Hank was counting to ten. He wasn’t at fifty pounds yet, but the veins near his biceps were testament to his efforts. Methodical, patient efforts. He was dedicated, because dedication reaps rewards—like the firmness of his handshake, lifting someone up without a grunt, or casting a self-assured smile. That’s why Hank did arm and chest day twice a week like clockwork.
Familiarity was Hank’s thing—he knew the exact route to his favorite bench press and the way the weights clinked under various temperatures. He greeted Molly, the dependable front desk clerk, every session, whose sunny smile always brightened his day. Except, today, Molly wasn’t there.
In her place stood a newbie—pallor against his face like cream cheese on a bagel, head shaved so smooth even Mr. Clean might have admired, and eyes so intensely blue they belonged in a detergent commercial. The newbie swiped Hank's membership card and flashed an awkward smile that could rival a politician’s on voting day.
"Hey... Hank, right?" He squinted at the screen, "Would you be interested in a new fitness monitoring program?"
The collar, as the newbie outlined its wonders, was sleek, leather-clad like manual gear for a luxury car with a digital display. Hank had watched sci-fi movies where people wore stranger things, so why not? He agreed, strapped it on, and gave himself a look in the mirror. What could go wrong?
The workout went smoothly—bench presses raised the bar, quite literally, and dumbbells followed suit. As he worked, the collar’s progress bar filled cheerfully, like a video game quest coming to completion. Hank couldn’t help but chuckle. Taking the heads-up! display quite literally!
Once it turned bright green, Hank moved to the sauna for his post-exercise therapy—a pretty much ritual end to his training session. The blast of steam enveloped him like a cozy fog, and he relished the soothing warmth. Until the collar began to buzz. It wasn’t for notifications, it seemed.
The buzzing grew incessant, and Hank felt like he was laying on a jackhammer, except the hammer was around his neck! Dizzy and disoriented, everything blurred. Was it hot in here, or was it just...dismemberment? His brain wanted to laugh, heart squeezing in terror, but neither cooperated as his head toppled off his shoulders and onto the bench.
His head—disembodied yet conscious—gazed bewilderedly at his own body. That's a view you don’t get every day! He couldn’t even rub his eyes in disbelief. All he could do was watch. The collar’s display blinked green like budget Christmas lights before turning off. Then his body decided to stand. Apparently unbothered by its detachment, it picked him up with precision.
Outside, the gym fell to an eerie hush. Shadows flitted by the fogged glass, unaware of Hank's headless plight. His headless body carried him to the locker, where it methodically freshened up and dressed before parading him toward the front desk where Mr. Clean—I mean, the new attendant—awaited.
Hank wanted to jab any sort of biting remark, but it simply converted into a silent lividity as his facial expressions mimed screams. If he thought settling under the smith machine was a challenge, this situation had outdone itself!
The attendant’s car was unexpectedly accommodating—leather seating to match the collar’s sophistication. Hank's head got prime positioning on the floor because, apparently, detachable heads came last in hierarchy. They left the gym, making way to an unknown destination.
Upon arrival, Hank was greeted by a scene straight out of Nutcracker meets Silence of the Lambs—an array of heads lined on niches, and bodies moving like choreographed eery ballerinas. Bodybuilding regulars now with a new goal in life—headless servitude!
As Mr. Clean led him into the basement, like a sinister butler giving a house tour from hell, the bodies lined up, surrounding a medieval-looking chair. The full eerie ensemble was met with his ominous explanation about telepathic control. Turns out, Mr. Clean wasn’t just an enthusiastic gym attendant; he was head honcho of a headless commune.
The glowing red pulses of his chair's headrest felt like a makeshift nightclub. Flashy, in a sense, marking an unfortunate end to Hank's usual routine. When the trance concluded, a synchronized flash of green—everything returned to normal, well, their kind of abnormal.
Hank’s body put him in a niche—new accommodation advice from Better Headed & Bodying, perhaps. His body rejoined its headless peers. This wasn’t what Hank envisioned when monitoring biometrics in a gym, albeit unique, and hilariously terrifying. The situation might fit right in as an indie horror-comedy flick, but for Hank, reality's chuckle was genuinely discombobulating!
