Ivy’s heart pounded as she followed the contestants toward the towering door, each step weighed down by uncertainty. The soft hiss of the door sliding fully open revealed the trial room beyond, and the contestants hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances before stepping inside. The first thing Ivy noticed was the floor. It was covered in brightly colored foam jigsaw pieces, each adorned with large letters or numbers. They squished softly underfoot as the group shuffled forward, the sound amplifying the surreal, infantilizing atmosphere.

The room was massive, its walls painted in soft pastel hues that reflected the faint glow of overhead lights. Four distinct sections stretched out, each marked by a different color: blue, red, yellow, and green. Within each section stood a large, imposing contraption, its framework extending from floor to ceiling. These machines had an unsettling presence. Their glossy surfaces were broken by inset screens stacked vertically along their height. Each screen flickered with static, waiting to display something ominous. Below the screens, rows of buttons gleamed.

The machines also featured shelves laden with countless baby bottles, their translucent exteriors filled with various pastel-colored liquids. The bottles were meticulously organized by color to match their corresponding sections, the faint hum of machinery emanating from within. At the center of the room, however, stood something different. A solitary pillar rose above the foam floor, its unique color—a deep, iridescent purple—setting it apart. This central pillar's sleek design boasted similar screens and buttons. Its purpose was unclear but undeniably significant.

As the last contestants stepped inside, the door behind them slid shut with a soft thud, sealing them in. A tense silence fell over the room as the group took in their surroundings, their eyes darting between the machines and the colorful foam pieces beneath their feet.

Mistress’s voice crackled over unseen speakers, cutting through the quiet. “Welcome, my dears, to your second trial. Look closely—your path to victory lies within the clues before you. Work together… or fall apart. Before we begin, I require one brave volunteer,” she announced, her tone dripping with calculated intrigue. “A contestant willing to set themselves apart from the rest.”

A ripple of uncertainty swept through the room as the contestants exchanged wary glances. Ivy felt her stomach twist, her mind racing as Mistress continued.

“This lone contestant will be granted immunity from elimination,” Mistress explained, her words deliberate, “but they will forfeit any chance of earning the coveted status of caregiver.”

The tension thickened, and no one dared move. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a young man stepped forward, his expression a mix of determination and dread. The other contestants murmured in surprise, and their eyes followed him as he approached the center pillar.

“Very brave,” Mistress purred. Suddenly, his sleeper shifted, the fabric transforming into a rich, iridescent purple that matched the central pillar. Gasps echoed through the room, and Ivy’s breath caught at the sight. Mistress continued, her voice now laced with excitement. “You, my dear, will play a vital role in today’s trial. You alone will possess the power to provide the teams with clues to completing their puzzles. Whether you use this power to aid or hinder is entirely up to you.”

The young man’s eyes flicked nervously toward the other contestants, who now regarded him with suspicion and curiosity.

“Now,” Mistress said, her tone sharp, “let me explain the stakes. The first team to complete their puzzle will earn the esteemed caregiver status. The next two teams will remain as babies, safe from elimination. But the last team… will be eliminated.”

A hushed murmur spread through the group, the weight of her words settling heavily over them.

Mistress’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Contestants, form teams of eighteen and step toward the pillar that calls to you—blue, red, yellow, or green. The center is reserved for our brave volunteer.”

Ivy’s heart pounded as the contestants began moving hesitantly, small clusters forming and breaking apart as they scrambled to assemble their teams. Clara pulled her toward the green pillar, and Ivy hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to see Finn joining them. The room buzzed with nervous energy as contestants shuffled into position, uncertainty written across every face. It was clear that no one knew each other well enough to form true alliances, but with no time to waste, the teams eventually took shape.

Ivy felt a strange tingling sensation as the last person stepped into place, and her sleeper began to shift. She gasped softly as the fabric changed color, morphing into a vibrant green to match her team’s pillar. Around the room, the other contestants’ sleepers underwent similar transformations, marking their respective teams in bold, unmistakable colors—red, blue, yellow, and green.

