Quick note: This is going to be written in dual POV that switches every two chapters. Thought I'd mention that now so nobody is confused later. Thanks to everyone who followed over from "Breaking The Habit!"

Broken Boy Soldier
Chapter One: In Transit
Eric Matthews

Blood is a strange color. In my veins it is blue running alongside brown. When a bullet goes through my foot it comes out red as Asher's lipstick, and dries like rust. Eventually it will fade away to angry pink scars, and slowly blend back into my pale skin. After that happens, I will not remember the beginning of the war, or knocking out my own mother, or laying in a train car on the way to Erudite headquarters spending entirely too much time thinking about blood. The world as I knew it has come crashing down around me and here I am, acting like it's an ordinary day, an ordinary high.

Later, after the euphoria erodes to a headache and the pain in my foot (not to mention my broken nose) returns, I will remember that it was a terrible idea to let Christina shoot me up in the first place. I could have managed without the drugs, especially since I'd been so committed to quitting, at least for a couple days. But then she'd convinced me with her pleading eyes, so obviously concerned for my well-being, and now I'm back to square one, wondering if, at this point, after two years, I'll ever find the incentive to quit. Maybe if the pain finally stops—but that's unrealistic. It will never stop, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to live through it without a little medicinal assistance.

I sit up to stare out of the train and the wind whips in, flinging my greasy, tangled hair around my face, where I have to work it out of several probably-infected piercings. There is blood crusted under my nose from when I fell on the steps and smashed it. My first priority when I pass all the security checks at Erudite will be to clean myself up. I know I can heal my nose in an instant, if I can get access to the right medicine, and to do that, I need to look the part of a loyal Dauntless lackey, one of Jeanine's many lapdogs.

In my pocket is a strip of blue fabric long enough to wrap around and tie onto my arm. (I try not to think about what else it could be used for regarding my arm.) By putting it on, I more or less pledge my allegiance to Erudite. I become one of those faceless lapdogs, destined only to do my mother's bidding, at least for a little while. Just until I can safely leave and get back to Christina. I'm already going crazy with worry, and we've barely been apart for twenty minutes. If the Dauntless traitors show up at Candor…I shudder at the thought.

The voice in the back of my head, the sensible part of me, knows that she will probably be safe in Candor, at least for now. They're likely to stay out of the conflict as a whole until the truth is revealed—or the most convenient version of the truth, anyway. The version that somehow makes their faction look good and the others look evil. And Jeanine is the master of manipulation. Getting the others on her side will be child's play for her.

There are lights beginning to flicker in the corner of my vision. Erudite headquarters. Their lights are almost always on, city ordinances be damned, though it makes sense for them to have them on now, now that a war has broken out and they are at the helm of it. They're probably got the place locked up tight, so I'll have to be ready to go through a lot of security checkpoints before they even let me through the door.

I take a deep breath and begin the arduous process of pulling myself up to my feet. It's a long time coming, but I finally manage to do it, and sling my bag over my shoulder. I'm leaning slightly to one side, I realize, because of my foot. I wonder how long I will be limping, how well they can heal it, considering I've been walking and running and jumping on it strictly against doctor's orders. Will they even heal me, after I so openly defied my mother? Will the leave me on the street to rot, or put a target on my back?

But I don't have time to worry about that right now. The lights are in the center of the train door and if I don't start moving now, I'll miss them entirely. I don't bother with a running start, it won't help me regain my balance when I land. I just jump, and fall on hard concrete, bruising and scraping myself further, though I manage to avoid landing on my face again. It takes me yet another minute to get up, using a streetlamp as leverage. Upright, I survey my location. I am only a few blocks away from Erudite headquarters, and I can already see guards patrolling the streets. No matter which way I go, they are going to see me, and might even shoot at me if I don't make it clear who I am.

I reach into the outside pocket of my bag and pull out the blue strip of fabric. It makes me sick to look at it, much less wear it, and the thought of actually physically showing the world that I am outwardly supportive of my mother's suicide plan is a disgusting one. But I have to, if I want them to let me though. Slowly, with fumbling bloody hands, I tie it around my arm. Then, head held high, I stride down the streets towards Erudite headquarters.

As suspected, everyone I pass is immediately on guard. Many of them point guns at me, but I just keep walking, trying to look like I belong here. It almost wouldn't make a difference if they shot me, though. I would rather die than carry out her insane orders. But I can't. I promised Christina I would see her again. So, even though it is beyond painful not to limp, I keep walking.

The closer I get to the door of Erudite headquarters, the more guards there are, and the more they respond to my presence. A few even look like they want to stop me, but they don't. I can be intimidating when I need to be, especially covered in blood and piercings. Putting on this act is not strange for me—in the past two years, it's how I've gotten people to leave me alone, by playing the role of unapproachable Dauntless leader. That skill, acquired from years of being alone, is serving me well now, and for a moment I stop worrying and begin to hope I might actually make it through unscathed.

And then, of course, I am stopped right at the door.

"What's your name?" the head guard asks, throwing his arm over the entrance. Next to him, another guard holds up a scanner. Hey don't really need to ask my name; it will tell them, as well as all my vital stats—height, weight, blood type, current and former faction, and most importantly, what my aptitude test results were. Always looking for Divergents, Jeanine is. Not that I personally need to worry about that. My test labelled me a textbook Erudite, of course. Those results were not an accident.

"Eric Matthews," I say coldly, just as the guard from the scanner looks up, his face white. I don't know what it says about me on that thing, but right now I'm dying to find out. He taps the shoulder of the man who stopped me and holds up the scanner.

"Interesting," the head guard says, smirking as he looks up at me. "I knew there was something off about you.

Off? What does that mean? "I'm not quite sure what you're implying, but I can assure you you'll find nothing wrong with my scan." I try to keep my voice as cool and collected as possible but on the inside I am on fire, and not just because I'm high. What could they possibly see on that scanner that is making them react that way?

"No, there's nothing wrong with it," the guard counters. "Just interesting. You've been cleared for entry. Follow me."

"I know where I'm going," I say, almost snapping.

"I do realize you were once Erudite, Mr. Matthews. However, our orders were to bring you straight to Jeanine, so I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me." He turns and starts into the building and I have no choice but to follow, hoping no one will notice how my hands are shaking.