Shaun Livingston glanced around the team plane anxiously. It seemed like everybody was asleep, but somebody with their head down with their headphones on could just be trying to focus on the next game. Even if that were the case, there was no better time for Shaun to undertake his plan, here at two in the morning.
At least one teammate was definitely asleep. Stephen Curry lay sprawled across multiple seats, snoring. Shaun grabbed his bag and moved to the seat across from Stephen, armed with an excuse that the charging port on his previous seat wasn’t working right. He even plugged his phone into the port here to make it look more convincing. With luck, though, he wouldn’t have to convince anybody of his choice of seats.
Stephen’s exposed ankle was right in front of where Shaun sat. It was hardly covered by a white ankle sock. Shaun retrieved his tools from his bag and got ready to begin his work. Part of his brain knew that what he was about to do was wrong, but that part had long ago been made subservient to the part that desired nothing more than personal glory.
Shaun took the small chisel and placed it against Stephen’s ankle. Then, with an equally small hammer, he began to tap the chisel into Stephen’s anklebone. At the first tap, Stephen shifted slightly in his sleep, but Shaun knew from weeks of observation that Stephen was an extremely deep sleeper who would wake up for almost nothing. Shaun continued cautiously but confidently, moving the chisel to another part of the ankle to inflict subtle yet crucial damage to the underlying bone. This process continued for several more minutes.
Shaun giggled madly to himself as he put away his tools and moved to his original seat. “Now I’ll be the starter,” Shaun whispered to himself. “It will be my ring…mine!”