The Pod

This was previously uploaded from a former account of mine.

As Cara made a final touch-up of her mascara in the ladies mirror, she felt a faint wobble of anxiety go through her. She hated covering big events like this. All the noise, all the people she was expected to speak to in the space of a few hours…And make quality articles out of them by deadline day. Hell on earth. It’s like bottled stress, just to warn you Andrew, the news editor had said to her on the drive over, her still half asleep at 8:30 waiting for that service station coffee to kick in.

She stood back and ruffled her thick brown shoulder-length hair, which still smelt of her Pantene shampoo. She’d gotten up at 5:30 just to have enough time to wash it.

     ‘The things I do for the job.’ She said to herself, taking a step back and practising her most dazzling smile in the mirror, showing off her do-it-yourself-kit whitened teeth. Cara took in a deep breath. But you didn’t move all the way from Derry to England to half-arse anything. ‘See you on the other side.’ She said to her own reflection, then stepped out into the bustling lobby in the National Exhibition Centre. 

She’d already lost Andrew. He said he would meet her outside the toilets. 

     ‘Damn it.’ 

     She cast her eyes around the crowd that had gathered outside the main exhibition hall, networking, backslapping and all wired on the same crappy coffee they sold there. She’d drunk hers with a straw to not stain her teeth.

She was paranoid that anyone she spoke to would be able to smell the coffee on her breath, so popped a mint into her mouth before scanning the crowd.

It was mostly guys, and they seemed to be in four distinct types. Greasy, long haired neckbeards with anime or video game t-shirts, grey haired old guys dressed like head teachers who looked they had been around since the early days of Microsoft, crypto bros in their dark shirts and Steve Jobbs trainers and other journalists wearing smart clothes and comfy shoes to keep them from getting blisters as the walked from stall to stall. Like Cara. She’d gone with a navy blue trouser suit – her favorite one which made her feel like Dana Scully, with its shoulder pads.

She spotted Andrew swapping business cards with one of the old guys, nursing what must have been his 4th coffee that morning. 

     ‘Thank god.’ She cut her way through the crowd, keeping her eyes locked on him. This was her first big event since starting the job, and she wanted somebody to hold her hand. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

     ‘No, not far away. Hold this.’ He thrusted the coffee into her hands. ‘Hang on.’ He was digging in one of his suit pockets. ‘I went and got our passes while you were in the ladies. Here.’ She swapped the coffee for a press pass, sealed in a plastic pouch attached to a lanyard. 

 

British Fair of Technology 2025 

 

Cara Doyle, Tech Magazine 

 

    ‘Thanks.’ She looped the lanyard around her neck, careful not to mess her hair up too much. Cara knew exactly why Andrew had chosen her to cover The Fair with him, and it had nothing to do with getting her experience. It was because she was a pretty 26-year-old (she was pretty and she knew it – it had its blessings and its curses). All the nerds and geeks from the tech companies, who the closest they got to a girlfriend would be their Waifu pillows, would be falling over themselves to talk to her and give her demos. 

Maybe, just maybe, they would get a coffee date with her (spoiler alert: they wouldn’t).

     ‘OK, and this is for you as well.’ Andrew gave her an event programme. ‘I want you to go to the Sony stand, get some technical information about their new AI enabled VR headset, press for a price point from them. That’s what our readers will want to know the most.’

     Cara fumbled with her handbag and the programme, getting her notepad ready.

     ‘And Meta have been teasing some new features for their social media platforms. Meet them head on with the rumours so we can separate fact from fiction.’

     ‘Sure.’ She scrawled down “Sony, Meta”,’

     ‘And lastly, head over to the Aesthetica. Get some details on their haircutting machine. I want that to be your lead feature…There’s been a lot of interest about it.’ 

     ‘Ah OK, no problem.’ She added “Aesthetica” to her list. ‘I’ve been reading a lot about them.’

     Andrew appeared distracted now, looking at his phone. ‘That’s why I gave it to you. Try and get some practical experience of it.’

     Her eyes widened. ‘You want me to get a haircut off it?’

     ‘No! Of course not. Unless you want to…It would make for a pretty good lead feature actually, but if you can just try and see it in action, that would be great.’

     ‘Ok!’ Cara said brightly. ‘Anything else?’

     ‘Head over to the press room when you’re done. There’s some other things I’d like from you, but I don’t want to push too hard.’

     ‘Appreciate that.’

     Andrew smiled. ‘OK, have fun. Call me if you need me.’

    

      They had both of their passes scanned and were let in, Andrew immediately swallowed up into the madness of the exhibition hall. A drone hovered alarmingly close to her head, making a buzzing sound like a mosquito. Cara ducked, swatting it away like an insect, shielding her hair. That was one machine she really didn’t want a haircut from.

Opposite, a guy on a stand for a fitness app who looked like he was cosplaying (badly) as Joe Rogan caught her eye. 

