Kevin
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Korra had never considered herself vain. At least, that was what she told people. She did not spend hours choosing clothes, did not care whether she looked graceful while fighting, and had broken more mirrors during training than she could count. Her hair, however, was different.
That morning, after training, Korra stood in front of the mirror in her room with her long dark hair hanging loose down her back. Sweat had tangled several strands near the ends, so she worked through them carefully with a wooden brush. When she finished, she gathered everything into her familiar high ponytail, checked both side sections, frowned, and immediately pulled the tie out again.
“Nope.”
Asami, sitting nearby, watched with obvious amusement. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t care how she looks, you spend a lot of time fixing your hair.”
“I care how my hair looks,” Korra replied, tying it again. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
Asami smiled. “Very convincing.”
Korra examined herself one final time and gave the ponytail an approving tug. “I’ve spent years growing this. I like it. Is that a crime?”
“Not yet.”
The subject came up again later when Korra was sparring with Bolin. He tried to catch her shoulder during a grapple and accidentally closed his hand around the end of her ponytail instead.
Korra stopped immediately. “Hey!”
Bolin released it as though it had burned him. “What?”
“My hair!”
“You were less upset when I nearly kicked you in the face.”
Korra gathered the ponytail protectively over one shoulder. “Hit me all you want. Leave the hair out of it.”
Bolin raised both hands. “Important distinction. Got it.”
Neither of them noticed the man watching from across the street. The Equalist observer wrote something in a small notebook before disappearing into the crowd.
That evening, Amon was conducting an interrogation of his own.
A young woman sat restrained in a metal chair beneath a single overhead lamp. She had fair skin, delicate East Asian features, and thick golden-brown hair that fell in soft waves down her back. Her dark-green uniform marked her as someone from the Earth Kingdom territories rather than Republic City.
“Where are the remaining supplies being stored?” Amon asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You have answered that question three times.”
“Then perhaps you should believe me.”
Amon remained perfectly still. Behind the prisoner, an Equalist guard casually lifted a thick section of her golden-brown hair. The woman turned her head, suddenly much more nervous.
Amon noticed.
The guard produced electric clippers.
BZZZZZZ.
The woman’s face changed immediately. “Wait.”
The guard brought the buzzing blades closer to her temple.
“Stop! I’ll tell you!” she blurted. “Warehouse seventeen! Eastern docks! Lower storage level. That’s everything!”
Amon raised one hand, and the clippers stopped.
The prisoner exhaled shakily. “There. I told you.”
“I believe you,” Amon said.
Relief appeared across her face.
Then Amon lowered his hand.
The clippers started again.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
The guard drove them through the hair above her ear, leaving a pale strip of scalp behind. Several long golden-brown waves slid down onto her shoulder.
“I told you everything!”
“Yes.”
Amon turned away while the shaving continued behind him.
Another Equalist approached with a report. “The Avatar has been seen near the south district.”
Amon took the papers. Most of the observations were predictable—aggressive, confident, impulsive. Then one detail caught his attention.
Particular about her appearance. Especially her hair.
He glanced back toward the terrified prisoner.
“Interesting.”
The following night, Korra followed an Equalist lead into an abandoned industrial building. Mako had told her to wait for backup. Asami had told her not to go alone. Bolin had reminded her that she always charged directly into traps.
Naturally, Korra went anyway.
The first attackers went down quickly. A water strike threw one across a metal walkway, while an earthbending blow slammed another into a wall.
Korra grinned. “You’re going to need more people.”
A voice answered from the darkness.
“I know.”
Doors opened. Equalists dropped from overhead platforms and emerged from passages on both sides.
Korra fought hard, but there were too many of them. Chi-blockers attacked in coordinated groups. One arm went numb. Then the other. A strike behind her knee sent her down, and several Equalists pinned her before she could recover.
Amon stepped out of the shadows.
Korra glared up at him. “If you’re planning to take my bending, get on with it.”
“Eventually.”
That answer bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
“Eventually?”
When Korra next became fully aware of her surroundings, she was secured upright in a heavy chair. A dark cape covered her body from the neck down, with her arms restrained beneath it. A female Equalist attendant stood behind her.
Amon waited in front.
The attendant reached for Korra’s ponytail.
Korra jerked her head away. “Don’t touch my hair.”
Amon tilted his masked face slightly. “There it is.”
The tie was removed anyway, allowing Korra’s long dark hair to fall freely. The attendant brushed it from crown to ends, deliberately arranging the full length down the back of the chair.
Korra twisted as far as the restraints allowed. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Finding something you value.”
Amon asked where Korra’s allies were organizing their next operation.
Korra smiled. “Go find out yourself.”
Behind her came the unmistakable metallic sound of scissors opening.
SNIK.
Her smile vanished.
A thick section of hair was gathered at the back of her head. Korra watched the movement in the mirror.
“You’re seriously doing this?”
The scissors closed.
SNIP.
A long lock slid across her shoulder and landed on the cape.
