diaper dimension The Littles Protection Service - Episode 2 - Case Number 149-250913

[ozziebee]

I got this idea from the Story Ideas Adoption Thread.  It will be a series of episodes examining aspects of the Littles Protection Service, a government authority run within the Diaper Dimension.

Please comment, give love, criticism.  If you have an idea for inclusion as an episode, please get in touch.  (ala, maybe @BabySofia, an episode where the LPS visits Stacey Westerfield, perhaps?)

----

The Little Protection Service - Episode 1 - Case Number 149-250913

Main Character: Bella Mackenzie, Case Worker

The LPS is a government authority with the mandate to enforce and promote the protection of Littles in the Amazon Dimension.  Its' employees are mostly case workers and investigators, which deal with reports of harm to Littles day in and day out.  When reports of cruelty to a Little are received, they're investigated.  It may be required for the case worker to remove the Little from the situation, and either place them in a temporary emergency care arrangement, or pass them to a Littles Broker for adoption.

But we all know that Littles caught in the system just end up in an Etiquette School.  They're just babies, deserving of ridicule after all.

Sometimes, rarely, they tug at the heart strings, and the case worker goes above and beyond to re-home them.  Other times, the Little deserves whatever they get coming to them.  

These are their stories.

[BONG BONG]

The Judge adjusted his reading glasses carefully atop the bridge of his massive nose, and stared down into the quietish courtroom.  He looked across at the stack of case files for the day, a stack that was slowly but inexorably being whittled down as the hours progressed. Picking up the top case file, he quickly scanned its contents, and sighed.  

"Case Number 149-250913 in the matter of ... State versus Janet May Feebly", he read off the case sheet, before looking up and surveying the LPS Court Room.

I made a quick note of the case number within my beaten and weathered notebook.  

The prosecutor shuffled files across her desk, whilst standing behind it, picked out a file, and then looked around.  There was no other movement.  No-one from the gallery approached the gate leading to the empty Defendant's Table, the table that had just been vacated by the previous case.  

"Miss Jones, is the Defendant here?", the Judge queried, annoyance flecked within his otherwise quiet voice.

"Umm...", the Prosecutor looked around the room for the Defendant, or their Counsel.  Seeing neither, she looked back up towards the Judge, "No, Your Honour, it doesn't look like they have presented to the Court".

"Fine.  This looks to be the third time for this Defendant", the Judge noted as he shuffled through the case notes again. "Sheriff, please raise a warrant for the arrest of Janet Feebly, for failing to appear".  The Sheriff approached the Bench, and retrieved the case file from the Judge.

"Yes, Your Honour", before returning to his desk, and placing the case file on top of a slowly growing stack of case files.  

"I think we might take a 30 minute recess", the Judge formally announced, before bringing his gavel to the bench with a resounding bang, standing, and retiring through a side door.

I sat in my position in the front row of the gallery for a few minutes, as the majority of people shuffled out through the main doors back into the court complex.  Rather than scratching the case number out, I added a question mark to it, and filed the notebook into my handbag.  Today was going to be a long day.  There seemed to be a higher number of no-shows today for some reason, I noticed via the stack of files on the Sheriff's desk.  

I looked at the simple digital watch on my left wrist and decided that I'd better flitter back off to work, so I filed out of the LPS Court Room, through the main foyer of the Court complex, and plunged into the blinding sunlight outside.  I stopped and retrieved my sunnies from my handbag, placing them on my nose just so, before looking across the road to my work place.

The Littles Protection Service.

What a misnomer of a title.

We more often than not forcibly removed Littles from their families, and in the majority of cases, these poor creatures ended up in far worse situations than if we'd left them alone.  Protection?  Please!

We were obligated to investigate all complaints according to the law.  Where this broke down was the sheer volume of calls received every day, and cases, overwhelming our limited resources.  We were simply unable to complete a quality investigation of every situation, and so, it was invariably the Little that copped the short straw.

Sad really, when I take the time to sit and think.  

I had grand hopes and desires and dreams when I started with the LPS.  I was genuinely concerned for the Littles welfare, and interested in making the lives of Littles safer, more caring, and have more hope and opportunity.  

Now, I'm just horrified at the reality of it all, the brutality of some of the kids so-called "families".  

