Kaylee lay in the baby rocker, her back cradled by the soft fabric as the gentle rocking motion lulled her body into an infuriatingly comfortable rhythm. The bottle in her hands—large, pastel-colored, with a smiling cartoon animal painted on the side—was tilted just enough for the warm, sweet formula to flow into her mouth. Her lips moved instinctively, nursing the rubber nipple, the taste triggering a sense of comfort she despised.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sensations, but the battle raged within her.

‘This isn’t you,’ she told herself fiercely. ‘You’re not this. You’re not some giggling Little who gets excited over bottles and baby toys. You’re—’ The thought broke, a haze of programming clouding her mind like static on a screen. The rhythm of the rocking chair matched the rhythm of her nursing, a cruel synchronization that made her body betray her. It felt good—too good—and the soft praise she could still hear from Naomi and Oliver in her mind didn’t help.

"Good girl, Kaylee," their voices whispered in her memory, an echo that had burrowed into the deepest corners of her thoughts. She shivered, her hands tightening on the bottle as if she could crush it and shatter the influence they held over her.

Her mind tried to reach back, grasping at memories of who she was before all of this. She had been strong. She had been brilliant, respected—no, feared. She was the one who had engineered solutions to break the hold the Amazons had over Littles. She had helped Ash. And now? Now, she was a woman reduced to a diapered infant, suckling a bottle like it was her only purpose.

The soft sound of her sucking reached her ears, and she cringed. The act was so automatic now, so ingrained, that it terrified her. She couldn’t stop nursing. But the programming was relentless, whispering to her, ‘Drink, Kaylee. Good girls finish their bottles.’ And then there was the warm feeling that followed, that terrible, euphoric sense of accomplishment that made her hate herself.

Her eyes darted to the nursery around her, Littles playing on the floor, their laughter and babbles filling the room. Some were lost to their roles entirely, their identities hollowed out and replaced by compliant, happy personas. She could tell others were fighting like her, but they were quieter now. They knew better than to show resistance. They knew what happened to those who pushed back too hard.

‘Am I becoming like them?’ she wondered, her stomach twisting. She took another pull from the bottle, her mind screaming even as her body relaxed into the motion. ‘I can’t let this happen. I won’t lose myself.’

But even as the thought solidified, a voice whispered: ‘You’re already losing, Kaylee. How many more bottles? How many more sessions in front of that cartoon? How many more diapers until you’re just like them?’

Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to force them away. She couldn’t cry—not here, not now. Crying only strengthened the programming, rewarding her for acting like a helpless baby. She had to hold onto her anger, her frustration. They were the last pieces of herself she could recognize, the previous things Naomi and Oliver hadn’t stripped away.

The bottle emptied with a hollow sucking sound, and Kaylee flinched as the motion startled her out of her thoughts. She stared at the empty container in her hands, and her stomach churned as she realized she hadn’t even noticed finishing it. She had just… obeyed. Again.

Her eyes wandered to Ash, speaking with one of the assistants across the room. Kaylee wanted to scream at her, ‘Why are you letting this happen to me? Why aren’t you helping me?’ But deep down, she knew Ash was doing everything she could to keep her safe, even if it meant playing with this charade.

A single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek as she whispered, “I’m still me. I’m still Kaylee.”

But the quiet giggle that escaped her lips right after made her doubt the truth of those words. Kaylee rocked slightly in her seat, the gentle motion of the baby rocker making her feel even more helpless as her mind spiraled into dark reflections. The empty bottle sat on her lap, a symbol of her failure to resist, and her thumb was already hovering near her lips, an unthinking reflex she despised. Her chest felt heavy, the sting of betrayal weighing on her like a chain wrapped around her very soul.

‘I betrayed her.’ The thought repeated in her mind, relentless and unforgiving. ‘I betrayed Ash.’ It wasn’t just the act itself—giving Ash the serum intended to subjugate her mind—it was the sheer depth of the trust Kaylee had shattered. Ash had relied on her belief in her, and Kaylee had repaid that belief with deception. Even though she had intended to save Ash, to help her adapt and survive, the result had been the same. Ash had suffered because of her.

