Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all happened so fast. Only a few minutes ago was Father Pucci rising in the air, his stand evolving into its final form, and now only Emporio and Jolyne remain alive of their rag-tag group, surfing away on dolphins as the priest accelerates time. Water thrashed violently around them, slashing at their bodies and making small cuts into the escaping quartet.

“Please, don’t leave me too!” Emporio cried, holding tightly to the dolphin and Jolyne’s strings. His tears immediately evaporated as they left his eyes. His hold was shaky but secure as the cetaceans sped away from the priest.

Jolyne could not respond. She could barely process what happened a minute ago as she tied herself and Emporio to two dolphins as Pucci landed the fatal blow on her father. All she could do was stare the priest down in awestruck and fear as half her body wound tightly to the dolphins, eying him for a new plan. Pucci’s approach was imminent and inescapable, and she was vehemently racking her brains for ideas to get out of this alive. Her hair flew wildly in the wind, the braid undone and the buns loosened.

She was not going to sacrifice herself then and now. She wanted to live. And if that means running, then so be it. He needed to get close to her, and soon, as the waves’ speed brought up the terrain once underwater to head, and she did not want to go out to a dolphin crash.

After a resolving moment, Jolyne’s face became one of anger and determination. Feeling around her person, she picks out the 「Weather Report」 disk and looks at it fondly, one of the last remnants of her friends. She lowered her body and handed the disk to Emporio.

“Emporio, Emporio listen,” she soothed, cupping the boy’s face and looking him in the eyes. Her seafoam looks into his honey, eyes welled up with tears. Emporio sniffed and touched her hands.

“Hold onto Weather’s disc and wait for my call. I’m not going anywhere,” she giggled, sniffling. “We have one last shot to defeat Pucci, and I believe that we can do it.”

Emporio nodded profusely, sniffling and coughing.

Jolyne chuckled. She kissed his forehead and straightened up, facing in the direction of the priest.

Not long after, the priest was upon them. 「Made in Heaven」 hovered around him as he sped through the waves, trying not to be pulled under. The priest’s image was blurred as he sped at the duo, hopping across the water carefully.

“Give it up Cujoh,” he spat, voice harmonized. “You really think you can win now? Accept your fate! You can live in a time where you can predict your life and take control of it! You can meet better people and find yourself at peace. You could have made it to heaven with me, but no, you decided to be difficult,” Pucci growled.

He lunged at her, her form squaring up. 「Stone Free」 summoned next to her, its bottom half wrapped around them and the dolphins. She swung at the priest who dodged with ease, his speed unmatched. He sliced back, Jolyne putting her arms up in defense. Her stand wound around her arms and blocked the strikes, cutting through her strings but not severing her arms. She cried out as they broke, bleeding from her wounds. Jolyne reached for one of the priest’s arms, snagging his sleeve for a second. He pulled away and batted her hand, darting around her again. She followed the priest with her eyes, tracking where he tried striking next. The American swiveled as the priest got close, blocking strikes and rewrapping her strings around her arms as strings got cut.

Jolyne felt time slow before her. The waves crashed a little more slowly.

The priest raised a hand before slicing downward. His strike caught the left side of Jolyne’s face, creating a large gash over her left eye. She screamed as blood spurted from the wound, 「Stone Free」 desperately trying to sew it up. She grabbed her face and reeled closer to the dolphins, evading a horizontal slice from Pucci.

Emporio cried out, feeling the grip on the dolphins loosen, sobbing. Blood crusted around the wound, her head split on the left side. The cut was deep enough that the skull was exposed, but not enough to kill. She gripped her head as the throbbing pain made the best of her, screaming as blood poured from the wound. Jolyne toddled on the dolphin, her strings instinctually regaining back into her.

“You fool! Time is unraveling as we speak! What can you do now besides die? You easily could have stayed out of it if you never followed after your father. Why must you toddle in the matters of God and DIO? It was futile from the start. Many of his followers failed to fulfill his dream, but I have achieved Heaven! Me and me alone!” The priest belted out, laughing maniacally.  

“You could have been a part of this new world where your fate was known, but you Joestars are stubborn folk. You let people die for a lost cause, and you will soon join them. It’s a shame that this new universe would go on without you, but your essence will carry on care free!” 

Jolyne chuckled, flipping the hair out of her face.

“Unravel? Like string?” She snarked, rocking.

“What do you even have planned, Cujoh?” Pucci chuckled, shrugging. 「Made in Heaven」 appeared next to its user, its horrendous cry of a clock alarm ringing. “You are as good as dead and you want to talk about thread? You’re only delaying the inevitable”

“There’s this little thing called string theory, father,” she snickered, narrowing her eyes, “I may be a bit rusty on what I read up on in prison, but it essentially proposed that matter is like string, manipulated by energy. I assume your stand is abusing that energy to accelerate time and create a metaphorical ‘black hole’ and using some other Stand bullshit to force the universe to reset itself. As a holy man yourself I assume that you think everything is explained through God and God only?” She teased, making the priest snarl. Jolyne shrugged and went on.

“See, string is very manipulative and pliable, being able to go all which ways, thus string theory. You are a puppeteer of time and space when your stand accelerated time. You are using that ability to create your own universe, or own ‘fate’ persay, which is just an easier understanding than creating an alternative universe. But guess what Pucci? My stand can also manipulate strings.”

Time stuttered.

“It may be more literal than you in a sense, but I have been able to slowly contort my own matter.” Her torso twisted itself into a Mobius strip then back to normal, making Jolyne chuckle. “Such a feat is a physical impossibility hmm? I’ve only been a Stand user for a few months now, but even I have been training and testing my own capabilities, and by the looks of it your own ability is rubbing off on me.”

Time stuttered.

“That means the chance of a parallel universe where I defeat you is plausible.”

Time stuttered.

“That means I can also manipulate time in extraordinary ways.”

Time seemed to slow again, more significantly this time. Pucci frowned, looking around. A powerful aura emitted from the woman, her form bending in the light.

“And what that means, Enrico, is that we have the same type of stand, hm?”

With that, 「Stone Free」’s outline shone off of her own body. The stand was split down the left side like her, except the cut went all the way down to their hip. Jolyne’s figure continued to stutter, the stand becoming more visible. The strings that held them to the dolphins became a bright jasmine, the strings of the stand recollecting into itself. It looked the same in body shape and color. However, clock faces were more apparent on its body, one on each shoulder, one on each arm. Eyes shown out from below its sunglasses, now a set of green shutter ones with butterfly lens.

Time halted, and all that moved in that space was Pucci and Jolyne. It went silent as the duo faced off. Fire burned in the woman’s eyes as she eyed down the priest. She squared her shoulders as she sized him up. Jolyne began to vibrate. She smirked.

Time resumed to its normal speed. The waves clashed back down and settled as things regained movement again. Emporio looked fearfully at the sight before him: his prison friend bleeding out and looking deep into the eyes of Pucci. 

Pucci snapped and let time accelerate once more. He ran across the water at the woman, who lunged back. She was now matching speeds with the priest. They exchanged quick punches, blocking each other successfully, they bounced back away from each other, catching their breaths. Life moved slowly around them, the dolphins inching away from the duo. Pucci lunged at Jolyne with an arm back, ready to slice. He tried to strike her, Jolyne catching his arm. Emporio cheered weakly through tears. She tried to twist it around as he struggled out of the grasp.

“EMPORIO! NOW!” the woman yelled, grabbing at her face.

Emporio fumbled and inserted the 「Weather Report」 disk into his head, the stand summoning. The air felt electric as a swirl of clouds rose from the ocean. They became a dark grey as it rumbled, surrounding the group. The face of the stand emerged from the storm, pink eyes glowing brightly. Upon making eye contact with the priest, it rumbled louder, condensing the clouds into the rest of its body.

Pucci gasped at the sight of the stand, heart dropping and form flickering. 「Made in Heaven」 recoiled at the sight, making a clock chime as it did so. The priest pulled his arms to his chest defensively. If the weather stand had a mouth, it would have been smiling maliciously.

“The 「Weather Report」 disc!” Pucci cried out, eyes bulging out from his head. He gasped for air as it descended rapidly.

The stand took a swing at the priest, 「Made in Heaven」 blocking the strike. 「Stone Free」 came in and slammed a fist into the priest’s gut, making him sputter. Time hiccuped back to normal for a second before speeding up again. 「Weather Report」 swirled around 「Made in Heaven」’s form and put it in a choke hold, Pucci gasping for air. The stand kicked outward as 「Stone Free」 got upon him again, catching her stomach. Jolyne coughed, blood spurting out from her mouth. She held her core and lunged again, balling her fist. 「Made in Heaven」 broke free of Weather’s grasp and elbowed it, making it flinch. Emporio also turned his head at the feeling, mirroring 「Weather」’s pain.

Jolyne exchanged powerful punches with the priest. They matched speed and aim, blocking each other’s strikes. The occasional hit slammed into them like bullets, cracks of bone shattering as they connected. Jolyne and Pucci each winced when one landed on their sides, the fight hiccuping for blinks at a time.

Jolyne broke his guard and uppercut his chin, making him and his stand fall back. 「Stone Free」 appeared next to Jolyne. They look at each other and smile, cracking their knuckles. They pulled back an arm and lunged at the priest, 「Weather」 snaking around them with fists at the ready.

“This is for my friends!” A barrage of punches slammed into the priest, his body contorting. Weather got behind him and pushed a gust so that he wasn’t completely thrown away.

“This is for my father!” A few sliced across his face, shattering his jaw. Pucci felt a vortex surround his head, making it even harder to breathe. The weather stand swirled around the priest’s form.

“And this one is from me, with love,” she faked a smile, opening and closing her fists playfully. Her stand did the same and they pulled back, thrusting their fists into his face. Pucci could only sputter an indeterminate cry. Lightning struck 「Made in Heaven」 as it threw its head back in pain to match its user.

Time stuttered again, returning to a less accelerated state.

Pucci looked back to Jolyne in pain, eyes filled with rage. His body felt chummy and painful, all movement met with sharp aches. He snarled and lunged a final time at Jolyne, catching her afterimage.

“Hrm?” the priest choked out, blood spurting out.

“Two steps. You were two steps too late.” Jolyne’s arm raised above him before slashing down at light speed, going from his shoulder downward to his hip. He spurted blood as he split from the injury, dying on impact. His body parts hit the ocean and carried off quickly behind him, his blood pooling around him.

The priest was no more.

Time began to slow again, the priest’s severed body floating in the water. The waves calmed down and settled again, the sun setting behind them.

“We need to get these dolphins to a shoreline,” Jolyne stated.

An empty beach was in sight. As the water got shallower, the cetaceans struggled to not scrape the seafloor below them. Jolyne unraveled her strings and released the dolphins, petting their heads. Wave broke on the shoreline ahead, wind whistling in tune.

“Thank you, so much,” Jolyne said, standing in shin-deep water. “No wonder dad liked these guys.”

Emporio hugged one and the pair set off into the ocean, out of their sight. The two waved as their cetacean partners rode into the horizon. 

It had begun to rain, a light drizzle falling on the survivors. The water lapped at their legs solemnly as they watched the sun set behind them.

“I’m assuming this isn’t  your doing?” She turned to 「Weather Report」, the stand shaking its head. The source of the stand, the disc, was gripped by the young boy. Jolyne crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits, shuddering.

“It’s so cold.”

The stand formed itself into a cloud, covering the two. Emporio went to hug Jolyne, wrapping his arms around her waist. He sniffed and buried his face into her thigh, crying.

One drop. Another. It seemed like some of the rain was falling through the stand and hitting Emporio. He looked up and saw that the stand had completely sheltered them from all incoming rain. Instead, tears were streaming from Jolyne’s eyes, noise running. She sniffled and suppressed her cries.

“Jolyne…” Emporio faltered.

“W-what?” Jolyne said, slightly shaking.

“You-you’re crying.”

Jolyne’s shaking became more apparent, making Emporio let go and stand back. Jolyne uncrossed her arms and held her hands to her chest, letting tears hit her palms. She looked dumbfoundedly at her hands, mouth slightly open and eyes widened, face red. The slice in her face is now a reddened scar, her iris split into four on her left side. A much smaller horizontal scar formed on the sides of her eye. The stitch of her stand started to fade away. The weather Stand’s head materialized from the cloud, eying Jolyne worryingly.

“W-we defeated Pucci. But at-at what c-cost,” Jolyne stammered, choking on her words. She stumbled backwards and barely caught herself, the Stand moving to shelter her from the rain. Her mouth downturned into a frown, crossing her arms against her chest hard. She hung her head and let out a heaving gasp before falling to her knees. She let out a pained cry below here, gripping her chest. She turned her head to the sky, her voice carrying out into the empty beach. Emporio ran into her with a hug, crying alongside her.

Tears flowed freely as the woman sobbed out all her pent up feelings. She cried for Foo Fighters, the plankton she guided into humanity only to sacrifice herself. She cried for Weather, an amnesiac who became the first man she would ever trust. She cried for Anasui, a man desperately in love with who risked it all for her. She cried for Hermes, his closest friend in prison. She cried for her father who, although absent for most of her life, sacrificed himself for her safety. She cried for Emporio, the poor child caught up in this mess. She cried for her mother, who must be worried sick about her.

And she cried for herself, letting out a shrieking sob as she failed to protect her only friends. Her noises echoed into the shore, carrying over the ocean.

She stopped shuddering after a long while, fresh out of tears and snot. She crawled to the shore, Emporio holding her as she slowly got up. She stood in the sand, sopping wet and in pain, rocking on her feet.

A helicopter sounded from above. Emporio took the disc again and used 「Weather Report」 to make localized lightning to get their attention. The vehicle flashed a spotlight on the duo, making them flinch from the brightness.

Suddenly, vans came over the horizon. As they parked, ‘SPEEDWAGON FOUNDATION’ was blown up on their sides, paramedics and people in uniform running out of them.

They approached the duo cautiously, yelling out questions and holding out first aid. Emporio jumped and hid behind Jolyne’s legs, swaying back and forth.

The group stopped their talking and one in a lab coat and turtleneck approached them, slowly.

“Who are you?”

Jolyne straightened up and widened her stance.

“My name is Jolyne Cujoh.”

Her body couldn’t take it anymore. Her eyes fluttered shut as her knees buckled. She sidestepped to take balance, only to lean forward. She collapsed on the beach.

Chapter Text

His eyes shot open as his ears whined, vision doubled. His breathing was labored and uneven, the blood in his throat occasionally bubbling up from his neck and mouth. His body ached as the burns and bruises of his battle remained. His cow print jumpsuit is charred and torn, most of his upper body exposed to the air. 

His vision blurred, the shapes of the clouds going in and out of focus.

This is how it ends, huh? My ass being handed to me by two escapees and a child? What was the purpose of Pucci’s plan? Was this my purpose?

He shouldn’t be alive, and who knew how long until he finally kicked the bucket.

I hope Mom is ok.

He felt a spark in his chest.

He felt his body lighten up. He felt his neck injury close and his eyesight sharpen greatly. His chest loosened as the blood flooded out of his mouth, making him cough vigorously. Some mysterious force was healing him.

Until he felt his skin tingling.

The man shot up and winced as the feeling extended to the back of his neck and upper back. His skin smoked in the sunlight and his birthmark was especially burning. He screamed, blood spurting out as he shuffled over to some shade. Next to him was a puddle, and he went to look at himself.

He was not the Rikiel he once was.

His magenta hair was now turning blue at the roots. His yellow eyes glowed in the shade as they frantically scanned his face. Reaching around he skimmed over sharpened and elongated canines. Dark nails scraped over his face as he felt around.

A vampire. Fuck.

Pucci was not lying to him that his father was a vampire. 

Rikiel stammered to himself as he felt more around his face. Small cuts in his face were closing up and smoothing out into skin. Then, he felt his heart pick up the pace as he realized that he wasn’t entirely human anymore.

He shuffled away from the puddle, skin bubbling in the sunlight. It felt like a mild sunburn, and if his assumptions were correct, he needed actual shelter, and the palm trees in this roadside swamp weren't going to cut it. He needed help.

Rikiel sat up and noticed that his bike was gone.

Damn! They must have stolen it! He snapped, looking around hastily. He stood up and hobbled towards the road, waving frantically and calling out to passerbys. His skin sizzled in the sun, causing him to occasionally dip into the shades of palm trees to stop the pain. He whimpered out as tears formed in his eyes, hair flying as cars darted by. Rikiel took another look at his hair, seeing that the blue had travelled to halfway up his box braids.

In what seemed like forever, a black pickup-truck pulled up next to him and rolled down a window. The man was on the larger side, with olive eyes against peach-flushed skin. Stringy brown hair stuck out of a trucker hat matched with a wiry beard. Plump pink lips held a toothpick in place. He wore a green baseball tee stained with who knows what, a logo crumpled at its front.

“Young man? Are you in need of help?” he entertained, propping an elbow on the window.

“Y-yes, p-please I’m l-lost,” he begged, leaning against the car door. “I-I don’t have money or anything, s-so I can’t repay you.”

The trucker smiled. “There is no need. Hop into the passenger’s side.”

Rikiel thanked the man profusely and ran over to the car door, swinging open and tossing himself inside. He quickly put on a seatbelt and straightened up, looking straight ahead. He felt much safer here, the sharp smells of earth and cologne soothing him. He felt his heart rate slow. His skin had stopped sizzling in the meantime.

The trucker eyed his disheveled form, noting the blood and dirt covering his bizarre attire. He pulled out from the side of the road and merged onto the highway, eying his passenger.

“Gee kid, what happened to you? Was it those bikers back there?” he worried, pulling into the main road.

Rikiel shook his head and shuddered, breathing heavily. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

The trucker nodded. He turned up his radio to a country station, tapping his fingers to the beat of the acoustic.

“Name’s Simon Garfunkel of Paul Art Planning,” he said, tipping his hat. He turned and extended his hand out. “We’re a landscaping company out south usually. What’s your name?”

Rikiel hesitated and looked at the hand. He put his own between his thighs.

“Rikiel. Rikiel Brando,” he murmured, not turning.

Garfunkel nodded and pulled away. He pouted his lips.

“Brando, Brando, are you Italian?” the trucker tilted his head.

“N-no, my father just happens to have an Italian last name.”

“What’re you then?”

“M-my father is British and mother Egyptian,” Rikiel turned his head towards Garfunkel but avoided eye contact, “Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Just wanted to make sure yer ok and you are havin’ a concussion or somethin’. And look at you, lookin’ better already!”

Rikiel straightened up and tilted his head. He pulled down the visor to look at the mirror. His face was less swollen than before and his hair was completely blue now. His eyes glowed dimly in the shade of the car, teeth poking his bottom lip. The wound on his neck completely disappeared, surrounded only by miscellaneous bruises. He sighed with relief, relaxing his shoulders.

“I could tell you were a little mixed. Wife’s Iranian, I noticed the nose and all,” Garfunkel noted, tapping his own. “You Middle Eastern folk all got ‘em, lighter than most of ‘em though. I hope you’re feeling a little better.”

“Y-yes, I am. Thank you, again,” Rikiel murmured, chuckling.

“What’s with the get-up an’ all that?” he gestures to his torn cow print bodysuit and hair and eyes, “You one of them cosplayers?”

Rikiel tensed up, searching for a lie or something to cover his ass. He could explain the clothes, but the eyes and hair are a bit more complicated.

“I-uh, normally d-dress like this,” he stammered, shrinking into the car seat more.

The trucker turned away, facing the road fully. He nodded his head.

“I get why you might not be tellin’ me everythin’, you just don’t know me. But trust that I won’t plan anything malicious. Now, do you want me to drop you off somewhere or somethin’?”

Rikiel held his breath, never considering his next move. Can a hospital treat his injuries? Will vampirism make him a scientific target? He shook in place at the idea of being tested on like a high school frog during dissection. The next thing he thought was to seek someone to take blood from, as he thirsted for it. But this man was too nice, so he needed a more unsuspecting victim.

His birthmark spiked a pain in his shoulder, causing him to grab for it and wince. Garfunkel noticed and frowned.

“Where you need to go buddy?”

Rikiel sat in his thoughts for a moment. His birthmark told him north, so he needed a lie.

“I need to meet with my mother in a…minimall, but I only know how to get there.” Rikiel held his breath.

Garfunkel swiveled his head at the weird request.

“Ok, tell me the way.”

Rikiel guided him towards the location based on instinct, taking side streets down into a small district. They passed the hospital where he had been in previously, making Rikiel shrink away into the seat, looking down.

“Oh,” Garfunkel winced.

Rikiel turned forward to see what the trucker witnessed, and saw the carnage. Cars were destroyed and shells lied everywhere. Asphalt was upturned. Dried blood pooled everywhere. It got worse as they got deeper into the district, a fire hydrant leaked profusely in one area. Cracks tore through the road and multiple buildings, glass shattered in some stores. Puddles of blood and water dotted the area. Garfunkel carefully maneuvered around the debris.

Rikiel held his breath as his birthmark stung.

“D-drop me off here,” Rikiel stammered, rubbing his arms.

“Here? Are you sure? It seems real dangerous.”

“Y-yeah,” he unbuckled his seatbelt and tried the door.

Garfunkel pulled into the shade to Rikiel’s relief and let the vampire get out. He rolled down his window as Rikiel started to speak. 

“T-thank you so much Mr. Garfunkel. Y-you really didn’t have to do this. I appreciate the effort.”

“No worries! Anything for a fellow Stand user!”

Rikiel froze and took a ‘defensive’ stance: he widened his legs but held his chest, baring his new sharpened canines and tried a hiss, sounding like a disheveled kitten.

“H-how did you-”

“Besides them weird cosplayers who else would wear a get up like that purposefully?”

A figure appeared in the passenger seat, shimmering in with a guitar strum. It took the form of a human-like bear, matching the trucker’s heavyset body type. It wore decorative green coveralls hiding fur and large muscles. Its face looks like a man wearing bear skin over its eyes, bright blue lights glowing where its sockets would be. Rikiel flicked his eyes at the Stand and back to Garfunkel, who heartily laughed.

“This is 「Old Friends」, but don’t worry all he did was calm ya nerves.” The stand waved playfully. “You’re the anxious type huh?”

“I-I-”

“Anyways, stay safe out there and I hope you find ya ma!” He rolled up the window and pulled out from the shade, turning around so that his window was next to the stunned man.

“And if ya ever need some help down here.” He handed Rikiel a business card with the company name and number. “Ring me up, assuming you are still in the area ‘n all. See ya Brando!”

He saluted the man and 「Old Friends」clapped playfully as they drove off, avoiding the rubble.

Rikiel stayed still for a while, taking in the fact he faced another stand user: a one sided affair with no casualty. He needed to be much more careful.

He roamed around the plaza, taking in the scene better. As he progressed, he saw actual bodies of people strewn about, gagging at the site. Some have cracks in their bodies, faces contorted in fear. Others were severed by unknown causes, lying across shells. Whatever happened here was drastic; Rikiel wondered if this was Pucci’s doing.

Was I just foder then? Rikiel reflected, looking at his claws.

He wasn’t paying attention when he tripped on something large. He fell with a shriek and landed on asphalt. He cried out as he felt bits of concrete go into his skin, his exposed shoulder scrapping on the ground. He put his arms out to feel for what he tripped on, propping himself up to view the object.

It was Weather Report’s body. It was slumped against a wall with a face of defeat, an arm slung across his chest. A large cavity where his stomach would have been was punched, blood pooled around the wound. His right leg was severed off, blood trailing outwards from his body.

Rikiel gagged and shuffled backwards, rolling back to the shade as he backed into the sun. His breathing labored as he gazed upon the corpse, shaking profusely and crying. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyelids drooped. Rikiel took some deep breaths and shut his eyes, regaining control of his body. He leaned in slightly to confirm the body was not moving, and slowly crawled back to it.

He instinctually licked his lips and opened his mouth a bit, feeling that blood craving arise again. He felt pressure around his nails as he crawled closer

“T-this is fucked up, but, and I’m so sorry, but h-how should I…” Rikiel apologized, reaching out to the body.

He placed a hand on the corpse’s neck, tracing the star mark on his left shoulder. He touched his own and shuddered. Putting his hand back, he felt his nails dig into involuntarily. Rikiel shrieked until he saw that they turned red. Blood seemed to be flowing into the nails.

Vampires can drink blood from their fingers? He questioned, tilting his head.

He tasted the blood as it entered his body, despite not drinking directly. It tasted metallic but in a good way, like chewing aluminum foil. He felt his wounds patch up and his strength regaining, feeling more energized than before. He sat straight up and tugged his nails from his neck and looked upon them. Investigating further he saw small holes within the nails like an inverted needle. He grimaced at this new fact.

He kneeled next to the body and bowed his head, trying to find a way to respect the body. He couldn’t recall any prayers and sat awkwardly near the body for a while.

“I hope you have found peace, Weather Report.”

He felt the ground tilt under him.

Chapter Text

Rikiel straightened up and got up slowly. The ground underneath him rumbled as it angled downward.

“W-what?” Rikiel stammered, rocking to regain his footing. He widened his stance and looked around, seeing objects tumble downward as the horizon shifted. He began to slide too, so he ran for the nearest lamp post. He held on as the ground shifted faster now, getting steeper and steeper. His legs dangled downward as the floor became parallel to him, making him shriek. He kicked them as he hung there, screaming out.

“What is happening? Is anyone there?”

No response could be heard over the sound of things crashing into each other. Cars slammed into store fronts and objects fell out of windows downward. Trees creaked as the new gravity sent them drooping downward. Loose asphalt descended into the building below. Glass shattered all around him as objects fell out of store fronts and slammed into the glass building below him.

Rikiel’s eyes widened, now remembering what Pucci told him.

“Is this New Moon?” he exacerbated, pulling himself on top of the tilted lamp post. He got up with ease to his surprise, sitting down on it.

He looked outwards to see the horizon has shifted 90 degrees clockwise facing east. Rikiel slowly stood up on the lamp post with a new found ease, only wobbling out of shock. 

Rikiel covered his mouth and sobbed. Was Pucci actually succeeding? Did he surpass the Joestars? Did he win?

And he left him behind?

Rikiel sniffled into his hand, swearing under his breath. What a load of bullshit. 

Rikiel flashed back to the hospital. He remembered being told to quickly leave upon learning of his ability. He felt grateful that this priest was able to give him newfound hope upon his sickness. The anxiety alleviated and his body normalized, making him absolutely confident in defeating Jolyne. But here he was, crying on a lamppost barely surviving that encounter.

He never knew his father before Pucci, and took it in stride when he did. He wanted to be a part of this legacy. But this was fated to fail as Pucci recalled Dio’s loss against Jotaro. He was set to fail from the get go. Rikiel truly believed he was bait now.

His sobs of sadness became those of rage as he punched out in the air. He screamed into the streets, snarling and snapping. He slammed down on the lamp post below him, warping them and snapping the internal wires. Rikiel paused as he felt them give way. He looked up for something to jump onto and saw an open door. He quickly shifted his stance into a kneel and kicked off the post piece, barely grabbing onto the door handle. He dangled as he heard the hinges creaked. He looked down a large drop into a glass building, shattered in areas where rubble had slammed into it as the gravity flipped. He looked up painfully and swung on the door, jumping into the sideways building. Looking around, it was a small café with its counters bolted to the floor, the tables and chairs piled up against a plexiglass window. He sat on the doorframe and dangled his legs through the door.

Rikiel clenched his jaw and screamed, full of anger and rage.

“He left me to die huh? ‘No favorites’ my ass! ‘Course he liked Donatello better, an actual humanoid stand. What? Is my heat manipulation not good enough?” he vented to no one, his words rattling the building.

“Bullshit, all of it. What the fuck is this vendetta anyway? Why must my father be like this? Actually, scratch that, DIO. He didn’t even RAISE me so why does he deserve that title? All he did was rape my mom and boom, I was born. I shouldn’t even be here anyways, let alone for twenty-two years!”

He slammed a fist down on the plexiglass, the surface wobbling on impact.

“I am so sorry Mom,” his voice wavered, hiccuping. “I really should have stayed with you. I shouldn’t have followed my stupid birthmark. I should have stayed with the only family I knew. I want to hug you again. I want to just be with you again.” He slapped his shoulder, wincing in pain. “I really hope you’re safe somewhere or if you did perish, at least went out peacefully.” Rikiel hiccuped. “Why did I abandon…the only person who actually cared for me?” 

Rikiel sat silently for a moment and sobbed into the space, letting out all of the pent-up sadness and regret. He tried to think of his mom, this poor Egyptian woman a victim of his father. He wasn’t as religious as she was, but he wished he had some sort of faith to latch onto now, and Catholicism was definitely out of the question. Whatever force out there wasn’t letting him succeed in life or death, so what purpose does he have?  

Fucking embarassing, to not even die right.

Rikiel gasped out and bared his teeth, staring into the cracked acrylic intensely. He growled and his eyes glowed, clenching his fist tightly. He started to shake again, but not out of anxiety. He began slamming his fists into the plexiglass in rapid succession, the material warping and cracking.

“Pucci set me up for failure, that’s what! He needed to stall for this whole fucking plan to go underway! And for what? A new universe? So that people knew their fates? Whatever happened to a good old fashion surprise? Because I sure as hell was surprised to know I had two other brothers!”

The hits got faster and harder, the acrylic giving way. He shifted into a kneel by the window and slammed into it furiously as he cried out.

“I want to see my mom! I want to go home! I never wanted to be a part of this fucked up legacy! I didn’t want any of this! Stupid! Fucking! Birthmark! Fuck! This! Family!”

On final swing broke the window, the tables and chairs falling through onto another building. He heard the distance crash of glass as they collided with its windows.

Rikiel pulled his knees into his chest and heaved into them, trying to calm down. He shut his eyes and took in deep breaths. He felt his form sweat and shudder as he came down from his rage.

And almost suddenly, gravity went back to normal. Rikiel slammed sideways into the floor of the café, grunting. He rubbed his shoulder as he sat up, looking around.

He crawled under the window and looked around. The café went back to normal, or as normal as one with no furniture would. The overhead lights swung as they adjusted to the change in gravity. Chalkboards and wall decorations swung slightly. Machines on the walls flashed colors as they calibrated themselves.

He looked up at the sky to see the sun setting. Strange, it was past noon earlier. How long was gravity flipped?

Then the sun began setting faster. Was his perception of time altered?

Then the moon rose and set. And the sun rose and set. And again. And again.

And again.

The wind picked up, making Rikiel look around hastily to check on Weather’s body, which slumped against another building. No, he was dead, so this was not his doing.

The sun became a stream of light as the time changed rapidly from day to night and day again. 

“H-he actually did it.”

Time accelerated and the wind howled. Rikiel covered his ears and screamed, falling into a squat. He fell on his hands and knees and pulled them close, heaving.

He shut his eyes again, praying to any god that could hear. He cried again, rocking his body.

In the distance, he heard people screaming. Rubble was taken up by the wind, slamming into buildings. Bodies scrapped across the floor.

“What is going on?” a female Italian rang out.

“I-I don’t know,” an Italian man stuttered out.

“Get in the turtle and take cover!” a man with a heavy French accent sounded.

Italian could be heard in the distance, sharp tones exchanging among a small group of people. It quickly stopped as the sky flashed light and dark.

“「GOLDEN EXPERIENCE REQUIEM」!” Was all that Rikiel could hear over the howling of the wind and rubble slamming into other things. He covered his ears as they rang, hoarsely screaming. 

The flashing continued as Rikiel felt lightheaded. He collapsed on the floor of the café. He regained consciousness not long after, looking up to the sky. He saw it flash at a slower rate this time, shifting to daytime occasionally. He propped himself on his elbows and looked into the sky.

And as soon as it started, he felt time stop. Then it began to speed up again. He crawled away from the window and pressed against a counter to see time accelerate at a slower pace this time. He held a hand to his chest and massaged it, his heart thumping out of his chest.

He blinked as he saw time slow again. The flashing became less apparent as time graduated between skies. Time went back to normal as it became dusk.

Rikiel got up and turned to the back of the café. He reached out to a locked back door and tugged on it hard. He crushed the doorknob to his surprise and pulled. He took twists and turns in a shaken up hallway, heading for an emergency exit. 

He left the building and walked into an alleyway, trash, clothes, and wire strewn about. He tiptoed around the carnage and stepped out into a new road, with just as much carnage as before. Time seemed to move normally again, dusk falling upon the sky normally. Despite the upturned road in front of him, it was strangely serene and quiet. His skin no longer burned as harshly as he stepped out of the shade into the twilight.

He looked down to see Donatello’s body in the street.

Chapter Text

It was March 21, 2012, and the world has just turned ninety degrees. 

Giorno stood on the side of a glass building, carefully navigating the thick panels. He controlled his breathing out as he clutched the turtle in hand, his companions standing in the turtle nervously. He winced as his birthmark stung his skin.

“What could have done this? Is this a stand attack? Is this even real?” Mista yelled, finger on the trigger of his pistol.

“This could be a whole mentality thing!” Fugo stated, wobbling from the shaky movements on the outside. “Like[Man in the Mirror!]”

“Fugo, this must be a large local event. Even stands that manipulate memories cannot replicate an attack of this scale. Unless…” Polnareff pondered, hovering around the interior.

“Did anyone fall asleep?” 

“No,” the group responded.

“Did anyone eat anything funny?”

“No, I checked,” Giorno said from the outside, looking into the gem.

“Did anyone have any suspicious interactions?” 

“Polnareff, this has to be some widespread attack then,” Trish muttered, squatting on one of the chairs. “Nothing bizarre had happened yet on this trip, so I guess this is what it came to!”

Giorno continued to inch on the glass, the surface cracking every so often. He stilled when he saw a large crack form under him, making him look down. He took deep breaths as he looked down into the building. It was a five-story office building and he was standing on the third floor. Looking to one side was the sky, and on the other, the pavement ‘below’. Glass was destroyed throughout the entire floor: windows, panes, monitors, and the like. Furniture caught on cubicles and pillars, and those that weren’t smashed through the other side of the building. 

The don slowly placed the turtle into his open shirt, facing the turtle upwards and outwards so that the gem faced away from him. He took a deep breath and ran. The glass cracked beneath him with each heavy step, his dress shoes squeaking. 

As he approached the edge he jumped off, the glass shattering beneath him. He reached out and grabbed at a lamppost, dangling downward. Looking down, the drop leading to a building sticking more outward than the rest about twenty feet below him. He summoned [Gold Experience] who shimmered into existence, turning the lamp post into a vine. It lowered the group to the wall and Giorno took the turtle out from his shirt, letting his companions emerge. He began shaking out debris from his blonde hair and his rolled bangs, airing out a light yellow half-buttoned dress shirt thereafter. His warm grey formal pants were fine, but his black wholecuts were scuffed from running.

Fugo was the first to step out, gun in hand and on the trigger. He adjusted his set of merger glasses, a chain with a strawberry charm at the end swaying with his adjustments. He patted down a pink button-up and red pants held with burgundy suspenders, scraping purple shoes on the wall. He shook his strawberry blonde bangs free of dust.

Mista emerged soon after, shaking his head and running his fingers through curly brown hair, taking out any debris. He shook off a black t-shirt and red backpack, dusting the knees of dark blue jeans. He stomped out asphalt out of a pair of sneakers. His purple pistol secure in his pants wiggled around as he patted himself down.

And Trish was the last to exit, twirling a pink sundress for debris. She stomped on the ground with a pair of black block heels. She shook out her pink curl and dusted off a pair of aviators.

The vacationing Italians stretched their limbs as they took in the horrid sight of the flipped gravity. The creaking of broken street lamps and tumbling asphalt populated the air. A scream could be heard in the distance.

“What the fuck is going on then?” Mista called out, looking at Giorno. “You’ve been so standoffish since we landed in America! And you were the one who decided to come here!”

“Florida fucking sucks!” Trish complained, picking asphalt from her curl. 

“This has to be some type of apocalyptic stand to cause such a large-scale event!” Giorno exacerbated, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“No, what is going on with you?” Mista emphasized, pointing with his free hand.

