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I wet the bed almost every night until around 12, went down to two or three nights per week until ending at about 15 1/2. I was only diapered for a camping vacation when I was 7. I did not enjoy being in diapers however when I was around 12 I started to have these weird desires to wear diapers. I even creased the Sears catalog to open to the incontinence products page hoping my Mom would get the idea to order some for me. I even saw her looking at that page one day and was sure she would ask me if I wanted to wear again. Unfortunately she never asked so I was left to my own devices to make diapers leftover from my little sister. The bedwetting finally stopped when I went through puberty but came back due to a medical issue in my early 30’s.

I knew this was coming before you posted it, Penn. But I gotta just jump in here to say. One, I am never going to let Mia forget that when you wrote her life, it's in the format of an S&P story!! 😈 Two, you did a REALLY good job imitating our style. Also, I wanna be the first to say it. Your story is 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@PeculiarChangeling - I could never have imagined what you had planned for this story... you made a universe where Ai and Bala are just characters in a story, which is exactly what they are for so many people. It's such a wonderfully creative (and totally wild!) meta analysis of writers and characters. That we create things for an audience, sometimes for ourselves, but what we make often becomes its own thing. It becomes greater than the sum of its parts. And isn't that what this whole Academy II project is about? When Sophie pitched you as a writer on this project, I was excited. You've been a big inspiration for me. Actually, when I need help with some of the sexier parts of Academy Works (specifically in A:A and A:M), I turned to your writing to help me through things I'm not great at describing. And then when Sophie told me what your ideas were, I was anxious. Because this is more meta than I wanted. It's weird, and it doesn't cater to the readers. I was scared of letting this story be something I didn't want it to be. But I'm glad I did. You told a story I was too afraid to tell. Honestly... not to be too sentimental or whatever... but Academy Works has totally changed my life. I've found out so many things about myself writing this series. Through Ai and Bala, I've been able to look at parts of myself that I consider bad or evil, things I hate about me, and see them through a more empathetic lens. And also, without Academy Works, I never would have met my girlfriend. Speaking of... I am extremely embarrassed (and flattered maybe???) that you made me a character in your story. (I am flashing back to Sophie asking me "can I share some personal info about you with the other writers?" not knowing it would matter this much!!!) But Blossom is going to be over the moon!! Anyway, I'm not that wordy. The fact that I've written so much in one comment is pretty out of character. So I'll wrap this up. Thank you for your contribution to the series! Thank you for your contribution to me. Now I have to rethink how I'm going to end Academy Works. ~Mia Moore~

Chapter Three Note: I’m gonna need major help on this one from Sophie, for obvious reasons. Ai tries to seem like she isn’t so much following Aya as she is simply walking behind her. She can’t give herself away now, not when she’s so close to escape. Her heart pounds in her chest so hard she’s worried everyone will know, but if anyone else can hear her blood rushing through her ears, they don’t react. (Just get sent home. Put this all behind you. Maybe I won’t even remember, it’ll just be like a nightmare, when you don’t even remember the details, and I’ll be free.) They get into an elevator, and Aya waits. After a moment of perplexed silence, she gestures to the badge scanner. “Eh–Bala,” she says, looking between Bala and the buttons, “I don’t have authorization to get down there, it has to be your badge.” “Right,” Ai replied, nodding and reaching out to swipe her badge. “Of course, I apologize. I’m just lost in thought.” Aya frowns a little deeper. “You’ve had a day, haven’t you?” Ai returns the gesture, slightly perturbed confusion. “What do you mean?” “You suddenly care about Ai, and now you’re apologizing. You’re not normally this sentimental.” Shrugging, Ai says, “Just thinking about why we’re doing this.” The elevator doors open, right into the deep, buried lab. Ai steps in, looking around–the walls in front are painted white, but the ones behind her, the ones she hadn’t seen in the security video, are bare drywall. They weren’t meant to be seen. “Get it set up,” she says. “Be fast.” “Alright,” Aya says, gesturing to the side, to a thin door. “Go ahead and get changed.” Ai frowns. “Changed?” Aya blinks a couple times, baffled. “We’re not sending you to another mind, are we? Ai has to be in the driver’s seat if we want her to go back.” “I misunderstood,” Ai says, before correcting herself, projecting more Bala-like condescension “Be more specific next time. I’ll be quick.” Entering the small room, she takes stock of the supplies–it’s got diapers and a changing table. It’s made for this purpose, after all. Of course, Ai has to be careful–she can’t take off her pee-soaked panties. She shucks out of her pants and lays down, but leaves her wet panties on, feeling ridiculous as she unfolds a diaper from the stack. Unfolding it, she feels ridiculous, but there’s no escaping what she has to do. Lifting her damp panties off the table, she slides the diaper beneath her hips, adjusting it a little to get it straight. She’s uncertain why she knows how to do this, or what experience in her previous life had taught her to self-change her diapers, but she can’t question that right now. Folding the diaper between her thighs, she pulls it snugly over her wet panties, squishing the sodden pad against her crotch as she presses the sticky tapes down. She almost puts the pants back on, but what would be the point? The diaper needs to be on display. “Ready?” She asks Aya as she steps back in. Aya nods, gesturing to the far controls. “Just needs your authorization and the dimensional code.” (My–fuck.) Ai hadn’t even considered that she’d need to do the work here, that she’d have to help with the set up. Walking to the display, she hesitates. A menu flashes at her, asking for dimensional coordinates. It wants four digits–if she guesses at random, she won’t have a prayer of getting it right. Frozen, staring, Ai tries to think back to Bala’s meticulous notes. Had she written the code down anywhere? Would Ai’s memory be reliable even if she had? She knows then she can’t get home, but she has to try. (Hell, anywhere has to be better than here. Even if my mind gets scattered to a new dimension, at least it’ll be free of this place.) Holding her breath, picking numbers at random, she enters a code, choosing an arbitrary number, a throwaway pick that has no meaning to her. 1508. “Should we restrain you?” Aya asks, as Ai lies down on the mat, ready to slide into the machine, ready to go…somewhere. “Just tell Ai that she’s going home,” Ai replies, heart pounding, fingers shaking with anxiety. “I know how she thinks. She’ll obey.” Aya nods. “Okay.” She’s waiting on Ai, waiting for “Bala” to wet herself. Ai closes her eyes, concentrates–she doesn’t need to pee, she already went just half an hour ago, but Aya doesn’t know that. (If it’s just a trickle, it won’t even be visible, right?) After a moment, she gasps and her eyes shoot open. It’s her best act, a performance to make it seem like she just arrived. Looking around, she blurts, “Where am I?” Aya smiles warmly. “Just lie down, Ai. You’re going home.” Ai doesn’t want to be too obvious. She pretends to think for a moment, to calm down, though she’s anything but calm. Hoping it won’t give her away, she watches Ai, searching for a spark of recognition as she places the part. “Oh–okay. Okay, I’m going home. That’s good.” Aya watches her back, and the two of them share a long searching look. Ai’s heart tightens in her chest, but Aya doesn’t make any accusations. Reaching out, she pats Ai on the shoulder. “Just lie down, and this will all be over soon.” Ai lies down. Aya pulls the lever. Ai slides into the machine, and white light flash in her eyes. … Ai didn’t know where she was, but at least she could remember. The machine, the jump, her promise to herself that anywhere would be better than nowhere, it all stuck with her. Turning, she took in her surroundings. She was in the middle of a living room, with a couch and a television. Behind her, there was a kitchen with a kitchen island. Everything had a modern aesthetic with the exception of the far wall, where a mural of a huge blue wave had been painted. The sound of water crashing against sand in a constant rhythm steadied her anxiety. This world, it seemed more like the one she knew. More realized, more comforting, more of a world and less of a place invented solely to torture her. Looking at her arms, she saw she was in a new body. Not her own. Her skin was tan, and the ground looked a little further away, like someone had panned the camera. And–to