​The Fugitive and the News

Sarah ran until her lungs burned, navigating the back alleys to avoid the surveillance cameras on the main streets. She needed a place to hide, somewhere no one would look for a "rebellious child." She ended up at Jessica's apartment.

​She pounded on the door, gasping for air. "Jessica! It's me! Open up!"

​The door clicked open, revealing Jessica in a silk robe. She looked annoyed, holding a glass of wine. "Sarah? What are you doing here? I thought you were grounded for life."

​Sarah pushed past her, stumbling into the living room. "I need a place to stay. Just for an hour. Please."

​She stopped dead in her tracks.

​Sitting on Jessica’s beige sofa was Mike. He was shirtless, his chest hair matted with sweat, looking incredibly comfortable. Below the waist, he was wearing only a diaper—and it wasn't fresh. The thick white plastic was sagging heavily between his legs, the yellow wetness indicator line clearly visible and spread wide, signaling he had been using it freely for hours.

​Mike didn't even flinch. He just took a sip of his beer and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Sarah. Didn't know you were coming over."

​"You... you two?" Sarah stammered, pointing between them.

​"We made it official tonight," Jessica said, closing the door and walking over to sit on Mike’s lap, the crinkle of their combined padding filling the room. "Mike likes a girl who knows how to handle her business. Literally."

​Sarah didn't have time to process the nausea rising in her throat. She spotted the remote control on the coffee table.

​"I need the news," Sarah said, grabbing the remote.

​"Hey! We were watching a movie!" Mike complained, shifting his bulk on the couch.

​Sarah ignored him and flipped the channel to DNN: Diaper News Network. It was the only channel that mattered in their world, broadcasting the status updates, new releases, and social standings of the elite.

​The screen flashed red with a BREAKING NEWS banner.

​"Turn it up," Sarah whispered.

​The anchor, a stern-faced man wearing a suit jacket and a visible, high-waisted night diaper, looked grave.

​"Scandal in the Suburbs," the anchor announced. "Tonight, a ceremony of maturity turned into a display of absolute infantile chaos. We warn our viewers: the following footage is graphic and displays unauthorized leakage."

​Sarah watched in horror as the screen cut to a shaky video. It was the footage from her mother’s phone. It showed Emily, her face twisted in agony, the neon pink "Stardust" diaper bulging grotesquely before dark fluid began to cascade down her legs, ruining the kitchen floor.

​"Oh, god," Jessica gasped, covering her mouth. "Is that... Emily? That’s disgusting."

​"Dude," Mike laughed, shaking his head. He patted the front of his own wet diaper smugly. "That is amateur hour. Look at that breach. She clearly doesn't have the muscle control for a high-capacity garment. Who approved her?"

​On the screen, the anchor continued.

​"The young woman, identified as Emily, has been taken into custody by the Department of Sanitation for decontamination. However, sources close to the family claim foul play. A 'Free Flow' laxative bottle was found near the scene."

​Sarah’s heart stopped.

​"Here is the situation," the anchor said, leaning into the camera. "Forensics are currently analyzing the subject's samples. If the investigation proves the laxative theory is false—meaning no **** were found and this was simply a natural bodily failure—Emily will be permanently stripped of her Mantle for gross incompetence. However... if traces of 'Free Flow' are found, a manhunt will be launched for the saboteur. The prime suspect is her sister, Sarah, who has been reported missing."

​A picture of Sarah’s face—her ID photo, looking young and unpadded—flashed on the screen next to the headline: WANTED: THE UNPADDED REBEL.

​Mike slowly lowered his beer. He looked at the TV, then at Sarah. The heavy, soggy plastic between his legs crinkled as he shifted his weight, sitting up straighter.

​"Sarah," Mike said, his voice dropping the casual tone. "Did you... did you spike her?"

​Jessica stood up, backing away from Sarah as if she were contagious. "You poisoned a Mantle-wearer? Sarah, that’s a federal offense. You desecrated her induction!"

​Sarah gripped the remote, looking at the door. She had walked right into a trap. The investigation wouldn't prove the laxative theory false—it would prove it true. And when it did, she wouldn't just be sent to the Reformatory. She would be public enemy number one.