diaper dimension Dimension of Destiny - Chapter 20: Fallout (24/05/17) Final

[SGTbaby]

Lots happening in that chapter and yet I can’t wait to see more!

[Ericc]

Chapter 18: Flash in the night

In the sterile glow of the command center, screens blinked and machines hummed with life. Argos, Emerson University's clandestine guardian, loomed large in its digital form. The Hellcats, their gear stained and their spirits weary, awaited the AI's report. Ghost leaned against a console, arms crossed over his chest, while Rabbit perched on a nearby stool, fingers dancing across her tablet. Wire stood at attention, the weight of the recent skirmish etched into his stance.

Argos's voice filled the room, crisp and devoid of emotion. "All searches have yielded negative results. Neither Evelyn Harrow nor Aiden Ricoh nor any other littles are present on university grounds."

A collective exhale rippled through the team. It was over, but not the victory they'd hoped for. Rabbit slammed her tablet down with a clatter.

"So they slipped through our fingers? Just like that?" she spat out, her eyes ablaze with frustration.

Wire's gaze remained fixed on a distant point. "They'll turn up," he muttered. "They always do."

The room fell into silence, each member grappling with their own thoughts – thoughts of comrades injured and enemies vanished like smoke. The scent of antiseptic and machine oil hung heavy in the air as they processed the partial victory.

Rabbit's eyes narrowed as she scooped up her tablet again, scrolling through data streams. "We've got to find them," she declared with renewed vigor. "They're out there somewhere, and who knows what they're planning next?"

Argos responded with an analytical coolness that only an AI could muster. "I will continue to monitor all channels for any sign of their whereabouts."

Wire shifted his gaze to Ghost, reading his leader's subtle cues—a tight jawline, a brow furrowed ever so slightly—signs of contemplation.

"Boss?" Wire asked.

Ghost paused mid-step and faced his team. His eyes conveyed the resolve that words could not fully capture. "We regroup and heal up," he said with quiet authority. "Then we hunt them down."

Rabbit's fingers paused on her tablet, her attention snagged by an unexpected sound—a voice that did not belong to any of them.

"It won't happen," said the voice, authoritative and unfamiliar.

The team froze. Ghost's heart skipped a beat as his hand instinctively moved toward his sidearm, a motion halted by the knowledge that no weapon would aid them against an unseen adversary.

"Who are you?" Ghost demanded, his voice betraying none of the apprehension that tightened its grip around him.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows, a man in a uniform that bore no insignia they recognized. His presence was commanding, his gaze sharp as it swept over them.

"Captain Smith, Veil Command," he introduced himself, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ghost's mind raced. Veil Command—the name was a whisper in dark corners, a rumor among rumors. That they stood before a representative now was enough to send a chill through even the most seasoned of operatives.

Captain Smith's eyes locked onto Ghost's. "The Hellcats are under my direct command now."

The words landed like a punch to the gut. The autonomy they had fought so hard for, the freedom to operate outside conventional chains of command—it was all being stripped away in an instant. Ghost struggled to find words, but none came. He glanced at his team, each face reflecting their shared shock and disbelief.

"What about our mission? Our autonomy?" Rabbit finally broke the silence, her voice edged with defiance.

Captain Smith took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "You will be briefed in due course. For now, understand that this change is not up for debate."

Ghost's thoughts spun with the implications of this new development. They had always been outliers, renegades operating on the fringes for the greater good. Now they were being reined in by an entity shrouded in mystery and power.

"We answer directly to you?" Wire asked pointedly.

"Yes," Captain Smith confirmed without hesitation. "And your first directive is to stand down until further notice."

Stand down—two words that felt like shackles to warriors such as themselves. The Hellcats exchanged uneasy looks; their very nature was to act, not wait passively for orders.

"Understood," Ghost managed to say at last, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Ghost scrutinized Captain Smith, searching for any telltale sign that might betray the man's intentions. The weight of his team's anxious stares bore down on him, urging him to press for answers they desperately needed.

"Captain, the boys—Bixente and Adrian—what's going to happen to them?" Ghost asked, his voice a careful blend of respect and insistence.

Smith's eyes flickered with something unidentifiable before settling back into a mask of professional detachment. He folded his arms behind his back, an emblem of both authority and evasion.

"That information is on a need-to-know basis," he replied, his voice as firm as the walls surrounding them.

Rabbit's grip tightened around her tablet, her knuckles whitening. "Need to know? They're our people! We have a right—"

Smith raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Your concern is noted," he interjected smoothly. "However, operational security is paramount. Your role is to follow orders, not question them."

Ghost felt a simmering anger at the captain's dismissive stance. His team had fought tooth and nail, shed blood for the cause, only to be left in the dark when it mattered most.

Wire stepped forward, the lines of his face hardening. "They could be in danger," he stated flatly. "We can't just abandon them."

Smith regarded Wire with an appraising look before shifting his attention back to Ghost. "Your dedication is admirable," he conceded. "But your involvement in this matter concludes here."

The words hung heavy in the air, like a sentence passed down from high above. The Hellcats were warriors, protectors; standing down was antithetical to their very essence.

"We've risked everything," Ghost pressed on, his voice edged with restrained emotion. "We deserve answers."

Smith met Ghost's gaze unflinchingly. "What you deserve and what the situation dictates are two different things," he countered with an unwavering calmness. "Your team performed admirably. Now leave it to Veil Command to handle the next phase."

Ghost took a measured breath, aware that pushing further might only tighten the vise of secrecy that now threatened to suffocate their quest for truth.

"Very well," he acquiesced through gritted teeth.

Captain Smith gave a curt nod of acknowledgment before turning on his heel and exiting the room with precise steps that echoed off the walls.

The Hellcats were left alone once more in the sterile glow of their command center, each member processing the stark reality of their new orders—or lack thereof. Silence reigned as they grappled with frustration and helplessness—a battle far different from those they were trained to fight.

Ghost watched Captain Smith's retreating form with a mixture of suspicion and resentment. The captain's parting words had settled over the room like a shroud, stifling the usual bustle of activity that defined the Hellcats' command center. As Smith disappeared from view, the silence was broken by the hum of machinery and the quiet tapping of Rabbit's fingers on her tablet—her way of coping with uncertainty.

Smith's voice returned before the echo of his departure had fully faded. He reentered, carrying an air of purpose that seemed to fill the room, bringing with it a tension that prickled at Ghost's skin.

"I trust you've all had a moment to digest the situation," Smith began, his gaze sweeping over the team. "You will be equipped with advanced gear—state-of-the-art technology that will enhance your operational effectiveness."

The team exchanged wary glances. Upgraded equipment was always welcome, but at what cost? Rabbit set her tablet aside, her interest piqued despite her earlier frustration.

"What kind of gear are we talking about?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Smith reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small device, which he placed on the central table. It was sleek and unfamiliar, emitting a soft glow as it activated at his touch.

"Exosuits tailored to each of your specialties," he revealed. "They'll augment your physical capabilities and integrate seamlessly with your existing tech."

Wire stepped forward for a closer look. "Custom exosuits? That's not standard issue."

 

"No, it's not," Smith confirmed. "Veil Command spares no expense when it comes to equipping its operatives."

"Can we ask where this gear is coming from? Who developed it?" Wire asked, trying to glean any scrap of information.

Smith's lips pressed into a firm line, and he folded his arms across his chest—a barrier as much physical as it was symbolic.

"You need not concern yourselves with the origins of your equipment," Smith replied dismissively. "Your role is to learn and utilize it effectively."

The team absorbed this information with varying degrees of acceptance. Ghost felt a pang of unease; better gear meant tougher missions, higher stakes.

"And our current mission?" Ghost inquired, trying to keep his voice even. "The boys—Bixente and Adrian?"

Smith held up a hand, pre-empting further questions. "I've said all I'm going to say on that matter. Your focus now should be on familiarizing yourselves with the new equipment."

Rabbit frowned, her impatience clear. "You expect us to just drop everything and play with new toys while our friends are out there somewhere?"

Smith's expression hardened ever so slightly—a subtle shift that nonetheless conveyed his finality on the subject.

"Your compliance is not optional," he stated flatly. "You are under Veil Command now. That means following orders without question."

The unspoken threat in his words hung in the air like an invisible barrier, challenging them to cross it at their peril.

Wire crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes locked on Smith. "We'll need training then—get used to this new gear."

Smith nodded in agreement. "Arrangements have been made for an accelerated training program," he said. "You'll be operational in no time."

As Smith outlined the training schedule and expectations, Ghost stood silently among his team. His mind churned with thoughts of Bixente and Adrian—their safety, their fate—and how it all seemed to slip through their fingers like sand.

The captain concluded his briefing with instructions for them to report to the training facility first thing in the morning before making his exit once more.

In the wake of Smith's departure, Rabbit let out a slow breath she had been holding back.

Ghost stood before the panoramic array of screens, his thoughts a maelstrom. Argos, the ever-watchful sentinel, observed the Hellcats with an inscrutable digital gaze. Rabbit sat hunched over her tablet, while Wire paced the length of the room, each step a silent question.

Ghost's eyes flickered to Argos. "Is there more to this than a simple rescue? The presence of Veil Command suggests larger gears turning."

Argos processed the query, its circuits humming softly in the quiet room. "Veil Command's involvement indicates a high-profile investigation," it finally confirmed. "Your operation intersected with one of their interests."

Rabbit's fingers stilled on her tablet. "So we were just pawns in their game?" she asked, her voice edged with bitterness.

Wire stopped pacing and faced Argos. "What kind of investigations are we talking about?"

Argos paused, as if considering how much to disclose. "Veil Command is currently engaged in multiple operations spanning international espionage and covert surveillance," it divulged. "Your mission may have overlapped with one of these operations."

