well behaved women

Safety Protocols
Naruto
PG13
Itachi/Sakura for a kink meme, no actual porn. :( My attempt at cyberpunk, as requested.

She's spent six days working on cracking these firewalls, and it's giving her a fucking headache you wouldn't believe.



She's spent six days working on cracking these firewalls, and it's giving her a fucking headache you wouldn't believe.

The delicate touch, she's informed. Something easily replicatable. Something quickly-mutating. Adaptive code, and make it snappy.

Sakura kind of wanted to go fuck you and drop off the shadow net, but work has been hard to find since the Akatsuki protocols cracked down, and no matter how irritating the client, she needs the cash. They've paid her for a job before--hard credit, delivered by a courier, and she approves. She's broken Akatsuki security before. She can do it again. And if a little of her caution comes from vivid memories of the last bastard to get trapped and reeled in, his body dancing and crisping with electricity on public display, well no one will ever know.

Sakura isn't a coward. She just knows the risks a little too well to colour outside of the lines. She's precise. It's what sells.

Rumours have danced constantly over the net about official AI upgrades, cyborg conscience uploaded into the net as their bodies break down to give that extra edge--that human talent for improvisation. But in all her years she's never seen a glimpse of anything that measures up to those whispers, and she's heard less outlandish stories that came to nothing in the end. Sakura thinks she has more important things to worry about.

But she's settling to unplug and drop out of the 'net when she catches something, something that would be in the corner of her eye if she actually had them up here. The 'net's good at that--so immersive it's a little scary--but right now, all her senses humming on alert, she can't afford the illusion. Types out her own rapid-fire protections, gets ready to drop something nasty and ditch--

There's a flash of red.

Fuck, she mouths as she locks up, her body twitching back in its chair, eyes moving beneath the lids. Goddamn--and then she feels--

Like contact. Like electricity jerking down her nerve endings, and she feels that all the way back skinside. Overrides should kick her out in two minutes if she's lucky and it hasn't cut that off, too. The figure takes form from soot-black flutters like wings, static dancing at the edge of his form. A man, she thinks, and wonders if he's pure net or a plugin patrol, and if he looks like that in the real world.

If he did, whoa. More likely that he--or it, rather--was someone's fantasy, cooked up from a collision of programming and overheated imagination. For good advertising, because the lawful VR experience went big of visual details before anything else so far. Her representation even on the visual face is just a bundle of signals, sleek and contained and steely--safely anonymous.

It regards her from scarlet, eerily patterned eyes steadfastly. It looks solid. It creeps her out. And then it reaches.

Contact sizzles, jolts electricity through her, deep inside her. It's unravelling her, looking for an anchor or source code, peeling her apart like paper wrapping, easy as anything. It doesn't hurt and she doesn't know what it does feel like except for scary as hell, because when it figures out what it wants it can tear her apart--leave her a drooling shell--

Well, at least you'll be gone for the example they make out of your corpse, she thinks, flash of morbid humor, and its pause as though he'd detected the shift stalled the energy dancing along her neurons long enough for her to grope for rational thought or something like it. She has this weird image of it with its hand buried inside her human chest, playing and picking to see what makes her jump, and it lightly--ridiculously delicately, all things considered--unfurls the last of her defenses just as her failsafes trigger.

Quick as a thought, the spark follows her, but she's dropping too hard and fast to catch up with. One last jolt, tangling with her trail, and she drops back into her body in time for the energy to detonate in her body. Her whole frame shudders and spasms, wracking her with the best orgasm of her life, and she drops back into her chair, staring at her blank screen gasping and fumbling to unplug. Shit, she thinks. Shit. What the hell was that?

Not safe, that's for damn sure. She has to move, now.

She touches her face to check for blood under her nose. Her fingers are trembling.

In just a second. In just a second, she'll have pulled it together. She swears.