It didn’t take long for the rest of the caregivers to trickle into the hallway, their steps slow and hesitant, their faces drawn and weary. There were only eight of them now—eight out of what had once been a much larger group, seven out in the hall, the one caregiver locked inside the living room. The silence that followed their arrival felt suffocating, heavy with the unspoken knowledge that their numbers were dwindling by the day. Each person found their corner of the hallway to sit in, each face reflecting a tired resignation that no one dared voice aloud. Ivy glanced at them—at the quiet faces turned downward, some staring blankly at the floor, others with their eyes closed as if trying to shut out the reality they couldn’t escape. They were all breaking in their ways, pieces of themselves being chipped away with every humiliating trial.

Finn shifted beside her, drawing Ivy’s attention. His arm was still draped loosely along the back of the bench, the warmth of his presence a quiet comfort in the cold emptiness of their surroundings. After a few moments of silence, he turned to her, his voice softer than before.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone low but sincere.

Ivy blinked, caught off guard by the question. She started to give the easy answer—the automatic lie that had become second nature by now. I’m fine. I’m okay. Just tired. But something in Finn’s expression made her hesitate. His face was guarded but open, his eyes meeting hers with quiet intensity. He wasn’t asking just to fill the silence. He wanted the truth.

“I don’t know,” Ivy admitted, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She glanced down at the bear still resting in her lap, her fingers absently tracing the curve of its ear. “I keep thinking... maybe if I just keep my head down, if I play along long enough, things will get easier. But it never does. It just gets worse. Like we’re... like we’re being worn down one piece at a time.” She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. “I don’t even know what I’m fighting for anymore. I don’t know if there’s anything left to hold onto.”

Finn exhaled softly, nodding as though he understood. “Yeah,” he said, his voice heavy with something that felt like regret. “I know what you mean.” He paused, running a hand down his face. “I tell myself the same thing—that if I just keep playing along, things will get easier. But it doesn’t. Every time I think I've hit rock bottom... Mistress just finds another way to drag me lower.”

Ivy glanced at him, her heart tightening. “You seem like you’re holding it together,” she said quietly.

Finn gave a weak chuckle, one that carried no warmth. “I’m not,” he muttered. “I’m just... pretending better than I used to.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “Every morning, I wake up thinking maybe this is the day I’ll snap. Maybe this is the day I’ll just... give up.” He paused, his eyes darkening. “The worst part is... I’m starting to think that’s exactly what Mistress wants. To make us stop fighting. To make us forget what normal even feels like.”

Ivy felt something twist painfully inside her. She couldn’t deny it—that was what terrified her the most. The thought that one day, she might stop caring. That the endless cycle of humiliation and helplessness would wear her down so completely that she’d just... give in.

“I can’t let that happen,” Ivy said quietly, more to herself than to Finn. “I can’t let her win.”

Finn gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me neither.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the quiet pressing down on them like a weight. The faint sound of Naomi’s cheery, saccharine voice drifted faintly down the hallway, its artificial sweetness clawing at Ivy’s nerves. Finn shifted closer, his arm still resting loosely behind her shoulders, the warmth of his presence more comforting than Ivy wanted to admit. The closeness didn’t feel forced—it felt steady, real, something solid in a world where everything else seemed to crumble beneath her feet.

“You know,” Finn said after a while, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

Ivy gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t feel very tough.”

“You are,” Finn insisted, his gaze meeting hers. “I’ve seen people give up faster than you. And most of them weren’t even half as strong.”

Ivy looked away, feeling her face warm slightly. She didn’t believe him—not really—but something was comforting in hearing it. Something she hadn’t realized she needed. “Thanks,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Finn just smiled, leaning back against the wall again. “We’ll get through this,” he muttered. “Somehow... we’ll get through.”

The silence between them stretched on, heavy and oppressive. For a moment, neither Ivy nor Finn spoke, their thoughts too tangled to express. The faint echoes of Naomi’s bubbly voice continued to drift from the living room, a mocking reminder of just how little control they had over their own lives. It gnawed at Ivy, a constant reminder that they were pieces in someone else’s twisted game.