Giorno began collecting his thoughts, trying to formulate a story that was true but vague. He wanted to tell his friends what is going on, but he doesn’t want to induce more panic. He flinched as his shoulder buzzed. 

“I might just be sore from Disney World is all,” he chuckled nervously, rubbing his shoulder.
“What exactly were you doing to have pain specifically at your birthmark?” Fugo asked, cocking an eyebrow. “There is no way you slept on it funny or anything since it’s not a joint.”
Giorno looked away, frowning.

“Giogio, please talk to us,” Fugo worried, placing his gun in the band of his pants. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us anything.”

“Yeah, what Fugo said!” Mista tossed his arms in the air. “Quit being such a tough guy and leaving us in the dark! Stop lying and get straight to the point.”

Trish eyed her friend nervously. He was clearly tense, something she hasn’t seen from the man in a literal decade. His eyes moved around haphazardly, searching for something. He was rubbing his shoulder at his birthmark, making Trish tilt her head. She straightened up and focused her glare on Giorno.

“Giorno, you know something that we don’t, huh?” Trish said, taking a step towards him. “Something more serious than a shoulder ‘injury’.” She exaggerated air quotes, tossing her head to the side with each syllable of ‘injury’.

“Trish,” Mista said, putting his own gun in his pants. He started to walk towards her.

“Something is gravitating towards something, huh? I know that looks all too well.” She shook her head and upturned her mouth, eying him. Giorno turned his head to her as she got closer, unable to break her stern eye contact. She felt her face heat up as memories flashed before her.

“Trish.” Mista’s pace quickened towards the woman.

“What or who is it? Is it causing this event? Is it some item like the arrow? Whatever it is, it must have been your driving force to come here? May I remind you the last time we followed someone’s senses ‘blindly’ three people died?” She air quoted ‘blindly’, alluding to something more sinister.

“Trish.” Mista reached out to her. Fugo rubbed his arm and looked away, frowning.

Trish did not stop her crusade toward Giorno. The events played in her head over and over: the elevator, her father, the bodies, his face, all of it. She held back tears as scenarios came to mind mirroring that mission.

“Stop being so fucking robotic and admit that is what that is. There was more to driving into some random ass plaza than a pitstop. Why do you have to leave us in the dark for so long? Why do you try and grieve alone? You know more than you let be known Giovanna, like what happened to Buccela-”
Mista put a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off.

“If this is about 2001, cut it out. It wasn’t his fault, or yours. Buccellati wanted to betray the boss in the first place, and we were all complicit. I get why Giorno might not be telling us the truth, but there has to be a good reason for it. We wouldn’t understand-”

Trish slapped his hand away, making Mista flinch.

“Yeah, YOU wouldn’t understand! I would! That escort mission to my death cost the lives of several people! And I still feel like shit! With Giorno being so fucking reserved about his feelings it’s like walking in that death trap all over again!”

Trish sniffled and rubbed her nose. She shuddered at the memory and hung her head. She didn’t want a repeat of that mission. She didn’t want people dying because they were following some instinctual lead. It would lead to doom for sure. 

“History may not repeat itself,” she cried, crossing and clutching her arms. “But often it rhymes.”

She was right, Giorno thought. It was a familial tie. This was 2001 all over again. He shuddered as his birthmark stung again. He wanted to tell them so desperately, but this particular situation was more urgent. Telling the truth can wait: the gravity of the current world was much more pressing than his flaring birthmark. If they lived this, he had to tell them. 

“Polnareff, please pass me the arrow,” he commanded, reaching out to the turtle on the ground.

“No, you are NOT avoiding this conversation by going into pain and ignoring this larger issue,” Trish demanded.

Shuffling could be heard inside of the key and the beetle arrow emerged. Giorno grabbed it from the splinter and summoned his stand next to him. 

[Spice Girl] reached out and held Giorno by the wrist, halting his motion. Trish’s intense emerald eyes met Giorno’s distressed teal. [Spice Girl] eyed [Gold Experience], who pouted.

“Answer my question before you escalate the situation by activating Requiem. What is wrong with you?”

Giorno looked into the angry woman’s eyes and jabbed the arrow into his stand’s arm, the familiar golden smoke emerging from the wound. 

“Unbe-fucking-liavable.” Trish threw his arm back at him and stepped away, face red with rage.

 Giorno bled from where he stabbed his stand and fell to one knee, grunting. He clenched his teeth as the arrow made its way slowly up his stand’s arm. The smoke continued to surround the stand, its form cracking.

“This conversation isn’t over Giovanna,” Trish fumed, Mista putting a hand on each shoulder holding her back.

Giorno looked down to avoid his friends’ gazes and held back a scream as the arrow settled in the forehead of his stand, [Gold Experience]’s outer shell molting off of themselves.

The form of [Gold Experience Requiem] finally appeared next to its user. Glowing red eyes surveyed the group, scanning them intensely. The divots within the golden shell outlined their entire body, increasing the amount of shadow on its body, making it more intimidating. The purple and orange details throughout their body glowed in the shade. The stand turned their whole form north.

Over there , they stated, pointing off in the distance. The group looked to see a space station across the water, a rocket marking the location.

There is a Stand event over there. Whoever it is, they are causing this gravitational event.

“Well, can you do anything about it?” Mista sassed, tossing his arms up.

The stand glared at the gunman, making him flinch.

No. I must get near the source to do so. All I can do is help with localized damage. I can try and reverse the gravity in this region, the stand kneeled, feeling the wall. But it will only be temporary. There is no way for us to safely travel to that location.

“So what, we wait it out?” Trish threw her arms up. “How the hell do you wait out gravity?”

[GER] looked away unknowingly.

“Great, our trump card can’t even give an answer!” 

“Everyone calm down! We’ll be fine,” Giorno sighed, massaging his temples. He flinched as his birthmark pricked his skin. [GER] made an unsure noise, pouting their lips. Giorno shut his eyes and turned away from his stand as it gave an uncomfortable look to its user.

He doesn’t like being this unsure. Who or what was gravitating him to this place? Why Florida? Is the source the root of this event? Are they dangerous? Is it another Diavolo situation? Is someone going to die? Was this the right choice to begin with? Time could only tell.

Giorno groaned at the possibilities and rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes sealed shut. [GER] stood at attention and looked to the ground.

Gravity is resetting , they stated.

“What does that mean?” Giorno asked, eyebrows furrowed.

I can sense it going back to normal soon. Everyone, lie against the building with the pavement to your feet. [GER] ordered, facing the group. When gravity resets, at least you will be standing on solid ground and not fall a couple of stories.

The group looked at each other reluctantly and positioned themselves to [GER]’s guidance. They laid them along the wall with feet flat to the pavement, facing outward. The stand pushed their legs further apart. They hovered around them checking their posture and put up a thumb.

Brace yourselves, this will get nasty.

Gravity reset almost instantly. It threw the group off the wall, tossing them forward. Mista fell flat on his face against the wall, gun spinning away from him. Trish fumbled forward before falling on her knees and hands, hissing as she scraped against the asphalt. Fugo let himself walk forward to stabilize himself, putting his arms out as he fell a bit farther away. And Giorno tripped as he walked forward to stabilize, landing on his left shoulder. He hissed as his chest scraped the floor. Polnareff tumbled out of Fugo’s hands and retracted into his shell, spinning away.

The group groaned as they slowly got up, dusting off dust and rubble that dug into their skin on impact.

Something’s wrong . The stand stated, looking out to the western sky.

“No shit Sherlock,” Fugo sassed, dusting himself off.

Giorno looked to where his stand turned to and tilted his head. Wasn’t it noon a few minutes ago? Why is the sky orange? Gravity wasn’t flipped for that long.

“Wait, what is wrong?” Polnareff asked, crawling towards the group.

“The sun is setting,” Giorno said, not turning to the group.

Trish took out her flip phone and gulped.

“Gio, look at this,” she said, approaching Giorno.

He looked at her phone and saw that the minutes were ticking up at a faster rate. He looked back at the sky and noticed the sun was setting faster.

A light breeze was kicking up around the group, ruffling hair and loose clothing. Giorno shuddered as did his stand, realizing this wasn’t a normal event.

The wind picked up and howled, the group cringing and covering their ears.

“What is going on?” Trish yelled, trying to get above the wind.

“I-I don’t know,” Giorno cried, covering his ears and gritting his teeth. His birthmark burned now, causing him to howl and fall to a knee. The sky was changing faster now, flashing between day and night.

“Giorno!” the group yelled, overtaken by the wind.

“Get in the turtle and take cover!” Polnareff demanded from inside the turtle. Giorno took him out of his shirt and held him out.

“ You guys need to get in, I’ll stay out here ,” Giorno ordered in Italian.

Trish looked at the turtle and back at Giorno, cringing and tapping on the key. The pink-haired woman warped inside. Fugo nodded and warped after her.

“ No, you are NOT dying out here ,” Mista responded in the same language. “ I’m your bodyguard and I should be the one taking the hits! It’s just rocks! ”

Loose asphalt rose from the wind and began tumbling down the street. The sun was now a ray of light above them, the sky flashing along with it. Debris struck dangerously close to the two.

“ Mista, this is not a matter of titles and roles anymore. I can use my [Gold Experience Requiem] to avoid being damaged by anything. I can risk a few pebbles. I can’t bring you back to life if you perish. ”

Rubble flew past the duo, making Mista flinch but Giorno straightened up.

“ Guido, please. ” He put a hand on his shoulder. Mista looked up at his boss. After a while, he nodded and put a hand over the turtle, not quite warping in.

“ Number 1 and 7, stay out with him, ” he commanded, warping inside.

#1 and #7 materialized onto each of Giorno’s shoulders, slapping their hands on the sides of their heads and curling up.

“We can’t leave you alone bossman,” #1 piped up, clenching his jaw. “No matter what we’re pushing through this together!”

“Yeah!” #7 winced. “It may be painful out here but it’s just as painful in there!”

Giorno rolled his eyes at Mista's stubbornness. 

“[GOLD EXPERIENCE REQUIEM]!” he cried hoarsely, feeling air rush into his lungs. He exhaled roughly and coughed, covering his mouth with his free hand. 

The wind slashed around him, cutting into him. [GER]’s ability activated, reverting back any damage Giorno happened to take. The familiar warping noises of the stand’s ability joined the harmony of wind, glass shattering, and rubble smashing into objects. It formed a stream of invulnerability around the group.

He held the turtle to his chest and shut his eyes, praying. He prayed they would survive this. He knew they could survive this. They had to survive this. #1 and #7 stopped talking and curled up harder, tucking themselves into Giorno’s shirt.

[GER]embraced their user and continued to work their ability. They put their head to his and held him close. The pistols gripped the collar as they lashed around the vortex.

The blue translucent aura of the stand made the duo rise in the air, debris avoiding the group as they did so. The wind and noises got louder and louder, the flashing becoming more apparent. Time stuttered at some moments, the wind dying down as it did so. But time continued to accelerate. Giorno felt his body straining to keep working, his stand shuddering above him.

Then he felt time stop. Everything went silent. Eyes sealed shut, Giorno saw a vision on his eyelids. Flashes of purple and chartreuse flashed across his eyes, slashing at each other in bold red streaks. A cyan one appeared before him and attacked the purple, a yellow light at its tail end.

Suddenly, the wind stopped and the rubble tumbled to a stop. He opened his eyes as he plummeted to the ground. He held his breath as his stand came to catch him, lowering him down safely. He struggled to say standing, rocking on his feet as he tried to process what just happened. The sky was no longer flashing and the sun was setting normally.

His breathing quickened as he lowered the turtle from his chest. Sweat beaded from his forehead. He handed it to his stand who put it on the floor slowly. Giorno continued to stare wide-eyed into nothing and swaying, trying to control his breathing. He was sweating now, shirt sticking to his chest. [GER] noticed and reverted them into their pores, making Giorno’s body shudder but expression unaffected. His face remained red, his signature rolled bangs unrolled and sticking to his face. His birthmark was practically searing his soul at this point, exposed to the air.

The stand arrow popped out of [GER]’s head, quickly reverting back to regular [Gold Experience]. Giorno coughed blood as the arrow clattered to the ground, clutching his own neck. 

All three of them came out of the turtle simultaneously. They all worryingly approached the man, patting him down and speaking to him in Italian. His teal eyes glossed over as he wavered in place, hair sprouting from his face. The event seemed to age him a bit as he toddled to a stand, staring blankly. His friends quickened their speech and called for his attention as he opened and closed his hands. 

But he heard none of it as he broke the group’s comfort huddle and quickly walked down the sidewalk. Giorno quickly bent down to collect the arrow and broke into a run. 

Trish, Fugo, Mista, and Polnareff all looked at each other and followed suit reluctantly.

Chapter Text

The group ran into the courtyard of the mini-mall. The street was cracked and buildings demolished, bodies littering the area. Broken snail shells were scattered around the plaza, lodged in cracks, strewn across the streets. Rotted corpses dot the area, a gust away from disintegrating. Asphalt was cracked and crumbled across the floor as if a faultline ripped through the streets. The area was now a purple as twilight melted into night, the full moon the only light source among the wreckage.

Giorno came to a halt and looked around, massaging his shoulder. The group finally caught up, panting and wheezing from the pursuit. He gripped the stand arrow tighter.

“Giorno! Stop avoiding us and answer-” Trish started, panting.

“Joestar,” Giorno finally heaved.

“What?” Trish snapped.

“I can’t explain it, but what I can say is that my birthmark is linked to the rest of my family. I-I thought the ones I did meet were the only ones! L-like Jotaro and Josuke. But it seems another one is drawing me like a beacon.”

“I fucking knew it,” Trish complained, pinching the bridge of our nose. “I swear to God Giovanna if you lead us into an ambush-” 

Giorno started running again.

“HEY!” Trish followed suit.

The remaining men look at each other then start running after them with haste. The group managed to catch up to Giorno keeping pace. Their leader, however, was too preoccupied running towards the source.

“You’re saying another Joestar? But who?” Polnareff chirped from the tortoise. “I know there is Josuke and Joseph and Jotaro, but who else would be out in Florida?”

“I-I don’t know Polnareff, but whoever it is I feel a close connection to,” Giorno ponders, looking down to their ghostly companion.

“This is really what drove you to shitty humid Florida?” Mista sassed, gun swinging in hand. “At least pick a better location, Jesus Christ.”

Too many thoughts swam in Giorno’s head. Who was setting off the birthmark? Are they responsible for the time speed up? Unlikely if they are in this plaza. Are they dangerous? Unclear. Stand user? No doubt. He felt the birthmark flicker again and he winced, taking in a couple of deep breaths. His run stuttered, but he kept pace.

They eventually reached another intersection where Giorno stopped. The burning sensation on his birthmark intensified, causing Giorno to fold. He fell to a knee, gripping his shoulder hard. 

“Giorno!” his companions yelled, running to his aid. They began asking multiple questions, asking if he was ok, what was happening, why was his shaking, overlaying in panicked Italian. 

“They’re near.” Giorno looked up.

He stood up slowly and stepped into the middle of the intersection. To his right, he saw the body of a middle-aged man, his right leg gone and his face pale. A dirtied white buffalo hat with horns sat messily on top of white curly hair, a face of defeat plastered on his diseased body. He donned a blue bodysuit with a ‘W’ belt buckle. He looked like he was tossed around and dead for a while now, bugs flying around his body. He was bloodied and wet, clothing sticking to the corpse. There were three holes in his neck, dripping with blood.

Mista walked up next to Giorno, gun at the ready. He looked left and saw movement, aiming his gun and yelling.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled in English, “Let me see your hands! What are you doing to that body?”

Giorno snapped around to see what Mista was threatening. Fugo and Trish ran up to him to see the commotion.

A man was hunched over a corpse several yards away, thick strips of violet haloed around his head. He wore a black and white patterned bodysuit torn at the shoulder, a darker mark hidden under dirt covering his body. Bright yellow eyes looked back in an unreadable expression. The man stood up and squared his shoulders, the outlines of claws at the end of his hands opening and closing. Blood dripped down from his face and from one of his hands. From what could be seen of the corpse, it had blonde hair with a black streak through it, a white bodysuit torn and dirtied with blood and dirt. Its face was turned away, but at its neck was a bite and claw mark. A much larger gash could be seen from where a sideburn would have been.

“I said hands up!” Mista yelled, aiming the gun higher up, finger on the trigger.

The man slowly raised his arms, shaking. His yellow eyes narrowed as he tilted his head.

“Who are you?” Mista calls out, approaching slowly.

“Mista, be careful!” Trish yelled out, summoning [Spice Girl].

Giorno could only stare at the figure in the distance. The familiarity only intensified as he made eye contact, his teal eyes meeting their yellow. As Giorno winced, so did the figure. He followed behind Mista at the same pace, taking the turtle from Fugo and holding him close.

The man in the distance was slowly backing away, stepping over the body. However, his eyes glowed brighter and the man widened his stance. A buzzing sound rang throughout, emitting from the figure. The sound turned into a painful whine as his eyes turned purple.

Giorno’s eyes widened as he ran at Mista.

“MISTA, DUCK!” He tackled his bodyguard. They both fell to the ground.

A beam of light shot out from the figure’s eyes, hissing through the air. Fugo and Trish ducked as the beam cleared their heads, striking a building. It pierced the glass flawlessly and left a molten mess in its path. The figure stumbled back as their attack ended, trying to stabilize.

“Fuck it,” Mista hissed, emptying his revolver. [Sex Pistols] rode on each of the bullets, cheering as they soared towards the figure. The figure jumped as the pistols aimed the bullets more accurately, kicking three into his torso, two at his legs, and one in the middle of his head. The figure collapsed with a gargle, making a dull thud on the asphalt.

“What the fuck was that?” Fugo cried out, reaching for his own gun.

Mista tapped on Giorno, making the latter roll off of him. The brunette got up and dusted himself off. “Gio! I’m supposed to be the bodyguard here.”

Giorno looked in shock at the bullet ridden body in the distance. The connection faded for a second, but then it spiked again. He winced and grasped his shoulder in pain, Fugo and Trish going to his side.

Mista reloaded his gun as he approached the body. Looking down on him, he looked like a man in his early twenties of average build, the pattern on his suit being that of a cow. Mista gagged at the tackiness, kicking the body. The body’s face remained unchanged as he hit him: eyes blown open and mouth frozen in a scream. Sharp fangs were visible and bared surrounded by smeared pink lipstick. He was covered in blood, most likely a mix of his own and his victims, Mista assumed. His hair was styled in half-done box braids blown outwards. His eyes were indeed yellow, glossed over, and widened in fear.

“Vampires are the fucks with the sharp teeth, yeah? He got blood around his mouth,” Mista turns to his group, pointing at the body with his gun.

“Y-yeah?” Fugo answered, adjusting his glasses, “But he shot lasers from his eyes. What kind of fucking vampire shoots lasers from his eyes?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Mista tossed his arms up. “Trish, you watched Twilight , the fuck is this about?”

“Die,” Trish snapped. She looked at the body near Mista and noticed his hand twitch.

“Guido, he’s still alive,” Trish stated, eyes widened.

“What?”

The man’s body stiffened, rising all at once. The yellow eyes glowed brightly as he stood behind Mista. Mista straightened up himself, and before he could turn, sharp claws entered his neck. He cried out as his knees buckled, an arm catching him on the way down. His legs kicked at the ground to keep himself from falling, the grip on his back tightening. Mista screamed as he felt blood slowly leaving his body from the puncture, quickly losing balance. A leg propped behind his own to prevent him from hitting the floor.

The vampire glared at the group, teeth bared and growling.

“Who the fuck are you guys?” The figure spat. “I’m guessing Italians by the accent. I really didn’t feel like dealing with people right now but purple pistol here decided to shoot me.” 

The pistols went to assault the vampire, kicking and slamming their bodies into his upper body. They weren’t leaving any marks, however, annoying the man. Mista gasped out and became paler as his blood was drawn from his neck. The man rolled his eyes and snapped at one of the pistols, a tooth slicing into #1, making Mista spit blood.

The vampire sighed, a slight shaking in his voice. 

“I’ll let him go if you don’t attack m-”

“Spice Girl!” Trish yells as her stand slammed the ground in front of her. A ripple of asphalt ran in the direction of the men and destabilized the floor, making the vampire let go and drop Mista. He hit the floor and rubbed his neck, Sex Pistols surrounding their user worryingly. Mista shimmied in place to prevent sinking into the softened asphalt below him.

The vampire began sinking into the floor but jumped before the heel of his boot completely sunk. Softened asphalt stuck to the bottom of his boot as he hopped backward. He jumped back a few feet and snarled, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance. His claws scraped the asphalt as his hands grazed the ground upon landing.

“You guys attacked me so why am I the threat?” he snapped, stretching out his claws to intimidate.

“You shot at us with your laser eyes. What kind of fucking vampire has laser eyes ?” Mista complained, pushing on his wound with his hand. He fumbled for his gun. The vampire rolled his eyes at the attempt. He kicked the gunman on the ground, making him wince. He propped a foot on his ribs as Mista turned on his side, bending over to prop an elbow on his knee.

“Stop trying so hard and you’ll bleed slower,” the vampire chuckled. 

“Your shoulder,” Giorno finally said, tapping at his own.

The figure looked at his own shoulder and clasped a hand over it, snapping back at Giorno.

“It’s none of your damn business, blondie,” he hissed, “I’m not looking for any help, so fuck off. Leave me alone.”

“No, because...” He handed off Polnareff to Fugo and stood up. He unbuttoned a single button of his shirt and went to pull back the fabric on his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes widened and downturned. He put his hands up defensively. 

“Whoa, hey buddy what the fuck?”

“I have the same mark as you.”

Giorno looked directly at the vampire as he exposed his star-shaped birthmark. Polnareff, Fugo, and Trish look back and forth at Giorno and the vampire, who squinted at the group. The figure looked at his own shoulder and back at the group, eyes wide with fear this time.

Polnareff was the first to speak in the pause.

“Oh no.”

The figure began stepping backward, physically shaking. His intimidating demeanor dropped. He started to step back, getting off of Mista.

“N-not another o-one.” He put his hands up in defense. “Look m-man, I-I don’t want any trouble. S-stay the fuck away from me.”

And he ran off, taking off at a breakneck pace.

“Hey! HEY!” Giorno yells out, pursuing the blue-haired man. [Golden Experience] followed suit, floating faster than his user. Trish and Fugo followed suit, stopping to help Mista get up and continue the chase. [Spice Girl] floated alongside her user as [Purple Haze] flickered into existence.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Giorno hissed, slamming to a halt. Large green vines broke out in the street at his feet and rapidly approached the man. The pursued yelped as he turned around, picking up the pace. They broke through cracked concrete towards the vampire, lashing at his ankles. Some larger vines uprooted and threw asphalt at the man, who managed to dodge the falling debris above him. He was agile in his movements, but something about how he stumbled every few steps meant that this was something completely new to him. Giorno continued to run, weaving between his vines.

Mista opened fire in his direction, the pistols aligning the shots. The blue-haired man managed to dive between vines and let some of them hit the roots, but let a couple enter his shoulder. He winced as his run stuttered, but he kept running while begging for mercy.

Trish managed to catch up to Giorno and slam his back in annoyance, allowing Spice Girl to slam into the ground again and send another ripple of softened asphalt his way. Although trailing far behind him, pieces of asphalt bounced off of the softened patches and extended the range of the damage by landing them closer to their target. The man yelped as some debris scratched at his exposed shoulder, making him stumble.

A vine finally snagged the man’s ankle. He tripped with a yelp and slammed into the concrete. The vine whipped in reverse and threw him back towards the group, directly into Giorno’s path. Giorno saw the cow-clad man hurtling towards him and braced himself to catch him, only for him to slam into the blonde and knock him over. Giorno rolled back and clutched his chest as the vampire rolled over him and tumbled onto the asphalt.

The blue-haired man scrambled to get up, only to feel sharp claws grab around his neck and slam him back down face first, vision doubling and ears ringing. He choked out a gasp and looked up, faced with a drooling purple face with a visor. As he opened his mouth to scream, a gun was placed inside, its holder a pissed-off Pannacotta Fugo squatting over him. The vines grabbed around his wrists and ankles and pulled him to the floor prone. All he could do was sob around the barrel as the group approached him cautiously. 

Giorno murmured something to Fugo, making him remove the gun from his mouth. Although no tears came out, their hostage was crying madly and begging for mercy. [Purple Haze] winced and let go of its grasp out of pity, phasing out of existence.

“Please let me go or make my death swift. I don’t know what I am or what is happening to me,” he pleaded, shaking.

Giorno stumbled over to their hostage and looked down on him. He loosened the vines to unpin him from the floor but still kept him on his knees. Although looking exhausted and messy, it made the anxious vampire scream-cry and pull his legs in, rocking on his side. He babbled nonsense in Masri and shut his eyes.

Mista and Trish hobbled over and surrounded the hysteric man, the group eyeing each other uncomfortably.

“Well, he definitely has the same mark as you,” Fugo snarked, gesturing his gun at their hostage’s exposed shoulder. Clear to them now was a star-shaped birthmark on his left shoulder, caked in blood and mud.

“He must be a Joestar,” Polnareff stated. Giorno pursed his lips.

“Oh my god, it’s cow print,” Trish cringed, crossing her arms and putting a finger to her chin.

“I know right?” Mista blurted.

The group continued to stare down the man who had not stopped rocking.

“Should we...question him?” Mista shrugged. “Because I’m ready to kill him right now.”

Giorno sighed. “No, don’t do that. He might have valuable information. And this presumed vampire thing needs questioning. He might be the one I’m drawn to. But, right now, he is in no condition to fight. It would not be a fair fight.”

“So what do we do? Wait out this little episode? Man might be locked into this forever.”

Trish frowned and sighed. She kneeled down next to him and pulled him up by his destroyed collar. The man’s eyes shot open and eyed her fearfully, breathing hard and babbling faster. She raised a hand up and swiftly slapped him, the sound and action shocking all the men around her. The man’s face froze in the direction of the slap, no longer babbling. He then slowly turned to face her, face contorted with fear.

“TRISH!” the Italians and Frenchman chastised.

“Hey, this is the least violent way to get him to get him to shut up and listen.” Trish took both hands to his collar and shook him, making his face unfreeze and eyes dart around the group.

“What in the…here…why…” he stammered, pointing haphazardly to his captors. The vines restrained some of his movement, but he was pulling hard enough to allow him to gesture.

Trish shook him again, making him look directly at her.

“Who the hell are you and why are you here?” Trish demanded, pulling him closer. 

The man screamed and put his hands up defensively.

“Shit, uh, R-Rikiel! Rikiel! Please let go of me, I don’t mean any harm!” Rikiel stammered, shaking.

“What the hell are you doing here in Florida?”

He started to stammer incoherently again, the only clear words being “I don’t know”, “Who are you people”, and “Please let me go, you are hurting me, ma’am”. Trish rolled her eyes.

Giorno rubbed his temples and sighed.

“This is no use. We have to interrogate him in the turtle,” he concluded, crossing his arms. He handed the arrow over to his stand, who dropped it into the turtle.

“What?” Polnareff questioned. “As much as he might be your family, do you really think we should trust him with this? There are plenty of empty buildings to use for a more intimidating interrogation.”

“It’s getting late anyway, and I don’t think a destroyed street or storefront is the place to ask questions. Also, look at him.” The blonde gestures to their disheveled hostage, who is shaking his head profusely. “I highly doubt he’s going to pull anything. And if push comes to shove, I can always use the arrow.”

Rain hit the don’s face as he finished the order. He looked up in the dusk sky as clouds swirled about them. A steady stream of warm rain started to fall.

“I do not think a leaky building is a place for a proper interrogation,” the blonde affirmed.

Polnareff looked at the don uncomfortably and nodded. Fugo placed him on the ground.

“Mista, get him in the turtle in any means that does not involve shooting him,” Giorno ordered.

“Aw man,” Mista groaned, putting his gun in his pants. He stomped towards Trish and Rikiel, who both turned to him. Trish let go and stood up and let Mista get close, the latter cracking his knuckles and smiling. The man tried to scoot away only for the brunette to scoop him up harshly, throwing him up a little to adjust his position.

“Damn, you are light,” he chuckled, swinging him in his arms like a baby. Rikiel stopped yelling and wrapped his arms around his neck instinctively as Mista marched towards the turtle on the ground. Mista got a couple of feet away from the turtle and started building up a throw. Rikiel processed what was going on at the second test swing, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. But it was too late as Mista let go on the third swing onto the key, his form warping into the turn with a gargled scream.

The group looked at the turtle and at each other as Mista stretched his arms playfully. He made a peace sign and entered the turtle.

“Mista, please don’t shoot him,” Giorno begged, watching Mista shrug in response.

“You better have a damn good plan Giovanna,” Trish snapped, walking towards the turtle and entering.

Fugo looked to his boss and looked away, turning towards the turtle and going in as well.

Giorno walked next to the turtle and kneeled down, not quite entering yet.

Am I really trusting this guy whose only relation I have is some star mark on his shoulder? Time will tell.

Giorno entered the turtle. 

Chapter Text

Rikiel hit carpet as he landed roughly into [Mr. President]. He rolled around for a bit before landing on his hands and knees, shooting up.

Looking around, he seemed to have landed in an isolated living room within this pinniped. Lined with brown carpeting and cream walls, paintings, and a mirror line the walls. A cabinet was in one corner and a display case in another, a closet door adjacent to the blue-haired man.

“Wha-what in the...where the...why,” he mumbled, pointed haphazardly to the table near him and the chairs. A small coffee table stacked with snacks sat on top of a Persian rug surrounded by a burgundy chair set-

There’s a man in here. He lazily sat in the corner of a couch with legs crossed, clearly prosthetics. Silver hair styled in a long flat top ended in a mullet. A red broken heart-half earring dangled from each ear. He had a long scar over his right eye, a purple translucent eyepatch over the eye. He wore a cape clasped together over his right shoulder with a broken heart emblem. Under the cape was a skin-tight dark gray crop top and waist-high cargo shorts. His legs were translucent and robotic. His arms lied on top of the couch, black armbands on each arm. His form was translucent with a silver shimmer.

“And who the fuck are you?” Rikiel pointed at the man on the couch, who chuckled. 

“My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, and I am the soul of the ‘talking turtle’. I used to work for your father.”

“W-what? How did you-”

Mista warped in with a loud thump. The latter jumped at the noise, only for Mista to harshly slap him on the back.

“Be glad Giorno has some semblance of mercy else I would have shot you dead already,” Mista intimidated, his dark eyes piercing Rikiel’s. Rikiel gulped and walked away from him. Mista laughed and settled on the couch, plopping down lazily, legs spread. He pulled a handkerchief and first-aid from his backpack glaring at Rikiel as he tended to his neck.

Trish entered next, taking a deep breath to collect herself before tapping on Rikiel’s shoulder. The man snapped around in fear to look at her, the woman faking a smile.

“Play nice and I probably won’t turn you into goo,” Trish tilted her head, gritting teeth. Rikiel stepped away from her and pressed himself against the closet door. Trish hummed and went to sit on a chair, sighing and rubbing her forehead.

Fugo followed in, placing his gun in a holster on his hip. He waved at Rikiel as he made his way to the couch, settling next to Mista with legs crossed.

Giorno warped in last, appearing right behind Rikiel. The 5’11” man snapped around to face the 6’4'' blonde, his large hair and wide physique intimidating the vampire. Rikiel ran to the nearest wall and shrunk against it, shaking and breathing quickly, scanning the group.

Giorno turned away from Rikiel and walked slowly to a chair next to Trish, stumbling a bit. Polnareff and Fugo quickly went to his side and held an arm each, stabilizing him. Giorno grunted as he settled in the chair, wincing.

“Giorno, are you even in a stable state to carry out an interrogation?” Fugo worried, holding onto Giorno’s arm as he lowered him into it. “We can just relay the information to you after you rest, and some things can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Like how you can see my Sex Pistols!” Mista yelled, turning towards their hostage who flinched. “He has to be a Stand user!” 

“I…I’m fine,” Giorno whispered, “There are more urgent matters to discuss, such as whether or not he is to be trusted before I rest for the night.”

Giorno sat up and put his arms on the armrest, clasping his hands. He looked Rikiel in the eyes, tired teals looking into fearful yellow. His gaze made the latter press further into the wall, crying. Polnareff put clasped hands to his lips, observing.

“What is your full name? And who is your father?”

Rikiel stopped shuddering for a moment sighed in defeat.

“Rikiel Brando and DIO,” Rikiel listed off quickly, looking at Giorno’s ear to at least look at him. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Giorno straightened up and raised an eyebrow at ‘DIO’. Trish shuffled uncomfortably in place, [Spice Girl]’s arms wrapping around her shoulders. Mista eyed Giorno’s expression, twirling the gun in his hand. Fugo also straightened up, glancing at everyone in the room.

“I assumed so,” Polnareff piped up with a sigh, shrugging. “I’m not too surprised he had more kids, I’m just surprised we were just here at the right time and place.”

“How...do you know my father?” Rikiel asked, voice wavering.

Polnareff sighed and floated down onto the couch, leaning forward. He clasped his hands between his legs and propped himself up on his elbows. He looked up to Rikiel grimly, the latter relaxing a bit at the calmer gaze.

“Let’s just say I made a deal with him during a terrible grieving period. He’s not a good person, I can tell you that. The most manipulative and evil person I have met. My only claim to fame against him is that I was one of three to survive his time-stopping ability. Aside from being a vampire with a century-old vengeance, he is one of the largest influences to the Stand world, unfortunately.”

“Well, I don’t desire to become like him if that is what you are insinuating,” Rikiel murmured. “But I got stuck with his stupid vampirism.”

Polnareff straightened up and swung an arm around the backrest.

“We’ll touch base on that later. Tell me, are there others?”

Rikiel looked down solemnly before meeting his gaze again, sighing.

“The corpse I was near was Donatello Versus. He was one of two, well, I guess now three, of my brothers. I...I didn’t really like him. He was extremely spiteful and bitter about the world, but I don’t blame him. Shit childhoods all of us, I guess that comes with being a Brando,” he shrugged.

“He’d throw shit at me and make fun of my stand. I’m glad I left when I did so I wouldn’t have to see his face again, but I felt pitiful seeing his dead body. Goes to show that all of his children were fodder.

“Ungalo however he,” he paused. “I don’t know where he went. After Pucci told him about his ability, he took his money and left. I wouldn’t say we were friends, in fact, he bullied me relentlessly for my meekness, but we had a mutual distrust for Donatello. All he told me is that he was taking a plane out of the country. And if that was the case, and the world was going to shit, he probably died in a plane crash.”

Rikiel turned precariously to Giorno and pointed at him.

“And based on context clues on how you reacted to ‘DIO’, I assume you’re the third, huh?”

Giorno nodded.

“You guys look nothing alike,” Mista interjected, shifting his gaze between the two half-brothers. “I’m assuming different moms?”

Rikiel shuffled in place uncomfortably, looking away. Giorno changed the subject.

“What drew you here to Florida? Considering you met the rest of my brothers you are more aware of the root cause than me.”

“It was...the birthmark.” Rikiel rubbed his shoulder, circling the star. “As Pucci said, it was gravity drawing us stand users and furthermore… Joe...stars? Something about a complicated family tree is all I could say and a legacy for DIO’s children, yadda, yadda. It didn’t drive me to just my brother’s though, there’s also Jolyne and Jotaro, and I don’t know where they went-”

Polnareff clapped loudly. Rikiel jumped and tensed up as the others turned to their French guardian, whose eyes were wide in realization.

“Jotaro Kujo? And I assume Jolyne is his daughter?” Polnareff asked, voice filled with urgency and realization.

“Y-yes, and...yes,” Rikiel replied as his body loosened. 

“Do you happen to know where they are?”

Rikiel shook his head. “From what Pucci told me, Jotaro was comatose due to a lack of memories via disc. And Jolyne left me for dead on the side of a highway after defeating me.” Rikiel tossed up his arms. “And that didn’t happen did it?!” He sarcastically yelled, shrugging. 

