The sudden, jarring sound of overhead lights flicking on and cribs unlocking startled Finn from his restless slumber. He groaned, shielding his eyes from the harsh light as he slowly roused himself. Blinking against the glare, he sat up, finding his crib and sleeper unlocked. Around him, the other caregivers stirred, realizing the same. But the babies remained trapped. Distressed cries filled the room as they woke to find themselves still confined.

As Finn swung his legs over the edge of his crib, he felt the unmistakable, clammy sensation of a wet pull-up clinging to his skin. He froze, his breath hitching as his fingers brushed over the cold, sodden material.

He’d wet the bed.

Heat rushed to his face, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he glanced around. The other caregivers were checking themselves, too, their startled expressions mirroring his. Finn’s stomach churned as their confused, humiliated gazes met, an unspoken realization passing between them.

There was no announcement, no mocking voice from Mistress to guide them—just the cold, clinical silence of the room and the weight of their collective shame. Finn’s stomach growled, breaking the tension, and the urgent pressure in his bladder reminded him of his growing discomfort. He slid out of the crib with hesitant movements, joining the others as they awkwardly shuffled toward the changing rooms.

As Finn entered the changing room, he made a beeline for the potty area, his face still flushed with embarrassment. Other caregivers shuffled in alongside him, equally uneasy but eager to relieve themselves. He sat on one of the humiliating plastic potties and emptied his bladder and bowels with relief, washing up quickly before heading back into the changing area.

Approaching the nearest changing table, Finn hesitated as an automated voice rang out: “Each caregiver is allotted one change before the next trial. Trial diapers will be issued to all contestants. Choose wisely.” Finn grimaced, weighing his options. Change now and face the possibility of being forced to use a thick, humiliating diaper before the trial? Or endure the discomfort of a cold, sodden pull-up a little longer? With a groan, he decided to step away from the table. Staying in his wet pull-up seemed like the lesser evil, for now.

Not everyone shared his choice. Several caregivers climbed onto the changing tables, their wet pull-ups replaced with thick, intricately patterned diapers. Finn couldn’t help but steal a glance, curiosity gnawing at him. Each diaper bore colorful, babyish designs—cartoon animals, pastel shapes, and playful lettering. The sight made his stomach churn with a mix of fascination and dread. 

Quickly averting his eyes, he decided not to linger too long, afraid of drawing unwanted attention. His hunger soon overtook him out of the changing room and toward the cafeteria. A few other contestants had gathered awkwardly at a low plastic kiddie table. Brightly colored toddler chairs surrounded it, their designs so absurdly juvenile that Finn paused in disbelief.

Finn approached the vending machine wall hesitantly. He pressed the button glowing with his number, watching as it dimmed and a tray slid out from a hidden panel. On it sat a plastic, sectioned baby plate filled with food alongside brightly colored, cartoon-themed plastic silverware and a matching sippy cup of juice decorated with cheerful animal characters.

He groaned, his cheeks flushing with humiliation, as he picked up the tray and forced himself to walk over to the low kiddie table. The other caregivers were seated, each awkwardly handling their similarly childish meals. Finn slid into one of the small toddler chairs, his knees awkwardly jutting upward as he settled in.

While undeniably babyish, the food was edible—and better than the bottles from yesterday. Though bland, it was tolerable, and Finn reluctantly allowed himself to relax, focusing on the taste as he took small bites. It was a reprieve from the constant tension, but the thought of the upcoming trial loomed heavily in his mind. He could only hope to secure the role of caregiver again today, knowing the alternative was far worse.

Across the table, a boy leaned over and whispered, “Did you wake up wet too?”

Finn’s ears burned as he nodded, whispering, “Yeah, I did.”

The hushed exchange caught the attention of others, and soon, low murmurs spread among the caregivers.

“What was in those bottles yesterday?” someone muttered, their tone laced with suspicion.

“Probably something to mess with us,” another said, frowning as they poked at their food. “You think we’ll have to go through that again?”

Finn glanced down at his plate, his gaze lingering on the strange shapes of the food. The brightly colored fruits had peculiar designs—some shaped like letters, others like simple numbers. His sippy cup bore similar markings, subtle enough to dismiss as decoration but odd enough to catch his attention.

He frowned, nudging a carrot slice with his fork. “These shapes…” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“What about them?” the boy beside him asked, his voice cautious.

Finn hesitated. “They look like… clues, maybe? Letters and numbers.”

