Ivy lay still in the bouncer, staring blankly at the ceiling above her. The flickering glow of the cartoon danced across her face, bright and garish, a cruel mockery of comfort. Her body still felt clammy and damp beneath her sleeper, the lingering filth pressing close to her skin — warm, sticky, and suffocating. Every breath she took seemed to remind her of her shame, the faint sour scent clinging to her like a curse. She shifted slightly, grimacing as her swollen diaper squished beneath her. The movement only made it worse, the awful sensation spreading across her body.

And now, to make matters worse, her bladder was beginning to ache. That faint, uncomfortable pressure had started to build, low and insistent — an unavoidable reminder that her humiliation wasn’t yet complete. Ivy groaned softly, wriggling in her harness, trying to ignore it. But no matter how she shifted, she knew there was no stopping it. Her body had been weakened — worn down by everything they’d been forced to endure. She clenched her muscles as tightly as she could, but it was a losing battle — one she knew she couldn’t win for long.

Moments later, Finn returned. His presence was enough to distract her for a moment, pulling her from her growing panic. His face was lined with exhaustion, his steps heavy, but when he reached her, he smiled — faint and tired but genuine. Ivy blinked in surprise as he held something out to her — the stuffed bear.

“I figured…” Finn paused, giving her a small, helpless shrug. “I figured you could use a friend.”

Ivy reached out with her mittened hands, struggling awkwardly to take the bear. She hugged it to her chest as tightly as the thick padding of her sleeves would allow. The softness of the plush fur — warm and familiar — felt like an anchor in her trembling arms. She swallowed hard and nodded her thanks, unable to speak through her pacifier.

“I’m sorry,” Finn murmured. “There’s not much else I can do right now... but... at least you’ve got that.” He forced another small smile, but it faltered before he turned away.

Ivy wanted to call him back, to ask him to stay — to do something — but she knew there was no point. Mistress had made sure of that. Finn was just as powerless as the rest of them. So she watched as he walked away, his steps slow and reluctant, as if he hated leaving her like this.

The bouncer’s straps hugged her tightly, pinning her down. The bear lay tucked in her arms, her only comfort in the awful mess she was forced to sit in. Ivy stared down at it, swallowing hard. She knew it would speak if she asked — if she gave it a gentle squeeze and pressed her ear close. But somehow, the thought filled her with unease.

What if it had nothing useful to say?
What if it told her something even worse was coming?
What if... what if it didn’t speak at all?

The silence of that possibility felt heavier than any answer.

Ivy sighed, sinking further into the bouncer’s cushioned embrace. Around her, the room was anything but quiet. The cartoon’s cheerful songs grated at her nerves, the voices of Naomi and Oliver echoing in sickly sweet tones. She barely paid attention to the mindless lessons they spewed — something about being polite and sharing toys — as her gaze drifted to the changing mat in the center of the room.

There, one by one, the babies were being brought forward for their public diaper changes. Caregivers knelt beside them, working efficiently as swollen diapers were peeled away, revealing various states of mess. Ivy’s cheeks burned at the memory of her change earlier — the awful squelch of her diaper being pulled open, the cold air washing over her as Finn worked desperately to clean her up. It had been humiliating — mortifying — and now she had to watch it happen to everyone else.

Some of the babies sobbed softly, curling their mittened hands against their faces as their caregivers wiped and powdered them in full view of the room. Others just lay there limply, too tired — or too broken — to react. No one made eye contact. No one dared.

Ivy's face flushed hotter as she remembered her tears — how she’d squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else... someone stronger. The shame lingered like a stain, burned deep into her memory.

Her bladder cramped again, sharp and insistent this time. Ivy squeezed her legs together, though it did little good with the bulky padding between her thighs. She knew she couldn’t hold out forever. The thought of losing control here, in the bouncer, without even the dignity of a change afterward, twisted her stomach into knots.

Ivy clutched the bear closer, pressing her face into its fur as her eyes squeezed shut. She willed the tears back — willed her body to hold out just a little longer.

