I sit at the Candor table - at the end with Molly and Drew, so we don't have to talk about all the stupid things the Candor debate about.
Today is the aptitude test, and I still don't know which faction I'm going to join. Even after three years of consideration.
Erudite is not a bad choice. I have a good enough grade-point-average, and I don't mind learning things. I could fit in.
Dauntless would certainly prepare me physically to survive. I would fit in, even with my cruelty. I'd heard whispers about Dauntless initiation. Combat, Guns, Fear. Yes, I could fit in Dauntless. But I am not brave. No, I could never be brave.
"Hayes, Peter." Someone calls me into a room. I get up and Molly gives me a small smile. I don't return it. She and Drew think they know me, but they don't.
No one does.
Not even me.
I enter the room, and there is a complicated chair contraption with wires and screens and a bunch of other things. A man from Amity motions me towards the seat.
"Please, sit down." He says in a soft, soothing voice. I move towards the chair and sit down, resting my head on the head rest.
"Perfect, now I'm just going to attach these to your forehead, connecting you to the machine, so we can get started. It won't hurt, and once you drink this - " He hands me a shot glass with some orange liquid in it - "I'll put you in the simulation."
He presses the electrodes to my forehead. I'm surprised an Amity would administer my test. The Amity and Candor are often antagonistic.
But I don't really care. I have nothing against Amity lies. I'm a liar myself.
The man nods and smiles at me, "Go ahead and drink it." He says, in a tone like a father finally giving a son permission to go out with a group of friends.
I hesitate. What will this tell me about myself? Do I really want to know? But I have no choice.
I down the liquid and there's nothing in left in my mind.
Blank.
I close my eyes, but something tells me I need to open them again. I open them, and I'm in the cafeteria and it's empty.
I frown. It shouldn't be empty. But the thought quickly leaves my mind.
There are two baskets on the table in front of me. One has a hunk of Swiss cheese and another has a long knife over a foot long.
"Choose." A voice says. It's a cold, female voice. I glance around to see who's talking. No one is here. I frown again. How can there be a voice if no one's here? Maybe it's a memory of a voice? Yes, that must be it. That makes sense.
I stare at the baskets again. An Erudite might choose either option. A Dauntless would take the knife. I take the knife and the baskets disappear. I frown again, staring at the empty table. How could the baskets disappear? There must be some kind of illusionary mechanism or a kind of trap door. That makes sense. Yes, that would work.
A sound behind me disrupts my musings. I turn, and a dog the size of a bear with black, black eyes and shaggy brown-black hair takes a step forward. My heart speeds up and my eyes widen. The knife I had in my hand clatters onto the cafeteria table. The dog-bear growls at me and I can't pull my eyes away from it's abyss-deep pupils.
In the back of my mind, I remember that staring into a dog's eyes is a sign of aggression, and instigation for a fight. I force myself to tear my eyes away and try to calm down.
The information is rushing through my head. The human body secrets adrenaline, also known as epinephrine, when in danger. This directs the cellular focus on the body rather than stomach and other digestive organs. Canines can sense the hormone secretions - the same secretions exhibited by it's usual prey. So, if I calm myself down, the sympathetic nervous system will cut off that hormone secretion, so the dog won't consider me prey.
I suck in breaths through my teeth. I screw my eyes shut, and my hands ball up in fists at my sides.
What are you afraid of? There's nothing there. You're being stupid. Don't you see how stupid this is? Don't you know it's not real? It's just a game. A game. Nothing can actually hurt you.
A soft breeze blows against my shirt. Where is the breeze coming from? I open my eyes to see, and the dog is right in front of ne. It can't hurt you. It' can't hurt you. It licks my shirt. I shudder, but it doesn't seem to notice because its tail starts wagging and its tongue is soaking my clothes with saliva.
How long it is going to do this? Why it is here in the first place? I look around at the cafeteria, hoping for some kind of clue. A girl is a white dress is running towards me. "Puppy!" She screams in excitement. The dog bristles up and turns on the girl. It runs towards her, it's teeth bared.
I don't think - I act.
I grab the knife off the table and throw. The dog screams; a high, savage sound and the girl is screaming and crying. I move to the dog, wrench the knife out of the dog's body and stab again - in the heart. I can see the canine anatomy diagram from my biology book underneath my eyelids. I stab the dog again, in the main artery in the neck for good measure. The dog's screams of agony cut off.
"Bloody beast." I tell the dead animal bitterly, and then smirk at the unintentional pun. I laugh, even. The girl finally shut up, and looks at me curiously. I continue to ignore her. I don't care about her.
I don't know why I killed the dog. But right now, I need to laugh. I need to show that I am not broken. They can do anything they damn well please, but they won't break me.
The only thing that I will allow to break me is myself.
I close my eyes and cut off the laughter, which is balancing on the edge of hysteria. I need to calm down. I need to get control. I take deep breaths and open my eyes. I'm at a bus stop. How did I get here? I was just at the cafeteria-It must've been a dream. A day dream. The bus pulls up and I get on and move towards the back for a seat. A man hidden behind a newspaper grabs my arm, pulling me up short. I jerk my arm out of his grasp. The man is in a black and white suit - a Candor. Good. I can say whatever I want to him.
"What the hell!" I tell him. He doesn't react. Instead, he points to a picture in the paper.
"Do you know this person?" He demands. I glance at the photo. It's a picture of a man with a round face and bulky body. My mind tells me that I know the man. My faction manifesto tells me I should say so. But I've been lying for nine years. My mouth doesn't even consider telling the truth.
"No." I keep my hands steady, my face blank, my eyes straight. My body knows exactly how to move. Exactly how to deceive.
"You're lying." The man accuses. I'm startled by his ability to see through my disguise, but I've been in this situation before. I harden my face, ice over my eyes, and say in an offended tone - like any Candor accused of lying would- "Lying? I'm not lying! Lying is the epitome of all evils! Lying is what destroyed our world!" I shake my head with disgust. "I told you I don't know the person. That's the truth."
The man looks convince, but he adds one last comment. "If you know him, you could save me." It's said softly, hopelessly. I grit my teeth together.
"Huh." I walk on and sit down in the back of the bus.