Thanks SO much to BK2U for editing this for me :)

I know this is not the set up for a typical Eric/OC story, but I loved the idea and I think it makes for a super interesting read!

The administration office is rather dull and cold.

I lean back against a hard chair, made more uncomfortable by the fact that my hands are still bound behind my back. I exhale sharply in annoyance, feeling the tie dig into my skin. Harrison had bound them way too tightly, a small, passive attempt to show me who was in charge. His attempt was laughable. I had little regard for him, and his paltry victory of forcing me down did little to subdue me.

Once I am out of here, I'll find him and I'll kill him.

I'll particularly enjoy the way his neck will snap, the way the life will slowly fade from his eyes, my face the very last thing he'll see.

Until then, I'm stuck in this seat across from an unpleasant woman who's quickly typing all kinds of information into the computer in front of her. She's paid little attention to me, and it would be easy to take her down, even with my hands stuck behind my back.

The only thing stopping me are the group of armed guards awaiting my inevitable attempt at escape. They outnumber me by an unfair advantage, and I smirk at the thought that someone decided it would take nine armed men to guard an unarmed me.

I swing my gaze back to the woman typing. She's nothing special, just another Erudite fuck assigned to work in a menial desk job. She probably isn't smart enough to work in the labs, and her failed attempt to land something in the medical field has landed her here, in the lowest of all places.

The clicking of the keyboard is the only sound in the room, and it seems to echo in the tiny space. She squints at the screen before sighing in exasperation.

"How tall are you?" she asks. She finally tears her eyes away from the screen, her face impassive.

I say nothing. I have little patience for this whole ordeal, and I can feel the slow burn of fury bubbling up beneath my skin. I rather dislike being made impaired, and the tie is starting to dig into my skin in a painful manner.

"How much do you weigh?" She's stopped to stare at me now, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. She looks at my face for a moment, perhaps hoping for some sort of compliance; when she finds nothing but a sneer, she looks back at the computer. "You don't have to answer me. They'll give you a physical as soon as we are done here." She shrugs as she finishes typing.

I can feel my eyes narrowing.

Harrison's death will be painful, long, and drawn out.

"You're responsible for the leaked information. It came from your email, only accessed with your login."

Harrison's words echo in my head, repeating in the most infuriating way possible. It's all I can hear, like someone's implanted it into my brain and set it to repeat until I go insane. Maybe that's the punishment: hearing his voice until I lose my mind.

Maybe if I hadn't smirked in the moment, maybe if I hadn't looked at him in such a mocking manner, dismissing every word that slipped out of his mouth, I wouldn't have wound up here. He knew that this would be a punishment worse than death. The fucker had been gunning for my position for years, and this was just too perfect of an opportunity for him to pass up.

The intake nurse now looks slightly nervous, but she hides it well. She glances at my chart quickly, making small notes on it before she tells me she'll need me to take my jacket off. She bites her lip as she walks around the desk, picking up a pair of sharp scissors. I can feel her as she carefully holds onto my wrists, cutting the ties off, and I note the way she tenses up the minute the ties fall apart. She's waiting for me to bolt, to thrash her out of the way and charge out the door, but I'm not that stupid. Far from it.

I know the guards are outside, just waiting for me to slip up.

But I know better.

This had been Jeanine's idea.

I'd watched her hand still on Max's arm, gently pulling it back before he could protest.

"He should be prosecuted. Not executed," she said, her voice firm. "It'll be better if we show how we're handling this, that we aren't just letting him run rampant through the factions. They all know it would be worse for him to have to face how he became such a monster rather than releasing him from it."

Her eyes fell a few dozen feet away to where my laptop sat. The meeting had been utter bullshit, a setup in which I was to take the fall for Jeanine's plans for the Divergents and the war that was starting. It hadn't taken long before people realized what she was doing, and now there was an uprising. And she was putting my name on it.

I should have shot her then, except that Harrison had the barrel of his gun on my temple before I realized what was going on.

"How do you know it'll work? You really think they'll believe this was Eric's idea?" Harrison was becoming impatient with her. His tone had taken on a sharper edge as he shoved the gun into my skin. He'd never been one to understand Dauntless's surprising loyalty to Jeanine, but he was slowly getting the picture. "They'll want him to pay for those who have suffered."