“That’s all I really know about them, all second hand.” 

“Is it fair to assume his Stand was capable of taking one’s memories?” Polnareff questioned.

“And Stands,” Rikiel added. “With a swipe of his [Whitesnake], he can steal and read the memories and abilities of people. It even had the extent of giving people Stand discs to use, no matter if they could handle it. He used it quite liberally on me and my brothers, to learn more about it. That’s…how…he was…able to figure out my... s-stand…”

Rikiel’s voices trailed off as he knitted his brows, looking down and around. He closed his mouth into a frown as the puzzle pieces fell in place inside his head. Giorno cocked an eyebrow.

“Now, who is this ‘Pucci’ you speak of? You mention him so much he has had to play a role in how you are here now.” Giorno propped his arm up and rested his head on his hand, furrowing his brows.

Something clicked in Rikiel. He sat up assertively and all the nervous energy he radiated vanished in an instant. His face contorted from tense uncertainty to that of spite and determination. His yellow eyes glowed intensely. Giorno leaned back a bit while the others straightened up, Mista gripping his gun tighter. 

“His full name is Enrico Pucci, and he was a priest. He was one of DIO’s followers, and as far as I know, he has been the most successful. I met him in the hospital, not far from here, actually. I was originally drawn there when I was hospitalized for a panic attack.

“He told us about this whole plant of ‘achieving heaven’ and ‘realizing fate’, sending us all to our deaths against the Kujos.” Rikiel tossed his hands up and shook them in an exaggerated motion while rolling his eyes. “Something about realizing fate by resetting the universe, or whatever.”

“Why are you telling us this? How can we know if you’re a mole for this priest?” Fugo asked, tilting his head. “How can we tell if the information you are telling us is true?”

“Fuck Pucci!” Rikiel roared, catching the group off guard. “He pulled me into some stupid family bullshit under the guise of a plan he was going to abandon me in! No matter what, whatever the fuck transpired recently was most likely his doing or a byproduct of it, I’m sure of it. Do you think me telling you all this meant I respect him?” 

Rikiel’s arms slammed down on the armrests, grounding him as he leaned forward. His eyes began to water as his nails dug into the upholstery. His voice waived but stayed loud.

“I could give zero shits about the secrecy of his plan. I wouldn’t care about his whereabouts if I knew if he was even alive and if he did perish, good. I needed to tell somebody this, someone who could understand the weight of this situation.” He gestured to Giorno. “And considering we were drawn for the same reason, he deserved to know.”

He gripped harder on the armrests, his arms shaking and the wood cracking.

“I never asked to be born,” his voice dropped from a roar to a choking sob. “I didn’t want to be caught up in all this.” He heaved.

Rikiel’s grip tightened one final time before the right armrest splinted in his grip, chips falling to the ground and splinters entering his hand. He flinched and looked at the pieces in his hand in fear.

“Oh God, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I got too intense there,” he sniffled, trying to put them back. 

Rikiel breathed heavily as he finished his rant. The cow-clad man plucked the remaining pieces from his hand and sighed loudly, cupping his face. He hiccupped as he held back a sob.

The group looked dumbfounded at the vampire. Trish covered her mouth and muttered a small ‘oh’. Mista let out an uncomfortable sigh. Giorno lowered his hands and frowned at Rikiel, eyes looking out into space. Polnareff shut his eyes and sighed.

“I have reason to believe him, now,” Polnareff said. “I can sense that same grief from deceit. DIO pulled the same thing on me in the 80s: an empty promise for an inevitably selfish plan. He was just a puppet dragged into this, and I can’t blame him. I don’t think anything he’s doing is out of an ill will, but out of fearful instinct.”

“I have no reason to lie to you. It’s not like I have anything to lose,” Rikiel sniffled. “Just fucking kill me already.”

Mista’s gun rattled as he picked it up. Giorno glared at his bodyguard who lowered his gun in fear.

“We’re not going to kill you.” He looked over to Mista and Trish who stared at the vampire with malicious intent. 

“I won’t kill you,” Giorno clarified. “I don’t want to kill you. You’re just a misguided soul trying to recuperate from some trauma unbeknownst to us,” Giorno explained. “But there is one more matter we need to attend to."

Rikiel looked at the don with tear-filled eyes.

“One final question,” Giorno repeated. “You have a stand. What is it?”

Rikiel sniffled and rubbed his nose with his arm.

“It-it’s not much.” Rikiel stuck out his arm as if to tell time. “But its name is [Sky High] and it can summon these rod t-things.”

[Sky High] rumbled into existence with a buzzing croak. Its eyes were blown open in fear and form shaking. As soon as it materialized on its user’s wrist, it immediately hopped off of his wrist and onto its head, burying itself in his braid to avoid being seen. The stand vibrated and chirped in fear.

Mista and Trish burst out into laughter. [Spice Girl] fully materialized behind her users, snickering alongside her. Mista leaned over and laughed into his knees. [Sex Pistols] emerged from their gun and join the choir of hysterics. Fugo held back a chuckle, covering his mouth. Polnareff and Giorno looked at each other, not a smile on their faces.

“What’s so funny?” Rikiel glared, reaching up to grab his stand. It hesitantly walked onto his finger, clasping around his wrist and resting, still rumbling. It squeaked.

“Yo what the fuck is that thing,” Mista wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “When you said stand, I was not expecting that frog-beetle- abomination.”

“Don’t make fun of it!” Rikiel pouted, petting his stand. It stopped squeaking but continued to shake. He pulled it closer to his chest and turned away from the laughing Italians. 

“It acts like a remote for these cryptids called ‘rods’ that essentially sap the heat from victims.” He explained proudly. “From there, I can alter ones’ body and induce illnesses upon them, even puppeteer their muscles. I’ve only been aware of it for a few days now but I can say for certain they are perfect the way it is.”

“Nerd,” Mista snickered.

[Spice Girl] punched his shoulder as Trish leaned closer to him. “Be nice, he's trying his best OK?” She mocked.

Mista rolled his eyes.

“Can you summon them now?” Fugo asked.

“I-I don’t know but I don’t want to try right now. I really don’t want to hurt myself or others in the process. I...I still don’t have full control of the ability.”

“That thing sure looks unstable,” Mista snickered.

“Mista, stop bullying his stand,” Giorno groaned.

Mista snickered something in Italian and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t get why you guys trust me. Y-you hardly even know me,” Rikiel said, [Sky High] dissipating.

“Bold to assume we do,” Trish snarked. “But it seems that Gio trusts you nor do you have anything to hide. But if push comes to shove, death is always an option, capeesh?.” She cracked her knuckles, putting on an exaggerated mobster accent and chuckling. Rikiel flinched.

“Trish, stop scaring him,” Giorno said, side-eying the woman.

“But it’s funny.”

“It kind of is,” Mista chuckled.

Giorno rolled his eyes.

“I just realized that I never got your names.” Rikiel adjusted his position in his seat so that he had an arm propped on a knee, head in hand. “I told you my name, it’s awkward that I still don’t know yours.”

“Oh! Right!” Giorno piped up, “My name is Giorno Giovanna.”

“Guido Mista, friend and bodyguard of Giogio.” He spun his revolver in his hand playfully, catching it by the grip.

“Pannacotta Fugo. Also friend and coworker.” The strawberry blonde nodded, tapping his gun.

“Trish Una. Friend but non-coworker. I’ve just known them for a long time,” She snarked, crossing her legs over.

“I’ve already introduced myself,” he announced, putting a hand on his chest. “And I act as their ghostly guardian.”

“Those are just Italian words,” Rikiel said, staring at the group.

“Isn’t your name a fashion brand?” Fugo sassed.

Rikiel pouted. He dropped his head in his hand and sighed.

“I’m so fucking tired,” the vampire whispered, shaking his head.

“It is best we rest for the night. Or day. Or whatever time it is now,” Polnareff muttered, “We can rest in here, just need to put the tortoise somewhere safe. And possible post guard.”

The group nodded in agreement. Rikiel hummed in response as they looked towards him.

Rikiel sighed and clasped his hands in front of his face. He went to lie on the floor, facing away and curling up.

“Betray us in any manner I can fulfill that death request,” Mista said coldly, pointing his gun in Rikiel’s direction. Giorno nudged him and muttered something in Italian, making Mista put the gun away.

Rikiel held his breath and shuddered. He turned back to the group who was sitting on the chairs and couches. Trish pulled out blankets and pillows from a closet.

“Need one?” She offered one to him.

“A pillow would be nice.”

She chucked a pillow at his face. He curled up on the ground and shut his eyes, controlling his breathing.

After an eventful day, the turtle’s residents fell to sleep one by one, Polnareff watching over them.

“Vampirism…” Polnareff trailed off. “I never expected it to be passed down. I remember reading up on it while at the Speedwagon Foundation...and what happened to Mr. Joestar.” 

The freckled Frenchmen eyed Giorno nervously. He sighed as the sounds of the rain outside populated the room, hovering at the top of the room.

Chapter Text

The group started to stir as the sun rose over the rubble of the buildings, the sun shining over the ocean to the east. The area was silent save the slight breeze and sounds of droplets hitting surfaces from the rain last night. It was as if the apocalypse didn’t happen less than a day ago.

Rikiel was the first to wake up as sunlight hit his skin, the exposed areas sizzling. He scrambled to get behind a chair as the light began to fill the room.

Polnareff turned to his cries and pulled a blanket from the closet, floating over to the struggling vampire.

“I’m assuming this is new for you?” Polnareff queried, handing the thick fabric to Rikiel. “The whole vampire thing.”

He took the blanket and nodded, quickly draping it around his body. His yellow eyes shined in the cast shadow, the man slightly shaking.

Polnareff sighed and descended into a squat in front of Rikiel, hands crossed and rested on his knees.

“They are genuinely good people, you know. It’s just the fact that we essentially picked up a stranger, and they, well, they don’t have a good track record of taking in new folk,” Polnareff explained, shrugging.

“At least I can say that I genuinely think you aren’t a bad person. The others, including Giorno, might be saying so just ease your nerves, but in reality, they’re tense and trying not to cause another altercation.”

Polnareff looked at the sleeping Italians, their forms rising and sinking with each slow breath. He looked back to Rikiel.

“Give them time. They’ll like you. Probably. I’m not entirely sure of Mista though, you did drink his blood.”

Rikiel chuckled nervously, tightening the wrap around him.

Polnareff sat down in front of Rikiel, crossing his legs.

“Tell me more about yourself Brando,” Polnareff said, putting his hands in his lap.

The two talked for about an hour, mostly about Rikiel’s interests. He talked about the human body and evolution, piping up especially about Apollo 11. He droned on and on about human achievements through history, smiling and giggling throughout. Polnareff nodded and smiled at his excitement, encouraging his interests. The duo warmed up to each other, bonding over their shared experience under DIO’s influence.

“Furthermore, why use the name ‘Brando?’ If you despise your father that much, why use his last name? Why not use your mother’s?” Polnareff questioned.

Rikiel looked into Polnareff’s blue eyes with his yellow.

“I'd rather use the last name of an asshole than my own if it keeps my mom out of this.”

Polnareff frowned.

“I apologize if it dampened the mood,” the Frenchman sighed.

“That’s completely fine,” Rikiel assured. “I needed to get that off the chest anyways.”

Rikiel struggled to stand in his wrapped form, now able to get a better look around the room. Aside from what he saw yesterday, there was a pile of luggage peeking from inside the open closet door. Along the walls were simple still-life paintings, a medium mirror among them. He approached the display case in the corner.

He got a better look at some of the photos. His gaze started on the bottom row, pictures of the Italians each in their own frame. A drawn portrait of Polnareff lied on the far end, most likely due to his ghostly status. Each frame had their names on them and one to two colored rectangles in the top right corners. Rikiel could not identify any of the flags except the gay one on Fugo’s. A pink, blue, and white striped one could be found on Fugo’s and Giorno’s frames. A blue, pink, and purple one was attached to Polnareff’s, Giorno’s, and Mista’s. And a pink, orange, and white in various shades were attached to Trish’s. 

Behind the photos stood an arrowhead on a simple wooden stand, an intricate design etched into its bizarre metal, a pointed protrusion sticking out of it.

However, he wasn’t able to look at the rest of the case as he heard movement behind him.

Mista began to stir, stretching out his arms with a large yawn. He scratched his crotch as he sat up. The pistols emerged from his gun and did their own stretch routine, chatting among themselves.

“Mista, we’re hungry!” #2 cried, bouncing up and down.

“We need food!” #7 whined, swinging his arms.

The other pistols joined the choir of begging, their user groggy and putting his hands up.

“Woah, woah! Keep it down! The others are asleep!”

“Oh God, they talk,” Rikiel cringed from the corner.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Mista realized, rubbing his eyes. “‘Course you’re a vampire, should’ve expected that.”

Rikiel scoffed.

Mista grumbled under his breath, standing up to reach his arms out. He walked over to a bag in the corner and pulled out a cracker wrapper, walking back to his spot on the couch. He pulled out six crackers and tossed them at them, the pistols devouring them loudly.

“Where does it all go?” Rikiel asked.

Mista shrugged.

Trish and Fugo stirred a half-hour later around the same time. The strawberry blonde squinted as he looked around, sitting up. He stretched his arms a bit and reached around the top of the couch for his glasses, untangling decorative golden chains from the temple. He put them on and blinked looking

“Mornin’,” Fugo greeted with a salute. Rikiel waved back awkwardly from underneath the blanket.

Trish grimaced as he tasted her breath, twisting her neck around as it cracked. She signed with relief.

“God I feel gross,” she murmured, sitting up. “Oh, hello.”

Fugo looked to Giorno, who still lay fast asleep on the chair, breathing slow and even.

“I don’t think he’s getting up anytime soon, so in the meantime, we’re going to sit around and start brainstorming ideas for our next plan of action,” Fugo suggested, crossing his legs and leaning against the backrest.

“We should probably scout the area for other foodstuffs and possibly new clothes for our guest because…uh…” Polnareff looked to Rikiel’s torn and burnt jumpsuit and put a hand to his mouth.

“It’s not like I can shower right now, all the pipes in the area look busted up,” Rikiel shrugged.

“We can still find you clothes,” Fugo piped up from his spot, still leaning on the couch.

“Just gotta wait for Gio to get up,” Trish said, looking at the sleeping blonde. “He did a lot yesterday so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out any longer.”

Rikiel crossed his legs on the ground and began untwisting his braids. He slapped the back of his head to let the bullet fall out completely, the wound closing.

“What’re you doing now?” Mista asked, gripping his gun.

“Undoing my braids, that’s all. Quit acting like I’m a threat,” Rikiel sighed annoyingly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t the one who got their blood sucked from his neck !” Mista yelled, glaring at Rikiel. The latter didn’t flinch this time, matching his energy with a gaze.

Giorno shuffled around the chair, still asleep.

“Please don’t try and kill each other before Giorno wakes up,” Fugo begged, cleaning his glasses. “I think the matter now is to figure out where we’re going.”

Giorno stirred an hour later, the don rising slowly from his spot. He turned to his friends and half-brother sitting on the floor across from him, circled around a deck of colored cards. Mista and Trish were yelling as Fugo put his hands in his head. Rikiel peered with fear from under his blanket as he recoiled away from the screaming Italians. Polnareff put his arms out between the two parties.

“How the fuck do you keep winning?” Mista yelled.

“I think he’s cheating!” Trish egged on.

“I don’t know how to fucking play!” Rikiel cried, pointing fingers at the deck.

“I’d shoot you if we weren’t playing nice!” Mista threatened.

“This is playing nice?” Rikiel yelled.

“Please don’t,” Polnareff begged.

Fugo grumbled something in Italian, massaging his temples. [Purple Haze Distortion] flickered into existence for a second.

 “Gio’s awake,” Trish announced, pointing a thumb at the confused blonde.

“I guess it’s time to figure out our next move then,” Polnareff stated, standing up.

One quick flip of the phones revealed no signal. The group figured that considering the area was completely shaken up and the power wasn’t working. Most cell towers were down long before C-Moon happened.

The mafiosos discussed their next plan of action in Italian as Trish tended to Rikiel’s hair. They kept the conversation in Italian, the pink-haired woman occasionally piping in with her own input. She pulled down hard on his hair with her brush, the man squirming and wincing.

“Stop moving so much!” she hissed.

“Stop pulling on my hair so much!” he complained.

“Not my fault your hair is as tangled as a tumbleweed!”

Rikiel scoffed.

It was decided that [Gold Experience] was going to be the one to wedge the turtle from its hiding spot, the stand warping out of the pinniped and pulling it from between some bricks. As the entire key exposed itself to the open air, the don stepped out and stretched his arms, taking in a deep breath.

The plaza was as eerily quiet as the day before with the added ambiance of water trickling down walls into puddles. The carnage was the same as yesterday with an added inch of water on the ground. Storefronts were destroyed and bits of asphalt and concrete litter the floor. A couple of people stirred further down the street.

Mista was the next to come out of the turtle, running in place to warm up his legs.

“God how I missed stepping outside!” Mista yelled out, stretching his arms into the sky.

Fugo came out next, stretching out his legs and adjusting the gun in his holster. He stretched his neck and stepped next to Giorno.

Trish hopped out, clicking her heels on the asphalt. She rotated her arms and joined Mista’s side.

“Rikiel, can you come out? Is the sun going to be a problem?” Giorno called from outside the turtle, looking down at his half-brother.

“I want to walk with you guys, I’ll just put a blanket over myself,” he assured, tightly wounding the fabric around his body.

Rikiel eyed the room again, looking for some sort of staircase or ladder to bring him up and out of the turtle. But alas, there was none. Yet the others got out fine.

“Wait, how do I get out?”

“You have to jump, but be careful not to fall,” Polnareff responded and simulated a jump. “I can’t get out because I’m bound to this creature, but you get the jist.”

Rikiel braced himself and leaped, suddenly growing to full size as he stumbled out of the turtle. He managed to hit a wall and not fall over, climbing up with his hands into a stand. Mista and Trish snickered while Fugo smiled. Giorno sighed.

The group began walking, looking around.

Save the few people walking about, the area was deserted and destroyed, as if a bomb had gone off. Entire chunks of buildings were missing, their pieces scattered several blocks around them. Glass lay shattered around them, wet with rain. Blood and water streaked surfaces all around them, the dust of snail shells floating in the puddles. A couple of bodies curled into corners and against walls, tossed around by the events of C-Moon. The group avoided as much carnage they could, carefully stepping over puddles of liquid and kicking away bits of asphalt. 

“What’s your deal huh?” Mista said after a while, putting his hands behind his head. He turned to Rikiel, who looked up from the floor.

“Pardon?”

“You’re so damn skittish all the time, why is that?”

“You have literally been antagonizing me with every sentence. Your finger is on the trigger.”

Mista unhooked his arms and put his right in front of him, pistol in hand. He laughed. 

“You’re right. You did try and kill me though.” He pushed the gun playfully against his arm.

“I mean he’s right,” Fugo snarked from behind him.

Rikiel heard chirping from within the blanket. The other turned to the noise, [Sky High] materializing underneath his chin. It perched its front legs on the edge of the blanket, expression still fearful like the night before. It scanned the group nervously as it kneaded the fabric. 

Mista and Trish snickered. Rikiel rolled his eyes and his stand chirped loudly. It buzzed in place and the group halted. They turn their bodies towards Rikiel as he scratches its head, the stand closing its eyes.

“Uh, is that supposed to happen?” Fugo asked, pointing at the stand.

“Is your stand vampiric too?” Giorno queried, tilting his head.

“Well, yes, and...I don’t know. I’ve never tried,” Rikiel responded. He murmured something and the stand looked up at him. It creeped slowly out of its hiding spot and into the sun. It sat there for a moment and swiveled around, shaking its body. It slowly climbed its way to the top of its head and sat down. It started to chirp again.

“I guess not,” Rikiel shrugged, [Sky High] rocking back and forth.

“Ok, that’s kinda cute,” Trish said.

Rikiel nodded before straightening up. 

“Wait, I know what’s it doing now,” Rikiel said, hissing between his teeth. “It’s trying to summon rods, and I suggest everyone back away.”

To his warning, all the stand users stepped away and their stands appeared next to them. [Gold Experience] took a fighting stance and floated next to their user. [Spice Girl] curled up next to Trish, her yellow eyes glaring at [Sky High]. Only [Purple Haze Distortion]’s upper half appeared, foaming at the mouth. Mista drew his gun and pointed it at Rikiel.

Something small and white whizzed past Rikiel’s head. Then another, then another. A total of ten small creatures circled the vampire, who is now standing wide in surprise. [Sky High] chirped loudly to try and calm them down. Rikiel began speaking in a different language at his stand, who chirped back at the creatures. 

Then, they all froze in place. They were white and cylindrical, no more than 7 inches in length at most. Rounded dual blades like a fan ran down their bodies, in sets of 3-5. Bumps lined their bodies.

“What are those?” Giorno asked, his stand lowering their arms.

“The rods I was talking about, the ones that can steal body heat,” he responded. He murmured something to his stand, who nodded and chirped.

About half of them disappeared at once, the remaining hovering around the user. The group looked around wildly, as they sped away, flying high above their heads.

“What did you do?” Giorno asked.

“Called them away, but these ones are sticking around for longer.”

He raised an arm while keeping it under the blanket, waving away the creatures that he accidentally summoned./p>

“ Get out of here! I didn’t mean to call you! ” Rikiel hissed, all but one remaining.

“What language is that?” Fugo called out over the noise.

“Masri, it’s the only language my stand responds to, for some reason,” he yelled back. 

“What is that?” Trish yelled.

“My mom’s first language! I was born in Egypt and despite moving to America, I still retained it.” He continued to wave them away, hissing Masri at the stragglers.

“Oh. Oh ,” Polnareff uttered, a chill running down his form. “That’s, uh, not good,” he murmured. “At least I have a gauge on his age…” Giorno tilted his head at that last statement.

The final rod remained near the man. Refusing to leave. Rikiel sighed in defeat.

“What’s it do?” Mista asked, approaching with his gun swinging at his side.

“If I show you, you’re going to shoot me for sure,” Rikiel warned.

“Psh, I could probably take it,” Mista mocked, spinning his gun.

Rikiel pointed a finger from under his chin, and the rod shot in Mista’s direction. He had no time to react as it whizzed past his hand. He swore it didn’t touch him as he felt his hand open forcefully. A sharp pain shot up from his arm and he fell to a knee. His wrist swelled up a bit and turned red, the gunman falling to a knee. He tried to move his fingers, but they stayed splayed open.

“That, it can do that,” Rikiel smirked.

“What did you do to him?” Trish said, her [Spice Girl] unraveling into a fighting stance.

“Because I struck his wrist, probably tendinitis? It should go down in a second. The effects aren’t permanent as long as they are not prolonged. Targeting specific areas allow me to manipulate the body, and I’ve read enough anatomy and medical books to know where to strike.”

As he explained, the swelling went down and his fingers closed. He flexed them as the feeling returned, blood re-entering his hand. He quickly reached over to his gun and shot at the rod. His pistols triangulated the bullet so that it cut through the creature, dissipating on contact. The group gasped at the realization as it fazed out of existence.

“The reason they’re not well documented is because they disappear upon death. But they still can cause lethal damage if I decide to strike somewhere vital.” Rikiel chuckled.

Mista frowned and shot another bullet at Rikiel’s mouth. The latter expected it, however, catching it between a fang and lower canine. Everyone was surprised, including the vampire.

He spat out the bullet.

“Didn’t know that was a thing,” Rikiel sputtered.

They continued the walk, eyeing Rikiel more carefully.

The group eventually came across a shaken-up clothing store, its windows cracked instead of completely shattered. Giorno led and pushed the door, which was left unlocked. 

The inside was completely dark as lamps swung slowing overhead them, pulled from the ceiling and hanging from small wires. Beige wallpaper peeled off the walls up to halfway, revealing worn wood and cement holding the place together. Clothes and shoes and miscellaneous merchandize strewn the floor, shelves and racks knocked down and over. The carpet was slightly soaked, squishing under the group’s shoes in places.

“Eugh,” Trish grimaced, scrunching her nose. “We don’t have anywhere else better, though.”

Rikiel pulled the blanket off of his head, shaking out his hair. He ran his fingers along the shelves, eying the shoes.

The others looked at each other and shrugged, joining in on the clothes search.

The group chatted among themselves, comparing clothes to each other. Mista showed off a pair of sneakers to Fugo who nodded, Trish adding backhanded compliments to its design, setting the two off into a small argument. She tried to rope Rikiel in, who froze and made a two-word comment, not wanting to get involved in the argument. Fugo rolled his eyes as the argument turned into a laughing session. Giorno stayed out of the conversation however, electing to pull a HAM radio from the turtle, cranking it as he glanced at the jewelry.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do your stands do? I show you guys mine, and I’ve seen a couple of them in action,” Rikiel asked, sorting through tops on a rack.

“My [Spice Girl] can make things soft to the point they are unbreakable, like diamonds,” Trish chirped from the dress aisle, her stand humming.

“You’ve already witness my [Sex Pistol]’s ability firsthand, but they just aim my bullets better,” Mista smiled, his pistols emerging and cheering as he did. Rikiel grimaced.

“My stand is [Purple Haze Distortion], but summoning it will hotbox us in a deadly virus that we can barely survive. Hell, Giorno barely lived vaccinating himself with it.” Fugo gestured towards his boss. Giorno raised his hand lazily.

“Ah,” Rikiel muttered. He looked away in fear.

“[Gold Experience] has a lot of utility to it, making living objects from the non-living, recreating entire limbs, etc. etc.“ Giorno explained from the pants aisle, peeking through the rack. “There's more to them, but I don’t think I can disclose that information.”

Rikiel nodded. The ability reminded him of a natural version of Ungalo’s. He looked down solemnly.

“Is this turtle your stand?” Rikiel referred to the pinniped perched on a shelf nearby, Polnareff standing up.

“[Mr. President]? No, it is not. I lost my stand a long time ago. It was the one who put me in this turtle,” Polnareff confirmed.

“And…how did it do that?”

“My old stand was [Silver Chariot], a polished swordsman with speed that rivaled even the fastest stands,” Polnareff acclaimed, casting out of the key’s gem and putting a hand to his chest. “However, work led me to Italy in the late 90s, got my legs chopped off by the old mob boss, and ended up tracking down this group. An…” He paused, choosing his words more carefully. “…incident made it change forms and swap the bodies of everyone in Italy. I ended up in Coco Jumbo, the name of this creature. It had to be destroyed in order to revert everyone to normal, so he remains a memory.”

Rikiel frowned and looked away. He put a finger to his lips. 

“I think I heard of that event, I thought it was some fake early internet story that got hyperbolized with each retelling.” 

“Oh, it was very much real,” Trish shuddered. “Oh, hey, found an umbrella for you.”

The group continued to pick at clothes, mostly for themselves. Trish placed a couple of dresses and a pair of bell bottoms within the turtle. Fugo picked out some pastel button ups and brown suspenders. Mista settled for a couple of beanies, putting one on his head and tossing the rest into the turtle. Giorno picked up a pair of socks and matching garters. And after being offered a few turtle necks, he took a few along with a few pairs of pants, the most bizarre of the bunch a pair of checkered parachute pants. He also picked up a couple of boots and sneakers and put them within [Mr. President].

Giorno put a stack of cash within the register. Worrying it would get stolen, he grabbed a loose brick stuck in the window and turned it into a rat.

“Attack anyone who tried to remove the register, ok?” Giorno whispered to the rodent. The rat nodded.

Rikiel looked around to the rest of the group, who stared at the interaction 

“Is this a normal thing?” he whispered harshly.

The group exited the store and continued walking, eventually entering a convenience store. Sitting down on the counter, Giorno pulled a HAM radio and fiddled with the dials. It was mostly static save for the extremely quiet talking underneath the noise. The only words that could be picked out were ‘EMERGENCY’. The others rummaged through the fridges for viable drinks.

“ Damn, towers might be down right now ,” Giorno sighed in Italian. He continued to crank the radio anyways, looking for a signal.

“ I suspect someone might set up smaller ones for rescue efforts ,” Polnareff called out from the turtle.

“ The Speedwagon Foundation, probably? If Rikiel was right with Jotaro being near, they might be in the area .”

Polnareff shrugged. 

Fugo approached Giorno with a tired expression, a cola in hand. He clicked it open and took a sip.

“ You haven’t tried to talk to your brother yet, ” Fugo stated, keeping the conversation in Italian.

“ Yeah I have, ” Giorno mumbled, continuing to fiddle with the radio.

“ No, like, actually trying to socialize, not interrogate or intimidate. You haven’t even tried to add onto the conversation, even a few words.”  

Giorno stayed quiet. Fugo took another sip.

“I’m at the point where I think he’s a decent guy. Of course I tease him too, but I don’t think he’s going to try and kill us in our sleep. If he was, he had multiple chances to do so. ”

“ Give me some time- ”

“ Oh, like you delayed telling us what the hell was wrong with you? The reason we’re in this fucked up plaza in the first place? ”

Giorno stopped messing with the radio and glared at Fugo. The strawberry blonde flinched but did not back down. 

“ You’re afraid of something, Giorno. Be open about your feelings for once. ”

Giorno sighed.

“ I want to wait until we get to safety. We aren’t out of the woods yet. And I need to talk to him, alone. I can’t get attached to someone I just met again.”

Fugo pursed his lips and nodded. He downed the rest of his drink and sighed.

“ Fine. But the second we get to a secure shelter, talk to him. And more than just stopping Mista from shooting him.” Fugo walked away.

Giorno looked back down on the radio and sighed, putting it down on the counter for a second. He put his hands in his head in frustration. 

“Can you even eat normal food?” Mista asked, holding out a bag of potato chips.

Rikiel shrugged, eating a chip. “It won’t sustain me as well as blood I think. This is junk food anyways.”

The group turned a corner as they exited the store, Rikiel tightening his wrap.

“This might be shitty to assume,” Rikiel started, clearing his throat. “But are you guys mafia or something?”

“What makes you say that?” Mista asked, twirling his gun.

“Well number 1, accents, and number 2, how you guys captured and interrogated me.”

“I mean you’re right. Profiling, but right.”

“Mista, please ,” Giorno said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The gunman sighed and put his gun in the waistband of his pants.

“Is that even safe?” Rikiel questioned, pointing to the pistol down his front.

“Keep in your lane.” 

“Mista, stop being so aggressive towards him, it’s getting old,” Fugo sighed.

The rest of the day was just wandering, talking, and searching for food. They helped a couple of passersby find food of their own, separating thereafter. Interactions with others were scarce, but were always met with odd questions of Rikiel in his wrap or a human-looking turtle, quickly deflected by throwing a bag of chips at them.

Most of the discussion came from Mista and Trish quizzing Rikiel on vampires, the latter backed into a corner for each one.

“Why can we see your reflection, huh?” Trish squinted. “I thought you guys couldn’t see yourselves in mirrors.”

“Yeah, why can we? Are you even a real vampire?” Mista added, leaning closer to him.

“It was probably silver,” Fugo muttered. “Since most vampires are vulnerable to silver, and most mirrors during the time period they were recorded contained the metal, they would not show up because of it. Could be wrong though, because modern depictions are also reflectionless, while modern mirrors are a sand mixture. But they also say they sparkle in the Sun, but that may just be a Twilight thing.”

The group looked to Rikiel who shrugged with a noise of uncertainty.

“DIO wasn’t your typical vampire,” Polnareff spoke from the pinniped. “He had odd powers of his own that did not attest to normal vampire means. I mean, the weakness to the sun is a shared aspect. The laser eyes?” Polnareff pondered. “I think I read that in an old work article. Stone Mask vampires, which is what DIO was, had some unique abilities, like drinking blood from their fingernails.”

“That’s where those came from,” Rikiel said, snapping his fingers. Night fell upon them again as they exited their third convenience store. The group sat down on a defunct fountain, a large crack in the bowl filled with algae-ridden water. Giorno put down Polnareff as he continued to fiddle with the radio. 

Rikiel felt a lot more energized in this setting, breathing in deep. The cool, moist air entered his lungs and eased some nerves.

“Is this going to be a normal thing? You being weird in the dark?” Mista sassed.

“Maybe. Could be a vampire thing?” Rikiel shrugged.

“How long have you been a vampire again?” Trish asked.

“I don’t know. However long ‘an hour before gravity flipped’ was.”

Giorno nodded and sighed, turning off the radio.

“Nothing is working right now. We’ll continue to flag down some sort of help tomorrow,” Giorno stated. “However, I don’t think automobiles can navigate this easily. Did anyone see any planes or helicopters in the area today?”

The group shook their heads.

“Hmm, airspace may not be safe yet. Wouldn’t be surprised if they wait out any airlifts.”

The group settled in for the night, the vampire lying down on the floor. He curled up with a pillow and blanket, shutting his eyes. The other drifted to sleep one by one, assuming the most comfortable positions they could upright on cushioned chairs.

Day approached again as sunlight entered the key. Rikiel tossed the blanket over his head, groaning. First awake again.

The group gathered around a table they propped up outside of a destroyed Starbucks, sitting awkwardly as Giorno fiddled with a HAM radio. Rikiel twirled the umbrella in his hand impatiently.

“You finally open it now? Why didn’t you do it yesterday?” Trish asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The blanket was cozy,” Rikiel murmured. “But it was getting too dirty.”

The group chatted among themselves, mostly Trish, Mista, and Fugo to themselves in Italian and Rikiel and Polnareff in English. Giorno focused solely on the radio.

“What is he doing?” Rikiel asked.

“Trying to find a signal,” Polnareff stated. “Because an apocalypse occurred, there is bound to be a radio signal from someone somewhere for shelter. And with Jotaro here, there’s bound to be some sort of Speedwagon Foundation communication tower somewhere. We’re completely out of Passione’s jurisdiction, but SWF is the next best thing. We might be taken to a nearby shelter if this turns out true. Don’t worry, they are a great group despite being founded on the basis of defeating your father.”

“T-thanks?” Rikiel replied worryingly.

A loud siren alerted the group, making them jump. They quieted down as the announcer relayed a message.

TO THOSE IN THE BREVARD COUNTY, HELICOPTERS AND BUSES ARE BEING SENT IN YOUR DIRECTION. PLEASE MAKE YOURSELVES VISIBLE FOR PICK-UP. WAVE ARMS, YELL, SWING CLOTHES AROUND. MAKE YOURSELVES AS OBVIOUS AS POSSIBLE. GET TO A HIGH POINT IF YOU CAN FOR AIRLIFT. GO INTO FIELDS AND OPEN SPACES. STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF ROADS. LET US SEE YOU.

The message restarted in another language. Giorno turned down the radio. He looked to the west and saw specks moving in their direction. [Gold Experience] materialized and he kneeled to the floor, putting a palm on the ground. A branch poked from a nearby crack that expanded outwards, more branches and leaves emerging until a trunk emerged next to him. He stood up as the tree grew out of the ground, a branch appearing next to him. The group watched as he grabbed on with both hands and was lifted with it, pulling himself on top of it. He carefully made it to the trunk and wrapped his arms around it, the tree halting its growth after clearing the tallest standing in the areas, a good 50-feet in the air at least.

He climbed to the top for a better view, confirming that it were helicopters coming their way. Looking down, several small buses barreled down the highway miles away, swerving around cracks and debris.

“They’re coming this way for sure,” he called down below him. “I think the helicopters will come first, those might be the quickest to shelter.”

The group cheered below him and he smiled, climbing down carefully. He returned to his seat and dusted off his shoes and hands.

They continued to sit around making small talk as they waited. Giorno gave small responses to things, not getting too engrossed in the conversation as he eyed the horizon.

The topic of hair was brought up.

“My hair used to be pink. It wasn’t always this blue,” Rikiel said, pulling a strand out to show.

“Really?” Trish entertained, crossing her legs and slinging an arm back behind her chair. “Like what shade? Like mine?”