She ignored him and found a nook between two stands to check out the programme Andrew had given her. Aesthetica were all the way on the other side of the hall, but she wanted to do them first.  Elbowing her way through the crowd, she ignored a white robot with two blue lights for eyes which was advertised as “The future of nursing”, as it spoke to her: “Hello Cara, how are you today? Would you like to talk to me about…” 

She walked by before it could finish. 

Taking a right turn she passed by a new type of 3D projection television which you didn’t need glasses for, walking right through a hologram of a diplodocus, then took a left towards the Aesthetica stand.

The machine itself wasn’t very impressive, looking more like a porta-loo out of Sci-Fi. Egg shaped, but flat at the bottom, it was a step-in booth which looked like nothing out of the ordinary to a casual passer by. 

But Cara knew she was looking at an incredible piece of tech. She’d been following its development for years.

She approached a sleazeball in a suit who smiled at her. 

He wore a tie in the company’s teal and green colours.

     ‘Good morning. You look like a woman on a mission, am I right?’ 

     ‘You are!’ She faked her dazzling smile again. ‘My name is Cara Doyle, I’m from Tech Magazine. Could you spare me a few minutes?’ 

     Up close she could see his name badge, Simon Sheen, Head of Media. He looked like the kinda of guy who would have an affair with somebody’s wife in a soap opera.

     ‘Certainly,’ Simon smiled back, giving her a crushing handshake. ‘We’re quite keen to show it off. Well, no. We’re VERY keen. This is the result of seven years of design and development and millions of pounds of investment. A few people have had a go at making haircutting machines, but those have been have a go heroes, you know? Nobody has been able to make a machine that cuts hair to professional standards.’ He raised a single finger. ‘Until now.’

     Cara was nodding along, getting fed up with the banal marketing spiel. ‘I know. I’ve actually been following its development for a while now…It’s…Deeply impressive.’ 

     ‘It certainly is,’ Beamed Simon. ‘Would you like me to show you around it?’ 

     ‘Yes please.’

     ‘Great!’ He walked over to it and beckoned her over. ‘I’ll give you a tour of all the customer facing stuff, give you a run down of the features, then these guys,’ He pointed to two people sitting at desks behind him. ‘Can fill you in on all the technical details if you want. They’re the engineers, the people in the know, I don’t know anything, I just talk about it.’

     One of the engineers was an East Asian woman with long black hair and bangs, studiously ignoring them and engrossed in a computer screen. Cara had read all about her. Her name was Katie Tang, the lead software engineer. The guy sitting next to her looked more like your typical tech guy: scraggily beard, long greasy hair and skin which looked like it never saw the sun. Dan Solman – the lead hardware engineer.

      ‘During development,’ Simon continued, ‘The company nick-named it The Barbernator.’ 

      Cara laughed aloud. ‘That’s so cool!’ 

      He chuckled. ‘Sadly we couldn’t market it as that, so it’s official name is The Pod. What you’re looking at is the Pod Pro. It has a few more niceties, and it can do more intricate haircuts. Costs an extra £200,000 over the standard model.

      Cara scribbled down notes as Simon continued his presentation. ‘We wanted to make it as user friendly as possible, which is why choosing your next haircut with it is even easier than asking a real stylist to give you what you want. Just take a look at this,’ He invited her to watch, as he pressed a touch screen on the side of The Pod. ‘So we can choose between haircuts for men,’ He pressed the menu named “MEN’S”, and scrolled down past various styles simulated on the same generic computer generated man’s head. ‘It can do everything from a simple trim, all the way,’ he scrolled down the menu, the machine beeping which each input. ‘To a full headshave. And everything in between. Flatops, skin fades, short back and sides. You name it. There’s even an AI menu where you can talk to it to fine tune your haircut.’ 

     She watched as he left the men’s menu, and pressed “WOMEN’S”. 

     ‘And it’s exactly the same story for the ladies. Everything from simple split end trimming…Or maybe a bob…Maybe bangs…’ He scrolled past the women’s head with all the different styles demonstrated. ‘All the way down a short pixie. Of course, you can still fine tune your cut using the AI. Ready to see inside it?’

     ‘I’m so ready!’ Cara wasn’t trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. This was a miracle of technology. After seeing Katie and Dan’s work progress over the years, she felt a little starstruck by the machine.

     ‘OK, then.’ Simon pressed a button on the side of The Pod. It beeped, and the door silently retracted into the walls of the machine revealing the interior. The white plastic mouldings reminded Cara of a steam room, and it had a slightly medical feel to it, softened by pale pink ambient lighting which cycled to blue, and back to pink. The base of the salon chair looked like any other chair base, but the back of the chair was moulded into the wall. There were no arms. Fixed to the wall was a mirror. A bit weird because you wouldn’t be able to see it, but she was sure that would be explained later.

