Cory came back to himself. The sick feeling was mostly gone, and he rolled onto his back on the musty smelling carpet. That was Ariadne, Arthur said, surprise fusing his words. No one could know about that but her. It's not a dream. Cory kicked at the wall, just to be able to kick something. "Of course it's not a fucking dream, you asshole." He was an asshole too, that Arthur. Always had to be in charge. Everything was always him and Eames, him and Eames, him and oh do we kill Cory, it might be a dream. Well fuck that. There was just some girl getting railroaded under that too, crushing on Arthur when all the jerk did was think about stupid clothes and flirt with her because he didn't know how to treat real friends, and Cory was fucking tired of this whole thing. He kicked the wall again.