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Chapter Text

The Italian businessman looked over his shoulder, protecting a small silver lighter. The man seemed quite adamant to keep the small flame lit, as he made his way through the thoroughfare of Naples. The sun was low in the sky and the shadows of the small buildings stretched long across the streets. The man, so focused on the lighter, hardly noticed the oncoming traffic.

HONK! HONK! HOOOOONK!

A car slammed on its brakes, barely avoiding the businesses man, who tumbled to cross the street. But before the man could celebrate surviving the traffic, he noticed the flame from the lighter had gone out.

"Ah shit," the man grumbled. "If Polpo finds out…." He instinctively looked over his shoulder. The sidewalk was scattered with pedestrians, common for this time in the afternoon. None looked suspicious… but the man didn't want to take any chances.

Rounding the corner, he ducked into a nearby alley. 'If I relight it, they'll never even know it went out in the first place. I can still pass this test!' He thought with confidence, as he double checked to make sure no one was tailing him. All he saw was a young girl, spray painting on the side of a building half a block away. The girl looked at him for a moment and went back to her graffiti.

'She's probably safe. I mean, I don't think they even let little girls into the gang,' he reassured himself. With one more look behind his shoulder, the businessman concluded it was safe.

Fwshhh

For such a small lighter, it made an incredible light, illuminating the dark alleyway, and nearly scorching the man's eyebrows clean off. The girl, busy spray painting, looked away from her work to witness this surprisingly powerful lighter, and returned to her work. 'That lighter's probably worth a pretty penny, and the man more than likely caries lots of cash and nice watches on him. I'm sure he wouldn't miss if some of it went missing' the green haired girl thought, a mischievous glint to her pink eyes.

She paused her work, flipped her gray hoodie over her hair, and turned around, ready to pickpocket that man. However, when she turned around, she saw the man look pale with fear, and, without any warning, collapse to the floor, the still lit lighter sliding across the cobblestones of the alleyway.

"Hey! Hey mister!" The girl called out, walking towards the man. "Are… are you okay?"

But there was no response. The man lay on the floor, unblinking eyes wide with fear. Though the girl had planned on stealing from the well-dressed businessman, she had no intention to harm him. "Stay right there, I'm gonna get you some help," she said, crossing the threshold of a shadow. And for just a second, she could have sworn she saw something rippling through the darkness.

Suddenly, her body froze, locked in space. "You saw the lighter being relit, didn't you," a deep, almost inhuman voice bellowed.

Before the girl could scream, her stomach dropped, as she felt she was almost being lifted out of her body. 'Am I dying? Is this how I die?!' She was clearly panicked, but no matter how hard she fought, she couldn't move.

"I'll give you one more chance. You have two possible paths," the ominous voice said, now materializing out of the shadows, and grasping the girls neck, pulling her spirit out of her body. The figure had silver skin, yellow pupil-less eyes, and a large black hat and cloak that clung to it like shadows. "The first path is to live and become a chosen one," the strange figure said telepathically, as it opened its mouth, and a bronze arrow slowly emerged.

"Your only other path is death." The girl tried to scream, but no words would come out. The arrow loomed closer and closer to her face. "This is your fate."

SHHNK!

The arrow thrust though the girl’s head, and her world went dark for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she was laying on the floor of the alleyway, the little silver lighter still lit a few meters next to her. Slowly, she got up, almost amazed she could move her body. 'Was I just imagining that all? I mean, I was around spray paint fumes all day… that probably isn't too healthy,' she rationalized. But as she looked behind her, she could see the businessman dead on the floor, and her heart skipped a beat.

'It was real! That shadow spirit must have killed him, and then went to me!'

She anxiously looked at the lighter. "Your soul has passed," a disembodied voice spoke from the shadows. " You are a chosen."

***************

A young man in a white suite, and a blond teenage boy in a green suit walked side by side though the dark corridor of a maximum-security Napoli prison. After a few moments of silence, the blond finally spoke, "Buccellati, sir? Do you know why we're being summoned here?"

Buccellati shrugged, "I suppose whatever the matter is, it's too important for the Cappo to discuss over the phone. Try not to worry Fugo."

The two continued down the hall, until they could see the bright light of the glass prison cell. Within the cell was a single man, although with the amount of space the yellow clad man took up, the cell easily could have fit 4-5 inmates. The large man smiled, "Ah, Buccellati, how has your recruit been? It feels like only yesterday young Fugo was taking the initiation test."

"Don't remind me…" Fugo mumbled, rubbing his forehead at the unpleasant memory.

"He's a fine addition to the team," Buccellati said with a cheery confidence. "His insight and intelligence have already helped out… however, I have the sinking suspicion you didn't call us in hear to discuss my latest team choices, have you Polpo?"

Polpo, the large inmate, chucked as he struggled to reach for a newspaper across the cell. "Bruno, Bruno…. I could never fool you," he slid the newspaper through the slot in the door. "Two days ago, a man by the name of Gambero visited me in hopes to join us. I sent him out with the lighter, to be returned the next day, but he has yet to show up…"

Buccellati took the newspaper, and noticed it was today's paper… it only makes sense the Cappo has access to everything, even inside prison. "Napoli local business tycoon, Mr. Gambero dies under mysterious circumstances," Bruno read aloud. Based on the description of the death, and the fact that there were no visible wounds on him, it was fair to conclude he did not pass the lighter test.

"Huh… that's odd," the young Fugo said, reading the article, and inspecting the pictures from the crime scene.

"And what might be odd?" Polpo inquired.

"Well… the article states how they were able to identify him through his wallet and phone, making it appear he wasn't robbed," the blond teenager said, pulling up a photo of the body. "Even here, we can see that he still has his wedding band, surely worth a lot, and would be noticeable if it went missing." He turned to Buccellati for directions, and he nodded for Fugo to continue. "However, there is slight discoloration on his left wrist and right index finger, most likely where an expensive watch and additional rings went… which, more than likely means whoever stole the lighter was careful enough to steal stuff that wouldn't be too noticeable to the public eye-"

"We are dealing with someone who is very cautious then, not a common street thug," Buccellati added. "Nice work Fugo!"

"Hmmm, I can see why you wanted to recruit this boy. Very sharp." Polpo began to pour himself red wine. "Personally, I don't care what happens to the man's watch, or rings, or whatever… but I am invested on getting my lighter back for purely sentimental reasons. Surely you understand."

Buccellati gave a terse nod.

"And the crook?" Fugo asked. "What should we do about them?"

Polpo's dark eyes glared at the boy. "Do whatever you see fit."

***********************

Buccellati and Fugo spend the remainder of that day visiting pawn shops to find the missing items from Gambero. Surprisingly, they found all the items, except for Polpo's lighter. But the odd thing was, all the jewelry and other goods were spread out. Gambero's gold chain necklace was in a pawn shop two blocks south of the scene of the crime, turned in by a rambunctious teenage boy. Gambero's ring was found at an antique shop three kilometers west of there, turned in by an elderly Sicilian woman. And finally, his watch was found at a pawn shop nearest the airport, turned in by a Japanese tourist of all people.

"I don't get it!" Fugo said, as he punched a wall in frustration. "Are we supposed to believe three different people stole only one item off a dead guy, completely avoiding his cell phone, wallet, and more prized possessions, and all turned in their items to pawn shops across all of Napoli?! That's insane! Buccellati, there has to be a mistake."

"No… those items were definitely from the deceased," Bruno muttered, reviewing a picture of a still living Gambero. The watch, ring, and gold chain matched the ones in the pawn shops to a t. "But, we may be looking at this the wrong way."

The pair had returned to the scene of the crime. A makeshift memorial with flowers and kind messages was left there, making Gambero's death feel like a common car accident. However, his death was far from common.

Fugo inspected the photos of the crime and studied it against their current scenery. Bruno, however, walked further into the alleyway, and stopped about a half block down. "Curious… Fugo, over here."

The blond boy walked towards his leader and stopped when he saw the graffiti. "So… are we critiquing street art now?" Fugo asked with a half-smile.

"Notice anything interesting about it?"Buccellati rubbed his chin, inspecting the artwork.

"It's not very good, it isn't even fully colored in-"

"It looks unfinished, right?" the dark-haired leader remarked. "And look at the sheen to it. It was done fairly recently, no more than a couple days old at most-"

"Wait… you don't think…"

"There's a fair possibility that whoever was spray painting here, abruptly stopped after Gambero dropped dead," Bruno said.

"And then stole a few items off the man to make a quick buck, but not enough to be noticed by the public," Fugo continued. "Even with that added precaution, they must have sold the pieces to individuals in the area, to avoid a paper trail."

"Definitely a peculiar crook, aren't they?" Bruno added. "Typically, street artists use a little logo or sign their name to show off their art, but this one never got the chance to put their mark upon it." He quickly pulled out a digital camera and snapped a shot of the graffiti. "Well Fugo, it's time to support our local artists."

*************

In a rundown apartment building in the poorer neighborhood of Naples, the street punk with bright green hair poured over some books she… appropriated. Her apartment was fairly barren, a single mattress in the corner, a lamp on the floor, and a single lawn chair were all that decorated this bare-bones room. The girl highlighted a phrase in one of the books, a book specifically about ghosts and possessions. She glanced at the suspicious lighter, which was duct taped shut for safety.

ZZZZZIPPPP

There was an odd noise from the front door, and the girl quickly stashed the silver lighter in the pocket of her hoodie and readied a switchblade in her other hand.

"Doing some late-night reading, I see," a man in a spiffy white suite said, as he leisurely took a seat in a lawn chair, picking up one of the books about the occult. "Don't these ghost stories frighten you?"

"Who are you?" The girl paid no mind to the strange man's questions.

"How rude of me. I am Bruno Buccellati," he said with a disarming smile, though the girl did not trust him. He waited for a response, but the girl stayed silent, so he continued, pulling out some photographs. "I'm a big fan of your work, Bibita… that is you name right? Bibita…?" he trailed off, waiting for her last name.

"Just Bibita," the girl muttered. "So, you know my name, big deal. Why are you here?"

Bruno took a step towards Bibita, and she flinched a little. He stopped his approach, and tossed her a photo of her street art. "I have a few questions about this piece in particular, if you don't mind."

"You're not a cop, are ya?" She eyed him up and down. He shook his head no. "Alright… what do you wanna know?"

"Most of your work is intricately colored and shaded, yet this one looks unfinished."

"Something came up, wasn't able to get back to it," Bibita nonchalantly answered.

"So… it has nothing to do with this, then?" Buccellati flung another picture toward the girl, and her heart nearly sank. Pictured was the dead businessman, face still contorted with fear.

"I… I didn't kill him, I swear!" Her voice shook, calm facade shattered.

"No one is saying you did," Bruno tried to calm the girl. "But, you see, Mr. Gambero had something in particular on him that my boss would like returned. You wouldn't happen to have a small silver lighter on you? I checked the local pawn shops and street vendors, but was unable to find it."

"Sounds important. What's it worth?"

"Well, it's more sentimental than anything at this point-"

"You know, many artists' works increase their prices after they've died. I wonder if that's the case for lighters?" Bibita asked, almost in a joking manner.

"So, you have it then," Bruno took a step towards her, and instinctually, she retreated. "Give it here, and all this will be forgotten."

Bibita started to laugh. "It's your funeral. The last man to light it wound up dead… speaking of which, how much do you think a cursed lighter goes for?! Probably a couple hundred Lire at least!"

"Just hand me the lighter-"

"Sure," she smiled, withdrawing the lighter from her pocket. "For a thousand Lire!"

Buccellati sighed. "We don't have time for this. I apologize in advance miss," he suddenly was upon her, clearing the distance of the room in hardly any time. "Sticky-Fingers!"

Zzzipp

The same noise as before happened, and before Bibita knew it, she could feel her left wrist falling apart. 'No… it's not getting cut… its unraveling. Unzipping?!' She could barely make out the small zipper line running across her wrist, unzipping her hand with the lighter away from the rest of her body. She lurched out of the way of the attack, but her hand was barely dangling from her arm.

"W-what's going on?! What's with all the zippers?!" She asked frantically, as she secured the lighter into a pocket, and attempted to put her left arm together again. She glanced at Buccellati, who looked like a translucent blue and white figure stood in the same place as him. "You! You did this?! You have one of those evil spirits in you too! Just like the lighter!"

Bruno immediately stopped in his tracks, and so too did the blue and white figure. "Hold on, you can see Sticky Fingers?" He asked, mouth agape. "You saw Black Sabbath?"

Bibita couldn't make any sense of what he was saying. "Stay back!" She shouted, grabbing a cross off the wall and hurling it at the man, who easily dodged it. “Sorry Jesus!”

"Wait, tell me, were you recently hit with an arrow?" Bruno asked, taking a step to her, but Bibita gave no answer. As he loomed near her, he could see a faint pink aura to her. It was clear the girl was no ordinary street punk; she was a stand user.

Chapter Text

In her panicked state, Bibita hardly notice two spraypaint cans materialize in her hands. The canisters were a swirl of blue, green, pink and purple, and the only thing written on them was the number 182. The right cannister had a design of a single open eye, while the left cannister had a closed eye on it, as if it were blinking. She hardly questioned it though, as when Bruno approached her, she lifted her still working right arm, and sprayed the area in front of him.

There was a cloud of pink, which hung in the air for a moment. Then, it quickly condensed, the gaseous stated suddenly shifting to solid. Within a mere moment, a small wall the same look and texture as the rest of the apartment blocked Bibita from Buccellati.

Using the spontaneous wall as a distraction, Bibita bolted to the door. Bruno, trapped in the far corner of the apartment, rushed to the window. "Fugo!" he called out, catching the attention of the blond teenager standing by the entrance of the multi leveled apartment complex. "She's running. Make sure she doesn't get past you. And don't hurt her." And with those instructions, the chase was on.

Bibita had made it to the end of the hallway, just in time to see Bruno unzip the front door and walk into the hallway. "Bibita, wait! We're not here to hurt you," he called out.

"Sure you are," the girl said sarcastically, waving her barely attached left hand at him. Bruno slowly approached, as Bibita looked at the two spray bottles in her hands, as she once again lifted her right hand and sprayed. There was a puff of green mist, and when the mist solidified, a dozen metal bars in varying angles barricaded the hallway.

Bruno, deciding against using his stand this time, struggled to weave in and out of the bars, all while the girl opened the window at the end of the hallway. By the time Bruno got past all the obstacles, he saw the window was opened, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. However right on the outside of the window was a winding sidewalk, defying gravity, as it spiraled from the third-floor to the second-floor window. 'What is this stand's power?' he thought, as he carefully walked down the spiral road.

Bibita had just made it to the second-floor, and began running to the public staircase on the other side of the hallway. She didn't really have time to process what was going on, all she knew was that right canister seemed to create solid material out of nowhere, and she had no idea what the one in her dangling left hand might do.

Bruno, however, wasn't too far behind, using his stand to create a long zipper across the length of the hallway which he used to carry himself clear across the hall in no time. Before Bibita knew it, he was right behind her again. Her fear made room for frustration, as she sprayed once more, as a blue mist clung to the air, before quickly materializing into at least twenty daggers, all flying towards Buccellati.

She didn't even notice, rushing down the stairs to the first-floor. She sprayed the door behind herself, placing a new wall where the entrance to the stairs should be. Catching her breath, the girl leaned against the opposite wall.

ZZZZIPPP

A familiar and dreaded sound tore through the first-floor ceiling, as Buccellati zippered through, and landed on the first-floor. There were several small cuts on his pristine white suit, which was blotched with red here and there from Bibita's attack. She even noticed a small dagger sticking out of his right arm. But before she had a moment to understand what was happening, the man charged at her.

"We are trying to help you!" Buccellati grumbled, taking hold of her right arm. "But we can't really do that with you attacking us, can we?" And with that, she noticed the same zipper mark appear across her right elbow, as the lower half of her arm began to unzip. She watched in horror as her right arm fell to the floor, but, surprisingly, there was no blood in the wound… just void space.

When her arm tumbled to the floor, the spray bottle fell out of its grasp, and vanished into thin air. "I know this all must seem very overwhelming, but we understand what you're going through," Bruno continued, trying to appear trustworthy, as he pulled the already evaporating dagger out of his shoulder and tossed it aside. "Please, come with us, and we'll explain everything to you… the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you get your limbs back."

Bibita wasn't listening though, as she struggled to move her dangling left hand. Covertly, she aimed at the floor by Bruno's feet, and sprayed the left canister at the floor. Unlike the colorful fumes of the right can, this one was a see-through mist. When the mist made contact with the floor, suddenly the floor disappeared, and the ground literally gave way under Bruno's feet, as he plummeted to the basement garage below.

That was just the distraction she needed, as she bolted through the double doors of the apartment complex. However, she wasn't really looking where she was running, and immediately ran into something.

"Ah, I see you must've met Buccellati."

Or, better yet, ran into someone.

A blond boy in a green suit, no older than her, stood in front of Bibita, and quickly took note of all the zippers on her. Bibita's fight or flight kicked in, as she raised her dangling left hand, and sprayed the blond.

Instinctually, Fugo raised his arms to protect his face, and the mist evaporated the sleeves of his shirt as well as the skin underneath it, revealing the blood and veins beneath it. Using that as a distraction, Bibita bolted around him. In a moment of rage, Fugo released his stand, and the purple patchwork monstrosity appeared before the girl. Bibita let out a shriek, before it was quickly cut short.

**************

Buccellati rubbed his head, as he slowly got up from the roof of one of the parked cars. "This was supposed to be a simple mission," he said to himself as he pried himself off the vehicle. "Get the lighter. Go home. Job's done." He limped up the stairs to the first-floor, making sure to grab the girl's dismembered right arm with him. "Here's hoping Fugo had better luck."
Bruno would find no relief however, as he saw a panicked Fugo with ripped up sleeves, a distraught Purple Haze, and a cloud of lavender mist.

"Fugo… Fugo, where's the girl?" Buccellati said in a tone too calm.

"I-I don't know," he stumbled. "She attacked me, and I got angry for just a moment-"

"Did Purple Haze attack her?!"

"No, I mean, he was just supposed to scare her… I… I don't know what happened."

Bruno inspected Purple Haze from a distance, and the lavender cloud that loomed above it. The stand looked equally confused as it did guilty, reflecting his user's emotions.

"Well, Purple Haze still has all his capsules intact, so she must still be alive," Bruno breathed a sigh of relief. "You said she attacked you, let me see."

Fugo stepped forward and revealed his arms. "She sprayed me with some canister, and it ate away through my jacket and skin-"

"What are you talking about, there isn't a scratch on you?"

"What?!" Fugo immediately checked his arms, and while the jacket was torn, his skin underneath was still intact. "But, Buccellati, I swear there was so much blood just a moment ago… also, what happened to you."

"Stabbed with about twenty knives," Bruno stated flatly.

"Well, you're lucky it wasn't worse," Fugo tried to be optimistic.

"Maybe… but I have a suspicion that was the full extent of the attack," Bruno observed. The blond looked at him to continue. "Well, those knives were moving at me full force, but it was almost as if once they cut through my skin, they began to evaporate. None of them made it deep into my flesh."

"That's an… interesting ability she has," Fugo mumbled.

Meanwhile, Purple Haze looked restless, tilting its head far to the side to avoid drooling on itself. Once a bit of its drool splashed onto its leg, it began to spaz out, frantically trying and failing to clean itself.

"Fugo, call back your stand," Bruno said.

"Oh, right, yeah," Fugo remembered his very unstable stand was still around, and soon the image of Purple Haze faded into Fugo.

As soon as the stand was withdrawn, the lavender cloud above them shifted to a greener shade matching Fugo's suit.

The teenager looked confused, as he stepped away from the cloud, to which its color shifted to black, matching the dark sky. "Uh… Bruno? Could you step over here for a second?"

Bruno walked toward the cloud, which in turn began to turn white, matching his suit. "Interesting."

"Do you think that's part of her stand?" Fugo asked, perplexed at the entire situation.

"Something like that," Bruno crossed towards a nearby fire hydrant, Sticky Fingers' arm materializing through his own arm. "You may want to stand back." And with a loud zip, the hydrant split apart, the water pressure sending a steady stream up towards the threshold. As the droplets hit the cloud, it began to shift, and sink to the ground, and slowly solidified into a familiar figure.

"What the hell is going on?!" Bibita screeched between coughs, completely soaked and furious.

Bruno zipped the hydrant back up and approached the girl, who tried to scramble away, but found it difficult without all her limbs. "Try to stay calm, we are not here to hurt you," Buccellati explained, still holding her dismembered arm. "I am truly sorry I had to use force against you, but when people are discovering their stands for the first time, it can be a frightening and dangerous process. I like to err on the side of caution."

She blinked slowly. " Okay… first question: can I have my arm back?"

"Are you going to attack us again."

"I make no promises."

"Then that's a no."

"That's fair." She shrugged. "Second question: what's a stand, why were there so many zippers, what's up with the rabid purple guy, and why can I spray paint actual objects into existence?!"

"That's several questions," Bruno sighed with a slight smile.

"But, it's all kinda the same answer," Fugo chimed in. He had been by the fire hydrant, getting a small cup of water to pour on his sleeves. Once the space was hit with the water, his sleeves began to materialize once again.

He walked to join the other two, "A stand is the manifestation of a person's fighting spirit." He gestured to Bruno. "He has a stand, I have a stand, that lighter contains someone's stand… and now it looks like you have a stand."

"Stands come with certain gifts or powers," Buccellati continued, manifesting Sticky Fingers behind himself. "To put simply, my stand's power is zippers. Fugo over here, has a more… well, aggressive stand."

Fugo once again manifested Purple Haze. "It's power is a deadly flesh eating virus… so I'm glad we didn't have to fight each other." He just as quickly withdrew the monster.

"And now… I have these weird powers too?"

"Well, you weren't supposed to," Buccellati explained. "Gambero was supposed to get one, but I suppose his soul wasn't strong enough for one… you, on the other hand, have a great fighting spirit."

"And I got this stand…. Hmm, air quotes don't work without my hands," she grumbled, left hand still dangling off her wrist, struggling to form air quotes. "I got this stand when the evil lighter spirit poked me with the arrow?"

"That's the long and short of it," Fugo said. "I only got my stand a couple months back."

Bibita glared at Buccellati. "So… your boss gives people the lighter containing the evil stab ghost-"

"-it's called Black Sabbath-"

" and he tries to see who's worthy of super-powers, and if you fail, you die?"

The two remained quiet for a moment, glancing at each other, unsure what to say. Finally Bruno spoke, kneeling next to her, getting eye level with her for the first time that conversation. "Yes. That's true. It's the unfortunate truth of the harsh world we live in."

Bibita eyes glazed over, fear suddenly gripping her.

"But, with that said, all the people who take the test do it voluntarily and understand the general risk of what their getting into," Bruno's tone shifted, softer, more understanding. "But that wasn't the case for you. You weren't supposed to get mixed up in all of this, you were just an innocent bystander. You return that lighter, and we'll be out of your hair for good. You can go on and live a normal life, and tonight will just feel like a bad dream." He slowly slid her right arm to her and zipped it back together. Same with her left wrist.

He waited a moment for her to respond, or hand him the lighter, or anything. He knew this all must be overwhelming to the girl.

THWACK

Bibita swung her fully functioning arm at Buccellati as hard as she could, drawing blood from his lip. Fugo leaped in to hold the girl back as she thrashed about wildly. "Don't you dare pity me!" she spat, tears forming. "Don't pretend you know me!"

"Bibita. Please. Calm down," Fugo muttered, struggling to keep her restrained.

"No, Fugo… she has every right to be angry," Bruno stood up, rubbing his cheek. "You're right. We don't know you. And it's safest if we don't learn anything more about each other."

Bibita took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and dry her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie. She decided to change the subject. "Fugo, right?"

He nodded and released her.

"How old are you?"

"Recently turned fourteen."

"And that suit… name brand, right?"

"Uh, yes, I believe so."

"It’s safe to say you got the money for all that for working for this… organization. Unless you're super rich and your parents just don't give a shit about what you do?"

This struck a nerve with Fugo, whose hands began to shake a little. Luckily, Buccellati intervened, standing between the two. "Alright Bibita, I'm sure you have a point to all this."

"Want to know why I was down that alleyway? Why this 'innocent bystander' was present in the first place?" She demanded. "I'm a pick-pocketer. A street rat. An urchin. I steal just enough to get by. Bruno, you saw where I'm currently staying. That ain't no five-star hotel. So, don't act like I'm better off without magic stands and secret organizations… cuz my life right now is far from luxurious."

Bruno lifted an eyebrow. "Bibita… what exactly do you want?"

"I want to join the gang."

Fugo scoffed.

"I mean, if they're letting grade schoolers into the criminal underworld, it can't be that difficult."

"...I went to college…" the boy grumbled.

"I already passed the test, and I most likely already know too much for my own good. We can pretend that all this never happened, but if this lighter is as important as you claim in is, my mere knowledge of that now makes me a liability to the process."

"Are you sure about this?" Bruno said in a calm even tone. "There's no going back once you're in."

"I mean… you two joined," she said, studying the two young men. "You had to have your reasons for joining. I can show you mine."

**************

Bibita lead the pair of gangsters through the streets of Naples, to a poorer neighborhood. It was nowhere near the slums where her apartment was, but it was clearly a low to lower middle-class area. After a few twists and turns, she stopped by a small house.

"This is the reason I want to join," Bibita pointed to the figures moving in the house. A young mother was hard at work, preparing a meal for her son. The boy had light green hair, and the mother had familiar pink eyes, bags forming underneath from overwork. Immediately, the two put it together.

"They're your family?" Fugo asked.

She nodded. "That's my mom. And that's my little brother."

"And you're father?" Bruno asked.

She shook her head. "Not around anymore. After he died three years ago, my mom has had to raise my little brother on her own. She works two jobs just to pay the rent, and there's hardly enough to get by. It isn't fair."

"If you don't mind me asking… how did your father die?" Buccellati inquired hesitantly.

The girl sighed. "Overdose," she finally admitted. "Well, it's not exactly that simple. He worked in construction, and four years ago, he was in an accident. He was hospitalized and given prescription drugs, but the pain never went away, unless he was on the drugs. The insurance only covered so much of the prescription, and once that ran out, he had to look for other ways to make the pain go away. As it turns out… prescription and street drugs do not mix well. Three years ago, my family woke up to find my father unresponsive. He died shortly after."

Everyone went quiet. "At first… you get angry, you know," Bibita explained. "I was angry at my dad for dying. Angry at his company for the accident. Angry at the doctors who prescribed him that poison. Angry at the drug trade." She took a deep breath. "And after a while, you're not even sure what you're angry about anymore. But life isn't put on pause while you grieve. We weren't well off, but without my dad, and the additional hospital and funeral expenses, my family took a huge hit. My mom had to get a second job, but was barely able to cover rent, let alone all our food and school expenses."

"Shortly after that, I made the choice to live on the streets," she explained, almost removed from the story. "I can take care of myself. And without my mom having to pay for my food and schooling expenses, she finally has enough money to get by… to give my brother a better life. It's not luxurious by any means, but they get through. And extra money I can get after I've taken care of myself goes to them."

"That explains the pickpocketing," Fugo quietly added.

"If I can join the gang, I'm sure everyone would be better off," she concluded. "I won't have to live on the streets, my mom might be able to go back to working one job, and my brother could get a proper education."

Fugo looked a bit confused. "Why are you telling us all this… don't you think it's dangerous showing gangsters your family?"

"I don't think you two are bad people," Bibita admitted, glancing at her left wrist, now in proper working condition. "Through my actions, I directly hurt your organization. You had every right to kill me. But you didn't. Even when my stand went berserk and attacked you both, you guys went out of your way to help me. You could have easily just taken the lighter at any time, but you made me feel like I had a voice in all this. I can't imagine people like you being bad."

Bruno had stayed silent during this conversation, merely looking at the girl with eyes that seemed to understand her pain. "I'm...sorry to hear about your father-"

"Don't pity me!" her tone shifted almost immediately. "I didn't share that story to gain your pity… I shared it to gain your trust."

"My apologies, I never meant to insult you," Buccellati calmly explained. "I can understand what you went through, to a certain extent. I lost my father not too long ago… his death was also connected to the drug trade. That's what pushed me to join… I understand the anger you've felt." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Bibita started to calmed down. "But, just understand joining the gang won't undo all the anger you've felt. It's not going to solve all your problems. It's a dangerous life we live. Are you sure you are prepared to join?"

With one more look to her family in the distance, and then a look to these two strange gangsters, she smiled. "Yeah," she nodded. "I want to become a gangster!"

***********************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Sticky Fingers

Stand User: Bruno Buccellati

Stand Power: It can create zippers on any surface it touches, which it can remotely open or close at will.

• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: C
• Durability: D
• Precision: C
• Developmental Potential: D

Chapter Text

Bibita climbed up the steps to the maximum-security prison.

"Now, remember," Buccellati instructed. "You didn't join in the traditional sense, so you'll be at a bit of a disadvantage."

She took a deep breath as she walked past the double doors.

"The point of the test is to see how you smuggle out and in the lighter. Considering you're just here for the second part, you'll need to know some things going in."

She entered a room with several security guards, the check point before she could move forward.

"Now, the security guards are going to do a thorough search of you to make sure you aren't bringing anything in with you," Fugo stated.

Bibita stood in position as the female security guard began the pat-down.

"And when I say thorough, I mean thorough."

Bibita furrowed her brows, clearly uncomfortable with the lady searching her many pockets.

"You going to have to find a way to get the lighter through without drawing suspicion," Bruno continued

"All clear," the security guard said. "Just down that hallway."

"Next you'll be meeting with the Capo… you might want to wear something… nicer?"

Bibita nervously combed her hair with her fingers.

"Fugo, do you think she could borrow one of your jackets?"

She cuffed the sleeve of the oversized red jacket and continued down the dark corridor.

"Try not to look surprised when you see the Capo," Fugo muttered. "He may be a bit much for a first impression."

She saw a light near the end of the next turn and could barely make out a glass jail cell.

"Just, try to be as polite as possible."

A huge mass of yellow moved from within the cell, and his dark eyes stared directly at the girl.

"And remember," Buccellati added with a smile. "Try to have fun."

"Hey. I'm Bibita. I heard you lost your lighter."

The large whale of a man narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Hmmmm," he tilted his head." I haven't met you yet… Bibita, have you come to return this lighter?"

The girl gave a smile, and moved her hand, as a small grey cloud shifted from its unseen position on the ceiling to the slot on the prison door. She closed her eyes and concentrated, as the gaseous cloud condensed, solidifying into the familiar silver lighter, still taped shut.

"I can assume you received a stand then?" Polpo remarked, studying her ability.

"Yeah, your lighter's staby-ghost gave me one."

Polpo frowned at her casual attitude. "And I see the lighter isn't lit, like I instructed-"

"You never told me that," Bibita said bluntly. "You said that to Gambero. Who, by the way, failed both aspects of this little test. Honestly, a terrible candidate to join the gang if I do say so myself."

"Why didn't you relight the lighter?" Polpo demanded.

"Because, last time it was relit, the creepy shadow spirit killed Gambero, and gave me weird powers," she explained. "Even after Buccellati explained the test to me, I didn't see the point of relighting it. I already passed your test by surviving... plus, I have no idea what would happen if someone with a stand got stabbed with the arrow again."

Polpo looked perplexed at Bibita. She was both irreverent, yet surprisingly intelligent. "And what makes you want to join our organization?"

Bibita was quiet a moment. "I don't really have too much of a future as is. Pickpocketing just to get by isn't very sustainable. I understand there's a fair chance I would've gotten mixed up in the organization eventually… most likely on the business end of a pistol. It's probably for the best I wound up running into Gambero," she admitted, almost humbled. "One could say it's fate."

Polpo raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think you're… qualified to join."

"Well, I don't exactly have a resume," she joked. "But, I've survived on my own for three years. I know how to steal just enough to get by, but not enough to draw attention or leave a paper trail. It's not much… but I think I've already proven I'm qualified thanks to your stand in the lighter. Plus, with my stand… I feel I'd be more than helpful," a paint canister manifested in her left hand, as she sprayed the glass cell ahead of her. Once a good portion of the glass wall was sprayed, the girl stepped through, now in the room with the Capo himself. "Wouldn't you say so?"

Polpo looked in amazement for a moment, then smiled. "Bravo, Bibita, bravo! That is sure to be a useful ability. Now tell me," he said, beginning to pour some wine. "What do you think is the most important when it comes to choosing someone?"

She thought for a moment about the lighter test, and what that could possibly mean, as she leaned against the wall opposite of him. "Based on your little test, I imagine you value unquestioning faith and trust… even though the whole test is set up for us to fail and receive a stand."

"Ah," Polpo mused. "Very good. And I'm sure you could imagine what our organization does to those who betray said trust…" his large figure loomed over her, making Bibita feel even smaller than before.

She silently nodded, visibly shaken.

"Congratulations!" His tone suddenly shifted, as he sat back in a more comfortable position. "I will allow you to enter the organization!"

Bibita let out a sigh of relief, "That's great! So, I'll be joining Bruno and Fugo then?"

"Hmmm, not quite," the Capo said between sips of wine. "I believe your skills can best be used elsewhere. You'll be stationed in Rome, as the latest member of Passione's Financial Division."

*************************************

"So, sounds like you'll be headed to Rome then," Buccellati remarked.

"I can't believe you actually broke into Polpo's cell!" Fugo still looked shocked. "Are you crazy?!"

"It's fine, I put the wall back to normal afterwards," Bibita shrugged it off. "I'm more concerned about being stationed in Rome. I've only ever lived in Naples."

The trio were at a private booth over at a nice restaurant known as Libeccio, a place where Bruno and Fugo frequented. While the food and everything was great, Bibita had a hard time eating, constantly pushing her pasta around with her fork. She had been so excited to join Passione, but she couldn't help but feel a little sad.

"Any more wine for you, sir?" the server politely asked.

"Sure, just a little more," Bruno said, handing the server the glass.

"Oh, um, may I have a wine glass too?" Bibita piped up. " No wine, just the glass."

Once the server brought in the glasses and left the premises, the trio continued their talk.

"I do find it a little odd they'd put you in the financial division," Fugo admitted.

"Well, after doing some research on Gambero, I suspect that's the sect of Passione he would join," Bruno said. " Polpo may have promised a new member to their team and followed through on his promise through Bibita."

The girl, meanwhile, had taken her bottle of Dr. Pepper and filled the empty wine glass with it. "I guess that makes sense," she muttered, sipping her soda in the wine glass. "But, it feels kinda weird… like 'Congrats on being a gangster, now go file some taxes.'"

"Uh, Bibita, you know that isn't wine, right?" Fugo said, noticing the odd drinking display.

"I can pretend, can't I!" She shot back the glass of soda, and refilled it. "I was just hoping I'd get to stay here with you guys."

The two went quiet for a moment. Buccellati was finally the one to speak, "Your entrance into the gang was a bit unorthodox to say the least. Polpo may have given you the finance team to try and protect you. They're far less risks involved with a team like that, than there is with a street level position with us."

"I guess… but I could take care of myself. I know way more about the streets of Naples than I do about taxes, finances and economics," she sighed.

"That reminds me," Fugo said between bites of his antipasti. "What do you even know about finances?"

"I mean, I stopped school when I was ten… so I never got to take that money laundering 101 class in middle school," she joked.

"Are you even good at math?"

"Fugo, that's not polite to ask," Bruno scolded.

"It's a valid question! I mean, I was in college when I was her age-"

"Okay, but going to college at thirteen is really weird," she said.

"And dropping out at ten is even weirder-"

"Enough you two," Buccellati ordered, and the pair stopped their bickering. "Bibita, you've hardly touched your pasta. Is there something the matter with it."

"No, it's fine… I'm just not all that hungry right now." She took another sip of her Dr. Pepper filled wine glass. "I mean… what if I'm not even good at the financing stuff."

Bruno and Fugo could see she was upset. "I understand how stressful that must be," Buccellati said. "But, you were chosen for a reason. And based off of how difficult it was to track down that lighter, you seem to know how to cover your trail. That'll be extremely important within the financial division, so you're already a step ahead!"

"I guess…"

"And, hey, if you need any help with economics or anything, I think I have some extra college textbooks you could borrow," Fugo offered.

"You know, this still doesn't make a 13-year-old going to college any less weird," Bibita laughed. "But, thank you. I'll definitely need it!"

The server returned, "Excuse me, but did any of you save room for dessert?"

Bibita's face lit up. "Oooh, yes! I'd like a cannoli-"

"Bibita," Bruno interrupted, a stern look on his face. "You haven't even finished your pasta."

She glared at the man, and without breaking eye contact, shoveled the remaining pasta into her mouth. Within seconds, the pasta was completely consumed, and with a still full mouth, Bibita muttered, "I. Want. A. Goddamned. Cannoli."

The room was silent a moment, Fugo and Bruno at a loss for words "...Uh, maybe make that three cannoli…" the blonde boy reluctantly responded.

"Right then…" the server backed away slowly. "Three cannoli… coming right up?" The door quickly shut behind the server, leaving the three alone once more.

"I also have some books on table manners and basic etiquette that you might want to look into?" Fugo offered, half joking, half horrified.

"Anyways," Buccellati interjected, steering the conversation down a different route. "Have you discovered anything new with your stand? It's always good to have a firm understanding of your newfound abilities before fully entering Passione."

Bibita's intense expression finally shifted to something happier. "Actually, I've been practicing a lot with it!" she beamed, summoning the spray canisters into each hand. “Blink-182.”

“So, you’ve come up with a name for it?” Bruno said, with a slight smile.

“Yeah, I mean, you guys all have cool names for your stands,” she shrugged, adverting her gaze in embarrassment. “Sure, it’s not as badass sounding as Sticky Fingers, or Purple Haze-”

“Or Black Sabbath,” Fugo interjected, not quite reading the tone of the room. “That name just sounds ominous…. Oh, but your stand name has a nice ring to it!”

“Blink-182,” Bruno muttered. “I think the name really fits the stand.”

“Thank you, Buccellati,” Bibita nodded, regaining her confidence, as she continued explaining her ability. "I used to think the right spray creates, while the left one erases, but I don't think that's quite right… it seems to alter the state of matter, from gas to solid on the right, and from solid to gas on the left. It also appears to be temporary," she further explained. "I think it only lasts around an hour before it reverts back to its original state. Also, if I concentrate, I can revert the state of matter back at will."

"And you turning into a cloud?" Fugo asked. "Any updates on that?"

Bibita shrugged. "It hasn't happened since that night. I think it was like a defense mechanism, you know, like fight or flight… but I also don't want to try that out again… I mean, what if I can't revert back to my solid form?" she wondered, genuinely concerned. "I don't ever want to feel that powerless again."

"I would like to say you'll never have to use that specific ability, but Passione is dangerous, and I can't make that promise," Bruno said. "But, that's a nice little trick to keep up your sleeves, just in case."

"Actually, Buccellati and I have been theorizing about your abilities for a bit now," Fugo grinned, pulling out some notes. "How would you like to do some experiments?!"

Bibita returned the same enthusiastic energy. "Oh, hell yeah!" she said with a smirk, twirling the canisters around like they were guns. Bruno rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile at her excitement. "What d'ya need me to do?"

"Can you create a cup?"

Her face dropped. "Okay? I mean… that doesn't seem really cool though…" she mumbled, lifting her right arm and spraying. A small puff of pink gas soon transformed into a plastic cup, complete with a bendy straw. "Tada."

"Great!" Fugo continued to grin, undeterred by her sudden lack of enthusiasm. "Now the experimentation can begin!"

The blonde teenager took the pitcher of water on the table, and slowly poured it into the cup created by her stand. Almost immediately, there was a sizzling noise, as the cup itself seemed to be shaking. Pieces of the cup that made contact with the water began to evaporate. Soon, the entirety of the cup had dissolved, leaving only the water to splash all over the table.

Bibita looked lost, "What in the worl-"

"Hah! I knew it!" Fugo shouted.

"Interesting," Bruno raised an eyebrow. He then summoned Sticky Fingers, and zipped open a hole in a nearby wall, withdrawing a full bottle of wine from the void. "Let us continue. Now, spray a hole in the bottom of this wine bottle."

"Buccellati… are you sure?" Bibita hesitated. "That looks expensive."

Bruno merely nodded. With that, the girl lifted her left arm, and sprayed toward the bottom of the bottle. Once the transparent spray hit the bottle, a hole ate away at the glass, and a flood of red wine rushed out… for a moment. Suddenly, there was another sizzling noise, as soon the bottle was reformed, without so much as a crack on it.

".... what's going on here?" Bibita was confused. "Why isn't my stand working anymore."

"It's not that it isn't working," Fugo said, furiously taking notes. "We're just discovering it's limitations!"

"Your stand manipulates the states of matter, from gas to solid and vice versa," Bruno remarked. "However, it seems to completely bypass the liquid state. It appears once the altered matter gets in contact with liquid, it immediately reverts back to its initial state."

"We had our suspicions when you attacked us the other night," Fugo continued. "With both attacks, it seemed to stop once it made contact with our blood. The knives you launched at Buccellati evaporated as soon as it pierced his flesh, and your erasure attack against me turned my skin to gas, but once it interacted with my blood, it reversed the effect. "

"Along with that, you dropped your cloud form once you got drenched with the fire hydrant water," Bruno added.

"I guess that makes sense," she said, withdrawing her stand. "So I'll need to be careful with this weakness moving forward."

"Correct," Buccellati said. "We were able to figure out that shortcoming, but never let anyone else know about your weakness. You can never be sure who you can trust, and people could use that knowledge against you."

"Got it."

Fugo handed her his notes. "Here's our observations. Read through it, add to it, and then destroy it when you are done."

"Will do," she nodded, pocketing the notes.

Suddenly, the door of their private room swung open. "Who's ready for some cannoli-" the server holding a tray of desserts sang, only to be cut off mid-sentence, horrified by the state of the room, what with wine stains and puddles of water littering the table. "Wh-what happened?! Who did this?!"

Before Bibita had a chance to respond, both Bruno and Fugo pointed at her, shifting the blame to the latest member of Passione. Her eyes went wide with shock and betrayal, as her fight or flight response was triggered.

FWIP

Within a second, she inadvertently poofed into her cloud form.

"Oh no, not again," Bruno remarked, waving down the server. "Can we another pitcher of water for the table? Grazie!"

******************************

The next morning, Bibita made her way to the Napoli train station, accompanied by her new gangster friends, Bruno and Fugo. She had replaced her baggy hoodie and sweats attire with a more professional black sleeveless collared jumpsuit, complete with a colorful tie and belt. She also got her wild green hair cut and styled, now sporting a fashionable layered bob, styled similarly to Bruno’s haircut. This was a far cry from her typical wear, but she wanted to leave a good first impression for the Financial Division.