The table grew quiet as the caregivers exchanged uneasy glances, each eyeing their trays more carefully. The odd designs on their plates and utensils suddenly seemed deliberate, their childish appearance masking something more sinister. The caregivers huddled around the table, their voices low, trying to understand the odd letters and numbers scattered throughout their meals. No matter how they arranged or combined them, the clues seemed completely random, a jumble of nonsense that only added to their growing frustration.

More caregivers trickled in, their trays similarly adorned with strange symbols, and the tension in the room thickened. Finn had just finished the last bite of his bland meal when a soft, melodic gong echoed through the cafeteria. The pleasant tone was immediately followed by Mistress’s smooth and commanding voice filling the room. All conversation ceased as the caregivers froze, their bodies stiffening instinctively. The hair on the back of Finn’s neck stood on end as her words rang out.

“Good morning, my dears,” she said with chilling cheer. “Welcome to day two of The Nursery Trials. I trust you enjoyed your rewards for yesterday’s success.” Her tone turned slightly sharper, more instructive. “Now, listen carefully. After meals, you will feed and prepare your assigned babies for today’s trial. Each baby must finish their meal before being changed into their trial diapers. Once all babies are ready, you must prepare yourselves for the task ahead. Failure to comply will result in immediate elimination.”

A wave of unease rippled through the room as her words settled over them like a heavy blanket.

Mistress continued, her tone brightening with a teasing edge. “I’ll leave you with this: today’s trial will test more than just your endurance. Look closely at all the meals before you. The answers you seek may be right in front of you.” With a final, mocking lilt, she signed off. “Enjoy your morning, caregivers. The trials will begin shortly.”

The room remained silent, every caregiver frozen in place, their eyes flicking nervously between their trays and one another. Finn’s heart pounded as he stared at the remnants of his meal, the bizarre shapes of the food and patterns on the sippy cup taking on a new, ominous weight.

Finn immediately caught something odd in Mistress’s phrasing: all the meals. Did that include the babies’? His curiosity flared as he finished his meal and returned to the vending machine. He pressed the buttons corresponding to his two assigned babies, and with a faint hum, the machine dispensed two large, clear canisters filled with the same opaque white formula as the previous day.

The sight made his stomach turn. The memory of the thick, cloying liquid was still vivid, but something caught his eye. As the formula sloshed against the canisters’ surfaces, faint prints of letters and numbers began to emerge, becoming more visible with each ripple.

“What the…” he murmured, leaning closer. The symbols weren’t random—there was some pattern, though their meaning eluded him.

He pointed it out to the other caregivers, who quickly followed suit, retrieving their canisters and discovering the same mysterious markings. As the white liquid sloshed over the characters, they seemed to grow more visible, as if interacting with the formula itself. A wave of hushed speculation swept through the room, tension mounting as they tried to decipher the cryptic symbols. Finn’s gaze shifted to the far wall, where a clock ticked down steadily, its rhythmic motion a cold reminder that time was slipping away. With a grimace, he clutched the two canisters and turned toward the exit. Whatever these clues meant, there wasn’t time to linger.

He forced himself forward, his heart heavy with unease as he headed to the nursery. Finn felt like he had been on the brink of discovery but couldn’t put his finger on it. For now, he would have to play the game and see if he could piece everything together.

*

Ivy whimpered softly, trapped in her crib, the restrictive bars pressing against her and forcing her onto the thinly padded mattress. She tugged weakly at the confines of her sleeper, but the fabric barely shifted, leaving her utterly immobilized. The muffled footsteps drew her attention, and her heart skipped as Finn’s voice broke the silence.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked gently, his tone tinged with awkward sympathy.

She craned her neck, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. “Not great,” she admitted with a shaky breath. “I… I think I wet myself in my sleep.”

Finn grimaced, his cheeks flushing faintly. “Yeah… me too. Honestly, it seems like everyone did.”

Ivy groaned, letting her head fall back against the mattress. “Fantastic. Just great,” she muttered, her frustration mounting.

Finn hesitated before asking, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she sighed.

“Well, I’ve got some bad news,” Finn replied, his voice tight. “The meals for the babies… it’s formula.”

Ivy’s face turned bright red, a mix of humiliation and disbelief. “You’re kidding me,” she groaned, closing her eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“I wish I were,” Finn said softly. “And worse… you have to finish it before the crib will unlock.”

Her stomach churned at the thought, but she knew there was no point in fighting it. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice resigned. “Just get it over with.”

Finn nodded, his expression apologetic, as he moved to fit the canister of formula into a slot on the side of the crib. With a faint click, it locked into place, and before Ivy could brace herself, a small panel slid above her.