Ghost absorbed this information, his brow furrowing deeper. "That would explain Smith's sudden takeover," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Rabbit pushed back from her tablet and stood up. "This goes way beyond us then," she said with newfound clarity. "It's not just about rescuing Littles anymore."

The realization seemed to settle over the team like dust after an explosion—fine, pervasive, altering everything it touched.

Wire resumed his pacing, but now with a thoughtful cadence. "If we're part of something bigger," he mused aloud, "then what's our role in Veil Command's plan?"

Argos responded with calculated neutrality. "Your primary function remains the same: to protect and rescue Littles in peril. However, your operations will now align with Veil Command's strategic objectives."

Ghost turned away from the screens to face his team. His jaw set in a firm line as he contemplated their next move within this intricate web they had unwittingly become entangled in.

"Then we need to be smarter," he concluded with steely determination. "We play by their rules while figuring out their endgame."

Rabbit nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting a fire that had nothing to do with the light from her tablet screen.

"We've always been good at adapting," she said confidently.

Wire stopped pacing and leaned against a console. "And we've got new gear coming our way," he added pragmatically. "Might as well use it to our advantage."

As the Hellcats mulled over their new reality—one where autonomy was sacrificed for compliance—a silent accord formed among them: they would navigate this complexity together, as they always had, united by purpose and bound by loyalty.

 

[SGTbaby]

Regime changes are always nerve wracking times, should be an interesting transition period!

[Ericc]

Act 5: The Dawn of Resolution

Chapter 19: Shattered dreams

The world came back to me slowly, consciousness filtering through the haze of a deep slumber. I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of white bars – an Emerson hospital crib, to be exact. A soggy diaper clung to my skin, an uncomfortable but not unexpected sensation. After all the madness, it seemed almost routine.

I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps before a nurse, one of the Bigs, appeared beside my crib. Her voice held a note of sympathy that almost sounded genuine. "You've been asleep for two days, Bixente," she said. "We needed to make sure you healed properly."

Two days? The thought rattled in my mind as I processed the information. Two whole days gone just like that.

She began changing my diaper, and I could feel the fresh air against my skin as she replaced it with a pull-up. "The dean wants to see you," she informed me as she worked. My heart sank; I knew this wasn't going to be good.

"Thanks, but I can take it from here," I muttered, my pride kicking in. I wasn't about to let her baby me more than she already had.

Dressed in my school uniform, which felt stiff and foreign after so long in a hospital gown and less dignified attire, I stood up on unsteady legs. The nurse eyed me as if expecting me to topple over any second, but I held my ground.

"Merci for your help," I said as I buttoned up my shirt, keeping my tone polite but distant. "I can manage now."

I could tell she wanted to offer more assistance – perhaps it was her job or maybe there was some genuine concern there – but I couldn't afford any more hand-holding. Not when I was about to face the dean and answer for everything that had happened.

As I tied my shoes and adjusted the collar of my shirt, a cold sense of dread settled in my stomach. This meeting with the dean... it could mean the end of everything…

The nurse, towering above me, unfolded a stroller that seemed ridiculously small for my size. With practiced hands, she maneuvered me into it, pulling straps over my shoulders and between my legs. I let out a soft protest as she tightened the five-point harness, ensuring I couldn't move much more than my fingers and toes. She even secured my feet and hands to the stroller's frame, leaving me helplessly ensconced within its confines.

My mind raced with the humiliation of it all, but deep down, I knew any struggle would be futile. I was caught in the web of Emerson's rules, and with everything that had transpired, I had no bravado left to fuel a rebellion. Instead, I felt a weary acceptance settle over me as the nurse produced a pacigag.

"You'll need this for our little journey," she said softly. The corners of her mouth lifted in a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Without argument, I opened my mouth and allowed her to insert the inflatable device. A click sounded as she locked it in place; a seal on my fate as much as on my silence. Her hands patted my head in a motherly fashion that only added to the infantilization of the moment.

"There we go, all set," she cooed, her voice carrying that sing-song quality Bigs often used when addressing Littles like me. "You're doing very well."

She began pushing the stroller through the hallways of Emerson University's medical facility. My cheeks burned with shame as students and staff turned to watch us pass by. Some faces showed pity, others amusement, but all I could do was look forward and focus on the vibrations of the stroller's wheels against the floor.

I tested the straps subtly, pulling at them with a weak hope they might give way. They held firm – sturdy restraints for an unsteady mind trying to grasp how everything had gone so wrong.

The journey seemed endless, each turn and each doorway an echo of my shrinking dignity. By the time we reached the dean's office, all pretense of self-assuredness had drained from me. I was just Bixente Echavoyen – a Little at Emerson University – about to face whatever judgment awaited me behind those imposing doors.

 

 

* * *

The wheels of the stroller squeaked slightly as they rolled over the pristine floors of Emerson University, each turn a reminder of the binds that kept me from even the simple dignity of walking. My heart pounded, a trapped rhythm against the tight straps and the pacigag that forced my silence. I had faced many things since arriving here, but none quite like this—a meeting with the dean.