Little lives at this time were fraught with danger, and uncertainty.  A Little could be swept up off the street by an Amazon, and adopted, leading to a life of diapers, regression, and babification.  They often never knew when were going to turn up on their doorstep, our in-quotes "investigation" complete, with only the final step to remove them to a in-quotes "safe place".  

I still cared for those Littles, but I too had to begrudgingly acknowledge there was a process to follow.  This didn't mean I always followed it, like an automaton.  Process rankled me, pushed my buttons.  My bosses knew this.  Outwardly, I'd be cautioned, but on the sly, they were often as jaded and frustrated as I was.   

Today, as I sat in that Court Room, I was curious of the circumstances of Case Number 149-250913.

Every time I walked into the foyer of the Joseph P Meyers Building, home of the LPS, I looked down at the giant marbled logo on the floor - "Department of Justice - Littles Protection Service".  It would not be hard to spit on that logo, and I'm sure others have done exactly that, but I'd think such an act would be an instant CLM, a career limiting move, to those of us who worked there.  

A swipey pass through the security gates, and into the elevator, I pressed #9, and waited for the doors to close.

"Awesome, you have blessed us with your presence, once more, Princess Bella!", came a voice behind an outstretched hand, eager to catch the same lift.

"Cut out the Princess bullshit, Marty, or I'll report you to HR", I responded back towards my immediate manager.  All the same, my cheeks began to glow a deep pink.  I loved being called a princess when I was young.

Marty slid into the elevator just in the nick of time, the doors sliding closed a fraction of a second after he crossed the threshold from floor to lift car.  He chuckled, as his deep blue eyes scanned me from my glossy black flat shoes to the tight bundle of deep brown hair within a cream ribbon bow perched precariously atop my head.

I hated it when he did that, so demeaning.

I would never seriously go to HR though.  Marty was that kind of manager which gave me freedom and space to work on my own quirky cases.  I too put my head down, and pushed through a sizable workload each month, like all the other case workers did in our section.  

He depended on me at times, to take some sensitive cases off the grid, on the down-low, and be discreet about them.  So he compensated for that stress, by letting me do my own little pet projects.

Maybe Case Number -913 would be one of those "pet projects".

I treated my pet projects as a way to recharge my internal batteries, reset my emotions, readjust my reality meter.  I get so drained by cases which end up being messy, or have a tragic outcome.  It's way too easy to burn out emotionally and physically in this job, dealing with the shit families, the abuse, the lies, the heartache of a snatched loved Little.  My coping mechanism is to just tune out, become that automaton the Establishment always wants us to become.  

So I must recharge from time to time.

Otherwise I'd go crazy, have a meltdown, and quit.  Get depressed, and harm myself.  Spiral out of control.  End up in a mental institution, or a hospital, or even worse.

Sitting at my desk, I tapped the keyboard peeking out from under a few new case folders, and sat transfixed at the large screen perched in one far corner of the desk.  It was asking me for my password.  After typing about 30 characters, it finally granted me access to the content of my PC, and more importantly, the LPS Intranet.

It was an easy task to navigate to the screen where I could specify a court Case Number.

Retrieving the notebook from my handbag, I typed in the 9 digits, and smashed the return key.

Janet May Feebly, aged in her late 50's, had one Little registered to her under adoption, name of Annie Feebly, aged 29.  
No known natural children.

Not married.

One sister, mid-60's, recently deceased, 4 months ago.

Hmmm...

The LPS Case Officer took the Little away from Ms Feebly's care a little over two months ago.  In that time, the location of the Little should have been recorded in the Case, but as per usual practice, that field was blank.  

The Officer did note that the Little was slightly malnourished, and had bruises over her body.

A classic case of neglect and abuse.  We saw this kind of case all the time.

I clicked onto the thumbnail photo of the Little.  A cute girl otherwise, sad eyes, no smile.  I could see a worn and tattered peter-pan type collar right at the bottom of the photo.

I looked at Ms Feebly's street address, 20 minutes away.

Hmmm... I've seen this kind of case before too.  Looked to be straight-forward, open and shut, but my senses thought otherwise.

"Marty, can I grab the squad car for an hour or so?", I inquired towards my chauvinistic manager after hitting "Print", and retrieving the case description off the printer next to my desk.

He instantly reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a keyring, and threw it across the desk divider towards me.  

"Thanks boss-man", I threw back at him.  

"Lunch, Princess Bella!", he yelled back at departing me.

"Whatever!", I yelled out as the elevator door closed up tight.  

