"Initiates, with me!" Eric calls from the table before hopping down and heading to stand in front of a set of large wooden doors that we haven't been through. Another part of our tour I suppose. Glancing over at Four, he stands without a word and disappears out through the doors that we entered through. So I guess his part of the job is over now. And without so much as a goodbye he leaves, typical. I guess some things never change. I stand along with the others sitting with me and we walk over to the door, waiting with Eric as the initiates that were sitting with Four stand and come as well.
Also choosing not to speak, Eric turns and begins to lead us down a hallway beyond the doors, and as we turn, we find ourselves going down more hallways in a maze of long stretches filled with unbroken silence. Tensions seem to grow as we follow Eric, watching either his back or the blank walls with the lights on the wall at intervals.
After a stretch, whose length I couldn't even guess, we come to another set of doors and Eric turns and faces us, arms crossed and face unreadable. We group up around him like children awaiting a story, our attention fixed and there is suddenly a buzz as the anticipation grows for what a leader of Dauntless could possibly tell us.
He glances around as he gives an introduction, as if we weren't already aware of his name at this point. If anyone failed to find out his name during dinner, I don't know how well they will survive around here. But I feel myself start with his next revelation.
"I have volunteered to oversee your training."
What on Earth would one of the leaders of the faction be doing overseeing the initiation process for the transfers? What does he have to gain, other than being able to gauge who would be the best choices for positions of leadership next? But would they really be planning that far ahead? As my mind races, trying to figure out what that could possibly be planning, I try and focus at least slightly on the schedule that Eric lays out for us.
8:00 – Training room, and ready for training
8:00-18:00 – Training, with an interlude for lunch
After 18:00 we are free to do anything.
The freedom in that simple statement nearly floors me, and when I glance to the side, I can see that Beatrice, if that is even still her name, has reacted in a similar fashion. While I had more liberties than most, Abnegation was not a faction of freedom. Our days were scheduled and filled with activities to further our ability to help others. And if we weren't learning, we spent all our time in humanitarian projects. I spent many days in the streets and outside the faction walls to give food to the factionless. The only time when I wasn't working for the "betterment of the people" were the times when I was working to help Marcus further his career. The fact that I can now use hours of my day to do whatever I please, selfish or otherwise, leaves me with an almost overwhelming list of things that I long to do.
The list of rules continues:
We cannot leave unless we are supervised, though I can imagine that if you play your cards right, it should be fairly easy to convince someone to take you somewhere. I don't see rules as being as hardly upheld like they were in Abnegation.
The room Eric stands in front of is something like a dorm for us, with 10 beds for the 10 initiates, though there wouldn't have been enough if the couple of amity initiates that stayed on the train had come. Christina is the one to point that out and a spark of irritation twinges in the beginnings of a headache when she talks, already realizing that she is the type to speak openly and freely whether what she has to say is welcome or not. I'm not sure what I expected, given that she is from Candor but I guess I had been coddled in Abnegation where no one spoke unless first addressed. While I was there I found the forced silence suffocating, now I find myself itching for people to keep their mouths shut.
Eric is nearly clinical in his response, a nonchalance in the way that he chooses to pick at his fingers, finding the topic of people not making it to their chosen faction on the first day to be something not worth the time.
"Someone doesn't make it every year. At least one."
So they count on people being cowards. The process of picking us off begins from the moment that we choose their faction. This isn't an initiation process, more like a scientific experiment, a trial in order to weed out those that don't fit that perfect Dauntless mold. I find myself watching Eric more intently, the sooner that I can find all his little tells, the better chance I have of making my way to the top. The realization is sudden and somewhat frightening, but the ambition becomes something so very real in a matter of seconds. More than anything I have ever wanted before, I want to rise to the top. I need to rise, and become everything that Marcus fears. I want so badly to tear him down in all the same ways that he ripped me apart for so long.
I nearly laugh at how quickly this sort of animalistic hunger has overtaken me. And while I should be frightened, I can't bring myself to feel anything like it. Eric glances at me, looking at each of us but he quickly glances back. He holds my gaze for several moments and I can see the appraisal in his eyes, trying to figure me out in the same moment that I am doing the same to him. It is in that moment that I realize that he was still explaining some of the rules of initiation. Annoyed with my own irresponsibility to have not paid any attention, I try and focus but find myself more fixated on the Eric's expression. It is only when Myra squeaks out a question that I can convince myself to hear the words being said.
"Rankings?"