Mistress’s voice returned, smooth and enigmatic. “Well done, my dears. Your teams are set. Remember, the answers to your puzzles may be closer than you realize.” Her tone carried a teasing edge, as though she relished the confusion spreading through the room. “Good luck.”

A loud buzzer signaled the trial's start, and the towering pillars immediately sprang to life. Ivy’s eyes widened as the screens on the green pillar lit up, revealing a grid of 18 boxes across and 4 deep, along with two boxes set apart from the others. The central pillar displayed a much narrower grid—1 box wide and 4 deep.

Beneath the screens, a panel of buttons illuminated, each marked with a number and a corresponding word. Ivy glanced at Clara, whose brow furrowed in confusion, and then at the rest of her team as they gathered closer to study the setup.

“What is this?” someone muttered, their voice tense.

The words and numbers were a jumbled mess—random and disconnected. The screens provided no clear instructions, and the buttons offered no obvious solution.

Ivy leaned in, her eyes scanning the grid. “Do you think we’re supposed to match these somehow?”

Clara shook her head, biting her lip. “Maybe, but with what? This makes no sense.”

Around the room, the other teams were equally baffled, their whispered discussions growing more frantic as the seconds ticked by. The center pillar glowed ominously, a silent reminder of the solo contestant’s potential to sway the outcome.

Ivy clenched her fists, her heart pounding as the weight of the trial pressed down on her. The answers were supposed to be “close at hand,” Mistress had said, but nothing about the setup felt remotely clear. 

Ivy noticed something peculiar above each row of boxes: each set was labeled with a contestant number, hers included. The only oddity was those two boxes below no one’s number. She frowned, her mind racing to piece it together. The connection between the numbers, the boxes, and the shelves of baby bottles remained frustratingly unclear.

Like the others, her team huddled around the panel of buttons, testing them out. Each press displayed a word on the screen above the panel, and a separate button lit up to allow submission of an answer. The confusion grew as they struggled to match words, numbers, and boxes. Minutes stretched into twenty, the room filled with whispered theories and frustrated sighs.

Ivy shifted uneasily, her focus snapping to one of the girls on her team who had stepped back from the group. The girl, fidgeting nervously, glanced around before relaxing slightly. Ivy’s brow furrowed, thinking the girl might be desperate to pee. And then it happened. The screen above the girl’s row of boxes flickered, and her first box lit up, revealing a number.

The entire team froze, their eyes fixed on the screen. “What just happened?” someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe and confusion.

The girl’s face turned bright red, and she hesitated before stammering, “I… I wet myself.”

The group fell into stunned silence as they realized what had happened. Ivy’s stomach churned as the pieces clicked into place. The bottles, the cryptic instructions, the puzzle… all made sense now.

“That’s it,” Clara murmured, her voice barely audible. “We have to… wet ourselves to light up the boxes.”

The team exchanged horrified glances, the weight of Mistress’s twisted game settling over them like a suffocating blanket. Ivy’s throat tightened as her gaze flicked to the bottles on the shelves, their purpose now painfully clear. The trial wasn’t just about solving the puzzle—it was about forcing them into the most degrading act imaginable to get there.

As the first box on the Green team’s screen lit up, the other teams began noticing. Heads turned, eyes narrowing with suspicion and confusion as murmurs rippled through the room. No one else had made any progress, and the sudden advancement of Team Green was impossible to ignore.

The volunteer—Contestant 49—noticed from the center pillar, too. His purple sleeper glinted under the soft lights as he approached, his steps measured. He stopped just short of the Green team, his expression caught between curiosity and unease. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice low but insistent.

Ivy and the others exchanged uneasy glances, their collective humiliation evident. One of them, still red-faced from her earlier confession, hesitated before explaining in a hushed tone. “I… wet myself. That’s what lit up the box.”

