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The Greaser Challenge 2 - Chap. 3, 4 & 5 by HairF***er

Chapter 3 - And The First Loser Is...

In one part of the studio, a meticulously crafted set resembling a 1950s diner had been constructed, with checkered linoleum floors and four cozy booths upholstered in bright red vinyl, a big chrome jukebox standing in one corner.

The walls were dressed with posters advertising Coca-Cola and hair pomade.

In each of the four booths stood an easel, each holding a large slide puzzle measuring about three feet square. The image on each puzzle depicted a colorful drawing of an orange tin of Murray's Superior Hairdressing Pomade, but fragmented into smaller squares and now totally muddled.

The announcer commanded the four contestants, Sawyer, Max, Eros, and Thorne, to proceed to the diner and stand beside one of the four easels.

Each of the four handsome men understood all too well what was at stake: whatever happened, when this round was over, one of them would be heading to the Forfeit Station to have their hair totally transformed in ways they daren't even imagine!

As the contestants gathered around their respective easel, the announcer's voice echoed through the studio again:

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our roadside diner where our contestants will be facing their first challenge!"

The four slick-haired men exchanged nervous glances.

"You have five minutes to complete your puzzle," the announcer declared.

"The first, second, and third contestant to finish will be safe from elimination!"

However," he continued with a laugh, "the contestant who finishes last will face a terrible fate! The loser will be led directly to the Forfeit Station where he will undergo a stunning transformation at the merciless hands of our resident Stylist!"

The contestants looked at each other and wondered which of them was soon going to be rendered completely unrecognizible.

As a buzzer announced the start of the round, the four men sprang into action, frantically moving pieces of the puzzle around as the audience roared its support.

Squares were furiously slid and shuffled, creating a flurry of movement as the contestants raced against the clock.

Thorne's hands moved with precision, his strategic mind quickly piecing together the puzzle. Sawyer's mechanical expertise served him well as he deftly manipulated the pieces into place.

But Max's mind went blank. He couldn't even remember what a tin of Murray's Superior looked like despite using it in his own hair numerous times before switching to the pure petroleum jelly!

His heart pounded in his chest, his palms slick with nervous sweat as he stared at the jumbled pieces before him.

The pressure of failure weighed heavily on his shoulders, knowing that his financial woes hung in the balance.

But it wasn't just the threat of debt that gnawed at him; it was the fear of what losing would mean for his appearance, for his slicked-back haircut. Max's stomach lurched. Even his prominent black eyebrows could be a target for the Stylist's sadistic ministrations!

With each passing second, Max's frustration mounted, the puzzle seeming to mock his efforts. He cursed under his breath, fingers trembling as he struggled to find the right placement for each piece.

The Stylist's reputation preceded him, and Max dreaded the idea of his carefully cultivated image being brutally degraded, let alone in front of an audience and on national television.

As the seconds ticked by, Thorne let out a triumphant exclamation. His puzzle was complete. Sawyer followed closely behind, relief evident on his face at having escaped the Stylist's attentions, for now.

Max redoubled his attention. He glanced across at Eros and discovered that the long-haired fool had nearly completed the picture!

There were mere seconds remaining.

Just as he turned to renew his efforts he heard a sigh of annoyance and frustration from Eros.

The handsome hippy was trying to manoeuvre his last piece into position but it had become wedged against another part of the puzzle and refused to move!

Then, as the countdown reached zero, Max slide the final piece of his puzzle into place.

He'd done it. He'd completed the challenge! And Eros had lost.

The announcer's voice came through the studio speakers again. "The results of the first challenge are in! Those securing their place in the second round are Thorne, Sawyer and Max!"

The three winning contestants breathed a sigh of relief, their expressions a mixture of triumph and gratitude.

"But alas," the announcer's voice took on a more somber tone, "there can only be one loser in this round. And unfortunately that person is... Eros."

Eros himself stood frozen next to his easel, a mixture of disbelief and a growing sense of horror flickering across his bearded features.

"As the loser of the challenge," the announcer continued, "Eros will now have the dubious honor of being the first of tonight's contestants to face the Stylist at the Forfeit Station."

All eyes turned to unhappy Eros, sympathy and curiosity mingling as the audience awaited to see what humiliations the Stylist would inflict upon his handsome, hirsute appearance.

Without hesitation, the Stylist strode over to the losing contestant carrying a leather collar and leash in his hands.

He reached out and deftly clipped the leather collar around Eros's neck before attaching the short leash.

