Before Ivy could say anything, movement blurred in her peripheral vision. Another caregiver—a young man whose face Ivy barely recognized—sprang forward, fury and desperation lighting his features. His fists clenched tightly, and with a raw, guttural yell, he charged directly at Mistress, his fist cocked back to strike. Ivy opened her mouth to shout a warning, but it came too late. The boy lunged forward, fist swinging with all the desperate fury of someone pushed beyond their breaking point—and passed straight through Mistress. He stumbled forward, crashing awkwardly to his knees, landing with a painful thud.

Mistress flickered slightly, shimmering like an image on the water before steadying again. Now, she was clearly revealed as nothing but a hologram. Her lips curled into a patronizing smile as she turned gracefully to face the fallen boy. "Oh, you poor, foolish child," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. Did you truly think I'd expose myself so recklessly?" She chuckled softly, the sound cold and mocking. Though your spirit is amusing, it has cost you. Actions have consequences here."

She turned slowly, hands folded primly before her, gazing calmly at the gathered contestants. Ivy shivered beneath that impassive stare, her skin prickling as though caught in a sudden chill. Mistress’s voice rose, clear and commanding, cutting through the tense silence. "Congratulations, little ones. You've endured yet another trial—impressive, truly. But do not expect comfort in victory. With each passing trial, your free time will become increasingly… limited."

Mistress extended one graceful hand toward the massive, plush seating area in the center of the room, now enclosed by a towering baby gate, its bars imposing and secure. Brightly colored mats lined the interior, scattered with soft toys, rattles, oversized stuffed animals, and an enormous television displaying cheerful cartoons, its high-pitched music mocking them from a distance. "This," Mistress continued smoothly, a cruel smile curling her lips, "is where the babies will remain for the duration of today. Until bedtime, of course."

Her gaze fell upon the boy who'd charged her hologram, still kneeling and trembling on the floor. His face was flushed deep crimson, shame and anger battling visibly behind his eyes. Mistress's smile sharpened, cruel amusement dancing across her features. "And you, my defiant little caregiver," she said with silky menace, "will join them. Some cartoon entertainment and playtime may help tame that rebellious streak."

The boy’s jaw tightened defiantly, but even he seemed to recognize the futility of resistance. His voice wavered, but he found the strength to speak, though he avoided Mistress’s mocking gaze. "I'd rather spend a hundred days in that playpen," he muttered bitterly, "than another hour locked in that… that horrible room."

Mistress laughed lightly; a silvery sound edged with disdain. "Wise decision, little one," she said smoothly, turning back to the others. "Now then, congratulations are in order—another trial complete. Of course," she added, her smile sharpening dangerously, "each trial you survive means less freedom in between. So, enjoy your brief respite while you can."

Ivy trembled slightly, a chill racing down her spine. She glanced at Clara, whose eyes had widened in quiet terror, and at Eli, who stared blankly at the massive play area, shoulders slumped in defeat. Ivy felt exhaustion settle heavily upon her shoulders, but she forced herself to stand tall, determined to remain strong for Clara, for Eli—and herself.

Mistress’s hologram shimmered slightly, flickering at the edges like a candle flame caught in a gust. She regarded them all with an expression somewhere between amusement and pity, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "A final word of advice, little ones," she announced smoothly, voice dripping with condescending sweetness. "Remember that obedience and acceptance will ease your path forward. Resistance only prolongs the inevitable. Embrace your roles, and you might even find yourselves enjoying it." With that, she winked—an unsettling gesture that twisted Ivy's stomach—and vanished completely, plunging the entire room into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

The quiet stretched painfully, contestants shifting uneasily as their embarrassment deepened in the absence of Mistress’s mocking voice. Ivy glanced around cautiously, feeling the tension like electricity prickling along her skin. One of the caregivers—a tall young woman whose confident demeanor had long since crumbled into weary resignation—moved first, stepping hesitantly toward the large, gated play area. She gestured gently, guiding her crawling charges forward. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the gate slid shut behind them with a decisive click, sealing them into the pastel-colored prison.

