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Nap Time

Sparks illuminated the dark interior of a rather strange derelict craft as an old hand at cutting worked his tools on the other side. The cutter, a human, didn't think much of this job. After many years of prying the lids off of 'canned goods', he was convinced he had seen pretty much everything. From the messy results of a fresh mutiny or case of the old space madness to the more serene mummification that resulted from drifting in space for countless years, his eyes had seen it all.

For this reason, his confidence was pretty well placed. That he didn't pay attention to the misgivings, inconsistencies and grumblings of the law enforcement personnel who had contracted him to this job speaks to his professional conduct, not his negligence. However, had he been paying attention, he'd have been more informed as to what might be on the other side of this hatch.

He could see with his own eyes that this 'derelict' wasn't really that old. In fact, it was in really good condition and while not a cutting-edge model, it was by no means an antique. This was a mining ship that, in good hands, could yield a tidy fortune if privately owned. What he didn't know was that it was in such good condition that the Enforcers' gunship could clearly report that it's Core was active, maintained, functioning within parameters. That it's life-support system was functioning. That it's Matter-Banks and water supplies were far from empty, but had decreased in the 5 days it had taken to get him there.

Everything was hunky-dory. Except communications, the windows (they had all been blocked by metal welded to the windowframes, past the glass to make it impossible to see in. Or, more alarmingly, out.), and the minor docking bay. For some reason, that was 'dark', or without power.

The cutter didn't know this. Every so often, his 'contracts' became rescues. Usually, if somebody invested money in him, it was for salvage rights, not saving bodies, but space was full of cunning men after centuries of natural selection, and sometimes there were survivors, even when all outside evidence made it seem there should be none. He preferred it that way, to be a rescue. Either way he got paid, and he saw no reason to really hope for the misfortune of others, even if his employers often felt different.

As he prepared to pry the hatch off, he noticed the two Enforcers behind him undo the safety catches on their weapons. This caused him to tense a bit, and start to question, "Maybe you all ought to be opening this hatch?", he spoke in a southern drawl. The Enforcers, both dobermen hybrids, grinned and shook their heads, even as their paws rested on their sidearms, "Naw. You go ahead.", the one to his right replied as the one on his left snickered softly.

Fucking Thugs, he cursed in his mind as he grabbed the hatch's handle and pulled it back with him, hiding behind it and shuffling back, shielding himself with it and letting the Enforcers get first look. After a few moments of silence, discounting the clicks of sidearms being freed from their holsters, the cutter looked over the door.

None of the three could see in the dark, and inside, that is most certainly what the shuttle was. The shuttle was dark. Because it was nap-time. The silence was slowly broken, by a somehow familiar sounding crinkling and rustlilng. The Enforcers held their sidearms steady, their fur on end. Whatever they had been expecting, this clearly wasn't it. The scent of Talcum and baby oil hit them first, then the nursery smell. Of often-wet diapers, and, from somewhere the scent of more fouled diapers. Then came the whimpers, muffled and desperate, crying.

The right dog gave his counterpart a look and a nod, and the left pulled his off-paw from his gun long enough to snap it down to his belt and pull out a flashlight, which he clicked on and shined into the space, the nursery scent strong enough that even the human found it overwhelming at this point. "What the bloody hell is-", the cutter started to whisper as the flashlight illuminated a room full of infantile decoration, furniture, and occupied cribs, but at the word 'hell', he was interrupted by a quick burst of siren and flashing lights as something whirred to life in the corner. A somewhat feminine, but authoritarian, voice said, "Bad language, Walking about freely, Dressing like an Adult, potty-mouthing, and being awake during nap-time! 50 demerits, 10 spankings, corner-time, cubby-time, 1 penance and a day of potty-time for you mister!". This voice came from what appeared to be an orderly-model android, shaped like a lithe five foot tall bear-woman with short black hair and a rather voluptuous figure. The kind designed to make male mouths water... at least when they aren't babbling dangerously and stalking towards the male with cuffs in each hand.

The surreality of it all was overwhelming for a second, but whatever one might say about the Enforcers, the one's that lasted more than a month on the job were Quick. They were survivors... and something about what was in front of them registered as a threat to their survival.

Looking entirely unamused, the Enforcers blew the android away, a quick burst of light from each gun and it fell to the floor. Panting and growling with adrenalin, they briefly looked to the cutter as he looked around the door to say increduously, "Did it just say... potty-mouth?! Twice?!", but quickly looked back towards the craft, sidearms still at the ready, as the lights turned on and a pleasant voice informed them that, "Nap time is over. Time for good cubs to get their changes, and bad cubs to to sit in the mush pit!".

The light illuminated a room full of cribs, some shaped for cubs, some for adults; and filled with each. Every crib had a hybrid of some sort in it, each one quite obviously diapered, most of them wet, a few messy. Most had their muzzles stuffed with pacifier like gags, and were moaning and whimpering around them. Some had normal pacifiers. A few were just staring at the Enforcers blankly, muzzles umolested.

Some in pajamas, some in rompers, some in dresses, both male and female.

The walls held tools, from paddles and hair brushes and restraints, to various gags, buttplugs, enema giving devices as well as enema mixtures; various outfits on hooks and other less identifiable things.

"P-please... ch-change me?", mrewled a feline femme who had to be at least twenty four years old from her crib, wearing nothing but a diaper, her cheeks bright red and her eyes dulled from some kind of drug. The Enforcers, and the cutter, could do nothing but gawk. Finally one of the captives managed to pry his pacifier off and shout, "There's three more of them! For the love of ALL THAT IS HOLY KILL THEM ALL AND LET US OUT OF HERE!". This was swiftly followed by a familiar siren from somewhere else in the ship, and a voice similar to the last android's which shouted, "Un-pacifying yourself, Speaking without permission, Speaking like an adult, Suggesting Violence, Not speaking in an indoor voice, Rebellion... Baby-time for you, 30 spankings, 3 penances, and a day as the yiff-plush for you.". As footsteps rapidly approached, the Enforcers took aim, the left snarling in confusion, "What the fuck is going on here?", which elicited another rant from the approaching bot, "Potty-Mouth, Talking like an Adult-". Both canines shot in unision, interupting it's list of charges and punishments.

The cutter, meanwhile, looked on in shock. This... was something new. The captive who had shouted, a coyote wearing a soaked diaper and a pink bib and bonnet he was trying to tear off, called out again, "Nice shot! Two more! Don't let them get you, unless you want to end up like us! Kill them, Free us, DO NOT GO INTO THE CARGO BAYS, and watch out for my brother!".

The Enforcers exchanged confused, disbelieving, and hopelessly lost glances, before scowling and stalking into the ship, covering eachother as they looked for the last two androids, leaving the cutter to gripe about how he had best be paid extra for this.

Clearly, something interesting had happened here.