Chapter 3

At this instant I find myself standing in a large room with my fellow initiates. Though I don't know what we are here for, I get a feeling that this room has heard and seen heart-wrenching things happen to people. The single metal chair placed in the centre surrounded by numerous screens doesn't oppose the idea either.

Our initiation instructor is Amar, the one who pulled me out of the net and then gave us a trip of the pit and chasm and with that a glance as to how our future will be if and not when we become dauntless members. That came out to be a dangerous surprise.

Twenty four initiates. Fourteen Dauntless born. Ten transfers. Ten positions. Two weeks. It's a do or die situation. The only difference is that while others are fighting for one life, theirs, I am fighting for two, mine and hers. And come what may, I am going to make it. Don't care if I am a stiff or have no training what so ever, I am going to make it because I need to. Because she needsme to. If anything, this new challenge has fanned the flames in me and I swear I won't allow anything, or anyone, to extinguish them.

"Attention initiates!" Amar thunders, immediately silencing the conversations of others and cutting off my chain of thoughts. "We have decided to change the initiation pattern a bit. All of you will be going through your fear landscapes today so that you can realise what your true fears are and hence work on eradicating or controlling them. Am I understood?" With mumbles of affirmations through everyone's dry throats, the nightmare begins.

I stand helplessly picking my knuckles, shifting my weight from one foot to other, albeit aloof from the rest of the group watching as initiate after initiate punches, kicks and screams into thin air. Their blood curling pleas for help make me shiver. They, though, are nothing new to me. My ears are accustomed to hear similar ones almost daily, mine and hers. Hers. That thought makes the pit in my stomach grow wider. A wave of anger and helplessness surges through me. Her screams. She could be screaming, calling for help right now, calling for me. Met by his malicious laughter instead of my helping hand. No. Please God.

My breaths are coming quicker and shallower. And I swear I would have gone mad with fury if it had not been the ear piercing shriek of the Candor girl in her landscape, Christina I guess her name was, flapping her arms in front of her face as if to drive away moths.

I decide to pay more attention to what is going on in front of me before I go completely insane and lost in the darkness of the pit I call my mind. I watch as an Erudite transfer with savagery swimming in his cold grey eyes, Eric, thoughtfully calms his heart rate down and moves on to his next fear without even head on facing the previous one. It is smart enough to seem scary. Another dauntless born, Zeke I think, starts yelling at the top of his voice, begging his brother to save him some cake. At this the whole room erupts in fits of laughter and I really can't help the amused smile on my face.

Suddenly I hear a soft voice near me "You should smile more often you know."

I look down to see Beatrice, or should I say Tris now, softly smiling at me. I am intrigued by her pale blue eyes. I swear they were stormy grey when I saw her some time ago. Never the less, they are alive, powerful. I genuinely don't know what to say. Neither do I know how to respond. I don't understand why she has taken out time to talk to a closed off person like me, or is smiling at me. Honestly no one has ever smiled at me like that. All I ever experienced was wicked laughter of Marcus or forced, fake smiles of the abnegation. So me being me, I simply stare at her, her eyes never leaving mine, her smile never fading.

Suddenly I feel bad for frowning at her by the net. I am about to apologise but she is called by Amar. She confidently and gracefully carries her small frame to the chair. Her simulation starts. Even with eyes closed one can see the determined look on her face. At times she screams but never calls for help. I don't know the weird feeling I get when I hear her frantic scream. It is almost like how I feel when I hear her screaming. Before my thoughts go down in a spiral again about her plight and my bound hands, Tris is sitting awake on the chair. A little shaken but composed. Amar watches her with disbelief and…pride. He informs us that the average number of fears of an individual are 12-14 but Tris has only 6 fears! Some of us are shocked, she herself looks more shocked while others holler and applaud. And me? I am asking myself what is the warm feeling in my chest right now?

My turn is the last. By the time Amar calls me, everyone else has left for the cafeteria. "Let's get over with this shall we stiff?" he asks. I really don't like the nickname. After all it is an insult to my former faction. Nevertheless I simply nod and sit on the cold, hard metal chair waiting for him to inject me. "Be brave" he whispers and the simulation begins.

After what seems like ages I jerk awake. Sweat is dripping from my damp hair. My heart is racing. My eyes are red with tears and fury. My hands are curled into tight fists, so much that I can feel the blood my nails are drawing from my palms. My breaths are coming out in short, heavy huffs and I can say I must look like a complete mess. But right now, I can't seem to form any coherent thought. All I can feel is the whacks of his belt against my bare back, all I can hear are her screams of agony, all I can see is Marcus killing her in front of me, right in front of me, and I could do nothing, NOTHING!

White fury runs through me. I close my eyes and shake my head, like I do so often to escape from the harsh reality that my life is. But when the images still don't disappear I realise that this time it was inside my head not in front of me.

I repeat this over and over to myself, take long deep breath and open my eyes. It is when I become accustomed to the bright light in the room that I see Amar's face. And I know my secret is out. Silently I sit there till my legs can muster the strength to walk and ready myself for the onslaught of questions.

I don't look at his face because I don't want pity. I wanted help. That was the reason I had come here. For that I knew I would have had to reveal my secrets but Marcus' note and look had made it clear had I must not reveal anything. And if I am to deal with it by myself I really don't want anyone to know how broken, how marred I am beneath my indifferent facade.

There is a loud silence. And then they come. I expect him to ask 'was it real?' or 'Are you Marcus Eaton's son?' or 'I don't believe the Abnegation leader would be like that.' But all he asks is one question. One single question that lefts my stomach churning. I look up to see his face. I expected pity or disbelief or something like that but all I can see is rage, vengeance and … curiosity. Who is she indeed.

Of course he would ask that. Not many, in fact nobody knows about the younger daughter of Marcus Eaton. "She" I say "is my younger sister."