So I was asked to do a modern day Will and Tris story. And if I was honest I was totally stumped about how to do it. But then this came to mind. So we'll give it a go.

I pull my leather jacket further around my body, as I take a few steps back. Saving my shoes from the bloody mess on the carpet. I turn to leave, having to step across countless bodies on my way to the door.

"There's no one in the premises. He said." I mutter as I reach the door, walking to the pristine elevator. "Just Craig Johnson in his study. He said."

My ear piece bleeps to life, with an obnoxious voice. "They were scheduled to be waiting at the airport."

"Oh they where scheduled where they? Isn't that interesting." I reply bitterly. As the doors slide open. "What floor genius?"

"Seven." He says matter of factly. "And it wasn't my fault, how was I supposed to know they'd show up early?"

"You're the Intel." I state, clicking the button. "It's your job to know." I hear the calming music bounce to life as I'm lifted upwards.

"Well there was no harm done." He waves off.

"No harm done? Twelve armed guards just died. Not to mention the Persian rug."

I wait for him to respond, but the silence greats me. So I continue. " FWI not my problem. At most I'm supposed to clean up one dead body, thirteen is for you to figure out."

"How is that my problem?" He hissed back to me.

"Because." I say through gritted teeth. "You almost got me killed." The doors open, and I walk into the hallway.

"Stop being so melodramatic, you're alive aren't you?"

"Just give me directions jackass." I state as I look at the many oak doors littering the hall.

"2nd on your right."

I nod as I try the door knob. "It's locked."

"Oh of course." He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I forgot those two years of intense training left a lock as your kryptonite."

"I swear to god Scott." I growl as I ram my leg at the door, the lock crumbling from the force. "I can kill you in two seconds. And right now I am really considering it."

"Yeah, yeah. Like you haven't said that before. Just get to the window. Shockingly one of us actually has a social life. And I can't leave until you get your ass back here."

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't realize me battling evil was ruining your plans." I eye roll as I walk across a musky old office, filled with a full sized mahogany desk, a table full of scotch and worn leather furniture. This place smells like old man. I reach the window, seeing a rickety looking balcony, made of rotting wood.

"What in all hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Uh, climb it. Moron."

"I know I'm small but no way is this thing going to take my weight." I open the window sliding out so I can sit on the window sill. I lower a foot onto it, testing the waters. The whole structure wavers.

"I've just found another exit." He brags. And he deserves to. This might be the first time ever where he hasn't just been a hindrance. "End of the hall, door to your left has a ladder that'll take you to a stone path, it'll take you to the road."

"Roger." I grin as I make my way to the door, having to once again kick a door down. To find a sterile white room, with french doors, the wooden ladder leading onto a stone walkway. "Scott, you might have just redeemed yourself." I praise as I take to the metal steps. I slide down them quickly, and as soon as my feet hit the stone I sprint, and get as far away from the mansion as possible. Ten minutes in however, I'm no longer running. I'm falling.

...

"I'm going to kill him." I concluded. As the nurse begins to disinfect the scrap across my face. "I'm going to hurtle him to the ground. And lead him into a massive ditch and see how he likes it."

It had been an hour since the mission, an hour since I'd fallen into the hole of the broken bridge, had to scale it with what I'm fairly sure is a dislocated shoulder and walk the ten miles back to the hidden car. And it's safe to say I wasn't happy.

"Come on." Uriah giggled. "It's not like it's the first time someones nose has messed them up."

"No it's not. But most peoples Intel's don't try to kill them on a daily bases."

"Yeah. He's a wreck." Uriah grins as he prods at my dangling arm. "We can't all win the nose lottery."

"Trust me he's not going to stay here much longer." I say through gritted teeth. As Uriah helpfully pops my arm into it's socket.

"There." He chimes. Examining his work. "Good as new."

I nod as I wave it around thoroughly. Making sure it's placed correctly.

"Good, I'm going to need both hands to throttle him." I say as I stand, heading for the door.

"Don't be too mean!" Uriah calls. "Max doesn't like us damaging the help!"

My balls turn to fists as I walk through the glass corridors toward the metallic labs. Intel jurisdiction. I pass the different groups of people, huddling round new experiments for our benefit. Until I reach door number seven. My personal lab and throw the door aside. It slams onto the fragile dry wall.

"You have messed up one two many times." I growl. As I watch Scott's brown locks lunge behind a computer.

"I didn't mean to-"

"To what?" I yell, cutting him off. He cowers at my tone. "To almost kill me? What three times? Are you that useless?"

"I didn't-"

"Let's see how you like it shall we?" I say, as I pull him from the computer, my hands instantly going to his throat.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, but I don't lower the pressure.

"Oh you're sorry that's okay then." I exclaim. "I almost died. But it's okay. You're sorry."

"Release him." A gruff voice commands.

My hands open and I watch with a cocked eyebrow as Scott fall to the floor, spluttering as he tries to fill his empty lungs.

I fold my arms as I turn to the dark man, wrinkles line his face as he watches Scott with curiosity. "What did I tell you about man handling the Intel?"

"He deserved it."

Max's eyebrows raise. "Surely he hasn't become even less capable."

"Yup." I reply popping the p. "Almost got me killed three times today."

Max lets out a long sigh, straightening the creases on his forehead with his hand. "Go home." He breaths. "I'll have a new replacement by your next mission."

I give him a hard nod and with one last glare at the pitiful lump in the corner make my way to the top building.

The building is a solid glass box, in the center of Chicago. That is known for being a prestigious office for the high class and rich. The basement however, is Dauntless HQ and where we do our work. It's not a company known by the public but we are known across the country. We are what the police call a last resort. When a criminal too dangerous for lesser skilled people is found we're called in. Or if say a person is widely known for paying off the system, that's our jurisdiction too. Because we're not known we don't have as many... Rules. As the current police system. We are free to capture, torture and kill. As long as the evidence complies us to do so. But it's not an easy job by a long road. And we have different specializations, as any company does. I'm what we call a termination and communication agent. Specialized in both stealing information and terminating high rated threats. The specialized group are the highest in the company, the training taken to gain a specialization is deadly, with a one out of ten chance of survival, and once accomplished respect is to be given for our bravery and knowledge. Each specialized has their Intel, or more commonly know as noses or nerds. They're the brains in the operation. They make our roots, our exit strategies, decide the best weaponry and most importantly of all, keep us safe. All of which my Intel fails at.

So let me introduce myself, my name is Beatrice Prior outside of work. But inside I'm known as six. Other nicknames include murderer, killer, sin and occasionally from Uriah sixeroony. But you guys, well you can call me Tris.