InkuHime

Chapter 9 White Rabbit Somehow, Yayoi managed to get into her apartment building, though the security door almost bested her. She took the elevator up to her floor. That was when she lost it. Her hands shook, and she could not open her door. She pounded on it, beginning to cry. When Justine opened the door, Yayoi fell into her arms, sobbing loudly. For a moment, Justine looked surprised, but professionalism and training took over. She held Yayoi up and half lifted her, and half pulled her into the apartment. Yayoi might be below average height, but she was not so light that Justine could easily handle her as she might a toddler. Justine shut and locked the door and then took Yayoi into the bathroom, sitting her down on the tiled floor. She drew the dress off her and then undid the blouse. Next came her shoes and then socks, leaving Yayoi dressed only in a very soiled and just slightly leaking MoonieMan. Justine tore the sides of the pants and then gathered up some wipes. She began to clean Yayoi, gently wiping the mess away. She left Yayoi lying there momentarily as she began to fill the tub. Justine took the soiled MoonieMan, tossed it into the garbage, and helped Yayoi into the tub. Yayoi let Justine do it all, simply sinking into the hot water surrounding her, near helpless. She still shivered, remembering the Necanthrope that had almost destroyed her mind. Soon, she was out of the tub, wrapped in a thick towel, and taken to her bedroom. Justine lay her down and put her into one of the Cumfies. Then Justine dressed her a fuzzy, pink, footed, hooded sleeper with snaps in the crotch. Yayoi did not complain. Partly because she was beyond saying anything intelligible. Partly because it was wonderfully soft and warm with the kitty-eared hood drawn over her still-damp hair. Justine left her alone, lying on the bed for a short time. When she returned, she was carrying a foil packet of pills. "Drum," Justine said, popping one of the pills from the foil. She put it into Yayoi's mouth, and Yayoi swallowed it. Justine sat beside Yayoi as the drug took effect. A sense of well-being and calm descended on Yayoi, and she slowly slipped into a catatonic state during which all she could hear was the beat of her heart. As she drifted off, she thought she heard Justine singing her a lullaby. Hours later, when she came out of the drug-induced catatonia, she was alone and the room nearly dark. She reached out to the bedside table where the foil packet of Drum rested. She popped another pill free and swallowed it, letting herself return to that state of knowing nothing. That happened a few more times before she chose to not reach for the pills. Instead, she closed her eyes and fell into normal sleep. She woke later to find Justine changing her diaper. Yayoi did not think much about it and went back to sleep. Yayoi did not know how long she just slept deeply. Each time she woke, usually when she was being changed, she felt more herself. There came a time when Yayoi woke and sat up, feeling the need to go to the bathroom. She left the bed and made her way to the bathroom. She was met halfway there by Justine, who helped her as she always did. "How long was I out of it?" Yayoi asked as she sat on the toilet. "Three days," Justine said. "Three days?" She thought about that. "Wow.” After Yayoi was cleaned up and put in a new diaper and a clean t-shirt, Justine brought her into the kitchen for a meal. Over the food, Yayoi told her what had happened with the Necanthrope. It was easier to tell than she would have thought, like it was some long-ago dream. "So you remember," Justine said softly. "What?" Yayoi asked her. "The Necanthrope is called Adanlia; she has some sort of weird thing going on with turning people into playthings, dolls. It is consensual, as much as anything with a Necanthrope can be. Apparently, you were the first person she went after like that. I heard she was punished harshly for what she tried to do to you. Took a hit to her SCL. Bitch deserved worse if you ask me." "How do you know this?" "Dark Lament came by. Some of their specialists have been undoing the damage that Adanlia did. They were not sure if you would remember what happened." "At least they cleaned up after themselves," Yayoi said softly. "Dark Lament was about as apologetic as they could be. They said a lot of things about making it up to you. I'm sure you'll be hearing from them soon enough." Yayoi stood suddenly. "I'm sick of this! Sick of being their doll. Sick of them not seeing me as a woman. Sick of wet diapers and shit." "What?" Justine shifted back from Yayoi, appearing genuinely surprised. "I've had it. I'm going to get my hormones tweaked back to normal, get some growth going, get a breast job and all that! I'm tired of being a child. It is time for me to grow up!" Justine’s shocked countenance began to fade during Yayoi’s tirade. Then, the corner of her lips turned down, her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. "You can't do that, Yayoi.” She shook her head again. “I'm sorry." "What do you mean I can't do that? I can do whatever the hell I please." "You don't really believe that." Justine's tone was flat and brought Yayoi up short. "Well, not whatever I please, but no one can stop me from getting a boob job. Hell, there's a place down the street that will let me do it as soon as I walk through the door with the credits in my hand." "That's not it. I say you cannot, but I mean you should not. Really, don't even think about this, Yayoi. I am your assistant in several matters, from the personal to the professional, and I need you to understand how dangerous what you are saying is.” "What the hell?" "Don't you get it, Yayoi? You've become precious as you are. What does SLA industries do to people who try to destroy valuable things?" Yayoi opened her mouth but did not say anything. She just stood there, a look of shock on her face. “There was a Yayoi-shaped hole in the World of Progress. A hole shaped like a woman who pretended to be a little girl to trap monsters, who wore diapers because they made her feel safe. No one knew that this hole existed, Yayoi, not until you showed up and plugged it. "Again, as your administrative assistant, with the legal knowledge my position requires, I must inform you that SLA Industries will not let you do what you wish regarding your image. They need you and will not let you go; they probably will not even let you die. If you push this, then they will find someone else to be Yayoi Yamamoto, and if you are lucky, they will just kill you. If you are not lucky, they might give you to the likes of Adanlia.” Yayoi sat down in her chair, diaper a cushion under her, going limp like a puppet with its strings cut. "I never thought of that," she said softly. Justine reached out and put a hand on Yayoi's cheek. "It is unfortunate, but you would not be the first operative to find out that one's person was no longer completely in their own control. There is not much you can do but control those aspects of your life you still control. There is a line there, and you have to be careful to never cross it." "That's not fair," Yayoi said in a quiet and calm tone. "Oh, Yayoi, this is the World of Progress. I've taken care of real toddlers who have known the truth of this world. Nothing is fair." "Well, at least I am not a real toddler." "That was not meant to be taken as a compliment." Yayoi laughed softly at that. "I guess not. I'll have to do better." Justine looked at her, thoughtful in her countenance. "Tell me, was it just the shit show with Adanlia that brought this on? Does any of this have to do with Theodore Trance?” “How do you know about Theodore?” “You mentioned him, and he called just before all this happened. I told him where to find you.” Yayoi nodded after a second. "We were students together in Meny. He was so hot." "I see.” “So very hot.” “Yes.” "I mean so hot, like, weak in the knees..." "Yes, I get it. He was hot." Her tone was snappish. "I was not too bad then either. Always small, but I had all the curves. We got along well, I thought. The sex was great, as it could be between two sixteen-year-olds who had no idea what they were doing.” “And he went off-world after you graduated?” “Yeah,” Yahoi said. “He went to Dante or another War World, I'm not sure. They needed him; something about requiring a good intelligence operative. He left, and I went to work in the streets of Downtown. It was then that I decided to go with the youthful look; maybe I never thought he'd come back. Or I figured it wouldn't matter." "But he did come back. And it did matter?" “Fuck,” Yayoi said, “the years have been good to him. Space God's Balls, is he hot. I can still feel his muscles under my fingers. I mean," she paused, still holding her hand out like she was touching Theo, "they might be Nuke Tendon, but if they are Nuke Tendon does great work. Fantastic work.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted him when I saw him down in the Pit. But he did not want me.” "He was not so impressed by your look." Yayoi's smile was gone, and she shook her head. "He's not much into the young look, thank fuck, when I really think about it. When we were sixteen, it was no big deal that I looked a little young. And there were hints I was going to be something of a petite, sexy beast. But now, well, look at me," Yayoi ran her hands down her flat chest, grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and pulled it up to show her diaper and the lack of any curves, "how old would you say I was?" Justine regarded her. "A few years away from puberty, I suppose." Yayoi nodded. "Which was the point, but who'd ever thought I would want to get fucked? Tweaking hormones to stop growth also put my sex drive into hibernation." "You may not have a mind made crazy by a soup of hormones, but nerves are still nerves, Yayoi, and the heart wants what it wants." "Fucking philosopher, now are you? You are a woman of many talents." "Aren't we all? So you want to grow up for Theo?” "Fuck no," Yayoi said, pushing her t-shirt hem down her thighs. “He wants a doll to dress up just like that bitch Adanlia. He wanted an accessory to hang off his arm. I realized that. I mean, he didn’t need to fuck me that night in the Pit, but he could have at least been all, ‘Hey, this is fucked up, but let’s have a drink and talk like old friends who are adults’. He didn’t have to walk off with his, ‘get your tits back and we’ll talk.’” “Did he really say that?” Justine asked. “Well, not those exact words. I thought I loved him, and I thought we were best friends, but I thought wrong, and I feel so stupid for not figuring it out.” "Then why do you want to grow up?" "Cause I don't want anyone to see me as their dress-up doll. I want them to see I am an adult and know that they can't fuck with me even if they can fuck me. That I won't be their toy.” Justine did not answer. "But it's like you said, I don't get to make that choice. Who'd have thought it? What can I do?" "Don't let the bastards define you?” Yayoi laughed. "And if the bastards are my sponsors?" "You should never call your sponsors bastards." "What should I call them?" "Soul-sucking monsters." Justine smiled. "Just like Adanlia." "I suppose." Yayoi laughed and leaned back in her chair. "I wonder if Adanlia could be convinced to fuck with Theo. I think they deserve each other." At that moment, the phone rang. Justine got up from the table and went to answer it, leaving Yayoi alone with her thoughts, not that Yayoi's thoughts were good company at that moment. Justine was right; SLA Industries was not about to let her change, and Yayoi would never think of going renegade. Which meant there were going to be people telling her what she should be. How would she show them she would fight back without crossing the line? "Yayoi," Justine called; she was standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding the phone, "it's Anna." Yayoi held her hand towards Justine, who put the phone in her hand. She put it to her ear and said, "Hello Anna." "Yayoi," Anna's voice came over the phone, "I'm glad you are feeling better." "Just needed a little rest and a complete brain rebuild." "That Necanthrope was a real bitch. You know that we are suing?" “Good to hear." "She won't try that again." "Unless she gets permission," Yayoi said softly. "What?" "Nothing. So Anna, what are you calling about?" "How are you feeling?" Yayoi doubted that Anna was asking about her well-being out of any kindness. "All right, considering. Why?" "Well, it seems you've been challenged." "Challenged?" "In the Contract Circuit. One of the killers has issued a challenge. Media has picked it up. It is getting some play." "I don't watch TV that much." "I know. You're weird." "I'm not a Contract Killer." "It is a bit out of the ordinary, but the officials will allow it." "Who made the challenge?" "Your sponsors are very interested in this. It means great coverage." "Who made the challenge?" "It will do your career a good deal of help as well." "Who is it?" Yayoi wondered why Anna was circling around the issue. Could it be one of the top killers, like Johnny Automatic, Video Nasty, or Deity? No, none of those would challenge her. No one like that probably even knew who she was. This had to be something else. "It's Pig Man." "Pig Man," Yayoi said softly in disbelief. She thought, ‘Would a dress-up doll fight Pig Man?’ and the answer was 'no'. Anna must have taken her tone for fear. "He's good, I know, but you can take him, I'm sure of it." "I'll fight him," Yayoi said simply. "Damn it, Yayoi, you walk from this, and you'll destroy your rep! Your sponsors will drop you like you are toxic." "I said that I will fight him." "You can't..." Ann paused. "Did you say you would fight him?" "Yes. Send the details to Justine." She cut the connection and put the phone aside. "What was that about?" Justine asked. Yayoi walked past her. "Some business. I'll be in my room." Pig Man. A Prop, an enforcer for Delicacy. It was no coincidence that he had challenged her. They were making an attempt on her or her reputation. Pig Man was known for incapacitating his opponents and dragging them off into the Skin Trade. A lot of people were understandably afraid of him. She could guess the Trade's thoughts on it. If she refused, she would be branded as a coward and lose her street cred. People would not want to talk with a coward. How could a coward help them, after all? If she accepted, well, they would be hoping that she would lose, and they would get their hands on her. She suspected many people would like to buy her, including a rather unpleasant Necanthrope. Of course, she did not plan to lose. She unlocked and opened her weapons closet and began to look through her items of destruction. She was going to have to make some choices.

