Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Fifty Four

Greg walked deeper into the habitat McKenzie had designed for him, his footsteps echoing faintly on the smooth floor. The main living area reminded him of a studio apartment, but there was an undeniable strangeness to it. The space was compact, with the bedroom and living room merged into one, and a small dining area with a solitary table set off to the side. Everything was scaled down, just enough to feel comfortable, but also enough to remind him that this was no ordinary home. It was a space crafted for someone like him—a Little.

What truly caught Greg’s attention, though, was the massive phone perched atop the entertainment console. It was one of McKenzie’s old phones, but to him now, it was the largest screen he had ever seen. The phone dominated the room, the sheer size of it almost comical in contrast to the rest of the modest furnishings. The entire habitat seemed to revolve around it, like a monument to the technology that now controlled his life.

With a heavy sigh, Greg powered on the phone, watching as the enormous screen flickered to life. The familiar Generitech logo appeared, followed by the bright, cheerful lettering of LittleOS. The sight was humbling, a stark reminder of the new reality he had to accept. This was what his life would revolve around now—a specialized operating system, curated not just by the government or Generitech, but by his own daughters. His world was no longer his own; it was designed for him, controlled by those who saw him as something less than what he had once been.

As the logo disappeared, Greg’s mind wandered. He knew McKenzie held full control over what he watched, what he had access to in this space. The thought gnawed at him. He wondered if Madison had the same level of access. Was his youngest daughter, with all her teen impulsiveness, also in control of what he saw, what he learned? The idea was unsettling, to say the least.

Greg walked into the adjacent bathroom and found it to be a private room, though still far from what he was used to. The walls offered a degree of privacy, though without a roof, McKenzie could easily peer in if she wished. It was a decent amount of solitude for a Little, but even here, the lack of a proper ceiling was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He wasn’t meant to have full privacy anymore—just enough to feel like he did.

He was still trying to come to terms with the reality that had been forced upon him. He was a Little now, and this was his life. He knew that. But the acceptance of it was slow, and every little detail seemed to twist the knife just a bit deeper.

Walking back out of the bathroom, he instinctively headed toward what he thought would be the door to wait for McKenzie, but something stopped him cold. There was no way out. The door panel was built into the roof, a small inlet just large enough for a hand to reach in, but there was no exit accessible to him. The door that allowed him to walk into the box appeared to be one-way. He pressed his hands against the walls, feeling along the smooth, seamless surface. No give. No hidden latch. The door was flush with the rest of the wall, indistinguishable from the surrounding panels.

It would take someone like McKenzie or Madison to open it. The realization hit him hard. He was trapped, even here, in this habitat that had been designed for his comfort. The entrance was a one-way street unless his guardian decided to let him out. It was a chilling reminder that, even to McKenzie, he was still just a Little—someone who needed to be managed, confined, controlled.

Greg’s gaze shifted toward the wall that faced McKenzie’s bed. The plastic wall rose high, far above his head, before the metal bars started. He couldn’t see out unless he made an effort. It was another reminder that this habitat, modified from a cage, wasn’t exactly perfect for housing a Little. Still, it wouldn’t take much to pull over something to stand on and peer over the edge.

He found a small stool and dragged it toward the wall, stepping up to get a better view of McKenzie’s room. From this new height, he could see her sprawled across her bed, her phone in hand, laughing and chatting with someone—Sean, he realized. She was engrossed in the conversation, her face lit up with youthful joy. For a moment, Greg wondered if she had forgotten about him entirely.

The sight unsettled him. He had heard about this boy, Sean. He seemed nice enough, sure. But he was still a teenager. And though Greg appreciated Sean’s help in getting this habitat for him—practically at cost, no less—he couldn’t help but be suspicious. How had Sean managed to get this setup, this conversion of a cage into a habitat, for such a low price? It should have cost thousands of dollars, at least. Why would his mother be so willing to help out for basically free? The Little furniture alone would’ve been a small fortune. The flooring, the tiny drywalling, the insulation—it all added up.

Greg watched McKenzie laugh again, lost in her conversation with Sean, and a pang of doubt crept into his mind. Was this boy trustworthy? Or was there something more going on here? It was a strange feeling, standing here, a father reduced to a Little, peering out of his habitat, watching his daughter from afar. He had no control anymore, no say in what happened next. He could only watch and hope that the world outside his cage was still one where he had a place.

The next hour crawled by, each minute feeling heavier than the last as Greg flicked through Generiflix. He cycled through the limited selection, trying to make sense of what was available to him. It was unsettling, scrolling through shows and movies that felt so foreign, so unfamiliar. Everything was built around Littles—Little actors, Little celebrities, and even Little sitcoms and dramas. There was something jarring about watching television that had been carefully curated for his new role, and yet, none of it felt real.

Even the news felt off. Little reporters sat in studios, delivering updates on events that seemed so insignificant compared to the world he had once known. There were no stories on rallies, no mention of politics, no debates or dissent. Every headline, every segment seemed crafted to paint an idyllic picture—that Littles should support their guardians, that everything was perfectly fine. Nothing overtly false, but it was what was missing that made it feel so disingenuous. It was a version of reality designed to keep Littles complacent, to make them feel comfortable in their new lives, to make Greg believe this was how things were supposed to be.

But he didn’t feel comfortable. Far from it.