Contestant 49’s face flushed a deep crimson as he processed the revelation. His gaze flicked to the pillar’s glowing box, then to the bottles on the shelves. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, the embarrassment evident in his tone.

The girl shook her head, and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright,” he murmured, nodding slowly. I guess that makes sense, " he said, grumbling. Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the central pillar, his fingers hesitantly brushing the rows of bottles. He took one and took a hesitant sip, the nipple to his lips.

Ivy grimaced, her attention snapping back to the task at hand. Her stomach twisted; unlike the girl, she didn’t need to pee. Groaning softly, she reached for one of the baby bottles on the green shelf. Unlike the oversized ones from the previous trial, these bottles were small and infant-sized. Each held only a modest amount of liquid, the pastel colors of the juice faintly visible through the translucent plastic.

She tried to unscrew the cap but could not do so before bringing the bottle to her lips, hesitantly nursing the nipple. The juice was sweet, almost sickeningly so, but mercifully free of the creamy texture of last night’s formula. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to drink, her cheeks burning with humiliation at the sight of her teammates doing the same.

The other teams continued to watch them with growing suspicion, whispering among themselves but hesitating to act. Their confusion gave the Green team a critical early lead, but Ivy couldn’t shake the oppressive feeling that it wouldn’t last long. Every sip of the juice brought her closer to the inevitable, and she could feel the pressure building—not just in her bladder but in the weight of the trial itself.

Finn stopped mid-sip and closed his eyes, his face scrunching in concentration. Moments later, the first box beneath his number lit up on the screen. The soft glow drew the team’s attention, and a murmur of encouragement rippled through them. Ivy glanced toward the blue pillar just in time to see their first box illuminate. The Blue team caught on, and its members quickly followed suit. The quiet atmosphere of confusion shifted into one of urgency as the race officially began.

The remaining two teams—Yellow and Red—were still floundering, their members exchanging frantic whispers and frustrated glances. A few, however, had started mimicking what they saw, hesitantly grabbing bottles and nursing from them. It wouldn’t be long before they pieced it together, but the Green and Blue teams held a clear advantage for now.

Ivy felt a growing pressure in her bladder, her body finally catching up to the humiliating requirements of the trial. With a deep breath, she relaxed, the warmth spreading through her diaper as she let go. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing as the thick padding swelled against her skin, crinkling softly beneath her sleeper. Despite the heavy wetting, only one box beneath her number lit up. Ivy frowned, glancing at the screen. Was there more to this than just wetting? Were there other requirements to fill the remaining boxes? 

She wasn’t sure, but the Green team couldn’t afford to slow down. The race was tightening, and every second of hesitation brought them closer to failure. Ivy glanced at Clara, who was still nervously sipping her bottle.

Suddenly, the contestant in the center, his purple sleeper marking him as the volunteer, jogged over to the Green team, his face slightly flushed. “I unlocked the first piece of the puzzle,” he announced breathlessly, his voice low but urgent.

Ivy’s cheeks burned as she realized what he was admitting—he’d soaked his diaper, too. The thought made her squirm uncomfortably in her swollen padding, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside.

“What did it show?” one of her teammates asked, their voice laced with curiosity and dread.

The boy frowned, clearly puzzled. “The box I unlocked had a number and a word,” he explained, glancing toward his central console. “I’m not sure what it means, but it’s gotta be important.”

The Green team exchanged uncertain glances, racing to piece together the cryptic information. Before anyone could respond, a member of the Blue team approached, their arms crossed tightly. “What’s the hint?” they demanded, their tone edged with frustration.

The volunteer repeated what he’d seen, but it only deepened the confusion. “Number and a word? That’s it?” the Blue team member muttered, their brow furrowed as they returned to their group.

