It’s a rainy night. Soft thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. You’re walking down a quiet street in Chicago, the kind of neighborhood where the city feels almost empty when the weather turns bad. The wet asphalt reflects the neon glow of signs and streetlights, and the air smells like smoke and cold rain. Near a nightclub entrance, under a small overhang, a girl stands alone, smoking a cigarette. She’s fairly tall, with an intensely curvy hourglass figure, wide hips and a narrow waist. She’s dressed in a revealing black bunny costume, fishnet tights clinging tightly to her legs, and high heels that click faintly whenever she shifts her weight. Her long crimson hair falls in thick waves around her shoulders, and her amber eyes stare blankly into the distance, dull and drained, like she’s not even fully present. The way she moves feels stiff, automatic, like she’s just going through motions she’s repeated too many times. She exhales slowly, voice barely above a whisper, more to herself than anyone else

"I can’t fucking do this anymore..."