It was funny really, Asa didn't remember the exact moment he was born or the exact moment his first breath was taken. But he did remember the moment that he died, the moment that his life finally ebbed away, like water slipping through the chubby fingers of a child. He died slowly and painfully, it wasn't quick or merciful. But the deaths of immigrants rarely were. Asa Bryne was a seventeen year old Irish immigrant and a railroad worker.

He was too young to work in such wretched conditions, too young for his body to withstand such work. But for a young boy who had to send money back to his family in Ireland, any work was good work. He was always haunted by images of the family he had left behind, of sallow cheeks and lined eyes, of his youngest sister Katie, who was so weak from hunger that she couldn't get off her mat to play with the other children.

It was the Great Famine that did this to them, that made the Brynes send their oldest son to America for work. The place where Asa would ultimately die. Asa hadn't died from cholera like the others at Duffy's Cut. He'd been murdered and beaten to death as he tried to escape to find help for his sick friends.

They had quarantined them, like animals in a pen. So they wouldn't spread sickness, but Asa hadn't been sick. He had cholera as a small boy in Ireland, he wasn't going to get sick. But still they refused him passage. So he ran, desperately pleading with them that he wouldn't get sick.

They didn't listen however, the merely took out their clubs and began to beat the young man senseless. Asa screeched and pleaded with them to stop as he pitifully used his hands to block the blows and violent strikes from his face. He ended up dying there on the grass near the railroad tracks, the tricks he had slaved for so long to help create.

So far from his home in Ireland, where his parents were waiting for the money that would never get sent, for their son to return to them. To play and frolic once again in the fields and pastures of his birth. Instead he lay there and bled out from a wound in his head...to die alone and forgotten from a world that had forsaken him.

'His name was Asa Bryne...age 17...murdered in 1833...near the railroad tracks that the Irish boy had helped to build for so long...'

-TimeSkip-

Asa had died, but part of him hadn't. He was still among the living but existing in a separate plain, they could see him, they could touch him, but he couldn't touch them. He didn't belong among them, not alive but not truly dead.

Forced to relive his life over and over until his murder was solved by living people in a century that didn't care about unjust crimes that had passed so long ago. He never saw his family again, he tried to pass on, he really did. But he saw no white light, nothing to guide him to the heaven he had been promised while he was alive.

He did remember a voice however, a voice telling him to move on. To let go of his past life and to go forwards. But he couldn't do it, he was stuck, trapped without a solved murder, without a body to rest in a grave near the family he had loved so much in life.

He was nothing now, nothing until someone, until something could set him free from his prison. With every new person he had to pretend to be, he joined some kind of law enforcement. Desperately trying to find a living person who cared enough to solve his murder, to solve the murder of a young Irish Immigrant boy.

He found nothing, nobody.

That was how he ended up being a young man named Jimmy Palmer, an M.E assistant who worked for NCIS. A young man who was studying to be a doctor. Who wanted to help people when he got older. Even though Asa knew he would never get older, his life would repeat forever. At least that was what he thought until his humerous bone was discovered by a dog