Inception: Origins of the Dreamscape

Dom Cobb held the paper, his mind a blank, unable to recall how he even left the hospital.

He wandered aimlessly down the street, bumping into bikes and people alike, his thoughts adrift in a thick fog.

Eighteen years old, and in this season of blooming peach blossoms, his life was now on a countdown.

Three months. Ninety days. Two thousand one hundred sixty hours…

Yusuf said three months, but Dom doubted it’d be that long.

In the blink of an eye, he'd be gone from this world.

Sure, there was regret — but surprisingly little sorrow.

If he was honest, Dom had never been particularly attached to this world.

What was love? What was family?

Ever since his parents divorced when he was five, those words had been hollow to him.

The so-called home was just a place to sleep at night.

Every time he stepped through that door, it felt like walking on thin ice, an outsider in his own life.

Only his grandfather’s countryside house offered any scrap of warmth.

Dom often joked to himself — he’d lived to eighteen because, well, since he was here already, dying by his own hand seemed too troublesome.

Now fate had made the decision for him.

With only a few months left, he figured he might as well die on his own terms. No one else had a say in it anymore.

"Boss, give me a whole roast chicken. Don’t chop it up, I’ll eat it like this."

"And a milk tea. Extra sugar, extra ice, all the trans fats you’ve got."

People stared as he devoured greasy chicken with his bare hands, but for the first time in his life, he felt free.

He spent thirty bucks at the market on a loud, floral shirt — the kind that practically screamed delinquent.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Dom was actually satisfied.

After a lifetime of being the quiet kid, the straight-A student, it felt good to finally let the wild, rebellious part of himself out.

Hell, he was dying — what was the point of pretending anymore?

Wearing that ridiculous shirt and carrying his half-eaten chicken, Dom was immediately stopped at the school gate by security.

Only after flashing his student ID and a teacher-signed absence slip did the guard reluctantly let him through.

"Kids these days… what a disgrace," the old man muttered.

If only he knew — that disgraceful kid had been top of the class for two years running.

Not that it mattered anymore.

As Dom strutted into the classroom looking like a bargain-bin rockstar, every pair of eyes turned toward him.

"Holy crap, what’s he smoking, showing up dressed like that?"

"If the vice principal sees him, he’s looking at twenty hours of campus service, minimum."

"He called in sick yesterday, guess it really fried his brain."

Dom ignored them all, dropping into his seat, wrapping up his chicken, and slamming back the lethal sugar-bomb of a milk tea in one long gulp.

"Dom Cobb, why didn’t you reply to my messages?"

A girl turned around from the desk in front — Ariadne.

Beautiful, sharp-eyed, always a little haughty, like some modern-day princess.

She’d never been short on admirers. Dom was one of them.

After all, they’d sat front-and-back for years. It was impossible not to fall for a girl like her.

Dom checked his phone. Dozens of unread messages.

Three from Ariadne.

"Dom Cobb, I want Li Ji’s pan-fried buns tomorrow morning. Don’t forget."

"Why didn’t you come to school? Why aren’t you answering me?"

"If you keep ghosting me, don’t even dream of getting a chance with me."

Cold, bossy texts. But Dom could still sense her usual self-importance between the lines.

Lady, I’m dying — who gives a d*mn about your approval?

"Why should I buy you food? You’re not my girlfriend," Dom muttered as he swiped her messages away.

"What did you just say?" Ariadne blinked, stunned.

Dom had never spoken to her like that.

"I’ve been sick. Took a sick day. Not a single word of concern from you, just harping on about some goddamn buns."

Yeah, he used to like her.

But Ariadne had always kept him at arm’s length — warm one day, ice-cold the next.

Keeping him dangling, a little hope here, a little indifference there.

And Dom had played along.

But now? Screw that.

Dom hesitated, then pulled up the contact labeled Dad and dialed.

With everything going on, he figured he should at least let the man know.

It rang for ages before someone picked up — a backdrop of loud, rowdy noise.

"What’s up? Nothing serious, I hope?" Robert Cobb snapped.

Dom felt his heart drop a little further.

If it weren’t for the blood in his veins, he’d have cut ties long ago.

Some dads were mountains of strength. His was a volcano, ready to blow.

"Dad… my test results came in. The doctor says—"

"You're fine, right? Jesus, don’t waste my time."

Dom clenched his jaw.

"Do you have Mom’s number?"

"Hell no. And don’t bring up that woman around me. I’m busy."

The call ended abruptly.

