Mikaela Bloomfield could smell a liar like a bloodhound, and she could smell baby powder and urine just about as well as anyone else.

Her keen sense for deception came part and parcel with her career of choice. As a private investigator, she had to seek out liars, to find their secrets, to demonstrate their tricks for all to see–but that game only offered so much challenge. More often than not, the true treachery came from her clients.

Mikaela was known for her discretion, and for her willingness to pursue any lead. Those two elements, when put together, made her the first choice for many people with less-than-savory intentions. If she caught wind that they intended to use her work to pursue a criminal end, she had to cut ties; it would be bad for business if the leads she developed were tied to any overtly illegal acts.

She rarely had that issue. Most criminals who could afford her rates knew better than to try and use her as a surrogate hitman. More often, she had to watch for her clients to lie, because those lies were generally integral to her work.

And now, sitting in an outdoor cafe, an anonymous little corner where they’d never incur a second glance, her newest prospective client was lying to her.

“Sir,” she said, phrasing her words carefully as she reviewed what he’d told her, flipping through mental notes effortlessly. Her mind was a well organized place; she rarely forgot a clue, and physical notes could be lost–or worse, stolen. “You’ve given me extremely little to work with. I will do my best to track down this hacker for you, but the world of anonymous internet crime is fraught.”

“All I know is, she stole almost half a million from me, and left me a message taunting me about it,” Henry replied, shaking his head vigorously. He hadn’t told Mikaela his name, and he likely assumed she didn’t know his identity, but she’d done the legwork before attending this meeting. Henry Wanger, web influencer, had made bank on a handful of pump-and-dump NFT scams. “I want that money back.”

“Half a million in cryptocurrency,” Mikaela clarified. “Even if I find her, that money is likely to be long gone, and my services aren’t going to be cheap either. I’m not trying to talk myself out of a job, but consider long and hard whether the investment is worth it for you to try and get your money back.”

Turning ever so slightly pink–the difference so subtle it could have been a trick of the light–Henry said, “I need to find this chick.”

Mikaela sniffed again, and again–stale pee and baby powder. “If you’re not being honest with me about your goals, I cannot help you. If you want her found, you’ll need to tell me why you need to find her.”

This time, his blush was deep and distinct. He looked away. “She’s still blackmailing me.”

(Ah, there it is.) Mikaela didn’t smile on her face, though her satisfaction rose a tick. “What secrets does she have?”

“Nothing.” Henry shook his head emphatically.

Mikaela’s lips drew into a displeased line. “This matters. I need to know what she has on you, so I can trace down how she learned it. I will never disclose this information, and I will never judge you.”

“No,” Henry clarified. “She doesn’t have any dirt. She’s still got control of my accounts.”

Eyes widening a touch, Mikaela asked, “So how do you intend to pay me?”

“She’s left most of the money,” Henry explained, shaking his head. “It’s still there, I can see it, I just can’t touch it. I’m–she’s giving me an allowance. And once you catch her, I’ll be able to pay you the rest of what you’re owed.”

Mikaela tilted her head. “If she’s not taking the money, how is she blackmailing you?”

He looked away, and told her everything in his silence. His ashamed blush told Mikaela it was sexual, his glance down told her that it was currently on his person, and the wrinkle of his own nose told her that the odors she’d been smelling were no mere coincidence.

That wasn’t enough. Mikaela had learned the truth, but she hadn’t won, not until she manipulated him into confessing.

“If you want this to end, you need to tell me.” Mikaela extended her hand, resting it on his own. “It’ll be over sooner this way.”

He hesitated, glancing down again. “She–she makes me do things. If I don’t, she takes money from the account.”

“What things?” Mikaela asked, gently, not pressing hard, just giving a quiet moment of insistence that he keep talking.

His eyes sought around, as though looking for some way to bolster his dignity before the admission. Finding nothing, he looked at her hands. “She’s making me…wear…” Confidence breaking for a moment, he had to take a breath before finishing. “Diapers. If I don’t wear diapers, she takes my money.”

That told Mikaela everything important, but she decided to push a little further. “Do you have to use them?”

Henry nodded, refusing to meet her gaze. “And–I can only change if I text an encrypted number and ask for permission.”

“I probably won’t be able to use that number,” Mikaela admitted, “It’d tip her off that I’m looking, but all the same–send me whatever you have. I’ll take the case.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, finally looking up at her. His eyes were wet from humiliation and shame. “Thank you.”

A talented, invisible cyber hacker was making this man wear diapers–presumably just for her own amusement. That alone was intriguing enough to have Mikaela interested in seeking out more information, but she still had one more issue to raise with Henry.

“When you pay me,” she said, “I don’t accept cryptocurrency. You’ll be sending my fee in cash.”

