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Description

(It's high time I started uploading art that isn't necessarily 'canon' to my stories. Most of my characters are used in RP outside of DA and their original settings. Cassie most of all! So, if I post a picture that is part of her original story, I'll put her name in the title. This one is just an unrelated scenario.)

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The prisoner - unlike most of the other rowdy, defiant convicts you are usually forced to deal with - did not resist in the slightest. When you arrived at her tiny cell to retrieve her as ordered, she scrambled to her feet as hastily as her shackles would allow, clearly terrified of you but wanting to be as obedient as possible. Her shirt was already gone - not too unusual - her bare chest clammy with anxiety and stress. The harness panel gag that silenced her and enclosed around her head like a leather cage looked much too tight. They must have done a number on her to make her this subdued. Usually you’re wrestling with a furious, bucking woman who strains at her shackles and fights you tooth and nail when you move inmates around the maximum-security prison facility, but this little thing just padded along on her bare feet, eyes glued to the floor when she wasn’t peeking furtively up at you through her shaggy curtain of blue hair. Only when she looked up to see where she was being taken did the little convict let out a small, muffled whimper of alarm behind her gag, stumbling and nearly tripping forward over her own leg irons. Long Term Storage.

Like most of the other inmates in the max-sec facility, Prisoner 52213 was here for life. Her crimes against The State had been so heinous that she was deemed a danger to society, and sentenced to spend the rest of her days in constant suffering and confinement in the depths of a vast, inescapable maximum-security prison complex. The cuffs on her wrists, ankles and neck are permanently welded, constructed from a nearly indestructible chromium alloy, imprinted with her prisoner identity and sentence. She has been given the Ambrosol serum, freeing her from most biological needs and locking her at the age she was at when it was received - she’s still just nineteen years old in mind and body, but there’s no telling how long she’s been imprisoned within the system without looking at classified records. Time tends to lose meaning for prisoners who are constantly subjected to long periods of absurdly stressful bondage, pushing their bodies to limits that would likely break them without the bolstering nanobot effects of the serum. Like the others, this girl was routinely tortured, degraded and abused without mercy - regularly chained down with her air cut off so that she could barely breathe, gasping for air for hours or days on end, made to lick the grit from the soles of their boots, tormented with shock-rods and nerve-inductors that cause agonizing lances of pain without actually doing any physical damage.

One might almost expect a further condemnation to time in LTS to be a respite from the constant cruelties of the guards. But it couldn’t be more the opposite.

With space at a premium and scores of effectively immortal prisoners contributing to the facility’s privatized funding, it is necessary to put certain inmates into Long-Term Storage as deemed fit by the complex and intricate calculations of the Logistics Department. Usually it’s the most badly behaved, difficult inmates who are issued this dreadful fate, but there are plenty of more impersonal reasons. Regardless, Prisoner 52213 had been consigned to Storage and you had been sent to fetch her. It was your job to move her from one cramped, stuffy cell to an even smaller, coffin-sized cabinet inset into a wall, flanked by hundreds, thousands more exactly like it. Even upon seeing her fate, the little prisoner had not resisted, only begun to tremble more noticeably and stifle the occasional, increasingly panicky whimper. She had just stared at you with huge, terrified, pleading eyes as you backed her into the tiny space, securing her ankle chains to the floor, lifting her wrists over her head to lock them to the ceiling.

As always, you were not told exactly how long this prisoner would be sealed inside the coffin-sized box. Constructed of the same virtually indestructible metal as the cuffs, the thick, vault-like door contains an inner timed locking mechanism. Once it is closed, the lock will engage and only then will the amount of time the Logistics Department had decided upon be revealed. There is no physical way to unlock the door until the timer is up. She could be in there for a matter of days… Or decades. Or worse. Because with the serum, there is no theoretical limit. You now hold her future in your hands. All that’s left to do is swing the door shut, seal her inside, and entomb her in total solitude, isolation, and sensory deprivation for however long the system decided. The fact that she’s here in the first place means that she implicitly deserves whatever she gets. Even though those huge, terrified blue eyes, brimming with tears as she struggles to keep from bursting into helpless sobs, don’t really look like the eyes of a vicious criminal. That means nothing. This is your job. She even seems to understand that, not begging or pleading except for the heartbreaking look in her eye and stifled whimpers behind her over-tight gag.

Maybe you could show her one last little bit of affection before locking her away. Reassure her a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be for so long. Maybe she was facing just a few days, or weeks, rather than a lifetime or six of being buried alive in a stifling steel box. It would almost certainly be the first sliver of kindness anyone has shown her since she first stumbled barefoot and bound into this inescapable hell. Though, maybe for that reason it might break her. On the other hand, you can also do just about whatever you like to the pitiful little thing. Leave her with a parting gift. Give her some sliver of hope, then crush it, slam the door and press your ear against the almost perfectly soundproof metal to hear her muffled, horrified, panicked screams, now utterly beyond all reach for decades or centuries… Or maybe forever. Entombed in total bondage and isolation for all eternity...

Granted, you could also probably pull some strings. Call in some favors. Get the little thing’s condemnation deferred. She would be your responsibility though. Her old cell is already reassigned, and there’s nowhere else for her to go - so she’ll probably have to live with you in your quarters. And you’ll still have to maintain the prison facility’s standard of restraint and discipline. The other, crueler guards might want a piece. And since she’d be technically off the records, you’d need to protect her from the possibility of some other terrible fate.

