As always, thank you to BK2U for editing this chapter for me! I super appreciate it!

I hope everyone enjoys it! Have a lovely Thanksgiving everyone!

Everyone stares.

The room is silent as I sit there, chewing down the disgusting-tasting cereal without much enthusiasm. The dining hall is overly warm, like someone has turned the heat on too high and forgotten about it, and it doesn't help that the place is packed. It has the sickening feeling of Dauntless with its levels of loudness and rowdiness, but instead of members in black, it's full of mental patients in orange clothing.

"He, uh…yeah, he took her down with him."

I close my eyes briefly at the words spoken from somewhere in the room, forcing myself to ignore them. It's unusual for me, but I can't bring myself to look up and find the person talking. Normally, I'd be primed to find the asshole and leave enough bruises that they wouldn't ever want to so much as think my name, but this is different. I'm not on top here, and I am slowly becoming the sideshow in this freak-filled circus. I know that if I look up, I'll see a room full of faces, all watching me, desperate for me to explain what happened in painstaking detail.

All they'd heard were a few minor details, but the most coherent and conscious patients would want to know how I'd wound up on top of Violet in the doorway of my bedroom. They'd want to know just how Kenan had helped her up, how the two of them had helped sort of shove me towards my bed, how she'd sat beside me, her fingers still on mine as she told me she'd be back soon, and how she'd asked Kenan to make sure I hadn't hit my head.

I only knew all that because Kenan had told me, and it had left me humiliated.

And naturally, due to the location and the people who are in here with me, it hasn't gone unnoticed. Turns out, passing out in the hallway created quite the commotion, and the crowd stayed until Kenan shooed them away.

Today started off with a whisper from Aidy, really more of a loud announcement, that I'd been in the process of taking Violet to bed with me — that I'd been in the middle of kissing her when someone, probably Bella, leapt out of nowhere and drugged me. Shoved a needle right in my neck, and pumped me full of purposeful poison that made me pass out before I could fight her off. I think she was trying to save face for me, but the last thing on Earth that would make me feel better would be hearing that little story.

I couldn't even muster up an ounce of gratitude that she was looking out for me, trying to make the situation better than it was. The reality of it was that I'd let them get to me, and I was determined not to let it happen again. I should have kept myself in control of the situation, taking great pains to ignore the taunting of a girl who had convinced herself she was married to a mop.

I should have stayed away from Violet, taking the careful steps to also ignore her, along with anyone else who felt like they could get to know me. I should have trusted no one, not even those who I had thought were safe simply because of where we were.

There were a lot of things I should have done, but I couldn't fix any of them now.

After enduring the hallway fiasco, I'd willingly slept through the afternoon, then the night, only waking up when Kenan announced I should brush my teeth. I'd woken up again in the late morning to Bobby singing some terrible, made-up song about a girl stealing a mattress, and I'd forced myself to get out of bed.

It was then that I discovered that even after the large dose of peace serum I'd ingested, my brain felt strangely fine. That in itself was a sobering side effect of having taken it multiple times now. It was unfortunate; it didn't seem to matter the dose, it just seemed that the more it was injected into my system, the more I got used to it. I was no longer reacting violently, nor having a major hangover from it, because my system was adapting to it.

Which blew for more reasons than one, though maybe it could come in handy.

I tried not to focus on it. I took a quick shower, allowing myself to wash away the shit storm from yesterday, and I changed into some of the clothes Max had sent.

It felt good to dress like myself. A black shirt and black lounge pants might not have been anything spectacular, but the dark colors felt good in a way I hadn't expected. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, bummed a cigarette from Pete, and snarled at Shelley to sign me out to smoke. She didn't bat an eye, though I'd been told that I would technically be starting over again on orange. I shouldn't have any privileges, but Shelley didn't seem to care.

She let me outside without question, but with a wink. I stayed there, enjoying myself wholeheartedly until the last possible second, only leaving when I was dragged back inside by a hyperactive Pete. He'd bounced in out of nowhere, his eyes red and his cheeks flushed, and he talked my ear off on the walk over. He asked a million questions about where I got my shirt, then changed to the subject to what had happened in the hallway; my stony silence didn't seem to bother him. I knew he was trying to be amicable, but it wasn't working. He finally left me to sit on my own after I shoved him away, refusing to speak a word to anyone.

Which is where I am at now: doing my best to memorize the pattern of my cornflakes as my heart rate feels like it's speeding up with each passing second.

"How many partners did you have in Dauntless? Do you consider yourself someone who used your sexual behaviors as an outlet for your stress?"

Dr. Erin seems to be extra inquisitive today, perhaps spurred on by the ward's most romantic hallway tryst ever to occur in this mental hospital. She hasn't said Violet's name yet, but I know what's coming. Half of me wants to punch her in the face and tell her if she wants to know all the details, she should cut the bullshit and just ask. We're far past asking vague bullshit questions that she knows I'm not going to answer.

"How long is this going to take?"

I ask my question in a bored tone while looking at the clock, ignoring her persistent questions. I know I'm stuck in here for at least another half hour, and the thought makes me itchy. She'll eventually bring up Violet, but there's nothing impressive about the way I blacked out, nor is there anything at all romantic about the fact that I took the girl down with me because I lost consciousness. If I remember correctly, I was trying to get away from her, though my actions seemed to say otherwise. But Dr. Erin won't believe that for a second.

"Did you ever have multiple partners at one time?"

"I don't see how this is relevant to anything you've been assigned to ask me." I bark my answer at her, my hands pressing over my eyes as I lie there.

This therapy session was expected, of course. There was no way my actions towards Bella would go unnoticed. I could almost write their disciplinary plan for them — drugs, then talking about my feelings, then more drugs if I refuse. Maybe they'll strap me to the bed this time, or if I'm really lucky, maybe they'll shock my brain until I can't see straight. I should feel smug that I know their routine by now, but it's a dismal thing to have picked up on.

I've been in this office for only a few minutes, but there is a deep weariness washing over me, one that wasn't there before. It makes me want to give up, to tell her anything she asks in hopes that she'll leave me alone, but I can't. I can't bring myself to be subjected to her prying into my head like that. She's already done that once, and I won't let her do it again.

Which means I am mostly at a dead standstill when it comes to this therapy session.

"Do you consider yourself attractive? Or better and more desirable than those in Dauntless?"

She keeps the questions coming, and I humor her by answering yes to all of them, some even before she's done asking. By the tenth question — did I ever sleep with anyone in the training classes, and did I find it unlikely for them to turn me down simply because of my position in Dauntless — she seemed to catch on that I wasn't actually listening.

"Will you listen to the questions, please? These are part of an important personality assessment test, but it's only accurate if you answer them honestly."

"I'm not a sociopath, if that's what you're hinting at here. I don't think I'm some godlike being. Superior, maybe. But have you seen the peons we choose to clean up the factionless bodies before returning to Dauntless? Or the guards who work the fence for weeks on end? They're mindless beings who take order after order and don't bother to question why. You'd be hard pressed to not think highly of yourself after spending some time with them."

"You have some tendencies that lead me to believe—"

"Stop talking. I have nothing else to say to you," I answer nastily, now totally fed up with her. But my words aren't a deterrent, at least not a very good one.

"Eric, I'm not the enemy here. All I'm asking for are some answers so I can fill out your required paperwork. I don't think you're a full-on sociopath. I think you're just used to being in control, and this is pissing you off because for once, you aren't." She sets her pen down, and crosses her arms over her chest. "But you don't have to work against us, you know. I get that you might not want to tell your life story. I hate to break it to you, but you have to be willing to try if you want out of here. Opening up won't kill you, and neither will letting someone else be in charge for a minute."

"Are you fucking serious?" I sit up suddenly, turning to stare at her. "That's what's gonna get me sprung from here? Telling you how many sexual partners I've had? You must lead boring lives here if that's what you need to hear about."

My words make her stop, her pen hovering above the paper.

"We deserve answers, Eric."