Ivy clenched her muscles tightly, holding on with everything she had — but it was no use. Between the thick bulk of her diaper pressing against her and the unforgiving straps that kept her legs splayed wide, there was no hope. The pressure built, relentless and demanding, until her exhausted body betrayed her. The warmth spread through her padding in an unstoppable wave, soaking her thoroughly. Ivy’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the bear’s soft fur as she felt the damp heat cling to her skin. The diaper swelled beneath her, squishing softly as the warm wetness settled thick and heavy against her. She shuddered, her face burning with shame as she squeezed her eyes shut.

It’s fine... It’s fine... It’s fine... she told herself, but the words felt hollow — meaningless. No matter how many times she reminded herself that everyone here was suffering the same fate, the humiliation still coiled inside her like a snake, its teeth biting deep.

Through the blurry veil of her tears, Ivy watched as yet another contestant was brought to the changing mat. The poor girl lay motionless, her face blotchy and puffy from crying, her eyes red-rimmed and vacant. The mechanical restraints clicked into place, securing her wrists and ankles to the mat. Ivy flinched as the girl’s caregiver knelt beside her, unzipping her sleeper to reveal the swollen, discolored diaper beneath.

The stench hit Ivy immediately, sharp and rancid — a sickening reminder of what they'd all been reduced to. The girl’s caregiver worked quickly, peeling back the ruined diaper and revealing the awful mess smeared across her skin. The poor girl let out a low, broken sob, curling her hands into fists as her caregiver wiped her clean in full view of the room. The foul odor clung to the air, heavy and inescapable.

Ivy swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away. But there was nowhere else to look — nowhere that didn’t remind her of the awful reality she was trapped in. The air seemed saturated with the mingling stink of unwashed bodies and soiled diapers, a lingering cloud that no amount of ventilation could clear. She felt her stomach churn, nausea roiling in her gut. The cartoon on the screen droned on, Naomi’s syrupy-sweet voice chiming through the room — her false cheer only deepening Ivy’s mounting disgust.

More babies were led to the mat, one by one. Some sobbed openly as they were changed, wailing helplessly as their shame was laid bare before the entire room. Others stared blankly at the ceiling, their eyes glassy with exhaustion, their bodies limp as their caregivers cleaned and powdered them like infants. There was no privacy — no dignity. Just the cold efficiency of Mistress’s design.

Ivy clutched her bear tightly, its fur damp from her fingers. She couldn’t shake the fear that those masked strangers from earlier had been talking about her. About her price. The thought gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. Whatever they wanted — whatever they were planning — Ivy knew she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. If they found out, she’d overheard them…

The padding clung to her like a damp sponge, uncomfortably warm and heavy. She felt the wet bulk squish beneath her with every shallow movement, pressing against her skin. The sensation was unbearable — itchy and sticky and disgusting — but she knew there was nothing she could do.

The last of the babies had been changed, and those unlucky enough to have been changed before lunch were now beginning to stink again — a disgusting scent that wafted through the air, sour and stale. Ivy barely reacted this time. The smell had become almost familiar — a constant presence she could no longer fight against. Her mind filtered it out, dulling her senses as exhaustion pulled at her.

Her stomach gurgled in discomfort, but Ivy ignored it. She had no strength left to think, plan, or hope. All she could do was sit there, trapped in her damp misery, her eyes dull as the bouncer rocked her softly—a cruel parody of comfort.

The cartoon’s theme song started again, with Naomi’s grating voice calling out in its familiar, patronizing tone.

“Are you ready, babies? Let’s learn how to be good!”

Ivy barely heard her.

Ivy clutched the bear tightly, her mittened hands fumbling awkwardly around its soft body as she held it to her ear, desperate for answers. The muffled plastic bulb of her pacifier muted her voice as she whispered, “What challenge? What’s going to happen?”

The bear remained silent for an agonizing moment. The soft hum of the cartoon still droned on in the background, and Naomi and Oliver's sweet voices sang infuriatingly cheerful songs about sharing. The other contestants slumped in their bouncers, their exhaustion evident in their glazed-over eyes and limp postures. The stench of stale diapers clung to the air, mixing unpleasantly with the artificial scent of talcum powder.

