Robert's Hair Heist 3.0: The Kat Dennings Incident
Robert's Hair Heist 3.0: The Kat Dennings Incident
The neon glow of Los Angeles buzzed faintly outside as Robert stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his glasses. These weren’t just any glasses—they housed a tiny hidden camera, streaming directly to the dark recesses of the internet. To his loyal audience on the HairHaven forum, this was the ultimate act of defiance: infiltrating high-profile salons, touching celebrity hair, and sharing it live with an appreciative, anonymous community.
Tonight’s target was Kat Dennings. Her raven-black locks were the stuff of legend on HairHaven, a frequent topic of admiration and obsession. For weeks, Robert had planned this heist. He had studied her Instagram posts, noted her favorite salon, and meticulously mapped out his escape routes.
Sliding an earpiece into his right ear, he activated the text-to-speech function linked to the HairHaven live chat. A calm, robotic voice crackled in his ear.
“Stream online. Viewers connected: 37.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. He grabbed his neatly pressed black shirt, tied on his apron, and slipped out the door, ready for action.
The Setup
The salon was a high-end spot on the west side of L.A., known for its discretion and A-list clientele. Robert arrived early, blending seamlessly into the Saturday evening crowd. He tied on the apron he’d brought and moved confidently past the receptionist, who didn’t even glance up. The place was chaotic, buzzing with blow dryers and chatter—just the way he liked it.
Through the glass walls separating the waiting area from the main floor, he spotted her: Kat Dennings, scrolling on her phone, her thick, dark hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid silk.
“There she is,” the robotic voice in his ear whispered, repeating the words of an anonymous commenter.
“The holy grail of hair,” another voice chimed in.
Robert inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “Let’s do this,” he murmured under his breath.
Making the Move
“Kat Dennings?” he called, his voice steady and professional.
She looked up, her crimson lips curling into a polite smile. “That’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he said, his tone warm but not overeager. She followed him without hesitation to the washing station.
As he reclined her chair and began wetting her hair, the comments in his ear came fast and steady:
“Smooth intro. She bought it.”
“Work those hands, Robert. This is art.”
He worked the shampoo into her hair, his fingers gliding through the thick strands with practiced ease. He lingered on her scalp, massaging gently but thoroughly. The scent of her hair products filled his nostrils—lavender and something citrusy.
“Good pace. Don’t rush it.”
“Her hair is incredible. You’re living the dream.”
He rinsed the shampoo, applied conditioner, and combed it through her hair, savoring every moment. Kat, oblivious, closed her eyes, clearly enjoying the treatment.
When the washing was done, he guided her to a styling chair and began the blowout. His hands moved methodically, sectioning her hair and running the round brush through it as the blow dryer hummed.
“Just a simple blowout?” he asked casually.
“Yeah, something sleek and smooth,” she replied.
“This is it. Time for the masterpiece,” the robotic voice urged.
“Take your time. She’s loving it.”
As he finished the final section, he couldn’t resist. His fingers combed through her hair one last time, lingering longer than they should. The texture was luxurious, soft and silky. He leaned in slightly, pretending to inspect his work, and caught the scent again—a mix of shampoo and her natural perfume.
“YES! He’s doing it!”
“That’s dedication, Robert.”
“Absolute legend.”
Robert’s pulse quickened as he stepped back, admiring his work. “All done,” he said, smiling.
Kat turned to the mirror, running her fingers through her hair. “This is amazing. Thank you, Robert.”
“My pleasure,” he replied, already preparing his exit.
The Escape
As Robert walked toward the back, intending to slip out through a side door, his earpiece buzzed with a warning:
“Security’s onto you. Two guys near the front door.”
His heart skipped a beat. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them—two burly men in black suits scanning the salon, clearly looking for someone.
He ducked into a supply closet, breathing heavily. “Stay calm,” he whispered, pulling out his phone to check the back exit. He pushed open the closet door and slipped into the hallway.
“Police are outside. Multiple units.”
Robert cursed under his breath. They’d called the cops. His carefully laid plans were crumbling, but he wasn’t about to give up. He darted down the hallway and into the employee parking lot, weaving between cars as flashing blue lights illuminated the night.
The Chase
The LAPD officers spotted him almost immediately. “Hey! Stop!” one of them shouted.
Robert ran. His black shoes slapped against the pavement as he bolted down an alley, adrenaline fueling every step. He’d mapped this route earlier, knowing it was his best shot at escaping. He turned a corner, slipped through a narrow gap between two buildings, and emerged onto a quieter street.
The robotic voice in his ear remained calm. “You’re clear for now. Keep moving.”
He ditched the apron and glasses in a pre-planned drop spot, swapping them for a hoodie and baseball cap he’d stashed earlier. Blending into the pedestrian traffic, he walked briskly but casually, his heart pounding.
Back in the Shadows
An hour later, Robert sat in his apartment, his chest still heaving from the chase. He logged into HairHaven, where the live stream had ended abruptly during his escape. The forum was already buzzing with reactions.
- “That was insane. The escape was better than the styling!”
- “He actually SMELLED her hair. Absolute legend.”
- “Police involvement? Next level!”
- “Robert, you’re untouchable. We need more!”
He couldn’t help but smile as he typed a brief reply:
“Thanks for the support. Mission accomplished. On to the next one.”
He leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. For Robert, the thrill wasn’t just in the act—it was in the escape, the reaction, and the knowledge that he’d done it again. Despite the risks, he knew he couldn’t stop now. The heist had become his art, and the world—both the public and his secret audience—was his unwitting gallery.
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