man to girl Yet Another World War (Mature) (Chapter Five)

[Baby Jemma]

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:

 

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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.

[kerry]

Wow. You're on a roll! Another inventive and original concept!

[Kaiko-chan]

I like that. You have it set in the Middle East. There's not a lot of stories that do that.

[Baby Jemma]

Well, I better update this story. It's been a while, but I hope you can understand. But first, of course, the replies:

 

@kerry - Well, thank you! Ultimately, this does take a tiny bit from French Whines (as you'll see this chapter), but I'm glad I could create a concept that says something about originality~

@Kaiko-chan - Thanks! It's not going to stay in the Middle East, per say (starting with this chapter, although there will be a few scenes in Israel), but I hope to keep your attention either way~

And now, for the story itself:

 

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Chapter Two: Israel is Not America

 

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Lavi’s head hurt. Was that what death felt like? It hurt, but also…didn’t? It didn’t feel like he had been shot. Voices were speaking, their voices not making sense. He could understand the plain English, but it was clearly American English.

 

“Hey, she’s alive, thank God! Probably an orphan, poor kid.”

 

“Doesn’t seem to have bladder or bowel control. Completely soiled lab coat. Then again, why is she wearing a lab coat?”

 

“Probably stole it. Should we turn her in for truancy?”

 

“No! I can help her out!”

 

“C’mon, Kesh, it’s not your-”

 

“I responded to the scene first. She’s my responsibility.”

 

“Wait, I think she’s waking up!”

 

Lavi groaned to wakefulness, his eyes blinking from the streetlights. The time was clearly night, but it didn’t make any sense, it was early morning in Egypt.

 

Then he remembered! He had to get to Mossad with the information about the weapon! Israel was in danger from elements in the United States who betrayed them…

 

He felt the lab coat draped over him, almost like a tent; clearly too small for it…but why? His head was fuzzy, exhaustion was washing all over his tiny body, and he smelled piss and shit everywhere.

 

Wait, I’m around 200.66 centimeters, 90.7 grams. I shouldn’t be tiny. The lab coat I wore was barely big enough for me. What’s going on?

 

“I’m…” He stopped. His voice sounded all wrong. Childish. No, not even childish. Girlish.

 

He felt wrong.

 

“Tawaret, what did you…” He stopped. He was definitely speaking, but the voice was that of a young girl’s. He shed the lab coat, and looked down.

 

Breasts. He clearly had breasts and a definite absence of equipment down below.

 

He screamed in a high-pitched tone, feeling his world turn upside-down before falling back into unconsciousness.

 

Then Lavi dreamed. He dreamed of Tawaret, the goddess, her eyes friendly, as he realized he was still a little girl, that the goddess absolutely dwarfed him.

 

“Hello, little one. I am glad I was able to save-”

 

“SAVE?! I’M A LITTLE GIRL! LOOK AT ME!” He was sounding hysterical, but he didn’t care. “How can I save ANYONE like this?! NOBODY’S going to believe me when I say I’m Israeli special forces! My country’s going to get bombed, and I can’t do a damned thing about it!”

 

“Your land is safe for the moment.” There was infinite patience in the goddess’s tone, as if she were talking to a child, which, Lavi realized, tears in his eyes, he pretty much was. “You are about twelve years old at the moment. But your old body is dead. It could not be healed. As much as you hate this - and do not lie, I know you are not in favor of this - it is better than being dead and not being able to help at all. Unfortunately, there are…after-effects to my powers.”

 

“What do you mean ‘after-effects’?” He couldn’t imagine things getting much worse. He had a girlfriend back home, a girlfriend who likely believed he was dead. And now he was barely old enough to go to middle school, let alone date her.

 

“Well…given that the knife you were stabbed with reduces your bodily functions to infancy - you are quite lucky to be as old as you are - it is unlikely that your new body will have grasped - or ever will grasp - going to the toilet by yourself. And sometimes, you will feel more…infantile urges.”

 

Lavi felt the words hit him like a truck, his stunned thoughts barely able to process what Tawaret had said.

