+++

Epilogue

The team had met back up at the car, each telling a much bolder and braver version of their own events as they loaded up their equipment or what each had left. They ignored the diapers, choosing to forgo the awkward explanations. They had brought extra clothes, and each changed wordlessly, collecting the used padding in a bag.

They didn't go on another case after that. The trio chose what was a landmark moment to end their careers together. Well, all but Soen. Having faced down a true malicious spirit, she couldn't let it go. Instead, she opened a private agency to deal with the most severe hauntings. She had her third case coming up in a few days; for now, she sat at her desk scrawling away at some paperwork. Behind her, a shelf of collectables stood. Pictures of the trio, souvenirs of recent cases, knick-knacks, and the adjudicator totem. Soen whined at the paperwork as warmth flooded the front of her diaper. She never regained control; sometimes, her mind got a little fuzzy. But she survived, and Embra was long gone. She turns off the lamp, barking instinctively at the click and heads out the office door. She misses the moment the adjudicator sigil turns red and begins to vibrate.

Mystic was sitting on his couch, flicking through the TV. He had gotten a job running a radio news program on the supernatural, and things were going well for him. People loved his energy; he was famous and even returned to the stage! In some speaking gigs, of course. Tonight was his night, however. Around his waist was a swollen diaper, slowly filling as he whiled away the evening. His channel surfing finally ceased as he landed on a dance competition show. He had found himself very judgemental of them but longed to see how things played out. Sometimes, he even felt that he could have beaten them if he had put on his own unique show. "Oh well, maybe in another life," he thought.

Outside his window, a work crew craned in something heavy across the street, mounting it to the building to keep a watchful eye on its surroundings. Someone said the gargoyle was found in a fire on the outskirts of town, but it looked to be in too good a shape for that. It took the form of a refined fox, a lovely piece of statuary. As the workers installed it, one of them noticed something. "Ah shit, did we damage it? There's a chip missing from the chest?" his partner shouted something from down below. "No? Like that when we got it? All good then!" he shouted back. It would be a really terrible deal to lose pay over this.

Pike sat in his room, looking over his notebooks. There were hundreds of recipes in them. The list went on and on: Savoury, sweet, soups, bread, sauces. As he studied them, he took measure of their effects. Some were designed to invoke certain emotions, some granted or took intellect, and others still stole bodily functions. It had been a long set of experiments but well worth it. His efforts paid off, and he soon opened the world's first Emotional restaurant. Where the food would genuinely change you. Still, there was always room for improvement. He smiled when he heard the familiar shlurp and knock on his door.

"Come along, little kit. I have the next recipe for you to try, and it's a doozy," said the gruff voice of the octobear. Pike smiled and made his way to the kitchen for another delicious meal.

The end.