Mousetrap

BY : nightdarksoul
Category: +M to R > Princess Principal
Dragon prints: 1698
Disclaimer: I don't own Princess Principal, or any characters from it. I don't make any money from this story.

--Day One--

Ange felt herself ease back into reality. Her eyes were closed. Consciousness, still blurred by grogginess, returned.

Her eyes opened. She was in a small, dark room with stone brick walls, floor, and ceiling. A very dim light filtered in from somewhere. She lay on her back on a low, uncomfortable mattress. More of a cot than a bed. She glanced down at herself.

She still wore her bodysuit, gloves, and boots. Her hat and mask were gone, not to mention her belts, pouches, gun, C-Ball, lock-picks, and every other useful tool she usually carried.

She sat up slowly. Her head ached. Doubtless the after-effect of whatever gas had been used to knock her out.

She frowned. It had been an obvious trap. As she sat, waiting for her head to clear, she second-guessed her cavalier attitude. Entering the house, going upstairs, all without assuring that the front door had not been locked after her. Going without her mask in place to begin with. It wouldn't have stopped the gas from working eventually, but it would have bought her a few more precious minutes.

She sighed. No value in dwelling in the past. She had been captured. She would escape.

She slowly pulled herself to her feet. A wave of nauseous dizziness washed over her. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them when it passed.

There was very little to see in the cell. A metal door closed it off. She ran her fingertips along the surface. There was a small sliding panel at eye-level. She tested it, but was unable to open it from her side. Further down was a small doorknob, which she tried twisting. It did not move.

She frowned, and glanced around what little remained of the room. In one corner was a low wooden bench with a hole cut out the middle. She knelt down beside it, and grimaced at the stench of human waste.

Still, a latrine represented a potential escape route. She reached into the hole, as far down as she could. At about shoulder-depth, she found iron bars that prevented anything larger than fist-size from going past.

She pulled her arm out, and frowned at the substance on her glove. Without any other option, she wiped it off on the frills at her hips. She had more important things than fastidiousness or squeamishness to consider at the moment.

She stood, and turned back to the door. At that moment, she heard a scraping and a click. The metal door slowly opened. She adopted a neutral expression, and watched as a guard entered. He wore a dark blue uniform with silver buttons, similar to that of a Metropolitan policeman but with a dark blue forage cap in place of the standard Custodian helmet. Insignia on the cap and uniform indicated he was part of the Royal Prison Service.

"I suppose that you are here to apologize for the inconvenience, and allow me on my way?"
The guard chuckled.

"Not so much, C'mon."

Ange noticed that, just outside the door, stood a second officer. This one held a long wooden truncheon in one hand, tapping it menacingly against his free hand.

"I see. I would appear to have no choice."

The first guard nodded, and backed carefully out of the cell. Ange casually followed him out into the hallway.

Like the cell, it had stone brick walls, ceiling, and floor. It was dimly lit with small, weak electric bulbs hanging along one wall, she counted six more metal doors like hers along the length of the corridor. On either end were iron gates.

For a brief moment she considered resisting. One guard armed with a keyring, and a second with a truncheon, would prove an interesting fight, but by no means an impossible one. Then, she noticed the subtle openings along the far wall, through which the muzzles of guns pointed. She counted six,. Her frown deepened.

"Shall we," she quipped, turning and striding down the corridor toward one of the two gates.

The guard with the truncheon laughed.

"This is gonna be a fun one," he said.

The gate opened, and four more guards, three armed with truncheons, stood on the other side. The first guard pushed her bodily through the gate. She glanced back at him with a frown.

"That was unnecessary. I have no intent to fight you."

"Bullshit," he spat. "You have every intent to fight and resist with every inch you're given."

Ange shrugged, and turned back.

"Well. If you would be so kind as to lead the way. I am, after all, a guest here."

The four guards with truncheons formed into a loose formation, and the first guard gestured toward another door.

"Ladies first," he sneered.

Ange glanced at him with a curt nod, and walked over to the door. The iron gate was closed and locked by the other apparently unarmed guard.

