Anonymous

Remake Center

When the train stops, we're taken to a tall building called the Remake Center. I'm led to a separate room, and I see Nolan being led off too. I meet a trio of colorful people, who introduce themselves and tell me that it's their job to "remake" me for the Games. I'll be washed, scrubbed, plucked, and painted.

They smile and act friendly, but when one of them moves forward to undress me, I jerk away. I don't want them touching me. I don't want anyone touching me.

The girl- Essia, her name was- gives me another smile, reaching forward and snagging my collar. Her fingers are strong, and when I yank away again I hear a rip and feel the strip of fabric yank away.

Essia holds the piece of cloth in her hand, looking to the others for help. Quintus, the one with the green bangs, gives her a slight, almost imperceptible nod. And August, the third, raises his dyed eyebrows for an instant.

They surge towards me, and I know I'm outnumbered. They could easily overpower me. But I pull the butter knife from my waistband and hold it up, a clear threat and warning.

Essia stops dead in her tracks, her unevenly cut hair swinging. "Quintus?" she asks in a half-whisper. The eyeliner she's wearing is distorted by the look of horror on her face.

August holds up his hands in surrender. "It's okay. We'll leave now, okay? Everything will be okay." He's backing off, taking a step back and pulling Essia with him. Quintus follows them out the door, leaving me alone.

And that's the only way out. I'm stuck in here, albeit without people trying to undress me. That's a relief, but I'm not putting down the knife.

In retrospect, I should have utilized the knife before this point, not have let myself get into this situation in the first place. It was clear that the prep team wasn't expecting a recalcitrant tribute of my degree, and threatening them worked.

But this is the Capitol. From what I've seen, they always get what they want.

I cough once and wake up lying on a table.