Ivy groaned softly behind her pacifier, the dull ache in her stomach rolling uneasily. The formula churned inside her like a roiling tide, pressing against her insides with an uncomfortable weight that made her limbs feel heavy and sluggish. She hated the feeling — hated how helpless she felt, trapped in her own body, forced to endure whatever Mistress had planned next.

Finn’s unsure footsteps tapped rhythmically against the floor as he pushed the stroller onward, his eyes flicking between her and the hallway ahead. The silence between them felt oppressive — as if Finn knew there was nothing he could say that would make things better. His gaze darted anxiously toward the living room’s entrance, and Ivy followed his gaze, feeling her stomach sink even deeper.

The living room had changed.

The gated play area still dominated the room’s center, but now ten large, reclined baby seats had been arranged in a neat row along the far wall. They were oversized versions of infant bouncers — soft, padded seats designed to cradle their occupants in a perpetual state of helplessness. The high sides would prevent anyone from shifting too far, and the five-point harnesses gleamed threateningly, their buckles thick and firm — no doubt designed to withstand even the most determined struggling.

Worse still, Ivy could already tell what they were meant for. The bouncers’ design left the occupant half-reclined, their bodies resting at an angle that made their padded bottoms fully visible—on display—for easy access.

Ivy shivered. I hate it already.

The familiar chime of Mistress’s automated voice rang out, this time with a direct message for the caregivers. “All caregivers are instructed to place their babies in the designated bouncers for today’s activities. Failure to comply will result in immediate consequences.” Mistress’s voice dripped with its usual blend of false cheer and smug dominance.

Finn knelt beside her, resting one hand awkwardly on the side of her stroller. His face twisted apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I... I don’t know what else to do.”

Ivy’s breath hitched as Finn’s fingers released the buckles over her chest. The harness slackened instantly, the plastic straps sliding away as the pressure lifted from her torso. The brief sense of freedom was fleeting — almost cruel — as Finn’s strong arms slid beneath her and lifted her from the stroller.

Ivy squirmed weakly in protest, but her limbs felt like lead. The formula still clung to her insides like a heavy brick, leaving her bloated and lethargic. The pacifier muffled her half-formed whimper as Finn gently lowered her into the bouncer.

The soft padding swallowed her immediately, the cushioned fabric molding around her body, cradling her like an infant in a car seat. She felt the harness tighten automatically, locking her in place with swift precision. The padded straps crossed over her shoulders, her chest, her waist — even her mittened hands were pinned uselessly to her sides. The final strap pulled firmly between her legs, pressing tightly against her thick diaper and forcing her thighs apart.

Ivy winced as her swollen stomach shifted uncomfortably. She felt stuck, her body pressed deep into the soft seat, her limbs utterly powerless. Worse still, the slightest movement made the bouncer rock softly — a slow, mocking motion that made her feel like a fussing infant trying to soothe herself.

Contestant 86 was next, Finn carefully easing the boy into the bouncer beside her. The boy barely reacted — he moved like a ragdoll in Finn’s arms, his pacifier bobbing faintly with his shallow breaths. His face was pale, his expression vacant. Whatever the naughty room had done to him, it had left a mark.

Finn knelt between them, his eyes flicking from Ivy’s strained face to the boy’s hollow stare.

“Do you... need anything?” Finn asked hesitantly, his voice soft — almost hopeful, as if there was some kindness he could offer to make the humiliation easier.

Ivy swallowed hard, her stomach twisting again as a faint cramp rolled through her gut. She shifted her hips instinctively, but the strap between her legs kept her pinned in place. The pressure inside her gurgled low and hot, a reminder that her body wouldn’t hold out forever.

She wanted to ask Finn to stay — to not leave her here like this — but what good would that do? He couldn’t make this better. The same dread that Ivy felt was flickering behind Finn’s tired eyes. He was just as trapped as she was, only with a different set of rules.

“Please...” Ivy’s voice barely escaped around the pacifier, garbled and faint.

Finn grimaced, standing slowly. “I suppose if you need me... I’ll be around,” he muttered. His fingers twitched slightly like he wanted to reach out — to squeeze her hand or offer some comfort — but what comfort could he give?

Moments later, he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

Ivy sagged against the bouncer’s padded sides, her breath shaky. Her stomach twisted violently again, groaning low and ugly beneath her ribs. She clenched as tightly as she could, her fingers curling in her mittens. The pressure was building, spreading lower, the weight of the formula pressing mercilessly against her insides. The harness held her tightly, making every movement feel sluggish and awkward. She couldn’t squirm, couldn’t adjust, couldn’t do anything to alleviate the pressure building inside her.