But still… The little jailbird would certainly be enamored with her new owner~

Description

(It's high time I started uploading art that isn't necessarily 'canon' to my stories. Most of my characters are used in RP outside of DA and their original settings. Cassie most of all! So, if I post a picture that is part of her original story, I'll put her name in the title. This one is just an unrelated scenario.)

-----

The prisoner - unlike most of the other rowdy, defiant convicts you are usually forced to deal with - did not resist in the slightest. When you arrived at her tiny cell to retrieve her as ordered, she scrambled to her feet as hastily as her shackles would allow, clearly terrified of you but wanting to be as obedient as possible. Her shirt was already gone - not too unusual - her bare chest clammy with anxiety and stress. The harness panel gag that silenced her and enclosed around her head like a leather cage looked much too tight. They must have done a number on her to make her this subdued. Usually you’re wrestling with a furious, bucking woman who strains at her shackles and fights you tooth and nail when you move inmates around the maximum-security prison facility, but this little thing just padded along on her bare feet, eyes glued to the floor when she wasn’t peeking furtively up at you through her shaggy curtain of blue hair. Only when she looked up to see where she was being taken did the little convict let out a small, muffled whimper of alarm behind her gag, stumbling and nearly tripping forward over her own leg irons. Long Term Storage.

Like most of the other inmates in the max-sec facility, Prisoner 52213 was here for life. Her crimes against The State had been so heinous that she was deemed a danger to society, and sentenced to spend the rest of her days in constant suffering and confinement in the depths of a vast, inescapable maximum-security prison complex. The cuffs on her wrists, ankles and neck are permanently welded, constructed from a nearly indestructible chromium alloy, imprinted with her prisoner identity and sentence. She has been given the Ambrosol serum, freeing her from most biological needs and locking her at the age she was at when it was received - she’s still just nineteen years old in mind and body, but there’s no telling how long she’s been imprisoned within the system without looking at classified records. Time tends to lose meaning for prisoners who are constantly subjected to long periods of absurdly stressful bondage, pushing their bodies to limits that would likely break them without the bolstering nanobot effects of the serum. Like the others, this girl was routinely tortured, degraded and abused without mercy - regularly chained down with her air cut off so that she could barely breathe, gasping for air for hours or days on end, made to lick the grit from the soles of their boots, tormented with shock-rods and nerve-inductors that cause agonizing lances of pain without actually doing any physical damage.

One might almost expect a further condemnation to time in LTS to be a respite from the constant cruelties of the guards. But it couldn’t be more the opposite.

With space at a premium and scores of effectively immortal prisoners contributing to the facility’s privatized funding, it is necessary to put certain inmates into Long-Term Storage as deemed fit by the complex and intricate calculations of the Logistics Department. Usually it’s the most badly behaved, difficult inmates who are issued this dreadful fate, but there are plenty of more impersonal reasons. Regardless, Prisoner 52213 had been consigned to Storage and you had been sent to fetch her. It was your job to move her from one cramped, stuffy cell to an even smaller, coffin-sized cabinet inset into a wall, flanked by hundreds, thousands more exactly like it. Even upon seeing her fate, the little prisoner had not resisted, only begun to tremble more noticeably and stifle the occasional, increasingly panicky whimper. She had just stared at you with huge, terrified, pleading eyes as you backed her into the tiny space, securing her ankle chains to the floor, lifting her wrists over her head to lock them to the ceiling.

As always, you were not told exactly how long this prisoner would be sealed inside the coffin-sized box. Constructed of the same virtually indestructible metal as the cuffs, the thick, vault-like door contains an inner timed locking mechanism. Once it is closed, the lock will engage and only then will the amount of time the Logistics Department had decided upon be revealed. There is no physical way to unlock the door until the timer is up. She could be in there for a matter of days… Or decades. Or worse. Because with the serum, there is no theoretical limit. You now hold her future in your hands. All that’s left to do is swing the door shut, seal her inside, and entomb her in total solitude, isolation, and sensory deprivation for however long the system decided. The fact that she’s here in the first place means that she implicitly deserves whatever she gets. Even though those huge, terrified blue eyes, brimming with tears as she struggles to keep from bursting into helpless sobs, don’t really look like the eyes of a vicious criminal. That means nothing. This is your job. She even seems to understand that, not begging or pleading except for the heartbreaking look in her eye and stifled whimpers behind her over-tight gag.

Maybe you could show her one last little bit of affection before locking her away. Reassure her a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be for so long. Maybe she was facing just a few days, or weeks, rather than a lifetime or six of being buried alive in a stifling steel box. It would almost certainly be the first sliver of kindness anyone has shown her since she first stumbled barefoot and bound into this inescapable hell. Though, maybe for that reason it might break her. On the other hand, you can also do just about whatever you like to the pitiful little thing. Leave her with a parting gift. Give her some sliver of hope, then crush it, slam the door and press your ear against the almost perfectly soundproof metal to hear her muffled, horrified, panicked screams, now utterly beyond all reach for decades or centuries… Or maybe forever. Entombed in total bondage and isolation for all eternity...

Granted, you could also probably pull some strings. Call in some favors. Get the little thing’s condemnation deferred. She would be your responsibility though. Her old cell is already reassigned, and there’s nowhere else for her to go - so she’ll probably have to live with you in your quarters. And you’ll still have to maintain the prison facility’s standard of restraint and discipline. The other, crueler guards might want a piece. And since she’d be technically off the records, you’d need to protect her from the possibility of some other terrible fate.

But still… The little jailbird would certainly be enamored with her new owner~