(y/n) (y/l/n). A girl from the selfless faction of Abnegation. She lives under the control of Abnegation with her father and younger brother Chuck. She has always imagined her future as one in her original faction, but finds she begins to doubt her...
That means that ten initiates won't make it, and four won't even finish the physical stage of training. I inhale, then exhale, clenching my jaw, feeling as determined as ever. I will make it through. I am Dauntless for a reason.
"In this stage of training, you will be pushed to your breaking point and master combat techniques. On average, we are physically stronger than any other faction and we aim to keep it that way," Mark says, brushing a piece of invisible dust off his jacket. "The second and third stages are slightly different, you'll face your worst fears and conquer them, still pushed to the breaking point, though this time emotionally, and then, mentally."
"Today, you'll be learning how to shoot a gun, and second, how to win a fight," Jorge finishes, pushing a gun into my hand and moving to give one to Teresa next to me. "It'll be tough, especially for the weaker ones." His eyes glance over to mine for a split second, as if to prove a point. I hold his gaze until he turns away to hand a gun to Brenda and then to Minho. "The first thing you'll do is warm up. Four laps of the room, jogging. Go."
I exchange a tired glance with Teresa before tightening my shoelaces and following the others around the edges of the room. The gun is cold in my hands as I run, and it feels dangerous. I have never held a gun before, and until yesterday, I never thought I would, let alone have an opportunity to do so. It feels dangerous and unforgiving - a weapon that is designed only to inflict pain.
But the metal is cool and smooth in my hands, not uncomfortable, just different. It makes me feel powerful; it makes me feel Dauntless.
I finish the first slow lap of the stone room without even realising it, rotating the gun over and over in my sweaty hands. Taking my eyes off the weapon in my hands, I look to the front to see Minho leading, followed closely by Thomas and Brenda. Newt comes later, just ahead of me, Teresa, then Fry.
The blond boy's keeping up well, with his limp, but I don't fail to notice his red cheeks and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
I nod to him as I jog faster to catch up. "How're you holding up?" I ask, panting slightly. Although not the worst runner here, I'm not as fit as Minho, or Newt - the closest thing to exercising for enjoyment in Abnegation was running to help the factionless in an emergency.
"Alright," he replies, keeping his gaze straight ahead as he wipes the cuff of his sleeve on his forehead. "Yourself?"
"Same." My eyes glance away from the leather jacket that clings to his body. I try to mimic him and stare ahead as we both finish the second lap of the room to begin the third.
"You two!" Jorge calls from the other side of the room. He's leaning against a stone wall as he shouts, "talking while running only increases exhaustion. Cut it out, hermanos."
Newt and I exchange a friendly but exasperated look as I shut my mouth quickly, rolling my eyes and gaining a smirk from him. We complete the last two laps in silence, exchanging amused looks as we finish back in front of Mark.
Targets are arranged in a horizontal line on the wall in front of us, three red circles on a square of plywood for each transfer. Looking at a shooting range, the gun immediately feels heavier in my palm, as if burning into the flesh there.
"Watch me," Mark interrupts my chain of thought as he points his gun towards his target. Closing one eye, he spreads his feet apart and takes hold of the gun with both hands. He presses down on the trigger before lowering the weapon and turning to us.
The bang is so loud that I have to resist the urge to drop my own gun and cover my ears with my hands. Instead, I crane my neck around to see that Mark's bullet has blown through the middle red circle.
I gulp, my throat dry and palms sweating. I wonder what my father would think of me firing a gun - he wouldn't be too happy, needless to say. He would probably argue that guns are only ever used for violence, and are therefore self-serving.
Positioning my feet so they're an equal distance apart, I push my father from my mind and point the gun towards the target, envisioning the bullet tearing through the air and through the target. I wrap both hands around the handle, like Mark, looking around to see if the others are doing the same.
Next to me, Thomas mimes shooting Newt in the middle of the forehead before the Amity transfer pretends to fall over dramatically, murmuring indistinct phrases to Thomas. Minho looks on with a raised eyebrow, and catches my eye with a smirk.
I laugh and turn back to my own target, lifting up the heavy gun again. I squint at the middle circle before pressing my forefinger down on the trigger.
The recoil of the gun nearly sends me flying backwards, and the sound leaves a ringing in my ears. I don't even see where the bullet ends up - nowhere near the target.
Keeping my feet firm on the floor, I fire again and again without hitting anywhere near where I'm supposed to, let alone the centre circle.
"Position your gun further up," a voice suggests beside me. I turn to see Minho there, his eyes on my weapon. "And keep it steady, you're shaking."
"Thanks," I say, sincerely. "Where'd you learn to shoot a gun?"
"Here," Minho says cockily. As he turns, his next bullet goes straight through the centre.
I roll my eyes, and aim again, this time with my gun held up higher. When I shoot, I still miss, but the ringing in my ears goes down the slightest bit.
"Straighten your wrist," an accented voice suggests to my other side. Newt gestures to the hand that controls the gun.
As I correct my grip on the handle, I push down on the trigger for what feels like the millionth time.
The bullet tears through the edge of the target, barely leaving a dent. Still, it's the first time I've hit it, and a rush of pride shoots through me. Newt lets out a low whistle through his teeth. "Progress already," he says, and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
I shoot Minho a gloating look. It takes me four more rounds to hit the exact middle of the target, but when I do, I smile.
I wipe the drops of sweat from my forehead and position the gun again, making sure to straighten my wrist.
A/N: Some lines from this chapter are taken from the Divergent movie and book.
This is also my last update before Christmas, so I hope you all enjoy it! Even if you don't celebrate it, I hope you have a great holiday!
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