Chapter Text
“The choice is yours, Trish.”
Trish darted her eyes back and forth between the two men in front of her- both promising the salvation she so craved but neither offering the exact conditions that she needed. It was cruel, inhumane, even, if she were asked, and as she weighed the choices presented to her the ‘correct’ one only seemed to slip further and further from her reach. What could she do then, besides stare straight ahead at neither man as the scenarios they promised played over and over in her head?
One- the object of her hatred- would be her ticket out. A ‘get out of jail free card’ as it were, except it wasn’t free at all given the sacrifices they all had to make to get there. But it was the simplest one. She need only give the word and Giorno would take care of everything for her. For all his massively fatal flaws, at his core he was still an honourable man, or so she thought. There was little reason for him to simply abandon her after going through all this effort.
And the other- the gangster who swore to protect her on his boss’ honour- was really the moral choice, the one that made her less sick in her stomach, less likely to regret. And despite Mista’s status as a gangster it was clear to Trish why she thought so; something about him just brought her comfort, that lingering feeling that wherever his heart may lie, it was certainly in a better place than Giorno’s was. The irony of this career criminal containing more of a ‘heart,’ in the spiritual sense, than his supposed victim was not lost on her. Really, the best choice was obvious.
But for all that was worth…
Comfort and morality still didn’t buy her safety. Nor did it guarantee she would be living in the next few hours. All of it was fleeting… so fleeting, she could be dead the second she and Mista left Roma on foot, from starvation, exhaustion, an attempt on their life from any number of ne’er-do-wells still living- anything she could conceive of.
And for that reason…
Trish turned a tearful eye to Giorno standing beside her, eyeing the arrow in his hand as if to will him into action. As she did, she made a pointed effort not to catch Mista’s gaze, who she was sure was making every effort to make her second guess herself. His concerned sputtering afterward only confirmed that, making her flinch but still adamant about looking away.
“T-Trish….? Oh, oh no.. no no NO.”
Trish brought her hands together in front of her lap, then squeezed them together until her knuckles grew white and she could feel the sweat pooling inside her palms, the only thing she could hold on to keep her grounded. Then she screwed her eyes shut after exchanging a glance with Giorno, who nodded back, the lack of fear in his eyes both disconcerting and comforting all at once.
“You’ve GOT to be fucking kidding me… Trish, open your eyes! Giorno is NOT going to help you- you really think all of this was worth throwing away to give him what he wants, for some false hope of freedom?”
Trish did not open her eyes.
She did not hear Mista, nor let a single word of his enter her mind to sway her off the path she now dedicated herself towards.
She kept her eyes shut and embraced the darkness, the one that she could see and the one enveloping Giorno’s heart. Whatever transpired after, she did not witness, trusting the account given to her by Giorno once the dust settled and Mista’s fate- and her own- were sealed.
--
--
Mista wanted to scream.
He watched Giorno and Trish both as they defied him, watching as Trish turned her head and denied him any of her mercy and kindness, watched as Giorno swept his cold gaze from him to her and back to the arrow in his hand, not an ounce of humanity left in those green depths. It seemed that not even Trish mattered to him at this point, the arrow shimmering in his hands catching his utmost interest like a starving tiger carrying its long-awaited meal in its jaws.
Mista backed away, anticipating the carnage that would surely follow.
It took him a few steps before Giorno decided to act, and the arrow was swiftly plunged into his stand’s chest right as Mista turned tail and bolted out of there.
Mista ran for as long as his lungs let him, which with his adrenaline meant he made all the way onto the main street of Roma before he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. As he stood there wheezing, doubled-over and hoping and praying that Giorno would, for some reason, decide he was not worth chasing for the moment, his stand flitted out from the depths of his soul to give him guidance.
“Mista!! We gotta get outta here!” Cried Number Five, ever the most reasonable and cautious of his pistols. Mista almost wanted to snap at him, if only he weren’t in such a dire state. But when he didn’t respond, his stand whimpered and gave him the wide-eyed look that Mista was accustomed to, though dreaded no less. Little by little, he knew he was losing it.
