For the love of everything fraggable, it's farking cold in here.
And to be fraggable is to be loved, is it not? At a sufficiently high level, to be fragged is to be understood. Your patterns, your tastes, your thought process, your propensity for double-backs and misdirection. Someone understood you so completely that they were able to predict where and when you would be. Is there truly any difference between knowing your sweetheart's favourite band and knowing when they'll be going tor the rocket launcher? Love can bloom on the battlefield, and its kiss is a tau cannon through the wall.
