The_Virus0311
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP
XWF FanBase: Men, some teens (booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty)
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01-28-2016, 07:29 PM
Chapter 1, Sec. 1
“The Virus is Born”
Death and Nightmares = Life...
January 25, 2016
Slathe Manor
2036 hours
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Days have been feeling like weeks for Michael Slathe the last couple of months since his parents where murdered, especially with the cold snowy winter in affect. Living in the Slathe manor in Hell, Michigan, which his parents had left him in their wills along with the family business Michael knows nothing about. Michael stands in a small office maybe four feet by six feet with papers, photos, and other miscellaneous file cabinet belongings. His face scowled in frustration, his hand begins to comb through his medium length jet-black hair that rests gently on a black collar of a black leather jacket. Kneeling down as he stares at a pile of junk, he begins fumbling through paper after paper, document after document, and photo after photo.
Michael’s scowl suddenly turns into a grimace and then slowly into a devilish smile. He raises the document with a photo of a man in the corner into the air over his head staring deep into the eyes of the man in the photo. Michael then stands up and walks to the desk throwing all the clutter on the desk top to the floor and making the document he just found priority.
“Now your blood will flow from this world to the next!” Michael speaks out loud to himself as he slams the document on the quickly cleared desktop. Believing Michael had discovered the murderer of his Father, never really caring for his mother, but his father’s death dealer would be punished. Michael then takes a seat and begins reading the literature on the document. “You son of a bitch!” Michael bites his lower lip, his head begins shaking left and right as he continues to read on.
“So my father was in some kind of scam trade deal with you and the Irish huh? I guess I am going to have to get a hold of an old time friend from MARSOC. Whatever you and my father where doing with the Irish he will know, then I will know for sure if it was you who murdered him you rat bastard. Randolph McDonald, I hope you like the dark...” Michael slams his fist down on the desktop after thinking out loud. Large knuckles landing directly on Randolph’s face.
Michael then begins placing all the documents relating to Mr. McDonald and the papers having to do with any Irish companies or Irish politicians into a folder and then into a locked briefcase. Michael then begins exiting the room as he removes a cell phone from his pocket, he quickly dials a number he hadn't dialed in years. An intelligence officer from his military days, a connection you could say. The phone begins to ring as he walks briskly through the Manor halls until he reaches the kitchen, tossing the briefcase on the marble island, he takes a seat.
On the other end of the line his old friend answers, "What's up old six dick?!? How the hell you been brotha? Shit is kind of lame without you around any more man. Miss the shit out of yah. Been too long, way too long, so something crazy happen?" Michael's old friend yawns as he waits for a response.
"Khanrad my brother, sorry it has been too long and that is all my fault, I apologize. You guessed right something kind of crazy happened, well I have a spectacle that something crazy happened. My parents are dead..." Michael pauses kind of taken a breath, he had never really experienced emotions like this. Not even while serving when his brothers lost their lives. His brain just didn't take on those emotions. "They where murdered and I need your help figuring out who, what, where, when, and why?" Michael stands and walks over to his refrigerator.
Khanrad gasps and quickly collects his composure from the bombshell. "Bro, damn, how are you doing, and anything I can help with just let me know. I know you where one tough S.O.B in the STAN. But your parents... I feel for you brother!" Khanrad licks his lower lip hoping he isn't crossing any line.
"Thanks brother, I just have one thing for now and if you could get on it as soon as possible that would be great!" Michael says as he pulls out a pitcher of ice water and begins pouring a glass. “I need you to look into a Randolph McDonald, he was in what looks like some shady business with my father and what looks like some Irish businessmen and possibly politicians. Just find out whatever you can on this Randolph character, also his last known location.” Michael pauses and takes a drink from his freshly poured glass of water, so cold the rim developed frost.
“Okay man, I will get on it first thing in the morning, base commander is in the nest tonight but is scheduled to leave base tomorrow morning 0800. I am going to get everything the government and my civilian connects can get on Mr. Randolph McDonald. Take care and try to get some rest, I can tell this is going to be a big operation for you.” Khanrad replies as he begins starting on looking up what he can on Randolph from his home laptop.
