So in here Ender is 9, Valentine is 11, and Peter is 13. I'm unsure of the real age differences, those are just guesstimates. This is before Battle School or anything like that.


Valentine was dining into what she thought was a perfect lunch: a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise, tomato, and lettuce, fresh orange juice, and a handful of baby carrots served with ranch dressing.

Her two brothers, Ender and Peter, were upstairs. Valentine figured Peter was punching something and Ender was harmlessly playing with his toy cars. Valentine dipped a carrot into the dressing to bit it with a loud snap.

Upstairs, however, things were different. Valentine was somewhat right, Ender was playing with his toy cars, but Peter was sitting on the couch next to him, watching TV. Peter hadn't had a violent outbreak in three days. Valentine figured it was a phase he'd outgrown, but the rest of the family knew that Peter was bottling up all his anger to release on a perfectly vulnerable target.

I guess you couldn't really say that Ender was 'playing' with the cars. He was more analyzing their weight and aerodynamic ability than racing them. He was comparing his electric green car to his deep blue one. According to Ender's calculations, the blue one should win by half a second if they were going at the same speed. But, judging by the engine size, the green car could go two seconds faster, making it able to win by one and a half seconds.

"Watcha doin' there?" Peter smirked, looking at Ender. "Being a little nerd?" Ender ignored him, he wasn't worth his time or brain power. Now back to that bulky side mirror...

"Hey, barfbag, I was talking to you," Peter snorted. Ignored again. "Hey!" Peter lunged forward and yanked Ender to him by his shirt collar. "You listen to me when I talk to you."

Valentine, who'd been using her keen hearing to detect any noise, didn't hear a thing and continued to eat.

Peter released Ender, but he wasn't done yet. He picked up Ender's red car and started to examine it.

"Give it back," Ender said, very calm and collected.

"No," Peter scoffed and 'accidentally' snapped the car in half. Ender glared at Peter threateningly.

"Give. It. Back!" Ender shouted, standing up. He clenched his fists, even though he knew he was no match for Peter. Peter lunged at Ender, knocking him down and punching his stomach repeatedly.

This Valentine heard. She dropped her sandwich and flew upstairs, using all her might.

"Ender!" She screeched, horrified at the sight. She darted forward and grabbed her older brother, throwing him off Ender. Peter pushed Valentine to the side with so incredible force. Valentine slammed into the wall, then stumbled forward and tripped.

"Valentine!" Ender shouted. "Peter, please, stop!" Begged Ender. Valentine sat dazed on the floor, barely conscious from the blow.

"Make me," Peter snarled, an evi look in his eye. It was these moments that Valentine and Ender wondered- what happened? Why was Peter so violent, so evil? What Valentine hated the most was that Ender was becoming more and more like Peter. Sometimes it was little things, throwing a tantrum or breaking something, other times it was big, like fights in school.

Peter again lunged at Ender, but this time to finish him off. Peter grabbed Ender's throat, making it impossible to breathe. His gasps for air brought Valentine back to Earth. She took a deep breath, debating what to do. If she didn't fight Peter, Ender would die. But she couldn't fight her own brother, she couldn't fight anybody. Valentine hates squishing flies, for Pete's sake!

But Ender was more important than any promise Valentine could've made to herself. She charged at Peter, knocking him off Ender.

"Ender, run!" She screamed, squirming as Peter pinned her to the floor with both hands. Valentine thought again, she'd have to hurt Peter in order to save herself and Ender. She had no choice. Closing her eyes tightly and taking a silent inhale, Valentine kneed Peter where it'd hurt. He fell to her side, eyes shut, biting his lip. Valentine stood and ran, escaping Peter for the time being.