I run out of breath, exhausted from climbing the mountain that lies all around me. I am looking for a dog that the little girl in yellow lost. I feel so sorry for the girl, she looked like I used to when I was small. She was so sad, crying, begging me to find her poor puppy.
What happened before that? I don't remember. Is this real? I look up at the sky, but there is just blackness. It can't be real. I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself to wake up.
"Brea. Open your eyes," Tori calls from a distance. Tori drags herself closer on her rolling chair. "You're free now." Reading the odd look on my face, she elaborates more. "You can move out of the city now. You can stay here, of course, but you're free to leave if you wish." She scribbles something on a paper and tucks it in her manila folder. "It's up to you. You're genetically pure."
A long time ago, my adopted dad, Four, abolished genetic discrimination. He used a memory serum to wipe out the knowledge that anyone was genetically damaged. A few years ago, a scientist from another city found our "corrupt" society and told all the scientific officials about the problem.
After several months of bickering, out city came to a compromise with the officials. All of the genetically damaged people and their children under 16 must stay within the city. In trade for that, the faction system wouldn't be re-installed. Since I turned 16 last Tuesday, I came today for my mandatory testing that tells me if I'm genetically pure.
I come up to the front door of our gray, boxy house. I take a deep breath and silently step inside. My dad is staring blankly out the window. "How'd it go," Dad's deep voice mixes with the air around me.
He amazes me day after day at how keen his senses are. One day, I asked him about it. He mumbled something about Dauntless and then broke down in tears. I don't dare to ask him anything else about his past.
"I'm a GP," I keep my explanations short and brittle, never wanting to touch any of Dad's soft spots. He used to be better. Sometimes he would even tell me stories about this "Tris" girl whose death launched him into depression. One time, he revealed his real name to me. Tobias. I've always liked that name.
Dad breaks the silence. "What's your decision?"
My voice surprises me, piercing through the air, my mouth talking without me telling it to.
"I'm going to leave."