Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.
Blam! Blam! Blam-blam-blam!
Everywhere, Eric can hear the sound of guns going off. Every Dauntless initiate's going to hit the ground running, starting with an introduction to shooting on the first day. According to a bystander, most of the transfers are getting the hang of it. Well, if "getting the hang of it" means wildly missing every third shot.
Fortunately, Amar's updating the transfers on their progress. "Eyes on the target, Jason," he reiterates to the big Candor kid. The same kid who messed with Tobias on the rooftop. "Keep your grip nice and steady, Sean," Amar says to the other Candor boy, Jason's sidekick.
"Amy!" Now Amar's watching the lone female transfer from Candor. "You're doin' it all wrong. Lemme show you…" He positions himself behind the girl and starts adjusting her hands, so she'll finally hold the gun correctly.
Eric tries to tune out the noise. He needs to stay focused on himself, because his shooting isn't actually up to par. Sure, his target's decorated with plenty of bullet holes. And yeah, they're all pretty much concentrated in the two or three rings closest to the middle. But the exact center, the main objective, remains untouched. Half an hour into the first exercise, and Eric imagines that the smooth, clean surface is mocking him, daring him to hit it.
He grinds his teeth in annoyance. When will he be allowed to advance beyond his old life in Erudite? No way he can do that if the best result he can get still eludes him.
He takes aim once more, his finger resting on the trigger.
Bang! The sound of the shot distracts him. To his right, Tobias fires over and over and over again, and Eric guesses that eighty percent of the bullets have pierced through the middle of the target. How is a kid from Abnegation the most talented in the group? Must've been the lessons he received from that Dauntless teen, that gave him an impossibly high level of skill.
After staring at Tobias for a few moments, Eric takes his finger off the trigger. He lowers the pistol in defeat. "I just can't get the bulls-eye," he mutters angrily.
Tobias stops shooting and looks sideways at him. "I'll give you a few pointers," he says. He gestures to Eric's right hand, the hand holding the gun. "For starters, stop tensing up at the last second. That's why your aim's always a bit off."
"Alright, got it," says Eric. But he doesn't resume shooting right away. Instead, he searches for Mia in the group of transfers. She's pretty good, if her target, riddled with holes, is any indication. Right now she's concentrating so hard on the exercise, she doesn't even know Eric's looking at her.
With some hesitation, Eric lifts his gun. He breathes in, then positions his finger on the trigger. Just as he exhales, he fires.
Bang. The first shot tears a hole in the target, mere millimeters from the center. Bang. The second almost lands where Eric wants it, but not quite. Bang.
Eric looks. At long last, the bullet's found the bulls-eye. A satisfied smile appears on his face.
"See," comments Tobias, "it worked."
"And for the next couple of hours," Amar's voice booms, "you'll be learning hand-to-hand combat." He ushers the transfers into another room, one with a painted circle on the wooden floor. One end is lined with tattered black punching bags.
My knuckles hurt just looking at them. I know what's in store for me and the other transfers. Sparring for an hour or two. A couple of rounds boxing Amar, or worse, wrestling him. Well, I'll try to go in with a good attitude. Only choice I really have, anyway.
"Show me how to get as good as you," I say to Eric, as Amar starts to demonstrate the moves. How the tables have turned. This morning I was the one with skills, the one others would strive to beat. Now I'm as much of a beginner as that girl from Candor, who throws only weak punches and can't grapple to save her life.
Thud. My clenched fist makes contact with the bag again, and now I'm starting to feel the pain. No matter how many times I do it, I can never put enough power behind my left hook.
"That's how you knock someone out?" I ask Eric, somewhat incredulously. I probably look clumsy as hell executing that move. It looks way more graceful on the screen than in real life.
In response, Eric taps his chin lightly with one finger, like he's thinking about it. "It ain't a guarantee," he finally says. "But yeah, you gotta get 'em in the jaw." He points to an area on the side of his face, just below the horizontal line where his lips meet. "Or in that sweet spot on the temple." He presses the tip of his index finger against the skin to the right of his forehead.