…

Mikaela had a dozen identities kept on the internet, but they all had only one thing in common–none were anything more than the barest reflection of herself. She treated them as informants, as agents she could use to get information, but she refused to engage with the internet directly. She understood social media, she understood the various Web 3 Tech worlds, but they were places that she observed without touching.

That sometimes made finding her targets more difficult, but she took it as an acceptable cost in exchange for the safety and anonymity it offered.

Her first assumption proved to be true: If someone had the tools, expertise, and opportunity to gain access to a secure account and drain its resources, and the inclination to use that access not for personal wealth, but to humiliate their victims, it stood to reason that this wasn’t her first time and wouldn’t be her last. Other victims had to exist.

The difficulty was not in finding other victims of electronic theft, but in separating the wealthy targets from the run-of-the-mill scam fodder. Using her most tech-adjacent burner account, Mikaela set herself up to be interested in the worlds of her victims, and then began pursuing details.

It started with one–an “Influencer” who was known for his energetic livestreams. Several reddit threads, though, complained that he’d been rather dull on stream of late–no standing to rant, no pacing around the room, he stuck firmly in his chair.

Mikaela tuned in, and though it was subtle, she knew she occasionally heard the rustle of a diaper.

Over the course of two weeks, her list of two victims turned to eleven. It was slow going, but she built a profile: The victims were recently wealthy, having made their money off the gullibility of others, and involved in one marketplace or another that made their accounts vulnerable to targeting. Most were involved in cryptocurrency, using wallets that could be identified and exploited, but two were instead using more traditional offshore bank accounts in the most shady and least regulated parts of the world.

They were also, universally, men. Mikaela didn’t know if this was because the crypto space was mostly populated by men to begin with, or if her hacker simply had her own proclivities, but one way or another, she’d engineered financial blackmail situations to inflict diaper humiliation on eleven different men.

And it wasn’t just the humiliation–specifics cropped up even beyond that. She had a favorite brand of diaper. She enjoyed dragging out the space between diaper use and diaper changes–denying her victims a clean diaper for hours, sometimes longer. She had even made comments suggesting that her victims should be thanking her for the experience–that this was special treatment.

That led Mikaela down another line of investigation, but this one proved to be a dead end. The hacker had to be filthy rich for all the money she’d stolen, but Mikaela couldn’t find anyone who fit the bill. She expected to turn someone up eventually, but no matter how deep she dug, she couldn’t find anyone with extravagant spending habits and a profile that matched the diaper-inclined hacker.

The game was proving harder than normal. Mikaela’s opponent was discreet, talented, and didn’t leave clues behind–at least, none that could be traced back to her. Three weeks in, she didn’t have a name, a web handle, even a vague idea of her target’s identity.

That just meant it’d take longer. Mikaela wouldn’t give up.

She’d just have to play things smarter than her target. A bit of personal chatting with the various hacking victims might get her there–and if not, she’d try setting a bit of bait.

…

Elizabeth frowned at her computer screen, lying in bed, eyes slightly red from lack of sleep. She needed a diaper change, but that could wait until morning–or the afternoon, depending on whenever she got out of bed.

It seemed too good to be true–another target had set himself up for her, all on a silver platter. A single post laid it all out–the story of a man who’d recently acquired massive wealth by convincing several senior citizens that they should buy into a worthless coin. He bragged about it, gloating about the sheer money he’d have coming in soon, and–to just emphasize his stupidity–even posted a screenshot showing off several of the NFTs he’d purchased with the gains.

The screenshot included a few too many identifying details, and with only a few minutes of effort, Elizabeth had this stranger’s identity. His wallet wasn’t as full as she’d expected, which implied he might have a bit more intelligence than she’d expected–he likely kept several wallets.

Or he’d lied.

Going back to the post again, Elizabeth re-read it. He was too obvious. He had too many lines where he mentioned rubbing it in the faces of the people who’d made fun of him for being a late bloomer. The words ‘Nobody’s going to look down on me ever again’ were used twice, and ‘humiliation’ was in the post four times.

He even condescendingly referred to his victims as ‘diaper wearing grannies’.

Elizabeth got it, then. This wasn’t a victim, laying himself out for her to exploit–it was bait.

She had a tail.

Grinning, she sat up in bed. Whoever this person was, he’d quickly learn the folly of messing with her–she’d find his real identity, and give him the same treatment as her other victims.

And sure, the ploy had been a bit obvious, but it wasn’t braindead. Elizabeth had seen through it only after a second glance, only after giving it some considerable thought. Further, the fact that her opponent had been able to lay the trap at all meant that they’d learned quite a bit about Elizabeth already–enough to know what would catch her interest.

She finally had a real opponent, someone else who knew how to play the game.

This would be fun.