Finally, the bear spoke. "You've done well." Its voice was soft — almost soothing — but its words twisted Ivy’s gut like a knife. Done well? How could anyone do well in a place like this? She’d spent the day humiliated, helpless, and degraded. She was trapped — not winning.

"You still aren’t done today," the bear added. "A challenge awaits you."

Ivy groaned involuntarily, pressing her head back against the cushioned headrest of her bouncer. Another challenge? Another humiliating game designed to strip away what little dignity she had left? Her stomach twisted again — whether from nerves or the bloated discomfort of her diaper, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to know.

But curiosity gnawed at her. “What kind of challenge?” she murmured, her voice a whisper beneath the muted suckling sound of her pacifier. She gave the bear another squeeze, holding it close to her face, positioning it like a pillow to keep up the illusion for any unseen eyes that might be watching.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the bear spoke again — low and deliberate. "It will test your strength and dexterity — things you’ve barely relied on until now. Mistress will swap your outfits for something new, something that will hinder you the longer you remain in the challenge. It would be wise to finish as quickly as possible."

Ivy felt her stomach clench. Strength? Dexterity? She had no idea what that meant, but her mind raced with possibilities — none of them good. Mistress didn’t design fair challenges. Every game was cruelly twisted, a trap wrapped in bright colors and false cheer.

Her gaze drifted across the room. The exhausted faces of the other contestants barely seemed to register the world around them anymore. Clara’s head lolled to one side, her pacifier bobbing lazily in her mouth as her eyes threatened to close. Contestant 86 — the boy Finn had changed earlier — stared blankly ahead, his face pale and tired.

What if they couldn’t keep up? Ivy felt a chill crawl up her spine. Mistress never showed mercy. There was always a consequence — a punishment for those who failed.

Ivy squeezed the bear again, but it remained silent. Whatever advantage it could offer, it had already given. She knew better than to expect more.

She set the bear on her chest, feeling its soft warmth against her pounding heart. Her arms ached from the tension, her legs numb beneath the relentless squeeze of her swollen diaper. The thick padding pressed against her, forcing her thighs apart — a constant reminder of her helplessness.

And yet... she knew she couldn’t afford to panic. Not now. Whatever this challenge was, it was coming — and she had to be ready.

The bear’s warning echoed in her mind. “It would be wise to finish as quickly as possible.” The longer she spent fumbling through the trial, the worse it would become.

Ivy forced herself to steady her breathing. She shifted slightly in her bouncer, feeling the clammy warmth press against her skin. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t break. Whatever Mistress had planned, Ivy would endure it.

Ivy sighed, her breath slow and unsteady as she shifted her head against the padded seat. The bear remained silent, nestled awkwardly against her side. No whispered warnings, no hints, no advice. Whatever strange knowledge it had shared before was locked away now — leaving her alone with her thoughts. She squeezed it anyway, more for comfort than anything else, pressing the soft fur against her cheek. But still, nothing. Just silence.

Her stupid pacifier bobbed between her lips, the rhythmic movement almost automatic now. She barely noticed it anymore — her tongue flicking against the bulb every so often, just enough to keep it moving. It was humiliating to realize how quickly she'd adapted to it. Each muted suckle was a reminder of how powerless she'd become.

The air in the room felt too warm, heavy with the stale scent of powder and plastic and pee and poop. The cartoons droned on, the exaggerated voices of Naomi and Oliver scraping against her ears like nails on glass. The saccharine music — loud and grating — burrowed into her mind. It gnawed at her thoughts, chewing away at her focus. The bright colors flashing from the screen left an afterimage dancing in her vision whenever she closed her eyes. The endless songs about being “good babies,” the cheerful jingles reminding her to “use her diaper like a good girl” — it all seemed designed to grind down her mind, to leave her numb and passive.

And yet, worse than the noise, worse than the humiliation, was the sheer boredom.

