second to last chapter :) enjoy!
(also, remember to check out the transcendent tag in my tumblr if you want to check out a printed and bound copy of this fic, wink wink nudge nudge)
I might have passed out. I don't remember. The feeling had drained from my hands, feet, and some of my face. I was dehydrated from crying, starving from a full day without a meal, and probably losing some circulation from the zip ties fastened much too tight around my wrists. Clearly, they'd learned the lesson with my handcuff stunt. A soldier carried me over his shoulder like before. I didn't care. I just screamed, and screamed, and screamed. They had tried to put a piece of tape over my mouth, but the combination of tears, snot, and saliva made it too slippery to stick. Once, a woman ordered my guard to throw me to the ground, hoping it would shut me up. It didn't. She kicked me in the ribs. I retched onto her boots.
Eventually, they gave up. I was loaded onto an elevator. Down, down, down. I wanted the pylons to snap and kill us all. I knew they were going to kill me, but I wanted it now. Maybe Eric was right, and choosing death was like exploring an unknown, uncertain place.
My mother was dead, and I had killed Sherlock.
The elevators opened and cool air washed over me. The computer server floor. I had never been here before, but it looked nothing like I had expected. Aisle after aisle of dull grey boxes and metal-grated floors. A low, comforting hum. Strangely familiar. It was the simplicity of Abnegation that I felt, and for the first time in a while, I held back my sobs long enough to breathe.
The Dauntless carried me down several aisles until we reached a glass-windowed room. Dozens of Erudite technicians sat around the computers, monitoring the dozens of screens. On some, lines of code breezed faster than I could read. It was the simulation, the code already compiled, an elaborate flowchart of commands that would anticipate and address a thousand different outcomes. On other screens, I saw different parts of the city. The deserted halls of the Merciless Mart. The quiet tunnels of Dauntless. The empty streets of Abnegation. The plaza, where thousands of factionless and Divergent waited for a hailstorm of bullets. A wall of everything I had ever seen, everything I had ever known.
Another room was positioned just above the control room, the two separated by stairs and a mirrored glass window. The Dauntless brought me to a door and dropped me inside. They hadn't allowed me the privilege of fastening my arms in front of me, instead pinning them painfully behind my back, so I wasn't even able to break my fall. My shoulder took the fall. Then my front and face. I lay there, trembling and helpless.
"There she is. Your star pupil," said a woman's voice. A voice that I was becoming very familiar at identifying without its face. "Peter, be a gentleman and get her a seat."
Someone grabbed the scruff of my neck and yanked me to my feet, then dropped me again into a metal chair with dizzying force. I gasped.
Then I saw where I was—who I was with—and forgot how to breathe entirely.
Jeanine and Eric were there, along with twenty armed Dauntless. A vaguely familiar teenager stepped back from me and folded his arms. It had to be Peter, one of the Candor transfers from Dauntless who had mourned with Aletheia. His smug smile told me that he was probably one of the tattletales, especially since he didn't seem to be under the simulation. I had expected to see as much. But I wasn't alone with them. With my back to the glass wall, I faced an audience, fifty Abnegation adults in their Sunday best, the city council.
In the front row, less than five paces away, were Marcus and my father.
Dad shot to his feet. "Beatrice!"
All as one, the Dauntless raised their guns. They didn't shoot, but gunfire echoed in my head. I saw the red spreading across Mom's grey tunic. I let out another sob. "Dad…no…"
Slowly, he sat down and rubbed his palms against his pants. But he only did it to keep his fists from clenching. Marcus touched Dad's shoulder, then looked at Jeanine.
"Let's be reasonable," he said.
"I don't want to hear it," she replied. "I've been more than reasonable, yet all I get is your senseless moral floundering."
"This is a delicate issue," said Marcus. "It requires delicate handling."
Jeanine smiled. "We're well past that."
She nodded to Peter, who had moved to a closed door at the other side of the room. Grinning, Peter slammed his fist against a button on the wall. The doors slid open.
