Consciousness came back gradually.

First came a vague feeling of awareness. A soft warmth where there had previously been the sting of frigid ice. No longer was there shivering, nor shaky adrenaline pumped by a terrified heart.

Sound seeped into the enhanced hearing. At first, it was static, which gradually cleared to the familiar sound of a baseball game in progress. But beyond that was something much more familiar: anticipatory voices, quickened heartbeats, rustling of papers and pacing footsteps.

Along with hearing came the first signs that something was wrong. Newly acquired eidetic memory brought to mind just how familiar that game sounded. It had already happened! Listening more carefully, the blips and additional static of a recording became plainly obvious. Along with these sounds came other sounds. Traffic had never been so loud, New York City had never had so many pattering feet and shouting voices.

The air tasted different. It had been the clear glacial gales that tasted of sterile emptiness. Never before had there been air so full of flavors and life.

Taking one last moment to prepare, blue eyes edged open.

Immediately the defenses went up. Evidently someone was trying to keep up the facade of a normal recovery room. These efforts did not take into account the superior senses that could smell the pure newness of the room, hear the activity outside, and see the imperfection of the replica.

They had noticed the stirrings of the room's occupant, a flurry of checks and confirmations were made. Then the door crept open.

Though at the first glance she looked perfectly 40s, it was obvious at the second that she was not. Flyaway hairs didn't want to cooperate with a last-ditch attempt at the classic 40s hairstyle. The fabric was far too high quality for so soon after the Great Depression. Most outstanding, though, was the tiny voice he could hear giving her encouragement and feeding her lines.

Having gotten all the information possibly available, it was time to escape.