     ‘There’s not much to see, but we’re still proud of it. Now when you’re in the chair – excuse me.’ Simon brushed past her and sat in the seat. ‘You won’t want to get covered in hair, and that’s something we’ve thought about. Instead of a normal cape,’ He pressed a button on the wall, and a clear plastic shield slid from out of the Pod’s walls, working in a way similar to the front door. It locked into place on the other side, while a collar extending from another wall slot, with an aperture wide enough for his neck, with both parts forming a clam shell around him. ‘So your clothes won’t get messed up. And cut hair is designed to slide down the shield and collect on the floor, in the channel below.’ His hands were obscured by the shield but she could make out him pointing to the floor. A C-shaped channel ran around the circumference of the chair. Cara noticed narrow vents around the channel. 

       ‘And you don’t even need to clean up, because the vacuum system sucks it through the vents?’ 

       ‘That’s right.’ She saw his hand go for the button. ‘Somebody’s done their homework.’ Simon said as the shield retracted back into the walls. ‘And all the hair cuttings tools, are contained within that aperture you see over my head.’ 

     ‘This is…Amazing. It’s a feat of engineering. It’s…It’s incredible.’ She caught herself fangirling. ‘But, I do have some questions to ask you.’ Cara stood to one side to let Simon out of The Pod. 

     ‘Of course.’

     Pen poised in her hand, she said, ‘Can I ask, what do you think about the moral issues this machine presents?’

     ‘I’m sorry, moral issues?’

     Katie looked like she was taking interest for the first time. 

     ‘Yes,’ Cara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘This, if it works as well as you say, will take the job of a hair stylist, will it not?’

     Visibility wincing at a tricky question, Simon shook his head. ‘No, I don’t see that. This is a retail offering, but this machine in front of you will set you back 3.5 million. I don’t think they’ll be cropping up on every street corner. Primarily this was created for military applications.’

     ‘That’s right.’ Dan spoke up. ‘Not only for induction haircuts, so everyone gets the same precise haircut, but there’s a battlefield application.’

     ‘What, give the enemy a perm?’ Cara smirked. 

     Simon laughed, far harder than the joke warranted. ‘No, no. What Dan is referring to is the ability for service men and women to keep their regulation haircuts on tour, if they wish, without having to send hair stylists on tour with them. We’ve also got several prison services around the globe interested in buying a Pod to do the job of prison barbers. So, it’s maybe taking away a handful of jobs, but not on civvy street. The Pro version has the civilian haircuts, but being completely honest, we’re not expecting to sell many.’

     ‘It was just us showing off.’ Dan added.

     ‘Interesting…’ Cara caught up on her note taking, furiously scribbling. ‘I was wondering…Is there any chance of seeing it in action?’ 

     Simon shot a glance at the two engineers. Dan looked to Katie, who shrugged and spoke for the first time. ‘Sure thing. It’s fully tested and ready for the market. You can get a haircut from it if you really want.’ 

     ‘Ooh, urm…’ Cara felt her voice die in her mouth. The machine was an amazing feat, but the thought of letting it cut her hair was something very different. 

     Katie laughed. ‘It makes me smile when people are afraid of The Pod. You trust a human to cut your hair, but humans – they make mistakes all the time. Machines don’t. They get it right everytime. Who do you think cut my hair?’ 

     Cara looked at Kate’s perfect haircut, the crisp bangs and ramrod straight ends.

     ‘Mine too.’ Simon smoothed down his side parting. ‘Always gives me exactly what I want.’ 

     ‘Just not mine.’ Dan tugged at a greasy lock. ‘It’s ironic I know but I hate haircuts. Thought this would cure me of my hate for them because there’s no people to deal with but I can’t sit still that long. I tell you what will be cool though,’ He said. ‘You’d be the first member of the public to get a haircut from it.’

     ‘Oh really?’ Cara felt reassured by seeing Simon and Katie’s perfect hair. And this would be pretty fucking cool scoop…Cara Doyle, Tech Magazine Staff Writer becoming the first ever customer of The Pod after years of development. She noticed a small crowd had gathered. ‘OK…Let’s get a split end trim.’ 

     A small applause erupted from the crowd, with Simon clapping the loudest. ‘Alright!’

     Katie got up from her desk, and started thumbing at the touch screen. ‘I need to run some final systems checks…Then you are good to go.’

    Pausing to look at her new fan club, Cara saw a guy with a hipster beard and glasses make his way to the front of the ten or so people waiting to see the show. He was holding a smartphone on a selfie stick. ‘Hey, Cara. My name’s Rob, I run the uhh, YouTube channel, Rob’s Tech Time. Mind if I get this on camera for the channel?’ 

     Pleased at the idea of the extra exposure, Cara told him to go ahead. 

     ‘Awesome! Oh, uhh, I really like your writing by the way,’ he set his phone up to record, ‘I loved your piece about PC gaming VS console gaming.’

     ‘Thanks.’ 