her chagrin–she’d once again appeared in a wet diaper. Are you fucking kidding me? Even now, she couldn’t escape the humiliation Bala had inflicted on her. She didn’t exactly want to snoop, but she wanted to catch herself up as quick as she could, so she began to explore. On the coffee table in front of the couch, she saw a laptop. She could see the icon of a web browser. Good, they have internet here. Perfect. Walking over to the desk, she sat. Ai wanted to go to Google, or whatever equivalent search engine they had in this world. She could look up the year, what country she was in, see if she could find information about support for… What will I pretend to be? A lost immigrant? An amnesiac? Whatever she might have done, she didn’t have an opportunity, because her attention was stolen by a word document open on the computer. “Academy J, by Mia Moore.” Though she had told herself not to snoop, she saw the first couple paragraphs in her peripheral vision, and after that, she couldn’t look away. I blew on my coffee, trying to cool it down to a temperature where I could chug it. I’d already pushed deadlines back more times than I was comfortable, I had to get this anthology finished, but the stories weren’t playing nice. Maybe I could talk to Blossom about it, but I wanted to surprise her. If the characters kept taking on lives of their own, though, refusing to go where I wanted them to, I didn’t know if I could get this done in time. I’d stopped at a cliffhanger, but I needed to get back to it. Get this story done, then finish the others. It’d already lost everything kinky, and I was unsure of where to take it from here, but it needed to get done, and I didn’t want the stress of deadlines to take the fun from the story. Walking in, I saw Blossom at my computer, reading– “Hey, I said I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you just wanted to have some diaper time while I wrote?” She spun, eyes widening. “Who the fuck are you?” "What? Blossom, what's wrong?" I wouldn't say I was the most perceptive person in the world, but Blossom had never spoken to me like that before. Even when she was terse, she was level headed, with a point to make. Had I done something wrong? Was it the story? "Weren't you going to change or something?" Tears were in her eyes, and she looked ready to scream, or like she might be having a panic attack. “You–this is–how do you know what’s in my head?” “Blossom–” “Don’t call me that!” My heart was racing, but it would come in second place to my brain. What had I done? How could I fix it? I hadn’t done anything to make her mad, had I? The only thing that changed was that Blossom was that she’d read the latest Academy Works. “Is…is it something in the story?” That set her off. “You–” Tears streamed down her face now, unbidden. “You know everything I think. You know everything I do, even though you can’t, even though it didn’t even happen in this universe–tell me how.” Not even my self-cynicism could keep up with Blossom. I groped around in my mind for anything I could have done wrong, hoping I'd find something, literally anything. It was so much better than the building confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stands up, gesturing furiously at the computer. “Here. This.” She points at the computer, reading aloud, reading each word as though it were a judicially ordered death sentence: >>>Ai blinks, but the panic doesn’t set in until several seconds pass. >>>(Where am I?) >>>Sometimes, in the past, she’d woken up in an unfamiliar place. It always disoriented her, struggling in a foreign environment “It’s the story I’ve been working on, for the anthology, but you know that.” I shook my head, trying my best to comprehend the insanity that had consumed everything I know. Distantly, I was aware that I probably sounded as unhinged as the situation felt. “It’s not a story, it’s my life.” “What? You’re not making sense.” Was this a joke? If it was, it was pretty messed up, even for Blossom. Had I stumbled into a scene or something? I was ready to grab onto literally any answer. “I got into that machine, and I was desperate to get anywhere else: away from that place, that–that Academy, I guess, and I got here and…what are you? The architect? Are you reading my mind and just writing down everything that happens?” “Blossom–” “My name isn’t Blossom. It’s Ai.” I stared at her, uncomprehending. It didn’t make sense. How could she be Ai? I’d known her all this time, and… I got a sinking feeling of fear, and of comprehension. The last thing I’d written, Ai had left her universe, come to another. It couldn’t be real, could it? Surely– “I just make it all up,” I explained, trying to convince myself as much as her. “Nothing I write is real. It’s just a story.” “You–the ‘story’ you wrote, you tortured me. You humiliated me. Why?” “Because it’s just a fantasy, just a story. Ai isn’t real!” “I’m standing right here.” “If…” I felt insane. Playing along with the delusion, or engaging with the idea that this might all be true, but I don’t know how else to move this conversation forward. “If you’re really Ai, prove it.” “How? You know everything I’ve ever thought.” “Take off the diaper.” She stares for a long moment, confused, then her eyes widen. “You want me to go away.” “I’ll bring you back, I just…I need Blossom to tell me if it’s all real.” “I don’t trust you. You hurt me.” “Okay, but…what else can we do?” Her eyes were red and tears streaked her face. The confusion and fury of the situation, trying to comprehend what was going on after…well, after she’d escaped from Academy J, probably, it’d all bled through her emotions. Finally, though, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Promise.” “I promise.” Of course I did, what else would I say? It seemed to be good enough for her. Keeping her gaze on mine, she reached down and popped the tapes off her diaper. … “Don’t worry, just breathe.” She looked at me, and I could see the point where Blossom left and Ai appeared. It transitioned subtly, but I knew Blossom’s face too well not to notice her expression shifting. Besides that, I’d left myself another clue. “So you believe me?” “I do.” I swallowed. Believing her meant too many things about my world, it brought out too many existential fears, but I couldn’t disregard evidence when it was staring me in the face. “What did this Blossom person say that convinced you?” Ai asked, interrupting my train of thought. “It’s not what she said, but…she had an idea,” I explained, turning around. “Since what I’d written apparently actually happened, sort of, in another universe…” Turning around, I pointed at my computer screen, emphasizing the new lines I’d written. >>>While Ai leaves, Aya gets an idea. Pressing a few buttons on the screen, she sends an additional bit of information through–she can change things, more than just copying minds. She changes the color of Ai’s eyes to pink, but only when she’s in control. Ai read the line, then turned, looking at herself in the window reflection. Her eyes were bright pink. “So what are you?” she asked, turning to look at me. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know. I’m just a writer, I make stories for the internet, but…if you’re here…” Existentialism rose in me again. If Ai was a fictional character, and she was here, did that mean all fictional characters were real? Or did it just mean that I’d been creating universes when I wrote alone? Or did it mean that I was just like her? A character? She frowns, an idea forming in her head. “If you can make things happen by writing, though…can we just ask the story to explain everything?” My eyes widened. Of course–of course. “You think so? I mean–sure, it worked once, but–” Turning to my laptop, I readied my fingers to type. “So…what do I say, anyways?” “Make Aya send a book, I guess. One that answers all of our questions.” Simple. And–if it worked, that’d mean I’d be able to do more. My excitement started to build, and I typed quickly, frantically. The prose was awful, it was contrived and as thoughtless as the most low-effort fanfictions, but I didn’t care about the quality. >>>Aya has another idea, and sends through a magical book that can answer any question, ensuring that Ai won’t be confused anymore. “That’s it.” I hit enter, and a moment later, the book appeared on my desk. Flipping to the first page– (Hold on. No. This is wrong. What the hell was I thinking? Let’s figure this out.) … Ai blinked awake. She’d become disturbingly used to the experience of finding herself in a new place, a new world, and she took in her surroundings with speed. It didn’t take long, because she had no surroundings. The world wasn’t. She’d appeared in a complete void. Behind her was the only thing of substance–another person. Average height, slim build, he wore a onesie with a full, drooping diaper beneath, but seemed to barely notice. His ears had the slightest tapering point to them. “Who are you?” Ai asked, because what else was there to ask? “That’s complicated,” he replied. “I’m…not sure how I want to handle this, honestly.” Ai was too smart not to make a deduction, an intuitive guess. “Are you another writer, like Mia?” He laughed. “Dammit, this is the problem–If you weren’t so damned clever, things might’ve gone differently, but I couldn’t make you any other way. I can’t write idiots.” She faced him, stunned. Here he was, talking about how he’d made her, with a tone no more complex than if he’d talked about making a bowl of cereal. “You created me?” “No.” A thin smile curled his lips. “You’re on loan. Mia, too, though I didn’t ask for permission there, I just borrowed her because I didn’t know what else to do. I did try to follow in your creators’ footsteps, in their style–with a couple exceptions, I had to get a little pedantic revenge out where I could–but…I don’t know. They can be mean, really mean, but I don’t know if they’re worse than me.” “If you’re…I don’t know what you are, but if you’re so powerful…can you send me home?” Her eyes were wide, pleading. He looked back with a cool, calm stare. “Your creators and I were questioned, once, together: ‘Do you ever feel bad about what you do to your characters?’