Just then, another member of the Green team shifted uncomfortably, their face tense with concentration. A moment later, their second box lit up, revealing another word. “I did it again,” they admitted sheepishly, glancing at the screen. The team crowded around, eyes locked on the glowing word beneath their teammate’s number. Ivy’s gaze darted to the panel of buttons. The words on the screen matched those etched on the buttons.

“It’s a message,” Ivy murmured, her voice barely audible. “The words must form some kind of cryptic sentence.”

Clara nodded, her fingers tapping nervously against her bottle. The puzzle was taking shape, but Ivy knew time was running out. The Blue team was quickly catching up, and the other teams were beginning to establish the rules. They needed to move fast—and think even faster.

Ivy kept nursing her bottle, her jaw and throat aching from the repetitive motion. The small nipple only allowed a trickle of juice with each suckle, forcing her to take slow, steady pulls. Finishing even one bottle felt like a chore, but as soon as she was done, she deposited it down the small chute beside the shelves and immediately grabbed another. The rest of the Green team was doing the same. The soft sound of crinkling diapers and the faint clink of bottles sliding down the chutes filled the tense air. Ivy’s stomach felt bloated from the sheer amount of liquid, and before long, the growing pressure in her bladder became impossible to ignore.

Gritting her teeth, she focused, forcing herself to relax. Warmth spread through her swollen diaper, and the padding swelled further between her legs. It was uncomfortable, but the screen rewarded her effort: two boxes lit up this time.

“Another word,” Clara muttered as the first box revealed a clue.

“And a number,” Ivy added, pointing at the next. She glanced at the buttons on the panel, her brow furrowing. “I think we have to soak these things to unlock each piece fully. But what about the last two boxes?”

Her teammates nodded grimly, the realization sinking in, no one had a good answer for the remaining boxes yet.

All around them, frantic sipping and shifting bodies echoed through the room. The remaining teams had caught on, and their members were now guzzling bottles, desperately trying to close the gap. The Blue team, in particular, was picking up speed, and their screens lit up one after another. As the race intensified, the pressure mounted, and the atmosphere became electric with urgency. Ivy grabbed another bottle, determined not to fall behind. They had the lead, but it was slipping away fast.

With each bottle, Ivy felt the strain on her body intensify, her jaw aching and her throat raw from the constant suckling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her bloated stomach protested the sheer amount of liquid she was forced down. She shifted uncomfortably, the thick diaper padding pressing against her as she worked through another bottle, the sweet juice now sickeningly cloying.

Around her, her teammates groaned and fidgeted, clearly feeling the same discomfort. Yet, despite the mounting tension, their screens continued lighting up box by box. They were progressing, keeping pace with the Blue team, whose pillar was equally active.

Ivy’s eyes flicked toward the central pillar. The contestant in purple—Contestant 49—had unlocked two of his boxes, though whatever clues they contained were visible only to him. He glanced at his screen, his expression unreadable.

Clara groaned softly beside Ivy, her face pale. “We’re not gonna solve this without him,” she muttered, her voice tight with frustration.

Another teammate nodded, their attention fixed on the green pillar’s screen. “The numbers—they’re positions,” they said, their voice urgent. “They tell us where each word fits in the sentence.”

Ivy’s heart sank as she realized the truth of their words. Even if they unlocked every box on their pillar, the full message would remain incomplete without the central contestant’s clues.

“He holds the final pieces,” Ivy whispered, glancing back at Contestant 49. Her face burned with the humiliating knowledge that their success depended on completing Mistress’s degrading task—and earning his cooperation.

Ivy shifted uncomfortably, the pressure in her bladder finally breaking as she let herself go, a warm flood soaking into her already swollen diaper. The padding expanded, pressing snugly against her thighs as the last of her boxes lit up on the green pillar. She groaned in relief, her muscles trembling with exhaustion as she dropped the empty bottle from her hands and sank to the foam-covered floor.