Ivy looked down at Clara and Eli, who stared warily at the looming enclosure, fear and resignation clear on their faces. With a gentle squeeze of Clara’s shoulder and a reassuring glance at Eli, Ivy nodded, silently urging them to follow. Clara moved first, reluctantly crawling forward on padded knees, Eli trailing miserably behind. Both hesitated at the gate’s edge, glancing back pleadingly, but Ivy could only offer an apologetic smile. The gate slid shut once again, leaving the two of them trapped inside the oversized nursery, surrounded by soft, mocking toys, cushioned mats, and brightly painted bars that rose like unyielding pillars around them.

At first glance, Ivy allowed herself a small sliver of relief. As twisted as it all was, it could have been worse. There were no sinister machines, no cruel restraints beyond the enclosure itself—just plush softness, comfortable and deceptively benign. For a fleeting moment, Ivy dared hope that perhaps this was merely a place of respite, a momentary break before the next horror. That hope shattered abruptly as the massive screen at the far end of the nursery sprang suddenly to life, bathing the room in bright, vibrant colors.

High-pitched music erupted from hidden speakers, echoing cheerfully off the walls and crawling unpleasantly across Ivy’s skin. Her stomach twisted sharply, dread pooling in the pit of her belly as familiar faces appeared onscreen—Naomi and Oliver, their saccharine smiles radiating false warmth. Naomi’s flowery pastel dress fluttered gently as she bounced in exaggerated excitement, her thick diaper peeking from beneath the short hem. At the same time, Oliver stood beside her in his infantile sailor-suit romper, a wide pacifier bobbing from his lips. Both figures waved eagerly to the captive audience, their bright, artificial cheerfulness utterly disturbing.

“Welcome back, babies!” Naomi’s voice chimed merrily, cloying sweetness laced with condescension. “We have another fun lesson today on how to behave like proper little ones. Remember, good babies always obey and never fuss! Isn’t that right, Oliver?”

Oliver nodded obediently; his eyes glazed with resignation as he mumbled incoherently around the pacifier, making Ivy cringe deeply. “That’s right,” Naomi continued gleefully, clasping her hands together. “Good little babies always listen to Mommy and Daddy, never fuss when being changed, and always drink their bottles without complaint!”

Ivy shuddered, casting a final, sympathetic glance toward Clara and Eli, who both stared helplessly at the screen. Eli’s eyes were wide with disbelief and mortification while Clara sagged forward, clearly already surrendering to the inevitability of the forced infantilization. Ivy swallowed hard, feeling guilt gnaw at her insides as she turned away, leaving her charges trapped in the brightly colored nightmare behind her.

She felt hollow as she walked away, each step echoing painfully against her conscience. Whatever small relief she’d felt before vanished beneath the oppressive cheerfulness of Naomi’s song and the lingering, cruel promise of Mistress’s final warning. Ivy had little doubt that before the day ended, they’d all be forced even deeper into this humiliating nightmare, each passing hour eroding another fragile piece of their dignity.

Ivy slipped quietly out of the living room, leaving behind the cheerful, infantile melodies and bright colors of the humiliating cartoons that had begun playing. More caregivers were steadily trickling in; each face etched with the same tired resignation she'd grown accustomed to seeing on her fellow contestants. They moved mechanically, silently escorting their charges into the towering playpen, surrendering them to that oversized, humiliating prison. Ivy shook her head, feeling an ache build behind her eyes. The trials were taking their toll, chipping steadily at her resolve, each indignity heavier than the last.

She lowered herself onto a small bench along the hallway, exhaustion finally catching up to her as she sank into the plush fabric. Her thick sleeper crinkled beneath her, its softness suddenly feeling claustrophobic rather than comforting. Ivy's mind drifted uncomfortably to the realization that she hadn’t yet spotted the caregiver potties today. Had they even been there? Neither had she been given the option of pull-ups instead of diapers. Had she missed them in the chaos, or was Mistress slowly, methodically eroding that privilege as well? The unsettling thought burrowed deeper, worming beneath her already fragile confidence. Ivy shook her head, trying to dismiss her fears. Surely, she was just overthinking things; nerves and exhaustion were playing tricks on her. But the unease lingered stubbornly, settling heavily in the pit of her stomach.