"They won't. They'll think he doesn't deserve such an easy death. And besides…" Jeanine paused, looking directly at me. "Given his nature, it'll be easy to believe he got a little overzealous. We'll remind them that anyone is capable of buckling under pressure. Even Eric."

I should have lunged for her. I could have head-butted her again, knocking her on her ass and stomping on her face until she stopped talking. I didn't need to learn how I became who I was. The answer wasn't pleasant, but I didn't give a fuck. I'd worked hard for my position, and these idiots were showing me this was nothing more than a game, one which I wasn't about to lose.

Instead, I'd stayed in my chair, my gaze directly on her. I could see the flinch in her posture when we locked eyes. She wasn't invincible, not by a long shot. She'd swallowed, then straightened her shoulders, and I could tell she was mentally preparing herself for the next round of questions.

Next to me, Harrison had shaken his head, his face covered in disbelief.

"You think they'll believe that you want to commit him?"

Those words sparked the tiniest bit of dread in me when the reality of the situation dawned on me. It wasn't fear, but whatever it was felt like sludge in my stomach. I knew what he was asking. Put on trial in Candor meant one thing. I'd be found guilty for sure, and sentenced to whatever Jack deemed appropriate for my actions. But Jeanine's unfortunate idea was far crueler. Her words meant that I should spend time in a mental institution, under the guise of losing my mind, in an attempt to pay for my sins.

It was certainly worse than death.

Our city had only one such place, nestled deep in the woods, and I'd rather be forced to spend my days slowly dying in Abnegation than go there. It had earned the reputation of being rather proficient in breaking people apart. It had three doctors from Erudite who oversaw it, all of them tops in their field. They specialized in resetting the mind by any means necessary, all the way up to erasing memory. They typically used it as a last resort, but in my case, it would most certainly be considered a front runner for treatment.

Jeanine had nodded, her lips twisting downwards almost sympathetically. It had only served to make me furious. I didn't need her pity. There was nothing honorable about her life, and I had no need for her to think she was so above me that I warranted her mercy.

Harrison had hesitated with his response, and I found my lips curling into a grin. Even the deeply ingrained Amity in him couldn't hide his sudden desire to kill me. It would feel good, for that moment. I knew this from experience. There was a rush of adrenaline that would pump through his veins, a fleeting moment of utter euphoria that would slice through him the moment my heart stopped beating. He was close, so close to all of that. It was a dazzling sort of drug, the ultimate authority to play with someone's life.

He never got the chance.

I could still see the disappointment in his eyes when I was helped to my feet by his own pathetic boss.

"It's for the best. When this dies down, we bring him back and he stays quiet. It's a win-win for us all," Max informed him, roughly pulling me up. He didn't hesitate, but I could tell in the way his hand shook that he was worried I'd knock him back.

"Fine. But we don't have long." Harrison's voice is heavy with defeat, his eyes raking around the room. "You'll need to take him now."

We could hear murmurs, and I was well aware that this meeting had gone on longer than they'd planned. There were other leaders here, including Tori and our newest leader, a young man named Grant. A few were upright, staring at the spectacle that was slowly unfolding. "Jack will be here soon to talk about what's happening. He'll want Eric's head on a platter if he sees him."

I smirked at him, pushing down the sinking feeling in my chest. He had no clue that we'd both lost this one. My smirk faded when Max shoved me forward, yanking my arms behind my back. Harrison took advantage of the situation, quickly tying my hands together as tightly as he possibly could. It was out of fear, I'm sure. He wouldn't want me to get loose, knowing he was now all for this plan.

As the minutes passed, I waited for Max to hiss that this was all for show, but it never came. He jerked me along with him, never bothering to undo the ties on my arms as he herded me towards a van. His quickly mumbled explanation that Jeanine would fill me in on what was happening sent a spike of fury through me. Something about a sacrifice, and public image. She'd need to soothe the masses, and my sentencing would help calm them down.

"Are you fucking serious?" I spat the words at him, but he wasn't looking at me. He'd avoided any sort of eye contact, and I knew right then and there that I really was being thrown under the bus to take the fall for this one. "Fuck." I thrashed forwards, hitting the door with my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "Fuck you."

"Do you have a spouse back in Dauntless?"

The nurse's words jerk me back to reality, and I blink at her, watching as she continues to type even without my answer, the clicking now the only sound in the room as this all becomes a very harsh reality.

