Fifteen years ago.

A ‘stupid specialist’ in the army who wasn’t stupid after all. A top secret box that needed to be carried. An improperly built worktable. Bad luck and a nasty habit of making good out of lousy situations. The recipe that made him.

Going through an inventory sheet for errors, the Specialist was called upon by a bearded man in khakis. He knew better than to ask questions about who anyone was. This was what they called a secret squirrel post.

The Specialist walked down the hall and outside to a pickup truck with a box in the back. One contractor looking person tells him it’s heavy, and that they needed a fourth person to help carry it. Seems legit. He dug his gloves out of his cargo pocket.

A short trip later, they’re in a workshop with the lights out. Just enough ambient light let them see the table. What they didn’t see was the two bolts on the floor, and the table leg that was held in place by gravity and nothing else. With these factors in place, the stage was set for things to go horribly wrong.

The first error was when one of the contractors slipped on the bolts. ‘The fuck!’ was all the warning they got before the first man fell into the second man. This sent the box and the table both tumbling into the Specialist.

A loud crunch could be heard. The soldier had just experienced his first broken bone, and it hurt very badly. Out of reflex, he used his good leg to kick the box as hard as he could. This was the bad idea that lead to the events being worth this current moment of suffering.

As the Specialist kicked the box, the lid hiding the item he was never meant to know about flew off. A red crystal floated in the space of the container. His first thought upon seeing the crystal, how is that thing heavy enough to break my leg. The thought about the case being heavier than the crystal didn’t have time to occur. The team of contractors fled the room. He was alone with a floating, glowing hazard. After a moment, a voice was heard.

“You are a good choice.”

No explanation was given.There was no time to ask before an electric current surged through the injured soldier. A moment later, the crystal shattered. The box was no longer on his leg, but the most confusing aspect of this when the contractors returned in hazmat suits and weapons, was the leg no longer being broken.

“You feelin alright?” one of the men asked.

“Pretty sure?” the soldier replied. He slowly stood to his feet.

“We need to get you checked out,” one of the men said softly, “you got pretty fucked up.”

The soldier shook his head. “Nothing happened,” he said through narrow eyes. “I helped some dudes carry a box and left.” He was certain that this was the best story to go with.

“Okay,” the lead contractor began to retort, “where’s our cargo?” he slowly clenched a gloved fist.

The soldier happened to notice this threatening posture that the man was now taking. “Unclench that fist and unfuck your attitude when you address me,” The soldier stated plainly to the man, “And avoid asking ‘or what’ cuz yeah, don’t say that shit.”

The contractors eyes widened with anger and disbelief. “Do you know who the fuck yer talkin to?” The man said as he turned his head towards the soldiers uniform to read his name, “Specialist, uh, Kramer.”

With no interest in continuing this conversation, the soldier nodded. “A bitch on a power trip? A guy who’s gonna get in more trouble for having an uncleared joe in a compartmentalized office?” A shrug and a turn, he began walking away.

A fist struck the side of his head.