Mousetrap

BY : nightdarksoul
Category: +M to R > Princess Principal
Dragon prints: 1311
Disclaimer: I don't own Princess Principal, or any characters from it. I don't make any money from this story.

--Day Zero--

"I don't like it," Dorothy said quietly. Ange lowered her telescope, and glanced at the older girl. Her expression remained neutral.

"All is according to plan thus far. I do not see why things should change now."

"Yeah, I know. It just feels too pat. Too simple, you know?"

"You suspect a trap."
"Yeah."

"Well. There is no better spot to disarm a trap than from within it."

"Says the mouse," Dorothy grumbled.

"We are doomed to die a horrible death at a young age, Dorothy. Best to get it over with and not fear it before it happens."

Dorothy laughed bitterly.

"You're no Shakespeare, but what the hell. Good day to die and all?"

"Indeed."

Dorothy hooked her arm over Ange's shoulders, and the two glowed green. Ange stood, effortlessly lifting Dorothy with one arm, and began to run down the side of the building. As they passed an open window, Dorothy grabbed the sill, and pulled herself in.

"This is my stop. Good luck and don't get dead."
"Break a leg," Ange stated as she continued running.

She ran down the wall as easily as running down the street. When she reached ground level, she shut off her C-Ball, but didn't break stride. After a few more yards, she reached her destination, skidding to a halt.

She drew her revolver, and confirmed at a glance that it was ready to fire.

The town-house she stood at had a red-painted door, and a brass panel.

"Number 19. MacIntyre."

She turned the knob. It was unlocked. The door pushed inward with a slight creaking sound. She glanced around. The living room was empty, except for a pair of wooden chairs along one wall.

She stepped inside and closed the door. Walking softly and quietly as she could, she crossed the living room and peered into the kitchen. Empty as well, beyond a built-in wood-fired stove. Ange frowned, and returned to the living room. A flight of stairs led up. Leading with her gun, she moved slowly and quietly up the stairs. There was a short hallway. One open door led to the bathroom. A porcelain claw-tub sat empty. A second door was closed. She grasped the knob to turn it, and felt that the door was neither locked nor latched. She pushed it and glanced inside.

On a double bed with yellow sheets lay the naked body of a girl with shoulder-length auburn hair. Her green eyes were open wide, frozen in terror.

Her throat had been slashed open, her torso and the sheets beneath her drenched in blood.

Ange glanced around the room. Other than the bed and corpse, it was empty.

"Trap," she whispered to herself. She turned and moved back down the stairs. Slowly, as there was no value in rushing. She was in the middle of the trap, as it was being sprung, and hasty action would only make things worse.

The living room was still empty, but for the two chairs. She tried the front door. It was now locked.

She pushed the curtains aside at what should have been the main window. A solid piece of wood greeted her instead of glass.

She turned and moved to the kitchen. There was a back door leading out from here. It was also locked.

She blinked. The room was becoming fuzzy. She could hear a very soft hissing noise.

Perhaps too late, she pulled her mask over her nose and mouth. If she could gain only a few more minutes....

The bedroom upstairs had a window. That was one avenue of escape. It would take time to get up the stairs, and she was beginning to feel light-headed.

On the wall opposite the stove was a curtain. She pulled this aside. She found another solid sheet of wood.

She made an annoyed sound, and turned. She staggered out into the living room. She blinked. Her vision was worse, like a water-stained pane of glass. She aimed her gun at the plywood covering the main window. She eased the trigger back. The hammer pulled back, then fell onto the bullet. There was an explosion, the top portion of the automatic revolver recoiled back, rotating the cylinder to a fresh bullet.

Ange blinked. Her hand shook. She resisted the urge to take a deep breath.

She staggered over to the wall. The bullet had lodged in the plaster beside the wood. She fell to her knees, the gun slipping out of her hand. She shook her head, and crawled over to the door. She gripped the knob, turning it each way, and tugging it with all her strength.

Then the world took on a reddish hue, and she felt herself collapse to the floor.

A good day to die, she told herself, as everything turned pitch black, and she lost the world.



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