"What entitles you to hear a word out of my mouth? Why should I bother to answer a single one of your pointless questions?" I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling, wondering if it's old enough to collapse onto my face. "Do you think I believe any of this works?"

"Because it's mandatory for your survival in here. I know you don't like this place, but I also know you aren't willing to spend the next month not remembering a single thing. You need to show more progress than just announcing your name."

"I'm not willing to make an idiot out of myself because you think my talking about how I'm feeling today will change who I am or what I've done." I stare at her until she flinches. "Do you think I enjoy being dragged from class to class because someone said I should attend them? Or that I believe they'll help me? Do you think they'll actually help me? Because so far, your methods are bullshit, and you know it. You know there's something wrong with this place, and no matter how many art projects you slap on the walls, you can't cover it up completely."

She sighs, averting her stare.

"I will say that it's true that some of our methods are not as efficient as a serum that might wipe your mind. You and I both know the weight of deciding who should be injected without consent can be draining. But you need to face your demons." Her words are meant to placate me, and my blood boils as the urge to strangle her becomes overwhelming.

"Fuck off. You don't know anything about my work. But I do know that I don't need any of you. I don't need to be cured. There's nothing wrong me. I never did anything but my job, and you're stupid if you think otherwise."

"Did your job involve taking orders from someone else? Someone above you?" Dr. Erin stares back.

"I had direct orders for everything I did," I snap. "You think I made those decisions on my own, just for fun? I may have been in the position where I had a faction to lead, but my own life was at stake as well. Everything I did was to protect myself. You'd do the same if you were in my shoes."

"So, you're telling me that it is possible for you to take orders?"

"I hope you choke on your lunch and die," I tell her calmly, and Dr. Erin smiles.

"Do you resent the work you did? Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were killing people who didn't deserve to die? Or did you agree with the orders?"

I blink.

"What difference does it make? My orders came from Jeanine. Did you ever think about that? The very same woman who put me in here. So, I did what I was told. And you can bet your ass that if it wasn't me, it would have been someone else."

"Was that frustrating for you?" I notice Dr. Erin hasn't written a single thing down, but she is listening intently. "That she sent you on this manhunt, and you dutifully went along with it? You seem like a smart man. You had to have agreed with her on some level. Did you ever think that what she asked of you might be wrong? That maybe you were wrong for going along with it?"

"What exactly are you getting at? You know nothing about her work or what I did, nor the reasons for it."

"Tell me, Eric, if someone doesn't fit into the system, where should they go?"

"The fuck if I know, nor do I care," I spit, and she shakes her head.

"Are you Divergent? Your test results showed very strongly that you were an ideal fit with Erudite, yet you chose—"

"Fuck off."

"You already said that." Dr. Erin adjusts her glasses. "Why did you pick Dauntless?"

"I don't owe you that explanation," I sneer. "And I'm done for the day. I'm leaving."

"That's fine. I'm proud of you for talking today."

I freeze, my palms flat on either side of me.

"What?"

"Thank you for talking today. I hope this leaves you feeling a bit better than our last session. Sometimes venting can help alleviate feelings that have been building up for a long time." Dr. Erin finally scrawls a few notes down and I can't move. "Your frustration can offer some valuable insight to what you've been going through. I'm granting you the rest of the day off to process what you just told me. I'll excuse you from your one-on-one with Dr. Branger this afternoon. Enjoy your day."

The nerve of this bitch.

I have to force myself to stand, my glare stuck right on her notepad. I try to ignore the rage I feel, the sharp and stabbing ache to bash her head against the desk until her ears bleed, when I watch her very neatly write the words on her little notepad that might end her life.

Fear of Rejection.

I skip lunch.

I hightail it out of Dr. Erin's office and head straight to my room. I flop down onto the too-small bed, and I close my eyes tightly, wishing for something — anything — to get me out of here. A bomb to go off. A riot. A fire. Someone to fall face first down the stairs. I need a distraction, something to get their attention off me. There is something wrong here, absurdly wrong, past the point of them believing their methods actually work.

But nothing happens.