The soft, constant rocking of her bouncer left her drowsy and sluggish. She couldn’t move —, her legs pressed apart by the swollen bulk of her diaper. All she could do was sit there, trapped in a cocoon of padded restraints, staring at a ceiling that never changed. Minutes stretched into hours, her mind clawing desperately for anything to focus on. Any noise, any movement — anything to distract her from the oppressive stillness.

Her body ached from the tension — her muscles stiff from lying motionless for so long. Her diaper clung to her— damp and swollen against her thighs, the sticky warmth pressing into her with every breath. She shifted her hips slightly, grimacing as the mess smeared against her. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting back the helpless whimper that threatened to escape.

What was the challenge going to be? What fresh humiliation did Mistress have planned for them this time? Ivy knew better than to hope it would be anything simple. Not after everything they’d endured so far. Whatever came next — it wouldn’t be good. It wouldn’t be easy.

But what could she do? Lying there, strapped down, helpless… she had no control. No power. No way to prepare.

Ivy exhaled slowly, forcing her breathing to steady. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the soft bounce of her seat. She needed to rest. Whatever came next would demand her focus and energy, and stressing over things she couldn’t control would only make it worse.

She closed her eyes. The cartoons blurred into noise — a distant hum that seemed to pulse inside her skull. The screen's flickering colors danced behind her eyelids, flashes of pink and yellow bleeding into the darkness. Her pacifier bobbed lazily in her mouth, the slow suckling pulling her deeper into the haze of exhaustion.

Her body relaxed against the padded seat, the tension slowly bleeding from her muscles. The rocking motion, frustrating as it was, almost felt soothing now—a steady rhythm that dragged her closer to unconsciousness. She let her mind drift, the nagging discomfort in her diaper and the grating sound of the cartoons fading into a distant blur.

Whatever was coming… whatever fresh horror awaited her... she couldn't stop it. She couldn't fight it.

So for now — just for now — Ivy let herself sleep.

The footsteps had been what woke her — a rhythmic thud of feet against the padded floor. Ivy blinked herself awake, her vision swimming as the world resolved into focus. The living room was no longer still — no longer quiet except for the endless hum of cartoons. Caregivers moved everywhere now, strollers rattling and wheels squeaking as the room filled with motion. Contestants — still trapped in their humiliating sleepers — were being plucked from their padded seats and deposited into strollers like oversized dolls.

Confusion tightened around Ivy’s thoughts like a vice. Her eyes flicked from face to face, her sluggish mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Why? What was happening? Was this another trial? Another twisted game?

Finn’s voice cut through her fog. “Hey,” he said softly.

Ivy turned her head, blinking blearily, as Finn knelt beside her. His smile was strained, a pale attempt at comfort. Without a word, his hands moved to the straps of her bouncer. The buckles clicked free, and Ivy felt her body lift. Her muscles were stiff and weak from the endless rocking.

Finn’s arms were steady, but she felt the wince in his grip as he shifted her weight. Her damp diaper pressed coldly against her, squishing and squelching as he settled her down into the stroller. The padded seat conformed to her body, and before she could react, the harness snapped across her chest and waist — thick, cushioned straps pinning her securely. The five-point harness locked with a mechanical click, securing her tightly in place.

She mumbled something behind her pacifier — a groggy, muffled attempt at a question — but Finn was already moving again. Contestant 86, slumped and groggy in his sleeper, was lifted next. His expression mirrored Ivy’s own — confused, tired, and deeply uneasy. Finn buckled him into the second stroller seat with the same resigned efficiency before finally answering.

“They told us to gather the babies,” Finn muttered grimly. “And to follow her instructions.”

Ivy didn’t need to ask who ‘her’ was. Mistress’s shadow seemed to loom over everything in this twisted place. Even her name felt like an icy hand closing around Ivy’s throat.