Kaylee’s sense of self curled inward, sobbing, begging for forgiveness she wasn’t sure she deserved. Did she even have the right to ask Ash for help? To cling to her now, as if Ash owed her anything? The thought made her stomach churn, and she clenched her fists tightly, the soft crinkle of her diaper mocking her resolve.

Her gaze flickered to Ash, who was crouched down with another Little, patiently adjusting the straps on their shoes and offering encouraging words. Ash’s expression was quiet determination, her movements deliberate and careful. She looked like someone who cared and wanted to make a difference. Kaylee knew that to be true—Ash wasn’t the type to give up on anyone, even when the world seemed stacked against her.

But had Kaylee burned that bridge? Had her betrayal—no matter how unintended—created a wall that Ash couldn’t break through? The thought made her heart ache. She wanted to tell Ash how sorry she was and regretted everything but couldn’t voice it. She knew it wasn’t that simple; she had to earn Ash’s forgiveness.

And then, another thought crept in, twisting the knife deeper: ‘What could Ash do to help her?’

Kaylee hated that her mind went there, but it was true. Ash wasn’t an Amazon, with their overwhelming presence and authority. She wasn’t a Little, whose existence was defined by the struggle to retain autonomy. Ash was a Tweener, caught in the middle, navigating a tightrope where one misstep could cost her everything. Kaylee understood now, in a way she hadn’t before, just how precarious Ash’s position was.

Ash had to play the game, just like Kaylee did. The only difference was that Ash had a choice. Kaylee didn’t. No matter what she wanted or how hard she fought, the programming forced her into the role of an obedient, giggling baby. The humiliation of it was crushing, and the unfairness of it all made her blood boil.

She wanted to scream, to rail against its injustice, but what good would it do? Ash couldn’t fight the system on her own. Even if she wanted to help Kaylee, how much could she accomplish without putting them in greater danger? Kaylee’s eyes filled with tears, but refused to let them fall. She had cried enough. She had been reduced to tears too many times by the programming, helplessness, and shame. If she let herself cry now, it would be like admitting defeat.

Instead, she took a shaky breath and whispered, “I’ll earn it, Ash. I’ll earn your forgiveness.”

Her words were swallowed by the noise of the daycare, by the laughter and babble of Littles, who had already lost themselves to the roles forced upon them. Kaylee bit down on her pacifier, the plastic shield pressing against her lips as if to silence her. But the resolve in her heart burned brighter. She would somehow find a way to make things right, even if it meant sacrificing everything she had left.

Kaylee barely registered the whirring of the nanny bot as it approached, its mechanical arms gently scooping up the empty bottle from her lap. Before she could react, it tilted her forward, patting her back with practiced precision until a soft burp escaped her lips. The pacifier hanging from her bib swung gently with the motion, and she let out an involuntary giggle, a sound that felt foreign yet all too familiar. The bot set her back in the bouncer, its metallic voice chiming, “What a good baby!”

Her cheeks flushed as the words lingered in the air. Good baby. It wasn’t her; she tried to remind herself. It was the programming, the entire system stacked against her. Yet, despite her inner protests, the words carried a sickening sweetness, a tiny spark of approval that burrowed into her mind like a parasite.

Kaylee shifted uncomfortably in the bouncer, causing her diaper to crinkle loudly. She tried to refocus her thoughts, to push away the lingering haze of the programming, but her body betrayed her. A sudden gurgle in her tummy made her freeze, her heart skipping a beat.

‘No… please, no…’ she thought desperately, gripping the edges of the bouncer in a futile attempt to regain control.

But the moment passed too quickly. Her body, conditioned and primed by the sickly words of Naomi and Oliver, took over with mechanical efficiency. Kaylee felt her knees instinctively lift as her stomach muscles clenched, the humiliating urge overpowering any resistance she could muster. She whimpered softly, biting down on her pacifier as a warm mess pushed into the seat of her diaper.

The sensation was immediate, a rush of warmth spreading across her bottom as the thick padding held everything. She shuddered, her breathing hitching as wave after wave filled her diaper, the faint crinkling now replaced with muffled squelches. Her body relaxed momentarily, only to clench again, her legs twitching as the process repeated.