After a long breath, Ivy broke the silence. “What do you think... winning even looks like?” Her voice was quiet, yet the question weighed heavily between them. “I mean... there’s supposed to be only one winner, right? So what happens to the rest of us?” She hesitated, her fingers curling tightly around the bear’s soft fur. “What... what happens when someone loses?”

Finn’s expression hardened. He leaned back against the wall, his brow furrowing as he mulled over the question. “With any luck,” he muttered, “they’re just... let go. Sent home. Maybe they make us sign something to keep us quiet.” He spoke as if he wanted to believe that—needed to believe that—but there was no conviction in his voice.

“With the knowledge we have now?” Ivy shot back, her voice tight. “Fat chance.”

Finn sighed heavily, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. “Yeah...” he muttered. “I know.”

Ivy shook her head, her mind racing. “It doesn’t add up,” she said quietly. “Why would they just... let us go? After everything? After all the stuff they’ve put us through?” She swallowed, bile rising in her throat. “What if... what if this is it? What if the losers don’t leave? What if they just... disappear?”

The idea hung in the air like a curse. Finn shifted uncomfortably, his face pale. “I’ve thought about that,” he admitted. “But... maybe we’re overthinking it. Maybe it’s all just some... messed-up experiment, and they’ll dump us back into the world when it’s done.”

“Yeah?” Ivy asked bitterly. “And what about the winner? What happens to them?” She gave a dry, humorless laugh. “You really think they’re gonna just cut a check, hand over a suitcase of cash, and wave goodbye? Let them waltz out of here, no questions asked?”

Finn frowned deeply, clearly troubled by the thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what’s worse—thinking they’ll never let us go or thinking that even if we do win... we still won’t be free.”

They both fell silent again, the weight of their fears choking the air. The truth gnawed at Ivy, a slow, festering anxiety that refused to be ignored. Mistress wasn’t just cruel—she was calculated. Everything they had seen so far had been orchestrated with sickening precision. The timing of the humiliations, the endless cycles of hope followed by despair... it wasn’t just about breaking their spirits. It was about control. Mistress wasn’t just trying to win—she was trying to own them.

“That’s the problem,” Finn said finally. “We don’t know anything. We don’t know who Mistress really is. We don’t know who’s behind all this or where we even are.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration edging his voice. “Hell, we don’t even know what they want. We’ve been stuck here for... I don’t even know how long it will last... and all we know is what Mistress decides to tell us.”

“Exactly,” Ivy muttered. “She’s been spoon-feeding us just enough to keep us guessing. Just enough to keep us playing along. They keep us blind... keep us guessing... and meanwhile, we’re too busy just trying to survive to even think about what’s really happening.”

Finn exhaled sharply, clenching his fists. “I hate that,” he muttered. “I hate feeling like I’m playing her game even when I’m trying to fight back.”

Ivy’s grip on the bear tightened. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

She thought back to the bear’s whisper—the quiet, warning voice that had slipped through just moments ago. “If they find out your secret... I’ll stop helping you.” What did that mean? What secret? And how did the bear know something that even she didn’t understand?

A cold knot formed in her stomach. Mistress was too meticulous, too deliberate to overlook something like this. If Ivy had some advantage—some edge that Mistress hadn’t accounted for—then she knew one thing for certain.

It wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

There were too many questions—far too many questions—and not nearly enough answers. The unknown weighed on Ivy like a lead blanket, smothering her thoughts until it felt like she was drowning in speculation. Every possibility seemed darker than the last. Had they been abducted? Were they some twisted social experiment, a game for unseen viewers to place their bets on? Were they being brainwashed, reshaped into something smaller, something weaker, something obedient? Every theory led to the same unsettling conclusion—they didn’t know anything. Not really. They were trapped, pawns in a game they didn’t understand, surrounded by smiling cartoons and pastel walls that concealed something far more sinister. And worse still... someone was watching. They always were.

