When you wake up, the first thing that you're aware of is how awful you feel, thanks to…
You've got a headache that feels as though someone is trying their best to drive an ice pick through your temple.
You sit up, groaning and gripping the bed as the room tilts and spins around you. What Michelle had referred to as a "nightcap" was more like a full set of pajamas, plus an elegant dressing gown and a pair of fluffy slippers. You briefly wonder how she's doing, but it doesn't seem unlikely that her augmented body is able to process alcohol at a better rate than your own.
It doesn't seem particularly fair, either, but you're too hungover to feel bitter.
The second thing you notice is that there's a slight gap between your curtains. You're aware of this because the ray of light shining through that gap and into your eyes is probably the worst thing you've ever experienced.
You carry out a quick examination of your general condition. You're wearing clothes, which is a positive discovery. Even better, they're your own.
From the corridor outside, you hear footsteps. At any other time, they'd barely be audible. With your head in the state that it's in, however, it might as well be a runaway locomotive.
The footsteps stop outside your door. Suddenly, in addition to the nausea, you're filled with panic, coupled with the delayed realization of where you've just spent the night. It could be anyone out there.
What are you going to do?