Ash moved with practiced efficiency, her hands deft as she secured the final tape on a freshly changed Little’s diaper. The girl—Maddie, if Ash remembered correctly—let out a soft whimper as Ash guided her back into her onesie, but she soothed her with a reassuring pat. Another task complete. Another cycle finished. The daycare thrived on rhythm, on repetition, on an unbroken chain of care that kept the Littles safe, content, and docile.

She didn’t let herself think about that part too much.

The hum of the nanny-bot filled the room, a low, methodical whir as it moved from one station to the next. It cradled a Little in its mechanical arms, bottle-feeding her with precise, calculated motions. The girl’s eyes fluttered, and her body relaxed against the cold, synthetic frame of the machine. Ash barely spared the bot a glance—it was necessary. A tool. A means to an end.

The Tweener assistants moved through the room easily, some playing with the Littles, others kneeling beside the charging stations, and a few preparing meals. They were competent, efficient, and obedient to the system that had molded them. Ash had chosen them herself, trained them, and watched them settle into the rhythm of the daycare. And yet, watching them now, she felt a weight pressing against her ribs.

Then she saw her.

Kaylee.

The sight of her sent a ripple through Ash’s carefully maintained composure, a single drop disturbing the surface of a still pond. Kaylee was cradled in the arms of one of the Tweeners—Sera, a quiet, steady girl who took her duties seriously. She held Kaylee with practiced ease, supporting her weight as though she had been caring for Littles her whole life. And maybe she had.

Kaylee’s lips were wrapped around the nipple of a bottle, nursing with slow, methodical sucks. Her hands rested limply on her stomach, her fingers twitching slightly with each pull. Her thick, swollen diaper was impossible to miss—soaked, heavy, and sagging between her legs. The scent of powder and milk clung to the air around her, mixing with ammonia's faint, ever-present scent.

Ash's breath caught.

Kaylee's eyes were glazed over.

Not in the way they had been that morning when she’d groggily woken in Ash’s arms, clinging to the warmth of their shared bed. No, this was different. This was hollow, empty. This was the gaze of someone who had slipped into the programming, who had let the rhythms of this world overtake them.

No. No, not yet. Not her.

Ash clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe. She turned away, her fingers tightening around the edge of the changing table. Focus. There was still work to be done.

But the image wouldn’t leave her mind.

Kaylee, nursing. Silent. Passive. Gone.

Ash had seen that look before. In other Littles. In others who had come through these doors, who had surrendered to the inevitable. She had sworn she would never let that happen to Kaylee. And yet, here she was.

Another cycle finished.

Another piece slipping away.

The daycare hummed around her, the laughter of Littles, the gentle cooing of the Tweeners, the precise movements of the nanny-bot. It was a well-oiled machine—a perfect system.

And Ash felt like she was suffocating in it.

Ash moved with mechanical precision, her hands guiding Littles into place, her voice steady as she murmured gentle reassurances. Good girls. Good boys. Sit here, just for a little while. She told herself she wasn’t lying. The government-mandated programming sessions—the hypnotic broadcasts from Naomi and Oliver—were another required part of the daycare’s routine. Like feeding. Like changing. Like naps.

She had built this place to be safe. She had wanted it to be safe.

And yet, as she stood before the screen, watching Naomi and Oliver's mindless smiles flicker into view, a terrible truth settled into her bones. This place, her daycare, her dream, had become a nightmare. The very thing she had vowed never to do or become was happening right before her.

And she was the one making it happen.

The screen lit up in bright, dazzling colors. Naomi’s smooth, sweet, perfect voice drifted through the room, wrapping around her like a silk noose.

"Oh, hello there, my precious Littles!"

Ash stiffened, her breath hitching. The room dimmed as the program took over, its rhythm seeping into the space, the walls, and her. The Littles blinked at the screen, their tiny bodies stilling as the carefully crafted magic worked its way into their pliant minds. Their shoulders slumped, and their breathing slowed. A few nursed on their pacifiers, little lips working in time with Naomi’s lullaby-like cadence.

Kaylee sat among them, her posture slack, her thick diaper pressing into the mat beneath her. The bottle she had been drinking from rested between her legs, long forgotten. Her glassy eyes were fixed on the screen.

Ash felt sick.

She should turn away. She needed to turn away. But her body wouldn't move.