The trio waited at the station, as they got there a bit before the train was to arrive. Fugo handed Bibita a backpack, which was far heavier than she anticipated, nearly falling over from the sheer weight of it all. "Here, I put together all the books I have on economics and finances," he said. "I even went ahead and highlighted the more important information and left some helpful notes!"

"You didn't have to pack the whole library…" she mumbled under her breath, but quickly put on a smile. "This is gonna help out a lot, thank you!"

"Are you sure you have everything you need," Bruno asked, noticing the small suitcase. "Looks like you're traveling a bit light."

"I don't exactly have a lot to begin with," she admitted, fidgeting with her tie. "So, I was told to go to Rome on this train, but there's no further instructions. What do I do once I get to Rome? It feels a little vague."

"That's just how the organization works," the dark-haired man responded. "They don't give away all the information at once, just in case the info slips. It's safer to send instructions step by step."

"I guess that makes sense…" her voice trailed off, as she could hear the train in the distance.

"Hey… if you guys don't mind, could you keep an eye on my mom and little brother for me?"

"Of course," Fugo reassured her. "Consider them under our protection!"

"Thanks," she said with a quiet smile.

The train pulled into the station, and the doors opened as passengers got on. Bibita took a step forward, about to board the train. And then she stopped. She dropped her bags and turned around nearly tackling Bruno and Fugo with a hug.

"I'm gonna miss you two," she said, holding them close. The pair looked taken aback, but they returned the hug.

"We'll miss you as well," Bruno said.

"You certainly left an impression, " Fugo chuckled.

"Stay safe," Buccellati instructed. "You're a clever girl, but you can never be too cautious in this line of work."

" Yeah,” she said, finally releasing them. "Same goes to you two."

She began up the steps to the train, as she called back, "And remember: when in Rome… please visit me!"

With that, she boarded the train, taking a spot by the window. As the train pulled out of the station she was sure to wave goodbye to the pair of gangsters, until they faded into the distance. She suddenly felt so alone. Though the train ride was relatively short, it felt like forever, as the girl struggled to keep her nerves in check.

***********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Blink-182

Stand User: Bibita Bianche

Stand Power: Matter Manipulation: Can alter the state of matter from gas to solid and vise versa. Altered matter remains in that state for one hour, or until Bibita reverts it at will. Once in contact with liquid, the altered matter will revert to its initial state.

• Power: C
• Speed: C
• Range: D
• Durability: B
• Precision: B
• Developmental Potential: A

Chapter Text

The eternity of travel ended in just two and a half hours. She gathered her things, and exited the train, a bit overwhelmed by the large stature of the Roma Termini. It was packed with people, businessmen, tourists, even bums. This would be the opportune place for pickpocketing, but those days were behind her. She remained cautious, moving to a public bench with a good view of the station. 'I received no further instructions… so I guess I just wait?'

Five minutes stretched to ten minutes, twenty minutes stretched to thirty, as the girl began to wonder if she had mis-followed a direction or something. "Excuse me miss?" A voice interrupted her thoughts. "Is your name Bibita?"

She looked up at the man, who appeared to be a train station worker, who was thoroughly inspecting a picture of Bibita. "Uh… yes, that's me."

"Oh good," the worker let out a sigh of relief. "There's two men up front looking for you."

She silently followed the worker outside the front of the station, to where the cars pull in to pick up and drop off passengers, the man merely gestured to an unremarkable silver car, and before Bibita had a chance to thank him, he had already returned to his station.

The tinted window of the car rolled down. "You Bibita?" The figure inside spoke. She slowly nodded her head. "Good. Get in." The figure commanded.

She opened the back-seat door and set her luggage and backpack inside, before getting in the car herself. "I swear the new recruits keep getting younger and younger," the man in the driver's seat mumbled. He had green hair pulled into a low side ponytail and wore a silver suit with little spikes along the sleeves. The other man had orange hair pulled into six ponytails and wore a lavender tank top.

"How old are ya, kid?" The orange haired man asked.

"I'll be turning fourteen in a few weeks," she said quietly, unsure how much information she should divulge. "So, you both know my name… what are your names."

They did not respond. Apparently, these gangsters didn't want to give out too much information.

'That's fair,' she thought, as they spent the rest of the car ride in silence. She looked out the window, taking in the sights of a city so different from the streets she knew.

It was a relatively short drive, and after about ten minutes, the car stopped, right in front of a large fountain.

"Alright kid," the driver said. "This is where we were instructed to drop you off at."

"Wait by the fountain," the passenger instructed. "Someone from the Financial Division will find you there."

"Okay," she said, gathering her belongings, and stepping out of the vehicle. "Thank you for the ride."

Almost as soon as she closed the door, the car sped off, and once again she as alone.

**************************
The Trevi Fountain was a major tourist location, and even though summer was still months away, it still garnered a large crowd. Finding the Financial Division person would be difficult, especially since she had no idea what they may look like. She'd only met five members of Passione, and they didn't exactly have a uniform look. So, instead of looking all over for a stranger, Bibita decided to stop by a nearby café. After grabbing a scone and an espresso, she took a seat near the fountain.

She began to play a little game, where she'd try to guess what people wished for when they'd toss a coin into the fountain. 'Oh, she's definitely wishing for a boyfriend!' Bibita thought, a slight grin on her face. 'And he's wishing for a new job…. He's wishing he had a sense of style… She's wishing she could lose some weight…'

She then noticed someone, a middle-aged woman in a maroon pantsuit with black and gold details, who seemed to be walking straight towards her. The woman had dark wavy hair, but Bibita was unable to see the women's eyes, as a pair of large of green and gold sunglasses rested on her face.

"Bibita?" The woman asked.

"Uh… yes."

The woman looked her up and down. "Hmmm, discount jumpsuit, I see…"

"I'm sorry, wha-"

"Quick, follow me," the woman commanded. "We don't have all day."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Bibita stumbled to her feet, knocking back the remainder of the espresso. 'Definitely shoulda put more creamer in that…'

The lady had a rather brisk pace, rather unusual for her general age and build. Bibita found she had a hard time keeping up while lugging around her backpack and suitcase. "So… where are we going… or am I allowed to ask that."

The lady shrugged, "You can ask, but it'll be easiest to just show. Who knows who may be eavesdropping."

"Of course… sorry," the girl said. "Am I allowed to ask you for your name at least?"

"You are allowed."

Bibita waited a moment for her to respond. "So…. What's your name?"

"You may call me Minestra," the woman stated.

"Nice to meet ya, Minestra!" The girl smiled, happy to finally get a name. "So… are you in the same, uh, subgroup within the 'organization' as I am?" she struggled to find the right words to discreetly ask.

"Oh my goodness, you're so cautious! That's adorable!" Minestra laughed at the new girl. "If that's you asking if I'm in the Financial Division of Passione, then yes, we are in the same 'subgroup of the organization.'"

Bibita decided not to be offended at Minestra's abrasive attitude, as she put on a pleasant smile. "That's a relief!"

"You're young, aren't you?" The woman looked back, observing the green haired recruit struggling to keep pace. Bibita simply nodded. While Minestra didn't help her carry her things, she did slow her pace a bit. "I take it you at least have a stand-"

"Yes! I do!" interrupted Bibita, nearly skipping with excitement. "Do you have one? Do all our teammates have ones? Did you all have to get stabbed to get on-"

"Let's limit ourselves to one question at a time, shall we," Minestra replied in a cold even tone. "Yes, I do have a stand."

Bibita waited for her to continue, but realized she would have to steer the conversation. "And what is your stand… if you don't mind me asking?"

Minestra quickly turned around, catching the girl off guard. "That last season jumpsuit was on sale for 45 euros. The belt and tie combo are a total of 23.68 euros. The most expensive thing on you at the moment is whatever's in that backpack, worth exactly 512.76 euros… however, it looks like they would've been worth more if they were still in mint condition, as their initial worth is exactly 1,246.78 euros," Minestra asserted, lowering her green sunglasses to the tip of her nose, revealing her dark red eyes for the first time. "Am I correct?"

"I… have no idea, actually."

"Ugh, useless," Minestra grumbled, as suddenly the pair of green glasses faded into the air, an action Bibita was becoming familiar with.

"Oh, shit! That was your stand?!"

"Not so loud, Jesus!" Minestra rolled her eyes. "Let's just say I have a certain ability to see exactly what everything is worth. I call this ability Price Tag," as soon as she uttered the word 'Price Tag' the pair of green sunglasses appeared back on her face. Unlike Sticky Fingers and Purple Haze, which had humanoid like forms, Price Tag appeared to be a simple object, much like Bibita's own stand.

While the pair talked, they made their way north through Rome, taking many twists and turns to avoid being followed. After about twenty minutes of walking, they found themselves at the Piazza del Popolo, a large open space with a stone obelisk in the center, and a great view of the River Tiber just to its west. Several streets converged at that point, and the area surrounding the Piazza was known for its wide array of stores, attracting both tourists and locals alike.

On one of these streets, the pair walked into a small laundromat, and stepped through the employee only door. In the cramped hallway, a singular locked elevator greeted them. Minestra pulled a key out of her pant pocket, and the two walked into the elevator, which had a much sleeker interior design than the rest of the hallway.

"Hope you're ready to meet the rest of the team," Minestra said, pressing the button for the second floor. "They can be an… interesting bunch."

The doors of the elevator opened for the second floor, and before Bibita had a moment to take in her surroundings-

"Oh! Hello hello hello!" the receptionist practically sang. She was a young woman, early twenties, with long sleek blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore a white collared cropped top shirt, paired with a black pencil skirt and bright pink business jacket. "You must be the newbie!"

"This bundle of sunshine is Dolchi," Minestra sighed, visibly annoyed at the bubbly blonde.

"Eeeek! I'm so excited we have another girl here," Dolchi leaped across her receptionist desk with graceful ease, and quickly cleared the distance between her and Bibita. "It's great to meet you….?"

"Oh, um, I'm Bibita," she said, taken aback. The blonde grabbed her hand and enthusiastically shook it. "It's nice to meet you Dolchi."

"Oh, did I hear there's a new girl?" A man asked, getting up from his desk heading towards them.

"Calm down Casanova, she's like ten years old," Minestra quickly intervened.

"Aaaaand I'll be getting back to work now," the man quickly turned heel and went back to his desk. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with brown hair, large eyeglasses, and a lanky build. He wore a white shirt and black tie, a pair of orange pants, and a fancy leather jacket.

"Lady-killer over there is Pecorino," Minestra explained, leading the girl further into the office. "Hey, Pecorino! Have you converted last month's expenditures from lire to euro yet?"

"Not yet," the glasses wearing man called back. "I'll get Thrift Shop started on that right away!"
There was a sudden glimmer to the man's form, as suddenly, a large green cash register with a humanoid torso and head appeared on his desk.

'That must be another stand' Bibita thought, as the odd contraption began to make noises akin to a Las Vegas slot machine. The bells and whistles clearly annoyed the elderly man sitting across from Pecorino. "Can't you turn down that blasted stand's volume," the older man grumbled.

"Not if we want this lire converted to euro," Pecorino said defensively.

"And over here we have Ossobuco," Minestra continued the tour. Ossobuco looked like a quintessential old fashioned gangster, with a classy black suit and vest, light blue shirt, and fedora. He looked to be in his mid sixties at least, with wrinkled skin, a scar running across his nose, and tired brown eyes. The man did not even react to Bibita's entrance, as he simply went back to playing his crossword puzzles.

"Ossobuco? Ossobuco?!" Dolchi pestered the elderly man. "This is Bibita! Want to introduce yourself or something?"

"Not particularly."

"She's gonna be joining our team," the blonde continued to get the old man invested. "Do you have anything to tell her….?"

"Ehh," the man shrugged, not even looking up from his crosswords.

Minestra played no mind, leading the girl further into the office. "And over here is the boss's room," she said gesturing to a room with a view of the Plaza del Popolo.

"Is that your room?" Bibita asked, assuming the red clad woman was the boss.

"Ha, she wishes that was her office!" Pecorino laughed, but was quickly cut short by a glare from Minestra.

Minestra knocked on the door of the boss's room. "Mr. Soldi, the new recruit has arrived."

The door opened, and a tall man with black slicked back hair emerged. He looked to be a bit older than Minestra but had that suave charm of a 1950s businessman. His silver three-piece suit had small details of purple, the same color as his eyes, and a small patch of grey hair on the side of his head was the only signifier this man was aging. He looked at Bibita, and smiled. "Ah, you must be Bibita, from Naples, right?" he asked, with a slight accent, though Bibita couldn’t quite place it

"Yes sir," she responded.

"And how are you liking Rome so far?" He asked.

"It's… a lot bigger than I imagined."

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll get used to it. Welcome to the Financial Division, Bibita."

*******************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Price Tag

Stand User: Minestra

Stand Power: Appraisal: grants the ability to see what anything or anyone is worth, as well as their strengths and weaknesses that would alter their worth. Excellent for spotting stand-users.

• Power: N/A
• Speed: A
• Range: C (line of sight)
• Durability: B
• Precision: A
• Developmental Potential: D

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Bibita arrived in Rome, and she had pretty much gotten into the swing of things over at the Financial Division. Since she had no formal background in finance, the girl spent most of the days filing receipts and paperwork, while she spent her nights off studying Fugo's college textbooks. She essentially felt like a student intern… except for the whole working for the Mafia bit. While Pecorino, Ossobuco, and Minestra had their work at their desks, Dolchi had her secretary station, and Soldi had his boss's office, Bibita became all too familiar with the large filing cabinet in the back. She was still excited to be in Passione… but just wished there was a bit more… excitement in her current position.

"Ah, crap," Minestra grumbled at her monitor.

"There's no need for that language," Ossobuco quietly mumbled, as he stapled some packets together.

"What's the matter?" Dolchi chimed in.

"The Turino pick up has been bumped up," Minestra explained. "Our partners insist the deal happen tomorrow evening."

"And why is that an 'ah crap' moment?" Pecorino asked, feigning interest.

"Because my son's recital is that night."

"Just don't go to his recital then," Ossobuco offered. "Works wonders with the grandkids."

"Oh yeah, that'll go over well," Minestra rolled her eyes. "'Sorry honey, mommy can't make your recital, I just don't give a shit about Battoven.'"

"Language…" Ossobuco muttered.

"Hey, Pecorino, can you take over this meeting for me?" Minestra turned her attention to the glasses wearing man.

"And what's in it for me?" Pecorino asked.

"My respect?"

"Oooooh, tough call, but I'll pass."

"What about you, Ossobuco," she asked the elderly man. "Do you want to go to Turino?"

"I'd rather go to your brat’s recital," the old man said, eyes not wavering once from his work.

Dolchi chimed in. "I'd love to help, really I would… but Soldi has a meeting with a client that night, and insists I come with him."

"Of course he did," Minestra said in a presumptuous tone.

Bibita, who had overheard the entire conversation from her little corner finally piped up. "I'm free tomorrow," she offered. "I can cover the pickup if you want."

Minestra turned to the green haired girl. "Well, no offense, but I think they'd be expecting an established member of the financial team with knowledge of the case."

"Turino is an automotive powerhouse within Italy, and the sprouting car factories, as well as the tourism industry within the city make it an easy destination for money laundering, especially with all the contract work in the area," Bibita said, looking over the file in her hand. "We should be picking up January's excess money from the taxi and factory businesses to then mix in with the rest of our money back here, am I correct?"

Minestra raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. "I see you've been doing your research."

The girl shrugged. "I know I have a lot to learn, so I'm just trying to review all the files I can."

"Are you sure you're up for this," Minestra noted. "It could be dangerous."

Bibita nodded, "I can do this!" She reassured her. "Besides, I'm just picking up a payment. It's not like I'm assassinating someone, it should be simple enough." She then paused, "aaaand I'm just realizing I can't actually drive."

Minestra laughed, "Don't worry about that! We in the Financial Division are usually escorted by other members of Passione. I'm sure Roma's sector could spare a few grunts for this excursion."

********************************************

Typically, Bibita worked in the office till about 5pm, however this day was different. At noon, Soldi gave her the rest of the day off from the office, but her work was far from over. Once she had her lunch, she took a short stroll to the Spanish Steps, where she would be picked up. Once again, she never received a name of who'd pick her up, but she was given the license plate to look for. She found all the secrecy a bit redundant, but she figured that's normal while working for the Mafia.

She never got a chance to really soak in the ancient architecture, and instead spent her time looking at all the cars pulled over to the side of the road. It didn't take long for her to find the license plate numbers, which was accompanied by an all too familiar unremarkable silver car.
She knocked on the back seat door, and the passenger side window rolled down. "Bibita?" the man in the passenger seat seemed shocked.

"Hey! You two," Bibita smiled, still not knowing the pair's names. "Long time, no see!"

"Are… are you the financial representative for the Turino mission?"

"Well, not at first," she admitted. "But, the initial person discovered she and or he had prior plans that she and or he could not possibly attend both events simultaneously-"

"Why are you speaking like that?"

"Oh, I'm being discreet!"

The passenger sighed, "if anything, your drawing more attention to yourself. Just, get in the car, and you can speak more freely."

"Oh thank God!" She breathed a sigh of relief. "All that secretive talk was starting to hurt my head."

She got into the vehicle, making sure to bring her briefcase with her. As soon as she closed the door, the car sped off, before she even had a chance to put in her seatbelt.

"Woah, careful there," the orange haired passenger urged, as the driver paid no mind.

"You know, you guys can tell me your names, now that we're away from all the tourists and stuff," Bibita offered. "I mean, you both know my name, and I think transparency would be helpful for this mission."

There was no response.

"Okay then, I'll just have to resort to code names," she grinned. "You're Greenie, and you're Ginger!"

"Don't call us that," the green haired driver retorted.

"Roger that, Greenie!"

"You're still doing it," the orange haired man said.

"Ooops, sorry about that, Ginger!" Bibita said, clearly not sorry.

The pair sighed, clearly frustrated with her.

"Hey, on the bright side, only about six more hours of driving before Turino! We'll be there in no time, isn't that right Greenie and Ginge-"

"My name is Salé!" The orange haired man interrupted. "He is Zucchero. Please don't call us those silly names."

"Seriously," Zucchero rolled his eyes. "That was getting annoying."

"It took you guys long enough. Introductions don't typically take this long," Bibita said, dropping her childish act. "It's nice to finally meet you, Salé and Zucchero."

*************************

The trip up to Turino took a little over seven hours, and other than Salé and Zucchero arguing over what music to play, the ride went smoothly. The pair weren't particularly talkative duo, but that was fine for Bibita, who used that time to study up. Since Italy had just switched from Lire to the Euro, she had to make sure she calculated the estimated earnings correctly, as she assumed the margin for error within the mafia was slim to say the least.

They arrived in Turino a little after seven in the evening, and the sun had set not too long before. The meeting place was set at the Piazza Vittorio Veneto, a large open square at the center of Turino, right alongside the river Po. The large Piazza attracted many of the youths in the area, as it was considered a fun spot for the locals to hang out at after school and work. Even on a weekday, the square was filled with a wide array of people.

"Uh, Zucchero sir?" Bibita almost whispered as they exited the vehicle. "Are you sure this is the best spot for the meeting? It seems a little… crowded."

"Yeah, that's the point," the green haired man said, walking toward the piazza. "Where did you expect, some back alley?"

"I mean, that's kinda what I had in mind-"

"Listen, I know you're new to all this, but we in Passione have no need to hide in the shadows," Salé explained. "Sure, we like to keep certain things hidden, but that's no need for us to act suspicious. Lowly criminals lurk in the slums. We are above that."

Bibita thought of her life for the past three years, living on the streets, pickpocketing just to get by. "Yeah. That's behind us now," she murmured to herself, trying to believe in her own words.
The trio made their way to the large statue that overlooked the Piazza, closest to the River Po. The statue, modeled after Vittorio Emanuele II, stood tall over the square, with the robes and staff only adding to its immense presence. Right beneath the statue stood two average businessmen, nothing in particular that would make them stand out, a perfect camouflage for their correspondents in Turino.

Bibita, Salé and Zucchero followed the two businessmen to a nearby bistro, and got a private booth in the back, although they weren’t there to eat. Instead, the taller of the men set a briefcase on the table and slid it towards the Roma trio. "Here's this month's money," the man said.

Bibita inspected the stack of Euros within the case. "And this is all clean, correct? Everything here legal?"

"Yes. We have the paperwork and everything in the pocket there."

The girl began to count on her fingers, quickly doing her Lire to Euro calculations. "This is a couple hundred less than our projected estimates…" she noted out loud.

Zucchero immediately narrowed his eyes at the businessmen, "You two better not be holding out on us."

The businessmen looked visibly shaken, as the shorter of the two spoke up, "well, uh, you see, with everything converting to the Euro, people are a little less likely to spend as much. B-but, I'm sure after the system's in place for a couple months, things'll swing back to normal."

Zucchero continued staring daggers at the pair, while Salé just looked to Bibita. "What do you want to do?" the orange haired gangster asked her. "This is the financial team's decision."

'Quick! What would the Godfather do?!' Bibita thought to herself, drawing upon the film as a frame of reference. 'Decapitating a horse and leaving it in their beds doesn't seem feasible' She quickly shook that thought from her head and remembered the actual gangsters she met. 'How would Bruno handle this situation?'

"We'll take note of this incident," she cleared her throat, trying to appear taller than she actually was. "But, don't think can simply skimp out on your payments. I expect to see an extra 200 Euro each month for the next three months to make up the difference. Keep your records up to date, that way an overestimation like this doesn't happen again. If you fail, I don't imagine the rest would feel comfortable allocating funds to Turino… do I make myself clear?"

The businessmen quietly nodded.

Their meeting finished up shortly after, with none of the five even ordering refreshments.

"Ah man, did you smell that lobster bisque?" Zucchero complained as they walked back to their car. "We could have at least gotten an antipasti while we were there-"

"No, because with you, it's never just antipasti," Salé sighed. "You'll then want to sample their wines, and their main courses and suddenly we're there for a four-course meal and we'll never leave."

The two began to bicker, but Bibita's attention was pulled elsewhere, taking stock of her surroundings. She looked over the street where their car was parked, and traffic seemed to be running like normal, except a certain motorcycle caught her eye. It seemed to be going slower than the rest of traffic, and Bibita noted it had a French license plate.

"I swear, I'm not driving till I get some food."

"We'll pick something up on the way-"

"I swear to God, I'm not eating fast food in my car-"

Bibita lost concentration on the motorcycle, and it continued along with the flow of traffic. 'We're only around an hour from France. Seeing license plates from there isn't out of the ordinary, I suppose.'

"Okay, so we'll just pick up some paninis on our way back, right Bibita," Salé continued their argument, waiting for the girl's response. "Uh, Bibita? Do paninis sound okay for the drive back."

Bibita snapped back into reality. "Oh, yeah, that all sounds fine…"

"Okay," Zucchero huffed. "But if I find so much as a crumb in the car, I swear-" his voice trailed off as he entered their vehicle.

Salé was a little slower to enter the car, noticing Bibita. "You okay kid?" He asked. "You've been kinda quiet since the meeting."

She merely nodded, taking a deep breath, and trying to keep her trembling hands still.

"That was your first transactional meeting, wasn't it?" the ginger gangster noted. "You did pretty good out there, kid. I've seen how ugly these things can get. You handled yourself well. Try not to worry so much."

Bibita smiled a little, "thank you, Sa-"

"Hurry up!" Zucchero cried out from the rolled down window of the car. "We have forever to drive, and I wanna get some decent food sometime tonight!"

*******************************

After getting some sandwiches for the road, the trio began their long trek back to Rome. It was getting close to 10 at night and Bibita was getting a bit tired after all the driving. They had just passed Genoa and were driving along the west coast of Italy. She looked out the window, admiring the view of the Mediterranean ocean lit by starlight. She was about to close her eyes to take a quick nap, when she noticed a slight glimmer in the window's reflection.

She turned around to look at the road behind them and saw a couple large black SUVs round the corner, a little ways behind them, and a familiar motorcycle leading the group. She looked closer and saw the motorcycle had the same French license plate as the one back in Turino.

"Salé… Zucchero?" Bibita said in almost a whisper. "I think we're being followed."

Zucchero looked into the rearview mirror and saw the several cars behind them, quickly gaining speed. "Maybe, but they could just want to get by-"

"I don't think so," Bibita said. "I recognize the motorcycle from Turino."

"Ah shit," Zucchero growled.

"They must've followed us the whole way then," Salé was putting the pieces together. "Waiting until we were isolated enough to attack head on."

"So… what do we do?" Bibita asked, nervously eyeing the cars behind them.

"Well, we don't exactly have anywhere we can shake them, it's just an open road ahead," Zucchero noted, with the sheer cliffs to one side of them and the sea to the other. "If they are hostile, we have no choice but to fight."

"Bibita, do you have a stand?" Salé asked, rolling down the passenger side window.

"Yeah-"

"She's on the Financial Division," Zucchero rolled his eyes. "I don't think her stand is suited for combat."

"Well, I-"

"Is your stand possibly a long distance combat type?" Salé asked, looking at the cars approaching them. "Because that's kinda what we need right now."

"Um… no, I don't think so."

"Shit," Zucchero cursed. "Just stay in the back seat and keep hidden. Things are gonna get messy."

"But, I can help," Bibita insisted.

"No, you need to stay back and protect the money," Salé instructed. "I know you wanna help, kid, but right now, that's the best you can do."

"Looks like they have gunmen," Zucchero said, looking in the side mirror at the SUV behind them.

"I know, I'm on it," Salé said, climbing out the passenger window and landing on the roof of their car. While the vehicle continued speeding up and turning along the road, the ginger gangster stood completely still, as if he himself was locked in place upon the car.

As the SUVs grew closer to them, several of the passengers aimed their guns at the little silver car. There was a cacophony of gunfire, but Salé didn't flinch. With a composed breath, the man merely uttered the word "Kraftwork" as the bullets flew toward him. But, before any could hit their mark, there was a sudden blur of green. For just a split moment, one could see the bullets stop midair, before the silver car drove off.

With the bullets suspended in the air, the large SUVs chasing them drove right through it. Two dozen bullets tore through the one of the SUVs, cutting through both the metal and flesh of their pursuers. The other two SUVs quickly changed lanes to avoid a similar fate, but the driver and passengers of the first vehicle were riddled with bullets that they drove into.

Bibita watched it all from the back seat and could barely make out a green humanoid figure standing in the same space as Salé. 'That must be his stand,' Bibita thought. 'If he was able to do all that just by stopping the bullets, I wonder what it's fully capable of when actually attacking.' Considering the rest of the SUVs were quickly approaching, she would probably find out soon enough.

**********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Kraftwork

Stand User: Salé

Stand Power: manipulation of kinetic energy, either taking an object's kinetic energy completely away, freezing it in place, or adding more kinetic energy to a previously frozen object, making it move once more

• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: E
• Durability: C
• Precision: E
• Developmental Potential: E

Chapter Text

The remaining SUVs kept a bit of a distance after their first attack. They must have realized ranged attacks on the Roma trio wouldn't work, at least, not at their current position, so they retreated a bit.

"Salé, how's it looking out there?" The driver asked.

"I got most of the bullets," he responded. "But a couple got the bumper, and the rest missed. Shouldn't be a problem though."

"Are the enemies stand users too?" Bibita chimed in, in a fetal position in the backseat.

"Can't tell," he said, looking out at the remaining SUVs. "But, they at least don't seem to know our abilities. That gives us a slight advantage."

The motorcyclist, unscathed from the first attack, signaled the remaining cars to follow him, as he veered to the far left of the road. If it was during rush hour, there would be oncoming traffic, but with it so late, the road was clear to drive. So, the motorcyclist led the two SUVs down the road, picking up speed and approaching the silver car from the side.

"They’re coming around the side," Salé informed the rest of the car.

"Shit," Zucchero looked to the SUVs, quickly approaching his left. "Just focus on the bullets. If the SUVs get any closer, I'll handle them. And Bibita-" he added, looking in the mirror to see the girl strategically ducking and covering in the back seat. "Keep doing that."

BANG! BANG! BA-BANG!

The SUV immediately to their left unloaded their guns on their car. Salé and his Kraftwork moved quickly to deflect the bullets, as the majority of the shots floated midair, keeping pace with their car.

Meanwhile, the SUV merged closer to them, the suspended bullets acting almost as a buffer between them, as it tried to run them off the road. Once the SUV was within range, Zucchero jumped into action. "Soft Machine!" he said, as a translucent silver arm formed next to him, wielding a miniature rapier, ready to strike. With one swift strike, the stand's sword pierced the oncoming SUV.

PFSSSSS

Much like a balloon deflating, the vehicle quickly lost all its thickness. The two people within the car thrashed about, as the car's form shifted like a plastic bag in the wind and were left behind as the others drove on. In a flash, another one of the SUVs was taken out of the game, leaving just one more SUV and the motorcyclist.

By this point, the man on the motorcycle pulled near the vehicle, but still far enough away to avoid direct contact with the stand users. The white leather jacket the man wore slowly began to darken, as if his shadow was solidifying into a separate being. "Papaoutai," the motorcyclist said, as the shadows around him formed into a dark humanoid figure with gouged out eyes, a featureless face, and a slender body. It had long claw-like fingers, with eyeballs protruding from the palms of its hands.

In a blur, the dark figure flew to the car, zipping in front of Salé, clawing the ginger's eyes too fast for the man to even react. "What the-" he managed to shout, immediately covering his eyes.
"Watch out, I think one of them’s gotta stand!"

The specter like figure then flew through the driver's window, attacking Zucchero's face along the way. Instinctively, the driver slowed the car down a bit to try to get his bearings. Still in the car, the shadowy figure flew to Bibita, who clutched the briefcase of money for dear life. With a swift strike, it sliced at her eyes, and she let out a shriek.

But, when she opened her eyes, the figure was nowhere to be seen. 'Was I just imagining it?' She thought, heart racing. 'No, I couldn't have, it sounded like the others saw something too.' Even so, there was no damage on any of them, though they were all on edge.

Salé, finally recovering his sight, decided it best to take out the motorcyclist, as he appeared to be calling the shots. Taking a handful of coins from his pockets, he threw them off the side of the car, locking them into place in pace with their vehicle. Using the suspended coins Salé expertly maneuvered through his makeshift terrain, until he was in range of the cyclist. A translucent green arm reached out swiping the bike, locking it into place on the road. Due to the sudden stop of momentum, the cyclist was flung forward at an alarming speed.

While the cyclist recovered, pulling his damaged body to the side of the road, the other SUV drove by to protect him. With neither one directly pursuing the silver car, the Roma trio drove off.

"Step on it," Salé said, jumping back into the passenger seat. "We might be able to lose them."
They sped through the winding curves of the coast, creating more distance between them and their assailants. However, they were sure to keep their guards up. Then, as Zucchero rounded the next corner, he could barely make out a couple lights in the distance. It looked like several dozen motorcycles and trucks heading North up the coast, towards the trio. 'Maybe it's just normal traffic?' Bibita thought hopefully, but based on Zucchero's expression, she figured that wasn't the case.

"What?! How many of 'em are there?!" The driver shouted.

"I know the first group was following from Turino," Salé tried to wrap his head around the situation. "But, now there are reinforcements coming from the South? It doesn't make sense-"

"Well, we still gotta get past them," Zucchero revved the engine, and sped toward the oncoming crowd, reaching his stand out the window, attempting to strike any cyclists that got too close. However, even when he was sure he pierced them with Soft Machine, there didn't seem to be an effect. As the motorcycles sped off to the side of their car, Zucchero decided he must have just missed, even though he was fairly precise with his stand.

"Did you see if they've got guns on them?" Salé asked.

"Couldn't tell," Zucchero said, eyeing the several bikes now surrounding their left and back side. "But just to be safe, could you-"

"I know, I know," Salé began climbing out the window again. "I'll get on the roof."

As the ginger gangster began to pull himself onto the roof of the vehicle, Zucchero rounded the next bend, trying to put as much distance between them and their enemies. However, when he rounded the corner, he noticed, a landslide overtake the road ahead. It moved quickly, swallowing up all the lanes of the road, and the debris and soil created a barricade too high and thick for them to plow through. With only a moment to react, Zucchero slammed on the breaks.

SKREEEEEEE

The hiss of the rubbed tires skidding to a halt echoed in the night air. The car came to a sudden stop, giving both Zucchero and Bibita a bit of whiplash. Salé, however, was not as lucky, as he was flung from the window, and landed several meters ahead of the car. Due to Kraftwork, Salé was able to break his fall a bit, but the force of the impact still left him pretty battered, and on the edge of consciousness.

By this point, the remaining SUV had caught up to the rest of them, as the motorcyclists surrounded the injured Salé. Zucchero, recovering from the whiplash, looked out to see them completely surrounded.

"Shit," he murmured, turning to a frightened Bibita. "Looks like they got Salé."

"What do we do?" She asked, still clutching the briefcase for dear life. She was merely answered with silence, as the driver was still trying to find a way out of their current dilemma.
The first motorcyclist with the white leather jacket emerged from the last SUV, and drew his handgun, pointing it at Salé. Likewise, the other cyclists mimicked his motions, all pointing their handguns at the injured gangster. "Au revoir, Passione," the main motorcyclist chided, cocking his gun.

"Wait!" Bibita kicked the backdoor open, and exited the vehicle. Immediately all the enemies turned to face her. "Um… bonjour tout le monde? S'il vous plaît… no kill us?"

"We speak Italian," the man with the white jacket spoke.

"Oh, thank goodness," Bibita sighed. "My French is really bad." She then brought forth the briefcase. "This is what you're really after, right? Let us go, and it's all yours."

The main cyclists scoffed, as he removed his helmet, revealing his face for the first time. He had light brown skin, blue eyes, and black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, with the sides of his head shaved. "And tell me miss," he said with an evident French accent. "What's to stop me from just killing you all and taking the money by force."

"Th-that's fair," her voice shook, as she continued. "You kill us and you'd get all this money… but, I can assure you, that's all you'll get."

The cyclist tilted his head and waited for her to continue.

"Well, I figure it took a lot of time and resources to put this heist together. However, if we don't return back from our mission, our higher ups will grow suspicious," Bibita explained. "They will immediately look into our deaths, and halt any business with Turino moving forward. All those ties and connections you made to secure this payment will cease and I can assure you, this will be the only money you take from Passione. However, if you let us leave, we can lie about this incident to our boss, and try to continue our business dealings in Turino."

This caught the French man's interest, as he lowered his gun from Salé's head. "You would so quickly betray Passione?"

She could feel Salé and Zucchero glare at her, but she continued her gamble. "I'm loyal to staying alive," she asserted. "The way I see it, there's three ways this situation goes down. One: you kill us here, get our money, and are unable to continue stealing from Passione. Two: you let us go, keep the money, and our higher ups kill us for failing our mission, and you are unable to continue stealing from Passione. Or option three: you let us go, keep the money, we somehow talk our way out of trouble, and continue business with Turino so you can continue to steal from Passione. I don't know about you, but option three sounds like the best choice for all of us."

"Hmmm, intriguing offer," the motorcyclist mused. "Alright then, hand me the money, and we'll let you go-"

"With all due respect, sir," she boldly interrupted. "Step away from my friend, and let him return to our car, then I will give you the money."

There was a tense silence, before the man nodded, and retreated from Salé, as did his associates. As the ginger gangster limped back to their car, he glared at Bibita. "What are you doing?"

"Saving our asses," she whispered back.

Once Salé had passed her, and gotten into the vehicle, Bibita moved towards the leader of the French gang. In a show of good faith, the man holstered his gun, but the others kept theirs out as a precaution. Slowly, she handed the man the briefcase, and took a step back as he inspected the money.

"It's all there, paperwork is in the front pocket if you need to check."

Once the man counted through the money, he closed the briefcase and smiled. "Very well," he turned around, and returned to the large SUV. "Pleasure doing business with you, mademoiselle."

As soon as he got in the SUV, it turned around, and headed North, back to France, yet the other motorcyclists stayed in the same spot, as if they were frozen. Bibita backed into their silver car, and slowly got in, keeping an eye on the group of bikers. Then, once the SUV was out of sight, the Roma trio immediately felt a strange sensation in their eyes, as if a thin film was lifted. They blinked a bit in a daze, and when they regained their sight, all the remaining motorcyclists as well as the landslide disappeared.

"I knew something was up! That must be that bastard’s stand!" Zucchero exclaimed, hitting the steering wheel with frustration.

"The reinforcements, the landslide… all of it an illusion," Salé said, an air of defeat in his voice. The man looked worse for wear, with plenty of cuts and bruises, as well as a dislocated shoulder. He summoned Kraftwork, and together with the stand -POP- he jolted his shoulder back into place.

Zucchero didn't pay any mind, and instead drove south. "All that was fake, and you betrayed Passione on a lie," he said, glaring at Bibita through the rear-view mirror. "You've just killed us all, you know that right."

"Listen, I can expla-"

"We could have taken them!" The driver yelled. "We already took out the majority of their forces! But, listen here, when this gets out, we are not dying for your mistake."

"I know you were trying to do your best kid," Salé grumbled, not nearly as upset as his partner. "But you made the wrong decision."

Bibita looked back to make sure the SUV was out of eyeshot before she spoke, "I never gave them the money."

The pair took a moment to process what she said. The Zucchero scoffed, "Are you stupid?! We saw you hand the briefcase over. He counted the money right in front of us."

"That's true, I gave him the briefcase," she explained, as slowly a slightly green fog appeared in the back seat. "Blink-182," she whispered the name of her stand, as she clenched her left fist. The green cloud began to solidify, until it formed the stacks of euros, as well as the corresponding paperwork.

"What was that?" Salé asked, nudging Zucchero to witness the spontaneous money as well.

"That's my stand ability. Blink-182. I can convert gas into solid matter and vice-versa, " she said, a slight grin forming. "During the chase, I emptied out the briefcase and turned the real money into gas, and then made a decoy by converting the air into cash. It only lasts about an hour, but with the actual briefcase in use, they hopefully won't notice the money is actually just air until they've made it back to France!"

"So, that's the real money then?" Zucchero asked.

"Yup!"

"And we didn't actually give our enemies any money?"

"Yup!"

"So, we never betrayed Passione?"

"Yup!" Bibita seemed very pleased. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you all my plan. I was hoping we'd get out of the chase without having to gamble something like that-"

"You did good kid," Salé nodded, and a wave of relief hit the man. "I know you're stand isn't particularly made for combat, but it did a great job ending the conflict."

He nudged the driver to say something nice. Zucchero sighed, and finally spoke, "yeah, yeah, I guess not all the Financial Division's stands are useless."

****************************

The trio drove a bit further south, till they got to Rapallo. Just to be safe, Salé inspected their car, and sure enough, under the vehicle was a tracking device. Despite his connection to the car, Zucchero thought it best to ditch the vehicle and continue the rest of the way via train. Considering the next one wasn't scheduled to leave until early the next morning, Bibita decided to give her boss a call to fill him in on the situation, finding a payphone over at the Rapallo terminal.

"Hello?" A tired voice yawned on the other end of the line.

"Hi, this is Bibita, just calling to give you an update on the, uh, transaction."

"That was supposed to be hours ago, it's almost midnight now," Soldi said. "You guys should be arriving in Rome soon, right?"

"Well, see, there were… complications," Bibita then explained the situation to her superior.

"I suspect they must have someone working for them on the inside, so there may be a traitor in Turino," she finished her story.

"My thoughts exactly," he responded, voice now full of energy. "I'll contact someone to take care of our Turino trouble. As for you, get some rest when you can, you've had a busy night."

"Will do!" And with that, the call ended.

Bibita spent the night sleeping on the benches of the Rapallo train station, taking shifts guarding their backs with Salé and Zucchero. At 4am, they boarded their train for Rome. After a tense trip, they finally arrived back in Rome nearing 7am. Surprisingly, there was a man waiting for them at the station, well dressed in his signature silver and purple suit. Soldi, the Capo of the Financial Division, greeted the trio, followed closely behind by his secretary, Dolchi, looking just as peppy as ever, despite the early hours.

"Glad to see you all returned safely," the dark-haired man said. He gave Salé and Zucchero a few extra hundred Euro. "Here, for your troubles. This meeting wasn't supposed to get violent, but you kept our teammate safe, and for that, the Financial team is grateful."

"And, just so you know, we had to ditch our car in the Mediterranean Sea, so if you wanna throw in a few hundred more, we won't mind," Zucchero said, trying to get every euro he could.

Soldi narrowed his eyes at the man. "We'll keep that in mind as we calculate next month's expenditures."

Salé nudged his partner to shut up, as he then addressed the leader of the Financial Division. "Thank you for the bonuses, we both appreciate it," Salé said. "But, I feel you should know that without the kid's quick thinking, things would have ended up a lot worse. I can understand why you trusted her with this mission. She's got potential."

Bibita didn't know how to respond to the sudden praise, so she just awkwardly stood there dumbfounded. The pair of gangsters left shortly after collecting their money, waving goodbye to the green haired girl. Then there was only Bibita, Soldi, and Dolchi at the station.

"Okay, two hours till work," Bibita yawned. "Could I possibly tag along in one of your cars?"

"No," Soldi said bluntly.

"Well, I guess I could just walk ther-"

"No, you're not going to work today," her boss explained. "You're taking the day off and resting up. Don't worry, you'll still be paid for today-"

"But there's still a ton to file from yesterday, not including today's paperwork!" she argued.

"Don't worry, silly!" Dolchi chimed in. "I'll be taking care of the extra filing work for you today!"

"A-are you sure about that?"

The blonde nodded enthusiastically. "Once you rest up, I wanna hear all about your mission. It sounds so exciting, yet terrifying! It's sure to be a fun story!"

Bibita handed Soldi the briefcase as the three of them entered his car and began driving to Bibita's new apartment. Once she was dropped off, Soldi handed her a small file of papers. "Rest up, but, once you're feeling better, I'd like you to fill out this report," the boss explained. "The sooner you finish this, the sooner we can investigate the incident in Turino."

Bibita grabbed the file. "Understood," she nodded curtly. "I'll have it on your desk first thing tomorrow morning!"

**************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Soft Machine

Stand User: Zucchero

Stand Power: Deflation- Soft Machine can eliminate the thickness of any object or person pierced with the stand’s rapier.

• Power: A
• Speed: C
• Range: E
• Durability: A
• Precision: D
• Developmental Potential: E

Chapter Text

A blond man with an army green button up shirt and khaki pants made his way through the hallway of an apartment complex in Naples. On one arm, he carried bags full of fresh fruit, vegetables and other groceries, while in his other hand was a binder filled with documents. He stopped when he reached a door, as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. The key fell to the floor, and the man hung his head in defeat.