I'm listening. Within a minute, I'm punching at the bag again, visualizing the outline of a person's head where there's only thick fabric. Eric does the same, his movements fast and smooth. Pretty soon, it gets quiet in our corner, except for the heavy breaths I'm taking. But we're in a crowded training room, where a person can only experience solitude for so long.
"Yo, Stiff!" a guy's voice calls out rudely. "I reserved that punching bag." Having seemingly been provoked by nothing at all, Jason and his buddy Sean come marching over, looking like they mean business.
You need some help? Eric's expression seems to say. I don't. I speak up first. "Says who?" I challenge Jason. I keep one hand on the punching bag. "It's open to the public."
Jason doesn't back off. He glances briefly at Sean, and one corner of his mouth twitches. With that little gesture, I know what he's about to do to me. But I'm still taken by surprise. He moves quicker than I would've expected, bum-rushing me and grabbing me with his meaty hands. A second later, I'm sprawled across the floor, knocked silly, only vaguely aware of what just happened.
"Yeah." Jason and Sean bump fists. "That's what he deserves," Sean says, gloating. He and Jason step into place before my punching bag. Jason's so proud of himself, he turns and flexes both his arms, showing off for the other initiates. That's when someone strikes back.
The person lunges, scoring a direct hit on the right side of Jason's abdomen. "Keep your hands off him," the person says, referring to me, and I recognize the voice as Eric's. Jason's reaction is instantaneous. He crumples, pure agony on his face.
"Oh, shit!" an initiate hisses. People start eyeballing us from across the room.
Sean appears to lose his temper. He charges at Eric like a pissed-off bull, his big hand forming a fist. "Come at me, mother…"
He's interrupted mid-sentence. "Hey!" we hear Amar snap. Our instructor crosses the room in a few strides and levels a glare at the Candor bullies and Eric. "What's all the ruckus about?"
"He started it," Jason defends himself, his finger pointed at Eric.
"Doesn't matter who did," Amar shoots back. "You don't horse around like this during training." I half expect Jason to keep arguing, but now he takes Amar's tone as a warning to back down.
"Yes, sir," he mutters. He gets to his feet, and he and his friend walk off, cursing among themselves.
Amar's not finished. "And you?" he barks. He turns his powerful stare on me, and I'm as dumbfounded as I was when he asked me about my father. "Why'd you let that guy get to you?"
Seeing the caught-off-guard expression on my face, Eric interjects. "I was gonna beat Jason up…"
Amar pays him little attention. "No, don't get involved," he says without looking at Eric. He turns back to me. "Kid," he says sternly. "You can't let them get under your skin. You have to stand up for yourself. Am I clear?"
I'm flabbergasted. I thought I'd get a reprimand, perhaps a stream of personal insults, Dauntless style. Yet, though Amar's words sound harsh, he's taken on a kind of fatherly demeanor. Like my well-being is a priority for him.
"Yes, sir," I finally answer.
I stand up, my legs unsteady. I can't bring myself to make eye contact with Amar, too afraid of seeing a look of disapproval. Scared that my instructor's sudden warmth could've just been my imagination.
So I say nothing else to him. I just walk back over to my punching bag, continuing the exercises in total silence. Eric, too, seems to get that the time for talking is over. We keep working on the punches, kicks, and grappling techniques until the day's session ends.
But Amar's unexpected kindness is gonna be a lasting memory. Growing up, I never had a father figure that also served as a positive role model. My new mentor might just become one, and if that happens, well, I won't ever take it for granted.
"Okay, spin," chirps Mia. With an eager smile, she sets the empty soda bottle down, so it's lying on its side.
Before this moment, Eric was replaying in his head the possible scenarios for his first date with an ex-Amity. What does she like to do? What does she expect of an ex-Erudite? Just how touchy-feely is she? Shit, are they gonna hold hands the entire time? 'Cause if the answer's yes, then I'm out.
