As Octavia wakes, she feels something in her face. She opens her eyes to see nothing but Shard's eyes.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" Shard chimes.

Octavia shouts and flies back in surprise. Her body slams against the wall.

Shard falls over laughing.

"Your face," he says in between laughs, "was so priceless."

On the floor, he reenacts her wide eyes, yelp, and jump back. Highly amused by his performance, he curls up in laughter.

His screechy, boyish sounds of mockery bring a gnarled, twitching smile on Octavia's face. This grown man, known to strike fear into millions, acts like a child. This man must truly have no real purpose other than to cause anarchy and sate is sadistic boredom. Octavia glances at the guards outside who seem to not care a bit about his behavior as they gaze uninterestingly into the distance. To think this many people would rally around and join this man-child’s foolery appalls Octavia.

Shard begins to calm but sees Octavia's expression and starts in hysterics all over again. Octavia's smile drops, pulling her brow down to a scowl after it. This calms Shard.

Breathless on the floor and wiping tears from his eyes, Shard says, "That...was good."

"You are so childish," Octavia says under her breath with crossed arms.

Shard sits up.

"And ya looked like a terrified bridge monster. Have ya seen what you looked like lately?"

Octavia had not taken much care to look at herself since she cried the other day, and she did not look great then. Without seeing in a mirror, she can feel the grease in her hair fluffed up on one side from bedhead. Unpleasant, slightly odorous oil has accumulated on her body, especially under her arms and on her face that has a special sticky feeling where the abundance of makeup she had put on for the party had not been washed off. Bitter-tasting grime has built up on her teeth, and she can taste the foulness of her breath. Smallest hints of chemical are mixed with peanut butter, jelly, and plaque.

The thought of showering and grooming hadn't crossed her mind. Even if it had, she had no brush for her hair or teeth nor had toiletries to wash or dry herself with.

Shard sits himself in a chair, crosses his legs, and places folded hands in his lap.

"And this brings us to today's meeting." He mocks a professional, posh voice. "Put simply, you look and are beginning to reek like a rat with a rotten onion obsession. This must change if you are to become one of our next top models."

"What?" Octavia says.

Shard stands and puts a finger over her lips. "Shush, Darling."

With cutting eyes, Octavia instinctually swats his hand off her face. Her chest and arms tense up when she realizes what she's done. She just hit Shard. She waits for Shard to react or lash out against her.

His eyes crinkle in a smile. He resumes his character.

Octavia's tension releases, but she stays on guard.

"We must fix," Shard waves his hand in a circle in front of Octavia, "this. And the first step to fixing," he waves his hand again, "this, is this!"

Shard shoves his hand in the faux-leather jacket he wears. Octavia presses her back against the wall. He is going to draw his weapon on her. This is her punishment for hitting him.

He whips something out. Octavia squeezes her eyes shut and draws her arms and legs to herself to protect her face and abdomen.

"Darling," Shard says, "if you're afraid of things such as this, I fear your modeling career and my contract are at stake."

Octavia peeks between her arms. "A hairbrush?"

"Yes, Deary," Shard says. "Catch."

Octavia uncurls to catch the round hairbrush but reaches too far to the left. It clatters against the metal bed. The guards outside jump and snap around with their weapons ready.

Waving to the guards to ease them and dropping his act, Shard says, "Now I am convinced your parents were grooming you to be the politician. Grooming. Hairbrush. Get it? Ha, ha."

Octavia sighs and hangs her head.

"Where's the bot this goes in?" she asks.

"Bot?" Shard says.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

Octavia speaks slowly, over enunciating. "Yes. A bot. A robot. The robot you must have obviously dismantled to get this piece off of it. Where's the PrimBot this goes with?"

Shard stops in front of her and leans forward, resting his hands on his knees and getting close to her.

Octavia’s heart drops with her shoulders. She bites her tongue. It's the only way she can ever seem to contain it. Octavia hadn’t been struck yet for her quick words, but the impatience scrunching Shard’s face tells her she pushed it this time.

"First of all, Sweetheart, I know what a bot is. And that is an all-original hairbrush sin PrimBot. I don't mind the banter, but watch the attitude. Remember: I am in charge here. Not you, Princess. Now fix that rat's nest on your head."

Shard takes the brush off the floor where it had fallen and jabs it into Octavia’s chest hard enough to send a message.

This is more the Shard she imagined him to be outside his crazy antics on camera.

Her hand trembles as she carefully slips the brush from his fingers.

Swallowing before she speaks, she says, "So, I'm supposed to do this without the PrimBot?"

Shard's brow raises. He crosses his arms. "Don't tell me you don't know how to brush your own hair."

"I know how." The lie flutters her chest. A touch of heat burns under her eyes.

"Then get started. Brush."

