"Jesus Christ," is what they mutter, but at least that's all it is: a mutter. They have to look at their own hands, instead, and carefully set down the sandwich because they kinda just punched a hole through it with metal fingers. The flesh hand, still clean, goes up over their hair to still the shaking.

Memory loss is kind of a thing they're familiar with. And are terrified of. After their hair, that hand goes into a pocket, where one of their memory stones is, just a couple taps as a reminder that it's there and they can at least get those memories back if they have to. The only thing that's keeping them remotely steady is the knowledge that Morgan did it to himself. No Chair. No straps.

(Technicians. I don't know what you mean, Asset. Others.) The Russians that the Asset hadn't forgotten about. Given what Ghost said, and what Morgan was doing.... They put their head down in their hands. Hand. There's mustard on the metal one, which means there is now a little mustard in their hair, fuck. (I really didn't need you making that connection just now, buddy. No.)

Paper folding. That's a better idea right now. Soldat works their way halfway through folding a crane in their mind before they can pick up the sandwich again. They're not sure if eating is a good idea, so they just put it back on the picnic basket, themselves, for now, and only pause to lick the mustard off their damn fingers before saying: "Okay. Okay, go on, then."