Miranda Pierce

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the park as they continued through the winding paths, moving from one ride to the next.

The Littles were laughing, playing their parts perfectly, their hands swinging in rhythm as they toddled ahead, their thick diapers forcing them into an unmistakable waddle.

Miranda had been watching.

Of course, she had.

She always watched.

Always listened.

Always waited.

The afternoon had been quiet, deliberate, controlled.

She hadn’t needed to say a word.

Because they were already dancing to her tune.

Welby, Evelyn, Emily, Lucas, Hannah—

Every single one of them had fallen into place.

Emily and Lucas had embraced their roles beautifully and effortlessly.

Hannah was too far gone even to resist.

Welby—humiliated, broken down, forced into his place as much as the Littles.

And Evelyn…

Evelyn had been the most reluctant.

The one who had fought it the hardest.

But even she had begun to crack.

Even she had leaned into the role.

Even she had accepted the inevitable.

Or so Miranda had thought.

And then—

She saw the kiss.

Saw Welby turn Evelyn’s face toward him, saw the warmth in his eyes, saw the way she melted into him.

Saw the way the fireworks exploded beneath them like a perfect, scripted moment in a story she hadn’t written.

And for the first time all-day—

Miranda’s jaw tightened.

Her fingers curled against her desk, her nails pressing into the polished wood. Her screen glowed with live footage of the Ferris wheel gondola.

This—

This had not been part of the plan.

She had expected Evelyn to resist.

She had expected Welby to remain broken, to remain humiliated, to remain exactly where she had placed him.

Had expected them to fight, to splinter under the pressure, to crumble into the weight of their new reality.

She had not expected this.

Not intimacy.

No connection.

Not hope.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a slow, measured exhale slipping through her nose.

She should have seen it coming.

Should have known.

Evelyn had been a wild card from the start.

She had thought, at first, that breaking her would be easy.

Forcing her into the role of Mommy would strip her of her will and make her as much a prisoner as the Littles in her care.

And it had.

To an extent.

But Evelyn wasn’t a mindless caretaker.

She wasn’t cold.

She had grown attached.

And attachment was dangerous.

Because attachment led to defiance.

To rebellion.

To hope where there should be none.

Miranda leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming against the armrest, her expression unreadable.

This wasn’t a loss.

Not yet.

But it was a complication.

She let out a slow breath, tapping a command into her system, queuing up a new directive, a new reinforcement.

They were getting too comfortable.

Too bold.

She forced herself to relax, inhaling slowly, centering her focus.

This wasn’t a setback.

No—this was an opportunity.

If they wanted to embrace their roles as Mommy and Daddy—

Then, she would make sure they followed through.

She would push them deeper and make them fully commit.

There would be no hesitation.

No half-measures.

No pretending.

They would become exactly what they were meant to be.

Her gaze drifted back to the live footage of Hannah nestled in Evelyn’s arms. Her body was perfectly relaxed, and her pacifier bobbled rhythmically.

She sighed, pleased.

Hannah was coming along beautifully.

She fully settled into her role as a newborn.

Helpless. Dependent. Exactly how she should be.

Miranda leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping lazily against the armrest, before pulling up a new report.

A message from Inspector Thorne.

She clicked it open, scanning the detailed notes of the live assessments of another project.

Ash and Kaylee.

A small chuckle slipped past her lips as she read, shaking her head in quiet amusement.

The Naomi and Oliver experiments were progressing better than anticipated.

For both parties.

Miranda’s lips curled into a smirk, her eyes flickering with satisfaction.

She had expected results—but not this fast.

Not this complete.

It was fascinating.

And, if nothing else—

Deeply entertaining.

She closed the report, steepling her fingers, her mind already calculating her next move.

A small monitor flickered to life in the dim glow of her office, the cold, sterile feed from the testing chambers illuminating her screen.

She watched.

Observed the Amazon laying there, strapped in, their body completely still, their face frozen in unnatural calm.

Their eyes—wide, unblinking.

Fixed on the latest creation.

Miranda’s gaze lingered, studying them, analyzing every minuscule movement—or lack thereof.

They were watching.

Taking it in.

Letting the carefully curated stimuli wash over them, sink into them, and shape them.

And now—she waited.

Waited for the results.

Her work was just one part of the plan.

A single cog in the much larger machine.

The government’s true intentions loomed over everything, vast and unspoken.

Even she wasn’t privy to everything.

But she had a good idea.

She knew the direction they were moving in.

Knew that this was only the beginning.

Her eyes flickered back to the screen, her stomach twisting ever so slightly at the Amazon’s unblinking stare.