 

So, what, am I going to have to wear diapers? Forever?! And what infantile urges? I don’t know what…

 

He started to cry uncontrollably, and felt the hippo goddess gently pick him up, almost cradling him like a toddler, as he sobbed against her breasts.

 

“There is good news. You will not continue the slow regression to infancy, which is what the weapon intended. You will be able to grow up again as normal. You are not an adult trapped in the body of an infant, which would be an absolutely horrible experience; there is a reason humans forget their infancy. You have some freedom. And you will get to experience the world from a brand-new perspective. It is not as horrible to be a little girl as you may think.”

 

“Then…oh, God, I’m in America, am I?”

 

“That statement is correct, I am afraid.”

 

“But…if I’m in America, and…wait, the man said there were people in the United States who betrayed my country! I could…” Lavi paused, realizing how improbable it would be for a girl not even a teenager to do the things he could do in his sleep as an adult male. “I could…oh, God, I can’t!” A new wave of tears, as Tawaret comforted him.

 

“You are in the midst of an interesting opportunity, my little one. You are in the home of your enemies, and they do not know who you are.”

 

“I don’t know who they are, though.” Then the next thing hit him as he remembered the one thing about his age that he had forgotten. “Who’s going to take care of me? If I’m in America, I can’t legally drive, I…” More tears. She - no, he, dammit, just because he had the body of a girl didn’t mean he had to be one! - had not cried nearly as much as a man, but these…emotions were getting the better of him.

 

Tawaret managed a toothy smile. “I believe that question will be resolved - in a positive way - when you wake up in your new home.”

 

“My…what?”

 

“Wake up, sweetie,” an American voice sang, piercing Lavi’s dream, as he woke up in a comfy bed…with a completely soaked and soiled Pull-up on him. And of course it was a Disney princess-themed one.

 

He looked at the woman who spoke to her. Long ash-brown hair, friendly brown eyes, large breasts, the kind of woman who would stand out in a crowd, not just because of beauty - although that would certainly help - but because of how radiant she was. He noted that she was almost twenty-three centimeters taller than he was, at the very least, wearing a casual blouse and jeans.

 

“Wow, you really did soak this Pull-up, didn’t you?” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we can get potty-training down eventually, my little Israeli friend.”

 

Lavi froze. This…this had to be a trick. “How, how did you, how…” He realized he was still speaking Hebrew and quickly switched to English. “How did you know?”

 

“My dear, my mother and father are from Israel,” the woman said, a small smile playing on her lips. “I hold dual citizenship because of them. My name’s Keshet Ofer, and I’m part of the DCPD.” Her smile then faded to a sad look. “I didn’t expect to see a young Israeli girl so far away from home, though. How did you get here?”

 

Lavi knew he had to lie…somewhat; he couldn’t afford to be psychologically-analyzed.

 

“I’m…” He paused at his girlish high soprano, so unlike his bass voice. “I’m an orphan. Left Tel Aviv when my parents died.”

 

Real tears. His parents had died when he was eighteen, leaving him holding the bag, no brothers or sisters, a full house to sell, full of memories, both good and bad…

 

“I’m…I’m so sorry, honey.” Keshet hugged him, and he did admit that it felt nice for a mother figure to hug him again, to tell him that it would be all right. Was it those infantile feelings that Tawaret had warned him about? “Do you want to tell me your name?”

 

“I’m…Ayelet.” The first female name he could think of, and he realized for the first time…his old life was gone and never coming back.

 

“That’s a pretty name!” Keshet exclaimed, as if he was a very young child. “Ayelet, my husband’s not home right now; he’s doing work with the government, but my daughter should be home from high school soon, and I’m pretty sure she can help babysit. Do you want something to eat?”

 

“Um…do you have sambusak? Mizrahi style?”

 

“Of course. We keep kosher and halal; my husband and daughter practice Islam.”

 

“That’s…actually very similar to my parents.”

 

“Oh, so you grew up in a house that practiced both Judaism and Islam?” Keshet asked curiously, and Lavi, no…Ayelet looked into her eyes, knowing he could tell her a bit of the truth.

 

“Yes. Father was Egyptian-Israeli Sunni Muslim, mother was Israeli-Jewish.”

