This chapter should be nothing new…it's the scene where Eric is first introduced in the original novel. That being said, I got a lot of dialogue straight from the book, so I'm going to issue my disclaimer for the entire story here: I do not own any of the characters except the ones that I made up, and I don't own any of the dialogue in this chapter.
Breaking The Habit
Chapter Two: Transfers
Eric
Five hours later I stride down the hall to the cafeteria, hoping to intercept Four and maybe scare the hell out of some faction transfers. It's almost always easy to do, especially considering I must have at least one bruise on my pale face, not to mention all the holes from piercings. I feel the cold ring of metal whenever I inhale, smell the blood. The pain of raw injuries is a balm that soothes my craving, makes it bearable. I clench and unclench my hands as a distraction. Forcing my face into an expression that radiates ice and danger, I push open the door.
The room falls silent, except for a few hushed whispers, the kind that tend to follow me wherever I go. According to Asher, I'm a sight to see, with my piercings and tattoos and the dirt that almost always covers me. The majority of the general population of Dauntless would be lying, she claims, if they said they weren't at least a little afraid of me. Most of the tables are occupied by a mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. I scan the room and finally locate Four sitting with two transfer girls—one from Candor…one from Abnegation. Yes. And I haven't just noticed them, they've seen me too. As I start towards the table I can't help but notice that while the Stiff is whispering to Four and doing anything she possibly can to avoid my gaze, the Candor makes no move to stop staring at me.
I drop into the seat next to Four, who pretends not to notice I'm there. It doesn't work. I can see how tense he is. The transfers eye me warily. I don't greet them. It would cause my façade to crumble in a second if I appear even the slightest bit friendly. "Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" I ask instead, nodding at them.
Trying his best to appear casual, Four replies: "This is Tris and Christina."
"Ooh, a Stiff." I know I won't be able to get a rise out of him, but I can't help it. "We'll see how long you last." She doesn't respond. The look on her face is priceless, somewhere between incredulous and terrified. I turn away. "What have you been doing lately, Four?"
He hears the edge in my voice. Knows I don't really care. Shrugs. "Nothing, really."
"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up. He requested that I find out what's going on with you."
He looks at me suspiciously for a few seconds. The last thing I want to do is make it appear to him that I'm Max's lapdog, because then I have no power over him, and I need that power, need it more than I need air. "Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold."
"So he wants to give you a job." I'm not sure if I believe it. He would be of no use to us. He might even be one of them—no one would be surprised if it turned out he was.
"So it would seem."
"And you aren't interested."
"I haven't been interested for two years." His voice is more or less devoid of emotion. He's always been good at controlling himself, because of his background. I'm one of the few people with access to that precious information, and I keep it in my back pocket at all times, because I never know when I'll need to pull out in order to make him cooperate.
"Well. Let's hope he gets the point, then." I clap Four on the shoulder as I get up to leave the table. Maybe a little too hard. Oh, well. I would've punched him—all friendly, of course, just a show of affection between two former initiates—if it weren't for my damn bloody knuckles.
~oOo~
Four vanishes without a trace—hopefully down the chasm—and I am forced to show the transfers around, something that would normally be his job. I don't bother to tell them where we're going, which from anyone else would invite questions, but they remain silent. Already nervous around me. Good.
I stop in front of the door to the room where the transfers will stay and turn to face them. I can't look at that door, there are too many memories behind it. "For those of you who don't know, my name is Eric." And for those who do know… My eyes land on the Candor who'd been sitting with Four and the Stiff. She stares right back. "I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless. We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training.
"Some ground rules. You have to be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation." I hope I sound as bored as I am. I think idly that it's lucky Asher got a job in the tattoo parlor, because if she'd ended up having to do this she wouldn't have even made it halfway through the spiel.
"You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless. Behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the next few weeks. You will notice that there are ten beds and only nine of you. We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far."
"But we started with twelve." I don't have to look to know this is the Candor girl speaking. Who else would that tone of voice, that brutal, interrupting honesty come from? I shrug and closely examine my fingernails, trying to look nonchalant.
"There is always at least one transfer who doesn't make it to the compound. Anyway, in the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that doesn't mean you are evaluated separately. At the end of initiation, your rakings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates. And they are better than you are already. So I expect—"
"Rankings?" This time the interruption comes from a tall Erudite girl standing next to the Stiff. "Why are we ranked?"
I smile. I've been hoping someone would ask. At the very least, it will make things more interesting. "Your ranking serves two purposes. The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation. There are only a few desirable positions available. The second purpose is that only the top ten initiates are made members."
Complete silence, then the Candor girl says "What?" This time I actually look at her. Dark hair and eyes, dressed in standard black-and-white Candor clothing. She has a name, I remember. Christina. And Christina does not look happy, nor do any of the other transfers, whose expressions range from shocked to furious.
"There are eleven Dauntless-born, and nine of you. Four initiates will be cut at the end of stage one. The remainder will be cut after the final test."
"What do we do if we're cut?" a boy asks.
"You leave the Dauntless compound and live factionless."
'But that's…not fair!" Another Candor. Of course they would be the most vocal, and the first to protest. "If we had known-"
I snap. I've had enough of this and it's barely been five minutes. The transfers don't understand the way thing are done here. They never do, not at first. "Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn't have chosen Dauntless? Because if that's the case, you should get out now. If you are really one of us, it won't matter to you that you might fail. And if it does, you are a coward."
I push the door open, eager to leave them to their own devices and possibly find some peace in solitude.
"You chose us. Now we have to choose you."