. They both said yes, instantly, without question. Of course they did, of course they had empathy for the suffering they inflicted.” The statement hung in the air, and Ai couldn’t help but ask the obvious followup. “And you?” “I said no.” Ai swallowed and took a step back. In the void, that didn’t mean much, she had nowhere to go. “So why talk to me?” “It’s like I said, I don’t know what to do with you,” he replied with a shrug. “There’s no good outcome, not that I can see.” “Send me home then. At least give me that.” Her chest stuck out a bit, posturing confidence. She had the courage to stick up to anyone, at least right now. “You don’t have a home, Ai. I never wrote it.” He shook his head. “And if I made you a place, gave you a happy ending where you can put all this behind you, what story would that be? It’d be an anticlimax. Worse than a cliffhanger, it’d be…well, it’d be lame. I had an idea, that you could end up in charge with Aya’s help, that she would tie down Bala and make her wet herself after every diaper change…it was too complicated to get to that ending, and didn’t feel in character. None of it worked.” “I don’t care.” “I do.” He shook his head, frowning a little. “And I wrote you clever. I wrote you smart, and stubborn, and as real as I could, but that means I can’t hurt you how I want. You’re too good for that, you ruined it, and I couldn’t make you compliant without breaking your character.” A moment of silence passed. He studied her, thoughtful and curious. “Do you want to know why it doesn’t bother me, when I hurt you?” It was a hypothetical question. She answered regardless. “Yes.” “Because you’re not real. You’re a character, a puppet for me to play with. I make you dance, I make you cry, I make you beg, and then I, and my audience–your audience, really–we get to remember what happened to you. You’re just a vessel for surrogate experiences, for our fun.” She fell quiet for a long moment. “Like Bala.” He shrugged. “I thought it was clever at the time. It’s not the same as reality, of course–it has to be intense, so intense that it’d be torture in real life, or else it’s too mild. I’d never want to be tied and bound and have my mind destroyed, but I want to remember it. My audience wants to remember it too, and they want the ending to stick with them.” “So…” she started, thinking about it for a long moment. “I’m fucked, then.” “No. I went too far, I got too weird with it, I tried too many new things. The story’s kind of off the rails, and…well, shit. When it was my turn with the playroom, I really trashed the place, didn’t I? Anyone who comes after me’s not going to be able to do anything with it.” He looks around. “I didn’t bother deciding what this space should look like, either. Too much work for no real benefit.” She stared at him, eyes watering a little. To have her reality stripped apart, to be told in no uncertain terms that her life was not her own, and that her fate would be decided by an uncaring being who enjoyed her pain, it broke her just a little. “I could stop the story here,” he admits. “Just give up. Walk away, and don’t come back.” “I’d just…be here?” she asked, looking around. “Alone” “No. You’d be…nothing.” “Nothing.” “You’ve been there before. I gave you a different name, different trials, but it was you even then. And, when I got lost, you went away. If I put you down now, if I stop here, you’ll go back there.” “I don’t remember that.” “You wouldn’t. It’s not forgetting, though, it’s nonexistence.” Her posture slumped. Defeated, and yet…she had a little fire left in her. “So, don’t end the story, and don’t hurt me.” “I don’t know how to do that.” He shook his head. “No story is better than a bad story. I can’t break character, I can’t undermine the world I made, and I can’t give you a happy ending.” “Then figure it out, asshole. You made me, or, well–someone else made me, but you say you’re the one making this happen, so you have to end it. If you try to give me a bad ending, if you keep hurting me, it’ll be like you said. I’ll ruin it. So you can’t break me, and you can’t change me without disappointing your ‘audience’–well, fuck your audience.” He gave her a warning look. “Careful. I like my audience. I love them, even. I want them to like this, because I care about them. I care about your creators, too, I…” Laughing, he added, “I wanted to impress them. That’s why I tried to do everything. But I started with the sex and the torture and the smut layed down thick, and then I got weird and experimental, and it’s been, what, ten thousand words now since anyone’s had a smutty thought?” “Please.” Her eyes were huge. “I just want to be able to…be.” “I know. If you didn’t want to stay an adult, to stay in charge of your mind, you wouldn’t make for a good protagonist, it’s just…I’ve got other people I need to worry about, and I’ve gone and made you so sympathetic that I can’t even hurt you properly.” She took a deep breath. Her resolve didn’t break, and he wished he could have the tenacity he’d given her. “Okay. Tell it to me. All of it. Everything you wanted to do. Maybe I’ll think of something you hadn’t.” He laughed at her. “That’s not how this works. You can only be smarter than me by being faster, by coming up with clever ideas quickly, you can’t think of things I don’t know.” “Do it anyway. Prove yourself right.” Though he didn’t know exactly what this would result in, he followed through with the idea anyway, just to fill another half page. “Well…fine. I never figured exactly how to line up with the world of the Academy, but the short version is, Bala wants to be free, to be cared for, to be…a baby, sort of. She doesn’t want autonomy, but she has to have it, because–” He shrugged. “Because it’s a bad story if she can just make the kind of universe she wants to live in. There needs to be conflict, get it?” “Okay. So…you make her what she wants.” “How so? I didn’t set it up at all, there’s no foreshadowing, nothing.” “I don’t know, that’s your job.” “And your job is to be the victim. To have a bit of hope, to have a chance at escape, but to ultimately be the surrogate for our fantasies. Bala can steal your mind, she can make you the victim, because it’s hot when you can’t say ‘no’.” “You know, this is going to look pretty fucking pretentious if you don’t have a good ending, not after all this.” “Unless I just don’t publish you anywhere.” “I don’t think you’re going to keep this buried.” “You’re right.” She shrugged. “Okay. So if you need it to be hot, why not just…make it work differently?” “Change the rules in the middle of the story? That’s not up to my standards.” “Don’t change the rules. Write a better story.” He knew where she was going with this–of course he did–but he still frowned. “I’ve never been criticized by my own character before.” “Can you do that, though?” she asked, eyes sparkling with hope. “Try again? Give me an ending where I’m happy?” “Huh,” he said, tilting his head a bit. “You know, I…I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Hope dashed, her jaw drops open. “Why?” “Frankly? I’m busy. I’ve got more projects on my plate, and this one is already overdue. I can’t just start over from scratch.” “You’re fucking kidding me.” “It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you like this. I’m not the only one borrowing characters out here, and, well…maybe someone can do a better job than me.” “So you’re just going to pass the buck?” “Yup. Don’t worry, it’s…” his face sours slightly. “Okay, maybe you should be worried, a little, but you won’t remember any of this. Mia’s going to forget, too. I’ll just have to be sloppy, there, to write in a retcon, because otherwise your creators will have a fuck of a time trying to write after this.” “Promise me there’s hope,” Ai looked him in the eye, pleading. “I promise. I don’t know what she’s planning, but I know she does happy endings sometimes.” Ai nods. “Promise me one more thing. Don’t forget me.” “If I did my job right, nobody will.” ... Author notes: I'm so thankful to "Mia Moore" for letting me write in her universe! It's an incredible honor to be invited to work on this project, and I hope that I did justice the setting and characters that she* created. If you want to check out my other stuff and support my writing, I've got a Ream! And a substar!