     Katie carried on doing her checks while Dan went inside, opening up panels and inspecting components. Cara really wanted to be inside with him, looking at the machine, learning about it.

     ‘Uhh, maybe we could get a coffee after? Talk about tech trends, and maybe you’d like some sneak previews about my next videos.’ He said, setting up his phone to record.

     ‘I’ll let you know. I am pretty busy after, though.’ Yeah, busy in the hotel room, on my own, she thought.

     Rob aimed the phone at himself and Clara. ‘Hey guys, I’m here with Clara Doyle from Tech Magazine, and she is about to let a MACHINE cut her hair. Aesthetica have been stealing the show here for the past three years, but The Pod is the most impressive thing I have seen here yet…Maybe the most impressive thing…’ He laughed uneasily. ‘We haven’t seen it working yet.’ 

     Now it was Cara’s turn to laugh uneasily. ‘Don’t say things like that!’

     ‘Well the stakes are pretty high, right? Uhh, if you don’t mind me saying Cara, you have a really nice head of hair…How do you feel risking it all by putting it in the hands of The Pod.’

      Simon inserted himself into the interview. ‘Can I just cut in here – sorry – Simon Sheen – Athestica’s media guy.’ 

     ‘Uhh, sure Simon, go ahead.’

     ‘Cara isn’t taking a risk, as one of engineers just said to Cara here, you take a risk every time you trust a human with your hair. The Pod removes that risk.’

     ‘Cara -,’ Rob said. ‘Are you feeling reassured?’

     ‘Very.’ She actually meant it. ‘We trust computers with our life in medical settings, in the sky when we’re flying, we trust them with our money. Why not trust them with your hair?’

The two engineers finished with their checks, and Simon stole the limelight, taking the opportunity to promote their product. 

     ‘Everyone. You are about to witness the first ever member of the public use The Pod, it’s something quite special. I hope it doesn’t get stage fright and refuse to work.’ He joked. 

      ‘You’re worried about the machine getting stage fright!? I’m more worried about having an audience, what if it goes wrong and gives me a Mohawk?’ 

       ‘Don’t worry, Cara. I can tell you with absolute certainty, it will not.’ Katie said with something approaching a smile.

       Simon gave Cara a pally pat on the back. ‘Why don’t you let The Pod know what you want so we can get started?’ 

      Under the watchful eye of Simon and the two engineers she navigated through the menu and selected “split end trim”, then typed into the AI interface “Take off as little hair as possible.” 

      The Pod typed out a reply: “OK. I will cut off as little hair as possible while trimming your split ends.” 

       ‘All very reassuring…’ she said under her breath. 

       ‘That’s all the conversation you’ll get out of it.’ Simon patted The Pod. ‘We haven’t programmed it to talk about holidays or football, yet.’ 

       The onlookers chuckled.

       Silently, the door opened, and she stepped inside. She ducked to enter it, placing her handbag on the floor. It smelt of new plastics. As she settled into the seat, she was already thinking about how to start the article. “It’s hard not to feel like an astronaut stepping into a rocket that’s programmed to launch. You’re putting a lot of faith in the tech. So I may not have my life in its hands – but as a girl, it’s got the next best thing in its hands – my hair.”

      Through the doorway she saw the crowd waiting with their phones, excitedly chatting among themselves, taking a break from their networking to watch Cara get her haircut by a machine. 

     ‘Hey,’ Simon came back into view, crouching by the door. ‘So when you’re ready push that button to your left, in line with your knee.’ 

     She looked down and saw a button pulsing a cool, calming off-white colour. 

      ‘That will tell The Pod you’re ready to start and – not that you will need it – it also serves as a panic button. Press it again at any stage during a haircut and it will stop, and the cape will retract.’

      The nerves started to set in. Cara felt her heartbeat start to thump. Oh God, the mileage the team back in the office would get out of her coming back with her hair destroyed. The “banter” would go on for months.

      Her newly found fan club were waiting. There’s no pulling out of this, Cara she told herself. 

She pressed the button. 

The shield performed its mechanical ballet, with both sections sliding smoothingly, and silently into place. Cara swallowed as it closed around her neck. 

      ‘Shortly you’ll see a camera extend down from the aperture over your head,’

      Cara looked up, and saw what looked like a webcam on a mechanical arm extend down to eye level.

       ‘This serves two purposes.’ Simon informed her. ‘If you have the Aesthetica app it will post a before and after directly to your social media.’ 

      ‘I downloaded it before coming here.’ She said breathlessly. 

      ‘Good that you’re prepared.’ Simon paused as the camera took the before picture, before it panned to the right, the arm pivoting around her head. ‘So the pod is now scanning your head with the camera, gathering the data it needs to complete the haircut to a good standard. This is Katie’s work you’re seeing now.’

      The camera finished where it had started – directly in front of her face, its lens looking at her like a single dark eye. It retracted back into The Pod, its work done. 