The door opened into yet another stone-brick corridor. This one had only two metal doors along one wall, and a third at the far end. Ange walked down the length of the corridor to this door, before a heavy hand clasped her shoulder.

"Nope, you're going too far dear," the first guard sneered.

Ange glanced back at him, her frown darkening.

"You could have simply informed me which door we were to use."

The armed guards laughed.

"That wouldn't be any fun at all though," the first one said, genuinely amused.

He released her shoulder, and opened the first of the two doors.

Within was a wooden table and two chairs, one on either side.

The first guard pushed her roughly from behind, and pointed at the chair on the far side of the table. The wall behind the table was solid, with no windows. There was an electric light hanging from the ceiling, over the chair she had been directed toward.

"A gentleman would pull the chair out."

"For a lady, yeah."

One guard with a truncheon chuckled, and stepped inside the door, which was closed by one of the others.

Ange shrugged, and sat.

The two guards stood on either side of her.

"Is this going to take long?" Ange asked. "I am expected at tea in an hour."

Both guards laughed.

"I suspect you'll miss your date," the first one said in an amused voice.

Ange turned to the table. It was solid. Likely made of oak. She had not had the chance to look, but she suspected that it was bolted to the floor. It would be too tempting otherwise to flip the table up and onto what she suspected would be a police interrogator in the other seat.

She looked up. The light above her was a touch brighter than when she had been brought in. She felt warm. She suspected that as the light increased, the heat would as well.

The door opened, and she looked at the person who entered.

She wore a white uniform, which contrasted sharply with her brown skin and black hair. A black shirt and yellow tie complimented the severe look. Her blue eyes were partly concealed behind thin-framed glasses.

The woman strode to the chair and sat gracefully. Behind her, one of the two guards with truncheons entered the room, and the fourth, still outside, closed and locked the door.

"Name," the woman asked in an even voice.

"Gazelle Flint," Ange replied.

"Your name," the woman said, showing no expression.

"On the Black Lizard Planet, we do not bother with names."

"Age."

"It has been three and one half years since I was hatched from an egg."

Gazelle didn't react to the answer, other than to jot notes down on her clipboard.

"You are a Commonwealth spy, and you were captured in the act of espionage."

"I am a fugitive from the Black Lizard Planet. I was out for a stroll, when I noticed a young woman waving at me from an upstairs window."

"You were found in the same house as a corpse with her throat slashed open."

"I believe the only one more surprised at that was the poor girl with her slashed-open throat," Ange replied evenly.

Gazelle made more notes on her clipboard.

"Give me the names of your comrades. There are, we believe, four other young women on your team."

"I know of many young women. Shall I randomly select for you four names?"

"We can do this one of two ways, Ange le Carré: You can give me the names of your four comrades, and we will treat you with leniency. We cannot release you outright as we have many questions for you, but your stay here will be comfortable. On the other hand, we can do this the hard way."

"I believe that anything worth having is worth a challenge, do you not?"

A thin smile crossed Gazelle's lips.

"Yes, I do in fact."

She stood up and the guard behind her unlocked and opened the door.

"Escort Ms. le Carré back to her cell."

Gazelle turned and left the room.

"So may I go now?" Ange asked, glancing up at the unarmed guard.

"Yeah, I think your interview is over."

"I am glad. I was beginning to feel a bit chilly. You may consider installing more efficient radiators."

"C'mon," he snapped, gripping her forearm and tugging her to her feet. Ange frowned.

"Impatient and impolite. I believe that should like a word with your supervisor."

"You already had one, and she wasn't sympathetic."

Ange was led back to the cell she woke up in, back along the same path as before. She did not fight or resist, and neither she nor any guard said anything. When she was back in the cell, a female guard entered carrying a tray with a hunk of bread and a mug of water. She was dressed like the male guards, with a long black skirt replacing the pants.

“Supper,” she said simply, and placed the tray on the ground. She then left, followed by the other guards. The door was closed and locked.

Ange sat down on the cot, choosing to ignore the food and water.

