Hi guys!

I really don't know when I will update Part Two of this. School is really killing me, and I am focussing on another story from the Selection Series. But I have severe writer's block for that, but I will killing forcing myself to write a little bit every day. So, yes, unfortunately, this story will have irregular updates :(

In case you are confused, this is a two-shot. Part One will be what led up to Peter drinking the serum and stuff like that). Part Two will be a surprise ;)

Happy reading!

Part I

-Peter-

A tremendous jolt over a pothole or a gravelly road brings me out of my thoughts. The truck is filled with a heavy silence. Contrary to the train ride the Dauntless-borns and the Transfers took to play paintball during our initiation. Gosh, that seems so long ago. Years, it feel like. Maybe it is. I don't know. There's a lot that I don't know. All I know is that we're riding off back to our faction-controlled Chicago after living inside the Bureau outside the fence. And that we all have a chance of getting slayed. Murdered. Get our ass kicked. Killed. Whatever word you prefer, that's what every single one of us is facing.

It's inevitable. One of us is going to die. Or maybe more. But there's no way in hell that we will all make it out of there alive. Not when Erudite is bent on hunting us down and having us breathe our last breaths soon, or when the factionless and intent on taking over. No, when two crazy parties—led by even crazier psychopathic leaders—working against each other and each determined to bring down the other, there's no other way to say it. We're screwed.

I look over at my allies. It's still strange to think of them as people I'm working with. Christina, Four—Tobias—it's weird, calling him that, Amar … previously, they were all my enemies. Even Four, of all people. My instructor. But that doesn't mean I have to ally with him, right? No, it doesn't. Him being my instructor—former instructor, no less, does not signify anything.

Our future lays ahead of us. An uncertain future.

But if there's one thing I'm certain about our future, is that I won't try to make it out of here alive.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not becoming soft, nice, or even remotely less-Dauntless-like. Too many bad decisions, wrong turns, stupid actions caused me to find myself in this place. In this predicament. I groan inwardly. I sound like such a poet, such a … what was that term that Dauntless-born—Uriah, was it?—used? Pansycake? Something like that. Good going, Peter.

But really, it all began with one word:

Tris. Her blonde hair. Her stormy grey eyes. Her air of determination. Everything.

Well, that's it, folks! Sorry it's so short. :(

Thanks for reading!

-Kiren