“Eh, a lot more on the red side and less saturated. Like a muted magenta of sorts. Mom and Aunt had the same hair as me too. Don’t know where the blue came from though.”

“Does the carpet match the drapes?” Mista bluntly asked.

The group went silent. Rikiel decided to switch topics.

“This may be a bad time to ask, but how old are your guys? Giorno, you seem really young for a mob boss,” Rikiel asked.

“26,” Giorno stated.

“26,” Trish waved.

“27,” Fugo murmured.

“29,” Mista nodded.

“36 is when I died, so I’d be 47 now,” Polnareff chirped from the tortoise, his ghostly form projecting outside of the gem.

“I-I’m 23, you guys are a lot younger than I expected,” Rikiel said, eying the group uncomfortably.

“I mean I overthrew the mafia at 15,” Giorno cooly stated.

“15?!” Rikiel jolted.

The group laughed as Rikiel sat there, mouth agape. 

The sounds of a helicopter above them intensified, the vehicle lowering down to them.

“I think it’s best some of us get in the turtle,” Giorno stated. “I don’t think we can all fit in that. Unless you want to sit inside of it.”

“I’m fine with staying inside the turtle,” Rikiel mumbled, entering right after.

“I’m going in too.” Fugo tapped the key and warped inside.

“I’m gonna stick around outside for Giogio’s sake,” Mista nodded, placing his pistol in his pants.

“I’m not in the mood for bugs,” Trish stated, entering as well.

Giorno put the turtle in his shirt, his Stand grabbing around it for stability. 

A ladder dropped upon the group as the helicopter hovered close by. Giorno grabbed on and climbed up on the ladder, turning back to his bodyguard to do the same. Mista nodded and climbed on as well.

The ladder lifted the two and turtle into the helicopter. A pair of hands helped them inside and got them strapped in, handing them headsets. The pilot swiveled around in his seat.

“Speedwagon Foundation,” the pilot stated. Their eyes widened. “Are you Giorno Giovanna?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Welcome aboard, Giovanna. Pleasure to meet a Joestar,” he smiled, holding out a hand. Giorno firmly shook it, Mista following suit.

The helicopter pulled up the rest of the ladder and headed back west, blades beating loudly above the group.

Chapter Text

In the darkness, Jolyne heard beeping. Her body ached all over, specifically above her chest. A thudding pain ran up the left side of her body, every inhale met with a tight pressure and every exhale with a shooting pain. She gritted her teeth and rocked her head a bit, colliding with tubes near her head.

Her right eye slowly opened, her left being held shut by bandages and gauze. In her peripheral, she saw bandages around her collarbone, most likely from the knife attack. Strands of chartreuse and black split her eyesight, her hair haphazardly haloed around her head against a pillow. Her hospital bed was half-way upright from how she felt her back bend around it. She scanned the hospital room she was in. White walls surround her, a TV mounted on the wall in front of her. Looking left was a dark blue curtain moving to the breeze of the outside, the Florida sun piercing through the thin fabric. To her right was the doorway and a chair next to it. And what she presumed was behind her peripheral were a collection of machines monitoring her, wires and tubes running in and out her body. She finally noticed the nasal cannula as she wrinkled her nose.

She looked down to the pressure on her legs, Emporio curled up on her shin. His eyes were half-lidded as he twirled the [Weather Report] in his hands, feeling over the ‘DISC’ text on its surface. His signature Cubs cap sat next to him, his honey curls falling in front of his face.

She shuffled her legs under her blankets, stirring the child. His head snapped towards her.

“Huh…what? oh! Jolyne! You’re awake!” Emporio yawned, rubbing his eyes. He planted his arms next to her legs closer to the edge of the bed, resting his head on his elbows. He turned his upper body towards her.

Jolyne slowly blinked at the child and turned her head. A shooting pain on her left side made her wince, grabbing her face with her right hand. She groaned and rubbed the area, breathing hard.

A memory flashed before her eyes. 

There was nothing but sand for miles. The viewpoint shifted constantly around the landscape, looking for something. It quickly shifted to two men on the floor several meters away: a redhead and a silver flat top. The latter dragged the former's body haphazardly in the sand, yelling.

“His eyes! It got his eyes!” He grunted, clawing at the sand dunes towards them. 

Her view shifted down to the approaching figures below, affirming that the redhead had long slashes down each eye, bleeding. Sounds melded together: yelling, gusts, sand crunching, footsteps, and high pitched whining. She put a hand to her eye, massaging her temples and groaning.

She was in the hospital again, the whirring of machines re-entering her head. Emporio straightened up to look at his strained friend. She took a deep breath and closed her eye.

“J-Jolyne?” Emporio whimpered. “What’s wrong?”

She scrunched up her face and frowned, keeping her eye closed.

“I-I don’t know.”

The disc in Emporio’s hand rumbled as [Weather Report] swirled around them, the off-white stand’s upper body materializing above Jolyne. His pink eyes flashed in concern as he scanned her. Jolyne opened her eye and straightened up with a wince, changing focus.

“So, it wasn’t a nightmare, huh?” Jolyne grumbled, voice scratchy.

Emporio looked down, furrowing his brows and looking away. [Weather Report] nodded solemnly.

Jolyne sighed. “At least Pucci’s dead.”

The beeping of the machines populated the room as the group silenced for a moment. The curtains rustled against the blinds.

She tried to put her left hand on her throat, only to feel pain shoot up her left side again. She winced as she let out a gargled scream, coughing up something thick. She gagged as tears welled up in her eyes in pain. She clenched her jaw as she made raspy exhales to minimize the pain but to no avail. A ringing stared up in her left ear. 

“Jolyne! You need to lie down! The doctor said so!” Emporio worried, holding her arm.

“Tsh,” she croaked, “I fought with an open wound in my head and I did fine.” A sharp pain went up her left arm. “Shuffling in bed shouldn’t take me out.”

Jolyne adjusted herself in an upright position, wincing as the throbbing pain shook her with every small rock of her body. She leaned forward and held her head with her right hand, rubbing her right temple.

Emporio made an unsure noise. The cloud stand rumbled worryingly.

“Let me just-” She planted her arm down next to her and made an attempt to twist her body around quickly. 

She yelped as her head vibrated in pain, blacking out for a second. She fell back into bed on her side, breathing harshly. Sweat beaded on her forehead, face reddening. The ringing intensified and she grabbed her head with her right hand. Emporio ran to her side and held her arm, patting it. [Weather Report] hovered over her and blew cool air over her face, trying to cool her down.

“Please,” Emporio begged, taking her hand in both of his. He put it to his forehead and closed his eyes. Jolyne looked down at the child and smiled, turning to [Weather] next.

“Thanks, Weather,” she muttered. “Can I call you Weather?”

The stand nodded, clasping his hands.

Jolyne sighed.

“How long have I been out?”

“Less than a day! The fight was 12 hours ago! At least what the doctors said! Please stay down just a bit longer,” the child pleaded.

“My stubbornness knows no bounds,” she chuckled. “But don’t worry about me too much.”

She laughed again and felt a pain in her left lung, clutching her chest. Emporio jumped and squeezed her hand harder, looking up at her worryingly, [Weather Report] put their hands on his hips and shook his head, letting out static in the form of a tisk.

“What’s your deal?” she gestures towards the cloud stand. “Existing outside the disc like this? Have you always been able to do this? Was Weather always this sassy?” She said the last bit a little quieter, directed at Emporio.

The stand shrugged. He started to make gestures with his hands, but Jolyne only squinted at his movements, not knowing what they meant. Emporio looked to the stand who suddenly stopped what he was doing, putting his hands down.

“T-that was sign language,” the child confirmed. “I remember Weather taught me some, b-but I’m rusty.” He looked to the stand, who looked back. “Do that again, but slowly. I-I’ll try and translate.”

[Weather] nodded and started again, at a slower pace.

“…not sure…found…earlier…still…respect…protect…Emporio…Jolyne…still friends…after memories…“ Emporio pieced together. [Weather] responded with a shrug and twist of his wrists. 

“Eh, close enough.”

“You should look into it honestly, that was pretty cool. A hand language,” Jolyne commended with a chuckle. Emporio’s lips upturned and [Weather] scratched the back of his head bashfully.      

Jolyne changed focus.

“‘Memories?’ What kind of memories? Like disc memories? Like my dad?” She tilted her head.

[Weather] out a puff of air, eyes slightly widening. He put his hands on his hips and looked around for a bit. Emporio started looking too.

“What’re you looking for?” the child asked.

Long story, he signed, putting a hand to his chin. He began to sign two things repeatedly, making the child’s face light up.

“Oh! I know that one!” Emporio chirped, turning around in his seat. He rummaged in a desk Jolyne didn’t notice earlier and pulled out a small notepad and ballpoint pen. He handed the supplies to the stand, who nodded.

He started to write on the desk as Emporio watched him fidget with the pen in hand, struggling to write.

Jolyne shimmied in place and fell deeper into the pillows. Closing her eyes, her own memory came into play. 

She was looking at Hermes and Emporio, leaning against a motorcycle. The Mexican was wiping her hands on her pants, swiping off excess saliva from Romeo’s tongue. The child tapped away on an ancient desktop, trying to decipher who knew what on the warped screen. 

“I can sense him, over there.” She pointed off towards a distance.

“That looks like a shopping district according to my desktop,” the child muttered. “We have to be more careful now since there’s more people that can either report us or get hurt.”

Hermes snickered. “Yeah, a couple of convicts with a random ass kid is kinda suspicious,” she snarked.

Jolyne sighed and looked around.

“How do we get out of here? Quickly?” she muttered.

Jolyne turned her head towards the rest of the parking lot, eying two sports cars and a helicopter. Emporio looked up and his eyes lit up.

The memory ended.

“And then there were three,” Jolyne sighed.

Heels slammed onto linoleum up the hallway. Jolyne tried to turn to the noise but fell back into the bed facing upward. She compromised with a turn of her head as a woman turned the corner. [Weather Report] collapsed back into the disc in a gust, landing in front of Emporio. The pen clattered to the floor along with the piece of paper.

A tan woman in a muted pink jumpsuit stood at the door. Wavy dark brown hair covered the right side of her face, the other side revealing a puffy green eye with tears streaming down them. She was breathing hard and sniffling as she made eye contact with Jolyne.

“Oh my,” she sobbed. “My, J-Jojo.” She ran to the bed. 

“Mom,” Jolyne muttered, reaching out with her right hand slowly, wincing at shooting pains up her left side.

The woman stopped as she went in with open arms. She withdrew the notion and carefully reached out her hands, tracing her child’s face. Jolyne winced as a finger grazed her scars, the older woman pulling away quickly.

“What-what happened to you? Where did you g-get these? What is prison? It was prison, wasn’t it? I knew you were innocent! Who did this t-to you?” She rambled, choking on tears.

Jolyne stared into her mother’s eyes, dark and empty. She didn’t have the heart to tell her anything. What could she say? A priest with a half-man half-horse aberration sliced into her face and friends? She stopped the world? She let a bastard child drive several cars? Dad is dead? 

Where to start?

She blinked as her mom shuddered harder.

“I-I heard about your father, he-” She hiccuped.

“He’s dead. I know, I was there,” Jolyne coldly stated.

Her mother let go to look at her child, eyes wide in fear and sadness. Jolyne returned with a dead look, right eye dark with emptiness.

“C-can you recall what happened? T-the Speedwagon Foundation won’t tell me anything.”

Jolyne broke her gaze with her mom, trying to weave a believable lie. She looked over to Emporio with his widened eyes, also unsure about how to go about it.

“We were on a ship,” she started. “We tried to outrun…the storm. I got released early--dad probably didn’t tell you that--and…and it got really bad. The waves got faster, the sea floor got brought up…It was like…like the world was speeding up.”

Emporio shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, the disc buzzing alongside him. Jolyne continued.

“The waves got really, really bad. Cargo was tossed everywhere. The water hit the deck hard. We weren’t the only ones though.” She paused, choking on spit.

“Some of the others were…people I grew close to…and they-” She gulped. “Got killed. The storm got them. I-”

“Shh, shh, that’s all I need if that’s all you can say,” her mother empathized, cupping Jolyne’s face and tracing her right cheek with her thumb. Jolyne blinked, gulping.

“The Speedwagon Foundation found us washed up on shore,” she continued. “Emporio and I were the only survivors. Then the storm hit and I passed out. I’ve been out for half a day now before you got here.”  

Her mother stared at her wide-eyed and sniffling, taking slow breaths so as to not start sobbing again. She slowly wrapped her arms around Jolyne and buried her head into her shoulder, holding her close. Jolyne slowly reached a free hand up to wrap around her mom, patting her back. Her mom let out a couple of choked coughs.

“I-it must have been so h-hard for you these last few months. I heard your f-father tried to reach out, and…well …” Her voice faltered off.  

“Mhhm,” Jolyne nodded, taking a sharp breath as she felt pain shoot up her left side. Her mom’s grip tightened, gulping.

“Your father was always so secretive, and to think he worked under an organization such as this one is astounding. He kept it secret for 21 years. As much as he told us not to worry, I always did. I knew he cared for us but never really showed it.”

“I kinda understand now but I feel more betrayed than relieved,” Jolyne  grumbled, taking shallow breaths.

The older woman nodded, putting her forehead to her daughter’s.

“Did he treat you like your marriage was an obligation?” Jolyne guessed. Her mother made a small gasp, quickly turning into a frown.

“Well…he was a nice man and all, just very…distant, you know this,” her mother started, pursing her lips as she ended the sentence. “This is not the time and place for this conversa-”

The older woman straightened up, realizing a piece in Jolyne’s story.

“O-oh! Is Emporio this child?” She turned her gaze to the boy.

“Y-yes ma’am,” Emporio stuttered, stepping away from Jolyne.

“You poor, poor child, where are your parents?”

Emporio looked down. She covered her mouth.

“Oh! I-I am s-so sorry. My n-name is Marina Milano,” she greeted, holding a hand out to the child. He stepped away and looked at her hand and back to her. She pulled away and put it to her mouth, holding back a gasp.

Jolyne furrowed her brows again.

“He was a stowaway,” she lied. “I only met him a few days ago. But he has nowhere else to go.” Emporio moved closer to Jolyne, taking one of her hands in his.

Marina nodded with a frown, looking the child up and down. Emporio scooted closer to Jolyne, hiding behind her.

“He seems to really like you,” she chuckled. “Trust you even.”

She paused, looking away.

“When this all ends, and if the Foundation allows, maybe he can stay with you for the time being. “

Jolyne’s eye widened. Emporio’s eyes shifted between the women, already addressing his question of what was going to happen with him.

“I’ll let you rest more and I can talk to the higher ups. I’ll be back in a few hours to leave you two alone. And don’t worry about me, they have me in a nearby room for the time being. #365. Just so you know!”

Jolyne watched her mother leave slowly, constantly looking back as she turned the corner, heels clicking. She peaked in one more time before blowing a kiss, her steps disappearing among the hospital ambience.

The two looked at each other as [Weather] reformed behind them. He bent over and picked up the fallen pad and handed it to Emporio.

Emporio squinted at the scrawlings, trying his best to decipher the text. Jolyne turned to look as the child lifted it closer to her face.

“First time writing? I can tell,” Jolyne sassed. The stand shrugged and nodded.

What could be deciphered followed:

…Wes…Domenico…Pucci brother…stolen memory…Heavy Weather…violence... revenge…avenge…Perla…misguided priest…trauma…suicide…sorry…sorry…sorry…sorry…forgive me…stay with me.            

Jolyne looked back at [Weather] who looked worried, rubbing his hands together.

“I-I can’t really understand what you mean by all this, but for certain we aren’t letting the Foundation take you. You can probably bulls-make up something and say it’s a special case. Can’t get more bizarre than a time acceleration stand I suppose.”

“I don’t think they even know it’s a dead man’s stand,” Emporio added, turning the pad in his hand.

“Let’s keep it that way for now. I think a last name like Alniño is justifiable enough to have a weather-based stand. And he likes you too.”

Emporio and [Weather] looked at each other and nodded, the stand withdrawing into the disc once more. The child pocketed the disc and sat up.

“I’ll let you sleep more. They have me nearby, don’t you worry. Don’t get all worked up about me and get even more headaches!” He smiled, quickly leaving the room.

“See you soon Emporio,” Jolyne waved, yawning.

“I’ll check in on you later!” the child chirped before ducking out the room and across the way to an unlocked room, the door shutting.

Jolyne lied back on the bed and inhaled, closing her eyes. She held her breath for a moment before exhaling, winding down.

After a few moments, she drifted off to sleep.

The following day Jolyne was moving around again, the pain in her head dulled down. The combination of painkillers and treatment were doing wonders to her wellbeing, mitigating the amount of shooting pains she got from turning on her right side.

Only for a different kind of thudding pain to start.

A group of people rushed into her room as she swung her legs out of bed. Her head pounded as scientists and reporters surrounded here with questions

It was too overwhelming for the American and she groaned loudly, covering her face as the crowd closed in. Words blurred together and camera flashes went off, microphones, cameras, and vials being shoved in her face. She lied back as her ears started to ring, twisting and kicking outward to ward off the crowd.

A chime went off and suddenly the sky flashed.

It was only for a moment, but the entire building trembled. People were heard screaming outside and down the hall.

“A day has passed! How is that so?” a scientist exclaimed, looking at their watch.

“W-what?”

A doctor spoke up, clearing his throat.

“W-we’re overwhelming her. Everyone shoo! Shoo!”

The crown mumbled as they filed out, some disappointed but more so concerned.

Jolyne sat up with a sigh, massaging her right cheek. The scar stung to the touch, but she could not stop rubbing it. Her arms trembled as he propped them on the side of the bed, swearing to herself. Nurses assisted Jolyne as they noticed her struggle, aiding her to the room’s bathroom.

A couple hours passed as a new set of nurses took her vitals. Jolyne picked at her hand silently.

“Jotaro’s daughter huh? What’s that like?” a nurse mentioned, immediately being hit by another. Jolyne stared at the man. He cleared his throat.

“Clearly inappropriate,” he corrected, looking away. 

“You’re going to get fired for that, y’know,” a woman spoke up.

Jolyne rolled her eye, clicking her tongue. She turned to a water glass on the stand and took a sip, grimacing as she took in warm water. He coughed it up, a nurse helping her sit up.

“Although your recovery is fast, in fact the fastest the Foundation has seen, that still means you need to take it slow. Else something heals in a way that it shouldn’t.”

“Not like I’m already fucked beyond repair,” Jolyne grumbled, the nurse stepping away.

After a few more tests the group ducked out, leaving her to her own devices.

She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath, the sounds of her stand populating the room. She focused on unraveling, taking slow breaths and closing her eye. Her body glowed as she felt her hand go undone, turning white and wiry.

A pain shot up her right side, letting out a silent scream. She fell back on the bed, clutching her hand that reverted back to normal.

“Not yet,” she whispered, clutching her chest.

Aside from the countless people coming in and out of the room, not much else of note happened. Jolyne got more and more impatient as she was approached by something other than “Jolyne”.

“Dr. Kujo’s daughter-” the reporter started.

“Jolyne.” Her face went dark as a reporter stuck a microphone in her face. He gulped as he pulled it away.

“Jolyne,” he repeated, the cameraman hiding behind his equipment.

“Tell us, where were you when the world was ending?”

Jolyne retold the same lie she told her mom, omitting any details on Emporio and her friends. The reporter nodded with each sentence, jotting down notes as he questioned her further. 

Many of his questions revolved around her father, the woman quickly dismissing them.

“-and those seem to be all of our questions! Thank you Ms. Cujoh!” he chirped up.

“Jolyne. Call me that and only that,” she said darkly.

The reporter gulped as the cameraman quickly backed out the room/

“I’ll keep that in note for production.” The man ran out of the room.

Emporio entered as soon as the man cleared the door. He looked back in confusion before turning back to Jolyne, a less-strained-than-usual smile on his face.

Marina followed suit, going behind Emporio and holding him close. It looked like she had also grown fond of him.

“The Foundation is allowing us to foster him for the time being. It’s no adoption but it’s close enough. They want to look for a family first that may take him in, but if no one is capable of doing so, we can adopt him!”

“Oh really! This is the best news I’ve heard all day! It’s been exhausting talking to strangers all day. They keep prying details out of me. I'm so tired!”

Jolyne leaned in closer to the duo, forcing a smile.

“What did you guys do today?”

Jolyne listened to the two talk about their own adventures. The two started to talk, Marina expressing Emporio’s maturity for his age, Jolyne wincing at the reminder. Emporio shared his fondness of reading, holding up a paperback book that her mom gave him, cover beat but still readable as The Outsiders . Jolyne laughed with them as they mentioned a cafeteria incident where a couple of prisoners slipped in ,recognizing one of them as Miraschon based on Emporio’s description of umpire-like hair. [Weather Report] peering out from his disc in Emporio’s pocket with a thumbs up.

As the sun set once more, the young Cujoh let out a small cough, less raspy than the day before. 

For the first time in a while, albeit for a moment, she felt at relative ease, slumber taking over. Emporio and Marina waved as they left for their night into the nearby rooms.

The third day Jolyne woke up to a less throbbing headache, but that could be on account of all the new pain medication she was being given. At the very least she can turn her body without waves of pain washing over her.

Sitting up in bed, she looked around the room for anyone. Her eyes turned to a camera in the corner, something that she never noticed before. 

Jolyne took a deep breath as a purple aura surrounded her. The sound of tumbling metal and a ticking clock joined the hospital noises as her stand tried to come into existence.

She clutched her chest as the aura suddenly cut off, her heart beating harshly against her hand. The camera in the corner started to beep loudly as a nurse rushed into the room, clutching a clipboard.

“Cujoh! Are you alright?” she asked,

“I-it’s fine. I’m fine now. Just heartburn,” Jolyne laughed, circling her sternum with her thumb

“Do you need anything? Is it your new medication?” the nurse questioned, looking down at her board.

“I think I got up too fast, I’m all good now,” Jolyne lied, putting her hand down.

The nurse smiled back at the woman.

“Nothing more than I expect from Jotaro’s daughter.”

Jolyne’s smile faltered for a second, the nurse leaving the room. She took a deep breathe and closed her eye, gritting her teeth. She exhaled immediately after her 

“Of course they know more about my dad,” she grumbled.

She swung her legs over the bed and jumped off, stabilizing as she landed. A piece of paper was taped to a change of clothes on the bed stand, reading:

Report to Room 130 (1st Floor) for rehabilitation and monitoring.

By the late afternoon she was moving as normal without major shooting pains, a miracle according to the doctors. She should not have been able to be as mobile as she was two days after a major injury, let alone running on a treadmill.

Jolyne breathed hard as she jogged, wires and tubes strung up all around her. Electrodes clung to her chest and arms, monitoring her heart. A mask covered her face, taking note of her breathing patterns. A pedometer-like machine was strapped to her thigh, feet slamming into the treadmill that sunk with each step. Machines whirred and beeped with information on the woman, scientists and doctors alike nodding at the details.

Jolyne hated it.

It was a normal physical until Jolyne felt the world slow before her. The beeping around her got slower and louder, the chatter of the people dying down. She turned her head to see the people slowing down, the machine practically at a standstill blinking rapidly. She was moving faster than the treadmill belt, getting closer and closer to the front end of it.

Her hands started to phase out of existence. This should not have surprised her as her string form often left her thinner than before, but this was different. Her form shimmered and vibrated in place as the world got dimmer. A window to her right showed a flashing sky, the sun becoming a steady beam. 

She was accelerating with the times.

Like [Made in Heaven].

Suddenly she was rebound back into normal time, her body slamming into the display of the machine, splitting it in half. Her vision blurred as she hit the floor, arms cushioning her head as her top half collided with the floor. Electrodes popped off her skin as the machine wheeled with her descent.

She groaned as people surrounded her, her head throbbing as the words became intelligible and silhouettes blurred together. She felt a pain up her left side again, crying out.

“Give her air! Give her air!” A doctor called from the back, pushing through the crowd.

They broke through and kneeled with Jolyne, handing her a water bottle. She took it and cracked the top open and put it to her lips.

“Slow sips, slow sips, you’ll get sick if you chug it,” the doctor eased, helping her tip the bottle. She downed a quarter of the bottle before they pulled it away.

“How many fingers?” The doctor put up a hand.

“Four. Four fingers,” she gasped.

“What is today’s date?”

“March 23rd, 2012.” She took another sip of water.

“What is your name?”

“Jolyne Cujoh.”

The doctor stood up and stuck out their hand, letting the young woman get up easily.

“She’s fine, but we need to make sure nothing broke,” they 

“Rehab for today is over,” they announce, the crowd fanning out.

Jolyne blinked slowly as the doctor gripped her shoulder, turning to their assuring but worried smile.

“Stand ability I assume? I don’t fully understand them myself but, it’s quite a peculiar one is it?”

Jolyne stayed silent. The doctor sighed.

“Like I say, we’ll need to run a couple X-rays and vitals to assure no stitches or old wounds reopened. Come with me.”

She was led to a small room within the lab where they took a few blood samples while running a check-up. After being led to the X-ray machine where her chest was examined, the doctor confirmed no new fractures or openings and let her on her way with a smile. Jolyne nodded, walking away towards a backpack of belongings and clothes they Foundation gave her. She waddled out of the laboratory and into the hallway.

As Jolyne walked the halls, she started to notice some key difference from a normal hospital. Some of the nurses and doctors wore normal tags, while a select few bore the Speedwagon Foundation logo. Poster board signs were taped over sections of permanent signs depicting altered locations as people of all kinds ran about the hall. And even the gurneys were different, some hospital-regulation yellow and others a marine blue with “SWF” branished on its sides.

Jolyne turned a couple of corners in the hospital to one of the private bathrooms, entering and locking it. Stepping into the space, a white fluorescent light lit up an orange tile room, slightly larger than a mall family restroom. In one corner sat the toilet, across from it a sink and mirror. The opposite wall stood a shower stall with frosted glass, a railing and stand beside it.

She tossed her change of clothes and products onto the stand and turned to  the mirror. She placed her hands on the sides of the sink and looked into the surface.

She shut her eye and inhaled, holding her breath.

She was going to have to see it eventually. No point in delaying the inevitable.

She exhaled and opened it again. She tucked the hair in front of her left eye behind her ear, exposing the flattened gauze bandages covering the area.

Jolyne put her hands up to her left eye and tore off the bandages, exposing the injury. A long straight scratch barely an inch below her hairline cut down into her eye to the bottom of her chin. A smaller horizontal one cut across the middle of her eye. The white itself looked partially deflated, but mostly intact. It was slightly red and pulsing, breathing almost. She gagged.

She was seeing her left eye for the first time. A white cross divided her green iris into four nearly-even sections. Her pupil blended in the middle of the cross-section, blurring outwards. A pink cross scar met with the rest of the scarring on the left side of her face.

She realized could still see out of that eye. She winked in intervals to compare any differences, concluding her left eye saw less vibrant than her right. 

It looked too much like Pucci’s.

“They were useless anyway,” she muttered, tossing the dressings in the direction of the trash. 

The vision in her left eye split. She shut her right eye suddenly to wince, unable to shut the left. She screamed and clutched the left side of her face as she started seeing double.

Two timelines played. One was in a harsh reddish tone, showing the dressing hitting the rim of the bin and hitting the floor. The other took a teal tone where the dressings fell into the trash can perfectly. A loud ringing played on her right side of her head as the two views played in unison.

Coming back to reality, the ball of bandages lay on the floor. It seemed that the red timeline played out.

The ringing stopped abruptly. Jolyne stood in silence as she breathed hard, rubbing the top part of her scar.

[Stone Free] beamed into existence, a new sound of a clock chime ringing joining the choir of tumbling metal signalling its summoning. She shuddered.

“God, that’s going to be a part of the sounds now? And what in the fuck did I just see?” she whined, heart thumping.

Her stand did not react, and instead went over to put her trash in the bin. A long white line ran through her entire left side where she was sliced a few days prior. It seemed like the injury reflected onto her stand, albeit through her entirety. Her left side was slightly lower than its right at the cut.

She turned to her with a tilted head. Bright green shutter frames hid its bizarre eyes, black slits looking back at her. 

“Oh, I never noticed the new sunglasses, sorry,” she muttered. “They look really good on you though.”

“Ora,” her stand nodded, slightly smiling. Her expression quickly dropped as she went in front of her user, putting her hands on her shoulders.

Jolyne put a hand up to her stand’s face, feeling over the cut. It felt colder than the rest of her stand, the feeling echoing over her own injury. It slightly dipped and felt like loose skin. She traced her hand up to the glasses, her other joining to lift them off. 

Similar to her iris, [Stone Free]’s right eye was cleanly sliced into quarters, reflecting the bathroom light four ways. She tilted her head, the stand mirroring her. 

“Keep your head still,” Jolyne frowned, holding her stand’s head in place.

“Ora…” [Stone Free] apologized.  

She cupped her stand’s face again, tracing over the original ridges that cut through her eyes and over the cut again, slightly hissing in pain as she pushed the injury. Jolyne traced down her face and shoulders, noticing a working clock in each shoulder blade. Her stand turned a shoulder closer so that Jolyne could investigate better, the woman feeling a casing over the clock face.  

Tracing down the rest of her arm, she saw that the forearm had been replaced with something glove-like, another clock embedded into the top of its hand.

Jolyne stepped away from her stand who stared back, eying each other up and down.

“We’ve come a long way,” Jolyne chuckled. “New powers, new look. Dad would be proud.”

[Stone Free] suddenly hugged her user, tightly wrapping her arms around her shoulders and waist. Jolyne froze at the sudden affection, hesitantly reaching up to hug back. She patted her stand’s back, rubbing circles with one hand into her shoulder blades.

“Ora ora,” her stand affirmed, patting her back.

“I know it wasn’t, but I could’ve done more-”

[Stone Free] let go and put her hands on her shoulder, pouting. She shook her head furiously and gripped her shoulders, grounding the woman. She just stared back with a pout and eyes burning with frustration. Jolyne’s mouth slowly opened up to say something, [Stone Free] cutting her off before a sound was made.

“Ora!” The stand yelled. “Ora ora! ORA!” She put her right arm down and squeezed Jolyne’s left shoulder. Her stare became more intense and exaggerated.

“ORA!” she pumped a fist in the air.

Jolyne made a small noise before bursting into laughter, bending over and clutching her stomach. Her stand followed suit and kneeled on the floor, facing the ground. She coughed a bit as she tried to collect herself, wiping a tear from her left eye. [Stone Free] adjusted her glasses as both figures stood up to face each other, giggling.

“Even after all that has happened, you still somehow cheer me up with your expressions. I feel like you’ve gotten more so since prison!” Jolyne commended, hitting her stand on the shoulder.

“Ora!” the stand shrugged with a giggle, snickering.

“Thank you for everything so far. And thank you for making me feel less lonely.”  

Her stand nodded with a toothy grin before disappearing with a shimmer and ticking noise. Jolyne shuddered and sighed.

She stepped into the shower with her things and peeled her clothes off. Looking down she had a few stitched in her collarbone and shoulders, presumably from the knife attack. Tracing down her body she had more scars from past fights, cuts stitched up with her own skin. She gagged as she ran over larger scabs, thumbing the areas where they started to build up. She felt the grooves of the stitches from her stand’s string texture by her normal skin. 

A memory flashed before her, again not her own.

She was suspended in the air, time around her at a stand still. Her body was held tightly in place by some mysterious force, presumably the time stop. She can only move her eyes, and very slowly, her vision 

In the corner of her eye something purple glowed, what she could make out was a muscular arm in a black glove.

Knives surrounded her in the night, the lights of the street below yellow and foreboding. The entire landscape was desaturated and still, no stars sparkling or people moving below. Something blocked her vision above her, the dark bill of a cap resting on her head.

“-proves that you really can move only for a moment.” A voice snarked out in front of her.

Her eyes met with a large blonde man in the most bizarre get-up she had seen to date. Blonde hair was loosely bound by a green headband with a heart, golden eyes searing into her with a toothy grin to match. A black sleeveless bodysuit clung to his body, showing off a wide and muscular physique. He donned a yellow jacket with large shoulder pads, identifying that the time period Jolyne found herself in was the 80s. Or at least, the man emerged from the 80s. The pants were the most ridiculous of the fit, crotchless and with green suspenders attached to a matching belt with a heart buckle. Jolyne avoided his crotch and was met with green heart-shaped knee pads and slit bell bottoms, ending with pointed golden shoes that made the woman wonder what fashion show he stumbled out of.

Regardless of the outfit, its flamboyant nature violently contrasted the prideful and intimidating man that wore it.

“One more second.”

Though she could not identify the man right away, she felt a sense of fear and familiarity from this figure. Her form shuddered as she realized what was to happen next.

“Zero.”

Time resumed as the knives came barreling towards her. The figure behind her moved in front of her, thrashing violent in a barrage of deep ORAs. She immediately recognized the stand as [Star Platinum], albeit with a red scarf compared to the yellow of her late father.

A searing pain shot up from her sternum as she blacked out, exiting the memory.

She flashed back to the present and looked down. No new knife injury in her chest. No sign of blood. She was in her body alright. Just Jolyne.  

These must be her dad’s memories.

She regretted looking at the disc in full. She turned on the water as she undid her braids and buns. She combed through her hair the best she could with the shower comb the Foundation gave her; dirt, blood, salt, and other debris flowing into the drain below.

“Might cut my hair,” she muttered, wincing as she pulled hard through tangles in wavy hair. “Might need to stop dying it too.”

She took time to shampoo and condition as it has been months since she got to shower alone. She tried her best to avoid the scars, hissing as a couple of stitches went undone as she scrubbed down her body. [Stone Free] started to patch up the opened wounds quickly as she rushed the rest of her shower.

Turning off the water she leaned against the tile wall, taking deep controlled breaths. She opened her eyes and straightened up, exiting the stall and drying off. She put on a racerback and leggings they provided, stopping at the SWF jacket they gave her. She shook her head and wrapped the article around her waist.

“ ‘S too hot for this,” she grumbled.

She looked in the mirror and tisked. Looking at her hair, damp and curly, she took a comb to it as she continued to look at her injury. She settled for a bang swept over her left eye, tying her hair in a messy, tight bun, her signature green brait surrounding the base and hanging down from it. Satisfied with her work she smiled, gathering the rest of her things and exiting the private bathroom.

She beelined for her hospital room, barely making it before a nurse bumped into her.

“Ah! Jotaro’s daughter-” they began.

“Jolyne,” she corrected, chuckling uncomfortably.

“-Jolyne. How are you feeling now? Refreshed and mobile?”

“Ah, uh, yeah, a lot better.”

The nurse nodded. “Remember to take it slow and steady! That makes recovery quicker.”

Jolyne watched as the nurse left and she scoffed.

“I’m more than that.”

She tossed her belongings on the bed, scrambling for a pager and cell phone they provided her and pocketing it. 

She sighed as she stood silently in the room, looking around it. Her eyes met the clock above the door, the face reading 12:45 pm.

“I’m late for lunch.”

Jolyne stared at her lunch before her, slumping over the table in the cafeteria. An offwhite pasta sat in the middle of a tray surrounded by a hard garlic bread and assorted vegetables. Accompanying her meal was a cola and water bottle, wet with condensation. Utensils were haphazardly set before her. 

It looked slightly higher quality than the food they gave her in prison, yet its bland colors could’ve fooled her.

People swarmed her table, talking loudly over each other. SWF members asked about her fight, her scar, how she was feeling. Old prisoners confused on how she got out, where she went, her injuries, and asking advice to escape prison like she did. Roaming children ogled at her bizarre hair and cuts. The only words she could make out were “Jotaro”, “daughter”, “scars”, and “tattoo”.

She was too tired to shoo them off, electing to ignore them and picking up her fork. She stirred the pasta and zone out, picking at the penne.