It was so familiar.

Just like—

Miranda turned away sharply, her fingers tightening around the tablet in her hands. She forced herself back to the reports, back to the numbers, back to the cold, clinical precision of her work.

She had her part to play.

She was just another piece in the grander design.

And that was fine.

Her experiments had been crucial.

Proving what no one had ever dared to test before.

Amazons—the supposed apex of society, the ones who had spent generations enforcing order, control, and regression upon Littles—

It could be pushed just as far.

And as it turned out?

Pretty damn far.

Miranda wanted to keep going.

Wanted to press further, to refine her techniques, to test the absolute limits of their conditioning.

But her concerns were secondary to what was already in motion.

The higher-ups had made their decision.

They were moving on.

Leaving her work in the shadows and shifting her focus toward the next phase of the plan.

And that—

That disappointed her.

It wasn’t over yet.

Not for her.

She could still play.

Still, have her fun.

Still enjoy the little pieces of control she had left before they stripped her of her playground.

Her eyes flickered back to the live feed of the Ferris wheel, and she watched as the gondola began its descent.

Soon enough, they would head back to the hotel.

Soon enough, they would beg her for diaper changes.

She didn’t even need to send a reminder.

Their diapers were wet but not soaked.

She could tell from the readouts flashing on her screen, her tracking systems monitoring their every movement, every bodily function, every shift in their routine.

And, of course—

Evelyn would have another messy diaper to change.

Miranda smirked.

Her gaze flickered to the other screens.

Not just Welby, Evelyn, Emily, Lucas, and Hannah.

No—dozens of them.

Amazons.

Watching. Being watched. Being controlled.

The control panel at her fingertips held all of them.

And yet—this was only the beginning.

The government’s true plans loomed just on the horizon.

They were already moving forward.

And soon, when everything fell into place?

No one—not Littles, not Tweeners, not even Amazons—would be safe.

Inspector Thorne

Thorne chuckled, leaning back in her chair, her boots propped lazily on the polished surface of her desk as she scrolled through the latest reports.

Her favorite kind of report.

The ones that proved her handiwork was paying off.

The ones that showed, in excruciating detail, just how far her little projects had fallen.

She took a long, slow drag of her cigar, the smoke curling through the air as she skimmed over Miranda’s latest report.

And—

Oh, this was rich.

She laughed outright, shaking her head.

"That devious bitch," she muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she read on.

She and Miranda had been betting for months—competing, really—to see who could push their Amazons further.

Who could break them better?

And while neither of them had clearly won—

They had used very different techniques to reach deliciously similar results.

Thorne flicked the screen, her smirk widening as she pulled up her favorite report of the day.

Kaylee.

Oh, Kaylee, Kaylee, Kaylee.

"Look at you, sweetheart," she purred, her fingers tapping the screen. "You've come so far."

She was particularly proud of that one.

Kaylee had fought—hard.

A real little spitfire, that one.

But here she was.

Changing diapers, cleaning up after Littles, and losing herself one humiliating accident at a time.

And then—

Ah.

Thorne actually had to set down her cigar, clutching her stomach as she burst into laughter.

"Oh, this is too much!"

Kaylee and Ash—

Those two miserable little rejects—

Had actually regressed a Tweener.

"Icing on the goddamn cake!" she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye.

Mira—oh, poor, poor Mira—

Had been subjected to Thorne’s latest episode of Naomi and Oliver, personally curated just for her.

The reports said she had deeply enjoyed it.

Thorne had to fight down another fit of laughter, imagining Mira’s furious little face, suckling her pacifier, swaddled in a wet diaper, unable to do a damn thing about it.

"That, my dear Miranda," she mused, picking up her cigar again, "is what I call a masterpiece."

She leaned back further in her chair, blowing a long stream of smoke into the air. Her smile was smug, satisfied, and victorious.

Thorne watched the live surveillance feed, her grin widening as Kaylee stumbled into the apartment. Mira was still clutched in her arms, her body shaking, and her breath ragged.

The moment Kaylee heard Naomi’s voice, the moment her entire body froze up—

Thorne bit her lip, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Come on, come on… give in, sweetheart."

For a moment, it had seemed like she might.

Kaylee had wavered, her fingers hovering over the breaker panel, Naomi’s words curling around her mind like a velvet noose.

Thorne had leaned in closer to the monitor, eyes gleaming, waiting for the moment Kaylee dropped, crumpled, succumbed—

But then—

That damn Amazon slapped herself across the face.

Thorne sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. Kaylee, with sheer pathetic willpower, forced herself to swipe her arm across the breakers, plunging the entire apartment into darkness.

