When I first chose Dauntless, it was difficult to believe that I really chose it. Now, I can't imagine choosing anything else.

It is not just because of Peter, though that is an important chunk of it. It is also because of the courage, strength, and trust that I've developed during my time here. The kind of camaraderie that comes with risking your life for others and trusting they risk their lives in return brings people together in a way that could never be understood by merely reading a textbook or experimenting in a lab. That's why I left Erudite. They would never understand that.

Being Erudite was a lifetime ago. The blue blazers, neat hair, and glasses were a girl, timid and afraid but with a million facts running through her head. The day I traded that in for leather jackets and tattoos was the day I learned to shut my brain up. It was the same city but a different way of life. To do rather than think. To live rather than fear.

I remember the day I entered the Dauntless compound. I was the third poor son of a bitch to take the plunge toward a hole in the roof only to hit the harsh but safe material of the net at the bottom of it. There were hands pulling me as I made my way off the net, twisting and stretching until my feet hit solid ground. I looked up at the hole in the sky, wondering how gruesome it would have been if I happened to still be laying in the net when the next initiate came hurling towards it. Would the momentum have crushed my bones, rendering me factionless before I could even begin? I tried to do the math in my head, calculating my approximate velocity and my mass and a possible velocity and mass of the next initiate.

There was a hand gripped around my arm that jolted me from my thoughts, holding me tighter than necessary. There would be bruises in the morning. If I survived that long.

"I don't have all day, initiate." The owner of the hand spoke to me harshly but there was a sense of boredom. Like he couldn't care less. "Name?"

"Lana." My name came out as barely a whisper.

"What was that?" His voice was mocking.

"Lana." I coughed a bit louder, still intimidated by his presence. The man was only a few years older than I was but was tall. His body was littered with scars and taut muscles stood out against his skin. It was clear that he was no stranger to violence.

He leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes. His fingers tightened around the flesh of my arms as he leaned in, his muscles tightening and rippling underneath his black t-shirt. "Are you afraid, Lana?"

"No." I sounded stronger, but I felt smaller. He knew it.

"I hope you turn out to be stronger than your voice is." He sneers. "We don't let mice into Dauntless."

As he let go of my arm, he shoved me toward the other initiates. My upper arm had five red imprints in the shapes of his fingers, aching and throbbing. I knew I must have looked like a kicked puppy by the looks of pity the others gave me as I walked over to them. A Dauntless woman stood with them and leaned down toward me. She had kind eyes and countless tattoos. She brushed her short hair out of her eyes and gave me a pat on the shoulder, the first reassuring gesture I'd known that day.

"I just want to formally apologize in advance for Peter." She says, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, he's in charge of your training. Fortunately, after training, you'll barely see him."

I nod. The difference between this woman and Peter is astounding.

"My name's Christina. Yours?"

"Lana." I say, forcing strength into my voice and holding it steady. "My name is Lana."

Christina nodded in approval and gave me one last pat on the back before watching the rest of the initiates scream as they fell into the net, officially beginning the process to actually becoming a member of Dauntless. From there, we were given a tour of the compound and celebrated our first meal in our new home. It wasn't until I lay in bed that night, surrounded in the crummy form by boys and girls alike, that I realized just how severe the situation was. I was stuck here; it was too late to turn back. Not everyone here would be like Christina. I suspected most of them would be like Peter. His face was imprinted in my nightmares that night.

"Hey." Someone was nudging me, poking my shoulders and my face. "Lana, get up."

I rolled over to find myself face to face with Alex, a fellow Erudite transfer. She smiled bright and wide at me like she was gushing with excitement. It was almost as though she should have gone to Amity instead of this sunless place. I hoped she was tough enough. I hoped I was tough enough.

"First day of training!"

She practically pulled me out of bed and down to the training room before my brain was awake enough to process that my feet were moving at all. Others were shuffling around us, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Most were still in bed, almost all Dauntless-borns who had been waiting for this their whole lives. The rest of us couldn't sleep or were taken from their beds by perky should-be-Amity's.

I looked around the training room when we got there. Aside from the two of us, there were four or five people around. One boy was filled to the brim with dread, the tears in his eyes indicating the regret at choosing his current faction. I focused on Alex's foot tapping against the ground instead rather than worrying about whether I wore the same look of terror on my face. For once, I was grateful for Alex's energy and joy.

A few more shuffled in one by one until I couldn't tell if they were early, like Alex and I were, or if they were on time.

"Alright, initiates! Line up!" Peter barked as he swung the door to the training room.