As we entered Dean Norris's office, her towering figure dominated the room. Her presence alone was enough to still any protest I might have considered. The nurse maneuvered the stroller beside her desk, and with a gentle hand on my shoulder, she signaled for me to stay put.

Dean Norris looked down at me, her eyes betraying a spark of amusement that felt out of place given my dire circumstances. "Bixente Echavoyen," she began, her voice deep and commanding yet laced with an unexpected warmth. "I must admit, your little escapade at the library was quite the surprise. A heist! In my university! It's almost... commendable."

Her words sent a chill through me. She knew everything—every detail of our failed mission—and yet here she was, almost praising us for it.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk, and continued, "To think you had the audacity to attempt such a thing. It's unprecedented."

My mind raced as I tried to gauge her angle. Was this some sort of twisted respect? Or was she mocking us? The pacigag prevented any words from escaping my lips, but in truth, I wasn't sure what I would have said even if I could speak.

The dean's gaze softened ever so slightly as she delivered her verdict. "However," she said with a sigh, "rules are rules, and your actions cannot go without consequence." She paused for effect before dropping the bombshell. "You are to be sent to 'tippy toes' etiquette school."

The sentence hung in the air like a death knell. Tippy toes—a one-way ticket to full toddlerhood at best for the rest of my life. My mind reeled at the thought of it; all my dreams and aspirations dashed in an instant.

I nodded feebly in acknowledgment; what else could I do? Then, as if my body finally understood what my future held, tears began to well up in my eyes. My head dropped forward as sobs wracked through me—a silent cry muffled by the gag.

Dean Norris watched me with an unreadable expression before motioning to the nurse. "Take him to Happy Griffins' facility," she ordered briskly. "They will prepare him accordingly."

The journey to Happy Griffins' adoption center loomed before me—a place where they claimed to care for Littles like myself and find us good parents without heavy modifications or regression. But after what had transpired, such promises seemed hollow.

Through tear-streaked eyes, I saw students milling about their day—unaware or indifferent to my plight—and realized that my time among them had come to an abrupt end. In that moment, I knew: this was no longer just about being small in stature; it was about being made small in every way imaginable.

The stroller's motion ceased, and the nurse gently unstrapped me. Her hands were steady, her expression neutral, as if she had done this a thousand times before. My legs, weak from the emotional toll, barely supported me as I stood before the entrance of Happy Griffins' adoption center. I looked up at the facade, its cheerfulness a stark contrast to the dread knotting my stomach.

Inside my head, I screamed apologies to Eric, my little brother. I had promised him stories of adventure and success, not this humiliating defeat. I was supposed to be his hero, his role model, not an example of failure. "I'm sorry, Eric," I pleaded silently, over and over again. "I tried to be strong for you."

The nurse led me through corridors adorned with colorful murals depicting scenes of play and laughter—a cruel irony for the impending loss of my autonomy. Each step felt like a betrayal of the promises I made to Eric. He looked up to me, always saw me as someone great—someone who could fix anything. But I couldn't fix this.

We arrived at a room that was designed to look welcoming but felt more like a gilded cage. Soft toys and pastel colors filled the space; it was a child's haven but a Little's nightmare. As they sat me down on a cushioned chair that seemed too small and yet too big for me at the same time, I felt the tears welling up again.

"I let you down," I whispered inwardly to Eric, feeling the weight of my unspoken words heavy in my chest. "I should have been smarter, should have been better."

I remembered how he would run into my arms after waking from a nightmare or when thunder shook our home in the Pyrenees. How he trusted me implicitly to protect him from anything life threw our way. And here I was—unable to protect even myself.

The nurse removed the pacigag with practiced ease, and finally free from its confines, my first instinct was to speak out—to protest or plead—but resignation silenced me before words could form. What could I say that would change anything now?

All I could think about was Eric's face when he would realize his big brother wasn't coming back—not as he knew him.

"Eric," I cried out within the silent fortress of my mind, "forgive me for breaking my promise." My heart clenched at the thought of him waking up each morning to find only silence where once there were our shared laughs and plans for the day.

I was supposed to teach him about cars and how to stand up for himself—to guide him into adulthood with all the wisdom our mother entrusted me with. Instead, he'd learn about my downfall—a cautionary tale whispered among Littles who dared dream too big in a world that wanted them small.

The straps of the stroller fell away, and I was suddenly adrift, my arms free yet feeling more trapped than ever. The nurse, a different one this time, had a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was the smile of someone who'd seen too many like me pass through these halls, resigned to their fates.

She helped me to my feet, her grip firm yet not unkind. Every part of me wanted to resist, to rage against the injustice of it all, but I was broken. My spirit, once fierce and defiant, had crumbled under the weight of reality.

She led me down a corridor that seemed to stretch on forever, each step taking me further from the life I knew. My eyes lingered on every detail—the soft lighting, the murmur of voices in the distance—clinging to them like a drowning man to a lifeline.

