I'm having bad writer's block on Killing Four, my other story. So what do I do? Do I buckle down and power through the pain? No. Do I do something useful, like clean my room? No. Do I stop procrastinating on my original novel? No (NaNoWriMo will force me to stop doing that soon). Do I write something nice, like FourTris fluff, that won't give me bad dreams? No. No. No. Nope, I don't do any of those things. Instead, I start a story about Marcus. Yep. Marcus. Because he didn't spring from the womb as a fully formed monster, and because I seem to be obsessed with the darkest fics possible. So, yeah...Marcus.

This is a little bit of an experiment, as I am usually a present tense writer. Didn't want first person either, because let's face it - who really wants to live in Marcus's head? Constructive criticism is welcome. REVIEW PLEASE - because if people aren't into this story, I'll probably scrap it. Enjoy!

~wk

The fence was always the same – a looming wall of cement and posts and barbed wire, the outer boundary of his cage. He liked to walk along it, not near the gates, full of soldiers and farm trucks and banjo-strumming peace freaks, but the no-mans land between Erudite headquarters and the Candor sector. There was nothing out there but old tin cans, worn out shoes, dying weeds, and a few rats – the trash that nobody wanted. He fit right in. It was the perfect place for Marcus Eaton - sixteen, and Candor, and a liar.

He didn't intend to be a liar, not at first. Every Candor-born knows that honesty is the most important virtue. The truth is beautiful. When his mother told him she loved him before she died, he knew she meant it. When he listened to his leaders' political promises, he knew they were real. But lies were easier. When his father beat him up and lied about it, he did too. When he was caught, and lied again, Marcus did too. Lies upon lies, until the day his father was thrown out of Candor for good. That day, John Eaton asked his son to leave with him, to live factionless, together. That day, Marcus finally told him the truth. He told his father that if he ever saw him again, he would kill him.

After that, the Candor put him into "conditioning" – rehab for liars. Foster parents, truth serum, group testimony, the works – they knew Marcus was the victim, but that didn't matter. He had been dishonest. No one trusted him anymore. So he kept lying, and he started to like it. He was good at it. He could manipulate people, and blame things on others. He could look into a girl's eyes and talk about feelings that didn't exist. He knew how to leverage his deep blue eyes and broad shoulders to get what he wanted.

If his fellow faction members really knew him, they would call him a sociopath, but that wasn't the truth either. That would mean he didn't care, and Marcus cared about a lot of things. He cared about learning and information. He cared about what his dead mother would think. He even cared about a friend or two. But he cared about one thing more than anything else – himself. When the world collapsed, he intended to be the last one standing…or the first one to escape.

So he walked the fence line, and wondered.

He always came here alone, when all the loud opinions and personal questions got on his nerves. Today was no exception – except when he reached the fence, someone was already standing there.

"Have you ever been out there?" Johanna Reyes didn't turn to greet him. Instead she put her hand directly onto a strand of wire, pressing lightly until the barbs just pierced her flesh. Marcus pressed his lips together in annoyance; he wasn't really in the mood for company. He reached out and lifted her hand off the fence. A dot of blood welled up on her index finger.

"Not yet," he said.

The girl turned to look at him, a smirk playing around her lips. She was pretty, beautiful even, with long dark hair and bold, expressive eyes, trained to seek out truth like any other Candor-born. But Johanna was different – because Marcus was sure that she knew how to lie. She never seemed to judge him, and if that didn't make them friends, at least they were allies.

"Want to try?" she said, motioning toward the bottom of the fence. There was a hole there, a recent defect the Dauntless patrols hadn't found yet. The strand of wire closest to the ground was wrenched up, and there was a slight ditch scratched into the dirt, a passageway for a large dog…or a small person.

"I'm not going to fit through there," Marcus said scornfully. "And why would I want to?"

"Because you're bored?" Johanna asked, one eyebrow raised. She unzipped her jacket and tied it around the wire over the gap, shielding the barbs. "Come on! Live dangerously for once in your life." She dropped to her belly and wiggled under the fence until she emerged on the other side, shirt torn and dirty.

"What are you, Dauntless?"

Johanna paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "Maybe I am. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Marcus looked at her through the fence. "So you already know you're leaving Candor then."

"Honestly?" He nodded. Johanna started laughing. "If I told you honestly, you'd already have your answer, wouldn't you," she said. Marcus gave her a grudging smile. "So are you coming or not?"