      She started talking to herself. ‘OK, Cara. Breath.’

      ‘The next stage will be to wet your hair in preparation for the scissors.’ 

      ‘Ok.’ She noticed her voice go squeaky with nerves, as another mechanical arm this time with a spray nozzle on the end of it slid down from the ceiling. In the background she heard a faint whirring as the unseen mechanisms got to work. 

It did a 360c circuit of her head, much like the camera, spritzing her hair with water as it went.

Cara watched, conflicted between feeling nervous and sick, and marvelling at the technology. 

So much development would have gone into it…she had never seen anything like it. These moments were why she wanted to do the job that she did. 

Her hair damped, yet another arm took the last one’s place – this time one with a black comb attached to it. As it positioned itself near her collarbone on the left side, Cara prepared to have several strands ripped out by the machine, but it was even more delicate and careful than her stylist. 

Pleasantly surprised as it worked its way around her head, Simon seemed to read her mind. 

     ‘You seem to be relaxing?’

    ‘Yeah! Yeah, I am actually.’ Cara was still careful to keep her head still. It would be good practice for when the scissors came out.

Her mane now tangle free thanks to the pod, she waited as the comb retracted, and the arm with the scissors on the end took its place. 

She gulped.

     ‘I am putting a lot of faith in Aesthetica right now…’

     Simon smiled. ‘I can assure you, it will not be misplaced.’

     ‘One giant step for a brunette.’ Cara thought she might use that as her title for the feature. Drumming her fingers on her knees, she watched the silver blades of the scissors retreat into her peripheral vision to the left. 

    The group gathered outside were quiet now, craning their necks to get a better look at what was happening in The Pod.

 

Shiiick, shiiick. 

Cara felt the blades open and close again. She side eyed them, trying to see how much hair had come off. 

A knot of stress undid in her, when she saw the tiniest dusting of hair stick to the shield. 

Excited whispering went through the crowd outside, which had been steadily growing. It was working, it was really working! Keeping surgically even and accurate the scissors carried on working round the bottom edge of her hair. 

Slowly, methodically, it worked its way around to the other side of her head. But it wasn’t done. The arm lifted, the scissors tilted and quickly, alarmingly quickly, the blades opened and closed, running up the sides her head. 

Her stylist had done this before, it was called “dusting”, taking out any uneven hairs to make her hair silky smooth. The mechanical whirring had got more intense as the arm moved up and down, side to side, and at a speed which would be impossible for a human, the blades clacking together. 

It’s job finished, it wound back into the aperture overhead. 

    ‘Well…I’ve done it. I’ve only gone and got my hair cut by a robot!’

    A polite applause came from her audience again, with Simon again, clapping obnoxiously loudly. ‘Way to go Cara, way to go!’

    ‘Well, it’s not me we should be congratulating, I think that -’ she was interrupted by the camera returning to take the after picture. 

After it pulled away, she pressed the button to release the shield. 

It stayed in place. 

Cara pressed it again, more insistently this time, thinking she needed to press it harder, but nothing happened. 

It was fine, a glitch. It was new tech. 

      ‘Everything ok in there?’ Simon asked. 

     ‘Yeah, fine, well, no. I can’t get the shield to let me go.’ She laughed. ‘Maybe The Pod likes me and doesn’t want to let me go?’ 

     ‘I’ll get Dan to take a look. Sorry folks,’ he said, getting up. ‘Just a brief glitch. We’ll still shaking out a few bugs, please remember this isn’t a production model. 

     Cara doubled pressed the button, as very faint alarm bells started to sound in her head. 

Even if he was in effect, useless, seeing Simon leave her made her feel a little uncomfortable. 

Don’t have a public freak out, Cara. This is ok. Everything is ok. 

What happened next was not ok. The door slid shut. 

     ‘Simon! Simon!’ Cara gave the button a last, desperate try before trying to pry the shield off. It may be worth millions, but it was taking her prisoner now. Sod it, if she had to break it, she would. Cara tried sliding it open with her hands, but the shield was too slippery for her to get any traction. 

She pressed against the collar section, but it was rigid. The door had a full length mirror on it, reflecting her own worried reflection and the back of her head – so at least the mirror was explained.

     ‘Guys! Can I get some help!’ 

 

     Outside of The Pod, Simon was trying not to let his panic show. If he let a journalist use the machine and it ended badly…Aesthtica would probably sack him before the faire had even finished. With a bigger mortgage and a new three year lease commitment on a BMW, it was the last thing he needed.

     ‘I’m sure we’ll have it behaving again in just a moment…’ He made a sickly, false grin. ‘Just gremlins, that’s all.’

Trying to ignore Cara’s muffled shouting, Simon mouthed “help” to Katie. ‘That’s right, isn’t it Katie?’

    ‘Uhh, sure.’ She rose from her desk, concern etched onto her face, then tapped the touch screen. ‘It’s not responding.’