And just like that my hypothesis becomes true. We are being tested in order to figure out who is deserving of the positions of authority. We will compete to stay in the faction, and we will compete to be worthwhile. As he looks away to the other initiates, the smile that pulls at his mouth is predatory. And several of the others are playing right into his hand; I can see Myra shaking, Beatrice looks like she is going to be sick.
"Only the top ten will make it."
"What?" Christina yet again is one of the only people with either the lack of self-awareness, or the guts to speak out.
"Collectively, there are 21 initiates this year. There are ten of you and eleven Dauntless-born. Four of you won't make it past stage one. Seven will be cut after that."
Suddenly there are little movements all around as various initiates glance around at one another. Maybe some to gauge their competition, others looking for reassurance. I can feel Peter looking at me from across the group, the taunts and jabs from dinner ringing in my ears. I can almost see the target forming on my back. I turn and look back, not willing to let him think that I will let him take me out. In fact, I'd like to see him try. He narrows his eyes for a moment before smiling, though it looks strained. I can't quite tell what is causing the tension, fear or confusion. Looking back to Eric, he is scanning across the group, watching our reactions and the obvious fear seems to be very amusing to him.
"What happens if we're cut?" Peter speaks up and Eric gives him a glance before continuing with his watching.
"You leave. You become factionless."
It is said so simply that for a moment, no one reacts. Myra cries out, cupping her hands over her mouth to try and cover the sobs, others reacting with some of the same outrage, though choosing to remain silent. Instead their shoulders pinch, or their eyes narrow. Peter's hands have clenched, jaw locking. But being factionless isn't an option, I won't allow it. And even still, it's better than being stuck alone with Marcus.
"That isn't fair!" Molly cries, sputtering out excuses. Her outcry is undermined by the sheer terror across her face. Drew is standing as an ever-present statue beside her and Peter is still trying to mask his fear by seeming unreactive. Eric gives his first reaction of disdain when he snaps to look at her, expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
"So if you had known that you would have had to work to be here, you would have gone somewhere else? Because then you should go ahead and leave. We don't need you here, because there is no place for cowards. You should be willing to fight for your spot, because this should mean everything to you. If you aren't willing to fight, then I can assure you, you won't last."
With that, he turns and pushes open the doors.
"You chose us. Now we choose you."
We slowly begin to file past him, most people averting their eyes as they pass Eric. He watches each of us intently as we pass. I wait for a moment to let others walk by, choosing to watch and gauge how they are handling this information. I need to know who isn't worth my time, and who I need to figure out quickly. I am already building a checklist of people, from biggest threat to lowest. Peter and Beatrice are towards the top. Beatrice may be small and others may not view her as a threat and that will be their own undoing. And Peter, that ambition needs to be watched. He will be the one to hurt any initiates above him. I need to watch my back around him, but he could be very useful.
Myra is at the bottom. And I am sure others will soon follow. I will view everyone as a threat until they prove they aren't. I can't afford to do any less. The largest initiate, a boy I heard called Al at some point, has yet to stop trembling. Which is quite the shame, given the natural advantage he gets with size. If only he and Beatrice could switch, though I guess it works out for me.
I finally enter last. As I pass by Eric, I look up and meet his gaze. At first he seems surprised, as I am the first to look back at him. But as I am directly in front of him, his mouth curls into a smile and he lets out a quite chuckle. He quickly reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me.
"Careful there, too much pride can also get you killed around here." I stop and let my smile match his. Tilting my head slightly to the side, I risk allowing an amused expression to rest on my face.
"I would only say that it's pride if the boldness it isn't earned. Being bold is what spurs us to do beyond what we believe we should be capable of, isn't that right? Better to be too bold, over a coward. People need to know that at least someone here is serious about rising to the top." He seems to relax a bit, leaning back against the wall behind him and crossing his arms.
"Fair enough. Pardon my rudeness, but I don't think I actually caught your name earlier, unless you want me to just call you 'Eaton'. But that might be a bit confusing, seeing as there are two of you, aren't there?"
My smile falls and I almost subconsciously tense. I look away towards the floor in the dorm, then glance around to watch the others pick their beds. Several times I catch them looking over, trying not to get caught as they try and figure out what Eric wants.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I finally say, my voice low, "I have no siblings, and I have no family. And I don't need one outside of Dauntless." I force myself to look back at Eric and his eyes are narrowed this time.
"So Four doesn't seem familiar to you? And you still haven't given me a name."
"Four seems familiar. He reminds me a coward I used to know. But as far as I am concerned, the boy I knew died to me years ago. And it's Kat."
"Kat." His head tilts as he says it, as if he is testing the way it feels to say it.
"Short," I say quickly, "and to the point. I don't have time to waste on something like a name. People knew who you were when you entered the room at dinner. I think that here, maybe a name is just something extra."
