Chapter 2: The Process
We were brought into a bright room with no windows. There were four large, rectangular white lights shining down from the ceiling, but unlike those of the nursery, these ones didn’t flicker. The walls were white and smooth in texture and the floor was smooth under our bare feet. We were not permitted to sit down or lean against something, or we suffered a brief slap with the riding crop. It was great annoyance, so I stood straight without a complaint.
My calm disposition did not match that of the five others that were with me. They were tense and nervous and scared. They shuffled restlessly in place like a herd of frightened sheep. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t in the ring, yet, so I saw nothing to worry about.
The door to this white room opened and a pudgy man in a suit strode up to us. The others shifted away from him as he passed. I stood fast and continued to look him over. His black hair was slick and shiny. He had the eyes of a rat and the nose of a goose. Tiny, prickly black and grey hairs were showing themselves from his two chins. The crooked grin his mouth seemed to be twisted into appeared to have been forcefully carved into his face. I could only guess that this man that smelled of sweat and filth was my master.
“Quite a bunch!” his voice boomed. He quickly grabbed a small boy with light brown hair and green eyes and pulled him closer to him, “I like this ‘ne, and . . .” he grabbed a girl with reddish-brown hair, brown eyes and a tan-freckled face, “. . . this ‘ne.”
He looked me over and stood toe to toe with me. I was a while head higher than he was and I did not squirm like the others did as he looked me over.
“You . . .” he said, “You seem to have guts, but no muscle to show for it!”
In short, he wasn’t interested in me. I appeared to be weak, and meant worthless.
“Process the others!” our master demanded, “I’ll take my favorites to the Fighter’s area and find a nice cage for them.”
Cages. This is what I had to look forward to. If my new master wasn’t going to be any different, my life was definitely going to be harder.
The four of us that remained were taken to another room with several chairs. Upon sitting down, our hands, legs, feet, torsos, and necks were strapped down so we couldn’t move. There was a person tending to each of us individually. Mine was a tall, lanky fellow in a dark blue shirt and black trousers. His eyes were a dark brown in color. He had a triangular face and an ideal nose. His skin was of a darker kind, though not necessarily black. His hair was black and curly, but his curls could not compare to B’s corkscrew locks. I looked at his chest and noticed he wore a tag with his name; Leonardo C.
The Process began with my hair getting brushed for the very first time, and by no means was it pleasant. The brush instantly got caught in my hair at the end and it took several strokes to work out the rest of the knots. Each time the brush got caught a sharp stinging pain shot through my scalp. It felt like Leonardo was trying to rip the hair right out of my head, but I had to tough it up. I couldn’t whine over a little brushing, because in the ring there will be people that will be trying to rip the hair out of my head.
About a half-hour later, the brush was gliding smoothly through my hair. It was then that Leonardo picked up the scissors and began to cut away at it. Short hair made it harder for other Fighters to grab the hair and pull back a person’s head. An expert Fighter could snap a person’s neck with a good tug. A good Fighter could pull a person’s hair back and expose their throat; instant death if the Fighter has a weapon, so I felt no qualms about Leonardo cutting away at my hair.
Eventually, he set down the scissors and ruffled the hair left on my head. He looked around at the other soon-to-be Fighters, who were thrashing and struggling in their chairs and making it harder for their stylists to work on them.
“They bred you well.” He said to me, “You have a good temper and you’re tough. That’s what buyers are looking for.” He pulled back my lips and looked at my teeth, “Sharp teeth, too? Oh, yes. They’d better ask for a high price for you.”
I doubted it. I, along with the others, was at a level one with no fighting experience. The fights we had in the nursery were the closest thing we’ve ever had to an actual fight we’ve had, and we showed great mercy on our opponents and stopped when we got tired. But that would not be the case in the ring. There’d be no mercy from our opponents or breaks. The only option was to win or die trying.
I was taken to a place to be bathed. Hot water and soap and shampoo were foreign things to me. Before, when I was bathed, one tub was prepared for all of us to share, so we bathed in each other’s filth. The person who bathed first was the luckiest. The water would still be warm and clear, but by the time the fourth person entered, the water was cold and a beef broth brown and smelled like sweat and grit. But here, the water was crystal-clear and warm. My hair was thoroughly shampooed and my limbs had a brush foamy with liquid soap scrub them clean.
When I was pulled out of the bath they put me in a new outfit; a black long-sleeve shirt, black pants that hugged my legs and hips, black socks, and black pleather gloves. I was then stood in front of a mirror.
It was the first time I got to see what I actually looked like. My eyes were a bright, icy blue color. My hair was jet black; cut short into a pixy cut and ruffled to look fringed. My face was round with a sturdy nose and thin lips. This was me.
I couldn’t admire myself for long before the choke chain, which had been removed for this part of the Process, was wrapped around my neck once more and secured with the leash. The rest of the Process would be completed by my new master at a new district.
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