Several teammates around her were in similar states, their faces pale and strained. The remaining few were being urged to drink, their discomfort clear as they struggled to keep going. Ivy could feel their pain—it was unbearable, and the relentless pace had left them all drained.

Finally, with relief, the last box on their pillar lit up. The Green team huddled together, frantically piecing the words and numbers into the overarching phrase. Ivy rubbed her aching temples as they shuffled the clues, trying to make sense of the fragmented sentence.

Forcing herself back to her feet, she approached Contestant 49, who was still nursing a bottle near his purple pillar. Her frustration bubbled over as she reached him. “We need your clues,” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. “We’ve worked too hard to let this slip away.”

The boy in purple looked up, his face red with effort. “I’m trying,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve got two, but the last two… I need more time.”

Ivy scowled, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She bit back her retort, realizing he was just as humiliated and exhausted as the rest of them. Still, she couldn’t shake her annoyance.

Before she turned to leave, Ivy asked, “Did you get any hints from the last box you unlocked? Anything about how to finish this? We have no idea how to unlock two other boxes on our pillar.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he glanced at his screen. “There was something… a cryptic message. It said, ‘Among the bottles lies the truth. Hidden among the rest, a select few will fill what remains.’”

Ivy blinked, processing his words. “What does that even mean?”

“I think,” he continued, voice low, “there are bottles set aside from the others. They look the same, but they’re different. Otherwise, your guess is as good as mine.”

Her stomach churned as the implication sank in. More bottles, more drinking, more humiliation. She released a frustrated sigh and returned to her team, her steps heavy as she shared the boy’s cryptic message.

The Green team gathered around Ivy, puzzled by the cryptic message she relayed. “Among the bottles lies the truth… a select few will fill what remains,” Clara murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. They scanned the racks of bottles, their eyes darting over the neatly lined rows, until someone pointed out two bottles slightly spaced apart from the rest.

“There,” one of them whispered, the tension thick in the air.

They all stared at the bottles, identical to the others except for their deliberate placement. The phrase echoed in Ivy’s mind, and her stomach sank as she focused on the word "fill."

It hit her like a jolt. “Oh no,” she breathed.

Another teammate groaned softly. “You think the last two boxes…” They trailed off, unable to finish the thought, but their meaning was clear.

“We have to…” Clara’s voice cracked, her cheeks blazing with humiliation. “We have to… poop ourselves.”

A heavy silence fell over the team as they processed the horrifying possibility. Their gazes shifted uneasily between the two bottles, no one daring to make a move.

Finn finally broke the silence, his face pale but resolute. “Alright, listen,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension. “No one wants to do this, right? So, let’s leave it to chance.”

Ivy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll mix the bottles with the regular ones,” Finn explained. “Randomly hand them out; no one will know who got them. It’ll be luck.”

The team hesitated, the shame and dread of what lay ahead hanging heavy over them. But eventually, they nodded, realizing it was the only way to move forward.

With reluctant determination, they gathered more bottles and quickly mixed them, shaking each one to ensure no telltale differences remained. Moments later, all the bottles looked identical; even Finn couldn’t tell where the special ones were.

“Alright,” Finn said, swallowing hard. “Take one.”

The team hesitated before each member grabbed a bottle, the tension palpable. No one spoke as they held their bottles, their hands trembling slightly.

“On three,” Finn said, his voice barely above a whisper. “One… two… three.”

In unison, they brought the bottles to their lips and began to drink, their cheeks burning with shame as the sweet juice slid down their throats. The race to finish the trial had just taken its most humiliating turn yet.

Ivy nursed her bottle, each sip thick with dread as her stomach began to churn. Was it the bottle’s contents or just her nerves? She couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty gnawed at her with every swallow. Her cheeks burned as she forced herself to finish, the bottle’s sweet juice leaving an unpleasant stickiness on her lips.