At that Eric lets out a laugh, head tilting back to rest against the wall.
"Well, you sure have some big plans already. You've got some high ambitions." He looks back down at me, and this time he seems more serious. "You really plan to make a name for yourself here. Got something to prove?"
"Nah, just need to even out some scores. Karma doesn't seem to be doing her job all too well. Thought I'd help her out."
He lets out another laugh and shakes his head, pushing off the wall.
"Watch yourself Kat. You're already painting a big target on your back." He starts to walk away and as I step into the dorm, I glance back.
"Don't worry Eric, I've watched my back all my life. I've crawled out of Hell once before. I can do it again." I throw it over my shoulder right as the doors close. Everyone has picked a bed and most of them are starting to lie down, having changed into black clothes that are in dressers below the beds. The only open bed is at the back next to Peter and across from Molly, so I walk to the back, ignoring the stares and whispers.
As I lean down and open a drawer, grabbing some clothes, I can feel Peter staring. I glance over as I stand back up, looking him in the eye. His mouth pinches for a moment before he looks away, lying down and rolling so his back is to me. I change quickly and also lie down, listening to the quiet breathing that fills the room. The cadence of the breaths differs around the room, some quiet and slow for those who have already found sleep, others louder and stuttering with held back sobs. Someone towards the center of the room is exceptionally loud, clearly crying and not trying to hide it at all.
I close my eyes and try and focus to the rhythm of my own breaths. I just try and follow the path as the air comes in and fills my body, laying my hands against my stomach and feeling it rise and fall. Focus on the tangible and stay rooted in reality. But regardless of my best intentions, I can't help but let my mind wander around the things that have happened, to try and finally process everything.
I almost fee guilty about how well I am taking everything. Leaving behind family, moving to a new home, facing a challenge that could destroy me. But instead of feeling afraid or upset, I only get a thrill from the challenge and the freedom. Never before have I had this much freedom to choose what I will do. Every day is yet another chance for me to take a step away from the shadows that seem to hang over me. I don't think I am stepping towards a light. The idea that getting away from shadows inherently leads one towards light is somewhat shallow and shirt-sighted. Someone can walk away from the shadow by walking deeper into the darkness. Or merely by walking to another shade of grey. It is these thoughts that whisper around in my mind as I sink into sleep.
Morning comes harshly, alarms sounding from an unknown source and the calm of sleep is broken as we each get up and move, pulling clothing out from the dressers blindly and throwing them on. As I pull on some pants and throw on a shirt, I note that everyone is moving at a different pace, some reacting quickly and others moving like through a sluggish fog. I sit on the bed to lace up my shoes and tie up my hair before heading out the door, the first to leave the dorms. The halls are dark and quiet, but I can hear the echoes of people moving around, but I can't tell where they are coming from as the halls seems to carry sounds from every corner of the compound. After the fourth hallway, I begin to worry that I managed to get lost, but I come to an open doorway and when I look inside, I see Four standing at the back wall, looking over a table with guns lain out across it.
For a moment, I feel myself rooted in place. It has been so long, and he has changed in many ways but the similarities are so uncanny and in all the ways that I could never imagine. The biggest difference would have been the clothes, but at night when the lights are off I wouldn't have noticed a difference. But after the fear has worked through and a chill has gone all the way to my fingertips, a new warmth floods through just as quickly if not faster. How is it that even now, I can't escape? Where did I go wrong? For the first time, my eyes begin burning and my vision goes in and out of focus. Just what exactly do I have to do to finally escape this torture?
"Scared, Stiff?" Peter comes up behind me, Molly and Drew close behind. The smirk on his face strikes a nerve, that smug but unearned attitude seeming all too familiar. When I turn and look at him he sees my face and the smirk is replaced by surprise.
"Are you crying?" I blink a few times to clear my eyes before lifting my chin and looking Peter in the eye, trying to keep my expression as blank as possible. I can hear Four moving behind me but I ignore him.
"Your Candor is showing Peter." He quirks a brow and tilts his head, not saying anything but the confusion is clear on his face.
"You're used to speaking your mind freely. Meaning you don't really think before you speak, because you've already said quite the number of stupid things in the short time I've been stuck with you."
He blinks, face flushing, before he lets out a laugh and leans forward. He is too close but I can't afford to step back, he'd take it as submission and there is little I want less than to back down. Instead I continue to be as unreactive as possible, arms down at my side and face blank.
"Stuck with me? Every second you're here with me is a privilege. Feel lucky I haven't taken you out yet."