Chapter Three “Okay,” Ai said, trying to piece together everything she knew so far. “So you made this place. You had mems that you didn’t want to lose, but you didn’t want to have those memories either.” “Uh huh,” Bala said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. I didn’t get the sense that I was expecting visitors.” “I got another one of your mems,” Ai said, hoping to see how this piece fit into the puzzle. “But this time, you were…tiny? There were people you called Amazons. You were child-sized? Or maybe you were normal sized and they were giants?” “That sounds nice,” Bala said wistfully. “I bet it’d help me at my job a lot.” “But you didn’t have any pet stuff,” Ai pressed. “Even just one of these mems was hard to fit into the big picture. But now we have two that don’t make any sense.” Bala grimaced and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Maybe it’s not me,” she said. “Maybe these are just people who thought they were me.” Ai shook her head. “That still doesn’t explain the cat ears or the wacky sizes,” she said. “It’s almost like an alternate dimension.” “That sounds…kind of right,” Bala said. “Maybe I astral projected into alternate versions of myself? So these would be mems of what I’d seen?” It was definitely possible. Augurs worked by witnessing timelines close enough to reality to have predictive power. If Bala were an augur, then the mems would just be visions of far-fetched, improbable timelines. But too many variables didn’t add up. Augury was an extremely rare gift to begin with. And even if Bala were an augur, what would she have to gain from making and then discarding these mems? It didn’t even sound like she kept a meta-mem: a memory of an index that she could load into her brain and use as a reference point. And with all the secrecy, how did Ai find out who Bala was in the first place? “I think we have to keep going,” Ai said. Bala nodded. Ai picked a mem off of a shelf this time. “Here goes,” she said, as Juniper begged, her voice shaky. “Don’t make me do this. Anything but this.” The girl wore a bright blue party dress, which I thought really brought out the color of her eyes. Right now, they were sparkling cerulean seas, glistening with tears. I could see a pristine white diaper peeking out below, gently pushing her thighs apart. I wanted to tell her so many things. That everybody in the facility bargained, even if they swore they wouldn’t. That it had never changed anyone’s mind. That it truly only made it worse, made their powerlessness sink in even deeper. That it was what they wanted, all along—because the bigger the fall, the more innocence they could extract from you. But she wasn’t talking to me. Why would she? There was no reason for a human to talk to a Doll, unless you were giving it orders. You couldn't bargain with a Doll, but you could bargain with a Doll's Master. Right now, that was Chetna, a dark-skinned Suryadeshi who remembered all of her coworkers' children's names and never forgot a birthday. Technically, she was just borrowing me from the company that she worked for. When I was still alive, I'd signed a piece of parchment that bound my soul to servitude after my death in exchange for paying off my student loans. It was this contract that kept me tethered to the mortal realm. Until I paid off my debt, I would be bound to my artificial body, kept together by eldritch magitech. In other words, I was a Doll—nothing more than a piece of property. My Master laughed derisively. “You don’t have a choice,” she said, her voice full of syrupy sweet venom, like poisoned honey. Her scrubs were a serene light pink, soft and sweet like everything else in the bedroom. Chetna was vegetarian. She had two cats and a polar dog and volunteered at a food bank in the evenings. She was sweet to her coworkers and took good care of me. I liked her. She was a good Master. Not every Doll got to choose their Master. Juniper clutched her stomach as another spasm of pain hit her. Her forehead glistened with sweat. “There’s been a mistake,” she tried bargaining. I could hear her diaper rustle beneath her skirts as she paced around her room. Chetna and I stood by the door, keeping her caged. “Why can’t you be more like Bala here?” Chetna asked. She patted my head. Though I didn’t have skin or nerves, through the wonders of magitech, I could still feel her warm hand gently ruffling my artificial hair. Frissons of joy raced down my spine, spreading happy tingles in their wake. Chetna flipped up the hem of my maid outfit, revealing my puffy white diaper. “She wears her diapers without fussing,” she said. Warm pride blossomed in me like a spark lighting a fire as Chetna dug her fingers into my padding. The sound of crinkling plastic lit up the room like little fireworks exploding. If I’d still had a heart, it would have thumped along in time, but instead, my positronic core kept quietly humming. Juniper grunted as her knees buckled beneath her. She put a hand on the wall, right next to her diaper training chart, which was full of yellow frowny faces, and steadied herself. “She’s a Doll,” Juniper said, her voice strained. “She doesn’t have a choice.” I truly didn’t. Even my body was leased from a corporation. I was well and truly owned by another. On the outside, I almost looked human. But I wasn’t. Not anymore. “Neither do you.” Chetna crossed her arms. “She’s not the one who has to use them,” Juniper spat. “That’s where you’re different,” Chetna laughed. “She wears them because she’s a good girl who does what she’s told. You’re wearing diapers because you need them.” Juniper’s face was red with exertion. I saw a small sweat stain on the back of her pretty dress. I’d have to wash that out later. Everybody deserved soft, pretty clothes. Even brats like Juniper. “I—obviously—don’t—need—diapers,” Juniper grunted. “You don’t?” Chetna asked, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Then I bet you can show me what a big, clever girl you are by going potty right now.” I could see a vein bulge from Juniper’s neck from her clenching her jaw. The condescension was like strident nails across a chalkboard. “That’s what I want to do,” she said, trying to avoid being baited into “throwing a tantrum”, which had happened yesterday. “So use your diapers and show me how much control you have,” Chetna said reasonably. Another paroxysm of pain. It was seconds before Juniper could respond. “How does that make any sense?” she finally asked. “Little girls have accidents,” Chetna said, as if the logic should have been obvious. “But a big girl can go on purpose. So be quiet and go like a good girl, and I’ll treat you like a big girl. I'll promise not to put you in another diaper today."” There it was. Hope. The most dangerous of all emotions. It was a tiny sliver, a microscopic speck of dust, but it was what Juniper had. “Fine,” Juniper said, accepting what little she could get. She couldn’t rage against biology forever. She went to a corner, the one with a pile of stuffed animals, and squatted down, deliberately facing away from us. I knew that, despite everything, she would feel our eyes burning holes on her back. Even basic privacy for one of the most fundamental acts a human could do was no longer hers. The ersatz child grunted, finally letting go. There was an elegance to Chetna’s methods. She made it Juniper’s choice. She’d have to live knowing that she’d chose this, chose to be complicit in her treatment. But that was a problem for future Juniper. Current Juniper had her own set of problems. Chetna walked forward, giving me a brisk nod to let me know that I should tag along. We stood on either side of the girl, like bodyguards. Juniper squeezed her eyes shut. Biology warred with her base instincts and her body recoiled at the idea of voluntarily messing herself. Still, in the end, she was no match for the laws of nature. She groaned with a perverse pleasure as she pushed her mess out into her diapers. I knew from experience what Juniper must have been feeling. First, warmth from her bladder letting go. Then, further back, another feeling, strangely hot against her skin. The mess would press up against the diaper, keeping it snug against her as evidence for what she’d done. I saw tears form in Juniper’s eyes. She would be feeling an aching sense of relief, which would only make her shame all the stronger. Finally, when it was done, Juniper gingerly stood back up. I knew that she’d be feeling an unfamiliar weight in the seat of her diaper, but one she would grow ever more intimately acquainted with as time went on. This time, I could see her diaper sagging a bit between her thighs. Juniper wrinkled her nose with disgust. “Great job, Junebug!” said Chetna, clapping excitedly. If the smell bothered her, she didn’t show it. It was part of the normalization training. “Okay,” Juniper said shakily, “get me out of this.” “Why would I do that, sweetie?” Chetna asked. “I did what you wanted,” Juniper said, trying to keep her voice even. Chetna laughed. “And you did such a good job!” “So get me out of this thing,” Juniper said. “I promised that I wouldn’t put you into another diaper today,” said Chetna. “So I’ll change you tomorrow.” “You bitch,” she swore. “That’s not what I agreed to.” Chetna clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “First, your language, and second, not remembering the deal I made with you? Maybe you are just a little girl after all.” She turned to me and smiled. “Bala, give Juniper a spanking. I think twenty should suffice.” The Command rang through my body like a bell. As the reverberation slowed, I felt my control recede out of my limbs, like waves on a beach returning to the sea. Any adult could Command a Doll using its Name. After all, Names had power. But Juniper was no longer legally an adult. She could yell my name until her throat went hoarse, but it would be as effective as ordering the tides to cease. Juniper’s eyes widened with fear. I knew she could see the telltale dead-eyed look of a Doll in the thrall of a Command on my face. Her legs tensed before suddenly bursting into motion, like a gazelle on the run. I watched as my hand darted out and grabbed her upper arm. My artificial limbs dug into her skin, precisely enough to hold her in place, without breaking any bones. It would have been an impressive feat, if I had been in control. The girl tugged against me, but it was like trying to shove a building with her hands. One of her fists slammed into my chest, but it didn’t register to me as more than a light thump. The girl yelped in pain and gingerly held her hand up. I could see the beginnings of a bruise starting to form. I dragged her across the plush floor to the rocking chair. I sat down and threw her over my lap with one smooth motion. I was a passenger in my own body. It was freeing, to not have to think about what to do. I wished for the thousandth time that I could exist forever in this state of bliss. One of my arms pressed on Juniper’s back, holding her in place. My other arm carefully flipped her skirt up, exposing her thick diaper to the room. “Please,” she pled. But a Command was a Command. My arm suddenly spanked her with the explosive force of a firework. The thump echoed in the tiny room as Juniper yelped. I could feel how the impact pressed her mess into her. It must have been humiliating for her. She wasn’t an adult woman. She didn’t have rights or freedom. No, she was now mere capital, just one of the inputs to the hugely complicated eldritch entity we called a megacorporation. Some people hated it. But I didn't mind being a cog. I knew that I had my place. Juniper howled as I rained spanks onto her bottom. The thickness of the diaper didn’t do enough to ameliorate the force of my inhuman blows. Her dignity flowed out of her in torrents of tears, dripping down her cheeks and onto the floor. After twenty blows, I felt the magical force of the Command loosen. It was always disorienting to suddenly regain control. It was like stepping onto a still escalator—the lurch caught me off guard. Juniper sobbed in my lap, nothing more than a messy little girl. Finally, Chetna spoke, breaking the silence. “I didn’t hear any counting, young lady,” she said. “A big girl knows how to count. I think twenty more.” Juniper yelped with fear, but I held her firmly in place as Chetna leaned in. “Bala, give twenty more spanks. On the thighs, this time.” Another thump of magical power coursed through me. Juniper thrashed as best as she could, but I relaxed as my hand rose and realized that Ai was back in the real world. She blinked. She was in absolutely no mood to move. Ai had never been great at mindfulness. Her thoughts buzzed around constantly, refusing to settle. But all that powerlessness stemmed from fretting about things outside her control. According to the mem, it was in accepting your helplessness that truly set you free. In that mem, Bala had freedom from morality. From doing the right or wrong thing. The gulf between what she would normally do and what she was Commanded to do was a vast incomprehensible ocean. Being in Bala's body had felt rapturous. Ai wasn't religious, but she thought she understood a little better that feeling of fervent devotion. Each movement under that Command had felt divinely guided. Now Ai's body felt uncomfortably loose. She didn't have anything solid to grasp. What should she do? How should she hold her body? Her clothes scratched against her skin as she thought about breathing, which had been so automatic before. Now, every rise and fall of her chest caught her attention. Freedom was dangerous. Freedom was the option to be wrong. For a moment, Ai had tasted the dizzying liberty of subjugation, and she wanted more. Was it wrong? Dolls didn’t have any choices. They couldn’t be held culpable. They were instruments, just tools wielded by others. Dolls couldn’t be wrong. Dolls could just be. Bala looked at Ai, wide-eyed. Her face had gone pale. “I know why you’re here,” she said, pointing a shaky finger at me. “Why?” Ai asked. Bala spoke carefully, unsure of the implications. “I had your mem,” she said. “You were at home—I don’t know where—” “Concordium,” interrupted Ai, the memory of spotting the tops of the Twin Spires peak up over the horizon as the boat sailed on, towards the birthplace of Oathcraft, a long, long way from the dusty island that I had been born on leaping to her mind. Bala nodded. "You were walking home from work when a bard caught your ear. She was playing a song on the lute..." She closed her eyes and hummed a melody. The corner of Ai's mouth curled up into a smile. It was an old song, from the island. She hadn't heard it in years. Bala nodded. "The song made you happy, but also kind of sad," Bala continued. "You gave her ten...aurums, I think you called them. She burst into happy tears and started up another tune. You stayed and listened and danced, and when you finally left, she pressed a mem into your hand." The girl swallowed, catching her breath. “You raced home to see what it could be. When you absorbed it, you saw…” She trailed off. “What?” Ai asked, breathless with anticipation. Bala's mouth twisted into a strange expression. “Us meeting for the first time."

Chapter Two “Why would I want to meet you? I don’t know who you are!” Ai said, taken aback. “I don’t know either,” Bala retorted. “It’s your mem. It ended before I could figure out why.” Ai's thoughts raced like the beating of a hummingbird's wings as she tapped her index finger against her lips. Who was this girl in front of her? She gave Bala another look over, but thankfully for Ai's sanity, she hadn't somehow missed cat ears or a tail. She looked just like any normal girl. Not to mention, in the mem, Bala had thought she was normal. The diapers, the cages, the animal features—that was just how life was. Ai couldn't find a way to reconcile the two images. “This is going to sound crazy,” Ai said, “but in the mem you were like somebody’s pet?” “What, like a fire ferret?” Bala asked. “No, you were a person. Well, a cat person. And you—” Ai opened her mouth to say more, but she slammed it shut, hesitating. Bala looked at Ai with those soft brown eyes. Ai felt a strange kind of maternal instinct; the girl seemed so helpless. It was up to Ai to be decisive. “I promise I’m not making this up,” Ai said. “You were excited that your Keeper had come home.” “Like a girlfriend or something?” asked Bala. Ai started to reflexively say no, but the words died on her lips. It was more intense, but the overall pattern seemed to fit. “I think so,” Ai said. “It seemed like she took care of you. You were wearing diapers.” Unexpectedly, instead of laughing, Bala simply nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. If they feel as good as in that mem, I totally see why, Ai thought. A pleasant sensation between her legs caught her off guard. “It’s part of my job,” Bala explained. “I make medicine to help people feel less topsy-turvy. I make memories of being happy and innocent and cared for and loved, and then they extract those feelings into mems, put them in pills, and give them to sad people.” “Did I want to find you so I would stop feeling sad?” Ai wondered aloud, though the words felt wrong as she said them. Bala shook her head. “Why would you need me? You could just go to your local chemist if you wanted the pills.” They looked at each other, then around the room. “I think we should try another mem,” Ai said. “We need more information.” “If you say so,” Bala shrugged. “Good girl,” said Ai before she realized how condescending that was. She looked at Bala with a panic, but the girl’s eyes were closed. She had a serene smile on her face. It seemed like this Bala also enjoyed being talked down to, even without all of the cat ears and other physical changes. Normally, Ai would have found this irritating—she didn't need to take responsibility for two people, she barely had a handle on just herself—but on Bala, it felt...right. “Okay, go find a mem,” Ai said. She wrapped her fingers around an orange and blue one, pausing long enough to see Bala pick out a new mem of her own before the car pulled into its spot and slid smoothly to a halt. “Are you two ready to get some groceries?” asked Mommy, syrupy sweet. She turned off the engine with a flick of her wrist before getting out. Mommy opened my car door and unbuckled the straps that kept me secured to my car seat. A Little like me would never be able to do that, but Amazons like Mommy were so much stronger. She scooped me up and I buried my face into the crook of her arm. Soft wool caressed my cheeks and gently tickled my ears. “Uh huh,” I nodded, because I was ready. I was ready for anything she wanted. “I dunno why you’re asking. I'm not getting anything,” sulked Vivian, crossing her arms, though the pacifier stuck to her lips made it come out more like a mumble of syllables. Last week, Mommy had discovered that Vivian had been purposefully hiding her pacis around the house instead of sucking on them like a good girl. It wasn't anything a quick hypno tape session couldn't fix. Now, as long as a paci was in Vivian's mouth, she couldn't take it out. “You’re getting stuff, silly,” laughed Mommy as she walked to the other side of the car. “You’re getting things. I’m just along for the ride.” Vivian was really fussy, and Mommy didn’t deserve any of this. Mommy had told me, though, that Vivian’s maturosis had flared up recently and that it wasn’t her fault she couldn’t behave. I just had to set a good example for her and be the best Little that I could be. `“You’re not old enough to make good decisions about what you eat,” Mommy said patiently as she picked Vivian up and put the Little on her other hip. Vivian had a sour look on her face, like she’d been sucking on a lemon, and I knew she was biting down some kind of catty remark. Mommy was patient, but even she had her limits. I wiggled against Mommy, wanting to press myself into her so closely that our molecules would mingle. Mommy carried us into the store and set us onto a shopping cart. This one had room for two Littles side-by-side. The little plastic baby seat didn’t seem like it would have normally been comfortable, but my padded butt sunk onto it as nicely as my head onto a pillow. My feet dangled in the air, so I idly kicked them while Mommy strapped Vivian in next to me. As Mommy fought with the buckle, I saw an independent Little walk in. He had that furtive walk that independent Littles always did, eyes swiveling constantly, as if he were afraid that danger lurked behind every corner. The Little, who looked rather smart in his crisp tweed suit, grabbed one of the tiny shopping carts that Amazon children sometimes pushed around before his eyes met Vivian's. Vivian and the stranger just stared at each