The apartment door slammed shut, and Rebecca practically poured Carrie onto the velvet sofa. Carrie sat bolt upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes staring at a spot on the wall three inches above the television.
"Okay. Okay, don't panic. You’re a tactical genius, Rebecca. You survived The Grey. You can handle a hypnotized pop star," Rebecca muttered to herself, pacing the length of the rug.
She stopped and snapped her fingers in front of Carrie’s face. No blink.
She tried a smelling salt from her utility belt. Carrie just inhaled it deeply and said, "Refreshing, Mistress."
"Stop calling me that!" Rebecca groaned, her face heating up. "Carrie, it’s me! Becca! We live together! You owe me twenty dollars for the internet bill! Does that wake you up? Financial debt?!"
Carrie turned her head slowly, her expression as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. "If Mistress requires currency, I shall harvest the souls of the unworthy. Or check my purse."
"Neither! Do neither of those things!"
The Experimentation
Rebecca tried everything. She played Carrie’s most upbeat, high-energy dance track at a volume that made the windows rattle. Carrie simply tapped her foot in perfect, robotic rhythm. She tried splashing a bit of cold water on Carrie's forehead.
"The hydration is appreciated, Master," Carrie droned.
Rebecca threw her hands up in the air. "It’s like her brain has been replaced by a 'Yes/No' flowchart! That creep really did a number on her."
She slumped into her armchair, watching Carrie, who hadn't moved a muscle in ten minutes. The silence of the apartment was unnerving. Usually, this place was filled with the sound of Carrie practicing her vocals or the hum of Rebecca’s tools. Now, it was just... stillness.
Rebecca let out a long, weary sigh. She looked at Carrie’s vacant expression and felt a small pang of relief.
"Well," Rebecca whispered to herself, "at least it could be worse. The Mesmer was an idiot. He just told her to be a servant. Thank god that guy didn't order her to do anything really weird... like take off her clothes or something."
Carrie’s ears seemed to twitch at the word 'order.'
"I’m going to go crazy if I stay in here for another minute," Rebecca sighed, standing up. "I need food. A burrito. My brain needs protein to solve this."
She turned to the catatonic idol. "Carrie, stay here. Don't move. Don't touch anything. Just... exist."
"I shall remain stationary until your return, Mistress," Carrie replied.
The Mistake
Rebecca grabbed her keys and headed for the door. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't... do anything."
As the door clicked shut, Carrie’s "servant" programming began to process the last few sentences it had heard. In the logic-loop of a hypnotized mind, the most recent "orders" take priority, even if they were framed as a hypothetical.
Rebecca had said: "Thank god that guy didn't order her to... take off her clothes."
To a normal person, that's a relief. To the hypnotized Carrie, the words 'Order' and 'Take off her clothes' combined into a mandatory directive from her Mistress.
Slowly, Carrie stood up.
"Executing order: Removal of unnecessary layers," Carrie whispered to the empty room.
Her hands moved to the hem of her oversized green sweater.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.