As the minutes ticked by, Greg’s sense of isolation deepened. He was trapped in this curated world, a world where every option reinforced his new reality, pushing the narrative that this was all normal. That he was just a Little now, and that was okay.

Finally, he heard McKenzie stir from her bed. He could hear the faint murmur of her voice, still glued to her phone. That was one thing she and Madison had in common—they were never far from their screens. Watching McKenzie approach, still absorbed in her conversation, was unsettling. The casualness with which she walked toward him, her phone in hand, the smile on her face as she bent down to peer into his habitat—it was as though nothing had changed. As though seeing him in this tiny space was perfectly ordinary.

Greg stiffened as she leaned closer, her voice still light as she continued her conversation with Sean. “You should see my dad, Sean,” McKenzie said, her voice filled with amusement. “He’s loving this habitat. He’s sprawled out on the couch watching television.” She laughed lightly. “Well, yeah, it’s the Little version of television, but that’s TV for him now.”

Her tone was so casual, so unbothered, but it cut through Greg like a knife. She wasn’t trying to hurt him—he knew that. But the way she spoke, the way she referred to his life now as if it were just another normal thing, felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong.

She smiled down at him again, that same reassuring smile she had always given him as a kid, the one that said everything was fine. But now, in this context, it felt different. It felt patronizing. As if this was where he belonged now—sprawled out in his little cage, watching Little shows, living a life that wasn’t really his.

Greg didn’t say anything. What could he say? He just nodded, keeping his face neutral as McKenzie continued her conversation, laughing at something Sean said on the other end of the line. The world outside his habitat carried on as normal, and here he was—trapped in a version of reality that was never meant for him.

The eyes of his eldest daughter continued look down at him as she spoke on the phone. It was a unique feeling to be watched like this. McKenzie liked to play this computer game called The Sims were it simulated life. She was make up avatars and guide them, into jobs, school, neighborhoods and make friends. It simulated life in a way that was real yet pretend. Greg couldn’t help but feel like one of her sims as she looked into the habitat. He was just supposed to live life with her watching him.

“I might be able to do something during the week, but things are just so busy now. I’ve got tennis, work, and then there’s Madison I have to come home to. My parents and all that stuff,” McKenzie said, her voice drifting casually as she listed off her responsibilities.

Greg listened in silence, his ears perking up as McKenzie mentioned Madison, wondering what she meant by “coming home” to her.

“Well, yeah, Madison doesn’t need a babysitter,” McKenzie continued, her tone light but firm. “But I’m adopting her. I’m her parent now, not just her sister. I can’t just not check on her. I have responsibilities. Plus, my parents—I have to check on them too. You could come over here, and we can hang out if you want. It’s just hard to get out right now.”

Greg felt a wave of unease wash over him. Sean, again. The idea of this boy coming over to their house unsettled him. It was bad enough when Madison had her friends over, the same group of teens who had already seen him and Cindy in this state. But now McKenzie was bringing boys into the picture, and the thought made Greg’s stomach churn. He knew he had no control over this, though. He wasn’t the head of the household anymore. That role belonged to McKenzie now, a reality he had no choice but to accept. She had given him permission to call her by her name, disabling the name restriction on his collar, but Greg wasn’t sure if she had also turned off the audio level control. He didn’t want to risk shouting or making a scene, knowing full well that even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.

“Yeah, we can do whatever,” McKenzie continued, her attention still focused on her conversation. “We’re not stuck in my room anymore or anything. We can just hang out in the living room. I’ll kick Madison upstairs or whatever. I own the house now, so what I say goes.”

Her words stung. McKenzie’s ease, the casual way she spoke about owning the house, as if it had always been this way, cut deep. Greg could hardly believe it was real. His daughter—his child—was now the one making decisions, asserting control over the house he had worked so hard to provide for his family.

“Seeeaaannn, stoooop,” McKenzie playfully whined into the phone, followed by a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Wednesday works. I don’t have work, just practice, but I can be home at a normal time. If you wait around, I can drive us. Yeah, I have a car now. It used to be my dad’s, but you know he can’t drive it anymore, so it’s mine now. Of course, I gave it a makeover. It was so spartan before—it needed a feminine touch.”

Greg felt a knot tighten in his chest. His car. The car he had driven for years, the one he had taken pride in—now it was hers, completely. The reality of it hit him like a tidal wave. McKenzie was talking about it so nonchalantly, as if it had always belonged to her. The memories of driving her around, of family trips and late-night drives, seemed to blur and fade in the face of this new reality. It wasn’t just the car—it was everything. His role, his authority, his independence—all of it was gone, reduced to the confines of this habitat.

He stood there, powerless, forced to listen to her conversation with Sean as she carried on, laughing and chatting with ease. The sound of her voice, once so comforting, now felt like a reminder of everything he had lost. This was her world now, and he was just a part of it, a bystander in a life that had once been his to lead.

Greg thought back to how it used to be. He had always been the one stepping away from family time for a business call, balancing work and home. Now, the roles were reversed. He was the one waiting—waiting for his daughter to finish her call, waiting for her to notice him. But unlike before, this wasn’t just a pause. It was permanent. He had no say, no control over anything beyond the small space he occupied in this habitat.

As McKenzie’s conversation continued, Greg sank into the couch, his mind reeling. The sting of his new reality burned deeper with each passing moment. His world had shrunk to the size of this habitat, while McKenzie’s had expanded, leaving him behind.

Related Images: