Six weeks. Six weeks of tests, interrogations, and having nothing else to do but watch the TV-screen, where reporters were talking incessantly about him and all others. But Murphy didn't care about any of that. He had been gone for sixteen years. His son would be in his late twenties, his wife probably remarried,... he'd not only enter a world he doesn't know, but his own family would seem alien even to him. It gave him mixed feelings about wanting to leave. Of course he was anxious to see his family again, but at the same time he wasn't sure if he wanted to. It was this uncertainty that almost drove him to madness. And it didn't help when the TV-reporters kept talking about the "Forty-Four Hundred". Such a large group of people, who each disappeared over the course of the past century, and none were any older than when they left... of course it caused a lot of panic among the general public. So hearing many of these people call him and the 4399 others "freaks" (when they're nice), it made it even harder for him keep his sanity. But he knew that if he went crazy, it would only make things worse for him. He'd be locked up, kept away from everybody. And if he were to see his wife or son again, it would be from behind the bars. That was something he couldn't do to them. So he stood his ground. He would be patient, he would keep his cool... and soon enough a lawyer came through, demanding the release of the 4400.
Everyone was given something which Murphy liked to call a starters' kit. They all received forms which could help them find jobs, a small amount of money just to get started, and some clean clothes. In addition to all that, they were all assigned a number. Murphy thought that was ridiculous, but he realized soon enough what the significance of those numbers were. While his own wife and son might still recognize him, he might not immediately recognize his much older wife, nor his now adult son. While he understood the necessity, he didn't like the idea of having to be recognized as a number, or recognizing his family by a number. He decided to go with it anyway, and got in line to receive his kit.
Murphy was counting down the people before him. All of the ones who left the line carried a stack of papers, an envelope, and a blue card with a number printed on it. After a long wait, it was finally Murphy's turn. The man at the desk gave him a stack of papers, an envelope with money, and... that was it. He didn't receive a number. This didn't make sense to him.
"Excuse me." he said, "Shouldn't there be a number for me?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy." the desk-man said, "There's nobody to pick you up."
Murphy froze for a moment: "What do you mean, there's nobody?"
"We've checked. We didn't find anybody."
"That's impossible!" Murphy shouted, "There must be some mistake!"
"Sir, please calm down."
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" Murphy punched the desk as he spoke, with such a force it surprised the desk-man that he didn't break the desk.
"Sir?" one of the guards came up to Murphy, "Afraid we have to..."
"Stay out of this!" Murphy snapped at him.
One of the other guards reached for him, but Murphy smacked that hand away: "Don't touch me!"
Soon enough, his little outrage escalated to a brawl between him and all the available guards. Murphy fought back as much as he could, until one of them used a tazer on him. As he was tazered, he was reminded of that dream he had. When those bank-robbers shot him, nearly killed him if it wasn't for... that light? The light was immediately followed by the darkness of him passing out.