ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ Shot Gun [Divergent]

• 02

The closer the annual test got, the more fidgety Ripley became. B. Thank heavens it was a B that started her last name, otherwise it would take a lot longer. Baxter.

By now, three groups, each with ten people, had finished, so it shouldn't take too much longer. The fourth group was called, and in the eighth was Ripley. Joy, slight excitement and tension, because she did not know what to expect.

In a room with a single chair in the middle and a monitor, Ripley stopped and looked around disdainfully. A test, then, huh? Not a table to fill out a questionnaire? What kind of test is this supposed to be?

"Nervous?" a man in gray clothes asked, smiling, "Don't be. Just sit in the chair and everything else will explain itself."

"Of course," more than skeptical, Ripley sat down in the chair and leaned back, whereupon the man pressed the needle of a syringe into her neck, "And what was that for? Drugs, sleeping pills, or for epileptic seizures?"

"It'll help you with your test," was all the man said, causing Ripley to furrow her eyebrows and look at him suspiciously, "If you're worried there will be sequelae, I can reassure you. There won't be."

"That's exactly what I would say if I were you," Ripley replied, trying to breathe calmly and nodding, "Okay, I'm ready. How.... it can start."

•••

Blinking, Ripley opened her eyes and looked around hastily. Um.... how.... what? Just a moment ago, she had been lying on a chair taking the aptitude test, and now she was standing in the middle of the city? How had she gotten here? She couldn't even remember the test and now she was suddenly standing here. How had she gotten here? And, more importantly, why? How..... the test.

This was the test. A simulation. Snorting, Ripley exhaled and walked down the deserted main street. Billboards hung everywhere. After what felt like an eternity of wandering, a man came up to her and held out both fists.

"Which one?" the man said, gesturing with his head to his fists to pick, "Pick."

"Um, no thanks," dismissively Ripley raised one hand, "I don't even know what's in it. And until, I know this, I have no interest in choosing. Still, thanks, but no thanks."

What kind of test was that, please? As she continued walking, one of the many pieces of paper flew toward Ripley and stuck to her leg. Only now did she take a proper look at the slips of paper stuck everywhere. A number of faces of children and teenagers had been on them. Missing, was written in red capitals under the last row of faces. Below that was the description of a suspect.

Very slowly, as if in slow motion, Ripley turned and immediately ducked her head. The man who had asked her to vote was standing right behind her, about to press a handkerchief to her mouth at that moment. Before she could even think about it, she kicked the man's leg as hard as she could, knocking his head against her knee. Gasping, she took a few steps back before turning completely around and then just continuing to run straight ahead.

A test. A simulation. Nothing more than. When this test was over, Ripley would suffer from paranoia. Even after what felt like an eternity of just walking down the street, she remained out of breath. Far enough she should be away from the guy now. Audibly breathing, she leaned forward over and straightened up only a few seconds later. At that moment she saw the guy standing in front of her, but too late, he hit her skull with an old metal pipe and everything went black.

•••

On the day of the decision, Ripley was unusually calm. Unusual, because it was the day of decision and this decision will affect the rest of life. For her mom it was clear that she would stay with the Candor, but not for her dad. He didn't say what he thought, but it was obvious that he never really believed that she would stay with the Candor. Perhaps it was also because she had made up her mind long ago.

Forty-nine were left and next was Ripley's turn. When her name was called, she stood up and walked down the steps of the stairs, over to the five bowls. There, she took the prone knife with her right hand, clasped the blade of her left, and looked at the five bowls. Coal, water, glass, stones and earth. It was so banal and simple. Then she pulled the knife out of her fist and let the blood run into the bowl of glowing coal. A cheer could be heard in the background. Her decision fell on the Dauntless.