A soft click sounded, and to Ivy’s dismay, the bouncer began to rock gently. The slow, rhythmic motion jostled her stomach, bouncing her lightly in place. The pressure shifted inside her, growing hotter and more insistent.

Ivy whimpered behind her pacifier, her face burning with shame. How long could she hold out?

The bouncer rocked gently beneath her, the slow, rhythmic motion jostling Ivy’s swollen stomach like a ship tossing on churning waves. Her muscles strained, her body clenched tightly, but the pressure was too much — a rising tide she couldn’t stop.

Her breath hitched. Her face twisted in desperation as she fought to hold back the inevitable — one final attempt to maintain her dignity. But her body betrayed her. A deep gurgle rolled through her gut, followed by a dull pressure that surged downward. Ivy gasped, biting down hard on the rubber nipple in her mouth, but no amount of willpower could stop what followed.

She lost control.

The sensation hit all at once — sudden, violent, and impossible to stop. Her stomach twisted, muscles cramping sharply as her body betrayed her. Ivy’s breath hitched, her limbs going tense as the pressure inside her gave way. Her face flushed hot as warmth surged into her diaper, spreading thickly and uncontrollably. There was no warning, no chance to brace herself — just a terrible rush of sticky heat pressing into every fold of her skin.

The mess pushed its way out in heavy waves, unstoppable, smothering, and deeply mortifying. It pressed into her diaper’s swollen padding, the thick bulk spreading uncomfortably beneath her as her body continued to convulse. Ivy clenched her fists inside her mittens, her face burning behind her pacifier as she felt herself filling her diaper like a helpless infant. She whimpered low in her throat, tears stinging her eyes as the humiliating warmth crept over her, smearing and squishing against her with each agonizing spasm.

The weight of it pooled beneath her, thick and sticky — a disgusting reminder of her helplessness. The diaper, already damp from her earlier accident, swelled even more, growing heavy and bloated. The foul heat clung to her skin, seeping into the folds of her body, making her stomach turn.

The bouncer continued to rock — gentle, almost soothing — but Ivy knew better. The soft bounce forced her mess to shift, squishing and pressing further between her cheeks and up against her lower back. She whimpered again, squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to block out the sensation. But the bouncer kept rocking — rhythmic and ceaseless — pushing her deeper into her shame.

Each gentle bounce kneaded her full, bloated diaper beneath her, the heavy warmth spreading, churning with the movement. The padding clung to her, sticking uncomfortably to her skin with a damp, clammy grip that refused to let go. The foul scent began to creep in, faint at first, but soon undeniable — a thick, rancid odor that curled in her nose and settled in the back of her throat. Ivy gagged behind her pacifier, her face twisting in disgust. She squirmed in her seat, but the bouncer’s harness held her firmly in place, trapping her in the humiliating mess.

Tears streaked her cheeks, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she bit down on her pacifier to keep from sobbing outright. The bouncer rocked again — a cruel, mocking rhythm that seemed designed to rub her shame deeper into her skin. Every shift of her weight smeared the mess further, filling every crevice and crease, sticking to her like tar.

The slow rocking halted with a soft mechanical click as if the cursed contraption somehow knew what had happened. Ivy whimpered softly behind her pacifier, her breath shaky as her chest hitched. The warmth of the mess clung to her skin, the swollen bulk of her diaper pressing uncomfortably beneath her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, couldn’t even shift to alleviate the awful sensation. The harness pinned her tightly in place, holding her in a humiliating half-reclined position — exposed, helpless, defeated.

Her stomach gave a final, empty gurgle, and Ivy closed her eyes, mortified beyond words.

More footsteps approached, and Ivy risked a glance across the room. Caregivers were filing in now, each pushing their strollers, wheeling in more unfortunate souls to join her in this wretched lineup. One by one, the other “babies” were lifted from their strollers and strapped into the waiting bouncers. Ivy watched them with dull, glassy eyes, still too overwhelmed to care.

She wasn’t alone — not by a long shot.

The air in the room began to shift, a stale warmth that made her stomach turn. Ivy could smell it now — the unmistakable scent of dirty diapers clinging to the air, thickening with every new contestant who joined her in this humiliating display. Faces twisted in discomfort, cheeks red and streaked with tears. Some squirmed faintly in their seats; others sagged limply — utterly defeated. Ivy’s stomach lurched again, her shame doubling at the knowledge that she had contributed to the foul cloud hanging over the room.

