The Reserves: Inprocessing (Part 3)

This is the chapter three of my online episodic story, The Reserves.

For the complete collection, please click here. Enjoy!

Clay walked into Pizza Pi through the pizzeria’s circular doors and took a deep breath through his nose.  He believed to his core you could tell how good the pizza would be at any given restaurant from the smell, and Raynor’s place was on track for greatness.

After a quick chat with a charming hostess, Clay weaved his way through the customers to an open seat at a community bench.  He snagged a menu with the pizzeria’s mathematical looking logo on it and looked around, catching site of Raynor in a spotless apron laughing with a group at a table halfway across the room.  Certain that he had time, Clay scanned the menu as he thought about what he would say.

“I recommend the calzones.”

“Gah!” Clay jerked back, startled.  Raynor sat grinning across from him, now in a flannel.  “How did you do that?” Clay said, doing a double take to the apron-clad Raynor on the other side of the room.  “Wait, how are you still doing that?”

Raynor laughed.  “That’s my brother, Jeff.  Identical twins.  We own this place together.”

“Who’s the boss?”

“Me, obviously—I was born first.”  Raynor winked.  “Glad you swung by.”

“If the pizza tastes half as good as it smells, so am I,” Clay said.  “What do you recommend?”

“Calzones,” Raynor repeated.  “Partly because they’re amazing, mostly because it drives Jeff insane.  He’s the purist.”

“Do you make a Hawaiian one?”

Raynor grinned.  “We don’t, but I’m going to make him make one just for you.  Thank you for this.  Back in a sec.”

Clay watched Raynor walk around a nearby couple staring into each other’s eyes and approach his brother.  He threw an arm over his brother’s shoulder, waving towards Clay with his other hand.  Jeff gave him a look of such misery, Clay felt guilty for his order. 

As Jeff and Raynor headed back to the kitchen, Clay put his hands on the table and tapped his index fingers, his thoughts turning back to his last few sleepless nights.

Raynor eventually made his way back and slid back into the seat across from Clay.  “Ok,” he said, “let’s talk.”

“What do you want me to say?” Clay asked.

Raynor shrugged.  “Whatever you need to.”

Clay looked down at his hands and thought about it.  Raynor let the silence between them stand, and Clay was grateful for the space.

“I don’t want to be in the reserves,” Clay said. 

“Why not?”

“Because they’re a joke,” he said without thinking.  As he realized what he said, he looked up in alarm.  To his relief, Raynor didn’t look offended.

“You’re not the first to think that,” Raynor replied.  “Won’t be the last, either.  We all grow up watching Alliance highlight reels, right?  When your abilities start to manifest, who wouldn’t want a little bit of the limelight?

“Thing is though,” he continued, leaning forward, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.  We only see the what their media folks send out—life in the Alliance has a lot of darker elements that don’t make it to the press releases.”

“I know all that,” Clay said.  He started folding and unfolding a paper napkin.  “My grandma served in the Alliance.  She’s told me plenty of stories.”  Mentioning his grandma made his guilt flare.  She had sounded supportive the last few weeks, but Clay still felt her disappointment.

Raynor raised an eyebrow.  “Then you know better than most what the reality is.  And you still want that?” 

Clay noted that Raynor didn’t ask about his grandma’s identity and chalked up another point for the man as a good person.  “Who wouldn’t?  Yeah, it has its rough parts, but still…”

“So when you get assigned to the reserves, you think your life is over.”

“Yeah,” Clay murmured, crumpling up the napkin.  “Something like that.”

“You’re right,” Raynor said.  Clay looked up and saw the man looking at him with open empathy.  “That’s a hard break to take.”

“Not going to try and convince me otherwise?”

“It’d be a little jacked up to try and convince someone that their dream failing to materialize isn’t tough,” Raynor said.  “Kinda sounds like that’s the situation here.  Am I wrong?”

Clay shook his head, but Jeff’s arrival spared him having to elaborate.