 

--Day Two--

 

Whether or not she had intended to, Ange had fallen asleep at some point. She became aware of this as she found herself jolted out of sleep by the cell door opening, and a swarm of guards piling into her room. Barely awake, she became aware of many sets of hands grabbing at her. A fraction too late, she fought back. She lashed out with a foot, connecting with some part of a guard’s anatomy. She heard an agonized grunt, and felt a hand release her. It was quickly replaced by two more.

Despite her struggles, she soon found strong hands clasped around her wrists and ankles, gripping her hair and her ass, and several on her back. She was lifted off of the cot.

Ignoring composure, she grunted and hissed in her futile struggles,

“God damned wildcat,” she heard a guard curse. She found perverse satisfaction in this.

The mass of guards awkwardly navigated through the door, Ange not cooperating for a second. At least one guard was slammed hard against the door-frame, collapsing and being left behind.

The female guard she remembered from earlier unlocked and opened the iron gate she had not been through earlier, and then scrambled out of the way.

The room beyond had three more doors. They forcibly carried Ange over to one, which the female guard again opened.

Inside was a contraption that was hinged, to be either a chair or table. There were shackles at the ankles and the wrists. It was currently set as a table. On a shelf beside this was an electric hair-clipper, connected by a heavy black cable to the wall.

Ange made a sound of disgust, and redoubled her efforts to escape. She was thrust down against the floor, and the hands took turns grasping at and ripping her clothing. She cried out, kicking and punching. She kicked one guard’s crotch, and he collapsed to the floor with a pained groan. She felt another guard’s nose crack under her fist.

There were too many guards. Despite her struggle, she was unable to win. She felt her gloves peeled off of her hands. She felt her boots tugged away from her feet. Her bodysuit was gripped and ripped until she was naked, and then she felt her bare flesh pawed by the hands of the guards. Roughly, she was pulled off the floor and shoved onto the contraption.

She continued to fight. One guard staggered back after she thrust her heel into his face. Still, there were too many. One by one, her ankles and wrists were shackled down. Even then she fought, testing the strength of her bonds.

Another male guard walked over to the shelf and picked up the electric clippers. He touched the contact, and they buzzed. He walked over to Ange. Another guard made an adjustment to the table, and it split like a V, spreading Ange's legs. Her eyes went wide, and she struggled with all her strength.

“Might want to hold still. These are designed not to cut skin, but if you squirm around like that, there’s no guarantee.”

Ange stopped moving, turning a dark glare on the guard. She watched as he stepped to her, between her spread legs. He placed his hand on her lower abdomen, just above her pubes. He placed the clippers against her skin between her legs, and drew them up. Her skin tingled. She felt the blades as they sheared through her nether hair. She felt the hair fall away.

“You’re going to be in here a while, and we don’t want to hose you down every day, and we certainly aren’t going to give you the luxury of soap and shampoo. Easier to do this than deal with lice and other parasites,”

He finished, drawing the clippers up to his hand the final time. He moved the clippers away from her skin, and with his free hand, brushed the clipped hairs away from Ange’s freshly-shaved pussy. She drew back from his touch, and he laughed.

“No where to go, love. Remember,” he sneered, patting her pussy twice before leaving his hand there, “you could've avoided this by just cooperating yesterday.”

The guards around her laughed. He moved his hand off her body and took a step back. Another guard pushed her legs back together, and adjusted the contraption into a chair.

The guard with the clippers then walked around behind Ange, placing his free hand on the top of her head. She felt the clippers on the back of her neck. He ran it through the hair on her head, and Ange felt it cut free, tumbling down her ear and neck and shoulder.

“Well,” she said in a composed voice, “this is fine. As a resident of the Black Lizard Planet, I am unused to hair. It will, perhaps, be comfortable to do without it again, for a time.”

The guards around her laughed.

“Still got your fighting spirit,” the man shaving her head said.

Ange glanced at one of the guards lying on the floor, holding a nose gushing with blood.

“Perhaps you can ask your comrade there about my fighting spirit.”

The guard laughed.