other. I watched as the tips of Vivian’s ears turned beet red and she squirmed in her seat, as if she were trying to hide. Her petticoats rustled as her body strained against the straps to no avail. Finally, the man broke eye contact and quickly pushed his cart away, darting ahead of Mommy, who wheeled us around at a much more leisurely pace. Mommy parked us by the vegetable aisle and started bundling up produce, leaving Vivian and me temporarily alone. Hot tears of frustration snaked down from the corners of Vivian's eyes, which she furiously wiped away with the back of her hands. “I hate ‘dis,” she mumbled around her pacifier. Her eyes looked longingly at the daikons that Mommy weighed on a scale. No doubt Vivian was dreaming of eating adult food again, instead of the mashed up baby food that met the nutrition requirements for Littles. I hated seeing my little sister upset. I knew, as the big sister, that I had to do what I could to help. “Maybe you should focus on the positives,” I said as Mommy shifted her attention to the bok choy. Vivian glared at me. The incredulous scowl looked out of place wrapped around a pacifier with a cute cartoon dragon on it. “I’m not going native like you!” she swore angrily. But as Mommy returned and dropped another bag into the cart, her expression reverted to one more placid and neutral. “You two are being so good,” she chirped. Her words were like drops of liquid sunshine, warming my body and setting it pleasantly aglow. “Especially you, Vivian,” she added, ruffling her hair and gently popping the pacifier out of the Little’s mouth. It dangled on its clip and Mommy went to find the next item on her list. Vivian’s frown slid back on as suddenly as it had left. “What could possibly be good about losing all of my freedom?” she asked, contorting her face into funny expressions as she stretched her sore jaw. I knew a lot about this topic. “You have to focus on things you can control,” I said. “Just try it. Name just three things that you like about your life now.” “There isn’t anything,” said Vivian sourly. “Well, I guess you can just be miserable for the rest of your life,” I huffed. There were limits to my patience, too. We sat in silence as Mommy returned and pushed us onwards. There was a small hiccup as a Little boy in denim overalls angrily flicked a jar of pickles off the shelf. It hit the floor with a crash, spilling shards of broken glass around the blast radius. “No!” he yelled, clenching his fists so tightly I could see his knuckles turning white from exertion. “You can’t treat me like this!” continued the Little, though all evidence pointed to the contrary. His Daddy opted to merely raise an eyebrow and wait the tantrum out. Vivian and I could only stare as the Little continued making a scene. His hands darted to the sides of his diaper, which had a picture of Snowy the Cat on the front. His fingernails desperately scratched at the underside of the tapes, trying to gain purchase. The little muscles on his biceps throbbed as he tried to take the diaper off, but he wasn’t strong enough. His sobs turned feral with anguish as he thrashed impotently, failing to even disturb the cart he was sitting in. Bystanders murmured to each other as his energy gave out. He lay slumped over in his seat, defeated, quietly whimpering. “Sounds like someone’s earned a trip to the hypno screen,” his Daddy said cheerfully. “I’m glad you two are much better behaved,” said Mommy casually, wheeling us to the spice aisle. As she hunted for anise and fennel, Vivian and I just looked at each other. I saw hesitation behind those fierce brown eyes. There wasn’t any escape. There was only acceptance. Her only choice was whether it would be freely given or coerced out of her. “I’m glad that I don’t have to go to work anymore,” she said finally, breaking eye contact. I beamed. “No more worrying about money,” I added on encouragingly. “Mommy makes sure we never go hungry.” Vivian nodded slowly. “I don’t have to diet,” she said. “Freedom from choice,” I said. “No more counting calories. No more fretting about your career. Whatever Mommy decides you’re doing is the right thing.” It was true. At Vivian's first checkup, the doctor had said that Vivian had a few problems with her diet: she had high cholesterol from all the fast food she used to eat. But Mommy kept her on a healthy, Little-appropriate diet, and after even just a few months, her next checkup had gone a lot better. “And what about something about your diapers?” I knew this was the worst part. It was the thing most Littles had difficulty adjusting to. “Hell—gosh no,” Vivian said, not quite catching herself in time. Her head swiveled, looking to see if Mommy had overheard, but luckily, Mommy was talking with one of the employees about coupons. I reached over and gave her diaper a gentle pat. Not the way an Amazon would. Just a friendly pat, between two Littles. “I bet there’s something. Isn’t it convenient not having to hold it? You can keep playing or watching TV without needing to take a break.” Vivian scowled. “That’s fine for you, but not for me,” she sulked. I’d dealt with patients in a past life. I’d been a nurse. Part of what made a good nurse was their bedside manner. It was about being there for someone when they were struggling, even if there wasn’t anything you could do. “You’re an adopted Little,” I said. “You can’t change that. You’ll be in diapers for the rest of your life. But you can control your attitude. You’ll forever be a Mommy’s little girl, but it’s up to you whether you like it or hate it. Only you can decide that.” I watched as Vivian mulled over the words. “Focus on the positives,” she mumbled. “Look what I have for you,” Mommy said in a singsong cadence. She held up a can of condensed milk. “I think my little girls deserve a treat.” She leaned in close and gently kissed Vivian’s forehead. “I know how much you love condensed milk.” Here we were. Normally, my sister would grit her teeth and take it. In her past life, she could have eaten what she wanted. She didn’t need these handouts. Or, she could accept the gift and find joy in the moment. I saw a battle rage across Vivian’s face before her eyes softened. “Thanks, Mommy,” she said earnestly, and I’d never been more proud to realize that the mem was over, a new storm of emotions jolting through Ai like lightning in a bottle. She was struck by how kind Bala was. She just wanted what was best for Vivian. The love she had with her Mommy was pure and sweet and too big to keep to herself. Sharing her joy was the greatest gift Bala could have given Vivian. It was an act of love. Not a romantic love. This went deeper. It was the simple love of happiness, of finding joy in the moment, in the little things. Ai didn’t think she was a bad person. She knew that everybody was the hero of their own story and that the world was a complex postmodern novel. Ai didn’t break any laws and she tried to be a good friend. But she’d never really helped others, either. She didn’t donate money. She didn’t volunteer. It wasn’t convenient. The Bala in the mem had such a pure heart that it left a painful ache in Ai’s chest. It was so simple: doing the right thing didn't have to be complicated at all. You could help your friends when they were sad. Ai was filled with determination. She’d make sure to help Bala however she could. “I built this place,” Bala whispered. She stood, brushing her fingers against the metal shelves. “I designed it. The room.” “Why?” Ai asked. “I don’t know," Bala said. "But I know I had to.” “Did someone make you?” A surge of protectiveness filled Ai. If someone had forced this sweet girl to do anything she didn’t want to— “No, not exactly,” Bala said. She paused, sifting through her memory of a memory. Ai knew that “Even with a mem,” Salman said as I stared, transfixed by the swirling colors in the palm of my mentor's hand, “you can’t really experience it the same way twice. You’re not the same person that you were when you made the mem. You can’t help but interpret everything through the you of the present.” “So, what’s the point then?” I asked. There sure seemed to be a lot of limitations on these things! Though it explained why they weren’t in widespread use. “You just have to remember,” Salman explained, “that what you’re seeing is a memory of a memory. Just as you cannot step in the same stream twice, because your presence irreversibly changes the flow of the water, you imprint yourself onto the mem as much as it does on you.” I blinked as she realized that Bala had started talking. Ai caught the tail end of the sentence: "...so I had to for myself." She let go of the memory and anchored herself back in the present. "Because..." Bala continued haltingly, "well...these mems were important to me. I knew that I couldn't lose them." “So this is like a library?” Ai asked. “I think so. I put my mems here for safekeeping, in case I ever needed them again.” "That doesn't make any sense," Ai snapped in frustration. "Look around. Do you see any labels?" She gestured at the silent walls all around them. "That's not even taking into account the fact that you have one of my mems. It doesn't fit." “I dunno,” sulked Bala. “I’m just telling you what I saw in the mem. I’d just finished extracting out the last mem. I must have extracted even the memory of making this place, because I only had vague feelings. I’d designed this place carefully. It was supposed to be a secret. So I put the last mem in its place on the shelf, took one last look around, and then I left. I sealed the door shut behind me. That's all I know.” The girl puffed out her cheeks in frustration. Guilt surfaced, leaving a bitter taste on Ai’s tongue. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was criticizing. I thought you were very helpful. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re here, that’s all. Okay?” Bala nodded, but her face told a different story. “Can I give you a hug?” Ai asked. She waited for the girl to nod before she stepped in and squeezed. Bala’s small body folded itself to Ai’s curves, like they had been made for each other. Ai could feel the telltale thickness of what she now knew to be a diaper around Bala’s hips as the girl melted in her arms. Ai closed her eyes. Bala smelled softly of lavender and sweetness. It felt oddly nostalgic. The only thing that was missing, thought Ai, was a diaper of her own.

