You two are too smart for your own good sometimes. It circles right back into spectacular stupidity.’

‘That might be true, but I did go deep enough to find him - or at least the depth in which the connection between the conscious and the subconscious resides. Where instincts come to be and every wild need and want beat like another heart in your ribcage.’ he said, glancing into the cage with both fascination and accusation, only for the ID to stare back with hunger and vicious hate.

‘Boring!’ the ID jested. ‘Tell him why I’m really here, you coward.’

Andrés ignored him, looking back at Martín as he continued. ‘Forging needs precision and concentration as much as perfect profiling and there is no room for error. Not in this industry and never during an extraction. I don’t need to tell you what happens when you mess up, do I?’

He didn’t. Martín knew all the horror stories of how extractors got hunted down and disappeared without trace, or how they lost their mind during butchered jobs.

‘So I began experimenting, trying to rid myself of distractions and subconscious desires and impulses that could bleed through a job. I experimented with closing them temporarily into something like a safe, along with my secrets. And it worked at first.’

‘Obviously not too well since he’s here.’ Martín interjected, making the ID laugh.

‘Or it worked too well, don’t you think? I’m here, after all.’

‘You do keep your mouth shut.’

He just shrugged with a coy smile.

‘By the time we began working together, it was a habit to do it. It was what you and Sergio liked to call my professional mask falling into place.’ Andrés smiled, as if recalling a fond memory and the ID flicked one of the bars, making it resonate with a sweet chime.

A memory.

‘But the more time passed, the more everything started to bleed through, no matter how deeply I tried to shove everything.’ Andrés' smile turned rueful. ‘There was nothing to hold back my fascination with you.’

‘Oh, you fucking bastard.’ Martín sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘How can you make something sweet sound so horrible? Actually, don’t answer that.’

‘It’s a talent we share.’

Martín huffed, waving him on. ‘Tell me what happened during the Florence job.’

‘I was the dreamer two levels down, then. That was the first time you ever came that close to my subconscious.’

‘That… That was the moment he broke away, right?’

‘That’s the only plausible theory I could come up with.’

‘Shit.’

‘He is not lying for once.’ the ID announced, slowly rising to his feet. ‘Andrés here became so divorced from himself by continuous effort that I became a separate entity. I came to life in his dreams to finally see you, meet you, taste you.’ 

‘That’s actually flattering if you ignore the sheer insanity of what you did to yourself.’ Martín whispered, finally making sense of the heartbreak he experienced so viciously that his own subconscious reflected it back at him. ‘Why? Just why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I didn’t know at the time. I just knew something happened, because you looked at me with such devotion… and I couldn’t face you then. Sometimes I think I still can’t.’

It made perfect, horrible sense, and Martín felt the sting of tears just remembering it.

‘He couldn’t face me either.’ the ID sneered. ‘So he lost you and he caged me to free himself from the guilt.’

‘I did.’ Andrés admitted. ‘And by doing that, I didn’t just lose you, I also lost my ability to forge.’

The ID grabbed hold of his golden bars, making them sing in dissonance. ‘Of course you did, because without the raw desire and need that fuels a person - without me - you can’t hope to imitate anyone. But it was a good enough exchange for you and for years it worked. You kept me here, kept me trapped by building this cage of memories. Only you couldn’t bury me deep enough. I was always right here under the surface… Then you came back, my dear, and I couldn’t stay away anymore.’

As he spoke, a black stain sprouted on his chest, a mimicry of a bleeding heart.

‘But what we are is unnatural, a painful non-existence stemming from disharmony.’ 

The silence that befell them was only broken by the endlessly crashing waves as the dark ocean of Limbo tore at the remains of Martín’s decrepit dream construct, the kaleidoscopic light of his broken core shining through the cracks.

Martín put his gun away. There was no place for it here.

‘Of course, he wasn’t meant to exist.’ Andrés sighed, turning towards the beach where a new construct emerged from the waves - a pier that reached out far away into the endless ocean. ‘But I could never give enough of myself to anyone, so here he is.’

‘Here I am because you are a coward.’ the ID agreed in breathtaking cruelty, which has always been Andrés’ speciality. ‘You could never truly love anyone, could you?’

Andrés didn’t say anything, just pulled away, fingers slipping out of Martín’s hold as he walked towards the pier.