Chapter 8 When You’re a Tuesday Girl In the following weeks, Yayoi answered questions about her efforts against the Skin Trade, diapers and bedwetting pants, and cute outfits. Sometimes, Yayoi did not know which they cared the most about. And sometimes, she was pretty sure she knew what they cared most about, which depressed her. There were only a few weeks left until Yayoi's sponsorship contracts ended. It was getting close to when they needed to be renewed and renegotiated. Assuming Yayoi wanted to renew, and she was not sure if she did. It was not that the past months had been unpleasant; in fact, it was often quite the opposite. Oh, she did not care too much for certain things. Being dressed like a two-year-old was embarrassing. Having a personal assistant who cut up her food and took her to the bathroom was something she could do without. But the money was excellent, and the results of fame were valuable… and fun. Her campaign against the Skin Trade was progressing, and the support she was getting the public grew daily. She was showing them that something could be done that they did not have to give up. Just that afternoon, she had crashed a clandestine meeting between some important Skin Trade agents thanks to a tip from a fan. The raid had netted her a pair of fixers with contacts with Delicacy and Slap&Tickle. The man and the woman found people to buy the slaver's wares. They knew names. The Shivers were interrogating them. Assuming the two did not die in custody, she could have those names soon. Then, she could round up some buyers who could be convinced to roll over on the sellers. Or just be killed. And if she was luckier than she deserved, just maybe she could save some of the kids. But that was for tomorrow. Tomorrow was when Yayoi would have to dive back into the messy world of slavery and corruption. Tonight, Yayoi felt as if she deserved a reward. She had decided to have some fun. One of her favourite bands, Muddy Kitten, was playing at the Pit. She would go and watch them and get wonderfully drunk. It was a simple and yet time-tested plan. For her outing, she chose a simple salmon blouse and a dark green A-line jumper with a skirt that could have been longer. Of course, as that bitch Mio had said, the clothing did seem to suit her. She wore a 'Happy Kitty' shaped backpack--Happy Kitty being all the rage with the under-eight set--that held her Badge, a handful of hard currency, and a few weapons. A taxi dropped her off as near to the Pit as it could get. The Pit was the ultimate bar on all of Mort, probably the entire World of Progress. Yayoi put up her umbrella against the rain. She walked quickly towards the door, her patent leather mary janes splashing in shallow puddles. The Pit did not look like much from the outside. The majority of it, nine levels deep, was underground. Deth's Door, five massive slabs of granite, were open. She joined the crowd of operatives flowing in. At the weapon check, she turned in her BLA revolver and MAC knife. Only a fool tried to bring a weapon into the Pit. Her arms went into a secure cabinet, and her cabinet whisked away with all the others. A veritable arsenal of checked weapons stored in high-security pens. The constant shuffle through the winding ways of the barricades. Each step bringing them closer to the entrance. All under the eyes of Deth and his security people. Deth was a rather imposing Shaktar, and he did an excellent job of keeping the peace. And when he could not keep it, he would make it. As she walked through the barricades, passing under an array of weapons scanners, she noted that a not insignificant number of patrons were dressed in a rather juvenile fashion. While Lolita and its variations had always been something of a fashion choice, it had grown since Yayoi had hit the scene. There were a few who had taken it way too far, however. Which Yayoi supposed was rich coming from her, but she was not dressing as she did by choice... not always. Some distance ahead of her in the line, she saw a woman with a hugely padded behind, probably wearing three or four diapers, dressed in footed pyjamas. It was exciting to play a part in setting fashions, but she could not help but feel responsible for those who went to extremes. A cringe of embarrassment for the role she played. Two men ahead of her, not knowing that she was behind them, were talking about it. "Man, this place, it's like a fuckin' pre-school," the one in the kilt, likely a Frother, said. "I know what you mean. Shit, I find myself looking at a girl, and suddenly I start feeling like a pervert." The other one replied. Ebon, in the skinned man DeathSuit that they all wore. "It's crazy. What happened to tight, short skirts with lacy panties? You know, and I'm fucking you not, I was with this girl the other night…" "That redhead with the big tits?" "That was the one. Anyway, I'm with her, and we're getting heavy, and I slide my hand up her leg and guess what I find?" "You're kidding?" "No. She's wearing this diaper, and I'm certain that she's pissed it and maybe even crapped in it. So she looks at me then and says, 'Do you want to change me?'" "No. So what did you do?" "Took her into the bathroom and changed her," he paused. "changed her into a woman after fucking her." "Beautiful." The two slapped their palms together in a high five. Usual masculine bullshit. Yayoi shook her head at the talk. It made her wonder how long it was going to last. After all, there had to be a better fashion statement than diapers. She soon passed beyond the entrance and took the stairs down to the first level, Stasis One. It was a vast nightclub. Loud and Bright, and full of people. The bar was one continuous counter that went around the entire outer wall of the level and was nearly two kilometres round, with a staff of a thousand. Even with all that space and all that service, patrons often had to wait in line. Just went to show how popular the place was and how many operatives existed in this city. How many of them wanted to go and party. Yayoi went to the bar first, ordered three shots of tequila, downed them quickly, and then took a beer with her out onto a walkway, crossing towards the elevators at the centre of the Pit. She passed over the Well, an opening that went down seven levels. It was a rather far fall, but Yayoi had no problems with heights. She had, on her first night in the Pit, crossed through the cage above, moving through the web of light supports… all for a two-credit bet. The elevator took her down to the second level, the Cave. The Cave was dedicated to live entertainment. There were two large stages and four smaller ones. Muddy Kitten was playing in one of the smaller venues. They were not so popular yet as to play in larger venues. Yayoi entered the auditorium, pushed through the crowd of people, moving along the wall, getting up close to the stage. With the crowd around her, she could not see, for she was the shortest person there. However, Yayoi was used to that. The walls were studded with odd projections for the acoustics. And Yayoi was of a size she could climb them and stand high enough to see the stage. Standing on her perch, she waited for the music to start. The tequila and beer were beginning to hit, making her feel warm and relaxed. She talked to the people around her, looking down from where she stood. The friendly chatter of fellow fans. Most recognized her; one or two even asked for autographs. The band came out about twenty minutes later, five women, three guitars, a bass and a drum kit. It was a good, solid mix. As soon as the music started, Yayoi was jumping up and down. She danced (As much as the small space allowed) and sang along to the loud and fast music. She was not alone, and down below her safe perch, others were moving to the music. It was a little dangerous as the music had become popular with Frothers. The moshing of professional drug addicts could turn messy. A Stomer shoulder checked the wall near where Yayoi stood. He was a monstrous 714 Chagrin, his tusks longer than her leg. He looked at her, their eyes level. "Little girl, all alone," he bellowed over the music. Yayoi did not think she could match his volume, so she nodded. "Little girl dance with me," he said and shifted closer. It took Yayoi a moment to realize he wanted her to sit across his shoulders. She thought about it, then, with a giggle, climbed on, her legs barely fitting around his thickly muscled neck. The Stormer laughed loudly and stumbled out into the crowd in front of the stage. Yayoi had rarely had such a view of a band. She was higher than anyone else, and the Stormer under her a stable perch. It was not lost on Yayoi that she must look like a baby on her daddy's shoulders, but at that moment, she did not care. At level with the band, the lead singer of Muddy Kitten asked Yayoi her name and then dedicated one of the songs to her. It was the best concert she had ever been to. It was a three-hour set, and of course, Yayoi had to empty her bladder. Fortunately, the MoonieMan pants allowed her to do so without leaving. If the Stormer felt the warm padding against the nape of his neck, he said nothing. When it was over, far too soon, Yayoi and her new Stormer friend left the club. Yayoi was soaked in sweat, though her clothing was far better off than her. The wonders of Animattire, she thought. The Stormer, Zlammer, plucked Yayoi from his shoulders and placed her gently on the ground. "Good concert," he said. "It was," Yayoi said. "I never get to see them like that." "Little girl small. Next time same. Little girl combat Operative?" "I am." He looked at her, lips pursed. "Small." "I go after the skin trade." After a few seconds, Zlammer nodded. "Bait." "Yes." "Good. Smart. If little girl needs big, strong, call me." "And if you need someone fast and small, let me know." Zlammer smiled his terrifying Stormer smile. They exchanged contact information. "Little girl be careful," he said as he left her. She watched him go, waved at his back, and then, aware of her soaking MoonieMan, went to find someplace to change. Most of the toilets in the nearby women's restroom were in use when she entered, but Yayoi did not need them. She found an out-of-the-way corner and slid the sweat and urine-soaked MoonieMan from under her skirt. From her backpack, she took out a replacement garment and some wipes to clean herself off. As she pulled a fresh MoonieMan up her legs, a tall woman, heavily built, looked over at Yayoi from where she stood in front of a stall, waiting. "Must be convenient," she said. Yayoi looked up at her and smiled. "It can be." She was still a little drunk. She left the restroom feeling a little less gross. The elevator banks were her next destination, and they took her down to the bottom level of the Pit: Treachery. Treachery was encircled by a motorcycle track where bikers raced every night, competing for large cash prizes. There was a bar in Treachery, the Pit Stop, which was an actual pit stop. Best views of the races through the open wall as bikes entered and exited the track. The races did not interest her, though they had in the past. Yayoi instead made her way to The Respite, a quiet bar with a restful atmosphere. She took a seat and ordered three gin and tonics. She was finishing the third when she felt someone gently grip her shoulder. She turned, about to tell whomever it was to piss off, but found herself looking up at a familiar and very handsome face. "Yayoi," he said to her. "Theo," she answered, a little breathless. She stood up on the chair so she could put her fingertips on his chest, feeling the muscles under his tight shirt. "It's been a while." He reached out to gently cup her chin and turned her head slightly. "Just got back on planet." "Oh," Yayoi said, feeling her heart beat faster. "You look good." He did. He was a little taller than when she had last seen him, but he had filled out with muscle mass and bone. He no longer looked like the kid she had gone to school with. He looked like a man. “How did you find me?” “Your assistant. She told me you would be here tonight; I figured after the concert, you might want some quiet.” “You know me so well,” she said, smiling at him. “I thought I did, but look at you. You look," he paused, "young. You look like a kid.” “That’s the point of it. I made myself into bait.” “This is not a good look for you. Were you thinking of me when you did this?” Was she thinking of him? Theo had once advised her on what looked good on her and how she should dress. Maybe not advised but told. But she had liked it when he was pleased. "It's just skin deep. Means nothing," Yayoi told him, wondering if she sounded desperate. She probably sounded desperate. "You should have told me that you were going to do this." What the hell? Told him? But she found herself blushing and looking down. He still had a hold of her chin and turned her eyes up to him. “Do you know how often I thought of you?” Yayoi shook her head. “It was not every day; I mean, every day I was thinking about staying alive, but when a tour ended, and I was out of the combat zones, I thought about you, how good it would be to see you again.” “I thought of you,” Yayoi said, “I looked at that postcard you sent me," she paused, "all the time. But, I did not have the SLC clearance to see those other messages. I did not know where you were. I did not know if you would come back.” “So you did this to punish me?" 
 “What?” What the hell? “No. This had nothing to do with you.” “So you weren’t thinking about me when you did this.” “No,” Yayoi said, jaw firming, “I was thinking about all the kids that were getting kidnapped.” Theo took a moment to think about that. “Fair enough,” he told her. She tried again. “What I look like is not the real me. I’m still the Yayoi you knew, the Yayoi you were thinking about.” Theo took his hand from her face and moved to sit opposite her with the table between them. The waitress approached, and Theo ordered a pint of stout. He stared at her for a few seconds. “You’re not the Yayoi I was thinking about.” Fuck you, Yayoi thought, but the words did not escape her lips. “I really am,” she told him. He shook his head. “Your little girl stuff was cute when you were sixteen, but you don’t even look sixteen anymore. My Yayoi was going to be a sexy little package.” Yayoi did not know what to him laying claim of ownership, his Yayoi, but she did not say that. She also did not say that she was still a sexy little package. She was silent for a few seconds before she said, “Look past the outside; see the inside.” He stared at her incredulously. Yayoi felt her face grow hot. What a stupid thing to say. The server came with Theo’s beer. Theo drank it in one go and put the empty glass on the table. She stared at Theo. His blonde hair was short, and his blue eyes were wonderfully bright. He ordered another beer, his judging eyes fixed on Yayoi. "I've missed you, Theo," she told him. It seemed like the thing to say. He did that thing which was not quite a smile, and Yayoi felt something quiver in her stomach and between her legs. "I came back here, and I find out you've gone kiddie. You got a diaper company sponsoring you. What happened to the young woman I knew? Who is this pretend little girl?” Yayoi did not know how to answer. The waitress came with his order. Theo stood up and looked down at her. She found herself pulling down at the tails of her skirt, not wanting her MoonieMan to show. “You can’t think I would actually find you sexually attractive,” Theo told her. Yayoi was about to say she had hoped but realized what a lie that would be. Theo picked up his beer and drank it in a single pull. He placed the glass down and then leaned forward, paused, then kissed her on the forehead. She smelt the dark stout in his breath, his cologne, his sweat, a delightful melange of smells. She did nothing for Theo, but Theo pressed all her buttons. Hormone tweaks or no, pleasure was pleasure, and she squirmed a little in her seat. “I’m not on Mort long, not long enough for you to undo all this,” he told her as he straightened up. “Undo it?” “Stop being this fauxlita, Yayoi. Become a woman again, then we can try this again.” “What the fuck?” He shook his head. “Goodbye." He walked away. Yayoi thought about running after him. She thought about hurling the empty beer glass at his head. She did neither and just watched him go, as his perfect muscles played across his back as he did so. That fucking asshole, she thought. That sexy fucking asshole. Her hand found its way between her legs. She fantasized it was Theo’s big hand, gently parting her and those big fingers sliding it. He might not have appreciated her using him for that fantasy, but fuck him. Had Theo always been like that? He had told her how to dress and how to act when they had been in school. When she was younger, she took that as affection. Maybe there had been something darker. Or maybe she was just trying to find fault now? She sighed and took her hand from her MoonieMan, unsatisfied but no longer horny. Her Animattire clothing was none the worse for wear. The night was over. She was beyond having fun. She just wanted to go home and be alone with her unhappy thoughts. Theo had covered the bill, so she just left. As luck would have it, one of the elevators opened as she approached. She ran and got in, wondering momentarily why no one had exited. It did not really matter, and she counted herself lucky; sometimes, the elevators could be really slow with all the people in the Pit. The doors closed, and the elevator ascended. It stopped shortly afterwards and opened on a level of the Pit that Yayoi had never been to before, and that fact told her exactly where she was. Sinokenon. The seventh level of the Pit, where the Necanthropes were. The level they had claimed for their own and that no one else came to. And yet the doors had opened, and Yayoi stood facing Sinokenon, feeling more frightened than she could ever recall. Necanthropes. They were members of the Ebon and the Brain Waster race, whose power over the Ebb had become so great that they underwent a change. Some were monsters, some were beautiful, and all were powerful and beyond the understanding of the likes of Yayoi. She did her best to avoid them. Any sensible person did. Now, she was in the area of the Pit that they owned. She was reaching for the controls, to press all the buttons, anything to get her out of there. A hand with a grip like steel closed about her wrist and pulled her from the elevator into Sinokenon. The Necanthrope that had grabbed her was tall and appeared a beautiful Ebon woman, but her arms and legs were oddly jointed, her mouth too broad and full of sharp, pointed teeth. "Dolly," she said with a voice like breaking ice. "I have found you." Yayoi felt herself quiver and shake, weak-kneed. The grip on her wrist. The words of the Necanthrope. The meaning of those words. So many things, but mainly for a terrible feeling that something was crushing her sense of self. "Pretty dolly," the Necanthrope said, her free hand gently playing with Yayoi's hair. The fingers danced, spider light, down Yayoi's face and across her body. "Dolly's been naughty," she said, her fingers stroking the air just in front of Yayoi's groin. "I'll have to punish you." She smiled, showing her sharp teeth once more. Yayoi wanted to scream, but she felt she was no longer in control of herself. Her limbs felt like wood, and her mind felt as if it was full of cotton. The sense of being compressed became stronger. It was as if everything she was was being forced into a smaller and smaller ball until it would collapse on itself, leaving nothing but a… dolly. She lost control, or it was taken away, and hot mush filled the back of her MoonieMan as she packed it with shit. Warm piss spread out in a mockery to mix with the mess. Just as it seemed that everything must shatter and she be destroyed, another sense enveloped her. The feeling of pressure on her ego was gone. It snapped back like a diver rising too fast to the surface. Her sense of self hit the boundaries that had existed before and bounced back. Like her brain rattling in her skull after a concussion. Nothing fit right, and there was the sense of extra bits that had not been there before. Something moved up behind the first Necanthrope; it looked like something out of a nightmare, with long, long legs and arms and too many eyes. It put a clawed hand on the first Necanthrope's shoulder, pulling it roughly back. The woman-shaped one turned on the newcomer, hissing loudly. The second one spoke in a deep voice. "Do not do this. It will be your destruction." "She's mine. I want her." "Then ask the Preceptor for her and see what he says," the second snapped. The first one cringed back, looked longingly at Yayoi for a moment, then fled. The second one turned its horrific countenance towards Yayoi. "Go," it said. Yayoi stumbled backwards through the suddenly open doors of the elevator. She bumped into the back of the car, the mess in her MoonieMan spreading out with the impact. The doors closed on the Necanthrope, and the elevator began to ascend. She stood there, pressed against the back of the wall, breathing heavily. When the doors opened on Stasis One, she stumbled out, almost falling. She pushed through the thick crowd, bouncing off people, at one point falling back and landing on her mucky bottom. She struggled to her feet and forced her way out, almost as if she was swimming towards the surface, desperately trying not to drown. Yayoi barely heard the people cursing her, the ones commenting on the stink coming from her. Her mind did not feel right; she did not feel right. Part of her wanted to sit down in her mess and cry. Wanted to wait for someone to come and help her. Somehow, she pushed that helplessness down and continued towards the club’s exit. She barely remembered to collect her weapons before she left. Had anyone been waiting outside of the Pit to kill her (it had happened before), she would have certainly died. Fortunately, luck was with her, and she was soon seated in the back of a taxicab, aware but not caring of the mess she sat in on her way home. She sat there, arms wrapped around herself, shivering. Her sense of self was still fractured; she was unsure who she was. Once, she found herself sucking her thumb. She pulled it from her mouth and forced her hands into her lap, each gripping the other tightly. The driver told her she would have to pay for any mess she left on the seat. She thought she told him that her MoonieMan would keep the mess contained, that it was the best bedwetting pant on the market. If she really did say that, she knew Anna would be proud. It was good to make the grown-ups proud? But she was a grown-up? She was, she knew it. Didn't she?

A rogue grammar checker in this case. Thanks for the feedback, fixed it. Glad you are enjoying it. Thank you. This sort of story is pretty rare in ABDL fiction as far as I've seen. I am glad you are enjoying it.

Chapter 7 A Dedicated Follower of Fashion They crowded around Yayoi, calling for her, pressing close about her. They were her fans, apparently, desperate to get close to her. She had just shut down a small Puppy Talk distribution centre, and news had gotten out. The Shivers were cleaning up the scene, bringing out the few prisoners and the lucky ex-slaves. The many dead within were going to have to wait for the coroners to come. Yayoi wanted to move away from the people fast, but she might have hurt someone if she did that. Some operatives were okay with doing such things, but it was not Yayoi's style. She put up with the people around her, and she signed the various things shoved towards her. She had mastered a few simple pictures to add to her autograph since so few people could read. A small boy patted her behind, obviously wanting to know if she was wearing a MoonieMan. Had it been an adult, she might have broken some bones. Instead, she smiled down at him, "Some ladies don't like that sort of thing, kiddo," she told him with a good-natured smile. “But you’re just a big baby,” he said with a cheeky smile. Before Yayoi could answer that, someone handed her a diaper to sign. She did so. A young woman, probably about nineteen, moved in front of Yayoi, pulling up her skirt to show the MoonieMan she wore. "I'm your biggest fan," she said to Yayoi. "I want to be just like you. Sign my security panties," she said happily. Security panties, Yayoi thought. She supposed that was what some people were calling them now. Careful not to let her professional smile fail her, she knelt down and signed the front of the MoonieMan. She then stood up and moved through the rest of the crowd quickly, safely, hopefully making it look like she was not ignoring them as she ignored them. As she neared her bike, a pair of Shivers moved forward to offer a little crowd control. Glad for the respite, she straddled her SCAF and drove away, waving once to the crowd behind her. Things were just becoming crazy. What was making people take such an interest in her? What she wore under her clothing? Some distance away, she let the bike roll to a stop and took the time to review her investigation notes. Puppy Talk would be hurting for a while, but Slap&Tickle and Delicacy would just move in to pick up the slack. She was going to have to come up with a way to damage them all at once. She needed to create holes that could not be filled. Far easier said than done, of course. Her focus on the notes was broken when her com beeped. After checking the identity, she answered it. “Yes, Anna?" “Hey Yayoi, caught you on Third Eye News. You’re looking good.” “I’m not sure I would say good.” “And that’s why you need me.” A Laugh. “Listen, I have some new, possible sponsors who want to meet you." "I'm not really interested," Yayoi said offhand. She had a lot of other things to think of. And for all she knew, it was that baby food company. "Don't be stupid," Anna chided with a tone a little less playful. "You have to be interested. That is just the way things are." "Anna, I don't want any more sponsors," Yayoi explained in an exasperated tone. “It’s already feeling a bit too much." "Listen here," Anna said, her tone taking on a harder edge. "You are an SLA Operative, which means protecting the World of Progress. There is a company that is part of the World of Progress that wants your help. You will give it." Yayoi winced slightly at the tone and the message. There was a threat, and it played on Yayoi’s underlying fears. Anna obviously knew that, and it felt unfair. "I understand," she said, unable to avoid the sulky tone in her voice. “Good. I'm sending you the address, be there in twenty minutes." Yayoi enjoyed the look of consternation on Anna's face. Since Anna had told her to show up in twenty minutes, Yayoi had done that. She presented herself dressed in armour that still had some blood splatters on it. "You could have taken the time to change or at least put your weapons elsewhere." "You said to hurry," Yayoi told her as she removed her helmet. Anna shook her head after a moment and might have muttered 'damn operatives'. The place where she had come was the main office of a place called Garion Fashions. “Garion Fashions? Aren’t they all sexy clothing and stuff? I mean, I would be okay with that.” “Dream on Yayoi. No sexy panties from GF for you.” Yayoi frowned at that and supposed that was Anna getting back at her for the armour and arms. "Come on then. Let's meet the clients.” Anna turned and walked towards the office building's secure entrance. Yayoi followed her, looking about the richly appointed lobby. The guards there took note of her, but she had her SLA Industries badge on display, so they let her pass. She knew they were watching her, however. Anna walked past the reception desk and made straight for the elevator. No one tried to stop them. The elevator doors opened as they approached, and Yayoi and Anna entered. There were no buttons or other controls in the elevator--an aesthetic popular in some places. It screamed, ‘It does not matter where you think you need to go; that’s a decision we’ll make for you.’ The elevator rose some unknown height before the doors opened, allowing them to enter a small, well-appointed reception area. A woman dressed in a smart, plumb-coloured, three-piece suit met them. "Miss Growlska, Miss Yamamoto, please come with me." She turned and led the two women into a nearby conference room. Inside the room were two men and two women. One of the men looked middle-aged, balding and a little fat; the other man was younger, with long red hair. The women were identical, tall, thin, with Asian features. The woman who had led them into the conference room Introduced herself. "I am Gwendolyn; I'm heading up a new youth line that GF is introducing.” The words ‘youth line’ set off a few alarms for Yayoi, and she suspected she would not like what she heard. "Please, have a seat, and I'll introduce you to the rest of our team." Anna walked over to the table and took a seat. Yayoi stood where she was for a moment before she followed Anna's lead. A pause while she worried about getting bloodstains on the chair before she sat. If they invite operatives to the place, they had better be ready to deal with bloodstains. Gwendolyn took a seat at the head of the table. "I'm glad you could come," she said to Yayoi. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr Karl Jung, from finance." She indicated the older man. "That is Mr Tood Rine, he is with marketing. Miss Yeefo and Miss Mio Chen are our designers." Anna and Yayoi politely acknowledged each of them. "I'll get right down to Business, Miss Yamamoto,” Gwendolyn said. “We plan on marketing a clothing line for children, from newborn to about eight, maybe a little older. It will be called Checkers and Patches, and we want to sponsor you." Yayoi said nothing for a moment, then asked, "And this would entail me wearing these clothes?" "Of course, what else?" Tood said. "You would work great with them. We figure we can get about thirty percent market penetration in the first year, with you acting as model and spokeswoman." "I'm not interested," Yayoi told them. Yayoi thought she had been more than fair in meeting with these people, and no one could fault her for saying no at this point. The people around the table looked a little surprised, perhaps a little uncomfortable at that. Anna rolled her eyes as if she had been expecting it. Gwendolyn was the first to speak. "We could be quite generous in this." "I'm sure you could, but I don't feel like dressing like a child," Yayoi stated flatly. Of course, some of her clothing already came from youth lines just because of her size, but she felt that what Gwendolyn was offering would be more infantile. "And the diapers you wear are not dressing in the fashion of a child?" Yeefo asked in an arch tone. Yayoi scowled. "That is that, and this is this." "To be truthful, I think the clothes we will design would suit you better," Mio said in a tone that matched her twin. "Your body is that of a child. By your own choice, as I understand." "And yet I am an adult, no matter how I might look. I like my clothing to remind everyone of that." Yayoi kept her tone even and hoped her anger was not showing through. "I'm sure that we can work something out," Anna said, obviously trying to get things back on track or maybe just to keep a fight from breaking out. "Hey, it's just clothes, right," Tood said. That earned him angry stares from Yayoi, Gwenfolyn, Yeefo and Mio. "I'm not going to parade around in rompers and short dresses just to make you a lot of money!" She stood up suddenly, knocking her chair over. "I'm getting tired of being turned into,” she paused and considered what she was trying to say, “this City's darling little girl. No more. Find someone else to play this game." She knew she was a little unfair to those people. It was not like they could understand her feelings. But she was being turned into something, and it was not what she wanted. Everyone was quiet, shocked, except for Anna, who looked bored. Yayoi wondered if she was not the first Operative to refuse a deal like this. And if so, why did she look bored? Gwendolyn was frowning as if she realized things would not go as she had hoped. From where he sat, Karl diffused the tension by snapping open his lighter and putting a flame to a Feel Good Cigarette. ”That's too bad," he drawled. Everyone turned to look at him, even Yayoi. He leaned back in his chair, the only person in the room who looked at ease. "Lot of people thought we had a winner here. Even Mr Slayer picked up ten percent of our stock when news got out that you were going to be helping us." "Mr Slayer?" Yayoi asked, her throat suddenly dry. "I'm sure he'll understand. It's just money, right?" Yayoi knew it was not just money and was reasonably sure Mr Slayer would not understand. He was not the understanding sort. She considered the possibility that Karl might be lying but decided that she did not want to take the chance. She picked up her seat, put it right, and sat down. She could not help but feel like a naughty girl having to pick things up after a tantrum. Yayoi wished she was wearing her helmet. "Tell me what you are planning." A little bit of herself hated that she asked that, and a little bit was relieved. Being angry and upset was tiring, constantly worrying that she might be making a mistake in not agreeing to something. The choice was taken out of her hands, she thought. Gwendolyn smiled graciously as she stood up. "Well, the fashions for the older children should fit you as they are. The toddler and baby clothing will, of course, have to be made custom to fit you." She looked at Anna. "Can we get space on her armour?" "No," Anna told them. Gwendolyn made a clicking sound with her tongue but nodded. "Okay. We give her a supply of clothes, all types. Anytime she is seen wearing them, and there is any sort of coverage on it, we pay her one hundred credits. If she mentions wearing them in interviews, we pay twenty-five credits." "Two hundred for public coverage.” Anna countered. “Major networks only. No piddly little mom-and-pop outfits.” “Agreed, but twenty-five credits for any of the top one hundred piddly little places.” "That is acceptable," Karl said before any further bargaining could take place. "This contract ends with all the others," Yayoi stated. "Yes, that is how we are doing things right now," Anna agreed. "That is a bit inconvenient," Tood said. "That is the way things are," Anna said. Yeefo and Mio had stood and walked to stand by Yayoi. "Come with us. We'll take some measurements, and you can try on some clothing," Mio told her. "You will look very pretty," Yeefo added. "We will make sure of it," both sisters said in unison. Yayoi got to her feet and followed after the two women. She felt like a doll that the women were going to play with. Behind her, Anna was working out the deal that would have Yayoi dressing in a very juvenile manner for the next two and a half months.
 Justine usually presented herself in a very professional manner. Frivolous was not a word Yayoi would use to describe her. However, it was apparent her assistant was having some difficulty maintaining that demeanour. Yayoi was wearing what she could only think of as an adorable set of bibbed, pink overalls with a kitten on the bib just for that extra little twist. The white blouse she wore was trimmed with delicate lace around the collar and the cuffs. Justine finally failed to hide her smile. "You look like a doll." Yayoi sighed heavily as she entered the apartment, followed by several men and women carrying garment bags, boxes, and other containers. They began to pile things up near the front door. "Careful with that," Yayoi told the man carrying the case that held her armour and weapons. "I take it that this is all clothing?" Justine was looking at the growing pile. “Yes." Yayoi nodded. "Most of it not quite as bad as this," she said, indicating the outfit she wore, brushing her fingers along the inside of the legs to show the snaps there. "Some of it worse." "I suppose this is why you have a magazine shoot tomorrow?” Yayoi dropped onto the new couch. "Two crazy women are going to dress me up like a baby for a six-page article on the launch of Garion Fashion's Checker and Patches line." The delivery people finished their work and left. Yayoi and Justine were alone in the apartment. Justine locked the door behind them so Yayoi did not have to get up. "It does make sense.” Justine sat beside Yayoi and reached up to straighten the bow in the smaller woman's hair. "You are a good model for this sort of thing." "That's what they said." Justine brushed her fingers across the shoulder strap of the coveralls. "Is this Animattire?" she asked, sounding as if she did not quite believe it. Yayoi nodded. "Checkers and Patches clothing line is to feature extensive use of Animattire. That amazing, living cloth that will not get dirty and will repair itself.” She was quoting verbatim from the meeting earlier that day. "It will grow a bit, so your children do not outgrow things too fast." Justine leaned in close to Yayoi. "It smells like talcum powder." "A proper scent for little girls," Yayoi said, doing what she thought was a passable imitation of Yeefo. "Almost all Checker and Patches clothing will smell like talc, to a greater or lesser extent. Of course, the boys get it to a lesser extent." "That's too bad. As I recall from my girlhood, most boys need it more." Yayoi laughed at that, finally smiling. "I suppose you're right." "So, are you staying in?" Justine asked her attention seemingly on the outfit's leg snaps. It was like she wanted to test them out. "No. I have to get back out and check on some leads." "I'll help you get undressed," Justine said. Yayoi sighed and nodded. "I thought you would.” She had grown used to Justine helping her with everything a small child might need help with. Dressing, toileting, bathing and eating. Maybe she even liked some of it, just a little. It was nice to be fussed over every now and then. And Justine treated her like a person, albeit a very young one, instead of like an object, as Yeefo and Mio had. Once the clothing was off and the pull-up declared still dry, Justine left Yayoi on her own to get into her armour and weapons. Someone at Garion Fashions had cleaned the blood splatters off the Silverback. Yayoi ran the diagnostics and examined the surface for any damage. Once she was satisfied, she suited up. From her weapon’s vault, she took enough ammunition to reload all her weapons and magazines. With every round she clicked into place, Yayoi quietly cursed the bullet tax. The sponsorship money helped a lot, but she still resented the extra cost. “Yayoi, can I see you for a moment?” Justine called as Yayoi was leaving. “What is it?” Yayoi asked. Justine’s room was sparsely furnished, with prefab, flatpack furniture. There was little there that provided a clue to the woman’s personality. Yayoi was not really surprised. This was a temporary position for Justine. No reason for her to decorate the room to her taste. Justine was sitting at her plain desk, working on her computer. She looked over at Yayoi. “You got some messages today.” Yayoi nodded. “Different from what I usually get?” “Yes. These were SLC-locked. And they are all months old.” Yayoi was, of course, interested. “What? What came in?” She walked into Justine’s room. “Messages from a ‘rank redacted’ Trance.” “Theo?” Yayoi crossed the room in a single power armour-assisted stride, tearing the carpet as she did so. She looked at the screen. Justine shifted to the side. “What happened was that these messages were SLC locked higher than you had permission for. And the messages that told you that you did not have permission to see those messages were also SLC locked above your level.” “Wait? My SLC was too low for me to see messages telling me that my SLC was too low for me to see the other messages.” “Yes, but you got that big bump recently, and all of them arrived all together.” Yayoi looked at the message headers, but she asked, “How can you see these?” “My SLC is higher than yours.” “What? Why?” “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” Yayoi was not sure if she liked the idea of Justine 'rocking her cradle' but did not overthink it. She told herself she was not jealous that Justine's SLC was higher. Instead, she read the messages. There were twenty-two of them. Eleven told her she had received a message that she did not have the SLC to see, and eleven were the actual messages. Justine let Yayoi have her chair (it creaked under her armoured weight and load out), and Yayoi looked at the messages. “So, who is Theo Trance?” Justine asked, standing just behind Yayoi. “Old boyfriend,” only boyfriend, “been fighting on the war worlds forever. I haven’t heard from him," she paused, "until now. And an old postcard.” “Postcard?” Yayoi found all the messages had been heavily redacted. So much so that all eleven were basically the same. They all said, ‘Fighting is REDACTED’, ‘Everything is fine', ‘I miss you’. She could not tell where they came from, and even the dates were redacted. Only the last message was slightly different with a ‘REDCATED might see you’. He might see her? When? How? Did that mean he was coming back to Mort? Or would he be able to arrange some kind of video call? “Fuck, Theo, after all this time.” Yayoi’s phone chimed with an alarm. She was already late. She looked up at Justine. “Is there any way I can reply to these?” Justine shook her head. “Not at your SLC. Whoever Theo Trance is, he is involved in some deep stuff.” Yayoi looked at the messages once more. Her phone chimed impatiently. “Damnit,” Yayoi jumped from the chair, which protested. “I would love it if we could see more of the redacted details, as long as it is legal.” “I’ll look into it,” Justine told her. “Thanks,” Yayoi said and nearly ran from the apartment. She did not need her mind full of questions about Theo, not now. Right now, she needed to be thinking about how she was going to shut down the Skin Trade.

