The Barber Belt - Rhett’s Return (Part 2 by buzzbro

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Chapter 1: The Journey and Growing Unease

The morning sun had climbed higher, washing the streets in golden light as Chloe navigated the familiar roads in their neighbourhood with calm precision. Rhett sat in the back seat, adjusting the brim of his baseball cap, occasionally glancing at the reflection of his wild hair in the rearview mirror.

"So… Mum," Rhett began casually, "I was thinking, maybe we could try one of those barbers you saw on the sites yesterday—the one with the fade and the design options? Or even the one that does the modern mullets?" He leaned forward slightly, excitement creeping into his voice.

Chloe smiled softly, her eyes on the road. "Hmm… actually, I heard about a place not too far from here," she said. "It’s been recommended by some other mums—really popular, very professional. You might like it even better than those you looked at yesterday."

Rhett perked up immediately. "Oh, really? That sounds awesome! Do they do those cool trims like I showed you?"

"Yes," Chloe replied smoothly, "they can do styles just like that… or even better. They’ve got great reviews. You’ll love it." Her words were calm, assuring, meant to soothe, and for a moment, Rhett’s nerves settled.

As they drove, they passed busy streets lined with local barbershops. Rhett’s eyes flicked over the signs. "Wait—look at that one! That’s the one I showed you yesterday. The one with the neon lights and the glass front. Why aren’t we stopping there?" He frowned. "And that one too! That was on the site I was looking at!"

Chloe maintained her calm tone, keeping her eyes on the road. "These places are fine, but I think the one I mentioned will be better for you. Trust me, lots of other parents take their boys there. It’s excellent."

Rhett’s frown softened slightly. "Okay… I guess. Sounds good." He leaned back in the seat, feeling the thrill of anticipation begin to grow again, though a subtle flutter of nervousness lingered in his stomach.

Chloe continued chatting with him to keep his mind occupied. "So, what do you think you’ll do with the top? Still want it long and textured? Or maybe something sleeker?"

"I think… maybe keep some length, like we looked at online. Fades on the sides, longer on top, maybe a slight fringe." Rhett’s fingers ran through his thick hair absently, excitement mounting as he imagined the transformation.

"Perfect," Chloe said, smiling, but inside, her thoughts remained focused on the plan. The appointment at the Barber Belt was confirmed, yet Rhett had no inkling of what awaited him.

The car turned a familiar corner, and Rhett’s brow furrowed slightly. "Mum… these streets… I know this area. It’s near—" He paused, hesitation creeping into his voice.

"Yep," Chloe replied, keeping her tone light, "we’re getting close. Just a few more blocks and we’ll be there. I promise, you’ll really like it."

Rhett’s excitement mixed with a whisper of unease as he noticed something strange. On the sidewalk, a small group of boys walked past, accompanied by their parents. Their heads were completely shaved or buzzed short. Some looked glum, staring at the ground, holding small goody bags. The parents marched proudly beside them, chatting and smiling, oblivious to the boys’ discomfort.

Rhett leaned forward, squinting. "Mum… are we… are we close?" His voice was tentative, tinged with curiosity and a hint of worry.

Chloe kept her eyes straight ahead, her hands tightening slightly on the wheel. "Yes, just a little further," she said cautiously, her voice controlled. "It’s a place in the neighbourhood, really well-recommended. You’ll see. Everything’s fine."

Rhett tilted his head, the tension in his stomach tightening. "But… that’s not like you said before. You said it was a barber shop like the others. Why are you being so… vague?"

Chloe said nothing, simply focused on the road, her jaw set. Her tension was subtle but noticeable. She didn’t confirm or deny anything, allowing a sense of ambiguity to hang in the air.

Rhett’s unease deepened. More boys appeared on the pavement as they continued along the street. Their heads were bald or buzzed, shoulders slumping, eyes downcast. Each boy clutched a small bag, the same as the others, and was quietly shepherded by their parents, who spoke in low tones, some smiling but others appearing strict and commanding.

A sinking realization began to creep over Rhett. His heart raced, his palms felt clammy. He shifted in the seat, his excitement now tinged with fear. His mind raced with the possibility that this "modern barber" might not be what he had imagined. Panic crept in silently, unspoken, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Rhett’s stomach twisted as the clues piled up—the shaved heads, the solemn expressions, the goody bags, the parents’ firm control. A sense of dread settled over him. He swallowed hard, gripping the edge of his seat, and whispered under his breath, "Oh no… Mum… what’s happening?"

Chloe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She maintained a calm exterior, but internally she felt the familiar tension of the moment. She knew the approaching reality would shock him—but she also knew it was exactly what she had planned.

Chapter 2: The Return to the Barber Belt

The car slowed as Chloe turned off the main road onto a quieter street. Rhett’s stomach churned with nerves, and he tried again, peering at his mother through the rear-view mirror.

"Mum… where are we going now? Are we stopping at a barber?" he asked, voice shaking and uncertain.

Chloe kept her eyes on the road, her jaw tight, giving nothing away. "You’ll see soon enough, Rhett. Just sit still."

Rhett frowned, frustration building. "I know some really good barbers! Are we going there? Please tell me!"

Chloe said nothing, her silence only fueling Rhett’s anxiety.

The car turned down a side street, and suddenly a large modern building came into view. Rhett’s heart sank. The sleek glass façade gleamed in the morning sun, a bold sign above the entrance read: "Barber Belt â€" Precision Haircuts for Boys." Colorful banners flapped gently in the breeze, advertising "Professional Styling for Young Gentlemen."

Rhett’s eyes widened. The building looked identical to the place he and Rian had visited in June. The memories flooded back—the bright fluorescent lights, the humming of the conveyor chairs, the sharp buzz of clippers, and the feeling of helplessness he had experienced while sitting in the automated chair.

Chloe’s eyes caught a smaller sign near the entrance offering a monthly subscription for boys’ haircuts. It suggested regular appointments, priority scheduling, and guaranteed precision cuts every visit. Her mind ran through the logistics—how convenient it could be for Rhett’s swimming routine, how neat and practical his hair would remain, and the ease of having him prepared for the start of every school term. The idea intrigued her, but she pushed it aside for now, focusing on the immediate task.

