The water shifted, a subtle current brushing against Ivy’s skin. For a moment, she froze, fearing some fresh trick — another humiliation waiting to unfold. But the sensation wasn’t sharp or cold. It was warm and gentle — freshwater flooding into the tub, swirling and carrying away the faint, tingling residue that clung to her skin. The oily sheen faded, replaced by soft ripples that rolled over her arms and legs, calming the lingering itch and burn. The warmth soothed her aching muscles, easing the knots in her shoulders and back. She wasn’t alone in her relief — several of the other contestants sighed softly, bodies relaxing against the padded walls of the oversized tub.

No one spoke at first. They simply lay there in silence, watching the swirling water, waiting — for what, Ivy wasn’t sure. But something had to happen. This was Mistress’s game — there was always something lurking around the corner. Yet the minutes stretched on, and no cold shock came, no unseen arms descended from the ceiling, no smug, cooing voice slithered from the speakers.

Nothing.

Ivy found herself staring at the others, their pale faces and wide eyes reflecting her unease. Each contestant looked haggard — their cheeks hollow, their eyes sunken from exhaustion. Even their hair, damp and limp against their scalps, seemed to sag beneath the weight of what they’d endured.

It was Jamie who broke the silence. “So...” His voice was rough, like gravel. He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders awkwardly. “Guess we’re not... finished yet.”

“No kidding,” Carter muttered darkly from the far end of the tub, his face half-hidden behind his arm.

“We’ll make it,” Mason said quietly, his voice steadier than most. 

“You sound sure,” Clara shot back, her voice tight. “Like you know what’s coming.”

Mason shook his head. “I don’t. I just...” He paused, his gaze distant. “I just know we’re not quitting here. Not like this.”

The group fell quiet again.

“Look,” Finn spoke up suddenly, his voice low. “I don’t know about you all... but I’m tired of this.” He gestured vaguely to the room around them. “I’m tired of being treated like some... thing. Like we’re just here for someone else’s entertainment.”

“Yeah,” Ivy agreed softly. “I’m tired of being a number.”

Finn glanced her way, giving a weak smile. “Me too.”

“Same,” Jamie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Jamie... by the way.”

One by one, they followed suit — Clara, Mason, Carter, Eric, Sarah, Maria — until the entire group had introduced themselves. Ivy felt something loosen in her chest — a quiet relief that they weren’t just numbers anymore. They refused to be reduced to labels or roles. 

It wasn’t much but it felt like something, like a spark of defiance. A reminder that they were still people.

“Caregivers, huh?” Carter muttered, eyeing Finn, Ivy, and Sarah. “Guess you three got lucky.”

“Lucky?” Finn snorted. “Did you see what they put us through?”

“Lucky enough to avoid whatever the hell Mistress has planned for us,” Carter shot back, grumbling.

“You think this is easier?” Finn growled, pushing himself upright. “You think wearing a stupid pink onesie, getting shoved into a highchair, and changing other people’s diapers makes this better?” His voice rose, frustration breaking through. “We’re all in the same hell here, Carter.”

Carter scowled but didn’t argue. His gaze flicked away, his shoulders slumping.

“I think what Finn’s trying to say,” Sarah added quietly, “is that none of us have it easy.” Her voice was gently measured. “We’re all just... surviving.”

“Yeah,” Ivy muttered. “Surviving.”

The room grew quiet again, but this time, the silence didn’t feel as heavy. The tension had shifted — not gone, but no longer suffocating.

“Anyway,” Jamie added with a dry chuckle, “I don’t think there’s much difference between us right now.” He gestured down at himself. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a baby or a caregiver when we’re all naked and bald.”

His words earned a weak laugh from Mason and Sarah, and soon, the rest of them joined in — quiet, breathless chuckles that barely lifted above the sound of the water.

Ivy leaned back, closing her eyes. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt... calm. The anxiety that had knotted in her chest since this nightmare began seemed to ease — if only for a moment.

But as the warmth of the water seeped into her bones, a cold thought crept back in. The calm wouldn’t last. Mistress’s games were never without purpose. Whatever came next... whatever twisted trick she had planned... it would be worse. 

Ivy hugged her arms to her chest, skin still smooth and bare, and forced herself to remember the names — Clara, Mason, Carter, Eric, Sarah, Finn, Jamie, Maria...

Ivy shifted slightly as Sarah moved beside her, the water rippling gently around them. The warm current brushed against Ivy’s skin, yet no matter how comforting the water felt, the gnawing unease wouldn’t leave her. 

“What fresh hell do you think they have for us?” Sarah asked, her voice quiet.

Ivy exhaled sharply through her nose. “I wish I knew,” she muttered, her voice dry and hollow. 

