So this happened. Not exactly how I was planning this chapter, but I think it had to happen this way. I know it's probably not what you expected, but…yeah. I just want to say thank you for every single review. I know I'm not very good at replying to them individually but I want you to know that each and every one of them is greatly appreciated. That being said, I am going to be working really hard to finish this before Insurgent comes out. Don't worry, though…there's a sequel.
One more small note: the order in which the initiates go through their landscapes differs in this story than in the actual story, the reason being that apparently no one who worked on the book gives two shits about consistency. So I pieced together my own order, as best as I could. There's not much of a mention in the chapter, but I thought I'd clear that up.

Breaking The Habit
Chapter Thirty-Six: Fear
Eric

On Initiation Day, the Dauntless compound shifts tangibly from mild everyday chaos to full-blown insanity. The Pit is so crowded that it's impossible to take two steps in any direction without getting nearly crushed in the throng of bodies. They gather around screens that show a live feed from inside the room where initiates will face their worst fears. Some of them will leave that room irreparably damaged, and yet the crowd gather, drunk out of their minds, under the glass below my feet to treat it like a sport, purely for their enjoyment. Never mind that most of them should remember how it was to be on the other side of the screen. I know I do, more vividly than I'd like to.

Luckily, this year I am above them all, seated at a table with the other leaders and a head full of wires, which is an uncomfortable situation no matter which angle I try to read it from. I suppose I'm lucky that they can't read my mind, that it's the other way around, because I know they wouldn't like what I'm thinking right now.

The order in which everyone goes through their landscapes is determined from the stage two rankings, and the Dauntless-born go before the transfers. They're also reversed—the person with the lowest rank will go first. Since Christina ranked third among the transfers, I won't be seeing her for a while, so with that thought in mind I've settled into my role as leader, and have made it halfway through the Dauntless-born without incident.

Last year, I barely made it through five landscapes before I excused myself due to nausea and hid out in the Lion's Den for the rest of the day. The truth was, the simulations reminded me too much of Christian, and how she would've come in first if she hadn't taken that stupid bet. The first time the chasm appeared in someone's landscape, I was violently sick, reliving in my mind the day when they told everyone she was gone, how they had known it was all my fault for not saving her. I left then, supposedly to clean myself up, and never came back.

I sit uncomfortably through the rest of the Dauntless-born and half of the transfers before her name is called. She walks into the room, skin ashen with fear, and I stand, gripping the syringe that will show Christina her worst fears. For whatever sick reason, I want to be the one to stick it in her neck. I want her to know that even if she never wants to see me again, I have the power to break her with one syringe.

She's obviously trying not to look at me as I approach, but eventually we are less than a foot away from each other and she can't help but meet my eyes. Despite everything we've been through, and the small part of my mind that can't help but hate her now, I want her to do well. The last thing I want, even if I am upset with her, is for her to end up a fence guard, or even worse, factionless.

"You ready?" I ask her, holding up the syringe.

"I think so." She takes a deep breath to steady herself, but I can see her hands shaking. "You're not going to sabotage me, are you?"

I can't tell, when our feelings about each other are so unsure, whether or not she is joking. "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Well, that's a relief," she says, and this time it's definitely in jest. "Well, what are you waiting for? Stick it in me." She laughs, a little hysterically, and brushes back the fringe of her short hair. I insert the tip of the needle into the thin skin of her neck and push down. She blinks as the serum enters her bloodstream, and I step back, returning to my chair at the end of the row of leaders. I lift the electrodes attached to thin wires, and move to press them onto my forehead.

But I can't. The lights dim in the fear landscape room, and I see her eyes go wide at her first fear, but I have no desire to see what is scaring her so. Instead I hold the electrodes up to my forehead, millimeters away from the skin, and try to make it look like I'm rubbing my temples while the wires are secured there. I'm not sure how well it's working, but I know I can't bear to watch. I can only steal glances upward as she progresses through two fears, three, five, eight. Nine. Nearing the point where she will be considered average and no one will look too closely at her times. I worry, though. If she takes too long, she'll end up at the bottom.

I refuse to put the electrodes on, but I'm watching her intently now. There's fear in her eyes but confidence in her posture, and I can't help but hope that every fear she faces will be her last. Eleven. Twelve. Nearing the cutoff of fifteen, the top range of average. My hands are beginning to tremble and I fight to keep them steady so as not to alert the other leaders to my tension. Thirteen. Hopefully this is it. I can't take my eyes off her. And then—

"Eric," she whispers.

My head snaps up and I press the electrodes into my forehead. It was so quick and so quiet I don't know if anyone else noticed it. I pray they didn't, though if Jeanine knows about our little affair there's no telling how many of the other leaders are already aware. In any event, they will know now.

I blink and I am inside the landscape, standing in a place that looks oddly familiar to me. It's the hallway, dead-ending in a sheet of ragged rock. I stopped coming here in my mind, it was too painful. But here I am, looking at…myself.

"Back for more, I see," my doppelganger says, smirking. Piercings pull wide holes in his lips, giving him a devilish air. Do I really look like that? I think to myself. No wonder people are inclined not to trust me.

I hear a small gasp and realize I am standing next to Christina, who is staring at me—the other me—with abject horror. Mutely, she shakes her head.

"I know you are," he persists. "You can't hide it." He steps forward and grabs her arm, and she bites her lip. Trying not to appear afraid, to appear weak. I would know; she's done it around me enough times.

"Look."

She glances down at her arm—and screams. When I follow her gaze, I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. Her arms are crawling with black, rivers of tar where her veins should be. Instigate. I gag. No matter how many times I've imagined the same gruesome overlap on my own skin, I can't handle seeing it on her.

"No!" she yells, grabbing her own arm so tight I thought she was going to rip it off. But the rivers of death are slowly receding, dripping out of her fingertips. She stares intently at the pool forming under her hand. "You can't control me anymore."

Then it is over, and I find myself staring at the real Christina, on all fours and breathing heavily. After a moment, she collects herself and stands. I am the first one in the room, holding the needle that will inject her with Jeanine's serum. I don't want to have to lie through my teeth to her, but when she sees the needle her eyes widen in fear.

"It's just a tracking device," I say softly, my voice cracking. "Trust me." Our eyes meet and she reluctantly tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck. Even after all this…

I have to blink back sudden tears as I inject her with the serum that will take away her free will. And as she rubs the tender spot where I've hurt her one too many times, I whisper "I'm sorry."