“Your abomination,” Jeff said, sliding the calzone in front of Clay.  “Please don’t ask me to make another, I feel dirty after making one.”  He shuddered.

“Thanks,” Raynor said.  “Think we can get a side of ranch, too?”

“Philistine,” Jeff said.

“It’s alright,” Clay said.  “Thanks for making this even though you didn’t want to.”

Jeff gave him a smile.  “Hey, least I can do.  Raynor says you’re going through a rough spot.  Helping people is always worth a little sacrifice.”  He nodded and turned back towards the kitchen.

“He seems like a good guy,” Clay said.

Raynor smiled.  “Best one I know.  He convinced me to sign on with the reserves.”

Clay narrowed his eyes in confusion.  “You had a choice?”

“Wildcards like me are in a unique position.  We’re not as dangerous as the sort that have no control at all, but we’re also not useful for the FBMA.  They like to have us register, but generally waive obligatory service in exchange for a commitment not to use our abilities.  You should eat that before it gets cold.”

Clay gave a start and grabbed his fork, cutting into the calzone.  “So you could, what, just live your life without the ten year service bit?”

“Yep, easy as that.”

“Why didn’t you?” Clay asked as he shoved a forkful of calzone into his mouth.  His eyes went wide.  “Wow.”

“Good?”

Clay nodded with excessive force, going for another bite.  “Your brother is a level ten pizza wizard.”

Raynor grinned.  “I’ll be sure to let him know—he’ll be thrilled.  I volunteered because Jeff reminded me that it doesn’t take super strength or the ability to fly to help people.  All you need is someone willing to pick someone else up when they need it.”

Clay scoffed.  “By sitting on cordon duty while the heroes do the real work?”

“If that’s what the situation calls for, yeah,” Raynor said.  “I’ve worked cordons for seven minor events and three major ones, and I’ve managed to help people every time.”

“What were the major events?” Clay asked, perking up at the thought of serious action.

“Doesn’t matter,” Raynor said.  “People needed help and we were there to give it.”

Clay sighed and shoveled more calzone into his mouth.  He chewed and swallowed before pointing the fork at Raynor.  “Ok sure, you helped a few old ladies cross the street.  Is that supposed to make me feel better when I could have been out there saving lives?”

A sad smile crossed the man’s face.  “Three.”

Clay blinked.  “Three what?”

“That’s how many lives I’ve saved since I joined the reserves,” Raynor said.  “But it’s the ones I lost that stick with me.”

Clay stared at the man, his calzone forgotten.  His mouth opened and closed a few times before his brain caught up.  “I had no idea…”

“Most people don’t,” Raynor said.  “Who has time for the little old ladies when they can focus on the Alliance instead?”

Clay squirmed.  “Is it too late for me to try and take my foot out of my mouth?”

“Given how little calzone you have left, I’d be surprised if there was any foot left in there.”

Clay gave a little laugh.  “How did you save those people?  I didn’t think you had control over your abilities.”

“I don’t,” Raynor confirmed.  “Just normal first aid skills.  The Captain is a big believer in getting us trained as first responders.  Most of us aren’t as good as an EMT, but we know how to stop bleeding and treat for shock.”

“What’s his deal?” Clay asked, grateful for the change in subject.  He started in on the calzone again.  “The guy had never seen me before, but he treated me like something you scrape off your shoe.”

Raynor winced.  “The Captain has his flaws, no one will deny that.  He’s not exactly the touchy-feely sort of team leader.”

Clay just raised an eyebrow.

“Ok,” Raynor said.  “He’s not touchy-feely in the least bit.  He’s irritable, judgy, and runs our chapter like it’s the Marines.  But he has his good side, too.”

Clay snorted.  “Sure he does.”

“I know you got the short end the other day, but there are people alive today only because of what the Captain teaches us.  Besides, he—” Raynor cut himself off.

“Besides what?” Clay prompted.