"Hey, babe," he called to the door. "Can you open up?"

No response.

The man knocked on the door with a gentle kick. "Hun, can you open the door?"

"It's unlocked," the voice from inside the room called back.

"That's great, but my hands are full," the blonde man sighed.

"Just wait one more minute," the voice said, clearly distracted with something.

"Okay then," the man in the hallway sighed dramatically. "I guess you don't want all these documents. Pity too, after all the trouble I went through to get them-"

"Wait, you got the documents?!" The voice sounded invested now.

"Yeah, but if now's not a good time, I can always come back later-"

He was interrupted by the swift opening of the door, and a tall brunette man with a prominent widow's peak, blue button up shirt paired with black skinny jeans greeted him. "Kinda burying the lead there, Gelato."

"And the door is finally opened," Gelato chimed, walking into the apartment. "Took you long enough, Sorbet."

He looked around the apartment. Typically the pair kept it tidy and nice, but today there were papers strewn about, as well as maps pinned to the walls. "I see you've taken your hand at interior decorating," the blonde joked. "Remind me how all of this relates back to the Turino case? I thought Giaccio and Illuso are already on the case."

Sorbet rolled his eyes. "I understand this may look like a bit much, but I just got a feeling about this lead, you know."

"I think you may just be feeling hungry," Gelato said, setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

"I'm fine," Sorbet said. "And all of this doesn't have to do with the Turino mission directly."

Gelato joined Sorbet at their desk, "well, here's all the documents you asked for," he said, setting the papers on the brunette's lap.

Sorbet immediately went to work, pouring through the documents, and filing them each precisely into organized piles. Gelato stood behind him as he worked, casually leaning against him, trying to get a good look at what the other was up to.

Finally, once he was through with all the papers, Sorbet jumped in excitement, startling Gelato. "Hah! I knew it!"

"Jesus! What is it, babe?"

"The report we got, about the Turino incident," Sorbet said, pointing and the single file to the far right of the desk. "Doesn't the handwriting look familiar to you?"

Gelato inspected it for a brief moment. "No… I can't say it does-"

"Exactly!" Sorbet interrupted. If we compare it to other reports from the Financial Division based on handwriting alone, we could see there's been the same five members for the past couple years. But, none match this latest reports!"

"So, you think the Financial Team got a new recruit?"

Sorbet nodded.

"But, the last recruit to Passione was Pesci, and that was months ago," Gelato said. "I don't think there's been a lighter test since then."

"There was one," Sorbet handed the blonde a newspaper clipping. "Wasn't successful though."

Gelato looked at the paper. "Yeah, looks like Mr. Gambero failed the test… and yet there's a new recruit for Passione regardless?"

"That is where the mystery lies," Sorbet said, turning on the computer, and opening up a file. "I found this from a security camera from a convenient store in downtown Naples, just a few blocks from where Gambero was found dead."

He played the video, showing the street view right outside the shop. Sure enough, Gambero passed through, carrying a tiny lighter in his hands, carefully walking along the sidewalk. "I believe with this video, and the coroner's report, I have an accurate timeline where we could see who could have interfered with this test," Sorbet continued, standing up.

"I think I'm following," Gelato said, smiling slightly. "We may find who the new member of the Financial Division is through your stand!"

"Exactly!" Sorbet said with enthusiasm. He quickly cleared the space on his desk, leaving only the newspaper clipping, autopsy report, and the security camera video. He then looked over his shoulder to see Gelato, standing behind him. "I'm gonna Data-Dive, watch my back while I'm gone."

"Of course," Gelato said, giving his partner a quick peck on his cheek. "Stay safe."

And with that, Sorbet took a deep breath, and activated his stand. "Want You," he called, as the stand materialized. Suddenly, a red Torii Gate appeared before him, odd wires and cogs sticking out of its sides, and a capital "G" carved into its top. On the other side of the gate, was the streets of Napoli, just like the security footage from the convenience store. This stand created some kind of portal linked to the evidence they put before it.

Sorbet took a step forward into the gate, and suddenly, the image of the Napoli street faded back into the apartment's office area, and his body went catatonic. Gelato, seemingly used to this process, caught the taller man, and guided his body to their couch in the living room, making an effort to set him in a comfortable position.

Gelato glanced at the clock on the wall. "And now we wait."

*******************************

Gambero walked through the streets of Napoli, carefully carrying the lighter. He shoved his way past a group kids, paying no mind to their rude comments. Follow shortly behind Gambero was an almost incorporeal figure of Sorbet. As the translucent figure caught up to Gambero, he walked right through the group of kids, as if he were a ghost. During a Data-Dive, the events are set in stone, so he was unable to affect or influence anything, acting merely as a spectator to the events as they unfold. So, Sorbet continued closely behind the man in question.

Gambero, so focused on the lighter, didn't look up to see the oncoming traffic. The cars slammed on their breaks to avoid hitting the businessman. Sorbet, unaffected by these replayed events, merely scoffed as he walked through the vehicles. "Seriously, Polpo?" Sorbet laughed. "Were you really that desperate for recruits?"

Gambero narrowly avoided the oncoming traffic, but the lighter had gone out. "Ah, rookie mistake," Sorbet muttered, watching the businessman look frantically around.

Gambero slipped away to a nearby alley, and so too did Sorbet. He recognized the alley from the police reports, this was definitely the spot where the businessman would die. Sorbet instinctively looked around, but there appeared to be no one tailing them. That's when he noticed a small figure further down the alleyway, but the figure seemed to be too preoccupied with spraypainting to notice Gambaro.

There was a brilliant light as the businessman relit the lighter, and being a stand user, Sorbet could see Black Sabbath's attack in full, as the figure materialized.

"You relit the lighter," the cloaked stand bellowed, gripping the soul right out of Gambero. "I'll give you one more chance. You have two possible paths," Black Sabbath said, as an arrow emerged from its mouth. Gambero looked completely terrified, and a part of Sorbet pitied the man. The initiation was not an easy process, but nothing about Passione was supposed to be easy. Sorbet figured this was just how they weed out the weak, as he knew he and his team were strong.

"The first path is to live and become a chosen one. Your only other path is death." The arrow suddenly pierced through the soul of the businessman. "This is your fate."

The soul returned to the body, but he was already dead. "You were not a chosen," Black Sabbath said, slinking back to the shadows.

"No, duh!" Sorbet scoffed.

"Hey! Hey mister!" The figure who had been spraypainting looked up from their work. "Are… are you okay?"

Sorbet tilted his head, as he moved toward the street artist. She looked young, maybe early teens, and seemed to be living off the streets based on her dirty secondhand clothes. "Don't tell me this kid ends up joining," Sorbet said to himself. He had hoped some other criminal or low life got involved with the lighter test, not some tween.

"Stay right there, I'm gonna get you some help," the hoodie clad girl called out, but as she turned around, she stepped in a shadow.

"Cue Black Sabbath," Sorbet sighed, as sure enough the stand appeared. Yet another initiation took place before his eyes, the man unable to do anything to alter the courses of their fates. He stood and watched as the girl's soul was stabbed, and then returned to her body. Yet, unlike Gambero, she slowly woke up. The girl had passed the test.

Her celebration of life was cut short, as she saw the body of the businesses right before her. Yet, instead of immediately running from the crime scene, she took a moment to process what happened, and then proceeded to loot a few things off the body, including the troublesome lighter.

Sorbet paused the Data Dive, and stood in front of the girl, taking mental notes on her features. This child was more than likely the Financial Division's new recruit, and the one who sent in the Turino Report. This was his new target.

"Want You," the dark haired man said, calling forth his stand. Suddenly, the gritty alley of Napoli melted away to black, as his soul traveled back through the Torri Gate, and returned to his body, sitting on the couch in their living room.

"So, how'd it go?" Gelato said, realizing his partner had returned.

Sorbet took a took a moment to adjust to his new surroundings, and realized he had something in his hand. It was a crumpled up photograph of the girl in the hoodie, the witness to the lighter test. Sorbet smiled, "I think we have our target now."

*****************************

Bibita had gotten off of work an hour earlier, and made her way to a little café along the Tiber River. The girl often found herself going to that same cafe after work, as she grabbed herself a booth in the back. It made for the perfect spot to study without distractions, as she poured through Fugo's finance textbooks. She knew improving her education on these matters was important when it came to her position in Passione, but part of her wished she could be out with her other teammates. After work, the rest of the Financial Division would frequent a bar by the name of Za Za's not too far from their home base. However, as the drinking age was 16, Bibita still had a while to wait before she could join them. 'Besides,' she thought 'I'm getting a lot more work done here anyways.'

The server stopped by, and dropped off her espresso. She smiled, and took a sip… and immediately realized it was far too bitter for her taste. So, rather stealthily, she reached into her backpack and took out a few packets of creamer.

"And over here we can see the newest recruit trying her darndest to appear mature," a critical voice narrated. Bibita looked around for anyone suspicious, as she took another sip. "Ordering an espresso because it would seem childish to continue ordering soda. But, she still can't handle the bitter taste of adulthood, so she masks the flavor with creamer."

"Reminds me of another caffeine adverse recruit," another voice mocked her. "Do you think it's a green-hair thing?"

"Who's saying that?" Bibita stood up, now frustrated at the ominous voices. She looked around, but saw a whole bunch of the usuals at a table together, and a couple of teens, busy doing some after school studying.

"You know," the first voice continued. "One of the lesser known and lesser used abilities given to stand users is the ability to communicate to other stand users telepathically."
Bibita froze.

"You didn't know that, did you?" Pestered the second voice. "It also acts as a great way to pinpoint who is a stand user, seeing you’re the only one to react to us."

"Where, who," she said out loud, trying to figure out how to telepathically speak. "Who's speaking," she whispered instead. "Where are you?"

Just then, there was a ring at the door, signaling someone new entered the building. Sure enough, there were 2 figures entering the cafe. The taller had slicked back dark hair, and a blue button up shirt. The shorter had a messier blond haircut, with and army green button up shirt. They crossed the room, and sat in a booth in the far corner.

"We have a few questions for you, Bibita Bianche," the first voice continued.

Her heart skipped a beat, as she heard her full name, something she hadn't told anyone since joining Passione. Reluctantly, she stood up, gathered her things and crossed to the booth where the two men sat. Despite them having a full booth to themselves, the two men sat very close to each other, with the blonde man nearly sitting on the brunette’s lap. She took a seat opposite them, and continued pouring creamer into her coffee nonchalantly. "So," she said, sipping the remainder of her espresso. "Are we gonna speak out loud, or continue that weird jedi shit?"

The blonde laughed at the response. "Yeah, I think we're fine to speak aloud. Just try not to say anything stupid."

"Fair enough," she shrugged. "As you may have suspected, I am Bibita, the latest member of Passione's Financial Division. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Sorbet," the dark haired one said, gesturing to himself. Then he tilted his head toward the blonde man. "Gelato."

"Fair to assume you're in Passione as well."

Gelato nodded. "We are a part of the Data Analysis Team, as well as La Squadra Di Exicusione."

"Wait… the hitman team," her eyes went wide.

"The one and only," Gelato continued to gloat.

"And, we should thank you," Sorbet chimed in. "Due to your Turino report, our team has gotten another mission."

"Did you guys need my help with that case or something, " Bibita asked.

"No," Gelato smirked. "We already got people on it. Don't worry, those traitors will be iced soon enough."

Gelato waited for laughter, but there was none.

"Gelato, she doesn't know our team," Sorbet mumbled. "I think the joke went over her head."

"But it was funny, right?"

"Of course it was! She's just not the right person for the jok-"

"Or, should I have said 'the traitors won't even have time to reflect on their actions' or something?"

"That's funny as well," Sorbet sighed. "But, the girl just isn't gonna get the context if she doesn't already know our team."

"Wait… so if you don't need my help with the case," Bibita finally spoke up. "Then, what do you need from me?"

"Let's just say, our team isn't pleased with our current rates, and we'd like you to fix them," Sorbet said.

"I don't believe I'm at liberty to discuss that," Bibita stumbled, getting out of her seat.

"Gelato?" Sorbet said, nudging the blonde.

"I was hoping not to do this, " Gelato said, as a large old fashioned camera appeared in his hand. "Chained to You!" He called out, as he took a picture of Bibita as she attempted to leave.
Suddenly, she noticed she could not move, like something was keeping her stuck to the seat. She looked down, and saw a set of chains streaming out of her heart, binding her to the floor of the café. Try as she might, she could not move an inch.

"Now there, it's rude to leave in the middle of a conversation," Gelato scolded.
Bibita tried not to freak out. "S-so, I can assume this is your stand?"

Gelato nodded. "I figured it'd be a more covert way of keeping you here, since no one else in this café can see stands," he explained. "I mean, it's this, or threatening you at gunpoint, which we can easily arrange."

Bibita was visibly shaking, as she sat back down. " No.. no guns. Magical incorporeal chains are just fine."

"Good, now we can talk business," Sorbet said, sliding a folder of papers to the girl. Inside the folder was monthly payment records, spanning at least five years back.

"What am I looking at here?"

"A brief history of La Squadra's payment for missions over the years," Gelato explained, spreading the papers across the table.

Bibita looked over it. It wasn't too noticeable, but every few months, the payment would decrease a couple hundred Lire at a time. But what really drew her attention was the more the checks got split up. The most recent month was divided up amongst nine recipients.

"I see over the years, there's been a subtle drop in pay, but I think what's really diminishing your payment is the fact it's continually gets split up between more and more recipients," Bibita noted. "Do you really need nine members to your team?"

If looks could kill, the pair of assassins would have massacred the girl right there with her comment. "Everyone in necessary to our team," Gelato hissed.

"Tell me, have you ever killed anyone?" Sorbet demanded. "Do you have any idea the risk and preplanning it takes to perform a successful hit?"

"N-no, I can't say I ha-"

"Then you have no right telling us how to do our business," Sorbet sneered.

Bibita gulped. She knew she had to get out of the café, away from the assassins, but with these chains binding her to the booth, she didn't have a way to escape. 'Gelato's stand appears to be connected to that picture he took of me,' Bibita thought. 'If I can find a way to get that from him, I may be able to escape… but, then what? They know who I am. They found me once already. What'll they do to me if I try to leave? What will they do to my family?' She decided it safest to stay put, as she did not want to underestimate Passione's trained assassins.

"Regardless," she continued, gathering her composure. "It appears you are paid via the boss's missions directly. Other sectors of Passione get a monthly or hourly earnings. That isn't the case for you. Tell me, does your group have any land?"

Sorbet and Gelato were silent.

"You don't have to tell me where," Bibita sighed. "But I need to know what options we have here."

"No… we don't have any territory," Gelato muttered, begrudgingly.

"Oh… that narrows our options a bit-"

"We need the boss to pay us more," Sorbet interrupted. "We are professionals, and each year we're being paid less and less!"

"I know Italy just switched to the Euro, so it may take a bit to calcula-"

"That's bullshit," Sorbet continued, getting a little pissed off. "Just another excuse from the higher ups to under pay us."

Gelato set a hand on Sorbet's shoulder to calm him down. "We need the boss to increase our
pay. We want you to take care of that."

"I-I don't know what I could do," Bibita admitted. "I just file papers. Our division isn't even really in charge of the paychecks, our orders come directly from the boss."

"You have to have some influence, some sway on things," Gelato insisted.

Bibita bit her lip, and reluctantly spoke, “There's a quarterly meeting this week to talk about our conversion to the Euro. I may be able to bring something up there… I'm just not sure-"

"There has to be something," Sorbet complained. "I mean, the street thugs get extra money selling drugs, Polpo has his casino. It's just not fai-"

"Wait!" Bibita boldly interrupted. "Polpo has a casino? I remember going through Napoli's records not too long ago, and none of their money came in through gambling!"

She waited for a response from the two, but when they failed to speak up, she continued. "Money laundering works best in cash-based businesses, restaurants, private contract work. Anything where cash is the main form of payment. That way we can easily slip in our dirty money in with the clean, and then legally tax it as earnings from said business. And boom, our dirty money is now clean."

She started to get excited as she continued to speak, "A casino, or any legal gambling establishment is quite possibly the perfect place to launder money, with all the cash running in and out of the place! If we can get Passione to launder money through these casinos, it will quicken the process of cleaning our money, as well as add to our overall earnings! With the added earnings, it shouldn't be a problem to increase salaries!"

This put a smile on both Sorbet and Gelato's faces. "Now that's the kind of optimism we like to hear," the blonde said.

"We have another question for you," Sorbet said, more down to business with his partner. "In your report, you said you were able to trick the French gang into taking a decoy of the money… How did you do that exactly? Is that tied to your stand ability?"

"With all due respect," Bibita said. "I'd rather not reveal my stand. I've been told it's a bad idea to let others know my abilities-"

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Gelato said. "You wouldn't want your enemies to discover your secrets… but we're not your enemies. In fact, you're our closest ally of the Financial Division, and allies should know each other's strengths and abilities, right?"

"If you don't tell us, we'll assume you view us as an enemy," Sorbet narrowed his eyes. "All it takes is a bit of research on our end, and I'm sure we could figure it out. But, we figured we'd give you a choice."

"Not much of a choice now, is it?" Bibita grumbled. Even though she did not trust the assassins in the slightest, she did not want them as her enemies. Reluctantly, she summoned her stand. "Blink."

Two canisters appeared in her hands, and just like how the chains bound her body to the ground, so too did more chains appear around her stand, keeping them rather immobile.

"With my stand, I have the ability to convert gas to solid and solid to gas," she explained, as she sprayed both bottles. The right one created a scone on a decorative plate, while the left cannister completely evaporated her empty cup of espresso. "The things I create are real. And have the exact same properties of the items I'm recreating, however, after about an hour, it'll revert back to its initial form."

"So you created the money to trick them," Sorbet smiled. "Nicely done."

"Thank you."

Gelato seemed transfixed on the newly created scone, and reached out for it.

"Oh, I wouldn't do tha-" Bibita said, as Gelato proceeded to try a bit of the pastry. As he chewed, the scone began to revert back to its gaseous form.

"Idiot," Sorbet said. "Why would you eat something she made with her stand?"

"Fist of all, I'm hungry," Gelato said, with a slight smoke escaping from his lips. "Second, I just wanna know the full capabilities of her stand. Sure, it tastes like a regular scone at first, but then it quickly loses its form, almost like how cotton candy melts in your mouth… your stand wouldn't happen to be weak to liquids, would it?"

'Crap,' Bibita thought. 'They know too much. I don't want to reveal everything about my stand.'
She decided to shrug it off. "To be honest, I'm still getting used to having a stand," she said. "But if you guys have any theories on it, let me know!"

Sorbet raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the subject. Her vague answer seemed to suffice for him. "Very well," he said, getting back to business. "At the quarterly meeting, pitch your idea to launder money through Polpo's cassino."

The girl nodded in silence.

"And remember," Gelato said with a happy little tune. "We're assassins. So, don't betray us, or we'll kill you!"

'Sounds about right.' She thought. "And don't betray me," she replied with a false err of confidence. "Or I'll… mis-file your taxes… or something… mine doesn't sound as intimidatin-"

Gelato laughed out loud at the girl's attempt at a threat, and Sorbet even smiled a little. "Oh my god, I love her!" The blonde said. "You know who else would love her?"

"My thoughts exactly, that's what I'm afraid of," Sorbet replied, as he turned his attention to Bibita. "Hey kid, if you see a man with lavender hair, and a rejected spandex superhero outfit… just stay away."

"Okay? Will do?" Bibita agreed. The pair soon got up, and headed towards the exit of the café. "Um, excuse me?" Bibita called out, rattling the chains that kept her anchored in place. "Could you undo this possibly?"

Without breaking their walking pace, Gelato merely said "Chained to You," and withdrew his stand, as the chains around Bibita dissolved. Before she had a chance to say goodbye, the pair had already left the establishment. And Bibita sat alone, with a mission from La Squadra di Execusione.

******************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Want You

Stand User: Sorbet

Stand Power: Data Dive- Want You appears as a torii gate, which activates when "evidence" is placed in front of it. Sorbet's spirit is then able to enter the memory of the evidence, and observe the event. While he is unable to alter the events he data-dives into, the stand is still excellent for gathering data.

• Power: N/A
• Speed: D
• Range: D
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Potential:D

Chapter Text

Bibita awoke early, a few days after her impromptu meeting with the hitmen. The sun had yet to rise, as she gathered all her research and notes. This was the day of the quarterly meeting, and the girl certainly had a task ahead of her. She quickly got ready in her small studio apartment, took a shower, put on the black jumpsuit, and made a simple cereal breakfast. While eating, she lit a small candle, and placed it in the bowl of cereal.

"Happy birthday to me," she sang to herself. After a while of living on her own, she was quite used to celebrating her birthday by herself, but that didn't make it any less bittersweet. She wondered if her mother and brother celebrated this day while she was gone, or if they'd forgotten about her after she left. At least this year, she was celebrating her 14th birthday in a nice apartment with a well-paying job in Rome. Things were at least looking up for her this year.

Bibita arrived at work a half hour early, yet, to her surprise, everyone else was already there. She immediately checked the clock on the wall. "Did I oversleep or something?"

"Nah," Pecorino said, whilst diligently washing a window. "This pretty much happens anytime Canella comes over."

"Oh great, new kid's finally here," Minestra said, tossing the girl a feather duster. "Clean out that corner, you’re small enough to fit there."

Bibita, upset with being called kid, reluctantly began cleaning. As she crossed the room, she saw Ossobuco, hard at work at his crossword puzzle. "Sir, what's going on here?"

"Every quarterly meeting, the boss sends over his messenger to discuss the next few months budget and finances," he said, not lifting his gaze from his little game. "This is fairly normal, but, luckily, I don't have to help. Thank God for arthritis, am I right?"

"I suppose so-"

"Enough of the chit-chat, Bibita," Minestra commanded, looking as intimidating as ever with her maroon pant suit.

The girl turned back to her work, dusting off the far corner by the filing cabinets, giving one last look to the old man with his crosswords. "I'd say I'd love to help, but I'd be lying," Ossobuco whispered with a small smile. "This is work for you young folks."

She dusted off the corner, as the rest of the office went to work cleaning and decorating frantically. Their capo, Soldi was in the conference room, meticulous arranging the chairs and the projector machine. Minestra was clearing off space on all the desks, shoving any knick knacks in the drawers underneath. Pecorino scrubbed down and windows and glass, while being micromanaged by Minestra. Ossobuco continued to play his crossword puzzles, occasionally moving out of the way of the frantic cleaners. The only one not accounted for was Dolchi.

It was 8:50 when the elevator doors opened up, and a dozen blue balloons poured into the office, followed by Dolchi, carrying a large bouquet of sunflowers and a tray of little lemon cakes. "Sorry I'm late," she said, even though she was still there before work technically started. "The bakery down the street doesn't open till nine, so I had to cross Tiber to get the lemon cakes!"

For a moment, Bibita smiled, seeing the balloons, and wondered if maybe her coworkers had remembered her birthday. As she was about to greet the blonde girl, Minestra interrupted, "Dolchi, I specifically said turquoise balloons. Not aqua."

"It's blue, actually," Dolchi said, as her shoulders drooped a little. "That was the best I could get on such short notice…"

"I think they are perfect," Soldi said, poking out of the conference room. "I think Canella will enjoy the color. Now let's get those balloons set up, she'll be here soon!"

Dolchi rushed into the conference room, and as she passed Minestra, the older woman scoffed. "Oh, of course he thinks they're perfect," Minestra said, under her breath, but still loud enough for Pecorino to chuckle at her snide remark.

Bibita wanted to say something to defend the blonde receptionist, but as she walked towards Minestra, Ossobuco caught her attention. "Know how to pick your battles, kid," he advised.

"But, she shouldn't say that sorta stuff."

"That's just how Minestra is," he said, barely lifting his eyes from his crossword. "She has something to say about everyone here. Dolchi's a lot tougher than she looks, she can handle it. If you wanna continue here, you gotta learn how to take those sorta remarks in stride."

"Did you have to deal with that?"

"Eh, you could say that," Ossobuco said, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve. For a split second, Bibita saw a long-faded tattoo on his wrist, which looked like a series of numbers and letters. But, in a blink of an eye, his sleeve soon covered whatever she saw, and before she had a chance to say anything, Pecorino rushed into the main office.

"I saw her car!" The man with the thick glasses said, gesturing to the window. "Canella just pulled up!"

"Alright everyone, in the conference room. Now," Soldi said, finishing up the last of the decorations. "It's game time!"

******************************

Due to the way Passione was structured, there was very little direct communication between the differing groups of the organization. Grunts within a certain territory would have a Capo of the region to report to, but beyond that, the gang members from one town would have no communication another region's members. The same was true to Passione's boss, if not more true. The boss typically only emails his Capos his orders directly, keeping his identity a secret to even his most trusted underlings. But, sometimes, email messages weren't enough, and the boss would have to send someone in to represent him and his best interests.

Enter the boss's messenger, Canella Mercury. The door to the conference room opened, and in stepped a woman in her early thirties. She had dark skin, slightly wavy orange hair, and bright gold eyes. She wore a turquoise sun dress with golden flower print, as well as a short black business jacket. She gave a glance around the room, taking in all the Financial team and decorations, before taking a seat at the head of the long table.

"Ah, you remembered my color," the messenger said, admiring one of the balloons, as Dolchi let out a sigh of relief. "And the sunflowers. And the lemon cakes. The Financial Division really knows how to make a girl feel at home! I always look forward to these quarterly meetings."

Bibita couldn't understand why everyone was so stressed out, Canella appeared very polite and courteous. But, then again, she figured her team knew better than her when it came to these matters.

"I hate to skip through pleasantries and everything, but we have a lot of ground to cover," Canella said, reaching out for a lemon cake. "Between the Euro conversion, last quarter's reports and budgeting for the next few months, you certainly have your plates full," she said, tossing a few pastries onto her paper plate.

"Of course," Soldi cleared his throat, as he prepared the projector. "We'll try to make this as painless as possible!"

For the next half hour, Soldi went through the last quarter's numbers, with each of the different team members piping up and explaining certain details, except for Bibita. Having only been on the team for a short while, the green haired girl had nothing to really report, so she thumbed through her folder of research in the back corner of the conference room. While she understood the gist of the conversation, a lot of it went over her head.

"All that seems in order," Canella said, observing the quarterly reports. "Now I believe we should move on to the plans for next quarter, as there may be some changes as of recent events."

"We figured that much," Soldi said. "I suppose our biggest question is what happens with Turino now, after the events with the French gang?"

"We can assure you the traitors have been dealt with," Canella said. Bibita immediately thought of Sorbet and Gelato, and the rest of the hitman team, and for a moment, she pitied the poor souls the assassins were sent to slay. However, after reflecting on all the times she could've died on the Turino mission, that feeling quickly faded.

"Due to the fast thinking from your team we didn't lose any money," Canella continued, looking at Minestra. "and for that, the boss thanks you."

"Actually," Soldi piped up. "Minestra was unable to embark on the Turino mission. Instead, Bibita, our newest recruit, took her place."

"Ah, I thought I saw a new face!" Canella smiled. "So sorry to skip introductions. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, uh, likewise," Bibita said, finally drawn into the conversation.

"That was Bibita's first real mission," Soldi said. "But she handled herself very well. Hopefully her future missions won't be as dangerous."

The rest of the Financial Division gave Bibita smiles and words of encouragement, except for Minestra, who glared at the girl. Bibita didn't pay that much mind, as she was just happy to be in the conversation.

"Anyhow," Canella said, returning back to business. "While we didn't lose any money that day, the fact the French mafia got so far into our territory is unsettling. Until Turino is deemed safe from the threats of rival gangs, we will have to halt our business there."

"No way," Pecorino gasped.

"With all due respect," Minestra chimed in, standing up. "Turino is our north-eastern most territory. Without a stronghold in that region, what'll stop rival gangs from taking it?"

"Oh, Passione is by no means retreating," Canella said. "We'll have plenty of grunts and undercover agents in the area, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. We are simply going to stop our financial dealings in the area for a while, just in case."

"Oh, that makes sense," Pecorino nodded.

"I… suppose," Minestra said, a bit more reluctant. "But, without us laundering through Turino, won't that slow down the money cleaning process?"

Canella let out a small sigh. "Yes, that is true. However, we are hoping to begin laundering through the banking, commerce and fashion industry of Milan-"

"MILAN!" Dolchi practically squealed. "Oh my god, I've been saying for years we need to start business there!" The room went quiet after her little outburst, and soon she realized all eyes were on her. "Oh… so sorry for interrupting. Milan is an excellent choice. Fully support it. One hundred percent."

Minestra scoffed at Dolchi's display of excitement, but the rest of the team shrugged off the interruption.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," Canella smiled, returning back to business. "With us laundering through there, we should be back on track in no time. Pecorino, do you think you can oversee our business there?"

The glasses clad man raised his brows a bit. "Me? Are you sure you don't want someone like Dolchi on this?"

"You seem to have experience with banking in the past, so it made the most sense," Canella said. "Plus, from what I hear, Dolchi may get distracted with all the fashion in the area."

"That is completely accurate," Dolchi said, shoulders slumped. "I would definitely get distracted. Pecorino is an excellent choice. Fully support it. One hundred percent."

It was clear the blonde woman was disappointed, but she put business in front of her own personal wants. Canella Mercury continued on, "with all that said, we are always looking for ways to quicken the laundering process, so if anyone has any ideas on how to make business run smoother, I as well as the boss would love to hear."

Bibita sat up straight, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to pitch her casino idea… or rather La Squadra's idea. "Psst," she whispered to Soldi. "Do you mind if I speak? I have an idea I wanna share."

He looked a little surprised, but nodded with a smile, "of course." He then faced the messenger, "Canella, it looks like our latest recruit would like to speak."

"Ah, yes, miss Bibita right? By all means, tell us your idea."

Bibita stood up, and gathered her notes. "S-so I was going through files recently, and I couldn't help but notice that over the years, the rates for Passione's contract members has, uh, decreased steadily," she said, her body as tense as her voice was shaky. Public speaking was never one of her fortes, especially when compared to her more charismatic teammates. "This mostly affects those who receive pay directly from the boss and his missions, and don't have territory to gain extra income. I understand the switch from Lire to Euro has sorta thrown us through a loop, but I-I think it could be a good time to take stock of our resources."

She waited for a response or interjection, but Canella and the others were intently listening, so she continued. "It's come to my attention that Polpo and other Capos have casinos they gain their personal money from. Gambling, being a fast moving cash based industry is the perfect place to launder money." She opened her folder and passed her calculations to Canella. "I-if we really focus on quickly cleaning our money, we could launder five thousand Euros a night at Polpo's casino, easily. And, with Passione's money getting cleaned at a quicker pace, it shouldn't be too d-difficult to increase pay for the personal guards, assassins, and other gang members."

"Huh… looks like you did your research, kid," Ossobuco said, looking over some of her files. The elderly man had maintained silence for the majority of the meeting, so him piping up gave Bibita a bit of confidence. "This actually looks like it could work."

"So long as we get approval from the Capo's, I don't see a problem implementing this laundering scheme," Soldi said, making a few quick notes. "What say you, Canella?"

The boss's messenger slowly blinked, looking over the files. While she still had a soft smile on her lips, her eyes had lost the glimmer they once had, as if her eyes had stopped smiling. "You did a lot of work to put this together, and I'd hate to sell you short on your idea," Canella began, taking her time to methodically choose her words. "But, I'm afraid laundering through the casinos just won't work."

"But… why though?"

Canella gave a slight sigh, "You see, Polpo's casino was a gift from our boss. It's a symbol of trust and unity. You wouldn't want someone to tamper with your gift from the boss, would you."

"N-no, but, we can still launder without drawing attention to it," Bibita said, her momentary confidence fading. "At the end of it all, it should help everyone involved."

"Soldi," Canella turned her attention to the head of the Financial Division. The woman's eyes almost seemed to glow a slight gold as she spoke. "You believe gifts from the boss shouldn't be trifled with, right? You wouldn't want to disrespect the other Capos."

"Yes. Of course," Soldi said, nodding his head. "I'm afraid there's no way you plan would work, Bibita-"

"What? You just said it shouldn't be a problem though," Bibita said, furrowing her brow at his sudden change of heart.

"Come on, it's a decent idea," Ossobuco grumbled. "Besides, those Capo's have more than enough funds. Our laundering through their casinos would be a way for them to give back to the organization."

Canella kept her composure, as she turned her attention to the old man. "There is no way her plan would work-"

"I mean, between their pay through Passione as well as their added income through gambling, the Capos shouldn't be concerned about finances," the old man continued, not listening to the messenger’s remarks. "It only makes sense to try cleaning money t-"

"Ossobuco," Canella said, a bit more pointedly. "I believe you may want to adjust your hearing aide, dear." She waited for him to fix his hearing aide, and once she had his full attention, continued. "Laundering money through the casinos will never work."

It took a moment, but the old man shortly responded. "Ah, yes. Canella is right," he said, turning his attention to Bibita. "Laundering money through the casinos will never work."

"But, you just agreed with me, like a minute ago?" Bibita said, eyes darting around room. "I have the research, I know this plan can work! Please, allow me to explain, I can answer any questions you hav-"

"Bibita, please," Canella said, turning to the girl, a faint glow to her golden eyes. "Drop the subject."

Despite her desire to argue her point, Bibita was unable to say a single word on the matter. So, the meeting continued on, with the green haired girl hardly contributing anything more to the discussion. There was something odd about the boss's messenger, but Bibita couldn't figure out exactly what. No matter what Canella said, everyone couldn't help agreeing with her, and Bibita was no exception to this.

*********************

Bibita sat alone at the cafe by the river. She had her usual espresso, with plenty of creamer she smuggled in, but instead of studying from Fugo's finance textbooks, she instead seemed to be viciously scribbling on various papers. She paid no mind to the other patrons of the cafe, and instead devoted all her concentration on her note taking.

"Once again, we see the latest member of the Financial Division enjoying a coffee all on her own," a familiar voice narrated. Bibita jumped a little, pulled away from her work by the remark. She turned around and noticed the duo from La Squadra she met earlier. "Mind if we join you?" Gelato asked, stepping towards her table.

Bibita didn't respond, but rather scooted over, making room for her assassin associates.
The pair sat down at the table, and once again, they sat very close to each other, Gelato practically on Sorbet's lap. "Big day today," Sorbet began, eyeing the papers the girl was working on. "So… how'd it go?"

"You probably should have chosen someone else to argue your case," she said, eyes still fixated on her work. "No one listens to me."

"That bad, huh?" Gelato said in an understanding tone.

"You… you guys aren't mad at me?" Bibita hesitantly looked to the pair.

Sorbet shrugged, "The plan was a longshot, at best. But also, the least dangerous method to increase our pay."

"What ended up happening?" Gelato asked. "I know we didn't end up getting what we wanted, but the more we know, the easier it'll be moving forward."

Bibita explained the more crucial aspects of the meeting, but she made sure not to divulge any names or details regarding her teammates. “It’s funny… when I first pitched the idea, a good portion of the financial team agreed with me, including my Capo. But, as soon as the messenger spoke, everyone turned against my idea. And she didn’t even really have an argument, but everyone just sided with her...I wanted to keep arguing my point, but for some reason, I just couldn’t.”

“Classic Passione,” Sorbet said, shaking his head slightly. “The messenger listens to the boss, not the finance team, apparently.”

“I mean,” Bibita said, in a softer tone. “I’m kinda used to being ignored… unnoticed. It’s a helpful skill to have on the streets. But, this time was different. I had a good idea. And she shut me down. They all shut me down.”

The pair of assassins glanced at each other. “You did your best,” Gelato said. “You don’t need to be sad about it-”

“Oh, I’m not sad, I’m kinda furious!” she said abruptly. “I had a great idea, and that messenger lady thinks she could just shoot it down without an explanation? That’s bullshit!”

Both men across the table looked a little startled at her sudden mood change. All the while, Bibita continued her note taking. “Uh… Whatcha working on there?” Gelato asked.

“I want to help you guys,” she said, keeping her focus on her work. “At first, because you're assassins and could very well kill me if I don’t, but now, I can see where you’re coming from… feeling left out, like your voice doesn’t matter. It sucks.”

She slid the papers across the tables to the two men. “While I can't directly help you increase your pay through the boss, I’ve put together a couple ideas,” she explained.

Sorbet and Gelato looked at the small stack of papers. “This one just looks like a list of part time jobs?” Sorbet scratched his head.

“You guys need extra income, these are just a few ideas to increase it,” she pointed to another paper. “Here’s a list of ways to save money, over here is a couple successful stocks to possibly invest in… and this one here,” she smiled with determination, “is my personal favorite.”

“Passione currently doesn’t have a stronghold in Cinque Terre. It’s a beautiful set of coastal towns, and attracts insane numbers of tourists every year. If you guys could set up a casino over there, the projected estimates would be…. Hell, I don’t even know!”

“And, this is the start up cost?” Sorbet raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t misplace a decimal point, or converted Lire to Euro wrong?”

“That’s the rough estimate,” the green haired girl sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s gonna cost money to end up making money.”

Sorbet’s shoulders slumped, accepting there was no easy win to their financial situation. Gelato, on the other hand, looked a little puzzled. “How long did it take you to put all this together?”

“I’ve had it on the back burner for a couple days now,” she said. “And after the less than productive quarterly meeting, I skipped my lunch and began research and number crunching.”

“You did all that for us?” Gelato raise his brow.

Bibita scoffed. “I mostly did it to spite the messenger, to be honest. But, I suppose I want you guys to be successful, too. It’s safer for everyone if the assassins are happy better paid. Plus, I kinda don’t want to die.”

“We were never going to kill you,” Sorbet said, rolling his eyes. “But, all of this is appreciated.” he then turned his attention to his partner. “I think we should start considering option B.”

“Rizz isn’t gonna be too happy about that,” Gelato said in a more hushed tone.

“We tried it his way,” the dark-haired man retorted. “It didn’t work. We need some results.”

“Whatever you end up doing,” Bibita interjected, handing the pair the papers. “At least take these with you. It’s not gonna do me much good anyways.”

Sorbet hesitantly accepted her notes, and gave a small nod to Gelato. The pair then reached into a bag. “We also have something for you,” Gelato said, pulling out a small styrofoam box with a green bow.

Bibita raised her brows with suspicion. “Is it a bomb?”

“Calm down, kid. It’s not a bomb,” Sorbet chuckled, also reaching into the bag.

Slowly, the girl opened the box, and was greeted with little chocolate cannoli. “Cannoli? Why?”

“We’re members of the Data Analysis Team,” Gelato said matter of factly. “You didn’t think we’d find out that it’s your birthday?”

“Or find out your favorite pairing is cannoli and Dr. Pepper?” Sorbet then pulled out a glass bottle of the aforementioned soda. “Honestly, you continue eating like that, you’re going to end up looking like Polpo.”

“We would have gotten you birthday candles or something, but, you know, money’s expensive these days,” Gelato teased. Bibita, however, remained silent. The pair waited for a response, only to hear a small sniffle from the girl. “Aw, shit. She’s crying. Sorbet, you took it too far with that Polpo comment!”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Bibita said, voice shaking a little as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. “It’s just… I haven’t had a proper birthday in a long time. I guess I didn’t expect anything… especially from assassins. So… thank you.”

The two talkative men went quiet for a moment, waiting Bibita try to covertly dry her tears. “Let’s just pretend that bit never happened,” the girl said, quickly changing her tone to something more upbeat, and proceeded to dig into her little birthday feast.

“Well, we better get going now,” Gelato said. “And remember, if you ever need someone killed, you know who to call.”

“Uh, can I take a rain check on that?” the girl joked. Knowing how dangerous Passione was, having allies in the hitman team could be very helpful. “And, for what it’s worth, I hope you get your financial situation sorted out. Stay safe out there, please.”

“Come on, kid,” Sorbet scoffed. “We’re professionals. We’ll get this all sorted out before the next quarterly meeting, trust me.”

***********************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Chained to You

Stand User: Gelato

Stand Power: Binding Evidence- Once a person’s image is captured in Chained to You’s photo, Gelato can activate the stand, binding said person (and stand) in place. Photos are temporary, and only last for 24 hours.

• Power: N/A
• Speed: C
• Range: A
• Durability: A
• Precision: B
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

Taranto, Italy 1996

A hand drawn picture of a fashionista was getting filled out, intricate designs piecing together the beautiful paper dress. The person drawing, so captivated with the doodle, failed to notice the front door of their diner swing open.

Ding! Ding!

Bells greeted the man as he walked into the shop, and he took a seat at a booth by the window.

“Looks like the Americano is here,” one of the waitresses joked, nudging the blonde who was busy sketching. “Hey, Dolchi, you got him, or are you too busy prepping for fashion week to do your job?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Dolchi rolled her eyes, and then realization hit her. “Wait, the Americano?!”

“Yeah, but, hey, if you’re too busy, I can always take the table,” the other girl said, readying her notepad. “I could always use the extra cash-”

“Ooooh, sorry. You just got the last few booths,” Dolchi said, feigning concern. “It wouldn’t be fair to triple seat you. Consider this a gift from me.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with your little sweet act,” the server said, returning to her other tables.

Dolchi paid her comment no mind, as she folded her drawing into her apron and walked towards the Americano. She wore a red and white candy-striped dress and a small apron, a very fitting look for their 1950’s themed American diner. Of all the restaurants in Italy, the Americano still chooses to eat at a US themed diner; the irony wasn’t lost on the girl.

“Hi there! What can I get for you?” Dolchi asked with an enthusiastic smile.

“Hmmm,” the man took his time looking through the menu. He was a well-dressed businessman, with dark hair and violet eyes, and clearly looked of a higher class than the other patrons of the Diner. Dolchi immediately noticed the name brand suit, and tried to place which fashion magazine she saw that from. After a moment, the man spoke up, with a slight accent “I think I’ll have the authentic ‘Cowboy’ burger and an americano.”

Dolchi stifled a laugh, as she read his order, “A cowboy burger and an americano for the Americano.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Your Italian is just fine,” Dolchi said. “Your accent, however, is a little distracting, but you don’t seem to be a tourist. You come here often enough that all the servers gave you that nickname.”

“Ey, come-on the accent isn’t that noticeable… is it?”

“Oh, it just screams Chicago… or Boston?” the blonde struggled to place his dialect. “Where is it from exactly?”

“New York.”

“No way! Really?” Dolchi practically squealed. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York. There, Milan, Paris, Tokyo. The fashion there has to be amazing! Much better than these dated getups they have us wearing here.”

“Well, the fashion there isn’t anything too crazy,” the Americano said. “But I’ll have you know, I’m actually Italian too!”

