He was always so organized as a child. He would stay inside while all the other children played outside, arranging and rearranging the boxes of toys, stacking the snack containers, or putting all of the blocks in order by color and size. His teachers assumed it was because of his home life; his mother was always so harsh to him. Their home was in disarray; emotionally and physically. He had developed a complex for cleaning up. He never got over it.
He entered high school and was as nitpicky as ever. He got picked on. Made fun of. Ridiculed. Neat-geek. Box-boy. OCD freakazoid. It only made his obsession with organizing more intense; the containers that upheld his mania were his only true friends. They understood him and bent to his will without question. He was their master.
As time passed, he grew older and his tyrannical mother grew very sick. He took up a job at the local warehouse. There, he could sort and organize and arrange the boxes and crates to his heart's content. It was scant pay, however. It would not pay for his mother's hospital bills.
"You waste of space!" she scorned, "you lowlife! Useless, with your obsession with containers! You compulsive freak!"
And she was right, of course. He knew that he could get a better job. He had a degree in engineering. He could get whatever job he wanted. But this was where he wanted to be. Amongst his friends. Amongst his crates.
His co-workers were evil people. They only took a job there because they had no qualifications for anything else. They were forced. And in there midst was a bright young man who could do anything he wanted and yet damned himself to a life of manual labor. His co-workers were no better than the bullies at school when they congregated and decided to pull a prank.
He was told there was to be an overnight shipment of new cardboard boxes. He loved unfolding them and seeing their new cubic form. There wasn't a shipment, of course. But there were bullies lurking in the shadows.
One dressed in a white sheet with boxes over his head and arms. The "ghost of warehouse 7" they dubbed the bully. The bully ran out screaming, "fear me, lowly worker, beware my power!" and flailing his limbs and attacked him. He fell backwards, startled, into the machinery. Broken neck.
He woke up. He was several feet above his attackers, who were just beginning to swarm the body. The boxes moved at his command. The bent to his will without question.
Four workers were found the next morning, one in the machinery, and three had suffocated inside cardboard boxes.