Regressive Ad Campaign: Part 7


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



That night, Kalie stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Mary pull the package of TwenTeen from beneath the sink. Her sister's movements were reluctant but resigned, fingers picking at the plastic seal with the careful deliberation of someone disarming a bomb. The bathroom light cast Mary's shadow large against the shower curtain, a distorted silhouette that seemed to belong to someone much younger than fifteen. Neither of them spoke. What was there to say when your body betrayed you twice, then a third time—when the unthinkable became, in the space of a week, routine?
"Do you want privacy?" Kalie finally asked, her voice echoing slightly against the tiled walls.
Mary shrugged, the package now open in her hands. "Doesn't really matter. It's not like this is the most embarrassing part of my day anymore."
Kalie stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She perched on the edge of the bathtub, watching as Mary extracted one of the pull-ups. The product was simultaneously better and worse than Kalie had expected. It wasn't the stark white of a medical product, but rather a soft lavender with delicate flower patterns along the waistband. From a distance, it might almost pass for underwear—except for the telltale thickness, the absorbent padding that marked its true purpose.
"They don't look that bad," Kalie offered, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
Mary held the pull-up up to the light, examining it with an expression that cycled between disgust and acceptance. "They look like something a toddler would wear to potty train."
"At least they're not, like, covered in cartoon characters," Kalie said, trying for levity.
Mary didn't smile. "Small favors." She hesitated, then looked at Kalie. "Are you going to wear the ones Mom got you?"
Their mother had returned from work with a package identical to Mary's, except in a size larger. It sat unopened on Kalie's dresser, a physical manifestation of a reality she refused to accept.
"No," Kalie said firmly. "I don't need them. Last night was—I don't know what it was, but it's not going to happen again."
Mary's expression shifted, something like envy flashing across her features. "Must be nice to be so sure."
"I've never had this problem before this week. You've had it three times. It's different." Even as she said it, Kalie felt the unfairness of her words, the implicit accusation that Mary's situation was somehow more deserved.
"Right," Mary said flatly. She turned away, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "I'm going to change now."
Kalie retreated to her room, closing the door with more force than necessary. The package of pull-ups sat where she'd left it, the smiling teenage model on the front looking back at her with knowing eyes. Kalie turned the package to face the wall.
She changed into her pajamas—clean flannel pants and an oversized t-shirt—and went to brush her teeth. Mary had finished in the bathroom, leaving behind the faint scent of toothpaste and the sound of her bedroom door closing.
In the mirror, Kalie studied her reflection. She looked the same as always—hazel eyes, chestnut hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the small scar above her right eyebrow from falling off her bike at nine. Nothing had changed, except everything had.
She made a point of using the toilet one last time, even though she didn't really need to. Better safe than sorry, she thought, then grimaced at echoing her mother's earlier words.
Back in her room, Kalie checked her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. More TwenTeen ads populated her feed, along with a new product line called "NightSafe" that promised "discrete protection for the modern young woman." The comments section brimmed with testimonials from verified users, all suspiciously similar in tone and content.
A light knock interrupted her scrolling. Her mother stood in the doorway, already dressed in her nightgown, hair pulled back in a loose braid.
"All set for bed?" she asked, eyes scanning Kalie's room, lingering for a moment on the unopened package of pull-ups.
"Yes," Kalie said, unable to keep the defensive edge from her voice. "I used the bathroom. No liquids since dinner."
Her mother nodded, approving. "Good. I'm sure you'll be fine, but...the package is there if you need it."
"I won't."
"Alright." Her mother hesitated, then crossed the room to press a kiss to Kalie's forehead. "Sleep well, sweetheart."
The simple gesture, so familiar and maternal, momentarily disarmed Kalie's suspicions. This was her mother—the woman who had bandaged scraped knees and made chicken soup for colds, who had taught her to ride a bike and navigate her first period. Could she really believe this same woman was somehow causing her and Mary to wet their beds?
As her mother reached the door, Kalie found herself asking, "Did you check on Mary?"
"I did. She's all set." Something in her mother's tone—satisfaction, perhaps—rekindled Kalie's unease.
