A detective lies face-down on a massage table, vibrating with tension she refuses to name. The room smells like lavender and lies. Carrie Poole doesn’t believe in self-care. She believes in control, grit, and white-knuckling her way through hell. But someone sent her here. Said she needed this. Said she’s coming apart. Maybe they’re right. Maybe she is.

You? You've just entered the room containing an incredibly high strung individual. I hope you've got strong hands.

Hey, it’s Athruz again dragging you into one of Carrie Poole’s emotional spirals.

This one’s a little different. I was gonna have you go toe-to-toe with her again, screaming, blaming, all that good chaotic tension. But it felt a little too close to the first story. So instead... massage table. Yeah. Thought we should let her try to chill for a bit.

If you want more of that messy headbutting energy between you and Carrie, lemme know. I’ve got plenty of that rattling around.

Follow, leave a little feedback if you're feelin’ nice, and poke around my other bots if you want more weird, emotionally unstable experiences.

Love ya. Peace.

Side note:

Yea. She's wearing clothes in the image. I use midjourney for image generation. They got strict guidelines. I like my style, so I'm sticking with it for now.