DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN INCEPTION.

Hi readers! So, prior to the making of this story, I developed a lot of research into this. It was an idea I was really interested in a while ago, but I didn't really know how to go about doing it. I really hope you enjoy and review! I was kind of going for a very Godfather-esq/ mafia theme.

Arthur walked along the streets of New York, scuffing his perfectly shined shows along the dirty sidewalk. He considered his position in the world. After all, we're all put here for a purpose. Arthur thought about Heaven and Hell, about God, about the Law, and more importantly, about where he lay in all that. He'd been told many times that his soul wasn't worth saving anymore.

He guessed, that because he was one of the most notorious criminals in New York, part of one of the most exclusive and well known (and feared) mafia gangs in the city, that his soul was most defiantly not worth saving. He accepted that a long time ago. After the killings started, after the cops started watching them non-stop, and after he lost everything he knew, that everything went downhill for him.

He looked up and saw the lights of the bars overhead flickering. He loved New York. The city that never sleeps/ After all, they were living in the 1940's, one of the greatest centuries in history.

A honk behind him brought him out of his thoughts and back into the streets. He looked next to him and saw a black car pull up beside him. He slowed his pace and became a lot more aware of the revolver in his pocket.

"Oi! Arthur!"

He looked into the drivers window and saw Eames pocking his head out. Trying to focus on driving and talking at the same time.

"Are you going to get in? Or shall we throw you to the sharks?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and hopped in the door, and patted the seat in front of him. "Thanks for the pick up."

Eames looked at him from the rear-view mirror. "Yeah, well Cobb's not going to be happy if we're late,. He also won't be happy if you get shot."

"Thanks for your concern."

Arthur and Eames never really got along, but the rule was, stick together and watch out for each other. Arthur first met Eames a few years after he started working with Cobb. His thick British accent and cocky attitude made him a stick out on the streets. Meanwhile, Arthur had a more subtle attitude with the slightest hint of a New York accent. If one thing was for sure, they were both shit good mobsters.

Eames pulled the car to a stop and let himself out. Arthur stepped out and looked around him. "Who's playing tonight?"

Eames shrugged as they walked towards the front entrance. "Who cares. As long as they have enough drinks and pretty ladies, I'm satisfied."

They both walked in and gave the doorman a quick nod. They followed down the hallway and came towards a man who was sauntering around by another door. He looked them up and down.

"Cobb?" he asked.

Arthur nodded. The man instantly opened the door and allowed them through. The room was instantly filled with music and smoke and the thick smell of alcohol. Admittedly, they did turn a few heads as they walked in. Eames shrugged off his coat and looked around him.

Arthur did the same and admired the scenery. Same place every night, sometimes even the same people. But each night it was people dressed to the nines, smoking and drinking and having a good night. If they were lucky, nothing funny would go down. But this being their regular spot, more often than none, they ran into trouble here. The burgundy walls never peeled, and the lights were always the same. Dimply lit, with lots of dark corners for dark deeds. The only thing brightly lit was the stage, filled with jazz players and often glamorous singers.

Eames shoved his arm slightly. "Over there."

Arthur followed him over to the row of booths. Eames slid into one and nodded to the persona already sitting at the table. Arthur slid in next and held up his hand for two drinks. He looked at the figure.

"You alright, Cobb?" he asked.

Cobb nodded slowly. "For now." He looked at the drinks that appeared before Arthur and Eames. "Don't drink too much boys, we've got a visitor any moment now."

Arthur mentally moaned. So much for an easy night.

"Who is it?" he asked, swirling his drink around in his hand.

Cobb kept his eyes on the table. "Fischer."

Eames swallowed. "What are they coming here for? They know this is on our turf."

"Yeah well, they need a little reminding of that recently," Cobb sighed. He looked up and met Arthur's eyes quickly.

Arthur sighed. Cobb was one of his best friends, even though they never showed it. He remembered when his eyes used to be a light blue, so full of light and promise. Now they were grey, and heartless. Ever since Mal died, Cobb had never been the same. Mal and Cobb met in this very bar, she as a jazz singer, he as a bartender. Those were simpler, light-hearted days, as opposed to now when it was all guns and violence.

Eames nodded. "Yeah well, your guest has arrived."

Arthur looked up as Robert Fischer Jr walked in. His father used to be one of the most terrifying mobsters around. After he was murdered, Fischer assumed it was one of Cobb's. He's been searching for revenge ever since He was also related to Peter Browning. One big mafia family.

He was followed by his little pets, Nash and James. Arthur never did like that Nash guy. As he moved closer, he could see people growing more unnerves, wishing they hadn't come out on this night. He stood over the table and stared down at Cobb.

"Cobb. Thanks for the invite," he mumbled.

Cobb stood up and straightened his tie. "Thanks for coming. We do have someā€¦business to discuss."

Fischer nodded. Cobb motioned for Arthur to move. he was find with it, he didn't particularly feel up for anything tonight. He moved out and gave Nash a quick glance before heading over to the bar. He walked over and took a seat, taking a look behind him. Fischer was now sat down, opposite Eames and Cobb, listening to Cobb's complaints.

After a moment, Arthur turned back around and ordered a scotch. He swallowed down a sip and cringed at the sour feeling in the back of his throat. He stared down into the glass.

"Let me go."

He listened to the conversation next to him. Probably a couple getting a bit too rowdy.

"Come on, sweetie, just 5 minutesā€¦"

"No thank you, please let me go."

He lifted his head up and looked over to the voices next to him. He blinked.

The first thing that took his breath away was the girl. She was sat on a few bar stools away from him, legs crossed, exposing the tiniest flash of garter. His eyes followed up her legs, along the curves of her black dress, along every dent in her jewellery until he reached her face. He took in her features, he full, red lips, her long eyelashes and her big brown eyes. He stared at her for a few moments before drawing his attention to her source of distress.

"I'm telling you again, get the hell away from me," she demanded, pushing her arm out. Arthur looked at the man in front of her, drunk obviously, drawing a little too close for his liking. The girl tried to push him away, but he was persistent, pushing himself back into her.

Arthur frowned and swivelled his chair around. "Hey, buddy."

The drunk guy looked around and snorted when he saw Arthur. "What?"

Arthur furrowed his brow. "The lady said no."

The guy snorted. "Why don't you mind your own business," he slurred. He leaned forward to the girl again and grabbed hold of her arm.

Arthur placed his drink down on the table and stood up, moving over to them. "The lady said no." he repeated. "I'm going to give you one last chance. Leave her alone and go."

The man rolled his eyes. "Who do you think you are, pal?"

Arthur pulled open his jacket open slightly so his gun was slightly visible. He looked into the man's eyes, who was now more focused.

"I'm the guy who's going to blow your brains out if you don't leave her alone, right now."