“Really now,” she responded, handing the ticket for his order to the kitchen. “So the Italian-American goes to Italy and visits the one American themed restaurant in the area. Makes sense.”

“I’m serious,” he said, getting a little defensive. “My family was actually a big name in the American Mafia scene.”

“So you’re like… who’s that guy again? Al Capone?”

“Oh God, no!” the Americano laughed. “He was from Chicago, and he was a brash violent fool. My family was from New York, where we handled business professionally, carefully, and with as little bloodshed as possible. We handled the finances of one of the biggest crime families. Ever heard of Lucky Luciano?”

Dolchi shook her head.

“Ever heard of the Genovese crime family? The Five Families?”

“Ummm… doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Psh, and you call yourself Italian,” the man scoffed.

“Yeah, well, you’re not too convincing as an Italian either,” Dolchi retorted. “You know, people don’t typically tip over here in Europe… that’s definitely an American thing-”

“Oh, I guess if you don’t want the extra cash-”

“No, please. I take it back. I want money please.”

The man chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So, what brings you to Taranto?” Dolchi said, prepping a pot of coffee. “You doing some Mafia stuff like your American cousins?”

“Ah, I work in finance, not nearly as thrilling,” the American shrugged. “Investing in small business, lots of numbers and math. It’s pretty boring.”

“Based on your expensive looking suit and your frequent generous tips, I’d say that boring job pays well,” she crossed to him, and began to pour him his drink. “It’s got to beat this gig at least. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

As she finished up, and headed towards the kitchen, three hooded men entered the diner.

Ding! Ding!

Roma, 1999

Ding! Ding!

“Dolchi, seriously, you don’t have to do this,” Bibita said, as she reluctantly followed the blonde.

“Are you kidding me! We have to go shopping,” Dolchi insisted, dragging the teenager by the wrist into the high-end fashion store. “I forgot your birthday, so I am morally obligated to make it up to you! Besides, if I didn’t, I would be a terrible teammate, and an even worse friend.”

“I mean… no one else remembered… It’s not a big deal-”

“Regardless, that’s no way to treat the new recruit!” the blonde stated, as she twirled around, gesturing at all the outfits. “So, pick out whatever you want, it’s all on me!”

Bibita hesitantly picked up one of the blouses hanging up, and cringed at the price tag. “Uhh… I’m not really sure this is my style… plus, have you seen the price? I don’t wanna bankrupt you.”

“Nonsense, really! I’ve carefully budgeted for these very occasions,” the older girl said. “Sure, I don’t eat at nice restaurants or take extravagant vacations, but, so long as I can still wear high-end, name brand fashion, people will believe that I do. That's the power of fashion!”

“I suppose…”

“Bibita, what do you want to make people believe about you?” she asked. “What do you want their first impression of you to be? That’ll help us narrow down your look.”

“I haven’t really given that much thoug-”

“Ooooh! I think you’d look just wonderful in pink!”

Bibita tried not to scoff at the idea. “I don’t really think that color suits me, I mostly stick to, like, black, grey… denim I guess?”

Dolchi tilted her head. “Really? You seem like a very colorful person,” she admitted. “I’ve seen some of your doodles and artwork. Someone like that shouldn’t be confined to only monochrome!”

The young girl was a little shocked to hear someone reference her art. It felt like the past few weeks were filled with logistics and math, that there was barely any room for her artistic side to shine. Yet, even through that, Dolchi could tell Bibita had an artistic side. Reluctantly, Bibita grabbed different outfits to try on, if only to humor Dolchi. While fashion didn't mean much to the teenager, it was clear this meant a lot to the young woman.

As the pair walked to the changing rooms, they talked about Bibita's unorthodox induction into the gang. "Wow, I don't think I've ever heard of that," Dolchi said, passing the younger a few more outfits. "I know the lighter test is far from perfect, but a casualty of the test joining up instead is kinda crazy!"

"Yeah, kinda a bizarre start," Bibita entered into the small changing room, but continued talking to the girl outside. "But, I mean, I'm glad I'm here. Things are a lot better for me now."

"And how are you liking Rome?"

"It's a bit different from Naples, to say the least. Much busier."

"Yeah, I understand that feeling," Dolchi remarked. "I came from way down in Taranto. Rome can be a little overwhelming at first. It gets way easier."

As Bibita continued trying on outfits, Dolchi tried to keep the conversation going. "So, I couldn't help but notice there was a young boy in your story," the blonde said, with a little smile. "Are you, you know, interested in him?"

Bibita was taken aback for a moment. "Me… and Fugo?" She began to laugh. "Oh, no. We're um… he's just a friend. Kinda a nerd if you ask me, but a good friend. We're not like you and Soldi."

Dolchi grew quiet at that remark. "Bibita, Soldi and I are not a couple," she said in a hushed voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought-"

"I understand," she interrupted. "I'm the beautiful blonde secretary and he's the successful boss. I know how that must look… and I'm okay with that. That's the quick assumption people will make about me, and I don't mind it."

"Wait, you should tell people!" Bibita urged. "Minestra and Pecorino are always saying nasty rumors about you-"

"I hear the things they say, but I've heard worse. So long as I know it's not true, I don't care what gossip they want to spread. The truth is, Soldi is a married man with two beautiful children, and I would do anything to protect that man and his loved ones.”

This confused Bibita. From what the young woman previously said, she appeared to care greatly about what others’ first impressions are, and how fashion can alter what people think about someone. Yet, for some reason, Dolchi was fine with people believing she was just some blonde stereotype. Truth be told, that was Bibita’s first impression of her as well, a fact she wasn’t too proud of. That impression changed after the pair spent more time together, but for people like Minestra and Pecorino, they continued to view her as a ditzy blonde secretary. Bibita decided to drop the subject, as she tried on more and more outfits, to little success.

“Found anything you fancy?” Dolchi asked from the changing room next door.

“Uh… not yet,” Bibita admitted. “They all look great, but… I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel like me, you know?”

“No worries,” she said, crossing over to the girl’s changing room, and knocked on the door. “I think I have the perfect look for you. Can I come in?”

Bibta, having changed back into her street clothes opened the door to be greeted by Dolchi, already sporting a new outfit. It was a super pink and frilly skirt and crop-top combo, with little candy designs sewn into the fabric, and a pair of long white and blue heeled boots. This outfit was definitely quintessentially Dolchi, however, Bibita never remembered seeing that outfit in the shop.

“Here, try this on?” Dolchi handed Bibita a large black dress. Begrudgingly, Bibita tried it on, and was practically swimming in the material.

“I don’t think it fits.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Dolchi said, cracking her knuckles as a soft pink aura began to glow around her form. “But that’s nothing my stand can’t fix!”

Bibita’s eyes widened. “You have a stand too! That’s awesome! I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”

“Erm, maybe try not to phrase it like that,” Dolch cringed. “But I do appreciate the enthusiasm. Alot in Passione are very secretive about their stands, but I see no reason to hide it. Bibita, say hello to Material Girl!”

The moment she spoke, her stand appeared as a small bundle of hot pink yarn, in a vaguely humanoid form. The stand sat on Dolchi’s shoulder and appeared to be held together with little sewing pins. While it didn’t have a face, there were two little buttons acting as the strange stand’s eyes. Upon seeing Bibita, Material Girl began to bounce up and down, and then unraveled.

“So sorry about that,” Dolchi said, collecting the heap of yarn off floor. “When Material Girl gets too excited, she can sometimes unravel.” She then stuck the sewing pins back into place, once the stand was back to its humanoid form. Material Girl then wobbled over to Bibita, and gave her ankles a hug.

“Uh… was does it do, exactly?” Bibita raised her brows. Most stands she saw were combat based, but this little childlike pile of yarn didn’t look like it could take a punch.

“Tell me, Bibita, what alterations would you make to that dress?” she asked, ignoring her question entirely, as Material Girl stumbled back over to its user.

“Oh, it’s a little big on me… and I’d rather not have sleeves on it.” As soon as Bibita spoke, she could feel the fabric moving on its own, shrinking itself to better fit the teenager’s form, and tearing the sleeves clear off the gown. “Wha-what’s happening?”

“It’s my ability,” Dolchi said, tilting her head to the side to view the changing dress. “Fabro-kinesis, at least, that’s what Soldi explained this power as. Manipulating fabric, which is just absolutely perfect when you find an outfit, and it doesn’t fit correctly, or you don’t like its color!”

“Yeah, definitely,” Bibita said, finding it hard to match the blonde’s enthusiasm. When she was first introduced to the world of stands, they seemed to be combat focused. But, as far as the financial division was concerned, their stands were all practical for everyday problems, not fighting. ‘Same could be said for Blink-182’ Bibita thought, as she knew her own stand couldn’t hold up in an actual fight. But there was something about Material Girl and its power that just fit Dolchi’s fashionista personality too perfectly.

“So…. What else would you like on your ideal outfit?” Dolchi said, drawing the teenager out of her thoughts.

“Oh, uh…” she thought for a moment. “I’d like a hood. Oooh! And pockets! Like, guy sized pockets!”

Once again, the material shifted, the extra fabric collecting to create a large hood, and spacious pockets near the flare of the skirt. Bibita smiled, as, even though she was never one to wear dresses, she was genuinely enjoying the way this one was coming together.

“Now, for some colors, if you don’t mind,” the blonde said, snapping her fingers. Slowly, bright green lines criss-crossed along the outfit, creating an almost brick like design. Then, splotches of hot pinks splattered across the dress, looking similar to abstract street art. “If you don’t like the color, I can always take it out-”

“No… I actually kinda like this,” Bibita interrupted, twirling around, watching the swirl of colors as the skirt of the dress flared out. It had a very street punk design, but there was something charmingly feminine about it. “Thank you, Dolchi.”

“No problem,” she smiled withdrawing her stand, as Material Girl gave a little wave to the green haired girl before disappearing. “I kinda have an eye for these sorta things.”

“Definitely!” Bibita said, as a green aura began to swirl around her. “Now, can I show you my stand?”

Before Dolchi could respond, a ringtone blared out from her purse. “Sorry, one moment,” she checked her flip phone, and recognized the number. “That’s Soldi. I got to take this call, but you can show me right after.”

Bibita nodded, knowing work came first, and she proceeded to strike little poses in the mirror while Dolchi took the call. She didn’t pay too much attention to the call, as she didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she did notice Dolchi’s sweet tone shifted to something more serious.

“Do you need me to take some notes, sir?” Dolchi asked, in a hushed tone. She waited a moment, and gave a terse nod. “Understood sir,” she said, hanging up.

“So… um, can I show you my stand now, or is now not a good time-”

“Soldi’s in trouble,” Dolchi said, eyes narrowing with a seriousness Bibita had never seen in the woman before. “We need to leave, now.”

Chapter Text

Taranto, Italy 1996

“It’s got to beat this gig at least. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

As Dolchi finished up, and headed towards the kitchen, three hooded men entered the diner.

Ding! Ding!

The men stood at the threshold for a moment, and then split up across the diner. The other waitress crossed to one of them. “Hello there! Table for thre-”

She was interrupted when the hooded figure took a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at her. Though he didn’t shoot, the waitress was paralyzed with fear, feeling the urge to scream, but choked to get any sound out.

The second of the hooded men walked over to Dolchi, who was too busy with her conversation with the Americano to notice what was happening. “Hi, a server will be with you shortly,” she said, as she turned around to see a gun pointed right at her face. “Ah, crap.”

“All right!” the third hooded man said, standing atop of the counter, pulling his gun and pointing it to the ceiling. “This is a holdup! Everyone, put your wallets on the ends of your tables, and maybe, just maybe, these waitresses get out of this alive.”

The other patrons gasped, as Dolchi and the other waitress were dragged to the front of the diner, in full view of everyone, guns pointed to the sides of their heads. The one waitress pleaded for everyone to follow what the gunmen were saying, but Dolchi remained silent.

Slowly, the third gunman made his way around diner, grabbing the money from the cash register, then collecting the wallets from the different guests. He finally made his way to the Americano, who had not yet pulled out his wallet. “What, do you not understand me?” the gunman reiterated. “Give. Me. Your. Wallet.”

“I understand you, yes,” the Americano said, sipping on his drink. “I understand you and your friends there recently watched that Tarantino film, and thought it’d be easy to rob a little diner instead of an actual bank.”

The gunman hesitated a moment, then gestured the first gunman with the waitress to join them. “Yeah, maybe we did,” he shrugged. “But, if you don’t give us your money right now, we’ll shoot the girls, then you, and then take your wallet anyways.”

“Hmm, sounds like you’ve thought this out,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “But, tell me this: what do you do after you get the money?”

“What?”

“How will you cover your trail? How will you get rid of the police? Will you bribe them, sell out your partners? What are you going to do with that money? If you start any big spending, well, that’ll just alert authorities. You have to find a way to clean all this dirty, dirty money, otherwise you’ll have a bunch of money you can’t spend-”

“Stop lecturing us!” the gunman yelled, clearly a little unhinged from his speech. “You have till the count of three, or the waitress here gets it!”

“Fine,” the Americano grumbled, setting his wallet at the end of the table.

The gunman reached out for it, relieved to finally get his money. However, he did not pay attention to the cutlery of the table, if he had, he would have noticed the fork suspiciously missing.

SHHNK!

The Americano plunged the fork deep into the gunman’s hand, the sound of his breaking bones only muffled by his blood curdling shriek. The man, in a panic, fumbled for his gun, which gave the Americano enough time to dip out of the way, and secure the dull butter knife at the edge of the table. With his arm swinging full force, the Americano jabbed the gunman in the throat with the little butter knife. There was a sickening gurgling noise, as the hooded man slumped to the floor.

Acting quickly, the Americano pried the gun off of the severely bleeding man, just as the first gunman registered what was going on, but he was still unable to act fast enough.

“What?!”
BANG!

A single shot rang out, and the gunman fell to the floor, a bullet hole planted squarely between his eyes. The waitress, no longer a hostage, quickly dodged for cover, hiding behind an empty table.

“Hey!” the last gunman, who was at the other end of the diner, yelped. He quickly pointed his weapon at the Americano. “What the hell is goi-”

But he never got a chance to finish that thought. The moment Dolchi felt his grip on her faulter, something in her just clicked. Armed with the still scalding hot pot of coffee, the blonde quickly pivoted and smashed her fist into the gunman’s face. The shattering of the glass combined with the far too hot liquid was enough to knock the man off his feet, and sufficiently blind him. As the gunman screamed, fumbling over the floor in search for his weapon, Dolchi snatched the gun.

BA-BANG! BANG!

The man was already dead, but she kept shooting.

BANG! BANG!

BANG!

Click

She continued pulling the trigger until there were no more bullets left to fire. The whole ordeal was only a few seconds long, but the amount of carnage that piled up in that time was very unfitting of the upbeat diner. All eyes were on Dolchi, as she tossed the now empty gun to the side.

The police and ambulance were on the premises in minutes. The one gunman who had been stabbed in the neck was in critical condition, and Dolchi had just about shattered her wrist, not to mention all the lacerations from the broken glass that tore up her hand and arm. Yet, she couldn’t feel the pain, the adrenaline pumping through her body keeping her numb, but hyper aware. After getting her wounds cleaned, getting a cast put over her wrist, and getting questioned by authorities, she sat outside the diner, and tried to piece together what had just happened.

“That was quick thinking back there,” The Americano said, leaning against the wall right next to her. “Things could’ve gotten much uglier if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m fired,” she said, blankly. “According to our policy, the customer is always right. I don’t think my boss would be too happy about me unloading a gun into a guest, regardless if he was a criminal.”

“Sounds like you need a new job.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, not paying too much attention. “Things could have gone a lot worse. But, you took care of it all. Professionally. Carefully. And with as little bloodshed as possible.”

The Americano raised an eyebrow.

“What you were saying to the gunman earlier… about having to clean the money… that wasn’t just some bullshit to frighten them,” she was connecting the pieces. “That’s why you always leave such large tips for us, isn’t it? You’re trying to get that money in circulation again. But, you should know, a lot of server’s won’t claim the tips to avoid getting taxed more. The money is just as dirty then, if it hasn’t been taxed, right?”

The Americano listened intently and chuckled a little. “You are a lot brighter than people give you credit for-”

“You’re a gangster… aren’t you?”

“I suppose I didn’t do the best job trying to hide that,” he sighed. “My name is Soldi. You have a strong fighting spirit, I can tell. I am always looking for new recruits for my team, and after your display back there, I believe you would make a fine addition. So, what say you? Wanna join my team? Take some notes for me?”

“I owe you my life,” she said, finally making eye contact with him. “I have no future over here. Word will spread fast. No one wants to hire a killer, except when the ones hiring are killers, apparently.”

“Is that a yes.”

“I’m in. One hundred percent.”

**************************************

A mint green Fiat Bravo tore through intersections in an attempt to cross Rome in as little time as possible. Inside the vehicle, Bibita clung to the passenger seat seatbelt, fearing if she let go for even a moment, she’d be flung from the high-speed car. Dolchi, on the other hand, remained eerily calm, as she sped through rush hour traffic with ease. There was a seriousness to her face, making it difficult to read the young woman’s emotions. All Bibita knew, is she wasn’t sure what was scarier; Dolchi’s driving, or whatever may be awaiting them once they reach Soldi.

“Do you really think we should go by ourselves,” the girl hesitantly asked the driver. “If it’s as serious as you say it is, we should have back up. Maybe the rest of our team cou-”

“No,” the blonde interrupted. “It’ll take too long to find Ossobucco, and, no offense, but Minestra and Pecorino’s stands aren’t exactly designed for combat.”

Bibita thought of the child like Material Girl and couldn’t help but wonder how Dolchi thought fabric manipulation could be helpful in combat. She also felt that while her own stand, Blink-182, was great for utility, it didn’t have much direct combat potential. How were they supposed to help their capo with stands like that?

“If we need combat-oriented stands, I know a couple of field agents in Rome who could help!” she said, fumbling for her phone. “I can call Salé and Zucchero, I’m sure they’d be willing to lend a hand… or, better yet, lend a stand.”

“There’s no time,” Dolchi said, unphased by Bibita’s suggestions. “We don’t want the underlings to believe our Capo is weak. You can never be sure who you can trust in Passione. Besides, between the two of us, I’m sure we can handle it-”

“I can’t fight!” Bibita interrupted, voice trembling. “I’m sorry, but my stand isn’t really made for combat. I don’t want to get in the way…”

Dolchi’s face finally softened, as she looked to Bibita. “Oh my goodness, I forgot to ask if you were okay with this,” she said, brows raised with concern. “I’m sorry to drag you into this… but our Capo needs our help. If you don’t feel confident in combat, don’t worry. I can handle the fighting for the two of us.”

While Bibita admired the woman’s confidence, she couldn’t help but feel that pride was misplaced.

They sped through the city, heading south toward the outskirts of Rome. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop in front of a construction zone. It looked like a several-storied business office was under renovation, but all the workers and builders were gone. The sight of cranes and large building machinery sent a shiver down Bibita’s spine, as she was reminded of her father, and his accident in a construction zone. She hoped a similar fate didn’t await her.

The two ladies walked through the glass doors, and entered the building, moving passed the sheets of hanging plastic that covered the walls and unfurnished rooms. They began climbing the stairs to the second floor, as the elevators were not in working order. With each step, Bibita worried more and more. Dolchi didn’t exactly tell her what was awaiting them, and she began to wonder if the blonde even knew the full scope of the situation. But, the way the secretary carried herself, with such single minded determination, Bibita figured the young woman had to have some sort of a plan.

The pair reached the fifth and final floor, and noticed there were no interior walls to the structure. Clearly, this floor was the cite for the major construction, as they made their way to a small group of men. All were wearing nice suits, aside from one teenage boy, who was dressed slightly more casual. In the middle of the group was Soldi, their Capo, held at gunpoint, but he appeared all too calm. Bibita tensed up, wondering how they were going to go forward, but Dolchi kept walking, greeting the rival mobsters with an earnest smile.

“I take it these are your back ups?” One of the mobsters questioned. He wore a nice white suit, and carried himself like he was in charge.

“Well, we can’t discuss my terms of surrender without my secretary,” Soldi said, in almost a joking matter. “Everyone, say hello to Dolchi, and our latest recruit, Bibita.”

Bibita awkwardly shuffled in after her, not understanding how they remained so calm while the enemies had their weapons drawn. She figured, whatever Soldi’s stand was, it had to be very powerful.

The ladies crossed to stand with Soldi, as the rival mobsters gave them some space, but still kept their guns at the ready. “I understand this has to be a little confusing, Bibita,” Soldi said, appearing as charming as ever. “You see, Passione wasn’t always the only gang around Italy. Whenever a gang gets new territory, it runs the risk of, well, ruffling some feathers. The Maglione family, for example, had a stronghold in this area of Rome, and would very much like their former land back-”

“Quit your yapping,” the man in the white suit said. Bibita figured he must be the head of the Maglione family. “You got your teammates to ensure your safe passage out of here. Now let’s discuss negotiations.”

“Of course, of course,” Soldi said. “Dolchi, would you mind taking some notes?”

She nodded tersely, “On it!” she practically sang, pulling out her bright pink notebook.

The head of the Maglione family began to monologue about how Rome’s criminal underworld used to be, but Bibita couldn’t pay attention to the specifics. She tried desperately to keep her knees from shaking, so, instead, she turned her attention to Dolchi and her notetaking. She noticed something a little odd, as the note-taking woman began to glow a soft pink, something she recognized as a stand being summoned. Sure enough, a small bundle of yarn and buttons materialized on the blonde woman’s shoulder. ‘What is Material Girl going to do?’ Bibita thought. ‘I thought we were negotiation? What is her stand doing here?’ For some reason, none of the mobsters seemed to notice the strange yarn-ball like creature. ‘They must not be stand users then,’ she noted. ‘That’ll at least give us an advantage.’

Soldi and Don Maglione continued their conversation, but Bibita noticed the clothing of the other mobsters begin to shift and move. Suddenly, the suit of the mobster to the far right began to sinch in and squeeze around the waist, quickly becoming far too tight. He coughed, and began to panic when he noticed blood, but it was too late. The clothes constricted so tight around the man’s midsection and torso, that bones were breaking. In a mere moment, the man was on the floor, dead, his mangled body leaking blood all over.

At the same time as that gruesome display took place, the other mobsters’ clothes also moved against their wearers. One man’s tie wrapped around his neck so tight, it practically tore his head clean off. Another man’s sleeves unraveled, crawled up his arms, and began to smother him. All three were dead in a matter of moments.

“What is going on?!” another mobster exclaimed, seeing those around him fall. He pointed his gun at Soldi. “How are you doing that?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Soldi said, not batting an eye at the violent display.

“You son of a bitch!” the mobster pulled the trigger, yet he was no longer pointing his gun at Roma’s Capo. In an instant, the sleeves of his suit swung his arm to the side.

BANG

The mobster had shot his teammate, as yet another body fell to the floor. “How? What?” the man trembled, as he pointed his gun back to Soldi, prepared to shoot, but, once again, Material Girl countered. With inhuman movements, the mobster’s arm folded in on itself, until the barrel gun was nestled right under his own chin.

BANG

Bibita looked to Dolchi in horror, and saw the woman still apparently taking notes, but every time Material Girl would attack, Dolchi’s pinky would twitch ever so slightly. It was hard to even tell this woman was causing all that bloodshed. Bibita had written off Material Girl as a fashion-based stand, but she was clearly wrong. The potential for combat was baffling.

While the bloodbath ensued, the Don of the Magliones took notice, and bolted towards the exit, using the carnage as a distraction. Soon, the head of the rival gang was sprinting down the stairs.

“Aw, darn it,” Dolchi humphed. “He’s out of my range… sorry Soldi.”

“You did just fine,” Soldi said, wiping the blood splatter off of his cheek. “However, we should make sure he doesn’t get too far.”

“Come on, Bibita!” Dolchi said, with a friendly smile, nudging the younger girl. “Let’s go after him, you could show me your stand.”

Bibita, who was still in shock after all the mayhem, took a moment to register the offer. “Oh… um, yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

Bibita then bolted to the exit, followed by Dolchi and Soldi. By this point, Don Maglione had already gone down several flights of stairs. It would take too long to follow him by foot, but the girl thought up another way to gain ground.

“Blink-182,” she said, summoning the colorful spray canisters into her hands. She then pointed her left canister at the ground, and sprayed the stairs beneath her. The floor evaporated, and she began to fall to the next flight of stairs. She continued this process, eating away the floor as she plummeted through the stairs, quickly gaining on Don Maglione, until she was practically on his heels.

She landed on the stairs, a few steps in front of the fleeing Don Maglione. “Hey, my boss hasn’t finished negotiations. Would you mind heading back upstairs please? I really don’t want any more fighti-”

Don Maglione nearly screamed when he saw the green haired girl fall through the ceiling and land right in front of him, but he was quick to respond, grabbing his gun and firing at her, point blank. Bibita tensed up, and squeezed her eyes shut, but she never felt the bullet. Instead, her body instinctively converted to a gaseous state, and the bullet safely flew through her cloud-like form.

The cloud shifted around the man, and then solidified behind him. Bibita, now in solid physical form, let out a sigh of relief. “Seriously, you’re just making it worse for yourself,” she said, as Don Maglione jumped, not quite processing all the crazy stand powers.

Once again, the man reached for his weapon, but Bibita expected this, countering with her left canister. With a simple spray, the gun evaporated, converting to a gaseous state. Then, the girl sprayed her right canister, and a puff of purple mist clung in the air for a moment, before solidifying into a large, cartoon-like, hammer.

THWACK

She swung the large weapon at the man, which knocked the air out of him, and left him sputtering on the ground. Once Don Maglione was incapacitated, Bibita sprayed her right canister, and a pair of handcuffs solidified around the man’s wrists.

“Nice work!” Dolchi said, catching up to them, skipping down the stairs. Soldi followed them, with the teenage Maglione boy who had remained watching the doors during the fight, and was out of range of the massacre. The kid looked terrified, and rightfully so.

“Thank you for subduing him,” Soldi said, drawing nearer to Don Maglione. “It took forever to plan this all out, it would be a pity if he got away.”

“Wait… you planned this?” Bibita asked.

“To a certain extent,” Soldi shrugged. “We needed to find who was appropriating our product. So, I decided to act as bait. Evidently, it worked.”

Dolchi rolled her eyes. “It was a dangerous and stupid plan. What if we hadn’t been there?”

“But you were. Stop worrying,” Soldi responded. He walked over to the Don, who was just on the edge of consciousness, and withdrew his sleek pistol from his jacket pocket.

BANG

Soldi fired a single shot into the rival mobster’s head, and the leader of the Maglione crime syndicate slumped over, dead. The teenager screamed at the sight of his leader die, but he didn’t attempt to fight back, and merely began to sob, accepting his fate.

“Congrats kid,” Soldi said, patting the teenager on his shoulder. “You get to live.”

“Wh-What?” the boy stammered.

“I need someone to send a message back to the rest of the Magliones,” Soldi explained, putting his firearm back in its holster. “Passione is always looking for business partners, and we’d be willing to work with you. But, if you try to take our land, our products,” Soldi chuckled, gesturing to the former Don. “Well, you’ve seen what my associates can do.”

“U-understood s-sir,” the teenager nodded, before bolting out of there, leaving the construction zone behind him.

“Well, I’d say that was successful,” Soldi smiled. “We handled that professionally, carefully, and with as little bloodshed as possi- actually, Dolchi, you caused a bit of a bloodbath up there.”

“Yeah, sorry!” Dolchi hung her head in defeat. “I’ll try to find cleaner ways to dispose of our enemies next time.”

Bibita, still confused by everything that just happened, summoned her stand once more, as spray paint canisters suddenly materialized in her hands. Dolchi tilted her head to the side to get a good look at her stand, but Soldi failed to react at all.

“You don’t have a stand… do you?” Bibita narrowed her eyes at her Capo.

The room went silent for a moment. Then Soldi sighed, “No. I do not have a stand.”

“That’s why you were so adamant on getting here and saving him yourself,” Bibita turned her attention to Dolchi. “You don’t want others to figure out he’s powerless.”

Dolchi’s expression went hard, “He is my Capo. I would do anything for him.”

“I know most people have to do that little lighter test thing,” Soldi said, not as on edge as his associates. “That wasn’t the case for me. I was invited into Passione for my financial insight, as well as my family’s reputation back in the states. I never had to be tested, and, therefore, I never got a stand. So, I need my team of stand-users to have my back. After your display today, Bibita, I can tell you have my back. I know it had to be a bit frightening, but you still rose to the occasion. I’m just sorry you saw how messy this job can get. I’d tell you something like this won’t happen again… but I can't in good faith make that promise. In Passione, you always have to be prepared.”

Bibita looked down at the blood pooling up by her shoes. “Yeah,” she swallowed. “I understand.”

“Alrighty! Since we got all that taken care of, I was thinking we should go out for some sweets,” Dolchi said, reverting back to her happy demeanor. “I know just the perfect place with the best cannoli and gelato! We still have to celebrate your birthday, Bibita!”

“... I do like cannoli,” she hesitantly agreed with the blonde. It was hard to believe that fashionista could cause so much havoc, but she would much rather have Dolchi as a friend than an enemy.

********************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Material Girl

Stand User: Dolchi

Stand Power: Fabrokinesis- Material girl is able to telekinetically manipulate fabric, altering the cut, style, color and material makeup of the clothing in question. While most would consider using it for fashion purposes, Dolchi has found a way to unlock the stand’s rather dangerous potential.

• Power: B
• Speed: B
• Range: C
• Durability: E
• Precision: A
• Potential: B

Chapter Text

Fugo exited the train at the Roma Termini, and looked around for his contact. It was the beginning of the summer of 1999, and already, the weather was getting quite hot. This was the perfect time for the locals to go on holiday, while many tourists visited the iconic city. Yet despite this there was still a tiny figure clad in a long trench coat and hat, that looked all too conspicuous sitting alone on a bench near the station. Fugo sighed as he approached.

“The black bird sings in the dead of night” the figure said, trying to muffle their voice.

“Drop the act, Bibita,” the teenager rolled his eyes. “I know it’s you.”

“Aw, come on,” she said, taking off her hat. “Don’t you want to play mafia?”

“Kinda loses its charm after, you know, being in the mafia.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Bibita said in a huff. As she got up from the bench, her trench coat began to evaporate, returning to the air. Bibita was wearing more casual street clothes underneath, more fitting for the summer weather.

“I see you’ve gotten better with your stand,” Fugo said, finally smiling.

“Thanks!” she beamed, a slight skip to her step. “So, I got your message. Buccellati is on an important mission or something?”

“Yeah,” Fugo said in a more hushed tone. “Orders directly from Polpo.”

“Any idea what it is?”

Fugo shrugged. “They’re keeping it pretty under wraps. Whatever it is, it must be very important.”

“Ooooh, so now you have, like a separate secret mission here in Rome, and you need my help!” the girl said, barely able to contain her excitement. “So, what are we doing? Roughing up some thugs? Spying on our rivals? Super-secret stand stuff?!”

“I’m actually just on holiday.”

“Oh,” Bibita’s shoulders dropped.

“I mean, you said when in Rome to visit you,” he said. “I figured while Buccelati’s on his mission, I might as well visit. I haven’t been to Rome since I was a kid-”

Bibita couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you, like fourteen?”

“That phrase loses its impact when you’re younger than the person you’re making fun of.”

“The point still stands, we’re still kids.”

“Anyways,” Fugo continued, not giving the subject anymore thought. “I have a whole day off from work… you’ve been here a couple months now. Where should we go?”

Bibita immediately stopped her teasing and began to contemplate all the places they could visit. “There’s one place I’ve always wanted to visit,” she said, as she led the way through the streets of Rome. Though she had been living in Rome for some time, she hadn’t really explored the city much, other than the big tourist locations.

The pair walked for about a half an hour, until they made their way to Piazza del Campidoglio. An open brick promenade greeted them, with three creme colored buildings flanking each side, in the center, an intimidating statue on a man seated on a horse loomed before them.

“That’s Marcus Arelius,” Fugo said, recognizing the statue almost immediately.
“I hear this place has a really nice museum of like, really old art and sculptures,” Bibita said, leading him into one of the buildings. “Enjoy the Capitoline Museums!”

“Oh, I’ve read about this place,” the boy said, as they perused the classic sculptures. “Did you know this is considered the world’s first public museum?”

“Nope… I heard there was good art here.”

“Yeah,” Fugo continued, spouting out facts. “The Capitoline Museums can be traced back to 1471, when Pope Sixtus IV donated his collection of important ancient bronzes to the Roman people.”

With every room they entered, it appeared as though Fugo already knew everything there was to know about the art, the artists, and the styles. Bibita had a hard time understanding all the terms and what not the boy used. Sure, they were close in age, but Fugo appeared to be leagues smarter than her, but she tried not to let that get to her.

“Ooooh, and this must be Romulus and Remus when they were raised by the she-wolf,” He continued as they admired the bronze statue of the Capitoline Wolf. “According to myth, Romulus and Remus were twin brothers, the former of whom founded Rome. Apparently, they disagreed about the hill to build the city on, an argument that eventually lead to Romulus killing Remus-”

“Damn,” Bibita muttered, getting a closer look at the statue. “They just look like little kids here. Hard to believe they become that.”

Fugo shrugged. “I mean, they were older than the sculpture depicts them. But age doesn’t really have a bearing on what people are capable of. Anyone can do anything. Look at us, for example, two of the youngest recruits to Passione.”

As they went on to look at the next piece, it looked like Fugo was about to lecture about the art again, but Bibita interrupted before he could continue. “So… It sounds like you know a lot about art. Did you ever want to become an artist or something?”

He shook his head. “No, not particularly,” he admitted. “I learned a lot about art, as well as just about every subject, but it all felt pointless. All the greats lived and died years ago, changing the world with their contributions. What more is there for us to do?”

Bibita tilted her head. “Do you think that they knew they were the greats while they were still alive?”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, so like…. Van Gogh, right,” she began to explain. “Phenomenal artist. Undeniable impact on the world of art as we know it… yet he didn’t get shit for his art while he was alive. If he knew he was gonna be a great, I doubt he would’ve cut off his ear and sent it to a prostitute, or, you know,” she continued, pantomiming shooting herself in the head.

“Oh my god,” Fugo muttered under his breath.

“It was only after he died that his work even meant anything. So, maybe a lot of the greats thought the same thing, because they didn’t become greats till after they died! Who’s to say?”

“That is… morbidly optimistic, I suppose,” Fugo said, with a small chuckle.

They finished up their tour of the museum, ending the excursion with a more modern art exhibit, to Bibita’s delight. After that, it was a short trek to the Roman Forum, a vast excavated area of ancient temples and buildings, dating back a good 2,000 years. Seeing the ruins of the ancient empire a mere few blocks away from modern Rome was very interesting, like two separate worlds colliding at one time. This felt even more poignant with the Colosseum looming nearby, however, the famous structure was overflowing with tourists that day, so the pair just explored the ruins, taking turns guessing what each of the remnants were back in their prime. Along the streets of the Forum, Bibita spotted a few street artists doing portraits and landscape drawings for tourists as they passed through. She was drawn into one artist, who used spray paint to make quick pictures of the ancient structures of Rome. She sat and watched for several minutes, trying to pick up on his form and technique. At the end of his demonstration, she bought a few of his pieces.

“Huh, never really took you for a fan of landscape artwork,” Fugo noted.

“I enjoy most art,” she admitted, looking carefully at the piece she bought. “I just never expected spray paint to create something so detailed and real looking. Most of my work is kinda fantastical in nature. I wanna figure out how to make stuff like this!”

“So, are you still tagging walls here in Rome.”

“Nah,” she pouted a bit. “I’m not sure how that would reflect the rest of the financial division. But I do keep a notepad full of sketches in the office. There’s so much numbers and math, I need a creative outlet every once and awhile.”

“Makes sense,” he said, as they moved to a public table on the outskirts of the Forum. “I saw a cafe across the street. I’m getting myself something, want me to grab you anything?”

“I’ll have an espresso, as black as my soul,” she said in an over dramatic voice.

Fugo paused, and merely blinked at her request.

“Could you grab, like, five or six creamers for me?” Bibita said in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Fugo laughed as he walked to the cafe.

Bibita stayed put, guarding their table from weary tourists. It was an excellent spot, with a view of the forum to one side, and the Colosseum to the other. She relaxed for a few moments, people watching everyone in line for the Colosseum, when she noticed a familiar blonde woman clad in bright pink. “...Dolchi?”

It wasn’t uncommon to run into coworkers after hours, but it still caught Bibita off guard to see the Financial Division resident secretary out on what looked like a date, complete with a well-dressed young man standing beside her. The girl averted her eyes, in hopes she would distract her coworker on their date, but it was too late, as Dolchi made direct eye contact with her.

‘Hello, hello, hello Bibita!’ a voice rang in Bibita’s head, as she remembered what Sorbet and Gelato had said about telepathically communicating between stand users.

‘Uh… Hi Dolchi,’ Bibita thought. ‘Am I doing this right, can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear!’

‘That’s good,’ Bibita breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So, what are you up to?’

‘Just on a little date, visiting the super touristy spots.’

‘Oh, is he the guy you were talking about last week?’ Bibita tried to recall. ‘Uh, he’s the one studying to be a doctor or something?’

‘Lawyer actually.’

‘Oh, wow! Hope you guys have fun!’

‘Speaking of dates…’ Dolchi tilted her head in the direction of the nearby cafe. ‘Who was that boy you were with?’

‘That would be Fugo,’ Bibita explained telepathically. ‘He’s just grabbing us some coffee right now-’

‘Oh, so that’s the Fugo I’ve heard so much about,’ Dolchi taunted, as Fugo exited the cafe, drinks in hand. She quickly looked him up and down, and returned her attention to Bibita. With a wink and a thumbs up, the fashionista responded, ‘Nice!’

‘I mean, I guess he’s nice,’ Bibita thought, oblivious to Dolchi’s hints.

The line in front of the Colosseum began to move, and Dolchi and date were quickly entering the structure. ‘Oh, looks like we gotta go! Have fun on your da-ate,’ she telepathically sang.

‘Yeah, you too… wait, what?’ she stuttered. ‘Oh, uh, we’re not actua-’ Bibita tried to correct her coworker, but it was too late, as the line quickly entered the Colosseum.

Fugo approached her table, two coffees in hand. “Here you are,” he said, setting the hot beverage before Bibita. “I went with seven creamers, just to be safe. I think your espresso is more of a latte or cappuccino at this point-”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Bibita muttered, taking a sip. “Damn, that actually tastes really good.”

“So, er…” Fugo looked a little lost for words, as he tried to steer the conversation. “I may not have been one hundred percent truthful when I said I was just here on holiday-”

“Ooooh, who are we roughing up?”

“No,” Fugo shook his head. “No, Bibita. We’re not doing any super-secret mafia business here. I just wanted to ask you something. I figured this would be the best time to ask, because I don’t necessarily want Buccellati to know.”

“Okay?” Bibita raised a brow, as she continued drinking her coffee.

“Do you remember the night we met,” Fugo began. “You asked me if I got money from Passione, or if my family was super rich and just didn’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, sorry about saying all that,” Bibita lowered her gaze.

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Fugo said, tone suddenly darker than before. “My family was very well off, and from a young age, they saw my intelligence as a way to bolster their reputation. They never really cared about me, only cared about the legacy I’d leave them.”

“I...I’m sorry-”

“The only one who actually cared, who saw me as a child rather than some tool to gain notoriety was my grandmother. She was a saint. Unfortunately, while I was away in college, she passed away, and I wasn’t even able to go to her funeral.”

Bibita remained quiet, as the boy struggled to continue the story.

“Shortly after that, I was expelled from college-”

“Oh, wow. What happened?”

“I nearly beat a professor to death with an Encyclopedia,” he said bluntly, hands shaking a little. He looked up at Bibita, and noticed she looked a bit frightened. “Don’t worry. He deserved it.”

“So, that’s why you joined?” Bibita asked. “You were no longer valued by your family, and chose to follow Buccellati because he actually saw you as a human being and not a prize?”

“Pretty much,” Fugo admitted. “I owe that man a lot. I would’ve been out on the streets if it weren’t for him. Which, actually leads me to my question: Would you say your life has improved since joining Passione?”

“...Yeah,” Bibita began.

“I only ask because we come from different backgrounds,” he said. “I know things got better for me after joining, but I wanted to find out from you, since you also lived on the streets.”

“I mean, things are definitely better for me. I can actually afford to pay for stuff now, no more stealing!”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Fugo smiled. “I wanted your insight, since there is someone who wants to join Passione, who was also a street-rat of Naples, no offense.” Fugo slid a photograph towards her.

“So, you assumed since I spent a few years on the streets, I would automatically know who this person is?”

Fugo waited for her to continue.

Bibita finally sighed. “Fine, I’ll take a look,” she grumbled, as she inspected the picture.
Pictured was a young teenage boy, with wild black hair, purple eyes, and a mischievous grin. Immediately, she recognized the face.

“So, any luck?” Fugo asked.

“Yeah, I recognize him,” she said.

“That is Narancia Ghirga,” Fugo said, as he explained how he found the teenager nearly starving to death with a horrible eye disease, and brought him in for dinner with Bruno. After Bruno paid for Narancia’s medical expenses, the boy wanted to join their gang, much to Bruno’s disapproval.

“He’s gone back to school now,” Fugo concluded. “But, I’m not sure he’ll want to stay. I know Buccellati has told him not to join, but I’m wondering if his home life is any better than his life on the streets. Sure, his family has money, but, as I know firsthand, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be happy there. I get the feeling he’ll ask to join Passione, and I want to be sure if he confronts me on this, I can actually give him some good advice. If I set up a meeting between him and Polpo, I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I...I’m not sure what to do.”

“Wow… this is the first time I’ve seen you without an answer,” Bibita said, almost mockingly, but she held back from poking too much fun at the kid who almost killed a man with a textbook. “For what it's worth, joining the gang was a good choice for me. Sure, it’s scary and stressful at times, but so was living on the streets. I feel like I have power now, and not just like stand stuff. Things are better for me now.”

“So, do you think joining would be a good choice for Narancia?” Fugo asked. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Well,” Bibita said, finishing off the rest of her coffee. “I first met Narancia about a year- no two years ago.”

Chapter Text

Naples, Italy 1997

A young Bibita ran through the streets of Naples, trying to find the best route to lose the two cops on her tail. Lifting her black hoodie over her bright green hair, she took a sudden left turn, toward the local farmer’s market. During this time of year, the farmer’s market was very popular, as dozens of tents and little lean-tos populated the street. Since it was the weekend, many locals decided to go out and support their local farmers. With all the produce and money going around, it was all too easy for the girl to fill her pockets.