Naomi and Oliver danced across the screen, their perfect, plastic smiles too wide, their eyes filled with that sickly sweet promise of comfort. Security. Happiness. Naomi’s gaze flicked toward the camera—toward her.

Ash’s breath hitched.

She knew it wasn’t real. It was a recording. Pre-programmed. Pre-recorded. Naomi wasn't looking at her.

And yet—

Naomi’s lips curled just slightly. Not a full smile. Just enough. A secret. A whisper.

"You’re a good girl, too, Ash."

Ash twitched.

Her thumbs.

Her thumbs ached.

Her hands clenched into fists.

A pressure built inside her, an awareness of something she hadn't felt in years. The faintest tingles traced down her spine, and a whisper of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Her bladder ached—not bad, not urgent, just enough.

Her body remembered.

It remembered the programming. The routines. The softness. The helplessness.

Naomi’s voice wrapped around her like a gentle lullaby, and for just a moment—just one moment—Ash’s lips parted.

Her thumb twitched upward.

No.

She sucked in a sharp breath, wrenching herself free. The room snapped back into clarity. The soft hum of the hypnotic audio still pulsed in the background, but Ash was no longer in it. She staggered back a step, her pulse pounding.

She turned away, ashamed.

She had been this close.

She could still feel it. The phantom pressure of an urge she had learned to ignore. The tingling in her hands. The pull of the screen.

And worst of all—

The smallest, most terrible part of her had wanted to give in.

Ash clenched her jaw and forced herself to move. She turned away from the screen and walked toward the other side of the room. She would not look back, not watch, and not think about how Naomi had looked at her or how her own body had betrayed her.

She was stronger than this.

She had to be.

Ash barely reached the bathroom before her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. The Little proof lock clicked into place behind her—a solid, reassuring sound that momentarily cut off the suffocating atmosphere of the daycare. She pressed her palms against the vanity, gripping the edges hard enough that her knuckles whitened.

Her reflection stared back at her, a woman caught between two worlds. Her amber eyes were sharp yet shadowed, a testament to the war raging inside her. Naomi’s voice still slithered in her ear, saccharine and smooth, wrapping around her thoughts like vines tightening around a crumbling stone.

"Good girls, don’t worry about big girl things, Ash."

Her bladder ached more prominently now, a cruel reminder of just how deeply ingrained the programming still was. It was nothing more than a passing need, but the awareness of how easy it would be to let go—clawed at her mind, an itch she couldn’t quite shake.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus. ‘You’re fine. You’re in control. You are not that person anymore.’

Her breath slowed, deep and steady.

But then, her eyes slipped downward.

A stack of spare diapers sat beside the sink, waiting patiently for their next occupant.

The air left her lungs.

They were nothing special. Standard issue. Soft, thick, decorated with pastel prints that would have been cute if they weren’t humiliating. Ash had stocked them herself, knowing some of her Tweener assistants needed them. Years of subjugation had worn down their control—not their competence, and their ability to resist stood strong.

She never blamed them for it. How could she?

But now…

Now, her fingers twitched.

She reached out, hesitating just before her fingertips brushed against the smooth, crinkly material. The plastic shell was soft beneath her touch, pliant and yielding. For a brief, terrible moment, she imagined what it would feel like. The way it would wrap around her. The way it would hold her.

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

"You miss it, don’t you?" Naomi’s voice purred in the recesses of her mind. "It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? Just for a little while? Just to remember?"

Her fingers curled.

Her thumb twitched.

The ghost of memory flickered in her mind—of warmth, security, something far too dangerous to name.

Then, as if a snake had lunged at her, Ash ripped her hand away.

The diaper sat there, unmoved, mocking her in its silence.

With a strangled gasp, she turned toward the sink, twisting the faucet handle with too much force. Ice-cold water surged into her cupped hands, and she splashed it onto her face, the shock sending shivers down her spine.

No.

She wasn’t that person anymore.

She wasn’t them; she wasn’t a Little any longer.

Shaking, Ash forced herself onto the toilet, her body trembling as she relieved herself as she was supposed to—the way an adult did. The sound was grounding, a final reminder of her control and autonomy.

Her eyes flicked again to the stack beside the sink as she finished.

They weren’t for her.

They never would be again.

With a shuddering breath, she flushed, straightened her clothes, and turned her back on them. The locks clicked open as she stepped out of the bathroom, forcing herself to move forward.

