Days later, the sun creeps over the horizon in Phoenix, Arizona, illuminating the sky with its brilliant rays.  Those same life-giving rays of sunshine hit the Paradise Towers high-rise, into the window of Lieutenant Colonel Debbi Smith, the youngest, decorated officer in Air Force history.  Sunlight annoys her husband, Razor, who lies sleeping next to her.

An alarm across the bedroom blares, suddenly waking him.  Without lifting his head, Razor reaches under his pillow, retrieves a small caliber pistol and shoots at the alarm.  Seven years with US Army Special Forces, he only needs to hear a sound to pinpoint direction and he never misses.  The clock rocks off the mantle, shattering against the back wall.

The slight thunder of his gun is enough to awaken Debbi, but it’s a sound she has grown accustomed to over the years.  Even though it’s an annoying habit, it’s one of the things she loves about him.

“Listen, hon,” Debbi softly speaks, “I’m getting real tired of buying new alarm clocks.  If you really need to shoot something, how about Barry’s damned cat?”

Now sitting up, Razor grabs cigarettes off the end table on his right side.  With a snap of his fingers, he opens a gold, Zippo lighter, lighting his cigarette.  Debbi rolls over to look at him and can easily see something is weighing on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

The escaping smoke dances around the room in oblong circles as Razor takes another draw before speaking.  “I don’t like this.”

“Like what, babe?”

“Dealing with these Venome rejects.   The offer is flattering and all, but the truth is Venome is what’s wrong with the world today.  Why would you want any part of that?”

Debbi pulls the fluffy, white blanket over her shoulder, then lays her head on his chest.  Letting out a sigh, she tries to find the words to explain.   “I can’t really explain it to you now.   I just need you to trust me on this.”

Razor doesn’t respond but continues to stare off into the sky.

“Do you trust me?” Debbi questions again.

“Of course I do.”

Watching him now, the way the morning light resonates off his dark skin, reminds Debbi of why she married him in the first place.  She loves this man more than anything.  Everything about Razor is fascinating: How he speaks, his words, his thoughts, his ideas and the way his mind works.  Razor treated her differently than everyone else she had encountered.  He loved her for the person she was inside, not the military pilot or the super genius she’s rumored to be.  She would, and has, changed her entire life for the man lying beside her.

Debbi turns, kisses her husband tenderly and whispers, “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.  I’m doing this for us, so we can be happy together with no interferences.”

Just then, an intercom buzzer rang aloud.  Getting out of bed, Razor walks over to it and pushes the button.  “What?” he says gruffly.

“I’m sorry to bug you, but there’s a Venome agent here to see you.  Name’s Schofield,” a voice from over the intercom squeaks through.

“Send her up,” grunts Razor.  He shuffles back into the bedroom and taps his wife on the shoulder.  “Get dressed Debbi, Schofield’s on her way up.”

“What?” Debbi shrieks, dashing out of bed towards the closet for her wardrobe.

To Razor, watching his wife get dressed in the morning is always amusing: rushing in and out of the bathroom; putting on make-up and fixing her hair.  To get in her way during this procedure means the risk of getting flattened like a penny on the railroad.  For this reason, he stays well away from the line of fire.  Women.  From the closet he retrieves a military green, sleeved shirt and quickly buttons it up.  He is in the middle of combing out his long, black hair when the door buzzer screams.

After opening the door, he invites Commander Schofield with an almost harsh, “Come in.”

Brandi walks in, takes a quick look around for Debbi, then stands in the middle of the floor.  She can tell that she is not wanted there by Razor and tries avoiding his glares until Debbi emerges.

“Can’t you use the fucking phone?” Debbi complains impatiently.

“Sorry, Debbi,” Brandi apologizes, “it was the only time I could get out.  Phones lines are probably tapped anyway.”

“Well, what do you want?”

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