JH
Part One
At nineteen, Gina was practically part of the gym. Four workouts a day. Cardio, lifting, abs, repeat. And always, always the sauna. By the fourth trip her skin gleamed, her ponytail plastered to her neck, strands curling at the edges from constant heat and sweat.
“Girl, you live here,” one of the trainers teased when she walked in.
Gina only smirked. “Can’t live without it,” she said, tugging her damp ponytail into a tighter knot.
She meant it. Sweat was proof—proof she was pushing harder than anyone else.
One evening, stepping out of the sauna, Gina froze. Near the locker rooms stood something new: a tall chrome pod, futuristic and humming faintly. Its doors glowed faint blue. Across the display:
“Automated Haircare — Wash, Dry, Style, or Cut.”
She tilted her head. “The hell is this thing?”
A pair of girls walked by. One tapped the screen, and the pod hissed open. Minutes later, she stepped out with sleek, blown-out waves, grinning as her friend gasped.
“No way!” the friend squealed. “You look like you just left a salon.”
Gina tugged her damp ponytail, watching. She laughed under her breath. Cheaters. But curiosity stuck with her.
Part Two
Three days later, after her longest sauna yet, Gina staggered out flushed and dizzy. She’d sat almost forty minutes, skin dripping, hair soaked and clinging heavy to her scalp. She checked her phone and cursed.
“My date…” she muttered. A guy she’d met at the smoothie bar, dimples and a killer smile. Tonight.
She pulled at her hair—it was limp, greasy, sticking every which way. “No way I can show up like this.”
Her gaze landed on the pod. Sleek. Waiting. She’d seen girls step out looking perfect. It’s now or never.
She strode over, peeling her sweatshirt off one shoulder as she squinted at the glowing options: Style. Wash. Cut.
“Alright,” she said to herself, brushing sweat from her forehead. “You better work miracles.”
The pod hissed open, and she climbed in. The cushioned seat molded to her. Darkness fell as the chamber sealed shut, faint blue light glowing from the inner screen. She leaned forward, pressing Style with her finger.
But her fingertip was slick with sweat. A smear dragged across the sensor. She didn’t notice.
Inside the pod, scanners clicked to life. Red beams swept her head, measuring length and density. But the lens was streaked with condensation, clouded by the sauna steam still clinging to her skin, and smeared from her damp touch. The machine’s logic faltered. What it read wasn’t a ponytail—it processed the damp cluster at her crown as the remnants of a buzzcut needing to be shaved clean.
Gina leaned back, eyes closed. “C’mon, give me runway hair,” she whispered.
Part Three
Calming music filled the pod—soft waves, muted piano. Gina smiled faintly, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay… not bad.”
Then came the hum.
Bzzzt.
The bare blade pressed to her temple, carving a strip of scalp. A thick lock slid silently down into the tray beneath her. Gina flinched, then laughed.
“Ooooh, that’s a scalp massage? Fancy.”
The clippers moved again. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Clean, even strokes, ruthless in precision. More hair tumbled, piling fast.
She sighed, lulled by the vibration. “Feels like you’re brushing it smooth. God, this is nice…”
But the pod wasn’t brushing. It was shaving her bald. Her ponytail fell in one thick rope, thudding softly into the tray. Stray hairs clung to her sweaty shoulders as the machine circled her head, stripping her clean with mechanical efficiency.
Inside, Gina thought of her date, of showing up glossy and styled, her curls bouncing. She smiled in the dark. “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees me.”
The final buzz faded. A cool mist sprayed her scalp, drying what she thought was freshly washed hair. The chime sounded: Process Complete.
The pod hissed open.
Part Four
Light spilled in. Gina stretched, running her hands back through what should have been soft, sleek hair. Instead her palms met smooth, bare skin.
Her body froze.
She turned slowly, catching her reflection in the pod’s mirrored panel. A bald head stared back at her, eyes wide, face suddenly sharper, alien.
Her breath caught. “No… no, no, no…”
She rubbed frantically, as though hair might reappear. But the truth was undeniable: not a strand left. Her ponytail lay coiled in the tray like a severed rope.
She gasped out loud, voice breaking. “It… it shaved me?”
A woman passing by slowed, eyes widening. “Whoa… did that thing—”
“Don’t look at me!” Gina snapped, yanking her hood up, bolting toward the locker room. She slammed into the mirror inside, staring, tears welling. Her scalp gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Her whole identity felt stripped bare.
“I can’t go on this date like this,” she whispered, heart racing. “I can’t.”
But she had no choice.
Part Five
Hours later, Gina stood in her room, staring at her reflection. She wore a skintight black dress, neckline low, fabric hugging her. Light makeup softened her eyes, glossed her lips. Her head was bare, gleaming, impossible to hide.
Her stomach twisted. But she whispered, “Own it. You have to.”
At the restaurant, her date stood as she walked in. His eyes widened instantly.
“Wow…” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.
Gina froze. “You think it looks bad, don’t you?”
He shook his head quickly. “Bad? No. You look… stunning. Like a model. Honestly, this is… it’s bolder, it’s even better.”
Her lips parted. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
All night, his eyes lingered on her. Not pitying, not shocked—admiring. By dessert, she caught herself laughing, leaning in, forgetting her panic.
For the first time, she wondered if the machine had done her a favor.
Part Six
Two weeks later, Gina was back. The stares at the gym had dulled; the whispers didn’t sting anymore. She’d grown used to running her hand over her bare scalp, to feeling bold instead of broken.
After another long sauna, she walked toward the locker rooms. The pod gleamed, humming faintly.
She stopped in front of it, smirking at her reflection in the chrome. “Alright,” she whispered. “Let’s see what you’ve got this time.”
She climbed in. The door sealed, darkness falling around her. Her finger tapped the screen with deliberate precision. Trim.
The hum began. The music swelled.
And Gina leaned back, smiling this time. “Don’t hold back.”