Her stomach growled as she looked over all the fresh food, and waited for the people at the booths to turn around before quickly snatching whatever extra produce she could, without drawing any attention to the missing amount. After living on the streets for a bit, she came to appreciate the farmers market, as she knew for certain she wouldn’t go hungry that day.

“Escuzi sir! Could you tell me how to get to Castel Nuovo from here?” a young boy with dark hair and bright purple eyes asked the storekeeper of the baked goods booth. “I was supposed to meet my parents there… but I think I’m all turned around now?”

As the man running the booth bent over to look at a map the young boy had, the girl noticed all the baked goods were left unguarded. ‘Oh, this is too easy,’ she thought as she wove her way through the crowd of kids, pocketing a couple of biscuits from the booth for the road. It was a simple enough steal, or so she thought, as she noticed a blond man in the nearby alley, looking directly at her. This immediately didn’t sit right with Bibita. She was so used to people ignoring her, purposefully looking the other way when she walked by. She almost felt as though she was invisible, like if people not noticing her was her superpower. So this man staring at her was bad news.

Bibita left the farmers market shortly after that, with more than enough food, and several hundred Lire she was able to pickpocket. She retreated to an abandoned building a few blocks south of there, as that was the most recent place she was staying. She moved a table in front of the glass door, however, based on the cracks already forming, she figured it wouldn’t really keep anyone out if they really wanted to enter.

She crossed to the corner of the empty room, and began emptying her pockets, admiring the sizable meal she was able to steal. She stopped when she thought she heard the floor creak, and immediately prepped her switchblade. She turned around and saw nothing.

“So, you’re the kid who’s been stealing from us,” a voice remarked behind her.

Bibita flinched, as she turned to face the intruder, slashing out with her switchblade. However, before she could get a hit in, she felt a hand clamp around her wrist and shoulder, using her own momentum to bring her to the ground with a thud. By the time she got her bearings, there was a butterfly knife pointed at her, held by the dark-haired boy she’d seen earlier. “You’re new to this, aren’t you, kid?”

With shaky hands, Bibita dropped her blade, and removed her hood.

“Oh, you’re a girl!” the boy said, taken aback, withdrawing his weapon from her face. “Big bro never mentioned that. Sorry for tackling yo-”

“I didn’t steal from you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I never stole from you,” she wrinkled her nose. “You weren’t the one selling the bread. You were the idiot asking where Castel Nuovo was. Who the hell doesn’t know where Castel Nuovo is?”

“Hey, I’m not stupid,” the boy said, a bit defensive. “Besides, that’s just a trick me and my buddies pull to snag some food when he’s not looking.”

“Still,” Bibita said, slowly getting to her feet. “I don’t owe you guys anything. So… are you gonna just take what I rightfully stole?”

“Well, hey, we were the ones putting in the work for it,” he explained. “I’m the distraction, my buddies grab the food, and my big bro keeps watch. It’s a perfect plan!”

“And still, it didn’t work. Some plan-”

“That’s because you stole it before we could! You jumped in after we did all the work!”

“It took three people to attempt to steal some food,” she said, standing her ground. “Three people to do the job I did on my own. No wonder it didn’t work, that’s what happens when you rely on others…”

“What are you talking about?” the boy scoffed. “Our plan works nearly all the time, today was just a fluke. Working together with friends is the best! They will always have my back.”

“Oh yeah, where were they when I stole your claim? Where are they now?” she questioned. “Seems like you’re doing all the work, and they’re just using you-”

“No, no it’s not that at all-”

“The only person you can really count on is yourself. That’s why I have the food, and you don’t.”

“Are you…” the boy looked around the abandoned building. “Are you all on your own out here? Do you have a group or anything?”

“No,” she said, voice losing its edge. “I’m fine on my own. It’s not like I need anyone’s help.”

“That’s gotta be tough,” the boy said. “I can’t imagine being on my own, without my friends.”

“I get by just fine.”

“Must be lonely,” the boy continued. “Trying to get enough to get by on your own. I feel sorry for yo-”

“Don’t apologize! I don’t need your pity!” Bibita snapped back. “You’re acting like you're so much better off cuz you have a group with you, but they won’t stay by your side when things actually get tough.”

“Hey! You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the boy. “You can’t trust anyone to have your back. When you really need them, they’ll abandon you…”

The boy took a moment, and then spoke. “Somebody you trusted hurt you… didn’t they?”
Bibita didn’t respond, merely lowering her gaze.

“Someone left you,” he continued. “You trusted someone, and they weren’t there for you. Friends? Family?”

“...family,” she muttered.

“Oh… I kinda know how that goes,” the boy said. “My dad was a big piece of shit. That’s why I choose to live out here, with friends.”

“You trust them to be around… you know, when things get tough. And then, he just ends up overdosing, and you and the rest of your family are scrambling to pick up the pieces! A father is supposed to be there for his family,” her voice cracked, holding back a bottled-up anger. “He’s not supposed to leave.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean leaving you guys like that.”

“So what, in the end, he abandoned us. That’s why we can’t rely on anyone but ourselves.”

“Sounds lonely,” the boy said, and then his tone quickly shifted to something more upbeat. “I’m Narancia, by the way! What’s your name?”

“Oh,” she stumbled, a bit confused at his sudden introduction. “Uh… I’m Bibita-”

“Well, Bibita,” Narancia said, with a confident smile. “I was supposed to go and steal our food back-”

“Which I rightfully stole-”

“But, knowing how good you are at stealing stuff, I think you should join our group!”

“W-what?”

“I mean, I’ll probably have to explain it to my big bro,” Narancia said, rubbing the back of his head. “But I’m sure you’d fit right in! You shouldn’t have to be on your own anymore!”

Bibita went silent, weighing her options. The boy was right, it was a lonely life she led, but it was also the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to. Having a crew of friends could make surviving on the streets easier for the girl, but at the same time, she did not completely trust Narancia yet, nor the rest of his crew.

“I- I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” she admitted, a slight tremble in her voice. “It’s great that you trust them, but I don’t know them. I get by on my own just fine, so there’s really no point in joining-”

“What about friendship?” Narancia pestered. “The most important thing in the world is friendship! You could make friends and not have to be alone.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m good for now,” she said.

“Fine,” the boy shrugged. “But, if you ever change your mind, let me know.”

He began to walk out the abandoned building, which shocked Bibita.

“Wait,” she said. “Weren’t you gonna take my food or something.”

“Nah. You’ll probably need it more than us.”

And with that the cheerful boy left, leaving Bibita alone once more.

***************************************************

Rome, Italy 1999

“He’s a good kid,” Bibita said, concluding her little story, just in time to finish off the last of her
coffee.

“He’s a good year older than us,” Fugo corrected softly.

“Point still stands, I think he’s a good person. A little loud and rambunctious at times,” she said. “But he has a good heart, and really cares for his friends. I’m just upset they all abandoned him when he needed their help the most… just like I’d said all those years back…”

“Do you still believe that,” Fugo tilted his head. “That the only person you can rely on is yourself.”

Bibita shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think it's safest to assume that. That way no one can really let you down.”

“Oh…” Fugo’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry to hear tha-”

“-Anyways,” Bibita hastily grumbled, not wanting to hear yet another apology. “He seems to work well with others and is very loyal to those close to him. Could make a good recruit for Passione… but…”

“What is it?”

“Well, there isn’t like a guarantee or anything, is there?” Bibita asked. “To tell if someone can pass the lighter test. I mean, Gambero died during the test, but I survived. I would hate to suggest the kid join, only for him to die during initiation.”

“Ah, I see,” Fugo said. “I suppose there really isn’t a guarantee. That’s why joining the gang is a leap of faith. Buccellati never had a guarantee he would survive his initiation, but he did. And he recruited me with no guarantee, and I survived. He helped you get into the gang after the stolen lighter incident. He went out of his way to save Narancia and get him off the streets. While there is no guarantee on anything, Buccellati has a pretty good track record when it comes to people he invests in, and I have faith in his judgement.”

“That’s true, Buccellati is pretty intuitive with these sorta things,” Bibita said. “But, at the end of the day, joining Passione is really up to the individual wanting to join. This is Narancia’s decision to make. If he is so hellbent on joining, I’m sure he’ll find a way. So, if you feel he’s a right fit, maybe just nudge him in the right direction.”

Fugo let out a sigh. “That’s good to hear. Thanks, Bibita.”

The pair continued sightseeing around the city, complete with Fugo spouting out facts, and Bibita not paying attention to his lecturing. They made their way back to the train station as the sun began to set. Bibita waved goodbye to her friend, as Fugo boarded the train, and she tried not to feel upset she wasn’t joining him back to Naples. Sure, she liked being in the Financial Division, but, besides Dolchi, none of them really acted like friends. Part of her longed for the comradery she shared with Bruno and Fugo, but she shrugged that feeling off. She could take care of herself.

Chapter Text

“Looks like we got a new mission,” Gelato said, skimming through his email.

“Oh,” Sorbet raised an eyebrow, but continued his work at his desk. “Anyone on it already?”

“Yeah, looks like at least four.”

“So, is the target like a stand user or something?”

“No, just some politician from the looks of it,” Gelato said.

“Then why do we need four men for the job?”

“Looks like Prosciutto wants to give Pesci some on the field training,” Gelato explained.

“It’s been months, and the kid still has yet to kill anyone,” Sorbet complained. “We are called the hitman team for God’s sake.”

“Hey, it's just taking him a bit longer. From what Pro says, he has a pretty powerful stand,” Gelato said. “The hit should happen in the next few days… you want in?”

“And have six people for one job? No thanks,” Sorbet scoffed. “Lets just make sure to show up to the weekly meeting to collect our share.”

Gelato let out a small laugh. “Of course, you’ll want to collect.”

Several months had passed since the duo from the Data Analysis Team ventured to Rome to meet with the latest member of Passione’s Financial Division, however, even after Bibita’s help, La Squadra di Execusione did not see any increase in pay. Despite their Capo Risotto’s warnings, the two had decided to take matters into their own hands, directly investigating the elusive boss. After months of cold trails and dead ends, they finally got a lead. All paths lead to Sardinia.

“Were you able to collect the flight and boat manifests leading out of Sardinia after the 1986 fire?” Sorbet asked. Their apartment looked even more hectic than usual, with maps and photographs pinned to the walls, looking like a crazy conspiracy theorist’s den rather than the workplace of two assassins.

“Here you go,” Gelato said, crossing to his partner. “I’ve cross checked all the names. Most are actual people, but a good dozen didn’t leave a name, or left a fake name that doesn’t show up in any additional paperwork. That at least narrows the list a bit.” He handed him the papers, along with interior pictures of said flights and boats. “Do you really think the boss was on one of these?”

“There’s a good chance,” Sorbet said, looking at the article of the 1986 fire. “The burning of the village on Sardinia seems like the perfect way for someone to fake their own death… I just need to see if any of the seven ‘confirmed’ dead ended up surviving and got passage off the island.”
He looked over the manifests and noted all the names that didn’t match up to actual people. He then took a deep breath. “I’m going in to the 1986 fire.”

“Are you sure?” Gelato asked, unable to hide his concern.

Sorbet nodded. “It’s not like I’ll physically be there. I’ll be fine; I’ve got you to watch my back, don’t I?”

“Of course,” Gelato sighed. There was a lot riding on this Data-Dive, and the blond was clearly nervous. “Stay safe.”

***************************

Sorbet had witnessed plenty of intense events through his stand Want You. Business deals, assassinations, affairs. The list went on. But there was something truly unnerving walking unharmed through the flames that decimated a village. He had the ability to pause, fast forward, and rewind the events in his stand, however, he could never alter said events. He walked through collapsing buildings, listening to the cries of children and the stampede of footsteps flooding out of the village.

He kept rewinding and focusing on each of the seven who were confirmed dead. He saw a woman crushed by falling debris, a teenager unable to leave his house before it was engulfed in flames. Each death was gruesome, even for the experienced assassin.

Finally, he rewound to the when the fire first started, which seemed to be centralized at the local priest’s dwelling, however, Sorbet was not prepared for what he was about to witness. Before the fire had even started, he saw the priest digging up the floor of his house, when he came across a woman, buried alive and mouth sewn shut.

“Pause,” Sorbet commanded. He got a good look at the malnourished woman, as he consulted the coroner’s report. None of the victims matched her, but it was clear she was one of those who died this night. It was only when he resumed the Data-Dive he saw the man responsible for all of this, a young pink haired man with a knack for violence. Sorbet sat on the sidelines, a bystander to bloodshed, as the pink haired teen grabbed the pickaxe, finishing off the priest and the woman, before coating the floor of the room in gasoline, and burning it all to the ground.

Once again, Sorbet paused the event, taking note of this pink haired monster. He then looked back at the coroner’s report. The kid seemed to match the description of a Solido Naso, who was reported as one of the few to die this night. However, the kid who caused such destruction walked out of the carnage unscathed. Sorbet pulled out the flight manifests leaving Sardinia, and found someone matching Solido’s descripting, going by the name of Vinegar Doppio on the next flight to Egypt.

Sorbet let out an uneasy sigh, as he walked back to the Torri gate. He found the man who would later become the boss, but with that said, he now knew exactly what he was capable of. He and Gelato would have to be extra careful moving forward.

*************************************************

Sorbet returned to his body, a new picture of a pink haired teen in his hand. Gelato immediately noticed, and crossed to him. “Looks like it was successful,” Gelato noted, glancing at the picture. “Is this who we’re looking for?”

Sorbet merely nodded, still processing the horrors he witnessed. Gelato, however, was oblivious to his partner’s demeanor.

“Ha! This kid becomes the boss?” Gelato said, holding back laughter.

“He buried a woman alive, murdered a priest, and burned down the entire village.”

“Oh shit,” Gelato said, reaching for the picture. “Well, we got a name, and we got a picture. I guess I’m up next.” The blond focused on the photograph and summoned his stand. “Chained to You!” A large old-fashioned camera appeared in his hand, as he quickly snapped a picture of the photograph, and then concentrated on his new picture he created of the boss.

“Got a location?” Sorbet asked, still clearly on edge.

Gelato closed his eyes. “He’s in Venezia,” he muttered, completely focused on his stand ability.
Sorbet was at a loss for words. After months and months of research and dead ends, they finally had the boss cornered.

“We got to act quickly,” Gelato said, as the camera faded away. “My spirit photography only lasts a day. If we can get the rest of the team, we can corner him while he’s still trapped.”
Gelato began dialing numbers into his phone.

“Wait,” Sorbet said, placing his hand over the phone. “We want to keep this as off the grid as possible, for all we know, the phones could be tapped.” The pair quickly put on their jackets and headed to the door out of the apartment. “With information this valuable, we need to tell Risotto in person,” he said, opening the door to the hallway.

“You’re absolutely right,” a feminine voice answered from the other side of the door. “You wouldn’t want that valuable information to fall into the wrong hands, now would you?”

This caught the two assassins off guard, as the woman leisurely made her way into their apartment. She had dark skin, golden eyes, and wavy orange hair, which complimented her turquoise sundress perfectly. Though both men drew their guns on the woman, she seemed less than concerned.

“Come on, boys,” she sighed. “Put your guns down. That’s no way to greet a guest, now is it?”
Slowly, Sorbet and Gelato’s hands dropped, though they were far from at ease.

“There,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, making herself right at home, removing her blazer and setting it on the counter. “Ah, how rude of me… I am Canella Mercury. And you two must be Gelato and Sorbet. I’ve been reading over your files, and, I must say, I’m impressed. Joining Passione is hard enough, but you two not only are in the hitman team, but are also two of the brightest members of the Data Analysis Team. That is no easy fea-”

“You can cut that out now,” Sorbet grumbled. “I suspect you didn’t come here to sing our praises.”

“Ah, there’s no fooling you two,” she smiled at them, rifling through their wine collection. “Say, do you prefer red or white? Because I think I see a 97 Chardonnay with my name on it-”

“Listen, Miss Mercury,” Gelato said in an even tone. “We’d love to stay and chat about wine, but we’re really busy tonight. You can keep the bottle if you lik-”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re busy,” Canella mused, pouring a glass of Chardonnay, the tone of her voice gradually becoming darker. “Between blackmailing the boss and betraying Passione, you two must be just booked.”

The duos eyes went wide with surprise for a moment, however, they wouldn’t be a part of the mafia’s finest hitman team if they weren’t prepared for obstacles like this. The pair made eye contact for a moment and nodded in understanding.

“Chained to You!” Gelato cried, summoning his stand, and snapping a picture of the intruder. Once Canella’s image was captured, a stream of chains flowed from her heart, locking her in place.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three shots rang out as Sorbet pulled the trigger, hoping to eliminate this conflict before it escalated any further.

“Really? We’re bringing stands into this now?” Canella sighed, looking at the shattered bottle of wine on the counter in front of her, yet she looked completely unscathed. The three bullets mere inches from her frame, held aloft in the air by three incorporeal golden arms. Slowly, another form appeared within the same place as the woman, with a tall slim build, golden coloring on its legs and three sets of arms, which floated detached from purple and blue swirled body. But, the most noteworthy feature of this was its head, which appeared to be a tiny sun, completely illuminating the once dark room, and providing a comforting warmth to all it its vicinity.

“Nirvana,” she said, manifesting her stand before her. “And here I was, hoping we could settle this civilly.”

Canella jingled the chains keeping her in place, assessing the power of her adversary’s stand. “Interesting,” she noted. “Now then, release me from your stand, and put your weapons away. Neither of you will do anything to harm me tonight.” As she spoke, the light emanating from Nirvana grew even brighter, and the assassins struggled to hold on to their weapons. Yet, try as they might, the two slowly lowered their weapons and Gelato withdrew his stand, freeing Canella.

“There, that's much more comfortable now, isn’t it?” She gestured for them to have a seat on the living room sofa. “Speaking of which, you two should make yourselves comfortable. I’ve got a lot of questions for you two.”

Gelato gulped, as he hesitantly crossed to the sofa. His mind was racing, trying to figure out her strange ability. Sorbet, on the other hand, stared daggers at the woman, as he too reluctantly took a seat.

“Now then… where to begin?” Canella mused, tapping her head with her index finger. “I believe that you two may have gathered too much information on our boss for your own good. I am going to ask a series of questions. Please answer yes or no. I do not need specifics, it is safest for all of us if you don’t elaborate…Oh, and don’t lie to me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” the pair said, almost in unison.

“Excellent,” she said. As she began the questioning, the tall golden figure of Nirvana moved around the apartment, as if it were keeping guard around the perimeter. “Have you been researching the boss’s identity?”

“.... yes,” Gelato said, though he had tried to lie, only the truth escaped his mouth. He looked horrified as he turned to his partner, as they realized they wouldn’t be able to talk their way out of this one.

“Have you uncovered any of the boss’s aliases or names.”

“Yes,” Sorbet blurted through clenched teeth.

“I notice you have a photo there in your hands Gelato… would you happen to know what the boss looks like?”

“Yes,” Gelato said, lifting up the photo in question.

“No, no,” Canella covered her eyes with her hands, averting her gaze from the photo in question. “I do not want to see that picture. In fact, I do not want to learn anything you managed to uncover. Gelato, be a dear won't you, and destroy that picture.”

With shaky hands, the blond began to tear into the picture, despite every muscle in his body telling him not to. It was as if he had no control over his words and actions once the boss’s messenger entered the door. No matter how hard they tried, they could not seem to disobey her orders.

“Thank you,” she said, once the picture had been ripped to shreds.

“You’re welcome,” Gelato found himself responding back to her as if she were their friend.
“And, while you’re at that, would you mind collecting all of your other research pertaining to the boss and burning it? Pictures, documents, computer files… everything.”

“Of course!” Gelato said without even thinking, as he went around the room, collecting any and all evidence of the boss, leaving Sorbet to face the rest of her questions alone.

“Now then,” she said, cautiously removing her hands from her face. “Tell me… do you know where the boss is currently residing?”

“Yes,” Sorbet grumbled.

“Any friends, family… uncovered anything about that?”

“No.”

“Okay then,” she noted, formulating her next question. “Were you planning on using this information to harm our boss in any way, shape or form?”

“...Yes.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Sorbet,” she said, standing up. “Gelato, you can just throw all that evidence into the oven. Don’t want to burn the whole building down, now do we?” she said with a chuckle, though she was the only one that upbeat. “Now then, you may now speak freely, provided you don’t reveal anything you learned about the boss to me.”

“What’s going to happen to us now?” Gelato asked, still piling hard drives and paperwork into the oven.

“I suppose that all depends… Who all have you told about your research?”

“No one,” Sorbet said.

“Really now. No one from La Squadra di Execusione knows about your findings?”

“Well,” Gelato admitted, closing the oven door as the evidence went up in flames. “Risotto is aware we were looking into more assertive ways to combat our decreasing paychecks. He knew we were looking into the boss’s identity, but he disapproved of it… he said it would be too dangerous.”

“He’s right, you know,” Canella said. “Good Capo… really should’ve listened to him.” She crossed to her stand, which held a small folder of handwritten papers. “You see, there has been a leak of information, and it is my duty to ensure all leaks are dealt with.”

“No one on our team knows anything about the boss, I swear,” Gelato said a bit more urgent.

“Hmmm, very well,” she said dismissively, as she skimmed the papers in her hand. “Can anyone tell me what all this paperwork is about? Talks about potential side jobs and casinos in Cinque Terre?”

“We… consulted one of the members of the financial division to see if we could increase pay through conventional means,” Sorbet explained, trying not to give too many details away. “They tried to help, but were unable to do so.”

“And who might this person be?” she narrowed her eyes. “I need to make sure all leaks are dealt with.”

“They don’t know anything! Please, leave them out of this,” Gelato pleaded.

“I need a name… now.”

“Bibita Bianche.”

“Ah, the new recruit,” Canella said, shaking her head. “I should have suspected. Pity. She seemed to have such potential…. I suppose it would be sort of messed up to hire La Squadra to deal with their ally in the Financial Division. Maybe Rigatoni could do it. I don’t think he enjoys killing kids, but I’m sure I could convince him-”

“Don’t!” Gelato interrupted. “Please don’t. She has nothing to do with our research into the boss. We threatened her, that’s why she went through all that work pitching the casino idea and everything. She has no intention of betraying Passione, she just wanted to help us!"

Canella paused for a moment, taking in the blonde's words. "Sorbet," she turned her attention to the brunette, the glow of Nirvana increasing. "Is what he said true."

"Yeah, she did all that research to help us… and also to spite you for dismissing her ideas," Sorbet found himself saying more than he intended, quickly covering his mouth.

Canella however looked surprisingly amused, letting out a little chuckle. "Well, well. The kid's got some spunk, that's for certain," she said. "I suppose it wouldn't be fair to punish her for your transgressions… Besides, she's shown a lot of initiative through all this. I'll be sure to keep a close eye on her."

Gelato breathed a sigh of relief, but Sorbet still looked on edge. Canella was conveniently skirting the subject of what was to happen to them, but they had an idea of what was in store for them.

"You know, you guys don't make this job easy," she said, crossing back to the kitchen, snagging a bottle of Rosé and pouring a new glass for herself. "You are two of the brightest amongst the Data Analysis Team, and your work as assassins is nothing to scoff at… and yet you decided to throw that all away to betray our boss. It's honestly illogical. In the end, no one is better off for your foolhardy attempt at uncovering the truth. It is useless to side against the boss."

"Are you sure about that?" Sorbet demanded. "Has anyone even tried? Right now, we have all the info we need to take him down, if we could get the rest of La Squadra di Execuzione to join us-"

"You'd never get close enough," Canella scoffed. "If you try to start a revolution, all who side with you will be killed."

"Not necessarily," Gelato piped up. "If we had someone close to the boss side with us, we could take him down."

Canella raised her brow, as she sipped her rosé. "My dear Gelato, are you asking me to betray our boss?"

"In so many words… yes," Gelato said.

"Think of it," Sorbet said. "Between our knowledge, the skills of the hitman team, and your influence over the boss, we could overthrow him! Take control of Passione for ourselves, and get what we deserve."

"Hmmm," Canella tapped her head with her index finger, musing her options. "And who might sit atop this new Passione? Who will be the new boss?"

The pair took a moment before Gelato spoke up. "Well, you, of course."

"We understand it would be dangerous," Sorbet said earnestly. "But we have the most to gain from this."

"You're right," she said, finishing off her glass. "There is a lot to gain… possibly. However, that is not a certainty. Many could die in this hypothetical revolution, myself included."

"We could win," Gelato was practically pleading.

"True… but we could also lose," she said, pushing a button on her cell phone. "You two could die, La Squadra di Execuzione could all die, and I could die… but, if I eliminate this leak, the hitman team and myself will surely live, and all the information on the boss will die with you, leaving the rest of us in an ignorant bliss. I rather like that scenario, far less risky."

"So, you're just going to kill us then?" Sorbet spat. "After all that, you're only a simple assassin for the Boss?"

"Oh please, I'm not a killer, I'm just a messenger," she said with a smug grin. "I am simply sending a message for those who would dare betray the boss… and I can promise, I will not kill you."

At this time there was a knock at the door. Canella crossed, and opened the front door, letting in two figures. One was a tall tan man with wild green hair and a white doctor's coat, and the other was a shorter gangly man in medical scrubs with a surgical mask and a tape recorder in his hand.

"However," she said, exiting the apartment. "I make no promises for my friends here."

**************************

Canella walked along the docks of Naples, carrying a large bucket of ash with her, the remains of Sorbet and Gelato's research. She sighed, as she heaved the ash into the harbor 'It never used to be this messy,' she thought, trying not to get her beautiful sundress dirty.

After she discarded the evidence, she took out her cellphone and dialed a number.

“Hello, Canella here,” she said. “You said to call after the deed is done?”

Whenever Canella called the boss, a special software would activate, altering their voices, sounding akin to a robotic voice to speech voice. She assumed this was done to mask his identity, considering how much work he went through to keep that a secret, however, she always found it unnerving when a cold robotic voice answered her. “Have the leaks been taken care of?” an impersonal robotic voice asked from the other end of the call.

“Yes, as we speak Cioccolata and Secco are doing their work,” she said. “It’s all a bit too gruesome for me, so I decided to finish up destroying their research-”

“What did they uncover?” the robotic voice demanded.

“Well, I can see why they were chosen for the Data Analysis team,” she said, staying upbeat. “They had a name, a face, and a location. And before you ask, all that evidence is ash, sinking to the bottom of the Mediterranean.”

“Does anyone else know of their findings?”

“No, I made sure not to learn any specifics of their research,” she quickly explained, not wishing to catch the ire of the boss. “Additionally, the rest of their team did not know of their findings. This was luckily a fairly self-contained incident.”

“So, no connection with the Frenchman?”

She shrugged. “No. No connection to the rival gang or that Frenchman with the tall hair. It looks like those two were researching solo. I could assume the same could be said for your nosey French friend.”

“Very well,” the robotic voice mused. “I may have to deal with him on my own then.”

“I just want you to know how close Sorbet and Gelato were to uncovering your identity,” Canella said, inspecting the cloud of ash swirl around the water. “If I hadn’t intercepted the two, that information could have spread like wildfire.”

“I understand, and I do appreciate your effort,” the boss said.

“Thank you, sir, but I had to do a lot of cleanup work on this incident,” she said, in a more pointed tone. “I would like to reiterate; I am a messenger. Not a maid. If you value your privacy so much, I think it would be best if you make sure to handle these little incidents before they escalate into messes. There is only so much I can do to prevent information leaks with my current knowledge, but it would be easier for you, considering you would know what they are looking for.”

“That is correct,” the boss said, but the voice altering software made it difficult to read the man. “I am hoping you were able to send a message to La Squadra Di Exicuzione.”

“Oh, believe me,” Canella snickered, as she pulled out a small slip of paper with Punizione written on it in beautiful cursive. “They’ll get the message.”

“Excellent. Thank you for your work, Mercury,” the robotic voice said, followed by the click of the call ending.

“Always a pleasure,” Canella said, knowing full well the boss was no longer on the line, slipping her phone back into her blazer pocket.

As she walked back to the mainland, a small fragment of paper floating in the water caught her eye. She slowed her pace a little, as she drew closer to the parchment. It was her job to eliminate any of the evidence remaining on the boss, and while she was certain the paper would eventually deteriorate in the harbor, she could not take that chance. Three sets of golden arms manifested to the sides of Canella, using Nirvana to handle the curious paperwork. After a quick glance, Canella gave a terse nod, as Nirvana’s hands began to shred the paper, as if it were confetti.

After that, the stand withdrew into its user, and Canella made her way back into the mainland. ‘A flight to Egypt in 1986,’ she thought to herself, reflecting on the flight manifest she’d just destroyed. ‘Curious… Very curious.’

**********************************************

A few days later, La Squadra’s hit against the politician went smoothly, with only one additional casualty. After, the hit-man team all met up to discuss their pay. Sorbet and Gelato’s absence was noticed by everyone, and the team began looking into their whereabouts.

Formaggio would be the one to find Gelato’s body the next day at their apartment. The blond had suffocated, choking on his own gag, face still full of despair and fear. A small piece of paper reading Punizione was left on the body, a message from the boss. Yet, Sorbet was nowhere to be found.

A few days later, the assassins would receive 36 “art” pieces, delivered to their headquarters. After lining them all up, La Squadra would discover Sorbet was sent to them, sliced up into 36 pieces and placed into solution filled glass frames.

The pair’s funeral would be held that next weekend. Only seven people attended, the surviving members of La Squadra. Risotto, their Capo, had told them all to forget about Sorbet and Gelato, yet he was the last one to leave the funeral.

After the boss’s message was sent, fewer and fewer missions trickled down to La Squadra, but at this point, they found it pointless to resist. They all knew far too well what going against the boss would result in.

Meanwhile, in Rome, the Financial Division carried on with their work without distraction. The boss’s messenger made sure to keep the event isolated, so no news of the punishment never spread, leaving the majority of Passione in an ignorant bliss. Bibita enjoyed the Summer of 1999, without any idea of what happened to her assassin friends. Occasionally, she would wonder what the pair were up to, but she figured Sorbet and Gelato, much like the rest of Passione , were just very secretive and careful.

Canella was sure to keep a close eye on Bibita, just in case another message needed to be sent.

****************************************************************************************** 

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Nirvana
Stand User: Canella Mercury
Stand Power: ???
• Power: ?
• Speed: ?
• Range: ?
• Durability: ?
• Precision: ?
• Developmental Potential: ?

Chapter Text

Bibita wrinkled her nose as she doubled, and then triple checked her numbers. It was mid-September, and the girl had been working for Passione for almost nine months, so she was getting much quicker at her filing work. So much so, Minestra had increased her workload, having her categorize and file all outgoing paychecks. While these copies were kept for bookkeeping, she couldn’t help but notice something a little off.

“Hey, uh, Pecorino?” Bibita said, crossing from her file cabinets to the set of desks at the other side of the office. “Could I ask you a quick question?”

The glasses clad man, who appeared busy with his work, slowly moved his head away from the computer monitor. “Sure, what do you need?” Pecorino said, still obviously distracted by his screen.

“Well, uh, I was filing the old payroll stubs, and I noticed something,” she said, presenting one of the papers. “When converting from Lire to Euro, how do we determine the exact number?”

“It’s simple, we round to the nearest cent,” he said, almost dismissively.

“Okay, I thought so,” she then pointed to her equation on the side of the page. “Because all the paystubs from this last month have all been rounding down to the nearest cent, even if it should have been rounded up.”

“Oh… that is odd,” Pecorino said, now more invested in the conversation, riffling through the papers Bibita had brought.

The conversation between the two drew the attention of Minestra. “Oh, there must have been an error in the system or something,” the dark haired woman said in a surprisingly pleasant tone. “I’ll get to work fixing that. No need to worry your little head about it, dear. But, thank you for pointing this out.”

“Oh, um… you’re welcome,” Bibita said, honestly a little shocked Minestra was being so kind. The girl had been there for a while, but always felt the woman treated her coldly. She figured that was just how the pantsuit wearing woman addressed everyone, but maybe Minestra was actually warming up to the girl-

“Alright Bibita, you can go back to work now,” Minestra said in a pointed tone.

‘Ah, that’s more like it,’ Bibita thought. “Right, of course,” she said, making her way back to her little filing corner.

It was about 10am when their Capo Soldi walked out of his office, and greeted the rest of the Financial Division. “Hello everybody. I hope you all had a good weekend,” he said, exchanging pleasantries and building morale of his subordinates. Bibita always enjoyed when he spoke, mostly because she could detect a slight accent on him, and she enjoyed trying to place it.

“Anyways, I just got off the phone with our associates in Milan-” his speech was momentarily interrupted by the squealing of Dolchi, who had a difficult time containing herself at the mere mention of the city. Once her excitement died down, he continued, “Our associates in Milan have just about finalized their Summer profits, and seek an audience with their representative.”

“Oh, yeah, I was just emailing them,” Pecorino said, adjusting his glasses. “I just need approval before heading over there.”

“Of course, but, considering the last time we sent one of our representatives so far north, we had a little run in with the French Mafia, we should proceed with caution,” Soldi said. “We’ll send you up there next week, accompanied by some back-up. I’ll reach out to Salé and Zucchero to escort you to Milan.”

“Question, sir!” Dolchi stood up, enthusiastically waving her arm.

“No, Dolchi,” Soldi sighed, shaking his head. “You can’t go to Milan this time.”

The blonde woman shoulders slumped, but she tried to keep a sweet smile.

Ossobucco, who had remained quiet during this exchange, finally looked out over his newspaper. “Huh… next week? That’s when my deal in Sicily is going on,” he said. “Salé and Zucchero were to go as backup for that.”

“I understand,” Soldi said, quickly rummaging through his pocket calendar. “I’m sure we can find someone from Passione to escort yo-”

“Eh, no need,” the elderly man shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense,” their capo insisted. “You shouldn’t go all the way to Sicily on your own. Honestly, you choose whoever you want for back up, and I’ll approve it.”

“This is unnecessary,” the old man grumbled.

“Ossobucco, I insist.”

Ossobucco sighed as he looked around the room. “Fine… I choose Bibita.”

He was nearly interrupted by Minestra’s laughter. “The girl?” she scoffed. “Isn’t she a bit inexperienced?”

“She outsmarted the French Mafia,” Ossobucco said, sticking by his initial answer. “In my opinion, she’s already proven herself more than most of Passione.”

Bibita, who had returned to filing and was passively listening to the ongoing discussion, was rather shocked to hear her name brought up. She appreciated Ossobucco vouching for her, but she did not want to get involved in the conversation, especially if would devolve into an argument with Minestra.

“That’s an exaggeration,” Minestra continued. “Our contacts in Sicily are very important. We need someone we can trust with such an excursion.”

“I can assure you,” Soldi piped up. “I have seen what Bibita is capable of, and we can trust her with such a task.”

“Bibita is an excellent choice!” Dolchi nodded, standing up once more. “Fully support it. One hundred percent."

Undoubtedly, Soldi and Dolchi were referring the girl’s role in the Maglione incident, and while Bibita didn’t do too much that day, she apparently left a positive impression on the pair.

“The way I figure,” Soldi continued. “So long as Bibita agrees to go, I have no qualms with her embarking on the Sicily mission.”

Ossobucco turned his attention to the girl filing papers in the corner of the office. “So, kid, what say you?” he asked. “Wanna go to Sicily?”

“Oh, uh,” she stumbled, a little taken aback at the surprising support from her teammates.

“You’d get a break from all that filing,” Ossobucco added with a grin.

“Alright, I’m in!” she said, after a glance to large pile of paperwork beside her.

“Then it’s settled,” Soldi continued. “Next week Pecorino will go to Milan, accompanied by Salé and Zucchero, and Ossobucco will go to Sicily, accompanied by Bibita.”

The impromptu meeting soon ended, with everyone returning back to their desks to continue their work, aside from Dolchi, who lingered by Pecorino’s desk.

“Hey, Pecorino,” she said, uncharacteristically shy. “So, um… do you have any plans during your trip to Milan?”

Pecorino, not even looking up from his screen, responded, “Dolchi, do you want me to pick you up something from Mila-”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she beamed. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he sighed, still completely focused on his work. “What would you like me to get for y-”

“Glad you asked!” she interrupted, shoving a folded up note to the man. “I actually made a list, alphabetical order, of all the high end fashion brands in that area. Anything from that list would suffice. Oh, and let me know how much I owe you!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes still glued to the screen, but a small grin was beginning to form. “Consider it a preemptive Christmas gift or something.”

“Aw, thank you so much!” she squealed, practically skipping back to her desk. “I definitely owe you, Pecorino!”

“Well,” Ossobucco said, opening up his crossword puzzle once again. “Seems like she’s more excited about your trip to Milan than you are.”

“That’s Dolchi for you,” Pecorino shrugged, quick to wipe the smile off his face. “And how about you? Excited for your annual trip to Sicily?”

“Are you kidding me? A few days away from the office, potentially dangerous mission, I might as well be on Holiday,” Ossobucco joked.

“What about Bibita?” Pecorino tilted his head in the direction of the green haired girl filing papers, oblivious to the ongoing conversations. “Does she know how dangerous this can get?”

Ossobucco shrugged. “I’m sure she’d appreciate a change in pace from the 9-5 office life. Besides, we’re in the mafia. A bit of danger is part of the job description.”

****************************

The next week, Bibita took the train to Sicily, which, technically comprised of a train ride from Rome to Villa San Giovanni, then a quick boat ride to Sicily to meet with their contacts over there. As to who their contacts were, Bibita had been left in the dark, as she was with most matters regarding Passione. Sure, she could always ask Ossobucco, but considering how anti-social the man was at work, she wasn’t sure how much information he’d give.

However, the elderly man had a whole different energy when she saw him at the Roma termini; complete with a casual light blue button up shirt, a throw away camera, and a cheap map of Italy. Bibita was taken aback by his change of attire, as well as his cheery demeanor. “Hey, Ossobucco,” she said taking in his new look. “Looks like you’re about to go on holiday. You look like a tourist!”

“And you look like you’re going into the office today,” the old man noted. Bibita had worn the same back jumpsuit for the mission as she did for work.

“Oh, shoot! Should I be in disguise or something?!” she didn’t wait for an answer from the man before she darted off to the gift shop at the terminal.

In less than a minute, she returned with an oversized white hoodie with the colosseum superimposed on an Italian flag. “There,” she smiled. “Now I’m disguised as a tourist too!”

The man shrugged as he got on the train. “Eh, I was never disguised. I just enjoy dressing like this when I’m not at work.”

“What?” Bibita frantically got all her bags and followed the man onto the train. “I just wasted thirty-five Euros on this crappy sweatshirt-”

“-Language,” the elderly man interjected, while Bibita carried on.

“You could’ve told me something!”

“Hmmm, it’s more funny this way.”

“Hilarious,” she grumbled, flopping onto the seat of the train. As they were on a mission from Passione, they had rented out an entire car of the train, so they had plenty of space and privacy for this trip, and, other than the occasional server, they were left to their own devices. Ossobucco had brought a large briefcase with him, undoubtedly connected to their contact in Sicily, which he proceeded to lock up in the safe in the cabin.

Bibita prepared for the long trip ahead of them, as she took out Fugo’s textbook and began studying up.

“Whatcha got there?” Ossobucco said. While he had taken a seat, and was actively looking at the window as the train pulled out of the station.

“Oh, uh… I was just studying up on finances,” she said. “I figure I still have a lot to learn and I could really use this time t-”

“Eh, come on,” Ossobucco said with a shrug. “We’re on vacation! Put the books down and enjoy the view.”

“Well this is technically a missi-”

“Come on kid, live a little,” the man chuckled. “If you didn’t have that book with you, what would you want to do?”

Bibita paused a moment, slowly setting down the book. She reached into her bag, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, and scooted near the window as she began to sketch. It had been quite a while since she allowed herself to be artistic, since she could no longer spray paint the alleys of Naples as she used to.

“There, that's more like it,” Ossobucco said. “So… you like drawing, kid?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, busy trying to sketch the Italian coastline. “I used to do a lot of this before-”

“Before becoming a gangster?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Eh, you’re still a child,” he shrugged. “You should try to enjoy yourself more.”

Ossobucco always seemed like someone who did what he wanted, whether it be crossword puzzles during work hours, or requesting to go on this Sicily ‘mission’. In fact, over her time in Passione, Bibita couldn’t remember a time when the man was particularly busy with office work.

“Hey, Ossobucco?” she piped up after a while of silent travel. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“So, uh… how long have you been in Passione?” she asked. “I’m pretty new to all this.”

“So you're wondering if this old man just hobbled in to join the gang, or if I’ve been around for a while, right?”

“Well… I wouldn’t quite put it like that… but yeah.”

“I’ve been in Passione before Passione was Passione,” Ossobucco said with a grin. “The names of the gang come and go over the decades, as does the boss or person in power. But, if you make yourself useful enough, even when the power shifts, the new power system will pick you up. When Passione finally formed, I was given a formal invitation, and a cushy job with the Finance Division.”

“So… you didn’t have to do, I don’t know… any tests or anything before joining?”

“Nah, no initiation tests or anything.”

“Oh,” Bibita tilted her head in slight confusion. “So, um… do you still have a-”

“A stand?” the old man completed her thought for her, much to her surprise. “Yeah, I got one of those things.”

“But, how?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “I thought people can only get stand through the lighter test and the weird arrow thingie?”

“I’ve had my stand well before the lighter test even began,” Ossobucco said. “I got it when I was maybe about your age. I don’t pretend to know what determines obtaining these weird abilities, as mostly everyone I know with a stand got it by the arrow method. But, a few of us unlocked our stands on our own, without the arrow.”

“So there’s others out there with stands who didn’t have to go through the lighter test?” Bibita muttered, reflecting on the pain and fear she felt months ago. “Lucky…”

“That’s not to say it was easy for us,” the old man continued. “Many of us got our stands out of desperation. A fighting spirit pushed to the limit.”

“How did you get your stand exactly?”

“Let’s just say I was in a situation that seemed helpless, but I found a way to fight back. Anything can become a weapon,” the man reminisced, a small grin growing on his face.
“There was a time when I was the best assassin in the gang, before Passione was Passione… And now they got me filing taxes. It’s humiliating.”

“Well, it’s probably safest in the Financial Division, right?” Bibita said, trying to stay upbeat as she continued sketching. “That has to be a compliment if the boss wants to keep you safe here!”

“I suppose a formal retirement isn’t in a gangsters cards,” he grumbled. “But I wish that they could have given me a less boring job. At least the street thugs still get to see some action.”

“So...What exactly does your stand do anywa-”

SKREEEE

Bibita was unable to finish that question, as the emergency brakes on the train went off with a screech, flinging everyone who wasn’t buckled in. The girl had taken a bit of a tumble, as she hesitantly got back up to her feet, and noticed her nose was bleeding from her impacting the floor. While she was completely bewildered, Ossobucco looked calm and determined, not at all shaken by the sudden jerking of the train. As a white aura began to glow around the man, he smiled.

