The woman in red came back in, now with a gravy float. Amari was loosing her mind, struggling to not eat. Gravy. Heavenly gravy. The man behind the desk watched her, waiting for the breaking point. Amari could've reached forward and slapped at the food. She could've pushed it to the floor. But that would've caused physical pain.
They weren't done. Chicken. A plate of fried chicken was placed beside the mashed potatoes. Amari began to cry. Forcing her stomach to shut up, her hands to stay down. She sat on them, they kept subconsciously reaching up. She bit her lip, stopping her mouth from opening. She couldn't close her eyes, every time she tried they would open up again to stare at the food before her.
There was a clock behind the desk. High up on the wall. Amari kept glancing at it to see how long she had made it. It had been a painful ten minutes. Each second more cruel than the last. The smell invading her, all she could think about was the taste. The taste of everything before her. Then came the final straw, the final temptation.
Bacon. A plate of bacon. A plate of mashed potatoes. A plate of fried chicken. A gravy float. Amari made the first mistake at last. She let her hands free to wipe the tears of frustration on her face. She then made the second mistake. Taking a deep, long, heavy, inhale. The third mistake, leaning forward to look at the chicken.
She grabbed the white flag. She had lost. While shoveling the mashed potatoes she knew she had signed a contract. While knowing at the chicken, she was aware of the mistake she had made. While inhaling the bacon and gravy, she cried. More frustrated than before. When done, nothing left before her, she was handed a face wipe and a bucket.
Amari was no stranger to the bucket. Her binge eating habits were horrible for her usual meals. She knew it would come up soon. It did. She was too busy hurling into the bucket her throat in more pain than before, to notice the plates leaving. The woman in red grabbed her hands, rubbing wipes over them and then her face.
The folder she had slapped away was handed back to her, opened to the last page. A line mocking her for her signature. Amari felt as someone else lifted her arm, placing the pen in her hand. She was sobbing, knowing she had failed and had no choice. She signed the paper, aware of the three guns placed against her head. As soon as it was signed she was lifted, dragged away by the woman in red.
In a shower room Amari paled. She was stripped, and she didn't fight back. Her throat hurt, her shoulder, which she had forced to move while eating like an animal, was worse than before. Her head was pulsing in pain, and her stomach was protesting. Cold water was splashed onto her, soap lathering her body. The smell of the outside was taken away, and so were her clothes. Strangers surrounded her once washed, towels scrubbing her body.
They dressed her as if she were a child. Clothes that were too big on her were placed. Her hair was cut even shorter, giving her a bob. They forced her into a chair, bleaching her hands and feet. Cleaning the dirt from under her nails and cutting them. Several different substances were applied to her face and scrubbed off. Sock and stiff shoes were placed on her. There were no mirrors. Amari couldn't see who they had made her, she couldn't see who they had transformed her into. All she could see was what they were doing.
Amari passed out. Waking up to a room that looked nothing like any of the previous ones. The walls were thin and floral, the bed she had been laying in low to the floor, which was hardwood. Amari jumped, while scanning the room she hadn't noticed the woman in red sitting beside her.
'Welcome to G. I. Joe.' Amari looked away from her. She curled herself into a ball, looking away from the girl in red. The girl in red left a paper in the bed, which Amari decided would serve as her comfort place. Not that she had much of a say.
The girl in red left. Amari, still curled up into a ball, reached for the paper and read what was on it. A schedule. Times listed on it and a place listed next to it. Amari scanned the room again, walking over to the office area. An empty bookshelf and desk. A simple, small, black watch was on the desk. Amari put it on. Why else would it be there?
Amari looked around the room again, finding shoes next to the best. When she put them on it felt strange. Her toes weren't closed in on each other. They were out flat, with air circulating around them. It felt strange. Amari kept finding herself curling her toes subconsciously, making them straighten themselves again.
Amari walked to the door. The woman in red had slid it open to the left. Amari reached out with her right arm, happy to realize that it was no longer in pain. She slid the door open. The man in black was standing across from the door. Amari slammed it shut. He opened it. Closed again. He opened it and pulled Amari out.
"What is wrong with you?!" Amari screamed; then gave a cough. Her throat still hurt.
'Time to train. Follow me.' He signed. Amari noticed that now he had a name tag. Pinned, no, tapped to his ridiculous metal muscles.
'Snake Eyes is a ridiculous name.'
He grabbed Amari's arm, forcing her to follow him somewhere in the strange building. The halls weren't weird like her room, they were metal and, normal looking. It was strange. Snake led her to some weird garden, an indoor one. It was pretty. Snake Eyes pushed Amari into the water.