Chapter 6 Maid of Bond Street Time, as it often did on Mort, passed, often with fear and violence. Yayoi’s popularity increased, and the Skin Trade's numbers were down… a little. Young girls were not being grabbed as often for fear that they might end up being Yayoi. Still, young boys were helping to make up those numbers. The Skin Trade was fighting back and hanging on like some tenacious stain. G&P was experiencing positive growth in their diaper divisions. Many parents had decided to keep their young children in diapers, figuring that if it was good enough for an operative like Yayoi, it was good enough for their kids. And not that anyone would say it, it kept them from taking the time to potty train their kids. More time to watch TV and stay intoxicated. And G&P was even more pleased that a new market had opened for diapers and pull-ons. Girls from about nine to sixteen had started wearing them. It had become fashionable. A few other demographics opened up, but none in such numbers as the aforementioned. Yayoi felt like her fan base was increasing daily; at least, that was the impression Anna gave her. And there was a lot of contact from fans, often in short video clips, because few people could write. Children in diapers identified with her in a way they did not with other operatives. Being treated like she was just another toddler by a toddler was embarrassing when it happened. According to many, it was ‘cute as anything’, and G&P loved it when it was captured on camera. Then there were her older female fans. Yayoi figured that two out of ten women had their maternal instincts fired up by her. Some of them would dearly love to care for her. Whether in video clips or in person, they made it clear they wanted to check and change her. Many adult male fans looked at her like a faux-forbidden sex object. It was creepy and worrisome as Yayoi wondered if they would become customers of the Skin Trade. She hoped Station Analysis was keeping a watch on those people. Beyond the fans were many other bits of weirdness. A new cartoon was showing up on the Vids: The Adventures of Yayoi. Pure tripe really, and not anyway true to life. In the cartoon, Yayoi was a little girl who had the power to transform into an adult who could fight against the enemies of SLA. Yayoi was disgusted by it. A child in an adult's body? And a very sexy adult body as well. That was the sort of crap she was trying to fight against. There was not much she could do about it. Anna had sprung that contract on her as a bit of a surprise. At least she could ensure there would be no second season. And amid all of that, other changes were happening. The biggest one was that she was moving. Not that she wanted to move. But as much as she had argued against it, forces greater than she had rolled forward. "You have to move," Anna told her for the umpteenth time. "This place is all wrong for you now." "I like this place," Yayoi replied, slightly peeved, as men from the moving company continued to pack up her life in plastic boxes. "Your new place has two bedrooms, a proper living room, a full bath, a kitchen, a better location, and great security. And you are getting it quite cheap. A little gift from G&P." "I have no need for all that," Yayoi told her. She did not want to move, especially without it being her choice. "Well, that's the thing. You sort of do need that." Anna actually looked a little embarrassed. "What do you mean?" Yayoi demanded, sure that she would not be happy with whatever Anna was about to say. Anna drew Yayoi off into a corner where they could have a little privacy. "Do you remember when I told you I'd hire you an assistant, someone to handle the fan contact and stuff like that?" "Yes?" Yayoi said, wondering where it was going. "Well, I went to Fridays Staffing; you know, they provide specialist assistants, all around Girl Fridays as they call them?” Yayoi did not know, but the name sounded familiar, so she nodded. "I made a deal with them. Fridays puts one of their people at your disposal, you mention them in some of those upcoming interviews you are doing, they put their logo on all replies they send out for your correspondence, that kind of thing." "Sounds fair. So what is the problem?" "Well, Fridays will provide any sort of assistance. You need a maid who can kill, take care of your plants, drive your car, clean your guns and fuck you when you are feeling horny? They can do that. Any skill set, they swear they can give it to you, perfect assistants." "What does this have to do with this assistant they are sending to help me?" "Your assistant is also going to be," Anna paused, "your nanny." "Excuse me?" she asked disbelievingly. "That was my take on it when they told me. The bastards got that one by me. You have to respect them, though." "What do you mean?!" she hissed. "Well, just a secretary is nothing. Who is going to pay attention to that? But a nanny," she paused, "that is something that will make people sit up and take notice. I wish I had thought of it. I would have gotten a lot more out of them." She shook her head. "I hate being outmanoeuvred like that." "No," Yayoi said. "I do not want someone living with me," she paused, shook her head, and whispered, "taking care of me like I really am a child. I don't need it, and I don't want it." "We already signed the contract, remember?" "Break it!" Anna actually looked shocked at that. "We can't break a contract. It is immoral, and more importantly, they'd sue us." "I don't care." Yayoi turned as if to walk away. Anna grabbed Yayoi's shoulder and pulled her about to face her. Anna probably knew that she was taking a chance. Operatives were not often the most stable bunch, and more than one agent had ended up dead at the hands of their meal ticket. It appeared sometimes, they had to take a chance if they wanted to big creds. Yayoi stared at Anna, not sure what to do. Punching the agent full in the face seemed a good place to start. Then, once Anna was on the floor, switching to kicks. She decided to hold off on that for the moment. Just in case, Anna had a good reason for wanting a beating. "You get sued, you lose. They will end up owning you. It is that simple. This contract, like all the others, ends in three months. Then we make the deals you want." The moment of anger was gone. First surprised out of her when Anna grabbed her. And then kept at bay by cold facts. Yayoi wanted to challenge what Anna said, but the words would not come. She knew it was true. In SLA Industries, contracts were near holy in the respect in which they were held. For an operative, breaking one was usually a bad idea. She told herself three months was not very long, though she thought it might be the longest three months she would know. "You are right," Yayoi said. "I don't like it, but you are right." "Good. That is talking sense. Now, you are going to have a live-in servant, which means you'll need the extra room, so we might as well go to your new apartment." Yayoi sighed loudly and nodded. "Fine, lead the way."
 The new apartment was farther up in Uptown, closer to Mort Central, and therefore more expensive. It was not the kind of place that Yayoi would have chosen on her own; the building, tenants, employees, and apartment itself were a little too ostentatious for her tastes. Along with all the rooms Anna had mentioned, it also had a glass balcony full of plants. That was a luxury and a step up from the tiny garden box she had in the old apartment. Yayoi stayed out of the way as the movers efficiently carried the boxes in. The strange men and women entering and leaving the new apartment made her uneasy. It was a security risk. The company was bonded, each mover wore an ID, and armed guards were on watch. It should be safe, but Yayoi was not about to get complacent. Each box had been labelled with its location when packed. The movers placed them in the same kind of room they had come out of. In the larger apartment, her possessions seemed to be few. The couriers specializing in moving weapons arrived right before the movers were done, carrying the secure cases that held Yayoi’s weapons, armour, and other valuable gear. Soon, everyone left, and only Yayoi and Anna remained. As Yayoi locked the door, Anna opened the sliding doors to the balcony and stepped out. "It is a crappy view," she said. "Still, it is a view." Yayoi took a small knife from her pocket and cut open the seal tape on one of the boxes as she unpacked. As everything was already sorted into rooms, it took Yayoi only a short time to get things in place. Most everything was simply transferred from box to drawer or shelf. She had to think about where to place a few things, mementoes and the like. Anna had come off the balcony and dropped down on the couch. In the old apartment, the furniture had 'fit'. Now, that couch seemed too small and too dingy for the room. Yayoi completed about half of her unpacking, breaking down the plastic boxes and piling them by the door as she went. "I want to go out," Yayoi said, grown tired of unpacking. She still had some to do but wanted a break. "You can't go out; you need to meet your new assistant." "I don't need to." "Honestly, Yayoi, stop acting like a baby." Yayoi made a rude noise. "You and this assistant will live and work together for three months. Get along with them." Yayoi did not answer but went into her room and opened the courier boxes to get at her weapons. Not long afterwards, the security buzzer sounded. When Yayoi exited the room, she saw Anna taking the phone by the door. After a few words, Anna pressed a button to buzz the visitor in. "That's her," Anna said. "I guessed," Yayoi told her tartly. A minute or so later, there was a knock at the door. Anna checked the monitor and opened the door, letting in a young woman. The woman looked like she could be in her young twenties. But as Yayoi’s appearance proved, apparent age meant little on Mort (if you had money). The young woman wore her blonde hair cut in a bob, and her eyes were a light brown. She was dressed sensibly in slacks, a blouse, and a raincoat. She left her shoes by the door and walked over to Yayoi. "Miss Yamamoto, I am Justine LaVeau from Fridays Staffing." "So I guessed," Yayoi told her, looking the woman over. She seemed pleasant enough. "I am to be your personal assistant and your nanny." "I have been told," Yayoi said, shooting an angry look at Anna. "Good. Let's get some things clear." "What?" Yayoi was a little surprised by the tone of Justine’s voice. "I am aware that you are a trained and very competent operative. In fact, I'm sure you could kill me without a problem if you so chose." Yayoi did not say anything to that. Doing violence to the woman had never really occurred to her. “Trust me,” Justine continued, “I understand that, and when you leave this apartment, of course, you are completely in charge, but when you are inside of it, I am the authority figure." "It is my apartment," Yayoi told her, a slight edge to her tone. "Actually, it is not. It is being rented to you by the Department of Housing, as all housing is. Furthermore, G&P covers ninety percent of the cost. You can't really say that it is your apartment, strictly speaking." Yayoi was surprised by such an answer and could say nothing to it except, "I suppose." "We are in a child-caregiver relationship, and you are the child. There can only be one authority figure in such an arrangement, which will be me. You do understand that, correct?" Yayoi had to really think about it before she could answer. "Yes, I do." Answering that way embarrassed her and made her angry in equal parts. "Do you understand that in three months, this is over?" "Of course," Justine said, nodding. "Until that time, I plan to do my job as well as I am able. Both as your assistant and as your nanny." Yayoi relaxed slightly at that answer. She had worried that Justine was one of those people who might take enjoyment in embarrassing and belittling her. That it was just a job to Justine made Yayoi feel better about it all. Well, a little better. She still did not like it but would have to accept it for a while. "Well, I think I'll be going," Anna said as she opened the door. It looked like the agent was making her escape. "Take care, Yayoi, see you tomorrow.” She closed the door behind her. "Do you have any luggage?" Yayoi asked Justine. She was trying to act like a good host, polite and mature. "You need not worry about that. It will be delivered soon. Are you planning on going out soon?" Yayoi had told Anna she wanted to, but she just wanted to avoid this meeting. And as that was no longer the case, she answered, "Well, no, not really. I was just going to finish unpacking. And there is some research I want to do." "Well, we better get you into a diaper then." "Excuse me?" Yayoi asked. "As your assistant and nanny, I have made myself familiar with your contact with G&P. As you are in your apartment for the night, you must wear one of the Cummfie diapers." "Well, yes, that is true, but..” Yayoi had worn the diapers, but usually just before bed. "You signed a contract, Miss Yamamoto. If you are not currently wearing your diapers, you are in violation of that contract. As your assistant, I do not want you to jeopardize that contract. As your nanny, I need to have my diaper-wearing charge in her diapers." "But..." "There are no buts. You will wear your diapers." Justine looked down at Yayoi, unflinching. Yayoi sighed, having to admit defeat. "You're right." "Yes. I am." She took Yayoi's hand and started to lead her towards the bedroom. "Let's get you into your diapers." "I can take care of that myself," Yayoi protested weakly. She could have easily broken the hold Justine had on her. She would not even have had to hurt her to do it. However, Justine was so matter-of-fact about it, and Yayoi could not argue against the woman who was her new nanny. "I'm sure you can, but it is part of my job, so I'll do it." Yayoi allowed Justine to lead her into the bedroom and sit her on the bed. She did not feel she could protest, and when fighting was not possible, often retreat was the only option. However, she could not run away from her home (which the new apartment was until the Department of Housing said otherwise). Resigning herself to it, Yayoi said, "All the diapers and stuff are in those boxes over there." "Thank you," Justine said. In a matter of moments, she had everything she needed and returned to the bed. Justine put the supplies down and then quickly removed Yayoi's pants. She placed the clothes aside before pulling the MoonieMan off Yayoi in one quick, practised movement. She tossed the absorbent undergarment into a trashcan. "Lay back and lift your hips," Justine instructed. Yayoi did so, cheeks hot, and Justine slipped the diaper under her bottom. A little skin cream, a little powder, and then Justine taped the diaper snugly around Yayoi. "There we go," she said before stepping away from Yayoi to look through some of the other boxes. Yayoi found herself impressed at how quickly Justine had gotten her diapered. A little embarrassed, she said. ”You did that so well. I’ve never been able to get diapers on quite right.” Not looking back, Justine told her, ”I am a Fridays Staffing Nanny. I could diaper a Stormer if it were required." Yayoi laughed at the image of Justine diapering one of the monstrous, biogenic soldiers. Justine had found what she was looking for and pulled some clothing out of a box. She turned back to Yayoi. "At Fridays, we strive to meet any reasonable need, and for enough money, the unreasonable can become reasonable." She was holding a pair of walking shorts in her hand. "Step into these, please." She held the shorts out. Yayoi did as requested, and the shorts quickly slid up Yayoi's legs and over the diaper. "All done," Justine said as she buttoned them. "Thank you," Yayoi said. What else was she going to say? The woman had just diapered her. It set the power dynamic. "Is there anything else you need?" Justine stood by the door, looking calm and professional. Yayoi stood by her bed in shorts, poofed out by the diaper under them. She shook her head. "No, I'm just going to finish the unpacking." Justine nodded. "I expect my things will arrive soon, so I'll also be unpacking. If you'll excuse me, I am going to take a look at your correspondence and get to work on answering it." She left the room. Yayoi stood there for a moment. The woman was probably not going to be so bad. It was a little weird to have a nanny as only small children had nannies. She was not a child but an adult who sometimes played a role. But maybe you could not play a role without becoming it? No, she thought and put that thought from her head with a shake. Yayoi turned her attention to unpacking, focusing on where things had to go on objects place in the world and not her own. Her bedroom had a weapons vault. An armoured door next to the closet led into a small room where some shelves were already filled with more gifts from G&P. Yayoi filled more shelves and racks as she opened up the security boxes to remove her own weapons and her armour. She placed everything with care, taking advantage of the extra space to sort things in a manner of her pleasing. During that task, she heard the door buzzer and Justine talking to someone. A muffled conversation she could not understand. Yayoi supposed her nanny's stuff had arrived. Thinking of Justine as her nanny, not her assistant? "I'm not a little girl," Yayoi said as she took her Fen 603 and slapped a loaded magazine into it. The pistol slipped into the back of her shorts, between the cloth and the padding of her diaper. She crossed her room, cat-like quiet, and locked her door. Sure, it was probably just the delivery people coming with Justine's stuff, but an intelligent operative did not take chances. The vault was tied into the apartment's security system. From within, Yayoi could access cameras, security shutters, and locks. She supposed it meant the vault could function as something of a panic room. Yayoi flipped between cameras, watching the progress of the delivery people. As she continued to unpack her weapons, she saw the movers carry in several boxes and a few pieces of furniture. They staged it, first to the lobby, then to the elevator, then to Yayoi’s floor, placing them outside the door. All was done to ensure nothing was left unwatched on the sticky finger streets, Mort. When the delivery people asked Justine to open the apartment door, Yayoi was ready for violence. If things went sour, she would lock the vault door and put on her armour. However, the men and women in delivery uniforms came in and placed everything just inside the door and then had Justine confirm the delivery. As they left and she watched Justine lock the door, Yayoi almost felt silly for her paranoia. Almost. Yayoi had gotten the weapons vault laid out like she wanted and was looking at the empty spaces on the shelves, wondering what to fill them with, when she heard the rattle of her doorknob. Justine was trying to enter, turning the locked knob and getting nowhere. A knock on the door. "Yayoi, are you hungry?” “Hungry?” Yayoi called as she exited the vault. “I am going to make you dinner.” Someone was going to make her dinner? That was new. She locked the vault and opened the room door. “I could eat.” “Is there anything you’d like?” “I’m okay with anything.” “That’s good. No one likes a picky eater.” Yayoi felt embarrassment and maybe a touch of pride at the implied compliment. It was a confusing mix of emotions. She turned back to her room, thinking about what to unpack next. “What’s that in the back of your pants?” Justine asked. Yayoi turned her head to look at Justine. “What?” “There’s a bulge there. It does not smell like you had an accident. Is it a weapon?” It was embarrassing that someone would consider a bulge in her pants to be signs that she had pooped her diaper. “It’s a gun,” she said quickly, suddenly desperate to reclaim something. "You don't need to be armed around me." "I just prefer to be armed when someone else is around." Justine nodded. "No worse than a security blanket, I suppose." Yayoi felt a little insulted that her pistol was being likened to an anxious child's blankie or stuffie. "One thing," Justine continued. "What?" "I would prefer that you do not lock your door." "Why?" Yayoi asked, feeling a little suspicious. "You don't get to lock your nanny out." "I'm not really a child. You can knock." "I suppose," Justine said and then left, closing the door behind her. After a moment, Yayoi locked the door, feeling she needed to make a point. Something in Justine's tone made Yayoi think there was unsaid 'for now' in that 'I suppose'. Yayoi returned to unpacking, turning her attention to clothing next. She looked at the pile of panties, none of which she had worn in some time, and was struck by the uncomfortable thought she should just throw them away. "No," she said softly and made a point of packing all the undergarments neatly into a drawer. She was confident she would be wearing her big girl panties again. And there was nothing wrong with thinking of them as 'big girl panties', she told herself. Soon after she finished arranging her lingerie drawer, Justine called out that the dinner was ready. Yayoi left her bedroom and entered the kitchen with a bit of trepidation. Yayoi was glad to note the lack of baby bottles and high chairs. She would not have put it past Justine. Justine put a plate in front of Yayoi, everything on it already cut up and then tied a bib around Yayoi's neck. "I really do not need this," Yayoi said but did not try to stop Justine, knowing the woman would bring up the contract again. "I don't like taking chances with my charges." Yayoi frowned slightly but put up with it The plus side of it was that Justine could cook. The vat-grown meat was prepared in such a way that almost hid the chemical aftertaste. The far-from-fresh vegetables were delicious, minced and stir-fried with various seasonings. The excellent food and that Justine did not try to spoon-feed her would make it easier to put with the nanny. She was almost done eating when Justine got up from the table. She returned with several small jars, which she put in front of Yayoi. "What is this?" Yayoi asked. "Baby food." "Pardon?" "Miss Growlska sent me a message. The Yummy Tummy Baby Food company wants to talk sponsorship deals. She wants to see if you are willing to eat this." Yayoi looked at the clear jars filled with strangely coloured paste. "I'd rather not." "We all have to do things we don't want." Yayoi grumbled but opened each jar and ate a few spoonfuls of each. “It all tastes bad," Yayoi said around a mouthful of something red, "it has a gross texture, and I just want to spit it out." "I will tell Miss Growlska," Justine said as she took a damp cloth and wiped Yayoi's mouth and chin, not that Yayoi needed it. Well, maybe some of the gross baby food had not stayed in her mouth. Who could blame her? The meal finished; Justine put the dishes into the washer and wiped the table clean. She removed Yayoi's bib. When Yayoi stood up from the table, Justine asked, "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" "I don't need your help with that!" Yayoi protested. "If a person in my care wears diapers, I assist them in the bathroom, just in case. That is my policy." "I'd like you to make an exception this time." She shook her head. "I don't make exceptions. Why should it matter? I've seen all there is to see." "It is a private thing," Yayoi felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'd be embarrassed." "Don't be silly," Justine said as she took Yayoi's hand. "There is no need for you to be embarrassed. It is just a natural thing," she explained as she tugged Yayoi towards the bathroom. Yayoi was thinking about how to protest when they entered the bathroom. Her arguments died on her lips because of what she saw. It was not a big bathroom, but it was the first one she had been in that had an actual bathtub, and it was very well-appointed. Justine did not seem surprised by the luxury and quickly unbuttoned Yayoi's shorts, letting them drop around her ankles. Yayoi was suddenly brought back to the present. "I can take care of this myself," she said. The last try. "I know. But I won't let you." Justine ripped the tabs away from the plastic and pulled the diaper away. Yayoi almost grabbed it but realized that trying to keep her diaper on was... As she was trying to work out what it was, Justine gently pushed Yayoi down to sit on the toilet. Justine turned her back to give Yayoi a little privacy, gathered up the used (not used, Yayoi thought, but worn) diaper, and tossed it into a trashcan. She left then, so Yayoi was alone in the bathroom. Taking advantage of that, Yayoi took care of her business. Justine returned just at the end, an armload of diapers with her. She put them into a closet by the door, then returned to Yayoi's side. "Let's clean you up," Justine said, pressing the button that activated the bidet. A warm jet of water sprayed up, cleaning the area between Yayoi's legs and bottom. Justine had Yayoi stand up and finished cleaning her off with a baby wipe. Yayoi blushed at the treatment. Another diaper was soon wrapped around Yayoi, and the shorts once more on. Justine lightly patted her padded bottom. "Go and do what you need to. I have gotten a good start on your correspondence, but there is still much to do. If you need to go to the bathroom again or need a change, let me know.” Yayoi nodded and did not say that she would not need a change. She was glad that Justine would be doing the assistant part of her job and not being her nanny, if at least for a short time. The next day, Justine sent Yayoi out of the house, freshly bathed and with a clean MoonieMan under her armour. As Yayoi climbed onto her bike, she put her nanny from her mind. She had some hunting to do and some new weapons to try out.

Chapter 5 I Come Prepared It always rained on Mort, but there were times when the rain came down hard enough that even those inured to the incessant precipitation noted it. It was a rain so hard it washed the streets of uptown clean, rushing through Suburbia and into Downtown. In Downtown, it was flooding out parts of the city, vast waves of water crashing through lower sections, washing away anything loose. That included the people. The water took it all out into the Cannibal sectors. Not a pleasant fate. Yayoi clung to a rusty railing, tucked against it, listening to the roar of water below her. She scanned the dark corners as she searched for her target. There was a Carrien about. One of the mutated creatures that roved the Cannibal sectors. Most were unintelligent monsters, possessing a pack mentality and a broad streak of viciousness. Lately, though, a more intelligent breed had been rising up in the places outside of Mort. Yayoi had heard that some had even joined SLA industries. That might be true, but it had nothing to do with the beast she was hunting. It was working for Slap&Tickle, and it was trying to kill her. She shifted about carefully, not trusting the rusted metal walkway to hold her weight if she made any sudden movements. The helmet of her Silverback armour contained a fully loaded sensor suite: IR, Low Light, UV, Sonar, and a lidar array. It should have given her the advantage, but the range was limited, and there was a lot of noise around her. That created blind spots in the sensor sweep her regular vision needed to fill. The flood was abating as the rain slowed and overtaxed pumping stations began diverting water. Yayoi dropped from the rusty metal walkway. Her turbine spun up to slow her fall, and Yayoi splashed down into knee-deep water, cold and dirty. It was an attention-drawing move… which was the point. If she could not find her monster, she would bring the beast to her. Her MAC knife slid smooth from its sheath at the small of her back. She crept forward, looking about the darkened corners, searching for her prey. There was some noise above her, people whose apartments were out of the floodwaters. People watching TV were unaware of what was happening beneath their feet, under their asses. A face-down body floated by, just another unlucky soul in a city where death was familiar enough. She stopped and watched him drift by, her attention apparently on the corpse. That was when the attack came, as she had suspected it might. A sonar pulse pinged the Carrien's approach, letting her know it was creeping up behind her. She played dumb to that fact, waiting until it sprung. Then she spun about and dropped under its attack, raising her blade simultaneously to slash it across its ribs. It was fast, though, and managed to lash out at her, catching her with a blow that sent her sprawling back into the water. The water rushed over her, and she was submerged and dazed. Then, before she could surface, something landed on her. Strong, skeletal fingers found her throat and began to squeeze. Yayoi thrashed under the water, terrified for a moment, not thinking. She desperately tried to throw the thing from her, but she had no leverage, while it had plenty. She could feel the pressure on her throat growing as the armour began to fail. There was something in her hand, the hilt of the knife. She had forgotten it in the panic. She was acting like an amateur. At least she had not let go of it. She lashed out with it, slashing and cutting until the fingers locked around her throat released their punishing grip. She shot up, breaking the surface, dirty water streaming from her armour. Not far away, the Carrien stood, cut up but not out of the fight. It had just retreated to regroup and reassess the situation. Yayoi was doing the same, and she did not like how things might turn out. It was big, fast and deadly strong. It was not an easy fight if she played its game. That she had no intention of doing. She released her hold on her knife and went for one of her pistols. The Carrien sprung at her at that moment, as she had hoped. She aborted her attempt for the gun, instead kicking the knife up before it hit the water. She turned to her left, snatching the blade from the air, and laid the blade's edge along the Carrien's throat, cutting deep. Not taking a chance that the wound was fatal, she continued her spin, leaping high, landing on the things back and riding it down into the water. As they fell, Yayoi was stabbing her blade into the thing’s back, trying to sever its spine and seeking organs. They hit the water, and the Carrien was the one forced under by her weight. She stabbed it several more times, still thinking it struggling, then shifted her grip to its head. She pulled back the knife and cut down into the bloody water three times. When she stood, she held the Carrien's head in her hands. Its body was pulled along by the receding water, only to be caught in the doorway of a building. That was when she became aware of the lights and the noise. An aerodyne with Third Eye News logos was descending, the powerful spotlight trained on her as well as cameras. The aircraft hovered above the water, throwing what remained into small waves. A reporter jumped out and splashed towards her. So pumped on adrenaline and fear as she was, Yayoi almost kicked him. As it was, she managed to control herself. "Yayoi, Yayoi!" he called out as he approached. "We saw it all. Tell me, why were you after that Carrien," he demanded, sticking his microphone at her helmet. He came close to getting a knife in his gut for his troubles. "It was working for Slap&Tickle," she said in a voice calmer than expected. Suddenly, the helmet she wore seemed too tight. She pulled it off, wanting to breathe, as bad as the air might be. Of course, that would look good for the cameras, but she did not care. "He was sent to kill me," she explained once her helmet was off. "I guess he failed." She was not trying to be funny, but that was how it would play. The reported nodded and said, "I guess those diapers you are wearing got put to use," he joked. "MoonieMan pants," she corrected, "and probably," Yayoi agreed, having no idea whether it was true or not, just that it was the thing to say. Anna often said the prospect of money made her 'juices flow'. It was not true; the pleasure she received from cash was not at all sexual. Still, she liked saying it. Things like, 'Those figures make my panties damp.' Had it been true, she might need to wear MoonieMan bedwetting pants herself. Yayoi was pure gold. There was no other way to describe her. She watched again as Yayoi cut the head of the Carrien off, holding it up as the torso floated off. And not just any Advanced Carrien, but one with a name and a reputation: Grussle Prindost. Stupid name, of course, but what could one expect from a Carrien, advanced or otherwise? Mr Prindost had a substantial bounty on his malformed skull and a lot of big names on his tail. That Yayoi took him down, and in such an image-friendly manner, was another plus for the girl. She had even got a call from G&P, asking if Yayoi might immediately sign an extended contract, though the original one was still five months from expiring. She had said no, of course. Let them sweat and worry that Yayoi might sign with some other company. When the contract was up, they would pay big to keep Yayoi. Anna laughed at the thought as she stood from her desk. That little girl would make many people rich, and most importantly, that included Anna herself.
 Yayoi left her armour in a jumble by her weapon safe. Exhausted, she could not be assed to put it away properly, not when she would have to take it to the shop. The reinforced neck seal would probably need to be replaced, and the water had fouled the turbines. She peeled off her bedwetting pants and noted the large, yellow stain in the padding. It looked as if she had indeed made use of them. It had been frightening. Yayoi tossed the soiled garment into the waste can on her way to the shower. She was not particularly bothered by the loss of bladder control. That sometimes happens when one gets scared. And at least she did not have the get the smell of piss out of her armour. Just like she had told the reporters weeks ago. After the shower, she sat on her bed, a towel wrapped around her, a Feelgood cigarette burning between her lips. She did not smoke too many of them, but at that moment, a little anti-depressant was what the ad execs ordered. She finally stubbed the half-smoked cigarette out in an ashtray by her bed. She stood up, letting the towel fall from her body, and walked to the packages of MonnieMans that spilt from her closet amongst the Cummfie diapers. A pair of fresh MoonieMans was soon wrapped around her hips and bottom. The padding pressed deliciously against her. She looked through the closets and found a short, knit, black dress in the back. She put it on, pulling it over her head and down her body. She looked good in it, always had. Of course, it showed--slightly--her padded bottom. It did not ruin the lines of the dress; it was the sort of thing she was being paid for. She posed in front of the mirror and blew herself a kiss. Cute and deadly, she thought with a smile. A dream that would become a nightmare for the Skin Trade, she liked to think. From her weapon safe, Yayoi removed a shoulder holster from a pile of odds and ends and slipped it on. A BLA710M, a new weapon, a gift from G&P, went into the holster. A beat-up leather jacket completed the night's outfit. She left the apartment, stopping to pull on ankle boots. It was out into the rain, looking for fun and maybe some trouble.

Chapter 4 Temptation Waits Yayoi was lying on her couch, eyes closed, not asleep. Her fight earlier that day had taken a lot out of her. Sure, she had pumped herself up with Kick-Start Solo, and all the wounds had healed, but she felt exhausted. She had not expected to have to deal with a Shaktar. Had not expected to have to fight at all. Everything had just fallen into place, and she had the choice of going after them or letting them go. And letting DarkNight go without a fight was never an option. Not for a loyal SLA Operative. It was lucky that the backup had shown, though she had not called for it. Then, there was Third Eye News' presence. Yayoi had called in the Shivers requesting help, but Third Eye had arrived before the Shivers. It was a little depressing, not that she would say that out loud. Third Eye’s rapid response left her wondering if that Growlska woman had something to do with it. Had she looked up the details of Yayoi’s job and made some calls? It was a little concerning. Yayoi disliked being in the spotlight; it made her worry. Anna had said it would only help, but Yayoi did not believe it. She worried that she would have to deal with a change, however. Not long after the fight ended, people started reaching out to her. People with enough pull to get her contact information. People asking her if she had considered sponsorship deals and if she was willing to give a media interview. Those kinds of calls were not entirely novel; there had been times when she had received three or four calls after appearing in some Third Eye News story. But she had never received so many. And they had never kept coming. She had shut off her phone, which she usually never did. Maybe she did need an agent? Some kind of representation who would handle these things so she could focus on her investigation. She sat up when someone rang her door chime. The security monitor showed Anna Growlska standing outside her door, looking up at the camera with a big smile. Yayoi debated pretending she was not at home or that she was asleep. Since their earlier meeting, Yayoi had looked into the woman's history. She was a well-regarded media agent, SCL 6. One did not get that high by being bad at their job. Or by not having friends and contacts in high places. After picking up a pistol (it was Mort), Yayoi unlocked and opened the door. "Good to see you," Anna said, smiling broadly as she entered the apartment. She took note of the weapon in Yayoi’s hand but did not say anything (it was Mort). "Thank you," Yayoi answered automatically with no inflexion. She closed and locked the door. Anna looked around. "Place is a bit small, not that there is anything wrong with that, but you might want to look into getting a place that shows better eventually." "Why?" "Because," she paused, "well, it will be expected. After all, you're going to be a star, one of Mort’s It Girls.” "I'm still not sure about what you proposed. And I don’t see how it will make me a star.” “Then you had best get sure. We've got a great offer from G&P. They really loved your little show today. You're quite the killer." "I'm just doing my job," she told Anna, her words clipped. "And a good job it is. People have been contacting you about sponsorship and interviews, haven't they?" "A few." "Liar," Anna laughed. "You turned off your phone. Unless you want to leave it off, you need to align yourself and your brand with someone. Once you have a gatekeeper and an enforceable legal contract, they won’t dare contact you directly." Anna took a seat on the couch without being invited. “I suppose that that is true," Yayoi admitted. She sat down beside Anna and wished she had another seat. She did not want to stand or sit on the floor as that would give Anna an advantage, but she did not want to sit next to the woman, which suggested closeness. Yayoi asked, ”So why don't I just let one of the weapon companies sponsor me? Some agent called and said they could get me that deal." "Probably lying, but even if they were not, you don't want to go that way." "Why?" "Because to those companies, you are just another operative. One that is completely generic and ultimately unimportant and entirely replaceable. To G&P,” Anna paused, smiled, “you are special. You'll get a far better deal with them than with BLA or KARMA. If you are going to be shilling, you might as well get the best deal. And that way, you are a valuable asset to the company, right?" Yayoi felt her head spinning with everything that Anna told her. Eventually, she nodded and asked, "What sort of deal are they offering?" "Well, first of all, I've got you a six-month starter contract, and when it is over, it is over. A lot of operatives and contract killers end up not being able to call the shots, get stuck with one company forever." "What else?" "You get five hundred credits a month. I could have got more, but I chose to prioritize limiting the contract. You'll wear the MoonieMan logo on your right shoulder and the Cummfies logo on your left. Over your right breast will be the G&P logo. Once a month you'll have to do some sort of advertising. Commercial or photo-book spread.” Anna looked at Yayoi, and her smile grew. “I also got you a one hundred credit appearance bonus. Not perfect because you need at least a minute of coverage to get it. But you get another hundred for each thirty seconds after. “So, what do you think?” “I’m not sure what to think,” Yayoi said. It was a lot of money for just wearing some patches on her armour. “You should think it is great. It’s one of the better deals I’ve worked out. I get fifteen percent." Yayoi thought fifteen sounded high but nodded. "What else does it entail?" "Like I asked earlier, you got a diaper or MoonieMan on?" Yayoi nodded. "Yes." "It's as I expected. From this point on, no panties touch that fabulous bottom of yours. Cummfies when you are home and staying in and MoonieMans at all other times. If you are not wearing one, it is because you are changing a wet one, on the toilet, or having sex… and they'd prefer if you kept it on even then." “When having sex?” "I guess your partner could slide in through a leg hole or push them down a little. I'll leave it to you to work out the logistics.” "Why do they have any say about how I fuck?" “One of the reasons they want you is that innocent look of yours. Perfect for the product. They think that if you are spreading your legs, then maybe that image will be spoiled. We talked it back and forth and agreed that if you are going to be having sex, you should keep the diaper on. I mean, honestly, it seems even more sketchy that way. I am willing to bet they will rethink it.” “I can’t believe this.” “Listen, you should be grateful that there is nothing firm in the contract. This one little marketing twat in a puke green suit actually wanted to put in a clause that would restrict any sexual contact." "What?" Yayoi exclaimed. “Real hard case about it, too. Wanted you fitted with one of the KARMA chastity devices. A high-end one that precluded vaginal, anal and oral sex.” Yayoi knew her mouth was hanging open as she stared at Anna. Anna laughed just a little. “Listen, if you are good with that, we can probably get a sponsorship deal with KARMA. Not a lot of money, but we’ll stick their logo between your legs; G&P will be happy with that.” “No!” Yayoi’s tone was flat. “Figured as much, which is why I was looking out for you, keeping the wording loose enough that you can take off the diaper to fuck, if you so choose.” After a few moments, Yayoi responded with a sarcastic, ”Thank you.” Ignoring the tone, Anna said, "Hey, I'm looking out for you. The happier you are with this contract, the better things will be for G&P, for you, and me." "I suppose." Her tone was sullen. "Come on, Yayoi. Cheer up. You agree to this, and I am your agent. All this bother about sponsorship comes through me from now on, and you get left alone. Agree to this, and you've got a bunch of money coming in, and in six months, you can put the screws to G&P to double, perhaps even triple what you are getting paid. I don't say this often, but you might be able to shoot for the sky." Yayoi nodded. "Or I can just cancel the contract." "You could, but you won't want to." "We'll see." "Yes, we will. Now," Anna reached into her jacket and removed a small tablet, "let's go through all these contracts and then get them signed. Then we can start making money." At that moment, the security buzzer sounded. Anna put the tablet with the contract in front of Yayoi. "Read these. I will handle that. It will be a month's supply of diapers and bedwetting pants for you.” Yayoi stopped Anna, reached for her pistol and looked at the security monitor. “This is Mort; I just don’t let people into my apartment.” Anna sighed. “We need to get you into a better place.”
 Yayoi had ultimately signed the contract after running it through her computer to convert the legalese into something he could understand. Once Yayoi put her name on the contract, G&P requested that she take her armour in to have the patches put on. She had done so, taking the suit to a large shop that had a good reputation. The next day, when she entered the shop, she found her armour looking as good as the day she had bought it. Maybe even better. The patches on her shoulders and chest looked like they had always been part of the armour. Some odd alterations around the hips made the armour look a little thicker. "What's up with this?" she asked the tech. "Bit of extra lightweight polymers," he explained, "won't change the way the armour behaves; don't worry about that. Might provide a little extra protection; there's some shock-absorbing qualities to the materials used, but don't expect much if someone shoots you in the ass." "But why?" "No idea. Just got the specs from your corporate sponsors. They were paying; I did the work." Yayoi excused herself and went to make a call. She got someone named Ollie at G&P, whose name was on the work order. "What do you think of the armour?" he asked. "Tuned the turbines up, a full set of repairs, updated the software, firmware, and electronics for you." "That's all great, but what is up with the extra armour on my butt?" "Want to make it look like you are wearing a MoonieMan, don't we?" Yayoi thought about that for a few seconds. "Wait, isn't the entire point of a MoonieMan is that it is discreet?" "Sure, but we got to make sure people know you are wearing one, so discreet is not a selling point. We bulked out the armour on your butt and between your legs just a bit so anyone looking might spot the bulge." "That's..." "Brilliant, I know," Ollie told her. His smug tone made it clear she was not going to be able to argue with him. “All right, just wanted to ask." "Got ya. Following up. That's why you are the professional. Attention to detail. Any other questions." "No, that's it," Yayoi said and cut the connection. Fake padding to make it look like she was wearing the MoonieMan, which she actually was. Insane. But if it did not affect the armour's performance, she might as well accept it. When she ended the contract, she hoped it would not prove too expensive to have that removed. Yayoi returned to where the tech was already working on something else. He looked up and said, "Someone from G&P also sent over a case. It's over there, probably keyed to you. She looked the dark grey case over, wondering what they had sent her. A little excited, like she had been given a present on her birthday, she opened it with a tap of the SLA badge. Inside were a matched pair of BLA 12.7mm Derringers, a BLA Buzzsaw SMG, and a GA Finisher assault rifle with a collapsible stock. And with those weapons, a lot of ammunition. "Shit," Yayoi said as she lifted the Finisher out of the case. The assault rifle, as were all the other weapons, was sporting the G&P logo. Yayoi was not going to ignore all the extra firepower. She closed the case, picked it up, grabbed her armour, and entered a change room. She suited up, armour and weapons, for another day on Mort’s Streets. The finely tuned armour and the new weapons were the only real differences Yayoi noted for the first six days after she had signed the contract. She was almost beginning to think it would all fade into the background. However, a rather noisy altercation with some Slap and Tickle agents brought the press in force to an otherwise unremarkable section of Suburbia. The questions they asked were pretty standard. Questions about the victims, the criminals, the weapons she had used to do the killing. Then one of the reporters said, "From the logos you are wearing, it is obvious you are being sponsored by a diaper company." "Well, G&P make much more than just diapers, but I'm specifically aligned with MoonieMan bedwetting pants and Cumffie diapers." She felt a little embarrassed saying it on camera and wished she was still wearing her helmet so it might hide the flush warming her cheeks. "And is it true that you actually wear these things?" the woman asked incredulously. Yayoi took a deep breath and gave them her best smile. "Of course. I'm wearing a MoonieMan right now. After all, getting the smell of sweat out of my armour is hard enough. Can you imagine how hard it would be to deal with the smell of urine?" The reporters loved the answer, and so did, as Yayoi would learn, G&P. Citizens watching at home apparently liked it as well. She became the 'Diapered Operative' overnight, the innocent girl going after the stealers of innocent children. It was annoyingly like Anna had predicted. She became a media darling, almost like they could not get enough of her. Part of it was Yayoi went out of her way to avoid the media. Always leave them wanting more, Anna had said about that. Three weeks after signing the contract, she did her first commercial. She explained that she had many types of security, from her guns to her armour to her diapers, which kept her happy and her skin soft and healthy. It caused quite the stir for a few days. She settled, happily enough, for the most part, into her new situation.