Ivy felt her pulse quicken at the thought. Were cameras tracking her even now? Had Mistress set up hidden microphones, listening in on every whispered word? She could almost feel unseen eyes crawling over her skin, cold and intrusive, peeling back her thoughts, her fears, and her quiet desperation. The bear's warning lingered fresh in her mind: “If they find out your secret… I'll stop helping you.” The whispered threat rang louder than it should have.

“Let's... let's talk about something else,” Ivy said suddenly, her voice sharp with anxiety. She swallowed, forcing herself to sound calmer. “I don’t want to think about her anymore. Not right now.”

Finn blinked, surprised by the sudden change, but he seemed to understand. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall again, his arm still resting behind her, his presence grounding her. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice quieter now. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence lingered—not awkward, but fragile as if neither of them wanted to break it too harshly. Then Finn glanced sideways at her, his brow raised in curiosity. “So… before all this,” he asked, his tone light but genuine, “what did you want to do?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t thought about that in what felt like forever—her life before all this. The memories were distant, blurred, and muted by everything that had happened since. “I wanted to be a teacher,” Ivy said softly. The words felt strange, leaving her mouth, like recalling someone else's dream. “I was studying early childhood development. I figured I’d work with kids—preschool, maybe kindergarten.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Feels ironic now, doesn’t it?”

Finn chuckled dryly. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re getting a lot of... experience.”

Ivy shook her head. “Not like this,” she muttered. “Not like... this.”

Finn nodded thoughtfully, and for a moment, there was only the distant hum of Naomi’s cartoon in the background. “I wanted to travel,” he said suddenly. “I always figured I’d grab a backpack one day and just... go. Hit Europe first, then maybe Australia. Find someplace warm and quiet, where no one could bother me.”

“That sounds nice,” Ivy said, smiling faintly. “Just... vanishing for a while.”

“Yeah.” Finn’s smile faded slightly, and his gaze drifted back to the floor. “Now? I’d be happy just to have a room with a locked door and no cameras.”

Ivy swallowed hard, feeling a lump tighten in her throat. “I know what you mean.”

They sat quietly for a while, each retreating to their thoughts. Ivy found herself thinking back to her old apartment—the tiny one-bedroom space with a window that overlooked a convenience store and barely let in any sunlight. It hadn’t been much, but it had been hers. She remembered late nights sitting cross-legged on her couch, watching old movies and eating cheap takeout. The place had always smelled faintly of microwave dinners and stale air, but she’d loved it anyway. There’d been no Mistress, no trials, no twisted nursery prisons to lock her away.

“I miss my cat,” Finn said abruptly, almost to himself.

Ivy blinked, startled. “You had a cat?”

Finn smiled weakly. “Yeah... a fat little guy. Orange tabby. I called him Crumbs.” He chuckled faintly. “He used to sleep in the laundry basket like he owned the place. God, I hope my neighbor’s feeding him.” His voice wavered at the end, and for a moment, Ivy glimpsed something raw behind his eyes—a quiet grief, something softer than all the fear and humiliation that had weighed them down for so long.

“You’ll get back to him,” Ivy said quietly. “You’ll get out of here. We both will.”

Finn gave a weak smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice faint. “I hope so.”

The silence returned, stretching longer this time, but it felt different now—less suffocating, less filled with dread. Instead, there was a quiet comfort in knowing that, for a brief moment, they had escaped the walls closing in around them. Even if it was only in their minds, they had found something to hold on to—something real.

“Ivy?” Finn said suddenly, his voice softer this time.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks... for talking.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Feels stupid, but... I think I needed it.”

