"That's kinda. Shitty," the Sergeant says. "You can get used to a lot of things, but that's not one I'd want to... you know. Get used to." He sounds distracted. His brain is still working on the whole "why is this sensation familiar" thing.

(The fucking mask.)

When it finally clicks, more than one thing clicks at the same time, because that's a Soldier feeling, not a Sergeant feeling. Both hands come back up to tear the shirt off-- thankfully the shirt doesn't actually tear-- and hurl it across the room. The Soldier then runs both hands down its face, as if making sure it's still there, and only then focuses on Scarlett with a wince. On her shoulder, not her face, and when it speaks again, there's no more Brooklyn in its voice.

"Fuck. Sorry."