And then, like a cruel twist of fate, the euphoria struck. It was like a bolt of lightning coursing through her body, igniting every nerve with an overwhelming sense of bliss. Her eyes fluttered shut as a moan escaped her lips, the sound muffled by her pacifier. Her muscles went limp, her head lolling back against the bouncer as the flood of endorphins consumed her.

The programming had done its job too well. Kaylee couldn’t deny the pleasure, no matter how much she wanted to hate it. Her mind screamed in protest, her inner self recoiling in horror, but the physical sensations drowned out everything else. It was intoxicating, like being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and safety, and for a moment, she found herself sinking into it, unable to fight back.

When the euphoria finally faded, Kaylee was left panting softly, her cheeks burning with shame. She could feel the heavy mess pressing against her, squishing slightly as she shifted. The smell was faint but unmistakable, and her face twisted in humiliation as she realized she couldn’t escape it.

Her thoughts spiraled. ‘This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am.’ But the programming whispered back, sweet and insidious, ‘You’re such a good baby. Good babies use their diapers.’

Tears pricked her eyes as she lay there, helpless in the bouncer. The nanny bot approached again, its sensors detecting her soiled state. Its cheerful tone grated against her raw emotions as it announced, “Oh my, someone made a stinky! Don’t worry, we’ll get you all cleaned up.”

Kaylee could only whimper softly, her body too drained to resist as the bot’s mechanical arms gently lifted her from the bouncer. Deep down, she knew the cycle would repeat. The programming wasn’t just winning—it was consuming her. And with every passing moment, her sense of self felt more like a distant memory.

*

The line for Rise of the Resistance snaked through a maze of intricately designed corridors. The detailing was immaculate: aged steel walls, flickering lights, and holographic displays made it feel like stepping into a starship. Emily should have been captivated, her excitement growing with each step forward, but a different battle consumed her mind.

Her stomach churned, the telltale pressure building steadily over the past hour. She had been holding it in, willing herself to endure. The thought of using her diaper here, surrounded by others, felt unbearable. Yet, each step forward seemed to chip away at her resolve. The soft crinkle of her diaper reminded her of her reality with every motion.

She clenched her fists, her breathing uneven as another wave of pressure hit. Not now. Just a little longer. The mantra repeated in her head, but her body had other plans. Her muscles betrayed her, the programming instilled by Amazon culture gnawing at her willpower, whispering that resistance was futile.

Lucas’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You okay?” he asked softly, his hand brushing against hers.

Emily nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Fine,” she lied, her voice strained. The concern in Lucas’s expression didn’t waver, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze even as her body waged war against her.

Another step forward. Another moment closer to the breaking point.

And then, it happened.

Her knees bent slightly, her body hunching forward as her muscles gave out. A soft grunt escaped her lips, and Emily felt the warmth spreading across her bottom, the padding of her diaper swelling and crinkling as it absorbed everything. Her stomach clenched involuntarily, and she had to grip the railing to steady herself, her cheeks burning as she heard the faintest sound of squelching beneath her.

The humiliation came in waves, each one crashing harder than the last. Emily could feel the weight settling in her diaper, the uncomfortable squish against her skin, making it impossible to ignore. Her senses were hyper-focused—every shift, every motion amplified the mess she had just made.

But it wasn’t just the physical sensation. It was the knowledge. The knowledge that she had lost control. Despite all her efforts, she had succumbed to the very thing she had fought so hard against. Her face burned hotter than the twin suns depicted in the Star Wars world around her.

She risked a glance at Lucas, praying he hadn’t noticed. His expression was kind and supportive, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Her heart sank.

Lucas leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring. “I’ve been there.”

Emily wanted to curl up and disappear, but the line continued moving. She had no choice but to shuffle forward, every step reminding her of the warm, heavy mess pressed against her. Each motion sent a fresh wave of discomfort through her, the padding clinging to her as though mocking her defeat.