I end up lying here, lost in my own garbage thoughts, until eventually I fall asleep out of sheer boredom. I dream of myself eating lunch in my office alone, day after day, like a dismal highlight reel of my life that just won't stop.

I wake up to Shelley's hand on my leg.

At first, I think maybe I am dreaming, or that maybe I've been hypnotized again. But Shelley's hand is very real, her palm flat against my inner thigh as she inches higher and higher, patiently waiting for me to wake up.

"What are you doing?"

I bark at her as I sit up, sleepily swatting at her hand. I take careful notice of her, the way her white uniform shirt is unbuttoned a bit lower than before, and her short, white shirt seems to have crept up a few inches. She watches me, too, digging her nails in a bit and scraping slightly. The sensation isn't doing what she's hoping it will; I'm certainly not turned on, and in fact, the feeling makes my skin crawl, especially when she keeps going.

"I won't tell anyone," she promises, moving closer to me. "Anyway, you sort of owe me. I let you go outside and I shouldn't have. So, I know you'll keep quiet."

I try hard not to slap her in the face. She smiles again, scooting herself closer until her fingers reach the edge of my boxers. I quickly realize I have two options: let her continue on and punch her in the face, or stop this now and tell her to fuck off and never touch me again.

"Oh, you want me to be quiet? If I don't, will something bad happen to you?" My lips curl up into a sneer and I can see the exact moment her bravery falters a bit.

"You…I should have told you that you couldn't go outside to smoke. You didn't have any..."

"Is this something you do on the regular?" I lean into her, fighting the urge to recoil at the sterile smell of astringent and hopeless wafting from her. "Take advantage of sleeping patients?"

"I'm not taking advantage of you. You want this. I can tell." She licks her lips, and her next words waver. "I've seen the way you look at me."

"Oh, Shelley," I smile, this time wide enough that she leans back in towards me. Lulled by my sudden change of tone, her eyes close for a second as she hovers over me, and I wait until her face is inches from mine before I knee her in the stomach as hard as I can from this awkward position. "Stupid, fucking Shelley. Don't ever touch me again."

Her yelp is louder than expected, considering I know she's probably had the wind knocked out of her, and she crumples to the ground as I stand up.

"It's funny. I was feeling strangely sorry for myself, but now I just feel sorry for you," I hiss, stepping over her and heading towards the door. I feel disgusted by her, and it's hard to resist the urge to remedy this right here and now. I'd like to take my fingers and tighten them around her throat, but the last thing I need is a reason for them to pay more attention to me.

So instead, I step out my door, and when I spy Kenan a few steps away, I wave him over. I simply ask him to remove Shelley from my room, and it's all he needs to hear before his expression changes to reflect complete and utter annoyance.

"God damn it. Does this bitch know the amount of paperwork she just caused me? I don't have time to be filling out fifty fucking pages on inappropriate nurse behavior. You aren't the first patient with this complaint, if that makes you feel any better. I was just praying she'd knock it off. She's been warned a few times," he offers up, his face wrinkling in disgust.

His words heighten my annoyance: how could anyone possibly think they could take advantage of me? But I figure there's someone out there watching over policy and procedure, and she will be no exception. A handsy nurse might get away with it with a willing participant, but not with me. The last thing I want is her all over me, and if I have to be reminded of the order of this place, so does Shelley.

"I'll catch you later. Tell Dr. Erin to fuck off for me." I pat him on the shoulder as I walk away, feeling an odd sense of frustration as I try to forget the feeling of Shelley's hand anywhere near my dick.

"So, you uh…you like her? You think she's pretty cool, huh? I mean, I guess she is. If you're into quiet chicks who you can't hear when they speak." Pete aims his gun at the target while taking a quick drag of his cigarette. "But she's pretty nice, and she's never tried to kill me like you did."

I debate throwing my gun at his face, but I give him a free pass this time. Pete had been nice enough to come find me before I wasted my entire day doing nothing but staring at the walls. He'd found me leaving the nursing station, downing a multitude of placebos and preparing for an afternoon of blankness. I'm sure I looked unimpressed when he told me there was a game room, but really, anything would be better than thinking about Violet and therapy. So I'd shrugged and followed him down the stairs to a floor marked BASEMENT, and then through a dark, beat-up door.