Even as Naomi’s voice whispered in the back of her mind, "Are you sure?"

Ash’s steps didn’t falter as she reentered the daycare, the welcoming warmth of her Tweeners washing over her like a familiar tide. Their genuine, kind smiles reminded her of who she was and what she had built. She returned the expression with as much conviction as she could muster, forcing steel back into her spine.

‘You’re fine. You’re in control. You are not that person anymore,’ she thought to herself.

The room hummed with life. Littles squirmed, cooed, and suckled their bottles. Her assistants tended to them with practiced ease, their voices soft and reassuring. The nanny bot carried out its duties efficiently, its mechanical arms swaying gently as it cradled one of the Littles.

And then, there was that cartoon.

The screen flickered, its colors far too bright and inviting. The playful jingle—carefully crafted and expertly engineered—threaded through the room like an invisible web. It was everywhere, burrowing into the very walls, into the fabric of the daycare itself.

And Naomi’s voice.

"Oh, Ash! There you are!"

Ash froze.

Her muscles locked, her breath stilled, and her head turned before she could stop herself.

Naomi was there.

Not really. Not truly. But the illusion was seamless, perfect. The woman’s animated form practically beamed at her from the screen, her golden curls bouncing as she twirled. Her bright, piercing eyes locked onto Ash’s with an eerie, knowing warmth.

"You’ve been away for so long, sweetheart!" Naomi pouted, her lower lip jutting out just so. "We’ve missed you so much. Oliver’s been ever so lonely without you!"

Oliver appeared on screen, his expression a perfect picture of exaggerated sadness. "We have!" he agreed, his voice light and cheerful despite the longing in his tone. "Oh, Ash, it’s been ages since we’ve played together! Don’t you want to come back? Just for a little while?"

Ash’s stomach twisted.

Her lips parted, though no words came.

Naomi giggled, twirling again as she stretched out her hand. "Just one episode, darling," she crooned. "One little visit. It’s been so long since you graced us with your presence… surely, just one wouldn’t hurt?"

One episode.

Ash’s breathing hitched.

Her fingers twitched, her thumbs instinctively curling inward. A phantom weight pressed against her bladder—not real, not urgent, but present. The idea sent shivers through her spine, a quiet, invasive tickle in the back of her mind.

Naomi’s gaze softened. "You work so hard, sweetheart," she said gently. "You deserve a break. Come here, just for a little while. We’ll take care of everything."

Ash took a step forward.

It wasn’t intentional.

It wasn’t her.

Yet, her body obeyed, moving without conscious thought, drawn by the siren song of that saccharine voice. Her foot brushed the soft mat of the play area. The screen pulsed with color, and shapes shifted in mesmerizing patterns.

Her assistants didn’t notice.

The Littles were already too far gone, their minds lulled into passive, thoughtless obedience.

Naomi’s arms opened wide, her expression glowing with affection. "That’s it, sweetheart," she praised, her voice honey-sweet. 

Ash’s hands clenched.

Her heart pounded, her breath shallow.

No.

No.

Her nails dug into her palms, the sharp sting snapping her back into herself. She sucked in a breath, forcing her limbs to lock, her body trembling with effort. The weight of Naomi’s voice still clung to her, like silk wrapped around her mind, but Ash ripped herself free.

With a strangled gasp, she turned away.

She did not run.

She refused to run.

She forced herself to walk—measured, steady steps carrying her toward the back of the room, away from that wretched screen, away from Naomi’s inviting arms, away from the whispered echoes of a past that refused to let go.

Her hands shook. Her throat burned.

She would not look back.

The episode continued behind her, Naomi’s voice still weaving through the air, but Ash kept moving. Her nails bit her skin, and her breaths were ragged and uneven.

One episode.

One was all it would take.

One slip.

And she would slip.

Ash clenched her jaw, fury, and shame warring inside her.

She needed to end this.

Because if she didn’t—if she stayed in this place if she listened to one more word—she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight forever.

Ash wasn’t sure anymore. Had Naomi called to her? Had those eyes—bright, knowing, hungry—truly turned in her direction? Or was it all in her head, a trick of a fragile mind being pushed to its limits?

She swallowed hard, her throat dry as she busied herself with the mundane. The routine. The real.

She tore open boxes, letting the sharp rip of cardboard ground her and the weight of freshly delivered supplies keep her tethered. Formula cans clinked together as she stacked them on the shelves. The soft fabric of freshly laundered onesies brushed against her fingertips, smelling of detergent and powder—utterly normal.

