𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟐𝟑

"𝘾𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙘𝙚.
𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜'𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙯𝙚𝙣, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄.
𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜.
𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙤 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜?"

𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯' (𝘈𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦) - 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘞𝘦

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

The cement under your feet trembled with the roar of gunfire as you dashed through the shadows. Four covered you as you darted between fallen buildings and rusted shipping containers. The closer you came to the actual firefight, the brighter and louder everything became.

It was a complete blitz—flares and smoke bombs flying through the air left and right, forming a dense milky white blanket on which the rest of the shooting took place. Your team had formed a solid barrier halfway down the pier. The enemy's brick turret rose up in the distance as you approached the battle. Its shadow fell over your face as you squinted up at the tower's peak. Close, but just out of reach.

"Get low!" Four barked, yanking you down to your knees by the strap of your vest just as a bullet whizzed past your cheek. You gasped, pulling your knees to your chest behind the row of empty oil drums that served as cover from the rain of fire. You knew it wasn't a real bullet, but the idea of being struck by one of those paralyzing darts brought the same creeping feeling to your gut.

"Thanks," you gulped, Four's grip slowly easing from your shoulder. He shook his head, peering over the oil drum only to duck again when another dart was shot in his direction, sparking as it made contact with the metal barrier. "It should go without saying that there's no daydreaming during battle simulations."

"Who came up with that rule?" you scoffed, but the look on his face made you drop your joking demeanor. The radio strapped to Four's chest started blinking as a voice thick with static was fed through the old speakers.

"Four! B-Team is down by half. We need backup on the west end!"

You were still breathing heavily with your back against the wall when Four made a fist around the radio, eyeing you carefully as if asking for silent permission to reply. "Go," you said, nodding toward the unguarded path behind him. "I can help hold down the fort from here."

He chuckled as he re-adjusted his grip on the air rifle and your heart did a quick little somersault. "Don't get yourself into too much trouble."

Four's smile was something you knew you could get a little too attached to if given the chance. It was like your own private gateway past his usual passive expressions and impenetrable glares. It only stung a little bit when you realized that after tonight your interactions with him would return to the standard 'yes sir,' 'no sir' and (if you were lucky) an occasional 'nice work, initiate.'

"Without you here to clean up my messes? Never."

Only the crunch of gravel underneath Four's combat boots punctuated the end of that conversation. You watched him up until he slipped into the shadows, executing an inhuman level of stealth. It was no wonder why Max wanted him involved in Dauntless leadership—he could navigate the pitch-blackness of the pier like there was a map engrained on the back of his eyelids.

You could have used some of that unwavering confidence for yourself because as soon as he left your side, all hell chose to break loose.

The glow of red flares burned through the night sky, illuminating the fall of your teammates as each of them was struck with darts one by one. The whole scene was painted deep red, reminding you vaguely of the fireworks that you used to watch streak across the starry sky all the way from Dauntless territory as a child. Funeral fires, they called them. A final explosive send-off for each member of the faction that had been lost to battle over the course of that calendar year.