Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.

Two days have passed. Eric sits on the edge of his mattress in the transfer dorm, his hands cradling his head, lost in his own thoughts. Various emotions swirl around inside him, apprehension and dread being two of them. But the strongest one of all is the sharp stab of self-loathing.

What was he thinking, letting Jason destroy him like that? Because of his extended stay in the hospital, he ended up missing both the knife-throwing session and the game of Capture the Flag. And in the latter, Tobias' team won! He should've been there, too! If not for the fact that much of his body still hurts, Eric would've given himself a smack on the head for his stupidity.

Vaguely, he remembers a character from one of Megan's silly romance novels. What was her name? Marianne Dashwood? The one who kept acting according to her emotions, not listening to reason. She fell for her handsome but no-good suitor, who later left her for a woman with money. Soon after the man's departure, her heart was broken in two and she was left vulnerable to a grave illness.

Just like when Eric felt sorry for Jason, and moved to help him, and was wounded because of it.

That was why, a day after he woke up from his drug-induced sleep, he left his hospital bed at dawn and stumbled down the hall to the training room. He went straight to the punching bags and worked on them for hours, until the alarms finally began going off in the transfer dorm.

That day, Eric's name was next to Sean's on the piece of paper. Tobias was fighting Mia, and Amy was up against Jason. Sean thought he had that fight in the bag. Less than two minutes later, he was lying flat on his back on the dirty floor, blood caking his eyelids and coating his nose.

Mia and Tobias took way longer. They traded punches over and over but neither would go down. At last Tobias took a step back and announced, with words garbled by blood, that he was conceding the match to Mia. He yelled that he had nothing left to prove.

That wasn't even the most dramatic moment of the day. Once the last pair finished up, Amar revealed who would be fighting who during the final round. Tobias' opponent? The undefeated Jason. Eric's? His girlfriend Mia.

Without even realizing it, Eric's clenched his fists to the point where his fingernails are biting his palms. He won't be able to brainstorm his way out of this one. He really will have to knock Mia out.

Has she changed her tune about not holding back? What if he KO's her and she gets pissed off?

The answer will come faster than he expected. With no warning, Mia strides into the dorm and lies down on her bed in one quick motion. Eric thinks she's going to sleep now, it's been a busy day for the initiates.

But he needs to get this in before she shuts her eyes. "Hey," he calls. "Mia. Tomorrow morning. Me against you. May the best fighter win?"

Her head shoots up and suddenly she's eyeing him. "Yeah," she finally replies. "May the best fighter win," she repeats with a grin.

Eric's grateful they're standing on the same ground. He and Mia stretch out on their beds to sleep, and the last of Eric's worries dissolves like mist into the air.

The training room reeks of old leather and initiate sweat. The smell's so bad I need some fresh air, but I can't leave. My fist smacks into the punching bag again. Every time it does, it hurts my knuckles, which are split open from a week's worth of fights.

"So I guess you saw the paper with your name on it," Amar says from the doorway. "And realized you're gonna face off with Jason tomorrow. Else you'd be with your friend Eric, instead of here."

"I come here sometimes, too," I say defensively. I back away from the punching bag, shaking out my hands. I've got to stop clenching my fists so hard, or I'll lose all feeling in my fingertips.

Eric wished me good luck in my last fight, but then he quickly retired to his room. Said he was feeling a lot more tired than usual, which makes sense considering he gave it his all in the fight with Sean. Maybe he's feeling extra stressed because tomorrow, he'll be up against his own girlfriend? Then again, he said Mia ordered him to not hold back. And he's certainly not going to put his rank at risk.

I drag the back of my hand across my forehead, collecting many beads of sweat. Enough about Eric and Mia. I've got to stay focused on the upcoming fight with Jason. He's an absolute monster, and beating him will take more than a few well-aimed punches. It'll take skill I might not have, strength I'm not sure I've earned.

"'Kay, I get it." Amar laughs. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, his pose casual. "See, I spend plenty of time trying to figure out what your deal is. I wondered if I was pushing you too hard, so I let you have a night out with us."

