1
Colton Berringer, Private First Class and a damn good shot, has been lying in the dirt waiting for his mark to appear so he and the other guys in his unit can complete their exercise and get the hell out of the sun. It's already been two hours and everyone (including himself) is getting antsy.
His unit is made up of forty percent normal soldiers, forty percent enhanced soldiers, and twenty percent submissives. He keeps himself calm and relaxed, knows it will spill over to the rest of his unit. All he has to do is make the shot when the time comes, staying very far away and well hidden.
The sun is beating down on him from overhead, his gun is hot, and the heat seems to be coming at him from all directions.
“I feel like I’m in a goddamn oven,” he murmurs quietly. Sweat drips down his cheek and slides into his shirt. It’s both ticklish and annoying. He’s becoming uncomfortable, the distractions less easy to ignore. Another deep breath in and out.
It’s fine. This is nothing. He’s been awake for thirty-six hours, and this is day five of training in the unrelenting heat of the Nevada desert. There’s a sound, something that soundsvery much like a snake rattling. He coughs, hoping the noise will make the snake (if there is one, go away).
“Maybe we’ll get abducted by aliens. I bet they’d have air-conditioning,” his partner, Private Matthews, says.He’s a normie and he isn’t an asshole. “Also, I may have seen a snake slither away from us.”
“Thank fuck for small mercies.There,” Colton whispers as one of his two targets finally appears. He finds the shot, exhales slowly, pulls the trigger, and has the satisfaction of another target being taken down with one clean shot.
The radio crackles. Colton can hear the voice speaking in Matthews’s earpiece. Colton’s next shot goes wide, which is much more annoying than sweat and dirt. “We need Private Berringer to report back to base ASAP, copy?”
Colton nods sharply and starts disassembling his rifle. “Not a moment too soon.”
“Your hearing is scary good,” Matthews says.
“It’s a mixed blessing,” Colton says.
Matthews is giving him that look that some unenhanced soldiers do when they’re wondering if they should become enhanced after all. Colton is one of the Dominants that makes it look easy, like it’s all upsides. A whole host of genetic and health benefits that make him an amazing sniper with a long life expectancy and probably a fast track through the rankings because everyone likes him. He’s reasonably intelligent (even if he does say so himself) and he isn’t always needing a fight or a fuck, and then screwing shit up because of it.
Sometimes, it seems like a pretty low bar if he’s being honest.
Colton packs up his rifle and they head down the hill to where a jeep is just pulling up. Huh. He doesn’t even have to walk back?
That doesn’t seem like a good thing. It means he’s being singled out.
“Huh,” Matthews says.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Colton murmurs. “Can we both get a ride back?” he asks the driver.
He shrugs. “I mean, sure, but we’re going to pickup zone A first.”
Matthews whistles. “Fancy. Private vehicle.”
His stomach twists with nerves but he tries not to show it. He’s never been hauled out of an exercise like this.He’s never been taken to a private vehicle and whisked away like he’s important or broken. His first thought goes to being decommissioned because how could it not?
Sure, he’s enhanced and will probably live to 120 with great healing and health, but he has to make it that long first. He has to keep his designation under control and not be a threat.
He can’t think of anything he might have done that would get him decommissioned or frozen for a decade, two, or forever, but the fear is still there.
How could it not be?
Twenty minutes later and he’s back at base and dropped off in the parking lot of zone A, uncertain what he’s supposed to do next. He’s covered in dirt, grime, and sweat and wondering who he’s supposed to report to when a man comes toward him, looking him up and down with a small frown.
“You’re Berringer, right? I’m your driver,” he says, not really introducing himself. Colton salutes and waits, caught off guard and unsure what the man’s rank might be. His uniform is black, has no identifying information, and screams private contractor.
Shit. He keeps the questions to himself. He has the sense the man is expecting Colton to ask what the hell is going on. “I’ll drive you to your appointment now.”
“Do I need to report in first?” he asks, because this is highly unusual.
“No. You’re cleared. We’re in a hurry.”
They start walking toward a black Escalade. Definitely private contractor.