Everyone in the room scurried into a single line, shoulder to shoulder. The boy next to me bumped my right arm, the one that Peter held in a vicious grip yesterday. I gasped and looked down to find dark purple bruises standing prominent against my skin. When I looked up, I found myself practically nose to nose with someone. Peter. Of course.

"Eyes up, Lana" he spat my name like it was an insult. He looked down at my arm and smiled, proud of his handiwork. I couldn't help but wonder how someone could look so innocent and so much like a rabid dog at the same time.

"This is the scoreboard which your eyes will be glued to for the entirety of your training. Anyone under this line at the end will be cut."

A timid girl raised her hand, trembling as she did. Peter's eyes shifted to her and focused on her as if he were eating her fear. I don't know what made him cruel but it was hard to believe he was always this way. But maybe some people are born with evil in their hearts, no matter what faction they come from.

"What?" he spat.

"What do you mean by cut?" her voice was weaker than mine.

I wished she would be his new target so he would let up on me a little. It was the most selfish I'd been in my life and I didn't have Abnegation roots.

"You'll be booted the hell out of this faction so as not to poison it and you'll be living the rest of your lives with the factionless, taking handouts from Stiffs to survive." He responds with coldness that I'd never seen in anyone before. Maybe he had found his new target.

"On that note, everyone to a punching bag! Hussle!"

At that, everyone scurried off to a punching bag, throwing punches and kicks at it with fearful enthusiasm. They put their whole bodies behind the assaults, hurting themselves more than helping themselves. They looked clueless; they didn't know how to do any of this stuff yet. The only people who actually had a clue were the Dauntless-borns. It didn't seem logical to me, we didn't know the proper form, technique, anything! What use was this?

"What're you waiting for, Squealer?" Peter asked, jabbing his thumb into one of my bruises.

"Squealer?" My voice wasn't as confident or loud as it was with Christina yesterday. I still was that small girl with her eyes to the floor and whose voice cracked when she spoke because she didn't use it often. If it weren't for the blue I wore in school, people would have mistaken me easily for Abnegation.

"You aren't loud now, but I'm sure you will be when you get that first kick to the teeth."

"Aren't you going to teach us how to actually do this stuff?" I asked, putting effort into steadying my voice rather than think about his new nickname for me.

He chuckles and looks around at the other initiates in a frenzy of violence against the swinging inanimate objects around us. They're too filled with fear to think clearly.

"I was going to let everyone make idiots of themselves the first day." He laughed again, sadistic. Why was he in charge of us? I'd heard stories about one of the leaders, Eric, who was in charge of training a few years back. I wish we'd gotten him instead of Peter.

"But," Peter continued. "Since you definitely need whatever advantage you can get, I will start your lesson early."

"Lucky me." I rolled my eyes. That took a lot of courage. Maybe I will fit in here.

"Watch it." He said, sharply.

"How do I do this?"

"Make a fist like this?" He curled his fingers, manipulating them into a powerful fist that I prayed never to be on the other end on. I imitated him, curling my fingers in the same way until it made the same shape only much smaller and much weaker. I promised myself I would work until I was powerful, like he was. I would be Dauntless. I would belong here.

He grunted and I took that to mean I did okay for an initiate. It's about the little victories, isn't it?

"Now try throwing a punch."

I tried, swinging my fist at the bag, throwing my full body at it with as much momentum as I could muster. My hand collided with it and an explosion of pain burst across my hand. It was freeing.

I looked back to Peter laughing at me. "I like the enthusiasm, Squealer." He clapped and his tone oozed with sarcasm. "Plant your feet into the ground."

I did as he said. His hands were around my waist all of a sudden, twisting my torso abruptly, making my ribs scream in protest. I let out a noise mixed with surprise and pain as his hands stayed on my hips for longer than they needed to after he had already positioned me. My face reddened in embarrassment.

"Wow, I didn't even need to wait until you got punched to hear you squeal." He raised his eyebrows and looked down on me. I felt bigger than I did at the beginning of the day.

"Thanks for the help." I say, trying to make myself sound cold like he did. I stared at the punching bag, preparing myself to throw more punches instead of looking him in the eye. I wanted him to stop looking at me.

"You're welcome." He snorted and walked off, a cocky arrogance in every step he took. I bet he was first in his class.

My next hours were spent punching my spirit away in that training room, blocking out everything around me. My pain, the other initiates, even Peter did not cross my mind until I looked down at my beaten hands. They were swollen and bruised from the effort.

For the first time in my life, I felt what it was like to be Dauntless.