Infancy, Molly thought, was wasted on the young. She remembered how her kids had cried when they were physically the age she was now, about six months. But it felt good to be nursed! It felt good to be burped! It felt good to have a nice clean diaper, and it felt good to mess in it! What was so great about being a grownup? Sex? Please! And with her mind intact, as happened to only about 1% of AR victims, she was able to maintain some control over her life. But even her ex-husband Bill, who had suffered the usual mental regression, was much more pleasant to be around as an infant than he had ever been as an adult man. Like other victims, Molly and Bill would slowly age between three months and a year and a half, and then regress. No one knew how long an AR victim would live. Secretly, Molly donated to a foundation dedicated to fighting against a cure for the AR virus.
Molly's government-provided nurse gave her a gentle poke in the belly. Molly burped, and giggled. Life was good!
Meanwhile, Abby was looking at the strange phone she had found lying on the ground.