She felt the last of her hair cascade down her body, except for her braid, and the tuft of hair it was secured to by the black ribbon. The guard walked around to her front, and leaned in close.

"This have sentimental value," the guard asked, tugging sharply at the braid.

"None," Ange replied in an even, cold voice.

With a few quick swipes, the guard cut it off of her.

"Might keep it as a souvenir," he sneered.

"Do so," Ange replied. "It will be the only thing you get from me."

The guard laughed again, and leaned back in, close enough that the tip of his nose brushed hers.

"We'll see about that," he said quietly, his free hand again brushing against her shaven pussy. Ange's expression darkened, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction otherwise. He laughed, and walked back to the table. He shut off the clippers, and set them down.

"Take her back," he ordered, then left the room with Ange's braid in his hand.

The guards grabbed her arms and legs firmly, and undid the shackles. She did not fight this time. They released her, except for her arms, and pulled her up. The concrete floor was cold against her bare feet, but Ange ignored this. She took a quick glance at the grey hair clippings that lay around the chair, then turned back.

"I believe that he needs further practice. I do not feel that the result is especially stylish."

The guards laughed. With one holding onto her forearm, she was led back out of the room, and into the chamber with three doors. The female guard, glancing at her with a look of contempt, unlocked and opened the iron gate. The guards led her back to her cell door, which was still open.

Another guard, holding a long truncheon, stood in front of the door. He leaned in close to Ange.

"You best watch your shit, bitch. Some of them guards you hurt were my friends."

"A shame they had such poor taste," Ange quipped.

The guard scowled, and placed the tip of his truncheon under her chin.

"Mind yourself. If I get you alone...."

He pressed the truncheon up, forcing Ange's head back. She maintained her disposition despite the pain.

"That's enough," another guard chided. The guard with the truncheon frowned, and pulled it back. When Ange lowered her face, he again leaned in close to her with a sneer.

"Remember. Watch your ass. I get you alone I'll tear it apart."

"I shall bear that in mind," Ange replied calmly.

The guard made an annoyed sound, and turned to leave.

Then the other guard shoved her into her cell. The door was closed and locked.

Ange took a step into the room, and when she was sure the door was closed, she took a deep breath. She shivered. It was chilly, but there was more than that.

She closed her eyes, and tightly wrapped her arms around herself. She bit back a sob, and managed somehow to prevent tears from leaking out of her eyes. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed onto the cot.

"Ange," she whispered very quietly. "Ange, please come to me. I do not know if I can hold out against this."

She opened her eyes, and looked at the door. Prayer would get her nowhere, she realized.

She managed to get to her feet, and used the latrine despite revulsion. Then she returned to the cot, and covered herself with the thin blanket on it. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep without crying.

Some time later, she did not know how long, she heard the door to her cell being unlocked. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up, the blanket still wrapped around her body. She took a deep breath to settle herself. She could not look frightened when the door opened.

When it did, the female guard entered. Her expression still spoke of contempt. She carried a tray with a mug and a hunk of bread, and a grey cloth under her arm. She knelt and placed the tray on the ground, then dropped the cloth, a long shirt, beside it. She stood up.

"Eat this time. You go too many days without they force feed you, and I wouldn't even wish that on the likes of you."

Ange didn't respond, simply watching her with a neutral expression. The female guard shook her head, turned, and left the room. The door was closed and locked behind her.

Ange stood, allowing the blanket to fall to the cot. She picked up the shirt. It was clean and not especially frayed. She slipped it on, and it covered her down to her knees.

Slightly more confident, she then examined the mug. It was water. It smelled normal. She took a sip, and it was cool, clear, and untainted by poisons or drugs.

She drank her fill, then examined the bread. It was fairly fresh and soft, neither mouldy nor maggoty, and tasted fine. Not delicious by any means, but safe. She decided the best option would be to eat. She wanted to keep up her strength, to fight and escape. That had to be her priority. She sat down on the cot, munching on the bread, and finishing the water. There was nothing left to do but wait.