I think we can talk about the deal when I get to the end of the story, it is a valid point. I'm glad to hear you like Yayoi. I'm a big fan of Yayoi myself. In an Iseaki story where I was reborn as Yayoi I would be mostly okay with that. She's cool and in control Hope you keep reading, should get the next chapter up sometime today. Thanks for the response.

Chapter 3 Opportunities Yayoi yawned as she made her way through the crowds that filled Slayer's Crib. In that vast building, operatives like herself picked up the BPNs that paid the bills. The place was crowded like it always was, as people shuffled through the process of getting their next job. She had already signed in, which had taken an hour and was waiting for her appointment. The day before, she had managed a minor coup, taking out a Puppy Talk storage centre. Lots of information had come from that raid. It was going to take time for the analysis to produce something actionable. Now, she had to wait for the Skin Trade to make the next move. Make the next mistake that she could take advantage of. Of course, they knew that and might lay low for a bit. That being the case, Yayoi had decided to find another mission, hence her visit to the Crib. As it would be a long wait to get a job (and leaving even for a minute was almost a guaranteed way to lose your place in the queue), she had come prepared. Prepared, in this case, was a pair of MoonieMan pants under her clothing. It was almost an hour before she was finally seen, at which point she took the White (Investigation) BPN to investigate potential DarkNight incursions in lower Downtown. Of course, there were DarkNight agents in lower Downtown; that was nothing new, but someone obviously thought this might be the start of a more significant problem. BPN in hand, she headed out of the Crib. Yayoi would hit her place to kit up before heading out on the mission. She was just starting down the stairs of the BPN hall when she heard someone call her name. A tall, well-dressed woman standing not so far away from her. "Miss Yamamoto, I'm pleased to meet you." Yayoi almost asked 'why?' but decided against that. Being polite was always wise because mouthing off to the wrong person might get you demoted, killed, or disappeared. "I'm sorry. You seem to have the advantage." The woman smiled. "Anna Growlska." She held out her hand towards Yayoi. "I'm an agent." Yayoi took her hand. Soft skin, manicured fingernails painted vivid red. "Pleased to meet you, Ms Growlska." It was not entirely true, but Yayoi's smile should pass for sincere. Anna laughed softly as she released Yayoi's hand. Had she seen through the feigned politeness? "Can we talk?" Anna asked. "Perhaps have a coffee? My treat." "I have some things to take care of, a little short on time." Not entirely true. The timings on the BPN were not that tight. "It is important and might be quite valuable to you." Yayoi wanted to say no, but again, survival instincts took over. Anna was well dressed, looked like she had money, and, from the way she held herself, not a minor player. Not the kind of person it was safe to blow off in SLA industries. "Can you give me a few minutes?" Yayoi asked. "I just need to get some things moving." "Of course." Anna smiled. "I'll be back soon then," Yayoi told her as she went off to call in some favours. A few minutes later, as promised, she returned to where Anna waited. They went to a nearby coffee shop where Anna ordered expensive, trendy coffees. "I'm not going to waste any time," Anna began after drinking from her china cup. "I've been looking into your credit purchases for the last two years." "I did not think my purchases would be that easy to look into," Yayoi said as she took a drink of coffee. That her credit was tracked did not surprise her. That anyone cared enough to look did. "Or of any interest." "Not at my level of security clearance, and for my work, I like to know what you like." "I don't understand," Yayoi said as she wondered what Anna's SCL was. "I'll explain," a pause, "in a roundabout way. First, I've noticed that you have bought a fairly steady supply of bedwetting pants, the occasional package of diapers, plastic and rubber panties, and several other similar things. According to the records, you don't have children and live alone." "I use them," Yayoi said, stating it simply and right out. It was not something she was going to lie about. "And I don't care who knows." She added that just in case this thing was about blackmail of some sort. Not that she thought it was. This was Mort, after all. Wearing diapers and such was nothing. "I'm glad to hear that. Might I ask why you wear them? I mean, do you need to?" Once more, survival instincts kept her from asking what business was it of Anna’s, and instead, she said, ”No," with a shake of her head. "I don't need them, at least not for any physical reason. I simply like wearing them." "They make you feel good?" "Yes, and secure, I suppose." Yayoi wondered why the woman was interested and also why she was answering those questions. Sure, there was the fact it was dangerous just to blow someone off, but something about Anna, her presence… It made Yayoi willing to talk. Maybe it was pheromones? "Wonderful." "Wonderful?" Yayoi was a little surprised. "As I said, I like to know what you like. I like to know what sort of things a person chooses to buy and to use. I want to know what products they could become the face of. And I would like you to become a spokesperson for Grimble and Pradesh. Do you know who they are?" "One of the larger companies in the World of Progress. They make a lot of commercial goods: personal care, hygiene, cosmetics, other things." "Yes. G&P make the MoonieMan pants you buy as well as six brands of diapers, diapering supplies and various baby care consumables." Yayoi saw where it was going, but she still had to ask, to be perfectly clear, "Are you suggesting that I let their diaper division sponsor me?" "Yes," Anna smiled. "It is a perfect match." "I don't think so." "Don't be so hasty. G&P are part of SLA industries, and helping them sell is an important service to the Company after all. And they will be able to offer you a lot of money." Yayoi considered what Anna had said. Yayoi was always worried about being seen as disloyal to the Company she worked for. It was a dangerous thing to happen in SLA Industries. She had chosen not to have a finance chip installed in her head, which would have allowed real-time monitoring of her life. It was both a convenience and a sign of unquestionable loyalty to the Company. However, the idea of a biogenetic organism in her brain scared the hell out of her. Since that day, Yayoi had done all she could to ensure she would be seen as loyal to the Company. Now, Anna was offering her another opportunity to do just that. "It's not like it is all that different from things now," Anna told her. "You don't seem to be ashamed by your choice in underclothing. Now you'd just be letting more people know about it." "I'm not saying I would do this, but for the sake of understanding, what would this sponsorship entail?" "A few patches on the shoulders of your armour, maybe one on your back or chest; I'll try to keep it to a minimum and tasteful. Are you wearing a diaper or something right now?" Yayoi felt her cheeks grow warm. Somehow, that question just seemed more personal, but she nodded. "One of the MoonieMan pants." "That is the answer I wanted to hear. Once we get the contract signed, you'll probably be expected to wear one whenever you go out, under your armour or whatever clothing you wear. When you get home, you probably switch to a diaper. The important thing will be that we make it clear you are always wearing G&P products. It's just how it has to be to ensure that seeing you is seeing their products. You'll also do some commercials, magazine photos, that kind of stuff, get your face and the product out there for people to see." "I'm not sure about that, the commercials and magazines. It won't be good if too many people know who I am." "Wrong." "Pardon?" "That is just wrong," Anna told her. "Okay, when you started out, going the low-key approach was a good idea. It made sense to allow you to work undercover and such. Good plan, but now you want to expand out a little." "I don't understand." "Go public. Be the darling diaper girl who is going after the Skin Trade. Show that cute little face and body of yours to people. They will fall in love with you. You'll get an army of citizens throughout the city that would die just so you might smile at them. They'll give you information, happily, for free, saving you weeks of work and lots of credits." Yayoi said nothing. Part of her was taking quiet umbrage at the term 'darling diaper girl'. But, putting that aside, was Anna right? Would she become a media darling? She supposed that the investigations could get easier. Famous Operatives and Contract Killers did have a helpful fan base, though they also had to deal with stalkers and similar issues. "I'm going to have to think about it," Yayoi finally said. "Think all you want. I'll start the ball rolling, but don't worry, nothing happens until you want it to." Anna smiled widely, showing her perfect teeth. That did not wholly reassure Yayoi for some reason. G&P's administration offices were housed in Mort Central, a blocky, slate-grey building with no windows. In a small conference room, Anna Growlska was meeting with three people. One of them was the Vice President of Baby Goods sales, Mrs Delta Redhill. The other two were part of the Company's marketing team, and Anna had not bothered to remember their names, thinking of them as Blue and Green for the colour of their clothing. Anna had come there and made her presentation to these people, offering them a spokesperson for their products. The vice president leaned back in her chair, looking at Anna for several seconds. It was a silent ploy, almost daring Anna to say something. She remained quiet and smiled. Finally, the woman said, ”The operative, Yayoi Yamamoto, would look,” she paused, “I suppose there is no other word than cute. She would look cute using our products. “I will not argue that. “That her tweaked hormones will keep her looking like that is the only reason we are considering this. “So yes, she would be an excellent spokesperson. The question I need to ask is if this operative can really give us the media coverage that you claim? That she will make a sponsorship deal worth our time?” Anna smiled as she stood up. "I brought this," she told the Delta, Blue, and Green. Making a bit of a production, she removed what looked like a cigarette case from her jacket pocket. With a ‘snap,’ she opened it and removed a silver dataslug. She held it up for the moment, like a sleight-of-hand artist doing a trick and then plugged it into a slot on the table. She could have even said ‘ta-da’, which would not have seemed out of place. With all three watching her, she swung her hand out and pointed at the screen at the room's far end. When they looked, she said, "This is from Third Eye News, shortly before I came here. Operative Yamamoto went after a group of DarkNight subversives working in lower Downtown." On the screen, Yayoi, in her Silverback armour, leapt from a rooftop, coming down on top of a man wearing a suit of beat-up Dogeybone armour. The size difference suggested the man should have been able to deal with Yayoi, but that was not what happened. Moving faster than the DarkNight agent could react, Yayoi took her enemy apart, sliding her knife into openings in the heavy armour, killing her enemy by pieces. "There were five fully trained DarkNight agents and roughly thirty civilians turned by DarkNight. Operative Yayoi took out four of the subversives and twenty of the disloyal civilians. The rest were dealt with by two contract killers sent in by Third Eye News for a bit more colour. "Watch the operative hunt; watch her fight. She kills with minimal energy but always puts on a good show. Look at that kick; it shatters the man's kneecap, and then she catches him with an elbow as he falls forward. Look at the blood fly." Indeed, blood was flying as power armour strength shredded human bodies. About thirty seconds passed, Third Eye News camera drones darting in among the fight, following the action. The POV jumped smoothly among several drones, providing an excellent view of the fight. The Third Eye News techs knew how to cover a story. “Look there, she grabs the gun of the big guy as she probably shatters his leg, spins like a dancer, and empties the clip into those two asshats who thought they could sneak up behind her." "She is rather talented," Delta said grudgingly. Anna did not believe her tone. Blue and Green were watching raptly. "Here's a good part coming up. Two subversives, heavily armed, good armour, back to back, ready for anything, or so they think. And then Yayoi drops down onto their shoulders. Look at that! Snaps that one's neck and kicks the other one to drive them apart. Takes the dead woman's MAL cannon, and then boom. Sprays the man all over the place. Beautiful, right?" "She is great," Green all but yelled. Delta gave her a slightly cross glance. It was apparent to Anna that Delta did not want to appear too interested. Far too late for that. "There is some more, but let’s fast forward through that.” She pressed a control on the table, and scenes of violence flashed across the screen. “Here, this is the last bit that is worth watching.” She took her finger from the scan button. “The Shaktar is a turned operative; his own people have been hunting him for a month. She gets the drop on him and proceeds to take him apart, a piece at a time." The Shaktar stood over three meters tall and wore a customised Crackshot armour suit. The large, lizard-like species were excellent fighters, some of the best in the World of Progress. It did not appear so with Yayoi using superior speed and a pair of Blitzers, the big revolvers obviously loaded with HEAP (High Explosive Armour Piercing) rounds, to finish him off. "She even left him alive for Shaktar justice," Anna said, breathless. "She was made for entertainment. She was made to wear your diapers." Delta was quiet as the screen went dark. "She might be a little excessive to sell baby care products." "Yayoi built herself to look like an adorable little girl for monsters who like adorable little girls. So she is taking the fight to child hunters. She's got an innocent vibe going. You almost expect her to lisp when she talks, and you can totally see her wearing a diaper and drinking from a baby bottle right after she is finished," Anna paused, "being a little excessive, as you put it.” "Will she lisp?" Blue asked. "You could not afford it." Silence in the room for a few seconds, and then Delta said, "I think we might be interested. We'll want full sponsorship rights, of course." Anna turned on her, smiling. "I'll give you both shoulders and nothing else. Six-month contract, only renewed if Yayoi wants it." "Excuse me?" "She's going to be a star; if you want in on the ground floor, that will cost you. If you are not interested, I'm sure that CK will be happy to have Yayoi wearing their bedwetting pants." "Ridiculous. CK has a fraction of the market; what can they give you?" "They can give me what I want, and with Yayoi wrapping her fabulous tush in their products, they are going to start taking bites out of your market share. This ain't my first rodeo, and I know talent that can sell." "A year, semi-exclusive, we get veto right on any other sponsor and fifty percent of her armour." "No. Deal is what I said. Agreement in principle not to take sponsorship from anyone in direct competition with G&P products. I'll also give you logo space on her breast, as small as that is." Delta nodded after a moment. "Okay, I'm willing to work with that."

Chapter 2 She Works Hard For Her Money "Listen to me, this is a great deal," Anna Growlska told the woman sitting across the desk from her. "I'm not sure," the woman said doubtfully. Her name was Tian Chen, though she was more widely known by her assumed name of 'Black Ice'. It was a professional killer's name, flashy and easy to remember. She was tall muscled, her black hair in a crew cut. She was not attractive, but she had a certain air that served her well on the contract circuit: A mix of deadliness, grace, and sex appeal. "What is there not to be sure of? It's a great sponsorship deal, good money, solid name brand, everything you could want." Anna was also tall, but not so tall as the contract killer, and she wore her white hair long. Pale skin, white clothing, calm demeanour: there was a reason some called her the ice queen. Her pale blue eyes met and held those of Tian. "I don't even use 'Feel Fresh Tampons'," Tian explained. "Well, you will now. All the time." "I don't bleed. Had all that womanly stuff shut down when I went pro. The last thing you want is to smell of blood down in the sewers. Some Carriens got the nose to come after that." Anna nodded. "I am aware of your situation." "Then why even come to me with this deal. I can't use the product. I would be a terrible spokesperson." "Tian, that is where you are wrong. You don't need them, but you use them. That's how good they are. Tell me that," emphasis on 'that', "would not want to make someone buy them.” "I have no idea what you are talking about, Growlska." "The tampons use a symbiotic bacteria to keep things clean, you know? You can leave one in for days if you have the mind to, not that I would, and they're good for things like yeast infections and crap. They'll keep you fresh, so no Carrien, no matter how good their nose will be tracking you by smell, if you know what I mean. Hell, you could even stick one in a bullet hole. Keep the wound clean while killing Carriens." Tian's incredulous look softened after several seconds, and she finally nodded. "You know, that does sound like it makes some sense." "That is why I came to you. You can make these sexy because you divorce them from what they are actually used for. You'll have to make some big deal about using them before you go into the sewers or onto a Gore Zone and crap like that, but nothing that you should not be able to handle." Anna was smiling broadly. Tian nodded again. "You are going to make some good money, the company is going to get some great publicity, and, of course, I'll get my cut." Gear packed away, bike locked up in a secure garage, a shower to wash the grime of the work from her, civilian clothing with no visible weapon, Operative Yayoi Yamamoto was out to do some shopping. Dressed in a pair of loose trousers, a white blouse, a raincoat and a pink designer umbrella, she did not look much like an operative. Yayoi looked like a civilian, a tween. That was the effect she had wanted. Soon after she joined SLA Industries, and right after graduating from Meny, she had picked her niche. Some breast reduction surgery, some removal of fat around her hips, and a little tweaking of her hormones all had taken a few years off her apparent age back then. Nothing had changed either. She was the perfect bait for those who hunted children and young adults. She had made it her speciality and had become very good at it. Many BPNs (Blue Print News Files) had fallen her way because of her looks, and they had paid well. She delivered results and received some perks to help in her mission. The Silverback armour was one, the SCAF another. Everything she needed to keep the Skin Trade off balance and to hopefully shut it down one day. Yayoi was twenty-two and looked like she was somewhere between ten and twelve years of age. The grocery store, 'Mr. Greens Food Bin' was a rather typical chain in Uptown and Suburbia. It carried a bit of everything, with large amounts of the basics. Yayoi cruised the aisles, filling a basket with various bits of synthetic foods and a few pieces of natural, greenhouse-grown fruit. It was expensive on Mort, but Operatives always had a little money for luxuries. After she paid for her dinner, she crossed the rain-soaked streets to the HappyLife Pharmacy. Another of the chains that were common in Uptown and Suburbia. A lot of HappyLife's stock was recreational pharmaceuticals. Beat and Alice and other drugs like that. Of course, there were plenty of medical drugs: analgesics, Kick Start, cough drops, vitamins, birth control, and everything a busy operative or executive could use. Yayoi picked up a package of Kick Start Solo, having run low on the powerful healing drug earlier that day. She looked at a display case filled with combat drugs. She considered, not for the first time, picking up some Ultra-Violence. The combat cocktail would supercharge her, but one always had to worry about addiction. Going the way of the Frothers, SLA Industries drug fiend berserkers, was not her path. She turned from the case and drifted towards the back of the store, past the feminine hygiene products—a large placard bright and new made it clear that Feel Fresh Tampons had a new spokesperson—into the section where the diapers were. She looked the small selection over and then grabbed a package of MoonieMan bedwetting pants; not really diapers, but close enough for her. They had adorable graphics and were as thick as something that claimed to be discrete could be. Tucking the package under her arm, Yayoi went to the front to pay for the purchases. She dropped the items on the scanning plate and waved her badge in front of the reader. With her bag of food in one hand and the package of diapers tucked under her arm, the Kick Start in her raincoat pocket, she headed home. Home was a small apartment with a balcony and a tiny flower box she called her ‘garden’. The place was a far cry from the cramped cubicle in Suburbia that she had started in. She could afford something a little better and a little bigger, but she liked what she had… and moving was always a pain. She checked her apartment’s security with her phone, and even when it came back clear (a green, happy face - the literacy rate on Mort was low), she examined her physical tell. It was a sliver of paper that she had slid between the door and casing. She would have known the door had been opened if it had been lying on the floor. Satisfied that nothing was out of place, she punched the combination into the keypad and then used her palm print to unlock the door. A lot of security, but it was necessary. Operatives often made a lot of enemies, and they had a lot of valuable property. She did not relax until she swept the apartment, not that there was much to check. The main room with its single couch and vid (illegally turned off). Calling the kitchen and bathroom small would be generous, but both were functional. The bedroom was comfortable enough for one person. One corner was taken up by the weapon and equipment safe. Satisfied that she had nothing to worry about, she prepared her dinner. Several minutes later, with her meal cooking, Yayoi left the kitchen and went to her bedroom. She stripped, folding up her clothing and placing it at the foot of the bed until she was dressed in a pale pink camisole. She tore the package of bedwetting pants open, removed one of the white garments, and shook it out, listening to the subtle rustling sound of the plastic linter. She bent over, slid her feet through the leg openings, and drew it up her thin legs. She took a moment to enjoy the feeling of wearing it, running her hands over the padded material. She felt, well, secure. She removed a pair of pink plastic pants with a yellow duck design from a drawer in the bureau and then pulled them over the bedwetting pants. She liked the sound they made when she walked. Happy and relaxed, she returned to the kitchen to finish preparing her dinner. After eating, she sat on the couch, her Oyster computer on her lap. She checked her correspondence first; nothing of real import, a few things that had made it past the spam filter. She deleted those. Her feed had pulled stories from the wars, highlighting search terms she had given it. Yayoi sighed, both sad and relieved, not finding what she had been looking for. She always told herself that no news was good news, as hard as not knowing was. Yayoi kept an anachronistic postcard tucked into the computer’s case. With illiteracy as high as it was, almost no one got letters, the written word fallen out of favour. The postcard was a handmade affair, a picture pasted to a piece of cardboard from a ration pack, a scrawl on the back that read, ‘Glad you’re not here, stay safe on Mort. Be good.’ As if anyone could be safe or good on Mort. She sighed and put the postcard back where she kept it. Six months ago, it had come and had spent almost as long getting to her. Nothing she could do about that. She began reviewing her case notes to take her mind off of it. Four years of research and investigation, distilled down by both her and some forensic programs into what sometimes felt like a madman's ramblings. Were the connections she saw really there? The programs agreed with her about half the time. So maybe she was only half crazy? She was sure that all she needed was that right piece of information, the thing that would help connect it all. All she had to do was find it. She relaxed her bladder and soaked the bedwetting pants as she worked, enjoying the moist warmth that spread around her bottom.
 Anna lay on the massage table as a talented Ebon worked the kinks and pains out of her back. She was looking through the pages of a magazine called 'Submissive Styles'. The publisher sought the right person to represent a magazine with a growing readership. Anna specialized in things like that. Sponsors wanted Operatives or Contract Killers to use their product, which was easy for places that sold weapons, armour, drugs, clothing, and vehicles. But what did the place that sold nose-hair trimmers do? That was where Anna came in. She found people who did use or could be persuaded to use the product in question. The fat operative continually stuffing his face with Creamy-Crunchy-Logs was the perfect spokesman, far better than the painfully thin Waster, who never ate one in her life. Sure, the fat guy was not too pretty, but his armour had lots of space for ads, and he was good at his job, so got a lot of press time. Working on deals like that, she had made herself rich. It was her niche, one that she held with brutal efficiency. Now she was trying to figure out whom she could get to shill for 'Submissive Styles'. He or she would have to be pretty. Maybe something for that Frother she had seen the other day. What was her name again? Yvonne. That was it, Anna recalled. Yvonne had the right look, a real damsel in distress with big, wet eyes. The masseuse gave her bottom a gentle smack. "Over on your back, love." Anna turned over so the masseuse could gently work her fingers into the tense deltoid and pectoral muscles. She gently massaged Anna's breasts and then worked her way down to the abdominal muscles. I needed this, Anna thought. She enjoyed her work, but it could be so stressful. Then, the talented fingers moved between her legs, and Anna did not think of much. Later, she returned to her office in a cloud of endorphins, feeling lazy as if she would melt into a puddle of contented goo in the back of the taxi. Melting into goo sounded nice. The cab dropped her off in front of the downtown building. Anna made her relaxed way up to her office. Nice and slow, letting the realities of work chase away the laziness before it fully claimed her. No more time for dreams of being goo. Good things did not last, but as long as she had the money, she could buy them back... for a time. So, it was essential to work hard. Soon, she was seated at her desk, looking over the many requests she had received. They were from companies that hoped she might find them the perfect spokesperson. She put each request in a different pile, file, or garbage can. She made notes as she went. She also took time to look over the information she had on Yvonne. The professional drug addict was maybe the perfect person to wear the Submissive Styles logo. Certainly worth making an appointment to talk to her. She shifted her gaze from the work to the vid unit that was always on. The excited voice of a Third Eye anchorman had caught her attention. On the screen, a slight figure in Silverback armour was fighting a group of armed men. According to the caption at the bottom (not that a lot of Mort's citizenry could read it), the armed men were part of the Skin Trade group Puppy Talk. Anna had seen that operative before on Third Eye News but had no idea who she, or maybe he (you never could be sure when they were wearing armour) was. The woman (assumed) did put on a good show. The FEN 603 pistols were pumping out a lot of lead, so obviously, the operative was not too concerned with the bullet tax. Then, the pistols were put away, and a MAC combat knife was put into use. That was when the blood started to fly, literally. The speed of that armour made the hits with that blade particularly deadly. Anna watched, quite impressed with the operative's skill. Credit where credit was due. Anne whistled appreciatively as the armoured figure launched into an aerial somersault. She neatly snapped one man's neck with a heel kick. On landing, she swept another man's legs, then plunged her knife into his chest, pinning him to the ground. She left him there and continued on to her next target. Definitely a Kick Murder operative. She was very good at what she did. Anna had been watching a recording of the battle, already tweaked and edited for maximum effect. The scene switched to a pretty boy live on location talking about how a blow had been dealt to the Skin Trade. Over sixty people had been liberated from the slavers. It was good stuff. Then the camera angle changed, and there, in the background, was the operative, talking to the Shivers, her helmet off. Anna only got a brief look at her face, but it caught her attention. "Rewind and freeze," Anna commanded. The vid unit did as she said, rewinding a few seconds and then freezing. "Advance frame by frame." She watched as each frame was presented to her. "Freeze," she ordered when she had what she wanted. " Magnify five times." Editing applications enhanced and cleaned up the picture. In high definition, a girl with short black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail was on the screen. "Very nice," Anna said softly. Then she reached for her phone. She had some enquiries to make.