 

“Well, you’re a very lucky young lady to find our house then.” Keshet then held a hand to her mouth, as she realized… “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ayelet, I forgot to change you!”

 

“No, I could-”

 

“No, let me, dearie, it’s my fault.” Keshet got out another princess-themed Pull-up. “We’ll get potty-training started soon; I’m shocked your parents didn’t do it already.”

 

“They…did.” Ayelet had no idea why he had said those words, but it just felt…so far away. He was…he was a man, dammit, not a little girl in a foreign country to him! Tears again. He felt as though he’d never run out of them.

 

“Oh. Oh, I didn’t realize. Maybe we can take you to a doctor, see what the problem is? Perhaps a weak bladder?”

 

“Maybe…I just don’t know what to do…”

 

Truer words had never been spoken, as he lay down on the bed, as he was quickly, gently and expertly changed by the police officer. The Pull-up, embarrassing as it was…well, there had to be worse, right?

 

Ayelet had no idea how true those words were going to be.

 

-

 

Well, I'll explain what the foreign words that people may or may not know:

 

Kosher - Judaic limits to what one is religiously allowed to eat.

Halal - Islamic limits to what one is religiously allowed to eat.

Sambusak - a type of pastry in Israel known around the world as a samosa. There are two main types: Sephardic and Mizrahi. The former has a thick, baked exterior coated with seeds and is normally filled with cheese or beef. The latter (what Lavi/Ayelet chose) is thinner, fried, and normally stuffed with curry-spiced chickpeas and onions without any seeds on the exterior.

 

Hope that explains a bit, and thank you for reading this far~

[Baby Jemma]

Well, I've made a lot of progress on this story: two whole chapters with a third coming along! Not exactly outstanding, but it is to me~ So, here's the third chapter:

 

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Chapter Three: Mommy is Not Just Who You're Born From.

 

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Keshet had given Ayelet privacy to get fully dressed (with a recently bought T-shirt and skirt as the clothes. He had not argued with Keshet about the skirt; there was no need to piss off his caretaker at the moment.), as he looked around the room. It was a guest bedroom, obviously, no special features other than a mirror, which he promptly used to ascertain his appearance.

 

He realized that he really was tiny, even for a twelve-year-old girl; he had to be only 147 centimeters tall. His breasts…were surprisingly full for a girl his size and age; if he had to judge, they were 145 B-cup, and he knew they’d increase with further puberty, that he’d maybe grow another inch.

 

But even though he realized that his old life was gone…he looked exactly like he would look like as a twelve-year-old girl in the shape he was in during his prior life. His skin, though smoother, was still the same dark-olive tone. His hair, even though it was long enough to touch the small of his back and tickle his breasts (so sensitive, those things; he couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the feeling), was still the same dark-brown. His brown eyes still held the same intelligence behind them, even though they looked much larger than his own (he understood why women’s eyes seemed larger than men’s, but he had never truly been interested in why). Even his body shape, his athletic legs, his proportionally-sound waist and hips, the subtle toned muscles (even though he knew he had more fat and less muscle mass, knew he’d never be able to do the things he could do as a man), showed the coiled athleticism in him, like a tigress ready to spring.

 

Ayelet shook his head before putting on the T-shirt and skirt (the latter of which he had a little more trouble with, both with figuring out how it went on and with trying his best not to show the Pull-up underneath), and heading out of the room, marveling at the size of the house; clearly the family he was staying with had money, like…his family.

 

He sniffled a bit, thinking of his family. He had to be self-sufficient with both of his parents having long jobs. They were fairly well-off, but he didn’t get an allowance from them like a lot of kids who had rich families did; he was taught that he had to work for everything he got, and it helped. He just wished that they had cared with his accomplishments…

 

“Ayelet, sweetie, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

 

Keshet had arrived in the blink of an eye, noticing his tears, adjusting his skirt a bit.

 

“Just…my family,” he admitted. “I…I always think…”

 

The female officer hugged him gently. “It’s okay. Families are complicated, and you miss yours. I know I’m a poor substitute, but I promise to do the best I can, okay, sweetie?”

 

Ayelet sniffed a bit more, but smiled as well, feeling a bit comforted by the older woman’s words.