She let her gaze drift upward to the ceiling — to the mechanical arms tucked away in their hidden compartments, waiting for their next command. Even the padded walls, the ceiling lights, the faint scent of powder and antiseptic — everything about this place felt wrong. The walls seemed to close in a little tighter every day.

Ivy wrapped her arms around herself, instinctively curling inward. “You remember when this first started?” she said quietly, her voice barely loud enough to carry across the water. “Back when we still had... choices?”

Sarah nodded, her face pinching with the memory. “Yeah,” she muttered bitterly. “Back when we could wear pull-ups... when we could actually use a potty.”

Ivy scoffed under her breath. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

It wasn’t, though. Not really. Just days — maybe a week at most — since she'd last had that privilege. Back then, things had seemed... manageable. Miserable, yes, but manageable. She had clung to the notion that if she played along just enough, she'd never lose those small freedoms. A potty here. A clean change when she needed it. Even just the simple dignity of feeding herself.

But the rules had changed — gradually, almost insidiously. The breaks between trials had grown shorter, and the ‘privileges’ fewer. It had started with the potties disappearing, forcing them to give up what little dignity they'd clung to. Then had come the highchairs, the bottles, the bouncers — and that awful cartoon, Naomi and Oliver, singing their sickly-sweet lessons about being ‘good babies.’ The last few mornings, Ivy had woken up to the sound of those grating voices filling the room. She couldn’t imagine what was worse — the humiliating routine of being trapped in those bouncers... or the dreadful knowledge that one day soon, even that might seem like mercy.

“I think...” Ivy paused, her words catching in her throat. “I think pretty soon, being a ‘caregiver’ won’t mean much at all.”

Sarah frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ivy turned to her, the words sticking like tar in her mouth. “I think... I think they’re pushing us closer to being the same.” She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “If this keeps going, I think we’ll end up stuck in bouncers too. Or worse.” Her gaze flicked to the ceiling again, dread curling in her stomach.

Sarah’s face paled, her expression tightening. “You think they’ll...?”

Ivy didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The writing was already on the wall. Mistress’s cruel games weren’t about guiding them back to some twisted hierarchy — they were about control. Total control. Caregivers might seem ‘lucky’ now, but soon enough, they’d be dragged down with the rest of them — trapped in bouncers or cribs, mind-numbingly helpless, waiting for the next humiliating ordeal.

“I swear,” Ivy muttered, more to herself than to Sarah. “I’m not going back. I’m not going to end up like that again.”

“You won’t,” Sarah said firmly, gripping Ivy’s arm. Ivy knew the words were a comforting lie meant to soothe, but ultimately meaningless.

Ivy shook her head. “It’s not just that,” she whispered. “It’s... It’s what happens to you when you’re stuck like that. After a while... you just start to give in.”

She thought back to the hours spent strapped in that wretched bouncer — the mindless, endless lull of that cartoon drilling into her skull. It wasn’t just embarrassing... it was eroding. It wore her down and made her stop thinking about stopping fighting. It filled her head with cotton and made her feel weak and useless — like some dumb infant with no will of her own. And the worst part? A part of her had almost wanted to give in. To just close her eyes and let the stupid songs wash over her — to let it all feel... easier.

“I’m scared,” Ivy admitted at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that one day... I’ll stop caring.”

Sarah’s grip on her arm tightened, her fingers cold against Ivy’s damp skin. “That won’t happen,” she said, her voice sharp and certain. “Because you’re not a baby. You’re not weak. And you’re not alone.” She shook her head, her wet hair clinging to her face. 

Ivy wanted to believe her. She really did. But deep down, a cold, gnawing dread still twisted in her gut. Mistress’s game was far from over. And if Ivy knew anything by now... it was that Mistress always had another trick up her sleeve.

Ivy’s arm remained curled tightly over her chest, her fingers digging slightly into her damp skin. It wasn’t out of self-awareness so much as a habit — some lingering part of her mind still clinging to the concept of modesty. After everything they’d been through — the forced nakedness, the humiliating diaper changes, the endless stripping of dignity — she knew there was hardly any point in trying to cover herself. But her subconscious seemed determined to protect what little pride she had left, however hollow that gesture now felt.

She shifted slightly in the tub, her shoulder bumping against Sarah’s. It wasn’t the first time Ivy had seen her — she vaguely remembered Sarah from the early days. Contestant 56. Ivy remembered something else, too — something dark. Sarah had been sent to the Naughty Room.

Ivy hesitated. The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. “What was it like?” she asked softly, her voice low.

Sarah stiffened beside her, her face tightening like she’d been slapped. “You don’t want to know,” she muttered, turning away.

“I do,” Ivy pressed, her voice quieter this time. “Just... morbid curiosity.”