Eros's humiliation had begun.

"This way, hippy!", barked the Stylist and with a sudden yank of the lead he led Eros to the Forfeit Station.

Eros stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden movement. He had no choice but to follow. His heart raced and his ears burned with embarrassment as he was marched to the Forfeit Station, the weight of his impending transformation heavy on his mind.

With each step, Eros felt the eyes of the audience upon him, their whispers of anticipation echoing in his ears. He knew that his humiliation would be broadcast for all to see, his beloved appearance soon to be nothing more than a memory.

Eros felt a cold sweat break out across his brow. He knew that whatever awaited him at the Forfeit Station would be a grotesque spectacle for all to see, a public display of his defeat that would be watched by millions of people around the entire country.

With a final, dramatic flourish, the Stylist pushed Eros into the first of the three barber's chairs.

As Eros braced himself for what lay ahead, he couldn't help but wonder how he had ended up in this position, and what would be left of his appearance once the Stylist had finished.

Chapter 4 - Beginnings

Facing out towards the audience Eros could see nothing but a sea of expectant faces. His skin prickled with self-consciousness, knowing all those eyes were fixed on his hair, his beard, everyone wondering where the Stylist would begin.

The Stylist removed the leather collar from around Eros's neck and floated a crisp white cape around his broad shoulders, lifting up the greased hair at the back of his head and fastening the cape snugly at the back.

He then reclined the chair, causing Eros's head to rest over the porcelain sink, his shoulder-length hair falling down into the white porcelain bowl.

The Stylist roughly grabbed a fistful of the thick, lanolin-soaked hair and rubbed it between his fingers. "This will never do," he sighed. "Time to bid farewell to all this grease, hippy boy, or the bleach won't stand a chance".

Eros baulked at the word 'bleach'... What the heck... what nightmare did the Stylist have planned??

Grabbing a bottle of clarifying shampoo from the counter, the Stylist massaged a generous handful into Eros's hair.

"We can't have this pomade getting in the way of our artistic endeavors, can we?" he said, as he lathered up the oiled locks.

As warm water cascaded through the foamy hair and over Eros's scalp, he couldn't help but wonder what the Stylist had in store for his brown mane, or even for his beard and mustache!

His handsome hair and beard were aspects of his appearance that he'd come to think of as his tools of seduction. He could hardly imagine them being altered or transformed in any significant way.

The Stylist repeated the process several times and eventually Eros's long dark hair lay wet against the white porcelain, squeaky clean and free of its greasy sheen, primed for the next stage of the makeover.

The Stylist raised the chair back up from the sink and roughly towel-dried Eros's dripping locks. He then wasted no time in preparing the bleach mixture.

"Now, for the fun part," he grinned, dipping a brush into the creamy concoction.

Eros let out an involuntary groan of dismay as he felt the Stylist start to dab the bleach into his hair.

With deliberate strokes, the Stylist applied the bleaching agent to Eros's entire head of shoulder-length hair, ensuring every strand was thoroughly plastered from tip to root.

It had an overpowering smell that made Eros's eyes water. Even worse was the uncomfortable burning sensation he could feel spreading over his scalp as the bleach obliterated his hair's natural pigmentation.

Eros wanted to turn around in the chair and look in the mirror behind him but he knew he couldn't.

He had no choice but to sit, staring out into the audience, as the Stylist inflicted irreverisble changes on his appearance. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment but he knew that the worse was yet to come.

Eros groaned again as he felt the Stylist start to work the bleach into his thick beard and mustache.

"Can't leave out this hairy masterpiece," the Stylist commented with amusement, applying the bleach to the dense growth of dark-brown facial hair. "We're going for a complete overhaul, Eros!"

Eros closed his eyes. Whatever he imagined might happen should he end up at the Forfeit Station, he now realized that the reality was going to be much worse.

As the bleach began it transformative work, he could almost feel his confidence and charisma getting stripped away along with the beautiful natural brown coloring of his hair.

Once the hair, beard and mustache were totally slathered in bleach, the Stylist took a step back.

"Just one other thing..." he said, almost to himself.

And then, to Eros's horror, the Stylist took up the brush and carefully dabbed the bleach onto both of his thick brown eyebrows!

"Did you really think I was going to let you leave without transforming these two dark caterpillars?" he remarked as the audience laughed.

"Now we wait," the Stylist announced.

15 minutes passed, then 30, then 45...

An interval had been called and some of the spectators had left their chairs to stretch their legs, use the rest room or get a drink from the bar.