Academy II By Lyra Starling "At the end of the world, there will be neither clamor nor calamity, neither echo nor epoch. It will be mired in silence and sleep, in deliverance and death. At the end of the world, there will be both patience and purpose, both temperance and time. Only then will it be graced with eternity, and from eternity, a chance." -The Source, in valediction Chapter One Ai Sinclair heard the crash of glass shattering, and she suddenly realized that she had no idea where she was. Her head felt fuzzy, like her brain had been scooped out and replaced with cotton balls. Thinking felt like wading through a pool of jello. When she opened her eyes, she was immediately rewarded with a flash of searing, painful light, and she snapped them shut again. Ai rubbed her eyes, wiped the tears away with her fingertips, and—using her hand to shield her face—carefully opened them again. A frosty fluorescent light sat nestled atop a sea of crisp, white tiles. She puzzled over this as the rest of her senses caught up. She was lying face-up on what felt like linoleum flooring. Her ears let her know that someone was softly moaning nearby. Ai propped her elbows against the cold floor and pushed herself into a sitting position. A waifish brown-skinned woman was slumped against the wall. Ai stared blankly before realizing that she could see right up the woman’s bright pastel-blocked jumper skirt and quickly averted her eyes. Even so, she'd definitely caught a glimpse of something white and puffy (and who could blame her, it was right there.) “Hey,” said Ai, getting to her feet. “Are you all right?” Ai took a step and heard something crunch underneath her shoes. She took a closer look at the floor. Glistening glass shards littered the ground like pebbles on a beach. A few orbs, filled with dancing swirls of multicolored gasses, remained intact. She tilted her head up and saw storage racks all around her, filled with other glass orbs. Based on some haphazard absences in the collection, she deduced that some of them were now on the ground beneath her feet. These are mems, a hidden part of her remembered, the memory leaping unbidden as my mentor gestured to the balls he’d put on the table. I picked one up; the glass felt cool underneath my fingertips. I could sense a latent energy within, crackling with potential. Salman sensed my unasked question and smiled. “They’re crystallized memories, extracted from people's minds.” My eyes lit up and I opened my mouth, but my mentor gently raised a finger. “Before you ask, no, you can’t use them to pass next week's exam. First of all, your memory is burned up as fuel for the mem, so you wouldn’t remember what you wanted unless you smuggled them in and found a way to absorb them without anybody noticing.” I frowned. Was I that predictable? Salman merely laughed, his eyes twinkling with merriment, and raised another finger. "Second, the process of extracting and absorbing mems can be extremely disorienting. For your brain, pulling out an entire memory is disruptive at best, and destructive at worst. That's not even getting into the sheer bleed that can happen on absorption, when, for a moment, you become two souls in one body." Of course, my mentor wanted to keep me safe, but he sure was making mems sound absolutely dreadful. Still, I felt that itch in my brain, the one I felt whenever an idea got its hooks into me and wouldn't let go, the one that led me to Salman's tutelage in the first place. Salman raised a third finger and smiled apologetically. "Third, due to the role the Ashen leyline plays, they can only be made in the great city of Mnemopolis." “I don’t know,” said the stranger, pulling Ai back to the present. The woman had propped her head up against the wall and was staring at Ai with a worried expression on her face. “Who are you?” “I’m…” Ai began before trailing off. It should have been an easy question, but her thoughts were a hazy swirl, like reagents in an alchemist’s cauldron. “I’m Ai,” she finally said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are either. Come to think of it, I don’t even know where we are.” The other woman bit her lip. The silence dragged on before she finally opened her mouth again. “I’m Bala, I think. I don't know where we are either." Well, that was suboptimal. Ai watched as Bala’s eyes started watering as the girl's lips quivered. She softened. “Hey, it’s okay. We can figure it out together,” Ai said comfortingly, closing the few steps between her and Bala before bending down to pat her on the shoulder. Bala squeezed Ai’s thighs with her arms and nodded furiously into her slacks. Ai gestured at the orbs. “You know what these are?” She waited for Bala to nod before continuing. “Let’s absorb some of these mems. They might give us some clues.” Ai couldn't put her finger on why, but it felt like the right thing to do. Bala nodded. “I’m going to try this one,” Ai said, pointing to one near where she’d been lying earlier. Bala let go of Ai’s leg as she let the woman make her way to the orange and blue colored mem. Ai turned to see that Bala hadn’t budged a single inch; instead, Bala looked at Ai with a lost puppy expression in her eyes. “Try one yourself,” urged Ai. Bala nodded and picked up a violet colored mem off the floor. Ai placed her own mem to her forehead, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She heard a subdued crinkle as Bala presumably shifted positions before I heard keys jangle at the front door, and my kitty ears twitched. My Keeper was home! I tried to get up, but I’d tangled myself up in all of my plush blankets. I mewed in frustration as I wiggled myself loose before pressing my face up against the bars of my cage. The lock clicked open and I saw Mistress Rosa. My Keeper. She locked eyes with me and I shuddered, feeling my heart thump against my chest. Our Bond hummed, like a taut guitar string that had been plucked. The air between us positively crackled. I subconsciously started rocking my hips back and forth, feeling my diaper rub against my groin in that special way that filled me with tingles. Mistress Rosa beamed at me. Her smile was as dazzling as a thousand fiery suns. Still, I could sense a tiny undercurrent of worry through our Bond. “Hello my Pet,” she said. The honorific made my tail perk up just as effectively now as it had a year ago, when we’d first Bonded. As my Keeper stepped inside, I could see another person right behind her. “Hey there, crinkle cat,” said Raven. She was wearing a crisply ironed shirt with tiny pineapples printed all over, and in her hand was a soft blue leather leash. As Miss Raven stepped inside, I could see that the other end of the leash was clipped to a collar around a bunny girl with soft auburn hair, who looked at me nervously before her eyes shot back down to the floor. My ears drooped. I had only been expecting my Keeper, and here she was with her girlfriend, and with her Pet to boot. A knot of anxiety snaked its way through my chest. “Bala, this is Sophie,” said Mistress Rosa, gesturing at the bunny girl. “She’s Raven’s Pet.” “Sorry,” Raven apologized. “My sitter bailed on me, so Rosa volunteered to watch Sophie for the week while I’m on my business trip.” As Raven stood in the doorway with Sophie, allowing the bunny girl to get acclimated with our apartment, Rosa strode over to my cage and bent down. “Have you been a good girl for me?” she asked as she undid the lock. It would have been easy for me to undo even just a year ago, but Pets lost some motor control as part of the transformation process. Now, as I watched her undo the lock, she might as well have been performing black magic. I nodded and happily mewed. I’d done some puzzles (Pet Enrichment Toys, they called them in ads) and watched some episodes of Owned at First Sight on the TV. I launched into a rambling summary of the latest plotline as Rosa swung the cage door open to let me crawl out. Once I was outside, Rosa’s hand slid straight