“Looks like you’re about to find out, kid.”

Chapter Text

Trieste, Italy 1945

A young teenage boy with dark hair and brown eyes swept the hallways of the five storied brick building he was being held captive in. He wore the grey prisoner uniform given to him years back, a similar outfit to the rest of those interned in the building. Due to the uniforms and malnutrition, all the captives began to look the same over time, and the fact they had given up their names in place of numbers didn’t help the situation much. It had been years since the boy heard his actual name, back when his parents and younger sister were with him. However, they got transported to Poland years back, so the boy didn’t hold on too much hope he’d ever see them again.

‘Just gotta keep being useful,’ the boy repeated this mantra over and over as he painstakingly cleaned the hallways. ‘They can’t hurt me if I’m still useful.’

Over the years, the boy had undergone brutal labor, but he knew his people had been through similar over history. They were resilient, and the boy wasn’t going to give up hope. The war was coming to an end. Any month now, the allied forces would free them. He just had to survive until then.

“The allied forces are approaching at an alarming rate,” a hushed voice said behind the door of the main office.

The boy slowed his pace, having not heard much of the outside world since his interment, and listened in to the conversation. Some of the voices he recognized as the SS officers who brutalized those held captive in the old brick building, others weren’t as familiar.

“Multiple American Divisions, the British Infantry Division and the Canadian Corps are combing through Italy as we speak.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they take all of Italy.”

“We should retreat to Germany while we still can-”

“And how long will we stay safe there? There’s a war on two fronts, or did you forget about Russia.”

“This war was over after Stroheim fell at Stalingrad. Let’s face it, we lost.”

“We can still run, leave Trieste behind.”

“And what of the prisoners? What do we do with them?”

“You can line them all up and shoot them for all I care. If the Allied forces get ahold of them, they could be used to find us. They would certainly remember our faces.”

The boy let out a small gasp, and immediately regretted making any noise. Those in the room clearly heard him, and before he had a chance to run, the door slammed open, and he was dragged into the office.

“I thought we had someone guarding the door,” the leading officer sneered at his subordinates. The other men quickly confiscated the boys broom he way cleaning with, and pinned the prisoner against the wall. The office itself was finely decorated, with plenty of German and Italian artwork and sculptures, and even a piano. This room, however, did not reflect the rest of the compound, where the prisoners lived in squalor.

“How much did you hear, boy?” the guard snarled at him.

The boy tried not to shake with fear, but it was fairly difficult at this point. The head officer looked much calmer, as he casually shut the door behind him, locking the boy in there with all the German officers.

“What does it matter,” the head officer said. A detached coldness to his voice. “No matter what he heard, or thought he heard, he has heard too much.”

“What should we do with him?” another of the guards asked, pacing about. He appeared to be almost as nervous as the boy.

“We should bring him out to the courtyard and execute him.”

“And give him an opportunity to tell the others what he heard? No, no… that will never do,” the head officer mused. “We shall clean up this mess right here. Besides, he even brought his own broom!”

This elicited a laugh from the remaining guards, but the boy remained unmoved. By this point, he figured his chances of survival were dismal, but he wasn’t going to remain silent.

“Sure. Kill me.” the boy said, narrowing his eyes at his captors. “Besides, what's another body to the millions of my people you already killed.”

The laughter was cut short, as they all turned their heads to the boy. “Don’t you dare address us in such a tone-”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” the boy taunted. “That threat loses its effect after you watch your family get shipped out Poland and your friends die one by one from disease and hunger. Oh, I could just imagine what the American’s will do to you all when they find you all… provided the Russians don’t get you firs-”

“Silence!” The head officer tersely demanded, slowly withdrawing his handgun from his holster. “I do not want to hear another word from you, inmate 843-”

“That’s not my name,” the boy interrupted.

“You think we care of your name?” the larger guard scoffed.

“No… but I’m sure the American, British, and Canadian troops on their way here will care,” the boy continued. “Killing more won’t change their opinion of you murderers… but, if you show mercy to those of us left, the allies might think twice about executing you all for your crimes. At this point, we are better off to you alive.”

The others in the room went quiet for a moment, waiting for their commanding officer to speak up. The officer, however, merely aimed his gun at the boy. “Consider this our mercy then.”

BANG!

The world went dark, as the next moments were a blur to the boy. He could have sworn he was slain, yet, all he could hear were the shrieks of terror from the SS troops, the tearing of flesh and snapping of bones. When the boy finally came to, he was surprised to find himself relatively unscathed, except for a stray bullet that had grazed his face across his nose and cheek. This would most likely scar, but he was certainly looking better that the captors surrounding him.
It was quite the bizarre blood bath, as all the Nazi’s were slain in the most peculiar of ways. The larger guard who had roughed up the bot a bit had the broom handle lodged so far down his throat, it pierced through his stomach, disemboweling him. Another guard looked to have been stabbed multiple times with a writing pen, the murder utensil left firmly in his temple. A third guard had been impaled with a flagstaff, and a fourth looked to be asphyxiated with the wires of a nearby lamp wrapped tightly around his neck.

But, the most bizarre of these gruesome deaths had to be the commanding SS officer, whose face had been mauled by the brass statue of an eagle, which had been previously acting as a paperweight on the desk. Tiny razor thin metal feathers littered the officer’s body, leading to the man to slowly bleed out as the statue continued clawing at his face. “H..help,” the officer gurgled, reaching out to the boy. “8436-”

“That’s not my name,” the boy crossed to one of the fallen guards, and grabbed the gun. “If you are going to beg, at least use my real name… not a number.”

“Ossobuco,” the officer barely had enough energy to muster those words. “I demand yo-”

BANG!

The officer’s demand was cut short, as a young Ossobuco fired a shot into the dying man’s head.

While the boy stood there surrounded by carnage relatively unscathed, he didn’t notice a faint white aura surrounding himself. He didn’t even try to rationalize what had just happened. All he focused on was the fact that five Nazis were dead, their weapons now readily available.

A few weeks later, when the allies finally made their way to Trieste to drive out the axis powers, they would be surprised to find the prisoners interned there had already freed themselves.

*******************

With a spray from Blink-182, Bibita quickly barricaded the doors to their compartment, creating steel plates in front of the doorways. This wasn’t the girl’s first dangerous mission, but she still found it difficult to keep her nerves in check. Unlike Ossobuco, who calmly walked the perimeter of the compartment, taking stock of the materials at their disposal. Bibita, in the process of creating bars over the windows, let out a small sigh. “Whoever is out there, this ought to keep em out.”

“Possibly,” the older man said, more focused on the lamps and cutlery decorating the tables. “Even so, we should be prepared for a fight. From what I hear, you’ve got quite a lot of utility with your stand there.”

Bibita looked to her hands that held the spray canisters, and noticed they were shaking slightly. She took a deep breath and composed herself. “Yeah, you’re right. Blink-182 is pretty versatile… but isn’t really meant to be used as a weapon. It’s a lot better at avoiding conflict… than… well, conflict.”

“Eh, don’t worry,” Ossobuco looked between the bars of the window, trying to get a view of their enemies. “Knowing this train, it’s probably a couple of young hooligans trying to snag a quick profit. It’s a rather common occurrence, we’ll just rough’em up and send them on their way. They’re harmless-”

That’s when screams and gunfire could be heard from the compartments ahead of them. This interrupted the elder man, whose eyes widened at the sound of carnage.

“Passione… We know you’re in there!” a voice called out from the neighboring cabin. Bibita’s heart skipped a beat when she noticed an evident French accent to the voice. “Let us in, or the lives lost here are on your hands.”

A couple shots rang out, followed by the soft thud of bodies hitting the floor. Bibita glanced about, looking at the large rug in front of the main door the potential entrances to their compartment. Ossobuco’s demeanor became harsh, as he clenched his fist. “Bibita,” his gaze was fixed on the barricaded door. “Let them in.”

“They have guns,” she said. “And they aren’t afraid to use them… Are you sure about this?”
He nodded, as a white aura began to form around him. “They may have guns,” slowly, his stand emerged, a chain of a dozen little paper cutout men. “But anything can be a weapon.”
The paper chain of about a dozen men tore apart and folded to form little airplanes made of paper. Once in a more aerodynamic form, the stand flew all around the room. “This shouldn’t be a problem for Paper Planes.”

***************

Ossobuco’s stand didn’t look powerful in the least, as the origami planes fluttered around the cabin. While Bibita loved learning more about the finer details of stands, she figured now was not an appropriate time to ask. Paper Planes then split up, each individual plane landing on a different object; a plate, some utensils, a lamp, a computer, a pole, a window, etc.. Once the little stands landed on the object, they began to melt into it, becoming one with said object. But, before Bibita could ask what the elder mad was doing, he spoke, “Now… let them in.”

With shaky breath, the girl lifted her right hand and concentrated, as the barricades she just created dissolved into the air, reverting to their natural state. She took a step back and braced for the upcoming conflict.

The doors to the cabin burst open, as their enemies soon emerged. They appeared to be well dressed men, aside from the motorcycle jackets they wore atop their suits. Bibita was sure to keep an eye out for the Frenchman with the weird stand she ran into after her trip to Turino, but none of these mobsters matched his description.

The one leading the mobsters took a step towards the pair from the financial division, drawing his weapon as he spoke, “Well, well. Look who we have here,” he said, crossing the threshold, stepping over the rug in the doorway. “Our boss will certainly be happ-”

The Frenchman's comment was cut short, as he plummeted through the floor of the train. The rug was strategically hiding a hole in the cabin Bibita made with her stand. Once someone stepped on the rug, her little trap was sprung, as the acting leader of the mobsters was separated from his subordinates. Bibita quickly curled her left hand into a fist, reverting the hole back into its solid state, successfully taking the head mobster out of the fight.

“Nice work kid,” Ossobuco said, remaining serious. “But the rest will be angry after that stunt. Take cover… I’ll take care of the rest of them.”

As if on cue, the remaining four gangsters rushed into their cabins. Bibita, both scared and wanting to follow orders, squeezed her eyes shut, as her body transformed into a gaseous state. The girl tried to move her form off to the side, to avoid getting into the fight before her, however, Ossobuco stood his ground, not even flinching as the men fired their weapons at him. Bibita was about to rush over to protect him, when she noticed something odd.

WHOOSH

A nearby table flew over to the elderly man and blocked the oncoming bullets just in the nick of time. Before the mobsters had a moment to register the odd protective table, other objects in the cabin began to move on their own and attacked them with vicious precision.

The chord of a lamp formed a noose as it pursued one of the gunmen. A set of cutlery flung through the air, stabbing one of the attackers in his hand, as he dropped his weapon from the pain. A plate smashed into one of the gunman’s faces, and when he tried to recover his balance by leaning on the nearby pole, the pole itself began to twist and bend around his frame. Each of the objects Ossobuco had placed his Paper Planes in were now moving on their own, reminding Bibita of that Fantasia movie, with the mouse and the brooms… except there was a lot more blood and violence in this scenario.

The last of the gunmen got his head smashed in by the computer with a sickening crunch. The remaining gunmen were all apprehended with an odd variety of objects. One man entangled in several seat belts, another was wrapped up in the sentient pole, while a third man was tied up by the chord of the table lamp. With all their foes subdued or dead, a couple of Paper Planes retreated out of the objects no longer in use, and instead landed on the mobsters’ discarded guns, and soon three guns floated in the air, aimed directly at the heads of their former wielders.
Bibita, deeming the situation relatively safe, solidified back into her normal form, and walked up to Ossobuco. “Wow, that was amazing… gruesome and horrifying, but amazing.”

“I didn’t live this long not to pick up a few tricks, but we can discuss that later,” the older man turned his attention to the three surviving mobsters. “First, I believe we have some questions for the stowaways.”

All three of the floating guns cocked, ready to fire. “Now… who here speaks Italian?”

Two of the mobsters looked dumbfounded, clearly not too familiar with the language. But the third of the gunmen slowly nodded.

BANG

BANG

Two of the apprehended French gangsters slumped to the floor dead. Bibita jumped at the harsh noise; even though she had been in Passione for the better part of a year, she was not quite used to the violence yet. Ossobuco looked completely unphased, as if years upon years of working for gangs had hardened him. Instead he narrowed his eyes at the one remaining apprehended mobster. “Good job. You get to live longer than your comrades. Now, you’re going to answer a few questions for us. Do you comprehend?”

“Oui… I mean, yes, yes,” the man stuttered.

“Excellent,” the old man said. “Was your crew involved with the attack on Passion after the Turino mission?”

The French gangster nodded.

“What’s the name of your crew?”

The French man remained silent. Ossobuco sighed, as the floating handgun loomed closer to the mobster’s face, ready to fire. This was just convincing enough for the man. “Vivante! O-our crew’s name is Vivante!”

“Let me guess, you were here to intercept our delivery to Sicily.”

The gangster refused to look at Ossobuco, and instead glared daggers into Bibita. “We didn’t come here for money… we came here for the girl.”

A shiver ran down Bibita’s spine. “Who, me?” she said, slightly unnerved. “Why?”

“Let’s just say you’ve made some very powerful enemies after you tricked our leader in Turino,” the captive smiled, finding some strength through Bibita’s unease.

“How did you know she was going to be here?” Ossobuco demanded, stepping between the girl and the prisoner. He clearly wasn’t as affected by the apprehended man’s comments.

The ganger shrugged. “Je ne sais pas. All I was told was to bring back that girl who can create money out of thin air. You Passione dogs have very odd abilities, but our boss seems very interested in the powers of that bitc-”

Bibita, who had just about had enough of his talking, sprayed brass knuckles onto her left hand, and interrupted the Vivante grunt with a punch to the face.

Thwack!

“Language,” Ossobuco mumbled.

The punch left a bit of blood on the Vivante gangster’s face, some of which got on Bibita’s brass knuckles. Immediately, the constructed weapon began to revert back to its gaseous state, so the girl quickly converted the matter back to air.

The apprehended man spat a bit of blood to the floor. “Oh, I am very much looking forward to when Falco gets his revenge on you,” the man almost laughed. “Ever since the Turino mission, he won’t shut up about that crap-”

“Language,” Ossobuco reiterated.

“Falco? Is that the name of your leader?” Bibita said, finding a bit of confidence through her fear. “The motorcyclist with the white leather jacket?”

“Oh,” the Frenchman’s eyes went wide as his shoulders slumped. “I have said too much, shit!”

“Language!” Ossobuco said a third time, as an empty drinking glass flew across the room, undoubtedly animated from the elderly man’s stand.

CRACK

The thick glass shattered against the Frenchman’s forehead, and a steady stream of blood followed. “So… I take it there is no more information you will share with us?” Ossobuco asked.

The Vivante gangster remained silent, hanging his head in defeat.

“If that’s the case, I thank you for your service,” the elderly man bowed his head, showing respect to his enemy, as the trigger of the floating gun was finally pulled.

BANG

Bibita averted her gaze from the violence as the gangster’s body crumpled to the floor of the train.

“I’m sorry for all the violence,” the elderly man said, withdrawing his stand. A dozen little paper airplanes flew out of the inanimate objects, and circled around their user, before disappearing into his form. “But, he would be too dangerous to keep alive. This Falco clearly means to harm us, so any information he gets on us is a big problem. That’s why we can’t let them survive.”

“I understand…” she said softly, looking out the window to avoid looking at the bodies. Suddenly, her body tensed, and her heart skipped a beat. “Ossobuco, one of them got away,” she said remembering the first of the mobsters who fell out of the train at the beginning of the fight. Through the window, she could see a figure on a motorcycle ride off in the opposite direction of the train.

“That’s not good at all,” Ossobuco looked out the window as well. “He’s out of our range, and it would be too dangerous to follow him without a plan.”

“What do we do?”

Ossobuco took a moment before speaking. “We go to Sicily and continue our mission. Just understand, this will most likely not be the last we see of Vivante.”

“Okay,” Bibita said, still on edge, sitting back down into one of the seats not destroyed in the fight.

“When we get back to Rome, we relay this information to our team,” Ossobuco said, taking a seat as well. “Considering Vivante knew specifics of our mission, including your involvement, it's fair to assume they have either been stealthily spying on us… or-”

“Someone betrayed us,” Bibita said flatly.

“Unfortunately, we would be foolish to rule out that possibility,” the elder man explained. “You can never really be sure who you can trust until it is too late. I would like to believe all our team is loyal, but now… I just don’t know. If you find anything at all suspicious, make note of it and report it.”

Bibita was reminded of her conversation with another street-rat, that boy named Narancia. He had been so sure in friendship, and Bibita wanted to trust in others too, but each time she tried, her cynical side was proven right. “We can’t trust anyone in this line of work,” she said, emotion removed from the statement. “That’s why we can’t rely on anyone but ourselves.”

*********************

The pair finished their mission to Sicily without any further complications. They delivered a sizable sum of money to an elderly man known as Vladimir Kocaqi, and the pair of old-timers had a nice brunch together, catching up like good friends. Ossobuco didn’t appear nearly as affected by the train incident as Bibita, but the situation had become far too personal for her.

After returning back to work a few days later, Ossobuco relayed the details of the mission to the team. Bibita stayed silent, quietly inspecting every detail of her team members, part of her hoping one may have an obvious tell, the other part hoping none of them were traitors. The rest of the week, she reviewed all the information she had, and tried to deduce the possible turncoat, but found it a difficult task, as all on her team knew she was going on the Sicily mission. She remembered what Ossobuco had mentioned about finding anything suspicious; to make note of it and report it.

That was why, after most of the Financial Division were heading home after a long week of work, she pulled her Capo Soldi aside, with copies of the curious paystubs from the last few months. “Escusi, sir. May I speak with you in private for a moment?”

“Oh, of course Bibita,” Soldi said, slightly confused at her behavior.

Once the pair entered his office, Bibita made sure the rest of her coworkers were well out of earshot before continuing, “Sorry to keep you after work, but I noticed a small discrepancy in these paystubs, and I want to make sure it is given to the appropriate teams to help fix.”

“Is this the only copy?”

“Yes,” Bibita lied, handing him the documents.

Soldi thumbed through the papers, but he appeared almost bored at this revelation. “I will have to take a look at it next work week. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“Of course! Have a happy weekend!” she put on a happy face as she exited his office, but that did not in any way quell her doubts.

‘Our Capo hid the fact he has no stand,’ she thought. ‘What else could he be hiding?’

*******************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Paper Planes
Stand User: Ossobuco
Stand Power: Animation- Paper Planes is a colony type stand, with twelve separate paper airplanes. Once these planes land on an object, Ossobuco gains complete control, turning an inanimate object animated
• Power: B
• Speed: C
• Range: B
• Durability: C
• Precision: A
• Developmental Potential: C

Chapter Text

The next several months passed by rather uneventful for Bibita, but she was grateful for that change of pace. After the events on the train to Sicily, and her uneasy suspicions of a possibly turncoat, it was nice to just work in the office. She declined any missions that would have her leave the safety of Rome, in fear of running into Vivante again.

As time went on, things fell into a certain routine, and Bibita slowly eased out of her temporary paranoia. She came to the conclusion no one had betrayed Passione and figured the French gang Vivante probably had some weird stand that allowed them access to inside information. It wasn’t as if that in itself wasn’t a terrifying thought… but it was a lot more digestible than the alternative of having a traitor in their ranks.

In the blink of an eye, September turned to December, without so much as one dangerous mission for the members of the Financial Division. It was an early Monday morning at the office, when their Capo Soldi decided to make an announcement.

“Hello everybody. I hope you all had a good weekend,” he began, but with it being so early in the morning, not many were as enthused as their dark-haired leader was. He waited for a response but decided Ossobuco’s grumbles and Pecorino’s yawn would suffice.

“I know it has been a hectic year so far,” Soldi said, not letting the apparent lack of enthusiasm bring him down. “We converted Lire to Euro, we gained a new member to the team, we made many allies… as well as a few enemies. But all in all, I would say this year was a success. And success, I feel, should be rewarded.”

That last line grabbed the full attention of the Financial Division. “Way to bury the lead there,” Minestra muttered under her breath. “So, what did you have in mind for our reward?”

“Well, I know losing Turino was a bit of a setback, but through all your hard work, and the negotiating prowess of Pecorino, we’ve secured a valuable partnership. So, to reward all your hard work, the Financial Division will be taking a holiday trip to Milan-”

“Oh my God! MILAN!?” Dolchi blurted out at full volume. The blonde secretary had difficulties containing her excitement, but the rest of the team was also excited at the news… just not as vocal.

“Uh, Dolchi,” Pecorino placed his hand over his ear. “Not so loud please.”

“Ooops! Sorry Pecorino!”

“It’s okay,” Ossobuco shrugged. “It is pretty exciting news… but inside voices would be nice.”

Dolchi gave a terse nod, “Understood!”

“Anyways,” Soldi waited for the excitement to die down before continuing. “The hotel and meals for those ten days will be covered by Passione, and you will all receive holiday bonuses, in case you needed to do some last-minute shopping.”

Dolchi jumped with bubbly excitement at the mere mention of shopping in Milan, much to the annoyance of Minestra. “You better stop, before the blonde one gets a heart attack from sheer excitement,” the woman remarked. This merited a chuckle from Pecorino, and even Dolchi smiled, acknowledging her over the top nature.

********

The Financial Division stepped off the train at the Milan station shortly after noon on Monday, the 20th of December. Their vacation would last till the 30th of December, when they were scheduled to return to Rome, though they wouldn’t be going back to the offices till the 3rd of January. This left Bibita two full weeks away from office work, filing and endless math. Their vacation was long overdue.

A light snow covered the ground as they walked Piazza Del Duomo, the absolutely breathtaking city center. The spires of the enormous Milan Cathedral looked like something out of a fairytale, coated with a thin layer of ice in the winter season. To the right side of the colossal cathedral was a large archway, and in the center of the Piazza was a festive Christmas tree, four stories tall, at the very least.

“I didn’t know they made trees that big,” Bibita stared wide eyed at the tree.

Dolchi, on the other hand, was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. “Ah, it’s like a winter wonderland over here! I am so glad we came here while it’s all snowy!” Dolchi quickly opened up one of her traveling bags and began to hand out sweatshirts. “Here you guys go. I made us all ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters, to put us all in the holiday spirit!”

Bibita put the sweater on, and found she looked like a garish Christmas tree herself with the bright green color and sparkling ornaments. It was odd to receive something so tacky from the queen of fashion, but it was widely known throughout the office that Dolchi was a Christmas fanatic. The blonde sported a candy-cane print sweater, paired with a Santa hat, already fully in Christmas mode.

“You two look ridiculous,” Minestra said, not even bothering to accept the gingerbread themed sweater.

“Eh, say what you will,” Ossobuco said, putting on his new holiday sweater. His was a dark blue sweater clad with dreidel and star of David designs. “It at least helps with the cold. Thanks, Dolchi.”

“It’s very...uh, festive,” Pecorino studied his Christmas sweater before folding it and sorting it into his luggage.

“Lovely work as always. I’ll be sure to wear this for Christmas,” Soldi tucked his sweater under his arm. “Now, listen here everyone. Our hotel is three blocks north of here. I have a reservation for us on the 25th at a high-end restaurant. We will all meet up here, at the Piazza Del Duomo, on the 30th to travel back home… Other than that, you’re free to explore the city at your leisure. Happy Holidays everyone!”

After dropping off their bags in their hotel rooms, everyone dispersed. Soldi went off to meet with their business partners in the area. Minestra took a disposable camera with her to get pictures of Milan for her family. Pecorino, already familiar with the area, decided to go to the most exclusive clubs (in hopes of finding a date for Christmas). Though he didn’t celebrate the holiday, Ossobuco went straight to Castello Sforzesco’s Christmas market to admire all the crafted goods.

Bibita was a bit slower than everyone else, not familiar with the area much at all, so she decided to tag along with Dolchi for the majority of the holiday.

“This is going to be so much fun! We are gonna shop till we drop!” the blonde squealed, leading the girl through the streets of the city.

“Oh god, I’m gonna need more caffeine,” Bibita muttered, realizing she had volunteered to go shopping with the ultimate fashionista. The pair ended up walking back to the Piazza Del Duomo. “Hey, what are we doing back here?”

“You see that archway over there?” Dolchi asked, pointing passed the enormous pine tree. “Well behind that immaculate gateway is only the oldest shopping mall in all of Milan! Four stories of luxury shops, exquisite architecture, and also a McDonalds.”

Bibita’s stomach began to rumble, as she hadn’t eaten since she left her apartment back in Rome. “All of that sounds wonderful… could we grab the fast food first?”

After filling their stomachs with overly salted French fries and plenty of Dr. Pepper, the Passione girls began their shopping adventure, and no store was spared from their search. For several days, the pair would explore more and more of Milan, taking in more of the shops and the general holiday atmosphere. During their shopping sprees, Dolchi would often let Material girl out to admire the decorations, much to the child-like stand’s glee. Bibita found it fun to buy gifts for her teammates, as she was so used to not having money to spare, it was a nice change of pace. She had gotten a gift for everyone in the Financial Division, and even got a little something Bruno and Fugo, hoping that would give her a nice little excuse to visit her friends in Napoli.

“Hey, Bibita, could I borrow your nose for a second?” Dolchi held up a beautiful glass bottle of perfume. “I was thinking this would be the perfect gift for my mom, but I wanted to get a second opinion on it-”

“Oh shit!”

“The smell is strong, but it’s not nearly that bad-”

“No, no, that smells wonderful, I’m sure your mom will love it!” Bibita backpedaled. “I just remembered I should get gifts for my mom and brother… but, I don’t know what to get them.”

“Okay, I’m like, really good at gift giving, so I can help!” Dolchi said, taking out her pink notepad. “What do your mom and brother like?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“What do they do for fun?”

“I don’t know?”

“Okay, uh, what’s their favorite color?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know anything about them,” realization smacked Bibita across the face. “I’ve been away for so long, I don’t remember. Even if I did remember, it’s been four years since I was back home, it's probably not accurate anymore… hell, I don’t even know if my little brother still believes in Befana and Santa and all that Christmas crap anymore!”

Bibita’s eyes glazed over, not really focusing on anything. The whole reason she was on the streets was for her family, she joined Passione for her family, she sent a portion of every paycheck back to Naples for a family she didn’t even know anymore.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Dolchi raised her brows with concern. “Shopping should bring joy, not sadness.”

Bibita snapped out of it when she felt something hugging her ankles, only to see Material Girl trying to comfort her. The bright pink yarn ball of a stand had an assortment of ornaments and knickknacks pinned to it; it was evident Dolchi’s enthusiasm for the holiday was also true for her stand. Bibita couldn’t help but smile at Material Girl, and quickly dried her eyes.

“I hear there is an amazing panoramic view of all the Christmas lights over in Torre Branca. We could go there if you like?”

Bibita wiped her nose on the sleeve of her tacky holiday sweater and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you Dolchi.”

***********************

Before they knew it, the 25th was upon the Financial Division, and after four days of vacation, the entire team met up at Il Luogo di Aimo e Nadia, a high-end family friendly restaurant Passione bribed to stay open during the holiday, just for their team. Yes, being in the mafia certainly had its perks. After their antipasti, the team exchanged gifts, creating a mess of wrapping papers, ribbons, and gift bags. They had to quickly get the mess out of the way in time for their main course, to which Dolchi and Ossobuco used their stands to help clear their mess.

Passione was often referred to as la familia, but this was the first time Bibita felt her team was like a family to her. She tried to remember the last time she shared a Christmas with her entire family. She had left them four years prior, and her father was in an accident the year before that… so she was only eight years old the last time she had an actual Christmas celebration with her family. She had no idea how much she had missed that.

After they finished dessert, the members of the Financial Division all went their separate ways. “I need to take a nap after all that food,” Ossobuco smiled, grabbing his hat. “Thank you for the meal, Soldi.”

“Well, I need to call my actual family,” Minestra sighed, grabbing her jacket. “Here’s hoping the husband didn’t burn the house down while trying to cook.”

“And I suppose I should check on our business partners here,” Soldi said, a few more wrapped gifts in hand. “I even got them some gifts.”

As everyone began to walk out, Pecorino approached Dolchi, “Hey, what are you planning after this?”

“Oh, Bibita and I are going to go ice skating in the park!”

“Okay, before that I was wondering if you’d like to go to Armani Privé with me?” Pecorino said, a little nervous. “It’s a designer owned club, I figure you’d like that.”

Dolchi’s face lit up for a moment, but then took a moment to think. “I don’t think Bibita would be able to enter the club, and I don’t want her to spend the holiday alone.”

“I just need you to walk into the club with me. You can leave right after,” the glasses clad man practically pleaded. “If I could enter the club with a beautiful woman like you with me, it might make it easier to get other beautiful women to notice me.”

“You don’t need a beautiful woman to help you pick up chicks, Pecorino,” Dolchi said, patting the man on his shoulder. “Just be yourself and be confident! You’ll find a nice lady in no time!”

“I can either be myself or be confident,” Pecorino’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t be both at the same time.”

“Don’t worry about it!” the blonde said as cheery as always. “You’ll do just fine. Now Bibita and I have to get going.”

Dolchi turned around to check on the green haired recruit, who was still sitting at the table playing with the scraps from the Christmas presents. “Oh… are we leaving now?” Bibita asked, “I was just finishing up over here.” Bibita stepped away from the table to reveal Material Girl, covered head to toe in Christmas ribbons and bows. “Material Girl looked interested in all the ribbons... so we decided to play dress up.”

“Ah, she looks absolutely lovely,” Dolchi said carefully removing the ribbons from her stand. “But she might unravel with all the added accessories.”

The pair made their way out of the restaurant. “Merry Christmas Pecorino!” Dolchi sang.

“Good luck picking up ladies,” Bibita added, closing the door behind them.

Pecorino sighed, now all alone in the restaurant. He did not like the idea of the ladies of the Financial Division knowing he wasn’t confident picking up women. But, no matter, he figured he’d have as good of a shot as any trying to get a date tonight. People hated to be alone during the holidays, so hopefully the lonely people would end up pairing up this time of year.

The glasses clad man stopped by his hotel room to change into some nice clothes and headed out to Armani Privé. Between the blaring lights and pop-Christmas soundtrack, Pecorino tried his best lines to all the single ladies on the dancefloor.

“Ey...How you doin?” he tried acting cool.

“Using a sitcom reference? Seriously?” the woman rolled her eyes.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he asked another woman.

“It’s almost a new millennium… you should seriously upgrade your pick-up lines,” she scoffed.

“Hey, wanna dance?” Pecorino asked another lady.

“Sorry, but I like women,” she responded.

“Hey, m-me too! See, we already have so much in common-” he tried to spark up a conversation, but the woman quickly walked away.

Every time he tried to talk to a woman, he was just as quickly shot down. After a half hour of failed attempts, Pecorino retreated to the washroom. ‘So much for being myself or being confident,’ the man thought, looking in the mirror in the bathroom. ‘Dolchi’s advice isn’t getting me anywhere…’

“Not having any luck out there, friend?” a man entered the washroom after him.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” Pecorino said, trying to laugh it off.

The man in the washroom was very well dressed, in a casual white suite. The man had light brown skin, blue eyes, and black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, with the sides of his head shaved. All in all, a conventionally attractive man, who probably never had any issues speaking with the ladies.

“If you want my advice, ditch those glasses,” the handsome stranger suggested. “The ladies out there make quick assumptions, so they may think glasses are too nerdy.”

And with that, the man returned to the dancefloor. Pecorino contemplated his words, and figured his advice probably held more merit than Dolchi’s. ‘Besides, what would a gorgeous woman know about finding a date? I bet she’s never struggled with that!’ Pecorino thought, removing his glasses, and tucking them away in his pocket. Sure, everything was a little blurry now, but at least he wouldn’t be able to see all the women reject him in full detail.

Pecorino exited the restroom and walked into the strobe lights of the club. With his vision impaired, he stumbled a bit, bumping into several people on his way to the dancefloor. In a moment, a shadowy figure bumped by him, clipping by Pecorino’s face. However, with his poor vision, bumping into people was just normal for him.

Round two on the dancefloor Pecorino decided to keep his mouth shut and just try to enjoy himself. And, much to his surprise, he seemed to catch the attention of a beautiful woman with dark hair, who seemed to be a tourist from Asia, based on her accent, and poor Italian. But it didn’t matter to him, he was just ecstatic a woman was paying him some attention.

After a while of dancing with the tourist, she led him outside of the club, several blocks away to her hotel. Apparently, she wanted to be escorted to her hotel to stay safe, and Pecorino was glad to be chivalrous in this situation. The pair walked across Milan to a several storied hotel, and like everything else in the city, the building was also exquisite, with the crystal chandeliers and classic art on the walls. Instead of taking the elevator, Pecorino followed the tourist up the stairs, till they arrived at the fifth floor.

Pecorino was a bit out of breath after all the walking, but the tourist seemed to have plenty of energy, as she began to giggle a little.

“Hey beautiful, what’s funny?” he asked.

“C'était facile,” she began to laugh hysterically, her Asian accent slipping into a masculine French accent. “Très très facile.”

“Wh... what’s going on?” Pecorino said.

“You know, I was afraid our information would be faulty,” a voice said from behind him. Suddenly, there was a snapping noise, as a film of some kind of film was pulled off of Pecorino’s eyes. After blinking, he discovered the once beautiful hotel had disappeared, replaced with a dingey storage facility, long abandoned. The beautiful Asian woman had disappeared entirely, but Pecorino realized he wasn’t alone, as he was completely surrounded by thugs.

“But, as it turns out, playing you was far too easy.” Pecorino turned around to see the handsome stranger in the restroom, who had since dropped his Italian accent.

“You’re the leader from Vivante, aren’t you,” Pecorino trembled. “The one with the illusion powers Bibita told us about… Falco.”

“That is correct!” Falco smiled taking a little bow. “And now, you are our prisoner.”

The remainder of the goons approached Pecorino, as he struggled and failed to escape.

“Joyeux Noël, Pecorino.”

Chapter Text

The next few days were a blur of winter themed adventures, each member of the Financial Division going off and doing their own things. In fact, many of them didn’t see each other until their trip came to an end. They all met at the Piazza Del Duomo nearing seven at night to head back to the train station. Members of the team exchanged stories of their vacation, and plenty of laughs were had.

“Oh man, I never want to leave here,” Dolchi said. “I know! We should come here for holiday each year.”

“Sounds expensive… but I suppose finances are our strong suit,” Ossobuco chuckled, gathering his bags.

“I suppose it was fun,” Minestra gave a slight grin. “I would actually be okay with starting that tradition-”

“Yes yes yes!” Dolchi cheered.

“Provided you quit talking about Milan the other 355 days of the year,” the older woman added.

Dolchi furrowed her brows, “Oh, that’d be way too difficult… how about only 250 days?”

“Hmmm…” Minestra thought for a moment. “Fine, deal.”

Bibita liked to avoid it when the other members of the Financial Division argued, so she decided to get some sketching done, trying her best to capture the snow-covered Christmas tree on her notepad. As she was sketching, she looked around, observing her teammates. She wasn’t too good at drawing people yet, but she had fun sketching her team nonetheless. That was when she realized they were one short.

“Hey,” she piped up. “Has anyone seen Pecorino?”

Their Capo, Soldi, looked around. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him recently.”

“He knew what time to meet up, didn’t he?” Ossobuco asked.

“Maybe he got lost in the city?” Dolchi added.

“Oh please, he’s more familiar with this city than any of us,” Minestra scoffed. “He wouldn’t just get lost.”

“There is the possibility he is already waiting for us in the terminal, or is still packing up in the hotel,” Soldi said, keeping a level head. “I’ll go ahead and check the hotel. Dolchi, Ossobuco, stay here and keep an eye out for him. Minestra, Bibita, head over to the terminal and look for him there. Understood?”

The team nodded silently as they all splintered off in search of the missing Pecorino. Bibita and Minestra made a beeline to the station and began to check all the possible places he could be, which was easier said than done with all the travelers and tourists during that time of year.
“Crap,” Bibita muttered, weaving in and out of a crowd of people. “It’ll be impossible to find him with all the people here!”

“Yes, that makes things difficult,” Minestra said, as a pair of green sunglasses appeared on her face. “But, Pricetag should be able to help out.”

Bibita, who usually couldn’t help but get excited anytime her coworkers used their stands, was a little perplexed at Minestra’s decision. “Not to be rude… but how can Pricetag help us.”

“You know, whenever a sentence starts with ‘not to be rude’ the rest of the statement is always rude,” The dark-haired woman said with all seriousness.

“Oh! My apologies!”

Minestra seemed distracted, looking all around, gathering as much information as possible, but after a moment she sighed. “A human’s price isn’t just defined by monetary value,” she explained. “Everyone’s name carries worth, as does their past, their abilities, and their potential. Additionally, worth can fluctuate from person to person depending on the situation. For example, the Prime Minister has a lot of worth, but when you’re bleeding out from a bullet wound, a surgeon would have more worth to you.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Bibita said. “Since we are specifically looking for Pecorino, his worth in this instance would be much higher than anyone else’s, making it easier for Pricetag to spot him!”

Minestra didn’t respond, and merely nodded. She scanned the area, walking the perimeter of the terminal, but with no success.

“He’s not here,” Minestra asserted as Bibita was still checking the ticket stand. Bibita was used to the red eyed woman to be a bit abrasive or aloof, but there was a cold seriousness to the woman before her. “We should tell the others.”

A half hour later, the rest of the Financial Division met up at the station… everyone aside from Pecorino.

“I take it we all had similar luck,” Ossobuco said.

“He wasn’t at the hotel,” Soldi explained. “All his bags were still in the room, but the maids said no one had been in that room in days.”

“He didn’t show up at our meeting spot at the piazza either,” Dolchi added.

“And he isn’t here at the terminal,” Bibita said. “So… what do we do now.”

“Our train back to Rome is set to depart in a few minutes,” Soldi looked at his watch. “He may still meet up with us or take a later train back.”

“Well, whatever you chose, I’m staying here,” Minestra said, voice softer than usual. “I’m not going back to Rome until our entire team is accounted for.”

The rest of the team went quiet.

“The rest of you can head back… I’m probably just worrying too much, but I refuse to leave Pecorino,” Minestra lit a cigarette to calm her nerves, as she walked out of the terminal, and into the streets of Milan.

Another pair of feet crunched in the snow after her. “Wait! I want to help,” Dolchi rushed to catch up to Minestra.

“A couple extra eyes couldn’t hurt,” Ossobuco muttered, following the women out of the terminal.

Soldi also stepped outside. “What kind of Capo would I be if I abandoned my team. We can always catch a later train anyways.”

Bibita was the last of her team still in the station, watching them all follow after Minestra. The whole situation didn’t sit well with the green haired girl, as she began to imagine all the horrible scenarios that could await them. By all accounts, the safe choice would be to get on the train back to Rome. ‘Minestra is right, they’re all probably worrying too much,’ Bibita rationalized, taking a step towards the train. ‘Even if things do get crazy, I’ve already been in more than enough close calls since joining Passione. No one would blame me for going back to Rome first.’

Yet, she hesitated, watching her teammates one by one follow Minestra out into the snow. She had spent the better part of the year with these people, and even though she was terrified of what dangers may await them, she couldn’t seem to enter the train.

Back outside in the streets of Milan, Soldi began to go over what they knew so far, “The last time we saw Pecorino was at Christmas Dinner, and all of his luggage was still at the hotel, so by that logic-”

“Hey wait up!” a voice called out.

The team turned around to see Bibita rushing towards them.

“Took you long enough,” Minestra said, but her tone was much kinder than usual. “But, thank you.”

“Well, someone had to grab us a map,” Bibita shrugged, pulling out the map she’d pickpocketed from some tourists. “I mean, do any of us know where we’re going anyways?”

*****************

The team spent the remainder of that evening looking for Pecorino, but after a few hours of searching, decided to call it a night, hoping the missing team member would return to his hotel room that evening. As the team woke up the next day, they discovered that was not the case. So, the Financial Division spent the morning of the 31st searching all over Milan for their glasses clad teammate. A part of Bibita found the team’s loyalty to each other kind of heartwarming, but the other part of her was too worried speculating what could have happened to Pecorino, or what dangers awaited them.

Due to their conversation of Christmas, Dolchi deduced he may be near the club Armani Privé, so that at least narrowed their search a bit. From there, the team split off to look for clues to their companion’s whereabouts. At noon, Soldi had commanded them all to rendezvous at a local restaurant to discuss their discoveries. However, there wasn’t too much to report, as Soldi, Ossobuco, Dolchi and Bibita did not have the best of luck in their endeavors. They had not gotten any closer to finding Pecorino; on the contrary, they seemed to be missing another member, as Minestra was running late to the meeting.

As they began to lose hope, each lead ending yet another dead end, Minestra finally showed up. “Well… any luck?” she said, more focused on a picture she was holding than any of them.

“Unfortunately, no,” Soldi said with a frown. “Here’s hoping you had better luck.”

“Maybe,” Minestra said, tossing the picture on to the table. Captured in the photograph was a large storage facility, that looked so mundane, it felt very out of place in the exquisite city of Milan. “I think he may be in this building,” the red eyed woman said.

“What makes you figure that?” Ossobuco asked.

“Pricetag,” she explained. “I am very familiar with his worth, and since we are currently looking for him, his worth to us has skyrocketed. This building was the only one to match that estimate, despite being such an unremarkable building.”

Bibita let out a sigh. “Well, that’s a relief! Let’s go get him and go back to Rome!”

“Not so hasty,” Minestra scolded, pointing to a couple small figures in the picture. “It looks like it’s well guarded. I only saw a few armed guards from outside the facility, but who knows how many there could be.”

Bibita’s relief immediately faded. “You… you don’t think it’s-”

“Vivante?” Soldi interrupted. “We would be foolish to rule out that possibility. If we rush in there without a game plan, that could spell disaster for all of us. We need to gather more intel on this building.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Minestra said. “We need blueprints of the interior to get a better idea of how to get Pecorino out.”

Dolchi, who was rather quiet finally piped up. “When I was looking into where Pecorino could be, I stopped by a library. I think blueprints to public storage facilities like that would be available there!”

“I would typically make a comment questioning if you have ever been to a library in your life,” Minestra said. “But, honestly I am too relieved to say something like that.”
Dolchi frowned at the off handed remark.

“Yeah, thank goodness you didn’t say that out loud,” Ossobuco rolled his eyes.

**********************************

Within the next few hours, they were able to secure the blueprints thanks to Dolchi flirting with one of the workers there. The team met back up in the lobby of the hotel and looked over the prints.

