This choice: Handed you off to a worker, telling them to take special care of you • Go Back...Chapter #6Handed you off to a worker, telling them to tak... by: L4neB1ker   The moment Lily handed you off, Rachel scooped you up with unnerving ease. She was younger than Lily, maybe nineteen, with wide blue eyes and a perpetually surprised expression. "Special care, huh?" she chirped, bouncing you slightly. "Lily said you were a little explorer! Found the boring grown-up room, did ya?" Her giggle was high-pitched, grating against your nerves. "Well, no more adventures for you, mister! Time for a fresh bottom!"
Humiliation, hot and sharp, pricked your skin. A diaper change. Standard procedure in any daycare infiltration, but never pleasant. Rachel carried you towards the changing station, a brightly lit area partitioned off from the main playroom by low shelves stacked with toys. The scent of baby powder and disinfectant hung heavy in the air. You mentally rehearsed your cover: passive infant. Blank stare. Maybe a gurgle.
Rachel laid you down on the padded vinyl surface. The crinkly paper beneath you felt obscenely loud. "There we go, cutie!" she cooed, her fingers already working the snaps on your onesie. Cool air hit your chest and stomach as she peeled the fabric open. You stared fixedly at the ceiling tiles, trying to detach, to be Agent Smith, not this… object. Her fingers, warm and slightly damp, brushed your sides as she pushed the onesie down past your hips.
Then came the tapes of the disposable diaper. The rip of Velcro echoed in your ears. Rachel peeled the front panel down, exposing you completely. The cool air was a shock, followed instantly by a wave of scalding shame. You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Ooh, someone is a soggy boy!" Rachel exclaimed, her tone light, conversational. "Good thing Rachel’s here to fix you up." You felt the cold swipe of a wet wipe between your legs, cleaning meticulously. It was clinical, yet intensely violating. Her touch was firm, impersonal, yet it sent unwanted jolts through you – the sheer vulnerability, the complete lack of control, the bizarre intimacy forced upon you.
Then, her movements paused. You felt the pressure of her finger, not cleaning anymore, but prodding gently. "Huh," she murmured, a note of genuine curiosity replacing the baby-talk tone. "That’s… different."
Your eyes flew open. She was staring intently at your groin, her head tilted. You knew what she saw: the miniature but unmistakably adult male anatomy, far more developed than any infant’s could be. Panic seized your throat. Had she realized? Was the mission blown?
But Rachel just blinked, her brow furrowed slightly. "You know," she said, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper, though no one else was near, "you’re built kinda funny down here, little guy. Like… bigger than you should be." She tapped your hip bone thoughtfully. "And your hips are kinda bony, not soft like the other babies." She leaned closer, her breath warm on your skin. "Are you a special little man? Hmm?"
She didn’t sound suspicious, more fascinated, like she’d discovered a unique breed of kitten. The fear morphed into a different kind of heat, a traitorous flicker of arousal sparked by her scrutiny and her whispered words. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Playing dead was your only defense.
Rachel shrugged, the moment passing. "Oh well!" Her baby-voice snapped back into place. "Doesn’t matter! Still need a clean diaper!" She grabbed a fresh one, unfolding it with practiced efficiency. The thick padding felt suffocating as she slid it under your hips. You felt the powder puff against your skin, smelled its cloying sweetness. Then came the front panel, snugged up tight, the Velcro tabs sealed with a final, decisive rrriippp.
"All clean!" she declared triumphantly, scooping you up before you could even register the indignity of the bulky garment now encasing you. She didn’t put you down. Instead, she carried you over to a large, circular playpen filled with soft blocks, stuffed animals, and a couple of actual infants gumming brightly colored teethers. "You stay right here with the other babies," Rachel instructed, depositing you firmly inside the padded walls. "No more sneaking off! Be a good boy for Rachel!" She gave your diapered bottom a light pat through the plastic covering and winked before turning away to attend to another child.
Trapped. You sat amidst the soft toys, the scent of powder clinging to you, the diaper an undeniable, humiliating reality. The drug evidence was tantalizingly close – down that hallway, behind that door. You could see Lily emerging from it again, heading towards the front desk, talking animatedly to another worker near the entrance. This was the moment. The workers were distracted. The playpen wall was low enough to climb if you moved quickly and quietly.
But climbing meant moving. It meant potential noise. It meant risking Rachel, or another worker, seeing the "helpless infant" scaling the pen like a tiny convict. The bulky diaper would hinder your movements, make you clumsy. One slip, one startled cry from a real baby, and you’d be caught again. And what would "special care" entail then? A crib? A straitjacket onesie?
What do you do?
Seize the Opportunity: Lily’s distracted near the entrance. The hallway to the drug room is momentarily unwatched. Ignore the bulky diaper and the risk. Use your training to vault silently out of the playpen and sprint down the hall. Get pictures of the operation with your hidden micro-camera and find a secure spot to radio HQ immediately. Speed is your ally, even in a diaper.
Wait and watch: Stay in the playpen. Play the perfect, docile baby. Watch Lily and the workers. Listen to their conversations near the entrance. They might discuss shipment times, drop-offs, or codes right here in the main room. Maybe Rachel or another worker will leave the drug room door ajar again. Gather intel passively, waiting for a safer moment to act or for Agent Jones’s return at 5:00. Patience might reveal more, but means enduring the diaper, the powder, and the degrading role for hours.
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