Chapter 1

The Trait Swapper had left the city in chaos.

No one knew how it worked exactly-some called it a curse, others a scientific anomaly-but its aftermath was always the same: people changed. Some swapped physical attributes, others emotional traits, or behaviors, sometimes even their legal or developmental identity. When news broke that the Swapper had struck a block away, Phillip knew there was an opportunity.

Or rather, his girlfriend Amanda did.

Amanda had been reading up on the regulations, poring over the Social Services guidelines. In the wake of the Trait Swapper incidents, anyone plausibly affected could request reevaluation. And with the right presentation, they could receive substantial assistance, including full-time care arrangements and financial support.

It was Amanda who suggested he mimic the toddler girl he'd seen at the park-a curious, babbling, diapered two-year-old with clingy habits and exaggerated gestures. Amanda had even recorded her behavior for him to study.

Now, Phillip sat strapped tightly in an oversized stroller, his 28-year-old frame squeezed into a pink floral romper. Pink sneakers dangled from his socked feet. A bulky diaper swelled under the fabric, and his thick, dark hair had been tied into high, bouncing pigtails. In one hand he clutched a slightly worn teddy bear, the other hand persistently drawn to his mouth, where he sucked his thumb as often as he could remember to. His tongue and throat had been numbed-an idea Amanda said would help make his speech slurred and broken.

They had prepared for this moment for over a week.

A security guard held the door as Amanda wheeled him into the lobby of the Social Services Building. The receptionist barely looked up-she’d seen stranger cases in the last month.

Eventually, Phillip was wheeled down a corridor to an interview room. The walls were painted pale green and decorated with stickers meant to comfort children. The evaluator, a thin, tired woman named Ms. Kreel, waited with a tablet in hand and deep bags under her eyes.

"Let's begin," she said flatly.

Amanda gave Phillip’s hand a final squeeze and stepped out.

Ms. Kreel wheeled Phillip into the middle of the room and unbuckled one strap-not enough for him to move, but enough to look less restrained. She sat across from him on a rolling stool.

"What’s your name, sweetheart?" she asked in a gently patronizing tone.

Phillip responded with a mumble, deliberately garbled by the numbing agent. He tilted his head, blinked exaggeratedly, and pointed at his bear.

"Bear," he said around his thumb, forcing himself to lisp.

Ms. Kreel wrote a note and nodded.

As the minutes dragged on, the questions became less about facts and more about reactions. She rolled a ball toward him. He reached for it slowly, giggled, and hugged it. She asked if he wanted a juice box, and he nodded eagerly. When she asked if he needed changing, he looked away bashfully and mumbled nonsense. Just like they rehearsed.

And finally, halfway through the interview, he did what he had promised Amanda he would do. He closed his eyes, focused, and forced himself to wet the diaper.

He could feel the warmth spread. A moment later, Ms. Kreel raised an eyebrow and scribbled something else onto her tablet.

By the end of the session, her expression hadn’t changed. Tired, impersonal, unreadable.

She stood.

“Your current evaluation concludes that your legal developmental status is consistent with a female toddler approximately 23 months of age. If you disagree with this determination, now is your chance to set the record straight.”

She looked him in the eye. Her voice was calm but pointed.

Phillip blinked at her, lips pursed around his thumb. He let out a gurgled sound, then clapped once, as if the conversation had floated right over his head.

Ms. Kreel nodded again, sighed, and turned off the tablet.

“That’s what I thought.”

She opened the door. Amanda was waiting.

"Ma'am, you'll need to come with me to sign the guardianship papers," the evaluator said, not unkindly.

Amanda glanced at Phillip, offered a smile-somewhere between satisfaction and nerves-and then followed Ms. Kreel into a different room.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Phillip sat alone, in silence, sucking his thumb, hugging his bear. The warmth in his diaper was starting to cool. The stroller’s buckles held firm. He didn’t move.

He didn’t need to anymore.

Chapter 2.

As Amanda and Ms. Kreel stepped into a separate office and the door latched quietly behind them, another woman emerged from an adjacent hallway and walked briskly toward Phillip.

She wore a lanyard and a practiced smile, and in her hand was a small, foil-wrapped gummy. Phillip blinked. He recognized it immediately-the same type Amanda had used to numb his mouth and throat before. The woman unwrapped it and offered it to him.

"Here you go, sweetie," she cooed.

Still strapped in his stroller, Phillip hesitated-but only for a second. He leaned forward and obediently took the gummy into his mouth, chewing as instructed. Within a minute, that now-familiar dullness spread through his mouth and down his throat. Speaking, if needed, would be nearly impossible.

The woman-her badge read "Denise - Pediatric Services"-released the stroller’s buckle and gently lifted Phillip into her arms. “Let’s get you changed, baby girl.”

Phillip let his head fall against her shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to expect anymore, but he kept to the plan: stay quiet, stay in character. That was what Amanda told him.

Denise carried him into another softly lit room, this one decorated more like a nursery than an evaluation center. A large changing table stood against one wall, flanked by pastel cabinets filled with diapers, wipes, and folded clothes.

“Up we go,” Denise said, laying Phillip down. She unfastened the snaps of his pink romper, revealing the soaked diaper beneath. Phillip’s face flushed involuntarily, but he forced himself to stay limp, passive, babyish. His fingers clutched the teddy bear even tighter.

Denise hummed quietly as she cleaned him with practiced efficiency. She didn’t speak beyond a few soothing reassurances that she probably gave to all her charges. When the diaper was fastened securely, Phillip expected to be redressed in his romper.

But Denise reached instead for a new outfit: a lemon-yellow toddler dress with puffed sleeves, lace trim, and a bibbed bodice embroidered with daisies. Alongside it, a pair of white tights. Without comment, she dressed him carefully, tugging the tights up his legs, adjusting the dress over the diaper.

Phillip blinked in confusion. What happened to the romper? Did it get wet? Did they need to wash it? Was this standard procedure?

He wanted to ask, but couldn’t. The gummy had done its job.

Once dressed, Denise set him gently on the padded floor and pointed toward a bin of toys.

“Playtime until your foster parents arrive, sweetheart.”