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Hello, this is another idea I've had for a fair bit. It may be slightly influenced by French Whines (kudos to the author of it; probably one of my favorite stories I've read on this site), except...well, this is more supernatural than anything. And now, for WARNINGS: there will be political undercurrents in this story. If you're not a fan of Israel or Arab countries, well, I will say this story probably won't be for you (as I am ethnically Jewish from my mom and have the utmost respect for all religions - so long as they aren't hurting people - including Christianity and Islam, my feelings, as much as I want to be an impartial observer, may spill out. I apologize beforehand, but this story is something I feel I had to write from the bottom of my heart after all that's happened). But I PROMISE beforehand, there will be a good ending to this; I may be cynical about our irl chances if/when another huge war spills out, but that doesn't mean this story has to be. Of course, politics and the bigotry (portrayed in antagonists INCLUDING THIS CHAPTER, JUST SO YOU'RE WARNED) are there, but I promise to be respectful in that regard. Violence is there, given the subject matter. Language is a given with any of my stories. And of course, gender-swapping is a major thing, and I promise to be respectful in that regard as well. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! Now, to start the story: - Chapter One: Death is Not the End. - Lieutenant Lavi Zingel’s calm brown eyes were constantly aware of their surroundings, for danger was close by. He was deep undercover in Sayeret Matkal’s operation in Egypt; if he was found out, Israel could deny any involvement. Operation Rebirth was risky, but he had been the first to volunteer for it. It was all he could do for his country, was it not? Ten top Israeli scientists had been captured by a shadowy Iranian-proxy organization, and it required a delicate touch; only one man could be sent to infiltrate, and he was perfect, as he was of Arabic and Jewish descent (from his father and mother, respectively), and looked the part with dark olive skin, and a full dark-brown beard. Mossad was worried that Alraabitat Almunahidat Lilsihyuniati (Anti-Zionist League, honestly, couldn’t they think of a more original name than that?) was forcing the scientists to build nuclear weapons in Egypt, which would then be shipped to Syria and Lebanon. Zingel was as skilled a combatant as had ever gone through Sayeret Matkal; everyone in the secretive unit knew it. He had aced every test, physical, medical, psychological, had been pushed to his limits and beyond, and he had come out of it stronger than ever before, a weapon who could kill a man hundreds of different ways. But the main thing that separated him from the others was his mind. He was an omniglot, fluent in over twenty languages and dialects. He had graduated top of his class in high school, a 750 on the Psychometric Entrance Test, summa cum laude in all classes, with a bagrut certificate. He was knowledgeable about how nuclear weapons worked, having had his Egyptian-Israeli father and Israeli mother working on them. It didn’t surprise him that he was the first choice for the mission. What did surprise him, as he looked at the weapons, was that they were far from nuclear armaments. Quite simply, as he looked at the manifests, saw the tired scientists working (not just Israeli, but Egyptian as well), it was far from nuclear. This was a weapon of which the likes had never been seen on this planet before, something he had as much a clue about as the workings of God: in other words, none. Then there was shouting, and he turned around to see a large Arabic man hit a short, heavyset Egyptian woman, who took the hit with stunned disbelief. “I don’t want excuses!” the man roared. “I wanted Project Rebirth to be up-and-running a week ago! I should kill you all, you worthless piles of shit!” “But…what you’re asking…” one of the Israeli scientists, a woman, spoke up timidly. “It’s impossible. This is God’s work, not-” “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN WHAT PIGS LIKE YOU SAY!” the man shouted, closing the distance and shoving a gun in the scientist’s face. “I wanted this to be done long ago! It should’ve been sent to Lebanon and Syria long ago! It should’ve detonated in Tel Aviv, the city of rats like you, long ago!” Zingel was torn. On the one hand, nothing could compromise his identity. Mossad specifically said that the weapons were the priority. But compassion had been instilled in him as well from his parents, and he wanted to rescue the hostages - for clearly the Egyptian scientists were just as much hostages as the Israelis. He took a chance. “Excuse me, sir,” Zingel said politely. “Yes, what is it?” the man snapped. “If we kill them, all hope for Project Rebirth is lost.” The operative was using all of his silver-tongued charm to both keep his cover and spare the lives of the hostages. “And the Zionists would attack us without recourse. Wouldn’t it be better to spare them just a day?” The man gave the operative a cold look. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped. “Dr. Mourad Slimani,” Zingel said in a perfect Algerian Arabic dialect. “I’ve been on this project since day one.” The man gave him a smile. “Well, Dr. Slimani, I suppose there’s no harm,” he said with a shrug. “It’s mostly finished anyway. All that’s left is to shoot them.” Zingel didn’t even blink, didn’t give anything away. “And once the weapon has been tested? What’s stopping the Zionists from attacking? You have to know that they’d send someone?” “I’d be surprised if they didn’t, my good doctor. But I suppose a heretic is as good as an infidel for this purpose.” He holstered his first pistol and grabbed the heavyset Egyptian woman - who had surprisingly dark skin for an Egyptian - by the hair with one hand, a second gun in the other, as she pleaded, “Please, please, I’m a mother, I have children!” “Shut up, you warped whore!” The man hit her in the face with the pistol. “I’ve killed many mothers and their children; don’t think you can negotiate that way with your life on the line!” A cruel smile played on his face. “But I’m not going to shoot you. He is.” He flipped the gun to offer to Zingel. “You can’t be serious! I’m a doctor, I swore not to take lives!” he protested. “You can shoot her…or I can. I can give you five seconds to decide, Dr. Slimani.” Zingel was trapped, and he knew it when he felt the weight of the semi-auto pistol. There was only one bullet in the chamber, which could only mean one thing: he was burnt. Who did it didn’t matter; he knew his cover had been blown. What he did next was impulsive as hell, but he didn’t feel like he had an option. He took the gun…and dropped it, proceeding to draw a hidden knife from his lab coat, grabbing the large man by the throat and backing them both against the wall, as armed guards went in the room, aiming their weapons at them. “You know you don’t have to shoot any of them,” the operative said calmly, as more guards had arrived and had drawn their weapons, shouting at him. The scientists were cowering on the floor…except for the heavyset Egyptian, who was looking at him…curiously? “You know damn well that these aren’t nuclear weapons.” “Of course not!” the man laughed. “Is that what your precious Zionist special agency said, ‘Dr. Slimani’ - or, should I say, Lieutenant Lavi Zingel? They’re not infallible.” “Then what are they?” “Something that will end the lives of all Zionists, purge the Western infidels, and-” “Shut up!” Zingel spat, drawing a tiny bit of blood from the man’s throat. “I asked what the weapons did, not the overarching goal.” “Why should I tell you anything?” “We’re both dead men either way. Feel free to state what you were planning on doing. I don’t have a wiretap, on my oath to God.” “The oath to your god?” “No. It can be yours if you wish. But I have no reason to lie. You’re the leader of this project. So spill.” The man laughed. “You should’ve been born a merchant, not an Israeli pig with that tongue of yours. Devil’s tongue. You think I’m the leader of this project? You think I’m in charge? No, this reaches far beyond your limited comprehension, into the heart of your supposed ‘allies’.” Zingel’s heart dropped. “The United States.” “Very perceptive of you. That is correct: there is an element in the United States who wants this weapon and would pay us by knifing the Zionist regime in the back. I don’t care what the hell they do with this weapon; they’ve paid us with nuclear armaments already. Israel will soon be no more!” “Not if I have anything to say about it!” The man stabbed the Israeli operative in the leg with an odd stone knife and shouted, “Praise be to God! Open fire!” Zingel felt the pain from the stone knife lance through his leg, felt shots nail him in his torso, passing through the man to get to his heart, as the knives from both slipped from their grasps. He slumped against the wall, tearing out the knife he had been stabbed with - it had hit his femoral artery, and he knew he was a dead man anyway, no matter what - breathing ragged gasps. The Arab man was dead, a sadistic grin permanently etched on his face. “That. Is. Enough.” The Israeli looked in shock as the Egyptian woman, now twice as tall as any man and bearing animalian features all over her body: the paws and limbs of a lioness, a crocodilian tail and back, the breasts of a human woman, and the face of a hippopotamus. A very angry hippo. The scared guards aimed at her, but she merely waved a paw, and the guns melted away, the armed guards in the room shriveling into mummies in an alarmingly-short time. The Israeli and Egyptian scientists had their eyes closed and were seemingly sleeping before they vanished into thin air. “Wha-” Zingel coughed up blood, as the creature turned to him. He cowered; he knew enough about Egyptian mythology from his father to know who this…goddess was. But he saw her eyes soften when they saw him. “Shh…it is okay, little one,” she cooed. “I am here.” “But…Ta-wa-ret…” His eyes were tinged red, darkness slowly slipping over