Lucky for him, Mia's more interested in showing him this traditional children's game from Amity. Eric does what she instructed, putting one hand on the neck of the bottle, then flicking his wrist so the bottle twirls. Several rotations later, the open end of the bottle is facing Mia.
"Wow. Three times in a row," Eric observes. He realizes he's having fun playing a game for kids, which he didn't think was possible.
"Gotta confess again," Mia pokes him. She grins and leans forward on her elbows, so her eyes are level with his. "How nervous are you about tomorrow?"
Eric returns her smile, even as he fumbles for a good answer. "Uh… I got mixed feelings."
"That's alright," Mia says casually, and a weight's removed from Eric's chest. He watches as she drums her fingers on the edge of the table, suddenly concerned. "Least you're not scared, like me. I'm not ready to fight someone in our class."
Eric lets this slip. "But I saw you at last year's MMA tournament…"
"I watched it, yeah." Mia shrugs, then all of a sudden she perks up. "You were there, I remember," she reminds Eric.
"Yeah." Eric tries to keep the sour look off his face. "I got second. That meathead, Emmett Carlisle, knocked me out." Just great. Now his head's filled with Maggie's endless whining about him not being as "dedicated" as his sister.
Mia's not looking to judge him, though. "Oh, Emmett," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "His whole family's crazy about martial arts. The youngest, Edward? He's been studying it since he was ten."
Eric snorts. "Good that he ain't here."
"Still," Mia tells him, "you won't have any issues in the combat stage."
"That's what you think," Eric says. As the pressure in his chest returns, he begins to fidget in his seat. Mia's eyes pop open and she goes, "Huh?"
Eric eyes her. "You don't have a problem with their rules? They're saying you have to fight till your opponent's knocked out…"
"Or till they surrender," Mia points out.
"What if it doesn't happen?" Eric worries. He hates sounding like he's scared shitless, because he's not. But that doesn't mean he'll love causing people unnecessary pain. Contrary to most people's perception of martial arts, it's not about being "badass", nor is it just about self-defense. It's supposed to instill discipline and respect in the practitioners, making them better men and women. Seems counterproductive to turn these impressionable kids into trigger-happy fight-pickers.
Mia tries to calm Eric's nerves. "I think everything's just gonna work itself out," she says confidently. "And when you get that leadership job, you won't remember any of it."
Eric nods along to her words. How can he keep forgetting? He transferred here not just to start anew, not just to stand by his best friend, but to secure a leadership position offered to a Dauntless youth. No longer is he gonna pass tests and then forget the material the next week. It's time for him to set goals and chase after them, and gain some courage in the meantime.
The lights have already powered down in the dormitory, though Eric just departed the dining hall after his "date". He tiptoes over to his bed and tries to slide in without making noise. If he had to guess, he'd say everyone else is already asleep.
Eric's just tugged the covers up to his chin. Then there's a click and the door to the dormitory slowly opens. The person who enters is not one of the Dauntless leaders, but Tobias.
He's holding what looks like a plastic bag, as well as a huge rectangular canvas. Roughly half of the canvas is pure white. The other half is coated with paint, some of it red, some of it orange.
Of course Tobias went to go purchase art supplies, even if it meant staying in the Pit past bedtime. With Marcus out of the picture, there's no one to prevent him from finding some creative outlets. No, he can't replace the years of hard work that the Abnegation bastard destroyed, but getting to start over is preferable to nothing.
Eric's unable to suppress his smile. "I missed you around here, Toby," he says loudly, so Tobias will know he's awake.
"Shut up," Tobias says with a laugh. Eric rolls over in his bed to see Tobias admiring his not-yet-finished painting. He then tucks it away in the same hiding spot as the Ceramics-final sculpture. Two nights in Dauntless thus far, and Tobias already has a keepsake to remember them by.
Let's hope tomorrow, when the fights start, my souvenir isn't a bloody nose or broken bones.
AN: Tensions are rising and the stakes are getting higher. Who do you want to see fight in the next chapter? Review please!