 

“Thanks, Mommy,” he said absentmindedly before his eyes widened in shock.

 

I’ve…never said that word. Not since I was a baby…oh, God, it’s the other stuff Tawaret warned about, isn’t it?

 

Keshet’s eyes had widened as well, but she gathered her emotions quicker than he did with a soft smile. “Well, if you want me to be your mommy…well…like I said, I’ll try my best.”

 

“Okay,” he said, his thoughts going haywire, but trying not to let the older woman know they were.

 

Why am I okay with Mommy, no, Keshet being…called that? This can’t be right, this can’t be…

 

“Well, I made sambusak. If you’ll follow me to the kitchen?”

 

Ayelet followed in a daze, barely paying attention to the chatty police officer, as she talked about the various rooms and what they were used for, but he wasn’t paying any attention, lost in his own thoughts.

 

God, I’m calling a complete stranger “Mommy”, I’m wearing a Pull-up, and I apparently have no bladder or bowel control when I sleep. What’s next? Being fed out of a bottle? Sleeping in a crib?

 

Ayelet saw the large table with the sambusak - triangular fried pastries filled with chickpeas, onions, peas, lentils, and a specific meat - radiating steam from the heat, and a glass of what looked like apple juice on the table as well. He realized just how hungry he was; he had barely eaten in the days that he had been undercover, and having something so close to home…

 

“Thank you, Mommy,” he said.

 

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” Keshet said with that soft, kind smile still on her face.

 

He slowly cut the sambusak with a knife and meat fork (in the kosher he kept, specific forks had to be used for either meat or dairy; one could not eat them both at the same meal), and when he ate it, he was delighted with the taste. The meat was lamb - his favorite - and it melded well with all of the differing savory flavors. It wasn’t his mother’s - after all, what kind of food could eclipse the food made by a skilled parent? - but it was very, very close, as he dug in.

 

“Oh, goodness, aren’t you a messy eater?” the older woman said with a chuckle.

 

Ayelet simply felt confusion, as he tried to drink the orange juice with both hands…before spilling almost all of the orange juice all over himself.

 

“Oh, no, no, no, NO!” he cried, tears pouring from his eyes, even as he fell out of the chair with the police officer catching him in her arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

 

“Shh…” Keshet held him in a cuddle. “It’s okay, sweetiepie. You just need a lid and straw, is all.”

 

A glorified sippy cup, in other words. I really am nothing more than a big baby, aren’t I?

 

“I…I could clean up,” Ayelet offered, rubbing his eyes to get the tears to stop, realizing he had a mess around his mouth.

 

“No, sweetie, it’s not a big deal, honestly. I don’t mind picking up when you need it.”

 

Keshet wiped his face with a wet wipe, to his utmost embarrassment, the smell coming from his full and leaking Pull-up making him realize that he had more than just an accident around his mouth, causing yet more tears.

 

He realized that she knew as well. “Honeypie, I think we need more than just Pull-ups for now,” she said, her voice kind, yet thoughtful. “I think we need…”

 

“Diapers…” Ayelet finished.

 

“Yes, sweetie. It’s okay; you’re not expected to hold it in, but Pull-ups won’t work for these kinds of big accidents. Don’t worry; I think I can find very pretty diapers that have Pull-up designs…”

 

Keshet kept talking about getting him a lot of cute diapers, but Ayelet was past the point of listening, completely lost in his embarrassment.

 

It’s like I’m a toddler again…this really couldn’t get much worse…

 

Then a voice echoed in the room, as he realized that…yes, it was going to get much worse.

 

-

 

Hope y'all enjoyed! I'll see you next week for the second chapter (and hopefully get the third down, if my mania lasts long enough).

[Baby Jemma]

Sorry for not making this next chapter earlier; I was at the wedding of my bestie on Sunday and left the Chicago area back to St. Louis on Monday. Anyway, here's the chapter:

 

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Chapter Four: First Impressions Are Not Always Final.

 

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“Mom, I’m back from school, they closed early, and…why are there so many Pull-ups here? Are you and Dad expecting a toddler?”