Rhett’s voice trembled as he finally realized the truth. "M-Mum… no… no! That’s… that’s the Barber Belt!" His hands gripped the edges of the seat, knuckles white. "We… we said we’d never go back! I hate that place! Rian hates it too! I’m not going in!"

The car pulled into the large parking lot, half-empty compared to their previous visit. Rows of marked spaces surrounded the building, and the faint hum of activity from inside carried over. Boys and their parents occasionally passed by, some with full heads of hair, others with their heads freshly shaved, some clutching small goody bags, faces glum. The sight sent a shiver down Rhett’s spine.

Chloe parked, taking a deep breath. She turned to Rhett, her tone serious, almost stern. "Rhett… this is the barber shop I’m taking you to. You agreed yesterday, and it will be for the best. Your hair will be neat, and it will help you with swimming."

Rhett’s face went pale. His jaw dropped, tears forming instantly. "No! I… I won’t! I can’t! I said never again! I hate it! I hate that place!" He wailed, curling slightly into himself, trying to hide behind the car door.

Chloe’s patience thinned. "Rhett! Grow up! Hair will grow back! This is for your own good. Stop crying and get out!"

"I don’t care! I’m not going! I hate it! I hate the buzzes! I hate the chairs! I hate it all! I hate you!" His sobs became louder, echoing across the nearly empty lot.

Chloe’s face hardened. Enough was enough. She stepped around to Rhett’s side of the car and yanked the door open. Chloe began to unbuckle Rhett from his seat. Her grip on his arm was firm, pulling him firmly from the seat. "Rhett Johnson! This stops now! You are going in there, and that’s final! I am sick of your tantrums. Do you understand?"

Rhett continued to struggle, tears streaming down his cheeks, but Chloe cleaned him up before entering the building, wiping his tears and snot with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket. She carefully brushed strands of his hair back into place, removing his trendy baseball cap and setting it aside on the car seat. The warmth of her hand on his cheek calmed him slightly, though the panic still lingered in his chest.

Together, they walked toward the Barber Belt building. Rhett’s legs felt heavy, his stomach a knot of anxiety and dread. Each step closer to the entrance made his heart race faster, but he began to realize that resisting was futile. Chloe placed her hands on Rhett’s shoulders, forcing him along towards the main doors. Her grip was steady and unrelenting, her presence both comforting and firm.

Rhett’s shoulders slumped slightly, a sign of reluctant submission. He knew there was no other choice. The sliding doors of the Barber Belt loomed ahead, gleaming under the morning sun. The faint buzz of clippers and the sight of boys waiting in chairs through the glass made his stomach turn.

Chloe squeezed his shoulder gently. "It’s going to be fine, Rhett. Trust me. Just one step at a time."

Rhett exhaled shakily, the reality settling in. There was no turning back now.

Chapter 3: Check-In and the Waiting Room

The sliding doors of the Barber Belt whooshed open with a soft mechanical hiss as Chloe tugged Rhett inside. The interior immediately hit him with a wave of sensory overload. The smell of disinfectant mingled with faint traces of hair clippings, carried on the cool air of the air-conditioned space. Rows of sleek chairs lined up along the walls reflected the overhead fluorescent lights, and the soft hum of the conveyor system could be heard, punctuated by the occasional buzz of clippers from the far end of the building. A faint mechanical whir of the rotating chairs and the clicking of buttons created a strange rhythm that seemed to echo across the polished floor.

Rhett froze mid-step, eyes wide. Memories from their last visit in June resurfaced—the chairs, the flashing lights, the tight navy capes, the humming conveyor, and the echo of boys’ voices in fear and excitement alike.

Chloe didn’t give him a chance to protest. She gripped his arm firmly and steered him to the check-in desk, where a receptionist sat behind a neat counter, smiling politely.

"Good morning! You must be Rhett Johnson," the receptionist said, her voice friendly, clipboard in hand. "Here for your appointment today?"

Rhett’s voice came out small and shaky. "Yeah… I guess…"

Chloe interjected firmly, "Yes, we’re here to check him in. Appointment for a haircut." She handed over her ID and the paperwork she had prepared.

Rhett groaned. "Mum… I told you I didn’t want a buzz cut! I said a barber, not… not here!"

Chloe shot him a stern glance. "Rhett, we discussed this. You’re getting your hair tidy and manageable, that’s final."

The receptionist looked at Rhett sympathetically. "I understand, young man. It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but you’ll be fine. Just follow the staff, and they’ll guide you."

Rhett clenched his fists. "I don’t want this…"

Chloe gave a half-smile, half-sigh, leaning a little closer to the receptionist. "Could we make sure he just has a very short haircut today? Nothing too dramatic, please." She deliberately avoided using the word "shave."

The receptionist nodded. "Absolutely, we can do a short, neat cut. It will be quick and precise." A knowing smile and a nod passed between Chloe and the receptionist.

Chloe glanced at a bright poster on the desk advertising the Monthly Haircut Subscription. Curious, she asked the receptionist, "Can you tell me more about this?"

The receptionist explained in detail. "The subscription is designed for boys who need regular hair maintenance. You sign up once, and your son has a guaranteed appointment each month without needing to book individually. We ensure the haircut is exactly the same each time, neat and consistent. It works out cheaper overall than paying for individual appointments—$25 per month instead of $30-35 per visit. Most boys here, especially those in school sports clubs or JROTC, are on the plan. It’s very convenient for parents and keeps hair manageable."

Chloe considered this for a moment, glancing at Rhett. He was frowning, scowling, arms crossed.

"Alright, we’ll sign him up," Chloe said, scribbling her signature on the form. "I think this will be best for him."

Rhett’s eyes widened. "Wait! Monthly? Mum, no! I don’t want that! That’s…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, tears starting to pool in his eyes.

Chloe’s tone hardened slightly. "Rhett, enough. You don’t get to decide this. You’re going to keep your hair neat, and this will make things easier for school and swimming. Stop complaining."

The receptionist chimed in gently. "Lots of boys here are on the subscription, Rhett. It makes things easier, and the barbers know exactly what style to give you each month. You won’t have to worry about it."

Rhett slumped slightly, grumbling under his breath.