Footsteps echoed softly from down the hall, pulling her from her troubled thoughts. Ivy lifted her head, surprised to see Finn approaching slowly. She hadn't even noticed him during the chaos of the arena, and she hadn't seen his number flash on the screen. He gave her a weary smile, quiet relief flickering in his eyes as he moved to join her on the bench. Finn sank beside her heavily, shoulders slumped, the fabric of his caregiver sleeper rustling gently as he leaned back, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Didn’t realize you made caregiver too,” Ivy murmured, glancing at him with sympathy. Finn nodded, managing a tired, rueful smile as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice edged with bitterness. “Not sure whether it's an upgrade or just a different brand of torture, honestly.” He sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at the floor. “Feels like Mistress just finds new ways to twist the knife every single day.”

Silence fell between them, filled only by the distant, mocking cheerfulness of the nursery cartoons drifting from the living room. Ivy shivered slightly, suddenly cold despite the sleeper’s warmth. She glanced sideways at Finn, noticing for the first time how drawn his expression had become, how the shadows beneath his eyes had deepened with fatigue. They’d all been pushed so far already, tested in ways none of them could have imagined, and Ivy knew this brief respite was only temporary—a cruel lull before the inevitable storm returned.

“Do you think we’re ever getting out of here?” Ivy asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain whether she wanted an answer or not. Finn hesitated, his brow furrowing as he stared at the polished floor, lost in thought.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, voice low and heavy. “But if we do… I don’t think we’ll ever truly leave this place behind. It changes you, Ivy—makes you wonder if you’ll ever get your dignity back again.”

She nodded slowly, feeling the truth of his words settle deep inside her. They sat quietly together, the oppressive weight of their shared humiliation pressing down on them like a physical force. Yet despite the overwhelming despair, Ivy felt strangely reassured by Finn’s presence. She wasn’t alone in this nightmare. 

“How bad was the trial for you?” Ivy asked, her voice low, as though speaking the question too loudly might invite more horrors. She turned her head slightly to look at Finn, who still sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, fingers absently tracing patterns against the fabric of his sleeve.

Finn gave a dry chuckle, humorless and weary. “Too bad,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Took me way too long to figure out the symbols.” He paused, letting the memories stir, his expression darkening as he stared at nothing in particular. “The first room... God, I thought I was being clever at first. I kept trying to outthink it—tried finding patterns in the symbols, counting the number of shapes, matching colors to numbers.” He shook his head again, his laugh bitter now. “Turns out I just needed to sit down, cross my legs, and clap like a damn toddler.”

Ivy winced. “Seriously?”

Finn nodded grimly. “Yeah. The whole room was this stupid oversized nursery with building blocks and baby dolls. Turns out the trick was playing pretend. I kept trying to reason through it, but once I sat down and started acting like some overgrown daycare reject, the damn door unlocked.” He let out a slow breath, rubbing at his face. “And that was just the start.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone quieter. “Another room had a huge playmat floor tiles with letters and numbers. I tried hopping across the tiles like some puzzle, but I thought maybe there was a code or pattern. Nope. The second I stepped on the wrong tile, this… this thing dropped from the ceiling—a big metal arm with a paddle on the end.” He shook his head, embarrassed. “Smacked me right on the ass like some bratty kid. Felt like it was playing whack-a-mole with me. Took three more spankings before I realized I had to crawl across the mat instead. Crawl like an actual baby.” He rubbed his rear as if remembering the sting. “That wasn’t even the worst part.”

Ivy frowned. “What was?”

Finn gave her a grim smile. “The feeding room. They had this chair—one of those high-tech feeding seats. Strapped me in before I realized what was happening, and this arm came down with this massive bottle. I tried turning my head, but they had this strap on my forehead, and…” He swallowed thickly, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “It just kept feeding me. I don’t know what was in that bottle, but by the time it was done, I couldn’t move without feeling like my insides were gonna burst. My stomach felt like it was full of cement.” His gaze darkened. “Didn’t take long for that feeling to turn into something worse.”

Ivy shuddered, understanding all too well what he meant.

“I had one like that,” she admitted. “The rocking horse room… God, that was awful.” She grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “I had to sit there, rocking back and forth in a messy diaper while clutching this stupid bear.” Her fingers dug slightly into the fur of the bear still tucked against her side. “I knew the only way out was to keep playing along. Smiling, giggling, pretending I loved every humiliating second of it. And the whole time… I knew Mistress was watching. Every second of it.”

Finn let out a low sigh, eyes closing briefly. “Feels like she’s always watching,” he muttered.