----

Twenty minutes turned into forty with an accident on the freeway leading out to Orchard Hills, a deceptive up-market name for a lower-class neighborhood.  I came to a stop in the driveway of number 15 Smythwood Drive, and sat in the now-quiet car examining the scene in front of me.

This lady was not married, so the lawns were weeds, and quite unkempt.  The grass had not been mowed in some time.  I could not see any garden beds, though a single red Rose bush poked out above the weeds and rubbish, tapping its thorns against the front window of a quaint run-down house in tune with the wafting breeze.

"Ok, lets go", I steeled myself.  These were the bittersweet moments, the initial jump into the unknown of a new case.  My heart began to race as I locked the squad car up.  No sooner had the car alarm's Beep-Beep emitted, I noticed a slight rustling of the front window curtains.  Someone was home.

"Hello, are you Ms Feebly?", I asked whilst peering through the flyscreen door at a lady shying away into the blackness of the house interior.

"What do you want?", she responded quietly, nervously.

"I'm Bella Mackenzie from the LPS, Maam.  I noticed that you didn't appear in Court today.  May I come in?"

The thin lady behind the screen hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes thinking.  I wondered whether she only just then realised she needed to be in Court.  Pretty soon, she was going to be forced by the Sheriff, whenever he got off his ass and came out here to arrest her.

"What do you want?", she repeated.

"I want to talk to you about your case."

It was hard to see very much, with the glare from the hot midday sun beating down on the concrete front porch.  There was no shade.  

"It's really hot out here, so I really would appreciate it if I could step inside, please?"

The lady relented, and opened the door for me.

The interior was also unkempt, but not an absolute mess, as contrasted to outside.  It was much cooler in here than out though.  "Thank you, I really do appreciate not standing out there in that sun"

The lady motioned me over to a seat at the dining room table.  She looked frail, but in her frailty, I could see that she still had some pride in herself.  She was, perhaps, just coping.

"What do you want?", she repeated again.  

"I'm really sorry for your loss of your sister, Maam", I opened.  Process.  Be kind and gentle, non-threatening.  "She died, what, six months ago?", I respectfully spoke.

"No, four"

"Oh, I'm very sorry".  I knew that answer, but I had to get her to talk to me.  I watched, as the lady started to disintegrate into quiet sobs.  I reached into my handbag, and took out a few tissues, handing them to her.  Process.  Be respectful.  "May I ask how she died?"

"Stage 3 to 4 breast cancer". More sobs.

"Oh".  Unexpected.  

"We only twigged to it when Annie told her of a lump in her left breast, some nine months ago.  But by then, it was too late for the doctors to do anything.  They sent my sister back home, to live with Annie and I in her final days."

"Was Annie breastfeeding off her at the time?", I inquired.

"No.  They were close, Annie and my sister were.  Mardi adored the girl.  So did I for that matter."

"Oh.  It says on our case notes that Annie had bruises on her body.  Can you tell me how they got there?"

"Is this what you're here for?  To arrest me?"

"No, I'm here to get an understanding of what happened to Annie, and the circumstances of her removal, that's all."

The lady squirmed on her seat, obviously uncomfortable having to confront the loss of Annie.  She looked incredibly sad, grieved by the loss of both sister ahd child, and defeated by the process.  

I sat, and waited.  Process.  Be patient, and let them talk.

"Mardi lived here with Annie and I.  In the later weeks of her illness, she became delirious, and lashed out at anything and every one, including Annie, and myself.  Poor Annie copped a lot, and she couldn't understand what her Aunty Mardi was doing, why she was acting the way she was.  Mardi was in so much pain towards the end."

I had started taking notes.  The story that Ms Feebly was telling gave me the shivers.  

If she was right, we'd fucked up.

"It was reported that Annie was under-weight"

"As Mardi was on her death bed, I became depressed at the despair of it all, and her suffering.  I was losing my sister, my only living blood relative, so my focus was on her.  Poor Annie, she found herself having to grow up because of my inattention, fend for herself.  I should never have done that to her..".  She stopped and sobbed.

I sat, quiet as a mouse, and waited patiently for Ms Feebly to continue.

"Annie ... umm... Annie took her Aunty's infirmity and death very hard, and withdrew into herself.  Annie was all I had, and I tried to reconnect to her, to show her that even after the death of a loved one, life still went on, that life could still go on for Annie and I."