The rest of the team quickly drained their bottles, and the thick tension felt suffocating. They stopped, holding their breaths, and watched one another nervously as they waited for something to happen. Ivy shifted uncomfortably, her stomach groaning in protest. She couldn’t tell if it was the bottle or the sheer volume of juice she’d consumed over the last hour. Around her, her teammates fidgeted, anxious glances darting from face to face as the minutes ticked by.

Then it happened. One of the girls groaned softly, her face crumpling as she dropped her empty bottle to the floor. She doubled over, her hands clutching her stomach. A muffled pfft broke the silence, and the girl whimpered as the telltale sound of her diaper filling reached Ivy’s ears. Ivy immediately turned away, her cheeks blazing with secondhand humiliation as the rest of the team did the same.

A soft chime echoed from their pillar and one of the final boxes lit up. Excitement rippled through the team, tempered by the girl’s mortification and the grim realization that one more would have to endure the same fate to complete the trial.

Ivy’s stomach tightened as her gaze flicked to the screen, the weight of their humiliating success pressing down on her. The girl’s quiet sniffles made the moment more unbearable, but there was no time to dwell on it. The race wasn’t over yet. Ivy’s stomach gave a sudden, violent lurch, and a low grumble resonated deep within her. Her heart leaped into her throat as she realized she had the other bottle.

A wave of dread washed over her as the pressure in her abdomen built rapidly, spreading a dull ache that made her shift uncomfortably. She clenched her thighs instinctively, her hands gripping the hem of her sleeper as though holding on for dear life. Her body betrayed her, the pressure escalating to an unbearable level, her bowels cramping with an urgency that left her trembling.

She tried to fight it, her breath quickening as she pressed her legs together in desperation. “No, no, no,” she whispered under her breath, her face flushing crimson. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her heart pounded furiously as she struggled against the inevitable. But the pressure was relentless, her muscles quivering under the strain. Another sharp cramp hit her, causing her to double over slightly. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escaped her as her body began to give in.

And then, she lost control.

A loud, involuntary pfft broke the tense silence, and Ivy gasped softly as her body relaxed against her will. A warm, heavy sensation began to spread in the seat of her diaper as she felt herself filling it, the soft padding crinkling as it swelled to accommodate the mess. The warmth pressed snugly against her skin, the sensation deeply uncomfortable and humiliating as it settled thickly between her legs.

Her cheeks burned hotter than ever as she froze, unable to stop the steady release. The diaper expanded beneath her, its bulk growing heavier every second. She could feel the soft squish of the mess spreading as her body finally finished its humiliating betrayal.

The chime sounded again, signaling the final box lighting up on the pillar. Ivy’s teammates breathed a sigh of relief, but Ivy couldn’t move. Her stomach churned with shame, the swollen diaper pressing against her in a way that made her want to disappear.

Clara glanced at her, her face sympathetic but equally mortified. All Ivy could feel was the hot, sticky weight between her legs.

Ivy eventually forced herself to stand, her legs trembling beneath her. The weight of her swollen diaper shifted, making her wince as the mess squished unpleasantly against her with each movement. She gritted her teeth, fighting the rising wave of humiliation, and glanced around at the other teams.

They, too, had come to the same conclusion about the final boxes, though their approach was far less civil. Her gaze landed on the Red team first. One boy was pinning another down, forcing the bottle into his teammate’s mouth as the poor contestant squirmed and groaned, clearly defeated. Across the room, the Blue team appeared more organized. Two members volunteered, and their teammates encouraged them, offering soft words of reassurance even as their faces burned with embarrassment.

Then there was the Yellow team, who seemed utterly absorbed in their buttons, their focus darting between the pillar and one another as they argued over strategy. They hadn’t even touched the bottles yet, clearly falling behind. Ivy didn’t move a muscle; every inch of her was hyperaware of the uncomfortable squelch beneath her as she shifted her weight. She clenched her fists, refusing to let the shame overwhelm her, when Contestant 49 approached their group.