We arrived at a room that looked more like a nursery than anything else. The nurse ushered me inside with a gentle nudge. I could see her lips moving, words meant to comfort or perhaps explain what was happening next, but they were lost to me. My ears rang with the silence of my own despair.

A sippy cup was placed in my hands, its contents sweet and cold against my lips. It was meant to soothe me, I suppose—a small kindness in a world that had shown me little enough of it. But it felt like another link in the chain binding me to this new life I hadn't chosen.

As I drank mechanically from the cup, I caught sight of Emerson's through the window—a fleeting glimpse of freedom now out of reach. My heart lurched with longing for its hallways and classrooms, for the dreams I'd dared to dream within its walls.

The door swung shut with an air of finality, and with it closed any last hope I had clung to. In that moment, everything that made me who I was—the pride in my Basque heritage, my love for mechanics, my role as Eric's protector—all seemed like distant memories from someone else's life.

I stood there alone in the quiet room as realization settled in. This was no temporary setback; this was a complete erasure of who I once was. My identity wasn't just being stripped away; it was being rewritten without my consent.

I felt hollowed out and discarded—just another Little lost in a system designed to erase us. The sippy cup slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud that echoed through the empty space.

"Eric," I whispered into the silence, "I'm sorry." It wasn't just an apology; it was a farewell to everything we were supposed to be together—brothers navigating life's storms side by side.

Now there would be no more adventures shared between us—no more challenges conquered or stories exchanged under starlit skies. There would only be this place that promised care but delivered captivity.

The taste of artificial sweetness lingered on my tongue as tears threatened once again. In those last moments before surrendering completely to despair, I allowed myself one final indulgence—the memory of home and all its unfulfilled promises

Eric's face swam before my eyes—his deep blue eyes that mirrored my own. His trust in me had been absolute; he believed I could conquer any challenge. Yet here I was, defeated and broken by a world that saw us as nothing more than playthings.

I clutched the sippy cup tighter as if it were a lifeline rather than another shackle binding me to this new reality. "I'm sorry," I whispered into the void left by the closing door—the only eulogy I could offer for the life I once knew. "I'm so sorry »

[Moon3ye]

Interesting that they manage to save him only for him to meet a bad end in the end.

I'm curious to see what happens next.

[Ericc]

2 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

Interesting that they manage to save him only for him to meet a bad end in the end.

I'm curious to see what happens next.

Keep in minds they are several entities at works behind the scene. The last chapter next week might give you some leads where it will go.

 

[Operational Systems]

Those poor boys.  The University was supposed to help them become their best, and instead of showing them compassion and caring and growth, all it did was lead them to their doom.  The dean's response was cold, not even taking the time to gas light him, or explain the purpose of her actions, or to comfort him after what he's just gone through.  She had rescued the boy from forced adoption, only to have him sent off to forced adoption.  Even the bad guys got away.

[Baby Billy]

Quick question is this taking place before or after BabySofia' Exchanged with Stacy going to Emerson?

[SGTbaby]

Interesting twist and I wonder what the next will be.

[Ericc]

On 5/11/2024 at 4:29 PM, Operational Systems said:

Those poor boys.  The University was supposed to help them become their best, and instead of showing them compassion and caring and growth, all it did was lead them to their doom.  The dean's response was cold, not even taking the time to gas light him, or explain the purpose of her actions, or to comfort him after what he's just gone through.  She had rescued the boy from forced adoption, only to have him sent off to forced adoption.  Even the bad guys got away.

The DD is ruthless for the weak. 

On 5/11/2024 at 9:03 PM, Baby Billy said:

Quick question is this taking place before or after BabySofia' Exchanged with Stacy going to Emerson?

Without spoiling the second part, the story is between ‘exchange’ and ‘lights, camera’, something like 10/15 years from exchange. 
 

[Baby Billy]

3 hours ago, Ericc said:

The DD is ruthless for the weak. 

Without spoiling the second part, the story is between ‘exchange’ and ‘lights, camera’, something like 10/15 years from exchange. 
 

Thanks, just a little piece of info than BabySofia closed and bulldozed Tippy Toes after the first year of Exchanged.

[Ericc]

9 minutes ago, Baby Billy said:

Thanks, just a little piece of info than BabySofia closed and bulldozed Tippy Toes after the first year of Exchanged.

Doh!

i guess I didn’t remembered that.

i will update the name in part 2.

 

[Baby Billy]

2 hours ago, Ericc said:

Doh!

i guess I didn’t remembered that.

i will update the name in part 2.

 

You may not have seen it, it was in the epilogue of Seems to good. 

[Ericc]

Chapter 20: Fallout

 

Ms. Thorne cradled the device between shoulder and ear, her fingers dancing across a digital ledger, tallying profits and losses with the detached precision of a seasoned trader. The phone chirped, its tone as crisp as the lines of code that swirled on her screen.