“Based on Pricetag’s estimations, where would you place Pecorino on this map?” Soldi asked.

Minestra inspected the blueprints and pointed to a room at the very top. “He was about here last I checked.”

“Hmmm, there only seems to be one elevator and one set of stairs,” Ossobuco said. “Getting up there may be difficult if it’s as well guarded as you described.”

“Are there any, like, secret passageways?” Dolchi offered. “You know, like in those spy or mystery films!”

“If only it was that simple,” Minestra scoffed. “The only ‘secret passageways’ would be the ventilation system, but none of us would be able to squeeze into the air-ducts.”

Bibita looked closely at the ventilation system in the blueprints. “I can do it,” she said, quietly. “With the help of Blink-182, I would be able to get up there through the vents… but once I get there, I wouldn’t be able take Pecorino through the vent system as well. We’d have to take the stairs, which would draw a lot of attention.” She began to second guess her idea, the thought of being trapped in the building with Vivante terrified the girl. “It’s a stupid idea, forget I even mentioned it-”

“What if we provided a distraction?” Dolchi offered.

“What?”

“You get up to the top, and I’ll create a distraction, so you two can escaped,” Dolchi smiled. “Besides, you’ve seen how my stand handles in combat situations.”

“Sign me up for team distraction,” Ossobuco chimed in. “Storming into an enemy filled facilities… It'll be just like the good old days. Besides, Vivante still needs to pay for all the innocent lives they took on the train to Sicily.”

“While I’m not exactly suited for up close combat, I can help provide cover,” Minestra lifted her burgundy jacket to reveal a sizable handgun. “I can pick off some of those bastards from afar.”

Soldi rubbed his chin, contemplating their plan. “If that’s the case, we would break into three teams. Dolchi and Ossobuco would storm in through the main entrance and start making their way up the stairs. Minestra and I would follow shortly behind, providing cover for the distraction team.” The Capo turned his attention to Bibita. “This would leave you as our extraction team. You’ll be on your own until you intercept Pecorino, and then you’d rendezvous with our distraction team. Hopefully, with Dolchi and Ossobuco drawing their attention, it’ll be easier for you two to sneak out.”

Bibita was quiet. Part of her was excited the rest of her team agreed with her plan, but her hands couldn’t help but shake as she imagined sneaking into the Vivante facility. Months had passed since the Sicily incident, but she figured the French gang’s opinion of her hadn’t changed in that time. Yet, she took a deep breath and steadied her hands.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bibita said, with a false err of confidence. “Let’s get started.”

************

Since it was New Year’s Eve, leading up to the new millennium, the streets were packed with party-goers that night. With everyone so focused on festivities, Bibita found it rather easy to get close to the storage facility without being detected by the Vivante grunts. Once she was close enough to the building, she shifted into her gaseous state, and bolted undetected to the vent nearest the rear of the building. Phase one of their plan was going off without a hitch. ‘Now we just gotta save Pecorino, defeat Vivante, and return in time for the new year,’ she thought in her gaseous state. ‘Simple, right?’

Bibita had studied the vents for quite a while earlier that way, but it was still difficult to navigate the dark network of twists and turns of the vent systems. She had only gone into the gaseous form a handful of times since getting her stand and had mostly shifted to that state as a split second reaction, or to avoid potential danger. So being in the gaseous state for such an extended period of time with the task of locating someone was definitely an unfamiliar experience for the girl.

Stealthily, she navigated her way through the twisting vents, and made her way to the fifth floor. She looked around, seeing a dinghy dark room before her. As it was a storage facility, there were dozens of chain link spaces set up for people to store their supplies and what not. Exiting from the vent, she floated through the fifth floor in her cloud form, keeping an eye out for her teammate. There were several Vivante guards on that floor, stationed around the stairs, the elevator, and the windows. Due to the camouflage of her current form, it was easy to slip past them, though it was still very nerve racking. She then found another storage area that was different from the rest, considering there was a guard right outside the chain linked space, and there appeared to be another person inside.

‘That must be where they’re keeping Pecorino,’ she thought. ‘I could probably take out the guard… but that may alert his friends.’

She decided to play it safe, turning around the corner, out of sight of the guards before reverting back to her solid form. Once she got her bearings, she reached into her jacket pocket, and retrieved her pager, sending a quick message to her team. Stage one was over, it was then time for stage two, the distraction to commence.

In less than a minute, a scuffle could be heard on the first floor, which quickly escalated into gunfire. Stage two was underway.

Noticing all the guards rush to the stairs, Bibita snuck back to the makeshift holding cell for Pecorino.

“Oh, thank god,” the man gratefully whispered once he recognized Bibita. “I was afraid you’d all forgotten about me and headed back to Rome.”

Bibita, not wanting to admit how close she was to staying on the train back to Rome, decided to skip the pleasantries, immediately calling forth her stand. “Blink-182!” Materializing the left canister, she sprayed a whole in the chain link wall, giving Pecorino enough space to squeeze through. “Alright, now we just need to get to the elevator and get out while the rest of the team is distracting them,” she said, already bolting to the elevator.

“It’s out of service,” Pecorino said, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve been locked up here for almost a week, and no one ever took the elevator.”

“Shit,” Bibita cursed, and looked out a nearby window. The soft snow from earlier that week had been replaced with a light misty drizzle. Escaping through the window would not be possible with her stand’s weakness. “Okay, change of plans,” she said, pivoting. “We’re taking the stairs.”

“What? Can’t you just make us a ladder or something?” Pecorino looked shocked.

Bibita shook her head. “That won’t work. As much as I hate to say it, we’ll probably have to fight our way out of this.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Pecorino backed away, knees trembling. “I- uh… I can’t really fight.”

Bibita was stunned for a moment, realizing however scared she was, this man had to be double that. “I know, I know,” she said in a kinder tone. “I would much rather avoid a fight. But look on the bright side, we’re both capable stand users-”

“Speak for yourself,” Pecorino scoffed. “You can make objects out of air… All I can do is convert money. I’m not like Dolchi or Ossobuco. I don’t have a powerful stand. And I’m not like Minestra and Soldi, I’ve never even fired a gun!”

The man was starting to break down, running his hands through his hair as he hyperventilated. “Wait… how did you even get into Passione then?” Bibita raised an eyebrow.

“I’m literally just a bank teller,” his voice cracked. “I noticed Minestra had asked for an offshore account, and I figured she was doing something illegal, so… I offered to keep quiet about it if she gave me 20% of whatever she made. It turns out, she was recruiting for Passione, and found my eye for detail and questionable morals a plus. She’s the reason I got into Passione.”

Suddenly, all the times Pecorino laughed at Minestra’s mean jokes made sense, as did her fierce loyalty to him. Minestra must feel responsible for her recruit, much like how a mother would look after her children long after they’ve left the nest.

“Honestly, you all would be better off if you left without me,” he said, slumping against the wall. “I mean, what can I even do to help out? It was a good thing you covered Minestra on that Torino mission… if it were me, well, I think I would have died for sure-”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Bibita snapped. Pecorino’s eyes widened, but he quickly shut his mouth. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. I was just a street rat before all this. Hell, I didn’t even do a lighter test, I just interrupted one. Gambero, the actual Passione recruit who died during the test was supposed to be on the team, not me. But I learned how to adapt. I have a weak stand, not one of those punch ghosts, but I learned how to use it creatively. If we want to get out of this situation, and live to see the new year, we need to think creatively. Now, show me your stand!”

Pecorino hadn’t much experience talking with Bibita, but was still shocked at her practical mindset. “Thrift Shop,” a large green cash register with a metallic humanoid torso and head materialized. On its chest was a continuously shifting number, as if she were watching the stock markets.

“Okay, you say your stand can convert money into other currencies… can you convert money into other objects?”

“What?”

“How many Euros would a gun be?”

“Huh?”

“Here,” she handed Pecorino a large wad of cash. “See if it works.”

Pecorino hesitantly turned to his stand. “Hey there Thrift Shop… Think you can turn this money into a gun?”

The cash register portion of the stand opened up and accepted the money, and then shut, bells and whistles sounding off as it processed the money. After a few seconds, the register opened, with a fully loaded handgun replacing the cash.

“See! There’s no such thing as a useless stand, you just have to think outside the box and get creative,” Bibita smiled.

“I don’t know how to use a gun.”

‘My god, this is how I die, isn’t it?’ Bibita forced herself to stay positive. “That’s okay. We can learn while fighting off all the guards. That’s fine.” She turned her attention to the build of the stand, kneeling next to the metallic creature. “It doesn’t have legs, but it seems to have muscular arms. Have it punch me,” she said, hands ready to block the fists.

“Huh… I’ve never tried fighting with it. Hey Thrift Shop, attack?”

The machine dinged, as it launched a punch at Bibita. Though she had blocked the attack from hitting her face, there was enough force from the attack to knock her onto her rear. “Okay then!” she laughed. “It packs quite the punch, doesn’t it? It doesn’t have legs, so you may have to carry it, but on the plus side, non-stand users can’t see our stands, so it’ll be easier to catch them unawares with a barrage of punches from Thrift Shop!” Bibita was actually proud of herself, she was finding very creative ways to use these stands. She wondered if Bruno would be proud as well-

“Oh, I don’t think I have enough upper body strength to carry Thrift Shop.”

‘I’m going to die here.’ Bibita took a deep breath, trying to retain her smile. “No worries, I’m sure we’ll think of something-”

“Bibita… you don’t have to stay positive for me,” Pecorino said in a defeated tone. “It’s a shit situation. You should escape while you still can, the guards will be back soon.”

She paid that comment no mind as she heard footsteps rounding up the stairs. While there was still carnage several floors below, their conversation must have alerted a few of the nearby Vivante guards. “No time for that,” she muttered, summoning her right canister, and spraying a baseball bat into existence. “I’m fighting my way out of here… What will you do, Pecorino?”

Before he had a chance to answer, she bolted behind some boxes, leaving him alone.

“Hey!” one of the guards shouted, noticing Pecorino out of his cage. “We have an escaped prisoner!” Several of the Vivante goons approached Pecorino, and the glasses clad man looked absolutely terrified.

“Oh, s-sorry, I-I just heard some noise down there, and got scared,” he bluffed, raising his hands in defeat.

“We should cuff him,” another guard suggested, pulling out handcuffs. Pecorino hesitantly extended his arms out as the guard prepared to cuff him.

“Thrift Shop.”

Suddenly, the metallic green torso of a stand materialized in Pecorino’s arms.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The stand let out a barrage of punches, catching the closest guard unawares, as he was immediately knocked out. The other guards lifted their guns to the glasses clad man, but before they had a chance to fire, Bibita leapt out from the shadows. Using her small stature to her advantage, she swung her bat as the goon’s kneecap.

SNAP

The knee bent inwards, as the guard tumbled to the floor. She kicked his gun away as she turned her attention to the two remaining guards. She was barely able to dodge a bullet, as she jerked her body out of the way, using her momentum to swing her bat at the next guard.

Thunk!

After a swift bat to the face, that guard fell as well. This left one more guard, who was in the perfect position to fire at Bibita. Knowing she didn’t have enough time to dodge, she squeezed her eyes shut, and shifted into cloud form, and the bullet harmlessly passed through her gaseous state.

She sped towards the last guard in her cloud form, shifting back to her solid state after building up considerably speed, and delivered one final punch.

Thwack!

“There,” she said, slightly out of breath, kicking the broken leg guard in the head till he fell unconscious. “Four guards down… that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“My wrists hurt,” Pecorino muttered, having already withdrawn his stand.

‘Welcome to die.’ She tried to keep those negative thoughts out of her head, as she inspected the bat she’d made. After their scuffle, the bat was already converting back to gas, considering some blood had splashed on it.

Due to the limitations of her stand, she was always looking for creative ways to overcome her setbacks. So, instead of creating a new weapon, she found a concrete block on the floor, and sprayed it with her left canister, turning it into a light gray mist, which floated around the girl’s fist. “Alright, it sounds like more are on their way. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Yup, same here,” she grumbled, getting into a fighting stance as more footsteps echoed in the hallway. The first guard to round the corner was caught by surprise, as the girl hurled her right fits right at his face. But, just before the point of impact, Bibita consolidated the grey mist into a concrete punching glove. The weight of the concrete combined with the speed she was punching lead to a devastating hit, knocking the Vivante goon off his feet, as he was flung across the room.

She ducked for cover, as she sprayed the concrete into a mist once more, to repeat this process a few more times, all one hit knockouts. But, the other guards, were cautious, as they kept their distance, and fired at them from afar. “Oh shit, they have guns!” she remembered, quickly spraying a wall between her and the goons. “Pecorino, looks like we won’t be taking the stairs,” she said, readying her left spray canister.

“What do you mean by tha-”

Before he could finish that thought, she sprayed the floor, and the ground evaporated, as the pair plummeted to the fourth floor.

Thu-Thud

“Thank you for the warning,” Pecorino grumbled, rubbing his back after falling on his rear.

“I said we weren’t taking the stairs,” Bibita sighed. This rescue mission was becoming quite the headache.

The fourth floor had a similar layout to the fifth, but the lights here were flickering, creating a strobe light effect. But, from what she could see, the area looked clear of guards. The shifting of shadows as they moved freaked Bibita out, remembering Black Sabbath. She rubbed her eyes, trying to get that image out of her head.

“Are you okay?” Pecorino asked.

“Yeah, I’m just a little turned about,” Bibita noted, trying to make sense of the building.

“If you like, I could lead,” the glasses clad man offered, to which Bibita agreed. The fight had taken a lot of energy out of the girl, so letting someone else take the lead would give her a moment to catch her breath.

Right turn. Left turn. Right turn. They moved through the winding hallways and rooms, as if it were a maze. The floorplan of the actual space was nothing like the blueprint suggested, as, just when she thought they’d reached the other side of the floor, she would discover yet another winding hallway.

“Wait, Pecorino. Something’s not right.”

Click

She heard a door close and lock behind her, as suddenly Pecorino disappeared in front of her, and the dinghy strobe-lit hallway faded into a bright lit office space.

“Ah, there is no fooling you,” a voice chuckled behind her. A voice she had not heard for nearly a year, but still dreaded its familiarity.

‘This was a trap,’ she realized, a bit too late. Hesitantly, she turned around to see Falco, the leader of Vivante, looking exactly how she remembered him with his white leather jacket, blue eyes, and dark hair pulled back into a slick ponytail. A dark humanoid figure with gouged out eyes, long claw-like fingers, and eyeballs protruding from the palms of its hands lurked in the man’s shadow. That was undoubtedly Falco’s stand, Papaoutai, and Bibita had fallen for its illusion.

“You certainly are a difficult woman to track down, Mademoiselle Bibita,” the leader of Vivante said with a confident smile, his form suddenly multiplying, creating twelve identical images of Falco, surrounding the girl. “We are so glad you could join us tonight,” a dozen voices greeted her.

*********************************************************************************************** 

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Thrift Shop
Stand User: Pecorino
Stand Power: Currency Conversion- can convert any money that enters its register into it’s corresponding monetary value, no matter the currency.
• Power: C
• Speed: D
• Range: E
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Developmental Potential: D

Chapter Text

Dolchi and Ossobuco sat at a bench near the storage facility and waited for their signal. It had only been a few minutes, but that didn’t stop the blond woman’s foot from tapping, and her eyes darting at anyone getting too close to them.

“Eh, that’s weird,” Ossobuco noted. “I don’t think I’ve seen you so nervous before… it’s not like you.”

“I’m just worried for Bibita,” Dolchi said, shoulders still tense. “The rest of us have partnered up, but she’s in there alone.”

“With her stand, she’s the only one who can sneak in,” Ossobuco said, returning to his crossword puzzle. While on the surface, he may appear distracted, that was far from the case. “She has the spirit of a survivor… I’d be more concerned about Pecorino.”

Dolchi shuddered at the thought of their glasses wearing teammate being held prisoner. “Oh, great. Now I’m worrying about two people!” She stood up and scanned the area, streets steadily flowing with traffic and tourists. “It’s been too long, she should have signaled us alrea-”

Ding! Ding!

As if on cue, the pagers in their pockets went off. That was their signal; Bibita had found Pecorino.

Dolchi let out a sigh of relief, and finally smiled. “Alright, distraction team’s a go! You ready old-man?”

“Just try to keep up kid,” he said, retrieving a large bag as they approached the building. The elderly man gave off a soft glow, as he summoned his stand Paper Planes, the origami aircrafts hovering around the pair before splitting off, the majority flying into his bag, while the last little plane landed on the door of the storage facility, and immediately merged with the fixture.

Knock-knock- THUNK

Moving on its own, the door violently was flung inwards, tearing the hinges right off the wall. By the sound of it, the door had hit a couple of guards on the inside.

Dolchi rushed forward, a pink clump of yarn appearing on her shoulder, as she summoned her stand Material Girl. Once she was through the entrance, she spotted three guards who were struggling to get back on their feet after the door fell in on them. When they spotted her, they immediately pointed their weapons at her, but it was too late. They were already in Material Girl’s range.

Dolchi held out her hands, and clenched her fists, as the fabric around two of the guards got far too tight far too fast. With their torso and midsections completely crushed, the pair of men crumbled to the ground. Once they were utterly destroyed, Dolchi turned her attention to the last of the trio, who had turned to run away, after witnessing his companions eviscerated. However, he would find he was not moving, as Dolchi’s fabrokenisis had him trapped. Delicately, she moved her hand from left to right, to which the unfortunate guard in her range was battered back and forth like a ragdoll.

However, during the bloodshed, she failed to notice the guards charging down the hall to her position.

BA-BA-BANG BANG

She gasped at the gunfire, but would discover the bullets didn’t find purchase, and the animated door quickly repositioned, getting between her and her enemies. “You’re certainly in a rush,” Ossobuco muttered, catching up to his teammate.

“Thanks, Ossobuco!” she beamed, giving the man a pat on the back. As soon as she touched the fabric of his blouse, he could feel the fabric shifting.

“Ey, what are you doing?”

“Kevlar,” she said, unbuttoning her trench coat to reveal her crop top blouse was similarly altering. “I figured I would use Material Girl to alter the fabric composition of our outfits. I know bullet-proof business attire isn’t exactly in this season, but I figure staying alive is always fashionable!”

“Good thinking,” he said, opening his bag, as its contents began to move on its own. Suddenly, a heap of objects poured out of the bag, including a large candy cane, a string of Christmas lights, a large tree topping star, several ornaments, and other holiday themed items. When Dolchi saw the display of Christmas spirit, she jumped a little with excitement, Material Girl mimicking her motions until the stand began to unravel. “I know I don’t exactly celebrate,” Ossobuco shrugged. “But I felt it’s a fitting weapon, considering they ruined our holiday… Plus, they were all on sale after Christmas.”

The pair took stock of their surroundings, taking note of the staircase on the far side of the hallway. The assortment of Christmas decorations, piloted by Paper Planes, flew towards the guards approaching their positions. A sharpened candy cane impaled a guard, while the string of holiday lights formed nooses for three unsuspecting gunmen, and a few ornaments shattered in the face of another goon, sufficiently blinding him. The remainder of the guards retreated after seeing a large star shaped tree topper decapitate another of their ranks but were sure to call in backup after them.

Seeing the area ahead of them was cleared, Dolchi proceeded, humming Carol of the Bells as she skipped past the festive display of carnage. Ossobuco merely shrugged at his teammate, and pulled out his pager, informing his team stage two was well underway. It was time for stage three to commence.

**********

Soldi reached into his jacket pocket as his pager went off. He and Minestra were stationed at a phone booth a half block away from the storage facility, but they could already hear the carnage from the facility from all the way down there.

“Sounds like we’re up,” Minestra lit a cigarette.

Soldi gave a sharp nod, as he withdrew the pair of handguns he had tucked away on his person. “Stage three is a go.”

The pair shoved past the heavy foot traffic of Milan, and made their way to the storage facility, immediately seeing the handiwork of their associates. “Well, they certainly have spirit,” Minestra kicked one of the bodies impaled with a candy cane.

They could hear multiple footsteps closing in towards the staircase, undoubtedly chasing after Dolchi and Ossobuco. Soldi backed against a wall, being sure to give himself plenty of cover, as he waited for his enemy to cross his line of sights. A dozen guards turned the corner, heading for the stairs, completely unaware of the two Passione members now lurking in the shadows until-

BANG

With a single headshot from a long distance, Soldi dropped one of the guards before they could even notice. This shook the remaining guards, as they stopped in their tracks, looking for where the shot came from.

BANG

Another one fell to the ground dead.

“Pricetag,” Minestra summoned her stand, as a pair of bright green sunglasses appeared on her face. She ducked behind a barrel, and observed the guards approaching them. “The one to the far left in the red polo shirt has the best aim. We’d be best to eliminate him first.”

Soldi nodded, shifting out of his secured position to get another shot out, catching the aforementioned guard before he even knew what hit him. After the target was down, Soldi ducked for cover, as the guards began to fire upon them.

Minestra scoped the area, unable to get a direct hit on their enemies without opening herself up to an attack. Using her stand, she saw monetary values pop up for every potential shot angle she could take. Finding the angle worth the most, Minestra carefully fired her gun, the bullet ricocheting off a metal pipe, and finding purchase in the neck of one of the Vivante Guards. The sound of gagging and coughing confirmed the shot for the woman, as she studied her surroundings, looking for the next best shot.

Seeing an unusually high price on a large barrel, Minestra let out a shot, yet, unlike her first shot, the bullet did not ricochet, and merely shot through the barrel. She found it odd but knew her stand was always correct in its estimations… there had to be a reason the barrel was worth more than the other angles she could have taken.

“Hah, she missed!” one of the guards said, taking aim at the pair. Yet, as soon as he pulled the trigger, the gas emanating from the fractured barrel ignited, and a small explosion knocked all the guards off their feet with a concussive blast.

“Nice shot,” Soldi noted, advancing towards their enemies, taking cover around the next corner. Reaching into his coat pocket, and pulled out his pager, informing his crew they were in position. All the pieces were set; now it was up to Bibita to complete this rescue mission.

******

‘Take a breath… You’ve been in difficult situations before,’ Bibita’s body tensed up, caught in Papaoutai’s illusion. ‘You always found a way out.’

Outside of the room, she could hear a cacophony of bullets and fighting, and her mind wandered, imagining what her teammates could be going through, and their fates. ‘They won’t be here in time,’ she thought, letting out an uneasy breath. ‘I have to take care of myself.’

“I will admit, I am not a man easily fooled,” Falco said, however, due to his stand creating a dozen illusionary images of him, it was impossible to pinpoint where the leader of Vivante was. “Yet, you fooled us all in Turino. For a while, I was furious. A little girl managed to best the French mafia. I could only imagine how others would view us after such an embarrassing failure-”

Bibita decided to strike while he was gloating to hopefully catch him off guard, summoning Blink-182 to create a baseball bat, as she charged toward the image of Falco, she thought was the real one. However, the image faded into a dark smoke as soon as she collided with the illusion.

THUNK

The momentum of her missed attack led to her charging headfirst into a wall, unseen to the girl. It only made sense the enemy stand user was masking the actual interior of the room, as the girl realized she couldn’t trust her own eyes.

“Now now, there’s no need to interrupt,” Falco continued, as the dozen of his image paced around the room. “Honestly, you in Passione have no manners. As I was saying, I was furious for a time… for months I yearned for revenge, planning the best way to corner you.”

The room itself began to tilt. Even though Bibita was aware of the illusion, it felt so real, as she stumbled away from the wall, and back into the center of the room.

“However, I realized just how useful your set of skills could be… making money out of thin air… now that’s a good trick!”

Once she gathered her balance, she charged at a few more of the Frenchman’s images, hoping to find solid purchase, yet each one simply dissipated into smoke, and then reformed the image a moment later.

“As you can see, my stand is more illusion based,” he explained, as the image of the walls surrounding them crumbled away, making way for a change in scenery. Suddenly, Bibita found herself alone in the middle of a foggy cobblestone road, an area completely unfamiliar to the girl, and based on the signage on the illusionary street, she deduced the fake image before her must be a French village.

She looked around, trying to spot her enemy, yet, Falco was nowhere to be found, though his voice echoed through the streets. “Yet, your ability creates tangible decoys,” the Frenchman continued, though his actual form was nowhere to be found in the illusion.

‘Take a breath,’ Bibita thought. ‘Fighting him while under the power of his stand would be dangerous. The safer option would be to retreat.’

Bibita summoned her right spray bottle, and began to spray a wall around herself, figuring she could at least barricade herself from the man, before creating a hole to escape to the lower floor. However, even though she was certain she was creating a wall, she could not see it. Clearly Falco’s illusions were powerful enough to keep her from seeing the tangible objects she created. But, even through the illusion, she could feel her creation, even if her eyes failed to register it.

“I see our intel was correct,” Falco continued, his voice disembodied. “It is your right hand converts air into solid material.”

Before she had a chance to react to his knowledge, Bibita felt a hand wrap tightly around her wrist. The leader of Vivante was right beside her, as she witnessed the illusion momentarily fade. Bibita tried the break free of his grip, but realized the man was stronger than he looked, even without assistance from his stand.

“While useful, we can’t have you using that power against us at the moment,” he continued, his stand appearing in his form.

Crack!

Falco suddenly bent the girl’s index finger all the way back, until the bone cracked, the rest of her right hand significantly crushed from the power of the stand. Bibita let out a shriek, her knees giving out from under her, as she crumpled to the floor. Her whole body shook, as her steady breath was quickly replaced with hyperventilating, and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

“It will heal, stop your crying,” the Frenchman scoffed. “Now, if you’re done acting up, we’ll be escorting you back to France. I am certain we will make good use of your stand-”

Bibita muttered something between sobs but was unintelligible.

“Pardon?” Falco asked looming near the injured girl. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘eat shit, asshole!’” Bibita summoned the left canister and sprayed the floor by Falco’s feet. The man began to plummet towards the third floor, as his illusion faded, and the girl found herself back in the bright fluorescent-lit office space.

She could finally see the door, her way out of there. ‘Take a breath,’ she told herself, as she converted herself into a gaseous state. ‘You just need to make it out of this room and get back to your team.’

Bibita’s cloud form darted to the door, aiming for the crack between the door and the floor. Yet, just as she was about to close the distance, her freedom just a few meters away, she heard pressure release from pipes above her. During the conflict, she hadn’t noticed the sprinkler system in the room, and she was regretting that oversight. The moment the shower of water hit her cloud form, she reverted to her solid physical form, hitting the floor of the office with a harsh thud.

She scrambled to the door, and instinctively reached for the knob with her broken hand. “Shit!” she gasped, quickly pulling her hurt hand out of the way, and immediately tried to open the door with her left hand, only to find the door locked.

“I had my doubts on our intel,” she heard Falco’s voice behind her. “But it appears to be accurate. Right hand converts gas to solid objects, left hand converts solid to gas… and your stand is weak to liquids.”

The room once again shifted, as she was pulled back into Papaoutai’s illusion. Suddenly, she found herself on an abandoned shoreline during a raging storm, fitting as the sprinkler system added to the effect. “During this state, you may as well not have a stand,” Falco gloated.

Dread gripped the girl, not just because her hand was broken and she was completely powerless, but because her enemy knew so much about her. Since joining Passione, she hadn’t told anyone about her major weakness, and was careful not to divulge too many details regarding her ability. The only other people who were aware of this weakness would be Bruno and Fugo… but, surely, they wouldn’t betray her. At this point, Bibita wasn’t sure who or what she could trust anymore, as even her eyes were betraying her.

She could still feel the wall against her back, and cautiously she moved along the side of the wall, hoping to feel another door or window, since it was clear she couldn’t use her sight to find a way out. To avoid falling further into Papaoutai’s tricks, Bibita closed her eyes, and her world went dark for a moment. Yet, even though her eyes were closed, the image of the abandoned coastline filled her vision, regardless if her eyes were opened or closed.

“Still trying to find a way out? Think you can out-smart the illusion by simply closing your eyes?” Falco’s voice echoed, making it impossible to pinpoint his location. “It won’t work. Why don’t you save us all time, and just give up while you still have nine unbroken fingers? Otherwise, I could very easily break the rest of them, if that helps convince you.”

Try as Bibita might, she could not summon any aspect of Blink-182 while she was soaked. So, she went into her back pocket, withdrawing her old switchblade, and defensively held it in front of her, ready to lash out at whatever crossed her path.

“Put down the weapon, child,” he ordered. “You’ll only hurt yourself. No one is coming to save you-”

BANG

A single shot rang out, and the illusion created faded away. Bibita, eyes still shut, was greeted by darkness, and, hesitantly, she opened her eyes. She was back in the brightly lit room, sprinklers still going off, and Falco was in the center of the room, his white leather jacket suddenly staining red, as he slowly looked down, only to find a bullet wound in his gut. “What?” he coughed looking behind himself.

The only door of the room had been opened and stepping through was the glasses wearing member of the Financial Division, Pecorino. With shaky hands he aimed the gun at the Frenchman. “I figured out how to use the gun.”

“Pecorino?” Bibita took a step towards her teammate, but hesitated. “It that really you? Or is this just another illusion?”

“It’s me,” Pecorino wiped the sprinkler water off his glasses. “We got separated when we got to the fourth floor. But I think I’ve figured out how his stand works, why you were the only one affected by his latest illusion. He attacks the eyes exclusively, and the stand alters our perception… but, if there is something blocking it from reaching the eyes, his illusions cannot manifest. That’s why he was so adamant about me taking off my glasses the other night. He needed a clear shot.”

Bibita though back to her first encounter with Papaoutai during the Turino mission, and how the specter seemed to attack their faces, but no damage was dealt to them. Suddenly, that all made sense, and she figured Papaoutai must have attacked her eyes once they got to the fourth floor, easily camouflaged by the strobe light effects.

“Clever man,” Falco applied pressure to his wound, as a steady stream of blood poured from his gut. “But… if you think you’ve gotten out of this, you would be mistaken.” The Frenchman charged Pecorino, despite the wound.

Pecorino, startled, picked up his gun, and fired more shots at the leader of Vivante, but none found purchase, as Papaoutai deflected all the bullets. In an instant, the Frenchman was upon him.

THWACK

Falco slammed his fist into Pecorino’s face, breaking his nose, as well as shattering his glasses in half. In a panic, Pecorino covered his eyes with his hands, knowing full well how the enemy’s stand works.

“You are so lucky mon amie,” Falco grumbled, pulling the Passione man up by the lapels, slamming him into the wall. “For some reason, our associate was insistent on keeping you alive. You were just needed for bait to get us the girl… However, there was nothing mentioned about breaking a few bones.”

With that, Falco began to pummel Pecorino, each punch hitting harder than the last. However, while the Frenchman was preoccupied, he failed to notice Bibita approaching him. His illusion had faded, so the girl was able to see the whole room, as well as her way out. Yet, her feet stopped short of the doorway. Even though her escape was just stepping away, something kept her in the room. Logic and fear told her to run away…

Shinnnk!

With a shaky left hand, Bibita slashed Falco with her switchblade. While it was a rather shallow wound, it was still enough to catch the Frenchman off guard. “Tchh-” Falco grunted, turning around to see the attacker. “I don’t have time for this.”

Pulling his attention from Pecorino to the girl for a moment, Falco summoned Papaoutai. The spectral figure reached out and grabbed the girl by her right wrist, and immediately she cried out in pain. While the stand wasn’t particularly strong, it was far more powerful than Bibita, keeping her in place away from Falco.

‘This must be how it feels to not have a stand,’ Bibita tried to pry her arm from its grasp, but it was no use. ‘In this state, I can’t even summon Blink-182 to fight back. Why didn’t I just run when I had the chance?’

In the moment Falco turned his attention to the girl, Pecorino sensed an opportunity to retaliate. “Thrift Shop!” the metallic green stand appeared before them, and even though he had covered his eyes, Pecorino had a pretty good idea of where to attack.

THWACK

Thrift Shop’s fist landed directly in Falco’s gut, where he had previously been shot. The force of the hit knocked the Frenchman off his feet, as he slid across the wet floor. With his concentration broken, Papaoutai momentarily faded, and it lost its grip on Bibita. The girl tumbled to the floor, and after getting her bearings, bolted to Pecorino. The man was beaten and bruised, barely conscious.

“Come-on, we gotta get outta here,” using her good hand, she helped Pecorino to his feet. The pair hobbled out of the room and into the flickering hallway. Bibita knew Falco would be back on his feet any moment, but if they could just make it to the stairs, they may be able to meet up with the rest of their team.

“Hey, Pecorino,” Bibita said quietly, as the pair moved down the hall. “Thanks for coming back to get me… You could have escaped, but you still chose to rescue me despite the danger. That was really brave of yo-”

“That wasn’t brave, it was stupid,” Pecorino mumbled. “My glasses are shattered, and I’m pretty certain he broke my nose. The smarter and safer choice would have been to leave.”

“But you didn’t.”

“To be honest, I was just hoping to kill Falco, but that failed spectacularly,” he said with a defeated chuckle. “But I suppose it would be pretty messed up to leave you after you all went out of your way to rescue me…”

Bibita smiled. She spent so much of her life fending for herself, she was used to relying solely on herself. But, after seeing how everyone in the Financial Division reacted after one of their own was in danger, she was beginning to wonder if her philosophy was correct.

Back in the room, Falco slowly got up, and applied pressure to wound, and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a walkie-talkie. “Bibita and Pecorino are heading to the staircase on the fourth floor. The girl’s powers won’t work anymore, and the man’s abilities aren’t powerful to begin with. It should be simple enough to apprehend them now.”

As Bibita and Pecorino neared the exit, staircase in sight, they could hear a dozen footsteps, coming up the stairs to greet them. Not wanting to run into more enemies, the pair quickly turned around, only to see Falco approaching them, armed with both his stand, and a loaded gun. With Bibita unable to summon her stand, and Pecorino badly beaten, the two were quickly surrounded by Vivante.

****************

Back on the first floor, Soldi ducked for cover, narrowly avoiding the spray of bullets heading straight for him. Things were not going well, as the man had run out of bullets a few minutes earlier, and the number of foes just kept growing. Unlike the rest of his team, Soldi didn’t have special powers that could help him out in a sticky situation. Even Minestra, who possessed a very useful stand for their line of work, wasn’t much help when they were out gunned and low on ammo.

The woman situated herself behind a pillar and looked down at her gun. Only one bullet left. She sighed, as she scoped around the room, looking for the best shot.

‘Soldi hasn’t fired his gun in a while,’ she thought, turning her attention to her Capo. ‘He must be out of bullets.’

As she looked to her boss, Pricetag’s ability activated, as information on her boss populated her sunglasses. She was impressed by his monetary value, but that was expected of a Capo… but what really caught her attention was the lack of information regarding his stand. Usually, when observing a stand user with Pricetag, Minestra was able to see information on the stand and its monetary potential… but Soldi was completely blank in those fields.

‘I know he’s good at hand to hand combat… but, without a stand, when Vivante closes in on us, we won’t have any tricks up our sleeve,’ she thought, looking over her shoulder at their enemies approaching. ‘Only one bullet… I have to make it count.’

She notes all the potential trajectories and their worth, as she carefully aimed her gun at the path with the highest possible value.

BANG!

The final bullet was fired, heading to the metal garage door. However, the shot ricocheted after connecting with the door, suddenly flying up towards the large industrial lights. The bullet tore through the fixture, and the large lamp fell onto several Vivante grunts who were standing beneath it. However, the bullet kept moving, changing direction each time it contacted a metal surface. After hitting a railing, the bullet finally stopped-

Shhnnk

-in Soldi’s leg. The final bullet managed to disable three of the Vivante gangsters, but it somehow managed to strike the Passione Capo as well. Soldi dropped to the floor gripping his injured leg, trying to keep a cool head, as blood poured out of the bullet hole. “Minestra, be careful,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve been hit, and I’m out of ammunition.” He looked over to one of the bodies, twenty meters to the left of him. With his injured leg he wouldn’t be able to make it there, not with so many enemies aiming for him, but there was the possibility Minestra could make it and steal the gun off the body. He turned his attention to the woman, ready to enact his plan.

Minestra looked preoccupied, as she held a walkie-talkie up to her ear, and muttered something too soft for Soldi to overhear. She then nodded and placed the device back in her pocket, as the Vivante gangsters slowly closed in on their location.

“Minestra, quickly,” Soldi said, propping himself on a wall. “I’ll try to distract them, and you can go grab one of the guns off the bodies.”

Minestra narrowed her eyes at the Capo. “They hired an Americano without a stand as the leader of the Financial Division of the most powerful gang in all of Italy,” she muttered, casually lighting her cigarette. “What the hell were they thinking?”

Soldi couldn’t make out what she was saying, however, as he was prepping a few throwing knives he had tucked away in his jacket pocket. “Alright, on the count of three, I’ll attack, you be ready to bolt, Minestra… Minestra?” He turned his head to the pillar the woman was hiding, but saw the woman was no longer there, only the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

But the Capo didn’t have time to wonder the woman’s whereabouts, as the Vivante guards closed in on his location. Soldi took a deep breath and listened in for the nearest footstep in relation to his location. Just a few meters away. Soldi prepped his knife and pivoted slightly.

THUNK

A flash of silver, the knife landed squarely in the approaching guard’s throat. While Soldi managed to off one of the guards, there were still many to go. It was at this moment, the Capo of the Financial Division was reminded of an old Spaghetti Western, the kind of gritty violent films he’d watch growing up, when the protagonist was drastically outgunned… most of the time, it didn’t end well for the hero.

THUNK

THUNK

Two more knives flew out, and two more guards fell. Soldi tried to duck back behind his cover, but his injured leg gave out from under him. Oddly enough, his sudden tumble helped him avoid getting caught in the oncoming bullets’ paths. He crawled to some cover, his pursuers on his heels. He rested, and with his back both literally and figuratively against the wall, he held his hands up in surrender.

There was a cacophony of bullets, all aimed at the Capo. Instinctively, Soldi closed his eyes, already making peace with his fate… yet, he didn’t feel any pain.

PFSSSSS

Soldi was curious at the odd noise that had replaced the sound of gunfire, and hesitantly, he opened his eyes. A dozen bullets hung in the air, suspended in space a mere few meters from hitting him. Meanwhile a few of the guards looked to be deflating, losing all thickness at an alarming pace.

“Well, well,” a feminine voice mused. “This certainly is some way to ring in the new year.” Standing in the hallway was the Boss’s Messenger, Canella Mercury, accompanied by both Salé and Zucchero.

While Soldi was unable to see stands, he assumed all three of the newcomer’s were using their abilities to fight Vivante.

Canella stepped forward, greeting the French gangsters, and immediately, they turned their weapons to her. “There’s no need for violence, put your weapons down, please,” a soft light emanated from the woman’s eyes, and the Vivante guards tossed their guns to the floor. “Thank you. There has been far too much violence tonight. You should be celebrating the new year, not attacking each other. Why don’t you all go over to the pub three blocks North of here? The first round of drinks is on me!”

As if on cue, all fifteen of the remaining guards happily headed out the door, as if a huge gunfight never even happened. Once they were out of earshot, Soldi spoke up, “So, you’re just letting them get away?”

“Passione has a squad of undercover cops staking out that exact pub, just waiting for those punks to arrive” she smiled. “Believe me, they will be apprehended well before the new millennium begins.”

Soldi breathed a sigh of relief, and struggled to get to his feet, “Thank you. Without your intervening, I would be as good as dead right about now. The rest of the Financial Division should still be upstairs, undoubtedly locked in combat with Vivante.”

“Understood,” Canella said, turning her attention to Salé and Zucchero. “Would you mind-”

“Already on it,” Salé nodded, rushing to the stairs, followed immediately by Zucchero.

Once the pair had climbed up the stairs, Canella assisted Soldi to his feet, escorting the injured man out of the building. “That’s a nasty little bullet wound you got there,” she noted his bleeding leg. “We should get you to a docto-”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. I should really check on the rest of my team-”

“Don’t worry, they’re in good hands,” Canella’s tone grew more serious, her golden eyes flickering slightly. “However, our business here is far from over.” She pulled out some papers from her blazer pocket, the paystubs from the Financial Division. “The Boss would like you to answer a few questions.”

********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Papaoutai

Stand User: Falco

Stand Power: Perception Control – Papaoutai places a contact lens like film over someone’s eyes, which then gives Falco complete control over what they see.

• Power: C
• Speed: B
• Range: B
• Durability: A
• Precision: B
• Developmental Potential: D

Chapter Text

The conflict in the storage facility ended shortly after Salé and Zucchero arrived, with every member of the Financial Division looking worse for wear. They were able to apprehend the majority of the Vivante gangsters, aside from their leader, Falco, who had mysteriously disappeared when the Passione reinforcements arrived. Since they had driven all the way to Milan, Salé and Zucchero offered the Financial Division a ride to a local hospital to get their wounds taken care of. Dolchi and Ossobuco had minimal injuries, with a couple tender looking bruises from the bullets impacting their Kevlar. Pecorino had a broken nose and needed several stitches to patch up all the cuts on his face.

Bibita, however, had broken her index finger, as well as a few bones in her right hand, so her recovery was going to take longer than the others. A cast covering her arm, hand, index and middle finger was administered to the girl, and she was prescribed some painkillers for the injury. While the shock that helped numb the pain was quickly wearing off, she decided against the drugs, remembering her father had overdosed after mixing prescription with street drugs.

After everyone got their wounds cared for, the Roma Passione members decided to celebrate the new year while there was still some time left in the evening. The six of them discussed the different options for the night, and they settled upon Byblos, a popular club in the area. As the rag-tag group of gangsters entered the building, security stopped Bibita at the door.

“Hey, this is an adult club! Who’s bringing an actual child into a club,” the security scoffed. “Yeah, run along home kid-”

“She’s with us,” Ossobuco interjected.

“If she can’t enter, none of us are going,” Dolchi narrowed her eyes, but the security seemed unphased. The blond huffed, as she glowed a soft pink, already summoning her stand in retaliation.

“Hey, look, we’ve had one hell of a night, and we just want to celebrate the new year,” Pecorino stepped in front of the group, slipping the security a small wad of Euros. “I’m sure you understand.”

The man stealthily pocketed the money and stepped out of the way of the entrance. “Ah, yes. Thank you for the clarification. Right this way.”

Pecorino nodded, as the whole group made their way into the club. “See, there’s no reason to resort to threats, when you can just… persuade people instead,” he nudged Dolchi. “Now, put Material Girl away before someone gets hurt.”

“Oh, right!” Dolchi skipped ahead of the group, withdrawing her stand as she made her way to the illuminated glass dance floor.

The club was darkly lit, with flashing multicolored lights illuminating the area. The design of everything was very sleek, almost futuristic in display. The group split, with Dolchi, Pecorino, and Zucchero going to the dancefloor, and Salé Ossobuco and Bibita made their way to the bar. Bibita, being a bit on the short side, had a hard time getting the attention of the bartender.

