It had only been about 36 hours since the helicarrier had gone down. The asset hadn’t been out of cryo this long since the initial testing and experiment phase, and he was beginning to understand why: like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, The Asset was beginning to remember.
It came in flashes: sometimes no more than a sentence or two at a time. They were out of order, too. Eating spaghetti at a table across from a tiny blonde boy while a woman ... a mother... his mother(?) opened a bottle of pop. Then he was thirty stories up; a long-range sniper rifle balanced on his shoulder as he watched a fat politician through the sight. Then he was dancing in a crowded dance hall, two women seeming to vie for his attention while he daydreamed, staring out the door, as if he was waiting for someone else to show up.
On the subway he had found a long-forgotten, ratty hoodie; it would have to do for the time being. He found someone under a bridge who had traded a pair of blue jeans for his le