This story was generated by user bud with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
Prompt: write a story about a man named Hank, a strong, strapping in his 30s who works out regularly to maintain his fitness model physique. one day he goes to the gym's front desk and checks in with the attendant, a new guy and not the one he usually sees. as he starts to head to the gym, the attendant asks Hank if he would like to participate in a new fitness monitoring program. the attendant shows him a thin leather collar with a digital display on it, describing it as a data recording device that records various biometrics as he works out. Hank is intrigued and agrees, takes a collar and goes to the locker room. after changing into his workout clothes, he puts on the collar, adjusts it to fit, then takes a look in the mirror before starting his workout. Hank notices the collar's displays a few symbols, what appeared like battery icon showing a full charge, and a progress bar with a single bar showing that recording has started. Hank walks out to the gym floor and starts his usual routine for that day, which happens to be arm and chest day. As he finishes the sets of each exercise, he notices that an additional progress bar illuminates. By the time Hank has finished his entire routine, the progress bar is now full and glowing bright green. Hank walks to the sauna for a post-workout sweat. As he sits alone in the steamy air, he feels the collar start to buzz, slight vibrations that increase in intensity after every few seconds. Hank then starts to feel dizzy and leans against sauna wall and holds himself steady with his arms pressed against the bench. The intensity of the vibrations become strong, and he feels like they are downing out his sensation of over his body. The vibrations come to a sudden halt, and Hank discovers that he has become completely numb below his neck. He gets the strange feeling of his head starting to tilt. His view starts to spin as his head tumbles from his neck, and his head lands with a thud on the bench seat. Hank sees the rest of himself still sitting as before; the display on the collar now was entirely a bright glowing green. After a minute that seemed like an eternity, the display goes black, and Hank watches his body push itself off the bench with its hands and stand up then remain perfectly, its chest moving with deep breaths of the humid air. Hank sees the shadows of people walking past the sauna's fogged glass door and tries to call out for help, but the without lungs his head can only mouth silent pleas. Hank helplessly listens as the voices coming from the gym die down until there is complete silence. Hank's body begins to move, bends down, picks up the head, then exits the sauna to an empty gym. Hank notices that someone had placed an out-of-order sign on the sauna door after he had entered, explaining why no one else was using the sauna. When the body enters the locker room, it puts Hank's head on the counter then goes to shower itself. When it returns, Hank watches it go to his locker, dial the combination to the padlock, take out Hank's clothes and dress itself. Fully-dressed, the body put the workout clothes in Hank's gym back, collects Hank's head, then walks to the front desk where Hank sees the new attendant waiting there expectantly. Hank looks on angrily as the attendant give his body instructions which it unquestioningly obeys, first to drop everything it is carrying and perform bodybuilding poses. The attendant smiles approvingly as the body showcases its well-developed muscles. Satisfied with the body's condition, the attendant picks up Hank's head and tells his body to follow him to the car. The attendant opens the car's passenger side door for Hank's body to climb in and sit, and puts Hank's head on the backseat floor, hidden out of view. The attendant gets into the driver's seat, starts the engine and starts driving to the parking garage exit. As he pulls out of the parking garage and starts driving on the road, the attendant tells Hank that he has been watching him for a while. To Hank's confusion, the attendant also says he was glad that today presented the opportunity to add him to his collection. When they reach their destination, the attendant picks up Hank's head and instructs the body to follow him into the house. Once inside, Hank is shocked to find an array of heads placed in a set of wall niches. One head was of the gym's usual attendant, and the others were of fitness model and bodybuilder gym regulars. Sounds of activity came from other rooms in the house, and now and then a muscular headless body wearing an identical collar would enter the room, walking past in purposeful strides on its way another part of the house. The attendant gives Hank's head to his body to carry, and as he leads it to the basement, headless bodies throughout the house appear to obey an unspoken command to gather behind and follow. when the last one arrives the bodies form into ranks around a solitary high-backed chair in the middle of the room. the attendant tells Hank's body to sit in the chair. the attendant explains to Hank that the bodies in the house form a collective that is telepathically commanded by him. the attendant describes that similar to a person controlling a body that thought, he controls collective except the same way; whatever action he decides, and the bodies will work together to carry out it out, taking advantage of each body's skills and abilities. the attendant tells Hank that his body will now be integrated to the collective. the chair's headrest and collar on Hank's body start to glow in a series of red slow pulses for several minutes, and then in unison the collars on the bodies flash green, including Hank's. in complete silence the bodies leave to continue their tasks except for Hank's body. Disconnected from Hank and compelled by the attendant's will, the body stands up, walks to Hank's head, picks it up, and takes it to one of the vacant wall niches to join the other captive heads.