The game room wasn't exactly what I was imagining, but then again, this entire place was something out of my nightmares. It was fitting that it was barely lit, clearly abandoned, and filled with what I assumed where ancient arcade games from long ago.

The room smelled musty and stale, but I sort of liked it. It reminded me of being deep beneath the Earth, far away from here. The walls had once sported brightly colored wallpaper, something with clowns and trees, but the years of neglect had left them wilting and yellowed. The clown's faces were warped, giving them a sort of demonic appearance, and I wonder who picked it out or decided to just leave it there.

One wall held what I can only guess were once-popular games. I couldn't imagine that people ever found them fun, but there were a dozen of them, dusty and broken-looking, yet neatly lined up: skee-ball; a basketball hoop for two players; a few ancient and cracked consoles at which you stood, peered down at a screen, and moved a joystick; and several machines on the end that looked newer. Those had guns that linked up with the large machines, and Pete had quickly pulled up an array of games to choose from. I snorted when he selected the city landscape, and the view of large, dark buildings rose up before us. It looked like the city I'd once prowled, especially the dark corner that the game had us start in.

"Ready, player one," Pete cheerfully announced, and I smirked at his enthusiasm.

For the next fifteen minutes, we shot at things in silence.

The feeling was cathartic. My days in this shit hole fell away as I easily beat him time and time again, my points racking up much faster than his, try as he might to keep up with me. My aim was far superior to his, though he wasn't half bad. I wouldn't have picked him first to be on my team, but he wasn't as awful as some of the initiates had been.

Until he opened his mouth.

"You can tell me if you like her. I won't say a word." He takes another drag from his cigarette, then tosses it to the side, shooting one-handed. "Bobby might, but I won't."

"What are we, in fourth grade? Do you like her?" I mock him as I aim the gun upwards, pulling the trigger and watching with great satisfaction as the boxes blew up.

"You certainly hang out with her a lot, considering you don't like her." Pete tries the same shot, unsuccessfully hitting the side of the boxes instead of the middle. "And she talks to you. I've never seen her willingly speak to anyone. Maybe because you both like books."

"Clearly, we should run away and get married for that reason alone," I answer dryly, rapidly losing my patience. "Have you forgotten we're in a mental institution? It's not like I've actively sought her out. There are only so many places one can go here. What makes you think that I—"

"Hey dude, you don't have to be defensive to me. Lots of guys here like her. She's one of the normal ones. She doesn't scream all night long, and she showers on a regular basis. She just doesn't talk to anyone. Never seems like she's happy."

"Are you happy?" I ask him, tearing my stare away from the guy running at me on the screen. I shoot him twice without looking, and the game dings cheerfully, announcing his death. "You're happy here, in this place?"

"Fuck no, you know that. I just meant…like everyone else tries to be happy, but Violet can't. She just sits there and reads."

I turn back to the game, and my screen changes to a different setting. The computer voice tells me to get ready, and I suck the air into my lungs when the screen is suddenly filled with bugs. All kinds of bugs, big and small, crawling everywhere. It gives me the suffocating feeling of claustrophobia, and I try to ignore the imaginary sensation of them on my skin.

"The smaller the bug, the more points you get," Pete needlessly tells me, and he forgets about his own game and begins shooting at my screen. "But uh, you know what I mean. You guys are sort of friendly. Like actual friends. Like you and me are friends, but I wouldn't visit you in your room at night and try to put you to bed. You know what I mean?"

"Fuck off. I'm biding my time here. Nothing more."

"I don't believe you," he bravely challenges me, shooting something that resembles a dragonfly. "When you leave, she's gonna be fucked. Mentally. You will, too. Just wait."

I turn to stare at him, and this time, the game screeches that I've just obtained the highest score in this machine's sad existence.