them, as he hacked up blood from his ruined lungs. “Yes.” Tawaret’s black eyes were warm, and a sense of security washed over the dying man. “The scientists are safe, away from here, their memories of these horrors gone. But you…you have been hurt with the weapon, my own powers. I cannot heal you, but there is another way I can keep you alive. You, the bridge between worlds, the one who does what is right, must stay alive, must find the ability to stop the world from warring once again, for it will be the end of all. Do you understand, little one? Just nod if you agree.” Lavi Zingel nodded once, as the last breath left his body and darkness swallowed him whole. - I will explain what all of the Israeli things mean (I hope Google Translator did okay with the rare Arabic...): Sayeret Matkal = Israeli special forces, equivalent to British Special Air Service and United States Delta Force. Specializes in deep reconnaissance for intelligence gathering, but also does black operations, combat search-and-rescue, counterterrorism, hostage rescue, manhunts beyond Israel's borders, etc. Mossad = National intelligence agency for Israel, responsible for gathering information, counterterrorism, and covert operations. Much like United States' CIA. Psychometric Entrance Test = Israel's standardized test/entrance exam, based on quantitative reasoning, verbal reasoning, and English. Scores range from 200 to 800. Basically, that means that Lavi's a genius. Bagrut certificate = A certificate that says a student passed the matriculation exam for Israel. High scoring ones like what Lavi had are necessary to go into higher-leveled jobs.

Well, I watched Deadpool & Wolverine...and I loved every moment of it. I also love The Boys for their gritty, somewhat, realistic take on superheroes. Along with the current situation and...real-life events, I think I'd try my hand at a superpowered individual adult baby story! There are also similar elements taken from The Handmaid's Tale and Dragon Age's mage situation (a very fun video game series). As such...a lot of mature themes will be in this story that, quite frankly, delve just as deep into the potential of a new Gilead, and the content warnings are as such. There is sexism by not only the men leading the country/world towards women - both trans and cis - but by the goddess towards men as well. It will be handled delicately, but at the same time, punches will not be pulled; to do that would disrespect everything that's happening in the world today. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy this story~ - Chapter One: (Another) Brand-New Day. - “Wake up, lovelies! It’s time for a brand-new day.” The melodic feminine voice of Mommy snapped Kirsteen Calhoun’s - better known to all as “Chrissy” - eyes wide awake, peering at the room around her. Pastel pink was everywhere, the mobile hanging above her crib. She let out a yawn and rubbed her sage-green eyes with her mitten-clad hands, noting her pacifier falling from her mouth, the soft fuzziness of her pink-footed sleeper she was dressed in. Then crying echoed around the room, and she knew that some of the other fifteen-year-old girls in this place had realized that their diapers were utterly soiled. Of course, she knew that her diaper was far from clean as well, but she wasn’t going to cry like…them. She was a big girl, she could hold it in. She remembered…remembered a time where that would be unthinkable…but that time was when she had a male body, male expectations…none of which felt right to her, and those days were blurry, like a whisper in a fog, ghost-like and silent. She had been transformed on her tenth birthday, utterly transformed from boy to girl in her sleep. The Nullifiers came immediately after, took her away, sent her to one of the many Classrooms across the United Region of Biblical Interests…Urobi, for short. Thirty girls to a Classroom, basically an overgrown daycare and nursery for those girls who were Dicers, girls with supernatural powers, chosen by the roll of a dice. The Goddess had cursed them with it, they had learned; the Goddess, under a cruel whim, had decided to babify a third of girls around the world, take away their ability to control something a simple toddler could forever. This was a kindness, Mommy said, until they could grow up into big girls again. But Chrissy knew that something was missing, knew the story was just that: a story, only made to frighten little girls like her. Her powers weren’t fancy: she had the constantly active ability to discern anything, through walls, through different floors, even through the truths and lies of people themselves, but her powers, her curse, was efficient enough to know that something…something… Her brain wasn’t functioning again, and the uncomfortable squelch in her diaper told her she desperately needed a change, so she did the only thing she could: cry along with the twenty-nine other girls. A large group of adult women - the Aunties - then entered the room, all of them wearing floor-length dresses, some of them bearing the obvious baby bumps of pregnancy. Soon