Who will you put your trust in?
What will you accept as the truth?
***
"Who'd have thought, eh? Jeanine's little assistant at my very own doorstep. Why are you here?"
***
She didn't belong where she was. She was scared to go where she belonged. Care...
I wake up to my wonderful alarm of a metal tube clanking loudly against the bars. I drag myself out of bed and grab my clothes, rinsing myself off in a quick shower. The cold water feels even colder today, which does help waking me up. I throw on my clothes, tie my boots extra tight and make sure to put on more deodorant than normal.
Today is the last day of our first week here. Knowing that dauntless lives week by week on repeat an end of the week analysis is only to be expected.
"Andy!" Vince calls me over, waving at me like the overly happy morning person he is "You ready?"
Olive walks up to him as well, the three of us walking to the training room together.
Every part of my day is turning into a habit of sorts. Luckily for me a strict schedule is where I thrive.
From the moment we enter the room I can tell I was right; Today is different from the last few days. Eric and Four are standing next to the chalkboard, but unlike usual our names aren't all written down in backwards alphabetical order. No, today everyone is sorted into vertical rows and put next to another name.
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I haven't bothered to get to know the other initiates, so I'm pretty much left in the dark about who I'm up against in my fight. It was pretty obvious though; Today we fight for points. And these points directly affect my position on that scoreboard. All I have to do is stay above position 20, though hopefully I'll score higher than that.
There are 14 transfers and 16 dauntless-born. That means that there's a possible transfer loss of 1-10 at the end of the ranking. That is when assuming the chance is incredibly slim a dauntless born initiate scores below the line as they are all well versed in fighting like this. This means in the worst possible scenario I need to be in the top 4 transfer initiates to even land myself a safe spot.
"Quiet down," Eric says, shushing everyone and snapping me out of my thoughts successfully. "You ready for some real fighting?" he asks with a devilish grin. The other initiates start to whisper again, though Eric's voice booms above the crowd without even trying.
"First jumper! In the ring. Last jumper! Time to fight." Eric announced over the murmurs. Great, just great.
I walk up to the mat, swiping both my braids off of my shoulders. I look around, curious to see who I'm going to have to fight —and hopefully beat.
A guy steps forward. He's got a darker complexion and a crooked nose. His hair looks darker than even mine although it's probably just the grease. If he thinks he's hiding the grease with his man bun he's wrong. Describing him in one word would be average. There's nothing about this guy that stand out. Still I know better than to judge on looks and patiently await for him to stand on the mat with me.
"How long do we fight for?" He asks, finally on the mat. He definitely lowered his voice to say that. I suppose he's attempting to frighten me with his badly executed performance of masculinity. Not only has he failed this plan, but it is also a stupid fucking plan.