Yeah, I remember. It was generous of Amar to offer me some Dauntless status for no reason. But then that reason must have been that he felt bad for me.

Amar takes a step in my direction and, pretending to be discreet, whispers. "Wanna sneak out with us again? Tonight?"

I make a show of thinking about it. "Um… I know you probably feel sorry for me, but no thanks. I have the most important fight of my life scheduled for tomorrow. And I'd better practice before I go to bed."

Amar rolls his eyes a little. "Whatever, man. I can't pity you that much if I let you go drinking with me more than once. But if you'd like, you can stay cooped up in the training room. Enjoy it." He waves at me happily before he turns around and walks off.

Almost instantly, I begin regretting what I said. I was just telling myself what I should do. I should get in more practice, and work hard, and then sleep, so I'm ready to fight first thing in the morning. But that voice saying "I should" is a gratingly familiar one, just like Marcus' voice telling me to behave. And I came here so I would stop listening to that voice.

So I chase Amar down, hollering, "Wait!"

My mentor turns.

I huff and puff for a minute, still winded from working on the punching bag. Then I ask, "So what's the game your buddies are playing?"

We're playing another round of Dare, and I'm sure it'll be just as much fun as the first time. By the time they get to me, almost everyone's drunk, lurching with each footstep and laughing at every joke, no matter how juvenile it is. My mind's still sharp, taking in everything about the night. My legs are starting to get sore from running after the others, and still they haven't dared me to do anything.

We're close to Dauntless headquarters now. The buildings sag where they stand, reminding me of the dilapidation in the factionless sector.

"So who's left?" I recognize the voice of Lauren, instructor to the Dauntless-borns. Her bleary eyes skip over each face in the crowd, including mine.

"The Stiff," someone else says loudly.

"Oh, yeah, him," says Lauren. She lets out a light, airy laugh and squints at me. "Isn't your name Thomas?"

I remember I'm using an alias. "Uh, yeah," I tell Lauren.

"Okay," says the boy who mentioned me. He's the one who'll determine the next dare. So far I've watched the others pull absolutely crazy stunts, from running naked down alleyways to sticking needles through their earlobes without numbing them first. If they asked me to concoct a dare, I wouldn't be able to think of one. Good thing I'm the last to go.

I feel a slight tremor in my chest. Nerves, I tell myself.

"Stiffs are uptight," the Dauntless boy continues. He says it plainly, like it's a well-known fact. "So, to prove you're really Dauntless… I dare you to get a tattoo."

I can see the guy's ink, creeping over his wrists, arms, shoulders, and throat. The metal studs adorning his ears, lips, and eyebrows. Unlike his, my skin's mostly blank, the few noticeable scars covered up. That doesn't match who I am. I should be visibly scarred, just like the other Dauntless, marked with the memories of the trials I've survived.

I lift one of my shoulders. "Fine," I say calmly, accepting the Dauntless boy's challenge.

We all start toward the train tracks. I find I'm anticipating mutilating my own skin with pleasure. Maybe I am shedding my Abnegation self faster than I thought.

Amar and Lauren aren't the only Dauntless I know in the train car. Sitting directly across from me is Zeke, the jokester who jumped first on Choosing Day. Nestled up against him is… his girlfriend? She has an ease with him that, in Abnegation at least, can only signal intimacy. Her hair is dark brown and hangs in corkscrew curls around her face, and her skin's just a couple shades lighter than mine.

I catch myself ogling them, and remember to look away, my face beet red. I may have dated a Dauntless for a short time, but man, I really am stiff.

"Yo," someone nearly shouts, making me jump. I make eye contact with Zeke, who's grinning goofily. "You were on my Capture the Flag team, right?"

"I was," I tell him. He was the star of that night, the one who led our team to a glorious victory. I have to pluck up the courage to say more. "You were the first jumper, right?"

Too late, I realize that might be a touchy subject for him. His moment to show off, ruined by a misstep and loss of balance. But he just laughs. "Yeah, not my finest moment," he agrees.