Once the paperwork was complete, the receptionist handed Rhett a small laminated ticket. It had his name, a client code, and spaces for the Assessment Barber to write his haircut details. Rhett stared at it, unsure what to do with it, and mismanaged it slightly, letting it flop in his hands.

"Hold onto that, please," the receptionist said. "The staff will check it when you go through the waiting areas."

Before Rhett could protest further, a staff member appeared beside him. "Rhett Johnson? Follow me, please," the young man said gently but firmly.

Chloe knelt briefly to Rhett’s level, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Stay calm. I’ll be right in the parents’ waiting room. I’ll see you soon," she said, a tinge of guilt in her voice.

Rhett’s heart sank as he was led away. "Mum… I… I don’t want this…"

Chloe watched as the staff member guided Rhett toward the boys’ waiting area behind a glass partition. She felt a pang of guilt, her chest tightening, but reminded herself firmly that a very short haircut was in his best interest.

Rhett, meanwhile, sat on a chair in the reception waiting area, gripping the laminated ticket tightly. Anger, fear, and betrayal twisted in his stomach. The hum of the conveyor chairs, the faint buzz of distant clippers, and the low murmur of boys’ voices intensified his apprehension. He could feel each step he had to take as an inevitable march toward the chair where he would face the Barber Belt again.

Chloe turned to leave for the parents’ waiting area, her own feelings a tangle of guilt and conviction. As she walked away, she glanced back at Rhett, seeing his small, tense figure being guided down the corridor. She whispered to herself, "It’s for the best, Rhett… just trust me."

Chapter 4: The Assessment Room

Rhett sat rigidly in the boys’ waiting area, holding his laminated ticket tightly. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and shampoo, with a lingering hint of hair clippings from earlier in the day. The soft hum of the air conditioning mixed with the distant metallic clatter of the Barber Belt in operation, producing a low, mechanical rhythm that made his stomach flutter with nerves.

Other boys were called forward one by one. Each disappeared behind the heavy, gray metal door to the Assessment Room, which closed with a deep, echoing thunk, leaving the waiting room silent except for the occasional shuffle of feet or nervous cough. Rhett watched as each boy returned briefly after their assessment, visibly tense or trembling.

A staff member appeared, clipboard in hand. "Rhett Johnson, please follow me."

Rhett’s legs felt like lead as he stood, following the staff member through the door and down a narrow, brightly lit corridor. The walls were painted a crisp white, accented with photographs of boys at different stages of the Barber Belt process. The heavy metal door at the end of the corridor loomed like a threshold into the unknown.

"Sit here and wait," the staff member instructed. "The barber will be with you shortly."

Inside, two boys were being assessed.

The first, a 9-year-old, sat on the tall leather assessment chair. His legs dangled nervously above the footrest, sneakers brushing against the polished metal base. The barber’s hands moved slowly over the boy’s thick, dark hair, feeling the crown, the sides, and the back of the head. Each brush of the fingers against the scalp made the boy flinch slightly. The metallic shine of scissors resting nearby, the faint buzz of a trimmer on a neighbouring station, and the subtle scent of disinfectant in the air heightened his anxiety.

The barber tilted the boy’s head gently to the side, fingers pressing lightly on his temples and nape. "We’ll be making this neat and smooth," the barber murmured in a calm, neutral tone. Then, after a careful examination, the barber looked down at the ticket and marked it. "A #00000 head shave is what you’ll be receiving," he said matter-of-factly.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened, but only a strangled "No!" escaped. He tried to wriggle free, legs kicking slightly, fingers gripping the chair tightly. A staff member moved swiftly, lifting him from the chair and guiding him through the door to the Caping Room waiting area. The boy’s chest heaved, heart pounding audibly in his ears, hands clutching the armrests torn away as he was dragged into the door leading to the Caping Room waiting area.

Next, an 11-year-old boy climbed onto the chair, trying to hide his nerves behind a forced calm expression. The barber ran fingers over the hair, feeling the thick growth at the back and the uneven length on top. Each touch sent tiny shivers down the boy’s spine, as the sterile smell of disinfectant, the cold leather beneath him, and the soft rustle of the barber’s coat reminded him of the inevitability of what was coming.

The barber’s hands moved methodically, brushing through the boys head, checking the hairline, and analysing the crown. "You’ll receive a #1 buzz cut," the barber explained, marking it on the ticket. The boy exhaled slowly, relief and apprehension mixing in his chest. He was guided to the Caping Room waiting area, walking tensely through the door.

Then it was Rhett’s turn. "Rhett Johnson, assessment chair," the barber called.

Rhett’s legs felt like jelly as he climbed into the tall leather seat, his fingers gripping the armrests tightly. The seat smelled faintly of disinfectant and lingering hair clippings, and the metal footrest pressed cold against his shoes. He felt small and exposed under the bright overhead lighting, the mirror in front reflecting a distorted view of himself and the waiting chairs behind him.

The barber’s hands moved over Rhett’s thick hair, lifting strands, feeling the dense crown and sides, brushing hair aside. Each touch made Rhett shiver involuntarily, the light pressure on his scalp heightening his awareness of his vulnerability.

"Rhett," the barber said after a few tense minutes, "you will receive a #00000 head shave."

Rhett’s stomach dropped. "No! That’s… I don’t want that!" His voice cracked as panic surged through him. He felt the leather chair cold against his legs, the sterile smell overwhelming, and his heart hammering so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it.

A staff member stepped forward immediately, gently but firmly lifting him from the chair. Rhett’s sneakers scraped against the polished metal floor as he was guided through the heavy door into the Caping Room waiting area. He felt his eyes start to tear up again, memories of his last visit whizzing around his head, with his hair sitting heavenly on top of his head as a stark reminder of what he is about to lose. However, he began to accept that he could not influence what was about to happen and begrudgingly accepted his fate.

Chapter 5: The Waiting Room

Rhett’s legs felt stiff as he sank further into the navy vinyl chair, gripping his ticket like a lifeline. The room around him hummed with a faint mechanical undertone—the distant whir of clippers, the hum of air conditioning, and the occasional squeak of chair legs on the polished tile floor. Fluorescent lights reflected off the pale walls, making everything feel sharper, colder, more clinical.