Sarah’s face hardened, her gaze locked on some invisible point across the room. She was quiet for a long time — long enough that Ivy almost regretted asking. But then Sarah exhaled a slow, bitter breath. “It was designed for me,” she said at last. “Every... part of it. The ‘lessons’ were built to teach me what was ‘wrong’ — to teach me how to be a ‘good girl.’” Her voice dipped into a mocking sneer at those last words. “It wasn’t just punishment... it was personal.”

Ivy swallowed hard, her stomach knotting. “Personal?” she asked.

Sarah gave a short, mirthless laugh — the sound brittle and sharp. “I don’t even know how they knew... but they knew. Knew things about me. Stuff I’d never told anyone here.” She shook her head slowly, the damp strands of her hair clinging to her face. “They used it against me... twisted it into their stupid ‘lessons.’” Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused to gather herself. “At first, it was... humiliating, sure. But it wasn’t... this.” She gestured vaguely to the tub, the empty room, the sense of quiet dread that seemed to permeate everything now. “It was all mind games... like they wanted me to feel cornered.”

Ivy's heart twisted in her chest. “Like what?”

Sarah’s expression darkened. “They’d dress me up — worse than anything we’ve had to wear out here. Full bonnets, booties, mittens... the works. And the gags, they never let me speak.” Her lips thinned, her voice shaking with quiet anger. “They’d force-feed me, sometimes... they wouldn’t even let me finish before starting another. My stomach would ache for hours afterward as I continued to fill my diapers.”

Ivy’s hand instinctively moved to her stomach as if she could feel the phantom pressure Sarah described. “But... that’s not the worst part,” Sarah muttered, her voice quieter now. “The worst part was... the waiting.”

Ivy blinked. “Waiting?”

Sarah nodded. “They’d leave me there. Strapped down. Locked in a crib. In clothes I couldn’t take off... with diapers, I couldn’t get out of... and no way to ask for help.” She shivered, and Ivy wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the memory. “Hours,” Sarah whispered. “Sometimes... I think they forgot about me.”

Silence hung between them like a cold fog. The water rippled slightly, warm against Ivy’s skin, but her insides felt frozen.

“But you got out,” Ivy said weakly, her voice more hopeful than she felt.

Sarah gave her a hard look. “Barely,” she said. “And honestly? After everything they’ve been adding — the gags... the lack of changes... the bouncers... I’m starting to think the Naughty Room was just the start.” Her voice dropped even lower. “Do you think... do you think it’s worse now than it was back then?”

The question hit Ivy like a slap, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t considered that — not really. Like the other contestants, Ivy knew almost nothing about what happened inside the Naughty Room. It was a whispered threat — something always looming but never spoken of openly. The contestants who emerged from it rarely talked about what they’d endured. It was easier to pretend it was just punishment — something you could avoid if you played by the rules.

But now... Ivy wasn’t so sure. Mistress wasn’t just cruel — she was patient. Everything had escalated so gradually — their choices were stripped away one by one until even the caregivers were barely clinging to an illusion of control.

“I don’t know,” Ivy whispered.

Sarah didn’t answer, she didn’t have to, the haunted look in her eyes said enough.

Ivy shifted uncomfortably as she noticed the room had divided itself. The caregivers — Finn, Sarah, and herself — had instinctively gravitated toward one corner while the others — the remaining babies — huddled together in another. The divide was unmistakable, a clear reflection of the roles they had been forced into. It was as if their identities had been carved into stone by Mistress’s cruel game. Caregivers and babies — two separate groups, two separate fates.

Ivy’s gaze wandered, searching for familiar faces. Her eyes landed on Clara, sitting alone near the far edge of the oversized tub. Her shoulders were hunched, her face low, barely visible beneath her damp hair. Something twisted inside Ivy’s chest — guilt, pity, maybe even shame. She remembered Clara’s face before the results were announced — the flicker of hope that had been crushed in an instant when her number appeared under Baby.

Without a word, Ivy pushed herself to her feet. Her arm instinctively moved to cover her crotch, but she forced it down, reminding herself that modesty was a pointless effort now. Even so, her skin prickled as she crossed the room, feeling the weight of unseen eyes on her. The warm water lapped at her legs as she lowered herself beside Clara, the soft waves swallowing her once more.

“How are you doing?” Ivy asked softly.

Clara didn’t look up right away. She stared down at the rippling water as though the answer might be hidden there. Her fingers clenched at the surface, faint ripples radiating outward as her hand trembled. “How do you think?” she muttered at last, her voice tight and brittle. “I'm... I...” Her breath hitched, and Ivy could hear it — the crack in her voice, the weight of the fear she was trying to suppress.