 

Then the older teenage girl walked into the room, staring at Ayelet and Keshet, snickering a bit at the sight.

 

She was obviously Muslim and of Arabic descent, with a beautiful mahogany-skinned complexion and a blue scarf-like hijab covering her hair and neck, but other than that, she looked like a normal teenager with a black T-shirt with an eagle printed on it, black jeans, and casual sneakers. She carried a backpack over her left shoulder, obviously filled with books and homework.

 

“Mom, I, haha, wow-” the girl began, before she was immediately silenced with a glare from Keshet.

 

“Now, Zahra, I expect you to be polite to our new guest,” the woman said sternly. “Ayelet can’t help it any more than you could as a toddler - and need I remind you that you still had bedwetting issues when you were twelve?”

 

Zahra blushed noticeably. “Mooom, it was one time,” the teenager muttered, removing her hijab to reveal waves of curly black hair and setting the backpack down.

 

“Zahra, Ayelet’s been through a lot, and teasing her about her diapers isn’t going to help,” Keshet’s voice was kind, but Ayelet simply wanted to die from embarrassment. “Can I talk to you in private?”

 

“Of course, Mom.” The two walked away from Ayelet. Not wanting to be left out, he followed them silently, as stealthy as a cat, until they entered a room. He craned his ears at the door, listening to them out of curiosity.

 

“Ayelet’s an orphan from Tel Aviv,” Keshet whispered, yet it still seemed loud enough for him to hear. “I think that she’s emotionally regressed after losing her parents; a part of her wants that toddlerhood, to have that unconditional parental love that she didn’t have.”

 

“Mom, do you realize how crazy that sounds? You’re saying she wants to shit herself? To be fed from a bottle and shit like that?”

 

“I’m saying her losses made her lose control, and her regression is about the only control and coping she has. I’m not a doctor, far from it, but I’m an expert at psychology. From what little I can tell from her past, she’s wanted the love of parental figures for quite some time; she’s even called me ‘Mommy’ multiple times. She’s a messy eater and spilled the orange juice on herself when she tried to drink it. I honestly don’t think she can help herself at this moment, and since it wouldn’t be fair to bring her to school in this state, I expect you to help take care of her; I know you got suspended again today.”

 

“Mom, I did not-”

 

“Yes, you did, young lady, don’t lie to me. I won’t ask what you did; I’ll find out from the school eventually, but I will ask how long. So, tell me now and only be grounded half of the time, or lie again, and I’ll ground you twice as long as the suspension lasts.”

 

“...About two weeks.”

 

“And Sandra?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“I know she’s part of it. She and you are as thick as thieves.”

 

“...Same amount of time.”

 

“Very well. I won’t criticize her too much because she’s been your friend since preschool, but after this week, you will stop being suspended. I don’t know if you’re bringing her into trouble or if she’s doing that to you, but quite simply, it stops. Now. Understood, young lady?”

 

“Yes, Mom. Understood, Mom.”

 

“Good. Now, Ayelet needs her Pull-up changed, and I know you and Sandra are good babysitters; I’ve heard nothing but good reports on how you two act outside of school. So, that’s your first task.”

 

“But Mom, can’t she-”

 

“Ayelet needs the extra care. Do you want to be grounded for more than a week, young lady?”

 

“...No, Mom.”

 

“Then I expect you to change her and treat her with the same kindness you’d treat any of the children you babysit.”

 

Ayelet had heard enough and waddled away from the door, back to the kitchen, tears in his eyes, as his Pull-up continued to leak. The ultimate shame of having himself changed by someone who wasn’t even an adult yet. Keshet was okay, but Zahra, who seemed like a troublemaker at heart?

 

God, why?

 

Keshet and Zahra walked into the kitchen, Keshet greeting Ayelet with a gentle hug.

 

“Okay, Mom, do I just use those Pull-ups?” the teenager asked curiously. “They fit perfectly, but I don’t think it’s going to cover her next big accident.”

 

“That’s why I’m buying her diapers tonight for extra protection and using the Pull-ups during the day for now,” Keshet explained. “I expect you to take care of Ayelet when I’m out.”

 

“What about doubling up on the Pull-ups?”