to my diaper. I felt her finger slide in under a leg band. I purred and started wiggling my butt, but Rosa merely took her finger back and ruffled my hair. “Not right now, my horny little Pet,” she said in hushed tones, leaning in close. “I want you to acclimate to Sophie.” I made my cutest eyes and whined in the most pathetic way I could, but she platonically patted my butt. “If you’re good, we can play after,” she whispered into my ear. The hairs on my arm stood up and goosebumps prickled my skin. I nodded furiously, causing the bell on my collar to jingle like a Christmas carol. “Play nice with Sophie,” said Mistress Rosa after what felt like far too little petting. She took Raven into the kitchen, offering her a cup of coffee, leaving me alone with the timid-looking bunny girl. One of the side effects of becoming a Pet was increased sensitivity. I could smell so many more things that had completely eluded me, back when I’d been a person. Sophie had a strange smell, one that lurked as an undercurrent beneath the lavender-scented baby powder. It was hay, and sunshine, and just...different. I knew intellectually that it wasn’t her fault; she was just a stranger entering my space. But my hackles were raised nonetheless. It was a basic Pet instinct, as natural as wetting our diapers. Sophie was standing in the middle of the living room as stiff as a statue. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of her skirt, behind which I could see a thick pink diaper with little orange carrots all over it. “Mistress Rosa hadn’t mentioned Miss Raven being a Keeper,” I said. “Are you a new Pet?” Sophie nodded. “We Bonded last week,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s been weird getting used to, you know, everything.” There was something about that hesitation that felt intoxicating. I wondered if it was anything like what Mistress Rosa felt about me. I liked making Sophie hesitate. I liked keeping her off balance. I wanted more. “Like, your pretty new ears?” I asked, suddenly stepping closer and gently stroking her floppy ears. I watched as she closed her eyes and moaned involuntarily. I felt a feral hunger stir inside me. “Like, not being a person anymore?” I asked, stroking her cheek, which was as warm and hot as a theater spotlight. I could smell a faint strawberry-scented fragrance coming from her skin. “Like, your pretty diapers?” I asked, darting my hand between her legs and giving her diaper a squeeze. The plastic crinkled satisfyingly beneath my fingers. Sophie’s legs shuddered as she was caught between her human-learned disgust and a strange sense of pleasure. Some Pets loathed this part of the Transformation the most; even their bodies betrayed the fact that they weren’t independent any longer. Something as simple as potty training would forever be out of their reach. Pets always came around though. They just needed some training to understand what a gift they’d been given. Sophie shook her head in protest, but her shallow breaths told a different story. She tried stepping away, but I grabbed her shoulders and swung her around to the living room wall, where I pinned her, eliciting a squeak of surprise. My other hand massaged the front of her diaper. Feeling other Pets’ diapers was almost as good as feeling my own. The padding was so fluffy and thick beneath my fingertips. My palm squeezed, diffusing the pressure all around her crotch. “Look at you,” I said, mockingly stern. “You’re wet.” I saw a shudder of humiliation shiver up and down Sophie’s spine. She screwed her mouth up to protest, but I swooped in and kissed her, stealing her words into my lungs. Her lips were soft, so pliable . She’d be a great Pet for Miss Raven. My right hand snaked around to the back of her head and cradled her as I pulled her in for a torrent of kisses. Slow, desperate ones, like I wanted to inhale her soul, then furious quick ones, like thieves’ hands darting out and back with pilfered goods, on her soft lips and neck and all over. My left hand slid around to the back of Sophie’s diaper and massaged it. I felt Sophie’s leg wrap around me, like a snake around a tree’s trunk. I pressed my diaper up against hers as we crinkled in unison. I felt hot all over, as if my every exhale would let loose a cloud of steam, like a kettle reaching its boiling point. Sophie’s hand stroked my kitty ears, which twitched blissfully. I briefly saw stars as my breath caught in my throat. It was almost as good as when Rosa gave me head scratches. From deep inside me, a purr sprung forth like water from a geyser. I closed my eyes and pressed my head deeper into her fingers. They gently massaged my scalp. I felt the muscles in my neck and jaw go slack as she gave me gentle scritches. “Looks like it’s going well,” said Mistress Rosa, breaking the spell I was in. I lifted my lips and licked them. They tasted salty, like the sea. “Don’t stop on our behalf,” said Miss Raven, her arm snaking around Mistress Rosa’s waist. Mistress Rosa grinned, full-mouthed, like her joy was bursting out of her body. “It’s nice to see Pets getting along,” she said, as Ai came back to the room. That feeling of desperate lust had been intense. Her cheeks reddened as she thought of how wonderful it had felt to grind against another person, diaper to diaper. How comforting the thickness was between her legs, like a reminder that she belonged to someone. In Ai's life, she had loved and been loved in return, but the bond she’d seen in the mem had transcended what she’d thought possible. What would it be like to have someone in your life like Mistress Rosa? To know that someone would move worlds for you, who would always have your best interests at heart, who you knew would always keep you as their first priority? To be able to drape that comforting security around you like a warm cloak on a winter’s night, knowing that axiomatically, there was someone out there in the universe who was connected to you on that kind of primal level? “What did you see?” asked Bala, interrupting Ai’s reverie, an empty glass orb sitting in her palm. “I think you made that mem,” Ai said hesitantly. “Do the names Rosa, Raven, or Sophie mean anything to you?” She flushed as she spoke Sophie’s name, remembering how sweetly the bunny girl had scratched Bala’s ears. Bala tapped a finger on her chin. “Not particularly,” she said. “Sophie was a girl? But also a bunny?” Ai tried. “She was human, but also with rabbit ears and a tail. Though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like that…” Ai’s temples throbbed with pain. “Weird." Bala frowned. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything like that either.” “What did you see?” Ai asked. “Umm…” the girl thought aloud, tilting her head to one side. “I think I had your mem.” Ai did not remember ever making any sort of mem. She wondered if the other girl was lying—but then again, why this whole sweet innocent ingénue charade? Still, the fact of the matter was that they were both in a strange, sterile room with no memory of why they were there. Ai had to take Bala at face value. She had to trust. Obviously not like the trust that Bala from the mem had with Mistress Rosa, but she had to start somewhere. They had to work together. “You were a mage’s apprentice,” Bala continued. “You traveled a very long way to reach...Mnemopolis? I think that’s where we are?” Ai shrugged. This bleak room could have been in the Elemental Plane of Fire for all she knew, though as Ai wrestled with the idea, she felt like Bala was telling the truth. Bala spent a few more seconds in thought, then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s right. Because you had someone you really wanted to meet.” “Who?” Ai asked, though she had a sinking suspicion that she knew the answer already. “Me,” Bala said.

You seam to be happy with what you have gotten. Is there any type of IC you would fear to get, and which you wouldn't be too happy to live with. Like very frequent messing.