“Shoo! Shoo! Get away from her!” Emporio yelled from behind her, shaking his hands at the scientists. The boy wedged himself between her and the others and tried to push them away with his body, a lunch tray in his arms. [Weather Report] circulated the duo and blew a gust outwards, making the crowd back away from the sudden force. They all looked at each other and nodded, leaving the trio alone. Another gust of wind hit the remaining stragglers, knocking over a couple of children. The trio winced at each other as the crowd fanned out, leaving them alone. [Weather] withdrew himself into the disc.

He plopped his tray down next to her and dusted off his clothes. He wore his baseball cap, but he now wore a cobalt v-neck too wide for his body tucked into grey sweats. Black and white sneakers replaced his worn cleats.

“Thanks, Emporio,” she chuckled, taking a bite out of her pasta. She made a face as her taste buds were assaulted with spices, slightly coughing at the mouthful of pepper she just took in. [Weather]’s arm materialized and hit her back to help her. 

“This is like slightly better prison food,” Emporio said with a stuffed mouth. “I like it. I get to finally sit with you and eat at a table instead of the ghost room.”

“When we get out of here, I need to get you real food. Prison slop is nothing like a good burger and fries,” she chuckled.

Emporio nodded with a bite of a grey sandwich. Jolyne’s face dropped.

“I shouldn’t have roped you into all of this,” Jolyne said finally, balling a fist. Emporio looked up at her, taking a sip of water. “I feel awful that you had to go through all that. You’re twelve, and I made you drive a helicopter for fu- goodness’s sake.”

“You can swear around me,” he affirmed. “Even then, I wanted to drive the helicopter.”

“And you actually did well,” Jolyne shook your head. “Don’t excuse your curiosity for my irresponsibility. You deserve so much better, and I feel so, so bad that this all happened under my watch.” She started to tremble, Emporio putting a hand on her fist, slightly smiling.

“Don’t blame yourself, please. I wanted to be a part of all this, even if it meant seeing the worst of it. Be sad, but be kind to yourself, you did all that you could. And I did the best I could do with this.” He summoned the ghost candy bar and twirled it in his hand with a smile, probably the first genuine one that Jolyne had seen out of him.

Jolyne smiled, a tear rolling down her right side.

“Hmm, I guess so. You’re really mature for your age, y’know that? I need to take you to an amusement park or something to make up for all that lost time huh?” she laughed, pulling Emporio in with a side hug.

“We’re all a little fucked up, huh? Slaves to fate? Might as well make the best of it while we’re still here,” Jolyne trailed off, sighing. She gripped Emporio harder and pulled him closer, tightening her hold on him. He tapped on her side quickly.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry,” she murmured.

“I-it’s fine,” Emporio smiled, rubbing his shoulder with a wince.

[Stone Free] materialized next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled back at her user.

“I hate [Made In Heaven] as an ability name, don’t you?” she asked her stand. She nodded furiously in response.

“Don’t know what to call that for now.” She paused and put a finger to her lips. “Let’s put that on hold for now.”

[Weather Report] emerged from his disk, greeting [Stone Free] with a happy nod. She straightened in surprise, muttering as she swiveled around, searching for his user. The cloud stand put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head, pointing at the disc on the table. She stared at it for a bit and pursed her lips, hanging her head. [Weather] pulled [Stone Free] into a hug, the latter hugging back moments later. Jolyne rubbed her arm as he felt the echo of the stand’s cool cloud-skin on her own.

[Weather] started to sign at [Stone Free], who nodded to the movements. He ended his sentence, the teal stand continuing to start at her friend. He put his arms down in defeat as she shrugged, not understanding a single word he said.

“That’s going to be a learning curve,” Jolyne commented, the stands turning to her. [Weather] rolled his eyes as [Stone Free] made a face, shaking her head. Jolyne turned back to Emporio.

“Have you tried talking to the other kids here?” she asked, leaning on the table.

Emporio groaned quietly. “I don’t know how and they all kind of scare me. They’re all bigger than me.”

Jolyne cringed at the realization. He really hasn’t met other kids before now, and suddenly being thrusted into an environment like this would overwhelm him for sure. And yeah, the kids at least had a couple of inches on him.

“Well.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You got me so I can be your older sister or something,” she chuckled.He laughed back nervously.

“I think you're cool, you just need to find other kids that have your interests. Like computers or music or piano or baseball-wait, you haven’t seen a baseball game huh?” Jolyne realized.

Emporio shook his head.

“Oh boy, we need to start your childhood now .”

The two continued talking, her mother finding their table and joining in. For once in the past week, Jolyne felt more at ease with herself, being able to joke around playfully.

“-and then I said: ‘not pork’!” she laughed, ending her joke. Marina responded heartily with a loud laugh and Emporio with a nervous chuckle. 

The woman sighed as her gaze shifted to the main entrance of the outdoor cafeteria. People walked in and out of the tent, some Jolyne recognized as other prisoners. After a short while, she felt a prick in her shoulder, making her clasp a hand over her birthmark and wince.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Marina worried, leaning in to hold her daughter’s hand. Emporio tensed up.

She opened her eyes again and looked back to the entrance, one particular group getting her attention.

The first to appear in the frame was a tall, wide blonde man in business casual, his teal eyes scanning the cafeteria. He held a distressed turtle in his hand. Jolyne tensed and straightened up, feeling uneasy about his familiarity with the blonde in her father’s memory.

“J-Jolyne?” Emporio muttered.

Following suit was a brunette in simple street wear, a backpack with a purple pistol handle sticking out of it. 

So much for concealed carry , she thought. She placed an elbow on the table, mouth slightly open.

Behind him was a strawberry blonde, thick merger glasses underneath two large sections of hair. He peered from behind the ‘concealed’ carrier. A woman joined next, pink hair in one large swirl bouncing as her sundress flowed. She swung a leg around to straddle the bench, eyes fixated on the group.

And the last in view was a blue-haired man taking a wide stance behind the woman, eyes darting around. He wore a thick black turtleneck and checkered parachute pants, something straight out of a closet fashion show. 

Although lacking his signature cow-print, his nervous yellow eyes were all Jolyne needed to recognize him. 

A change of hair and clothes weren’t going to fool the American, and to even attempt it made her blood boil. Her mood went from mild to malicious as she swung her other leg around the bench, pushing up from the table top.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.”

Chapter Text

The cabin rumbled as the sky above them flashed for a second, the trio holding their breaths. Giorno and Mista glowed in anticipation for another attack, the gun in Mista’s bag rustling restlessly.

“What was that?” Mista called out, the others on the line wincing at the shouting.

“It seems like time has accelerated again,” the pilot explained, eying the clock in the vehicle. It flashed a couple of times before adjusting to the time again, in the same position as it was before the event. “It looks like time jumped a day again.”

“Again?” Giorno asked, eyebrows furrowed.

The pilot nodded. “There was a catastrophic event recently, I’m sure you folks saw it, where time accelerated on a global scale. Florida got the worst of it, not even mentioning the gravity flip, but someone, or something, had sped up time a significant amount. We still don’t know who or what caused it, so we’re just hunkering down for the worst up there.”

“Ah,” Giorno responded, putting a hand to his chest. He patted the tortoise and whispered something in Italian. Polnareff’s ghostly hand gave a thumbs up from the gem before receding once more.

“Is everything alright up there?” Fugo asked.

“It seems so,” Polnareff smiled sheepishly.

The beating of the helicopter blades roared above Giorno and Mista as the vehicle set off westward on the horizon, hovering over the destroyed shopping center below. The sun raged above them high in the sky, the clock in the copter reading 14:57 above them.

“ Now what? ” Mista yelled at Giorno in the headset in Italian. The pilot shushed him.

“ Mista you don’t need to yell ,” Giorno winced, adjusting his headphones. “ You also don’t need to be so aggressive towards Rikiel. ”

Mista rolled his eyes. 

“ You didn’t get bit now did you? Anyways, what are we gonna do now? Try and contact Passione? ” Mista suggested.

“ None of the towers seem to be working right now. Might be a few days before we even get any bars, let alone international .” Giorno replied, pulling out his phone again. Flipping the lid, no bars appeared on the small screen.

“If you guys are worried about communication,” the pilot interrupted in English, “the Foundation is working on some temporary towers near the shelter site that’ll be up in a few days. Also, pardon the intrusion, I feel like I should let you folks know.”

“ Do you think he speaks Italian? ” Mista hushed.

“ I wouldn’t put it past him, ” the blonde shrugged.

The cabin went silent as they continued onward, the highway below looking less and less destroyed with cars and cracks as they went. Vans and buses drove in a line in the same direction they were headed. Trees looked less and less downfallen as they traveled.

“ How about you and your brother, huh? You haven’t even tried to talk to him. ”

“ Yeah, I have .” Giorno raised an eyebrow, voice slightly wavering.

“ Oh, you know that doesn’t count. Like a casual conversation, something lighthearted. Joke around or something, loosen up .”

“ Funny coming from the guy who keeps threatening to turn him into Swiss cheese every other sentence ,” Giorno huffed. 

“ You wouldn’t be saying that now if you didn’t care about him .”

A clicking noise went off in their headphones, the pilot wincing. Giorno’s eyes widened for a second. Mista sighed.

“ I’ve known you far too long to not notice how you react around people. You are never this defensive for this long about a person unless you’re genuinely worried about their wellbeing. At first, you stayed neutral and distant, unsure in trusting Rikiel, and yeah, I get that. But your demeanor has shifted in the last 48 hours into a caring one. It’s subtle, but I noticed it. It’s way too similar to how you treated us back in 2001 .”

Giorno looked away as Mista paused. The former scratched the back of his head.

“ I get it. I get why you suck with emotions, especially towards family. But he’s nothing like your mom from what you told me about her. He’s a decent guy, just uncomfortable. Kinda lost and looking to connect to somebody, and we seem to be the first people to understand his plight. I still harass him because it’s funny ,” the brunette snickered. Giorno glared at him.

He cleared his throat.

“ That’s what I’m talking about, that protective glare. You don’t want me to not shoot him because we need more information from him, you don’t want me shooting him because you care. Anyways, it’d be great for your mental health and his, that you open up towards him, even something generic. Like a proper, non-mafia-related introduction. He also seems to want to talk to you, but you’re both too awkward to instigate a conversation. You don’t need to justify your whole life story or anything, but let him know more about you. ”

Giorno sighed. His expression softened.

“ You know I’m right ,” Mista clicked.

“ Yeah …”

“ Just trying to look out for you, man. A bodyguard not only has to be aware of the physical self but also the mental and emotional .” he chuckled. Giorno rolled his eyes and smiled.

The blonde shimmied in his seat, taking in what Mista told him. He tapped his thumb lightly against the turtle’s shell as he blinked forward, watching the landscape change below him.

“Yeah…myself…” Giorno muttered, blinking slowly.

How long has it been…since I thought about myself? He thought.   

Polnareff settled on the couch across from Rikiel and next to Trish. The two chatted about fashion and design in Italian, laughing occasionally. Fugo fidgeted with his gun, unclipping and reclipping the magazine. Rikiel eyed the display case again as he rocked in the chair slightly, trying to get used to the movement of the turtle. It felt like being on a ferry, bobbing with the vibrations from the helicopter above.

“Want a drink anyone?” Trish offered, shaking bottled water in her hand and other deep in an icebox.

The other men shook their heads, Trish shrugging as she shut the cooler.

Rikiel stood up and walked to it, continuing to analyze the fixture. He glanced over the portraits on the bottom row again and nodded, shifting his gaze to the middle tier.

A large golden picture frame sat in the middle of the tier containing six people. He leans in for a closer look, trying to identify the people in the picture.  From what he could tell, it was younger versions of his companions in much wilder, skimpier clothing. Aside from the blondes and brunette he got to know, two black-haired men and a silver-haired one were also in the picture, who he could not identify. Next to it was a much smaller frame containing a younger Trish, wearing a stylized bralet and a quilt-like skirt. He raised an eyebrow.

“You can pick it up and look at it, just don’t scratch it up.”

Rikiel turned to the voice, Fugo walking towards him. He put a hand on the vampire’s shoulder and stood next to him, eyeing the display case alongside him. He sighed. 

Rikiel turned back to the frame and shook his head. “Looking at it is good enough.”

He continued to look over the photo more closely this time, noticing other details. One of the black-haired men had a bob, the other’s hair messily wrapped in a strange orange headband. The silver hair had a purple star on his head. Giorno wore a pink uniform exposing the middle of his chest. Fugo had a strawberry tie overlaying a tan and tight-looking piece of fabric over his chest.

“There used to be more of us.” He pointed to the boy in the headband. “That was Narancia Ghiarga.” He flicked his wrist to a silver-haired man. “Leone Abbacchio.” He moved over to the bob cut. “Bruno Buccerati.” 

Trish shuffled in her chair uncomfortably, taking a sip of water. Polnareff went to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Must be a sensitive topic,” Rikiel mumbled, turning away.

Fugo nodded. 

Rikiel’s eyes fell to the bottom of the frame, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I’m sorry for your losses, I didn’t mean to bring it up. Losing friends and family is hard.”

“Eh, don’t feel bad. I was too,” Trish assured. “But that was eleven years ago and you had nothing to do about it. It’s our business and our business alone.” Trish pouted as she finished that sentence.

Rikiel’s gaze reached the top shelf where a few memorabilia lay. On a hook hung a large golden zipper, swaying with the movement of the room. A bottle of wine stood next to it, a dark liquid inside barely visible against its dark glass. The third was a flower in a vase, slightly wilted but well and alive.

“That’s some of their favorite things up there,” Fugo pointed out. “Zipper for Buccellati, wine for Abbacchio, and flowers for Narancia.”

“Oh? Is that flower real?” Rikiel questioned, pointing to it.

“Yeah, it is. [Gold Experience] works wonders.”

Rikiel nodded, continuing to scan the display case. His eyes fell on the arrow a few times, but he shook his head on bringing it up.

“Do you have any family here?” Trish suggested, pointing at Rikiel. “I mean, besides Giorno and all.”

Rikiel tensed up, yellow eyes narrowing. His expression was hard to read, but Trish felt uneasy. [Spice Girl] materialized next to her user, sitting down next to her and wrapping her arms around her neck.

Rikiel sighed. “I mean, I do, but, but I don’t know where she is or i-if she even survived anything within the last week.” 

“Is it your mom?” Polnareff asked, eyes downturned.

Rikiel nodded. “I really don’t want to bring her in all of this, because she’s already had her fair share of Joestar meddling. I feel so bad abandoning her all of a sudden.”

Fugo opened his mouth to say something and immediately shut it.

“What are you going to do at the shelter? Besides, y’know, cleaning up all that?” Trish snarked with a propped elbow, [Spice Girl] leaning against her.

“I mean, I can try and find her, but we were much further north in Palatka so the chances of finding her at this specific shelter is slim. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s even survived! That plaza was littered with bodies! The rest of the state must be no different! She doesn’t even know I’m alive!” Rikiel huffed with rising intensity.

Fugo’s grip tightened on Rikiel, noticing that he’d stepped a little closer to Trish. Her stand’s eyes narrowed.

“Anyways,” Fugo diverted, shaking Rikiel’s shoulder. “We can at least look out for her if we see her. What do you have in common with her? Hair--well--old hair, eyes, skin color?”

“She wears a hijab so that’s one thing. Muslim women aren’t at all common around here,” Rikiel pondered. “Similar eyes shapes, darker skin than mine, I think she’d be very recognizable.”

Rikiel bit his lip.

“I look so different from when she last saw me. Would she even recognize me?” he worried.
“Would your mom kill you if your hair was different?” Trish asked.

“You’re saying that as if naturally pink hair isn’t weird,” Fugo chuckled. [Spice Girl] flipped him off. 

“She…she isn’t really the type to get all worked up about non-tradition, at least from what I have seen. She let people be most of the time as long as I was safe. I might even give her a heart attack in this state.”

“Is that how you got away with all that cow print?” Trish teased.

“Ok, Trish, that’s enough,” Polnareff interjected.

She rolled her eyes, swirling the bottle in her hand.

“What’s up with you and Giorno, hmm?” She took another sip. “I haven’t seen either of you talk since the interrogation.”

“Well, uh, um…” Rikiel stuttered, scratching his head. “He’s just kind of…”

“Intimidating? Yeah, it runs in your family,” Polnareff chuckled. “For me, it was more so because he looked like DIO, but the man himself is very imposing. But I can tell you without a doubt that he means well. His intentions are not to hurt you any further if necessary. Give it time and he’ll open up.”

Trish grunted, downing the rest of her water.

“He wants to talk to you personally, we just need to get somewhere safe, which is soon,” Fugo reiterated, letting go of Rikiel’s shoulder.

“Jolyne…” Polnareff murmured. “I do recall Jotaro having a daughter in ‘91 and the pictures he sent me, and I swear I have met her, albeit when she was young. But alas, work drew me away from the Joestars and stranded me in Italy. Maybe if I see her, I can recognize her. I wonder if she’ll recognize me.”

Trish nodded her head as she cracked open another water.

Rikiel turned his attention back to the display case, eyes falling back onto the old photo in the middle. He leaned a little closer to the frame, squinting.

“Wait, what are you guys wearing?” 

“Hmm?” Fugo tilted his head. Polnareff snickered, Trish putting her head in her hands.

“Tough talk from the guy in a full-body cow suit,” Fugo snarked, folding his arms.

“Pannacotta, you are wearing 50% of an outfit in thi-where, where the fuck is your underwea-how old were you in this?” he stuttered, not being able to process anything fully as he noticed more and more bizarre details.

“No more questions,” Fugo snapped, his face turning pink.

“What size moth is needed to get holes that big?”

“I can’t tell where your pants end and your boots start Brando.”

Trish burst into laughter. Polnareff turned away and covered his mouth.

“Trish you are no better, that is a quilt on your waist there. And are those zippers on Mr. Buccelati’s clothes?” Rikiel said, pointing at various parts of the drawing. “What is Narancia wearing on his head?”

“I’ll put you out to pasture,” Fugo threatened.

“That is not a belt.” He pointed at Abbachhio’s waist.

“Who the fuck wears that much animal print?”

“Is that a sweater crop top?” The vampire pointed at a younger Mista.

“You are currently missing half of your top,” Fugo noted, poking Rikiel’s exposed chest.

“You think this is a fashion statement?” Rikiel flabbergasted, moving his arms quickly up and down the seared torn of his suit. “I lit myself on fire for a fight.”

“Lit yourself on fire?” his companions questioned in unison. Trish’s lips upturned into a goofy giggle as Polnareff put a hand to his temple, also smiling. Fugo adjusted his glasses with a smirk. Rikiel’s face started to redden.

“Why would you ever do something like that?” Fugo questioned.

“Because of some weird technicality with my stand, Jolyne did it first--I’m not going into specifics,” Rikiel muttered, face heating up.

“Ah, you Joestars are quick and impulsive with your techniques. Jotaro did something similar in the 80s.” Polnareff noted, holding back laughter.

“I mean, Giorno did let himself get bit by a venomous snake once to not fall to my stand’s virus,” Fugo shrugged.

“I don’t even want to know how that works,” Rikiel said fearfully.

“And I thought my family was weird,” Trish snickered, taking a swig of water. She swallowed as she looked over their guest once more.

“Well, it looks like boob windows run in the family,” Trish said, pointing at Rikiel’s chest. He looked down at himself and turned back to the picture. He turned back to the group with a completely red face and mouth agape, unable to retaliate.

“I fucking give up,” Rikiel surrendered, tossing his arms up in the air. The group burst into laughter as he wrapped the blanket around and over his face, hiding. He fell back to his chair and sat down for the rest of the ride, unable to keep back a sheepish smile.

Trish took a sip of water with a smirk, shoulders loosening as she settled in her chair. Fugo looked once more at the display case and took a seat to Trish, expression much softer than before.

Polnareff looked over the group with a smile, the tension that remained now dissipated completely.

The helicopter landed on top of a hospital, the building surrounded by fences,people, and various vehicles. Tents dotted the perimeter, ranging in size. The crowd below watched the loud vehicle land, yelling out at them.

Stepping out of the helicopter, Giorno picked debris out of his hair as Mista coughed away the floating dust. The tortoise coughed as Giorno held it up to his chest. The pilot jumped out of the front seat and undid his helmet.

“Stick with me so you don’t get lost. There’s a lot of folks in here and you’ll need to walk through a large crowd. And a man as notorious as yourself is going to attract a lot of people,” he warned, taking off his headset and tuning a radio on his waist. 

Giorno nodded.

“By the way, we never got a name,” Giorno asked, pulling up his pants.

“Ah! That’s what I forgot! Aston Marvin,” he greeted, sticking out his hand again.

The duo shook his hand and was led down the roof, entering a narrow staircase. Through a set of double doors opened them up to the chaos within, people, machines, and gurneys flying down the halls and crashing into walls. Bright LEDs and neon boards strung from the ceilings, a

“Welcome to the ICU! Things have been like this since the time of acceleration!” Marvin explained, the duo nodding.

“Hey! Be careful!”

Marvin held them back as a crying family was ushered quickly in front of them, a stretcher in front of them covered in a white cloth. He signaled them to keep going as they passed, pushing through the crowd.

Posters were haphazardly tapped to the wall with arrows and location names, handwriting messy and bold. Personnel of all kinds ran the halls, some donning blank scrubs, and others jumpsuits with the Foundation’s logo. A couple bumped into the group and muttered apologies while continuing quickly on their way.

“This isn’t a Speedwagon Foundation location per se, but we do have connections with this hospital. It is best we take the stairs else we’ll be clogging the elevators,” Marvin suggested, leading them into a busy, but less congested, stairwell. 

The walls echoed the noises outside, muffling the cries and squealing of tires. Mista let out a shaky breath as they entered the stairwell.

“I haven’t seen so much death since…” Mista started, gulping down the last few words before collecting himself. Giorno put his free hand on his shoulder.

“Apologies that you had to witness all that, but it’s unavoidable. Follow me, it gets calmer from here.” Marvin waved his hand as he went up the stairs, the two following suit. 

Ascending the staircase, the sounds for quieter and quieter, but the muffled cries still echo through the vents. Giorno felt his heart pound in his chest, pulling the turtle away from it to not disturb its occupants further.

“I’d like to warn you that most SWF members are here in this wing and they’re going to swarm us. Just don’t interact with them and I can get you guys to somewhere private and quiet.”

He clicked the single door into the wing, opening up to a much narrower hallway lined with many closed doors. The light blue walls glowed under the fluorescent lights, the humming of the appliances ringing alongside the whispers and steps of other occupants. Charts and posters listing statistics and directions dotted the walls, Giorno catching one named “Death Toll: GDST” before turning another corner. Their shoes squeaked against newly waxed linoleum, floors unscuffed compared to the skid marked ones from down below.

Eyes fell upon them curiously as they walked the halls, some even lighting up. Per Marvin’s warning, Foundation members and refugees alike approached the group.

“Oh my god, is that Giorno Giovanna? ” 

“I heard he became a mafia boss at 15! Incredible!” 

“Isn’t he Dio’s son?”

“He really does look like him, huh?”

“Why is he so wide?”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“I heard he’s a Joestar!”

The blonde waved awkwardly at the crowd, adjusting his shirt to cover up a bit more. Mista wedged himself between people who got too close to them, glaring at them and gripping his pistol firmly. A few back away at the gesture, with one man winking back at Mista. The brunette smiled back as he continued to keep pace.

“Hey! Hey! Back away folks! Let them rest! They’ve been through a lot too,” Marvin defended, wedging himself between the crowd and Italians.

They grumbled in annoyance and fanned out, the trio quickening their pace to shake off the rest of them.

Several twists and turns later the group met less and less people before stopping in an empty breakroom. A half-dozen round tables surrounded by chairs dotted the room, a kitchenette and fridge lining two of the walls. A vending machine sat opposite the door surrounded by windows. A wilted fern stood in one corner, complimenting the crocodile green popcorn walls of the room. The floor broke the monotony of linoleum, being a newly installed wooden floor instead.

“Well, I’ll leave you folks to it!” Marvin nodded, ducking out of the room.

Giorno and Mista looked at each other. 

“Oh! And by the way, there's a private bathroom stall three doors down and to the right, if you need it!”

The duo flinched at the intrusion but nodded as the pilot saluted one more time before bounding down the hall. The Italians sighed. Mista trudged towards a chair and sat down, putting his hands to his face.

“It’s safe to come out now,” Giorno called out from above. He set down the tortoise as Trish exited with a yawn, stretching her arms and cracking her neck. Fugo jumped out next, dusting off his pants. Rikiel fumbled out of the turtle, Giorno catching him before he landed knee-first into the linoleum. They looked into each other's eyes silently, Rikiel with fear and Giorno unreadable.

Trish rolled her eyes.

“So, now what?” The pink-haired woman shrugged, looking around the room. She walked over to the vending machine and kicked it, a candy bar falling from a ring. He reached into the machine and peeled the wrapper off, taking a bite.

“We have money,” Giorno sighed. He helped Rikiel stand up, the vampire dusting off his clothes.

Fugo scoffed. “Finally some remotely fresh air. I was sick of breathing in the debris dust.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt, revealing thick lenses tightly held between bronze-like frames. Mista cracked his neck in his chair, sighing.

“I think the first course of action is to freshen up, then talk more. Even I am not in the mood to continue the conversation,” Giorno suggested, slumping his shoulders. He put his hands to his forehead and began unraveling his bang-rolls, picking out blonde bobby pins.

That’s how they stay up, Rikiel thought.

“Who’s going first?” Fugo asked, turning immediately to Rikiel, who flinched. The rest of the group looks towards their vampiric companion, eying him intently, Giorno continuing to undo his rolls.

“W-why me?” he stuttered, pointing at himself.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back, just go,” Trish scoffed, flicking her wrist at him.

“I-”

“Just go!” Trish, Mista, and Fugo yelled, even making Giorno and Polnareff flinch.

“O-ok,” he surrendered, turning back to the turtle. Polnareff had already taken the bag of clothing out of [Mr. President]. Rikiel gathered up the clothes he picked up from the boutique and pouted realizing he didn’t pack underwear. 

Trish started to rummage through her purse.

“While looking through some debris from earlier I found some lipstick in a makeup store. Among the lot, I found a couple of violet shades that I think would go great with your hair.”

“Oh, t-thank you?” he questioned, not being prepared as Trish tossed two silver cylinders at him, hitting him square in the nose.

“Trish!” the rest of the group yells out, the woman in question flinching.

“What? He’ll live,” she snarked, closing her bag.

Rikiel stepped into the doorframe and back at the group.

“Three down and to the right?”

Giorno and Mista nodded, the vampire nodding back and disappearing from sight.

“Hey, Trish, what flavor is that?” Mista asked.

Rikiel squared his shoulders and held his belongings close, eyes darting the hallway before pressing towards the opposite wall, tensing up as he walked along with it. Not many people walked down this hall like the previous floors, but the ones who did look at the man with confusion. A couple passing nurses tilted their heads  and whispered towards each other, giggling. Rikiel frowned as he ducked his head and let his loose hairs cascade his face.

A doctor noticed him and watched him pass by, paying special attention to the mark on his left shoulder.

“Wait a minute-” he started, but Rikiel had already turned his shoulder away from view and gripped the bathroom doorknob tightly, slipping inside quickly and locking the door behind him.

He tossed his stuff on the toilet seat and hit his back to the wall, sliding down until he sat on the tile below. He muttered something in Masry as he massaged his temples, feeling his nails scratch against his scalp.

Looking back up he looked at the bulbs sticking out from the popcorn ceiling, blue assorted tiles lining both the falls and floor. A rack with a set of towels sat across from the shower stall, which sat right next to the sink. He got up with a slight wobble and approached the mirror, circling his birthmark with a grimace. Blood and dirt scraped away as he did so, falling to the floor.

He eyed the assortment of combs and brushes on the countertop next to the shower stall, grabbing a sturdy-looking brush. Even a manicure kit sat near the cup of combs.

He sighed as he finally shook off his shoes and peeled off of his bodysuit, tossing the trashed garment in the trash. He turned on the water and hissed as ice-coldd water hit his skin, pulling back to let the water warm up more.

He stepped inside as he became soaked in warm water, letting out a relieving breath as he scrubbed his hair and face, murky water draining below him. He scrubbed off the grime from the past few days with a sponge he saw in the corner. Wiping down his arms and chest he noticed that all of his wounds have closed up. His skin had gotten paler as well. He made do with products in the shower, wincing as he brushed tangles from his thick violet hair. He began wondering something; Rikiel looked down at himself.

Yep, he was blue down there too.

After a long while of scrubbing out blood and picking at caked dust, he turned off the shower and towel-dried his hair. He reached out to the turtleneck and pants he found hanging on the door. Putting them on the sweater was a snug fit, but otherwise comfortable. The pants fit like a charm, Rikiel tying them around the waist. He slid on a pair of boots he scavenged as well, heels clicking on the floor. 

He looked at himself in the mirror again.

His lipstick was washed off, letting his yellow eyes be the focal point to his face. Blue hair stuck to his face, slightly curly from being washed down. He sighed as he switched to a thick comb, wincing as it caught onto more tangles. Rikiel eyed some of his few belongings that he carried in his original suit: a busted phone and a thin wallet, Garfunkel’s card still sticking out from it. He snagged them and the hair tie Trish gave him and put his hair up in a ponytail. He replaced the silver cylinders with the rest of the belongings as he placed them on the sink.

Rikiel looked back at the mirror and planted his hands at the side of the sink, sighing. 

“Would she even recognize me?” he pouted. He looked down to the lipsticks Trish gave him and uncapped them both, testing them on his arms. He shrugged and put the darker shade on his top lip and lighter on the bottom. He puckered his lips as he capped them and put the cylinders in his pocket, wiping the test stripes off his arm. He licked over his teeth, feeling his enlarged canines.

Eying the manicure set one more time before taking the thicker set of clippers, he stopped as he placed the cutter against his nail. He rolled up the towel and placed it in his mouth before cutting down on the nail, pressing the pliers harder than usual to get through the keratin. He slightly whimpered as a pain shot through his nail as a chunk clipped off, a little orange liquid leaking out from a spot near the hole in the middle.

Need to be careful , he thought.

As he continued with his other nails, he made sure to be wary of the hole where the nail was the weakest, crying out again as he cut too close to his fingers. He set the clipped down and sighed in defeat, reaching out for the file instead. He winced as he filed down the remaining nail, keeping a small point a half-inch past his finger. It was sharp enough to still cut, but now less in the way.

Rikiel stepped back to look at himself and forced a smile at his new look. He missed his signature animal print look, but that would have to wait for now. He massaged his birthmark through the shirt and frowned, his eyes slightly glowing under the flickering fluorescent light.

He turned to leave and opened the door slightly, peeking his head out. Looking left, right, and left again, he booked it back to the breakroom, careful of his heels against the floor. As he turned into the doorway, his companions were already looking at the source of the noise.

Fugo and Trish nodded as Mista whistled.

“Man, we’re going to bed, not a last-minute runway show,” Mista teased, leaning back in his chair. Fugo put a hand to his face to hide a smile, Trish snickering thereafter. Even Giorno pursed his lips.

“I’m not going to lie, that was good,” Polnareff turned to Rikiel, holding back a laugh.

“It’s not like I have anything else,” Rikiel shrugged, shaking out his pants. 

“You look good though,” Giorno said.

Rikiel sat down at a table towards the middle of the room and placed his elbows on the table, sighing. With a small squeak [Sky High] materialized on his wrist, slightly shivering. It looked him in the eyes and stepped off of his wrist, looking straight on with its golden protrusion pointed at Rikiel’s nose. He put out both index fingers that allowed his stand’s front legs to prop up on them, seesawing its upper body playfully. The stand blinked and squealed as he did so. 

“Alright, who’s next?” 

“Go ahead stinky man,” Trish chuckled, hitting Mista on the back. He sneered and gathered his own things and headed off to the bathroom.

The rest of the group dispersed within the room: Polnareff and Giorno near the counter by the coffee pot, Trish filing her nails down close to the windows, and Fugo and Rikiel at a table across from each other silently. Rikiel shuffled uncomfortably. 

“What’s up with you?” Fugo raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t pack underwear,” Rikiel muttered.

Fugo sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, reaching into his own bad.

“I think we’re the same size, here.” He threw a pair of briefs at Rikiel annoyedly, the latter barely catching it.

Trish snickered as Giorno looked up to the commotion, in the middle of a conversation with Polnareff.

The sun was about to set as Giorno wrapped up the final shower of the group, the quintet chatting among themselves as they nibbled on miscellaneous snacks and drank from the water cooler jug that Mista took down, evident by a puddle surrounding the base of the tower. They set two round tables together and surrounded it with chairs, Polnareff sitting in the middle of the table closest to Giorno. The rest of the group seemed to be wearing sleepwear: Mista and Trish in matching black graphic tees and cerulean athletic shorts, Fugo in a light purple t-shirt and purple checkered pants that stopped at his calves, and Giorno wrapped in a robe with a white tank top and red pants underneath. 

Rikiel continued to fidget with his stand’s front legs and face as he held a lollipop in his mouth.

“I’m getting sick of eating nothing but snacks,” Trish groaned, chewing on a granola bar.

“There’s a cafeteria apparently,” Fugo said, taking a sip of water. He eyed a map he picked up on the way back from the bathroom. “Might be able to grab breakfast in the morning if it isn’t too hectic.”

“The world almost ended, what about that wouldn’t be hectic?” Trish snarked.

“I’m more worried we won’t be able to get food,” Mista muttered with a mouthful of granola. He pouted and looked to Rikiel.

“Is this a vampire-related question?” he sighed annoyedly.

“Don’t you need blood or something to stay alive or something?”

Rikiel shrugged. “I mean, I’ve been doing fine with snacks for the past few days, I think it’s not vital.”

“Yeah, but you drank blood three days ago. What about in the near future?” Fugo questioned. Rikiel looked away to ponder. 

“Could be ‘cause he’s mixed,” Polnareff spoke up. “It’s somewhat a similar situation to DIO. Granted, his abilities came with the Stone Mask, yadda yadda yadda, but he still ate and drank in our presence. Blood must be used for his abilities I suppose. I theorize as long as Rikiel doesn’t get hurt or overuse his own abilities, he will be fine.”

The group looked at each other and nodded, satisfied with Polnareff’s theory.

“I need to start looking,” Rikiel grunted, abruptly waving [Sky High] away.

“Looking? Looking for who?” Mista questioned, reaching for his gun.

“My mom. I said I was going to look for her at the shelter if they even took her here. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“But it would hurt to comb through those crowds. It’s a free-for-all out there,” Mista winced, recalling the ER floor from earlier in the day.

“I feel like we should wait,” Giorno stated. “It might be the end of dinnertime, people are rushing to the bathrooms and washrooms, it’s a whole mess right now. Plus, it would be better for us to be well-rested for any possible encounters tomorrow.”

A knock on the doorframe alerted the group to a new face at the entrance, a man donning an oversized lab coat holding a clipboard and pen.

“We have some rooms for you folks for tonight, but they’re just re-organized office spaces with air mattresses if you don’t mind,” he smiled sheepishly, tapping away at the cork.

Giorno smiled. “That would be lovely.”

Chapter Text

Giorno stared at the display case, reaching for the arrow. He carefully twirled it in his hands, admiring the etching and beetle protrusion from the arrowhead, feeling down to the splintered end of the shaft. [Gold Experience] wavered nearby, purple lenses focused on their user’s movements. 

“Are you planning on using the arrow now?” their French companion called from behind him. The Italian turned towards the approaching spirit.

“I…I have a feeling I might need to use it,” he muttered, rubbing his left shoulder.

Polnareff nodded.

“I do not blame you. We don’t know who or what is out there. Especially another Joestar. The chances of our next encounter being friendly are slim.”

Giorno hummed in agreement, looking back to the arrow in hand.

“I think it’s best for my stand to hold it for the time being. I will have to use this arrow.”

He turned to his stand and handed it over, [Gold Experience] carefully gripping the stick as it disappeared in a shimmer.

“Are you going to rest here?” Polnareff questioned tilting his head.