 

--Day Three--

 

She found herself once again waking up to the sound of the door being unlocked. She braced herself for what might happen. When the door opened, three guards she did not recognize entered. Two carried shackled chains, one short likely intended for the wrists, the other longer and probably for the ankles. The third guard carried a truncheon.

“Stand,” the guard with the truncheon commanded.

Ange blinked and remained seated.

“I said stand, prisoner.”

“Did you?”

The guard with the truncheon frowned.

“I will not ask a third time.”

Ange remained seated.

The guards with shackles glanced awkwardly at the third. He pushed past them, and placed the truncheon against Ange’s cheek.

“I’ll overlook it this time. Heard about you, you know. I don’t really wanna hurt you. So I will ask just once more. Stand up.”

Ange stared at him without moving, and without speaking.

He shrugged, and glanced at the man with the shorter shackles.

“Those can wait. Help me out here.

Uncertainly, he placed them on the ground. The man with the truncheon shifted and grabbed at Ange’s leg.

Abruptly, she drove her knee up into his jaw. He grunted in anger and pain, and staggered back. The other two jolted in surprise. Ange was up off of the cot in a flash, driving the palm of her hand into the nose of the guard with the longer shackles, then kicked the other man in the balls, sending him to the ground with a pathetic mewl of agony. Two more guards with truncheons entered the cell. One swung at her, and she ducked under it. She punched his side. He grunted in pain, but did not fall. Ange came up, leading with her fist. She was hit from behind, and cried out in pain. She fell to her knees. A truncheon was placed against her throat, and she was pulled back roughly, choking her.

“You need to learn manners,” the guard hissed angrily at her.

The other guards grabbed at her legs, and fastened the shackles around her ankles. Then the guard behind her loosened the truncheon.

“Gonna let you go. Your legs are hobbled. You fight again I really hurt you, got it?”

Ange did not respond, but as she was released, she stood up, slowly, rubbing her throat.

Guards grabbed her arms, pulling them roughly behind her back. She gritted her teeth against the pain, but did not fight Soon her wrists were shackled as well.

“There. See, it’s easy if you don’t fight it.”

Ange did not respond. She also did not struggle or fight when the guard pushed her out the door. She was led, by a guard gripping her forearm a touch too tightly, down the hallway. An another guard opened the iron gate, and she was led through another of the three doors. In this room there was a chair with shackles at wrists and ankles, and an electric light hanging from the ceiling. Chains hung from the ceiling a little further in, with shackles on them. Another door was on the opposite side of the room.

Ange was pushed toward the chair, and her ankles and wrists unshackled. She elected not to fight, and was shoved into the chair, to which she was again shackled.

All the guards except for one with a truncheon left the room, and the door was locked.

Ange looked at him, and he impassively returned her gaze.

After a moment, Ange heard the other door behind her open.

“Well. You appear to be the worse for wear Ange le Carré.”

Ange craned her head as far as she could, but could not see behind her with the chair’s back.

“Gazelle Flint. Are you here to dirty your hands for a change?”

She heard the woman walk up directly behind her.

“I came to check on you.”

Ange felt Gazelle’s hand brush across the top of her head.

“You looked better before.”

“I rather think this look is quite fetching,” Ange replied evenly.

“Good. You’ll have it for a while, I believe.”

Gazelle’s hand left her, and she heard the woman step away from the chair.

The light above her turned on.

“Since you were cold in the other interrogation room, I thought perhaps this one would be more to your liking,” Gazelle said simply.

“Is that so? Well, we shall see.”

Gazelle said nothing more. The light increased in brightness.

Ange continued to stare at the guard.

She blinked. The light, and heat, was steadily increasing.

“Do you not intend to ask more questions?”

“She already left,” the guard said with a smirk.

Ange craned her neck again, but was still unable to see behind her. She frowned, and turned back to the guard.

“So, was this your first career choice?” Ange asked. The guard laughed.

Ange blinked. She felt sweat bead on her shaved head, neck, and back. The light and heat continued to increase.