‘But I could, Martín.’ the ID whispered with that same breathtaking cruelty, the uncontrolled wildness of a firestorm. ‘Just say the word and I will come to the surface with you.’

Martín sighed, tilting his head towards the sky and feeling all the decades that grated away at his mind in Limbo. ‘I wish I didn’t love any part of you.’

‘Martín?’

‘You know what Mónica said about Andrés as he is now?’ he asked, not waiting for his answer even as he stepped closer. ‘Immutable.’

‘Of course, but if it was me-’

‘Darling, you are equally immutable despite your talent in forgery. Just look at you, you are stuck at your breaking point, too.’ Martín smiled, turning towards the ID, who was looking back at him with unmasked desperation. ‘But I fell in love with change.’

‘I could, for you, I could-’

Martín pressed a hand to his cheek, and the ID turned into the touch with hunger.

But touch and perception in Limbo were strange and insubstantial, summoned from the untrustworthy depth of memories. 

It was a mimicry. 

‘Andrés has always told me that if you want something, take it. What I want is more than you are and more than you could ever be in this stagnant state, darling.’

With the practice of the small eternity spent in Limbo, he folded the bars of the golden cage into a structure of impossible beauty that sang in a harmonious melody as all the memories pressed into them finally got the chance to be free. 

‘I could never choose just you when I want the epitome of change.’ he whispered, pressing a kiss to the ID’s forehead. ‘Come, let’s free you from yourself, too.’

‘Will you stay then?’

‘With you, darling, but without you.’

A black teardrop escaped his wild eyes, warm as it ran down his cheek to meet Martín’s palm. Then he melted away like an illusion, a dark shadow falling around him like a cloak.

Martín stood there for a moment, for an eternity.

A second of joyous mourning.

Then he stepped onto the dock that spiralled away as if made from the waves of the endless ocean, following Andrés as the kaleidoscopic light of his escaping thoughts illuminated his way.

‘Are you another forgery?’

‘Way to make me feel welcomed, darling.’ Martín grumbled, settling down next to Andrés once he reached him.

‘I’m just joking. I could never hope to forge you.’ Andrés chuckled. ‘Any part of me.’

‘Is this your way of saying sorry for being an idiot and getting us both quasi-killed to end up in this hellscape?’ Martín asked as he turned to look at Andrés.

Andrés met his gaze with his own, searching for his truth. ‘Would you believe me if it was?’

‘No.’ Martín answered immediately with a grin. ‘I trust you, Andrés, but that doesn’t mean I believe everything you say.’

‘Smart man.’

‘That’s why I’m your favourite.’ Martín said flippantly.

Andrés reached his hand up to caress the shadowy cloak that embraced Martín, mouth kicking up at the side in a crooked smile.

‘It is true, for what that’s worth in my current state.’

It was Martín’s turn to search for answers in his gaze.

‘Do you trust me?’

Andrés reached for his hand next, lacing their fingers together and raising their joined hands to brush a kiss against his knuckles.

‘I never stopped trusting you.’ he whispered, his voice almost getting lost in the sound of the rolling ocean. ‘I just couldn’t trust myself around you.’

‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘Not even after everything?’

Martín moved their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss and his chuckle against Andrés’ knuckles. ‘How could I be when I finally get to see you? All of you.’

‘Thank you.’ Andrés smiled, real and free, and Martín felt it like a second heartbeat that pulsed all around them in wild joy. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’

They climbed to their feet together as Andrés’ construct began tilting into the dark waves.

‘Wrapped in the arms of Morpheus, we meet-’ Martín whispered, wrapping his arms around Andrés.

‘And before the night is over, let us see each other on the other side too.’

As the world ended, Andrés pressed his lips to Martín’s.

Waking up after a multi-leveled dream sucked.

‘Can’t you do anything for them? Wake them up somehow?’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘Limbo.’

Waking up after Limbo sucked more.

‘What?!’

‘How? I left you alone for a single level!’

‘Long story. We should discuss what to do with Raquel.’

‘Full offence, but I think you have done enough to me today without making me discuss my dead father.’

‘Wait a minute! Dead father? What?!’

‘Do continue to shout, maybe we will get arrested before Sierra’s people do us the favour of taking us out in body bags.’

‘Look, this is not the news I expected! You were literally awake and fine a few minutes ago up here!’

Waking up to the goddamned racket of his team was worse than anything in the world.