Giorno shook his head. “I’m sharing a room with Mista, remember?”

“Ah. Then, rest well Giovanna.”

The don saluted as he exited the stand, Polnareff floating to his last location. He looked up out of the gemstone and pouted.

I worry about him a lot, he thought, floating back to a chair and settling into it. He takes too much responsibility. He’s a mafia boss and all, but the burdens he carries are not his own. If he finally relaxes here, then I would be surprised, but he’s going to perish under his own stress if he doesn’t talk more than business.

Polnareff shook his head. He hears talking outside of the tortoise.

We’re going to meet someone important tomorrow, I can feel it. But…I still cannot shake the feeling.

The feeling that Jotaro had perished.

Giorno stepped out of the turtle into his and Mista’s shared sleep space, an office space with all the desks and chairs pushed to the wall to accommodate two air mattresses in the middle. Giorno started to take off his bathrobe as he made his way to his own.

“You good over there boss?” Mista yawned, lying in the other bed with arms behind his head. His

“Just prepared for tomorrow, that’s all,” Giorno replied, going under the thin sheets and trying to get comfortable.

Mista nodded, reaching for the lamp on a stool in the middle of them.

“Night, Giorno,” Mista saluted in the darkness, rolling over and falling asleep immediately.

Giorno hummed, tightly wrapping the blanket around him. A few deep breaths later he felt his eyelids flutter, his body slowly shutting off as he drifted asleep.

“I will never get over how thick your glasses are,” Trish laughed, lying on her stomach under the sheets of her bed. She adjusted the bonnet on her head.

Fugo frowned as he wiped them off, the chains swaying as he did so. He squinted at Trish, who was a pink and black blur to him.

“Shut up,” he sneered, putting them down and feeling for the bed below him.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Trish chuckled. “I got the light.”

The two fell asleep with little trouble, the lamp clicking off.

Rikiel stared at the ceiling, lying on top of the blankets. He wanted to sleep, but he had too much on his mind. He sat in his, well Fugo’s, underwear as the sweater and pants lay across a couple of swivel chairs next to the bed.

[Sky High] materialized on his chest, the man sitting up slightly to look directly at its stand. It chirped fearfully and shuddered, pacing on his chest while remaining facing forward.

“I know, I know,” Rikiel sighed, putting a hand to the stand’s face. He circled the golden protrusion and felt it echo on his own head, his stand purring.

“We’re going to find mom, and probably auntie too. She’d be worried for sure, but we don’t know if either is ok. Just prepare for the worst and hope for the best, like we’ve always done, ok?”

It made an unsure noise before nodding, crawling up onto Rikiel’s head. The vampire’s face scrunched up as its feet pushed on his lips, nose, and eyes while climbing, nesting into his haloed curly hair.

“Rest well buddy,” he sighed, reaching for the light and turning it off.

Morning rolled around and Rikiel stirred, glad that he wasn't painfully woken up by the sun for once. He groggily put on his clothes and headed back to the breakroom, Giorno already there in a change of clothes. He still donned an open dress shirt, but it was a light blue this time tucked into grey dress pants. His shoes and belt stayed the same, a cross necklace he never noticed before a lot more apparent on his chest. The turtle sat near him on the counter, still in his shell.

The blonde looked up to his brother.

“Coffee?” Giorno offered, holding up a mostly full pot as his other hand held a steaming paper cup.

“Mhhm,” Rikiel nodded, approaching the counter. He eyed the creamers and sugars set out on the counter already, sugar dusting the area. 

“You slept in that?” Giorno suggested, pointing at Rikiel’s get-up.

“I took it off for the night,” Rikiel responded, looking at the coffee machine again. “I mean I don’t have a change in clothes, so I’m stuck in this for the time being,” Rikiel muttered, taking a cup from the counter and pouring a cup with a yawn.

Giorno frowned. He took a sip of coffee and tapped the side as he put it back down. He leaned against the counter and looked around Rikiel, the other brother also avoiding eye contact by making his coffee.

The don rapped his fingers on the counter trying to think of something to say as the other dumped creamer into his cup.

“Like your coffee a little lighter? I’m more of an espresso kind of person, but you have to make due with the stuff in here I suppose,” Giorno chuckled.

Rikiel nodded.

The two sat silently as they sipped their drinks, Giorno tossing his cup as Trish trudged into the room, rubbing her eyes. She wore a loose green blouse and khaki capris, ending in simple white slip-ons and socks.

“Morning,” Trish yawned.

“It’s like 11:45,” Giorno stated.

“Yeah, morning. Ooo, coffee,” she snarked, gravitating towards the machine. 

The other two entered minutes later, also in changes of outfits. Mista wore a grey crew neck with dark blue shorts with dirty grey sneakers to round out the outfit. Fugo wore another buttoned up dress shirt, this time in green with brown dress pants and dress shoes. This time, he wore maroon suspenders.

“You don’t have to be so formal all the time y’know,” Trish snarked, cracking her neck.

“It makes me feel good,” Fugo shrugged, pouring his own coffee.

A Foundation member dropped off a box of bagels and donuts, handed two brochures with maps to the group, and quickly left the room before being thanked.

“At least we don’t have to worry about breakfast,” Mista chewed, biting down on a glazed donut.

Giorno grabbed a handful of tissues and turned them into leafy greens with a blue glow, feeding them to the tortoise.

“Oh yeah, I forget you have to feed him sometimes,” Fugo piped up, wiping his fingers on a tissue.

After some discussion and a quick lookover of the map, the group decided to go to the floor above them, where most of the refugees were housed. 

“If you want to find your mom, she’d most likely be here. Else we need to ask Foundation members if she was taken into any infirmary or noted by the morgue,” Giorno pointed out, dragging his finger on the map to several locations. Rikiel nodded solemnly. The blonde put a hand on his shoulder.

“No matter what happens, you’ll find closure.”

Rikiel smiled softly.

They entered the stairwell, already hearing the commotion above through the cement walls and wooden door above. Entering the hallway the hospital rush resumed, gurneys and stretchers flying past them as families trailed their loved ones. The group shuddered, Polnareff shaking his head.

The room they entered was crowded and loud: people, animals, and food littering the place. Crying, talking, screaming and all other horrific noises the human body could make populate the room, matched with the trauma-filled faces of the refugees.

It was large, comparable to a football field, yet enclosed by low ceilings and uneven flooring. Traces of walls were on the floor as people stepped over torn-down drywall, white tiled dirtied by scuff marks and trash. The room extended upwards three floors, the railing of hallways to other floors visible on one wall. Vented windows let in little sunlight as the ceiling was welded shut, the glass underneath cracked and broken. Fluorescent lamps haphazardly strung up along dull yellow walls lit up the depressing room.

“It feels like everyone in Florida is here,” Mista mumbled, leaning against a free spot on a wall. Two children ran past him, eying him curiously.

“I mean the world almost ended so I’m not too surprised,” Trish snarked, pushing buttons on her phone. “Damn, all the signals are jammed right now.” She hit her phone a couple of times before closing and pocketing it.

Rikiel looked around the crowd pushing past people as they pushed him back. People jabbed at him as they rushed past, yelling obscenities as he tried to make way through. One particular guy jabbed him hard enough in the chest to make him cough, launching him back out of the crowd. 

He stumbled back to be caught by Fugo, the two stabilizing themselves so as to not fall together.

“Lunch rush,” Fugo explained, his stand pulling out the brochure. “Must be why people are running around like this.” A large family passed by the group holding trays of food, similarly packaged like an American lunch.

The sky flashed again, the building rumbling as it did so. People screamed and ran around among the chaos, wind blasting through open vented windows close to the ceiling. As quickly as it started it ended, the room in a frenzy of screaming, crying, and jostling. Foundation members flooded the room to calm the crowd, trying to justify the chaos with shotty power. The group packed closer together as their stands materialized, creating a turtle defense.

“Oh god not again,” Giorno panicked, [Gold Experience] joining at his side.

Giorno scanned the room once more, the chaos slightly dying down as Foundation members controlled the crowds and got them situated back in their beds and places on the floor.

Stretchers entered the room to pick up folks who were trampled on in the panic, medics arriving soon after to assess the injured.

There is no way they lived, this is too short, Giorno thought, heart pounding in his chest. There’s too many people here to tell, too many lives that could be lost if this continues on.

I need to find them.

He pulled Polnareff away from him, the tortoise turning in concern.

“Giovanna, what is wrong?” the Frenchman worried, causing all of his companions to look to him. They look at each other with fear, stands flickering nearby.

Giorno shook his head, looking away.

“The time acceleration is all.”

“Rikiel?” a woman’s voice rang out.

Rikiel straightened up, eyes darting around the crowd. The others straightened up, the arms of their stands coming into view. [Sex Pistols] peered out from the handle of Mista’s gun.

“What’s wrong?” Giorno asked, standing next to him.

Rikiel’s eyes narrowed as his head snapped around sporatically. 

“Rikiel?” The voice rang again.

“Mom?” he cried out, running towards the source of the sound. He shouldered past groups of people as he searched faster, looking for any semblance of a head covering. Blonde, red, black, and even silver hair hit him as he collided with groups of people, an empty can being tossed at his back.

Giorno froze as the path Rikiel cleared refilled with annoyed people, sneering and snapping in the direction that the vampire ran into.

“I-uh, um,” he stuttered, bouncing on his heels trying to access the situation. 

“Are we following him?” Mista yelled out, standing next to Mista.

“I-I think he saw his mom,” the don spoke quickly. “I-I really don’t want to impede on it but I also don’t want to lose him.” He looked over the crowd and located the bobbing violet head and began pushing through the people.

Fugo and Trish tried to follow suit but were stopped by Mista’s hand.

“We’re gonna stay out of this one for now, Giorno and Rikiel can probably handle this. Plus we don’t want to cause more of a commotion.”

Fugo and Trish looked at each other and nodded, the trio walking back to the bench which was now fully empty.

The sounds around Rikiel muffled as his focus narrowed solely on the sound of the woman’s voice.

“Mom?”

“Rikiel!”

He can see black fabric peeking above the crowd.

“Mom!”

“Rikiel!”

His golden eyes met hazel-browns and he ran faster towards them, tears welling up in his eyes.

“ Mom! ” he cried in Masri, arms outstretched. 

Rikiel collided with an older woman in the crowd with a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his head into a black hijab. She wrapped her arms around him as the force of the collision caused them to stumble back a little.

“ Oh my Rikiel! How I missed you so, so much! ” she cried in Masri into his shoulder. Her grip tightened on the back of his turtleneck as she tensed up and let tears flow onto the fabric. Rikiel rocked his mother in his arms and heard her squeak from the hold.

“ My, my, you have gotten stronger! ” the woman giggled. “ Strong as an ox! ”

Rikiel laughed nervously, blinking out a tear. 

Pulling away, he got a better look at his mother. Her hazel-brown eyes were puffy and watery, nose scrunched up from constant sniffling. Pink eyebrows were downturned as she eyed the man frantically. Light brown skin was flushed and swollen around her face, an older tear trail underlying the current one. Her hijab was messily but well wrapped, as if she just got up from lying down. She wore a dull cobalt long-sleeve stained with tears overlapping a pair of sweats. 

“ O-oh ?” She wavered, reaching up slowly to his head. He watched her hand as she ran them through his newly blued hair, feeling it as she ran it to the tip. “ W-what happened? Is this dyed? Who did this to you? ” Her voice was shaking.

“ Oh! Ah… ” Rikiel bit his lip. “ It’s a long, long story that has a lot of moving parts ,” he murmured. 

“ Your teeth, so sharp! ” She pulled his face to reveal his canines better, the man quickly shutting his mouth, 

“ Yeah, yeah, that’s new too. ”

“ Eyes so bright! ” Her own eyes widened to take in the brilliant color, much brighter than when he left her. Rikiel shut his eyes and gulped, wishing to change the topic.

Rikiel opened his eyes again. “ But, h-how are you here? Home is so far away! ” 

“ We-we were rushed here by this group called Speedwagon Foundation as the world went sideways ,” she explained, sobbing. “ Then the s-sky started flashing a-and our bus crashed a-and- ”

Rikiel pulled her back into his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, letting his mom sob into his shirt. He patted her back and closed his eyes, taking in slow breaths.

“ You can cry, you can cry. You’ve already been through a lot , don’t tell me more if you can’t, ” Rikiel sighed, resting his head on top of hers. “ I-I’m sorry for making you worry so much, I-I never expected to be gone so long. Or to become all this. ”

“ I forgive you. I just never expected you to come back to me. Oh, I am so sorry for yelling! I never meant to make you feel bad about the past! I hope what you looked for about your father satiates your curiosity! I should have told you from the start! ”

Rikiel scoffed. “ It really wasn’t worth it .” He forced a chuckle.

She straightened up to kiss his cheek, Rikiel rubbing the spot with a sheepish smile.

“ And I thought you didn’t like my silly kisses! ” Rikiel could only laugh.

Looking over her son’s shoulder she froze, gripping her son tightly. Her shaking became more violent than before, Rikiel feeling her tremblings as she gripped his arms harder. She moved her head so that it was almost in line with his chest, eyes peering over his shoulders.

“ M-Mom? What’s wrong? ” he panicked, turning haphazardly to find the source. 

He met eyes with Giorno a few moments later, the concerned Italian

She pushed her face into Rikiel’s shoulder, trying to hide as much of her body behind him as possible.

“ N-no ,” she began.

Rikiel looked frantically between the two and immediately connected the dots. Polnareff did say Giorno looked the closest to DIO.

“Oh! OH!” Rikiel stepped between the two to obscure his mom’s field of vision.

The blonde stopped in his path and winced, slouching over a bit to appear less intimidating. He looked to Rikiel with confusion. His mother grabbed the front of his shirt, the tremblings shaking his body as well. She started breathing quickly and gasping for air, Rikiel feeling her eyes flutter through his shirt. The crowd around them started to quiet down.

“I-is this your mom?” Giorno spoke softly, stepping back a bit.

Rikiel nodded his head and turned back to her. She was looking up to him now, facing puffing up and turning red as her breathing went uneven.

“ It’s not him. It’s not him. He died a long, long time ago. But… ” Rikiel paused. “ He had others too. And he just happens to look like him. You’re safe now. You’re safe. ”

Her breathing slightly slowed, but she trembled in his arms. He held her tighter as he looked to his brother. Giorno turned away and tried to obscure his face from the scared woman.

“ He won’t hurt you, I promise I will not let him. But he does not want to hurt you. He will not do what he did to you. I promise you. He saved me, actually. ” 

“ How could a man of his appearance mean anything well? ” she choked out, words laced in anguish.

“ He…he found me in the rubble ,” he justified. “ He-he is a medic-like-type… he healed my wounds. I was going to die if it weren’t for him -” 

“ How could you know that? How can you tell he is not putting you under some spell? To use you?  Are you a spy?” People started to look at the confrontation.

Rikiel pouted, doubt entering his mind.

“Then he would have killed me by now,” he spoke in English.

Giorno started to back away slowly, eying the two carefully and trying to blend into the surrounding crowd.

“ I am not asking you to forgive my father, nor try and make amends with a son that looks like him. Just trust me in saying that he saved me. If he wanted to do something with me, he could have easily done so in the plaza he found me in. If he wanted to use me, then I would not stand here before you like this. ”

She shuddered, looking up to her son with puffy hazel eyes.

“ It’s me, mom ,” Rikiel choked.

She looked down and shook one more time, looking over to Giorno, who is now wedged between two people trying to back away.

“Thank you,” she finally spoke in English, her thick Egyptian accent showing through. She stayed behind Rikiel, leaning a bit to get a better look at him, slowing her breathing. The golden hair and build were all too similar to DIO, yet his teal eyes were full of genuine concern. How he looked at her son with trust and care made her loosen her shoulder.

“You look…so much…like him…” She withdrew back behind Rikiel, obscuring as much of herself from Giorno as possible. She shuddered. “But you are not him at all. It’s your eyes. I trust very little besides my sister and son, but, for saving my son’s life, I wish you well.

“I-I do not think I can face you right now, but I know my son better than anyone else to know that his trust is not out of fear.”

Giorno hesitantly stepped out of the crowd, letting his mom see his full form.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Giorno, Giorno Giovanna.”

She nodded. “Sonia, that is my name.”

“I-I need to lie down and stay with my things. I’m not too far away, but I need time to think. Feel free to join me, but, my goodness, this is a lot for me to take in!” Sonia sighed. She stepped back and took her son’s hands in hers, looking down at them. His mother nodded, hesitantly letting go of her son and waddling into the crowd, settling on a bed not too far away from the dous’ field of vision. She waved at them before lying down, a Foundation member approaching her.

The crowd let off a series of “Aw”s, “What”s, and “Huh?''s at the intense display before them dissipating as the Giorno approached Rikiel.

The rest of the group finally caught up, slowly joining the two as they pushed through the crowd.

“What happened?” Mista panicked, hand on the gun sticking out his bag.

“Found mom, talked to her, but she’s tired right now,” he pointed to Sonia, who was now sitting up and talking to the member, back to them. “I’ll join her once they stop talking to her.”

“That was…intense. I’m, I’m so sorry,” Giorno apologized.

“It’s not your fault. It’s dad’s.”

Giorno and Rikiel winced as a pain shot into their birthmarks, the men clasping their hands over the area. They look to each other in unison, Giorno with concern and Rikiel with fear. The former turned his head in a direction, turning on his heel towards a set of double doors a ways down. Mista followed, then Fugo and Trish, Rikiel pausing before making the tail end of the line.

The blonde’s pace quickened.

“God damn it, not again,” Trish hissed, heels clicking on the linoleum.

“What? What do you mean again?” The blue-haired man asked.

“Last time he was dead set on a location we found you , so God knows who we’ll find next!”

“Definitely family! And I have a sneaking suspicion it is Jolyne,” Polnareff theorized, withdrawing partially into his shell. “And possibly Jotaro as well.”

“I-I’ll mention it later! If my assumptions are correct Rikiel is related to a very dangerous user.”

The group pushed past people and small groups, beelining towards the cafeteria. Giorno suddenly stopped at its entrance, people pushing past the wide man and eying him annoyingly. Polnareff poked his head and front legs out from his shell. 

Mista stopped next to Giorno, adjusting his backpack so his pistol’s handle stuck out more.

“What? What is it?” Mista worried, scanning the crowd. Fugo and Trish joined him as they also halted behind their friends.

“What-who are we looking for now?” Trish sighed, looking behind the group. 

Rikiel caught up with a wheeze, sliding to stand behind Trish. He massaged his chest as he caught his breath, joining the search.

His search abruptly ended as he made eye contact with a woman at a table on the other end of the cafeteria. Seafoam eyes met his yellow and the woman swung her legs around the bench. She stood up and started to angrily stomp towards the group, shoulders squared and eyes piercing. Chartreuse bangs and braids bounced menacingly as a single dark bun peeked from the top of her head, a purple aura radiating from her form. A jacket slung around her back swayed menacingly over her tank top and leggings, sneakers squeaking especially loud.

This is exactly who he thought it was.

He froze.

“ FUCK .”

Chapter Text

Rikiel screamed as he jumped in place, making unfortunate eye contact with the approaching woman. He slowly started to step away from the group, eyes fixated on her.

“Wait, who is that?” Giorno asked, gaze quickly shifting between the two conflicting parties.

“Jolyne Cujoh, the woman who tried to end me a few days ago,” he sputtered, backpedaling quickly.

“Oh, that’s Jolyne?,” Polnareff squinted. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen her! She’s gotten so big! Looks so much like Jot-”

“I thought we killed your ass days ago! Looks like I need to finish the job!” she yelled, breaking out into a run.

“Eep!” He turned on his heel and ran down the hall, pushing past people and stumbling.

“Ah,” Polnareff sighed, pulling into his shell. 

Jolyne shouldered Giorno roughly, squeezing past Mista and Fugo.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Legally Blonde,” she growled while pushing, taking the group off guard. Mista reached for his pistol, and [Spice Girl] summoned herself. [Purple Haze Distortion]’s arms materialized over Fugo’s shoulders, a light purple smoke emitting from them.

“Shit,” Giorno fumbled, passing the turtle to Fugo, also fumbling with the withdrawn creature. He followed suit. Trish rolled her eyes and slumped over.

“How many fucking times do we have to run after people in this fucking state?” The pink-haired woman complained, following suit.

Fugo called [Purple Haze] away and held the creature securely in front of him, running alongside Mista. The gunman had his pistol in hand, his stands yelling from the barrel.

“What are we doing? Are we shooting or-” Mista started.

“We are NOT causing a panic with a shoot-out or out stands,” Giorno interrupted, turning back to his friends. “Chase now, shoot later.” 

Giorno began speeding up, body glowing blue as his stand materialized next to him, keeping up speed. They offer the arrow with a rushed “MUDA”.

“Not yet, wait until we are secluded.” His stand nodded.

The vampire pushed and weaved through the crowd, mumbling apologies as he barreled down the rooms. He kept turning back to check his pursuer, stumbling on wet tiles. Jolyne shouldered past people, jumping over children and carts. She wasted no time trying to close the distance, her uncovered eye filled with  rage as merciless as a hurricane.

“Get back here, you blueberry bitch! You think changing your hair was going to disguise you?” she teased, gaining speed.

Rikiel cried out as he pushed harder and faster through the crowd, entering a narrow and less crowded hallway. One quick glance upwards revealed a staircase in five turns, assuming that he’d make it there. Jolyne gained up quickly, turning partially into string to weave through the crevices between the crowds, keeping her head above them all to keep track of the man.

Rikiel panicked and looked at his wrist, his stand materializing and gripping tightly around it. It shuddered and squeaked, looking up to its panicked user.

“Rods, rods, get them now,” he rattled off, turning back around to see Jolyne hopping from gurney to gurney. The stand squeaked back.

“I don’t care how long it’ll take! All I need are three! Get them here however you can but quickly! Get a window or skylight or something!”
[Sky High] slumped as it began ringing out, a few in the crowd wincing at the noise, Jolyne hissing as the stand’s cry rattled in her ears. Her pace dropped for a second, causing her to roll off a stretcher and continue on foot, the crowd thinning as she got closer.

Rikiel felt air rush around him as four rods whizzed past his face, hair flying haphazardly as they orbited his form. He whispered to his stand, the rods heading straight for Jolyne. The woman’s eye widened to see the creatures once again attack her, [Stone Free]’s arms overlaying her own and bracing herself. Three rods hit her arms and were destroyed on impact, the fourth flying past her legs, causing them to buckle. She collapsed and rolled with a yell, hitting a cart and knocking over leftover food and trash. Rikiel exhaled for the slight delay, a victory short-lived as he turned to check to see that she started to glow and unwind before rounding the final corner to the staircase. His stand dissipated.

Rikiel ramming a stairwell door and rushing up the staircase. He swung over the railing and landed a couple of floors down, wincing as his knees took most of the impact.

The door was almost shut as Jolyne squeezed through, body mostly in string and glowing a harsh purple. She looked over the railing to see Rikiel barely standing up and looking at her, rushing towards the door. She hopped over as well, landing to see Rikiel barely slip through the door.

The vampire rushed down the mostly empty hall, waving awkwardly at passersby, right before pushing them out of his path. Doctors held their clipboards close as he shouldered them roughly.

“Hey! No running!”

“What is going on?”

As he turned to check on the noise, Jolyne down the hall had turned the corner and started to jump off walls to gain momentum. The vampire gasped and continued to run, feeling a lot more fatigued compared to his last chase.

Rikiel ended up in a large, empty space, save some machines covered in tarp along the wall. It was an empty lab that bore markings of removed countertops and appliances, paint buckets, and uplifted tile suggesting a renovation. He looked up to see the ceiling twenty feet above him, fluorescent lights hanging by a few wires but still burning brightly. Another door lay opposite to him, a metal door barely on its hinges with a frame similar to the entrance he came from.

Jolyne entered the room, breathing heavily as she clung to the doorframe.

“You bastard!” Jolyne cried out, swinging her arm around. With the sound of tumbling metals and a purple aura, her right forearm turned white and wiry, unravelling into string. She grunted as she tossed it out, her hand grappling towards the man. Rikiel felt something hook onto his turtleneck and made a choking noise as he was pulled back suddenly, falling onto his back. He rolled over in time to see the women lunging at him, planting his hands on the ground.

He rolled to his stomach as Jolyne dove at him, sliding across the floor. He pushed up and hopped onto his feet, Jolyne cracking her knuckles with a wicked smile.

“Let’s finish what we started,” she growled, putting her fists up and running at him.

Rikiel cried out as he stuck his arms up and widened his stance, turning away but keeping his eyes forward. 

Jolyne began wailing on him, her fists colliding with his arms as he blocked as quickly as he could. A couple hits landed on his chest and he coughed, stumbling back and clutching the areas of impact. She stepped back to shake her arms. She stepped into a spinning side kick that Rikiel caught, tossing his arms up in an attempt to knock her off balance. She stumbled backwards and stabilized rms with a smirk.

“Damn, not even buckling to my punches, that’s a first,” she chuckled. “How ‘bout a kick?”

Jolyne spun around and aimed her heel for his head, Rikiel blocking with his forearms. She dropped her leg quickly and went for a sidekick, the violet-haired man matching speed and blocking with his palms. He slid back and shook his hands with a hiss, massaging them.

“Well, well, well, somebody picked up proper fighting skills,” she chuckled, going for an uppercut.

He opened his hand to catch her hand, barely digging her claws in as she hit his palm hard. He yelped as his hand stung, Jolyne hissing as blood dripped from the cuts.

“What the shit-”

Her other hand went to his wrist, digging into it to make him let go. He put his other hand out around her wrist tightly, the two struggling to pull off the other. She kicked upwards to break his grip, Rikiel stepping back to avoid a crotch shot and twisting away so that her foot struck his upper arm instead.

“Fucking bastard,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jolyne felt her wrist get colder where Rikiel gripped it, a mist radiating from it. Even Rikiel stopped resisting as he felt his hand become ice cold, his fingernails condensing. Blood began drawing from the wound, Jolyne gasping. She tossed her arms up and let go, breaking the hold and going for an elbow. It collided with his jaw with a crack, Rikiel feeling it pop out of the socket. He stumbled back with a turn and put his hands up to it, feeling around and trying to pop back in. She lunged at him and he ducked barely in time, Jolyne rolling away.

The vampire popped his jaw back into place, coughing up orange blood and a couple of teeth. A small wiry noise went off in his head as he felt something grow in his mouth, new teeth breaching his gums. He screamed as Jolyne stood up and squared her shoulders, her eyes blew in surprise.

“What even are you?” she questioned, voice laced with fear.

She kicked off at him again, fingers interlocked and swung above her head. She slammed her fists down, barely missing his shoulder as he sidestepped. Jolyne started to punch quickly again, Rikiel only able to toss his arms up to block. He winced with each hard punch, feeling his bones crack and repair themselves underneath the sweater. He started to slightly tear up as the pain intensified, pushing his arms forward as her left fist hit his forearm. It caused her wrist to turn weird and made her squeak. Jolyne stumbled back and rotated her arms and wrists, cracking her neck.

“Never thought a twig like you could be so sturdy. You’re arms should have disintegrated at this point,” she chuckled, lunging back with her right arm turned away.

The vampire’s bones mended once more as she closed in.  He backed away right as her fist was about to make contact with his face, the speed surprising the both of them.

Rikiel brought his arm out and opened his hand and slammed his palm into her neck, the American choking as he closed around her throat. The area, including his hand, iced over with a freezing mist. He felt his hand crack and bleed a blood orange as the ice spread to Jolyne's neck, the woman gasping out and beating down on his hands. Thrill and fear conflicted within him as he held her there. He could not let go and watched with golden eyes as a small wind kicked up around it. 

The chartreuse bang that covered the left side of her face flew back, revealing her injury to Rikiel. Jolyne’s newly exposed eye was split in four, bearing a distinct white cross along the seafoam similar to Pucci’s. He slightly loosened his grip when he saw it, a sense of dread overcoming him. She tossed her arms above his own and crossed them as she brought them down. Rikiel stumbled back as Jolyne broke his guard, putting an arm back to stop himself from falling on his ass.

Giorno broke down the stairwell door to the floor that Rikiel and Jolyne entered, massaging his left shoulder. He continued down the hall, using the footprints on the wall and other carnage to track down the pair. The rest of the group were barely through the door as he stopped at a turn, looking back to them. His rolls were completely out now, bobby pins barely clinging on to his blonde strands.

“Mista, get your gun out! On my mark!” he yelled, turning a corner.

The gunman nodded and pulled it out of his pack, Fugo also doing so from his holster. [Spice Girl] stood next to Trish, the two looking at each other nodding.

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with using my stand,” Fugo tisked, looking up at the vents along the wall.

“Closed space protocol,” Mista responded, fishing for bullets in his bag. “Last resort, minimize virus usage, and keep alert. And since Giorno wants her alive, no vital organs. Legs are free game.”

Fugo nodded, his stand materializing for one moment with a sickening snarl in response to the command.

Is this going to be an actual fight? Fucking finally , the stand cooed, stretching her arms and cracking her neck. The trio and turtle flew down the hall.

Rikiel popped up and swung away from Jolyne’s swings, less than an inch from his face. He started to exchange blows as well, matching speed with most of her blows while a couple clipped his face.

“What even are you?” she repeated, her voice wavering.

Jolyne squared her shoulders and balled her right fist, reeling back with a spin. As quickly as she wound up, she launched her arm, her fist colliding with Rikiel’s lower rib cage, a softball-size hole forming as soon as Giorno saw the two in full view. His eyes widened as a viscous blood-orange liquid spilled out of the gap.

“RIKIEL!” the man charged, brandishing the arrow as [Gold Experience] stuck out their arm. He jammed the arrowhead into his stand, screaming as blood spurted from the area of impact. The stand cracked and smoked immediately, dropping a shell of its original form to reveal [Gold Experience Requiem]. Their magenta eyes widened, Giorno’s glowing an ominous lavender.

The woman turned towards the new challenger and growled.

“Oh you want some of this too?” she snarked, running at him. She glowed purple once again with the sound of tumbling metals, this time accompanied by a ticking noise.

She kicked off the floor to fly towards Giorno, landing in a roll and running at him with malicious intent. Turquoise arms overlaid her own, clock faces embedded into the top of her hands.

[Stone Free] finally shimmered into existence as they got within a yard of each other. She threw her arm out as she appeared, matching with [GER]’s incoming blow. The stands’ fist collided with a spark, [GER]’s intense unblinking eyes staring into the dark slots of [Stone Free]’s sunglasses. The stands exchanged blows, blocking each other’s body shots. 

One good matching punch launched the two away from each other, causing Giorno to stumble back and Jolyne to enter a backward roll. [GER] looked at their hand to see a crack in their fist, the injury mirroring onto their user as he winced at the blood. Jolyne looked at her fist with a huff, white string patching up her matching wound. [Stone Free] shook her arm, and adjusted her glasses with a smile.

“That was pretty good. Don’t know what business you have with Rikiel to care so much, but it looks like it makes me your enemy,” she snickered, cracking her neck. “Got a whole lot more fight in me, pretty boy.” She assumed another fighting stance, one arm blocking below and the other up top.

Giorno’s eyes flicked at Rikiel’s smoking body, the wound no longer bleeding but the man unmoving. His chest slowly rose, indicating he was still somewhat alive. He looked back at the impending woman, who also looked at Rikiel’s body. 

Giorno kicked towards Rikiel, his stand floating in tow. Jolyne noticed and ran at him, stuck a leg outright as they collided paths. Suddenly, he was past her, as if she never tripped him.

“What?” she questioned, swiveling around as she went to pursue the blonde.

[GER] looked back to see [Stone Free] a foot away, fist inches away from Giorno’s head. They stick her hand out to block, only for the hand to blow up into string, going past their hand and around Giorno’s upper body.

What’s this? [GER] tilted its head.

“Oh you talk,” Jolyne frowned, her stand matching her emotion. “Hate stands that can talk.” The string quickly enclosed around Giorno, only for a moment bounding the man. And again, it was like it never happened as he was already upon Rikiel, going into a knee slide.

Jolyne let her body explode into string and fly towards the two brothers, threads slicing through the air as the mass hurdled towards them. Giorno’s stand snapped around.

Heads up! [GER] cried, causing their user to snap around at the approaching mass of sentient thread. They stuck their hand out to try and grab her, only for her to fly over them as Giorno ducked. It netted around Rikiel and dragged the two several yards away, orange liquid streaking from the vampire.

Jolyne began assembling herself as Giorno ran towards her. [Stone Free] balled a fist and brought it down onto his head with a resounding
“ORA!” [GER] dove and caught her hand, gripping tightly. Jolyne and her stand sneered and tossed his hand away, the stands exchanging blows. Giorno grabbed onto Rikiel’s closest arm, Jolyne’s threads wrapping around his wrist.

“Who the fuck are you, and how do you know him?” Jolyne demanded, staring deep into his teal eyes. Her bang was blown back again, showcasing the terrible scar she received a few days prior.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” Giorno claimed.

“That didn’t answer my question.” [Stone Free]’s leg kicked outward and tried to strike Giorno, again, her body being reset as if it never happened.

“Why can’t I hit anyone right now?” Jolyne screamed, stomping her foot with the sound of a clock ticking. Her stand kicked again, this time at Rikiel’s torso, sliding him into Giorno’s knees and throwing the two men back a few feet. [GER] was yanked back with Giorno, one clean hit landing on his face. The stand held the spot in awe, looking back at [Stone Free] who smiled giddily. 

Giorno stumbled back at the sudden impacts, falling on his butt as Rikiel slid a few feet farther, now on his stomach. For a brief moment, Giorno’s birthmark was exposed, just long enough for Jolyne to cock an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me-”

The group finally turned the corner and entered the open room, Giorno turning towards them. Jolyne straightened up and turned as well, met with two gun barrels pointed at her.

“Oh boy,” Polnareff muttered, looking at Jolyne’s fighting stance. “Well isn't that a familar sight."

“ Go! Now! Avoid the head! ” Giorno called out to his group in Italian, Fugo, and Mista leveling their guns to her waist. They both fired, Mista’s [Pistols] soaring faster than Fugo’s.

“You heard boss! Aim for the waist and legs! Keep your distance!” #1 called out.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god!” #5 whined, clutching onto his bullet.

“Don’t kill her!” #7 recalled.

“I know dipshit! Does it look like we want another Cioccolata incident?” #2 barked.

#3 and #6 cheered in response.

Jolyne took a deep breath as the bullets made contact with her body, the shards spinning in her skin. Three entered her torso and two her left thigh, but no blood came from the impacted area nor exit wound.

“W-WHAT?” #5 cried.

Where the bullets landed in her body did not penetrate the skin, but turned into a white woven material, similar to Kevlar. Jolyne bared her teeth and hissed out in pain as the bullets slowed down in her body, halted by the material. They fell to the floor.

“RETREAT!” #1 called, the [Pistols] flying back towards Mista. [Stone Free] snatched up the lagging ones, squeezing #2 and #7 in her hand. They screamed in pain, Mista spitting blood and doubling over.

“Mista!” Trish and Fugo called out, the former running at Jolyne with her stand in tow. Fugo bent over to sling Mista’s arm around his shoulder, dragging him towards Giorno.

A female stand user? This will be interesting, [Spice Girl] cooed as she slammed a fist to the floor with a grunt. The floor rippled towards Jolyne, loosening and becoming a soft pliable solid.

Jolyne jolted at the realization as it lapped at her sneakers, sticking to them. [Stone Free] let go of the two [Pistols], who quickly retreated, arms at the ready for another attack. She tried to pull her legs out, but was too late, being pulled into the viscous flooring at a dangerously fast rate. As Trish descended upon her, the bottom half of her calves were engulfed, forcing her to put her arms up in defense.

“You look like someone who takes a while to understand stand abilities,” Trish chuckled, [Spice Girl] rotating her shoulders and shuddering. “How quickly will you understand this?” A smile crept up on both of their faces as the stand rose her fist. 

WANNABE! She cried, wailing at Jolyne.