She gasped in surprise as a large pacifier descended and pressed against her lips. Before she could turn her head or protest, the guard clicked into place, locking it snugly between her teeth.

“Mmmph!” Ivy cried out in shock, her muffled protests echoing uselessly in the crib.

The rubber bulb of the pacifier began to leak the warm, sweet formula into her mouth. She instinctively gulped to keep from choking, the thick liquid coating her tongue with its cloying taste. Each swallow felt degrading, a reminder of her helpless state as the stream of formula continued uninterrupted. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her cheeks burning with shame as she was forced to drink. There was no escape, no pause, only the steady, relentless flow of the formula.

Finn appeared at Ivy’s crib moments later, his voice laced with concern. “Ivy? What happened? Are you okay?”

But Ivy couldn’t respond. The pacifier locked firmly in her mouth muffled any attempt at speech, and she could only meet his worried gaze with tear-filled eyes. Across the room, other caregivers and babies stirred, their voices rising in confusion. “What’s going on?” one called out. “What happened to her?”

Finn grimaced, having seen what happened, his attention shifting to Clara, his second assigned baby. The girl was already trembling, clutching the bars of her crib. “Clara,” Finn said gently, though his tone was strained, “Ivy’s okay, but… the same thing’s going to happen to you.”

“No,” Clara whimpered, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t! I don’t want it!”

Finn exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “What’s worse?” he asked softly. “Being eliminated or drinking the formula?”

Clara shook her head frantically, her sobs growing louder. “I just want out! I want to go home!”

Finn’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, I have to…” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he reached for the canister.

The click of the lock echoed in the tense silence, followed by the soft hiss of the pacifier descending. Clara let out a desperate cry; her pleas cut off as the pacifier sealed against her lips. Her muffled sobs filled the room as the formula began to flow, forcing her to drink. Ivy groaned softly, the rhythmic flow of the thick liquid still filling her mouth. 

As the thick, sweet formula continued to flow relentlessly into Ivy’s mouth, her stomach churned in discomfort, the warm liquid settling heavily in her gut. The pressure in her bladder and bowels, which had been a dull ache throughout the night, quickly escalated into an unbearable urgency. Her breaths came in short, panicked bursts around the locked pacifier as her body reached its breaking point.

A sudden, sharp cramp seized her abdomen, forcing her to curl her toes against the soft crib mattress. Her muscles clenched instinctively, but the sheer pressure overwhelmed her. With a faint, muffled whimper, her control slipped entirely.

The first rush of warm liquid soaked into the front of her diaper, spreading quickly between her thighs and pooling under her. The thick padding absorbed it with a faint squish, swelling slightly as the warmth enveloped her lower half. The sensation was humiliating, but it was only the beginning.

Moments later, her bowels gave way, and a slow, involuntary push sent a wave of soft, warm mess into the back of her diaper. She could feel the sticky mass spreading, pressing against her skin and filling the snug confines of the thick padding. The sleeper stretched tightly around her as the diaper expanded, the added bulk pressing firmly against her hips and thighs.

Ivy’s cheeks burned with shame, her tears flowing freely as the mess continued to push its way out, squishing and settling into every available space. She tried to shift, but the restrictive sleeper kept her pinned, forcing her to endure the uncomfortable, spreading warmth as it clung to her.

Each involuntary spasm of her body added to the degrading sensation, the muffled crinkling of the diaper beneath her only amplifying the humiliation. The acrid scent began to rise, mixing with the faintly sweet smell of the formula she was still being forced to gulp down. Ivy’s body trembled as the last wave of pressure subsided, leaving her exhausted and utterly humiliated. The thick, sodden diaper pressed heavily against her, a reminder of her helplessness. All she could do was keep drinking, the relentless flow of formula ensuring that her ordeal was far from over.

Finally, the relentless flow of formula ceased, and Ivy let out a shaky breath through her nose as a soft chime echoed from her crib. The pacifier released from her mouth with a faint click before retracting into the panel above. Gasping for air, Ivy blinked back tears, her chest rising and falling heavily.

Without warning, the ceiling of her crib retracted with a mechanical hum, and the barred gate swung open with a soft clunk. Ivy wasted no time, scrambling to escape. Her trembling hands gripped the crib's edge as she turned her legs over, but the moment her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled beneath her.

She stumbled forward, her legs weak and unsteady from the ordeal. Before she could fall, Finn was there, catching her under her arms and holding her upright. His grip was firm but gentle as he steadied her, his face a mix of concern and quiet sympathy.