Child’s Play A Story of Yayoi Yamamoto, Operative of SLA Industries by InkuHime (aka Incognito Himitsu) This is one of my favourite stories. I've done some rewriting on it since I first posted it years ago. This is an action adventure dark (grim dark?) science fiction story based on the TTRPG SLA Industries. There is a strong, central plot line that involves diapers, but it is not a conventional ABDL diaper story. Chapter 1 Here Comes the Rain Again A long, narrow truck pulled to a stop on the Lower Downtown raised walkway. The vehicle shifted back and forth as three men climbed out of the cab. Two were rather large, one husky, the other fat. The third was a thin man, covered from head to foot in leather. The one in leather was a Prop, a mercenary and killer for hire. He was known on the streets as ‘Bent for Leather’. They had stopped for the girl sitting on the edge of the walkway. Small, thin, covered by a dirty, plastic poncho against the ever-falling rain of Mort. It was hard to tell much about her, hunched over with her head resting on her chest as she was. Still, she looked young; the Skin Trade's biggest seller was youth. And if it turned out she was not young, well, pretty, still sold. And if not pretty… that was one of the things the Prop took care of. The fat man approached her first; he held a hypo-gun loaded with Bio-block in his chubby hand. It was a bold move, but it was dark, and the high, wet walkway was deserted. The girl did not even look up as he approached. She might have been already drugged out of her mind. So much the easier for them if that was the case. He was beginning to reach forward when the girl did something totally unexpected. She kicked back and rolled backwards off the walkway's side, dropping out of sight. The three men looked at each other, surprised, though it was difficult to tell with the Prop as his face was masked by leather strips. "Must've known what we was planning," the husky man said. "Chose death over getting caught." "Stupid little bitch," the fat man said. "Now we got to find another one to meet quota." He moved to the walkway's edge, looking down, expecting to see the girl's broken body forty meters below. A hand grabbed him around his ankle. A quick pull and he was falling, screaming all those forty meters to the ground. The other two had not seen what had happened; to them, it looked like the fat man had jumped. They stood there, trying to figure out why two people had just decided to throw themselves from the walkway. The muted rumble of a pair of fusion turbines made both men look upwards. Above them was a figure in a suit of Silverback armour. As the armoured angel tossed away a plastic poncho, the Prop understood. The girl had not jumped from the walkway, and it was very likely his fat companion had been pulled. That realization had him going for the pistols at his side. Before he could reach them, a knife—hurled with exo-armour-assisted strength—punched through his throat. Even as the Prop’s corpse hit the ground, the armoured figure alighted on the walkway and grabbed the husky man around the wrist. She hyperextended his elbow, twisted his wrist, and forced him onto his toes. He screamed in pain and then screamed louder as she jerked him around, flinging him over the side of the walkway and then holding him from a fall by his injured arm. There was something of a cat tormenting a small rodent in the actions. "Shut up," she snapped, giving him a shake. Her words and the agony cleared his head for a moment. Adrenaline flooded his body, chasing away the pain and giving him clarity. He knew he was in great danger and that his only chance of living rested in the hands of the small, armoured girl holding him. "That's good," she said as he stopped screaming. "Tell me, who you’re with?" "Slap and Tickle," he said, breathing hard, trying not to start screaming again. "And where are you operating?" "I can't tell you?" She let go of him, allowing him to fall for a moment before leaning forward and snatching him again by the wrist, bringing him to a painful stop. "You can." Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he had lost bladder control. He was close to passing out from the pain. "They'll kill me," he sobbed. "What makes you think that I won't?" "Down at the old Handara warehouse, Level Three. That's where we were supposed to bring this load. I swear that's all I know." "Thank you," she said and then released his hand. He screamed until he stopped. She did not even watch. "This is Operative Yamamoto; I need a Shiver team at Walkway One Fifty-Six, Sector 7B, Lower Downtown, immediately," she said into her helmet's microphone. As she spoke, she stepped over the dead Prop and walked to the truck. "Roger that Operative Yamamoto," the voice on the other end replied. "Expect a team to arrive in five minutes." "That's too long.” She pulled open the rear doors of the truck. "I need them here now." "I'm sorry, Operative Yamamoto," the operator on the other end said calmly and politely. "There are no teams closer to your location." Yayoi keyed her microphone off and made a rude noise before turning it back on and saying, "Understood." Her tone was despondent; she could not help it, not when looking into the truck. A metal bar ran the length of the roof. Plastic ties around their wrists and over that bar, twelve people, very young men and women, girls and boys, were hung like meat. Few were tall enough that their feet reached the rusty metal grate beneath them. All so sedated that they might as well be dead. The desire to move caused her heart to race. Always before, when she learned of some processing centre, she would arrive too late. The big players who knew the names and had the client lists would be gone. There was a mole somewhere, leaking information to the Skin Trade. There had to be. Someone was getting in the way of the investigation, maybe even slowing the response time. Five minutes felt too long. She wanted to go but would not leave the victims there, where anyone, or anything, could get at them. So she waited until the Shiver unit showed up, rolling onto the walkway in one of their APCs. She gave them a quick briefing on what had happened. Made sure they knew what to do. Satisfied that the victims were in good hands, Yayoi leapt from the walkway, slowing her fall with her armour’s turbines. She landed gently on the rain-soaked road below, not far from the two dead men. Nearby, hidden under a pile of garbage, was her SCAF bike. The armoured security plates slid back at her command, the engine roaring to life. She straddled the vehicle, gave it power, and roared out of the alleyway and onto the street. Once she got some speed, Yayoi activated the main turbine, lifting the bike into the air. The hydraulic system pulled the wheels into the main body, changing the motorcycle into a one-man helicopter. Speed was of the essence now. Any chance of getting her hands on someone important depended on how soon she could get there. If they knew she was coming--and had to know she was coming--they would be clearing out. Seconds. She believed that it always came down to seconds. She would arrive to hear the echoing of a door slamming somewhere, the smell of cigarette smoke still in the air. Those who might know something already clear. The opportunity to score a telling blow to the Skin Trade was always out of reach. Maybe it was already too late, but she had to try. Go Fast. Go Faster. This time, it might be different. If only she could go faster. Soon, she was dropping below the raised streets, speeding among the web of walkways and roads, nearly scraping the buildings as she went. Three levels under the so-called surface of Mort was not too deep. Not when it was possible—if suicidal—to travel down 285 levels. Still, it was deep enough for her. She hated Lower Downtown for so many reasons, only partly because that was where her prey lived and thrived. Ahead of her was the warehouse, an old, supposedly deserted building. It looked abandoned, but the Skin Trade did not survive by making their presence visible. The SCAF landed on the roof of the building, the turbines throwing up a cloud of grit and dirt. She jumped off the bike, moving quickly, just in case anyone started shooting at her, making her way to a doorway on the roof. As it was, there was no threat there. There was not much of a threat anywhere in the building. As before, Yayoi had arrived too late, perhaps by less than a minute. That was all it would take for the people in charge to scatter and hide, going deeper into the shadows. There were always a few people who would remain behind. The stupid or the desperate, trying to salvage something of value. A kick of her exo-armour tore the door from its hinges. Yayoi followed, diving over the walkway and dropping to the warehouse floor, her automatic pistols ready. She ordered all there to put their hands on their heads and not move. Those too foolish to listen, she shot. It was a waste of bullets, but dealt with the problem quickly. Those that remained did as she ordered and, therefore, were just maybe smart enough to be worth questioning. There were also about sixty victims there, nearly half of them already dead. The Skin Trade was like any other business. They got rid of inventory that did not sell. She had to keep her temper as she questioned those she had left alive. They knew little, could tell her even less and were not nearly as bright as she had hoped. Hangers-on, temp work, just people looking to make a little extra money and not interested in asking too many questions. Mort was full of people like that. When the Shivers arrived, she turned the scene over to them and trudged her way back up to the roof. Looking around, making sure she was alone, Yayoi took off her helmet and screamed as loud as she could, as long as she could, until her throat began to hurt. She coughed for several seconds and then wiped some tears from her eyes. After taking a deep breath of the bad air, she put her helmet back on and got onto her SCAF. Time to go home.

DA suspended my account, which, fair enough. I'm not really interested in trying to find another home for the art there, but there are a handful of pictures I still want to share. Here's one And then the diaper version of I Want it Now Diapers, Nappies I want my golden diapers, make it snappy! A hundred changes a day And by the way I want a feast I want a milk feast Breastmilk and bottles full diapers I’ll waddle screaming full throttle No, Now! I want a ball I want a party Toddler Dresses bows in my tresses Everyone regresses and Give it me Now! I want the world I want the whole world Stuffed in my diaper While I sit in my highchair Higher and higher and higher Give it to me Now! I want today I want tomorrow I want to wear ‘um Upon my bare bum I don’t want to share ‘um I want a party where I’m the only one happy Ten million likes for my live stream And if I don’t get the change of my nappy I’m going to scream! I want to be pampered Nothing but pampered Diapers and creams, bassinets in sunbeams Like a wonderful dream And Now Don’t care how I want it now Don’t care how I want it now!

Chapter 4 From the night I first explored with Slim to the day that Father Raphael arrives, six days passed. During that time, I had been practising with my toys, exploring the manor, watching and learning. I had seen stupid papa and oozy talking in secret; about how with the church’s help, stupid papa could exercise his full rights at my father. Oozy’s name was actually Fiach, Brother Fiach. Fiach and stupid papa seemed confident, which made me positive I was simply to be a political piece for the church’s benefit. Whether blessed by Gaia or not, Father Raphael would say I was. And Fiach and stupid papa were already putting things in place. The weeks it had taken for Father Raphael to arrive was an indication of the amount of backroom dealing and planning that was going on to attack mama. It made me mad. Whenever Slim watched these two, he grew claws. I worried that I might lose control of my toys at times like these. It’s not like I wanted stupid papa or oozy Fiach dead. I just wanted them gone. Things seemed hectic the day Father Rpahael and his entourage arrived. Maybe not so much in the nursery suite, but that business everywhere else did not go unnoticed. I had known mama’s manor was big, but I learned how big when I explored it with my toys. Three stories, and an attic and basement. That’s five levels of house. And if you think it might be a thin townhouse, well, you think pretty wrong. It has a huge (and I am not talking from a toy or a baby’s perspective) central hall, all stonework and windows, and two almost equally large wings. And the place is packed! The east wing is full of soldiers, mostly officers and a few knights (I heard the word ‘Sir’ said once or twice). The central hall’s ground floor is full of public rooms and offices for officials. My nursery suite is in the west wing, by the way. So you can tell when the many servants and other residents are moving about. The nursery staff was talking about Father Raphael. Another nursery maid whose name I do not know (I’ll call her C) saw the entourage come in. Four carriages and three carts, with a troop of church soldiers marching in behind them. Everyone sounds impressed. ‘Why are you impressed! You should be suspicious!’ I shouted without thinking. Well, what I really shout is something to them that sounds like 'bable, bable, goo, Impweth, goo, ga, bable, bable'. So not really getting my point across. “Did she just say impressive?” Colleen asks. “Don’t be silly,” one of the older nurses says. “She’s probably just messy. Someone check her diaper.” The nerve of that nurse. Well, my diaper was messy, but still. Is it so hard to think I might say impressive? Sometime in the early afternoon, a maid, not one of the nursery maids, entered the suite. “The Lady would like Shivaun made ready.” Suddenly I was taken out of the crib and undressed to be bathed, which involved three nursery maids. After getting me clean and patting me dry with big fluffy towels, they sprinkled sweet-smelling talc all over me and rubbed it into my skin. It was rather nice. Then they liberally coated my bottom in cream so thick that you could almost mistake the lotion for a garment. Powdered and creamed, they proceeded to tape two diapers on me, with absorbent stuffers in the first. It pushed my legs wide, all that padding between them, and I thought I would be hard-pressed to stand even if I had something to pull myself up with. This was all so different--and my baby brain tended to either get scared or delighted by the 'new'. One of the nursery maids, C, gently tickled my tummy and said, “You’ll be so pretty.” That was enough to make me delighted, and I giggled. Then they pulled a thick pair of yellow rubber pants over my diapers. I had never worn rubber pants before, though I had seen them among the changing table supplies. The cream, the thick diapering, the rubber pants… this was to keep me from leaking and from developing a rash if left in wet and messy diapers too long. Probably also to keep me from smelling too bad to others as well. Something was up. White tights were pulled up my legs and over my thick diapers and rubber pants. Pink ruffled panties were drawn up and over my bottom, poofing it out further. Two nursery maids held each of my arms up as the third drew a ruffled pink dress down over my head. A bonnet was tied around my head, and patent leather shoes were buckled on my feet. “You look so beautiful,” nursery maid B told me. I probably looked adorable. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, but no one thought the baby would want to look at her reflection. No, they were the ones who got to enjoy the adorable baby. It’s not fair. Before I can set about fussing and reaching out towards the small mirror, the door opens, and mama sweeps in. Everyone is bowing and curtseying, even the nursery maid holding me, though she abbreviates the movement to avoid dropping me. Mama is dressed in what I guess is her military uniform. Tight grey breaches tucked into polished black riding boots. She wears a crimson tunic with buttons of polished brass or gold and a gold braid across her chest. Across her shoulders is a sky-blue cape trimmed with grey fur. She wears a sword at her belt--a slim sabre in a silver sheath with a well-worn handle. Her blond hair is neatly styled, and she wears only a little makeup. Mama is beautiful. If I were older and not her daughter, I would fall in love with her in a moment. Of course, I love her already because she is my mama. She smiled at me, and I reached out towards her, “Mama,” I say because I can. The nurses and nursery maids are all like ‘awww’ as their hearts melt. Mama smiled as she takes me in her arms. I want to snuggle against her, but am afraid I might drool on her tunic. I also remember my plan and turn in her hands, reaching out towards the toy chest and say something that does not sound anything like 'bear'. However, mama seems to understand, for she says,” She wants one of her bears.” What follows is about twenty seconds of nursery maids bringing the wrong bears and me making angry sounds before they finally bring me Dame Bearlina Brownstein. I think mama is confused for a moment as I grab the bear in my hands. Likely she does not recognise Bearlina, and that is no surprise. Bearlina has evolved into ner next stage, Bearlina Mk 2. Among old boxes and dusty forgotten things in the attic, I found an old taxidermied snowy owl and had Slim cut its wings off. That’s not cruel; the owl was dead. It was a dead owl! I magicked those wings onto Bearlina, so they looked like they had been part of her all along. I also found a yellow embroidery hoop which I used as a halo. Do they have angels in this world? If they don’t, then I wasted a lot of time. And Bearlina Mk 2 has a few more surprises, trust me. Mama is in a bit of a hurry, so she does not have time to closely examine my bear. With me in her arms and Bearlina in mine, mama leaves the nursery and walks me towards the central block of the house. I know that I am going to meet Father Raphael and that today is when I need to be at my strongest. To save mama and me. As we walk, two men in light armour fall in behind mama. Are they knights? They look like knights. Behind them, more people join, they are dressed in uniforms similar to mama’s, just not as much gold braid, and none wears capes. They are maybe fifteen of them together. That seems to be a lot of people following us. Is mama getting ready for a fight too? A large room is just off the front entrance in the central block. We enter through a rear door hidden behind a tapestry. It is big enough to host a ball of maybe one hundred or more people. But today, it serves as an audience chamber. There is a raised dais and a seat without a back, too fancy to be called a bench, but it is almost a bench. Mama takes a seat, and the lack of back makes sense since it allows her to wear her sword, and her cape does not bunch up behind her. She sets my padded bottom on her knee and gently bounces me. Softly she says, “Such a good girl, such a pretty girl.” I’m not sure who is happier, baby brain or me. Mama loves us and thinks we are good and pretty. As she soothes me, she looks about the room. As far as I can tell, everyone here is her subordinate, senior staff and officers. Stupid papa is here with oozy Fiach, standing a little distance off, whispering to each other. Could you look any more suspicious stupid papa? I notice mama look up. The great room takes up two levels, and on the second, there is a broad walkway where people might go up to look down at the dancers. Over the room's front door is a wider balcony which I suppose a small orchestra might occupy if one wanted music. The room was really fancy. I’d seen it through my toys, but it looked so much more in person. Polished tiled floor, and dark wood on the walls, probably something like oak. It looked expensive. And while the nursery was lovely, it was a nursery. The best stuff was saved for the rest of the house. The uniforms of the house staff looked a little nicer than what the nursery staff wore. But the house staff had less spit up, drool, and other unpleasant things were staining their clothing. I’m sorry, nursery maids! “Send them in,” mama said in a clear, crisp voice that echoed in the room. I noticed stupid papa and oozy Fiach started at that noise. Like they were trained to be afraid of mama’s voice. Like those dogs that drooled when… a phonograph played? Click. Ouch. Oops, let’s not think too much about that kind of thing. I need to keep my mind clear; having the puzzle come together won’t help. At the front of the room are doors, each about five feet wide and maybe twice that high. They swing open into the room and reveal the visitors from the church. There are about thirty of them, maybe? And leading them is a tall man in green and white robes, his hair a bright blonde. As he enters the room, something about how he walks, a sort of stalking gait, each foot being placed down harder than it needs to be, suggests he is upset. Are you mad? As he gets closer and I get an idea of his expression, I am sure he is mad. How long did you make him wait out there, mama? This must be father Raphael. His robes look fancy, and a white that bright means it is either brand new, or laundered often and expertly, or magically cleaned. None of which would be cheap. He is, I hate to admit it, beautiful. In the first book, an older father Raphel is described as handsome and distinguished. But this is that man at his prime. Rich, powerful, and beautiful. Just like mama. But mama is far more of each, and I’m not just saying that. Father Raphael knows that, and I bet it really chafes his ass that he was made to wait. The men behind him wear armour and have swords on their belts. Two in the lead carry flags on which I assume are symbols of Gaia (a female mother figure, arms raised above her head, on either side a pair of crescent moons). The rest hold staffs before them in two hands, each capped with the same symbol on the flag. If the crescent moons on those staffs are sharpened, each man is also carrying an axe. That’s a lot of weapons there, father Rapahel… Are you looking for a fight? Father Raphel approaches, and it looks like he is planning on walking right up to mama, but before he gets ten feet from mama and me, an older man, a total butler type, coughs softly. Father Raphel frowned but came to a stop. The men behind him seemed surprised and barely managed to stop, avoiding crashing into Raphael. He bowed, and the soldiers behind him held out their staffs like a salute. “Viscountess Hefferun, I have come at your invitation.” I suppose mama had asked for him to come. But he had made her wait. So both were being equally rude, I guess. “Welcome, Father Raphael,” Mama said. “You have travelled a long distance to offer me the church’s insight into my daughter’s condition. I am thankful.” “Of course Viscountess Hefferun. Gaia offers her guidance and love to all.” Mama did not say anything in response to that. “May I approach?” Father Raphael asked. After a moment, mama said, “You may.” He crossed the distance between them, stopping just short of the raised dais. All the time, his gaze was on me, something avaricious in his eyes. No matter what, he planned on using the little girl who was not ageing to his benefit. I was sure of that. But as I got closer, I thought maybe there was some surprise as well. Was he seeing something he had not expected? Was it Bearlina’s wings? They are pretty surprising. Or maybe was it that I was truly blessed (Ha!) by Gaia? Or that I was not? But he dropped to his knees, raised his head to the ceiling like he was looking at the sky, and called out, “Surely this child is most blessed by Goddess Gaia.” In unison and so obviously practised, the church soldiers lifted their staffs, banged them on the floor (rude, you know, that’s not your floor), and sang, “Blessed by Goddess Gaia!” Mama and the soldiers hardly reacted, but most of the staff started, as did I. If baby brain had its way, I would be crying now. I mean, really, we babies don’t like that kind of thing. Shouting, thumping, and strange men, it is all too much. However, I keep a tight leash on my baby instincts and stay calm. I look back and up at mama, taking comfort in her calm visage. If mama is not worried, then I don’t have to be. Calmly she asks, “So you say that Gaia’s blessing has trapped my daughter at this age.” “Trapped?” Raphael asked. “Surely you cannot consider a blessing a trap.” “I can, and I do. If you have identified the cause, then I must know what I need to do to end this blessing. A large donation to the church, perhaps?” Can you bribe a goddess like that? I suppose maybe if Father Raphael is an indication. But Raphael is having none of it. “A blessing is not,” he paused, a sour look on his face, “ended. No Viscountess; this is a miracle for a country that has so long been at war. It is a sign that the Goddess Gaia shows us her favour. Your daughter must come to the cathedral; her presence must be a gift to all the country.” He again gazed skyward. “To the world.” He sprung to his feet. “This is greater than you, Viscountess, greater than all of us.” I saw stupid papa step forward, and I could guess he was going to say that his daughter must go to the cathedral in the capital. With stupid papa, oozy Fiach, and Father Raphael all speaking against Mama, she was going to be at a disadvantage. And I knew in the original story of SRST that she was going to lose. But I’m not going to let that happen. Now is the time to change the story. I release my hold on Bearlina Mk 2. She jumps to the floor and spreads her wings, the yellow hoop hovering over her head, glowing gold. Everyone looks towards her. I mean, who wouldn’t? Then she cries in a high-pitched voice, “Bad man!” (How did Bearlina speak, you might ask? In the attic, Slim found a toy cow that 'mooed' when you turned it. He tore out the sound maker, and I magically transplanted it into Bearlina. That was not cruel! It was just an old toy cow!) One of the soldiers lost hold of his staff, and it clattered on the floor. No one seemed to know what to do. But I did. Bearlina Mk 2 jumped forward and, with a little bear fist, punched Father Raphael so hard that his jaw was pushed to the side with a crack, and he was sent spinning like a ballerina before he collapsed messily to the floor. Bearlina Mk 2 landed on the back of his head and looked about the room with her beady glass eyes. “Bad man,” she said, lifting a plushie foot and stomping on his head. I wished she could say more, but in my thoughts, any longer sentence got garbled into babel, which was no good. Mama was the first to recover. She stood. “You heard the bear; I want them all out of here.” Had anyone else asked that a churchman be thrown out on the word of a toy bear, I bet no one would listen. But mama was mama. With Raphael unconscious, the church soldiers looked uncertain. Many of them were looking at Bearlina as if they thought they must attack her. Mama snapped her fingers. It echoed in the room. There was movement above, and the walkway was filled with soldiers, each holding a crossbow pointed down at the church soldiers. Mama had planned this well, and I wondered why she had lost in the original story. Maybe stupid papa had done something, but stupid papa was standing frozen in place, pinned by Bearlina Mk 2’s stare. The flag bearers had to put their flags down as they went to pick up Raphael. Bearlina Mk 2 stepped off him and walked back towards mama and me. The soldiers gathered up Raphael and carried him out, the other soldiers all turning and filing out under the close watch of the soldiers with crossbows. Mama looked at one of her officers. “See that they leave my property and have four days to leave my territory.” “Four days is…” “They brought too much with them; they will have to abandon it for speed. Not our concern.” The officer smiled. “As you say, General.” He saluted and then left. Mama looked around and then down at the fallen flags. “Should we add those to our battle trophies?” There was laughter, and a soldier on the balcony called out, “Who wants trophies from cowards like that?” More laughter. Mama held me tight in one arm and raised her other hand to silence everyone. “I am done with the church. Worship as you will, but the organisation is no longer welcome on this estate.” Mama was staring at stupid papa and oozy Fiach as she said that. Me 1, the story 0. And I think this will be the last chapter I post, a good place to stop.