"How on Earth would you know that?" I ask, feeling a bit unsteady. "You can't possibly think that I'd be affected by anyone in this place. Everyone here is insane."

"Hey, enter your initials there so everyone knows you got the high score. And what's wrong with being a little insane? You're in here with all of us, you know."

"I'm here by mistake," I bark, and he takes a step away from me, holding up the plastic gun in surrender. "I'm only here because they're covering up—"

"You sure that you aren't just paranoid? That maybe you are a little crazy? It's not a bad thing, you know. We're all mad here, but it's okay."

He quirks an eyebrow at me, and my patience for him runs out.

"I'm sure."

I slam the gun down and leave without another word, my head rattling around with thoughts that don't belong in there.

"He can't…he can't….he just can't sit there. He needs to move. Make him move. Make him move. Make him move, please."

Violet's words are spoken in a hysterical chant. It's the first time I've seen her since passing out, and she looks strangely wild. Her eyes are wide and wet, her cheeks are red, and her hands are clasped together. She's nearly inconsolable, turning to cling to Aidy as she stares at the blonde man sitting on the couch.

"Aidy, make him move!"

I arrived in the reading room with a headache and a desire for silence. It's ironic that it was easier to find that here than in Dauntless, but I shouldn't have been surprised to discover the silence was being interrupted by the shrieking of mental patients.

I just never expected it to be from Violet.

"What's going on?" I bark at the both of them, the irritation clearly discernible in my voice. Violet nearly jumps out of her skin.

"You need… Eric, you need to make him MOVE."

Her voice reaches a volume I've never heard before, and she looks manic now. She stares up at me, a look of frustration sweeping across her face when I look past them and at the couch.

There sits a man with a crooked nose — one that must have been broken a few times — and a mess of blonde hair. He's tall and barefoot, wearing the same intake clothing I'd initially worn, except his shirt has long sleeves, and he holds both hands up at me.

"Wow, just…hi, wow. Really, I have no idea why she's so upset. They told me to come in here and wait for a nurse to bring me to a room. I sat down, and looney toons here lost her mind. Starting yelling at me to move. There are plenty of other seats for her to sit in."

He motions at Violet, and I feel the same burst of irritation that I would whenever an initiate opened up their mouth.

"What did you call her?" I take a step closer to him, noticing his nose is really fucked up, and I wonder who the lucky person was that bashed it to the side. "And you'll need to move. That's where she sits. Not you."

"Hi, again, look I'm not trying to make enemies. I'm Owen. And I have to say, I'm a little surprised by all this hostility. Wow, just wow. They never said there was assigned seating in here." He crosses his arms over his chest and wags his bare foot at me. "Hey, wait, are you from Dauntless? That why you got that maze of lines all over your arms? You let people try their luck on it when you're bored?"

I stare at him, wondering just how much longer he's going to keep talking. "Move. Before I move you."

"Wow, whoa, man. Why are you making this personal? This isn't between you and me."

"The rules have changed," I tell him, and my arm brushes against Violet as I step right in front of him. "Get the fuck out of this seat, and don't ever sit here again."

"Dude, do it before he strangles you." Pete lazily walks to take the seat across from him. He's arrived from the game room, strolling in like he owns the place. "He tried to kill me his first day here. They stopped him, but he'll probably succeed with you."

"Wow, you're serious?" Owen finally moves to stand up and he puts his hands on his hips. "I've never met a more unwelcoming group of people in my life. You all seem incredibly angry. Wow."

"Move," Violet whispers, returning to the same girl I first met when I came here.

Aidy glares at Owen, touching Violet's hair and gently nudging her forward when he stands up. "You're dead to us. Enjoy eating with Bella."

"Who is Bella?" Owen looks at me like we're all mad. I glare at him, though really, he is absolutely no threat. I can tell he'd be easy to take down, just like he was easy to get to move. He steps to the side of me, squeezing past Violet and Aidy, and flops down onto the most beat-up chair in the place. "Why are you all listening to him? Is he your leader or something? Are he and I gonna have a problem here?"

