Michael Blackson Stand Up Novels & Stories

So, I had to be very careful with my vocabulary. Michael did a good job behind our backs. "I beg your pardon, gentleman but before you start this meeting, we have something to say, we'll take only two minutes of your precious time." Micheal stood from his seat and shared a look with Victorine. "What's going on here, would you care to explain?" Eddie, one of the oldest board member, narrowed his eyes at us. He literally seemed pissed off. "Mr. Blackwood would explain us better." Micheal smirked at me cunningly, "But I have to say something first, gentleman." He played his part well.

And by the way, Robert dealt with him with just a punch, Michael knew who this was. "B...Black .... Panther...." Dan and his men rushed over and grabbed Michael, lifting him up. Michael was dumbfounded, unable to move even a muscle, as if struck by lightning. Did he just offend Black Panther...?? He was indeed his death then...! ***************

One more friend is always better than having one more enemy, right? “Don’t you want to know who’s the person who shot at Ivanka at Kingzillion Casino?” The look in Michael’s eyes grew colder and darker. Just as Michael was about to open his mouth, Blake spoke before he could. Michael stepped forward. At that moment, he could not stop himself from taking action. He grabbed Blake’s collar and yelled. “Stop keeping the suspense here!” Behind her, Tanya’s heart sank when she saw it. As expected, the only one who could make Michael emotional was Ivanka.

"He said they were working for one Black Bone." "Black Bone?" Belinda muttered. "Who is he?" "A sick psychopath who thinks he can scare us into our mother's bosoms," Michael flattened. "Why haven't we heard anything about him?" Pedro mirrored Belinda's concern, completely invested in the discussion. "That's why I called you guys; to smoke him out and uncover his hideout, in case he has more than one, which I think is most likely." Michael tossed the last slice of the apple into his mouth.

The black card has his personal name on it and not the company's card. "Si.. sir," I tried to fumble for any word but my mouth just opened up and closed. "It's my card, get yourself something to wear for today's dinner party," Adrian's face twitched in a small smile. "Sir, how could I possibly accept this," I tried to give the black card back to him. "You are doing it for the company and please get something mind-blowing as the employee of Adrian's Empire," Adrian sat on his bed. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, what a show-off, I really wanted to show I also had Xavier's black card but I couldn't because it was back home . So I just smiled and kept the car in my bag.

Third Person POV A black SUV comes to a sudden halt in front of an old shack. The dim light turns on inside, and an old man with a body length walking stick comes out. His eyes are white matching his head full of slivered hair, midback length. He wears an old dark gray robe and slips his flip flops on to step outside. "Blake son! Is that you?" The old wolf says. The SUV door opens and Blake makes his way out wearing combat uniform, matching with the uniforms his warriors wear.

“With any person who makes you forget how visible you are.” The call ends before he can answer. For several seconds, Adrian stands still with the phone in his hand. The apartment feels colder than before. By ten-oh-one, Michael Blackwell is in Adrian’s office, and the article is printed on the desk between them as if paper can make the damage more respectable. Michael does not sit. That is his first move. He stands in front of Adrian’s desk in a charcoal suit, his expression controlled with a precision Adrian recognizes because he learned it from him. Michael’s anger rarely arrives loudly. It arrives polished, sharp, and ready to cut without leaving visible marks.

“I want to hear that pretty voice shake while you talk about pretending to be normal. Tell me.” So I do. I told him about the morning stand-up where Damian Blackwood,our CEO, six-foot-four of tailored menace,stared straight through me when I presented the Q3 projections. How his eyes lingered a beat too long, like he could smell the guilt on me. How I spent the rest of the meeting clenching my thighs under the table because I’d been edging to ShadowMaster’s voice notes in the bathroom stall ten minutes earlier. “Interesting,” he murmurs. “Did he notice you squirming?”

“Please, what? What? Please make this shit better? That’s what I’m trying to do. Don’t any of you want to get out of here? We got legs so we should use them. We take something hard and we bash out that fucking window and take our chances.” Michael leaped forward—he couldn’t hold himself back. “Just stop it for God’s sake! Just stop, all of you!” Face flushed red. “He speaks!” Jack laughed. “Well fuck me Freddy, I better drop everything and—” He lost the momentum of his words. “Oh, just fuck off, kid.” Michael realized it felt good to speak, to have his opinion heard. A minor victory. His elation faded when Jack turned his back to him. Michael stood alone in the aisle, an exposed figure on a

A call or something. "You work for her, don't you?", I asked, stalling as I tried to come up with something, anything. Fuck, where was anybody when you needed them. "Do you know what having power feels like?", Michael said, his eyes glazed in thought. I watched him as his irises transformed from his usual brown vivid colour to black. Demon, I thought to myself. "You would know soon", he smiled and immediately three masked men in all black marched into the room. The only thing I heard was the clatter of the knife and then everything went blank.