"Not like anyone else stepped up," the girl at his side chimes in. She looks at me, her face friendly. "I'm Shauna, by the way. Is it true you hit the bulls-eye every time, in knife training?"

With some hesitation, I nod. I didn't know Amar was telling this many tales about me. Does my instructor have that much faith in me?

"Wow," Shauna says, still staring at me. "Guess you were born Dauntless."

I just shrug, so I don't have to reveal my true feelings. Part of me appreciates Shauna's praise, but a larger part feels guilt. Do I really deserve to be spoken of so highly, when I never even received a Dauntless result on the aptitude test? I came here to escape the life I was meant for, a life in Abnegation. And I'm fighting my hardest to get through initiation so I won't have to admit that.

The three of us go on talking, and I'm told how initiation's going for Zeke and Shauna. Zeke's pretty proficient at hand-to-hand combat, but Shauna's technique needs polishing up. Still, at one point she was able to get Zeke underneath the jaw. The bruise is easy to spot, and it's nasty.

I tell Shauna good work. She might still be struggling, but a job well done is a job well done.

Before long, the train's approaching the final stop. I ready myself to make the jump, knowing I'll get the hang of it soon. We're going to get me a tattoo, and the appointment's gonna be with someone very familiar.

The low-hanging bulb emits a faint pop as it comes to life. The supply closet-sized space behind Tori's apartment is thrown into light, and I can see a big leather chair and tattoo needles everywhere. The Dauntless around me grin with anticipation.

"Okay, if I get in trouble for this, I'll say you guys are vandals," Tori warns. In all fairness, we just woke her up from a deep slumber so she could take part in this Dauntless tradition.

Amar acknowledges her with a nod. "Understood," he says.

Tori smiles. "Let's get started." Suddenly she turns her gaze on me. "Ever been in a tattoo parlor before?" It's an innocently worded question, not one meant to test me.

I shake my head.

"Basic principles," she says, getting down to business. "The less cushioning under the skin, the more painful the tattoo. So for your first one, it's probably best to get it on, I don't know…"

"Your butt cheek," Zeke suggests, to uproarious laughter.

The corner of Tori's mouth lifts. "Wouldn't be the first time," she admits.

But I'm not going with Zeke's idea, funny as it is. "I got a design already," I tell Tori. I pull out my finished painting, which I retrieved from my dorm earlier. The reds, yellows, and oranges mix together to form a swirl of bright colors that very much resemble one of the symbols of Dauntless, the flame that lights a torch.

"Here," I say. "Painted it a couple days ago."

"Sweet," compliments Tori. "Got a location in mind?"

Now that's one detail I didn't think too hard on. But then I think about the worst physical pain I've ever had to overcome as a child, when I still lived with Marcus. I want this tattoo to be located in the same spot, as tangible evidence that I survived that pain and came out stronger. I point to my rib cage while looking at Tori. "There," I tell her.

She's frowning now. "You sure? That's maybe the most painful place possible."

"Good," I say simply, then I position myself in the leather chair. The Dauntless in the room let out a chorus of cheers. They weren't expecting the Abnegation kid to be the most daring.

Tori sits on the stool next to me and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. She touches rubbing alcohol to the scarred skin of my back. I see her frown deepen when she notices the old wounds, but she asks no questions. She just gets ready to turn the needle on.

A low buzzing fills the entire room. I wince when the needle makes contact with my ribs, but somehow the pain's not as bad as I thought it'd be.

Believe it or not, I actually welcome it.

All of a sudden, I'm on my back and the lights in the dorm are assaulting my face with the intensity of a nuclear bomb.

Three very important facts slap me in the face. I'm still in bed while the other initiates are already up. It could be eight in the morning already. And that means I'll be late for my last and most crucial fight.

Moaning and groaning, feeling like there's an elephant parked on my chest, I somehow get myself to sit up. My skull feels like it's going to blow apart.

Oh man - my head!

Then I see him. There's a figure stooped on the floor next to his bed, tying his shoelaces with vigor. The person I least want to see me in my sorry state, even though he'd likely sympathize with me.