“Easy,” he murmured, helping her find her footing.

“Thanks,” Ivy croaked, her voice hoarse. She let him guide her to sit on the crib's edge, her body trembling from exhaustion.

The moment she sat down, her stomach turned as she felt her diaper's warm, squishy mass press against her skin. It shifted under her weight, spreading further, and she suppressed a shudder, her face flushing with humiliation.

The thick padding clung to her uncomfortably, and the damp, sticky sensation reminded her of her helplessness. Her hands clenched the crib's edge, and her knuckles were white as she tried to ignore the crawling feeling beneath her. Finn’s hand remained on her shoulder, grounding her as she fought to collect herself. The humiliation was suffocating, but the brief respite of sitting still and catching her breath was a small mercy.

The muffled cries of other babies filled the room around Ivy as caregivers continued arriving with formula canisters. One by one, the pacifiers descended, sealing helpless mouths and forcing their occupants to drink. Ivy sat on the edge of her crib, still trembling, her bloated stomach pressing against the snug fabric of her sleeper.

Finn, standing close, motioned toward a girl walking past, holding a canister. “See those symbols?” he murmured, pointing.

Ivy followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of faint, shimmering letters and numbers on the clear surface of the canister. They were barely visible as the formula sloshed inside. She glanced at the empty canister that had fed her, now devoid of markings.

“They react to the formula,” Finn explained, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know what it means yet, but there’s something to them. Something important.”

Ivy opened her mouth to respond, but her attention snapped to the sound of another crib’s top retracting. A moment later, Clara stumbled out, her face streaked with tears. She collapsed to her knees, her sobs wracking her small frame.

Finn was at her side instantly, gently gripping her shoulders to steady her. “Clara, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm.

“I—I tried,” Clara choked out between sobs. “I tried so hard, but I… I couldn’t stop it… I—I lost control!” Her words dissolved into a wail, her whole body trembling.

Finn knelt beside her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s not your fault.”

Finn glanced between Ivy and Clara, his voice gentle but firm. “Do you both want to go get changed now?” Finn offered.

“Yes!” Ivy and Clara exclaimed in unison, their desperation palpable. Neither hesitated, and Finn helped Clara to her feet. Together, the three made their way toward the changing room, the sound of other cribs unlocking and releasing their occupants echoing behind them. As they passed the door marked Naughty Room, Finn’s eyes lingered on it, a cold unease curling in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the babies sent there. The thought made him quicken his pace, urging the girls forward.

They reached the changing room, and Ivy hesitated at the edge of the nearest table. Before she could climb up, Finn gently rested a hand on her arm. “Ivy,” he said quietly, “this will probably be the only change you’ll get before the trial starts. Make it count.”

She grimaced, her stomach twisting at the thought of enduring another trial in a soiled diaper. But she nodded, steeling herself as she climbed onto the padded table. The moment she lay down, straps snapped around her wrists and ankles with a sharp click, securing her in place. “Ah!” she yelped, startled by the sudden confinement.

The table whirred softly as her sleeper unzipped, the fabric peeling back to reveal the full extent of her humiliation. Ivy’s cheeks burned as she caught sight of the swollen, discolored diaper beneath her, the sticky mess pressing uncomfortably against her skin. The smell rose faintly, making her stomach churn.

Finn didn’t say a word, but his jaw tightened as he set to work. Ivy turned her face away, biting her lip as she tried to block out the moment's sensation and sheer embarrassment. Her only consolation was the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to endure the trial in her current state—at least, not yet.

As Finn carefully worked on changing Ivy, he paused, his brow furrowing as he examined the diaper. “These designs,” he muttered, running a finger over faint markings on the plastic exterior, “there are letters and numbers here… but something’s missing. They don’t form anything complete.”

Ivy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued despite the mortifying situation. “What could they mean?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with unease.

Finn shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know,” he admitted, finishing the change and securing the fresh diaper. The thick padding pushed Ivy’s legs apart noticeably, making her squirm as the sleeper zipped itself back up, encasing her once more.

The straps released with a faint click, and Ivy quickly climbed down, eager to escape both the table and her embarrassment. She glanced briefly at Finn, murmuring a quick “thanks” before stepping aside as Clara hesitantly climbed up in her place. More caregivers and babies began filing into the room, their faces tense as they prepared for the trials. Ivy tried not to look as Finn started to change Clara, but curiosity got the better of her. She peeked from the corner of her eye, her cheeks heating as Clara’s soiled diaper appeared.

