"After extensive physical and mental tests…"

Eames inhaled slowly, as if filling his body with air could keep him afloat.

"…And regular emotional therapy…"

Arthur's fist clenched.

"…The Board of the Shadehouse Institute of Mental Health has decided…"

Ariadne blinked back, her eyes desperately trying to hold back the tears.

"…To keep you all in the psychiatric hospital in the Asylum for the Insane, until your mental health record proves stable."

Cobb shut his eyes as tight as they could go, and sighed.

The white haired, blue eyed man behind the desk, his face stony and un-emotive, looked down at his neatly typed papers and frowned. He looked back up at the four figures, each handcuffed, and silently suffering of their own accord.

He cleared his throat. "Right now you will be taken to the institute for submission. Do you have any statements you with to make at this time?"

After a brief moment of silence, Cobb stepped forward slowly.

"…We're not insane. There's nothing mentally wrong with us," he hissed.

The man shifted in his seat. "Well Mr Cobb, all the evidence proves against you."

"We're not liars!" Ariadne snapped, a few tears escaping from their chamber and flowing down her cheeks.

"You believe that you can, and I quote "Extract information from a persons dream, where their subconscious is at it's most vulnerable." He leaned forward from his desk slightly. "Not to get personal, but that doesn't sound very sane to me." He looked to the side and nodded. "Take them away."

Quickly, men in uniform were behind the four, grabbing their arms, as if they were about to attack.

Arthur struggled against their grip. "No! This isn't right! There's nothing wrong with us!" he yelled, eyes burning in fury.

"Take them away, now!"

Cobb could do nothing but allow himself to be dragged away. He felt a numbness spread through his being, taking over his body and mind. Insane. The word rung through him like a knife. All he could see were the disgusted faces of the people in the room, staring, judging them from some facts on a piece of paper. All he could hear were the variated screams of his team members, as they were dragged away into the oblivion.

If it was on a fucking piece of paper, then it must be true.