Ace stepped out, holding a gun.
"Ace," I sobbed. "Please, help me—"
"She can't hear you," said Eric, leering. "And there's no Divergent tricks."
He grabbed her shoulder and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and gasped. Then she stood straight again. Her face as blank as before, but this time, it wasn't pretending.
"Recognize someone, Marcus?" asked Jeanine.
Tension was laced through Marcus' whole body as he watched Ace move towards me. I couldn't tell what kind of tension was, only that I hoped it hurt him. This was the man who whipped a child and burned her face with hot oil. If there was any time I understood Jeanine, it was when she smiled at the look on Marcus' face.
He finally swallowed. "No."
"Marcus," Dad whispered.
Jeanine cocked her head. It was obvious that she wasn't fooled by Marcus' transparent lie.
"Pity." She clicked her tongue. "Perhaps, then, you can help Andrew understand what it's like to lose a child."
My father's eyes widened. Marcus had to hold him down into his chair, and all around the audience, voices raised in shock. I didn't know what to feel. Just numb. I could only look at Ace. Jeanine folded her hands and walked towards me and Ace, scanning us both from head to toe.
"I'll admit," she laughed, "both of you were challenges in your own rights. You, Beatrice; I'd suspected something from the start, since your aptitude test. To the extent of treason on live television? No. I'd expected you to be too smart for me—not too stupid."
I grit my teeth. The insult didn't bother me, but the patronizing tone did. She turned to Ace, eyes lingering on the scar.
"And Abigail… you'd shown up as a person of interest simply because of your unique background, but everything else checked out. Test results, fear landscapes, everything. I can only assume it was that blind lawyer meddling again."
Irene. If they had gotten Ace, had they…?
"If we'd found her, too, maybe we could have cracked you faster," Jeanine continued. "Who's to say you'll even survive a dose like this? Not that it'll matter much."
Inadvertently, I let out a sigh. At least Irene was safe.
"Get to the point," said Marcus.
"I'm tired of waiting on you people," said Jeanine. "I'm tired of your 'delicate handling', and I'm tired of you not understanding that we don't need to be enemies. There was a time when your people and my people got along. We achieved beautiful things together, you know—you'd make the rules, we'd profit from them, the economy soared, everyone would be happy. Well...not everyone. But as long as they believe that the politicians are selfless and billionaires are hard workers, it's easier to say that need is from within."
She swept her hand to the side, gesturing to the control room beyond. On the screens, Dauntless soldiers were forcing factionless to their knees. Sajida hugged her mother. I fought back a sob.
"This is what we need," Jeanine smiled. "We've needed it for such a long time, and now you can see why. These criminals are on your doorstep. They're calling for your blood. They sit before you, and they call you 'Dad'."
My dad stood up again. The Dauntless raised their guns, but Eric held up a fist and they froze. Then Dad went for Jeanine.
Quick as a whip, Ace stepped in his path, grabbed his hand, and twisted it behind his back. A snap! resounded around the room. The council members startled. I screamed. Dad fell to his knees, and as he wailed, Ace dragged him back to his chair. Then she returned to my side. Jeanine patted her shoulder.
"That's the beauty in this new serum. Fully compliant, but also fully independent. Limited behavioral control; ergo, limited risk of impairment by Divergence. Simply...altering how she sees certain people."
My father bent over his mangled wrist, sobbing. An Abnegation woman hurried to help him, pulling off her apron to staunch some of the blood. Marcus gripped the sides of his chair, glaring at Ace. She met his stare, unblinking.
"Although," Jeanine added, noting the silent exchange, "there was one face we didn't have to reprogram."
She stepped away from Ace and I, lifting her chin to the audience.
"Some of you heard what Beatrice said. Listen to the streets. There is injustice all around you, all beneath you. Criminals run rampant in the slums. Corrupted lawyers discolor the names of some of our most generous leaders. Divergents demand change—change that can only end in self destruction. And now, for the first time, they have shown their faces to demand your blood. But apparently, that's not enough to take action."
