Shorts

Ten (Tris×Four)

Requested by EmilyWoodson
Tris Prior (Divergent) × Four (Divergent)

Tris pov

Bang!

My mother falls.

Bang!

My father falls.

Bang!

My brother falls.

Bang!

Tobias falls.

I want to scream. I want to cry out in fury and rage. A part of me wants to cry and run to all of them. But I know they would want me to stay here and fight. So I do.

Men emerge from the large black van, quickly grabbing my mother, father, Caleb, and Tobias. They hurl them into the back of the van, and I know one thing is for certain: I'll probably never see any of them again. That urge to scream rises once again.

"Tris Prior! You are under arrest! Exit now, or we will shoot!"

I push the thought away, considering my options. I can't exit. I can't leave this building and give up, knowing everything my family and Tobias were just shot for. I am Dauntless. I am better than that.

So I hoist my gun over my shoulder, creeping out from my cover. Shards of glass crackle underneath my worn, black combat boots as I emerge, and I shift my weight forward into the balls of my feet. The crackling becomes less noticeable, or at least to me.

As the men continue to shout, I make my way around the back of the building. They can't see me - I know that much. As long as they can't hear me, my plan can't fail. There are only two of them now, after all. Surely I can take them.

I see the shadows of their large, armored suits on the dry ground. They're still looking in the direction of where I was, not where I am. I chuckle inwardly. Sucks for them, I think to myself.

I flip my long ponytail off of my shoulder. There can be no mistakes this time, and certainly not any caused by my hair.

I am now fully exposed in the afternoon sunlight, pointing my gun directly between the shoulder blades of the man in front of me. My first finger rests on the trigger, and I steady my hands.

Before I can do anything, however, a large pair of arms grabs me from behind. I drop my gun, my arms flailing this way and that in a vain attempt to make contact with my attacker. The arms pull me up against the body, pressing on my petite frame uncomfortably. I swear I heard something in my ribcage even crack.

The two men in front of me turn around. The guard on the left motions toward the van in a hand signal I don't understand: he simply holds his hand in the air for a moment, his thumb tucked tightly in.

As the van driver throws open the vehicle's back doors, however, I begin to get the picture. Tobias is thrown out of the back of the van, landing roughly on the uneven, rocky ground.

"Tris Prior, surely you are aware of the punishment of interfering with an arrest or pre-trial execution," one of the armored men says.