Finn pushed their stroller toward the door, joining the procession of other caregivers filing into the hallway. The wheels clattered quietly as they rolled along the smooth floor. Each stroller jostled and bumped slightly, but none of the babies stirred much. Some still slumped in their seats, too exhausted or too drugged to do anything but stare blankly at the ceiling. Others — wide-eyed and fidgeting — kept their gaze locked on the path ahead, like prisoners being rolled toward their execution.

Ivy’s unease grew as they turned the corner. The air felt colder here — sharper like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The silence of the hallway pressed down on her, a heavy weight that seemed to crawl beneath her skin. Finn’s grip on the stroller handles was tight — his knuckles pale.

And then, they stopped.

The double doors loomed ahead — heavy and metallic, embossed with curling patterns that mimicked twisted vines. Ivy stared at them, her breath quickening. Her stomach knotted. The trial.

She knew it before Finn said a word. The dull ache in her stomach coiled tighter, a heavy dread settling in her chest. Whatever was waiting behind those doors… it wouldn’t be simple. Mistress didn’t do simple.

“Stay calm,” Finn muttered. “Just… whatever happens, hang in there, alright?”

Ivy’s pacifier bobbed between her lips as she swallowed hard and gave a tiny nod. There was no sense in pretending she wasn’t afraid. She knew what was coming.

The double doors hissed open, and Ivy was hit by a wave of warm air — heavy and cloying, like walking into a wall of damp wool. It wasn’t the sterile chill she’d expected. No, this air was thick and humid, almost tropical. The heat clung to her skin immediately, beading sweat along her brow and neck. Her sleeper, already uncomfortable enough, seemed to tighten, the damp air making the fabric cling unpleasantly to her body. The warmth settled deep into her chest, leaving her skin prickling.

What was this?

The caregivers hesitated, clearly uneasy. For a brief moment, no one moved — as if they collectively knew that whatever waited inside couldn’t be good. But then the lead stroller rolled forward, and one by one, they followed.

Finn’s grip on the stroller handles tightened slightly, and Ivy felt the wheels bump over the threshold. The air felt even heavier inside — humid enough to make her hair stick to her forehead, her limbs sluggish and sticky within her sleeper. Sweat gathered in the small of her back, an uncomfortable dampness that soaked into her already damp diaper, making her grimace. She shifted in her stroller seat, squirming against the uncomfortable warmth, but the five-point harness held her firm.

Large glass windows stretched floor to ceiling before them, their surfaces fogged and glistening with condensation. The mist clung to the glass like sweat, streaking lazily down the panes. Through the haze, Ivy could just barely make out vague shapes moving beyond — distorted silhouettes that danced and flickered with unsettling fluidity. The longer she stared, the more those shifting shadows seemed to twist and bend, making her stomach churn.

Rows of changing tables were neatly arranged along the walls, each one prepped and waiting with piles of clothing folded beside them. Bright pastel colors — pinks, blues, yellows — all carefully arranged. The sight left a cold weight in Ivy’s chest.

Finn’s stroller rolled closer to the windows, and Ivy’s nose caught a sharp scent that cut through the thick air — chlorine.

Her breath caught in her throat. That smell — sharp and sterile — didn’t belong here. It was the scent of pools and bleached floors, of chemical-cleaned spaces designed to scrub away anything organic. Her eyes flicked back to the fogged glass, her mind spinning. What the hell is this?

And then — like a viper striking — Mistress’s voice slithered from the speakers above.

“Welcome, my babies… to your sixth trial.”

Ivy’s stomach plummeted.

Mistress’s tone was different this time — sharper, more calculated. Gone was the mocking affection of the nursery songs and cartoons. There was no syrupy sweetness now — only cold satisfaction, the quiet confidence of someone who knew she held absolute control.

Ivy twisted in her stroller, her fingers curling helplessly inside her padded mittens. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as Finn stopped the stroller before one of the changing tables. He met her gaze — just for a moment — and Ivy saw the same unease flickering in his eyes.

This wasn’t just another trial.

This was something worse. Something planned. Something cruel.

Ivy swallowed hard, sweat sliding down her temple. Whatever lay beyond those windows… whatever Mistress had prepared… she knew it was going to be bad.