Jeanine looked down at me. Up close, she was older than she looked. Pale makeup covered her face. It was the end of the day. Creases were beginning to form at the corners of her eyes and mouth, revealing cracks of ashen skin. Then she turned back to the council.
"Esteemed Council: this is my final offer. In the plaza below, the Dauntless have three thousand dangerous rioters. I have two of your children. One of them is guilty of calling the rioters to action, and Dauntless demands that she be brought to justice."
She nodded. Ace raised her gun, pressing the barrel to the side of my head. It was still hot. I wondered why she had last fired it. God. Peter ran back to the control room and returned with a grey folder and pen, which he gave to Jeanine. She signed a line at the bottom, then handed it to Marcus.
"Sign the act, and Erudite will grant due process to Beatrice and Abigail," said Jeanine. "Keep me waiting, and...well, Miss Abigail can do with that gun whatever the Dauntless want her to do."
"You're scum," Dad spat. "Filth."
She frowned. "That's not very nice of you."
"I'm not signing," said Marcus. "Sacrificing three thousand lives to save two—how dare you suggest it. How dare you."
"Your daughter's life," said the woman tending to my father's wounds.
"She's not my daughter—"
An elderly Abnegation man slammed his hat on the floor, causing the nearby Dauntless to flinch. "Jesus Christ! I've had enough, Marcus!"
"Language!" said three Abnegation at once.
The elderly man didn't care. He pointed a finger at Marcus. "I've suspected for years, and I knew it as soon as I heard it on the radio! That Prior girl may be a hellion and a homosexual, but she told the truth about Abigail!"
"Carrick, you—you take that back—" Dad growled.
"Dad, take it easy," I murmured. "He's...not wrong. I think I'm all those things."
"I won't turn a blind eye anymore," said Carrick. "You are a coward, Marcus Eaton, a coward and an egotist, and you've been lying to us the whole time to save face. I'm disgusted. Andrew, don't stand up for him. He wants his daughter and your daughter dead, only to tie up the loose ends that know how much of a liar he is."
The council began to murmur. I had only witnessed council proceedings a few times, but I knew it was a big deal when they started to murmur. Abnegation discussion was usually orderly and polite, every person voicing their opinion aloud and in turn.
"I will vote to sign," said Carrick.
My heart dropped into my stomach. No.
"The rioters are only rioters," he continued. "These are your daughters."
Around the room, the voices of council members began to rise. Some agreement. Some doubt. "The rioters are people," said Naomi, a woman in a grey tichel. I knew her. She taught my mother all the different ways to tie my scarves. "Perhaps they have done terrible things, but is it our place to end their lives?"
"If the peace of the city is at stake," Carrick replied, "then we must do what is necessary."
Naomi's eyes narrowed. "We are not trading lives."
"Jeanine, you are out of line," Marcus growled. "Abnegation and Candor will be taking action against you for this."
"Really now?" Jeanine smirked. "Forgive me, mighty leader; I didn't think of that."
The door opened. A nervous-looking Erudite technician, no older than my brother, ran up to Peter. He whispered something in his ear, and Peter turned to Jeanine to pass the quiet message on. She nodded and waved him away.
"We've waited too long," she announced. "The rioters are beginning to struggle, and soon they will overpower the Dauntless and overrun the city. You have three minutes to decide."
The conference room fell deadly silent. The barrel of the gun still pressed into my skull, growing cool. I wanted to look up at the person who held it.
Around the room, plain fabric rustled as every Abnegation member reached into their breast pocket for a notepad. I knew what would happen next. Concurring opinions would be written on the notes and passed to Marcus. Dissenting opinions would be kept. A two-thirds majority, thirty-four votes, was needed to pass an act like Jeanine's.
Gradually, the white slips made their way forward. Eight, nine. I counted them as they were placed in Marcus' lap. Fifteen. Only my father and Marcus did not take out their notepads to write. Twenty. Naomi wrote, but did not pass it up. So did some others. I wasn't sure whether to hate them or thank them. Thirty-three.