But as everything settled into place and Limbo’s infinite weight and the effect of the synchronized kick slowly dissipated, he immediately blinked his eyes open.

Andrés was already looking at him, half-lidded gaze full of relief and the sort of calm that was only noticeable now that the turmoil was finally resolving itself.

It will take time to heal, but they took the first step together.

Their moment was, however, disturbed by the continuous racket, and now that Martín was thinking about it, they still had to solve their minor problem of getting out of here alive and with a believable lie for their clients to boot.

If only Aníbal would stop shouting.

‘Aníbal,’ Andrés interrupted, voice silky smooth in its mockery, ‘cease the hysterics before I’m fully conscious, if you would be ever so kind.’

‘Andrés!’

‘Thank fuck somebody said it.’ Martín groaned, trying to get feelings back into his chemically numbed limbs only to get toppled out of his chair by two screaming banshees. ‘Get the fuck off me! I’m not dead enough for this level of enthusiasm.’

‘I will gladly kill you properly, then!’ Ágata wailed into his ears as Mirko did his level best to crush any remaining breath out of him. ‘You fucking bastard! I thought you became a vegetable.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

‘You should be! I was this close to inheriting the office in Istanbul.’

‘Rude!’

‘Enough.’ Andrés said, barely hiding his amusement as he received his own, albeit socially acceptable, welcome from Sergio and Mónica in the form of a long handshake and a brief hug respectively. ‘Try to act your age for a minute. We’ve got a schedule to keep.’

This sort of smugness could not be left unchallenged, and the duo descended on Andrés like a pack of vultures, to welcome him back to the land of the waking world with similar aggressive enthusiasm. Even though it seemed more like trying to wring his neck than any sort of hug from Martín’s vantage point on the floor.

‘Good to see you are awake, boss. I was scared this was another case of Algeria or something even worse.’ Aníbal grinned down at him, immensely relieved, and pulled him to his feet with the help of Sergio.

‘I don’t know about worse, but this is certainly something. In the top 5 shittiest jobs even, I wager.’ he chuckled, ruffling his hair.

‘Welcome back.’ Sergio said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘I’m glad you came back.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Don’t you get sentimental now.’

‘Martín.’ Mónica said, catching his attention only to be slapped within an inch of his life. ‘Never do that again!’

Before he could even form a single thought, he was hugged with the same ferocity too.

‘I guess I deserved that.’ Martín huffed. ‘Wait a minute. Why didn’t you slap Andrés, too?’

‘Oh, she did already.’ Sergio interjected. ‘Right before he went after you.’

‘Good girl.’

‘Could you all pretend here for a minute that we are professionals?’ Andrés asked snidely as he extracted himself from Ágata’s claws. ‘I think we have a rather urgent matter to discuss. Matter of life and death actually, if you even care.’

As if on cue, all of them turned towards Raquel, who stood in the corner with a mighty frown and pursed lips.

‘If you are wondering,’ Mónica whispered as she released him, ‘she slapped Andrés and Sergio both.’

Martín directed a delighted grin at Andrés, who simply stepped up next to him with an eye-roll and caught his fingers in a quick squeeze.

‘You can ask me all about it later, my dear. Business first.’

‘Whatever you say, darling.’

Ágata sent him an incredulous look as Mirko’s entire face lit up from the force of his shit-eating grin and Aníbal was about to run his mouth in his confusion, but Sergio cut in before any of them could do so.

‘As we discussed on Level Three, there is a solution to all our problems if you are willing to cooperate, Miss Murillo.’

‘How formal you all can be once you are not messing with my mind.’ Raquel said in a snide aside as she pinched her nose. ‘Inspector, actually. And if you are taking suggestions, I would gladly arrest you all on the spot, handcuffs exchanged for body bags.’

‘Ah, lovely as a long rest in a Spanish prison sounds, it would only delay our death by a scant few weeks.’ Andrés grinned. ‘I thought you were ready to exchange that for a chance to properly take both your ex-husband’s less-than-legal business and your father’s formula off the dream sharing market once and for all.’

‘Why are we even talking about this? Did you guys fail this badly?’ Ágata asked, ready to get her hands on a gun and threaten her way out of this mess.

‘Her father is dead. The formula killed him.’

‘Shit.’ Mirko said with feeling as Ágata started cursing colourfully under her breath. 