"Step on this scale." The intake woman had been replaced by a nurse in dark scrubs, and her words are nothing less than professional. I grimace at her, watching her gesture to the scale in the corner of the room. It seems suspiciously out of place, but I'm trapped. I step forward slowly, as though walking at my own pace gives me some sort of control over the action.

She records my height and weight wordlessly. I step off the scale and she motions for me to sit back on the exam room table.

"You'll need to undress and put these on." She thrusts a handful of blue clothes at me. "You can leave your shoes on the bed and we'll keep them for you. Everything will be returned to you when you leave." She says the last part sort of condescendingly, as though I won't make it through. I can feel the sneer returning to my face.

"I won't be here long," I inform her coolly.

She doesn't react. I'm sure she's heard it all before, and I can only imagine the sort of things people say to her while they're being prepped for their stay. She smiles in faked sympathy as she leaves, and I stare at the pile of clothes she's handed me.

I have little choice but to put them on.

I shrug off the thick jacket and toss it onto the bed. The heavy fabric mocks me; it's offered a sort of protection for so long, but now it seems useless. This jacket was newer, barely worn, but it has still witnessed enough spilled blood to hold the same sort of security as my others. It's never been more symbolic of anything than right now, the Erudite logo stitched onto the arm of it.

My t-shirt is next, and for a moment I feel utterly exposed in the cold air. I untie the laces of the heavy boots before I pull them off. I slide the dark uniform pants off, shoving them past my hips and kick them aside. I stand there in nothing but boxers, the dark fabric the last semblance of my own being.

The t-shirt she has given me is blue, and it matches the darker blue pajama pants. They remind me of something one would wear while lounging around. They are soft and non-threatening, and the color is supposed to be soothing. I scowl, reluctantly shrugging the shirt over my head and blinking at my shoes.

I have the urge to put them back on. Being barefoot makes me feel uneasy — unarmed and ultimately defenseless — though it's not nearly enough to stop me. I could still get away, I just wouldn't be as comfortable as I'd prefer.

There is a knock at the door, and it opens before I can reach for them. I turn to find the nurse waiting for me, along with her guards.

"This way," she calls out.

I make the mistake of hesitating for a split second, and the guards waste no time coming after me to shove me forward. One pushes me harder than necessary, but I ignore him.

I'll play along for now.

My intake paperwork states that I am considered incredibly unstable and extremely violent. I can read the notes even though they are sideways on the desk.

Aggressive.

Ruthless.

Manipulative.

Vicious.

Murderer.

Solitary Confinement recommended.

The list goes on and on. There are several notes that state that I should not be allowed near others. That I am deemed high risk, and that my chance of rehabilitation is estimated to be a dismal fifteen percent.

I roll my eyes at their positive outlook. There isn't fifteen percent of me that has any desire to be anything other than myself. I've been trained for years, groomed for the position that I've been given, primed to be not just a mere soldier, but instead the utmost killing machine. It's my job. I hadn't just woken up and decided to start slaughtering left and right. I'd followed orders, the same way the intake nurse followed orders to fill out said paperwork.

The doctor slides in behind the desk and there is a faint feeling of relief that washes over me. I don't recognize him, but it's doubtful that he doesn't know who I am.

"You've declined the first round of medication, Mr. Coulter?" His white lab coat is pristinely pressed over the royal blue dress shirt, and he peers at me over his thick glasses.

Declined was a polite word. I knocked the tray out of the nurse's hands, everything in my being screaming not to take what was on it. There had been a small glass of water and six pills. Three were blue and three were green. I had no intention of swallowing down any of them.

"I'm good, thanks." I raise an eyebrow at him, leaning back in the chair. I cross one leg over the other, trying to ignore the fact that my feet are still bare. I knew what the pills were for, and I wasn't willing to be sedated.

"You are aware that you're here for an undisclosed amount of time. The longer you resist our methods, the more drawn out this will be." The doctor leans forward, his hands folding together on his desk. "You can choose not to take whatever you'd like, but if we don't see some sort of progress with you, we'll be forced to create a blank slate that's suitable for readmission to society."

There is a specific threat to his words, and I know exactly what he is implying. If I don't go along with their plans, he'll erase my mind and I'll be left as nothing more than a shell of who I am now. Nothing more than a bare framework for whoever they want me to be.

I steel my glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Doesn't really matter to me," I tell him, coolly.

The doctor simply stares back, and I wonder if he knows how little I have to live for.