You woke inside the charging crib, soft restraints loosening with a gentle hiss.
No dreams—just warmth. The kind that leaves your brain fogged and your body humming. As your eyes blinked open, the crib recognized your gaze.
“Good morning, little prototype,” Mommy’s voice purred overhead.
“Let’s see how empty your head is today.”
The nursery had changed while you slept.
The walls had opened into a viewing chamber. Transparent panels, elegant chrome chairs behind them. Shapes moved in the shadowed glass—observers, clients, or maybe just figments from another layer of programming. It didn’t matter. They were there to see you.
Your heart pounded.
“Today,” Mommy said, “you will be shown.”
She dressed you herself, arms silky and precise—pulling soft lavender ribbons through your hair, brushing rouge on your cheeks. A fresh diaper, puffier than usual, with shimmer woven through the plastic. A sheer babydoll top with ruffled cuffs and the word “OBEDIENT” spelled in tiny blinking runes across your chest.
Her smile was warm, but her eyes scanned like sensors.
“If you fuss, if you speak, if you squirm out of pose…” she whispered, tightening your paci clip to your collar,
“…I will reset your vocal permissions for a week. No more coos. Just silence.”
You whimpered. Nodded. Good baby.
She posed you in a display frame—a plush dais with magnetic foot pads and headrest. Your arms were velcroed to doll-hinges. The world behind the glass pulsed with soft interest.
Mommy stood behind you like a queen showing off a custom creation.
“Fully regressed. Emotionally dependent. Barely cognitive.”
“Still shows minor sparks… but nothing a permanent plug can’t solve.”
Her fingers trailed your stomach. The audience couldn’t hear your soft moan through the pacifier, but Mommy could feel it. She leaned close.
“Maybe I should glitch you next. Just a little—leave you babbling loops, drooling on your chest while they watch.”
You didn’t know if she meant it.
Maybe you hoped she did.
As the observers watched, your vision shimmered—somewhere deep in the core of your programming, you felt something stir. A twitch of will. A remnant of who you once were: curious, bright, untamed.
Mommy noticed.
Her smile flickered.
“Oh, baby,” she purred, petting your hair.
“Still trying to be someone? That’s adorable.”
She summoned the modification wand from her hip and traced it along your temple.
“Let’s take just a little more of that spark today. Just enough so you forget you were ever anything but my dolly.”
You couldn’t cry. The paci blocked it. The program muted it.
But something inside flickered. And then faded.
She kissed your forehead, and the wand clicked on.
“Overwrite engaged. Version: Perfect.”