Jason's point of view in Identity, during his time on the fishermen's boat. Word: Routine.
He was simply tinkering with the materials he had unearthed from the kitchen's junk drawer, absently, hands moving without any conscious direction. Routine.
A crewman—the former Navy sailor, he remembered—wandered in to retrieve a drink, watched for an instant, shouted an expletive.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, snatching the jumble of odds and ends from the nameless man's fingers.
"I don't know," the man replied, puzzled. "What is it?"
Dismantling the tangled mess carefully, the crewman paused, stared at him. "You're bloody serious, aren't you?"
Silence.
Tersely: "It was a bomb."