GUYS.

I feel so bad for being MIA but hey, I have a reason! I need to get straight A+'s to be in a scholarship program. I may be Dauntless, Erudite, and Abnegation, but I suck at being Erudite! I have all A+ except for Language Arts, Math, and Science! UGHHH.

I WATCHED THE MAZE RUNNER AND ONCE AGAIN THE BOOK WAS BETTER. I won't complain though, Dylan O'Brian is too sexy to complain about.

I wished they didn't leave out the pt about Teresa asking Thomas "What if we were lovers?"

Cause this came up in my head.

Teresa: What if we are lovers?

Thomas:

Thomas:

Thomas: What if I like Minho, bitch

Honestly I hate Teresa. SPOILER. OOPS. SORRY TO ALL YOU GREENIES.

So anyway, YOU GUYS DEMOLISHED THAT GOAL!

Goal: 392 followers, 292 favs, and 730 reviews! I know you guys can do it!

Chapter XXXIV. Undercover Traitor

TRIS

I sneak through the hallway, knife at ready and nose scrunched up at the sight and smell of the black and white clothed bodies.

Candors lay on the floor everywhere, bodies and arms twisted in the strangest ways, with the casual splattered with blood. I scan faces and bodies as I walk, trying to pick up the slightest hint of flickering eyelids, quick shallow breaths; any sign to show that the people on the ground are just faking, just pretending to be unconscious.

So far, the hallway is silent with the exception of my footsteps. No slight eye twitch or even hint of irregular breathing. I come to the conclusion that none of the Candor are Divergent; then again, what kind of Divergent joins the faction that values honesty? Filled with members who could never keep their mouth shut. Members like Christina, who are human walking lie detectors, and never let a single lie slip through? It's a never ending chain of gossip. Once you tell someone, it won't stop spreading. Then the Erudite is informed and then, whoops. You're dead.

"Eric!" Someone shouts from down the hall, interrupting my train of thought. I hold in my breath and my heart pounds as Eric walks straight toward me. I stand stiff, praying that he won't recognize me. My breath wavers as he strides smoothly past me and down the hallway on my left.

My brain tells me to continue my search as quickly as possible, but my heart screams at me to find out why Eric was needed; the shout sounded quite urgent.

So, my body urges me forward.

I turn the corner and see a Dauntless soldier standing over a kneeling woman. She wears a white blouse and a black pencil skirt. Silent tears run down her face from her pale-green eyes and has her hands behind her head. Eric stands next to the soldier, observing the woman proudly and with a wicked expression on his face; it's almost as if he's a teacher and the soldier is a student who brought in an award-winning essay or something. His grin looks greedy even in profile.

"Divergent." He says. "Well done. Bring her to the elevator bank. We'll decide which ones to get rid of and which ones to keep."

The soldier grabs the woman by the ponytail in a rough manner, dragging her behind him. She shrieks, and then scrambles to her feet, bent over. I try to swallow the lump in my throat but it feels like I'd choke if I do.

Eric continues down the hallway, away from me. I look forward and focus on the wall across me, trying to ignore the black and white blur as it stumbles past me; the Candor woman's dark brown hair still clenched in the fist of the Dauntless soldier.

I take a breather and then force myself to move. I try a new tactic, following my original plan, and ditching the detour. I step hard on the pinkie finger of the next unconscious person I come across. No response, not even the slightest twitch. I dig my heel harder into the next person's pinkie finger. No response either.

I hear someone else yell, "Got one!" from a distant hallway and start to feel frantic. I jump over bodies of women, children, and men and step on their limbs on the way on purpose and on accident, but in the small time I have, I still have no response. I'm playing a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with the Divergent, but I'm not the only one who's "it." This game is starting to feel like search-and-destroy.

And then it happens. I actually have luck. I step on a Candor girl's pinkie, and her freckled face twitches. Just a little—an impressive hint at hiding the pain—but enough for me to notice. I take note of my surroundings, checking for Dauntless soldiers. I also check for the nearest stairwell, and luckily there's one just several feet away, down a side hallway to my right. I crouch next to the girl's head.

"Hey, kid," I say as quietly as kindly as I can. "It's okay. I'm not one of them." Her eyes flicker open, just a little, but enough for me to see the light-blue flecks surrounding her iris.

"There's a staircase about three yards away," I say. "I'll tell you when the coast is clear. Then you have to run. Understand?" She looks at me, and a pain hits me in the heart when I see how scared she looks. There's no time for pity, I remind myself. Divergents are probably being round up and killed at this very moment.

She nods. I stand and turn in a slow circle. A redhead Dauntless traitor to my left is looking away, looking down and nudging a limp Dauntless with her foot. Two Dauntless traitors behind me are laughing about something. And one in front of me is spacing out in my direction, but then he lifts his head and goes down the hallway in the opposite direction, away from me.

My head whips around to look at the girl. "Now."

She gets up and sprints toward the door to the stairwell. I watch her until the door quietly clicks shut, and see my reflection in one of the windows. I see a blonde girl looking back, people unconscious by her feet. But behind the girl is a tall man with buzz-cut blond hair. I gulp silently.

Eric is standing right behind me.

And man, does he look angry.

-o0o-

I look at his reflection, and he looks back at me. I quickly weigh my few possible options. I could make a break for it. If I move fast enough, he might not want to go after me. But I know deep in my mind that I could never outrun him.

And I won't be able to shoot him, because I didn't bring a gun either.

Brilliant, Tris. Now I know why I didn't get Erudite in my aptitude test.