But the diapers — these absurdly thick monstrosities they were forced to wear — could hold far more than this. Ivy knew that well enough by now. Mistress had designed them to withstand the worst of humiliations, ensuring no one would be granted mercy too soon. Her current state — as awful as it felt — was just the beginning.

Her only hope was Finn.

Ivy stared toward the gate, silently begging him to return. Maybe if she could get his attention, she could plead with her eyes — convince him that she desperately needed to be changed. Perhaps he’d understand. Maybe…

But there was no sign of Finn. No glimpse of his familiar face, no comforting smile. He was gone, and she was stuck — trapped in this wretched bouncer, bloated and miserable, with no idea when relief would come.

The thought broke her. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks again, warm and bitter. She sagged into the padded seat, her body aching, her stomach still groaning faintly. Her limbs were limp inside the confining mittens, her legs splayed awkwardly beneath the harness, her cheeks blazing hot with shame.

She was helpless — reduced to little more than a pitiful child in a soiled diaper, rocking softly in her padded prison.

The screen flickered to life with a sudden, artificial brightness that stabbed at Ivy’s tired eyes. The familiar jingle followed — a saccharine, grating tune that made her stomach churn anew. The cartoon’s title sequence danced across the screen, the too-cheerful voice of Naomi cutting through the stagnant air like a knife.

“Hello, my sweet little boys and girls!” Naomi sang, her voice laced with syrupy condescension. The animated figure twirled in her floral dress, the bulky outline of her thick cloth diaper peeking beneath its hem as she pranced across the screen. Beside her, Oliver, the obedient Little dressed in his denim overalls, bounced happily along, his equally swollen diaper bulging beneath the fabric.

“Today,” Naomi cooed, her animated eyes flashing wide and inviting, “we’re going to learn all about being good babies!”

Ivy shut her eyes tightly, swallowing against the rising heat in her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to look — couldn’t stomach the false cheer radiating from the screen. Every lesson Naomi taught seemed to mock her more than the last. Being good... good babies. That’s all they were to these monsters — oversized infants to be humiliated and displayed.

The warm bulk of her soiled diaper pressed uncomfortably against her, shifting with every shallow breath. The thick padding clung to her, heavy and damp, and the harness pinned her in place so securely that she couldn’t even adjust herself. She was stuck, forced to stew in her shame — just another helpless "baby" for Mistress’s twisted amusement.

Naomi’s voice droned on, her exaggerated smile unwavering. “Good babies listen to their mommies and daddies,” she explained, her hands animatedly miming instructions as Oliver eagerly nodded beside her. “Good babies always finish their baba...” Naomi giggled, winking at the screen as Oliver proudly held up an oversized bottle. “And good babies never, ever try to change their diapers without permission!”

A chorus of giggles followed — a forced laugh track that grated against Ivy’s skull. She ground her teeth against the rubber bulb in her mouth, tasting the faint hint of formula still clinging to it. Her stomach twisted again, groaning faintly beneath her ribs. The sensation in her gut was miserable — not sharp, but dull and gnawing, an ache that clung to her like a lingering bruise.

Ivy’s gaze drifted upward, away from the glowing screen and the garish cartoon. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind fraying beneath the exhaustion. Her eyelids felt heavy — her limbs weak and numb from fatigue. The bouncer’s padded embrace rocked her gently, swaying her just enough to keep her breathing shallow and her body slack. Her thoughts blurred, and the mind-numbing lull of Naomi’s voice grew distant.

I just need to rest... just for a minute…

Her body sagged deeper into the seat, her muscles slackening. The tension that had gripped her for hours seemed to bleed away as her consciousness drifted. The soft, rhythmic motion of the bouncer lulled her like a warm tide, the distant sounds of laughter and nursery rhymes blending into a dull hum.

And then, mercifully... her mind slipped away.

Darkness wrapped around her like a blanket, muffling the cartoon’s clamor, quieting the mocking jeers that had filled her head. For the first time since the trial began, Ivy’s mind was empty — quiet — still. There was no shame, no pain, no dread. Just the soft, numbing silence of sleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but when she stirred again, the room was dimmer and quieter. The cartoon had ended, leaving the faintest hum of static in the air. The pressure in her stomach had dulled, and the gnawing ache had reduced to a lingering weight.

