Stephanie
What do you do when The World seems more alien than the sandbox?
War. War never changes. Whoever coined that phrase doesn’t know shit about war. War changes everything, including the soldiers that have to go fight it.
I grew up in Los Santos, in a nice neighborhood. People were friendly, there was little crime, and there was a sense of community. When I graduated high school, I had no idea what to do with my life, so I made a life changing decision: I signed up for service. My dad was stunned, my mother was furious, and my little brother couldn’t have been prouder.
I served a few years overseas in Afghanistan, and shipped home to a world I didn’t recognize. The neighborhood looked worse than some of the engagement zones I got involved in. But, it was home, so I did what I had to do to survive. I went out to find a job.
Fun fact, Los Santos has over four million people living in her borders. To support that kind of population, you need a thriving retail backbone. So, I did some online job hunting, and found a clothing store in Rockford Plaza. Seemed nice enough, so I applied. Lo and behold, two weeks later I got an interview, and was hired. The interviewing manager said he could see I was a team player. Yeah, when you get dropped into a combat zone, all you can count on is your unit. I figured retail wasn’t much different in that regard.
Everything seemed fine at first. You know, hang clothes on a rack, clean up the changing rooms, that sort of thing. Jim, the manager, seemed nice. The kind of guy who would have your back. Second day on the shift… night and day.
The incident started innocently enough. I was hanging a few blouses, and a lady comes up to me, asks me about a dress, and did it come in blue. I stopped to think about it for a moment, and she lays into me. “Don’t you ignore me, I asked you a question!” I looked her in the eye and apologized. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, this is only my second day…” She held her hand up to my face. “Wait,” she barked “so are you blaming your stupidity on inexperience now? Just answer my fucking question!”
Something about her tone hit me. I realized I was focusing all of my attention on this female. I wanted to look around, but I worried that if I looked away, she’d try something. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. She took my sudden silence poorly. She screamed at me. “Don’t you dare ignore me, you stupid fucking bitch! I shop here all the time, and I will make sure you’re fired! I will make you wish you never set foot in this place, do you hear me? I will make your life hell!”
It wasn’t her words so much that made what came next happen, it was the tone and force she used them with. My hands balled into fists so hard they hurt. My attention was so focused, all I could see was her. She was a good three inches shorter than me, her build and the way she carried herself suggested that she didn’t have a great deal of upper body strength, and I had at least ten years on her. I realized I was sizing her up, and both training and instincts started to kick in. It wouldn’t take much to incapacitate her, and I could feel my stance shifting. Her mouth was still going like a Valkyrie’s door gun, and I was ready to strike. That’s when my life changed forever.
“Excuse me, is there a problem?” I heard the voice, but not the words. It was Tim, and his tone was one of deescalation. I responded to the tone of my superior, and suddenly I was back, outside of my own head. “No problem, sir. I just don’t think this is going to work, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.” And with that, I turned and walked out. Tim was calling out to me, but I didn’t dare look back. I had to evacuate the area or engage, and I chose evacuate.
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I didn’t leave the house for three days. The incident kept replaying itself in my head, like some of the dreams I had about overseas. Was she just yelling at me, or was there more? Could she have been trying to engage me? Is it possible that there was more than just an argument? Was it a prelude to an escalation?
In the end, I decided that it was a simple retail customer who was upset that she wasn’t being treated as royalty. But the incident forced me to reevaluate the way I was going to reintegrate into the world. Retail was too stressful, so that was out. It’s kind of funny, looking back. I’m a combat veteran, and I couldn’t handle the CO of the 52nd Soccer Mom Battalion.
The evening of the third day, I went for a walk to clear my head. I was walking past a 24/7 when those instincts kicked in again. Two men inside in balaclavas, one holding a shotgun, the other a pistol. Heavy revolver, by the looks of it. The older white male running the place was trembling. The two armed young males grabbed the money and ran for the doors. They were so concerned with the shopkeeper that they paid no attention to me.
The first male out was the revolver. I used my forearm to his chest to knock him to the ground, then I dropped down and drove my elbow into his face. I felt something crunch and I quickly retrieved the weapon. I felt more than heard the second male. I turned the revolver on him and fired center of mass. He dropped to the ground, and I retrieved his shotgun, which I turned on the first male, putting a slug where my elbow had just been. I may have started my walk to clear my head, but I think I did a better job of clearing his.
I spun on the store owner as he approached, and he raised his hands quickly. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he pleaded. I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked him in the eye. He seemed frightened, but calming down. “Sorry, sir,” I replied, trying my best to soothe with my voice. “I thought there may have been a third thief.” The old man smiled at me then, and reached for my hand. “No no more! You took care of all of them!” I took his hand, and he pressed something into my palm. I looked, and it was several twenty dollar bills.
“Sir,” I started. “I can’t take this.” The man shook his head and bent down to pick up the money that the two men had dropped. I crouched to help him. “Nonsense!” he quickly said. “If not for you, these assholes would have taken over a thousand dollars from me. Do you know what the police would have done? Nothing! The cops in this town are useless, they’re either shooting up the neighborhood, or they’re nowhere to be found. But you… you were here! I insist you take this. You probably need it more than I do, and it’s the least I can do for someone that served.”
That surprised me. “Sir? How can you tell?” He chuckled and said “You may not be wearing a uniform, but a fellow soldier can see you still carry yourself like one. The way you walk, they way you fight… and the way you come down from the fight. You need to take care of yourself.” He nodded to the weapons I was still holding. “I trust you with guns more than the idiots running around here. Take them, I’ll tell the LSPD that by the time I came out from hiding behind the counter, they were dead and the guns were missing.”
I shook his hand again, and smiled for the first time in days. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate this. You take care too.” And with that, I left. I had grown wealthier three ways that night. I had some money, a hundred dollars in fact. Given that I was unemployed, that was going to help. I had two weapons, which I told myself I was going to sell to have more money. Even I didn’t believe me. And I had rock solid advice from someone who had been there. It wasn’t my sandbox… might’ve been Vietnam, or Korea, but he’s had boots on the ground in an engagement zone.
I almost hit the streets like some kind of vigilante, but let’s face it, this isn’t comic books. So instead, I put feelers out. The manager of the 24/7 (Jake, real decent guy, and was in Vietnam starting in ’57) sat down with me, and I asked him about any more recent vets. Apparently, he’s well known among neighborhood vets, they all call him Major. He put me in touch with some of them, and I started putting together the rough first draft of a business plan.
Now, we’re a few dozen strong. Whiterock is new, but it’s an up and coming mercenary organization. We may be done with the war, but I don’t think the war’s done with us. But at least we fight on our terms. No more being sent on missions that we can’t refuse just to spill blood for objectives that don’t do a damn bit of good. And I can keep an eye on my unit.
War changes, because everything changes. You adapt or you perish. I’m not out of the fight yet.