“She is,” Ivy said darkly. “That’s the worst part. No matter what you do, no matter how you try to hold onto some shred of dignity, you know she’s up there somewhere, watching every moment—enjoying it.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Their silence felt heavy, filled with unspoken memories and the bitter sting of shared humiliation. The muffled sound of the cartoon’s endless, cheerful melody floated down the hallway, an ever-present reminder of the twisted game they were still trapped in.

“...I hate that show,” Finn muttered suddenly, glancing toward the door with a dark scowl. “I swear if I hear Naomi’s stupid voice one more time…”

“Same,” Ivy muttered, chuckling weakly. The sound felt foreign—almost too normal—but she welcomed it anyway.

“Still,” Finn said, sighing as he leaned back against the wall again. “We’re still here, right? We made it this far.”

Ivy nodded slowly, clutching the bear tighter to her chest. “Yeah,” she murmured. “We’re still here.”

The sound of soft footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Ivy turned her head to see another contestant approaching. He was dressed like a caregiver, and his sleeper was marked with the number 72 emblazoned just above his heart. Something oddly familiar about him—his lean and angular face—triggered a memory Ivy couldn’t quite place. He smiled hesitantly as he neared, an uncertain yet genuine expression that softened the lines of exhaustion etched across his face.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice tired but warm.

“Yeah, sure,” Ivy said, shifting slightly on the bench to make room. She scooted closer to Finn, feeling the warmth of his side press against hers. His arm naturally shifted behind her, resting along the back of the bench. It wasn’t possessive or intrusive—just a quiet, steady presence. Ivy felt a surprising comfort in it, something grounding in the chaos that Mistress had so relentlessly forced upon them.

Contestant 72 settled onto the bench with a quiet sigh of relief, resting his hands on his knees. Ivy studied him more closely now, finally placing the memory. The Naughty Room, she realized, her eyes widening slightly. She’d seen him before—he had been one of the first victims, dragged away screaming on their second day here. Back then, his face had been pale, streaked with tears, his terrified cries still hauntingly vivid in her mind. But now… now he looked calm. Tired, yes—but calm. Something about that unsettled her almost more than seeing him broken.

“You’re… you were…” Ivy started hesitantly, unsure if mentioning the Naughty Room was wise.

The boy chuckled softly, a sound that carried no real humor. “Yeah,” he said, nodding with a grim smile. “I’m that guy.” He shifted slightly, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. “Name’s Mason, by the way.”

“Ivy,” she replied, offering her name in return. “And this is Finn.”

“Good to meet you,” Finn added, giving Mason a small nod. “You holding up okay?”

Mason exhaled, his smile fading. “Better than I was,” he admitted. “The Naughty Room…” He paused, shaking his head as if trying to forget. “It screws with you. Really messes with your head. But I made it through.” He shrugged, but there was a tension behind his casualness—a lingering shadow that clung to him like a second skin. “I guess you kind of stop thinking about things after a while. Stop asking ‘why’ and just… do what you have to.”

Ivy swallowed hard. There was something hollow in Mason’s voice, a weariness that spoke to the kind of suffering Mistress seemed to enjoy inflicting.

“How bad was it?” Finn asked quietly.

Mason’s smile faltered entirely. “Bad,” he said simply. His eyes drifted toward the floor, his fingers clenching into his knees. “They—uh—don’t just punish you for being naughty. They… they train you. Like you’re some animal that needs to be housebroken.” His voice dropped lower, and Ivy leaned closer just to catch his words. “I don’t know what was worse—the punishments or the way they try to break you. By the end of it…” His voice trailed off, and he stared down the hallway as though still seeing something none of them could.

“You came back from it,” Ivy offered quietly. “That’s what matters.”

Mason gave a faint smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Barely.”

For a while, they sat in silence, the faint echo of Naomi’s cheerful, sing-song voice filtering faintly down the hallway. Ivy didn’t need to hear the words—just the tone was enough to make her stomach twist. Mistress’s twisted world thrived on those false comforts, the illusion of sweetness wrapped around layers of control and degradation. Naomi’s voice felt like a dagger wrapped in silk.

“You’re a caregiver now,” Finn said after a while. “How’d you manage that?”