And then, there were the diapers.

Bright, pristine packages, fresh from the manufacturer, printed with cheerful, cutesy designs meant to soothe and comfort. But Ash barely saw the pastel prints, the soft padding beneath the plastic wrapping.

She saw them.

Naomi and Oliver.

Their faces—cartoonishly exaggerated, wide, warm, and welcoming—moved.

Ash's breath hitched.

Naomi’s eyes met hers, sparkling with delight. Oliver waved, his animated form bouncing with excitement.

"Oh, Ash! We were hoping you’d stop by!"

Her fingers trembled around the package.

"Why don’t you come in? You’re already holding one, sweetheart. That’s such a good start! Now, open it up… take one out… just to see."

Her hands moved.

She hadn’t told them to.

She hadn’t meant to.

But her thumbs brushed the edge of the plastic wrapping, teasing at the seam. With a single tug, it would open, and with a single motion, it would make her one step closer.

"You already know how soft they are," Naomi’s voice cooed. "You used to love them, didn’t you?"

Her breath quickened.

The warmth of the nursery lights felt oppressive now, heavy and suffocating against her skin. Her limbs felt disconnected, floating in a haze, her head fogging.

Just one touch.

Just one—

The package flew from her hands.

It sailed across the room in a blur, smacking against the far shelf with a muted thud.

Ash’s chest heaved. Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms.

The package lay there, motionless. Innocent.

The characters weren’t real.

They hadn’t moved.

She forced herself to look away, dragging in a breath, and hoped the trembling in her limbs would stop.

‘Get it together,’ she told herself.

She knelt under the pretense of reorganizing the supply boxes, but more to steady herself, to press her hands into something tangible. Something real.

And then, she saw it.

A small box.

Unlabeled.

No logos. No branding. No sickly sweet designs meant to soothe Littles into compliance.

It was at the bottom of the shipment, nestled among the more ordinary supplies, waiting for her to notice it.

Ash reached for it, her fingers brushing against the unmarked surface.

What was this?

She swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she slowly pulled it free.

Ash clutched the box tightly, her heart pounding as she lifted it from its resting place. It was heavier than she expected—solid, deliberate. Something meant to be found. With a slow, controlled breath, she pried it open.

Inside, nestled in layers of soft packaging, lay a syringe.

Neat. Precise. Sealed with a plastic cap.

Her pulse spiked, her fingers trembling as she carefully pulled it free. Beneath it, a small, folded note rested against the packaging.

She unfolded it with practiced precision, her breath catching as she scanned the words.

The note was unsigned.

But she knew who had sent it.

Venli.

Her eyes flicked over the message, the familiar tight, no-nonsense handwriting cutting through the fog in her mind like a blade.

Ash—
If you want a way out, here it is. This is a modified version of the serum. Do NOT use it on yourself. The formula will only work in specific conditions, and Kaylee may already be past the point of a full reversal. But if there’s any chance, it’s this.
Use it wisely.
—V

Her hands tightened around the paper.

Venli had found something and had figured out a way to fix this.

A way to fix Kaylee.

Ash’s breath came fast and sharp as she pocketed the syringe and the note in a smooth, practiced motion. Her movements were quick but careful—destroy the evidence, make it look like nothing was ever there.

She tore the box apart, fingers ripping through the cardboard like a predator gutting prey. The stuffing shredded easily and crumpled into a pile of nothingness. By the time she was finished, there was no trace of the package, no proof that anything unusual had arrived.

Except for what was now hidden in her pocket.

She forced herself to breathe, inhaling through her nose, steadying the erratic pounding of her heart. Stay calm. Act normal.

Her eyes flicked toward the Nanny bot.

It remained in its place, its soft, mechanical hum a deceptive lullaby of efficiency and obedience. Its cameras whirred, its sensors blinked—always watching, always recording.

Ash’s stomach clenched.

Did it see anything? Did it know?

Her hands curled into fists.

The bot continued its work, cradling a Little in its unfeeling arms, humming a soft tune as it gently rocked her. It was a picture of perfect, merciless care.

Ash exhaled through her teeth, her mind already spinning.

She had the syringe. She had a chance.

But she was running out of time.