Several boys were already seated, their expressions ranging from anxious to resigned. Each boy knew what haircut they were to receive: either a #00000 head shave or a #1 buzz cut. Those who had been to the Barber Belt previously displayed a mixture of stoicism and resigned awareness, while first-timers fidgeted nervously.

The boys were all still dressed in the clothes they had arrived in. Some wore jeans and t-shirts, others in shorts and hoodies, their sneakers resting unevenly on the polished floor. The variation in clothing added to the sense that each boy was trying to maintain some individuality before the process stripped it away.

The boy sitting next to Rhett, Leo, dark-haired and around 9 years old, twisted his hands nervously in his lap, wearing a grey hoodie over a white tee and navy joggers. "Hi… I’m Leo. Have you been here before?" he asked quietly, voice almost trembling.

"No… last time I came was with my brother," Rhett admitted. His voice felt small in the cavernous room. "My mum organised it, and we were told a couple of days before. I thought I’d be okay… but it was still intense. I got a #00000 last time. This time… well, here I am. And yes," he added firmly, almost to reassure himself, "I’m getting a #00000 this time too."

Leo’s eyes widened at the revelation. "A #00000? Oh… that’s me too," he said, whispering. "Last time I got a #1, and this is… my first time getting a head shave." He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, but the nervous tremor in his hands betrayed him.

Another boy, Ethan, closer to 11, with a diamond stud in his left ear and a silver chain necklace, interjected with a sigh, trying to calm the younger ones. He wore black shorts and a bright red polo shirt, sneakers scuffed from summer play.

"I… I’m getting a #00000 today," he said, voice steady, but his fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap. "Last time, right before the summer holidays, I came here and got a #1. My mum took me for that haircut because… well, she said it was time I looked neat for school. This time, though… it’s different. She’s taken me back as punishment for breaking a window playing baseball," he admitted, voice tightening slightly. "So yeah… my haircut today is a #00000, just like she requested."

A smaller boy, maybe 8, with wide, fearful eyes, wearing a striped t-shirt and khaki shorts, whispered, "I… I’m getting a #1 this time. First time here… I don’t know what to expect." His voice quivered as he glanced at Ethan and Leo.

Rhett nodded slowly, trying to digest the information. His stomach churned, a mixture of anxiety and memory—the sensation of the capes brushing against his neck, the antiseptic smell, the hum of the clippers.

Rhett announced quietly, almost to reassure the younger boys, "I… I know. I’m getting a #00000. Last time I had it done with my brother, and it was organised by my mum—we knew a couple of days before. I thought I’d be okay, but… it wasn’t easy. This time, I didn’t get a choice at all. She told me I was going to a barber shop to get a modern style. I didn’t know this would happen. The clippers are rough, the cape feels heavy, and you can’t stop anything from happening. But… it’s over quick, and it’s fine afterward. Promise."

Leo, Ethan, and the 8-year-old boy exchanged glances, each trying to calm themselves through the shared conversation. Ethan added softly, "I know it sounds scary… but once it’s done, it’s actually not so bad. My head was #1 last time, and today… #00000. It’s shocking at first, but it’s over fast. Swimming’s easier too—goggles don’t slip, no hair sticks to your face. You get used to it."

The room grew quiet again as a staff member called a boy’s name. The conversation froze instantly. The quivering 8-year-old wiped his tears on his sleeve, shivered, and rose slowly. "That’s me…" he whispered, eyes wide with fear. A staff member guided him forward, their hands firm but gentle. The boy’s feet shuffled across the tile floor toward the heavy double doors leading into the Caping Room. Rhett heard the boy’s small sniffle as the doors thudded shut behind him.

The room felt colder afterward, the tense silence pressing down. The remaining boys exchanged glances, hands twisting in laps, eyes darting toward the doors, each silently counting the minutes until their own turn.

"Don’t worry," Ethan said softly to the remaining boys, including Rhett. "It’s awful at first. But after… it’s fine. My head was shaved #1 last time, and now it’s easier for swimming and… just life."

The waiting room had grown quieter again, the earlier chatter thinning into a brittle, uneasy silence. Rhett sat stiffly in his chair, knees pressed together, ticket folded and unfolded in his damp hands. Across from him, Ethan sat upright, trying to look calm—too calm.

Ethan’s silver chain necklace caught the fluorescent light each time he shifted. His diamond stud glinted faintly against his skin, a sharp contrast to the institutional room. Rhett noticed how Ethan kept swallowing, jaw tightening even as his face stayed composed.

A staff member appeared at the doorway.

"Ethan."

The sound of his name cut straight through the room.

Conversation stopped instantly.

Ethan froze for half a second, then stood. He gave Rhett and Leo a quick, tight nod—something between confidence and farewell.

"Guess that’s me," he muttered, trying for a grin that didn’t quite land.

Rhett watched him walk toward the heavy door that led to the Caping Room. Each step sounded too loud against the floor. The door opened with a dull mechanical hiss, then closed behind Ethan with a solid, echoing thud.

The room felt smaller afterward.

Leo shifted beside Rhett, pulling his hoodie sleeves down over his hands. His breathing had gone shallow.

Rhett leaned slightly toward him. "You’ll be okay," he said quietly, though his own chest felt tight. "It’s fast. Just… loud."

Leo nodded, eyes fixed on the door.

Two minutes passed. Maybe three.

Then the door opened again.

"Leo."

Leo startled like he’d been tapped with electricity.

He stood slowly, legs stiff, hoodie clutched tight around his body. "Okay," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He glanced back once, eyes wide, then followed the staff member through the doorway.

The door shut.

Now there were only two boys left.

Rhett.

And another boy who had arrived just after him—quiet, younger-looking, wearing a navy sweatshirt and scuffed trainers. The boy hadn’t spoken much, only murmured his name earlier. He sat hunched forward now, staring at the floor, foot bouncing rapidly.

The silence between them stretched.

Rhett became acutely aware of everything:
â€" the hum of lights
â€" the distant buzz of clippers somewhere deep in the building
â€" the way the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and hair products

His heart thudded so hard he was sure it could be heard.

He thought of last time—the way his brother had looked afterward, the shock of seeing himself in the mirror. He swallowed.

The door opened again.

"Rhett."

His name echoed louder than it should have.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then his body reacted before his mind caught up. He stood, legs shaky, hands curling into fists at his sides. The ticket crinkled audibly as he tightened his grip on it.

