Brandi doesn’t mind that idea.  As far as she’s concerned, Venome is falling apart to high treason.  No officer is safe from the work of the Office of Provocation.  In fact, she is quite surprised that someone hasn’t sent Provocation after her for her rank.  SDO is a very high post, second only to the council chair of that division; many commanding officers have met their deaths for lesser reasons.  Gunnery Sergeants have been executed because some aspiring Corporal thinks he can do a better job of running the platoon.

The whole problem is, although Internal Affairs Department investigates every single charge of treason, or any law infraction for that matter, far too many agents are receiving kickbacks from the Office of Provocation.  With the right connections, a few payoffs and a few forgeries, Provocation can send any Venome personnel or civilian marching to their maker without anyone raising an eyebrow.  A total abuse of power.

Looking over at Razor, Brandi finds him sharpening a foot and a half long blade with firm concentration—something isn’t making him happy.  With each grind of the steel against the sharpening stone, Razor’s dark, brown eyes squint into a methodical glare; his strong, square chin curving his lips into a slight frown.  His face is expressionless, as if he’s working something out in that guarded mind of his.

Same old Raz—he hasn’t changed much since the days they attended high school together: always the quiet, introvert who barely spoke two words to anyone.  Brandi remembers clearly the first day he walked into Honors English class.  How could anyone forget a five foot-eleven, black guy wearing a black, leather jacket with long, straight hair that would rival all the females’?  Back then, Brandi found that kind of uniqueness very fascinating, but Razor never paid her much attention.  He was always right at Debbi Smith’s side.  If he talked to Brandi at all, it was to ask about Debbi.  It always annoyed Brandi how little he paid attention to her just to fawn over Debbi Smith.

Gathering all the papers on the table into a neat stack, Debbi retrieves them and walks behind her husband, putting her arms around him and whispering, “Ready to go, my love?”  Razor only nods in agreement.  After grabbing a few bags, Debbi turns to Brandi and prompts, “Let’s go.”

Walking down the hallway of Paradise Towers, Brandi watches as Debbi clings to her husband like a schoolgirl in love.  It is, to say the least, surprising to see the infamous Debbi Smith acting this way.  She has the type of love that all women dream about, but few ever get, especially women in Venome.  Debbi Smith truly has it all.  The bitch.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Inside Debbi’s black, sixth edition Dodge Viper, the three are twenty miles outside of the city limits of Phoenix, heading towards Tucson and traveling along barren roads.  Sickened by the sight of Smith carrying on like a teenager on a first date, Brandi stares out of the window, listening to the announcer speaking from a Free Press radio station operating in the area.

Venome managed to work its way into the electronic media, secretly running one-third of the news services and organizations.  Some stations, however, couldn’t be persuaded and named themselves, “Free Press”, dedicating themselves to fighting Venome propaganda.  More than one incident has been reported of Free Press outfits mysteriously blowing up, but as yet, no proof of Venome involvement has surfaced.   Brandi finds herself wishing she had brought a signal-triangulating device to trace the transmission and report the whereabouts of this station to Communications Department.  It seems harmless enough, however.

The announcer from the Free Press radio station tirades Venome persistently.  “Keep fighting, my friends, my brothers, my companions.  We, the free people, the righteous, will prevail over the darkness which now invades our homes, kills our families,” he curses vehemently.   “Venome will fall!”

A know it all who thinks he can end a war with talk: the world is full of them.  After the speech, another anchor gives the speaker’s name, which Brandi recognizes immediately, followed by a news wire reporting recent Resistance activities with a sociopolitical slant.

“What to you think of that, Brandi?” Debbi turns to Schofield.

“Same old free radio shit,” Brandi mumbles.

“The man has a point, don’t you think?” Debbi alleges.

“No,” Brandi asserts, “he’s just pissed at the army.”

“Why?”

“We burned his house, then beheaded his wife and eight-year-old daughter.”

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