     Simon felt like shouting at her and telling her to tell him something he didn’t know, but waited while she tapped at the screen. ‘It’s frozen. Probably the CPU getting hot.’

     ‘OK, let’s get her out.’ Simon said breezily, then cupped his hand to the door. ‘Don’t worry Cara, we’ll have you out in a second. It’s just the CPU getting hot.’

     ‘If I can do a reboot…We should be good.’ Katie studied the screen, tapping at it. ‘OK, right,’ she turned to briefly look at the people gathered behind her. ‘What I’m doing, basically, is The Pod’s version of CTRL+delete…Except…It’s not responding to that, either. OK…Looks like I’m going to have to hook up to my computer with the diagnostics port.’

     Simon did his best to “awwh shucks, I’ll be dammed” persona, while he was inwardly panicking. ‘Technology, hey? Who would want to work with technology?’

     A few people laughed back, but Katie and Dan didn’t seem to be seeing the funny side. 

     Katie worked fast. In a few seconds, she was connected to The Pod, and after typing in what looked like random letters and numbers had a screen come up on her laptop which reminded Simon of an early 90s interface. ‘So it is talking,’ Kate said. ‘It’s not actually frozen, it’s…’ Her face dropped. Horror was in her eyes when she looked at Simon. ‘Being controlled remotely. Simon, we’ve been hacked.’

     He stopped a swearword from leaving his lips just in time. As he was trying to think of a suitably bland PR answer, he noticed activity on the touch screen. Whoever was controlling it was scrolling through the men’s menu. ‘Oh, shit!’ He couldn’t stop himself from swearing that time.

    On hearing him swear, Kate looked at her laptop and said the same thing. 

    Dropping the smooth-everything-over-nothing-to-see-here act he tried prying the door open as the unseen hacker browsed the men’s haircuts. They hovered over the flattop. The door was solid as concrete. 

     ‘Dan, help me get this door open.’ 

     The greasy haired engineer rushed over, with his hands up in the air in defeat. ‘Simon, it’s designed to survive in a fucking battlefield – sorry for my language -’ he looked at spectators briefly. ‘We can’t just pry it open. This sucker’s made of 16 mil composite armour.’ 

     Dan’s words were meaningless letters and numbers at this stage. ‘For Christ’s sake, Katie!’ Simon shouted, losing his composure completely. ‘Can’t you shut this thing down?’

     ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she snapped. ‘Let me work!’

     The unseen attacker carried on scrolling. They were into buzzcuts, while Cara was now yelling and wailing, muffled behind the thick steel.

      ‘Surely there’s a way of manually overriding it?’ An older guy in a suit spoke up in the crowd. ‘There has to be?’

     ‘There’s a manual override for the door but it will take like half an hour to get all the panels off to get to it.’ Dan replied.

     ‘Oh bloody hell.’ Simon slapped his sweating forehead in disbelief. These clowns didn’t design in adequate failsafes, and he was going to get the blame for it. 

The screen settled on “headshave”, then text flashed across the screen “DISCIPLINE MODE ENGAGED”. 

     ‘Just help me get the fucking door open!’ he yelled at nobody in particular. 

 

     Cara wasn’t made to feel any better by the panicked shouting from outside. She heard fists pounding on the door. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

She resorted to kicking at the shield, but all it did was hurt her feet. Cara tried again anyway, kicking it so hard and fast it sounded like machine gun fire. 

There was argument. She heard Dan’s voice, and a very angry Simon. 

     ‘What’s going on? Hey!’ Cara yelled.

     The mechanical clicking and whirring started up again, making Cara’s throat go dry. 

     Once again, the camera made an appearance. As it did before, it look a picture of her face, before making its 360c sweep. 

     ‘Please be another trim, please be another trim.’ She whispered. 

As it retracted, she looked up into the opening above her head. 

What came out wasn’t a comb, or even scissors. 

On the end of a mechanical arm came hair clippers, bright silver and evil looking. 

     ‘Don’t you dare!’ Cara shouted as if the machine could hear her. She tried moving her head as far back as she could, so she knocked into the mirror behind her. 

She had never had clippers used on her before, but she knew those things would go all the way to her skin. 

Hating herself for it, she felt like she might cry. Her hair was more than just a part of her. She loved it, it was like…a pet. 

    ‘GET ME OUT!’ She screamed at the top of lungs. 

    The shouting and panicking outside was intensifying. 

    Whirring quietly, and moving painfully slowly the machine moved as if it was enjoying making her sweat. 

Like a viper about to strike, the clippers drew level with her line of sight. All Cara could do was look at it. 

They buzzed into life, the blades working so quickly their metal teeth became a blur.

     ‘Oh shit.’ 

     They adjusted their position so they were exactly inline with the middle of her head. 

     ‘No, no, no!’ 

