The Visit from the Reformatory

Before Sarah’s hand could even touch the doorknob, three heavy, authoritative bangs made the door vibrate on its hinges.

​"OPEN UP! DEPARTMENT OF BEHAVIORAL CORRECTION!"

​The blood drained from Jessica’s face. Mike dropped his beer onto the rug, staining the room further. Sarah backed away, cornered, her eyes scanning the apartment for an exit that didn’t exist.

​"The trapdoor!" Jessica whispered, gripping Sarah’s arm tightly. "Quick!"

​She dragged Sarah to the kitchen pantry. Jessica kicked aside an old rubber mat, revealing a discreet handle in the floor that led to a small plumbing maintenance crawlspace—a "hole" that only the property owners knew about, usually for hiding valuables or, in this case, fugitives.

​"Get in and don't make a single sound, even if you're suffocating," Jessica hissed.

​Sarah barely had time to curl up in the tight, dark space between the pipes before Jessica closed the trapdoor and threw the mat back over it. Seconds later, Sarah heard the sound of the front door being unlocked.

​Heavy footsteps invaded the apartment. They weren't normal footsteps; they were accompanied by a sound of crinkle-thud that was much louder and more industrial than usual.

​Through the cracks in the pantry floorboards, Sarah could hear, but not see.

​"We have a search warrant for Sarah Miller," Nanny’s voice cut through the air, icy and merciless. "We know she has been in contact with you."

​Jessica tried to keep her voice steady. "She... she isn't here. You can look. We don't hide the immature."

​The sound of movement filled the room. There were four Reformatory agents. All of them wore charcoal-grey tactical uniforms, but what drew the eye, what imposed a visceral fear, were the diapers they wore over their trousers. They were colossal. White, sterile, reinforced with thick polymers and wide tapes that cinched their waists like championship belts. The bulk between their legs was so aggressive it **** them to walk with a bowed-leg stance, a posture of absolute power that said: We are the law, and we control everything.

​Nanny entered right behind them, her own massive diaper rustling like a **** sentence. Her eyes swept the room and landed on the sofa.

​There was Mike, paralyzed. He was still shirtless, sweaty, with his domestic diaper hanging low, heavy and visibly used, spreading a strong odor of stale urine and beer through the room.

​Nanny stopped. The silence was absolute. She wrinkled her nose, an expression of pure disgust distorting her severe face.

​"What is... that?" Nanny pointed a gloved finger at Mike’s crotch.

​Mike tried to smile, nervous, adjusting his posture on the wet sofa. "Oh, hello, officer. It's my... uh... celebration. I got my license today. I'm exercising my right to... you know... relax."

​Nanny took a step forward, the sound of her own protection echoing loudly.

​"Right to relax?" she repeated with disdain. "You are sitting in your own filth for hours. The wetness indicator is black. The structure is collapsing. The smell is offensive."

​"But... but the rule says adults can use them as much as they want!" Mike tried to argue, his voice cracking. "It’s the pinnacle of maturity not to have to get up to..."

​"Silence!" Nanny shouted, making Mike shrink back. "Maturity is about control, efficiency, and dignity. What you are doing is wallowing like a lazy animal. I will not conduct an investigation while smelling your incompetence. Change that diaper. Now."

​Mike, wounded in his newfound pride, opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to defend his full "trophy."

​"I’m not changing! I waited three years for th—"

​Before he could finish and seal his fate—which would certainly result in him being hauled off to the Reformatory along with Sarah—Jessica intervened.

​"Mike!" she shouted, running to him and grabbing his arm. She looked at Nanny with a panicked smile. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. He is still... learning the advanced hygiene protocols. I will help him. Immediately."

​Jessica pulled Mike hard, forcing him up from the couch. His diaper was so full it swung heavily between his legs, almost slipping down his hips.

​"But Jessica..." Mike grumbled as he was dragged away.

​"Shut up and walk, or she’ll put you in the Chastity Belt!" Jessica whispered violently into his ear.

​As Jessica dragged a ****, dripping Mike into the bedroom to clean him up like the giant baby he was acting like, Nanny turned to her agents, who stood waiting with their tactical diapers puffed out with authority.

​"Search everything," Nanny ordered. "Bedroom, bathroom, closets. If the fugitive is here, she will wish she had never been born."

​Sarah, huddled in the dark under the pantry floor, held her breath as she heard the heavy boots approaching the kitchen.