Chapter Text
"Beatrice, you're going to be late," Caleb's voice echoed through the corridor, a hint of urgency in his tone.
Beatrice Stiffled a groan, glancing at the clock. "I know, I know," she called back, hastily buttoning up her shirt. The Choosing Ceremony was today, and she couldn't afford to miss it. This was the day she'd been dreading and anticipating all at once—the day she'd decide her fate. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest as she thought about the possibilities. Would she choose Abnegation, like her family, or dare to venture into the unknown?
Her stomach in knots, she stepped into the hallway. Caleb was already dressed in his simple ceremony attire, his eyes flicking over her as she approached. "You okay?" he asked, concern etched into his features.
"Yeah," she lied, trying to shrug off the eerie feeling that clung to her. "Just... nervous."
Caleb offered a comforting smile. "We're in this together."
Together, they made their way through the crowded streets of Chicago, the looming skyscrapers casting long shadows over the city. The air was charged with a mix of excitement and anxiety as young adults from each faction gathered around the Choosing Ceremony podium. The sun glared down on them, as if to highlight the gravity of the decision they were about to make.
As they approached the podium, Beatrice's palms grew slick with sweat. The crowd's murmur grew louder, and she could feel the weight of countless eyes on her. She took a deep breath, trying to still her racing heart. The ceremony was about to begin, and she knew that once it did, there would be no turning back.
The faction leaders took their places, their stern faces a stark contrast to the nervous energy of the initiates. Jeanine Matthews, the leader of Erudite, caught Beatrice's gaze. Her eyes were cold and calculating, sending a shiver down Beatrice's spine. A sudden, vivid image of falling through a net and seeing Jeanine's face flashed in her mind, but she shrugged it off as nerves playing tricks on her.
The ceremony started with the usual pomp and circumstance, each faction leader speaking about the virtues of their faction. When it was Beatrice's turn to step up to the podium, her knees felt like jelly. She stared at the five bowls filled with faction tokens: Abnegation, Amity, Erudite, Dauntless, and Candor. The decision was hers to make, a decision that would define the rest of her life.
With trembling fingers, she reached out and grabbed the knife. The blade was cold against her skin as she sliced it through her palm, drawing a sharp line of pain. She watched, almost detached, as her blood began to pool in her palm.
The crowd hushed, all eyes on her. Her mind raced. Abnegation—safety, comfort, familiarity. Or Dauntless—the faction of the brave, the fearless. The choice she had been wrestling with for weeks now. But as the blood pooled, the answer became clear. It was as if the very essence of her being was fighting against the expected choice. Her hand hovered over the bowl of Abnegation, but something stopped her.
Beatrice felt a strange tug, an unexplained pull towards another bowl, the Dauntless. She swallowed hard, glancing at her parents in the sea of faces, their expressions a silent plea for her to choose as they had. But the voice in her head grew stronger, a whisper turning into a roar. It was time to break free from the shackles of her past. With a deep breath, she moved her bloodied hand over the Dauntless emblem.
The room gasped as she let the crimson drops fall, staining the bowl. The silence was deafening as the realization sank in—she had chosen the faction of the brave. She stepped away from the podium, her heart pounding in her chest. The crowd parted before her like a sea of uncertainty, revealing the leather-clad figures of the Dauntless waiting at the edge.
Her parents' eyes met hers, a complex web of emotions weaving through their expressions—pride, fear, and a hint of disappointment. But Tris knew she had made the right choice for herself. She walked towards the Dauntless, her eyes locked on the ground to avoid the gazes of those she left behind. As she drew closer, one of the initiates stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Welcome to Dauntless," the initiate said, extending a hand. "I'm Christina."
Beatrice took it, feeling the firm grip and the warmth of a new beginning. The Dauntless initiates surrounded her, their eyes full of curiosity and challenge. They were a stark contrast to the Abnegation she had known—bold, tattooed, and brimming with life.
"You okay?" Christina's voice was kind, but there was a glint of something else—competition, perhaps.
Beatrice nodded, trying to ignore the sting of her freshly cut hand. "Let's go," she murmured, her eyes never leaving the ground.
They began the march towards the train that would take them to their new home. The cold metal behemoth waited impatiently, a symbol of the unknown future that lay ahead. The cobblestone streets gave way to the rickety wooden planks of the platform, creaking beneath their footsteps. The air grew colder, carrying the scent of diesel and adventure. The train was a stark contrast to the orderly, pristine world of Abnegation—it was raw, powerful, and a little bit intimidating.
Beatrice watched as the others approached the moving train with a kind of reckless abandon that she hadn't seen before. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized she'd have to jump too. She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the speeding cars, each one a blur of metal and color. The gap between the platform and the train yawned before her, a chasm of doubt and fear.
Christina took the lead, sprinting towards the train with a grace that belied her strength. She leaped with a yell, her body arcing through the air like a gymnast. Beatrice's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Christina's hand catch hold of the bar at the last second, pulling herself up with an ease that seemed almost inhuman. The rest of the initiates followed, each one leaping with varying degrees of skill and confidence.
It was her turn.
Beatrice took a step back, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. The train was moving fast—faster than she had anticipated. She could feel the vibrations of the metal beast beneath her feet, the rush of air pushing against her as it hurtled towards the horizon. For a moment, she hesitated, the gravity of her decision weighing heavily on her shoulders. But she knew there was no turning back.