But the foul bulk beneath her remained — slightly cooled yet still warm, and heavy, pressing against her like an unwelcome reminder of her humiliation. The stale scent of soiled diapers still clung to the air, making her stomach tighten anew. She shifted her hips instinctively, wincing as the mess smeared beneath her. The harness clung tightly to her chest, making her every breath feel shallow and constrained.

Ivy let her head fall back against the padded seat, her eyes slipping shut once more. What else could she do? She was helpless — trapped in a bouncer like an infant — waiting, always waiting, for someone else to decide her fate.

The muffled thud of footsteps dragged Ivy from the depths of her uneasy sleep. For a moment, she teetered between wakefulness and unconsciousness, her mind sluggish and fogged with exhaustion. Her eyes blinked blearily, and for a fleeting instant, she thought perhaps Finn had returned — maybe to finally change her out of the mess.

But the voices weren’t familiar. Low murmurs filled the room, hushed but distinct — sharp, clipped words cutting through the heavy air. Ivy’s mind snapped fully awake, her body stiffening as fear began to coil tightly in her chest.

These weren’t caregivers.

Her heart thundered in her ears, each pulse hammering through her skull like a drumbeat. Carefully, slowly, she forced her breathing to be steady. Her eyes cracked open just a fraction, no more than a sliver. Through her lashes, she glimpsed shadows moving across the room.

There were three of them — figures clad in black from head to toe. Dark clothing clung tightly to their bodies, designed for stealth. Each one wore a black hood that wrapped their faces, and sleek goggles with tinted lenses obscured their eyes. They moved with practiced silence, gliding between the rows of bouncers like wraiths.

Ivy’s blood turned to ice.

Who are they? What do they want?

One of the figures knelt beside a nearby bouncer, inspecting its occupant — a girl whose head lolled limply against her shoulder, her face slack and still. “This one’s completely out,” a low, gravelly voice muttered.

“Yeah,” another responded. “The second feeding did its job; the formula hit ‘em hard, sedatives did their job.”

Ivy’s breath caught in her throat, her body rigid beneath the bouncer’s straps. Sedatives... in the formula? She felt cold panic trickle down her spine like ice water. 

“What about contestant 24?” a third voice asked — younger, smoother, but no less menacing.

“She’s out too,” the first figure answered. “First bottle got her good, petite little thing, didn’t even need the second.”

Ivy swallowed, her breath shallow against the pacifier lodged in her mouth. They’re talking about me…

The sound of footsteps drew closer, heavy boots scuffing faintly against the padded floor. Ivy fought to keep her muscles still, forcing her limbs to remain slack. Each breath felt too loud, her chest rising and falling too quickly. The footsteps stopped beside her.

A shadow loomed over her.

Ivy barely resisted the urge to flinch as a gloved hand reached down, fingers curling around her chin. The figure lifted her head just slightly, tilting her face toward the dim light. Ivy forced her eyes to remain shut, her breathing slowing to shallow, measured breaths.

“She’s cute,” the figure muttered. “The boys’ll like her.”

A fresh wave of dread knotted her stomach.

Another voice — one deeper, older — barked out a sharp reply. “They’ll pay better for the ones that behave.” The fingers released Ivy’s chin, and her head lolled heavily back against the cushioned seat.

“She’s halfway there,” the first figure snorted. “Already happily sitting in her own mess for long periods of time. Just needs a little more breaking in.”

Ivy felt bile rise in her throat, her body screaming to move — to run — but she held still, forcing her eyes closed. Don’t react... Don’t react…

The figures moved away from her, their footsteps shuffling quietly as they examined another contestant. Ivy strained to hear over the pounding of her pulse.

“Price?” one of them muttered.

A low chuckle followed. “Mistress wants her cut. The buyers will know what she’s worth. Just make sure you mark the right ones.”

Ivy’s breath stuttered. Buyers? Price? She didn’t know what they were planning — not exactly — but she knew enough. These people weren’t just here to humiliate her or force her to suffer through another twisted game.

Ivy’s mind reeled, horror twisting her insides. Mistress wasn’t just playing games — she was treating them like property. Their suffering had been entertainment, but this... this was something worse.

The figures moved toward the door, then left, leaving Ivy frozen in her seat. The echoes of their footsteps faded down the hall.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing ragged behind the pacifier. The foul warmth of her diaper clung to her skin like tar, but Ivy barely noticed. Fear gripped her, cold and sharp.

And then, the screen flickered back to life.