I cracked up, a tear fell from my left eye, my weak eye.  I reached for a tissue myself, and quickly dabbed away the wet drop.  Stupid process.  Don't show any emotion.  

The lady got up out of her seat, and shuffled off into an unseen part of the house, returning a few minutes later with some papers, placing them gently on the table with shaky hands.

I reached across, and started reading them.

Doctors notes, concluding that Annie was depressed, and withdrawn.  

Another note from Mardi Feebly's treating doctor to Ms Feebly to up the pain medications in an attempt to stop violent outbursts, effectively sedating the poor woman.

Another random local doctor's certificate explaining a visit to the clinic by Annie for bruises, dated around the same time.  

A photo, taken by persons unknown, showing the state that Mardi was in, the dishevelled bedroom, marks on the walls.  Mardi had gone mad.

"Did the LPS not take copies of these?"

"No"

"May I take a photo of these?", I asked quietly.  Process.  Gather evidence.  I quickly remembered back to what was on my computer screen.  There were no notes regarding any evidence taken before, during, or after Annie was removed into LPS care. More fuckup.

"Sure"

As I began to take photos of the pages on the table with my mobile phone camera, I noticed another photo appear from within the stack.  It was one taken in happier times, with Mardi, a very cute little Annie playing up for the camera, and Janet Feebly standing behind Annie, hands on Annie's shoulders, looking very proud and motherly.  

We'd fucked up.  Mardi died, Annie withdrew, and Janet broke down, depressed.  But I couldn't tell Ms Feebly that.  I couldn't admit guilt on behalf of the Department.  Process.  I could almost fuck that process right the fuck off.

I looked up and into Ms Feebly's bloodshot and teary eyes, and reached out to touch her chin.  "I promise you this, Ms Feebly.  I will find your child for you."

I left her to her despair, her grief, her loss.  I left her before my blood boiled over.  Annie should never have been taken away from the woman. Only God knew how Annie was feeling about all this.  And only God knew where the poor girl was.

As I drove away from Ms Feebly's home, I felt my batteries recharging.  They had to be fully energised before I walked into my manager's boss's office and dumped this pile of steaming incorrectness on his desk.  

Sometimes the LPS did good work.

Most of the time though? We fucked up, or just didn't give a rats.

I had to find that girl, and unfuck this part of the system.

[Guest KWOceans]

Very interesting start. I'm curious to see where you take it. The LPS is a concept occasionally explored in stories, but perhaps not as much as it should be. I definitely like what you're starting here. Hope to see more soon.  

[HyperShark]

I am loving this!

However I did find a typo here: (For some reason I can never seem to remove people who are tagged from quoted posts)

3 hours ago, ozziebee said:

@BabySofia

"No.  They were close, Annie and my sister were.  Mardi adored the girl.  So did I fro that matter."

 

Looking forward to the next post!

[Eagle0769]

Different type of story but the right subject.

I'm interested as to what happens next.

[Cute_Kitten]

Well, this is an interesting take!  I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes. :)  

[SGTbaby]

Definitely different and interesting 

[ozziebee]

11 hours ago, HyperShark said:

I am loving this!

However I did find a typo here: (For some reason I can never seem to remove people who are tagged from quoted posts)

Looking forward to the next post!

Yeah, there are a few typos in there, and I'll go correct them in a bit. Not surprising, when I only decided to sit and write that first chapter last night. About three hours or so of writing, a quick proofread, then publish. I enjoyed writing it in that style  

Thanks for reading it!

12 hours ago, KWOceans said:

Very interesting start. I'm curious to see where you take it. The LPS is a concept occasionally explored in stories, but perhaps not as much as it should be. I definitely like what you're starting here. Hope to see more soon.  

Oh, Oh, I'm breathless... One of the writers I look up to has commented! Oh Oh! Awesomesauce!

*embarassed look* *calm down* *breathe*

That aspect of the DD has so much potential to be fleshed out. I'm planning on writing my chapters like little episodes Law & Order style, picking up cases, but weaving an underlying story within.  Hopefully that won't be too subtle as to not have it picked up by readers. 

Ive already left the odd clue in this first chapter already!

[ozziebee]

Onto Episode 2 - does our hero LPS Caseworker find Little Annie, or is the girl lost to the system forever?