And so she started running.
Her feet leave the solid ground, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she is suspended in midair. The wind screams past her, tearing at her hair and clothes, whispering sweet nothings of doubt and failure into her ears. The world seems to stretch on forever beneath her, a blur of concrete and steel, a canvas of potential pain. But Tris is not one to give in to fear. She throws her arms forward, reaching for the bar that represents her new life. Her hand closes around it, and with a grunt of effort, she pulled herself up, her muscles protesting the sudden strain. The world tilts, the ground rushing towards her, but she holds on, her grip unyielding.
The Dauntless crowd around her, offering a mix of cheers and jeers as she stumbles into the train car, her legs wobbly from the exertion. She feels a strange kinship with them already, a bond forged in the fire of shared fear and the triumph over it. She takes a seat, her heart still racing, her eyes locking onto the horizon. The cityscape of Chicago, familiar and yet so foreign, speeds by in a whirl of gray and blue. The train jolts and sways, throwing her body against the others, a tangible reminder that she is no longer in the controlled environment of Abnegation.
As the journey progresses, the skyscrapers give way to the vast expanse of the city's outskirts—the landscape morphing into a mosaic of industrial structures and sparse vegetation. The anticipation in the air is palpable, each initiate whispering to their neighbor about what awaits them at the Dauntless headquarters.
The train was faster than she expected. It roared through the city, the wind slamming into her with the force of a storm. The Dauntless initiates clung to the metal bars, their laughter wild and uninhibited, like they had never been afraid of anything in their lives.
Beatrice wasn’t laughing. Her hands ached from gripping the railing. The wind tore at her hair, whipped it into her eyes. The buildings blurred past them in streaks of gray and steel.
Then someone jumped.
She barely caught the movement out of the corner of her eye—a body hurtling off the train, landing in a graceful roll on the rooftop below. Then another, and another, until the railcar was nearly empty.
“Come on, Stiff,” a voice shouted behind her. Will. She barely knew him, but his grin was wide, his eyes bright with adrenaline. He didn’t wait for her to respond. He just jumped.
She swallowed hard. The gap between the train and the rooftop wasn’t that far. If they timed it right, they would land easily. But if they didn’t—
A hand grabbed her arm. Christina. “Together?”
Beatrice nodded. They jumped.
For a split second, there was nothing beneath her. Just open air and the city below, stretching endlessly in every direction.
Then her feet slammed into the rooftop. Pain shot up her legs, but she was alive. Christina landed beside her, laughing breathlessly. “We actually made it.” Tris forced a smile. She wasn’t sure she had ever been this terrified in her life.
The rooftop of the Dauntless compound was a scar against the sky, its edges jagged where decades of storms had bitten into the concrete. Below, the city sprawled like a circuit board, flickering with distant lights. Beatrice stood with the other initiates, her toes brushing the precipice of the initiation pit—a square chasm cut into the roof, its depths hidden by shadows. A safety net stretched far beneath the opening, its ropes thick as pythons, but the drop was still stomach-churning. Five stories. Maybe six.
Eric stood at the front of the group, arms crossed, his Dauntless tattoo peeking above his collar. “You’ve all seen the net,” he said, voice dripping with mock reassurance. “Most of you will hit it. But if you hesitate, if you flinch, if you falter—” His boot kicked a loose chunk of concrete into the pit. It clattered against the walls once, twice, before the net groaned under its weight.
A nervous laugh rippled through the initiates. Beatrice didn’t join in. Her palms itched with the memory of blood—her blood—sizzling on Dauntless coals.
“Who’s first?” Eric barked. Silence. The wind gnawed at their backs. Beatrice stepped forward.
Christina grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Proving I belong here,” Beatrice said, more to herself than anyone else.
Eric’s smirk widened. “Stiff’s got a death wish. Let her.”
The pit’s edge was closer than Beatrice expected. The net below swayed faintly, a dark web in the gloom. It’s just a jump, she told herself. You’ve done this before. Except she hadn’t—not really. The last time, she’d misjudged the edge.
She inhaled, filling her lungs with icy air, and leapt.
For a heartbeat, it was perfect.
Her body arced, arms spread, the net rushing up to meet her—
—until her hip clipped the steel rim of the pit.
The impact was a lightning strike. Pain seared through her side, twisting her midair. She spun, limbs flailing, the world upending. The net was there, but she was too far left, too off-balance, her trajectory shattered by the collision.
No—
Her head struck the corner of the platform.
A sickening crack echoed through the pit.
The net caught her, but it didn’t matter. Her neck bent at a grotesque angle, blood trickling from her temple onto the ropes. Above, Eric’s face appeared at the edge of the pit, his voice muffled as he barked orders.
But Beatrice was no longer there.
Darkness pooled, then fractured. A woman materialized in the void—ice-blonde hair, eyes like polished steel. Her lips moved, but the words were swallowed by static. Tris’s mind clawed for meaning, for a name, but all she grasped was a whisper:
“You’re not one of them.”
“Who’s—?” Beatrice tried to ask, but the vision dissolved.
“Clean that up,” Eric said to someone offscreen.
Beatrice jolted upright, gasping.