I think fast, and act faster. I spin around, bringing my elbow up as I do, and elbow Eric in the face. He lets out a slight groan of pain and grabs my left arm with on hand and I feel cool metal on my forehead. I open my eyes to see him smiling down at me, his index finger taunting me by going close to the trigger, and then going away from it.

"I don't understand," he says, slowly and smoothly, "how you could possibly be stupid enough to come up here with no gun."

I gulp. Come on, think! And then I remember. "Well, I'm smart enough to do this." I say with a grin on my face. I stomp hard on his foot, which I fired a bullet into less than a month ago. He screams, his eyes shut and jaw clenched, and drives the heel of the gun into my jaw. I clench my teeth to suppress a groan—one of my old tactics. A warm liquid trickles down my neck.

He broke the skin.

Still, his grip on my arm does not loosen at all. But the fact that he didn't just shoot me in the head right there and then makes me realize something: He's not allowed to kill me.

Yet.

"I'm surprised that you would actually be so stupid to charge in here by yourself against at least fifty-plus Dauntless." His grip on me tightens, and my bone aches from the pressure. I try to think of a way that will cause him enough pain to release me. I rule out at least six ideas, before I go with the traditional way for women to hurt men physically.

Nut-shot, as Uriah puts it.

I bring my right foot off the ground an inch or two before thinking it through. I'll wait. He slips behind me and grabs me by both arms, pressing against me so I can barely move my feet; barely feel my feet.

His fingernails dig into my skin, and I grit my teeth, both from the pain and to keep myself from throwing up at the sickening feeling of his chest on my back.

"So where's your boyfriend?" he says mockingly. "Six? Tobias?" He presses me forward so I have to walk. His breath tickles my hair, and a shivering feeling runs through my bones. I want to be anywhere else than here.

I keep my mouth shut, my teeth too busy biting my lower lip.

"Lots of surprises today. He didn't come with you? Why?" He's testing me. He knows that I will try to escape again, from the too-close-for-comfort and from his annoyance, but he doesn't know what my plan is. And that's my advantage.

He twists his hands so the calluses scrape against my arms. I tilt my body to the left as I walk, trying to position one of my feet between his advancing feet. I grin with fierce pleasure when I notice that he's limping.

"Since you two are separated, who knows what could happen. I mean, Tobias does have a reputation with the ladies in Dauntless; why wouldn't he have one in Candor?" Now he's really pushing it. He's insinuating that Tobias, my Tobias, is cheating on me. The same Tobias who has a fear of intimacy, who's afraid of just being used as some sex buddy.

His words travel to my brain and makes me act. I stop walking just long enough to bring my heel up, hard, between his legs. A high-pitched cry followed by a curse of the same pitch hitches up in his throat, and his hands go limp for just a moment.

In that small amount of allotted time, I twist my body as hard as I can and break free. I don't know where to run, but I just have to. Before I can take one single step, he grabs my elbow, yanks me back, and punches me hard in my right temple. Black dots stain my vision and I bite my lip hard enough to make it bleed. He knees me hard in the back, where some of my scars aren't healed yet. The smallest, quietest whimper escapes my mouth. When I look up, I no longer see Eric.

I see Marcus.

But Marcus's grey hair fades to blond. Eric hits me another time, this time in the skin where my skull meets my earlobe—my pressure point; I discovered that it was my pressure point after being hit by a wasted Marcus one day, and normally my body is immune to punches, but a particular soc to the right side of my face ached.

My knees crumple beneath me, and he grabs my collar almost carelessly, dragging me towards the elevator bank. I stumble after him. My body throbs with lingering pain. I have become used to being hit on the back—when I have healed scars—I'm basically immune to pain. But my pressure point is a thousand times worse.

When we reach the elevator bank, he forces me to my knees next to the Candor woman I saw earlier. She and four others sit between the two rows of elevators, kept in place by Dauntless with guns.

The Dauntless traitors face Eric, gun still ready if any of the Divergent decide to make a run for it. "I want one gun on her at all times," he says furiously. "Not just aimed at her. On her."

A Dauntless man pushes a gun barrel into the back of my neck, in the middle of my neck tattoos. It forms a cold circle on my skin. I lift my eyes to Eric. His face is red, his usually cold steel-blue eyes watering.

I will myself not to smirk. "What's the matter, Eric?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "Afraid of a little girl?"

"I'm not stupid," he says coldly, running his hands through his hair. "That little-girl act may have worked on me before, Four, the all-powerful girl with four fears." A few of the traitor Dauntless have a look of shock on their faces.

He gives me a glare. "But it won't work again. You're one of the best attack dogs they've got." He leans closer to me. "Which is why I'm sure you'll be put down soon enough."

I know who he is talking about. And I don't know if I'd be in the same situation if he came, but I am somehow glad he didn't, for his safety.

A ding distracts me, and one of the elevator doors opens. A Dauntless soldier shoves a familiar boy—whose lips are stained with blood—toward the short row of the Divergent. Uriah glances at me, but from this angle, and considering the fact that there is a loaded gun aimed at me, I can't read his expression well enough to know if he was successful or if he failed. But if he's here, I infer that he probably failed.

Now they'll find all the Divergent in the building, and most of us will die.

I have failed my mission.

I should probably be afraid, but naturally I'm not. Because of two reasons.

One, I am pretty much used to close-to-death situations.

And when I realize the second reason, a hysterical laugh bubbles inside me.

Two, I have a knife in my back pocket.

Please review, follow, favorite, and check out my other stories!

Goal: 390 followers, 292 favs, and 730 reviews! I know you guys can do it!

THE MAZE RUNNER! YASSSSS.

~TrissyPoo