“W-What’re we gonna do Mista?!”
Truthfully… Mista hadn’t a clue. He’d watched his previous plan go up in smoke- or self-combusted, more like, a firecracker depleted too soon- and the shock of his journey taking such a turn left him floundering, feeling completely incapacitated. He gazed back at his trembling stand as if to will it into making a decision for him, if only his soul held the answers he needed.
But it didn’t. And of course not- not in his current state, not ever. Relying on others was easy, the repercussions of that complacency was not.
Committed to nothing, Mista staggered along on the empty street until-
-until he came face-to-face with Giorno again.
Mista felt his heart stop. And perhaps it truly did, as when he stumbled back and fell to the floor, he let out a strangled gasp that failed to alleviate the ache in his chest. He swallowed air, over and over, but his head was still afloat. He was drowning, suffocated by the air around him.
Terror set in, creeping its way up Mista’s torso to grab a hold of his still heart. It froze him in place, constrained his limbs- he felt like he’d been drugged, almost, but with the finality of death looming over him. He was quickly growing blind, next, the darkness over his heart encroaching on his vision…
Blind, except for those eyes.
Those eyes, the ones on Giorno’s stand. They peered back at him, the same cold lack of humanity that Giorno gave him before. But these were worse. These were the eyes of a being that saw through him- they weren’t simply seeing Mista as an obstacle, a nuisance- it was calculating, with a robotic precision that nothing human could ever hope to comprehend. It saw what Mista feared most, and was bringing it to reality right before his eyes.
“This.. is Requiem, Guido Mista!” And the stand spoke to him in the voice of the boy that ruined their world, but with none of the naivety. It was a computer imitating his cadence, the sound of which shook Mista to his core. The nightmarish din of the being’s voice was all he heard, all that stand permitted him to hear amongst the darkness he was quickly surrounded in.
“What you see is reality- a new reality between life and death, and one that you will reside in. For that is my ability, Gold Experience Requiem- none shall stand before me, as they will never escape the reality I have trapped them.”
Mista made a futile attempt to move his arm before realising he could not even manage a twitch of his eyeball. But somehow even that failed to bring him dread as before. His mind grew empty. He forgot who he was, his mission, and who he once hated and who brought him to this state. It was just... much too tiring to even attempt to form a thought. And before long, the world around him grew silent as the sleep he now craved, not even the constant buzzing of his stand in his head kept him company. One by one, he felt their presence vanish, the clarity of his newly wiped mind bringing him small comfort in the wake of his impending death. The last thing he heard before it all ended was the words he’d never wanted to hear.
“You will never reach the salvation you’ve so desired.”
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--
Trish watched Giorno walk a few paces ahead of her with his head held high. He was giving the girl space to process the events of that morning, or so she believed. This was his best effort at ding so- turning his head and pretending nothing was wrong. Better than nothing, she supposed.
She had no clue where Mista had disappeared to, however, and what the boy had done to him- just a moment before, he was there, and then she closed her eyes for a moment and that was seemingly enough to lose track of where he’d gone. Trish was, understandably, confused… but to a greater extent, she was terrified.
It could have been very likely Mista’s ultimate fate was to become fish food, sinking to the bottom of the Tiber behind her. But somehow she knew that couldn’t have been remotely the truth of what had occurred. She had felt a… presence beside her, after Giorno used the arrow, a presence not unlike the absolute dread she felt that told Trish her father was near. Once she did, her body was wracked with a shudder up and down her entire body- and if she had even the slightest inclination to peep, it had surely been eliminated by then.
So, then, what had happened to Mista? Where had he gone? What exactly did Giorno’s stand do to him?!
“I don’t know.”
Trish balked, the shock of Giorno’s remark momentarily dragging the girl out of her despair. She had caught up to him after realising she wasn’t going to reach the answers to her questions by standing around speculating- but the boy’s answer almost made her regret the decision entirely. Is this really the person she should be entrusting her life to? Someone who can’t even give her a straight answer to such a simple question?