"Well?" said Jeanine.
"I refuse to sign," said Marcus.
"The classic neglectful father. How predictable." She turned to my father. "Andrew, I'm sorry, did Abigail break your writing hand?"
Dad's eye twitched. "Yes."
He was stalling. It was his right hand that was broken—he was left-handed, like me. He had taught me how to write. I tried to meet his eyes, but he would not do the same.
"Dad," I said.
"Quiet," snapped Eric.
"You have one minute," said Jeanine. "Choose."
"I can't," Dad whispered. "Beatrice."
"I'll be okay," I said.
Ace cocked the gun. I closed my eyes, and a tear traced down my cheek.
I was going to die. But thousands of others would live. I suppose I had known that from the very beginning, when I decided to tell the truth—the last night in Dauntless, the short moments in Ace's arms. Perhaps before that, when my mother and I stood on the Institute roof, her hand resting above my heart, or when I fell to my knees in a chapel and prayed for another girl who died at Ace's hands. The world was changing. It was etched in my skin.
I thought of home. Soon I would return. I saw my mother in the doorway, her hand stretched out to me.
I breathed in.
And I sang.
When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot
Thou hast taught me to say
It is well
It is well with my soul
The shot never came.
It had been a minute. The barrel of the gun was now cold. Its pressure against my head lifted, though it didn't pull away.
I dared to open my eyes. Out of my peripheral vision, I could still see Ace, a silent black statue. Jeanine was shouting, her voice blurred in the back of my conscious, like she was speaking underwater.
"Why isn't she firing?" Jeanine demanded. "You, Peter—get Stirling in here, right now—"
"Ace," I whispered. "You learned the words."
The gun shifted again, lifting off my head. I looked at Ace and found her rare smile as she switched the gun from her right hand to her left. Her eyes gleamed with life.
"Might wanna duck," she said. Then she fired at the nearest Dauntless.
I jerked my body away from Ace and tumbled out of my chair, falling to the ground.
There were shots. Screams. Jeanine's voice split the air. "Don't kill her! I need her!" It was about Ace, I knew. Ace had broken from the simulation, and Jeanine needed her to know why it was from a song. But what mattered was that right now, Ace was raining hell. I had never been so happy and scared at the same time before.
I had fallen facing the wall. I couldn't see. I struggled against the zip ties, tucking my body and trying to pull them under me, but it had looked easier in the self-defense manuals that Ace had made me read. Someone grabbed my wrists and I instinctively struggled—until I saw the fold of a long-sleeved grey shirt and a work-worn old hand. A blade began sawing at the plastic ties.
"Run," said Carrick. "Get your father and run."
The ties broke. I scrambled to turn around, only to see a Dauntless soldier raise a gun at us.
"Look out!" I screamed. But Carrick didn't turn. In a split second, he grabbed my shoulders and locked his body around mine.
He had been holding a small pocketknife. It was the only kind of weapon Abnegation were allowed to carry, since it was useful; Carrick kept his sharp. Sharp enough to accidentally slice my arm when he grabbed me. When we hit the ground, that was all I could think of. The pain in my shoulder dripped. It was a shallow cut. Barely a scrape. There was blood all over me. The force of the bullets shoved me again to the wall until another gun—there were so many, I could barely tell one from the other—fired. Carrick went still and cold.
I pushed Carrick's body off of me and whispered a quick prayer for him. The Dauntless was also dead. I looked across the room to the person that saved me, Naomi, holding a Dauntless' gun.
She wasn't alone. Around the room, Abnegation stood. They fought. Some had overpowered the Dauntless and held guns, using furniture for cover. Elders protected younger mothers and fathers or threw themselves at the Dauntless unarmed. Ace grappled with Eric in front of the main door, struggling to reach Jeanine and her shell of Dauntless bodyguards. Other Abnegation lay on the ground. Like Carrick. Like Mom. Few had noticed me, so I crawled behind several overturned chairs and peered out, fearing to see my father's face among the fallen.