Yet, when Eric looks up and notices me, his expression's unforgiving. "Toby, you look like hell."

I'm about to tell him off, ask him if he thinks I don't already know. But just then, a spell of dizziness nearly makes me pitch over. I clutch my head with both hands, silently begging God to forgive me for my foolishness.

"Hate to say this," Eric continues, "but you're most likely gonna lose." He gets done tying his shoes and straightens to his full height. Unlike me, he may as well be in perfect shape.

I clear my throat. "Do I need to be reminded?" I shoot back at him. "I know I was an idiot. I just had to put myself out there." No need to elaborate, surely Eric's already guessed that I went out to play a Dauntless game.

He gets the picture when he sees the bandages covering the ink on my side. "What the…" One disbelieving shake of his head later, "You have a tattoo?"

I half smile, half grimace, as if to say, Oh well, can't take it back, can I?

Eric's expression remains as hard as stone. "Toby, when you lose, you better not use this as an excuse," he says. He turns around and leaves the dormitory. I massage both sides of my head for several seconds, then I very slowly get out of bed to take a shower. I have to stand with only half of my body under the warm spray, so the bandages won't get soaked.

The minutes drag by while I just stand there, letting the water cascade over my body. When at last I exit the stall, I check the nearest clock.

Almost ten minutes past eight. Even if my fight's last on the list, I might still not show up in time. And Eric's right, short of a miracle performed by Jesus Christ, the loser's gonna be me.

It's just a touch, Eric pep-talks himself. Just a simple knockout punch. That's all it'll take.

Mia circles him, looking for the chinks in his hypothetical armor. Meanwhile, he's focused on getting over a mental blockade. First he tried replaying Jeanine's advice in his head. Didn't work. They say love makes you stupid, or was it infatuation? Whatever. Makes no difference.

Then he attempted to hijack his own mind, to somehow justify beating Mia up. As tempting as those thoughts were, he had to dispel them in the end. He's no saint, but he's got no interest in becoming a psychopath. Some things a sane human just can't afford to lose, and compassion's one of them.

So what's Eric's next step? He can't say.

Mia hits him again, probably trying for his face but catching his collarbone instead. She shakes out her hand and grits her teeth in effort. Her combative stance actually injects a bit of fear into Eric's heart.

His gaze turns downward and he keeps it that way, else he'll be distracted. To his surprise, the next blow from Mia's fist doesn't feel that impactful. A lightbulb turns on in his head.

Oh man, can't believe I didn't try this sooner.

Closing his eyes against Mia's next advance, Eric pushes his body forward. Imagines he's fighting Jason once again. Visualizes the boy's face, his expression threatening.

And throws a single jab, knowing he'll have experienced a colossal boost in strength.

Pushing one hand into my forehead as I run, I search frantically for the entrance to the training room. There, I see it! I burst through the doors to find a large group of initiates and members alike. They're all staring me down. One of them's Amar, and he's looking sternly at me.

"Nice of you to join us… three minutes later than scheduled." The fake-nice tone disappears from his voice, and I realize the camaraderie of the night before won't extend to today. Amar points at my sneakers. "Tie your shoes, and don't waste any more of my time."

I scramble to do as he says, tucking the ends of the laces under so they won't get in my way. At the edge of the arena, Jason's warming up the muscles in his arms. They're bulging to the point where his sleeves might rip apart. I know I should ignore him, but I can't lie, I'm intimidated.

Each time I move, the parts of my body that Mia struck yesterday issue a complaint. Perhaps I'll lose like Eric did, my body prone and on the ground, tummy up, face unguarded, no protection anywhere.

Speaking of Eric, how'd he do in his final fight? Was he able to curb his worst fears about Mia? Give her a sound beating and win? I scan the large room, and there she is. Intact, without any serious injuries, still standing on her own two feet. Did she do the impossible and defeat…

No, she didn't. Eric's nowhere near as scratched up as she is, and the way he stands reminds me of Rocky Balboa after the victory over Drago. The blood and sweat a testament to how hard he worked, proof that even the tallest barriers can be overcome.

