Okay thank yall for the encouragement! I've been wanting to start this story for awhile! Its really fun to write and I hope yall like reading it! But anyways it is inspired by the Divergent series, but it really isn't like it much besides the fact its dystopian and a few other minor details. But anyways, here's the next chapter! Reviews? (:

But I kept a few hidden in the apartment for reasons like this. "Anna, hide." We'd been over this, we had a set drill. I grabbed a weapon and waited and she hid in a cabinet. She only came out when I said, "Olaf says all clear." Just in case (but a totally slim chance) that I was overpowered and they forced me to get her out. If I said anything else there was a gun in there, and she game out guns blazing. No pun intended. She hadn't shot much; my dad was too scared to let her. But she knew enough. And we were prepared for anything.

I released the safety, depressed the grip safety, and cocked the hammer. I grabbed one of my throwing knives and held it in my right hand. I aimed my left at the door, completely comfortable in my stance. I'd been shooting since I was 6. I had graduated from proper-two-hands-on-the-gun-body-square-deep-breath technique long ago.

I tossed the knife up and caught it without looking; I was so comfortable with it in my hand. But I made sure to keep my eye trained on the door. If it opened, I was shooting, no exceptions.

I waited, trying to swallow the tears that were threatening to break through. They were encouraged by the screams of terror and pain coming outside the door. I wanted nothing more than to burst out and help whoever was out there, but I knew I couldn't. That meant putting a target on my back, therefore putting Anna's life in danger. And Anna came first.

A tear slipped down, and I wiped it away with my sleeve quickly. I acted like a badass, but I wasn't tough inside. I wanted to break down all the time, but I knew I couldn't.

Come on Elsa, suck it up. Conceal, don't feel. I wiped emotion from my face, and willed my focus back to the door.

My dad gave me that phrase. When he trained me, when I saw the horrors this world has for us, when he told my mom and I of those horrors, he told me: "Conceal, don't feel. Don't let it show, Elsa. If you show them how weak you are, all of this training is moot. Don't let anything get to you, just fuel whatever motions you have to a calm rage, and use that against them."

At that point, I did exactly what he told me to. I took all my fear, uncertainty, rage, disgust, and sadness and pounded the crap out my punching bag, or shot bullets or threw knives at my target until I had no energy left. The result was usually a destroyed target or dummy, and a very proud father.

Eventually I learned to turn my emotions on and off, like a good machine. My father never taught me that, but he encouraged it without knowing it. Conceal, don't feel. Don't let it show. It was extremely useful; it made me deadly as an opponent, but reliable so that I wouldn't act out of rage and cause an accident. Or another one at least.

I stood waiting for our door to open long after the gun shots and the muffled crying stopped. I shifted from foot to foot, on the balls on my feet, muscles taunt, not tired. Training and running miles before the break of dawn kept me in excellent shape.

Only when I was positive that it was clear, I murmured, "Olaf says all clear." Anna climbed out slowly, Olaf in one hand and the pistol in the other. The safety was still on, which was a relief since she was carelessly slinging it around.

She stood up in slow motion, half of due to stiffness and the other half fear. No matter how many times this happened it didn't make it any less scary or any easier. It was something no one could get used to.

I walked over and slowly pried the gun from her fingers, one at a time, and put it back in the cabinet. She let me with no resistance. We kept the cabinet empty just for this purpose. It had a full water bottle, nonperishable food items, and it locked from the inside. Pretty decent hideout, considering our current state.

I led her over to our shaggy couch, and got her a glass of water. Anna was always shaken up like this after a possible attack. I couldn't blame her. I was too. But, like always, I shut off my emotions and just focused on Anna. I stored my fear away for a time that I needed it.

I sat on the couch next to her, looking around our apartment. A stove and a few feet of cabinet space with the mini fridge and some cabinets above it pretty much summed up our kitchen. The rest of the room had a table shoved up in the corner, with two chairs tucked underneath. The front door was in between the end of the counters and the table. Against the other wall was the loveseat couch we were both sitting on. The living room/dining room/ kitchen turned a sharp left into the hallway that led to our one bathroom and one bedroom.

Before the war this place would've been a good place for a couple, or just one person to live. It wasn't a bad apartment, it was just worn down. The walls were gray, the door was gray, the floors were gray and featuring dirt. It was like I was stuck in one of those black and white movies my dad told me they used to have years ago.

I looked around and thought of the potential in this place before getting up. I secretly wanted to be an architect, but to be one you had to go to college, and most architect jobs, like most prestige and well-paying jobs, were owned by the government. And I would never get a job with them after what they did to my parents.

I stepped out the door and closed it, pausing to make sure that Anna locked it behind me. When I heard all the locks click, I jogged to work. It was cold, since it was mid-December, and I only had a hoodie on. But I was fine. I had given the good coat I found to Anna, so she'd be warm. Besides, the cold never bothered me anyways.

I hope yall like it! And it'll get more interesting soon! I promise! (: