Transparent: A Divergent FanFiction (Book One) ©

Epilogue

Epilogue: Banks P.O.V.

                I walk through the maze of tunnels, feeling absolutely at ease in the complete darkness that envelops me. I am as comfortable in this treacherous gloom, as an amity citizen would be in a sunny field of flowers. Even back when I first arrived here six months ago, that fateful morning of the Choosing Ceremony, I knew I would fit into this lifestyle with ease.

                The darkness is nothing but an old friend. While others fear it, not knowing what monsters lurks in the depth of its blackness; I know, with wicked elation, that I am the myth their nightmares are made of.

               Though it is nighttime, I can hear the quiet bustle of the dauntless that are still awake. This place is never completely without life. There is always something going on; whether it’s the after-hours fights down at The Cage, someone throwing an all-night party, or the drunks that are rooted down at the pub.

               I continue down the winding path and when I reach the familiar fork in the road, I make a right turn. Before I even get halfway to Sage’s room though, I see a stooped form sitting with his back pressed against the stone wall, his head drooped to the side. His legs are crossed, his arms slack, and all around him I can see empty beer bottles.

               I slow my walk, careful not to make any noise, and can’t help but smirk; I know it’s him even before I get closer. The immense pleasure it gives me to see him this way, broken and devoid of rebelliousness, is like a shot of instant happiness. He is so different from the Sage I had to live with those first few weeks of initiation; not just physically, but mentally.

               The potent smell of alcohol reaches me first, and I can’t help but wrinkle my nose a little; such a filthy habit, completely illogical. I can only assume he does it to forget about the death of that girl, what was her name? Randi, I think; yes, the other pawn in my carefully constructed game.

               For a little while, I must admit I was concerned that his self-destructive actions would interfere with my plans, however since he has been doing just as I’ve ordered without fault, I don’t see why I should demand that he change his habits. If anything, it pleases me to see him hurt himself with his actions. If it ever got too out of hand, I also know I could command him to stop and he wouldn’t hesitate to obey me.

               That’s all he is now, a puppet, a slave, at the mercy of my each and every whim.

               Grudgingly, I must admit he is a spectacular specimen; I’ve learned more than I ever thought I could by keeping him alive. His divergent brain is a marvel to study, and though sometimes I feel that it would be better to actually sample pieces of it, I always remember that he also helps supply me with other selections from the divergents that managed to hide among the factionless.

               From where I stand, I can’t help but note that the dark circles under his eyes have deepened, and though his body is strong and well-muscled, there are a series of cuts and bruises all over him; some old and healing, and some fresh as if they just happened a few minutes ago. Fighting day after day has done quite a number on him; both physically and with his reputation.

               It’s hilarious really, all the lengths he goes through to keep his family and friends safe, yet he’s so willing to let his life bleed away. It’s ironic, in an entertaining way; it always gives me a good kick of delight when I feel somewhat discouraged by the results I see in my research on divergent genetics. Whether it’s the alcohol, fighting, or all the life-risking stunts he’s been pulling lately, it’s added up to him being as infamous as myself.