## The Little Protection Service - Episode 2 - Case Number 149-250913

Main Character: Bella Mackenzie, Case Worker

The LPS is a government authority with the mandate to enforce and promote the protection of Littles in the Amazon Dimension.  Its employees are mostly case workers and investigators, who deal with reports of harm to Littles every day, 24x7x365 days a year.  When reports of Littles in distress are recieved, the reports are logged, and sent to a case worker for investigation.  It may be required for the case worker to remove the Little from the situation, and either place them in temporary emergency care, or pass them to a Littles Broker for a more permanent adoption.

Sometimes, rarely, a Little will tug at the heart strings, and a case worker might go above and beyond to re-diaper the poor thing.  Other times, the Little deserves to stew in whatever mess they've made in their diapee.  

We all agree that we're dealing with Littles here, bundles of stress that are incapable of doing anything more than mess in their dinky diapers.

However cute they may seem to be, these are their crazy stories.

[BONG BONG]

I had to race across the road, and fast, as the last few cases for the day in LPS Courtroom 5 should be close to being heard.  I left my cubicle in a supercharged mood, totally forgetting to log out.  I stepped into the lift, and smacked the button for the ground floor a million times it seemed, but the elevator doors took their usual sweet time deciding to close, ignoring my radiating urgency.

A quick glance at my watch and it was going to be close. As the elevator dropped below me, I did the potty dance, even without the requirement of actually needing the potty.  Impatience.  

Out the lift, swipey pass out the security gate, and run across the four-lane road separating the Joseph P Meyers Building from the District Court House.  Crazy, it seemed to be my time to shine, as traffic separated and stopped at just that moment.  I was a successful frogger player it seemed, as I wove around the stationary cars.

Racing up the 40 or so steps outside the massive court complex, heart pounding, I felt quite alive, as I raced towards the requisite Court Room inside.  Before plunging into the unknown depths of the room itself, I hesitated about fifteen seconds, just enough time to breathe, gather myself, straighten my clothes, and slow that over-excited beating heart. Pause.  Pause.  Remember the process.

I opened one of the two massive doors leading into the gallery of LPS Court Room 5, and stepped inside.  A quick curtsey as a mark of respect to the Crown affixed to the wall behind the Judge, I slowly walked towards the gate, leading to the two tables directly in front of the Judge.  I found a seat right next to the gate itself, and waited till the end of the hearing currently being played out.

"Your Honour, my client contends that she had indeed been looking after Nathaniel Briggs.  She was feeding him regular meals, clothing him appropriately, and giving him the love and attention he deserved", the defendant's Counsel spoke respectively towards the Judge.

"I really don't think that feeding the poor boy haggis for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is appropriate, Counsel.  Neither is sitting him in a walker, with his feet not able to touch the ground for hours on end, with no mental stimulation, and being locked in a thin diaper and being changed once a day, and having noone else in the house whilst your client is at work", the Judge spat out.  "As the medical records show, the boy is in no fit state to be returned to your client's care, and as such, your motion is dismissed.  Good day to you!".

Before the Defendant Counsel could respond, the gavel caused a resounding BANG! on the Judge's desk, formally closing that case.  

I had a quiet chuckle.  This Judge was known for his little outbursts, particularly at the ridiculousness and audacity of some parents towards their Littles.

As the Judge started to mumble to himself and contemplate the next case on his desk, I took a deep breath, and stood up behind the gate.

"If it pleases the Court, may I approach the Bench, your Honour?", I called out.

The Judge looked up from his stack of papers, looking over his reading glasses towards me.

"What is this about, Miss Mackenzie", he warily responded.

"I would like to ex-Parte respond to a case heard this morning, on behalf of the Defendant, your Honour"

The Judge looked over towards the Prosecutor, who shrugged her shoulders, and sat down behind her desk.  "You may approach the bench, Miss Mackenzie, but make it quick".

"Thank you for hearing me, your Honour.  I won't take up much of your time.  I would like to make a representation to the Court on case number 149-250913, concerning Ms Janet May Feebly.  She was a no-show to the Court this morning", I spoke respectfully but firmly.  

"Sheriff?", the Judge spoke, as he motioned for the Sheriff to return with the file mentioned. After a few seconds of reading, the Judge looked over his bench and down towards me.  This position was intimidating, and he could do whatever he liked at this point, including dismissing my representation.  I had one chance at this.  "Prosecutor, I suggest you approach the Bench?"

I looked around as Miss Jones slid into position next to me, just off my left shoulder.