"Goodnight," Kalie said, already turning away.
"Goodnight, Kalie. Sweet dreams."
Sleep came fitfully, Kalie's mind cycling through theories and suspicions. Maybe it was something in their food, or the water. Maybe some kind of medication slipped into their evening meals. The ideas grew increasingly elaborate as sleep tugged at her consciousness, until finally she drifted off, still searching for answers.
She woke to the same cold, wet sensation as the previous morning.
For a long moment, Kalie lay perfectly still, as if by not moving she could deny the reality of her situation. But the dampness beneath her was unmistakable, the fabric of her pajamas clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
"No," she whispered to the empty room. "No, no, no."
She had done everything right—no liquids, bathroom before bed. She had been so certain, so confident in her control over her own body. And yet, here she was again, seventeen years old and lying in her own urine.
The humiliation was quickly overshadowed by fear, then anger. This wasn't natural. This wasn't random. This was being done to her.
Across the hall, she heard movement—Mary was awake. Kalie sat up, grimacing at the wetness, and stripped the sheets from her bed with methodical fury. She bundled them together, grabbed clean clothes, and opened her door just as Mary was emerging from her room, also carrying sheets.
They stared at each other in the half-light of early morning. Mary looked tired but unsurprised. She wore different pajamas than the night before, clearly having changed after her own accident.
"The pull-ups worked, at least," Mary said, gesturing to her bundle of sheets. "Bed's dry. Just had to change these."
The matter-of-fact acceptance in her voice made something twist in Kalie's chest. "This isn't normal," she said, her voice low and urgent. "This isn't just happening randomly."
Mary sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe we should see a doctor. Maybe there's something wrong with us."
"There's nothing wrong with us," Kalie hissed. "Someone is doing this to us."
Mary's expression closed off, her eyes darting toward their mother's bedroom door. "Don't start that again."
"Think about it, Mary. We both start wetting the bed in the same week? After never having issues before? And Mom just happens to have pull-ups ready to go?"
"She bought them after my second accident," Mary said, but uncertainty flickered across her face.
"And what about all those ads? The debates about treating women like children? You don't think it's all connected?"
Mary took a step back. "You sound paranoid."
"Because I am!" Kalie realized she'd raised her voice and immediately lowered it. "I'm paranoid because something is happening, and nobody seems to notice or care."
Their mother's bedroom door opened, and both girls fell silent. She emerged, tying her bathrobe around her waist, eyes taking in the scene—two daughters, two bundles of wet sheets.
"Oh, girls," she said, her voice a perfect blend of sympathy and weariness. "Again?"
Mary nodded, eyes downcast. "The pull-ups worked, though. My bed's dry."
"That's good." Their mother turned to Kalie, her expression softening. "And you, sweetheart? Did you...?"
"No," Kalie said stiffly. "I didn't wear them."
"I see." Their mother's eyes held a mixture of concern and something else—something that made Kalie's skin crawl. "Well, the package is still there when you're ready."
When, not if. The certainty in her mother's tone cemented Kalie's suspicions. This wasn't about if Kalie would need the pull-ups, but when she would surrender to using them.
"I'm going to shower," Kalie said, brushing past both of them, her wet sheets clutched to her chest like a shield.
Under the hot spray of the shower, Kalie tried to think clearly through her anger and humiliation. Something was happening—to her, to Mary, to the world around them. The connections were too perfect, the coincidences too neat. Her mother's calm acceptance, the ads targeting teenage girls, the political debates about infantilizing women—it all formed a pattern too deliberate to ignore.
But she couldn't say anything yet. Not without proof. Not when even Mary thought she was being paranoid.
As she dressed in clean clothes, Kalie made a silent promise to herself. She would find out what was happening. She would document everything—the ads, the news segments, the changes in her mother's behavior. And she would figure out, somehow, what was being put into their food or drinks to make them wet their beds.
Because one thing was absolutely clear to Kalie: this was not a coincidence, and it was not a medical condition. This was the first step in something larger, something that threatened to reduce her and Mary—and perhaps all young women—to something less than they were.
And Kalie, for one, refused to be reduced.