enough, Chrissy and the twenty-nine others (including her cribmate, a girl named Briar Droney) were quickly and expertly changed. An Auntie with her brown hair expertly braided in a bun (in contrast to Chrissy’s dark-brown pigtails with beautiful pink ribbons in pretty bows to pin them) put a bib on her before she realized that the morning bottle was next, filled with breast milk made by the numerous breeders. As she was wearing mittens, it was all but impossible to grasp the bottle, so the Auntie fed her. A large bit of the milk dribbled from her mouth to her bib, but she managed to finish it all. She could tell that the Auntie didn’t particularly care for the job, for her or any of the other girls. None of them did, really; it was just an upgrade compared to the rights of most women in Urobi. There was even something off about Mommy… Chrissy’s brain immediately became fuzzy again, as the big girl thoughts vanished, as she drummed her legs and squealed excitedly for the day to begin, not even caring about the spurt of pee that entered her very thick diaper, as the Auntie set her back into the crib. “Chrissy?” She turned around to see Briar again, talking to her, the brilliant green eyes of her cribmate complimenting her curly flaming-red hair. Even dressed as infantile as she was in a pink footed sleeper with a pacifier clip spelling out her name completed by a pacifier that stated “Princess”, the obvious thickness of the diaper around her big hips, her cribmate looked genuinely beautiful with a much bigger bust than hers (not that hers was small in the slightest), a nice butt (even if it was covered by a diaper), and a heart-shaped face with cute freckles. “You okay?” Briar asked in a pure Scottish drawl. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Chrissy mumbled in her own Irish brogue, while chewing on her pacifier, forcing herself not to blush. “I hope we all learn something today,” Briar said wistfully. “Like ABCs, 123s, and that stuff? Nah.” Chrissy knew - she knew she knew - that males were taught more than females, more than the stuff that girls, and especially Dicers, were taught…but what were they? What were they… “No. The story about…the Goddess.” The redhead had a dreamy look on her face. “You mean the bedtime story we’re read every night?” Chrissy rolled her eyes at the thought of it, the same stupid story that she knew wasn’t true. “A fairytale?” “Every fairytale’s based on something. I wanna learn more.” The two paused the conversation. It was the same conversation they always had when they woke up, always about learning something new, even when nothing new was really learned…but Briar was Chrissy’s only real friend. The other girls didn’t like her as much, she thought, as it was too easy for her to discern their true thoughts, if they were telling the truth or lying. Nobody liked having a living lie detector around them, nobody wanted their secrets spilled, and thus, trust and kindness was an option they couldn’t, no, wouldn’t afford her. Briar was different. She was the smartest girl Chrissy knew, but was fun-loving, hid nothing from anyone, and cared about everyone. And she didn’t treat Chrissy any differently because of her powers. Like everyone else. The other girls. The Aunties. Even Mommy… With those thoughts, she felt an Auntie pick her up and set her in a giant pink stroller with Briar, ready to be whisked away for a new day of learning. The hallways were that of a typical daycare for girls: pastel pink, with cutesy female human doll caricatures all around them. The strollers were fun and had nice toys to play with as the long stroll from nursery to daycare began. But there were no stuffed animals, nothing that could define anything other than humanity. Chrissy could remember having a stuffed animal a long time ago, but the animals - both stuffed and real - were all…gone, except for the usual hideously mutated farm animals that she had seen a few times outside of the walls - animals so horrifying that they weren’t even really animals to her, just…meat. What was the word…gone? No, not exactly right. Bye-bye? No, definitely not that. It started with an “e”. What were words that started with “e”...? What was “e”...? Her thoughts were quickly regressing into infancy again, and she let out a soft babble through her pacifier as she batted at one of the toys. Then Briar poked her. Gently, yet still a firm poke that brought her thoughts back to...well, not exactly adolescence, but close enough. “What did you poke me for?” Chrissy said with a slight pout, feeling her comforting pacifier fall out of her open mouth. “Because you look adorable,” Briar said, sticking her tongue out before she grabbed at her pacifier with both mitten-clad hands to put it back in - a skill that Chrissy had yet to master, as she realized that with another pout. Then the long hallway ended at a pair of barred doors, and the Classroom’s daycare began, the start of another brand-new day. - Hope you enjoyed~ I'll see when I can update this story, hopefully soon (as well as my, admittedly, numerous other projects).