“It’s… not that simple, Trish.”
In a flash, Trish had whirled around Giorno to face him.
“W-What do you mean?! You used the arrow on Gold Experience, didn’t you? So what the hell did you make your stand do to him? Why can’t you answer me that, Giorno?!”
“I didn’t make my stand do anything!”
Trish flinched at Giorno’s raised voice. She wasn’t sure she’d seen him that annoyed with her personally, and it only served to worsen the dread in her heart.
“As I said,” he continued. “My stand acted on its own. It granted my wish to make that gangster disappear but as for what exactly it did to do so… I really don’t know.” As he said this, he unceremoniously stepped around Trish and continued walking. “I’d rather not dwell on this, Trish, we got what we wanted in the end so let’s get going.”
Seconds passed and Trish found herself frozen where she stood. Nothing was making sense and all her efforts to make it make sense bore no fruit. She was at the mercy of this boy and his ambitions. She was at the mercy of his stand… the one he no longer held control over.
“...please don’t fall behind, Trish. You made your decision, learn to live with it. If you want to remain blind like Bucciarati had before you, I won’t stop you. So long as it’s your decision, alone.”
She trembled at Giorno’s voice, following after him with unease.
Was this really the choice she was going to make? Was this really the choice she should make?
Did she really have a choice anymore?
Somehow, she doubted that.
She trailed behind Giorno as she held her arms in her hands and the tears welled up in her eyes. She let them pool in the crease of her eyelids, holding them there to keep from sobbing in front of Gio- him , her captor. They threatened to spill but she held fast, taking step after step and feeling the chafe of her boot rubbing against…
And that’s when she remembered.
Trish slowed to a stop, quietly letting her steps dissipate to avoid rousing Giorno’s suspicion. She creeped her arm down to her boot, reaching inside and feeling for the gun she still hid in there. There were still two bullets in the chamber, Mista had told her, which she had been advised to save for an emergency (And, well, this was as big an emergency as any, she decided). Two shots then, she would have to kill him. If she were to calculate correctly, and she wasn’t sure how well she could manage that, she would be able to get him somewhere on the upper part of his body. Preferably the head, if she could (and she might, should she take a risk and start walking up to him again), but if not, the neck or spinal cord would suffice. But if she can’t kill him then, the next shot would need to finish it. Giorno would definitely go into shock from the moment the first bullet hit him but Trish knew he’d act fast and whip his stand out to save him within seconds. That’s when she’ll strike next. Trish doubted even this wonder boy could survive another blow to a critical part of his body. She would take her shot and just like that, Giorno would be dead in seconds, if and only if Trish planned this out right.
First, she would need to get a little closer-
Trish couldn’t feel the gun in her boot anymore. She fumbled around in her boot, reaching around to the front expecting it to be there- maybe she accidentally pushed it as she was walking so it slid out of place. But to her dismay, it wasn’t there either. Nor was it sitting on her heel or against her inner thigh. She checked her other boot next, hoping that she had just misremembered which boot she shoved the gun in. Her heart sank further when she still didn’t find it.
Trish pulled her hand back with a jolt as she brushed against something soft, feather-like. Flapping its wings, an owl flew out from one of her boots, fluttering just up ahead before perching on Giorno’s outstretched arm. The boy patted its wings, then gave a half-turn to look at Trish as he continued walking.
Trish met his eyes and they gazed back at her, unreadable. That neutral expression Giorno was so known for, once an indicator of his unwavering resolve and desire to empower his teammates, now only served to stare her down, keep Trish in her place. She looked at him as he looked down on her, she felt like she would be engulfed by the expanse of those black irises, and he would merely shrug. He didn’t understand, he was only letting his stand do as it wished after all.
Knowing that neither of them was fully in control was the only comfort Trish could find in her present situation, as pathetic as such a feeling made her feel.
Trish hoped Giorno would open his eyes, someday.