But now they were back and they were starting to grow restless.

The Stylist looked at his watch. "Long enough!" he announced, and reclining the chair back towards the sink, he washed the bleach from Eros's hair, mustache, beard and brows.

As expected, the caustic chemical had stripped Eros's entire head of hair of its former hue, replacing it with a deeply unattractive brassy yellow.

Only his eyelashes and dark-brown eyes gave any indication of what his natural hair color had once been.

"There we have it!" the Stylist declared to the audience, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "A clean slate, ready for the next phase of our little makeover journ...".

He paused.

"Oh..." he said, and leaned in to closely examine Eros's newly-bleached hair...

"It seems we've encountered a bit of a problem," the Stylist remarked, his voice filled with mock concern.

Eros's could feel his stomach falling into his open-toed sandals.

The Stylist slowly picked up a ten-inch strand of Eros's forelock between thumb and index finger and showed it off to the audience.

The hair looked dull, brittle and strangely warped. Almost frizzy.

"It looks like we may have gotten a little carried away with the bleach," the Stylist admitted as he inspected the damage the chemicals had wrought on Eros's once-healthy hair.

He casually ran a hand through Eros's damp, bleach-damaged mane and dragged his fingers through the transformed beard before stroking the bright yellow eyebrows with his thumb.

"Yes, it appears our bleaching session may have lasted a little too long..." he continued. "But who needs healthy hair when you can have a little... character."

The Stylist disappeared from Eros's view and selected a couple of bottles from the counter which he emptied into two plastic bowls. It was hair dye: neon green and vibrant pink.

Eros looked ahead, ashen-faced, as the Stylist applied the neon green coloring to his bleached locks.

As the green dye seeped deep into every strand of Eros's already ruined hair, the Stylist's attention turned to his beard which was quickly covered with the vibrant pink dye.

To Eros's ever-lasting embarrassment, the Stylist then coated one of Eros's bleached eyebrows in green dye and the other in pink dye.

Chapter 5 - Send in the Clowns

As the green and pink dyes were left to soak into the shafts of Eros's hair, beard and eyebrows, he could hardly believe the direction the makeover had taken.

Here he was, on national television, with his hair, beard, mustache and eyebrows wrecked by bleach before being dyed outlandish colors. It was like something out of a nightmare!

After 20 minutes, the Stylist reclined the chair back over the sink and quickly shampooed all the dye from Eros's hair, beard and brows before reaching for the hair dryer and a brush.

Despite the damage inflicted by the harsh bleach, the Stylist managed to coax the fried strands into some semblance of order, totally obliterating Eros's right-side parting and creating a new one running down the exact center of his head.

The Stylist then turned the chair to face the mirror, giving Eros the first glimpse of his radical transformation.

Eros's mouthed dropped open, his eyes wide with shock.

Surely it wasn't possible. With his hair and beard now bleached and dyed, Eros had been rendered almost completely unrecognizible from the man he had been just a couple of hours before.

His formerly lustrous mane of oiled, shoulder-length dark-brown hair was now an eye-searing shade of neon green. Parted in the middle, the frizzy strands hung down on either side of his head like two lurid green curtains.

His beloved beard and mustache were now colored an equally ludicrous shade of vivid pink. He looked more like a character from a cartoon than a contestant on a reality TV show!

But perhaps the most absurd aspect of all, the part which horrified Eros the most, were his once-handsome eyebrows, one now dyed a garish green, the other a ridiculous pink.

As the audience applauded, Eros sat there in the barber's chair, gawking at his own reflection, at his hair, at his beard, at those ludicrous eyebrows.

He couldn't help but feel a profound sense of degradation at the sheer spectacle he had allowed himself to become, and he still didn't have the money to pay off the sheriff for dallying with his daughter!

He felt something within him shrivel as realized that he'd ruined his good looks for absolutely nothing.

The Stylist stood behind Eros, his hands on the other man's shoulders, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

"So what do you think?" asked the Stylist, picking up a lock of the ghastly green hair on the back of Eros's head before bringing it up to his nose and sniffing it.

Eros looked back at his transformed look.

"But it's... it's horrible," he stammered, almost to himself as much as anyone else.

The Stylist laughed.

"Ah, so the client isn't happy!" he exclaimed, addressing the audience behind him.

"I can make some changes if you wish?" he suggested, turning back to Eros.

"Yes, change it! Please! Change it!" pleaded Eros.