 

“That doesn’t work, Zahra, and I hope you aren’t doing that at your babysitting jobs. You need a more absorbent diaper because doubling up just makes the leaks go elsewhere.”

 

“I’m normally not…the kids don’t really have Pull-ups.”

 

Great. Now the kids she’s babysitting don’t even use Pull-ups…except me. And I’m going back down to actual diapers. Fucking wonderful.

 

“Well, no better time to learn. I’ll get the cleaning supplies.”

 

Keshet walked away, and Zahra sighed.

 

“Well, squirt, guess you’re lucky to have found us,” the teenager said.

 

“Thanks, Zahra,” Ayelet said politely. “I’ll try to help-”

 

“Nah, you’d just get in my way. I can handle this.”

 

Mommy - no, Keshet - then returned with the cleaning supplies, a brand new T-shirt, and nothing else.

 

“What about shorts?” Ayelet asked.

 

“Honeypie, we’re not going out, and Zahra’s going to need to check your Pull-up,” Keshet said softly.

 

Ayelet grumbled a bit…but relented as Zahra quickly and expertly changed him; he could tell why she was a trusted babysitter, even with her obvious problems at school.

 

“All done, squirt,” Zahra said with a smirk. Ayelet merely stuck his tongue out at her, only for her to stick her tongue out back.

 

“I’ll leave you two a bit of money online; forty dollars should be enough to split a large cheese pizza at We, The Pizza, if you order out with a generous tip.”

 

Ayelet saw the teenager’s cinnamon-brown eyes light up, and he knew that she liked the choice.

 

“Can I pool my own money to buy desserts for me and Ayelet, please, Mom?” she asked in excitement.

 

Keshet’s eyes warmed up. “Of course, sweetie…but I expect your homework to be done before I get home.”

 

“Thanks, Mom, I will.”

 

“Thanks, Mommy!” Ayelet blurted out, before blushing after Zahra snickered.

 

“Of course, sweetiepie,” Keshet cooed at Ayelet, giving him a quick kiss on his forehead and a soft hug. “I promise, I’ll be back with the most comfortable, cutest diapers for you, Ayelet.” She gave Zahra a hug and kiss as well, and he saw the guilt in the teen’s eyes, and then, she was gone, leaving the two non-adults alone.

 

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Hope y'all enjoyed~

[Baby Jemma]

Well, it's been a while, but here's the next chapter for Yet Another World War!

 

 

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Chapter Five: We Are Not Alone

 

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“Well, let’s buy the pizza,” Zahra said. “Come on, computer room’s this way; Mom doesn’t let me use my computer in my room. Not that I mind, it’s more like…well, you’ll see.”

 

She let Ayelet follow her, and soon enough, they arrived at a room down the hallway. His eyes widened at the room’s numerous gaming platforms. A Nintendo Switch, an Xbox Series X, a PlayStation 5, and four computers - as well as many, many games - were in the room.

 

“Family computer’s here.” Zahra opened up a computer and typed in the password so quickly that he couldn’t tell what it was.

 

“Mommy lets you use her computer?” Ayelet asked curiously, peering at the teenager, not catching himself saying the first word.

 

“Nah, this is the family computer. We each pool a bit of our money to order stuff online there, mostly food. It’s not a perfect system, but we know and trust each other enough not to buy anything frivolously.”

 

The screen opened up to the website. “I think the only good pizza that’s halal and kosher is the simple cheese pie, so we’ll order a large, split it. Hmm…what about brownies and cookies for dessert? I’m pretty sure we have Breyer’s ice cream in the fridge as well…”

 

Ayelet’s eyes widened. “But-”

 

“My treat.” Zahra’s eyes were kind. “For not treating you as well as I should’ve.”

 

He nodded slowly, accepting the apology. “Okay. Thanks, Zahra.”

 

Zahra quickly ordered the food, as Ayelet stared around the room, in awe of the sheer amount of video games available. He wasn’t much of a video game player, not with the expectations of his parents, but at least boredom wouldn’t be a thing here.

