When we reconvened back in the elevator, Jay and I matched in our crunching, formless plastic attire. I stopped my appraisal just shy of his face. Glancing at his hand, it was sans injury. Blood running from mine tickled my fingertip. I wiped it off on my outfit as the side doors slid shut, continuing along on our downward progression.

Our next stop seemed to come faster than the first yet progressed much the same. Same two side doors, same split. I wish we’d at least switched retainers, mine and I weren’t looking compatible.

Floor number two beheld a single leather seat at the room’s center with a square metallic table at its side. Something sat atop it, but my charge collected it before I’d gotten a better look. A lick of self-preservation made me wary. I looked him dead in the eye when I reclined into the chair anyway. He stationed himself behind me, his heavy steps informed me as much. Soon after, a trill buzzing droned beside my ear. I jumped, cupping the armrest in my palm. The hum became subdued when the object where it originated buried into my hair and tugged it loose.

My hair became auburn refuse scattered across the floor. I had care with my appearance and the hair I’d grown out, but shaving me clean of it was a petty act that I wanted everyone to know I couldn’t be instigated by. Did he think a bad haircut would undo me? I determined it a waste of our time with teeth grit to the point of aching. It would grow back; they couldn’t take that from me. I stroked the patchy fuzz remaining on my scalp with amused consideration. Though more than a tad airier than my actual sentiment, my guard had to know I didn’t care whether I was with or without. That is, without hair. I’d still fight for my clothing’s return.

There was something to be thankful for when the elevator’s dull steel wasn’t reflective. If it had been I’d had plenty of time to stare at my losses while waiting on the other pair. I couldn’t figure out why the wait; his hair had already been well shorter than mine. Unless we were actually intended to get proper cuts where my hairdresser had enacted a vendetta. The thought was ditched when Jay entered with an analogous buzzcut. We were becoming quite the pair of twins. My musings accidentally omitted me from my shunning of his face. I caught a glimpse at what was the worst of it — now I couldn’t ignore it. His eyes were lidded, as lackluster as the black metal enclosing him, and the surrounding skin was swollen from tears. He joined us with dragging feet and mouth agape, weighted by the realization he’d passed the point of no return. Without the expensive clothes and the pristine artificial blond, nothing was separating him from me. Nothing tied him to who he was prior to the conviction. He finally understood his classification as a criminal, unwarranted as it was, was nonrefundable now two stories underground and without himself. His bleak expression beat the emotion into me that losing my individuality did not. I couldn’t look away on my own. It took one of the guards pounding his fist against the wall in warning to force my stare back on the dark.