He's staring at me with a curious look on his face, especially when I sit down in the exact spot he was sitting. I reach out and grasp Violet's wrist. I roughly yank her towards me, and she easily collapses into the same seat in which we've been sitting together for a while now. I can feel her pressing herself against me, but not so much that she's cowering behind me.

"Trust me, you're hardly a problem."

"She asked you to move like six times, Blondie," Aidy informs him, cocking her head to the side. "She even said 'please,' which is more than you're gonna get from anyone else."

Violet's fingers accidentally touch the side of my leg, and I flash back to Shelley's vile touch. This is different; Violet's merely sitting beside me, and her touch is so light that it's almost not there. I lean back a bit, surprised that I find myself compelled to smash Owen's face in for her personal benefit.

"Wow, well…you know, I know everyone here's a bit crazy. But this is nuts."

"Stop saying 'wow.' " I glare at him and I set my hand down beside me. Violet leans in so her head is touching my shoulder and she's looking down at the couch. It should feel wrong, it should horrify me that someone would want to be this close to me, that they would seek any form of comfort from me. I'm the last person that should calm her down, yet her she is, drawing her knees up defensively. "You sound like a moron."

"Okay, wow, I'm out. I'll find the nurse myself. Screw you all. Especially you, you crazy bitch. I thought you looked familiar, and I was right. I was wondering what they did with you."

What happens next is a blur.

Violet reacts violently, a flash of dark hair as she leaps off the couch and onto Owen. No one moves, not even when she takes him down, Owen falling to the ground with a thud as one of them hits their head on the coffee table.

I blink.

I flash back to initiation, watching the initiates fight each other frantically and sloppily. For a moment, Violet seems victorious. She grasps him by his face, one leg on each side of him, as she pulls one hand back to punch him. I watch in fascination as she struggles, determination across her face.

It only lasts for a fleeting moment. He manages to knock her off of him, pinning her to the ground and wrapping his hands around her throat. I find myself standing up, my fists clenching as she claws at him, hitting him in the side of the head and trying to get away. In a normal setting, perhaps she might have stood a fighting chance. Smaller initiates often had the advantage of being faster, and it was easier for them to scramble away. But Violet has clearly been here for years, not training on defense tactics or being scored on them. She hasn't spent weeks training to fight for her life or block blows.

It shows.

"STOP IT!"

Aidy is shrieking, flailing her arms uselessly and simply making noise rather than actually helping. Everyone in the room is watching in horror, especially when Owen seems to realize what he's doing. He stops for a second, then chokes when my hands clasp around his windpipe.

"Fuck off," I hiss at him, throwing him to the side easily. He bounces right back up, his rage returning. He lunges for me, trying to headbutt me, as though I haven't watched countless opponents do the exact same thing. I make sure he misses, smashing his face into the couch. I reach down to pull Violet up, and I stop when I feel the stabbing prick of a needle in my arm. I turn my head to the side, finding the panicked stare of an orderly. He backs away almost instantly at my glare, realizing his mistake.

"Wrong guy," I announce.

I glance at my bicep, then reach over and pull the syringe from my arm. He hasn't injected much, but instead sort of scratched me in an attempt to sedate me. I turn to him with a smile, and with a little too much force, I stab it into his own arm. "I'm the one trying to help here."

I make sure my voice sounds polite, but it goes groggy when I realize I've been injected with more than I thought. The room blurs a bit as I stand there, watching Aidy's face melt away, and my knees give out as I stumble to the ground. I see Violet's face again, her dark eyes closing as I try to steady myself to stand upright.

"You have no idea what you just did!" Owen yells, though his own voice is slurred. I catch sight of his freshly-bandaged wrists peeking out from beneath his sleeves as he throws one pathetic, depressed look at us all. I'm sure his own vision is narrowing, the room growing dark and swaying, and I see his gaze skirt over Violet, her whole body turned towards me, and I can recognize the look on his face.

The ugly, bitter expression of fear, seeping up through his skin, even at the height of the drug.

For the first time in a long time, longer than I can remember, I feel triumphant before my eyes eventually close.