“ORA!” [Stone Free] called out, matching blows with the other woman’s stand with ease. Jolyne tried to wiggle herself free in the process, sinking deeper to her thighs and feeling the ground harden again.

“This ain’t quicksand, sweetheart,” Trish smirked, going for a kick to her chest. It landed, causing Jolyne to spit blood in response. She tried to go for another, only for the American’s stand to grab her foot and push her back, stumbling and falling on her butt.

It’s been way too long since I’ve been in a fight like this, Trish thought, her stand cracking her knuckles. At least this time I’m not held hostage by my father’s soul.

[Stone Free] melded into Jolyne’s form and tried to push her up out of the ground, only for her arms to soften like jelly and stick to the floor.

“W-What?” Jolyne cried out, chest hitting the floor.

“That’s my stand ability, never got to use it on a person. Glad you were the first,” Trish smiled, standing up and backing away.

A softening stand ability? Cancellation ability? Gun? These users aren’t the kind that Pucci created with the discs, these are seasoned stand users! And what about four-eyes over there? Jolyne panicked in her mind, thinking of a way out.

Once more, she exploded into thread and slinked out of the hole, slithering away as a white stringy mass. Reforming, her arms swung loosely in front of her, one less goopy than the other. Jolyne sneered as one of her arms started to stitch itself up.

“What is this kid made of?” Trish jolted, bumping into Fugo in the process. He fumbled with Polnareff for a moment, the creature withdrawing in fear as Fugo readjusted his grip.

“Watch it! I have a shell but that doesn’t mean I still can’t be injured!” the Frenchman cried. “Morphological stands are some of the most dangerous. If you’re going up next Fugo, keep your distance.”

The strawberry blonde nodded, clearing his throat.

“Hold him,” Fugo said, handing off an injured Mista and withdrawn turtle to Trish. He darted towards Jolyne with dangerous eyes, glowing a bright green. His stand materialized, the foaming form of [Purple Haze Feedback] roaring into existence, landing with a thud next to his user. A purple mist surrounded the two, the stand’s eyes glowing a deadly gold.

The Italians besides his user all froze at the sight of the stand, hardly ever seeing it in action. Mista clutched onto Trish harder as they stood next to Giorno, who had started to kneel near Rikiel. Mista held Polnareff close, the latter shuddering.

“Never seen the stand in action,” the turtle chatted.

“Well, it looks like you’re going to see it now,” Mista coughed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

"She’s tough! What the hell did she go through?" Polnareff worried, withdrawing once more.

“ Fugo! Keep her alive! ” Giorno called out in Italian, “ Avoid using the virus as much as possible. ”

Fugo put a thumbs up as his stand lunged at Jolyne. She stuck an arm up and shot the gooey hand towards the ceiling, sticking to an exposed pipe. She grappled upwards, almost out of Fugo’s range until [Purple Haze] grabbed onto her ankle harshly. She cried out as claws dug into her foot, pulling her down as the pipe above her groaned.

“Think you could escape my [Purple Haze]’s range so easily?” Fugo chuckled, his stand hissing behind his visor. His other hand flew to her shin and pulled her down. Jolyne cried out.

“[Purple Haze], like the Jimi Hendrix song?” Jolyne entertained with a smile.

“What about it?”

Jolyne hit her chest with her free hand with a smirk.

“Mine's [Stone Free]. Never met someone with the same reference as me.” With that, her arm flew up to the base of the string and yanked down, the pipe diving at the three of them. She fell to [Purple Haze]’s tug and hit the ground, stand looming over her letting drool hit her chest.

“[Purple Haze]! Above us!” The stand huffed and let one hand free of her to look up, slashing at the incoming pipe. It broke in two and fell to each side of the group with a rusty thud.

[Stone Free]’s leg overlaid her user’s and kicked up quickly, making contact with [Purple Haze]’s jaw. The impact reflected onto Fugo as his lower jaw shut quickly. He spat out blood as his stand let go on instinct, clutching his face. Jolyne rolled over and spun around to sweep Fugo, the latter jumping back in time. His stand slashed towards Jolyne as she stood up, her stand blocking its wrist.

A small yellow bulb popped off of [Purple Haze]’s hand, causing Fugo’s eyes to blow open and Jolyne to tilt her head. It hit the floor below them with a shatter, a purple fog quickly emerging from it. Looking up to Jolyne for a moment, he could swear he saw the silhouette of Illuso.

“Shit! Fall back!” the Italian roared, his stand embedding into his legs and kicking off. Some smoke followed him and burned into his left hand. His pinky rotted off and hit the ground in a splatter. Jolyne felt boils pop on her skin and she quickly retreated, stitching up the burst cysts.

“What the fuck?” she coughed, trying to wave away the fog that remained. The remaining virus faded away to let her see the battlefield again and the rest of her wounds. Her right arm was quickly patching itself up, a couple of rashes developing under her chin. Her opponent was a few yards away, clutching his bleeding nub with his stand panicking nearby.

“You son of a bitch,” she snarled.

“Fugo!” Giorno called from his position over Rikiel, hands near his wound. [GER] tossed up a piece of drywall before beaming a ray of energy at it, launching the debris at Fugo’s hand. It quickly stuck to his skin and turned into flesh, the strawberry blonde screaming as it reformed. Jolyne laughed.

“Healing hurts, bub,” Jolyne sassed, straightening up. She rolled towards him and broke into a run, [Stone Free] shimmering. Trish re-entered the fight, [Spice Girl] entering a dropkick. [Stone Free] materialized in time to body block the kick, blocking furiously as [Purple Haze] clawed at them. Jolyne stepped around to block [Spice Girl]’s punches, a couple landing onto Fugo's stand.

“Watch your stand, dumbass!” Fugo sneered, feeling his right arm go numb.

“Well, sorry this one’s a bitch to fight!” Trish snapped back, circling to get to Jolyne. “At least you didn’t have to fight my dad!”

The circling continued with rogue punches landing between the parties, Jolyne turning partially into string to avoid Trish’s stand’s attacks. [Purple Haze] roared in confusion as it continued to slash with its good arm, feeling slowly returning to its other.

This is the worst game of ring-around-the-rosie I’ve ever been in, [Spice Girl] sassed, blocking [Stone Free]’s fist with her forearm. [Purple Haze] hissed in agreement, slashing wildly.

A squelching noise reverberated within the room. Everyone stopped to look for the source of the noise, eyes falling onto Rikiel’s body. The wound was closing slowly, the orange glow diminishing as skin overlapped the hole. No scar or discoloration was left at the exposed skin, the only proof of injury being the tear in his sweater and dry blood around it.

Rikiel started to stir.

Jolyne straightened up as a clock chime went off, time slowing down around her. Giorno saw her form flickering, several afterimages following her as she charged him. Time started to slow around him as his form started to flicker.  She was moving faster, but only slightly, the blonde noticing everything around him almost stopped in its tracks.

“Is this?” Giorno looked at Jolyne, who was only a foot away.

“Was this all you?”

It is not. The stand echoed.

[GER] tossed their hand up to block a punch, cracking his palm almost immediately on impact. Giorno screamed, blood running down his arm. The rapid clicking of a clock chime entered their mind, the scenery around them going a dark purple with stars zooming around them. 

Jolyne Cujoh, [Gold Experience Requiem] started.

Jolyne only started him down, the white cross in her left eye staring him down. Giorno froze.

We do not want to hurt you, and we do not wish to cause you agony.

“Tough talk for you, eyeballs,” Jolyne spat, her voice in harmony. The stand shook their head.

Your lack of cooperation is making this difficult, but we must keep you alive. Giorno’s eyes were shrouded, no longer in control of his stand. Jolyne’s eyes flicked nervously at the man.

We just want to talk to you, and we can’t do that if you are choosing to be so difficult.

“What do you intend on doing then?” She smiled, the crack on both of their hands splitting further.

Your stand ability will stop.

All Jolyne could do was raise an eyebrow at the stand’s confidence, and she felt her soul being flung back. Her body remained in the same place however, mind and matter associated with each other. She can see herself, her body, frozen in the punching position from before. Giorno’s soul was flung back as well, floating and panicked. His eyes met hers in this ethereal space, [GER] looking to them each with a stern face. Rikiel was no longer there, negated from this place entirely.

The building rumbled around them, a violent gust popping in her ears. Giorno started to move again, covering his ears and scrunching up his face.

The sound of a rewinding VHS tape echoed in her head.

Time was rewinding to where she sped it up from. 

They were all pulled back into their bodies as time slowed back down. As Jolyne shuddered as warmth surrounded her soul once more, the ability halted and immediately the two adults were shot away from each other. The force of the blast sent Rikiel’s body into a third direction, the vampire now wide awake and clutching his form. The remaining Italians braced themselves as a windy force slid them a few feet across the floor, Polnareff tumbling away. [Spice Girl]’s arm retrieved him and pulled him close to Trish’s chest.

The blast sent Giorno into a tumble, rolling and landing on his side with a scream. [GER] materialized with a metallic groan, cracking down the middle. In a puff of golden smoke, the stand’s shell broke and fell away with a shatter, [Gold Experience] falling to their knees and wrapping their arms around themselves.

Jolyne flew back and hit a wall, leaving a sizable dent. Her form flickered and ticked and flashed, readjusting to normal time. [Stone Free] screamed into existence, grabbing her head and rocking on the floor. Jolyne felt herself coming in and out of existence, multiple timelines and universes flashing before her eyes. She shuddered as she solidified, scrambling to get onto her feet.

“Giorno!” Polnareff yelled as he and the others snapped their heads around to their friend. “What did you do?”

Jolyne could barely hear the approaching party as her heartbeat pounded in her eardrums, throbbing in her head.

“Hands up where I can see them!” Mista demanded, pointing his gun at the woman.

[Stone Free] launched an arm at Mista’s legs, the gunman shooting them. The areas of impact were turned into woven thread, bullets bouncing off of them. Mista ducked in time as they hit the wall. He saw Jolyne’s birthmark.

“You Joestars have some of the most bullshit recoveries I have ever seen,” Mista commented, reloading his gun once more.

Something small and green dashed near the fight, making contact with all the combatants. From what Jolyne could see, it had a round, helmet-like shell with purple limbs, a yellow face, and a long green tail with a yellow tip.

“What is this?” Polnareff perked up, poking his head out from his shell more.

It wrote something on all of them, in characters that Jolyne recognized but did not understand. It looks like her dad’s old papers from Japan, so she quickly assumed it was Kanji. Promptly, the English translation along with one other language transcribed below the large characters.

And as soon as she could read it, her head pounded with loud words in three different languages.

STOP FIGHTING! HALT! YIELD! repeated in her head, a shrill harmony of a man’s voice. Japanese and a language Jolyne identified as Italian reverberated as well, presumably saying the same thing.

Jolyne fell to her knees as Giorno struggled to stay standing. Rikiel curled his and rocked, screaming as the words blasted into his head. Trish fell to her elbows and knees, taking harsh breaths as the words pounded on her skin. Fugo and Mista fell to the floor, sounds adding to their injuries. Polnareff’s spirit emerged from the gem, clutching his head as he projected out of the key.

The group looks around for a possible source, all falling to a silver-haired man with matching goatee standing awkwardly in the other doorway. His baby blue eyes were blown open in fear against a light brown face, the green creature wrapping its long tail around him. He wore an open dark grey jacket detailed with white and green, an electric blue “III” on the shoulder. Underneath it was an off-white tee with sweat around the collar, tucked under belted grey slacks ending in sneakers the same scheme as his jacket. His tight curly hair stood out in rounded off peaks, hairs out of place and sticking to his forehead.

He glowed a lime green as he held a walkie-talkie in his hand, voices stacking over each other. He was breathing heavily, scanning the group.

“N-no way,” the man muttered, looking at the scene.

Giorno squinted at the short figure, shuddering as the noise continued to reverberate in his head. A character fell off of Jolyne.

“Koichi?”

“Giorno?” Koichi pointed to the blonde. “A-and Mista? Trish? Fugo?” He pointed to each in turn. 

“And, and that makes you-” he started.

The words have peeled off of her, hitting the floor with a dramatic thwap. She slowly stood up, glowing purple.

“L-look Jolyne, it would be easier for all of us if we stop fighting and talk this out.” Koichi put his hands up.

She took a step forward. He took a step back.

“I-I-I’m not looking for a fight with you, I’m with the Foundation.”

She started to walk towards him. She tore off a comically large character.

“J-Jolyne?”

She lunged at him and he slumped his shoulders with a frown, closing his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, his stand vibrating before cracking and vibrating. Something white and humanoid came out of the shell, yellow goggle-lens eyes staring her down. Green bulb-protrusions stuck out of his body along his face and arms, a bright green “3” at the bottom of a long t-shirt-gown-thing. He was the same height as his presumed user, lips pursed and annoyed. The stand clapped his hands together and turned them,

“ACT 3! FREEZE!” his stand stuck his arm out as it made contact with Jolyne’s nose, making her scrunch up. 

Immediately, Jolyne was pinned to the floor by an invisible force, a bass noise drumming on her senses as the floor cracked below her.

“YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE, HOE,” the stand yelled, crossing his arms. 

“Act 3, calm down. Don’t call Jotaro’s daughter a hoe,” Koichi sighed, his stand loosening his shoulders. Jolyne grunted.

“OK MASTER.”

“Stop calling me that.”

As if Jolyne wasn’t in enough pain, another one of her dad’s memories popped up before her. 

She was standing in front of a school, looking around as she walked along the gate. She kept glancing down at a map before something ran into her legs. 

Time stopped as he pulled the map away, a younger Koichi in a green school uniform in mid-fall. [Star Platinum]’s arms, now a pink, blue compared to the purple she was used to, put him back into place before time resumed. He was standing up again, breathing hard and looking scared. He started to profusely apologize in Japanese, bending over to pick up a highlighter yellow pick that tumbled out of his hair. She answered back in Japanese, surprised to understand it.

“Excuse me, do you know where the nearest high school is?” the harmony of her and her dad’s voice asked.

She was back on the floor, still pinned by [Echoes: Act 3]’s Freeze ability. Koichi was talking to the group, his back now to her as he addressed the other party. The Passione groups were sitting up where they fell, the lettering scattered around them. Rikiel was shuddering, hugging himself and rocking.

“THERE ARE MORE OF YOU?” Koichi panicked, pointing at Rikiel in fear. The man in question wrapped his arms around himself tighter, mirroring the silver-haired man’s fear. [Echoes] rolled his head.

Giorno scratched the back of his head.

“Apparently? He has the same birthmark and told me DIO was also his dad. I mean, he did spark the fight but Jolyne perpetuated it.” The blonde pointed to the American.

Koichi met eyes and turned around quickly when she bared teeth. He massaged his temples with a groan and drag of his face.

“I still don’t get why you came to Florida now of all places. Right as Dr. Kujo woke up from a coma,” he sighed. “A lot of things aren’t confirmed yet-”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Morioh with your kids?” Giorno cut off, going to a knee. [Echoes] entered a defensive stance.

“Speedwagon Foundation flew me here to help assess Jotaro’s condition, but by the time I landed, he broke out. I-I don’t even know where he is, or why time was weird, or-”

“Jotaro Kujo is dead,” the American grimly growled, silence falling upon the room. The others look to each other on edge, eyes darting among themselves.

Giorno froze once more, trying to steady his breathing. His heartbeat pounded in his head at the news. Jotaro, the man who killed his father, dead? 

“So that was that feeling…” he trailed off, circling his birthmark with his thumb.

Mista was awestruck at the news. He’d only met Jotaro once in his life, but he still respected and feared the aura he gave off. He gripped his gun tighter, [Sex Pistols] echoing his sense of vunerability. 

Fugo and Trish looked at each other with uncertainty. Looking at Mista and Giorno, who had more knowledge on this particular figure, and their shocked faces sent them into an uneasy mood.

Rikiel’s hands flew up to his mouth, shaking harder at the confirmation. He knew damn well Pucci did it, and for Jolyne to stand before him confirmed she took him down. 

Koichi blinked in disbelief, dropping his walkie-talkie. The glow faded and [Echoes] started to look scared.

“H-he died? Are you sure?” Koichi choked, slightly shaking. [Echoes] flickered in and out of existence.

“I wouldn’t be here alone if that weren’t the case.”

Jolyne glared up at Koichi one more time before collapsing, body going limp. The Japanese man squealed and bent down to check her pulse, exhaling in relief to find a fast heartbeat. His freeze ability lifted, her body no longer pinned forcefully to the ground.

Medics and gurneys rushed into the room.

“We need you all upstairs for questioning.”

Chapter Text

The events of the last few days played in Jolyne’s mind. Blood in the water, bodies everywhere, sudden vision loss and gain, time acceleration. Landing on the beach and in the hospital back to back. The tests, so many tests. Being referred to only as Jotaro’s or a Cujoh except by her mom and Emporio; [Weather] if she counted him. Chasing Rikiel, fighting Italians, and facing a man she had only seen in her father’s memories. 

Her heart rate started to speed up as her head got hot. She grimaced in darkness, feelings of rage seeping in. But, she started hearing panicking and loud beeping outside her consciousness, so she packed those feelings away once again. The noises became calmer as sighs surrounded her.

Jolyne kept her eyes closed as she regained consciousness. Her body didn’t ache like the first time she arrived at the hospital, but it felt tight. Something fuzzy covered her, points of cold along her chest, arms and face. Twitching her nose, she felt a tube at her nostrils. Liquids were coming in and out of her. If she had to guess, they had her strapped down in a gurney and wired up.

And when she opened her eyes, she was correct. 

A couple of nurses noticed her surprisingly quick recovery, attempting to alert the other working on the machines nearby.

“How…long?” she croaked, catching the attention of the medical staff around her. She started to sit up, two nurses going to pin her down.

“Ms. Cujoh, please stay down, we cannot keep doing this,” one nurse begged.

“Well, I don’t care, and it’s Jolyne,” she snarked.

The young woman was unwinding her body to break out of the binds on the gurney, wiggling free strand by strand. The nurses, all non-stand users, watched in horror as they watched Jolyne physically break herself at the forearms and calves.

“Cujoh-” one started.

“Jolyne.”
“ I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but breaking out of these isn’t wise! We haven’t even evaluated you properly after that fight.”

Jolyne said nothing as she continued to unravel.

“High heart rate, reopening of wounds on top of newly acquired ones, and now this,” they gestured at Jolyne’s stringy form, now halfway out of the gurney buckles

Jolyne let out a sarcastic laugh, then tilted towards her left. 

“Can’t be any worse than this.”

Her body’s thread escaped the last bit of binding, her form slipping out between the gurney bars and away from the nurses. They hesitated with shock, and soon followed in tow with medical equipment. [Stone Free] stitched up the open wounds from what seemed to be an IV drip and blood draw on her left arm.

The thread slowly built back up to herself, Jolyne cracked her joints and felt around herself. She sighed with relief as she felt solid again.

Jolyne began walking down the hall, looking into rooms for any signs of familiarity. Many of them were empty, with every few rooms filled with people resting and eating simple lunches, sandwiches and chips that she could see. Hunger waved over her as she saw this, but with the hoard of people tailing her there was no way she was going to be able to sneakily snag something and keep going. Instead, she sent in [Stone Free] to grab a bag, the stand swearing she say someone look directly at her. Undeterred from that, she returned to her user and gave her a bag of chips and a sandwich, which she nibbled on as she surveyed more rooms, turning multiple corners.

Why the fuck are hospital like this, she thought to herself, sneering as someone attempted to put a blood pressure machine on her wrist. They failed the first two times, Jolyne finally snatching it away and letting her stand tighten it on the hand holding the chips.

Medical personnel swarmed her as she walked, the woman swatting them away in protest. They took her temperature with a temp gun, and someone even managed to get a stethoscope on her for a minute with enough pestering. 

This bastardization of a check-up was nearing its end as Jolyne saw fog emit from one of the rooms, shaking off a nurse attempting a blood draw. She ran up to the room and saw [Weather Report] stick his head out and wave, gesturing her. [Stone Free] came out with a happy chime and hugged the stand, Jolyne looking in.

It was a large, cleared out area. However, the large exercise-like equipment and railings on the walls indicated that it was a repurposed physical therapy room. A marble kitchenette lined one of the walls; food and snacks were piled on top of the counter space. A coffee machine was running, with a hijabi standing next to it, facing away from the door. Round tables and plastic chairs were placed around the space, many still neatly set up. A few chairs were pushed out, and three tables were occupied with items and people. The farthest out occupied table was near the window, a bag of luggage and a box of food resting on it. The table nearest to the counters had a child and older woman sitting around it.

And the table closest to the door were the Italians that tried to take her out earlier.

The first person she managed to identify was Giorno, who immediately made eye contact. He grimaced at her, causing the rest of his group to turn. The brunette named Mista reached behind Giorno for something. Anotherblonde, presumed to be Fugo, shook his head at him and reached over. The pink-haired woman, Trish, rolled her eyes and turned back around, taking a sip of coffee. Even the turtle on the table continued to stare.

Giorno then waved awkwardly, causing Jolyne to glare at him.

“Jolyne!” Two voices called out.

She looked up to see Emporio and Marina running towards her, and tackled her in a group hug.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down guys!” she giggled, hugging back. “You guys are gonna piss off the nurses by ‘making my injuries worse’.” She pulled her arms out of the hug and made air-quotes, only to hug back harder and laugh.

“I just missed you so much!” Marina cried. She pulled away to look at her daughter, looking closely at her face. Jolyne realized she never properly covered her eye, making her mother reach over and pull the sbang back, revealing the injury.

Marina gasped, tears falling down her face.

“Jojo…” she started. She cupped her daughter’s face. “How did…”

Jolyne pursed her lips and looked away, trying to focus on something else. She moved her gaze away from the Italians who looked at the commotion her eye had started. It settled on the woman by the kitchenette, who had pulled out the coffee pot. She was visibly shaking as she poured it into a mug, turning so she could see her side profile. Something about her nose and eyebrow color were so familiar.

“Jojo! Are you listening to me?” Marina cried out.

Jolyne snapped back to reality, realizing her mom was still talking to her the whole time. Tears and snot streaked her face, the grip on Jolyne tighter, more unstable. She shook her head.

“Let’s… sit down…” Jolyne stated, guiding her mom to their table. She looked down at Emporio, who has since let go of her waist. Her eyesight started to wobble.

“Oh man, forgot you were here for a second, Emporio. S-sorry about-” Jolyne apologized, choking back a tear.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, I’m used to being forgotten,” he responded nonchalantly. 

But even Jolyne heard that quiet, uncomfortable gulp.

That stung.

Marina buried her hands in her face and cried.

“Where did I go wrong?”

Jolyne and Emporio looked at each other, tried to calm Marina down, and offered foodstuffs that their Stands brought over.

[Stone Free] remained materialized as [Weather Report] went to stand by her. The string stand put a hand on Marina, even if she would not feel it.

“Ora?” she said with a head tilt. [Weather Report] grabbed some paper and scribbled down what happened.

As the stand started to write what happened in the room prior to her arrival, another person was inbound.

Rikiel was being walked down the halls by medics to each side, assessing his condition. One of his sleeves was rolled up as one medic gripped his wrist holding a needle and blood bag in another hand. The other held a machine connected to the other objects, whirring as it pumped blood out of Rikiel. He winced as he watched his blood draw out of him, now a blood orange with an ominous golden glow. 

“A vampire?” the older one harshly spoke, side-eyeing him. He broke eye contact and flinched as they started to take another sample from his arm. “I thought you bastards expired in the 30s.”

“I have feelings, you know,” Rikiel croaked, clutching onto the younger one’s arm tightly. 

“I know. You bastards cause nothing but trouble for this place. And to think Giorno was the end of these fuckers.” They spoke the blonde’s name harshly. “Although, one good look at DIO’s long-ass entry should’ve made that clear enough.”

“I don’t think he could help it!” the younger one defended. “He may look and act the part, but he seems too soft to be a threat!” They eyed Rikiel with that statement.

The older one chuckled obnoxiously. “Yeah, and then he became a fucking mafia boss over spring break.” Rikiel’s eyes widened at that. Mafia boss? He muttered under his breath, but he didn’t see either nurse react.

“You know what I mean!”

“Oh please, anything DIO related is bad news. If you started working for the Foundation in the 80s like I did, you’d understand,” they spat, yanking the needle out from his arm. Rikiel cried out as they forcibly wrapped the wound, tying it off as they appeared in the doorway.

“Rikiel!” Sonia called out, approaching him with open arms. They embraced near the doorway, the two medics quickly turning to leave. The eldest sneered as the youngest hit their shoulder, making them roll their eyes. Sonia sniffled into her son’s shoulder, a shudder running through her body. They rocked slightly as she pulled him in tighter. 

Rikiel peeked over his mother’s shoulder to see the Italians looking over at him, Giorno giving a small wave. He smiled back and turned to his mother as she pulled away.

“What did they do to you? Are you alright?” Sonia rattled off, gripping his arms. She looked down to the hole in his shirt, grabbing at the tear. “When did this happen?”

Rikiel paused as she shook in place, putting his hands on her shoulders to stabilize. It proved useless as his mom was shaking as well.

“I’m fine now, Mom. And this isn’t the time or place to explain it all right now. Maybe later tonight,” he spoke softly, giving his mother a warm smile.

She tensed up for a moment before relaxing, exhaling in defeat. She knew he wasn’t going to give her a straight answer, but considering the chaos of the past week to her son’s sudden change in appearance, she expected it.

Sonia guided her son away from the door and to a table far off from the rest of its current occupants, taking a seat so that she had Giorno in her peripheral, but would not easily look at him from a quick glance up. The don’s expression briefly went uncomfortable until Trish waved him out of it with a bag of chips. Rikiel looked over to the Italians for a second to see Mista give him a nod, then turn back to their conversation in the group’s shared language. The vampire noticed that his old travel group had a few bandages from the previous fight covering bruises and cuts from just a couple of hours ago. He could sense tension in their words despite not being able to understand them,

Moving over to the Floridians, Jolyne and Emporio were looking directly at him as Marina rifled through a bag, the older’s eyesight narrowing before she shook her head and turned away. The younger one noticed this and turned back as well, Marina finally looking up and holding up a small book, some sort of novella he had never heard of. Jolyne was considerably more patched up than the others, the teen picking at some on her arms. 

Rikiel looked to his mother in silence, the latter resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and patted her back, the two sitting in their own familiar silence.

The groups meddled among themselves for a little longer before Koichi entered the room, holding a clipboard. 

The Japanese man exhaled nervously.

“Now that we have you all here, we need to ask you all some questions. I-it’s Foundation policy, especially after that little ‘stunt’.” He put up air quotes.

“We?” Jolyne repeated, crossing her arms.

A woman, not much taller than Koichi, stepped into view. She had dark brown hair tucked haphazardly under a pink cap, freckles framing light brown eyes. She wore a gray jacket lined with black and electric blue detailing, the Foundation’s logo over her left breast. A white undershirt stuck out from the half-zipped front. She wore worn jeans with hiking boots, weathered with experience. She held a clipboard that she was jotting notes on, looking at the group at hand. She cleared her throat and put her clipboard under her arm.

“The name’s Dr. Anne Jackson,” the woman saluted, taking off her cap to reveal wavy, shoulder-length hair. She spoke quickly and energetically, eyes meeting the entire room. “Long story short, I'm one of the Foundation’s traveling  agents tasked here to question important persons involved in this whole mess, and assuming you’re the Joestars with that special mark on your left shoulder, you know more than us.” 

She pointed to Jolyne. “I knew your father, Cujoh, all the way back in the 80s. Not well, but well enough to know he was quite the bizarre man.”

A lot of things were coming to Jolyne’s mind, mostly violence. At this point, she can’t even tell if it is towards her late father or this random woman he somehow knew. Cheating was quickly dismissed as her father seemed too standoffish to even attempt another rocky relationship outside of her mom. And even as a work partner, the fact that someone else besides herself knows more about Jotaro than her is infuriating. She hasn’t even gotten any memories of her father about this woman yet, so it could be anything at this point.

Frankly, she thought, if she acted upon these feelings, she was not going to get the answers she wanted and a lot of people are going to get hurt that shouldn’t. 

For now, Jolyne put up a finger to protest, only for Anne to continue. 

“Before you can ask me questions, I need you all to answer some of my own, the quicker the better,” she winked.

“Cujoh, you’re first,” Anne announced, pointing at her with her clipboard. She squared her shoulders as Emporio held onto her tighter. The older woman looked at the duo.

“Alone, please.”

“I’m not coming if he isn’t,” Jolyne snapped, holding onto the child.

Anne shrugged. “Fair enough. Follow me. The rest of you all stay here until we’re finished.”

Marina also tried to stand up.

“Mom, I don’t want to worry you anymore,” Jolyne said, halting her mother. “I’m just…gonna tell them what I told you…ok?”

Her mother pulled away and froze, but nodded and carefully returned to her table.

Trish looked over intently as she saw the two exist, waiting a few seconds before quickly turning back.

“ That woman is fucking insane,” Trish hissed, finally tensing up. “ I can’t believe we nearly had our asses handed to us by some 19-year-old delinquent.”

  “ Trish, you and Giorno were 15 when we took out a middle-aged man with a time skip stand, ,” Mista rolled his eyes, taking a sip of Sprite. Even Polnareff nodded from inside the turtle, choosing to spectate a majority of the conversation.

“ Gonna say anything, big guy? ” Fugo turned to Giorno, who was now sitting much more uncomfortably.

All the larger blonde could do is shake his head, putting down a cup of coffee.

“ Gonna make any attempts to talk to this one?” Trish crossed her arms.

Giorno shook his head again.

“ I wouldn’t and I advise you all not to as well, because we won’t know each other and our parents were enemies. And I feel like we did as well defending Rikiel. ”

He took a sip of his coffee.

“ It’s her prerogative, because the next time I have to pull [Requiem] out against her, it’s not going to end well.”

The room was typical of an interrogation cell: three cement walls surrounding a wooden table and chairs. The fourth was glassy and dark, presumably a one-way mirror. A lamp flicked above the table, which sat a microphone, a jug of water, accompanying cups, and a notebook. Cameras and microphones lined the room of varying conspicuity: some obvious cameras pointing to each side of the table to the faintest black mini-mic strapped near the light bulb.

Anne circled the table and sat down across from the door, resting her elbows in front of her. Koichi sat in the corner, nervously tapping a pen on his clipboard in his lap.

“Again, I’m Anne, Jackson, whatever I don’t mind, and that’s Hirose, unless he’d like to be called something else.” She turned to her Japanese comrade, said comrade frozen from her quick-talking.

“I-Koichi is fine,” he confirmed, rattling his fingers on the table.

Anne nodded and looked at the interrogatee.

“Let us get started.”

“Jolyne Cujoh. Daughter of Jotaro Kujo and Marina Milano. Born November 15, 1992, at-” She squinted at this line in particular, a small smile accompanied by a chuckle, “-wow, the Speedwagon Foundation Health Center here in Cape Canaveral. Knew you were local, but not this local,” Anne listed off jokingly, Jolyne rolling her eyes and sighing. Emporio looked at Jolyne and Anne nervously, Koichi halting typing for a second. Anne continued with other personal and health notes, Jolyne staring blankly as she ran through her identifying information, capping off with her most recent injury.

“I already knew that,” Jolyne snarked, crossing her arms. She propped her legs up on the table loudly, much to Koichi and Emporio’s surprise. The silver-haired man jumped up a little.

“I’m just confirming your information, Cujoh,” Anne sighed.

“Jolyne.”

“Jolyne,” she corrected herself.

The worker clicked her tongue.

“Be as difficult as you want, I can do this all day,” she chuckled, covering her face with the papers she held. “We just need you to fill in the gaps for us. How exactly did you get that injury on your left eye.”

Jolyne looked to Emporio and opened her mouth.

“We know the boat story is bullshit.”

She shut her mouth, glaring at Anne. She shrugged.

“Whatever I tell you, you’d probably not believe it. Even if you did travel with my dad, can you see this?”

[Stone Free] sprung from Jolyne’s form and lunged directly for Anne. Koichi sat up with a yelp and set out [Echoes: Act 1] a little too late as the bound-string stand’s fist was inches from Anne’s face.

The doctor smiled.

She flashed pink before something small and fast rose from within the table and deflected the punch upwards, catching the entire room off guard except for the doctor. Jolyne almost fell backwards in her chair as her stand flinched, grounding herself properly. Her eyes scanned the form, trying her best to track it in her dazed state. It slammed into cameras and microphones around the room, sparking them with pink energy as they powered down temporarily. Emporio held onto Jolyne with fear as a fog rolled over the two. Even Koichi was in shock as [Act 3] made himself known with a buzz. All Anne had on her face was a sly grin.

Jolyne’s eye finally landed on the speeding creature, quickly making out that it was a stand. It was rolled up in a tight ball; all she could make out within its pink glow was fluffy dark gray.

The stand finally landed on the table with a skid, stopping in front of Jolyne and Emporio. [Weather] made himself known with an intimidating rumble, [Stone Free] showing teeth with raised fists.

If it weren’t for the fact that Anne was glowing the same pink as the aberration, she would not have deduced that it was her stand, or a stand at all. It looked toy-like, starting with a plush-wolf hat draped on their head. Beneath the hat was a dark pink void with large eyes staring up at them, glowing yellow. They wore a red shawl with a small green amulet at its middle, a hood peeking out from behind the hat. They wore a red dress with white accents, a white cloth piece down the middle. It looked like a little red riding hood get-up if Jolyne's ever seen one. At the ends of its hands and feet were matching wolf paws with the hat, the hands having claws. The stand looked at Jolyne with a chuckle, closing their eyes and covering where a mouth should be. 

“This is my stand, [Childhood],” Anne introduced, the stand waving playfully at the quartet. “The Foundation figured that if we were going to be interrogating stand users, then interrogators should also be stand users.”

[Stone Free] threw a punch at [Childhood], and the stand stepped to the side and stood with an arm behind their back. Their eyes smiled as it took its other and tapped [Stone Free]’s wrist, causing her hand to unravel to everyone’s surprise.

“I mean, I was going to explain what it did before you rudely attacked me, so you gotta see it first hand. Lucky you,” Anne cooed. “Let’s just say she likes to play with stand abilities.”

“Bastard,” Jolyne growled, her stand’s hand continuing to unravel out of her control. [Childhood] batted at the blue thread nearing her.

“You don’t have to point out the obvious,” Anne cooed playfully, putting a hand to her cheek sarcastically. 

Jolyne and Emporio looked at each other with uncertainty. [Weather Report] flashed and rumbled.

“Jolyne, I really don’t want this drawing out any longer than it already has. We just want the full details so that we can properly assess what to do with you guys, see what kind of help you need from this point on.”

“I just don’t trust you guys.”

“Look, I get it,” Anne said, putting up her hands, [Childhood] doing the same. “A lot of scary shit has happened in the past week alone. The world turned topsy-turvy, your father is dead, among others, and suddenly, this organization you’ve only been aware of for six months is claiming to know you and are saying they’ll help you. I was in your shoes decades ago, but they're good people. Look at Koichi here.” 

She pointed to the man. He waved awkwardly as the computer sparked up again.

“We are asking a lot, but it will only better help us understand what has transpired. And considering your family’s track record, anything is possible. I promise to shut up once you start talking. And I’ll believe anything you say. I’ve been honest with you, so I hope you’ll be honest with me. Got it?”

Jolyne signed and looked to Emporio and [Weather].

“Do you trust her?” she asked the duo.

[Weather] shook his head and crossed his arms, looking away. [Childhood] rolled their eyes. Emporio gulped.
“Well, I can at least give you my name, so you’d know. My name is Emporio Alniño.” 

Anne nodded, jotting something down. The electronics came back on, the laptop booting up audibly.

“So, how far back do you want me to go?” Jolyne said, swinging her arm behind the chair rest.

“Why were you in prison? The same goes for you too, Emporio.”

“Are we really going to tell her everything ?” Emporio looked meekly to Jolyne. She could only sigh.