Octavia angles the brush several different ways above her head, occasionally tapping it to her head but never committing to a stroke.

One fist holding the brush, she throws both fists to her sides. She tells Shard, "I can't do it while you're watching me."

"Okay. Geez. I didn’t know brushing your hair was such a personal affair." Shard turns around and rests his hands on his hips.

Octavia angles the brush around again and finally decides on a stroke. Half-way through the stroke, the brush stops moving. She tugs on it, but it pulls at her scalp. The tug is uncomfortable. Trying to pull it out proves unsuccessful. Hair sticks in the bristles and won't let go. Shaking the brush doesn't release the hairs. Fingers from a free hand pick at her hair. This way is painstakingly slow and stings her fingers. She releases the brush to pick at the bristles with both hands. The brush falls into her hair. Going to grab it from sinking deeper and pulling at more hair makes matters worse. With help from her clumsy hands, her hair swallows the brush up. Her hands frantically claw at the brush. Greasy, frizzy, glittery, black locks wrap around the brush. Only a piece of the brush's handle is visible. As a last resort, Octavia sucks in a sharp breath and, using both hands, yanks the brush.

Fiery, sting-y pain radiates along her scalp - the portion where her hair is attached burning the most. An "Ow!" escapes from her mouth.

Shard turns around. A crackling sound preludes a burst of laughter. Octavia lets the hairbrush go and balls her fists. The brush dangles. Shard's laughter brings him to the floor, again. His eyes gloss with tears and face turns pink.

After a minute, he catches his breath and composes himself.

"So, the Princess doesn't know how to brush her own hair," he says as he stands and wipes a tear away. "And you have the audacity to call me childish. Come here, Sweetheart. Let me get it out for you."

Octavia shields the brush and turns it away from Shard. "No! I can figure it out myself."

She doesn’t want this lunatic touching her.

"This is something I'd like to see." Shard situates himself in the chair. A smug smile smushes his eyes. He props his elbow on the table and props his head on his fist.

Octavia's eyes squint at the challenge. Filled with determination, she pinches, pulls, and tugs at the hair stuck in her brush. An hour passes. Her fingers cramp and ache. Pain pulses in her scalp. The splotch on her scalp is on fire at this point. Her hands shake. She drops her hands and head. She huffs in frustration. Tears squeeze her eyes but are sucked back in. Her face remains hot. She hides these emotions in her hair.

"Give up?" she hears Shard say.

Octavia weakly and pitifully paws at the brush completely swallowed up by her hair. She sees Shard's shoes walk up to her.

"We can get this out one of two ways," he says. "One, I cut it out. Or two, I give it one good pull to rip it out. Which do you prefer?"

Octavia shoots her head up and protects her hair. "Are you crazy? I'm not going to cut my hair!"

"Okay, we're pulling it out then." Shard reaches for her hair.

Octavia smacks his hand. "You are not doing that, either!" she shouts.

"That could've hurt if I wasn't wearing these handy-dandy gloves," Shard says. He rubs the fingerless leather glove on the smacked hand. "How else do you propose to get that brush out? Ya managed to get that stuck in there real good. I'm open to suggestions."

Emptiness tosses in her head. The only ideas she gets involve PrimBots that are not available. Octavia doesn't say anything.

"That's what I thought. Now gimme gimme." Shard pulls another slender object from his jacket: a long knife.

The sight of it sends Octavia back. The brush bangs against the wall. Her breath is cut off for a second. "Where did that come from!" Octavia says when it returns.

"Fun story. Long one, though." Shard waves the mini sword around while he speaks. "The abridged version: I got it off a Squad member I killed by shooting her arm off." He twists the knife around so the light from the hall outside bounces off of it.

Blood drains from Octavia's face.

"Hey. They started it," Shard says. "But don't worry. The only thing I'm chopping off of ya is your hair. As long as you stay still that is."

He pins Octavia to the wall with one arm and brings the knife down right above the top of the brush right next to her neck. A scraping shink buzzes Octavia's ear as the blade makes contact with the wall's concrete. A tunk follows when the brush hits the bunk.

Shard steps back from Octavia and admires the knife in the light more. "Oh-ho-oh, this is a nice, sharp knife. I'm so glad I took it." Putting it back in his jacket, he takes the hair-engulfed brush off the bunk.

Octavia didn't have a chance to react with how fast Shard was. For a moment, she thinks the brush he holds by the hair is part of her head with the handle being her neck. She put her hand to her neck to feel it intact. Then she runs her hand through her hair. A chunk is gone.

Shard looks past the hairy brush to Octavia. His nose, eyes, and cheeks wrinkle up. "That's unsightly." The wrinkles fade away to a bright expression. "So, let's fix it! I'll be back."

Shard barely gives the guards time to open the door as he sprints out of the cell.