Your name is Arthur. You are a point man -- the best in the business. Today, in preparation for the Gallico job, you have been refining the dreamspace with Eames. It was ... interesting. Yusuf asked you to test out a new blend of somnacin that's cut with a ground-breaking tryptamine. You agreed to be the subject, with Eames as control: it'd be pretty cool if all your senses could be turned up to 11.
However, doubtless as a side-effect of Yusuf's new formula, you've just woken up with something you're pretty sure you didn't have in the dream.
'What the actual fucking fuck,' you summarise. 'No, seriously. This is fucked, Yusuf. These are fucking... fucking ears.'
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