 

“Well, squirt?” Ayelet turned to look at Zahra who had a soft smile as she spoke, this time in Arabic, “You’re really from Israel like my mom was, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, I am,” Ayelet replied in perfect Arabic. “My birth mom was Israeli, and my birth dad was Egyptian-Israeli. I grew up in a house much like yours.”

 

Zahra’s eyebrows raised. “Well, it seems we have a lot more in common than most,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry for laughing earlier; I had an awful day at school.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, but…what happened?”

 

“Assholes happened.” The bluntness of the now-English statement took Ayelet aback. “I’m sorry, but apparently since I don’t look like most ‘normal’ Americans - even though I was fucking born here - and because I wear a hijab…”

 

“You were bullied.” Ayelet felt his insides burn up at the injustice as he finished the sentence.

 

“Yeah. Some bitch called me and my family ‘terrorists’, tried to rip off my hijab. We got into a fight. Sandra backed me up, though. As far as I know, that fucking bitch who attacked me didn’t get anything.”

 

“Sounds like Sandra’s an awesome friend.”

 

Zahra’s eyes turned warm. “Yeah, Sandra’s an epically-awesome friend. I’ve known her since we were preschoolers. I don’t know how she’d react to you, though; she’d probably laugh. Not that her parents help her.”

 

“You’ve met her parents?”

 

“I barely even see her parents. She barely ever sees her parents. Like, I get the feeling they don’t really care about her and more of the idea of her.”

 

“And you think…”

 

“She acts out to get attention? Yeah, something like that.”

 

Ayelet got the feeling that Zahra wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he stayed silent. “So, this room…?”

 

“Yeah, I’m grounded. Can’t use any electronics here without permission, and I respect Mom and Dad too much to go back on it.”

 

“Even though you were provoked?”

 

“Especially since I was provoked. Me and Sandra have gotten in trouble too much already; we don’t get the benefit of the doubt. So, Mom and Dad tell me to ignore the people who get up in arms, because if I react, I’ll get in trouble every time. But she doesn’t hear what they’re saying about her, about him, even though she’s a cop, even though he works in the government, even though they’re the best parents I could ever have.”

 

Ayelet hugged Zahra in sympathy, and the teenager sighed. “You’re really mature for your age. How old are you again, squirt?”

 

He almost died inside, realizing that he couldn’t say his real age, couldn’t say anything about his old life. He went with the safe answer. “Twelve.”

 

“Twelve, huh? Yeah, middle school’s a bitch.”

 

“Wouldn’t know anything about middle school.” An honest answer; he had passed middle school way too easily.

 

“Huh. Guess since you were an orphan, you didn’t go to school much?”

 

“I learned as much as I could, even with all of the struggles.”

 

“Well, I hope things turn out well for you in school. Not sure if you’re going to be homeschooled, but…well, it might be easier, especially given…”

 

“My incontinence?”

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

The doorbell rang, and Zahra looked down at the online order. “Pizza’s here,” she said.

 

“That was fast,” Ayelet said.

 

“Yeah, we live close by. I’ll get the order for you; you just check out a video game you like.”

 

Zahra left, leaving Ayelet with conflicting feelings. This girl was acting kind to her, even with her issues, but she felt that she was leaving out information somehow.

 

I’ll find out…eventually.

 

He didn’t check out the video games, hesitant to play any because he had never played any. His life was studying his ass off, trying to make his parents proud. Video games just weren’t a part of any curriculum.

 

“Hey, squirt, I’m back!” Zahra had gotten the pizza, and it smelled delicious, full of mozzarella cheese and oregano as the lone topping. It wasn’t cut, and he could understand why; both of their religions forbid pork products that could be on the pizza cutter. There were other things as well, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, cookie dough ice cream, stuff he knew he’d have to work off…but after a long period undercover with little to eat, he figured he could afford a minor cheat day.

 

Zahra cut the pizza with a pizza cutter before both of them ate in relative silence, enjoying the good food, while the teenager did homework.

 

Ayelet couldn’t help but notice something wrong with the math. “Y is fourteen, X is twenty,” he said, not realizing what he said.

 

“Wait, you’re…hang on-” Zahra measured the geometry problem again. “Shit. Squirt, are you some kind of savant or something? Like, you didn’t even need a ruler…”

 

“Um…lucky guess?” he said.