I'm happy for Eric. But that feeling doesn't last long. As I face Jason, I feel my heart pumping at maximum speed, my head pain getting exponentially worse. Then Amar steps out of the way, and Jason zips toward me, his right hook hitting me so hard, I feel like my head might fly off my shoulders.

I zigzag backwards, but with no escape plan in mind. One hand's up by my face to ward Jason off. All the pain I'm enduring meshes together in my head, as if I'm inside a huge blender.

"Come on, shake it off," Amar coaxes. I'm trying to, but my head hurts twice as much now!

I ensure my mouth stays fully shut, so Jason can't get a scream out of me. Concentrating on that makes me forget him for one second. Jason's right leg is in motion before I can dodge it, and the kick slams into a couple of my ribs that were injured in past fights.

I react like I just received an electrical shock. Jason senses that I'm in panic mode. "This is easier than I thought it would be," he brags.

Color pours into my cheeks. I can't lose without getting at least one hit in. I see the arrogant hole Jason left in his guard, and I make like I'm gonna go to my knees to conserve my energy. Instead, I punch Jason hard in the belly. He's surprised, but I still don't have the edge.

My left ear is suddenly ringing, because the flat of Jason's hand whacked it. I can't maintain my balance, and soon my fingers are sweeping the cold floor.

"You know," Jason remarks in a quiet voice, "I don't need to do nothin'."

Bewildered, I blink and stare up at him. He's gone completely stationary! His hands are behind his back and his feet are still. What on Earth is he doing?

"You're finished, Stiff," he goes on. He follows that up with a self-congratulatory smirk.

My eyes have clouded over with half a dozen different varieties of pain. Still, despite getting put through the wringer by Jason, I've discovered something about him. I know his biggest weak spot in combat. And it doesn't have anything to do with his fighting style.

No, it's his arrogance, his refusal to consider the possibility that there may be strength lying dormant in me, because I'm from Abnegation. He doesn't think I can hurt him like he can hurt me. He thinks I'm everything he assumed me to be at the outset, humble and selfless and passive. But he's wrong.

My pain transforms into an iron determination. I'm awed by my power as I swing at Jason's face, and then I do it again. And again. And again. I don't even know, or care, who's watching us. This fight is between me and Jason, and I'm settling the score between us. Right now I'm nothing but sheer, raw, undeniable power.

Then at last I hear his shrill cries, see him grasping at his face with hands stained red. Blood's smeared all over his chin, running into his teeth. He tries to twist out of my reach, but because I've got a decent grip on his arm, I don't let go.

It seems the audience wouldn't want me to, either. "Whoa!" someone shouts. "Crazy," another murmurs.

I respond to Jason's groveling with a kick to his side, so he falls in a heap on the floor. Over his hands, which cover his nose and cheeks, I meet his eyes. I'd like that bastard to know I did this to him for Eric, and for Mia.

Finally I descend from my post-fight high when Amar's shouts reach my ears. "Abnegation, you won!" he's saying. Like I'd be mistaken about that. "You won. Back off." His strong hands force me away from Jason and out of the ring.

Eric is, predictably, the first to offer congratulations. "Impressive, Toby," he says with a grin. "Proved me wrong." The brief embrace he gives me indicates that our little feud's ended.

I tell him, "Thanks, man." Then I give him and Amar a smile that I think reflects a hopeful attitude. Finally, to everyone's shock, I walk out of the training room without having been dismissed.

Of course, I'm grateful beyond measure. My spirits are running high, and why wouldn't they be? I'm growing closer to some of the initiates from Dauntless, my friendship with Eric didn't hit a roadblock, and I ended up triumphing over Jason. I have to take a moment to thank God for these victories, and to give all the glory to Him.

But I can't stop myself from questioning Him as well. Fear is a habitual emotion in me, always lingering no matter how things improve. This fear isn't like what I felt at the start of the duel with Jason. It's not aimed at my foe but at myself, at what I'm quickly turning into.