“It is hot in here,” the guard casually remarked. “Good thing I only have a few more minutes on my shift. Too bad you’re not going anywhere.”

Ange resisted the urge to pant. She blinked as sweat dribbled into her eyes.

"It is... quite comfortable," Ange managed to say. The guard grinned.

"That so?"

She nodded.

"Yes. I could... I could remain here for many hours."

"Well, that's kinda the idea."

The door opened then, and the guard that entered looked familiar to Ange. She felt a stirring of fear in her gut. It was the guard that had threatened her the other day.

He smirked. He held two glass bottles filled with clear fluid. He handed one to the other guard.

"Water. Fresh from the ice-box. Nice and cool."

"Ah, thanks."

He uncorked it, and drank down half. Ange couldn't stop from watching. She realized how long it had been since she had been given water. Sweat dribbled down her cheek.

"Ahhh! That's refreshing," he said, winking at Ange.

The fresh guard chuckled, and drank too.

"Isn't it? Wow, it is hot in here. Sure glad I have this water."

The first guard laughed.

"And I am glad that I'm off."

He turned to Ange, and gave a mocking bow.

"Well, my dear. Enjoy the sauna."

He turned and left.

The light and heat increased. Ange squirmed. She blinked, and took in rapid, panting breaths. The guard took another drink, and smirked at her.

"Enjoying yourself?"
"I thought," Ange managed to gasp, "that you... intended to tear me... tear my ass. When we next met."

The guard laughed.

"Oh, eager? I like that. Yeah, seeing you all hot and bothered, helpless, your shirt sticking to your tits ... I'm hard as a rock here. I really wish I could, but orders are orders. Still, when I can I fully intend to stuff your ass so hard my cum'll shoot out your nose."

Ange blinked. She opened her mouth to retort, but somehow lost the train of thought.

The guard laughed again, and finished his bottle of water.

"That was refreshing."

He set the bottle down on a table by the door.

The light and the heat increased in intensity.

Ange felt her eyelids grow heavy. She fought against them closing, but the heat was growing too much for her. Her eyes closed.

Suddenly, she felt her shoulder violently shaken. The guard was frowning.

"Gotta stay awake, I am afraid."

She tried to swallow. Her throat was dry.

She blinked. Sweat drenched her body. She squirmed.

"Is... is this all... all the heat I can get?"

The guard laughed.

"Oh, we can make it hotter. We're not allowed to, not even for a worthless cunt like you. It isn't safe." His tone was sharp with sarcasm.

Ange's eyes barely stayed open. She nodded, intending to say something, but again couldn't get the words out.

The guard sat down, watching her. Ange's vision was blurry. Her body felt heavy. Her eyes fluttered closed. Again, she was jostled awake by the guard.

She lost track of time, between her eyes closing, and being jostled awake, and squirming in intense discomfort.

At some point, she felt her bladder grow heavy. She blinked, and groaned very softly. She shifted her weight, and pressed her legs together as well as she could.

The door opened, and a brief blast of cold air hit her. She felt her urethra spasm. A hot wet sensation spread along her thighs.

She blinked, and looked at the guard. It was a different guard. He had a bottle of water as well, and had taken a drink. His nose wrinkled, and he looked at her in disgust. He said nothing, but sat down.

Ange groaned, and closed her eyes. Immediately her shoulder was shaken. The guard, wearing an expression of deep revulsion, frowned at her before returning to his seat.

This continued several more times. After a while, the door opened once more, and three new guards entered. They walked over to the chair and unshackled Ange. They pulled her up, and dragged her out of the door.

She shivered. Her body was drenched in sweat. Piss dribbled down her legs. She felt ice-cold.

She was only vaguely aware of being returned to her cell. When she felt herself dumped on the floor, and heard the door slam closed, she blinked. She glanced around slightly confused. Then she saw a tall mug sitting beside her cot. She crawled over to it and picked it up.

It was water. She tipped the mug against her lips, desperately drinking, not minding the water that spilled down her chin and chest.

She allowed the empty mug to fall to the floor, managed to crawl into the cot, and passed out.



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