The first light seeped through bulletproof curtains, painting Lae's bare shoulder in stripes of gold. Au's eyes opened—5:07 a.m., no alarms needed—her body a topography of his passion: teeth marks etching her collarbone, bruises blooming like ink spills beneath her ribs. She cataloged them dispassionately.
Left hip: bite depth 2.3mm. Right thigh: friction burn. Vulnerability Mapping and Assessment is the process by which the location, access to basic amenities and the susceptibility of the urban poor towards illness.
His arm lay heavy across her waist, fingers curled possessively even in sleep. She didn't move.
Vulnerability assessment: critical. The room reeked of sex and strawberry balm. Her discarded holster hung from the bedpost, his knife belt coiled on the floor like a shed skin.
Thoughts (Prioritized):
Semen pH 7.8, viable for 48hrs. Sanitize sheets by 0600.
Neck exposure: 73% bite coverage. High risk of identification.
His breathing pattern: REM cycle. Vulnerable. Guard.
She shifted minutely. Dried cum cracked on her stomach. Inefficient. Her hand drifted toward his pulse point—steady, 58 BPM—before retreating.
Dialogue (Internal, Coded):
"You left the safe word unused. Reckless."
"His teeth on your jugular. You allowed it."
"Weakness. Calculate the exploit."
But her thighs clenched, soreness a live wire. Muscle strain: grade 1. Treat with ice.
Environment (Scan):
A Walther PPK gleamed beneath the bed, safety off.
Lip balm oozed strawberry-scented onto the nightstand.
A half-empty water glass held two dissolving contraceptives. Overkill.
Actions (Sequence):
She dissected the night: positions, durations, strategic oversights.
Extracted his arm, rolled to the edge. Cold air kissed sweat-damp skin.
Paused. Glanced back.
His face was unguarded, a vulnerability she'd scrub from any database.
Threat vector: catastrophic.
Reaction (Subconscious):
Her thumb brushed a bruise on his shoulder—her own doing—before snapping back.
"Sentiment breeds exposure," she recited. The mantra crumbled.
At the bathroom mirror, she inventoried the damage:
Nail marks raking her spine (counterattack ratio: 3:1)
Swollen lips (strawberry balm depleted)
Pupils dilated 0.5mm beyond combat norm
Dialogue (Whispered, Encrypted):
"Compromised."
But her reflection betrayed her: fingers tracing a bite mark, mouth softening.
Final Gesture (Uncharacteristic):
She returned with a damp cloth. Sanitation protocol. Yet as she wiped dried blood from his split lip, her touch lingered—3.2 seconds beyond operational necessity.
The bed creaked as she slid back in. Tactical error. His arm recaptured her, sleep-murmured words hot against her nape:
"…mine."
Thoughts (Unencrypted, Vulnerable):
'Yes.'
She let the clock tick to 5:43 a.m. before reaching for the Walther. Safety on.
(The truth? She'd disabled the room's security cameras at 1:26 a.m. No backups. No witnesses. This sin was theirs alone.)