"Ms. Thorne, you have Evelyn Harrow on the line," her assistant's voice cut through the financial reverie.

"Patch her through," she commanded without missing a beat, shifting in her chair to face the skyline beyond her window—a mosaic of steel and light that felt more at home than any terrestrial vista.

"Evelyn," Ms. Thorne greeted, her voice devoid of warmth yet polished to a professional sheen. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Evelyn's response crackled through, laced with a melody that masked the cold undercurrents. "I trust you've heard about the minor setback with our last shipment?"

Ms. Thorne's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, an imperceptible motion betraying annoyance. "I might consider it more than minor if it affects my clients' satisfaction."

The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to communicate disapproval. "Well, let's just say they weren't quite up to standard," Evelyn finally conceded. "A hiccup in the training process."

"A hiccup we can ill afford." Ms. Thorne's words were terse pebbles tossed across a still pond.

"I'm aware," Evelyn said, an edge creeping into her tone. "Which is why I'm proposing a solution—a new arrival who might just fit your clientele's exacting standards."

Ms. Thorne leaned back, allowing herself a moment to consider the offer veiled within Evelyn's velvet tones. "Go on."

"He's bright, resilient—qualities your customers adore. I can ensure his compliance; he'll be primed for display by next auction."

A pause stretched between them like taut wire. "Your assurances have been less than reliable lately," Ms. Thorne observed.

A soft laugh floated from Evelyn's end—a brushstroke of disdain on an otherwise placid conversation. "Let's not dwell on past inconveniences, shall we? This one is different."

"Different enough to risk my reputation?" Ms. Thorne challenged.

Evelyn's reply came swift and sharp as a scalpel's edge. "Consider it an exclusive opportunity, one you'd be foolish to decline."

Ms. Thorne weighed the threat nestled in Evelyn's promise like a jeweler appraising an opaque gemstone. Calculations flickered in her gaze, each one dissecting potential gains against potential repercussions.

"Very well," she said at last, her voice a calm expanse hiding turbulent depths. "But should this 'exclusive opportunity' fall through—"

"It won't," Evelyn cut in smoothly.

"But if it does," Ms. Thorne continued as if uninterrupted, "you'll find my goodwill isn't inexhaustible."

Evelyn let silence speak for a moment before responding with controlled grace. "Understood."

With that, the line went dead, leaving Ms. Thorne alone with her thoughts and the sprawling cityscape—a web of connections and power plays in which she was both spider and fly.

* * *

The car pulled up to Emerson's hospital, a sleek silhouette against the imposing backdrop of the institution. Behind the wheel sat a figure clad in the distinctive attire of a tippy toes nurse, an unusual sight for someone of his build and demeanor. The uniform hung on his tall, lean frame with an air of irony; he seemed more accustomed to the cut of a sharp suit than the soft fabric designed for nurturing caregivers.

As he stepped out, the light playing off his intelligent eyes, betraying a mind that danced with thoughts far removed from the caregiving role his outfit suggested. A deceptive smile played on his lips, one that could charm and disarm with equal ease. His hair, neatly styled, suggested an attention to detail that bordered on meticulous, while his movements carried a confidence that spoke of authority rather than subservience.

As he locked the car with a subtle click, he surveyed his surroundings with a critical eye. The park stretched before him like a canvas painted with shades of green and ivory – statues of renowned scholars looked on in silent judgment while art installations caught the sunlight in playful glints. It was a space crafted for giants, where every bench and blade of grass was scaled to match their grandeur.

He passed by others without so much as a glance, their conversations floating by as insignificant whispers against the grand scheme playing out in his mind. He carried with him an air of expectancy, as though each moment leading up to this had been carefully orchestrated for maximum effect.

 

The clerk at the registration desk looked up, her eyes widening slightly as the man approached. Her surprise was palpable, though she masked it quickly with a practiced smile. It wasn't every day that someone in a tippy toes nurse's uniform strolled into Emerson’s park, let alone one with such an imposing presence.

"Good morning," she greeted, her voice steady. "How may I assist you today?"

He leaned on the counter, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Morning. I'm here to collect a Little under your care—Bixente Echavoyen."

The name seemed to echo around the room, causing a momentary hush in the usual hum of activity. The clerk's fingers danced over the keyboard, a frown creasing her brow as she searched the records.

"Bixente Echavoyen, you said?" She glanced up at him through her lashes, clearly still processing his request. "One moment, please."

He nodded, patience etched into his stance as he surveyed the room around him with an air of detached curiosity. The clerk scrutinized the screen before her, and then checked a stack of papers beside her computer. With each passing second, her initial surprise gave way to confusion and then to cautious acceptance.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said finally, handing over a clipboard with several forms attached. "Please sign here and here."

He took the pen she offered and signed with a flourish that spoke of confidence. Handing back the clipboard, he watched as she stamped the papers with an official seal.

"Room 11," she informed him, her voice tinged with uncertainty that she couldn't quite hide.