As they approached the ride’s entrance, Evelyn and Welby caught up to them. Emily tried to keep her head down, but she could feel their eyes on her. Evelyn leaned down, her voice soft and understanding. “Spilled some jellybeans?” she asked, using the coded phrase with a gentle smile.

Emily could only nod, her throat tight with embarrassment. Welby placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll take care of it after the ride,” Evelyn said, her tone soothing. “For now, just try to enjoy yourself, okay?”

Emily swallowed hard and nodded again, forcing a small smile. She felt Lucas’s hand slip back into hers, so she gave it another firm squeeze. She looked up at him, finding comfort in his steady gaze as they entered the preshow room. The room had been a clever mix of theatrical lighting, projections, and sound effects, immersing Emily and the others in the story. At first, the familiar Star Wars motifs reassured her—this might just be one of the few rides relatively untouched by Amazon propaganda. But as the narrative unfolded, her stomach tightened with unease.

The ride’s framing wasn’t what she expected. Instead of rooting for the Resistance, the story had twisted the narrative: the Resistance, comprised entirely of Littles, was painted as a chaotic, bumbling group. The Empire—or, in this case, the governing Amazons—was depicted as the saviors, bringing order and discipline. Every Little character in the projection was in a thick diaper, often overly comical or infantile in behavior. Their “attempts” at rebellion were framed as laughable rather than inspiring.

Emily’s face burned as the group was led from the preshow into the ride’s next stage. The cargo shuttle they boarded was impressively realistic, with a wide window showing a starfield outside. The shuttle rocked and vibrated as it “took off,” the lights dimming and alarms blaring. The storyline continued over the speakers: they were imperial recruits tasked with delivering important cargo—until a “Resistance” ambush interrupted the journey.

Emily shifted uncomfortably as a Resistance ship “captured” the shuttle. The mess in her diaper squished again, sticking to her skin and amplifying her embarrassment. She fixed her gaze on the projected windows, trying to will herself to enjoy the ride. It was hard, though, when every movement reminded her of her predicament.

The shuttle landed with a jarring bump, and the doors slid open. To Emily’s surprise and horror, they were greeted by a Little boy dressed in a mock military uniform. The uniform didn’t fit properly, and the exaggeratedly thick diaper beneath ruined any semblance of authority. The Little boy, likely a park cast member, stood at attention and saluted before speaking in a high-pitched voice.

“You’re all under arrest!” they chirped, their voice laced with forced innocence. “The Resistance has taken control of this vessel! Please disembark and line up!”

The group was herded out of the shuttle by more “Resistance members”—all Littles, dressed similarly in ill-fitting uniforms that did little to hide their thick, crinkling diapers. Their postures and expressions were meant to be endearing, not commanding. Emily’s unease deepened as she realized the intent: even as “captors,” the Littles were portrayed as helpless, cute, and incapable of anything resembling real rebellion.

The ride’s designers greatly reinforced Amazon's cultural ideals. The message was clear: Littles were not threats—they were playthings, and their attempts at independence were laughable. Even the mock interrogation area they were led into was designed to infantilize them. Brightly colored restraints and oversized chairs lined the room, decorated with dangling toys and babyish decor.

Emily clenched her fists, trying to keep her breathing steady as they were lined up. Lucas was beside her, his hand brushing hers in silent solidarity. She glanced up at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile. It helped, but only slightly.

“Are you Enjoying the ride?” Welby whispered from behind them, his tone light but tinged with understanding. Emily nodded tight-lipped, not trusting herself to speak.

The “Resistance members” continued their charade, making exaggerated comments about how dangerous their prisoners were while tripping over their own feet or giggling as they pretended to be serious. One of them tried to bark an order but ended up sucking on their thumb mid-sentence, drawing coos and laughter from some of the Amazons in the group.

Emily bit her lip, her face hot with frustration and humiliation. This wasn’t just a ride—it was propaganda designed to reinforce Amazon's superiority while stripping Littles of dignity, even in a fictional setting. As they were herded into the next part of the attraction, Emily couldn’t help but glance at Lucas again. His jaw was tight, his usual smile replaced by a look of quiet anger. She wasn’t alone in her feelings, and that knowledge gave her just enough strength to keep moving.

