Rebecca practically skipped back to the apartment, a blissful smile on her face. The burrito in her hand was a warm, spicy beacon of hope. Ten minutes of fresh air and a hit of extra spicy carne asada were exactly what she needed to solve the "Zombie Pop Star" problem.
She fumbled with her keys, already imagining the satisfying crunch of tortilla. "Carrie, I'm back! And I brought reinforcements in the form of delicious, brain-boosting—"
Rebecca pushed the door open, her voice dying in her throat.
The burrito, still warm and wrapped, slipped from her numb fingers and hit the hardwood floor with a soft, mournful thud.
The Surprise
Carrie was standing perfectly still in the center of the living room, exactly where Rebecca had left her. But she wasn't wearing her oversized green sweater and denim shorts anymore.
She was wearing nothing but her bright green, Mini Mic-themed underwear.
It was a custom set—the top part was a sports bra emblazoned with a small, stylized microphone, and the bottoms featured a repeated pattern of tiny, glowing green sound waves. It was undeniably cute. It was undeniably Carrie.
And it was undeniably not what Rebecca had expected, or wanted, to see.
"What in the actual—" Rebecca stammered, her face turning a furious shade of crimson that quickly spread to her ears. She shielded her eyes with one hand, as if Carrie was a blinding solar flare. "Carrie! What are you doing?!"
Carrie turned her head slowly, her eyes still vacant. "Executing current directive, Mistress."
"What directive?! I told you to stay put! I told you to exist!"
"You spoke of 'orders' and 'clothes.' I am merely complying, Master," Carrie droned, her voice flat.
Rebecca felt a vein throb in her temple. My hypothetical relief statement was processed as a command?! She could literally feel her brain cells committing suicide.
The Panic and the Struggle
"No! No, no, no! That's not a command! That's the opposite of a command!" Rebecca shrieked, frantically looking for something—anything—to cover Carrie with. Her eyes landed on a discarded blanket on the sofa. She snatched it up and lunged at Carrie.
"Here! Put this on! Cover yourself!" Rebecca wrestled with the limp, uncooperative body. Carrie remained perfectly stiff, making it impossible to wrap the blanket around her. It was like trying to dress a mannequin that was actively defying gravity.
"Is Mistress displeased with my state of undress?" Carrie asked, tilting her head.
"YES! Mistress is very displeased! This is a disaster! Put your clothes back on! I am ordering you to put your clothes back on!" Rebecca yelled, trying to force Carrie's arm into a sleeve.
"New directive acknowledged. Seeking original garments," Carrie said, but instead of bending down, she slowly rotated in place, her vacant eyes scanning the apartment as if her clothes were going to magically appear.
Rebecca let out a frustrated scream that was half-anger, half-exasperation. She finally managed to wrap the blanket around Carrie’s midsection, pinning it with her elbow while she frantically rummaged through a laundry basket.
"Just... just stay still! Don't move! Don't do anything else you think I might 'order' you to do!" Rebecca snapped, throwing a pair of sweatpants at Carrie. "Put these on! Now!"
Carrie, still stiff as a board, tried to put the sweatpants on both of her arms simultaneously.
Rebecca dropped to the floor, head in her hands. The burrito was still there, mocking her with its delicious, untouched warmth.
This was going to be a long night.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.