     As the clippers began moving towards her she moved her head to the right, but the clippers moved with her. Cara moved to the left, and they kept pace with her, somehow responding faster than her and seeming to be two steps ahead – like a housefly.

Now so close she couldn’t see the blades anymore the built up panic in her exploded. Cara thrashed about in the chair, kicking, punching at the shield. 

She had regressed to a small child, wailing and shouting unintelligible protests as the clippers moved nearer, tracking the middle of her head. 

She felt the heat of them on her forehead, felt the hot teeth scratch at her skin and then – bzzzzccchhhhh

The steady buzz intensified into a harsher, almost tearing sound, like fabric being pulled apart. 

Instinctively, Cara tried shielding her head with her hands, but her knuckles just smacked uselessly at the collar. 

Wincing as she felt the fizzy vibration, she closed her eyes, feeling the clippers plough a path down the middle of her head. 

When she opened her eyes, she gasped at her reflection – she didn’t know what else to expect, but it still shocked her. A white path had been cleared down the middle of her head, peppered with dark stubble. 

It wasn’t too late. 

She could brush her hair over, style it out as her hair regrew. Cara twisted her head as far as it would to the right, still slapping and punching at the collar. 

But the clippers were too nimble. 

Again, Cara felt herself wincing as the horrible sound returned, widening the white path on her head. That time, she opened her eyes in time to see the lengths of her long, thick brown hair slide down the shield and into the channel. 

It would be quite the comb-over to mask it now, she thought. Cara was still as the clippers made the next pass, having won the fight.

Watching them shave her in her reflection, the journalist part of her brain was still working. “Hot knife through butter” was probably a cliche, but it was the perfect description – it was as if her hair was melting off her head. 

Her hair. 

Her hair.

People used to compare it to a lion’s mane.

Cara saw the bright white dome of her crown showing and – Jesus – was her forehead really that wide?

Her throat tightened, and there was a build-up of pressure behind her eyes, as the pools of tears tried to escape. 

What was the point of hiding her tears? Nobody was coming. 

As Cara began to sob, The Pod finished shaving her crown, then moved on to the right side of her head. 

It zipped down the side of her head, skimming just over her ear on the second pass. What it did next was technically impressive, and had Cara not been trying to look through her tears (and not been the one in the seat) she would have been impressed.

The clippers lowered themselves to the bottom of her cheeks, pivoted so their blades were facing upwards then shaved up and over her ears.

She could see her crystal stud earrings shine as the pile of hair on the floor grew bigger.

Carrying on with upwards strokes the clippers carried on shaving the right side of her head. Having gotten control of her tears, she blinked. Her mascara was running (touching it up had been a waste of time), but she was paying more attention to the reflection of the mirror behind her. She watched the clippers position themselves on her nape, and very slowly, carry on working upwards. 

The tearing sound was louder than before, interspersed with crackling and rasping. Screwing her face up, she felt some of the hairs get torn out as the clippers carried on shearing her.

     ‘Well done, Cara!’ she said aloud, pausing to sniff. ‘You just had to get carried away, could have just done the interview, watched some other poor bastard get shaved, but no…Not Cara. Had to get carried away.’

     Watching, horrified and mesmerized at the same time, she saw the back of her head in a way she’d never seen it before. Bigger and rounder than she’d been expecting she thought her head was almost alien looking. There was a dark mole half way up the back of her head which she never knew she had. 

Meanwhile, the pile on the floor was getting bigger and bigger. She wondered what they did with it. Put it in the bin probably, like rubbish. 

That thought was enough to provoke a single tear to roll down her cheek. 

The back of her head done, the clippers moved to the left side of her head. They pivoted again, to the side of her head was shaved and her ear partially exposed in seconds.

After it, the clippers pivoted again, to shave her up and over her ear, then took the last of her hair off.

The final pass of the clippers was slow – almost reverent. The background whirring stopped, and the arm retracted, the clippers folding into the arm as if flipping her off.

Cara’s breath hitched in the vacuum that followed. Limply, she pressed the button for the shield to retract, but it stayed in place.

Trying to blink away the last of tears she looked at her reflection. She was bald. Actually bald.

     ‘Not your best look, Cara.’ she whispered. Her jawline looked sharper, her forehead massive and her ears were too low. 

Cara blinked slowly as if she could wipe the reality from her eyes, but there she was – in her new form.

She was stripped, not just of her hair but of the version of herself she had carefully sculped for the world. And that version was gone. 

Her band was polish. Control. Professional. 

Not this. 

This wasn’t “not what she asked for”, or “shorter than expected”. This was bald.

Oh God, how long was it going to take to grow her hair back to how long it had been? 

The muffled voices continued outside. 

     ‘You’re too late,’ when she shouted out her voice was raw. ‘It’s done it. Just get me out.’

     ‘Are you OK?’ Simon’s voice.

     ‘What the feck do you think?’ She said in a tone just under a shout then, louder, ‘I’m not OK, not really.’