"Ok, Miss Mackenzie, what is this about?"

"Your Honour, I visited Ms Feebly this morning, and spoke to her about her case.  The LPS of the opinion that her Little was taken in error.  Ms Feebly's sister, one Ms Mardi Feebly, was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer approximately nine months ago, and died four months ago.  Ms Feebly's Little spotted the lump, and alerted Mardi to it, but by that time, the cancer had taken hold, and there was nothing the doctors could do."

The Prosecutor took a step back, turned, and went back to her desk, rifling through her papers.  

"There was no evidence given to us by LPS about this fact", she stated.

"No, Maam, there was no evidence gathered at all by our case officer", I quietly responded, placing subtle epmhasis on the "all" bit, as embarassment welled up inside me.  Embarassment for being the face of the Department at this point in time, a Department that fucked up.  

The Judge looked down at his notes, scribbled something down, then looked back at me.  "Go on"

"Yes, your Honour.  As Mardi was in the last few weeks of life, she became mad from the pain.  Unfortunately, she often took this out on Little Annie.  The girl didn't know what was happening, or why she was being hit by Mardi, so she retreated into herself.  Her mum was also too focused on her only blood relative, so Annie had to fend for herself, basically."

"Do you have any evidence of these statements?", the Judge asked.

"Yes, your Honour", I stated confidently, as I opened my work folder and took out photocopies of the photos I'd taken on my phone, handing a set to him, and another set to the Prosecutor.  I'd made sure the photocopies were notarised by my boss as being true and accurate copies.

They both took their sweet time going through each page in the stack.  I could do nothing but wait.

"I will accept these into Evidence.  Do you object, Miss Jones?"

"No objection, your Honour.  Indeed, if it may please the Court, I would like to make a motion to defer this case back into the hands of the LPS?",

"Is this what you wanted, Miss Mackenzie?", the Judge looked down at me, studying my face.  Process, be impassive, mute, and stone faced.  Inside though, my guts were going a million miles an hour, and my head was pounding from elevated blood pressure.

"Yes, your Honour, though I would respectfully ask the Court to consider a dismissal", I meekly responded, with a nervous cough.  I was pushing my luck for a dismissal, but I had to try.

"Motion to dismiss is denied, Miss Mackenzie", was spoken with formal authority.  I jumped at the sound of the Judge having a quiet chuckle. "However, I will cancel the arrest warrant, and grant a stay of one month for you to investigate further.  Then this case will be put back into the list for Directions. If your client does not appear at that time, I will reissue the warrant.  Do you understand me?", The Judge spoke, whilst writing notes.

"Yes, your Honour", I confirmed, noticing that the Prosecutor had returned to her desk, and made a note in the file.  Even in the face of insurmountable evidence, and a tacit admission by the LPS that we'd fucked up and snatched the Little in error, all I got was a stay of execution.  Better than nothing, I supposed.

I turned and walked back the way I came, through the gate, and through the massive gallery doors.

I had time now.  Time to work on a pet project.

----

Back at my desk, time slowed.  I was in my own little world.  I could hear the general hubbub of the open-plan office, but it was just quiet background noise.  Even Marty, my supervisor, failed to attract my attention.

"Oi!", he shook my shoulder.

I jumped fair out of my skin.  "What!?"

"How'd it go over there?"

"Just a deferral.  I asked for a dismissal, but nope.  I have one month."

"You have a couple of days, at most, Princess.  Lest I remind you, we have an infinite case load to consume!?"

"That's not fair!", I pouted up at him.

"Take it, or leave it, Princess"

He was right though.  My pet projects weren't my only bits of work.  If we all cherry picked cases, nothing would be achieved in the long run, and we'd all be fired, replaced by automatons the Establishment could depend on.  

I let the princess references slide, and returned to my work.

I started with the evidence, or lack of it.  I was intensely curious why the original case officer neglected to log any at all into the file.  I added notes and images of the evidence I gathered from Ms Feebly to the case file, then pushed the file into the background on my screen, popping up another application to glance into the Evidence Locker, seeing if any evidence was scanned by the clerks in the basement.

All it took was the case number - 149-250913.  After about a second, no matches were returned.  Weird.  So what evidence did that lazy shit officer use to justify snatching Little Annie?

