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The_Virus0311 · **01-29-2016, 04:36 PM**

Chapter 1, Sec. 2
“The Virus is Born”
Signatures and Blood Stains...

January 26, 2016
Slathe Manor
0945 hours
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Beep! Beep! Beep! Three rapid chirps pierce Michael's eardrums like FMJ (Full Metal Jackets) piercing the flesh of an enemy. Michael in the state of mind of The Virus jumps from bed completely naked with his M&P40 Pro Series .40 cal. S&W, with an extended magazine. The Virus quickly scans Michael's room, pin pointing where the dreadful sound is coming from. His eyes jolt to the alarm clock, cock and balls swinging in the air, the sights of his pistol aiming directly at the alarm clock. With a blink of an eye The Virus squeezes the trigger gently yet rapidly and effective. Two rounds rip through the alarm clock like a grizzly through a camper’s site.

"Damn, I sure hope that alarm clock wasn't an expensive piece for Michael, all well he will get over it." The Virus then mocks blowing off the barrel and walks over to his night stand and sets down the firearm The Virus then proceeds to walk to the master bathroom to release his morning dew. With cock in hand The Virus begins to let the levee flow. Mid piss he turns and looks in the mirror admiring the hard work Michael puts in to keeping in immaculate shape. "Damn Mikey boy, you been really putting our body to the test! These results will definitely help when it comes time for seduction to come to play!"

Finishing up, The Virus doesn't even bother washing his hands as he makes his way out into the bedroom once again. The Virus begins stretching and while doing so he scans the room some more noticing Michael had nothing for decor just plain flat grey walls, a long dresser with a 60” flat screen on it, PlayStation 4, and a night stand next to his bed. ”Damn Michael, your style is so bland, we will work on this whole house get some character, some class, some damn culture for Christ sake!” He makes his way to the long dresser and begins rummaging through clothes looking for an outfit for the day, hoping Michaels taste in fashion is more qualified than his home improvement skills.

As he continues to search through the dresser drawers his spirits begin to raise seeing as Michael also was more into the darker classics, when it came to his wardrobe. Such as plain black and grey t-shirts, nice well kept boot-cut designer jeans, variety of black socks, European cut boxer briefs, band t-shirts, black and grey button ups, and of course a pair of chrome Ray bans with jet black lenses. The Virus grabs a pair of tan cargo pants, a black t-shirt, a pair of underwear, and socks.

After getting dressed The Virus makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen, where he prepares a hearty breakfast. Two slices of thick cut apple smoked bacon, three brown eggs over easy, two slices of whole-wheat toast with raspberry jam, and a glass of whole milk. Just as he finishes his breakfast his cell begins to ring.

“Hello, Michael Speaking.” The Virus answers as he rinses his plate and sets it in the sink as he begins walking back toward the marble island where he had eaten.

”Howdy Michael, its your agent Richard Bush again and I just reckoned I should give you a call and make sure all the paper work and your contract went through the fax you left me. I just ain’t the smartest with technology, came from a farmhouse hold. We didn’t have all these fancy gizmos I am always needing for this job.” Richard chuckles a little. ”So when you get a second could you check and see if the paperwork came through for me sir?”

Instantly The Virus barks back, “Don’t ever call me sir! I work for a living!” Just in that moment, The Virus placed his hand over his mouth knowing he had taken a very sinister tone filled with anger. “Sorry I just, it’s a Military thing. I apologize.” The Virus chokes out. “Let me check and see if those faxes came through.” The Virus then makes his way to the office, where he notices a decent pile of paper work hanging from his fax machine. ”Yeah Dick they are here, I will read over and sign them right away.”

”Okay good Mr. Slathe, then I will begin setting you up with sum exposure, maybe a twitter account, or sumtin? I hear the kiddies these days love them sum twitter. I don’t know I will do sum research I thought I heard sumtin about blogs or sumtin. Of course if that is fine with you Mr. Slathe?” Richard takes a sip from his flask of Jack Daniels as he sits worried he offended his client again.

”Yeah whatever you think will help generate revenue, I know I need some cash flow, my parents money is tied up and my savings has been helpful thus far since I EAS’D. I know that will be coming to an end soon. So yeah tweet account or whatever go for it. You’re the agent, just get it done!” The Virus then notices a green workout schedule note pad as he agrees to whatever his agent wants for publicity.

”Okie dokie, I will get right on that Mr. Slathe and I will refer to you as The Virus of course. Also just sign those document and fax them back as soon as possible and we can get your first official match signed.”

The Virus makes his way to the counter to the workout schedule and begins thumbing through it and answers Richard with a simple, “Okay, talk to you later...” The Virus clicks end on his cell phone and sets it aside as he looks for today's date in the workout planner.

As he gets to it he smiles, knowing the routine, ”Well, well Michael... Look at you doing big boy workouts, we might have to give that workout a go, FRAN, with a gas mask and flak jacket... FUCKING INTENSE!” The Virus then picks the book up and walks over to the living room. He stuffs the rolled up notebook in his back left cheek pocket and grabs the television remote from the coffee stand next to his black leather wrap around couch. Not forgetting he has important business to attend to involving Michael's father.