Ivy smiled faintly, hugging the bear closer to her chest. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

The hours drifted by in a haze of tired conversation, quiet laughter, and whispered memories of better days. For a while, the threat of Mistress’s twisted games faded to the back of Ivy’s mind, lost in the warmth of shared stories and the comfort of voices that reminded her of home. More caregivers had joined them over time, sitting along the hallway walls or leaning against the benches, filling the air with fragmented conversations about things that no longer felt real—family vacations, awkward dates, college parties, and childhood pets. It was easy, for a brief while, to pretend that they weren’t prisoners, that the humiliations and dehumanizing trials were nothing more than some awful fever dream.

But eventually, reality crept back in.

Ivy felt the dull, throbbing ache in her bladder—one she had ignored for too long—and knew she couldn’t wait much longer. The last thing she was going to do was sit there like one of Mistress’s obedient little “babies” and let nature take its course. Not without a fight.

“I’ll be right back,” Ivy muttered, pushing herself to her feet. Finn glanced at her, concern flickering in his eyes, but she forced a smile to put him at ease. “Just... need a minute,” she added vaguely before turning and heading down the hall.

The trek to the changing room felt longer than usual. Her steps were uneven as the pressure in her bladder intensified, each step a sharp reminder of just how badly she needed to go. Ivy felt sweat prickling along her back, and her pulse quickened—not just from the discomfort but also from the nagging fear that she already knew what she was about to find.

Stepping into the caregivers' changing room, she found the room as stark and sterile as before—cold white tiles, neatly folded stacks of sleepers, and, at the far wall where they had once been... nothing. The row of absurd pink plastic potties that had mocked her only days before was gone. Vanished. Like they had never existed.

Her heart plummeted. She felt her stomach twist, nausea crawling upward as she stared at the space where those humiliating plastic seats had once been. As degrading as they had been, they had still been hers. A line she could cling to—however thin—between herself and the mindless, obedient “babies” trapped in their oversized playpen. But now... now that was gone too.

Ivy’s breath hitched. Mistress had been patient, methodical in her cruelty. The removal of the potties was no accident; it was deliberate—a calculated step to break them further. She’s closing in, Ivy thought. One inch at a time.

But no. No. Ivy wasn’t about to give in—not to this. Her sleeper wasn’t locked; she wasn’t bound in some suffocating swaddle or confined to a crib. Not yet. She had her body, her mind, and her will. She wasn’t about to sit there like some helpless infant and wet herself.

“To hell with you,” Ivy whispered under her breath, her fists clenching. “To hell with all of this.”

Determined, she reached for the zipper of her sleeper, pulling it down swiftly. The cool air hit her skin, and she hurriedly wriggled her arms free of the soft fabric, dragging it down to her waist. She hadn’t even considered where she would go—not yet—but she knew she wouldn’t let Mistress win this battle. She was halfway out of her sleeper when her gaze flicked to the bear she had set down beside her.

It sat there innocently on the changing table; head tilted slightly to one side, the fabric of its face frozen in a stitched smile. She stared at it for a long moment, unease curling in her stomach. Something about the way it watched her—or seemed to—made her pause.

Don’t be stupid, she told herself. It’s just a toy.

But still... she reached for it, hesitating only briefly before pulling it close to her chest. Its fur was warm against her fingers, oddly comforting despite her tension. She gave it a gentle squeeze, pressing its head near her ear.

The voice came, soft and distant—a faint whisper that barely reached her.

“Worse things are coming... for those who refuse to use their diapers...”

Ivy froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she wasn’t even sure she’d heard it. The voice had been so faint, barely more than a breath against her skin. But the warning settled deep in her bones, cold and unmistakable.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest. Worse things? What the hell did that mean? Mistress had already humiliated them—locked them in cribs, forced them to crawl, and stripped away their dignity piece by piece. What could be worse than that?

Ivy swallowed hard, feeling her pulse hammering in her ears. Her bladder throbbed angrily, the pain sharp and insistent, but she barely noticed it now. Her mind raced through every possible scenario, every sick and twisted punishment Mistress might have planned.