As I sat back in contemplation, it occurred to me that the LPS had no more reason to snatch a Little than to see physical evidence of harm, even though that harm may have been completely unintentional, and certainly not caused by the parent in this case.  So the lazy shit went up to the house to discuss a complaint of neglect, saw the welts and bruises on Annie's body, and took her.

But the stupid bitch didn't even take any photos of Annie as evidence.  Who was the case officer on this case?  Oh, a guy downstairs, a newbie.  A bitch, then.

No evidence logged, and no reference to where the Little was taken to.  

I looked through the history log of actions taken, and noted that the last entry by the case officer was a week after Little Annie had been taken.  The guy had clearly moved onto bigger and better things.  Annie was nothing to him.

I've known for a long time that LPS case workers often thought of themselves as cowboys.  Some of the more cocky guys actually strutted into the building a few times wearing spurs and cowboy hats!

Process dictated that Littles with injuries were taken to the Childrens Hospital in Camberton.  So, I exited the Evidence Locker database app, and brought up the website for the CCH.  After supplying my LPS credentials, I was faced with another screen asking for the case number.  Everything the LPS did was logged under a case number.  Whilst in our care, even the Littles wore wrist and leg bands with the case number imprinted on them for all to see and scan.  

I held my breath as I entered in the nine digits and one dash.  Ten seconds passed and I became dizzy from lack of oxygen and watching a spinning beach ball.  

No records found.  Nothing.  Not a darn thing.  I searched by name.  Still nothing.  I took screenshots of the page as evidence of our distinct lack of ability in following processes.

Next step in the famed LPS Procedures Manual was to drop the Little off at the Camberton Boarding Centre, a grandiose name for a run down building and the awful crap that went on inside it.  There, according to the glossy brochures, the kids would be afforded the luxury of a clean cot, a change of clothes and fresh diaper, hot food, basic medical attention, and another chance at adoption into a loving family.  

If the Little wasn't soon adopted out, they were shipped off to an Etiquette School somewhere within our great and prosperous Country.

I've known of some Littles who spent the rest of their lives at these schools, even dying there whilst lying in a puddle of their own vomit, neglected by the staff.  The LPS turned a blind eye to it.  We had to.  No resources, and no money.  Everyone knew that Littles beyond their prime years were not attractive to potential Adopters.  So they wasted away in these centres.  

Perversely, I hoped that Little Annie was in one of these centres, because she'd have a record.  My heart fluttered as I entered the case number in the requisite web page.

No records found.  Nothing.  Not a darn thing.  I searched again by name.  Still nothing.  A broken record.  I took more screenshots as evidence of our tardiness at records keeping.

My heart skipped a beat ... or two ... or maybe even three.  I cried out in anguish and despair, with half the office popping their heads up and looking around at the commotion.  But I was instantly back in the zone, staring intently at my screen.

To my knowledge, there was no next step we undertook.  But maybe the girl had been adopted out?

So I flicked to another website, one run by the Department of Births Deaths and Marriages.  That database tracked adoptions, both Little and Amazon.  With an increasing sense of inevitability, I plugged in the case number, now committed to memory.

Records slowly appeared on the screen.

But my heart skipped more beats, as I read down the list.

> Birth registered (expected)
> Voluntarily given up for adoption (Oh...)
> Adopted to Mr & Mrs Sweeney (Ok, so she'd been adopted)
> Taken into LPS care after a motor vehicle accident (Ouch, poor girl)
> Adopted to Ms Feebly (Pretty quickly too, it seemed)

... then nothing else.  No further records found.  So the BDM think she's still with Ms Feebly.  

Well, shit... I again had to pause and think.  Where else could she have gone?

"Hey, Mr wannabe-Bossman, can I borrow the squad car for an hour or so?"

"Sure, Princess".  I flinched, but still managed to catch the keys which suddenly appeared flying over the divider.

Within 30 minutes, I was standing at the front door of Ms Feebly's quaint but run-down home.  This time, she didn't hesitate to open the door, and I stepped inside.

"Ms Feebly, thank you for seeing me again today.  I have some good news, and some bad news."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the good news is that I've spoken to the Judge presiding over your case, and he has granted a stay of one month whilst we investigate your circumstances."

"Oh, that's wonderful news.  I could never get in touch with my Counsel."

Hmm.. interesting.  I made a note in my notebook to follow up on this.

"You're Counsel is a public-appointed one, right?"

"Yes, I can't afford a private one.  I used all my money burying Mardi", came an embarassed reply.  I could see she had no money, and therefore no way to defend herself.  "So, what's the bad news?"