The Virus doesn't really understand the bond between father and son, for he was developed in the darkest untouched parts of Michael's brain, he is Michael, yet he isn't. Michael created the Virus out of fear and confusion from his father's death, as a security blanket, someone who wouldn't have an emotional attachment when he came face to face with his father’s killer, a man with no emotions. He needed to be man with all the skills and talents, to deceive, interrogate, manipulate, and conquer his enemy.

The Virus strips down to his boxer briefs and grabs the workout notebook as he heads toward the in home gym, equipped with everything a trained killer would need for working out.

End Scene...

January 26, 2016
Gentleman 131
2045 hours
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The Virus is sitting across a very well dressed man in what is the VIP section of a very classy erotic dance club. The well dressed man not alone. Surrounded with an entourage along with two very large NFL linemen looking bodyguards. The Virus has a casual grin on his face as he takes a sip of his Johnny Walker Blue Label with a medium size ice cube in a scotch glass. He is wearing a black button up and a designer black leather jacket, a pair of darker blue jeans, boot cut of course, his hair slightly wet and almost scrunched looking. "So Mr. Whettingham, I have come to discover you have worked with my father and a known associate of his McDonald. Is this true?" The Virus asks.

Mr. Whettingham smiles and takes a shot of crystal skull vodka before replying. "Well now haven't you done your research? What do you think you could come here and try to collect the rest of the money for the project?" Whettingham takes another shot, "Well guess you didn't do enough research, your old man closed the deal and left me out two hundred thousand buckaroos! So unless you are hear to repay that loss, why don't you just scram kiddo!" One of Mr. Whettingham’s Ogres steps forward and crosses his arms delivery a fuck off stare straight toward The Virus.

The Virus looks down and smiles as he takes another sip from his scotch. "Well my sincerest apologizes Mr. Whettingham, I didn't know my father screwed you, but I am sure he had good reason. I am not here to repay that debt obviously, since this is first time I am hearing about it..."

The guard who stepped forward, “Mr. Whettingham said scram if you don’t have his cash”, interrupts the Virus! The bodyguard keeps pressing forward towards The Virus, who just stays seated with his head down his hair covering any facial expression. "I guess we are going to have to teach you how to be obedient to your elders!" The guard then places his hand on The Virus' shoulder.

Which was a stupid move for the bodyguard. The Virus raises his head slowly and looks deep into the eyes of Mr. Whettingham, ignoring the stone-crushing grip of the guard on his shoulder. "I am going to ask you once and only once, very kindly. Please have your ogre remove his chubby frying pan mitts off of my one of a kind custom made leather jacket, thank you."

Mr. Whittingham just chuckles as his entourage slowly joins in. The Virus takes it as a sign of disrespect and mockery, so he quickly downs the last of his scotch and smashes the empty glass into the center of the ogre who is squeezing his shoulder's face. The glass shatters except for a few sharp edges sticking off from the base that stayed in tact in The Virus' hand. He quickly then places a sharp edge to the unconscious guards throat while holding him up by the hair on his head.

"I just came to find out what you knew about Randolph McDonald. I mean everything, you know you are going to tell me! Do you underfuckingstand?! Does it need to get bloody tonight or can we talk like civil gentleman?" The Virus sees he got his point across from the fear etched in Mr. Whittingham's face. He pulls the sharpened glass from the guard’s neck and lets go of the firm old on his hair. The Guard collapses right on and through the table that the meeting had originated.

Mr. Whettingham quickly rises from his seat and steps back before the drinks and food go flying all over the place. He kicks his unconscious guard in the ribs and then turns the opposite way toward the back of the club. "Right this way Mr. Slathe." The first time of the night Mr. Whettingham showed any kind of respect toward The Virus.

The Virus smiles knowing he just put Mr. Whettingham in check mate. He slowly walks with grace and alpha like stature toward the back of the club. Passing many drunken businessmen getting dances and just loosing themselves in a sea of shame layered vagina and tits. As they continue to pass gorgeous woman after woman, one female body sticks out to The Virus. Her beauty almost paralyzing his free will to his motor skills. She is short even with her eight-inch stilettos , jet-black hair just like his, but much longer though.

Her Green eyes with hints of yellow, gold, and even blue, almost make his heart skip a beat. Feelings The Virus had never felt before started making his stomach feel as if he swallowed a bucket of butterflies. Causing The Virus to bump into the goddess like beauty as he is passing by. Almost knocking her off her feet, he quickly and gracefully slides his hand to her lower back.

”My sincerest apologizes I am never this clumsy, you are just an extraordinary view for the eye and mind.” The Virus stands the stripper erect and removes his hand from her lower back just slightly above booty meat.

”Just watch where you are going creep!” The woman then begins to hustle towards the main stage, she stops after a few steps and turns back to The Virus and winks. ”Club soda!” The woman yells to The Virus.

The Virus just looks at her with a confused gesture with his face and hands. “What?”

The women smiles, “The Bloodstain on your jacket!” The women smiles sexily and continues toward the main stage leaving The Virus light up like a Christmas tree.

End Scene.

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