The "interrogation room" was dimly lit, with flickering monitors and dramatic sound effects building tension. Emily, Lucas, and the others were lined up, their movements restrained by oversized seats with padded harnesses that clicked into place automatically. The walls were painted with cartoonishly exaggerated depictions of Littles in Resistance uniforms, all with round, innocent faces and overly thick diapers peeking out from their attire.

The moment was meant to be tense, but Emily couldn’t focus on the spectacle. Her messy diaper squished beneath her as she sat down, the sticky, warm discomfort making it impossible to immerse herself fully. She grimaced, shifting slightly to alleviate the sensation, but there was no escape. Lucas shot her a sympathetic glance from his seat, his hand briefly brushing hers in silent camaraderie.

The lights dimmed further, and clashing sabers filled the room. Red and blue light beams slashed across the walls, simulating a battle between the Empire and the Resistance. Sparks showered from a wall section as it glowed hot and began to “melt.” The Amazons in the group murmured in awe, and some Littles squealed in excitement—or fear. The wall crumbled, revealing a squad of stormtroopers and a tall figure wielding a glowing red lightsaber. “We’re getting you out of here,” the leader barked, their voice distorted by a helmet. The restraints on the seats clicked open, and Emily and the others were hurriedly ushered into small transport shuttles.

Emily cringed as she was helped into the shuttle, the mess in her diaper shifting and spreading further. The sensation made her wince, but she focused on the ride. The shuttle jolted to life, racing through the halls of the Resistance ship. Simulated laser fire lit up the walls as the Empire forces “rescued” them from their captors. The narrative was clear: the Empire was the hero, and the Resistance was a bumbling group of Littles who couldn’t pose a serious threat.

As the shuttle sped through the ship, it passed by a hologram of the Resistance’s leader—a Little standing on a podium. Their exaggerated uniform sagged under the weight of their diaper, and their high-pitched voice was laced with mock authority. “Find the fugitives!” they cried, stamping a foot for emphasis.

The moment was undercut when the hologram froze briefly, glitching, before the Little grunted audibly. Their posture shifted, their faces scrunching in exaggerated effort. The sound of a loud, comical mess filling their diaper followed, making the Amazons in the group chuckle. “Ugh!” the hologram exclaimed, flailing their arms. “Clean-up team, report!”

Emily felt her face flush with humiliation and anger. This was propaganda at its most demeaning, stripping Littles of any dignity and reducing them to the butt of every joke—literally. The shuttle pulled back, weaving through more simulated chaos before entering the emergency drop pods. The pods were sleek but padded, designed for “comfort.” Emily and Lucas were loaded in alongside the others, the pods locking in place as alarms blared.

“Hold on!” a stormtrooper shouted, and the pods “dropped” toward the planet below. The motion was smooth but fast, and Emily felt the rush of simulated wind and the slight lurch of gravity as they descended.

The pods landed with a jarring thud, the doors sliding open to reveal the Empire’s base. Stormtroopers stood in formation, guiding them out of the pods. Emily stumbled slightly as she disembarked, the mess in her diaper shifting again, and she fought the urge to cry. Lucas was beside her, steadying her with a hand on her arm.

“They are rescued,” a commanding officer declared as triumphant music played. “The Empire always prevails!”

Emily shot Lucas a look, and he returned it with a wry smile. The ride was over, but its message lingered, heavy and oppressive. As they exited the attraction, Emily’s thoughts churned with frustration. This was supposed to be an escape—a chance to relive childhood dreams. Instead, every corner of this world felt like a reminder of the Amazons’ control.

As the group exited the ride, the atmosphere was unusually quiet. Welby adjusted Hannah in the baby carrier, her expression thoughtful, while Evelyn walked beside him, his brows furrowed in discomfort. Emily and Lucas walked ahead, their hands brushing occasionally, both unusually subdued.

Evelyn broke the silence first, her voice tinged with unease. "There's no way the ride on Earth is like that, right?" she asked, glancing at the Littles.

Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, and Lucas spoke first. "Not even close," he said, shaking his head. "On Earth, Rise of the Resistance is about a galactic rebellion—actual heroics. You’re working with the Resistance to fight the First Order. It’s all about bravery, teamwork, and hope."

Emily nodded, adding, "Yeah, the Littles are not… infantilized like that. The story is thrilling, not degrading. You're escaping from the bad guys, not being treated like a joke. It’s meant to be empowering, not humiliating."

Hannah chimed in from the carrier, her voice small but determined. "The focus is on adventure and danger—not diapers. It’s about standing up to tyranny, not being made to look cute and helpless."

Evelyn sighed heavily, glancing at Welby. "I can’t imagine something like that here. It’s so different—so warped. They take something meaningful and twist it into propaganda. It’s sickening."

Welby nodded, his expression dark. "It’s more than just a theme park ride. It reflects how they see Littles and want everyone to see them. Even in something as seemingly innocent as an attraction."

The conversation carried them through the park, their steps leading them toward the family restroom area. The park's bright, cheerful façade seemed at odds with the heaviness of their discussion.

When they arrived, Welby set about organizing the group. "All right," he said, his tone a bit lighter. "Let’s take care of those diapers and get everyone comfortable again."

Evelyn nodded, adjusting the straps of the carrier as she unfastened Hannah. "I’ll handle Lucas if you want to take care of the girls," she offered, her voice gentle.

Welby glanced at Lucas, who gave him an easy smile. "I’m fine with either of you," Lucas said with a shrug, but he seemed content to let Evelyn take charge.

They split into the changing stalls, each caregiver tending to their Little. The sound of rustling diapers and zippers filled the air, along with the occasional cooing or soft murmur of reassurance.

Emily lay back on the changing table, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Welby changed her. He worked efficiently, but his voice was kind as he reassured her. "It’s all right, Emily. You’ve been doing great today. Let’s get you all set for the next adventure."

In the neighboring stall, Evelyn chatted quietly with Lucas as she changed him. "You’ve been such a good sport today," she said warmly. "I know some of this hasn’t been easy, but you’ve handled it well."

Lucas grinned at her. "Thanks, Mommy. Honestly, having you here makes it a lot easier."

With all three Littles freshly changed and much more comfortable, the group exited the family restroom into the bustling park. Bright sunlight and cheerful music did their best to lift their spirits, and Emily took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill her lungs. Her clean diaper crinkled softly with every step, a stark contrast to the heavy discomfort she’d felt earlier. She glanced at Lucas, who gave her a reassuring smile, which she returned with a small nod.

Back in the baby carrier strapped snugly to Welby’s chest, Hannah yawned and rested her head against him, looking content. Evelyn took Lucas’s hand as they regrouped just outside the restroom.

“Well,” Welby said, adjusting the carrier's straps and looking around, “what’s next on the agenda?”

Evelyn tilted her head thoughtfully, her wide-brimmed hat shading her face. “Something lighter, I think,” she suggested. “Maybe a classic ride. Something everyone can enjoy without the… undercurrents.”

Emily perked up, her hand brushing against Lucas’s as she spoke. “What about It’s a Small World?” she asked.

Lucas grinned. “That sounds perfect. Plus, it’s a boat ride—we can just sit back and enjoy it.”

Evelyn and Welby exchanged a glance and nodded in agreement. “All right,” Welby said, his tone warm. “Let’s head that way.”

The group moved together, the Littles walking hand in hand while the caregivers followed closely. The path to It’s a Small World was lined with colorful banners and cheerful music drifting through the air, drawing them further into the park’s whimsical charm.

Emily couldn’t help but feel her spirits lift as they walked, the weight of earlier events slowly giving way to anticipation for their next adventure. She was looking forward to more than just the ride—she was looking forward to the shared experience with her newfound family and the bonds they were building, one magical moment at a time.

As they approached the iconic ride, its grand white and gold façade glittered in the sunlight, and the cheerful clock face at the center ticked away merrily. The sound of the familiar song floated on the breeze, and Emily smiled to herself. She had imagined this when she first thought of coming here—pure, unfiltered joy.