The familiar jingle burst from the speakers, jarringly cheerful after the quiet tension that had swallowed the room. Ivy flinched as Naomi and Oliver danced back into view, their oversized smiles too wide, too bright. “Good morning, sweet little babies!” Naomi chimed, spinning across the screen, her frilly dress swirling just enough to reveal her embarrassingly thick diaper beneath. “Today, we’re going to learn all about being good little listeners!”

Ivy barely heard it. Her mind was too tangled in panic, the tension in her chest rising like a strangling vine. She could feel her pulse in her throat — tight and pounding — her breath shallow as she tried to sit still and quiet. She couldn’t draw attention to herself. Not now.

Ivy wasn’t sure how long she had been trapped— minutes, hours — her mind a whirlwind of spiraling thoughts. The twisted faces of those masked figures still haunted her, their muffled voices whispering dark promises. She knew she couldn’t sleep, not now, not with her pulse hammering inside her chest like a war drum. 

Other babies were beginning to stir — groggy, whimpering as their sedative haze wore off. Soft cries echoed around her, but Ivy barely noticed. She barely blinked. The numbness in her limbs felt like ice water flowing through her veins, her thoughts flickering back to those strangers’ words. Tonight... They had a plan — a plan that none of the caregivers knew about. If Ivy said the wrong thing now if she admitted what she’d overheard…

They would know she knew.

The footsteps startled her from her spiraling thoughts. Heavy and steady, moving closer. Ivy’s breath hitched, her heart racing anew. But this time, the approaching figure wasn’t a masked stranger — it was Finn.

Ivy sagged with relief the moment she saw him. She could have cried. For the first time since the strangers had left, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Finn!” she tried to say — but the pacifier muffled her voice into a garbled whimper. She squirmed, trying to get his attention, gesturing desperately with her mittened hands.

Finn knelt beside her, confusion knitting his brow. His gaze flicked across her face, searching, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “Hey... are you okay?”

Ivy froze.

She opened her mouth to speak — to warn him — but stopped cold. They’re watching. The bear’s voice echoed in her mind, a grim warning.

Ivy’s pulse pounded harder. If Mistress — or whoever those masked figures were — knew she had been awake…

Panic curled in her stomach.

“I…” Ivy tried mumbling around her pacifier, then stopped.

Finn’s nose twitched — his face scrunching in sudden revulsion — and his gaze flicked toward her diaper. He barely contained a gag as realization dawned. “Got it,” he muttered. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Relief washed over her as Finn’s fingers brushed the buckle of her bouncer harness. The straps released with a soft click, and before Ivy could even attempt to move on her own, Finn’s arms slid beneath her, lifting her with ginger care. She sagged into his hold, exhausted, her body weak from stress, fatigue and apparently, the drugs.

“Don’t worry,” Finn murmured softly. “I’ll get you sorted.”

Ivy wanted to believe that.

Finn adjusted his grip, walking toward the gate that separated the caregivers from the play area. “Open,” he said firmly. “I’m a caregiver, and my baby needs a change.”

The gate didn’t budge.

Finn frowned, trying again. “Open the gate. I’m a caregiver.”

The same cold mechanical voice replied, clipped and monotone. “Babies have two remaining diaper changes today: one at the caregiver’s discretion and one before bedtime. Additional changes are not permitted. All diaper changes must be conducted in the designated changing area in the living room.”

Finn’s jaw clenched. “Changing area?”

The mechanical voice didn’t answer, but Finn didn’t need it to. Ivy’s heart sank as both their gazes shifted to the space before the screen.

The changing mat.

Ivy stared at it in horror — a large, cushioned pad sat unfurled on the floor directly beneath the flickering cartoon. Its pastel colors and frilly design were meant to appear inviting, but it couldn’t have looked more menacing to her. The stage was set — on display — where every contestant, trapped in their bouncers, would be forced to watch.

“I…” Finn stammered, glancing from the mat to Ivy. “I can’t…” He swallowed, eyes full of helpless apology.

Ivy’s face burned with humiliation, her pulse roaring in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. It wasn’t fair. After everything — after being drugged, humiliated, and forced to endure that twisted game — this was what it had come to? Her shame laid bare in front of everyone?

Finn’s gaze lingered on Ivy longer than she expected, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. His eyes flicked downward, settling on the sagging bulk beneath her sleeper — a silent reminder of the humiliation Ivy still carried. He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Do you…” Finn paused, hesitant. “Do you want me to change you now? Or…” His voice trailed off, his gaze flicking toward the cafeteria. “It’s almost lunchtime.” He winced as if dreading his own words. “And… well… you know what the food tends to do.”