Mason gave a small, wry chuckle. “Survived,” he said simply. “Doesn’t mean much, though. Being a caregiver…” He shook his head. “It’s still a leash. Just a longer one.”

Ivy frowned. That unease returned, gnawing at her insides. She remembered her earlier thoughts—how she hadn’t seen a caregiver restroom today, how none of them had been given pull-ups like before. It all seemed to be unraveling, layer by layer, and she couldn’t help but feel like Mason’s words held a warning she hadn’t yet grasped.

“I don’t think she’s done with us,” Mason said quietly, almost as if reading her thoughts. “I think she’s just… changing the game.”

Mason’s gaze drifted curiously to the bear resting in Ivy’s lap, his brow furrowing as if only now noticing it. “What’s with the bear?” he asked, nodding toward it.

Ivy blinked in surprise, momentarily forgetting the soft bundle of fur tucked beneath her arm. Instinctively, her fingers tightened around it, drawing it closer to her chest. The bear’s plush warmth seemed to anchor her in place, a small comfort in a world that had stripped away nearly everything else.

“Oh, this?” Ivy said, her voice carefully casual. “It was... something from the trials. Just a weird prop or something, but it... it kinda helped me.” She hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “It gave me hints—like actual verbal hints. Whispered things to me during the trial.” She tried to downplay the significance, forcing a smile she hoped looked believable. “I figured I'd hold onto it. Maybe it'll come in handy again.”

Both Mason and Finn perked up at that, Mason’s eyes narrowing with renewed curiosity. “Wait... you’re saying that thing talked to you?” Mason’s expression darkened with suspicion. “Like, actually talked?”

“I mean... yeah,” Ivy said carefully, fingers unconsciously kneading the bear’s fur. “It helped me figure out some of the puzzles. Told me what to do, when to act... that sort of thing.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “That’s... weird,” he muttered, exchanging a look with Mason. “Nothing like that happened to me. Are you sure it wasn’t just—”

“I heard it,” Ivy interrupted, her voice firm. “Clear as day. Told me how to get out of the rocking horse room. Told me which doors to take. I know it sounds crazy, but... I don’t know. It worked.”

Mason leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “And you haven’t heard it since?”

Ivy shook her head. “Not since the trial,” she sighed.

Finn and Mason seemed to accept that, though Mason’s eyes lingered a little too long on the bear. Ivy shifted it slightly, pressing it closer to her chest. The last thing she wanted was for someone to get ideas about taking it from her.

“Maybe it’s a fluke,” Mason said after a moment, though his tone lacked conviction. “Could’ve just been some weird mind game from Mistress—part of the trial, messing with your head.”

“Maybe,” Ivy murmured, though deep down she doubted that. Mistress didn’t hand out advantages like that—not without a catch.

“Still,” Finn added, “might be smart to keep it close. Even if it’s not talking anymore... can’t hurt to have a lucky charm, right?”

Ivy forced a weak smile, pretending to agree. “Yeah... can’t hurt.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then brought the bear to her ear, pressing it close enough to feel the warmth of its fur against her skin. She expected silence—hoped for silence—but then... a whisper. It was soft, faint, and barely audible.

“If they find out your secret... I'll stop helping you.”

Ivy froze, her fingers stiffening against the bear’s fur. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs. The voice had been so quiet, almost lost beneath the distant hum of cartoons down the hallway. Had she imagined it? No... no, she hadn’t. The bear’s words lingered in her mind, the warning sharp and unmistakable.

Her face remained calm—she forced it to remain calm—even as fear surged through her veins like ice water. She swallowed hard, steeling herself.

“Nothing,” she said, lowering the bear back into her lap. “I don’t think it’s... whatever it was, it’s probably done now. Maybe it was only for the trial.” She forced a small chuckle, pretending to sound disappointed. “But hey... maybe if I keep it around, it'll help again.”

Finn grinned faintly. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, his tone light but curious. Mason gave a short nod, but his eyes lingered on the bear again—longer this time. Ivy didn’t like that.

She shifted slightly on the bench, gripping the bear protectively in her lap. Her heart still pounded, her mind racing. If they find out your secret... I'll stop helping you.

The words haunted her, sinking into her thoughts like a splinter. Whatever advantage the bear had given her, it was clear now—it came with a price. And Ivy knew better than to risk losing it.