‘We agreed that would be optimal, yes.’ Raquel answered, ignoring the by-play, but still sent a withering look Sergio’s way. ‘But I might be inclined to hold a grudge.’

‘Why, a rough start can be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.’ Andrés grinned, making Sergio groan. ‘Besides, you nearly sent us all to Limbo. I believe we can call that even.’

‘Now listen here you-’

‘Let’s just stick to business!’ Sergio cut in, just when it was about to get good. ‘Please, Raquel.’

‘...Fine.’

Andrés took back the line of discussion, and to Martín’s delight there was nothing shuttered about his sharpness or charisma - if he wasn’t a consummate professional, he would’ve kissed him already. Life and death situation be damned.

As if reading his mind, Andrés sent him a knowing look without breaking stride.

‘Isaac Fuentes died, a fact that will be soon widely known, and that leaves you as the heir to his intellectual property - and you can bet not only your ex-husband wants to get his hands on the formula.’ he said, spreading his arms. ‘So we have to bring them down so spectacularly and with such fanfare that no one ever tries again. Making the lethal effects known is the minimum, but we also need to make them think thrice about the cost it would take to earn barely anything in turn. The interest is too big right now to go with anything less.’

Raquel took that all in, folding her arms with a determined glint in her eyes. ‘We can agree on that. I want this horrible formula off the market. Off the map even. And if we bring Vicuña Solutions and all the damage they’re doing down too? All the better.’

‘I’d say you sound like a person driven by spite.’ Martín noted.

Raquel lifted her chin. ‘Problem?’

‘None at all.’ he grinned. ‘Just an observation. In my experience, spite makes someone an extraordinarily productive person.’

That earned him the beginning of a smile, and Sergio wasted no time using the opening to their advantage. Ever the chess player.

‘Aníbal, get your laptop. Mirko, let’s put your chemist powers to test. Here is how we will play this.’

They resumed their place at the gala while Raquel moved to make first contact with Sierra as they discussed.

A few minutes later, the notification of their first deposit signalled their success and the perfect time for their exit.

So they left as they came, without a trace but in style, leaving only Sergio behind as a guarantee. 

Let him be the buffer between Sierra and Raquel. Martín was making use of the mansion until they were free to go.

There was a bottle of Romanée-Conti waiting for him to sweeten their house arrest.

And one Andrés de Fonollosa who owed him a real kiss. 

Or a thousand.

The terms were non-negotiable.

4 MONTHS LATER

Autumn in Istanbul meant the streets were turning golden from the changing colours of the season, like the opulent decorations of the great buildings of the Byzantine and the Ottoman Empire, and the sky was the stormy blue of the Sea of Marmara.

The new flat had the perfect vantage point to see his old office from, and thus they could keep watch of any uninvited guest that might feel the need to pay them a visit.

Not that it was anything but a precaution.

They were too good at their job, after all.

Martín sauntered over to the writing desk where a wide array of newspapers in various languages were spread out, telling an interesting story if one knew what to look for between the lines. A rumour from Andorra here. An information leak from Switzerland there. A nosy tax authority following a lead. Talks of new investigations in Spain. Whispers through the grapevine reaching far into the dream sharing business.  

Just terribly small puzzle pieces falling into place.

‘Anything new, darling?’

Andrés glanced up at him with a wide grin, handing over a tablet with the latest news. ‘Look, what an interesting little story just dropped. I wonder what this could be about.’

‘Ah, “Vicuña Solutions’ CEO Arrested on Charges of Illegal Drug Manufacturing - Lethal Somnacin Connection?” Interesting leap they made here.’

‘Fascinating, isn’t it? Read the whole thing, dear.’

MADRID. Pharmaceutical company CEO Alberto Vicuña was arrested along with several others on Thursday following a large-scale law enforcement operation to combat illegal drug manufacturing and trafficking across Spain. Though the details of the investigation have been largely kept under wraps, our sources say the investigation can be connected to the ongoing Swiss Somnacin Case - a massive document leak of unknown sources that detailed the experiments surrounding a lethal somnacin variant that caused the death of all subjects who partook in this unauthorised trial. The location of the laboratories is as of yet unknown, but recent arrests point towards Spain.

After the Justice Department’s announcement, police sources confirmed they investigated Vicuña Solutions based on evidence recovered following an anonymous tip that drew attention to accounting discrepancies within the company. Local authorities have yet to confirm the Swiss connection, citing sensitive information.