Raynor hesitated, then blew out a breath.  “You’d hear about it eventually.  The Captain used to be in the Alliance.”

Clay’s fork clattered as he dropped it on his plate.  “No way.  If he has the abilities to be on the Alliance, what’s he doing running a reserve chapter?”

“He burned out,” Raynor said in a soft voice.

“Oh,” Clay swallowed.

Burn out terrified most people with abilities.  To reach for your abilities one day and feel them a little weaker, a touch less responsive than they used to be.  Sometimes it took years, sometimes days, but without fail, they degraded to the point of uselessness.  It didn’t happen to everyone, but as far as anyone knew it struck at random and could happen at any time.

“Yeah,” Raynor said.  “I know he can be a jerk, but at least try to see some of the good in him.  The man still serves the community, even after burning out.”

“Sounds like maybe he’s got a problem letting go of what he had,” Clay replied.

Raynor shook his head.  “Anyone else, I’d agree with you.  The Captain only cares about giving help when it’s needed.”

“How do you know that?”

Raynor started ticking points off on his fingers.  “One, he’s been in the reserves for over fifteen years now.  Add that to his Alliance time and he’s way past his ten-year commitment.  Two, he’s here in the reserves instead of cashing in on a posh FBMA gig they hand out to Alliance retirees who want to keep looking important.

“Three,” Raynor continued, locking eyes with Clay.  “The man is not in it for the glory.  He’s a ghost online.  No interviews, no pictures, nothing.  The only chapter event I’ve ever seen him miss was when a local reporter planned to show up for a neighborhood Metas fluff piece.”

“Could be an introvert on a power trip running his own little fiefdom,” Clay countered.

“Four,” Raynor said, “During my time with the chapter, the Captain has volunteered to deploy in every single tier one, two, and three disaster outside our area of responsibility as a front-liner, not in a leadership role.”

Clay blew out a breath.  “Then I stand by my statement that he’s got issues letting go.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Raynor allowed.  “But if a man is going to be obsessed with something, he could do a lot worse than helping people.”

“Doesn’t have to be such a jerk about it, though,” Clay muttered, shoving the last bite of the calzone into his mouth.

Raynor opened his mouth to respond, but a yell and the sound of breaking glass interrupted him.  Both men looked over at the source and saw a huge man with a buzzcut standing at the nearby table with the lovesick couple Clay had noticed earlier staring up at him in fear.

“I said get up!” Buzzcut yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Leave us alone before I call the cops!” the woman said.  “You know I have a restraining order!”

“I need to handle this,” Raynor said, getting up from the table.  Clay watched as he jogged over to the trio, holding his hands up with the palms out.

“Let’s settle down, everyone.  No one wants any trouble, right?”

Buzzcut shifted his eyes to Raynor.  “Piss off, this is none of your business.”

“You’re standing in my restaurant.  That makes this my business in a few ways.”

The giant turned to face Raynor and loomed over him.  “Back off,” Buzzcut said.  “Before I make you.”

Clay found himself standing.  He didn’t know Raynor’s plan, but he felt the situation teetering on the edge of broken dishes turning into broken bones.  Fear bubbled up from his stomach to block his throat, and he struggled to swallow.

“Can’t do that,” Raynor said.  “You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until this whore apologizes to me,” Buzzcut said, thrusting a finger out at the woman sitting at the table. 

The woman gave a scornful laugh.  “Could you be more of a joke?  You just listen to sexist podcasts all day and pretend you’re alpha now because you found a weightroom and started yelling at anyone who disagrees with you.”

Buzzcut’s face turned ugly as his anger shifted into fury.  Clay felt his fear go septic—he knew the situation had tripped face first over the tipping point.

Raynor must have known it too because he reached out a hand to grab Buzzcut’s shoulder.  “Let’s go,” he said, trying to pull him away from the table.

Buzzcut turned into the pull and threw a vicious uppercut right into Raynor’s stomach.  The man crumpled over with an audible whooshing noise and fell to his knees, fighting to get air into his lungs. 