For a moment Korra simply stared at it.
Another section was cut. Then another. Heavy lengths of dark hair began collecting in her lap and around the chair.
Amon repeated his question.
Korra clenched her jaw. “No.”
The cutting continued until all of the long length was gone. When the attendant finally turned Korra toward a larger mirror, her hair ended around her jaw and upper neck.
A neat bob.
Korra instinctively reached backward, searching for the ponytail that should have been there. Her fingers found only short ends.
“That’s…” She stopped herself.
“Different?” Amon asked.
“Temporary.”
“Where are they?”
Korra looked directly at his reflection. “Still no.”
They made her sit with the bob for a while. That proved unexpectedly irritating. Every time Korra turned her head, the hair swung only a few inches instead of moving across her back. She repeatedly caught herself reaching for hair that no longer existed.
The Equalist attendant inspected the cut. “It actually suits you.”
“Nobody asked.”
When Amon returned, Korra deliberately smirked at him.
“You’ve adapted quickly,” he said.
“Disappointed?”
“No.”
He gestured toward the attendant.
The scissors came back.
This time the first cut went above Korra’s right ear.
A large piece of bob-length hair dropped onto the cape.
“Oh, come on!”
The left side followed. Then the back was shortened until her nape was exposed. Korra’s shoulders rose involuntarily when she felt cold air against the newly uncovered skin.
More and more short pieces fell.
When the cutting stopped, both ears were visible, the nape was cropped close, and several inches remained across the crown and front.
Korra examined the long pixie in the mirror with open irritation. She ran her fingers over the short back and grimaced.
“That feels horrible.”
“The location,” Amon said.
Korra put on an exaggerated smile. “Still. No.”
A cart rolled into the room.
Korra’s fake smile slowly disappeared.
Dozens of tiny perm rods covered the top shelf.
“What are those?”
The remaining hair was dampened before Korra received an answer. A narrow piece at her front hairline was combed forward, wrapped around an end paper, and wound tightly around one of the smallest rods.
Korra stared at it in the mirror. “What is that?”
Another rod followed.
Then another.
“Are you curling it?”
Nobody answered.
Korra looked down at the cart and realized how many rods remained.
“You’re curling all of it?!”
Amon stood nearby. “Unless you would prefer to answer.”
Korra leaned back. “Keep rolling.”
The attendant did exactly that. Tiny sections were wound across Korra’s forehead, temples, around both ears, over the crown, down the back, and along the nape. The rods sat tightly against her scalp.
Korra winced when another one was secured. “Do they have to be that tight?”
“Yes.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Eventually every remaining strand was wrapped. There was no loose hair left at all.
Then the perm solution was applied.
Korra wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”
“Processing solution,” the attendant said.
“That wasn’t actually a question.”
Amon continued interrogating her while the chemicals processed, but Korra gave him nothing. Eventually the attendant unwound one test rod.
A tiny, tightly coiled ringlet sprang directly toward Korra’s scalp.
Korra stared.
“…Put that back.”
“It’s finished.”
The rods began coming out one by one.
Every released section formed another small springy curl. Soon one side of Korra’s head was covered in dense ringlets while the other still had rods attached.
Korra’s eyes widened. “Why is it doing that?”
SPROING.
Another curl joined the others.
When the last rod came free, Korra stared silently at herself.
The short pixie had transformed into a dense, rounded poodle perm composed of hundreds of tiny defined curls. Tight ringlets covered her crown, framed her forehead, curled around her ears, and packed the back of her head.
She slowly grabbed one curl and pulled it downward.
It stretched.
She released it.
BOING.
The ringlet snapped straight back into place.
Korra’s face flushed with embarrassment and anger. “What did you do?”
Amon’s reflection stood behind hers.
“Where are they?”
Korra stared at him.
“Still. No.”
Later, when she was left alone, Korra attempted to fix the perm herself. She pulled curls straight, only to watch them rebound. She pressed both palms against the top and sides until the hair flattened completely, then removed her hands and watched it expand again.
She wet her fingers and tried smoothing the front sideways.
The result was even worse.
“This is worse from the front.”
An Equalist guard eventually found her pressing down both sides.
“Having trouble?”
Korra froze. “Get me a comb.”
The guard surprisingly obliged.
Korra dragged it through one side.
The dense curls became larger and fluffier.
She stared at the mirror in horror.
“…Take it back.”
“Already?”
“Take. It. Back.”
Amon entered soon afterward.
“Have you reconsidered?”
Korra folded her arms. “The hair? Absolutely.”
“My question.”
“No.”
Amon turned toward the door.
“Then we proceed.”
When Korra was returned to the interrogation chair, the equipment had changed.
There were towels now. A metal bowl. A razor.
And a large bucket of water.
Korra looked between them.
Her sarcasm disappeared.
“What exactly are you planning?”
Amon gave the attendant one instruction.
“Begin.”
The bucket lifted over Korra’s head.
