[ He can't remember much of anything when he sleeps. He knows he has to dream, the others in Battery City tell him that he's supposed to, but he can never remember anything from the night before. He has to, because sometimes when he wakes up, he's tired, like he's been running all night. Like his dreams are there but being suppressed. Like there are things there that he can remember about color and love and music, and the medication's hiding them away. Jesse scrubs at his face with his hands, breathing in deeply. ]

That's -- it's not supposed to be my name. I'm not supposed to answer to that. [ It comes out like a pre-recorded message, words he's been fed rather than came up with himself. He pauses, and says quietly, looking up at her nervously: ] It's Jesse. My name is Jesse. That's what it's always been, and I'm not supposed to...

[ His head aches, and he coughs, wincing. ] But I used to be that. [ It comes out hurriedly, like he knows he's not supposed to say it and he's saying anyway. ] I used to have a family, I used to -- it used to be me and Party and Kobra and Jet and -- and our Girl. [ He isn't thinking straight at all, coming off the medication and getting used to seeing without the haze, and he's not even sure where he is. He flinches back, like he's anticipating pain for saying what he said.

Reintegration therapy is usually pretty effective, back in Battery City. ]