"Well...", I took a deep breath, "... there's a bit of a glitch in the system, and I'm still trying to track down what happened to Annie, and where she went to".

"Oh... that's not good."

"Do you still have her Adoption Certificate?"

"Sure, I'll just go find it", she said quietly, then stood up and disappeared into another part of the house. After a few minutes, she returned with a rather large ornate and delicately embossed envelope.

I opened it up, and retrieved the Adoption Certificate, gently placing it on top of the envelope.  After studying the details on the certificate, and admiring the tiny hand and foot prints, I asked Ms Feebly to turn off the overhead lights.  Retrieving a UV chemlight from my handbag, I flicked it on, and positioned it over the paper.

What shone out under the UV light was a series of random letters and numbers, 64 characters long.  It was the security code embedded within the chip that was implanted somewhere within Little Annie at the time of adoption.

I took a photo of the string using my mobile, remembering to turn off the auto-flash.  After turning off the UV chemlight, I took another photo of the certificate, to add to the evidence trail.  

"Thank you, Ms Feebly, I must get back to the office now."

The entire time I was driving back to the office, I could think of no other place the poor girl had been taken to bar one.

----

Sitting back at my desk, with tears welling up and cascading down my cheeks, I hit one final website, that of the Inter-Dimensional Portal Network.  This one was run by the Border Police, and the database recorded every movement into and out of the Portals.

Even though Littles were scanned on entry to the Airport and where the Portals resided, LPS knew there were illegitimate avenues to get unwilling Littles through the Portals.  Legally, Littles needed approval from their parents before they could cross into the Airport, and again before entering a Portal.  This was achieved by entering a security password into a terminal held by the Border Police, and then when checking in to cross the Portal.  

No security password, no access.  The Border Police were pretty strict in this regard.

Unfortunately, those illegitimate avenues existed.

Fortunately, there was one final scan as each individual crossed the Portal, and this was done by the machine itself.  It was just a log of activity, nothing more.  

But the LPS had access to it, so I carefully entered in the 64 character long string, checking it three times, and paused before hitting enter.

Thirty seconds later.

A match.  

She'd gone through to a place called Catalon in another Dimension, a place which had no records, a place we couldn't access using the Inter-webs.  I'd never be able to ever convince my bosses to send me there.

I took a final screenshot, then exited the session.  That screenshot went into the case file.  

"You win some, and you lose some", came a quiet voice from behind me.  I looked around, and noticed Marty and his boss.  At times like this, Marty knew just what to say, and how to say it.  He squeezed my shoulder, so I touched his hand.

"This aint over, Marty", I replied, whilst looking directly at his boss.

"I know"

"You have leads to follow, Miss Mackenzie, so follow them", his boss spoke commandingly, before turning and walking out.

I looked at Marty quizzically.  

"I suggest you start there", and pointed at my screen.

Looking at it, his finger was right next to the case officer's name.

A pet project finishes, a secret project starts.

[YourFNF]

Stomach drops out at the mention of Catalon

[Jj7988582]

This is exactly why I like to put more basic ideas into the Idea Adoption Thread, and set them up in more of a 'Writing Prompt' style. The best work comes from leaving lots of room for creative freedom. Well done on this so far, I'm very much enjoying it, as well as underlying hints of something deeper going on behind the scenes. Keep it up, I wanna read more.

[Eagle0769]

Is the case worker regular size person or an Amazon?

I love this side of the story.

[ozziebee]

LPS are Amazons. I'm trying hard not to describe heights to any detail. 

[Eagle0769]

2 hours ago, ozziebee said:

LPS are Amazons. I'm trying hard not to describe heights to any detail. 

Ok thank you for clarifying that for me. 

[SGTbaby]

Oh interesting combining other aspects of the dimension! Looking forward even more now!

[BabySofia]

I saw that you tagged me one night but haven't had a moment to come read this since then. I am enjoying what you're doing here! Let me get a few more chapters out (might be a little while due to work) and maybe we can talk about something. For now I'm looking forward to seeing where you take this!

[CDfm]

This is really good and I am hooked. I wish I had a like to give it but I don’t have any more yet today.  I am looking forward to reading more of this. 

[VoxyRox]

Ohhhh no no no. Don't collab with Sofia. Only good things for exchange baby! No bad! Bad no good.