“I didn’t make caregiver,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m... I’m going back there...” Her words faltered, her breath breaking into shallow gasps. “I don’t want to...” Clara’s voice caught again, and this time, her face crumpled. A single tear slid down her cheek, following the path of the water that still clung to her face. “I don’t want to go back... to that room... to the bouncers... to that cartoon...” The last word was barely more than a whimper — small, broken, fragile.

Ivy didn’t think — she simply moved. Her arm slipped around Clara’s shoulders, drawing her close. Clara resisted for a heartbeat — stiffening, holding herself upright like a fragile branch bent too far — and then she broke, folding into Ivy’s embrace like a child seeking comfort. Her face pressed into Ivy’s shoulder, her quiet sobs muffled by Ivy’s damp skin.

“I’m sorry,” Clara whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry... I just... I can’t... I don’t want to... I don’t...” Her words fell apart, swallowed by choked sobs. Ivy’s hand rubbed slow circles against her back, her fingers tracing over Clara’s bare skin. There were no words she could offer that would change the reality they faced — no comfort strong enough to erase the helplessness that clung to them like a shadow.

“I know,” Ivy murmured. “I know...”

Clara’s sobs quieted to soft, hiccupping breaths, her body still trembling. Ivy held her tighter, feeling the desperate grip of Clara’s fingers digging into her arm — as if letting go might pull her back into that world of cribs, bouncers, and padded helplessness.

“I’ll help you,” Ivy whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “Whatever comes next... whatever she throws at us... I’ll help you through it.”

Clara sniffed, lifting her head just enough to meet Ivy’s gaze. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face blotchy from crying. “Promise?” she asked weakly, her voice breaking with doubt.

“I promise,” Ivy said. And she meant it — more than she’d meant anything since this nightmare began. Yet, how could she possibly keep her promise? Unease nibbled at her. Had she just lied to her friend?

The warm water receded, draining with a faint gurgle that seemed far louder than it should have in the thick silence that now consumed the room. Ivy felt the cooling air lap against her damp skin, the last shallow puddles swirling around her as the tub emptied. Her arms instinctively pulled tighter around Clara, her body curling in an attempt to maintain some semblance of modesty — a pitiful attempt to shield herself from the inevitable. Clara clung to her as well; both girls huddled together like stranded travelers waiting for the next wave to crash over them.

But the wave that came was far crueler.

The sharp hiss of hydraulics split the air. Ivy’s breath hitched as she looked toward the ceiling, her blood running cold. The mechanical arms slithered downward, their skeletal limbs reaching into the empty bath like the talons of some monstrous bird. A cold, metal claw snatched her wrist and before Ivy could even think to resist, she was hoisted upward.

“No!” Ivy yelped, twisting in the unbreakable grip. She heard Clara’s startled gasp beneath her, but there was no stopping it. The machine carried her into the air, water dripping from her bare skin in glistening rivulets as her legs dangled uselessly below her. She felt her stomach twist in horror as she looked down — every face turned upward, watching her with wide eyes. Mason. Carter. Clara. All of them. Some stared in sympathy, some in pity... others in simple shock.

“Caregivers first…” Mistress’s voice purred through the speakers, her tone thick with smug satisfaction. The words oozed into Ivy’s ears like poison.

Ivy’s cheeks flamed hotter than ever before. She struggled, her limbs jerking weakly in the metal grasp, but there was no escape. Her legs dangled awkwardly as she tried to curl inward, her arms twisting to cover herself — but the cold grip on her wrists forced her to stretch out instead, baring her naked body like a trophy on display. Her heart pounded against her ribs as every inch of her vulnerability was put on full view — not just for the others in the tub... but for whatever unseen eyes were surely watching.

“Ivy!” Clara’s voice called after her — helpless, panicked. Ivy twisted in the arm’s grasp, barely catching a glimpse of Finn and Sarah as they were seized as well — their bare bodies lifted from the bath and hoisted aloft, Finn’s face twisted with rage and embarrassment, Sarah’s clenched with sheer humiliation.

The arms carried them higher, their damp skin prickling against the cool air. Ivy’s stomach lurched as the metal limbs moved with precise, mechanical ease — carrying her past the other contestants, parading her nakedness like a prize. She wanted to scream, to curse, to thrash — but she knew it was pointless. Mistress was making a spectacle of them — and like puppets on strings, there was nothing they could do to resist.

The doors at the far end of the room slid open with a grinding hiss. Darkness yawned beyond, a cavernous black void that swallowed the light whole. Ivy’s breath hitched, her mind racing — what was waiting for them in there?

The mechanical arm lurched forward, dragging her into the shadowed abyss. The moment they passed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind them, swallowing the light and sound from the room beyond.