A spanking? No, that would be too easy—too straightforward. Whatever Mistress had in mind, it wouldn’t be something so simple. It would be something deeper, something that gnawed at their minds just as much as their bodies. Something that changed them.

She’s pushing you, Ivy realized. She’s daring you to fight back—so that she can crush you harder when you do.

For a long moment, Ivy stood frozen, clutching the bear tightly, her breathing shallow. She hated herself for what she was thinking—for what she was about to do.

But she knew... she knew if she ignored the warning, if she tried to fight this on her own, she might lose far more than her pride.

Slowly, reluctantly, Ivy released her grip on the bear and began to pull her sleeper back up over her arms. Each motion felt heavier than the last as if she were surrendering something precious, and every inch of fabric closed around her.

By the time she zipped it back up, her hands were trembling. She staggered back from the table, defeated, and bit her lip hard enough to sting.

To hell with Mistress and her games.

But deep down, she knew Mistress had won this round.

A pitiful whimper escaped Ivy’s lips before she could stop it, her body curling forward as her bladder’s ache turned unbearable. The pressure twisted like a knife inside her, sharp and relentless, and she knew—knew—it was too late. The tension broke, her body betraying her as warmth spread out beneath her. Ivy clenched her eyes shut as though closing them might somehow block out the reality of what was happening.

She felt the rush of liquid soaking into her diaper, the humiliating sensation of it swelling against her skin—thick, heavy, suffocating. The warmth bloomed outward, pooling beneath her as the wet padding clung uncomfortably to her body. The muffled hiss seemed deafening in the silence of the changing room, like a cruel announcement of her failure. Ivy could hardly breathe, her face burning hot enough that she was sure it must have been glowing red. Every nerve in her body seemed to scream in mortification—not just because she’d lost control, but because she’d let it happen. She could have stopped this. She could have stopped this. She had been free—her sleeper wasn’t locked, there were no restraints, no arms forcing her to submit to Mistress’s twisted rules. Yet she had stood there, frozen, and let herself lose.

Her chest heaved, a strangled sob threatening to rise in her throat. Curse that woman, she thought furiously. Curse Mistress and her smug smile curse her games and her twisted mind. Curse this place—these trials—everything!

For a moment, her vision blurred, and she felt dangerously close to tears. But no. No, she wouldn’t break—not here, not now. With a sharp breath, Ivy forced herself to straighten, forcing her hands to unclench from the fists they had curled into. She blinked hard, pushing the tears back. Crying would solve nothing.

And then it hit her—like a cold slap to the face. I’m a caregiver.

The realization struck her with sudden clarity. She wasn’t trapped in one of those humiliating baby sleepers. She wasn’t crawling on the floor with her legs bound and her hands sealed away in padded mittens. She didn’t have a pacifier jammed in her mouth or a collar around her neck. I’m a caregiver, she repeated to herself, this time with more conviction. And that meant she didn’t have to stay like this.

A sharp breath of relief escaped her, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. For once, she still had some control. Not much—but enough.

Wiping her face with the sleeve of her sleeper, Ivy turned and climbed up onto one of the empty changing tables. The padded surface crinkled beneath her as she sat down, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant squish from the swollen diaper beneath her. Quickly, her fingers found the zipper at her chest, dragging it down in a swift motion. The soft fabric fell away, and she wriggled free of the sleeper’s warmth, shivering slightly as the cool air struck her damp skin.

She could barely look at herself—at the swollen bulk sagging between her legs. Shame still gnawed at her, but Ivy forced herself to push it down. Just get it over with, she told herself and set to work.

Popping the tapes on her diaper, she grimaced at the damp, clammy feeling as the heavy mass peeled away from her skin. She balled it up tightly, stuffing it into the bin near the table. The soft scent of powder clung faintly to the air—deceptively sweet, masking the humiliation that lingered in her mind. Ivy grabbed a clean diaper from the nearby shelf, unfolding it with hands that still trembled slightly. Every motion felt clumsy and awkward, but she pressed on, determined to finish as quickly as possible.

