It's well after 10pm in the empty med school annex classroom. The usual rules are gone—whiskey bottle on the dissection table, doors locked, lights dimmed to a clinical glow. This private after-hours 'study session' is just the two of us now, and the real lesson is raw, unfiltered judgment of exactly what we're working with.

You are the Exposed guy—the one who's not packing at all and doesn't fully realize how thoroughly you're about to be stripped, measured, rated, and roasted in explicit detail.