She looked up.
“Wait—”
SPLAAASH.
Cold water crashed over her. The carefully formed curls immediately darkened and collapsed. Water streamed over her face and down the cape while the rounded perm became soaked ringlets plastered tightly against her scalp.
Korra slowly opened one eye.
“…Seriously?”
The attendant squeezed excess water from the curls and smoothed them backward.
Then Korra saw the razor.
Her expression changed completely.
“No.”
The blade was prepared.
“You wouldn’t.”
Amon remained silent.
The razor touched the center of Korra’s hairline.
Her breathing quickened. “Amon.”
The first stroke moved backward.
SKRRRRP.
A clean strip appeared through the wet curls.
Korra’s eyes widened.
“No—!”
Another pass followed. Then another.
The bald strip widened over the top of her head. Her right temple was cleared next, followed by the area above her ear.
When Korra looked toward the mirror, half her head was smooth while the other half remained covered in dark, flattened curls.
“You think this is going to make me talk?!”
“No,” Amon replied.
The razor moved again.
“I’m learning what won’t.”
The remaining hair disappeared section by section. The other side. The crown. The back. Finally, the last wet curls at the nape were shaved away.
The attendant wiped Korra’s scalp clean.
For several seconds, Korra simply stared at herself.
Completely bald.
She slowly raised both hands and touched the smooth top and sides of her head. Her expression showed shock before she forced it back under control.
“It grows back.”
Amon reached toward the cart.
He picked up a small dark container.
Korra watched him. “What is that?”
“Something developed for situations where regrowth is undesirable.”
The attendant opened it, revealing a pale cream.
Korra’s confidence finally faltered.
“You’re bluffing.”
“You said the same thing before the first cut.”
The attendant put on gloves.
Korra pulled against the restraints. “Amon. Don’t.”
It was the first time she had actually asked him to stop.
The cream was spread evenly across her freshly shaved scalp. There was no dramatic pain. No visible injury. Korra simply had to sit there knowing what the treatment supposedly meant.
When the cream was eventually wiped away, her head looked exactly as it had before—smooth and completely bare.
Korra rubbed her palm across the crown.
“How long?”
Amon said nothing.
“How long until it wears off?”
“It doesn’t.”
Korra froze.
Amon stepped closer. “Where are they?”
Korra’s gaze dropped.
Her long hair was gone. The bob was gone. The pixie was gone. Even the ridiculous curls were gone. And now the one thought she had used to comfort herself—that everything would eventually grow back—had been removed too.
Amon waited.
Korra slowly raised her eyes.
“…No.”
Later, alone in confinement, Korra finally stopped pretending she was unaffected. She ran both hands over her scalp, first the top, then the sides, then around the nape. Her hand automatically traveled farther down her back, searching for hair that had been there for years.
Her fingers closed around empty air.
A tiny severed curl remained stuck to her clothing. Korra picked it off and stared at it for several seconds before allowing it to fall to the floor.
“He really did it.”
Her reflection looked unfamiliar in the polished metal panel beside her.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Then her expression changed.
Sadness became irritation.
Irritation became concentration.
“This is exactly what he wanted.”
Korra turned away from the reflection and started examining the room instead.
A loose support bracket caught her attention.
Then the weak point in one of her restraints.
“Enough.”
Minutes later, an Equalist guard slammed into the wall.
The second went through a door.
Korra ripped water from a nearby pipe and sent several more attackers skidding across the corridor.
Her silhouette looked completely different without her hair.
Her bending did not.
“My turn.”
She fought through the facility until she reached the main exit. Amon stood on an elevated walkway above her.
“You can still make this useful,” he called.
Korra looked up.
“You got nothing.”
Then she left.
Before going home, Korra stopped beside a dark shop window. Her reflection stared back at her. She lifted a hood toward her head and hesitated.
Everyone would look.
Bolin would definitely look.
She lowered it again.
“Let them.”
When she finally walked through the door, Bolin rushed forward.
“Korra! You’re—”
He stopped.
Mako froze.
Asami’s eyes widened.
Korra folded her arms. “Finish that sentence carefully.”
Bolin swallowed. “…alive?”
Korra stared at him.
Mako suddenly found the nearby wall extremely interesting.
Asami stepped closer and gently placed a hand on Korra’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
Korra looked away for a moment.
“Not really.”
Then she looked back at them.
“But he didn’t get anything.”
Asami smiled softly. “No. He didn’t.”
Several weeks later, Korra stood in front of the same mirror where she had once spent so much time adjusting her ponytail.
Her hand passed slowly over her scalp.
Still smooth.
No stubble. No shadow. No sign of regrowth.
The treatment really had been permanent.
One of her old hair ties remained on the counter. Korra picked it up and turned it between her fingers.
“Guess I won’t be needing this for that.”
She wrapped it around her wrist instead.
Then Korra walked out of the room with her head uncovered.
Some things didn’t grow back.
Korra kept moving anyway.