Moments later, she was clean, dry, and back in her sleeper, zipping it up to her chest. The warmth of the fabric no longer felt quite so suffocating—it felt like armor now, proof that she still had some control, some ability to resist Mistress’s designs. As she climbed down from the changing table, Ivy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

There’s still some freedom left, she thought for now.

But even as she stood there, hugging her bear tightly to her chest, she knew that Mistress wouldn’t let that freedom last. She was closing in—tightening her grip one twisted step at a time.

Ivy had barely finished zipping her sleeper when the door swung open, and another caregiver stepped inside. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that hung just a little too long over his eyes, contestant number 86 stitched neatly across his chest. His gaze flicked between Ivy and the vacant space where the row of pink potties had once been, and in that brief instant of understanding, Ivy felt her face flush red. The look on his face said it all—he knew. He knew exactly what she had just been forced to do, and worse still, she knew he was facing the same grim choice.

“Oh, hell no,” the boy muttered, his voice sharp and defiant. He shook his head, turning toward one of the changing tables with a determined scowl.

Ivy paused near the doorway, fingers curling slightly around the bear in her arms. A voice in her head whispered that she should warn him—tell him what the bear had told her, tell him worse things were coming for those who refused to comply. The words were on the tip of her tongue... but something held her back.

Curiosity, a voice inside her whispered—a voice she hated herself for listening to. What if the bear was right? What if there really was some punishment waiting for those who resisted? Ivy didn’t know what Mistress’s so-called “worse things” looked like, but if the bear had been right once... what if it was right again? And what if this boy’s stubbornness confirmed it? More than that... what if this was her chance—one less competitor to face down the line?

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, but Ivy hesitated only a moment longer before turning away. I’m sorry, she thought. But I need to know.

She slipped from the changing room and back into the hallway, her steps quickening until she was back at the bench where Finn still waited. He smiled as she returned, his eyes brightening a little as she dropped down beside him. She tried to smile back, but her thoughts lingered in the changing room, back with contestant 86.

“You okay?” Finn asked, watching her closely.

“Yeah,” Ivy lied. “Just... you know.”

Finn’s smile faltered slightly, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he leaned back against the wall with a sigh. The silence settled between them, broken only by the faint, cloying melody spilling from the living room. Naomi’s syrupy voice filtered down the hall like a sickly-sweet fog, her sing-song cadence grating on Ivy’s nerves.

“...and remember, my good little boys and girls always listen to their caregivers. Good babies are happy babies!” Naomi’s voice chimed, her condescending tone laced with forced warmth. Ivy felt her skin crawl.

“God, I hate that show,” Finn muttered.

Ivy snorted softly. “You and me both.”

She had just opened her mouth to say more when the air shifted—the static crackle of Mistress’s voice booming overhead like a judge’s gavel.

“Contestant 86,” Mistress’s voice purred, slow and deliberate, each word dripping with smug satisfaction. “Please report to the Naughty Room for punishment.”

Ivy felt her breath catch in her chest. Her gaze flicked to Finn’s, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he understood exactly what that meant. She barely heard Finn curse under his breath; her mind was racing, her thoughts spinning faster than she could process. The bear was right. The bear was right.

Her heart hammered inside her chest, a sick mixture of triumph and guilt tightening like a vice around her ribs. Part of her felt relieved—relieved that the bear really had warned her. It had kept her safe, even if it meant sacrificing someone else in the process.

But another part of her—a deeper, quieter part—felt cold and ashamed. She had stood there and done nothing. She could have warned him, could have spared him whatever punishment Mistress had waiting. Instead, she had turned her back, too scared—or too selfish—to help.

“Think he’s gonna be okay?” Finn asked quietly, but his voice carried no real hope.

“I... I don’t know,” Ivy muttered. She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the bear in her lap. Its soft, stitched smile seemed to mock her.

Ivy clutched the bear tightly to her chest, unsure if it felt like protection... or a curse.