But it wasn’t the mess that caught her attention—it was the fresh diaper Finn unfolded. The designs were immediately clear: just as Finn had said, random letters and numbers scattered across the material in a way that hinted at a puzzle yet to be solved.

“What are you looking at?” Clara’s exasperated voice snapped Ivy back to reality. Her face was flushed as she glared at Finn. “Can we please stop staring at my privates?”

Finn chuckled softly, his tone light but apologetic. “Sorry, Clara,” he said, snuffing the fresh diaper into place. He quickly tapped the Complete button on the changing table, and the sleeper zipped itself back up, sealing Clara away.

As Clara sat up, still flustered, Ivy’s thoughts lingered on the strange markings. What was Mistress planning, and how did these cryptic clues fit into her twisted game?

Finn said, “Be right back,” before slipping into the caregivers’ changing room. This left Ivy and Clara awkwardly in the middle of the nursery. The girls exchanged glances, their unease growing as the minutes ticked by.

“He’s taking forever,” Clara muttered, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Ivy agreed, frowning. “Let’s get out of here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, they made their way toward the door. As they approached, a calm, automated voice announced, “Contestants may not leave without their assigned caregiver.”

Both girls groaned in unison, stepping back to wait by the wall. Their frustration simmered as they glanced at each other, and their shared impatience was palpable. Finally, Finn emerged, his face flushed, his steps hesitant. His sleeper was locked back in place, and the unmistakable bulk of a thick diaper pushed his legs apart as he walked toward them.

Clara raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the pull-ups?”

Finn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They were just for the night after the trial apparently,” he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “Now I’m in the same diapers as you two. Once my sleeper locked again…” He paused, his cheeks reddening further. “Apparently my time as a caregiver is just about out.”

The three of them left the changing room in silence. The tension was thick as they headed back toward the nursery, and each was acutely aware of their fragile positions. A soft chime rang out as they stepped back into the nursery, cutting through the uneasy silence. Ivy, Clara, and Finn spun around, their eyes widening as the door to the Naughty Room slid open with a mechanical hum.

From the shadows, two ‘naughty’ babies were unceremoniously deposited onto the floor by metallic arms. Their bodies were rigid, arms crossed tightly over their chests, and their legs tucked up against their stomachs. Oversized pacifiers filled their mouths, muffling any sound as they landed with soft thuds.

The mechanical arms released them and deftly removed the pacifiers, tucking them back into a compartment. With a soft hiss, the sleepers on the two babies loosened, and their limbs slackened. Both sprawled out on the cold floor, groaning softly, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and humiliation.

Finn, Ivy, and Clara exchanged uneasy glances before cautiously approaching.

“What happened in there?” Finn asked, his voice low and tentative.

The two babies, still catching their breath, avoided eye contact. One shook their head, muttering, “You don’t want to know.”

The other nodded in agreement, their voice hoarse. “Seriously. Just… don’t ask.”

Ivy’s gaze dropped to their sleepers, noting the faint bulge beneath the fabric. From what she could tell, they were both wearing the same thick trial diapers she and Clara had been put in. At least, she thought grimly, they’d been changed, though the price for that reprieve seemed steep.

The two ‘naughty’ babies awkwardly got to their feet, their movements stiff and unsteady. Without a word, they shuffled away, their heads bowed in shame. Ivy, Clara, and Finn remained rooted in place, exchanging uneasy glances as the room filled with the low hum of conversation. Other caregivers and babies began filing in, their faces a mix of curiosity and dread as they settled into uneasy groups.

The brief reprieve felt all too short. A sudden buzzer blared through the room, silencing the chatter instantly. Mistress’s voice filled the air, smooth and authoritative, with sinister excitement. “Good morning, my dears! Welcome to Day 2 of The Nursery Trials!”

Her words carried an edge that made the hair on the back of Ivy’s neck stand on end.

“As of this moment,” Mistress continued, “you are all on even footing—every one of you is a baby. The privilege of a caregiver must be earned. After last night, I’m confident each of you will work harder than ever to claim that coveted status.” Her tone shifted, bright with mock enthusiasm. “Now then, let’s not keep you waiting any longer! It’s time for your second trial!”

The same massive door from the previous day groaned open, spilling bright light into the room. A thick, rolling fog drifted in from the outside, pooling at the threshold like a stage being set for a grand performance. Mistress’s voice returned, practically gleeful. “Welcome, contestants, to your second trial.”