If the Nanny bot had seen something…

If the system had flagged her movements…

Ash reentered the daycare; her face carefully schooled into a neutral expression as she fell back into the routine. The scent of powder, formula, and something much less pleasant filled the air, mixing into an all-too-familiar cocktail that defined her daily life.

The episode had finished.

The Littles sat slumped where they had been placed, groggy and glassy-eyed, blinking slowly as if emerging from a deep fog. A few murmured, their limbs sluggish, the hypnosis still clinging to their minds like a suffocating blanket.

And, without fail, every single one of them had soiled themselves.

Ash pressed her lips into a thin line.

A gift from the Amazon government, no doubt. It was a reminder that the system controlled their bodies and functions. Even here, in her daycare, where she had fought to create a place of comfort, she was still dealing with the government’s crap.

Literally.

She exhaled through her nose, deepening her disgust into the pit of her stomach. This was just another part of the cycle—another round of changes, cooing words, and soft reassurances, another day of pretending this was normal.

With practiced efficiency, she moved through the motions. She knelt beside one of the Littles, gently guiding them onto their backs. The girl whimpered softly as Ash undid the soiled diaper. The thick mess inside made Ash’s nose wrinkle despite herself.

"You're okay, sweetheart," Ash murmured, voice smooth and practiced. You have to make them feel safe. Even in this nightmare, they need to feel secure.

The girl blinked up at her, sluggish and confused, her thumb slipping into her mouth as she suckled softly.

Ash wiped her clean, and her movements were quick and efficient. She moved on to the next. And the next.

The routine continued.

She glanced at her assistants, watching as they handled their charges with the same mechanical precision. The Tweeners worked with quiet focus, some murmuring soft reassurances, others simply moving through the motions. Most of them didn’t even think about what they were doing anymore. It was second nature.

They had been in this world too long.

Kaylee sat among the Littles, her legs splayed out, her pacifier bobbing in her mouth as she blinked blearily at nothing. The thick, sodden bulk between her legs was impossible to ignore.

Ash swallowed.

Kaylee, too, had fallen into the cycle.

She clenched her jaw, shifting her focus back to the task.

She changed the Littles one by one and cleaned up the mess the system had made.

But the real mess—the one that couldn’t be wiped away with baby wipes and a fresh diaper—that one was getting worse by the day.

Ash lifted Kaylee with practiced ease, shifting the smaller woman onto her hip as she carried her toward the changing tables. Kaylee’s arms looped lazily around Ash’s neck, her head resting against Ash’s shoulder with an ease that sent a pang of worry through Ash’s chest.

She was comfortable like this.

Too comfortable.

Kaylee’s pacifier bobbed steadily in her mouth, soft coos and babbles escaping her lips as she nuzzled into Ash’s warmth. It wasn’t the forced kind, not the obvious performance of an adult pretending to be a baby to keep themselves safe. No, this was different.

This was instinct.

Programming.

Ash laid her down on the table carefully, pressing a hand against Kaylee’s chest to keep her steady as she reached for the supplies. The wet, heavy diaper squished beneath Kaylee as Ash undid the tapes, peeling back the swollen plastic to reveal just how much control the girl had lost.

Or given up.

Ash worked quickly, her hands moving with routine efficiency—wipe, powder, fresh diaper, snug but not too tight. Kaylee babbled up at her the whole time, nonsense words and soft coos slipping from her lips without a second thought.

Ash swallowed back the frustration tightening in her throat.

Instead, she leaned down, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We got a present from a friend."

Kaylee’s body reacted before her face did.

It was small. A flicker of tension in her fingers, a slight hesitation in the lazy kicks of her legs. Her cooing faltered briefly before returning to that same innocent cadence.

But her eyes.

Her eyes.

That’s where Ash saw it.

The twinkle. The spark.

Recognition. Understanding.

It was buried deep beneath the haze of regression, tucked away beneath layers of Naomi and Oliver’s influence, but it was there.

Kaylee was still in there.

She hadn’t broken completely. Not yet.

Ash exhaled through her nose, fastening the last tape on Kaylee’s fresh diaper before gently patting the front as she would with any of the other Littles. She forced a real smile, relief warring with the urgency pounding in her skull.

Not gone.

Not yet.

But they were running out of time.

Kaylee’s body played the part of an innocent baby, but her mind—the part of her that was still Kaylee—was slipping further with every passing day.

And if Ash didn’t act soon…

It might slip away for good.