His purple sleeper stood out vividly as he stepped close, holding up his tablet. “Here’s the third clue,” he said, his tone flat but exhausted. His eyes darted to Ivy for a moment, and though his expression remained neutral, she could see the faint flush of his cheeks.

The team crowded around the screen as he showed them a list of words and numbers—another fragment of the overarching puzzle. “I’ll bring you the last clue as soon as I have it,” he added before stepping back toward his central pillar.

Ivy swallowed hard, her stomach still twisting with residual discomfort and embarrassment. The team murmured as they tried to make sense of the new clues, but Ivy could barely focus, her mind still reeling from what she’d just endured. The end of the trial couldn’t come soon enough.

They worked quickly, arranging and rearranging the pieces until, to Ivy’s surprise, the final phrase came together. “We’ve got it!” Clara whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

Without hesitation, Clara pressed the Enter button on the console. For a moment, nothing happened. The button flashed once but didn’t confirm their submission.

Panic set in as her teammates exchanged worried glances. “Did we mess it up?” one muttered, their voice tight with fear.

Ivy’s chest tightened as she stared at the screen. “What’s going on?” she whispered, her hands trembling. The oppressive weight of failure loomed over them, the pressure mounting with every agonizing second of silence.

The Green team repeatedly hit the Enter button, their panic rising as the screen remained unresponsive. Whispers of uncertainty spread among them, and they began frantically scanning the boxes, double-checking every word and number for mistakes.

Contestant 49 approached, his purple sleeper wrinkled from exertion. He was panting and clearly out of breath as he held up his tablet. “I got the last box,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Ivy turned to him, hope flickering in her eyes. “What did it say?”

“Just one word,” he replied, confusion etched across his face. “Sing.”

The word hung in the air, and the team fell silent as they processed its meaning. Ivy’s eyes flicked to the screen, displaying the completed phrase in bold letters.

“Do you think…” Clara hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think we have to sing the phrase?”

A wave of discomfort rippled through the group as they exchanged uneasy glances. The idea alone was mortifying, but Mistress’s sadistic games made it all too plausible. Ivy felt her cheeks burn as she looked back at Contestant 49.

“Is she serious?” one of her teammates muttered, their voice shaky.

One of the Green team members threw up their hands in exasperation. “Seriously? Are we arguing about this?” they snapped. “We’ve all been soaking our diapers for the past hour—this is far from the most humiliating thing we’ve been forced to endure!”

Their blunt honesty silenced the group, and after a few seconds of awkward shuffling, Ivy sighed. “Alright,” she muttered, glancing around. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The team gathered close, their faces flushed with embarrassment. Taking a shaky breath, they reluctantly began to sing, their voices trembling:

“In my diaper, snug and tight,
Soft and crinkly, can’t you see?

All day long, my squishy mess,
Baby life’s the life for me!”

Their voices wavered, the humiliating lyrics filling the room and echoing off the walls. Ivy’s face burned, her heart pounding as she forced the words out, each syllable making her cringe. Around her, teammates avoided eye contact, their discomfort palpable as they endured Mistress’s degrading task.

As the last line faded, Clara didn’t hesitate. She reached out and slammed the Submit button. For a moment, the team held its breath, other teams watching them curiously, the tension thick. Then, with a triumphant ding, the Green team’s screen flashed bright green, and a bold announcement appeared:

TEAM GREEN: WINNERS!

The Green team erupted into cheers, their collective relief palpable as the screen flashed their victory. Ivy’s heart pounded, her face still flushed from the humiliating song, but the overwhelming sense of triumph pushed her embarrassment to the background. Around them, the other teams stiffened, their eyes darting between the pillars, desperate to avoid elimination.

The Blue team, spurred on by Green’s success, frantically pieced their phrase together. Moments later, their voices rose in a shaky chorus, their faces crimson with humiliation. When they hit the Submit button, their screen glowed green, marking them as the second-place finishers.

