People liked to touch him. Not in the sort of way that he'd seen Emma touch Jefferson at their dinner, but in the sort of way that made it clear that no matter how big and capable he was, he was still just a thing to be put back in cryofreeze. His previous supervising agent had slapped him across the face to get his attention. So the pat to his cheek did little more than cause him to blink.
The warmth started again and this time the memory came on a little faster. He was moving, dodging, ducking--something was coming for him and he had to evade it. But he didn't make it and the thing caught him so hard on the back that it sent him crashing to the ground.
A boot planted itself against his neck. "Нет." The voice was thick and sounded like glass being ground up. "Опять. Лучше. Или вы будете кровоточить."
The boot disappeared from his neck, only to come crashing into his rib cage beneath the metal arm that was still so new--new?--a moment later. He let out a yelp and rolled onto his side. "Стоп! Пожалуйста." The words came out slow and clumsy, the language not quite familiar yet. (Wasn't it? Hadn't he always known Russian?)
A flash of silver slid in front of his eyes and a dull thunk hit the floor. A knife. In the floor. He shuddered.
"Let me put in terms you can understand," the voice said. "This is knife. You will learn to use." The knife lifted out of the floor, leaving a visible entry spot. He scrambled to his feet, moving back from the trainer.
The trainer flung the knife at him, and he had only a heartbeat of time to move out of the way and yank it out of the wall. They sparred for a forty-five second period before the trainer got the knife out of his hand and a blade pressed against his side.
"Was better," the trainer said. "But not enough." He slashed the knife along the asset's side. He dropped to the ground with a hiss of pain, flesh hand slipping along his skin in his own blood. "I give you two minutes and then we go again."
A hand gripped his jaw and forced him to look up. "And this time, little boy, if is not better?" The fingers gripped tighter. "This time, you will bleed until there is no blood left." The hand shoved him back, sending him sprawling across the floor.
The experience faded once more into the room with the technician, his handler, and the other asset. He took a deep breath. This, he understood. Pain and training. But it hadn't ever occurred to him that he hadn't always known Russian, that his arm had ever been new.
"So," Agent Barnes said, "the programming is being rewritten to remove the flaws?" He supposed that made sense. Although why it required dredging up these--maybe they were false positives things that had never happened but the programming had inadvertently created in his mind. That would explain the boy with the turkey, at least. Maybe he really had always had the metal arm and the memory of training had been another inadvertent creation. Yes, much better to get rid of the false things. He could see the good in that.