Chapter 3 I pull myself up using my crib bars and take a quick look around the nursery, just to make sure no one is paying attention to me. Or at least more attention than you usually need to give a baby. I’m amazed any babies survive. When my baby brain is let to do what it wants, I am often in danger of death! Or so it seems. I drop back to my crib mattress and focus on the toy in the crib with me. It is another toy bear, and this one is named ‘Dame Bearlina Brownstien’. Bearlina’s fur is free of battle wounds because she’s never been chewed or drooled on. I am almost sorry for what I am about to try. Getting on my knees, I make a pudgy fist, draw it back, and then with all the force I can muster, I punch Bearlina. Wouldn’t it be great if the bear just exploded? If the soft material covering was shredded and its glass eyes rocketing out to punch holes in the wall. If the stuffing became a fine dust which filled the room. Baby Punch! That would be a great cheat power, and I could do in Father Raphael when he showed up. However, as you might guess, that did not happen. My best punch did not even shift Bearlina Brownstein while; I fell on my side. Well played, Dame Brownstein, well played. You win this time. I considered crying because I had fallen over and was a little frustrated. However, after a moment I rolled over and looked out between my crib bars. I suppose a baby punch would have been a little too convenient of a power. Plus, if I had some kind of super strength, I would probably know by now. How was I going to deal with Father Raphael? I could cry and poop myself when he showed up, but that would not be that different from how I usually am. And who am I kidding? As if I could poop on demand. I rolled back over and looked up at Bearlina. A lot of help you are, I think bitterly. Bearlina turned her head and looked at me. I am so surprised; it is a good thing I am wearing a diaper. Shocked and wet, I start crying. A nursery maid rushes over to lift me from the crib, holding me up on her shoulder, bouncing me as she walks towards the changing table, saying, “There there ShiShi, let’s get you out of the diaper.” I look back towards my crib where Bearlina lies on her side, no evidence her head had ever turned. I’m watching you, Brownstein. I throw my toys out of my crib. And because I am a baby, no one complains; they just call me fussy and put the toys in the toy chest. And then they wait for me to start crying because I don’t have my toys. Yeah, I’m a jerk, but so are most babies. At least, I assume. I don’t really know any other babies. Why did Bearlina Brownstein turn her head towards me? That’s not usual behaviour for my toys. I ponder this as wet nurse B holds me to her breast so I can nurse. “You like my milk, don’t you, sweetling,” B says, bouching me gently in her arms. I mean, I do like her milk, but do you have to say it while I am eating? She gently squeezes my diapered bottom, checking to see if I am messy. I’m not at the moment, but give it time. Now is not the time to be thinking of my soon-to-be stinky diapers. I have to think about my teddy bear. Click. Ouch. “What’s the matter, sweetling? Do you have some gas in your tummy?” Not that she expected an answer, for she removed me from her breast (Hey, I was eating), put me up on her shoulder and patted my back. It’s not like I need help burping; I can do it on my own, and… well, sure, I’ll still burp if you do this to me, but it is not like I needed it. “There we go, sweetling,” B said as she returned me to her breast. Finally, I can eat. Maybe my baby brain is right. Maybe this stuff is delicious. Certainly better than the mushed-up food I get spoon-fed because, apparently, my diet needs some variety. Whoever said that never had breast milk. Wait, I was not thinking about how great breast milk is. It was thinking about Bearlina. Good try on distracting me, baby brain, but I win this time. Was that toy alive? Or some kind of magical construct? Maybe a bear golem? Mom seems too sharp to me to let something like that enter the nursery. Would that mean she put it in here? Perhaps they are toy-shaped bodyguards. If I had toy soldiers, would they actually be soldiers I could command? Why don’t I have toy soldiers? Is it because I’m a girl? That is pretty sexist. Or maybe it is because I would probably put them in my mouth and choke on them. It’s your fault, baby brain that we don’t have better toys. Click. Ouch. “Oh, it looks like you're messy, sweetling.” I’m going to whine and cry now. Nighttime. It’s been a busy day of being a baby. If I don’t mess those diapers, who will? I wish anyone but me. The nursery is nearly empty, but for the old nurse and a young nursery maid. They sit at a small table, enjoying tea and some kind of biscuit while playing cards. They are not really looking at me. I turn my attention towards my toy chest. Bearlina and several other bears are seated atop it. Waiting for me to demand then. But I’m not ready to share my crib with them. If they (or just Bearlina) are golems, why would they never have moved before? There would be no reason for Bearlina to have turned to look at me with her glass eyes (aren’t they a choking hazard? No. Focus). I stare at the toy, focus on it, and think about how upset I was earlier that I had not proven the efficacy of my ‘Baby Punch’ (™). And from where she is sat upon the toy chest, Bearlina shifts and once more looks towards me. I am not as shocked this time and don’t wet my diaper (it was already wet). However, I am surprised enough that I lose focus as my thoughts go to stories (movies?) about killer toys. Bearlina’s head snaps back with enough force that she falls to the side. Neither nurse nor the nursery maid noticed. Holding the bars of my crib, I carefully lower myself until my diapered bottom rests on my mattress. I put my thumb in my mouth, and I think. Click. Ouch. Argh. That stupid puzzle. I worry that my baby brain might eventually explode, metaphorically, of course. But I can’t seem to do anything about it. Maybe when that happens, I’ll disappear and leave the eternal baby behind. If that happens, who is going to protect ShiShi from the church? Who is going to protect mama? I had best work this all out then… just in case. As I suck on my thumb, I think about the first chapter of the first book of SRST. The boss has been shooting out deadly beams of destructive power. I had tried that, testing in directions where no one would be hurt. I’m not sure how you shoot a deadly beam, but if you focus so much that you scrunch up, you end up pooping yourself. I figure that is not how most wizards accomplish it. So, for the time being, deadly beams are off the table. The boss had also ripped open holes in space through which demons came. I have not even tried that. Demons are bad news. But… there had also been those weird puppet things. They had been creepy, and I had never thought about that. Why had there been puppets? Sucking on my thumb with intent, I ponder that. Poor ShiShi dies in the first chapter, and everything we learn about her comes from what Conan and company uncover while investigating the church. But while the results of that investigation were all the author told the readers about ShiShi… he would have known more about her. Things he did not share. Maybe ideas that never really made it into the story. Being able to control toys and toy-like things might explain the puppets. And if you were writing a baby character, wouldn’t toy control seem like a suitable type of magic? I take my drool-soaked thumb from my mouth, wipe it on my fuzzy onesie, and then grasp my crib bars and pull myself up to stand. Focusing on Bearlina, trying to keep my thoughts and emotions clear, I enforce my will on the toy. And to my amazement, I watch as Bearlina stands. She looks about and then puts her short arms over her head like she is stretching out. After rolling her shoulders like a prizefighter getting ready to enter the ring, she takes a few steps. Isn’t she showing a lot of personality? And what’s with that fighter-like behaviour? You're Dame Bearlina Brownstein, a proper lady. She looks back at me like she is saying, ‘What the heck, don’t tell me who I got to be’. Then she punches poor Colonel Kuma. He flies across the room and hits the hard wall with a loud thump, like a pillow hitting something. “What was that?” the nursery maid asks, looking up from the cards. I’m surprised and drop down onto my crib mattress, landing on the mess that has appeared in the seat of my diaper. Bearlina falls and is motionless. I start crying. The nurse and the nursery maid forget the sound as they focus on me. I am the toy wizard! Under my command, toys are my conquering army! Are you afraid, puny mortal? Well, not really. I’ve been experimenting. I can’t just control any toy. It has to be a toy I care about that I have named. Maybe that I have hugged and even drooled on, just a little. But that’s still pretty good. But at best, I can control only two at once, which makes me tired. Even one toy will tire me out; it just takes longer. And I have to focus: mind and emotions. Baby brain interferes with that focus. How did ShiShi control hundreds, if not more, of those puppets? Was she that powerful at the First Boss? Will I get that power without having to become the First Boss? I can only hope. I learned something new this morning. I can sense things through the toy I am controlling. Like I can see out of its eyes. So I’ve decided this evening I am going to test this out. I am lying in my crib, pretending to be asleep. I don’t need to look at a toy now; I can just focus on it. Mr Shinobi Slim is an all-black bear; even his dark eyes are like chips of onyx. He is undoubtedly the most sneaky of the bears. With my eyes closed, it is easy to see what is around Slim. The other toys (minus Colonel Kuma, who is with me because I feel bad that Bearlina punched him) and the toy chest. Slim flips out of the chest, his stuffing-filled feet landing silently on the wood floor. Moving along the wall in shadow, he makes his way to the far end of the room and slips through the open door into the nursery suite's bathroom. I seldom come here for obvious reasons. I am still bathed in a small tub in the nursery. Slim pauses so I can take in the room’s tub, toilet, and other things. If I could just get another year or two of physical growth, I could master this room. But no time for feeling sorry for myself. Slim makes a leap to the window sill and works the latch far more adroitly than you would expect from toy bear paws. Then he opens it. The toys are pretty strong when under my control. Outside, the summer evening is chilly, not like the warm nursery. Focusing on what Slim feels helps me put what I feel out of my mind. That is useful because so much could knock me out of my focus state. Slim dashes across the nursery garden and out into the family garden. He leaps the wall that separates the family garden from the estate grounds. With Slim, I explore the immediate area around the estate. When he comes across people, I have him stop, hide, and listen. I pick up some gossip that never makes it to the nursery. It seems like Father Rapeal is on his way. Father Raphael, I think, all angry. That is when I noticed Slim had grown claws. Fascinated, I have Slim take a swipe at a tree. The claws score deep, carving out wood maybe an inch deep. Wow. With this, I could do some damage. But that is enough today. I have Slim return. As he steals back into the family garden, the claws disappear. He returns through the bathroom window, closes and locks it, and then returns to the toy box. I release the control and am so exhausted that I am soon asleep.

Chapter 2 What? A little baby crying and wanting her diapee changed? No idea what you are talking about. Nope, I’m just recalling the story in the first book of Seven Roses and Seven Thorns. About how Conan kills the baby Saint of Gaia, aka Shivaun Hefferun, aka me. It is late; I was woken in the middle of a diaper change and then fed. My tummy is full, and my diaper is probably going to stay dry for a bit. It is an excellent time to work. I know I said a baby’s job is to sleep, eat, and poop, but that’s not the work I’m doing right now. Man, that Conan must have been a total jackass, right? And if you threw the book away at the end of the chapter (and apparently some people did), you would have believed this. But the second chapter opens up with him riddled with guilt and in the midst of drinking himself to death. But his new companions Margreg and Colm come and drag him out of his spiral and ask the question, ‘Why did the Saint of Gaia go crazy like that?’ So Conan, like a drowning man, grabs onto the life preserver, hoping to discover something that will alleviate his guilt. Not that he does. Poor bastard is eaten away by the guilt that haunts him over the fifty-plus volumes. I could almost feel sorry for him if I was not feeling more sorry for myself. Conan, Margreg, and Colm start to investigate and almost immediately find themselves targets of assassins. They also have to deal with people who are angry that Conan killed the Saint of Gaia. And there are the regular monsters you get in a fantasy novel. To say that the three were challenged is putting it lightly. But as they investigate, they uncover dark facts about the church and what happened to the Saint of Gaia during the sixteen years she was kept there. Yeah, sixteen years. So if I can’t figure something out, I have sixteen years of waiting to die. That’s crap and just the tip of this crapberg! They find out that the Saint of Gaia was terribly abused during her time at the church. She, I, could heal almost any injury due to what was called Gaia’s blessing, (I don't know if I could heal any wound right now, I have never been badly hurt that I know of, but I do suffer from diaper rash). Just think, well, don’t, but for people who liked abusing children, how much could they indulge in their twisted appetites with a child whose injuries would heal almost instantly. Well, physical injuries. It was well known that the author did not care for organized religion and was not afraid to paint his fictional ones as terrible places. So not only am I going to die, but I am also going to be abused while waiting to die? What the hell, author? In the story, Conan and company eventually have enough evidence to take to the Emperor. There is a big final fight between Conan and the High Priest Raphael (who gets much more character development and a cooler death scene than a certain saint). My thoughts are scattered by the nursery door opening, and I realize that my diaper is wet. Ugh. That’s it for any sort of planning. The best I can hope for is to get to sleep before a cooling diaper upsets me. There are soft voices, the old nurse and, to my surprise, a masculine voice. The nursery is not really a place where men come that often. That's novel. Novel interests me and the baby brain. “Not to worry,” a voice I think might belong to my father says. “As you say, sir,” the old nurse replies. Mother is My Lady, father is just sir. That reminds me of things; some of the puzzle pieces in my mind snap together. However, I can’t give it the attention I want. My baby brain is beginning to wander, and I’m tired. I close my eyes to narrow slits so I only see shadows approach the crib. Father’s voice, a whisper that probably carries further than he thinks, “When will Father Raphael arrive?” I hate Father Raphael, the real monster, pimp and trafficker hiding in the robes of the holy. “It will still be some time. There is much to arrange if things are to go as we wish them,” another man replies. I recognize that voice. It’s the ooze-voiced man who suggested the church. I am pretty sure I hate him too. I am almost positive he was in the first book… maybe he survived to show up as a petty little annoying shit stain in other books. Shit stain… all my best swears remind me of my diapers… “It has to be soon. Niamh already doubts your suggestion. I am trying to convince her, but the damn woman never listens to me.” “Do not worry, my lord,” was oozy the only person who called father ‘my lord’? “The Viscountess is worried; she is holding onto hope.” “What is the point of this? She will never give the girl over to the church.” The girl? I have a name you know. “You are her father.” He laughed, loud and bitter. You know, a baby is trying to sleep here? I know you are upset, but come on, don’t be complete shit… ugh. The two were quiet, and I could imagine the old nurse staring at the two men. My sham sleep was becoming closer to actual sleep. oozy said, “If Father Raphael identifies her as a saint, his power and the church’s power will grow. If that power is put behind you being her father will mean much more. The Viscountess will not be able to stand against us.” “She will fight.” In what might cause nightmares, I pictured oozy smiling, showing too many teeth. He said to my father, “She will lose.” It is warm, and the air is scented by flowers. Butterflies and fat bees fly between many blooms delighting me. The walled family garden behind the estate is beautiful, at least the parts I have seen. Most of the time, I am in a small section created just for me. Tall flower beds and a gate keep me trapped within, even if all of my caretakers were to suddenly fall asleep. It is an outdoor, giant playpen in some manners. The grass is soft, kept short, and I’ve seen the gardeners removing small stones from the ground. Things I might scratch myself on when I crawl around on the grass wearing only my diaper. That’s right, I am nude but for my crinkly white diaper. It is like they are trying to embarrass me! Of course, they aren’t, I know. It is a warm day, and it is nice to feel the sun and the wind. I guess nudity is the privilege of babies. Yeah, it is a privilege, not people bigger than me stealing my clothes and putting me on display. I am glad it is a privilege; otherwise, I would probably try to hide away. Sitting down heavily on the padding under my bum, only a little damp, thank you, I look around. I already said there were butterflies and fat bees but also fairies. Few people can see them as they dance among the flowers, teasing the insects and the flowers, stealing a little pollen to sprinkle in their hair. Sometimes they would fly around me, apparently delighted by the baby. I could not tell what they said; their language was a mystery to me. I am the only person who can see them in the garden. Powerful wizards can; they often form contracts with such beings to learn magic of a specific type. I reach out for them, playing their game. They seem delighted to dart out of the reach of my chubby fingers. It never hurts to have the favour of fairies, or so the books in the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns have led me to believe. ‘Hey, you faeries, can you hear me?’ I asked. Okay, I said nothing like that. This baby brain of mine is probably soaking up language like crazy; I think that is why I understand what is being said around me. But I still remember the language I spoke in my other life. So the sound I made was a confusing mix of this world’s language (probably nation or region, really, what are the chances everyone speaks the same language?) and my previous life’s language. And because of this baby's mouth, every one of the words was garbled, so it sounded like babel. One of the nurses said with delight, “Yes ShiShi, we can hear the birds.” She smiled broadly at me and, to a nursery maid, said, “Did you hear that? I am sure she asked if we could hear the birds.” “Sounded more like nonsense to me,” the nursery maid said. I sighed, though it was not a good sigh and might have been mistaken for a burp. And for the record, the faeries did not respond at all. Giving up on the faeries, I crawled across the grass to a pile of toys, pulled a soft bear from it, and hugged it to myself. If I looked busy playing with the bear (his name was Colonel Kuma Kuroi, by the way. His patchy fur is a proud battle injury and not because someone drooled and chewed on him), they were less likely to bother me and shake me out of my thoughts. Mama saw me this morning before I was taken outside to play. Mama often comes to the nursery, just to look in at me. I thought at first she did not like me, but as I remember more about Seven Roses and Seven Thorns (the puzzle pieces are still shaking about, more large pieces, but still a lot of chaos) I realize that she does love me and is just really, super busy. Viscountess Niamh Hefferrun, general of the Empire’s Third Heavy Cavalry Brigade. According to what Conan hears in SRST (Seven Roses and Seven Thorns), she was a self-made woman. The daughter of a provincial Baron, she climbed the ranks during the Empier’s war with the Kingdom of Rust. The previous Emperor (at least he was previous when SRST started… maybe he still is in power at this time? No one tells a baby about politics.) made her a Viscountess for her service to the Empire, gifting some precious lands, both Imperial and those captured by the Empire from the Kingdom. So she is wealthy and powerful. So why is her presence in SRST just what Conan learns about her? Well, it is because she is dead at the start of the series. The thought almost starts me crying. My mama is dead. But she is not. Not now. She is alive and powerful, and I got to find out how to save both me and my mama from the stupid fate that SRST laid out. You might ask how one of the most influential people in the Empire died? It was like oozy and stupid papa were saying by my crib the other night. Getting a saint supercharges the church, the weakest of the state’s institutions at this moment in time. I guess during the war, the government and the army had grown in importance, and the church became less important. But now the war is over. With a saint under its control, the church could say that it was time for a new way of thinking. It was time to start looking towards the gods, especially the world mother, Gaia. That is why the church is so powerful at the start of SRST. Conan discovers that Viscountess Hefferrun made many attempts to take her daughter back from the church, but with the weakening of the army and the strengthening of the church she had less power and few allies. She dies in mysterious circumstances about six years before the first novel starts. What about stupid papa? As ‘Father of the Saint’, he is an important religious figure, the church says. Conan and co will discover him leading a debauched life of luxury in the second or third book. Stupid pervert, papa. I hug my bear tight and wonder what I can do to keep myself out of the church’s hands and save mama. She’s my most powerful ally, after all. The puzzle pieces shake across the tray, and hints of new patterns appear and disappear. Maybe I have an idea. What if… The nurse is suddenly looming behind me, reaching out, pulling the back of my diaper open. “Well, it looks like someone is a mucky little thing.” No! What was I thinking? ‘Stop checking my damn diaper,’ I snap. Well, not really. I guess the only word the nurse might have understood was ‘diaper’ for she says in a high-pitched sing-song voice, “Yes, I know you want a new diaper 'cause you’re a stinky little baby.” And as I am whisked up and Colonel Kuma falls from my hands, I start crying.

