Regressive Ad Campaign:Part 5


By Sage Ann

This story is set in the incredible world created by AlteredStates14. Her universe is brought to life not through traditional written narratives, but through a powerful collection of images—advertisements, media articles, and other visual artifacts—that vividly capture everyday life in her setting.
All images associated with this story are her original work. Please consider supporting her so we can continue to explore and enjoy more of this fascinating world.
You can find her work here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/alteredstates14
Another author has also written a story based in this universe from a different perspective. You can find it here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/fatherfish/art/Pampers-and-Propaganda-1028729633



Two days later, the alarm clock's red numbers blinked 5:47 when Kalie heard it again—that same muffled sob from Mary's room, a sound that now carried a specific meaning. She lay in bed for a moment, eyes tracing the ceiling's hairline cracks while dawn crawled through her window. The déjà vu settled heavy on her chest. Once was an accident. Twice was a pattern. And patterns, their father used to say before he left, were nature's way of telling you to pay attention.
Kalie's bare feet found her slippers this time, padding quietly down the hallway that seemed shorter than it had two mornings prior. She didn't bother knocking.
Mary sat cross-legged in the center of her bed, as far from the wet spot as possible. Her green eyes, usually bright with curiosity, now looked hollow with something like defeat.
"Again?" Kalie asked, though the question was unnecessary.
Mary nodded, a sharp jerky movement. "I don't understand." Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms. "I didn't even drink anything after dinner. I went to the bathroom right before bed."
Kalie closed the door behind her, leaning against it. "Maybe we should tell Mom about this one."
"So she can what? Take me to a doctor who'll tell me I'm regressing?" Mary's voice cracked. "I'm fifteen, not five."
The indignity in her sister's voice made Kalie wince. "Mom wouldn't think that."
"Everyone would think that." Mary stood, the dark patch on her pajama bottoms making her face flush crimson. "I can handle it myself this time."
But when she tried to pull the sheet free, it caught on the mattress corner. Mary yanked harder, and the fitted edge snapped back, flicking droplets onto her arm. She froze, disgust contorting her features.
"Let me help," Kalie said quietly.
Together they stripped the bed in silence, the routine already familiar in a way that made Kalie's stomach twist. This time, Mary shuffled to the bathroom without prompting, and Kalie carried the bundle of sheets to the laundry room alone.
As she measured out detergent, their mother appeared in the doorway, hair still mussed from sleep. "Again?"
Kalie nodded, feeling oddly defensive on Mary's behalf. "She's really upset about it."
Their mother sighed, tightening the belt of her robe. "I'll call Dr. Jensen today, see if we can get her in."
"Don't tell Mary that yet," Kalie said. "She's already embarrassed enough."
After breakfast—which Mary barely touched—and promises to text if anything went wrong at school, they headed out. Mary walked three paces ahead the entire way, a physical manifestation of the emotional distance she was placing between herself and her predicament.
At school, Kalie found herself watching the other girls with new awareness. In her English class, Bethany wore what looked like a puffy white skirt under her uniform, the waistband visible when she reached up to write on the whiteboard. In gym, at least six girls sat out, claiming cramps—but Kalie noticed the telltale bulges beneath their sweatpants.
During lunch, she scrolled through Instagram, and that's when she saw it—an ad featuring a smiling teenage girl, not much older than Mary, wearing what were unmistakably decorative pull-ups beneath a pleated skirt. "TwenTeen Protection," the caption read. "Because growing up doesn't mean giving up comfort."
Kalie frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. She'd never noticed these ads before. She scrolled further, and within minutes, another appeared: "Who Says Protection Can't Be Cute? TwenTeen—for the modern teenage girl."
The algorithm must have picked up her searches, though she couldn't remember looking up anything related to bedwetting. Perhaps it was listening through her phone—that conspiracy theory suddenly seemed less far-fetched.
"Did you see that new TwenTeen commercial?" The voice came from behind Kalie, where a group of senior girls had gathered.
"With the music festival scene? Yeah," another replied. "I got some last week. They're actually way more comfortable than I thought."
"My mom was freaking out about me wearing them to school, but I was like, 'Mom, literally everyone is wearing them now.'"
Kalie turned slightly, catching sight of the girl who'd spoken. Emma Stevens—president of the debate team, early acceptance to Columbia—wore a confident smile, no hint of embarrassment as she discussed what Kalie had always considered a product for babies or the elderly.
"They're just more practical," Emma continued, voice carrying clearly. "No more worry about long classes or field trips."
The others nodded, and Kalie realized with a jolt that nearly a quarter of the girls at the table wore the same slightly padded silhouette beneath their clothes.
In her next class, Kalie counted—seven girls out of thirty-five wore the visible signs of pull-ups or similar products. That was exactly twenty percent, just as she'd noticed in her other classes. The statistical precision of it struck her as odd.
After school, waiting for Mary by the main entrance, Kalie's phone buzzed with a notification. A sponsored post showed a teenage girl with a relieved expression: "TwenTeen—because growing up is hard enough. Why make it harder?" The comments section overflowed with positive reviews from verified teenage users.
Mary appeared at her side, backpack slung over one shoulder. "What are you looking at?"
Kalie clicked her phone off quickly. "Nothing. Just some stupid ad."
On the walk home, Kalie noticed a billboard she was certain hadn't been there that morning. A teenage girl in a flowing dress twirled carefree, the tagline reading: "Freedom to be you—TwenTeen." The model couldn't have been older than seventeen.
"Have you seen these ads?" Kalie asked, gesturing vaguely toward the billboard.
Mary glanced up, then away quickly. "They're everywhere. Emily was talking about them in biology. She says half the volleyball team wears them now."
"Doesn't that seem weird to you? Why would teenage girls suddenly need diapers?"
Mary flinched at the word. "They're not diapers. They're protective underwear." Her defensive tone surprised Kalie.
"Since when do teenagers need 'protective underwear'?" Kalie made air quotes with her fingers.
"Since always, I guess. They just didn't talk about it before." Mary kicked a stone into the gutter. "Can we drop this?"
At home, Kalie found herself examining commercials with new scrutiny. Every channel break seemed to feature at least one ad for TwenTeen or its competitors—CoverGirl Teen Protection, YouthGuard, SecureTeen. All showed happy, confident teenage girls discussing the freedom and security of their products.
That night, as she helped Mary with homework, Kalie couldn't stop thinking about the ads and the girls at school. The timing was too coincidental—Mary's sudden bedwetting, the surge in advertising, the twenty percent of girls already converted to users.
"What if..." Kalie started, then stopped herself.
Mary looked up from her algebra. "What if what?"
Kalie shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."
Later, lying in bed, Kalie stared at the ceiling. A nagging suspicion formed in her mind—what if these ads weren't just responding to a need, but creating one? The thought seemed paranoid, ridiculous even, but she couldn't shake it. Something wasn't right. The world seemed to be shifting in subtle ways, and Mary's bedwetting felt less like a coincidence and more like a symptom of something larger, something unsettling that Kalie couldn't quite name.
She rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, and tried to convince herself she was overreacting. But as sleep finally came, advertisements for TwenTeen flashed behind her eyelids, the smiling faces of teenage girls in diapers blending into her dreams.