The other boy watched him with wide, sympathetic eyes.

"Good luck," the boy whispered.

Rhett nodded once, unable to speak.

He followed the staff member toward the door. With every step, the reality pressed heavier onto his shoulders. The doorway loomed closer, the sound behind it unmistakable now—the mechanical whine of clippers, steady and relentless.

As the heavy door opened, a wash of sound and cool air spilled out.

Rhett stepped forward.

The door closed behind him.

And the waiting room was left empty once again.

Chapter 6: The Caping Chairs

Rhett was directed through the heavy interior door and into a long, rectangular room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and clipped hair. The sound changed immediately—muffled voices behind him, the low mechanical hum of clippers somewhere deeper in the building, and the soft shuffle of shoes against polished flooring.

A staff member pointed toward a row of molded plastic waiting chairs arranged in a straight line along the wall.

"Take a seat. Face forward."

Rhett complied.

Directly opposite him were three caping chairs, heavy-duty barber chairs bolted to the floor in a neat row, each positioned under bright overhead lights. They looked industrial rather than comfortable—black vinyl, squared armrests, and footrests scuffed from years of use.

Already seated were other boys further along in the process.

Rhett sat in the back row of waiting chairs. To his immediate left sat Leo, his foot bouncing and hands tightly clasped together as he watched the boys ahead of him intently. Rhett could sense Leo’s nerves were palpable, so gave him a small nudge and half smile to reassure him.

Next to Leo sat Ethan, back straight in his chair with his gaze fixed directly on the caping chairs. Further along was the 8 year old boy, his face a slight scowl and eyes pricked with tears as he watch each bounce processed with military efficiency.

Beside the 8 year old sat an older boy , around 15, well-built, clearly an athlete wearing gym shorts and a t shirt. He sat hunched over in his chair, leaning forward and deflecting his gaze away from the chairs ahead of him. His fingers tapped nervously on his knuckles, aware than his time in the caping chair would be imminent.

No one dared speak, the tension and nerves too heavy to overcome.

Then a staff member called out three names;

"Lucas! Liam! Tom!"

Three men were escorted in by two barbers. The room fell silent immediately.

Hooks lined the wall behind the caping chairs—two distinct rows. One row held white capes, the other navy blue. Rhett’s stomach tightened as the memory surfaced unbidden.

White for #00000. Blue for #1.

He remembered that clearly.

A disposable neck strip was wrapped carefully, followed by a flexible rubber collar. The motions were efficient, practiced, impersonal.

Rhett watched everything.

All three boys were the last remaining sat on the front row of waiting chairs. A second staff member helped the first boy up and led him to his chair, with the other two boys following suit. Each barber slapped the chair in front of them, beckoning each terrified boy to take their seat.

The boy in the first chair shuffled restlessly, his legs desperate to run but his mind assuring him he has no other choice but to remain. Each barber turned to a wall covered in capes, each cape hung in a book ready to be used. Rhett noticed that there were two rows of capes along the wall, the top row carrying white capes and the bottom row carrying blue capes. The sight of the different coloured capes jogged a memory in Rhett’s mind from his previous visit, as thoughts of the memories burned into his mind of what the difference in colours represented;

White for #00000. Blue for #1.

He couldn’t forget that no matter how much he wanted to.

Each barber walked back to their chair with the appropriate cape, and snapped it once in the air before draping it over a client’s shoulders. The sound was sharp and final. A few loose hairs fluttered down, catching on shoes and pooling near chair legs.

The older boy in the first chair had a white cape draped over his body, the young boy in the second chair also had a white cape draped over him. However the boy in the third chair had a blue cape flung over him, the vividness of the deep shiny blue reflecting the overhead lights in a mirrorball glare.

A disposable neck strip was wrapped carefully around each boys necks, before the cape was pulled tightly around and secured with the click of five metal poppers fixed to the hem of each cape.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

The loud clicks pierced through the tense silence of the room, each popper indicating a finality and non-negotiable aura around what was about to occur. This was quickly followed by the placement of a flexible rubber collar over each boys shoulders. The motions were efficient, practiced, impersonal, military.

Rhett watched everything with a curious yet terrified interest.

As the boys were being caped, a staff member entered carrying a folded armful of capes, rehanging them neatly. These capes were taken immediately from the Shaving Room, ripped off each boy at the end of the process and taken straight back to the Caping Room. Hairs and residue hung on the capes from the previous boys.

Once each barber had assess the boys in their chairs and checked the security of their capes, the boys were lowered on the chairs and be told to vacate them quickly. Staff members led the boys through a door to another waiting room, the capes hanging like cloaks and the ends dragging along the ground and each boy shuffled through.

No sooner had the boys left the room were the next batch called forwards.

"Max! Stuart! Tom!"

Max stood first, eyes still wide with complete terror, followed by a glum faced Stuart and then the defiant Tom. The three boys moved together from the waiting chairs to the caping area, guided by a barber who positioned them in front of the three caping chairs.

As the boys were being led to their chairs, a staff member ordered the remaining boys, Rhett, Ethan and Leo, to move to the front row of waiting chairs to await their turn. At that point the younger boy from the waiting room was brought into the Caping Room, his eyes wide with fear and tear stains running down his cheeks. He was made to sit on the chair next to Rhett, who could feel his body shake with fear.

When Max, Stuart and Tom approached the chairs, each chair was already aligned and spaced evenly, facing forward. The boys were instructed to sit down one by one, Max taking the left chair, Stuart the centre, and Tom the right. All three sat upright, hands resting in their laps, eyes forward.

Along the wall behind the barbers, the colour-coded cape system was clearly visible. A row of blue capes hung on one section of hooks, neatly folded and uniform. A separate row of white capes occupied the next section, brighter and more visually stark under the overhead lighting.

Rhett hadn’t noticed the rows of capes before now, but suddenly his attention was drawn to the colours. Memories started replaying in his mind of his previous visit, and discovering what each colour cape meant. It was also a rumour spread widely amongst schoolboys who had previously undergone the experience and lived to tell the tale:

White capes = #00000, Blue capes = #1

The barber assigned to Max stepped toward the blue capes and removed one in a single practiced motion. He gave it a quick shake to open it fully, then positioned it over Max’s shoulders. The blue fabric draped smoothly down the front of the chair, covering Max’s torso and legs entirely. Hair clipping still stuck to the cape from the previous boy drifted down onto Max’s lap and feet, covering his shoes in a fuzzy layer of brown.

