Hi all! I'm still burned out on my other story, "Killing Four," so I needed something fun. This is a spinoff from a joke about Stiff Fight Club I wrote in "Inked" - and at the end of a chapter, I said someone should write a Stiff Fight Club fic. One person took me up on it, because I didn't think I would. Now I am, because I need to write some humor for a change. And I can't sleep. So here you go. Read and review please! And don't forget rule # 1.

Set post-Insurgent. Obviously I don't own Divergent, Insurgent, or Fight Club. Or Tobias. Or Brad Pitt. But I don't talk about that either.

~wk

The Hole is the darkest bar in Dauntless, the perfect place to drink up and zone out. I'm primed to drink a bunch of fence guards under the table when Four shows up and drags me down the hall to my apartment. It's probably for the best – Shauna gets back from PT tomorrow and if she sees my current beer can collection, she might run me over with her wheelchair.

I flop down on the bed. "Thanks a lot, man. You interrupted my public health lecture on the evils of alcohol consumption. I was getting close to a breakthrough."

Four rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You still have a beer in each hand."

"Of course! They were buying!"

"Well in that case…" He grabs one of the bottles and chugs half of it.

I laugh. "Please tell me you didn't drag me out of that shithole for half a beer."

"Nope," he says. "Zeke, I have a job for you."

"Shoot."

"I need you to train some people."

"Fresh meat?"

Four scratches the back of his neck and looks away. "Pretty raw."

"I thought you would never ask. I was born to terrify initiates." I shoot him my best evil grin, but he just sighs and plops down on my couch.

"Yeah, about that – they're not Dauntless initiates."

I blink at that. The Dauntless don't train anyone but their own, and Four isn't one to give away trade secrets – or any secrets. Even after the war, Tris is still the only one who calls him by his real name. Everyone else is too afraid of getting punched.

"Well, who the hell are they then?"

"After the war, some of the other factions expressed some interest in learning self defense."

I nod. "Makes sense."

"So they put together a list of…people...who aren't very good at fighting." Four pauses, and I raise my eyebrows. He gives his head a little shake, like he's fighting with himself. "OK fine. They're Stiffs."

I choke on my beer. Four pounds me on the back, a bit harder than necessary.

"You want me to teach a bunch of Stiffs how to punch people? Isn't that totally against their rules?"

Four scowls at me. "Not anymore."

"Oh really?" I ask him, smiling. "So I can just invite anyone? Maybe a reporter from that stupid Candor newspaper, The Truth Dealer? I'm sure they'd love to cover full contact Stiff on Stiff wrestling. I can see the headlines now – STIFF FIGHT CLUB INJURES FOUR SCRAWNY SIXTEENS. Or maybe TRUE FACT: STIFFS EVEN BLEED GREY. Ouch!"

Four ends my latest run of comic genius with a pillow to the face. He doesn't look pissed though; he's almost smiling.

"How'd you know?" he asks.

"How'd I know what?"

"What I wanted to call it." The smile fades from Four's face, and he fixes me with his famous instructor's death glare, or as I like to call it, the Time to Freak Face. "But don't even think about breaking the first rule."

"Rule?"

"You do NOT talk about Stiff Fight Club."

The Stiffs come on plodding grey feet.

They walk in silently, all awkward limbs and baggy pants, their eyes wide, like pigs to a slaughter. I can't wait to hear them squeal.

Four, Tris, Christina, and Uriah all helped scout out this place, the basement of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the Abnegation sector, close enough to walk to council headquarters, but far enough to scare away the cowards. The sight of the five of us, clad head to toe in black leather, tats, hair dye, and shit kicking combat boots will probably weed out a few more. Even Tris has a scary scowl on her face.

The Abnegation kids line up in front of me, their hands clasped in front of them. They all look around sixteen, new members fresh from initiation. I just let them stand there in silence for a while. Four leans against the wall and bites into an apple, and the crunching sound actually makes them wince. Dauntless they are definitely not. Well, at least not yet. If there's one thing initiation with Four taught me, it's never to underestimate a Stiff. I bend my head toward Tris.

"Must bring back some fun memories." She elbows me in the ribs, hard, and I try not to wince as I step forward.

"OK Stiffs, you are the chosen ones." They stare at me as I crack my knuckles, fighting off a grin.

"Rule number one – do not talk about fight club. Don't talk about who comes to fight club. You won't know our names, and I'm definitely not going to learn yours."

A skinny boy with thick eyebrows scowls at me. "But how do we know what to call you when we want to tell you some – "

"I'm getting to that, Unibrow," I snap, and he closes his mouth instantly, and I try not to laugh. This is going to be awesome.

"Eight!"

Uriah bounds up next to me, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What up, Twelve?"

"Tell me everything you know about fight club."

"Rule number 1, bro," he grins, and aims a punch at my jaw, which I sidestep easily.

"What do your numbers mean?" says a high, clear voice. I look around the room until my eyes land on the speaker, a small girl with mousy brown hair and dark eyes. I stop in front of her and leer.

"OK, Dwarf. Do you really want me to tell you?"

She stares me down. "Yeah."

"That's my shoe size. And you know what they say about big feet. So you're already at a serious disadvantage." Her cheeks flush, and I grin evilly over my shoulder. "You should know, right, Four?"

Four chokes on his apple.

"I beg to differ," Tris says hotly. She's defending the girls, but then she realizes what she's really sticking up for, and she turns beet red. Four throws the apple at my head.

"Good point, Six," I grin, wiping bits of fruit off my cheek. "We all know you have bigger balls than him."

"Oh shut up."

"Rule number two – DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB," I bark, spinning back around to face the line of grey. "I don't see any Candors in the room, so if someone asks you about how you got hurt – and you will get hurt, believe me – lie."

"We won't really get that hurt, will we?" stutters a tall, plump boy in the back.

"I think you're forgetting why you're here, Marshmallow," I say. "In Dauntless, a bit of pain is part of the game."

Four steps out of the shadows and the kid swallows hard. I'd forgotten how intimidating our fearless leader can be. "But we're Dauntless, not animals," he says quietly. "We fight with honor, and so will you. Six - care to elaborate?"

"Rule three," Tris says, "If someone says stop, or goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. You stop, or we'll stop you, and you won't like it."

"Eleven?" I call to Christina. "We have a few more rules, don't we?"

"Yep," says Christina, stepping forward. "Rule four – only two people to a fight. Rule five – one fight at a time. Rule six – no shoes, and no shirts." The Abnegation kids gasp in horror, and Christina grins. "Keep your panties on, and your shirts too. I was kidding."

She winks at Uriah, and my brother's eyes light up. Interesting. I'll have to quiz him on that later.

An Abnegation boy pulls his loose grey jacket off, revealing a sleeveless undershirt and a little bit of muscle. "I don't mind. We're here to do something different, right?" He glances at Tris and smiles. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Four give him the death glare. He managed to wait ten minutes before bringing out the big guns – a new record. I step in front of him before the kid has a heart attack.

"That's right, Perv." I grin at him. "You'll be doing something different all right. Starting right now. Rule eight: if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight. And you'll be in the number one slot."

Perv drops his shirt.

"But let's learn a few punches first." I line them all ten of them up, naming them as I go.

"Marshmallow. Dwarf. Stork. Whizz. Bunhead. Claws. Googly Eyes. Unibrow. Knock Knees. Perv." I rub my hands together. They look terrified – primed and ready.

"Let's get this party started."