 

“Well, it’s one hell of a guess. Almost makes me want to quiz you, but…just…let me do the problems, okay? I appreciate your help, but I want to succeed or fail on my own merits, okay?”

 

“Okay, Zahra. Sorry for prying, I just-”

 

“It’s okay.” The Muslim girl looked a bit shaken, but she composed herself. “And your Pull-up needs to be changed.”

 

Ayelet’s eyes widened; he hadn’t even noticed until now, but his Pull-up was filled to the brim.

 

“Well, good thing we brought supplies, you know?” Zahra had come prepared with an extra Pull-up and cleaning supplies, and Ayelet was changed as quick as a flash and yet thoroughly cleaned. “There, squirt. How do you feel?”

 

“Clean,” he mumbled.

 

“Fair enough,” the teenager said with a laugh before she went to work on her homework.

 

What neither of the two kids knew was that two men were watching the house in an unmarked van.

 

“We’ve had this family under surveillance for weeks, and nothing ever happens, Dev,” a tall gangly man in a ski mask complained; he could’ve likely been a basketball player at his height, only he was security in the Croatian Embassy along with his partner, only working this private investigation job on the side. “Nothing. Just because they’re Muslim and Jewish, and now this new Israeli toddler-tween is the only fucking interesting thing that happens.”

 

“Our boss, the private investigation boss, asked us to put them under surveillance a week ago, how was I supposed to know shit wasn’t happening?” Devcic, a shorter (although not by much) muscular man in a similar ski mask, snapped, having long grown tired of his partner’s complaints. “God, Plety, stop bitching about what our boss wants us to do.”

 

“The boss’s daughter, you mean,” the tall man, Pletikosic, said bitterly. “Fucking racist little bitch of a teenaged brat. I’m telling you, this is just a typical family. New kid is probably just adopted or some shit.”

 

“We’re getting paid to find dirt on them - and remember, our families need the money,” Devcic insisted. “We have to find something. Maybe this new adopted kid is the key?”

 

“Maybe, but…fuck, what are we supposed to do, though? The dad’s high-leveled government and the mom’s a cop. We’re just…well, us. We don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident...”

 

“We wait for them to slip up. We have time. So far, nobody’s caught us.”

 

“You were saying?” a new female voice with an odd accent said.

 

The two men turned around, only to see a tall woman with a tiger patterned balaclava (so realistic that it had a snarling maw of fangs around the mouth) and sunglasses covering her face, having somehow gotten into the car without them knowing, her two pistols with suppressors pointed at their heads, unwaveringly fixed between their eyes. They froze, wondering if they should draw their own weapons.

 

“Ah, ah, I wouldn’t try that,” she said softly in that odd accent of hers, as if she knew what they were thinking. “You won’t have the time, and I won’t miss at this range.”

 

“Wh-who the hell are you, how did you-”

 

“Shh…I’m not going to kill you two buffoons; honestly, you and your petty little boss are so far below my paygrade that I probably shouldn’t even bother with the likes of you. But I want you to report to me what you find on that family. You will tell your boss and coworkers nothing about me, or I will find you and end your lives - and as good as you are, I’m better.”

 

“Fuck, who are-”

 

“Someone with an…interest in this family, and that’s all you need to know.” The tiger-balaclava-clad woman smiled beneath the mask. “Meet me at the United States Botanic Garden cactus exhibit a week from now, at 10:30 exactly. Look for the woman with the patterned headscarf; you’ll know it’s me.”

 

“Bu-”

 

Two quick movements, and the two men were knocked unconscious. The woman unlocked the van’s doors, got out, closed the door, and stretched her limbs; it had been a tough ride to lie underneath the seats of the van. She had managed, she always did, but it was quite uncomfortable, and she was glad to get out.

 

Her sharp eyes, hidden by the sunglasses on her face, were on the car arriving home. The policewoman’s car. The balaclava-clad woman knew that this assignment of hers was going to be fun. Truthfully, she didn’t even need these two morons, but she figured that three pairs of eyes could catch the mistakes of one.

 

And now, the hunt shall begin.

 

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Hope y'all enjoyed~