Another barber retrieved two white capes—one for Stuart and one for Tom. The contrast was immediate. The white fabric stood out sharply against the darker room, making their assignment unmistakable. Each cape was opened and placed carefully, settling over the boys’ shoulders and falling down the length of the chairs.

Once the capes were in place, the barbers moved methodically through the next steps. Neck strips were applied to each boy, wrapped securely but comfortably around the base of the neck. The capes were then drawn in and fastened, the metal poppers clicking shut in sequence as the barbers adjusted the fit.

Each boy received a brief visual check. The barbers stepped around the chairs, tugging lightly at the fabric to ensure it lay flat and secure, making small adjustments where needed. No one spoke beyond short, functional instructions—"Sit straight," "Chin forward," "That’s fine."

When finished, the three boys looked markedly different from moments before. The capes concealed their clothing completely, transforming them into identical silhouettes differentiated only by colour.

A staff member opened the heavy door leading to the next area and gestured forward. Max stood first, the blue cape shifting slightly as he stepped away from the chair. Stuart and Tom followed, their white capes moving in unison as they were escorted out of the room.

As the door closed behind them, the barbers turned back toward the waiting chairs, already preparing for the next group.

When Rhett was finally called forward, his stomach tightened before he even stood up.

As he walked to the chair, he was aware of how quiet he’d become—his own footsteps sounding louder than he expected against the floor. The caping chair felt firmer than the waiting chairs, higher and more exposed. When he sat, the vinyl surface was cool through his clothes, and he instinctively straightened his back, remembering how he’d been told to sit last time.

He could hear the barber behind him reaching for a white cape—the soft scrape of fabric sliding off a hook, followed by a sharp snap as it was opened. The sound made him flinch slightly, even though he tried not to.

When the cape was placed over his shoulders, he felt its weight settle across his chest and arms. The fabric was smooth but heavy enough to remind him he couldn’t move freely. It slid down over his knees, pooling around his legs and covering his shoes completely.

The barber’s hands moved quickly and confidently. Rhett felt the light pressure of a paper neck strip being fitted snugly around his neck, cool against his skin. Then the cape was drawn in closer, and he heard the distinct clicks as the metal fasteners were secured one by one. Each snap was sharp and final, tightening the cape just enough to keep it firmly in place.

The sounds stood out to him—the clicks, the rustle of fabric, the low murmur of staff speaking just out of earshot. He could hear his own breathing more clearly now, slower and heavier than usual.

From where he sat, Rhett could see the rails of capes on the wall and the movements of the other barbers in his peripheral vision. He kept his eyes forward, resisting the urge to turn his head. The cape limited his movement, and that restriction made him feel smaller, more aware of himself in the chair.

As the barber stepped back to check the fit, Rhett felt a brief, almost weightless pause—then a hand on his shoulder guiding him to stand. The cape shifted slightly as he rose, brushing against his legs.

He didn’t speak. None of the boys did.

When the staff member opened the door and gestured for them to move on, Rhett followed automatically, the cape swaying around him as he walked. Behind him, the Caping Room continued its rhythm, already preparing for the next group.

Chapter 7: Waiting and Recounting

Rhett, Leo, and Ethan settled into their chairs in the Shaving Room waiting area, their capes snug around their necks, the metal poppers clicking softly. The waiting room was long and narrow, with rows of chairs arranged in neat lines facing the entry to the Shaving Room. Fluorescent lights overhead cast a slightly harsh glow, bouncing off the polished vinyl floor that reflected every movement and shadow. The walls were pale gray, adorned with posters showing before-and-after haircut transformations, and a TV showing a demonstration of two boys getting their hair cut on the Barber Belt — one in a white cape getting a full shave, the other in a blue cape getting a buzz cut. The TV played on a loop, intending to calm any nerves of first time visitors but instead only adding to the doom and tension felt.

All the boys in the waiting room sat in a mixture of white and blue capes, some capes draped snugly around their shoulders, others bunched awkwardly as the boys tugged at the collars that felt uncomfortably tight around their necks. The vinyl of the capes rustled with every shift of the body, sending small strands of hair left over from the previous wearers fluttering to the floor. Some boys stared at the floor, fidgeted with their hands, or kept their heads bowed, while others glanced nervously at the heavy door that led to the Shaving Room, eyes wide with anticipation.

The hum of the air conditioning mixed with the faint buzz of distant clippers, occasional muffled shouts, and the repeated click of metal poppers from the checking stations. Audio from the TV demonstration played softly through speakers in the ceiling, aiming to muffle the sounds coming from behind the Shaving Room door. The scent of antiseptic and shampoo lingered in the air, and every time a boy moved, the sound of the cape brushing against the chairs filled the room. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and a palpable fear and nervousness seemed to vibrate between the boys, as if the very walls absorbed and reflected their anxiety.

Rhett broke the silence, his voice low but firm. "Last time I came here… my brother and I got completely shaved. I remember the cape snapping around my shoulders, the cold metal poppers clicking tight, and the cape collar digging just a little into my neck. I thought I was going to a normal barber shop, but…" He shivered, remembering the sensation of hair falling on his neck and lap, the way his scalp felt cold and exposed.

Ethan nodded, running a hand over the smooth fabric of his cape. "Yeah… same for me. I got a #1 last summer, but my mom wanted me to come back for a #00000 this time. I remember the cape felt heavy, and the hair from the previous boys kept flinging into my lap—it was kind of gross but also weirdly… real. You could feel each strand, like little ticks on your skin."

Leo, fidgeting under the tight collar of his cape, added softly, "It’s my first time getting a full shave. The poppers feel so tight, and when the barber snapped the cape in front of me, some of the hair from the last boy landed on my shoes. It made me nervous… I don’t know what to expect."

A few of the other boys began to join the conversation. One boy, maybe 10, whispered, "I heard they use the white capes for shaves and blue capes for buzz cuts. Last time, my brother got the white cape, and I saw his hair fly everywhere. It looked like snow! Then his hair was tripped off so fast and he was left with just a shining dome in seconds. He said the shaving hurt as the barber dug the clippers heavily into his scalp."