He nodded again, offering no further conversation as he took a step back from the desk. There was an air about him that suggested he was well-versed in these procedures; yet something in his gaze hinted at thoughts far beyond the walls of this park and its bureaucratic processes.

In silence, he waited for them to bring Bixente out to him, his mind already turning over what would come next in this carefully laid plan of his.

 

The man offered a brief nod of gratitude to the clerk, who watched with a mix of relief and bewilderment as he turned away. He navigated the halls with a practiced ease, passing doorways that whispered secrets of academia and tradition. He arrived at a quiet room where Bixente lay, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life in his sleeping form.

Bixente's face, serene in slumber, betrayed none of the turmoil that had seized him in recent days. The boy's deep blue eyes remained closed, lashes casting delicate shadows over his youthful cheeks. The mechanical bed hummed faintly, its technology a stark contrast to the boy's vulnerability.

The man approached with silent steps, careful not to disturb the peace that sleep had granted Bixente. With deft hands, he unlocked the restraints that secured Bixente to the bed and scooped him up. The boy remained oblivious to the transfer, his body limp in the arms of his unexpected caretaker.

In one smooth motion, the man placed Bixente into a stroller designed for such occasions—its frame sturdy yet discreet, cradling its occupant with care. He secured the restraints around Bixente, ensuring safety without causing discomfort. With each click of the buckles, it was as if he was sealing away Bixente's fate within the confines of soft padding and secure straps.

With Bixente settled, the man wheeled him through Emerson’s park, moving past statues and art pieces that seemed to observe their passage with silent scrutiny. The stroller glided over well-tended paths toward a changing station, weaving through clusters of students and faculty who paid them little mind— showing how too common such sights had become.

Once alone, he slipped out of the nurse's garb with a sigh of relief. The walls, adorned with whimsical characters and vibrant hues, mocked him silently as he folded the uniform with a precision that belied his distaste for the role it represented. His movements were swift, shedding the facade of caregiver as easily as one might discard a worn-out pair of gloves.

He dressed in casual attire, choosing pieces that fit his frame and his status—a crisply ironed shirt paired with jeans that clung to his long legs in a way that spoke of quiet confidence rather than ostentation. The transformation was not merely physical; with each layer of clothing, he reclaimed his identity, shrugging off the constraints of expectation and assumption.

His reflection in the mirror gave a subtle nod of approval as he ran a hand through his hair, restoring it to its usual impeccable state. The door swung open with a gentle push, and he stepped back into the world, now just another face in the crowd.

 

The park welcomed him back with open arms, embracing him in its leafy bosom. He strolled through Emerson’s park with purpose, pushing the stroller ahead of him. The air buzzed with the chatter of students and academics lost in their own orbits of thought and discussion.

A mother walked alongside her charges—a pair of toddlers bouncing on youthful legs—when her gaze caught on Bixente's still form in the stroller. She slowed her pace, her eyes darting between the sleeping boy and the man who guided him through this garden of giants.

"My goodness," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "The eyes... such a striking resemblance."

Her words hung between them like an unspoken question, an invitation to unravel a mystery that was none of her business. He turned to meet her gaze, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a conspiratorial wink.

"Family traits can be quite persuasive," he offered, voice tinged with amusement that didn't quite reach his eyes.

She smiled back, perhaps content with this scrap of acknowledgment or simply charmed by his demeanor. With a final glance at Bixente's peaceful face, she corralled her little and continued on her way.

He watched her depart before redirecting his attention to the path ahead. Each step carried them further from the life Bixente knew—a life suspended in the quietude of sleep—and closer to an uncertain future where control and autonomy were currencies hard-earned and easily spent.

 

The park's tranquility followed them out to where traffic hummed with life. He maneuvered the stroller with ease to where his car waited—its design sleek and unassuming among its peers. The back door opened at a touch, revealing a car seat inside tailored for a Little's safety.

Gently lifting Bixente once more, he settled him into the car seat. Straps clicked into place over the boy's form as if embracing him in a protective cocoon. The man stood back for a moment, his gaze lingering on Bixente's still face before he closed the door with a soft thud.

He noticed the familiar silhouette of a tippy toes vehicle navigating its way toward Emerson’s hospital, and a grin crept across his face. The sight sparked a sense of satisfaction within him, a small victory in a game that was far from over. He watched as the vehicle, unmistakable with its vibrant livery and playful design, merged into the flow of traffic with an air of importance that belied its appearance.

A chuckle escaped his lips, soft but carrying an edge. He shook his head slightly, acknowledging the absurdity of it all—the way power and control dressed themselves up in the soft pastels and rounded edges meant for children.

His thoughts turned to Bixente—sleeping innocently in the back seat—and to all that lay ahead. There were moves yet to be made, strategies yet to unfold. But for now, he allowed himself a small measure of contentment in knowing that the first phase had gone exactly as planned.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the car with barely a whisper of sound—a marvel of engineering that promised power without proclamation. As he pulled away from Emerson’s park, blending into the flow of traffic, there was no spectacle to mark their departure—just another vehicle carrying its precious cargo toward an unseen destination.