Before I could find him, the air exploded with glass. A stray shot, maybe Dauntless, maybe Abnegation, shattered the wall of windows that separated the conference room from the control room. The Erudite technicians—the few of them that had stayed after the fight began—scattered.
"No! Come back!" Jeanine screamed. "If you leave your desk, you'll be factionless!"
It wasn't a very effective threat. Soon, the control room was empty. Swearing, Jeanine jumped down from the shattered window and ran for the nearest computer.
Ace tried to go after her, but Eric tackled her and they both went down. Around the room, Abnegation and Dauntless bodies covered the floor—more grey than black, and more red than anything else. I finally saw my father, alive, ducking behind an overturned table with several other Abnegation. Dauntless closed in around them. Nobody was left to help me. I whirled back around to watch Jeanine, surrounded by four different Dauntless. I would never get to her before they gunned me down.
A flash of movement caught my eye. Behind the line of hypnotized Dauntless was another figure in black, running to the back door. That cowardly Dauntless, Peter. Then he was gone. Before I could reason myself out of it, I scooped up Carrick's pocketknife and sprinted after him.
The Dauntless didn't see me. I plunged into the darkness through the back door, not knowing what would greet me there. It was a long, dimly lit corridor, ending at what I recognized as the main elevators.
Peter had been running, but as soon as I entered the corridor, he turned. I ducked behind a pillar and held my breath. Then Peter sighed, and when I heard his footsteps again, it was at a walking pace. Then he stopped at the elevators and pressed the down button.
He made it all too easy to sneak up behind him and press the knife between two panels of his armor, the blade against the small of his back.
"Jeanine's errand boy," I said.
Peter froze, hand halfway to his gun. "I'm not an errand boy."
"Don't care." Despite the twelve-inch height difference, I put my other hand on his shoulder and turned him around. "I need a favor."
I asked him if he knew what I needed. He said no. I told him that he should've stayed in Candor, since he was an awful liar. I asked him again and he told me that he would take me where I needed to go. We turned down a side hallway and he pulled out a ring of keys to unlock a smaller door to the server room, somewhat clumsily due to the knife's edge resting on his spine.
We went in.
It was terrifying how quiet the place had gotten. No gunfire. No screams. Just the distant sound of Jeanine's voice, speaking calmly over the hum of the computer towers. I wondered if Dad was still alive. I wondered if Ace was still alive. I wanted to get closer, but Peter pointed to the back of the room, away from the voice.
We reached a row of fuse boxes and he unlocked one with trembling hands.
"This is it?" I asked.
He nodded and pointed to two large red switches. "Just—just flip both of those, and it'll, uh, cut the power to the main control room computers. I don't know how the serum works, but they can't send signals without the computers."
I narrowed my eyes. "You sure?"
"You wouldn't kill me," said Peter, not sounding very confident. I pressed the knife harder.
"No, but this is your spinal cord. It lets you walk, right?"
He gasped. "Ow ow ow—yes, I swear it's those switches."
"Pray that you're right. I've had a very bad day," I said, before I flipped the switches.
One by one, row by row, the ceiling lights went out. The silence continued. The droning hum. The beating heart. Little lights glimmered on the grey server boxes, aisles of stars in the darkness of night.
And above it all came an error buzz and the distant outcry of voices.
I would never know what it sounded like to hear three thousand lives end at once—it could have sounded exactly like two thousand Dauntless coming to their senses, seeing the guns in their hands, and realizing they were about to become murderers. I wouldn't know. But when I heard the sound, I knew, deep down, what it was. The voices were confused, but not in pain. It was the good ending.
I heard Ace call out my name. Then my father. They were okay. I was okay. Under my knife, Peter's trembling seemed to grow worse. Slowly, I took it away, but he didn't run or attack me, just looked blankly at his feet. Lost. Watched by the void and the thousands of lights.
I leaned against the wall and stared into the universe.