     ‘Dan is taking the panels off, we’ll see about getting you out.’

     Cara stared at her bald reflection. ‘Oh, goody…Saved then.’ Her voice sagged with sarcasm.

     Her whole body tensed. It was back. The whirring. ‘Oh Jesus, what now?’

     This time not one, but two mechanical arms came down. On the end of them, electric rotary shavers. ‘It’s not finished!’ She shouted. ‘Help! Help me! This thing’s gonna bloody scalp me!’

     The shavers started up with a silvery hissing sound as they descended on her head. 

     ‘Ahhh!’ She crunched her face up, waiting for impact. The shavers landed side by side in the centre of her head, working in circular motions around each other. The sound of them swirled in her ears, as they beat a path down her crown, making a light, vibrating pressure.

As if she wasn’t bald enough…

In less than ten seconds they had done her crown. Cara didn’t know it was possible for her scalp to look any lighter, but it did. There wasn’t a shine to it, her head was matte, and it had an almost powdery texture to it. Once they reached the back of her crown, they made another pass, back towards her forehead. 

Her skin was feeling hot now, and she was certain they were going to give her a rash. Once they reached her forehead, the shavers went their separate ways, down the sides of her skull. Still working in circular motions, Cara felt her head being nudged from side to side by the shavers, wobbled around like some teasing person had hold of her head. It was crazy, but she was certain that the machine was trying to piss her off now. In the mirror she watched them scrub their way to the back of her head, getting every last bit of stubble off her dome.

It had the effect of making the back of her look lighter and bigger, the mole more obvious. I look like a bloody boiled egg, she thought as the shavers carried on. They retracted their steps, going over her again, taking every last hint of stubble.

They made one last skim over her sideburns, then whirred away out of sight. 

     ‘Come on, let me go now. You’ve had your fun.’ Cara pressed the button again, to no avail. 

     The camera returned, for the final insult – her after picture. Great. Exactly what she wanted on social media. Bald as an egg, ruined mascara and red eyes from crying and her scalp red and blotchy in places.

Aware all her friends, family, and some of co-workers would see it before she deleted it, she tried to smile.

Showing off her white teeth, the camera clicked as it took her picture, then retracted back into the ceiling. 

Her shearing and humiliation complete, both parts of the shield finally let her go, the front door opening at the same time.

Cara blinked at the bright white light of the exhibition hall, nervous faces peering inside. A few camerphones were pointed at her.

Her legs felt rubbery as she stepped out of The Pod, into the buzzing atmosphere of the exhibition hall, just in time to hear her hair get sucked away out of the channel on the floor. She bent down to pick up her handbag, noticing some locks had landed on top of it. Cara tucked them inside, getting another waft of her shampoo.

There was no applause for her, just murmurs. A few scattered titters.

She’d drawn an audience from beyond just the small crowd at the start. A woman on a Chinese smartphone stand gawped as Cara ran her hand over scalp, still warm from the shavers.

Simon was talking to somebody on a headset, all calm and corporate gloss, but even he looked rattled. 

     ‘Cara, we are so sorry,’ Kaite said, appearing at his side. ‘We did all we could, whoever hacked in must of -’

     Cara gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t. Just don’t.’

     ‘So I assume any positive press is out of the question?’ Simon said to her carefully.

     ‘Your machine,’ Cara pushed her face towards him, not caring that she was huffing her coffee breath at him. ‘Is a piece of shit.’

     ‘Well maybe if we’d spent more time testing the security, this wouldn’t have happened.’ Dan joined the party. 

     ‘Maybe if you didn’t design a machine that needed half an hour’s worth of work to shut it down in an emergency, this wouldn’t have happened.’ Kaite retorted. ‘Please Cara,’ she continued. ‘When you write this up, remember this experimental technology, with any new tech there’s risks which -’

     Cara shouted in her face. ‘If it’s so bloody brilliant, why didn’t you get in there instead of me?’ she slapped her head, sending a small cloud of tiny hairs and dandruff up. ‘Thanks a bunch. Thanks a fecking bunch, Aestetica.’

     Simon seemed to have learned his lesson, finally shutting up. 

     Cara turned to go, but was accosted by Rob, who held his phone in front of her face. ‘Cara, so this didn’t exactly go as planned, do you have anything to say?’ 

     ‘How about you get that thing out of my face before I shove it up your arse?!’ She knocked it out of his hand, sending it into The Pod. 

     Rob looked at her, wounded. 

     ‘And you!’ She called out to the others still filming her. ‘All of you’s can piss off! What do you want me to do? Do a little baldie dance for you, so you can show all your friends?’ Cara did a goofy, uncoordinated dance, waving her arms out.

Her head down, she pushed past the group, and rushed towards the exit, feeling her cheeks burn. 

Well done Cara, for just making even more of a dick of yourself, she thought.