The world continued its rhythm around them; pedestrians walked by engrossed in their own lives while other cars merged and turned at intersections oblivious to the stroller now empty at Emerson’s park. The car vanished into the throng like a drop melding into an ocean—a typical event on an ordinary day.

 

 

end of part I

[Kat5]

Ah hah! I didn't comment after last chapter because I had a strong suspicion that -someone- was going to snatch him up!

Admittedly I didn't think he'd sleep through the whole thing. Poor little guy's had a rough few days!

This has been an excellent story, a verbose and descriptive adventure as well as a word of warning to anyone thinking that the D.D. is safe under even the most promising of circumstances.

Thank you very kindly for both writing and sharing this with us!

[Operational Systems]

The new guy here Agent Smith?  Or Bix's never mentioned real father?  Or is it Aiden?

I think the story is good, especially for a first outing, but kind of lost the thread when it ramped up the action in the library.  We introduced a lot of characters, and it was difficult to remember which, if any, hellcats were lost in the battle (and presumably is the source of Evelyn's new little to sell.  There's mysterious, and we're wrapping up here, and maybe this might have benefited by putting all the cards on the table rather than bringing it to the vest.  Same for the agent smith reveal, there are only so many male characters introduced, and he is the only one given with distinctive eyes.  If it is supposed to be him, perhaps giving him a stronger description in a prior chapter, and then give it as a reveal here would be great.

Because if there is a part 2, we're probably going to find out immediately what's up.  Seasonal Endings should answer questions and setup new ones.

BUT if it is Agent Smith, or if it's his real dad, or if Agent Smith is his real dad, I think those are positive outcomes for the story because now Bix can pursue being in this shadow organization, he has been tested through this whole process and now has an opportunity to redeem himself.  Again, you barely hint at the positive turn around here (Unless the positive outcome is supposed to be: Bix becomes a baby), and a bit more opaqueness would benefit.

This chapter was good.  It has Strong descriptions, good use of symbolism with the clothing and descriptions of the tippy toes, "the way power and control dressed themselves up in the soft pastels and rounded edges meant for children.", great first outing, and I hope to see more.

[SGTbaby]

Interesting end to part 1. Definitely makes one want to keep reading!!

[Ericc]

On 5/17/2024 at 7:35 PM, Kat5 said:

Ah hah! I didn't comment after last chapter because I had a strong suspicion that -someone- was going to snatch him up!

Admittedly I didn't think he'd sleep through the whole thing. Poor little guy's had a rough few days!

This has been an excellent story, a verbose and descriptive adventure as well as a word of warning to anyone thinking that the D.D. is safe under even the most promising of circumstances.

Thank you very kindly for both writing and sharing this with us!

Thanks, I’m glad you liked the story. I really want to create an interesting lore for DD with different level of players (if it make sense).
 

On 5/18/2024 at 12:06 AM, Operational Systems said:

The new guy here Agent Smith?  Or Bix's never mentioned real father?  Or is it Aiden?

I think the story is good, especially for a first outing, but kind of lost the thread when it ramped up the action in the library.  We introduced a lot of characters, and it was difficult to remember which, if any, hellcats were lost in the battle (and presumably is the source of Evelyn's new little to sell.  There's mysterious, and we're wrapping up here, and maybe this might have benefited by putting all the cards on the table rather than bringing it to the vest.  Same for the agent smith reveal, there are only so many male characters introduced, and he is the only one given with distinctive eyes.  If it is supposed to be him, perhaps giving him a stronger description in a prior chapter, and then give it as a reveal here would be great.

Because if there is a part 2, we're probably going to find out immediately what's up.  Seasonal Endings should answer questions and setup new ones.

BUT if it is Agent Smith, or if it's his real dad, or if Agent Smith is his real dad, I think those are positive outcomes for the story because now Bix can pursue being in this shadow organization, he has been tested through this whole process and now has an opportunity to redeem himself.  Again, you barely hint at the positive turn around here (Unless the positive outcome is supposed to be: Bix becomes a baby), and a bit more opaqueness would benefit.

This chapter was good.  It has Strong descriptions, good use of symbolism with the clothing and descriptions of the tippy toes, "the way power and control dressed themselves up in the soft pastels and rounded edges meant for children.", great first outing, and I hope to see more.

Thank for your comments. Without too much spoiler, Aiden got blue eyes  and that will play some part later.

On 5/18/2024 at 5:29 AM, SGTbaby said:

Interesting end to part 1. Definitely makes one want to keep reading!!

Part 2 is in the process, stay tuned  and thanks all for your interest in that story.

[Kat5]

5 hours ago, Ericc said:

I really want to create an interesting lore for DD with different level of players

I think that I can understand that. All that my story had added for lore is 3D coloring pencils, a training pacifiers and a little riding a large border collie. So you thinking up far more significant stuff is respectable.