First off, I apologize for the lengthy wait between updates. I originally planned to have this up much earlier, but life got in the way, as usual. Now, just a quick note: the chapters for this story are likely to be extremely short, as that's how they seem to have been working out so far, but, despite that, updates will likely still be slow since I'm writing this and figuring most of it out as I go. So reviews would be of much use so I know what I can fix, and knowing that even a few people actually care keeps me writing. Disclaimer hasn't changed from before, so enjoy!
Chapter 2: A Familiar Face
Snow had begun to fall at some point in the night, fluffy and pure white. Just like when it fell on that day, the day that was supposed to be the start of a new life for us, one where we could spend our days without the constant threat of death shadowing our every move, but instead only ended her life, both of our lives. And the only way I had found to deal with the pain of reopened wounds was the same as when the hurt was raw and fresh back at the Bureau: to move, to keep on moving, no matter how hard it really was.
So that was what I did, hardly giving my apartment a glance over before stepping out into the crisp cold, feeling the fresh snow crunch beneath my feet. Snow which concealed all the landscape around me, disguising the injuries this city has obtained at its own hands, hiding them from all the rest of the world, but was unable to help me forget. Never able to erase the pain that had settled permanently in my life. Struggling to live without her amazing strength and knowing all the while that my actions could have changed it all, kept her alive and out of their reach.
Such small decisions.
My feet kept me going, working without my conscious effort for some time, leading me down back alleys and side streets I'd known from childhood, before I ever took notice. But, perhaps I should have realized it sooner. At first it was no more than a flash of gray at the edge of my distracted vision. Nothing extraordinary, nothing unexpected. After all, the people of Chicago had begun wearing all colors, so to see one of the Faction norms again meant very little. But, as I continued on, the once fleeting sight became more frequent as the land turned to a monotonous grayscale . Small, square, nondescript concrete buildings stood in near rows as did the figures clad in shapeless, loose clothes, their pale faces watching me with uncertainty, fear. And glancing down at myself for the first time this morning, I could immediately understand why. While I was never conscious of making the choice myself, I wore all black, the same as years back in the Pit and within the Factions, but now probably looking like some brooding Dauntless disturbing the peace of the Abnegation sector.
Except, I wasn't Dauntless, not anymore at least, and this wasn't the Abnegation sector; the people here shouldn't be Stiffs. We put the Factions behind us already, vowing never to return to those ways, but that did nothing to help explain what was plainly in front of my own eyes. And I didn't need to see the rest of the city to know what was going on.
The Factions, somehow, impossibly, were back.
"Déjà vu?" an all too familiar voice asked, to which I felt my muscles involuntarily tighten. It was another which tended to haunt my nightmares, constantly plagued my conscience ever since my horrific mistake near the beginning of our time spent at the Bureau. One which should be long gone. I of all people should know it for certain; I was the one who silenced it.
Dark eyes glowed, their mischievous glint having never left its natural place in his features, even after death. "Come on, Four. You look like you've seen a ghost," he joked, but it was quite painfully true. He couldn't be here; it was another unexplainable impossibility. There was no way Uriah could be here again.