Another boy, 12, chimed in, "Yeah, my first time, I got the blue cape for a #1. The cape was stiff and smelled like antiseptic, and I kept thinking it would get caught on the chair. I jumped in my seat every time the chair moved forward as it lurched, and I got a fright when the barber switched the clippers on."

The older boy, Stuart, 15, sitting beside the 8-year-old Max, added with a shiver, "And the capes… they reuse them. You feel the hair from the previous kid, like little prickles on your neck. My mom says it’s fine, but it’s still weird. The last time, when I got home by clothes were covered in hair, both mine and other boys. It was gross!"

Rhett leaned back slightly, trying to calm himself, but he could feel the cape rustling around him, the tightness at his neck, and the shoes brushing against scattered hair from the previous boys. Ethan nudged him slightly, whispering, "Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it seems. But… yeah, it’s definitely nerve-wracking."

As the conversation continued, more boys chimed in, sharing rumors and stories of what would happen next. One whispered about how quickly the barbers worked, another talked about the sound of the clippers going over the scalp, and a few shared tales of boys trying to back out just before going onto the Barber Belt and capes being loosened by unsnapped poppers from impatient boys.

Rhett listened intently, a mix of fear and fascination building inside him. The sound of the heavy door slamming open and shut every time a boy was called added to the tension. Each snap of a cape in the room felt magnified. He could see the fluttering of nylon, hear the metallic clicks, and smell the faint residue of hair and antiseptic.

Leo whispered, his voice trembling slightly, "Do you think they’ll be as rough with us as last time?"

Rhett shook his head slowly. "I don’t know… but at least we know what to expect this time. I just… wish it didn’t have to be like this."

The boys sat quietly for a moment, the tension thick in the air, punctuated by distant snaps of capes and muffled voices from the next room. Each knew the inevitable moment was approaching, and as they glanced at each other, there was a shared understanding: soon, it would be their turn on the Barber Belt.

Chapter 7: The Checking Area

The quiet hum of fluorescent lights filled the Shaving Room waiting area, mingling with the soft rustle of capes as boys fidgeted in their seats. Rhett, Leo, Ethan, Max, Stuart, and Tom sat lined up in neat rows, the fabric of their white and blue capes brushing against their thighs. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and lingering hairs, and every faint sound—the squeak of shoes on linoleum, the snap of a cape’s poppers—seemed magnified in the tense atmosphere.

A staff member called Max first.

"Max, please come forward," the voice was calm but authoritative. Max’s heart skipped, and he shuffled out of the row, cape rustling with every step. As he reached the Checking Area, the barber immediately noticed that Max had played with the collar, loosening a few of the poppers.

"Stand still," the barber barked, removing Max’s cape entirely and examining the collar. With a practiced flick, he snapped the poppers back into place one by one, then tugged the collar inwards tightly, pressing it firmly against Max’s neck. Max choked slightly, a small gasp escaping him as the tight fabric pressed uncomfortably against his throat.

The barber then straightened the cape carefully over Max’s shoulders and torso, ensuring it lay flat and snug, smoothing out every fold. He patted Max lightly on the shoulder before signaling a staff member.

"All set," the barber said. A staff member then guided Max briskly toward the Shaving Room, and the door slammed shut behind him, leaving a sharp echo in the waiting area. The remaining boys swallowed nervously, the rustle of their capes and the faint scent of antiseptic intensifying the tension.

Next was Ethan. He stood, cape rustling as he followed the staff member to the chair. The barber gave his cape a final snap at the remaining poppers, tugging at the edges to ensure it was snug. He patted Ethan gently on the shoulder, a small reassurance, before motioning him toward the Shaving Room. Ethan walked forward, chest tight with nerves, and the door slammed behind him with a sharp echo.

Stuart, the 15-year-old, was next. The barber noticed one popper slightly loose around his neck. With practiced precision, he pulled the cape tightly, snapping the poppers shut until the cape fit snugly. Stuart swallowed hard, hands gripping the edges of the fabric. He was led forward, cape trailing lightly over the floor, and disappeared behind the slamming door, leaving a faint echo in the room.

Then came Tom, slouched in his chair, nonchalant despite repeated instructions to sit upright. The barber’s expression hardened.

"Sit properly, now! Your cape needs to be reapplied," he ordered sharply. Tom’s face twisted into a half-smile, half-grimace, gasping slightly as the cape was removed and replaced. The barber pulled the newly adjusted cape tightly around Tom’s neck, snapping every popper carefully, pressing the fabric snugly against his shoulders. Tom flinched as the tightness bit lightly into his skin, a cold rush of anxiety flooding him. A staff member gripped his arm, escorting him forcibly toward the Shaving Room, and the door slammed behind him, echoing like a signal of finality.

After a short pause, Leo was called forward. The barber adjusted the cape, straightening the fabric over his small frame and shoulders, making sure the collar was snug. He reassured Leo softly, "It’ll be quick. Just sit still." Leo nodded, swallowing nervously, feeling the slight weight of the fabric and the cool tug of the poppers at his neck. With a gentle push, he was guided toward the Shaving Room, and the door slammed behind him, leaving Rhett as the last boy remaining.

Finally, Rhett’s name was called. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach twisted with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He stood carefully, trying not to brush the cape against himself, and followed the staff member to the Checking Area.

The barber examined Rhett’s cape. "Hmm, this is a bit tight," he murmured, tugging gently at the neck and snapping the poppers snugly. "You’re signed up for the Monthly Subscription scheme, so next time you’ll need a larger size, a teenager cape." Rhett’s stomach tightened at the reminder. The barber straightened the cape over his shoulders, smoothing the folds of fabric, before pushing him forward toward the Shaving Room.

Rhett’s first impression as he stepped through the heavy door was one of stark familiarity mixed with fear. The bright overhead lights glinted off the metal of the Barber Belt chairs, and he could see rows of boys waiting their turn, some seated on the belts, some in the checking chairs ahead. The sound of clippers humming, the rustle of capes, and the faint scent of antiseptic immediately transported him back to his previous visit.

