Dying Intruder: SF/F

The soggy drip sound of his shirt began to get on her nerves. Damn the man. If he had to choose someplace to bleed to death, why did it have to be her hidey-hole? He didn't know she was there, of course. Not that she thought he'd have had the courtesy to crawl elsewhere to die; dying people were notoriously inconsiderate. But he might have avoided her as he had avoided the other more openly lived-in squats that he must have passed on his way between here and the torture chamber that had given him those bone-deep wounds along his back. She'd only seen them because she had given in to her curiosity. He hadn't sounded like the polizi or the other squatters trying to take on her territory. One of them clomped in--


Inspiration: "soggy"
Story Potential: low
Finished Length: novel
Notes: tired.