Ivy groaned, her head falling back against the padded headrest. Of course. She knew exactly what he meant. The formula, the bottles, whatever else Mistress had planned — it was all designed to break them down, both physically and mentally. Even if she endured a humiliating change now, she’d likely end up back on the mat before the afternoon was out. The very thought made her stomach twist.

“No,” she mumbled through her pacifier, barely audible. She shook her head. “Later.”

Finn nodded grimly. “Alright,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll be back with lunch soon.”

With surprising gentleness, Finn bent down and scooped her up once more, lowering her carefully back into the waiting bouncer. The straps reacted immediately, tightening securely over her chest and waist, drawing the heavy bulk of her diaper snugly against the seat. The bloated padding squished uncomfortably against her, spreading her legs awkwardly wide as Finn adjusted the harness. Ivy squirmed, biting down on her pacifier in frustration. Even after all this time, the sensation of being sealed so tightly — trapped and powerless — still sent icy fingers crawling up her spine.

Finn moved next to contestant 86, lowering the boy from his stroller and quietly asking if he wanted a change. 86 shook his head, grimacing as he shifted uncomfortably in his swollen diaper. Finn sighed again, giving him a weary nod.

“I’ll be back,” Finn promised. “Just… hang in there, alright?”

Ivy watched Finn disappear out of sight, her stomach growling faintly beneath the lingering ache. She shifted her weight, cringing as the clammy bulk of her diaper pressed firmly against her skin. The bouncer’s cushions rocked slightly, but no matter how she twisted, there was no escape from the damp, swollen padding hugging her tightly.

A faint noise—a quiet mechanical click—caught her ear. Ivy turned her head just in time to see another caregiver kneeling before one of the bouncers. A girl lay sprawled on the changing mat in front of her, her face twisted with embarrassment.

Ivy’s stomach churned.

The mat’s padded surface had reacted the moment the girl was laid down. With a faint whir, thin restraints slithered from the mat’s edges and coiled around the girl’s wrists and ankles, pinning her firmly in place. The caregiver stepped back as the sleeper’s zipper began to unravel on its own, slowly peeling down the fabric until the swollen, discolored bulk of her diaper was on full display. Ivy felt her breath catch as she watched the girl’s face twist with shame, her flushed cheeks burning red as she lay there, exposed before everyone.

Ivy knew the routine well enough by now. The caregiver knelt, working methodically — pulling the tapes loose one by one, peeling back the front of the diaper to reveal the full extent of the mess. The stench hit immediately, pungent and heavy in the air, making Ivy gag softly behind her pacifier. She could see the caregiver’s grimace — a flicker of disgust that they barely masked as they began wiping the helpless girl down, dragging cold wipes across her skin in slow, methodical strokes.

The girl whimpered behind her pacifier, her face contorted with mortification. Her arms jerked weakly against the restraints, her hands balled into fists inside her mittens — but there was no escaping it. No way to turn her face away from the handful of contestants staring silently on.

Ivy’s stomach churned again, and bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds, but the sounds lingered: the crinkle of wipes, the sticky, peeling noise of the used diaper being folded up and tossed aside. The caregivers muttered reassurances, remained calm, and practiced as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Ivy forced herself to breathe, to focus on anything but the burning sensation of her sodden diaper clinging to her skin. She wasn’t next — not yet. But she knew her turn would come soon enough.

The caregiver finished with the girl’s change, taping her securely into a clean diaper and carefully zipping her sleeper back up. The restraints retracted, releasing her limp, trembling limbs. The caregiver muttered something soft — Ivy couldn’t make out the words — and helped her back into her bouncer.

The girl’s face was pale, her red-rimmed eyes wet and glassy. She said nothing as she slumped back in her seat, her head turned away from the others.

Ivy stared down at her mittens, clutching the fabric tightly in her fingers. She felt trapped — caged — her mind racing with thoughts of what the strangers had said. They’re selling us… The idea twisted inside her like a blade. They had been reduced to this — pathetic, helpless playthings with price tags on their heads.

Her gaze drifted back to the changing mat, the pastel colors, the cartoonish designs, the mockery of it all.

Ivy clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to take a breath.

Stay calm... Survive... Don’t give them the satisfaction.

But below the mask, Ivy knew she was far from calm. She knew she would soon be occupying the same position as the girl, lying before an audience as her messy diaper was changed. 

Ivy’s cheeks were already burning red with shame at the thought.