Hi all - this is a mini story, or maybe an extended one shot - the story of what was going through Four's mind when he decided to get each of his tattoos. There will be five short chapters, one for each symbol, and maybe a sixth bonus chappie if people are into it, will try to update pretty quickly since I'm working on two stories at once. There are some minor links between this story and my other two Four stories (Killing Four and As Expected), so check 'em out! Thanks for reading!

I do not own the characters of Divergent.

The first is a transformation.

I just hurled myself off a building, and was nearly crushed in a closet. I killed a woman. I fought a dozen carbon copies of the man who has terrorized me for years.

It was all in my head – a simulation. But my fears have never felt so real.

There were only four obstacles in my fear landscape. When I emerged from the room, sweaty, shaking, people looked at me in awe. Apparently, I am some sort of Dauntless prodigy, with a new nickname to prove it. They think I am nearly fearless. But I know better. I came here through cowardice, a desperate attempt to escape my brutal childhood. I didn't know that the first thing I'd do was face everything I left behind.

I walk down the narrow path towards the Pit, and this time, I force myself to look down. I let the fear course through me, up from my gut and out with my breath, into my pores and out through my fingertips.

I pretend it doesn't exist.

I need to stop looking back, and embrace what's in front of me. I need to get used to black clothes and loud voices, to pride, and bluster, and brutality. I need to fight to strengthen my body and quiet my mind. I need to be…Four.

I push open the glass door. The tattoo place is empty of people, but full of color – the walls covered with drawings of black ravens, green snakes, red eyes, orange flames. I stop and stare; I've never been in a decorated room before.

"Hello, there. Here to get inked?"

I turn to face the woman standing behind me. She's at least ten years older than me, a few streaks of grey running through her short dark hair. A simple tattoo of blue waves runs up one of her arms.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You guess so?" She shakes her head. "Better be sure. It's not going to wash off."

I nod. "I'm sure."

She shoots me a grin and starts setting up. "You're a transfer, aren't you," she says. "Bet I can guess what you want."

I raise my eyebrows.

"You want the Dauntless symbol."

"Are we all that predictable?" I frown.

"Yes," she laughs. "I should know - I've got one too. I transferred from Erudite." I finally smile. At least she knows a little bit of what I'm going through. She sticks out her hand. "I'm Tori."

I'm still not comfortable shaking hands. I'm also not comfortable with my new name.

"Four."

"So you're the initiate with only four fears."

"You've heard of me?" I try to sound cocky, Dauntless. But it comes out unsure, humble…Stiff.

"The entire faction has heard of you. Even if they have no idea who you actually are. Or where you came from."

I freeze. She knows I came from Abnegation…and who my father is. I look into her dark eyes, and they are searching, curious. She hasn't entirely left Erudite behind.

"You were at the Choosing Ceremony."

"I was," she says, her eyes still on mine. "And…Four…it seems like you made the right choice." Her words hang in the air for a moment. Then she claps her hands together, all business again. "Well, let's get you in the chair. Where do you want it? Most people get it on the shoulder, but -"

"No. I want it on my back."

"No one will see it," she smirks. "Unless you like taking your shirt off."

"It's not for other people to look at," I snap.

"Okay, I get you," she says. "But let's give them a hint. Let's make it big. Let's make you Dauntless."

I tug my shirt off reluctantly. She sketches the Dauntless symbol across my spine, my shoulder blades. Flames flicker around my ribs, torch my chest, and curl up onto my neck. The edges will show just above my collar.

I look in the mirror, my reflection now even more unfamiliar, transformed into something new. My father would hate it. I smile.

"Let's do it."

She shoves a tube of black ink into the machine. "Lots of flames. It's going to burn."

The needle starts to buzz, and I grit my teeth.

"Don't worry," I say. "I'm used to pain."