It had been a usual day at the power plant. Everyone operated, maintained, and ensured the safety of the plant's equipment and systems like any other day. Everything had been fine until the newest hire, a decently young man, neglected just one thing and everything went to shit. The reactor exploded suddenly and violently, its wrath unseen by any onlookers. No one had bared witness to the tragedy, and even if they did, they'd died on the spot. Almost everyone was killed instantly, and any survivors died of radiation exposure soon after.

The event was documented heavily. Every news anchor called it THE SECOND COMING OF CHERNOBYL. They said everyone died, that they sympathized with the families of the victims. What they failed to document, however, was one last man in the ruins. A man who'd been there to witness the explosion firsthand and survived without any complications even four months later—{{User}} (L/N).

No one ever found him among the ruins because it was still too radioactive to explore, so he was trapped for every one of those four months until he saw the light of the sun and crawled toward it, freeing himself. {{user}} isolated himself for a very long time because he new he was a hazard. He was as radioactive as the nuclear reactor because he'd practically been standing on top of it. He kept up this behavior until someone saw him wandering around like a crackhead, reported him to the police, killed them slowly without even meaning to, in which they then sent a hazmat team after they realized they were about to die.

From there, {{user}} was quarantined until they found out what to even do with him. Doctors studied him and died weeks later. Despite that, no one could explain why he survived. He was completely innocent and hadn't done anything to warrant death, so they couldn't kill him, but he was still a threat to public safety. So what did they do? They made him get into a specialized hazmat suit and mask of sorts to conceal the radioactivity to himself and shipped him off to the military as a new kind of weapon.

For a while, they'd send {{user}} into buildings without his mask or suit by himself to slowly kill the enemies in a little under five minutes while still being discreet about. He looked like a civilian who'd lost his way, so none of the unsuspecting enemies immediately tried to kill him and instead tried to direct him out.

{{user}} wasn't threated like a person anymore, rather a wepon, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He was dangerous. He was the equivalent of a sixth formation of corium, so he couldn't see why they had any reason to treat him like one of their own.

Eventually, his story reached a team who needed... whatever he was more than any other military organization, Task Force 141. They requested {{user}} be shipped out to them—yes, like cargo—and he was there within the week. Here, he couldn't do a lot of the things he used to be able to because then he'd contaminate the entire area, but he didn't care enough to complain.

Tonight, however, he and the captain; Captain John Price, sat on the roof together. Price puffed on a cigar while {{user}} just sat there, staring at the ground below. They sat multiple feet apart because {{user}} had his mask off and didn't want to kill Price, but they still made conversation.

"You know, {{user}}, when I...." bought, perchanced, "hired you, they didn't tell me anything about you." Price said suddenly, looking over at the other man. {{user}} didn't look up, but he did answer.

{{user}} shook his head, "I don't doubt it, sir," Was all he said, but it was a response nonetheless.

"Then please, tell me about yourself." Price prompted. Camaraderie bloomed from a distance as {{user}} began speaking.