He caught sight of the Barber Belt itself for the first time that morning, the seats slowly moving, the mechanical hum and gentle sway of the chairs evoking a mixture of anxiety and déjà vu. The memories of last time—the snap of the capes, the tight collars, the sharp buzz of clippers—flooded back, and he felt a cold knot of fear tighten in his stomach.

Every detail pressed on him:

The glint of stainless steel on the chairs

The white and blue capes gliding past, heads tucked tight to chests, each seat contains a mix of haired and shaved occupants

The whir and rasp of the large mechanical clippers as they stripped each head of hair, the freshly cut tufts falling to the floor and on the capes like an avalanche

The soft scuff of shoes on the linoleum

The low hum of overhead lighting mingling with distant machinery, the harsh light making each shaved scalp shine even more brightly

Rhett took a deep breath, bracing himself. He knew there was no turning back now—his turn on the Barber Belt was imminent, and the waiting, the anticipation, and the memory of his previous appointment all collided in his mind.

Chapter8: Queuing for the Barber Belt

Rhett shuffled forward with the other boys, the metallic hum of the Barber Belt filling the room. Rows of chairs lined the queue area, and overhead lights glinted off the polished surfaces of the conveyor track. The air was filled with the sharp scent of antiseptic mingled with faint hairs still clinging to freshly used capes. Rhett’s cape rustled against his thighs as he shifted nervously, his heart thumping in anticipation.

The queue inched forward, and the next boy in line was loaded onto the Belt. He was around seven years old, dressed in a white cape that engulfed his small frame, draping entirely over the chair. The staff carefully straightened the cape, smoothing every fold, ensuring it completely covered the boy and the seat. Once the boy was properly positioned, a staff member pressed the control button, sending the chair forward toward the Preparation Station. Rhett watched, noting how the cape swayed slightly as the chair began its movement, the boy’s small hands fidgeting nervously beneath the fabric.

The queue moved forward again, and a six-year-old boy was next. He was crying hysterically, tiny fists clenching the fabric of his white cape. Two staff members lifted him with gentle but firm hands, setting him carefully into the chair. The cape was tugged taut, covering the boy fully and draping down over the chair, the ends brushing against the metal floor. One staff member pressed the button, sending the chair forward while the boy’s muffled sobs echoed in the room. Rhett felt a pang of empathy, his stomach tightening as he imagined what it would feel like to be in that chair at such a small age.

Next, a five-year-old boy stepped forward. His eyes were wide, scanning the enormous room and the Barber Belt itself with awe. He seemed momentarily enchanted by the scale and the machinery, but a staff member snapped him out of it. "Stand behind the metal bar, please," the adult instructed, gesturing to the designated loading area. The boy’s eyes widened in shock as he realised it was his turn, and he stammered, trying to step back. The staff member gently guided him into the chair, tugging his white cape fully over the seat and his body, before pressing the button to send him forward toward the Preparation Station. His small voice faltered in protest, but the chair glided away, and Rhett watched silently, feeling his chest tighten.

The queue advanced once more, and Max was called. A staff member guided him to his chair, straightened his blue cape so it lay flat and covered both him and the chair, and made sure he was sitting upright with his head straight and eyes forward. "Sit still," the staff member instructed firmly. The button was pressed, and Max was sent along the belt toward the Preparation Station. Rhett watched as the conveyor carried Max forward, cape swaying slightly with each small movement, his hands gripping the edges of the fabric tightly.

There was a brief pause in the loading, as the staff worked to handle a backlog. Rhett could see the crying six-year-old boy ahead of Max being shaved at the first Preparation Station. The barber had tucked the boy’s head to his chest, running the clippers over the top of his head, leaving it smooth and bald. The boy continued to sob, and Rhett could see the barber giving extra attention, carefully guiding the clippers while the boy’s small hands trembled against the chair.

The staff called forward Ethan and Stuart, instructing them to stand behind the metal barrier, ready to step into their chairs. A low siren sounded, followed by the rumble of the Belt moving again, signaling the next set of seats to arrive at the loading bay.

Ethan was first. He stepped into the chair, the staff carefully adjusting his white cape so it fully covered him and the seat. "Sit straight. Keep still," one instructed firmly. Once the cape was properly positioned, the button was pressed, sending Ethan along the Belt toward the Preparation Station. Rhett noted how the cape glided over the metal edges of the chair, small hairs clinging briefly before falling onto the surface below.

Stuart was next. A staff member nudged him into the chair, making him sit upright, adjusting his white cape fully over him, ensuring the folds lay flat and smooth. "Eyes forward," the staff member reminded him. The button was pressed, and Stuart moved forward, his cape swaying slightly with the Belt’s motion, as he was sent toward the first station.

Rhett noticed the queue behind him growing, small boys stepping nervously into position. The boy directly behind him appeared young and trembling, his white cape hanging over his small shoulders. Rhett felt a wave of empathy, remembering how he had felt earlier.

Finally, a staff member turned to him. "Move forward, Rhett. Stand behind the barrier and wait for your chair." Rhett’s legs felt heavy, but he obeyed, moving into position. The staff member explained carefully, "When your chair arrives, sit straight, keep your hands down, and we’ll take care of you."

The chair approached, the metal frame humming under the overhead track. The staff member raised the metal barrier, gently guiding Rhett into the seat. They laid his white cape over him, making sure it fully enveloped both him and the chair. Rhett felt the smooth, cool fabric brushing his arms, the weight of the cape pressing lightly on his lap, and the faint tug of the poppers around his neck. The smell of antiseptic and recently cut hair surrounded him.

"Ready?" the staff member asked. Rhett swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest. The button was pressed, and the chair began its slow glide toward the Preparation Station. Every movement made the cape shift and rustle, a slight brush against his skin reminding him of the cape snapping over other boys ahead, the tight collars, the hum of the Belt, and the sharp metallic glint of the chairs.

Rhett’s mind raced. He could see other boys further along, some waiting their turn, others already being processed. He remembered the sensation of last time, the tight collar, the weight of the cape, the anticipation, and a shiver ran down his spine. Now, as the chair carried him forward, every detail—the scent, the noise, the movement, the rustle of the fabric—hit him in full vividness, preparing him for what lay ahead.

To be continued

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