Reborn as the Tragic First Boss who Dies to Set the Hero on His Path? No Thanks. I’ma gonna stay in my Nursery! By Inku Hime inc_himitsu@hotmail.com Chapter 1 Concern and perhaps a little fear laced the man’s voice, making it seem that the concern was a sham. “There is no medical reason for this condition, I will continue to research it, but at the moment, My Lady, I must beg for forgiveness, for there is no medical explanation.” A reply suggested umbrage, for with some sputtering, another man said, “My Lady, there is no magical reason for this either. No curse nor spell has been laid; it is neither illusion nor transformation nor changeling switch. The answer will not be found in the mystical arts.” Had the first man perhaps pointed at the second when he delivered his diagnosis? Was that why the second sounded so angry? There were tears, anger, exhaustion, and steel in the woman’s voice. “If not physical or mystical, how do you explain my daughter’s condition?” She nearly screamed. Silence. A silence so heavy it was uncomfortable. A cry sounded, breaking the silence. The woman said, “Colleen, see about the child.” “Yes, My Lady,” another woman said, tone differential and quiet. Things shifted in the room as if it all flipped around and grew warmer. The crying stopped. It oozed, the voice of the next speaker, like molasses poured on a white baking sheet. “If you will excuse me, My Lady, if neither physical nor mystical, could it not be spiritual?” “Spiritual? What do you mean?” The woman’s tone was snappish. One could almost picture the man bowing his head down low. “If neither physical ailment nor mystical curse, then perhaps a blessing from on high?” Blessing? Blessing? Blessing? Blessing? Why did that word echo like that? Why did it fall like a rock in a still pond? “A blessing?” The woman called ‘My Lady’ said in a tone that suggested she was keeping a scream in by the force of will alone. “You call this a blessing?” “Who can know the minds of the gods, My Lady.” The voice still oozed, the once clean baking sheet now halfway covered in dirty brown. Would it cover it all? Of course, it would. Molasses was slow, but it was persistent. And enough of it could be fatal. “That is ridiculous!” “But, My Lady, does not the Goddess Gaia love all children? Did not the poet Cathal say…” “I know the poems of bloody Cathal! If rain were Gaia’s damnable tears cried whenever a child grows up, it would be raining every damned day!” Gaia? Gaia? Gaia? Gaia? The word, a name, was uncomfortable, itchy, cold. “Still, My Lady, might we send for an expert? One who can intercede for us with the gods?” “I have little time for the church and its servants. I only put up with you because of my Husband. Don’t try my patience.” The heavy silence again. Then the man of magic spoke. “My Lady, please, consider it.” The man of science spoke. “If only to rule it out. Then Nial and I will redouble our efforts.” “You did not redouble them already?” “We will push ourselves beyond human bounds; we will not rest until we have an answer.” “It is as he says, My Lady.” Science and magic made friends. That pairing was fluffy and warm. Silence again but for soft murmurings from the woman called Colleen. Then the lady spoke. “Contact the Church, and let them know that I will not have them in this house for longer than needed.” “Of course, My Lady.” And the white sheet was stained brown. “I shall send for Father Raphael immediately.” Raphael? Raphael? Raphael? Raphael? If the word ‘Blessing’ has been itchy, this word was like fire. Again there was crying, and Colleen’s murmurings grew louder. “Let us go and leave Colleen to quiet her. Surely all our voices are upsetting the child,” the lady said. Likely they all left. Father Raphael. Hate. I put a word to the burning feeling. Hate. And like puzzle pieces coming together, I saw part of the picture. Envision, if you will, a puzzle, its pieces all dumped out at random, face up, on a flat surface. That was my mind, is my mind. Chaos. Now imagine that the surface is a vibrating tray and that the pieces all begin to move, sliding around. Chaos that makes you seasick if you try to stare at it for too long. But if it is your mind, you can not help but stare at it. Pieces move around, bumping into each other, gathering together and then splitting apart. But sometimes you see, several related pieces drift close together, and you see that, and you think something like, ‘Oh, that’s a cow’. But then the parts split apart, and you can no longer see that cow, and you do not even remember what a…. What was I thinking? Something about an animal? Animal? Animal? Animal? And so it goes. Chaos. But then something happens as the puzzle pieces dance around in their mad jig. Two pieces come together, and the tab jiggles into the blank, and now two parts are one, joined together, joining the dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance. A bigger piece moving about the tray. It has gravity, and it engenders a different sort of chaos. A bully on the playground demanding everyone play their game. But other pieces slip together, tab and blank, another source of gravity on the tray. Order is being enforced on chaos. Does any of this make sense? Maybe? In time there are many of these joined pieces. More than two? Many more than two. They are made up of two parts, and more than two parts and then are recognizable. So now I see that cow, and it never comes apart, and I know what a cow is, and I know what milk is because it comes from a cow. That is not much to know. But I know it. Not that there is a cow. Well, there must be because I know what a cow is. Or that could be because there is a farm, and a cow is on a farm. I don’t know. And if I look at it too much, I get that seasick feeling. Is there a boat? Is that why I know what a seasick feeling is? Itching and burning and cold. I can’t think too much on it. But there is a set of pieces for Father Raphael. Or a set of pieces for hate. And I know that I hate Father Raphael. I know that he is my enemy. And I know that I must not go to the church, for if I do, my fate is sealed. I just don’t know what that fate is. And other than being a word that is itchy and cold, I am not sure what a church is. I am pretty sure it is not a cow. Not really sure why I think of cows so much. Maybe because of the milk? “You know that they say Father Raphael could become the High Priest.” The voice belongs to Colleen, and whenever I hear it, the world is warm and soft. However, this time, and those words, are itchy, spikey, cold. And on the vibrating tray, the puzzle pieces find their mates. Click. Click. Click. “You best not talk like that, Colleen. You know what the Viscountess thinks of the church.” Click. “I’d never speak against our Lady, but I worry about her feud with the Church.” Click. Click. “Worry? Why?” There was a feeling of the world shifting, and Colleen said, “I suppose because I think that she’ll never be able to go back.” “That won’t bother our Lady. Even if they throw her out and declare her an enemy of the church, you know she’ll just grab that big sword of hers and dare them to do something.” CLICK. I started crying, howling, and Colleen, who held me in her arms as she had been breastfeeding me, asked, “What’s wrong ShiShi?” What was wrong? What was wrong? There was a metaphorical puzzle in my baby brain that was coming together, and the meat in my small head could not easily contain it. It hurt. It might have been actual physical pain as my brain was being shredded. It might have been psychosomatic or hysterical because I was having an existential crisis. Click. Ouch. So what was wrong, Colleen, my dear wet nurse? Where do I start? I’ve been reborn, and I am now a baby. Somehow for some reason, the knowledge of my past life (well, some of it, at least) has been crammed into the tiny mind of said baby, and I don’t think it should have been. Oh, and if that was not bad enough, my future is dark and horrible things will happen to me. Then I will be killed for some reason that I think is really stupid. Click. Ouch. Click. Ouch. Click. Ouch. So that is what is wrong, Colleen, but as I can’t seem to even talk, I’m going to have a bloody hard time telling you! I poop my diaper at that moment, and it fills up with warm mush pressed against the too-sensitive skin of my bottom. Oh, for the love of… That’s it. I’m done. Go away, you stupid puzzle. I’m just a baby, and I’m gonna cry. And so I do. Time passes as it does when you are a baby trying to deny reality. I sleep, eat, and mess my diapers. That’s a baby’s job, you know? And I am serious about my job. Colleen and another nursemaid (whose name I do not know at the moment, so call her breastfeed me, and I nurse without a single complaint. The stuff is great, my baby brain tells me, and I don’t argue. And I fill my diapers without thought. That is the honest truth. I don’t think about it. One moment my diapers are dry, and another, they are wet and cold, and there is a load in the seat, and I’m crying, and I certainly don't recall wetting and messing them. When I sleep, I dream baby dreams, but I also remember things. In the unconscious world, the puzzle intrudes, but as pieces come together, it doesn't hurt. Well, maybe it does. I do hear the nursery maids talking about me and how I whimper in my sleep. I have good reason, you know? I’m not having nightmares about… what would babies have nightmares about? I am holding the bars of my crib, standing on the mattress, and looking out at my nursery. It is mostly empty now; an older woman (white hair and wrinkles old) is sitting in a rocking chair, perhaps napping. A younger woman, maybe a teenager, one of the nursery maids, is cleaning up, stocking cabinets, and looking over at me every now and then. What? Do you want to fight or something? No, probably not. Just keeping an eye on the baby. The weird baby. I figure most babies don’t act like me, but is there a baby in the world like me? No, there is not. And that is significant. I guess I need to work this out. I am four years old, but if you look at me, you would think I was probably around one year. My mother, the Viscountess, sent for doctors and wizards and has been trying to find out what is wrong with me. And after much research and study, magic and science could not answer her question. Which is why oozy wants someone from the church to take a look at me. Oh, I am Shivaun, ShiShi to the maids. Shivaun Hefferun. And in the series of novels called the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns (there are over fifty of them!) Shivaun Hefferun is the first boss of the first book, and she dies in the very first chapter. I mean, what is up with that? Being reborn as a villain or the last boss is one thing, but as a character who does not even make it out of the first chapter? Is there a god who did this? I would like to complain. “What’s the matter ShiShi? Have you pooped yourself?” Thoughts like water thrown on a hot surface, skittering around and poofing away. The nursery maid picked me up and checked my diaper, and I was all anger and tears. How dare she just pick me up and accuse me of pooping myself. How dare she pat my messy diaper and push the itchy mucky muck against my bum. So I cried and cried cause that is all I could do. At least until my diaper was changed and I was put into my crib. Thinking and crying and pooping were so exhausting. I fell asleep. Should I have teeth? I am not sure when babies start teething. I am chewing on a soft rubbery ring thing, drooling. It is incredible how enjoyable chewing on something can be, the soft squish between my gums. I guess the one good thing about not having teeth is that no one seriously thought to wean me. Other than the occasional bowl of something gross and mushy, it is breast milk daily. Chewy thing in my mouth, drool on my chin, thinking about when I next got to nurse. Being a baby is great. Wait, no. It is terrible. Remember. First boss and dead before the first chapter. All the boob milk in the world does not make up for that. But I got to think about the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns and the first book, ‘The Church Thorn’ because I am going to die in chapter one. Well, assuming that this is the world of the books. I chew and drool and notice my diaper is wet and warm. As it will soon be cold and clammy, and I’ll be just thinking of that and crying, I better try to get my thoughts together while I can. Seven Roses and Thorns starts with a swordsman named Conan. Not that barbarous guy; I guess he was ripped off from another Conan who was bald and hairy or something? No, don’t get distracted, baby brain. Stay on task. Chew on the rubbery thing and let me do the real work. Conan was a magical swordsman, I guess you’d call him. Young and idealistic in chapter 1. He comes to the realm’s capital city to make his name and fortune just in time to see large swaths of it, the city, not his fortune, being destroyed. Everyone is fleeing, shouting out confusing things about a monster attacking the church, trying to kill the Saint of Gaia. Being a heroic type of fellow, Conan runs into danger. He fights through disaster and puppet monsters, horrible creatures described as moving like something in a nightmare. There were also depraved demons stalking the city, killing and torturing the citizens. It was all exhilarating. He had been joined by a couple of other want-to-be heroes by then. Margreg, the sorceress and Colm, the archer. The three of them fight their way to the middle of the church and discover that the monster is the Saint of Gaia, a little baby throwing a tantrum, tossing out magic of incredibly destructive power and ripping open holes in time and space through which demons come. Can you imagine my surprise when I read that? The saint was a baby, the first boss was a baby. Who does that? I’ve grown bored with the chewy ring and let it fall. I’m squirming a little, crawling on the padded floor of my playpen, looking at some of the toys within. Baby brain is getting bored and becoming aware of a cooling diaper. I don’t have much time. Conan, Margreg, and Colm try their best to calm the baby. Margreg is almost killed when she grabs the baby and hugs it to her incredible bosoms (not my words, or the author’s, I suppose, but look at the novel’s cover art. They were huge!) saying that she, the baby, future me, will be safe. But the first boss is inconsolable, and she blasts poor Margreg away. In the end, the half-dead Conan does the unthinkable and kills the Saint of Gaia. Again think of how shocked you’d be in reading that. First the boss is an adorable baby, and then the hero of the piece kills that baby. I mean, tough man making tough choices kind of story. Some people threw the book away at that point, but most, like me, were intrigued enough by chapter one to continue. So, if I am named a saint by this Father Raphael (hate him), I am going to die. I have to stop that! I need to fight my fate! I must find a way to keep from being named a saint. I want my diaper changed. Diaper? Darn it! And then I’m crying, and who has time to think of fighting fate. Baby’s diapee is cold and clammy! Change me!

If you want more mechanical approach to the craft part.... Go to the library and grab a book or three. Books that have been edited, copy edited, and printed. Look at what those authors have done in the way of dialogue (so I guess I should add make sure the books are prose with a lot of dialogue). Look at the structure on the page, see what published authors (several drafts deep) do with the help of editors and copy editors, get an idea of what 'good' structure looks like. You might keep a few pages close by and refer to them are you are writing, but I think if you look at a book for its structure you'll probably have a good idea of the format you'll want to emulate as you develop your own style. Watch carefully though, published authors, editors and copy editors will sometimes break rules, but only because they're really good and know when breaking a rule makes things better. It's not something you want base your style on. I'd also say worrying about the font to use for internal dialogue is not the thing that will improve your dialogue (I'd put it equal to practicing your signature for when you get famous so you can sign autographs - but that's me). Depending on your perspective it might not even matter. Try writing from a limited non-omniscient third person perspective where you just describe what the characters say and do but never what they think. Can you make it clear what a character is thinking by their actions and words? YMMV

Thank you for taking the time to comment, I always appreciate hearing from people who have enjoyed the story. At the time I wrote this I don't think there had been a DD character who was 'genre aware' as much as Emily. It offered me the opportunity to have her turn the tables as few times. Which was fun.

But you can eat you cake and have someone elses cake! Not that I ever did that. No, there is no reason to look in my fridge. I understand that feeling about stories like this, I kind of share it. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed this story.

I've never been worried about that. As has been said, if something is written well, prosaic objects, terms, and ideas are not going to be a problem, even if they are ones that the reader is not familiar with. Cleaving too close to the social norms of the time can be an issue, especially if you make it clear that you are completely supporting those norms.

I write things out. These days I prefer to complete stories in their entirety rather than writing and posting a piece at a time. As I am writing I let spell and grammar checkers do their thing and fix as writing. As required I'll go back and rewrite earlier parts if I realize that the story gets better with those changes. Once done I have started used Grammarly as a tool for the next edit and rewrite. Grammarly is not always right, but at the very least is makes me think about why I have decided to break the rules of grammar and if it really makes the story better. I also like to leave stories alone for a while, a week at minimum (a month is better, I mean, as long as you are not on a deadline, the longer the better, especially if you continue to write other things because a month plus later you will be - at least a little - a better writer), and then go back and read through them start to finish. The longer it has been since I wrote it the more likely I am to actually notice mistakes and not auto edit them without noticing them. It also provides another opportunity to see if changes in the story will improve things or if contradictions crept in during the editing process. If I am in a bit of a rush and can't afford to leave the story sit, I can read it backwards which makes mistakes pretty glaring. Reading out loud, especially for dialogue, helps improve the flow. And no matter what I do, if I look at a story a few years later I realize that there were better ways to do things. One of the ways I deal with writers block is to rewrite past stories. I trick myself into thinking that it is easy, but in truth the rewrite versions are actually just as much work as something completely new.

Thank you for you comments. Always pleased to hear them. Glad you enjoyed the story.

WBDaddy has basically explained it. The question of how to write something would be much like asking, 'how do I play classical music on a piano, and how do I play rock and roll music on a piano'. The answer is practice, practice, practice playing the piano. Your tools as a writer don't change because you are writing a different genre, or describing different things. If you are not a lesbian and or woman and you want to write realistic/graphic love scenes... research. If you are not willing to ask a lesbian as suggested (and fair enough, asking people to tell you about their sex lives is going to be fraught with danger), find some lesbian writers and read their work. Multi genre stories require you to understand the genres and tropes and figure out how they best fit together. However, before you try to mix rock and classical music on your piano, make sire you can play each one on its own well. Improve writing age regression and such? Practice, practice, practice. Also, read work that you think are good representation of these works and read it with an intent to understand what the writer is doing and why they are doing in. Unfortunately that might be a little like dissecting a frog. You'll find out how the frog works, but the frog won't survive the process. Same for trying to write a found family. Practice, prac... you get the idea. Start by writing about relationships you are familiar with, get good at them, then add more levels to it.

So I understand the Doylist reasons for saying all your alien races are humanoid, but do you have an inworld explanation for it? I suppose part of it will be tied to your AIs seeking out a particular kind of victim. So type of alien babied will be more like personality and social traits? So warlike humanoid aliens and peaceful humanoid aliens and artistic humanoid aliens? However, it might be interesting to see how the AI baby non-humanoid races like slime colonies, or a snakes or other AIs. As for the aliens that started all this, what was their tech level like? I ask because if it is really high (very effective AI and robotics, FTL) then I would wonder why they did not deal with the frailties of age so they did not need AI caretakers for older peopl? They might also get rid of natural child birth and decant children from artificial wombs when the children are more self sufficient, though that is an extreme. So if they could do what I suggest above if their tech would allow it, why didn't they? Maybe religion? Religion always gives a good reason for otherwise sensible beings to be anything but.

I am always pleased to hear that people are willing to invest their time in rereading these stories. It's hight praise. I see you have made comments in the other 'Adjacent' stories. Glad you liked those as well. I do have some vague ideas about how the adjacent stories might find a convergence in continuing the story, but it is really far from mind these days. Thanks for your comment.