PREDATOR | THE HUNGER GAMES

STRIPPED OF IDENTITY

"We are late!"

The two tributes barely had time to take in the luxury of the Capitol before they were corralled around like sheep. They'd been transported from the train to the tribute center, with eager and excited Capitol citizens clambering over each other to get the first look.

Hands grabbed at her shoulders, to which she immediately got defensive, but Atlas was kind enough to take the brute of the action by stepping in front of her as a barrier. The cheers and screams of delight were deafening.

They hadn't known peace even when they were escorted to their living quarters, where the dining room was twice as big as either of their entire homes. They both thought the train was lavish, but their floor was incomparable. Luxury reached a new level here.

They barely had time to marvel at it all before they were pulled into the elevator once more. They plummeted to the bottom levels, reaching the basement. Their guards pushed them out and left them to the hands of the many stylists that scurried about.

They were separated, which caused some anxiety on her part, but she could see that all the fellow tributes from other districts were spread out in the same manner.

Lara was shoved into a semi-private room with a tub in the middle.

"Take off all your belongings and clothing."

She whipped her head around in confusion, "What?"

The head stylist scoffed impatiently and began to tear at her clothes, "You're filthy. You need to be cleansed and prepped."

She was too numb and lost to protest as she was stripped down and led closer to the wall. She was hosed down like a dog, being sprayed with water so she wouldn't dirty the tub too much.

Snickers and remarks were clearly heard, despite them trying to be discreet. Being called a dirty mutt was something that didn't necessarily go unnoticed. It only added salt to the wound. She was so clearly vulnerable now, with her naked body exposed for them to gaze upon freely.

After her initial rinse, she was shoved into the tub. Several pairs of hands grabbed at her limbs and scrubbed her skin raw. Lara didn't think she'd ever been this clean in her life.

She tried to pull away from the callous washing but they held her down until she was deemed clean and pure. She was pulled out of the tub and dried down. They gave her a scratchy paper gown and led her back to the main area.

Her eyes caught a boy. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years old. His baby cheeks were still prominent, but his eyes held the severity of an elder. It's almost as if the truth to his fate had already settled.

She looked away, forcing the haunting image out of the way.

She next met the eyes of a girl, who might've been her age. Her hair was the color of shining wheat straw, with her eyes matching the leaves of a spruce oak. She resisted the attempts of the stylists' that wanted to cut her baby curls that poked out from the sides of her head.

Something about that defiance sparked an interest in Lara.

Before she could survey anyone else, she was laid down on a table, separated from the others by a curtain. She felt a sticky substance on her leg mere moments before it was ripped off, causing her to yell in pain.

"What the hell?" she snapped.

They merely shushed her and continued to tear off any semblance of what they deemed to be imperfections. Her eyebrows were plucked, her nails trimmed, and her hair brushed all the way through. All Lara could think was that any trace of hard work she'd done in her district had been scrubbed, peeled, and cut away.