Response: Hank was counting to ten. He wasn’t at fifty pounds yet, but the veins near his biceps were testament to his efforts. Methodical, patient efforts. He was dedicated, because dedication reaps rewards—like the firmness of his handshake, lifting someone up without a grunt, or casting a self-assured smile. That’s why Hank did arm and chest day twice a week like clockwork. Familiarity was Hank’s thing—he knew the exact route to his favorite bench press and the way the weights clinked under various temperatures. He greeted Molly, the dependable front desk clerk, every session, whose sunny smile always brightened his day. Except, today, Molly wasn’t there. In her place stood a newbie—pallor against his face like cream cheese on a bagel, head shaved so smooth even Mr. Clean might have admired, and eyes so intensely blue they belonged in a detergent commercial. The newbie swiped Hank's membership card and flashed an awkward smile that could rival a politician’s on voting day. "Hey... Hank, right?" He squinted at the screen, "Would you be interested in a new fitness monitoring program?" The collar, as the newbie outlined its wonders, was sleek, leather-clad like manual gear for a luxury car with a digital display. Hank had watched sci-fi movies where people wore stranger things, so why not? He agreed, strapped it on, and gave himself a look in the mirror. What could go wrong? The workout went smoothly—bench presses raised the bar, quite literally, and dumbbells followed suit. As he worked, the collar’s progress bar filled cheerfully, like a video game quest coming to completion. Hank couldn’t help but chuckle. Taking the heads-up! display quite literally! Once it turned bright green, Hank moved to the sauna for his post-exercise therapy—a pretty much ritual end to his training session. The blast of steam enveloped him like a cozy fog, and he relished the soothing warmth. Until the collar began to buzz. It wasn’t for notifications, it seemed. The buzzing grew incessant, and Hank felt like he was laying on a jackhammer, except the hammer was around his neck! Dizzy and disoriented, everything blurred. Was it hot in here, or was it just...dismemberment? His brain wanted to laugh, heart squeezing in terror, but neither cooperated as his head toppled off his shoulders and onto the bench. His head—disembodied yet conscious—gazed bewilderedly at his own body. That's a view you don’t get every day! He couldn’t even rub his eyes in disbelief. All he could do was watch. The collar’s display blinked green like budget Christmas lights before turning off. Then his body decided to stand. Apparently unbothered by its detachment, it picked him up with precision. Outside, the gym fell to an eerie hush. Shadows flitted by the fogged glass, unaware of Hank's headless plight. His headless body carried him to the locker, where it methodically freshened up and dressed before parading him toward the front desk where Mr. Clean—I mean, the new attendant—awaited. Hank wanted to jab any sort of biting remark, but it simply converted into a silent lividity as his facial expressions mimed screams. If he thought settling under the smith machine was a challenge, this situation had outdone itself! The attendant’s car was unexpectedly accommodating—leather seating to match the collar’s sophistication. Hank's head got prime positioning on the floor because, apparently, detachable heads came last in hierarchy. They left the gym, making way to an unknown destination. Upon arrival, Hank was greeted by a scene straight out of Nutcracker meets Silence of the Lambs—an array of heads lined on niches, and bodies moving like choreographed eery ballerinas. Bodybuilding regulars now with a new goal in life—headless servitude! As Mr. Clean led him into the basement, like a sinister butler giving a house tour from hell, the bodies lined up, surrounding a medieval-looking chair. The full eerie ensemble was met with his ominous explanation about telepathic control. Turns out, Mr. Clean wasn’t just an enthusiastic gym attendant; he was head honcho of a headless commune. The glowing red pulses of his chair's headrest felt like a makeshift nightclub. Flashy, in a sense, marking an unfortunate end to Hank's usual routine. When the trance concluded, a synchronized flash of green—everything returned to normal, well, their kind of abnormal. Hank’s body put him in a niche—new accommodation advice from Better Headed & Bodying, perhaps. His body rejoined its headless peers. This wasn’t what Hank envisioned when monitoring biometrics in a gym, albeit unique, and hilariously terrifying. The situation might fit right in as an indie horror-comedy flick, but for Hank, reality's chuckle was genuinely discombobulating!
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