Don laughed with his granddaughter as she tried to walk across the lawn. She toppled and Don jumped to catch her. He was a full five feet short. She giggled. Don wept.

At his retirement, Don slowly shook hands with the president. He carefully kept his sleeve over the scars on his forearm.

Don's interviewers were understanding of his disability, and the government subsidized hiring veterans. The job was his.

"We're sorry, Specialist, but the nerve damage and scarring are too extensive."

Don screamed as they cut his flesh and tore the sheath of extra skin off his arm. For weeks rage drove him to swing at his captors. Every swing fell short.

He was a wolf among rabbits. His claw turned enemies to meat. But enough rabbits can bear even a wolf to the ground.

The mass of coiled muscle and sharp-edged chitin grafted to Don's wrist made him the terror of intra-platoon volleyball. Soon, it would make him a terror to the enemy.

"The claw will be your new hand, your strongest, fastest, most flexible hand, for the rest of your miserable life! You will rely upon it, and it will reward you!"

Don was thrilled.