Experts say this could be the wake-up call for the authorities to take a closer look at the dangers of illegal drug and somnacin manufacturing and experiments pertaining to new - and often - dangerous formulas. New legislation might be on the horizon depending on the outcome of this trial, which will be covered in detail in the following months.

It was subtle, not enough to entice the public beyond the scandal of it all, but for those who knew what to look for, this was as much of a warning as they could give. 

They would be getting dragged into the light if they pried, and it wasn’t worth it.

Martín whistled. ‘Someone is finally making all the right connections.’

‘It was worth loaning your hacking team’s expertise to Sergio, then.’ Andrés noted, leaning against his side to save the article for his little collection.

‘Is this why he’s been blowing up my phone?’ he asked with an eye-roll, making him chuckle.

‘Probably.’

Martín turned sideways to wrap his arms around Andrés’ neck, widening his eyes mock-innocently at him. ‘Do we know these sources?’ 

Andrés made a show of thinking about it, fingers tapping a rhythm against his chin. ‘I don’t think I’m familiar.’

‘Nothing to do with it at all?’

‘Of course not. That would be absurd.’ Andrés said, playing along with a devious glint in his eyes. ‘Why would we know what a pharmaceutical company is doing in their laboratories? Doesn’t seem like our area of expertise.’

‘And even if we did,’ Martín began, breaking character to smirk at him as he pulled him towards the couch, ‘why would we alert the authorities - that’s quite counterproductive considering our less than legal jobs of dream sharing consultants.’

Andrés grinned as they sat down together on the couch, pulling Martín’s legs into his lap. ‘We are doing a world of good. We are keeping people alive here - our employees can’t exactly steal secrets from comatose or dead people now, can they?’

‘And who would even ask us?’ he nodded, leaning his head against his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. ‘If Vicuña knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep quiet about trying to steal secrets from a member of the Spanish police unless he wants to simply disappear. The military is already doing a good job of cleaning up their messes through the police force and keeping their image squeaky clean while at it. Especially now that it became apparent their precious formula was nothing but a poison. Just look how carefully they fail to name Isaac Fuentes in this all.’

‘Martín.’ he chuckled, wagging a finger at him mock sternly.

‘Did I say theirs? My mistake, I’m sure they have no idea where it came from.’ Martín corrected, going through his mental list of people that could cause them trouble just to make sure they thought about everything. ‘Raquel Murillo won’t speak either unless she is ready to risk her career and life.’

‘After being photographed at the same event with both Sierra and Vicuña? And knowing what the military knows about her father’s work? And how similar the formula Vicuña Solutions worked on is to the original?’ Andrés asked with affected concern. ‘That would be a great mistake on her part. It’s better if no one makes that connection.’

‘And Mirko works well under pressure. He managed to butcher the partial formula she knew about to a completely useless if not harmless variant in less than a week before the handover.’

That had been an interesting few days while they played nice in the mansion under Sierra’s watchful but distracted eyes, as Raquel communicated with them through a secure channel. 

That was Aníbal’s work, set up for her in those precious few minutes before the initial contact.

‘Yes. But no one will know that fact unless they test it, and thanks to the leaked documents detailing all its horrible effects, no one will. They will just see the base formula of Isaac Fuentes and accept it as the same one.’

‘And are we worried about Vicuña and co. in the long run? What will they do once they realise just where the Swiss leak and the anonymous tip came from?’ Martín asked, turning his head to rest his chin on Andrés’ shoulder.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.’ Andrés chuckled, turning to press a kiss to his nose. ‘But since somnacin tampering is already a felony, I imagine they will have a nice little cell to walk rounds in while cursing our names.’

‘They have powerful friends.’ Martín noted with a smile.

‘Who will be happy to cut them loose soon.’ Andrés agreed gleefully.

‘How diabolical.’

‘Of course, it is our plan.’

Silence fell between them, and Martín took his time observing Andrés in the late autumn light and rediscovering his handsome features.

Their partnership wasn’t a love for the ages - broken as they were - but it was theirs. A complex amalgamation of selflessness and greed, understanding and betrayal, brilliance and foolishness.

It wasn’t easy, but it was good.

And Martín would choose him from everything the world could offer, always.

‘Daydreaming, my dear?’

‘With you here? Reality is much sweeter than any dream could be.’