OVERTHROW - Eric Coulter

Chapter 4

The lights turned on, making me jump. I let out a groan and covered my eyes to adjust to the brightness.

"Meet me in the pit in 2 minutes," Four ordered from the stairs and then ascended.

"This must be some stupid joke. It can't be 6 in the morning," I muttered.

Most of us were still yawning as we jogged to the pit. I didn't have a watch, but I could swear that more than 2 minutes had passed, and I couldn't help but worry about the possible consequences. Tiana joined me, looking tired with visible dark circles under her eyes, muttering about how much she needed more sleep.

We arrived at the pit, and Four was the first to stand up. Behind him sat Eric, remaining seated.

"There are two stages of training. The first one is physical; they will push your bodies to the limit to master all kinds of combat. The second is mental, again pushing you to the limit. You'll face your worst fears and conquer them, unless they conquer you first." he explained authoritatively as he walked.

"You'll train separately from the born members but will be classified together. After your classification, it will be determined what positions you can have: being a leader, guarding the fence, or preventing fights among the abandoned. The classification will dictate who stays. " Eric intervened, raising his voice from the back. "At the end of each stage, those with low ratings will be left, abandoned."

"Why didn't they say that?" Tiana asked.

"Why? Would you have chosen another faction? Because if that's the case, you might as well leave now. If you're Dauntless, you won't care about the possibility of failing. You chose us, now we choose you." he grinned, enjoying the fear reflected in several faces.

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The schedule for these upcoming weeks was simple; training started at 8, while the cafeteria was open from 7. We could get up for a light breakfast and go to training; the first hour was warm-up and exercise, followed by 4 hours of combat, and finally 2 to 3 hours of handling both melee and firearms with 10-minute breaks in each. And the rest of the day was free unless we were given another task, although Four assures us that tasks outside of training are scarce.

And now we were halfway through the combat session. Four had demonstrated a fight with a guy who was there; they fought, and Four won. He explained defenses and strikes, then divided us into two groups: one on the punching bags and the other in pairs practicing the main strikes.

He approached each one and dedicated time to them, correcting their mistakes and motivating them to keep going. I like him.

I turned to look at the punching bag, my only motivation to hit that orange bag was filled with pure hatred and anger, that bitter taste in my mouth. Perhaps I was going crazy, perhaps I was hallucinating just because that dark-haired man with green eyes was the only thing on my mind. My punches were focused on him, my arms took on a life of their own, and I kept hitting the bag without stopping. My hands had stopped hurting, I didn't feel them anymore, and I could swear they were red, about to bleed.

I made sure the last punch was stronger than the previous one, took two steps back lowering my hands, only to be surprised by Four staring at me intently.

"I've been standing next to you for 4 minutes, and you barely noticed my presence," he sighed. "You became blind, lost control, and just hit the bag thinking about the person who has you like this. Who is it?" he finally asked.

I sighed slowly, looking at him, while processing what he had just said. That bitter taste in my mouth disappeared; I tried to let off steam on a sandbag, swallowing hard.