Isabella Hawthorne
As I settled into the cold metal chair, a nurse approached, holding a tablet like a digital mirror. "Look here," she said, gesturing towards the screen. Before I could react, a flash momentarily blinded me.
"Just taking a picture for your medical record," she chirped.
"Uh, okay," I stammered, rubbing my eyes. "Do I have to fill out a form or something?"
"Not at all," she smiled, showing me the screen now displaying a photo of me, wide-eyed and startled. "This device has facial recognition. Once it takes your picture, it connects to the Capitol Database to pull up your information. See?"
On the screen, my entire medical history unfolded – allergies, vaccinations, past appointments. It was unsettlingly efficient, the Capitol knowing even the most mundane details of