Two memories flashed before her eyes. The first was of a younger Anne being carried on her back, presumably her dad’s, a shark carcass floating away from them. As quickly as it ended the other started, with a young Koichi beaten up and bleeding with a hole in his chest meters away, blood pooling her eyesight. She shuddered as she came back to the present.

“I have a feeling that…that these two are going to understand where I’m coming from.”

Jolyne told them everything, from the lawyer landing her in prison on purpose to Pucci’s true intentions. She talked about how she met her friends: Ermes on the bus, Emporio in the trash can,  Anasui and Weather in the piano room, and Foo Fighters in the fields. Emporio added on to her tales, Anne nodding and taking notes, Koichi doing the same. She got louder and louder as she recalled all the victories and fights she had in jail, laughing and showing scars she sustained.

And then she got to Foo Fighter’s death. She got solemn as she explained her sacrifice for Anasui, and the subsequent fights with DIO’s sons. She explained her other’s friends’ perspectives as they recalled their experiences against Donatello and Pucci, and Weather’s demise. 

Jolyne spared no details about the final encounter with Pucci, from [Whitesnake] evolving into [C-Moon] at the Kennedy Space Center to her collapse at the beach thereafter. For flavor, she unwound a couple of fingers and replicated her string tactics during the fight, wrapping around her other hand to simulate carrying her friends around the air during the beginning of the acceleration. Emporio added to her details, excitedly explaining her dolphin tactic that let the fight continue on the water. She giggled at the somber enthusiasm, making dolphin shapes with her string.

Jolyne paused a few times to collect herself, trying not to cry as she recalled the state of her friend’s bodies as they decomposed in the Atlantic.

“...and then I woke up, my body wired up like a puppet, with me and Emporio the only ones left standing.”

Anne put her pen to her mouth silently, trying to process the information. She jotted down some notes as Koichi turned down his walkie-talkie. She closed her eyes and pouted her lips.

“I am sorry for your losses. I truly am. These past few days must have been hard on both of you, and you two are so…young. I...I apologize for my previous behavior, I didn’t know.”

Koichi winced, realizing he never gave Anne a warning about that.

Anne cleared her throat and looked back to her clipboard.

“Enrico Pucci…Enrico Pucci…” She’s flipping through her notes. “Reverend of Green Dolphin State Prison, correct?”

Jolyne nodded, pulling Emporio close.

“Ah, I see it now. He already has a file. Er, well, in the form of an unnamed associate of DIO. Now that we have a name, and if your story holds true, then we finally have an identity. We have had tabs on a potential successor of DIO for a few years now, but nothing of significance has come about.” She ripped out a couple pieces of paper and held them in front of her face. “Until now.”

“I don’t need the details retold to me I literally lived through it,” Jolyne frowned.

“I wasn’t going to,” Anne responded, handing them off to Koichi. “Start running these into the system because I don’t trust the integrity of the microphones here.”

The Japanese man nodded and pulled up a briefcase from below him, popping it open with a click. The tune of its bootup was to REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling, Jolyne recognized. He began tapping away, glancing at the notes from time to time.

Anne held the clipboard close to her and looked down.

"Jotaro’s truly gone , huh? Never thought I'd see the day," she sighed.

"How do you know him?" Jolyne asked, realizing the memory she got of Anne was barely a glance of her younger self.

“I was only about 11 when I first met him as a stowaway.” 

As Anne began narrating her encounter with the crusaders, the memories started to play in sync. She saw a younger version of the older women being dragged out from a part of the ship, fighting against the much larger captain.

“Soon, I was tossed into the ocean by this unknown force, and if it weren’t for Jotaro I definitely would not be here right now.” The memory confirmed her tale as Jotaro punched a shark clear of Anne.

“...unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time we were attacked on a boat …” Anne continued, paired with the sight of a freight boat consuming Jolyne’s body as if it were Jotaro’s, an orangutan morphing out of the opposite wall. Then another memory started up with picking up Anne once more, leading to a fight between a demonic car.

“It was quite strange I could see that stand though,” Anne said. “I thought only stand users can see them-”

The roaring of the engine overtook Anne’s voice, the booming voice of its driver just barely audible over it. Looking down, a slick copper liquid surrounder her feet, and she noticed too late as a fire ran up from the vehicle towards her. Jolyne screamed out as memory Jotaro was engulfed in flames, the smell of gasoline running through her sinuses.

"Jolyne! Are you alright? Koichi worried, peering from behind his screen.

Anne nodded as she concluded her story, pursing her lips.

“And then after that, they managed to get me home.” There was sadness in her voice. “As much fun as that adventure was, I was glad for some peace. For only a while.” 

Anne switched topics again. She glowed pink once more.

“That stand disc…” she muttered, eying the object in Emporio’s hands.

[Stone Free] flashed back into existence with a clock chime, forcing the other stands to reemerge. [Childhood] took a fighting stance and moved between the groups.

“Don’t.” Jolyne snapped. “We trusted you.”

[Childhood] rolled back into a ball and bounced against the electronics again, this time slamming into them with intent. They downed once more, twitching with pink electricity.

“What…what did…”

Anne looked to Koichi, then back to Jolyne. Koichi slowly closed the computer.

“We’re practically done with the interrogation…” Anne started.

“Then let me leave,” Jolyne growled, pulling Emporio into her lap protectively.

“Let me finish,” Anne put a finger up. “You have, what is essentially something created by Pucci, evidence, basically. If the Foundation were to ever find out that you withheld something crucial, everyone in this room would be in trouble. And your little friend there-” She gestured to [Weather Report], who had only tensed up further. “-would be taken away from you, and I don’t think anyone wants that. As long as they think he’s Emporio’s stand, you should be fine. Not hard anyway, since there have been stands taking the form as a physical object. Just keep that between us, yes?”

Jolyne looked to Koichi, who gulped.

“My lips are sealed,” he stammered, making a zipping motion across his lips.

“What about the cameras and microphones? Aren’t they still recording us?”
“As seen before, [Childhood] is a sabotage stand, including electronics, they aren’t functional right now. When the Foundation found that out, they trust that I’ll use it responsibly, but I spent my entire life lying to survive, so who’s to say? I like you, Jolyne, and I don’t want to separate the remains of your posse,” she said, gesturing to the trio. 

“I am not a threat to you.”

Jolyne glared and sat back against the chair, hands in her lap. Her stand dissipated, along with [Weather] and [Echoes].

“Just hide the disc in his clothes or something and don’t make it obvious it’s like a disc we’ve collected from Savage Garden.”

“The dove?”

“Yes, that dove. He’s here actually somewhere in the compound if you ask. Great bird; pigeons are always great animals.”

Jolyne smiled and nodded.

“Just so you know, if he ends up getting confiscated, I’m coming for you two first.”

“Understood,” Anne grinned. Koichi gulped audibly.

The electronics came back alive with various beeps, the computer humming in its closed state.

“We got what we needed from you two. You may now leave.”

“Fucking finally ,” Jolyne groaned, standing up with Emporio in hand.

“One last thing, before we let you go.” Jolyne stopped in her tracks and turned towards Koichi.

“Tell me again, how did you meet Rikiel? I’m still curious about how that went down.”

Jolyne smirked.

“Dropped Emporio, Hermes, and I out of a helicopter and fought us on the ground. Resulted in his defeat and assumed death. When I saw his pink-to-blue ass again I tried to finish the job.

“But ask him about it, I’d love to hear how he retells his side of the battle. Damn, I need to ask how he survived too. Hermes got him good.” She broke out into laughter as she left the room, Emporio following in tow.

Anne smiled as the two left the room, chatting among themselves.

[Act 3] appeared next to Anne, giggling.

“YOU WISH YOU HAD A RELATIONSHIP LIKE THAT WITH JOTARO, HUH?” The stand snarked. Koichi smirked as he reopened the laptop.

[Childhood] charged the audio stand and his user, both screaming in fear.

Jolyne stepped out of the interrogation room, roughly shouldering past people as she turned the last corner into the break room. Marina turned to her as she entered the room, running towards her.

“Jolyne,” Marina muttered, going to hug her daughter. Jolyne slumped into her embrace, Emporio also wedging himself into the hug.

“I’m a little better now, just talked it out. It still hurts, mom.”

Marina held her tighter.

Anne entered the doorway and pointed at the blonde.

“Giovanna, you’re next.”

Giorno nodded and stood up, Mista rising with him. Anne put a hand up.

“Alone, please. I can only make an excuse once.”

Anne nodded as he recounted the events, from the initial birthmark pain from Italy covered up to his first rest day at the shelter. He barred no details save for Polnareff in the turtle. Koichi jotted down notes quickly, wincing and flinching at the descriptions about the events surrounding meeting Rikiel.

Anne huffed out dramatically and leaned back in her chair, nearly tipping over. She slammed back down in her chair, scooting back up to the table awkwardly.

“I still can’t believe there are more of you guys,” Anne let out a “tsk,”, shaking her head.

“That’s what I said,” Koichi added from his corner.

“Not surprised a 120-year-old vampire couldn’t keep it all in his pants. It’s the fact he made the same mistake more than once,” Giorno nonchalantly said with a shrug.

Anne held back a laugh and Koichi smiled, covering his mouth.

“Why are you in Florida again?” Anne asked for clarification, flipping back a couple of pages.

“Vacation,” he responded flatly.

“Where at? Universal? Disney?”

“Disney World.”

“Not bad. Not bad. How was it?”

Giorno huffed. “Got jumped by Donald Duck if that was what you’re asking. The commercials were right, it was ‘magical’.” He sarcastically shook his hands paired with an awkward smile.

Anne looked away, masking a snicker. She sniffled and turned back to Giorno.

“Ah yes, that ability. We still don’t know who or what caused it, but we could confirm it was a stand-like attack. What was really throwing us off is how it was an international-level event. And how it stopped as soon as it started. Our biggest concern is tracking down the user, but since the ability stopped, it’s assumed that they were killed.”

Giorno shook his head. “I really couldn’t tell you. However, Rikiel might know more about it. He mentioned a similar ability from his…” The blonde stopped to consider his words. “...associate when he was still under Pucci.” 

“Ah yes, violet vampire,” Anne said, pursing her lips. “You two look nothing alike, but I should have expected it from a man with essentially two bodies.”

Anne paused.

“What’s he like? An evil, blood-lust creature or a manipulative asshole? He doesn’t seem like the type to be both. Hell, one glance at him and he folds.”

“He’s more anxious than anything, can you blame him? Taken under the wing of one of my father’s followers only to be left for dead, stumble painfully into a plaza, and meet a bunch of mafiosos?” Giorno shook his head. “He has all the right to be on edge.” The blonde leaned forward and looked away, tapping his fingers on the table.

Anne nodded, jotting down notes.

“Does he have a stand?”

“Yes.”

“What does it do?”

Giorno shrugged. “I don’t fully understand it myself. It is best to ask him directly about it. Something involving body heat and illness.”

“How’s Passione?”

“As well as a criminal organization can go. I’ve been out of contact with them for nearly a week, so I don’t know what’s going on. All else is classified; I’m sure your agency bugs have gathered whatever information they need from them.” Giorno shuffled in his seat, his expression growing dark.

“Hey now, I’m not trying to insinuate hostility, I’m just being a nosy bitch,” Anne nervously deflected, slightly glowing pink.

Giorno rolled his eyes.

“Ok, so those are all my Florida-based questions, but I have to ask, what’s with the, uh, turtle you folks carry around?” Koichi asked, tilting his head.

“Oh? Him? Just a Passione heirloom is all,” Giorno explained bluntly.

“A live creature counts as an heirloom?”

“I mean, in a way, yes. Turtles can live a century with the right care.”

“What’s his name?” Anne asked, tilting her head.

“Coco Jumbo,” Giorno responded. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth. 

“Fucking stupid name,” she chuckled, jotting it down. “Does it do anything special?”

“Nothing of note,” Giorno lied, keeping a straight face. “He eats a lot.”

Anne shrugged.

“Ok, that wraps up all my questions. Hirose? Got anymore?”

Koichi shook his head.

“Alright, you’re free to go.”

Giorno got up from the table and held his hand out, the older adults looking at each other uncomfortably.

“See you around,” Giorno saluted. He looked at Koichi. “But if I don’t see you again, tell your kids I said hello!”

Koichi and Anne waved off the mafioso, the man shutting the door behind him. Anne waited a few moments before slamming her hands on the table and turning to her coworker with a shocked smile.

“Kids, already? Why didn’t you tell me? And how old?” Anne tilted her head.

Koichi put a finger up as he took a sip of water, trying not to cough up the liquid.

“Good fucking-” he coughed. “-l-lord, 

“Ah, so you and Yukako tried immediately after the wedding huh,” she said, grin turning shit-eating.
Koichi spat out his water.

“I’m sorry?” He turned to her. “ Ms. Jackson-”

Her smile held.

Giorno took on the labyrinth of halls once again, sighing every time he reached a dead end. He attempted to hide his face from passersby as he started to get recognized, but flowing blonde hair on top of a large, imposing build isn’t exactly common around these parts, it seemed. His eyes were wide and uncomfortable as he heard passing remarks from curious doctors.

He finally managed to get back to the room’s door frame in a daze, shaking it off as he located his friends, who welcomed him back and offered him a bagel. Giorno nodded as he re-entered the room, sitting back down in his seat at their round table. 

He felt eyes on the back of his head and turned to the source, Jolyne glaring at him across the room next to the coffee machine. [Stone Free] pulled Emporio close to her, the dark slots of her sunglasses peering at him. He saw another stand surrounding the duo, a white humanoid with a spiked head and swirled shoulder pads. Pink eyes added to the glaring trio, putting large arms and hands around the two. He broke eye contact first, returning to his table.

“ That one’s new, the off-white one, ” Mista leaned into Giorno in Italian, making the latter get closer. “ Has that always been with them?”

“ I don’t know, but I don’t think now’s the time to pry ,” the blonde responded, pulling Polnareff close.

“ Nothing I’m familiar with ,” Polnareff added.

Fugo and Trish shook their heads.

“ Rather not anger it now. ”
Anne re-entered the room thereafter, looking down at her list. 

Her eyes narrowed when she came across the third name.

“Rikiel…Brando? Brando,” she said with a sigh. She eyed the anxious man next to Giorno.

“H-hi,” he waved.

Anne looked back at her clipboard and back at him.

“You’re next,” she waved, leaving once more.

As he got up to cross the room, Giorno stopped him.

"Don't tell her anything about Polnareff. I'll explain later."

“So, another son of Dio?” she frowned, clicking her tongue. She twirled the pen in her hand as she paced on her side of the table, going over Rikiel’s notes from the medics. Rikiel pursed his lips nervously and tapped his nails on the desk, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, um…I guess,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Doesn’t act like it,” she whispered to Koichi with a chuckle, the man hitting her shoulder. She shrugged and rolled her eyes, turning back to Rikiel with a sigh.

“Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised considering the file I read on him.” She held up a stack of paper and hit them playfully. “I had a feeling a man piloting his brother’s body would do reckless shit with it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rikiel asked.

Anne shook her head.

“Ask Giorno about that, he’s read the file and we don’t have time for that now. So, what can you tell us about why you’re here?”

Rikiel took a deep breath.

“It all started after I hit my head during a panic attack…” 

The violet-haired vampire immediately started to rattle off the details of first waking up in the hospital. He mentioned Pucci, teeth bearing as he explained how he was used for the Heaven plan only to be left to die at Jolyne and Ermes’ hands. Anne and Koichi tried to interject with clarification, but Rikiel kept going in detail, ignoring their raised fingers and getting wilder with his arm motions. The more recent the events, the more his voice warbled, even standing up to get his points across. He did not mention Polnareff per Giorno’s request, cutting out the freckled Frenchman from his story with ease. However, his constant stuttering while trying to dodge certain aspects of his journey was showing through. It left holes in his story retelling, making him go back to patch it up with a lie or ignore it entirely.

“And then she tried to kill me. Again.” Rikiel ended, sitting down with a loud thud.

Anne and Koichi looked at him dumbstruck, his form much more razzled than before. The hole in his sweater wasn’t doing him any favors.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, I have nothing to hide.” Rikiel felt his heart drop with that one.

“I’m just shocked that you are willing to tell us all this with…relative confidence,” Koichi muttered, cracking his neck. 

Rikiel shrugged. “If my thoughts are what you wanted, well,” he motioned his hands outwards. “They’re out there now.”

“Vampirism, eh? Your father had that,” Anne nodded, looking at her notes.

“I’ve been told.”

“...and your hair was pink before all this?” 

“Y-yeah. It runs on my mom’s side,” he said, fiddling his fingers.

“I mean, there’s Trish and her dad. They had pink hair,” Koichi mentioned. “Honestly, who knows what else he’ll inherit from him with time. Diavolo’s file is wild .”

“Who?”

Anne shook her head and hand at him. “None of your concern. Got family here?”

“Just me and my mom at the moment. I have an uncle and aunt too that still talks to us, but they’re never around much to count. For what it’s worth, I’m glad at least the two of us made it out alive and she still wants to be with me.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I still feel like shit for abandoning her like that…”

Anne nodded.

“I’ve asked this question before, and Giorno mentioned you’d know more about it. What do you know about that one event where all those characters came to life for a few hours?”

“Oh, you want to know about [Bohemian Rhapsody]?” Rikiel casually answered.

“ That’s the name of it?” Anne yelled with wide eyes, leaning towards Rikiel in awe. The vampire flinched. Koichi felt his heart skip a beat.

“Y-yeah?” He leaned away.

“Who was it? Who was the user?”

“M-my half brother Ungalo-”

“Oh there’s more,” Anna exasperated into a whisper, leaning back into her chair.

Rikiel frowned and shook his head.

“Before he left to conduct Pucci’s plan, he told me his stand name and ability. We both couldn’t sleep that final night together and he opened up a little. However, his ability went down immediately and he was on a plane when the world started to end. The chances of him still being out there are slim to none," he concluded, pouting. “I kinda miss the guy, but he was rather intense.”

“Any more family to note? You mentioned a ‘Donatello’?”

“Donatello Versus, yes, the other half brother. Found his body in a plaza, so he’s definitely dead. My mom is here like I said, but she isn’t a stand user or a threat. Just a victim in this all.”

Rikiel paused.

"I-I don't think you'd care to hear about my aunt. I haven’t talked to her in months, I believe, and she doesn’t live here like mom. Travels around a lot. Her whereabouts are unknown to us unless she calls-”

“Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re dismissed. I don’t know much else to ask of you. Go to your mom, I don’t want to send an even more disheveled son back to her.”

Rikiel nodded and got up from his seat, turning towards the exit.

“Hey.”

Rikiel turned to Koichi.

“Deep breaths, water, and stretches. That won’t 100% cure your nerves, but it’ll help clear your head. Even as a vampiric hybrid.”

Rikiel smiled, then left their sight.

Anne turned to Koichi, clicking her tongue and frowning. 

“He was lying about the helicopter. We only sent four-seaters in the area around the time they were rescued.”

Koichi nodded with a frown. Anne sighed with frustration.

“I don’t think he’d give it up easily either, even with his anxiety-induced infodump.”

Anne tapped her pen to her face. She flashed pink as the electronics dropped once more, Koichi flinching at his sparking laptop.

“Give me a heads up when you do that!” he snapped, waving away the smoke.

“Sorry, sorry, instinct. Can’t have the Foundation hearing this, and I trust you, Hirose, with this information. I’m going to run a small investigation on Coco Jumbo, that turtle with that Passione lot. Something about it is suspicious and I’d rather not SWF get to it first. Or in the off chance, it’s nothing, I don’t get ridiculed,” she chuckled, the electronics sparking back to life as [Childhood] lifted.

“I feel like it has some significance.”

Koichi frowned as the tune played for the third time today.

“I’ll get the next person,” she said as she stood up, picking up her clipboard. She pulled out a sticky note from her pocket and stuck it on, jotting something down as she disappeared. 

Anne and Koichi continued to interrogate the rest of the Passione party, gaining their perspectives from the past few days one by one.

“Long time no see Guido,” Anne commented, resting her head in her hand.

“And the same to you, Jackson,” Mista sneered playfully, matching her snarky energy. “Didn’t expect to be on the other side of the interrogation table so soon,” he jested, smiling big. 

“Alright, alright, we don’t have all day. We got most of your last few days from the boys, just tell me what you were doing.”

—

“Never expected a pop star like you to be so readily available to vacation with a bunch of shady criminals,” Anne smiled.

“Hey! Those criminals are my friends and don’t act like this place hasn’t had its share of suspicious dealings. This place reeks of it,” Trish snapped.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Touche, now tell me what you know.”

—

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Anne pouted, pointing her pen at Fugo.

“I can say the same for you,” Fugo replied, sipping water.

“Pannacotta Fugo?” Anne looked at her paper once more.

“In the flesh.”

“So, what’s your deal?”

None of them mentioned Polnareff. 

Anne yawned. 

“Are we interrogating the parents?” Koichi asked.

She shook her head. “They don't know anything. Pretty sure their kids are feeding them false information. It’s for the better, anyway. I have a feeling that hijabi, Sonia, may have an anxiety attack if she even stepped foot in here. For their health, y’know.”

“You’re acting like they're ancient beings that’ll crumble to the slightest bit of staggering news.”

“How much do you think they’d actually know? And if their kids didn’t lie to them, how much do they really understand? They don’t seem like the stand user types.”

Koichi nodded. “Fair enough. I just don’t want them to be left in the dark.”

“For their safety, I think that’s better,” Anne repeated.

Jolyne flopped onto the bed dramatically, groaning out into the air. Emporio entered soon after, [Weather Report] emerging from the disk and floating above Jolyne. [Stone Free] came out and greeted him with a handshake, dramatically exhaling.

“Ugh, this is so suffocating,” Jolyne ranted, pulling her face up from the bed. “These tests and interrogations are so tiring. I just want to go home and sleep. Be by myself without all these cameras pointed at me.”

Emporio shuffled uncomfortably in place, looking down at his hands. Weather retreated his body into the disc until only his head remained visible. Jolyne immediately straightened up.

“Not you. You’re fine.” She looked up to [Weather]. “And you too. I hate having the Foundation’s eyes on me all the time.” Her eyes fell on a nearby security camera. She shook a fist at it.

“And I thought prison was bad.”

Emporio’s lips slightly upturned, quickly falling back as Jolyne slumped back on the bed.

“I’m fine, Emporio, actually,” she signed. “As fine as a girl who had to witness her friends die in front of her.”

Emporio hesitantly crawled next to her in bed, curling up at her side. She wrapped her arm around him and pet his head, shuffling so that he fit between her torso and her arm. He closed his eyes and rested his head on her chest, wrapping an arm around her waist. [Weather] moved to the other side, nuzzling next to her awkwardly.

Jolyne snickered with a smile. She wrapped her arm around Emporio and let [Stone Free] wrap hers around [Weather Report].

“I can get used to this fucked up family.”

And with that, she finally went to sleep.

The Passione group, along with Rikiel and Sonia, meddled in the breakroom until sundown, not speaking much as dinner arrived. Sonia sat three tables away, on the complete other side of the room to Giorno. Rikiel sat with her and kept her focus away from the others as fatigue and uneasiness settled among them.

“My, you boys are so large…” Sonia pondered, eying Giorno uncomfortably. The aforementioned man looked back at her and waved, causing her to yelp and turn away quickly.

“It’s those Joestar genes,” he sighed, shrugging with an uncomfortable giggle.

Sonia picked at her fingers before quickly getting up and dusting off her pants.

“ I should really go, I don’t feel comfortable being in a room with him yet ,” she muttered harshly in her mother tongue, picking up her luggage. Rikiel stood up with her and held her arm carefully, making her look into his eyes.

“ Come with me. They gave me a private room downstairs, so you don’t have to be up there with all those people ,” he pleaded. “ T-there’s a more private bathroom near there as well. I want you to be comfortable.

“I don’t want you to lose me again.” Tears welled up in his eyes.

Sonia paused and considered the offer, nodding.

“I would very much like that. We should go now.”

Rikiel wiped his eyes and went over to Giorno.

“I’m going to stick with my mom tonight, bringing her up to the room from before if I can,” he muttered, leaning closer to the group. His mother passed behind him, obscuring her face from Giorno. She quickly turned away and pulled her luggage close.

“Take care,” Giorno nodded, reaching out for a handshake. Rikiel looked at it and hesitantly took it, loosely grasping it and weakly shaking. Giorno was caught off guard from the attempt and let go early, Rikiel stumbling back. The group watched the mother-son duo exit with urgency, continuing to speak in Masri.

The group stood in silence for a short while before Trish loudly sighed.

“Y’know, I’m still amazed that the Giorno Giovanna, the most powerful man in all of Italy, the man who overthrew the mafia at 15, master negotiator, one of the most influential people in Southern Europe, cannot hold a meaningful conversation with his own blood,” Trish sneered, crossing her arms.

Giorno snapped around and glared at his female companion. [Gold Experience] shimmered into existence, with a sharper metallic noise and brighter gleam than usual. Mista and Fugo looked at Trish with fear.

“What? We were all thinking it. Hell, I’m probably the last of us four to call you out on your cowardice.”

Giorno’s gaze sharpened.

“I know you’re not gonna hurt me, Giorno,” Trish’s expression softened, letting out a deep breath.

She fixed her emerald eyes against his teal.

“It seems like the boys already gave you a talk, and I think it bears no repetition that you need to talk to Rikiel, and now,” Trish began. “You’re only worsening your relationship with him. So just peel the bandage off and either tell him out of your life or attempt to befriend him. Because this constant back-and-forth nervous staring is not making any progress.”
Still, the don stood, eying down the pink-haired woman intensely.

Trish frowned. She gritted her teeth and took a step toward him.

“Do something. Say something. Indicate that you are even processing this information.”

He suddenly reached out and grabbed her shoulder, gripping it hard. Trish held her breath, feeling [Spice Girl] behind her.

“I’m. Working. On it,” he finally said, teal eyes dark and unwavering. His face started out with no expression, but as he held the glare, his face slowly got more intense, contorting into furrowed eyebrows and barred teeth. His grip started shaking.

Trish pouted.

“That was…a little too harsh, even for me, and I’m sorry if I struck a nerve. But, am I wrong? You’ve been withholding information from us since we landed in this god-forsaken state. The fact you refused to even tell us, your friends, what was wrong with you. You should know better. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

Trish paused.

“I still don’t forgive you about Buccellati.”

Mista covered his mouth. Giorno squared up. Trish smiled. Fugo’s stance widened, arms up to break up a possible scuffle.

“I’m right,” she smirked, [Spice Girl] appearing behind her and blowing a raspberry at the opposing stand. 

Giorno’s face held for a moment, his expression soon softening, shoulders dropping. [Gold Experience] nodded in defeat and dissipated, making [Spice Girl] go in turn. He let go of Trish, reaching blindly for a nearby chair and slumped into it, covering his face. His signature rolled bangs unraveled as he sank lower in the seat, the man making a muffled sigh behind a covered mouth. 

“Whoa,” Trish jolted, putting her hands up. “I didn’t know you were that fucked up. But I’m not taking back what I said.”

“It’s hard to talk to someone like family when you’ve only known them for a few days,” Giorno finally croaked out.

“What about like a friend? Start there.”

Silence. Trish sighed.

“I shouldn’t be the one telling you this,” Mista finally piped up, stepping up next to Trish. “But this is not a Diavolo situation at all. Rikiel clearly isn’t gonna hurt you, even by accident. You have the upper hand with the arrow, anyways. He may be a nervous wreck, but at least he’s making an attempt. It’s time for you to do the same.”

“What are you afraid of, Giorno?” Fugo asked.

He blinked.

“I don’t think I can answer that right now. I…I just need space.”

Silence again. Trish is the first to speak up.

“Don’t talk to me again until you talk to Rikiel.”

She turned to leave, Fugo trailing behind her. Mista looked down at his boss and closest friend, the don scratching his chin.

“Trish may be harsh on you, but she’s right. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come to me to talk it out. I don’t want you to shut down like the first time we were in Morioh.” Mista paused before he chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you’ll bond faster with him than you did Josuke.”

Giorno hummed. Mista frowned.

“I’ll be in our room sleeping. Don’t stay up too late.”

Giorno let his bodyguard’s footsteps fade away before burying his face in his hands. 

And he wept.

Rikiel led her down to the office-bedroom set-up he was given a few days ago, glad to see that the air mattress remained and the room was cleaned up as well. Sonia’s eyes widened at the transformed space, smiling at the premade bed.

She rolled her bag next to the bed, sitting on the air mattress carefully and continued to look around the room.

“Sorry if they only gave us one bed, I don’t think they were expecting another person up here,” Rikiel muttered with a grin.

“Oh, that’s fine! Just like old times when you were a baby!” she giggled, picking at her hands. 

Rikiel chuckled. “Yeah, like when I was a baby.”

“It’s very comfortable up here. Very quiet,” she smiled, tapping her foot on the floor.

“Yeah, very different from the apartment back home, huh?” he chuckled, going to sit next to her.

“The humming from the vents are soothing,” she continued, looking to the ceiling with curiosity. 

Rikiel frowned. 

“Are you sure you’re okay from earlier? You still can’t look at him.”

Sonia’s face dropped as she considered the question, turning her head away from him.

“I haven’t been so in the past few days, and your half-brother isn’t any better on the senses,” she chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s been a long, eventful day for the both of us. Lots of stress. Lots of old memories resurfacing that I’d rather forget.”

“I understand, a lot has happened in the past three days alone.” Rikiel teetered on his feet.

Sonia took her son's hands in hers, feeling over his sharpened nails with hesitation. She massaged his hands as she looked at them, blinking slowly. He quickly moved them away, looking into her eyes.

“Have you gotten anything from Auntie Nefret?”

Sonia shook her head.

“She isn’t picking up her phone and the calls drop. I tried to contact her friends, but they also won’t pick up.”

Rikiel frowned, taking off his sweater. He thumbed the hole in it.

“She’ll be ok, she’s gone through worse,” Sonia smiled, chuckling nervously. “Her old job did cost her her teeth and nearly her life, but she prerssed on. A slight world shake-up shouldn’t bring her down.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rikiel muttered, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh! I brought some of your clothes from home,” she said excitedly, reaching into her suitcase. “I was not sure what you wanted. so I got you some of your favorite turtlenecks and pants. And a couple of your jumpsuits! Oh! And a belt! And underwear, just in case!” She listed off, pulling more clothes out of the luggage.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rikiel said, stopping his mom from pulling more clothes out the suitcase. “Why did you pack so many of my things? What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she smiled. “I have plenty of clothes for myself, they’re rather thin and easy to pack away, save the sweaters. I just wanted to make sure that, when I found you again, I could make sure you’re fully clothed.” Her face dropped.

“Especially if you passed.”

Her hand was placed over a package in plastic, crinkling under her fingers and catching Rikiel’s attention.

Sonia’s face softened as she looked into her son’s eyes. They glowed slightly in the dim fluorescent light, very similar to DIO’s. Unlike her assailant’s eyes that pierced like a cat’s into the night, Rikiel’s glow was soft like a lightning bug on a summer evening, docile and wandering.

She put her hands to his face and pulled his lips up, showcasing his sharpened canines.

“Please tell me what happened to you. I have heard strange things from Nefret, and if I am correct, you are a vampire,” she faltered, putting her hands down.

Rikiel stopped and sighed, sitting down next to his mom, and started to explain everything. He told her about the end of his first fight with Jolyne, how his hair started to turn blue, the man who saved him, and the course of events involving Giorno and his friends, missing no details. Sonia’s face contorted with confusion on the mention of stands.

Rikiel stuck his hand out to let [Sky High] materialize, the creature turning up to his mother. She only blinked at an empty wrist, scanning for the stand she couldn't see.

“Can you see this?” He summoned [Sky High] on his wrist, the stand looking up to his mother. It squeaked to get her attention, but her gaze went through it and onto his wrist. She scanned his hand up to his shoulder and shook her head.

“No, it seems I cannot,” Sonia frowned. “Nefret told me not all abilities can be seen by people, but sometimes its effects can. Her’s can copy objects, and she has a friend who can transform! Very impressive.

“But, she stays away for our safety, she claims. She told me if she stays around too long, it attracts bad people. People who wanted your father dead, even those who worked under him. At least she has her own band of friends to travel with so she’s safe, leaving us mostly alone. But, well…” She gestured to Rikiel.

Sonia looked away and put a hand to her mouth, processing it all.

“It truly is…bizarre…” she muttered, tapping her mouth.

“Yeah,” Rikiel responded.

“Although, I should have expected it considering your birth father, but where did the blue come from? No one in our family has a shade this strong,” she pondered, running her fingers through his hair. “I don’t even think there’s a cool strand of hair in anyone else!”

“Yeah, it’s a really pink household, huh,” Rikiel snickered.

Sonia held back a chuckle but ultimately failed, snorting laughing as she fell back on the bed. Rikiel joined, the two Egyptians cackling loudly, holding each other and pulling closer together as their laughter died down. They rested their heads against the other’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry for running away. I was stupid to pursue my family without telling you. I could have died. I might as well have,” Rikiel sighed, frowning.

Sonia pulled away and looked at her son’s welled-up golden eyes.

“Don’t worry about that now. You’re here now, alive and well. I forgive you. If Anything, it’s my fault that I didn’t tell you any sooner. You’re 23 for Allah’s sake! It’s just…very difficult for me to think about the events of that night.”

Rikiel shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault. I’ll just ask around here since they seem to know a lot about dad’s side.”

Rikiel yawned, stretching out his arms. Sonia followed suit.

“I’m so tired from today, I should get ready for bed,” the vampire claimed, scratching his back.

“Likewise, it’s nice to have more than hospital seating to sleep in,” she giggled.

The two did their nightly routines in turn, Sonia going first as Rikiel reconciled in silence, sitting at the edge of the bed. His stand hummed into existence once more, appearing on his lap.

“Well buddy, mom’s ok. Let’s hope auntie is too.”

The stand nodded, its body, chirping. Rikiel giggled.

“You really like her huh? Wish she could see you, though.”

[Sky High] squeaked in protest.

“I don’t think she’d make fun of you, Auntie Nefret, however...”

Rikiel sighed, looking back at his stand. Its eyes were less wide than before, the chameleon-like limbs toddling idly on his thigh. He brought a hand to his birthmark. He heard the doorknob jiggle.

“Well, we’re up next,” he muttered, his stand dissipating as he turned to gather his things to shower.

Time passed as they retired to bed, Sonia getting up from her prayer.

“ Good night , Riki,” she teased in Masri, kissing his forehead. 

“ Haven’t heard that name in years , good night mom, ” he smiled.

Anne sighed as she plopped back into her chair, fanning herself with her hat.

“Dr. Jackson! Are you alright?” he worried, [Echoes: Act 2] going to comfort her.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she rattled off, taking quick breaths. [Childhood] materialized near [Echoes] to comfort, buzzing worryingly. “I’ll start the investigation tomorrow afternoon, I’m way too tired now. Interrogation takes a lot out of you when it gets physical. Shouldn’t have used my stand as much back there,” she rambled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“This would be so much easier if Kishibe were here,” Anne muttered, turning to Koichi. He nodded in response, [Act 1] looped and snoring on his shoulders. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with so much lip, at least from the interrogees.”

“Rohan’s a whole basket case though, have you tried working with him?”

“Brother, he was the one who found me, I know the kind of bullshit he springs. I can work around that, not Jotaro’s daughter coming at me with killing intent.”

A ping went off on Koichi’s phone, followed by a ringtone.

“Oh! Phone lines are up!” Koichi picked up the phone. “Hello?”

He nodded as someone panicked on the other side.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Calm down, you're talking too fast!...Ok…ok…yeah, I’m here in Cape Canaveral…no?...yeah…she’s…here…”      

The Japanese man’s face dropped immediately and went silent, listening to the wavering voice on the other end. They hung up, Koichi frozen from the information.

“Hirose? What’s wrong?”

“They found the bodies.”