The other initiates are making their way to the training room, I can see them coming down the hallway and several seem curious as to what is going on, especially given the early hour. Peter's eyes glance slightly over my shoulder and suddenly he straightens back up.
"Feeling lucky has nothing to do with you. Every single one of you should feel lucky we are even giving you the chance to become a part of this faction. As far as each of you should be concerned, you're all cowards who need to work hard to make it. You don't have time for this. Get inside and wait." Four's voice is far too controlled, meaning that he's hiding either his ire or fear and given the circumstances I'm betting it's ire. Peter simply nods his head and walks past, Drew and Molly on his heels. I turn and come face to face with Four. His expression is just as blank as mine, though his eyes are tumultuous and emotions pass through them far too quickly.
"I don't need your help," I spit out under my breath. Four starts, seemingly unsure how to respond for a moment. I move to go past him, but at the last moment I hear him spit out his own reply.
"What?" I ask, stopping.
"I said I'm sorry. And I'm not just 'helping you', I'm doing my job and keeping you initiates in line."
I let out a snort, shaking my head.
"Whatever. And I don't know what you're apologizing for, Four, I don't know you."
I continue into the room, making my way to the far side. Peter watches me cross but doesn't say anything else. The other initiates aren't far behind me, and once we are all in the room Four closes the door and makes his way back to the table, picking up the guns and approaching each of us. He goes to Beatrice first and presses one of the guns into her hands and continuing around, occasionally stopping back at the table to pick up more guns.
"Two things you're going to learn today: how to shoot, and how to win a fight. Lucky for you, you already understand the trains so we can skip that lesson."
I'm the last one he comes to, but luckily he doesn't pause in giving me the gun and walking back to the front. He turns to us and crosses his arms, leaning back against the table. The others are shifting, but half of them don't seem awake yet and uncomfortable with the weight in their hands.
"There are three separate stages to initiation. Your progress will be monitored and recorded and you will receive your rankings in accordance with that information. The stages are not even and so you have the potential for great changes in ranking between stages, if you make it to the next stage. Now," Four pushes off from the table and begins to pace in front of us, "the goal of these stages is to prepare you so that you for anything. You need to be able to act in any situation, act in spite of fear. You need to be brave, because cowardice is worse than any failure you might face in action. The stages each focus on one form of preparedness. The first is physical, second is emotional, and third is mental."
"What," Peter says through a yawn, "is the point of the gun? How does a gun make you brave?"
Four moves in a blur, placing the gun against Peter's head and clicking a bullet into the chamber. Peter has frozen mid-yawn and for a moment, the fear radiates off of him in waves.
"Wake up. You have a fully loaded weapon in your hand and you are half asleep. I don't know what kind of negligence they teach in Candor, but around here you pay attention." Four's voice is cold and measured and when he lowers the gun and walks away, Peter stiffens and the fear vanishes and is replaced by a cold sort of anger.
"And realize that I am not obligated to answer your questions, but since you have proven yourself incapable of rational thought, I will spell this one out for you. You are less likely to run with your tail between your legs if you know how to defend yourself. And this information builds on itself, so don't fall behind or you'll never catch up. Now, I will demonstrate, watch closely."
He turns to the back wall and lifts the gun, aiming at targets that are above the table that I had somehow ignored up until this point. He shifts his stance, moving his feet apart and giving a light bend to his knees. He holds the gun firmly with both hands and pauses for a moment to aim before pulling the trigger. The shot rips through the air and out of the corner of my eye I see the others flinch at the sound. I wince when it happens, but look at the target and see that the bullet hit a bullseye right through the center.
Without another word he walks past us towards the back and turns to look at us. I make my way to the nearest target and begin to pass the gun gently back and forth between my hands to try and get used to the weight and feel of the metal and mechanisms. I then look up at the target and try and gauge the distance. I lift the gun up, trying to copy the stance I saw Four using before.
"You still nervous?"
I glance to the side out of the corner of my eye, not bothering to turn my head. Of course, Peter chose the target next to mine because asking to be left alone is clearly asking too much. I can't resist rolling my eyes and I sigh, choosing to ignore him. The gun is still heavier than I had anticipated and so I lower it and roll my shoulders, trying to relax. Gunshots are ringing through all around the room and they begin to echo. Too long with this and I can already tell I'll be leaving this room with a headache and ringing ears.
"Too heavy for you?"
This time I turn my head and look at Peter.
"You sure do love to waste time. I haven't seen you lift that gun, let alone fire it."
