Designation Overload (The Designation #4)

Chapter 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 sounds very 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.

“You’re not going to ask where we’re going?”

“Should I?” Colton’s been given an order. Who is he to question it?

“No, I just usually work with a lot of people who want to argue every damned thing.” The man doesn’t sound happy about it.

“They stomp that out of us here in the army right quick,” he says with his most charming smile. Hopefully, it’s charming.

“Do you find that difficult with your designation?” he asks as they approach the SUV.

Ah. Now they’re getting somewhere. “Jumping straight to the big questions.” It’s personal enough that he doesn’t rush to answer.

The man doesn’t respond, so Colton doesn’t answer the question.

“Why do I feel like I’m heading off to some shady government facility?”

“Might be the mob?” his driver says with a smile. He still hasn’t introduced himself. Colton’s gut is telling him that he is being evaluated. Is this man really just a driver?

“Very unhelpful,” Colton murmurs.

They get into the car and the man starts driving. Colton can see his attention returning to him again and again. He is definitely being evaluated, though he isn’t sure for what.

“You don’t seem agitated.”

“Why would I be?” Colton keeps his hands loose and open in his lap where they can be seen. It’s only polite because he is such a high designation and he can unsettle anyone if he isn’t careful. Even those without a designation have been known to react to him if he doesn’t keep himself in check.

Everyone is happier if he keeps himself in check. The calmer he is, the calmer everyone else is, too.

“Because you are a very high-level Dominant. I’ve got information you don’t, and you’re stuck being a passenger in a car, going to an unknown destination for an unknown length of time.”

“Ah. High level, huh?” He looks out the window, unwilling to take the bait. Even that statement is confirmation that he’s here because of his unusually high designation.

“You can ask, but I can’t tell you. Though it seems like you’ve figured that part out,” his driver finally says.

Colton nods and looks out the window again, trying to stay calm and unconcerned. “Just like usual then,” he says.

The driver nods slowly. “Yes, that was in your file. Steadiness and control. Good.”

Just how much of his file has this man seen? Sounds like he’s seen Colton’s psychological evaluations, and it isn’t just anyone who gets that level of clearance. Colton isn’t overjoyed about this impromptu car-ride-as-situational testing, but designation isn’t easy to test.

Designation is a wild card.

Devising unusual situations to elicit responses is typical.

What is his driver learning about him right at the moment? Can Colton handle being placed in a submissive role as a passenger? Is it okay if the person giving him orders is submissive? Does lack of information unsettle him? Does he make submissives uncomfortable?

The higher the designation, the less stable Dominants typically are and the more important it is to test them thoroughly. Colton has no idea what they might want him for.

It’s even more intriguing when they arrive at their destination.

A man is waiting for them outside. He looks Colton up and down as they get out of the car. “Well?” he demands.

“So far, he’s temperamentally suited to the task. No issues with aggression. He’s calm and his communication skills are good. I recommend we continue,” the driver says.

The new man nods.

Colton isn’t sure if the man has a designation or not.

Turning, he leads the way and they follow him into a building.

He’d really like a name soon. The lack of information and control is starting to get to him.

The back of his neck itches and his hands keep curling into tight fists, which he has to consciously relax.

Security is everywhere. Every door requires audio or visual recognition for entry.

Colton and the driver are led into a doctor’s office and a woman looks Colton over, corroborates his identity with the file before her, gestures for him to get up onto the exam table, and proceeds to take two vials of blood from him then walk away.

There’s an armed guard attempting to look casual stationed near the door. As if Colton might up and run or suddenly lash out. Are they expecting him to make a scene? He’s still being evaluated. They have to be checking his dominance levels.

It’s the only thing special about him.

Sure, his mom would say he’s special in all kinds of ways, but in regard to the military he’s a number.

A number with a designation, so he gets excellent pay, accommodations, health care, pension, etc.

Even their food is better than the regular men’s.

But he’s still just a soldier at the start of his career.