Chapter 3

A raspy voice yells out to me. My eyelids feel heavy, but I fling them open when I find myself in a room so chillingly cold, it sends a shiver up my spine. Something mud brown – a belt – lashes out at me, and my first instinct would be to dodge it, but I am paralyzed, unable to move. Instead, I feel a painful stinging on my back. I lose my focus, but I can see a figure walking towards me. It's Marcus. I resemble him, but his eyes look lifeless, and sunken far back into his skull. His belt retracts, and in a flash it's wrapped around my wrists, and he pulls it tight. The searing pain is familiar. I don't understand. How did I get here?

I wake up with a startle. I face the grey wall across the room that is clearly marked with the words 'Fear God Alone.' A slick layer of sweat rests on my forehead. My heart is throbbing against my chest. I shut my eyes and try to forget my dream, but I can still see it so clearly. Beams of sunlight have poured through in between the blinds, illuminating the room. I throw the navy blue covers over my body, trying to adjust to the brightness. I groan inwardly. Yesterday Eric must've taught the initiates about the ranking system which means today is the day I have to teach them fight.

After taking a shower, throwing on new clothes and eating my breakfast, I walk down the familiar grey hallways of the Dauntless compound. At least they're not as hard to remember as the Erudite buildings, a voice at the back of my head nags at me. We're not supposed to visit other factions, but when I was thirteen, I just couldn't help taking a stroll through the maze of cement hallways. I was curious – that's for sure. No wonder why I transferred to Dauntless. No, but it wasn't the reason why you left Abnegation, that same voice tells me. I push the thought out of my head, but I grit my teeth, knowing that the voice is telling the truth.

By the time I reach the training room where Amar, my deceased instructor, nicknamed me Four because of my, well, four fears, my hair has already dried. It is very early in the morning, but eventually, the transfers pile in. One by one, I pass each person a metal gun, which feels comfortable in my own hands, while saying, "The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun. The second thing is how to win a fight." The initiates are only two years younger than me, but at that moment they resemble innocent seven year olds. Most of them look around uncomfortably, but some, like that rude Candor boy who pushed in front of me yesterday in the dining hall, who I now know as Peter, stand with a sort of superiority that I don't particularly like. "Thankfully, if you are here," I continue, "You already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

Sweeping my dark blue eyes over each initiate, lingering on Tris, who is uncomfortably weighing the gun in her hand, for just a fraction of a second longer, I say, "Initiation is divided into three stages. We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time." I finish my long sentence at an abrupt halt, my lips pursed tightly. "We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice," I hear myself say, "Which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear. Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

After explaining the initiation process, Peter asks in between yawns, "But what… what does firing a gun have to do with… bravery?" I consider my options, before flipping the gun without effort in my left hand and in one quick motion press the end of the gun to Peter's forehead. Everyone stops what they're doing and looks at me. Peter sucks in his breath and freezes, mouth slightly agape and stares straight into my eyes. He is silent – he thinks I will kill him, but that is the lesson, is it not?

"Wake. Up," I say coldly, "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it." I put the gun down and see Peter's eyes harden. I stand there, half-expecting him to reply. "And to answer your question… you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself. This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me." I turn to the wall lined with the targets; hold the gun up with both hands, feet shoulder width apart, and pull the trigger with my index finger. The impact of the bullet makes most of the initiates flinch, but I've gotten so used to it I don't even give it another thought. I see the bullet in the middle circle, and I step aside to let the initiates have a go.

After everyone has lined up, facing a target each, they attempt to shoot. More than half of them will be dead or worse, factionless, by the end of this month. I can't help feeling sorry for them, but then again, they had a choice. Guns fire – most of them nowhere near the target, but a few do succeed. Edward, one of the Erudite transfers, almost hits the bullseye on his second try, but that is the closest anyone has gotten so far. Over the roar of the guns being shot, I hear snippets of conversations.

"- is impossible -"

"- way too loud -"

"- actually defying nature -"

After almost two and a half hours of the initiates shooting, I take them down to the dining hall. I sit in my usual spot again, but this time Tris and Christina sit on the other side along with Al, a broad shouldered boy who transferred from Candor, and Will, an Erudite-born. Lunch is hamburgers with the famous Dauntless chocolate cake. I keep to myself, making minimal conversation with other Dauntless members, but I can't help hearing what some of them say.

"Did you guys hear? The Erudite are planning something, obviously against Abnegation, and they want us to be their soldiers," says one of the voices, "We're not their puppets, for goodness sake!" I look up, eyes wide and mouth open – the Erudite are planning something? It's a rebellion, I think to myself. What else do they want from Abnegation? My dark eyebrows pull my face into a frown, making the nearly invisible, but noticeable if you look closely, scar on my chin that I received from an unexpected punch back in my own initiation go all crooked.

This is not good. So many people could get killed. And how do they expect us to obey every command? Either way, this is very dangerous. I bite my lip until it bleeds, but it's distracting. It temporarily takes my mind off thought of Erudite rebelling, but in doesn't last long. I hope that this is just a nasty rumor, but somewhere, deep inside of me, I know they have every motive to do so.