Sorry this is so short, but I'm working chapter-by-chapter in Tris format. Also, if you're worried about the Peter/Tris, let me tell you, it is so slight, but it's needed. I DO NOT SHIP IT. Don't even worry about it, really, it's probably not even noticeable. Not like Peter is observant anyways. Enjoy~

I sigh, putting the towel over my face to dry it, eyeing my flaws in the mirror. Today is the aptitude test, to see one- or more, in an impossible theory- one of the factions. Dauntless- the one I know I'll get, full of brave blowhards, Candor- the one I inhabit and take very good use in the honesty policy, Amity- the kind hippies, Erudite- the intelligent over-achievers, or Abnegation- the selfless doubters.

"Peter, Drew and Molly are here," my father figure says below me.

"Give me a second." I say, raking my hands through my hair, trying to position it as best as I can. No matter where I go, it gleams in the light with my eyes.

Sure, I don't know my test scores, but I'll get Dauntless, I'm sure. I'm badass enough. I'm violent enough.

We do not believe in living comfortable lives.

I don't. Which is what I live in now. Everybody being so honest...

We do not believe that silence is useful.

I'd rather you scream in agony in action.

We do not believe in good manners.

This I know. Honesty comes hand in hand with this.

We do not believe in empty heads, empty mouths, or empty hands.

This I could care less about.

We do not believe that learning to master violence encourages unnecessary violence.

Unless you're me. But then again…I'm me.

We do not believe that we should be allowed to stand idly by.

Hell-to-the-yeah right there.

We do not believe that any other virtue is more important than bravery.

I'm cruel. I have no conscience for the weak, those around me. I'm your worst nightmare, lurking in the lines between honesty and reality. I am Peter Hayes.

I trudge downstairs, my posse in the hall waiting for me.

Our last day together, but I dare not say goodbye, no. That is a sign of cowardice, and a true statement at that. I am aware 'goodbye' means remorse, regret, loathing, all nasty things. If I stayed here, in Honestyland, I'd be obligated to tell them so, even if Drew became Abnegation and Molly became Amity- all of what I would suspect from the aptitude tests.

They nod slowly in unison. They know. It's our last beat down from the Amity kid around the block.

"Ready for a Beat-down?!"

A parent glares at me, then back to the kid.

"It was him, I swear!" the kid known as Jake whines as he holds up a towel to his bloody nose.

If I was having it my way I'd be in chloroform.

She then glares at me, once again.

"Ma'am, it was him, honest to God truth." I say, trying not to sound bored. I've mastered this, and it's the last time I'll ever use it. I've even learned to cope with Molly and Drew ditching, running before trouble. Pussyfoots.

This woman had obviously not been in the Erudite faction, because she has not scanned me over, for she says, "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I am Candor, ma'am." Candors do not lie.

The lady solemnly nods as she walks away, guiding the kid elsewhere. All I got was a hit to the jaw, what a lame child. I could've easily knocked him out, but then I'd be guilty. I always prefer the Amity children anyways, I revolt the faction and they can't fight very well. Poor them.

I try to remain my posture as I get in the bus. It's quite difficult to find a seat, so I don't even try. I have to stand and hold the metallic bar, adjusting my black slacks along with the while belt. Today I will figure out if my last three weeks reciting the Dauntless manifesto in my mirror as I was my face have been a lie. I will figure out if I've been a lie.

I will figure out if my lie has been a truth.

Tomorrow I have my choosing ceremony.

The one where I will pick Dauntless, no matter what.

I glance out my window. Each building is slurring in a fast motion, passing by the places I live by. The Hub, and in ancient History, the Sears Tower (ha. The one time I did listen to Faction History class), the needle looking statue I call The Syringe, although nobody else seems to notice it, and the train tracks I vie to ride on one day. They elevate enough to stop right in front of our school, the one that's split into levels. Upper Level, Mid-Level, and Lower Level.

I usually don't see beauty in most things, but I find the school very exquisite. It's glass and steel structure, the statue the badass Dauntless play on, the fumes of exhaust and over chocolate cologne.

Our classes are split today, not that I care. More time for the tests.

I walk into the building, knocking people over to get into my Languid Science class. Snooze, you lose. Caring for these people is useless practice.