Dom stared at the dead phone screen, a bitter grin tugging at his lips.

Funny, Dad. You say you’re busy — but I’m the one who’s running out of time.

He hadn’t seen his mother, Susan, since he was five. A couple of stilted phone calls over the years. The last one, three years ago, lasted exactly 1 minute and 36 seconds.

Susan had married again, tried to erase any trace of Dom from her new life.

Dom had only wanted her number to tell her one thing — he was dying. Three months, tops.

After all, she had brought him into this world, even if it had been a reluctant, nearly-aborted accident.

There are licenses and tests for every other job on earth — driving, teaching, even hairdressing. But anyone, on a whim and one careless night, can bring a child into the world.

No one ever asks if that kid wants to be here.

Growing up, all Dom remembered was the screaming. Plates smashed. Chairs overturned.

At five, the divorce came. Neither parent wanted him.

Only his grandparents’ insistence on carrying on the family name made his father take him in.

A year later, his father brought home a heavily made-up woman.

Two years later, they had a son.

And in that four-person house, Dom was nothing more than an intruder.

In storybooks, kids with stepmothers always suffer.

Dom learned early to tread carefully. Excel at school. Win awards. Clean the house. Look after his little brother — though the kid had never once called him brother.

This life, really, wasn’t much worth sticking around for.

Maybe death was a release.

And with three months left, Dom wasn’t going to waste another second living for anyone but himself.

“What the hell are you wearing? Not afraid Old Zhang’s gonna flay you alive?”

Arthur, his seatmate and best friend, strode into the room, stopping dead at the sight of Dom’s outfit.

Dom Cobb — model student, perfect scores, stickler for the rules — now looked like an extra from a gang movie.

"I’m sick," Dom shrugged. "Figured I’d freshen up my mood."

"Respect. Just needs a fat gold chain and you’ll be unstoppable," Arthur laughed.

The bell rang.

Two back-to-back math classes.

Mr. Miles walked in, textbook in hand.

Math — the best sedative known to teenagers.

Within five minutes, half the class was dozing.

Dom, seizing the moment, reached into Arthur’s desk and pulled out a dog-eared copy of Harry Potter.

"Dude, are you insane? Reading that now?" Arthur hissed.

Dom Cobb had always been the one who sat bolt upright, eyes on the board.

Today, it was like the guy had swallowed a whole bottle of crazy pills.

Dom didn’t care. He had a bucket list to work through.

He was halfway through a chapter when he felt it — a cold, heavy glare.

He looked up. Mr. Miles was staring straight at him.

"Dom Cobb. To the board. Solve this problem."

The room stilled.

Miles was bitterly disappointed. Of all people, the top student pulling this stunt.

Dom ambled up, glanced at the problem, and scrawled the solution out in one smooth, flawless streak.

He tossed the chalk aside.

"If anyone needs help, feel free to ask."

The audacity.

Mr. Miles stared at the perfect solution, face darkening.

"Your math grades have always been top-notch. Care to share your study methods? Unless you read novels in class, that is."

"Honestly, sir? I don’t even like math," Dom declared.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I hate math. It's pointless. Just a bunch of useless numbers torturing my brain cells. The only reason I score well is because the others are worse."

Dead silence.

Miles’ face turned stormy.

"Hand over the book. And get out. You’re standing outside for the rest of class."

"Hey! That’s my book!" Arthur protested.

"Relax, I’ll steal it back later," Dom winked.

He swaggered out, tossing Harry Potter onto the desk.

The air outside was crisp and clean.

Dom breathed deep.

Sunlight danced on green leaves and fresh-cut grass.

So beautiful.

Too beautiful to waste standing around in a hallway.

From a young age, Dom Cobb had been a model student, never having skipped a single class. Yet, in this very moment, a powerful urge surged within him – an urge to escape the confines of the school. He felt a need to shatter the rigid framework of his routine.

Northwest of the basketball court lay a relatively low section of wall, shrouded by thick foliage. Dom remembered seeing students scale it before.

Circling a few trees, he realized he'd underestimated the wall's height. Getting over it would be almost as challenging as a slam dunk. The wall was smooth, offering no handholds.

"Forget it," he muttered. "What's the point anyway?"

He was about to turn away when a melody drifted to his ears – a unique tune, winding and intricate, a captivating cascade of notes. He'd never heard anything like it.

"La soo soo xi duo xi la, soo la xi xi xi xi la xi la soo…"

He was certain of it. It was entirely new.