"Very well," agreed the Stylist. "We'll make some alterations. Just for you. Let no-one say I don't listen to my clients."

He reassuringly patted Eros's shoulder.

The Stylist rummaged about on the counter before producing an elasticated hair-band.

He then gathered up in one hand all of the ten-inch long, neon-green hair on top of Eros's head before deftly securing it near the roots with the elasticated band.

The resulting green top-knot rose up from Eros's scalp like the plummage of some exotic bird.

Eros looked askance at this new development unsure where it might be leading.

The Stylist then selected the sharp barbering scissors from the counter, raising them theatrically into air and opening and closing the steel blades for the audience to see.

Then, holding the scissors in his right hand while pulling the top-knot erect in his left, he casually, brutally, severed the bound hair as close to Eros's scalp as possible, throwing the shorn locks still secured by the hair-band into the hippy's lap.

Eros had let out a surprised yelp as he felt the scissors hack their way through the prized hair on top of his head, and now he looked down in horror at the frizzy green top-knot lying on the white cape.

This was not what he had in mind when he told the Stylist he wanted a change!

The audience gasped in delight, a ripple of applause echoing through the studio as the spectators signalled their appreciation for this unexpected development.

The Stylist then grabbed a pair of clippers from the counter, removed the plastic guard and flipped them on. With one hand firmly holding the back of his green head, the Stylist placed the bare clippers at Eros's forehead, right in the middle of his thick hairline.

The Stylist let the chattering sharp teeth ride there for a few seconds, letting Eros feel the powerful vibrations through his skull.

He waited.

The audience held its breath.

Eros met the Stylist's eyes in the mirror.

Just as he was about to say something, to beg, to plead for his hair to be spared any further desecration, the Stylist slowly pulled the clippers through the neon-green hairline, over the top of Eros's dome, and all the way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck leaving a wide swathe of naked white skin in their wake.

Eros almost fainted in shock as he surveyed the irreverisble devastation that the clippers had created down the center of his head.

He realized then, for perhaps the first time, that his once-treasured hair was utterly, irreversibly ruined.

The Stylist wasted little time in clearing the rest of the hair from the top of Eros's head.

Once done, Eros's clipper-shaved nude dome rose up from the shoulder-length ring of intact dyed hair like a white hill-top surrounded by a green forest.

After retrieving a bowl of hot shaving foam, the Stylist worked it into the almost-invisible green stubble left behind by the clippers. It was then a simple job of using the straight razor to shave the top of Eros's head slick-bald.

Eros could only look on in discomfort as his totally naked scalp was exposed to view for the first time in his life.

Once done, the Stylist wiped off the smooth, hairless dome with a towel and gave it a hard 'slap' with the flat of his hand, much to the amusement of the audience.

"Happy now?" asked the Stylist, looking at Eros's reflection in the mirror.

Eros just gaped in silence.

"Maybe it just needs one final change then..." mused the Stylist.

He picked up the clippers and proceeded to remove Eros's pink beard, buzzing it off completely and retaining just the thick pink mustache on his upper lip.

The Stylist then reached over to the counter, pulled open a draw and retrieved a red, foam ball. It was a clown's nose, the sort of thing you'd see in a circus big top.

He slowly and ceremoniously placed the red ball on Eros's nose.

"And we're done!" announced the Stylist.

"Behold, the Clown!"

Eros stared in disbelief at the glistening hairless pate: the laughable fringe of neon-green hair that hung down at the sides until it touched his shoulders; the ridiculous pink mustache; the ruined eyebrows, one pink, one green; the red clown's nose.

It was worse than he could ever have imagined!

There was no trace of the thick long hair that once sprouted from the top of his scalp. It had been completely eradicated, replaced with virgin white skin that glared pale against his tanned face.

It looked like he was suffering from very advanced male-pattern baldness, a look made infinitely worse by that ring of fried green hair, that bright pink mustache and the absurd, mis-matched eyebrows.

With a flourish the Stylist removed the barber's cape, sending the buzzed hair, the severed top-knot and the cut clumps of Eros's pink beard onto the studio floor.

As he turned Eros away from the mirror and back towards the audience, the watching crowd clapped and whooped their support.

Eros would have no choice but to sit there, with the clown's nose in the center of his face, for the remainder of the episode and stew in the sheer humiliation of it all.

He glanced across at the two empty barber's chairs next to him.

Who, he wondered, would be joining him next at the Forfeit Station?

Sawyer, Max and Thorne - three men were left - and only one could win.

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