"Ugh, you are such a buzzkill," she groaned, dragging her fingers down her face.

She had been having so much fun with Ash all day!

And Kaylee had to ruin it.

Thorne leaned back in her chair, pouting slightly. She watched as Kaylee collapsed to her knees, sobbing, shaking, and completely overwhelmed.

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart," she muttered, taking another long drag of her cigar.

Then, a thought hit her.

A slow, wicked smile curled her lips.

Kaylee might have cut the power.

She might have broken Ash out of Naomi’s embrace for now.

But the damage was done.

And Kaylee had no idea what she was about to walk into.

Thorne chuckled, tapping her nails against her desk.

"Ohh, sweetheart," she purred, watching as Kaylee forced herself back to her feet, preparing to face the mess she was about to find.

"You have no idea what you just walked into, do you?"

She wished she could see Kaylee’s face when she found Ash.

When she realized just how deep Naomi had taken her.

Thorne let out a delighted laugh, blowing a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Her heart pounded with excitement.

Because even without the TV—

Even without Naomi’s voice—

Ash was still trapped.

Thorne shook her head, a smug grin tugging at her lips as she snuffed out her cigar, the embers fading into nothing.

She stretched lazily, her arms arching over her head, her joints popping slightly as she let out a satisfied sigh.

Honestly?

She barely even needed to intervene anymore.

Kaylee, Ash, and even Mira were all doing just fine on their own.

Self-destructing beautifully.

And the best part?

Everything was already set in place.

They were all trapped in the web, their fates already sealed, their paths already predetermined.

All Thorne had to do now?

Sit back and watch them fall.

She didn’t even have to micromanage anymore.

Most of them didn’t.

The agency was moving forward with bigger things.

Far bigger than a few isolated hypnotic episodes.

Far bigger than forcing Amazons into diapers.

That was child’s play.

The real work was just beginning.

After one last glance at the darkened screen, Thorne turned on her heel and exited her station, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floors.

She made her way through the secured halls, past rows of silent, faceless workers, their eyes locked on various monitors, reports, surveillance feeds, every screen tracking something.

Something bigger.

The doors to the main meeting chambers slid open, revealing a dimly lit conference hall. The air was thick with tension and anticipation.

Others were already taking their seats, murmuring amongst themselves.

The hum of controlled chaos filled the room.

Thorne smirked, sliding into her seat, tapping her fingers idly against the table as she took in the serious expressions around her.

Something was coming.

Something big.

The room fell silent as the Director stepped forward. His presence was commanding, and his expression was stern, unwavering, and absolute.

The dim glow of the conference lights reflected off the massive screen behind him, its surface black for now. It was waiting, poised to reveal what they had all been preparing for.

Thorne sat up straighter, her pulse picking up, the anticipation thrumming through her veins.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Director began, his voice booming through the hall, sharp, precise, carrying authority with every syllable.

"The next stage of the Little Care Act is nearly ready."

A flicker.

The screen flashed to life, revealing a complex schematic, numbers, statistics, and reports scrolling through the display, all circling a single, bold phrase.

MASS ADOPTION INITIATIVE

Thorne’s lips parted, a slow, wicked grin curling across her face.

Oh, now this was interesting.

The murmurs around the table grew louder. Some sounded excited, others uneasy, and some simply silent, waiting, calculating.

"For too long," the Director continued, his gaze sweeping across the gathered agents, "our methods have been effective but fragmented. Littles have been taken in, yes, but at a slow, natural rate. We have let adoption be dictated by chance, by the whims of caregivers."

A pause.

Then, his expression hardened.

"That changes soon."

The screen shifted again, showing maps, logistics, facility expansions, and technology advancements, all tailored toward a single goal—

Bringing Littles under control en masse.

"With the next stage of the Act, we will be implementing the first-ever systematic mass adoption program—ensuring that every single Little is placed in the loving arms of a proper caregiver."

Thorne bit her lip, barely suppressing a thrill of excitement as the implications sank in.

Mass adoption.

Not just random, isolated cases anymore.

Not just a Little here, a Tweener there.

They were going to change everything.

The entire structure of society was about to shift.

The Director continued, flipping through detailed plans that showcased new facilities, tracking software, and advanced caregiving technologies designed to ensure maximum efficiency in identifying, processing, and placing Littles into their rightful roles.

"This will be the biggest societal shift in history."

"No more Littles running around unsupervised."

"No more lost causes."

"No more resistance."

The room sat in stunned silence, absorbing the gravity of what was being put into motion.

“United, under one goal,” he said with a grin. Every Amazon, Tweener, and Little working together.”