Shouts erupted throughout the pizzeria.  The giant turned and planted a foot right into the seated man’s chest, sending him sprawling backwards over his chair.  Then he reached down and grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair, jerking her to her feet.  She screamed in terror, and Clay saw Buzzcut’s mouth turn into a satisfied smirk.

Clay felt a cold anger freeze his fear, then he was there without crossing the intervening distance.  His hand gripped Buzzcut’s wrist and squeezed, and Clay felt bones grinding under his fingers. 

Buzzcut’s squeal went through octaves ranging from toddler to piglet.  His hand fell open, dropping the woman back into her seat. 

“They worked,” Clay whispered in awe.  “My abilities actually worked.”

He was so distracted by the sudden change in fortunes that he missed the wild haymaker Buzzcut made with his other hand. 

Buzzcut didn’t miss.  One second, Clay stood triumphant as the hero he always wanted to be.  The next, he sprawled out on the floor next to a still-gasping Raynor with a throbbing temple and flashing lights telling him it was an excellent time for a nap.

Clay managed to fight off unconsciousness and turn his head upward with a groan.  Buzzcut stood over him now and placed his boot on Clay, his previous goal set aside in favor of crushing a would-be savior’s chest.

“Should learn to mind your own business, freak,” Buzzcut said, leaning down hard.

“Ack,” Clay replied, clawing at Buzzcut’s boot.  Any control he had over his abilities had vanished, and all he accomplished was tangling the giant’s laces.

Then what Clay could only describe as a war cry sounded from behind the giant crushing his ribs, and a small foot swung hard up into Buzzcut’s groin.  Clay had an excellent view of the man’s face from under his boot.  He watched it contort as it transitioned from blinding rage through a daze of confusion to a finale of all-consuming pain.

Buzzcut let out a quiet whimper, then toppled over and curled into the fetal position.  Clay coughed as he tried to regain his breath and looked up at the lovesick woman now standing where Buzzcut had.

“Nine years of club soccer!” she shouted at the whimpering man rocking side to side on the ground.  “Good luck walking right ever again!”

Clay wheezed out what it would take a charitable man to call a laugh.  Hands reached down to grab his shoulders and lift him to a seated position.  He looked up and saw a familiar face wearing a white apron.

“Let’s get you upright,” Jeff said.  “Think you can stand?”

Clay nodded, then leaned on Jeff as the man helped him to his feet.  After another moment to catch his breath, he looked over at Raynor.  His fellow reserve member laid on his back with his knees up and his feet on the ground, no longer gasping.

“You good, Raynor?” Clay asked.

Raynor gave a weak thumbs up and worked on breathing.

“Brave of you to jump in,” Jeff said.  “Not the smartest move, maybe, but brave.”

“Least I could do after you asking for the Hawaiian calzone,” Clay said.

“I’m not going to say you deserved to get punched in the head…”  Jeff trailed off, but his smile made it clear he was joking.  Mostly.

Raynor managed to get to his feet.  “Someone should take out the trash,” he said, gesturing to the still-mewling Buzzcut.

“Called the cops as soon as it all started,” Jeff said.  “They should be here in a few minutes, and I don’t think he’s going anywhere in the meantime.  Nice kick,” he added to the woman.

She beamed.  “I’ve wanted to do that for years.  Felt just as good as I hoped it would.”

“Maybe tone down the enthusiasm when the cops take your statement,” Raynor said.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” she said before turning back to her date.

Raynor looked at Clay.  “Thanks for jumping in,” he said.

Clay gave him a sheepish grin.  “Couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Raynor laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder.  “We’ll make a Jackrabbit out of you yet, my friend.”

Clay’s smile got a bit wider at the thought.  Maybe the time at his chapter wouldn’t be as painful as he thought.

It wasn’t until he got home that night, though, that he realized that was the first time he thought about the chapter as his.