“Thanks man, I appreciate the favor. Just email, fax, whatever information you obtain that might be of importance or help. I am going to continue going through my father’s files and home computers for now. Thanks again, take care brother, stay in touch.”
“No problem, talk to you tomorrow.” Khanrad then clicks end call and begins his research on Randolph McDonald.
Michael ends the call on his end as well and takes another large gulp from his ice water before heading back toward the offices where anything pertaining to Randolph or the Irish would be stored.
A couple hours pass and Michael finds himself exhausted yawning with arms completely stretched, armpit hair matted in sweat. Without even hesitating, Michael decides against cleaning up and begins hazily stumbling toward his bedroom. Bumping and smashing into every obstacle in line of site, he finally makes it to his room, already shirtless from over heating while rummaging through his fathers old files. Michaels father had kept paperwork on everything. There was even a signed doctrine of his first baseball card trade as an eight-year-old boy. The thoughts made memories, which made Michael smile a little as he collapsed in his bed pants half off. He stretches to his pillow and begins wrestling around to get comfortable mean while he begins flailing his legs to knock his pants the rest of the way off.
Michael’s pants fall from his feet to the floor next to his massive California King mattress that rest on a solid oak frame. Michael slowly rolls over on to his stomach and crosses his hands under his right cheek. Only minutes pass before Michael falls into a deep slumber filled with snores and teeth grinding.
About an hour into his sleep, Michael begins tossing, turning, grunting, and flailing in his sleep from nightmares about his father and what he has seen at war. His once smile that rested on his peaceful face has now formed into an evil grin and his eyes have rolled into the back of his eyes revealing only the whites. Michael begins screaming in his sleep, “Father! Father! No Father!” Michael then throws a couple punches into the air and begins wrestling with his pillow, after two complete alligator rolls he lands on top of his pillow. Both his hands grasped on to it for life almost as if he is strangling it Hollywood style. ”Die you worthless trash!” Michael growls out as if he is strangling his Father’s murderer in his sleep.
Suddenly his cell phone begins to ring and Michael Slathe wakens from his horror, but something is different about Michael, something on a spiritual level. Another personality was released in Michael’s brain from the trauma. Michael, or once who was Michael, throws the pillow to the side and aggressively walks to his phone. The human body known as Michael Slathe picks the cell up while clicking the talk button. He places the device to the side of his head and answers, “Hello?”
The voice on the phone answers back, “Howdy, this is Michael Slathe, I assume? This is your agent Richard Bush, I just wanted to call and inform you on some big news buckeroo! See I just got you an offer you won’t resi..”
“Sorry this is The Virus, Mr. Slathe isn’t in right now...” The Virus interrupts Richard Bush before he could finish with what the offer is. The Virus then notices a wallet that he assumes is his, he opens it noticing the drivers license reads Michael Slathe. A demonic grimace etches across The Virus’s mouth.
“Oh I get it that’s your gimmick, ha-ha that’s a good one you’re going to scare that shit out of the fans at XWF. See that is why I am calling I got you a shot to become a superstar at the wrestling promotion known as the XWF they have been around a while now and I think it will be a great start at least hell they have potential to be your home for your entire career!” Richard chuckles some more to himself and smiles nodding his head awaiting an approval from his client Michael Slathe, The Virus.
The Virus’s smile grows even more sinister and wide. “Of course The Virus is my gimmick, what do you think I am crazy or something! So this federation has some promise and will keep the bills paid. Good. Sign me up. I need some victims to release some aggression on anyways. You take care DICK and make sure you give yourself a nice bonus from my signing bonus if I get one okay.” The Virus acts like he assumes Michael would be to his agent and hangs up the phone quickly.
“XWF I hope you are ready because The Virus is born!” The Virus begins laughing psychotically as he takes a seat on the foot of his bed staring at his reflection in the mirror like some kind of crazed dog.
End Scene.
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