She hooked her hand under the jacket she had wrapped around the wire and tugged it up further. Marcus frowned. He wasn't impulsive; he didn't enjoy taking risks. But he had always wanted to know what lay outside the fence, and he might not have another opportunity. In three weeks, they would choose their factions, and Marcus still had no idea where he wanted to go, or what would happen when he got there.

He shrugged. "No time like the present." He crawled through the hole. A barb caught his white shirt, tearing it down his back and grazing his skin. Johanna helped him to his feet and grinned.

"Now what?"

Marcus scanned the horizon. To the left stretched the marshy, muddy expanse of the lakebed, the grim view from Erudite's glass towers. To the right, a dusty field of weeds, peppered with the odd abandoned home, weathered down to concrete slabs and buckled chimneys. His eyes landed on a distant clump of withered trees.

"There," he pointed.

"Scenic," said Johanna, rolling her eyes. She turned and started off towards them, leaving Marcus to trot in her wake. Dust rose with each of their footsteps, swirling around their legs and coating their black Candor-issued trousers. The air was still and silent, broken only by the occasional call of a crow. Cockroaches scurried across their path. The further he walked, the more nervous Marcus grew. He felt incredibly exposed - if they were caught out here, there would be no covering it up. No one would believe their lies.

He glanced over at Johanna. She seemed calm, almost fearless, though her eyes were darting everywhere. The quiet settled over them, a rare feeling for anyone who grew up in Candor. Minus the roaches, and the dirt, and the uneasy sense that someone was watching them, it felt almost peaceful.

The trees were further away than they looked, still a distant spot of green in the dull brown wasteland. Johanna paused to rest in the shadow of a crumbling brick wall, a house abandoned generations ago.

"Now I know why no one ever leaves the city," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "There's nothing out here. I wonder what happened to the people who lived here?"

Marcus shrugged. "Some of them died in the wars. The rest helped found the factions, I guess. Faction History 101."

Johanna's eyes narrowed. "You don't think they're telling us everything, do you." It wasn't a question.

"Our teachers aren't Candor."

Johanna snorted. "That's a good thing. I don't think I could stand six periods of debate class." She reached down and picked up a rock, launching it at a rat poking its head around the corner of the wall. The creature disappeared.

"Me either." Marcus kicked the dirt near the wall, unearthing the jagged lid of a tin can. He picked it up and tossed it into the patch of sunlight between them. Johanna looked at him sadly.

"Where are you going to go, Marcus? Everyone knows that you're not Candor material."

Marcus plopped down in the dust beside her. "I could care less what everyone knows." She just looked at him, her brown eyes thoughtful. "What?" he asked, sick of her staring at him.

"Just trying to place you in a faction," she said smiling. "And I'm not coming up with anything." She blinked, and the smile faded. "Actually, that's kind of weird."

Marcus clenched his jaw in anger. Being factionless was one of his biggest fears, and this girl was practically telling him that was his only choice. "Thanks for your brilliant insight Johanna," he spat, climbing to his feet. "I know that I don't fit in anywhere. I'm in Candor, remember? Half of your friends have told me that already. So I should just quit while I'm ahead? Drop out of school and start collecting garbage with the rest of the trash?"

He stared back towards the fence, barely visible in the afternoon light. Johanna stood up and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Marcus, I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that you have choices. Half of the kids in our class are total sheep. You know that." She was trying to comfort him, but Marcus didn't want her sympathy, or her advice. He could take care of himself – he always had. He shook her hand off and turned to face her, his eyes dark and cold.

"Why did we come out here anyway? We already knew what was here. Just the end result of people doing what they do best – behave like animals."

Johanna stepped back, shocked by the anger on his face, the menace in his eyes.

"But, the factions solved all that, right? War, murder, selfishness, ignorance…we don't have that anymore," she said.

Marcus walked up to her, his tall frame blocking out the sun overhead. He sneered in her face, and her eyes went wide. "You forgot honesty, Johanna," he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "Because no Candor has ever lied."

She swallowed. Marcus walked backwards, out of the shadow of the wall and into the light. "Don't fool yourself. We'll be fighting and killing each other again. It's only a matter of time." He smiled at her – the coldest smile she had ever seen. "Good luck with your choice," he said. "Maybe you should go for Dauntless. At least you'll know how to shoot back."

Marcus walked away, back towards the city. He felt like a jerk, leaving her there alone. But he was a jerk to almost everyone, so why should she be any different? He kicked pebbles as he walked, watching them roll into craters, the relics of century-old landmines and bombs. He didn't hear the creeping footsteps, the snapping twig. He didn't hear the struggle, or the running footsteps.

He heard the scream.