Peter lets out a breathy laugh before smirking and turning to look at the target. He lifts the gun up quickly, pausing for just a moment to try and aim. He pulls the trigger and the gun recoils and I see him wince slightly. I look at the target and see that the bullet went through the outer of three rings. He turns back to me, smirk even wider.
"You were saying?"
I turn back to my target without another word, irritation pulling that dormant headache even closer to the surface. I take a deep breath in through my nose and hold it, letting it sit in my lungs before letting it out in a quiet whistle while lifting the gun again. I look down the barrel, making it line up just slightly above the center to try and account for the bullet shifting midair. I do my best to relax my wrists to try and avoid any injury from the recoil and I squeeze the trigger, steeling myself for both the sound and the force.
I hear the bang and within the same moment I see the hole rip into the target in between the center and second ring. My mouth pulls up into a smirk as I turn to Peter. His fades a little and his mouth opens slightly as he continues to stare at the target for another moment. When he turns to look at me I see irritation flicker across his features before he tames his expression into something more neutral.
"And you were saying?"
"Yeah whatever, beginner's luck." With that Peter turns back to his target and lifts the gun, focusing more on his practice. I follow his lead and turn back to my own target and continue with my practice, trying to shift my aim as I get more accustomed to how the bullet moves. At the second round I am closer to the center, but a bit too low this time. Round three grazes the center but above. Round four hits at the center and I glance to the side at Peter's target. He is close to the center but has yet to hit the middle circle.
I lower the gun and my arms are burning and my hands feel like they're buzzing. My ears are already ringing and the pulsing in my forehead is growing stronger with each shot that cuts through the room. I turn to look at Peter and see the tension in his jaw as he glances at my target, seeing the hole in the center circle.
"Maybe you're too nervous. Try relaxing a little."
In a mirror of before, Peter glances at me from the corner of his eye. He fires another shot and it is slightly off-center still. With a heavy sigh, he lowers his gun and looks at me. His jaw seems to undulate as he clenches and unclenches his jaw.
"Want a tip? Or are you too proud?" His eyes widen and he straightens for a moment, chest beginning to puff up before he glances towards the targets and lets out a breath through clenched teeth. He turns to me, but his eyes keep dancing around the room refusing to look me in the eye.
"Sure," he finally spits out.
"I wasn't kidding before, relax. You're trying to strongarm the gun. It won't work. Relax your wrists and let the recoil just happen. But keep your eyes focused on the target."
I turn back to my target and lift the gun. I can feel Peter watching and so I take a moment to breath and try to ignore him. When I pull the trigger, I wince slightly as my wrists and arms twinge. I lower the gun and look at the second hole through the center circle of the target. When I turn to Peter, I watch him observe the target for another moment before turning back to his own and lifting his gun. He squints at the target and I look at his wrists, noting that they are still too tense, awaiting the recoil. I walk over and see Peter watching me. I lift my hand and tap it lightly against his wrist.
"Still too tense. You're going to hurt yourself."
At that Peter relaxes slightly and the barrel begins to tip towards the floor. Peter shifts his hold and then aims again. This time when he fires, the bullet matches my third round and just grazes the center. He smirks again and turns to me, a more relaxed slope to his shoulder. His posture is relaxed for the first time and I am surprised when I realize that I hadn't noticed how closed off he's been this entire time.
"Maybe you aren't too bad after all."
"Don't you two have practicing to do? I can't really believe that you have the time to spare for socializing. Unless you are that eager to leave."
Four is standing beside us, looking down at us with his arms crossed. He is looking back and forth between us and Peter stares back for a moment before turning back to his target and going back to practicing without a response. I hesitate before doing the same. When Peter fires it is still grazing the center. When I fire, I have a third hole through the center of my target, making a single large hole now that they are connected. I wince again as I lower the weapon and I massage my arm.
"Nice shots," Four says as he walks away, making his way down the line.
"Thank you," Peter whispers after Four is out of earshot. He refuses to look at me, instead focusing on his target. I simply smile as I look back at my target and continue to massage my arms and hands.
So I am sorry that this update took longer than the past several. I promise I haven't forgotten about you all or the story! It just took me a while to write this due to other things going on in the background. Turns out life doesn't stop to allow me to write this, so I have to complete my other responsibilities (responsibilities, gross). Sadly there was very little Eric this chapter, but no worries. Also, I will reiterate that the dialogue and some events are changed slightly because I really don't want to plagiarize or pull directly from the original books. I apologize if that bothers you, but it feels wrong to just pull directly out of the books. I also apologize for all the shooting talk stuff in this chapter. Alas, that is what happened in the first stage of initiation. But I hope you are enjoying the story so far! Until next time, Stay Fierce!
~ChildOfLupus