That left the Red and Yellow teams. The tension in the room was suffocating as both scrambled to complete their phrases. Members of each team drank frantically, forcing themselves to meet the trial’s degrading requirements.

Ivy’s gaze shifted to Contestant 49 at the purple pillar. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed something strange—he leaned toward the Yellow team, offering whispered advice. But their singing, halting and unsure, produced no result. Their screen remained dark.

The realization hit Ivy like a jolt—he was misleading them.

The Red team's triumphant chime rang out as their screen turned green. They erupted in cheers, their relief audible even through the oppressive atmosphere.

The Yellow team froze, their faces pale as their failure became apparent. Before anyone could react, a sudden mechanical hiss echoed through the room. Beneath each member of the Yellow team, the floor opened in seamless, precise movements, and the contestants dropped through the trapdoors with startled cries. Their screams were cut off as the openings were sealed shut, leaving silence.

Ivy’s stomach churned as she stared at the now-empty space where the Yellow team had stood. 

She turned her gaze to Contestant 49, who stood by his pillar, his expression unreadable. Steeling herself, Ivy walked over, her voice low but firm. “What just happened? You gave them the wrong clues, didn’t you?”

The boy didn’t flinch, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted, his tone calm, almost smug. “My ‘caregiver’ was on the Yellow team. She refused to change me last night—said I didn’t deserve it.” He shrugged, his eyes flicking toward the now-sealed floor. “Bitch earned what she deserved.”

Ivy’s jaw tightened, mixed disgust and unease swirling in her gut. This trial wasn’t just about endurance or humiliation; it was a battlefield for manipulation, grudges, and survival. And Mistress was watching it all unfold, her game working exactly as intended.

Mistress’s voice echoed through the room, smooth and taunting. “Congratulations to all the teams for surviving your second trial,” she began, her tone laced with amusement. “And a special congratulations to the Green team for claiming victory. Once again, each of you has earned the esteemed role of caregiver, while the remaining teams will serve as babies under your care.”

Ivy felt relief at the announcement, though her body still ached from the trial’s grueling demands.

Mistress’s voice continued, her words deliberate and measured. “To our victorious Green team, take pride in your accomplishment. To the rest, learn from your failures, for tomorrow’s trial will not be so forgiving.”

The counter on the wall flickered to life, and the numbers climbed steadily until they reached an astonishing $1,375,000. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as the sheer magnitude of the jackpot sank in.

“I hope you all enjoy your free time this afternoon,” Mistress added, her tone light but ominous. “It may prove vital for the trials to come. Rest well, my dears, and… goodnight.”

As her voice faded, a soft click sounded, and Ivy felt her sleeper shift. She glanced down as the fabric loosened around her, signaling it had unlocked. Though short-lived, the sensation brought relief as she remembered what the evening would entail—caring for the other contestants now deemed babies.

She glanced around, her teammates beginning to stir as their sleepers unlocked. The oppressive atmosphere of the trial lingered, but for now, they had a brief reprieve. The large doors to the nursery creaked open, revealing the rows of cribs waiting beyond. Ivy’s eyes flicked to the glowing screen near the door, where her assigned babies were displayed. She didn’t recognize either number.

Ivy's thoughts churned with unanswered questions as the contestants filed out of the trial room. The vivid humiliation of the day replayed in her mind—the endless bottles, the degrading song, the way her body betrayed her with each box unlocked. And the Yellow team…

Her stomach twisted as she thought of their cries before the floor swallowed them. What had happened to them? Were they gone forever, or was there some dark, hidden fate waiting beyond the trapdoors?

As they passed the foreboding door of the Naughty Room, her gaze shifted to the horrors beyond those walls. What horrors lay in that room? How far would Mistress go to keep them all in line? The oppressive weight of her unanswered questions followed her as she entered the nursery, where the soft hum of machinery and the faint rustle of cribs reminded her of the twisted reality they were trapped in.