“Hello? Hello?” Bibita stood on her tiptoes, waving her good hand. “Could I get a Dr. Pepper please?”

The bartender had to double take at the small teenager at the bar. “Oh… I’m sorry miss, but… uh… we don’t serve children-”

“The kid just wants a soda,” Ossobuco grumbled, leaning into the bartender. “It won’t kill you to give her a soda.”

“Uh… of course,” the man stumbled. “One Dr. Pepper, right?” Bibita nodded, and the bartender opened a can of soda.

“Hey, put that in a nice glass,” Salé scolded. “We’re celebrating the new year.”

“Right, right!” the bartender quickly poured the drink into a Margarita glass, complete with a colorful straw. “Here you go, miss.”

Bibita instinctively reached out with her broken hand but switched to her left hand to take the drink. “Thank you,” she said to both Ossobuco and Salé.

The elderly man simply shrugged as he downed his glass of whiskey. Salé, however, took a seat next to the girl. “It’s the least we could do,” the orange haired man said. “From what I hear, you were really brave out there today. I only wished I could’ve gotten there sooner; I would have loved to punch that smug bastard Falco right in the face!”

Bibita smiled slyly. “I actually stabbed him in the back.”

“You just earned yourself another Dr. Pepper!” Salé joked, lifting his hand to give Bibita a high-five, only to remember her injury. Slowly, he put his hand down, and got quiet. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry you got hurt. If we would’ve arrived earlier, none of that would’ve happened-”

“And if you didn’t show up, things would have been a lot worse,” Bibita sipped her soda. “You guys definitely saved our asses!”

“Yeah, and, hey, look on the bright side, kid,” Salé added. “You got your first battle scars from Passione.”

As midnight drew nearer, the trio on the dance floor finally made their way back to the rest of their teammates. Zucchero, having partied too hard, decided to call it a night, followed shortly by Salé who had received a message from Canella for the duo to join her, leaving the four remaining members of the Financial Division at the club, with just a few minutes before midnight.

“So, any luck out there, lady’s man?” Ossobuco joked to Pecorino.

The younger man just shrugged it off. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just glad to be alive, and relatively in one piece.”

“Well, you weren’t able to dance with a lady this millennium, but look on the bright side,” Dolchi said with a bright smile. “There’s always next millennium!”

“Gee, thanks,” Pecorino sighed. He knew she meant well, but she wasn’t always the most tactful.

Suddenly, the music shifted, and Pecorino finished the last of his drink. “Well I don’t know about you all,” he said, attempting to moonwalk back into the dance floor. “But I’m heading back out there.”

Vocal percussion on a whole nother level, comin from my mind-

Vocal percussion on a whole nother level, comin from my mind-

Pecorino took to the center of the dancefloor with odd eccentric movements that didn’t quite flow into each other. Bibita couldn’t tell if that was just the style of the song, or the man’s inability to move to the music. His wild arm and leg movements were certainly garnering some attention, but not necessarily in the way he would like.

“He’s making a fool of himself up there,” Ossobuco noted, pulling out his crossword.

Haaaaa! We’re Golden Wind!

Dolchi shook her head and got up. “Bibita, we need to help him out-”

“W-what?”

“Just wait two eight-counts after me, and act like you're having a great time.”

Haaa-haa-ah! We’re Golden Wind!

Suddenly, the blonde appeared next to Pecorino, mimicking his exaggerated movements with relative ease. The general crowd at the club now assumed this was a choreographed dance, since there was a beautiful lady joining the movements. Bibita, meanwhile, counted out loud, trying to figure out where in the song she’d jump in.

It’s like a burning sunrise-

The music shifted slightly, as Bibita scrambled to join her other teammates. She was not accustomed to parties, or being the center of attention, so this was a very new experience for the girl.

It’s like a burning sunset-

Their angles they hit felt reminiscent of ballet, mixed with abrasive jerky motions associated with break dance. The trio was drawing a bit of a crowd around them, and the other patrons of the club had seemingly stopped scoffing at their movements, and instead snapped along with the beat. Their dance was more like a set of poses, and if someone watching were to blink, the trio would suddenly be in a new pose.

The song shifted into a new song after a bit, and the trio stopped moving, trying to catch their breath after. The crowd that had gathered around clapped at the impromptu performance, with a couple young ladies eyeing Pecorino in particular.

“Well, I’ll be damned, he actually danced with some ladies this millennia,” Ossobuco greeted the rest of his team, with a small tray of drinks. “And I saw a couple of women looking at you after, so you may have luck next millennia too.”

“Huh… I guess I did,” Pecorino smiled slightly. “Thank you Dolchi, Bibita.”

“It was nothing,” Bibita said, still confused over the odd display of dance moves.

“Consider it payment for when you bought me all those designer clothes!” the blonde woman sang.

“You all looked like idiots up there… and for that, you all deserve a drink,” Ossobuco sighed setting the tray of drinks on the nearby table.

Bibita quickly grabbed a seat, and picked out a drink, only to have Ossobuco confiscate the alcohol from her, sliding her a glass bottle of soda instead. Everyone soon gathered, selecting a drink from the tray.

“Aw… I wish Soldi and Minestra were here to celebrate as well,” Dolchi said with a sigh. “But I guess whatever business Canella had with them, it couldn’t wait.”

“Plus, I don’t really think a club like this is exactly Minestra’s scene,” Pecorino offered.

“Regardless, only three minutes till the new year,” Ossobuco said. “I suppose we should make a toast, or something?”

The rest of the group went silent for a bit, and finally, Bibita spoke up. “I have only been in Passione for almost a year now, and I haven’t died yet,” she joked, receiving a laugh from the rest of her team. “Uh... in all honesty, I was nervous to join the team at first. But I really am glad I get to work alongside all of you. So, er, here’s to another great year for the Financial Division!”

The rest of the team lifted their drinks. “To the Financial Division!”

********************

11:57pm December 31st, 1999

Minestra sat in a relatively empty train car heading to Switzerland with tickets she had bought weeks in advance. ‘And we were so close,’ she thought, retrieving a cigarette from her breast pocket, and setting the pack on the seat next to her. ‘We had everything planned… if only Canella and her goons had stayed out, things would have ended differently.’

The train stopped at the next station, and very few people got on or got off. Most people wanted to celebrate the new year, so it made it all too easy for Minestra to slip away during this hectic time.

Her cell phone began to ring, and the woman quickly checked her surroundings. The compartment she was in was empty, aside from her, and a pink haired teenager who just entered the train. She eyed the young man up and down, and deemed the frail looking, turtleneck crop top wearing teen to be harmless enough. She didn’t even bother using Pricetag on the kid, as she turned around to take the call.

“Falco?” she said in a hushed voice, crossing to the far end of the cart just in case. “Were you able to get out of there…. Well, that certainly was a shitshow… uh-huh…. Uh-huh…. How was I to suspect they’d have reinforcements? Look, you’ll get your money…. Yes, I’m just waiting to transfer it once I get to Switzerland...Understood.”

She hung up the phone and rubbed her temples. Things didn't go as planned, and the woman took a puff from her cigarette, exhaling smoke. ‘Well, there’s always next year.’

The radio on the train just finished playing a song from a popular pop band, and the hosts of the radio show spoke. “Only sixty seconds till the new year,” the radio announcer boomed. “One minute more till the new millennium!”

Minestra rolled her eyes at the radio announcer’s enthusiasm.

“Bring! Ring! Ring-Ring-Riiing!”

“Bring! Ring! Ring-Ring-Riiing!”

An abrupt noise caught Minestra’s attention, as the other person in her train car started making the noise of a phone’s ringing. He looked around the cart frantically, in search of something.

“Bring! Ring! Ring-Ring-Riiing!”

“Bring! Ring! Ring-Ring-Riiing!”

Finally, the pink haired teen grabbed Minestra’s pack of cigarettes, pulling the box up to his ear. “Click-” the boy's head twitched “Hello? Boss?”

Minestra scoffed at this odd display, figuring the kid must have had a few screws loose. Curious, and a little bored, she summoned Pricetag to get a better look at the strange kid.

“-Forty-six, Forty-five-” the countdown continued.

‘Outfit is worth quite a bit,’ she thought, eying the boy. She continued to delve into his price.

“Oh, yes, I got on the train,” the pink hair boy said to the pack of cigarettes. “Almost missed it, but I think I got on the right train.”

‘Huh, that’s odd,’ the value of the boy was far greater than she could have anticipated, and for a moment, she wondered if her stand had misplaced a decimal point. Casually, she pried for more information.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry,” the boy said with a grin. “I know I wasn’t followed.”

“Thirty-two, Thirty-one, Thirty-”

As she peered into the boy’s price, she received conflicting information. ‘How is this kid worth so much? There’s no information on rich parents… and why would he be riding a public train if he has so much money?’

“What’s that, Boss?”

“Twenty-five, Twenty-four-”

‘He is both the assistant and a boss… that makes no sense. Boss of what?’

“The target is on board?”

“Twenty, Nineteen-”

‘He has a stand?’

“And how much do they know?”

“Eighteen-”

‘A in destructive power… A in speed-’

“Seventeen-”

“So, she must be the traitor then!”

‘Skips time… what does that even mean?’

“Sixteen-”

‘If this kid is worth so much, and has such a powerful stand-’

“Fifteen-”

“I’m gonna have to call you back-”

“Fourteen-”

‘Then he must be…’

“I think I’ve found the target…”

“Thirteen-”

‘This kid must be the boss of Passione!’

“...And I think she’s onto us,” The boy said, finally making eye contact with Minestra. The teenager's soft brown eyes suddenly shifted to a deep emerald, as the lights on the train began to flicker.

Without hesitation, Minestra pulled her gun out of her jacket pocket. She already betrayed Passione once that day, she figured killing their boss would just be the next logical step…

“Ten - Ni/
--------
--------
/appy New Year!”

click-click-click

Minestra’s arm was outstretched, smoke escaping the barrel of her gun. She fired but noticed there were no bullets left in the gun. Instead, there were six distinct bullet holes piercing through the opposite side of the train compartment… six bullets she had no recollection firing. Worse yet, the boy she’d determined to be the boss was no longer standing in front of her.

“So, you betrayed your team, and when you're caught, you attempt to kill the boss,” a deep voice bellowed behind Minestra. “I’m afraid that with your stand… you simply know too much for your own good.”

The cigarette fell out of Minestra’s lips, fear keeping her body locked in place. She urged her legs to run away, she urged her head to turn around to see the true identity of the boss, but she was paralyzed.

“As far as power goes, your attempt at a coup was truly insignificant… But I cannot allow anyone to threaten my throne.”

The sickening noise of flesh tearing and bones breaking shook the train car but was soon interrupted by a flash. In a moment, the entire compartment was emptied out, with only a lone cigarette rolling into a puddle of crimson blood.

**********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: King Crimson

Stand User: Diavolo/Doppio

Stand Power: Time Erasure- King Crimson can look ahead in time by 10 seconds (through its Epitaph ability) and skip through said time. Everyone, other than Diavolo, are destined to play out Epitaphs prediction, while King Crimson can move freely, not chained to fate.

• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: E
• Durability: A
• Precision:?
• Potential:?

Chapter Text

The rest of the Financial Division finally arrived back in Rome to resume their work on the 3rd of January. Typically, they would arrive at work a little before 9am, however, this day they had all received word from Soldi, ordering them to arrive early. So that was the reason the Financial Division groggily walked through the streets of Rome at 6 in the morning.

“So… why do you think we’re getting here so early,” Pecorino yawned.

“Eh, whatever it is, it better be important,” Ossobuco said, as their group turned a corner getting closer to Piazza Del Popolo.

“Hey, wait up guys!” a voice cried out. Rushing to the group was Bibita, looking worse for wear with her hair uncombed and her jacket barely fitting over her cast. “Sorry, I was running late.”

“Aw, did you forget to set your alarm, and ended up sleeping in?” Dolchi asked, waiting patiently while Bibita tried to catch her breath.

In truth, Bibita woke up as early as everyone else, but the process of getting ready for the day with only one functional hand complicated her morning routine significantly.

“Yes. That is exactly what happened,” Bibita lied. She would much rather have her teammates make fun of her for sleeping in than pitying her for her shortcomings

The four of them turned the corner, a half block away from the laundromat their office operated above. Due to the earliness of the day, the sun had yet to rise, leaving the streets dimly lit via the streetlights. In the distance, they could see their Capo, Soldi, standing in front of the laundromat, accompanied by Canella Mercury, and a large barrel. The boss’s messenger looked as chipper as ever, but Soldi appeared pensive, eyes downcast. The rest of the group caught up to their Capo, all confused about the inclusion of Canella for their early team meeting.
“Hello everyone,” Soldi said, uncharacteristically quiet. “We, uh… we all need to have a talk.”
Bibita turned around, expecting to see Minestra stroll up to join the group, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, but shouldn’t we wait for all of us to get here?” Pecorino said, looking around for the last member of the team.

“The whole team is already here,” Canella said. “We shouldn’t waste time.”

“What are you talking about?” Dolchi raised her brows. “We’re still missing Minestra.”

“Yeah, if we start a meeting without her, I'm sure we’d never hear the end of it,” Ossobuco grumbled.

“Minestra is already here,” Canella said with an artificial sweetness that unsettled Bibita. “We should really begin our meeting.”

By now, the entire Financial division looked on edge, and Soldi let out a long sigh, “We have quite a bit to discuss, and I ask you all to stay patient and understanding during this process.”

“Where is Minestra?” Pecorino insisted.

“As you all know, Vivante has been a thorn in our side for a while now,” Soldi continued, purposefully paying no mind to his associate’s questioning. “At first, it appeared they just got lucky, ambushing us when we least expected it.”

“However, as we all know, luck can only get one so far,” Canella added. “After they sabotaged train to Sicily, we had our suspicions they may have had inside help… this concern was only confirmed once they kidnapped a few among your ranks just last week-”

“Seriously, we should wait for Minestra to show up,” Pecorino interrupted, looking around for his missing teammate. “This is important informa-”

“After our rescue of Pecorino, I was asked to answer a few regarding a possible turncoat amongst our ranks,” Soldi continued, avoiding eye contact with any of his team. “And… we have successfully found and dealt with said traitor.”

“Where’s Minestra!?” Pecorino insisted.

Bibita silently pointed her finger to the barrel sitting in front of them, which, up until this point, was conveniently not mentioned. “She’s in there… isn’t she?” Bibita’s voice was cold, trying her best to appear calm as she put the pieces together. “Minestra was the traitor, and that’s why she isn’t standing among us right now… isn’t it?”

Canella smiled and patted the barrel. The team could hear liquid sloshing around in there. “Hydrofluoric- acid,” the ginger woman said in an even tone. “The chemical is highly corrosive, able to eat through metal, glass as well as organic material without any difficulties. It can only be contained with plastic, hence this large barrel. However, I didn’t come here to lecture you all about the finer points of chemistry. I came here to send a message, courtesy of the Boss.”

The tension in the air was palpable, as all in the Financial Division subconsciously held their breath, already both anticipating and dreading what the turquoise sundress wearing messenger would say next.

“Minestra was a traitor,” Canella said with a certain casualness, as if she were completely removed from the ugly subject. “She’d been working with Vivante for the better part of a year at least. She supplied them with valuable information on how to sabotage Passione, and the French gang provided her with a chance to rise through the ranks of Passione.”

“Wh-what are you talking about,” Pecorinos eyes were slowly starting to water. “She would never do that-”

“She would, and she did,” Canella shrugged. “I can’t see why you’re defending her. She gave intel that got you kidnapped, information that almost led to the death of your Capo and the imprisonment of your latest recruit. She even had a failsafe in place to pin all the blame on your Capo. Honestly, the Boss has done you all a favor by disposing of the traitor himself. You’re welcome.”

This news was not taken well from the rest of the team. Pecorino fell to the floor, unable to accept the truth of the situation. Soldi continued to avoid eye contact, looking more like a guilty little boy than their charismatic leader. Ossobuco’s indifference was replaced with a subdued sadness, looking at the barrel. Bibita was still shocked, it all made sense, but, at the same time, she didn’t want it to be true. Minestra, no matter how mean or judgmental, was still a vital part of their team, it was hard to believe any of their team would betray Passione.

Dolchi’s aura began to shine a bright pink, as in her rage, she summoned her stand, Material Girl. The blond woman held up her hand, aiming for Canella. “Stop lying,” she muttered, her fabrokenisis taking hold of the messenger’s sundress, as the fabric began to tighten. “Tell us you were lying! Tell us this was just a mean joke! That Minestra never betrayed us!”

“My dear, if I said that she wasn’t a traitor, then I would really be lying to yo-”

“Wrong answer!” the blond slowly clenched her fist.

“Dolchi, I order you to stop this!” Soldi pleaded with the woman, rushing to her. Though he didn’t know much about stands, he knew a lot about Dolchi, and knew when the woman was about to kill.

Canella, however, did not seem phased by the blonde’s attacks. “None of you will do anything to harm me,” she said calmly, her eyes emitting a soft glow. “You wouldn’t want to kill the messenger, now would you… No, no… the Boss would not approve of that. And we have all seen what happens to those who anger the Boss,” Canella gestured to the barrel beside her.
Dolchi slowly released her grasp of the orange haired woman, and Canella’s dress reverted to its initial fit.

Ossobuco walked over to the barrel with a certain stoicism. The man was used to death… and he was all too familiar with betrayal, so he took this news easier than anyone else on the team. But that didn’t mean this news didn’t sting all the same. On top of the barrel was a postcard depicting the beautiful Matterhorn, reading ‘Greetings from Switzerland’ in big happy letters. On the other side of that postcard was a one-word message. ‘Punizione’.

“So,” Ossobuco sighed, numb to the sorrow that was overcoming his team. “What do you want us to do with her.”

“I’m glad you asked,” Canella dusted off her dress, catching her breath after the attempted attack. “I am a messenger, not a maid. I have already delivered the message. The way I see it, she’s your mess, so it’s your job to clean up after her.”

She handed Ossobuco a bag full of plastic gloves and a few chemical gas masks. “Here, you’ll need this,” she said. “From what I understand, you’ve had experience hiding bodies during your career as an assassin… this shouldn’t be new to you.”

“Yup,” Ossobuco sighed, and began to hand out the supplies to each of his teammates.
One by one each of the Financial Division equip themselves with the mask and gloves. But, as Bibita reached out for the supplies, a voice interrupted her. “No, not for you,” Canella said, with a warm smile. “You do not have to clean up this mess.”

“Why?” Bibita wondered. “She was my teammate after all.”

“You are not the one being punished. You are the reason we were able to catch this traitor, after all,” Canella instead handed the girl some papers. After inspecting them, Bibita realized these were the same paystubs she had reported months ago. “If you hadn’t brought this to our attention, it would have been much harder to find the identity of the traitor without your report. She would have gotten away with her betrayal, your Capo would have died, and Vivante would have captured you if it weren’t for your vigilance in this matter.”

Bibita could feel the gaze of her teammates on her, but the girl did not know how to process this information. Pecorino in particular glared at the girl with a tearful rage. “This is all your fault,” he spat, as he put the gear on and followed behind the rest of his team, Ossobuco leading the way to discard the barrel of Minestra.

Bibita’s knees began to shake, watching the others leave, even Dolchi refusing to make eye contact with her. She suddenly felt utterly alone, as she stood in front of the laundromat next to Canella.

“To be honest, Bibita, you have been quite the asset to Passione,” Canella said. “Even way back during the Turino mission, your quick thinking and creativity saved not only your teammates, but also Passione’s money. I’ll be honest, there was a time I had my doubts, but you have proven your worth time and time again.”

Bibita was on the brink of tears, when she felt Canella’s hand on her shoulder. “Cheer up, child, this is a happy occasion,” with those words, Bibita felt unnaturally at ease, and couldn’t help but smile back at the messenger. “You did a great job, and, for that, the Boss would personally like to thank you. You will now be taking Minestra’s position within the Financial Division. Congratulations, Bibita. Not even a week into the new year, and you’ve already gotten a promotion!”

*******************

It was hard to believe a year had passed since Bibita first got entangled in Passione. One year since her run in with Gambero, and the fateful lighter test. One year since she abandoned her life on the streets for a life of organized crime. She had learned so much in her time away from Naples, but, for some reason, returning to those same streets a year later, she couldn’t help but feel… empty.

Due to her new position in Passione, Bibita found herself as a bit of a liaison for the Capos around the main territories of Italy. So, she had travelled back to her hometown of Naples one rainy weekend in January, not to visit her actual family, but to inform the Capo Polpo of the latest news regarding the Financial Division and the fate of their traitor. As Bibita now had Minestra’s position, she found it unsettling to tell the other Capos about her coworkers’ fate, and her subsequent rise to power.... It made it feel, like in some twisted way, the girl had planned it all out. And while Bibita knew there was no way to predict her actions would have led to Minestra’s death, she was terrified that’s what others may think of her.

After she finished her business with Polpo, she had a few more stops in the city before returning to Rome. It had taken her quite a while, but after weeks of research, the girl had pinpointed where Sorbet and Gelato’s apartment was. And by research, she of course meant the information she’d gathered when she discretely pickpocketed Gelato during their first encounter. Though she was sure to return his wallet, she had committed the address listed on his license to memory.

Bibita approached the large apartment complex, and dashed up the stairs to the third floor, and prepped her gifts. She had gotten them chocolate coins, since she wasn’t able to get La Squadra an actual pay raise, as well as two nice button-down blouses Dolchi helped her pick out while on holiday. Sure, after recent events, the girl felt down, but she figured meeting up with her two assassins-turned-friends would help cheer her up.

Knock-Knock-Knock

She lightly pounded on the door. As she waited, she admired the state of the apartment complex. While it wasn’t high class, it was definitely middle class to upper middle class, a sign they were at least receiving enough pay for a comfortable living arrangement.

The door slowly creaked open.

“Well, I guess you aren’t the only two who can do some research,” she beamed readying her gifts. “Honestly, after tracking you down, if feel like I should have joined the Data Analy-”
But, instead of seeing the familiar pair of faces from the hitman team, she only saw a frail old woman answer the door. “I’m sorry, dearie,” the elderly woman said. “You’ll have to speak up.”
Bibita frantically checked the note in her pocket, a difficult task with one hand still in a cast. She double checked the address on the paper, versus the number on the door. “Oh, uh,” she fumbled a little. “I think I must have the wrong address…”

“Oh, who are you looking for?” the old lady tilted her head. “I might be able to hel-”

“Oh, no, no,” Bibita quickly tucked her gifts away back in her backpack. “I think I just took a wrong turn.” The girl figured careful assassins like Sorbet and Gelato would have a fake address on their identification. It was foolish to assume she could track them down. She also didn’t want to go asking around, as that could blow any cover the two had. So, after apologizing for the intrusion, Bibita headed out. She had a few more gifts to deliver before returning to Rome.

In the nice restaurant Libeccio, there was a higher number of patrons than normal. Due to the beginning of the new year, many couples and families were resolute to dine out more. Yet, even with the high numbers of guests, there was always a private room reserved for the members of Passione who frequented there. Buccellati and his growing gang were all present that night. Bruno sat at the head of the table, with three others eating their dinner; Fugo, the fellow street rat Narancia, and a tall silver haired man who looked like a police officer Bibita would frequently avoid back in her pickpocketing days. The four of them laughed, talked, argued… until a figure standing in the rain caught Bruno’s attention.

“-Yeah, apparently a lot of computer programmers were paranoid about the new year,” Fugo explained to the table. “With the year going from 1999 to 2000, they were afraid the computers would malfunction-”

“Oh, yeah, I think I heard something about that,” Narancia said, mouth full of pasta. “Like, the computers would get super smart and rise up against the humans?”

“Uh, not quite,” Fugo looked quizzical.

“And then the computers would go back in time to destroy the dude who could defeat them, right?” Narancia asked with enthusiasm.

“Okay, that’s just the plot of the Terminator now,” Fugo rolled his eyes.

Bruno, however, ignored the two bickering members of his crew, and got up from his seat.

“Where are you going?” the silver haired man asked.

“Don’t worry, Abbacchio,” Bruno said, heading towards the door. “I am heading out for a bit.”

“It’s pouring rain out there, I don’t see why you’d head out there,” Abbacchio tilted his head.

“I’ll be back in time for dessert,” Buccellati reassured his comrade. “And, if not, save me a piece cake.”

“You better,” Abbacchio sighed. “With Narancia around, I can’t make any promises.”

By this point, it was pouring outside, and any sane person would have retreated indoors to avoid catching a cold. Yet, Bibita stood solitary on the sidewalk looking into Libeccio.

“Bibita?” Bruno called out, rushing to the shivering girl with his umbrella. “Bibita, I thought I saw you. What are you doing out here? You are bound to catch a cold or something if you stay out here.”

“Hey Buccellati,” the girl said with an unconvincing smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“We have some room at the table inside,” Bruno gestured to the window she’d been peering through. “I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind-”

“No…” Bibita interjected. They all looked so happy in there, a kinship she’d never really felt. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt their evening.”

“Well, if you refuse to join us inside, then let's at least find somewhere safe from the rain to speak,” Bruno lifted the umbrella to protect the girl from the pouring rain. “All this water can’t be good for your stand.”

“I’m not sure the rain would make much of a difference at this point,” she laughed as she pulled out her damaged hand from her coat pocket.

“What happened to you? Who did this to you?” Bruno demanded.

Bibita explained their trip to Milan, their run-in with Vivante, and her fight with Falco. “From what we gathered, he retreated back to France, and after losing spectacularly to us, he won’t have the resources or manpower to try anything for a good while.” She reached into her backpack and handed Bruno a sloppily wrapped gift. “But I figured since I’m already in town, I could give out some late Christmas gifts at least.”

Bruno opened the gift, revealing a bottle of vintage red wine. Bruno smiled, “This is wonderful… but how did you get this?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re wondering”

Bruno narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Okay, I made a fake ID to get it,” Bibita sighed. “But I actually paid for it!”

“Just making sure,” Buccellati laughed.

Bibita reached into her bag and pulled out a small book. “I also got something for Fugo. It’s a book about meditation… you know, just in case,” she said. “And it's a paperback, so in case the book doesn’t work, it probably won’t kill anyone… you know, just in case.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Bruno said, tucking the gifts away. “Would you like to join us inside? You can hand it to Fugo in person and meet the rest of my crew. They’re a bit of a… well, rambunctious bunch, but I’m sure they’d love to meet you!”

Once again, Bibita shook her head, seeing how happy Bruno’s team was. She didn’t want to ruin the jovial mood inside with her current disposition.

“Bibita, something is wrong,” Buccellati noted, in a serious tone. “Please, tell me what's wrong?”

‘This is all your fault.’

“Have you…” her voice caught in her throat. “Have you ever killed someone?”

Bruno went quiet.

“I know, I know, it’s a stupid question,” Bibita muttered, eyes beginning to water. “We’re in a gang… I imagine most have, or, at least, will have to-”

“Yes, I have killed before,” Bruno said, tilting his head to get a better read on the girl. “Have you had to kill?”

‘This is all your fault.’

“Not exactly, but I’m responsible for a team member’s death,” Bibita couldn’t help but stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks, as she explained Minestra’s betrayal and subsequent punishment. “I thought I was doing the right thing… reporting discrepancies in our finances… I didn’t know anyone would get hurt.”

“She was a traitor-”

“She was also my teammate,” her voice wavered. “She showed me the ropes, helped me with math… She was difficult to get along with, but none of us would want her dead.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

‘This is all your fault.’

“No… but the rest of my team looks at me like I did.”

Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. “Bibita, are you happy there?”

“I was,” she wiped her nose with her sleeve. “But everything has changed now.”

“If you don’t feel safe in the Financial Division, I could look into getting you transferred back here to Naples,” Buccellati offered with a kind smile. “I’ve been on a lot of missions from Polpo, so I believe I could pull some strings for you.”

“If only it were that easy,” Bibita sighed. “See, I’ve recently gotten a promotion… Specifically, I took the job the traitor had, because they trust I won’t betray them, since I saw firsthand what happens to those who betray Passione. I’m afraid moving back to Naples would look suspicious.”

“Ah, I see,” Bruno frowned, but understood her fear. Joining a gang had its fair share of dangers, but he was upset this danger had found its way to the young recruit. By this point, the pair had walked down the street a little, and found a bench to sit on just out of eyeshot of the restaurant.

“You know, I was a little younger than you the first time I had to take someone’s life. But, mine was a lot more direct than yours,” Bruno admitted. “I was protecting my father, who, at the time, was in the hospital after witnessing a drug deal. Some thugs tried to kill my father, so I killed them before they could harm him. I ended up joining Passione to try to protect him… but, he passed after surgery complications a few years later.”

“I-I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Bibita mumbled.

Bruno shrugged. “I’d rather not remember my father in his last years, struggling to hold on to life. When I think of him, I think of him returning from sea at dusk,” the man smiled. “He’d have spent the day fishing and seeing his ship round the coast at the end of the day were always fond memories for me. That’s how I choose to remember him.”

Bibita thought of how she viewed her father, but she only remembered him after the accident, becoming more and more dependent on painkillers and narcotics. She struggled to remember a time before then. During all this time away, she barely remembered her actual family.

“Hey, Buccellati… how’re my mom and brother doing?” she asked, lowering her gaze. “I got so caught up in my work, I’ve forgotten to check up on them.”

“Your mother is doing pretty well for herself,” Bruno noted. “She’s back to working one job. Got a nice nursing job, and is actually dating another nurse at the hospital-”

Bibita raised her brows.

“Don’t worry, Fugo did a background check on the guy,” Bruno chuckled. “Seems like a decent enough guy and gets along well with your little brother.”

‘It seems like they’re all doing better off without me,’ the girl thought, a bit conflicted. Her whole reason for leaving her family was to help them financially, but she wasn’t sure how to feel now that her family was doing well. Did her plan to help them work, or was she always the thing holding them back?

“They worry about you, you know,” Bruno said, noting the girl’s vacant stare.

“How much do they know,” Bibita’s tone went serious.

“They don’t know anything about Passione,” Bruno said, to ease the girl’s fear. “For all they know, you were accepted into a private school in Rome to study art. But they still care for you.”
Bibita let out a sigh. She was relieved to hear her family was doing well, but, at the same time, couldn’t bring herself to visit them… not in her current state, at least. “Here,” she handed the dark-haired man an envelope with a little green bow. “Could you deliver this to my family? It’s a late Christmas gift for them.”

Bruno hesitantly accepted the envelope. “Okay… but, I’m sure they’d rather you give it to them.”

Bibita shook her head. “It’s just gift cards… I wasn’t sure what to get them, and I don’t want to know if I ended up getting them the wrong gift. Trust me, it’s less embarrassing this way.”
“Alright then,” Bruno said, zipping a portal into the wall next to them, setting his gifts inside, and pulled out a new item, what appeared to be a large book. “And while we’re still exchanging gifts, Fugo and I decided to get you a little something.”

“Don’t tell me it’s another finance textbook,” Bibita joked.

“Of course, not… It’s a chemistry textbook.”

“Oh...Fun.”

“Now, I know that isn’t too exciting,” Bruno shrugged. “But, with your stand’s ability to turn solid objects into gas, it may be helpful to learn about more elements. You’re plenty creative with the solid objects you create, but there's still so much potential for your ability.”

Bibita looked to her right hand, still recovering from her fight with Vivante. “This is actually perfect timing to start practicing with that ability,” she slipped the book into her backpack. “Thank you.”

She said her farewell shortly after and headed out on the next train to Rome. Her homecoming was a bit more bittersweet than she’d like, but she was glad she decided to return, if only for a day. A part of her was jealous of the apparent comradery Bruno’s gang had, and wished the Financial Division shared a bond like that. But losing a member so integral to the team would surely shake their group for a while.

Bibita shook the unpleasant thoughts from her head. She was determined to make the most of her new position in Passione. She knew she’d have to be extra careful now. There was no room for error within the Financial Division.

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 31st, 2001

The next year passed by rather uneventfully for the members of the financial division, but after how crazy 1999 was for the team, Bibita was grateful for a return to normalcy. There was no more mention of Falco, or the remainder of the French gang, Vivante, as their gang must have dispersed or disbanded after the New Year’s Eve conflict. Even with that knowledge, Bibita avoided traveling alone on missions, choosing to travel with other trusted members of Passione, just in case.

With her promotion, Bibita was making more money, and had since moved out of her small apartment, and was able to purchase a decent sized townhouse near the river, with help from Dolchi. The pair were roommates in the townhouse, each with their own room, and the upstairs room was set aside as an art studio, perfect outlet for Dolchi’s fashion design and Bibita’s paintings. On the weekends, the pair would often visit the local farmers market to pick up fresh produce, becoming a bit of a tradition for the girls.

“Gratzi!” Dolchi sang, handing the street vendor in exchange for a couple of fresh tomatoes and onions.

Bibita, on the other hand, was perusing the stand with the baked goods, inhaling the sweet scent of the fresh pizzelle. That’s when she noticed a few kids, eyeing the cookies from afar with hunger in their eyes. They were around eight or nine years old, and while they didn’t look to be living off the streets, Bibita smiled at the children, purchasing a few extra treats.

“Here,” she said, handing a small paper bag to one of the children. “Share these with your friends.”

The boy’s face lit up, taking the treat, and rushing over to his friends. “Thank you, signorina!” the children waved back to Bibita.

“Did you get everything you need… or would you like to buy even more sweets?” Dolchi asked with a slight giggle.

“Hey, I actually bought some real food this time,” Bibita scrounged through her bag for the fruits and veggies she’d purchased. “See!”

“Ah, good job. If you keep eating like that, you’ll grow to be big and strong,” the blond joked, ruffling Bibita’s hair.

“Hey!” Bibita swiped away her friend’s hand and focused on pulling her bright green hair into a neat ponytail. “I’m not that short.”

The pair of ladies walked out of the farmers market and into the main thoroughfare. Since it was the weekend, the women didn’t have to wear their office clothes, so Dolchi had on a bright pink sundress, while Bibita wore jeans and grey hoodie. Based on style alone, these two wouldn’t seem like they’d get along, but despite their differing aesthetics, they were great friends. And friends were hard to come by in their line of work.

They had a few blocks to get to their townhouse, Dolchi already contemplating what to make with all the fresh ingredients they got.

SKREEEEE

The sound of skidding tires cut through the air, and the pair of women stopped in their tracks. A few dozen meters ahead of them, a small red car swerved viscously into oncoming traffic, narrowly avoiding the vehicles in the opposite lane. The red car jerked to get back into its lane, but overcompensated, nearly colliding into a parked truck on the side of the road.

Living in a large city like Rome, one gets used to bad drivers, but they typically come out at night after one too many beers. So, it was rather unusual to see such reckless driving in broad daylight. The car plummeted down the road, swerving right toward the ladies.

“Get back,” Dolchi instinctively stood in front of the younger girl, prepared to summon her stand and fight.

“Wait... I know that car,” Bibita thought out loud.

The car skidded towards them, the brakes slowing the vehicle, but the momentum still carried it forward. Until -

“Kraftwerk!”

-a green robotic figure appeared in the vehicle, locking the car in space. The passenger door swung open, and a ginger haired mafioso slid out of the bright red car, landing gracefully on the sidewalk.

“Jeez Salé, nearly gave me a heart attack,” Dolchi huffed, withdrawing her stand.

“Hey, I wasn’t driving,” Salé said, adjusting his baseball cap.

Bibita looked at the car and noticed the driver’s seat was suspiciously empty. “Where’s Zucchero?”

“He ditched me while driving. Honestly, it’s a miracle no one got hurt,” Salé looked behind his shoulder. “I take it none of you saw the bastard?”

Bibita shook her head.

“Damnit,” Salé cursed. “I gotta find him, we don’t have time to lose-”

“What’s going on?” Bibita asked.

“You mean you two haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Dolchi tilted her head, curious.

“Polpo bit the big one,” Salé said. “The big man put a bullet through his brain, and painted the walls red.”

“Wait, he killed himself?” Dolchi questioned. “Why would he do that?”

“Who cares,” Salé shrugged. “But, with Polpo gone, that leaves a Capo position wide open for someone to take.”

“Oh, and I suppose you have some sort of plan to become the next big bad Capo?” Dolchi teased.

“Well, hopefully not as big as Polpo,” Salé said under his breath. “There’s a rumor that Polpo had a fortune, worth at least 5 million. Whoever gets that would have the spending power to buy the seat of Capo from la familia.”

“Oooh, this is sounding like a treasure hunt!” Bibita grinned. “Are you going on a treasure hunt?”

“In so many words, yes,” Salé said. “But, considering the large sum of money, there’ll undoubtedly be others. Might get dangerous, so back up would be helpful, if you two would be interested.”

The women shared a glance, both smiling at the prospect of adventure. Dolchi cleared her throat, and put on a more stoic expression, “Well, before making any decisions, me and my associate will need to know more about the potential dangers.”

“Considering Polpo couldn’t get around anywhere on his own, I suspect Bruno Buccellati knows where this fortune is hidden,” Salé explained. “We’d probably have to face off against his team, but, I’m confident we could take them, so long as we have a plan.”

Bibita’s smile faded as soon as she heard Buccellati’s name.

“Bibita, you’re from Naples, right?” Salé asked. “Between your knowledge of the area, and our stands, the fortune’s as good as ours!”

The girl remained silent averting her gaze. Dolchi was quick to notice the teenager’s shift in mood.

“So, what do you say? Wanna join us?”

“I..uh,” Bibita stumbled.

“It sounds too dangerous,” Dolchi interrupted. “I think after the incident in Milan, Bibita is a little… apprehensive,” she whispered to Salé.

The man glanced at the girl’s right hand, still bearing the scars from her run in with Falco over a year earlier. “Right, no unnecessary risks, I understand,” a twinge of guilt rang through his voice. “Passione is dangerous enough without a high stakes treasure hunt. Just know, there may not always be a peaceful path in our line of business, so try to stay safe, kid.”

Bibita nodded. “Yeah, you stay safe too, okay?”

“And hey, if you end up finding the treasure, save us a million or two!” Dolchi smiled.

“Very funny,” Salé rolled his eyes, and turned to walk away. “At this point I’m not even sure I’ll split with Zucchero after he ditched me!”

After the man had gotten back into his vehicle, Bibita let out a small sight. “Thanks for covering for me.”

“You okay?” Dolchi asked. “I know you are friends with Buccellati and some of his crew, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“I’m not even sure who to root for,” Bibita murmured. “I don’t want any of them to fight each other… you don’t suppose they could just talk it out and work together?”

“Unlikely, but they are all careful professionals,” The blond said, gathering her bags as she continued their walk home. “I’m sure they’ll be safe.”

***************************

Bibita looked at her canvas but was only greeted with a blank white emptiness. Artist’s block was hitting her hard, but she could not focus on her art, not when she knew her teammates from Rome were fighting her friends from Naples. Several hours had passed since their run in with Salé, but the ladies had not heard any news as of yet.

The orange light of the setting sky poked through the window, creating a soft warm light in the loft. Bibita put her paint brush away, realizing she had spent the last hour looking at a blank canvas, without painting a single brush stroke.

She sighed, walking down the stairs to help prepare dinner. Dolchi wasn’t necessarily a bad cook, but she was easily distracted, which was not the best quality to have when working with sharp utensils or boiling water. However, when she got downstairs, she noticed the blond wasn’t prepping dinner quite yet. Rather, she was at the dining room table flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Looking through the Style Council again?” Bibita asked.

Dolchi nodded. “It’s the April issue! It came early, and I am just loving these designs!”

Bibita drew nearer and looked at the eccentric outfits. “Hmm… I like the stuff you make more. Have you tried to get you designs published in a magazine? They’re definitely good enough!”

“Thanks, but they’re not Style Council good,” she pouted. “Believe me, a few years back, I tried. There’s only so many rejections you can take, you know?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bibita lowered her gaze. “I really like your designs, though!”

“And that’s all that matters,” Dolchi pointed to an Avant Garde dress, made entirely of pillows and quilted sheets. “I mean, these designs are beautiful, but, in reality, few would be able to wear this-”

“Unless they were going to bed!” Bibita joked.

Dolchi wrinkled her nose at that remark, but shrugged off the comment. “Anyways, while my designs may never get into a huge magazine, so long as people wear what I make, I’ll be happy.”

Bibita opened her mouth to speak, but the smell of burnt food stopped her initial remark. “Hey, Dolchi… Did you leave something in the oven?”

“Oh, darn it!” Dolchi bolted to the kitchen. “I forgot about the lasagna!”

“And this is why I don’t trust your cooking,” Bibita mumbled to herself, not loud enough for the other woman to hear.

“Oh no!” Dolchi exclaimed from the kitchen, opening the oven door, only to be greeted by smoke.

“What’s the damage?” Bibita asked, slowly approaching the kitchen.

“Well, I’m no doctor… but I’m fairly sure there’s no saving this pasta,” Dolchi coughed, trying to fan the smoke out of the kitchen. The sound of coughing was soon undercut by the sound of Dolchi’s phone ringing. “Oh, Soldi’s calling. I gotta take this… Would you mind taking care of the smoke mess?”

“Fine,” Bibita sighed. “But this is a gross misuse of Blink-182.”

The green haired girl entered the smoke-filled kitchen as Dolchi rushed out to take the call. Bibita covered her mouth with her sleeve and summoned Blink-182’s right canister. She sprayed the smoke with her stand, and it began to solidify. Soon, all the smoke was cleared, and in its place was a dozen gray baseballs. “Batter-up,” he opened the window and chucked the baseballs into their neighbor’s yard. Once the baseballs landed in the yard, she released her power, and the baseballs reverted back into smoke.

“I swear, Dolchi,” Bibita sighed, hearing the blond enter the room. “You gotta get better at cooking. It’s only a matter of time before the neighbors notice their front porch smells like a bonfire.”

“So, Soldi called up about Polpo’s fortune,” Dolchi said with a worried brow.

Bibita’s smile immediately faded.

“Well, there’s some good news, and bad news,” Dolchi began to explain. “Salé and Zucchero faced Buccellati’s crew and lost. Luckily, they're both alive; Salé is gonna be in the hospital for quite a while, but he should make a full recovery.”

“So… Bruno won?”

Dolchi nodded. “And he’s used the fortune to buy his position as Capo of Naples.”

“Well, that’s good, right,” Bibita tried to smile.

Dolchi shrugged. “He seems well suited for Capo, considering he’s from Naples and worked close with Polpo. However, Soldi is concerned that this little treasure hunt could breed animosity between the Rome and Naples divisions of Passione,” the woman explained. “So, we’re undoubtedly a little on edge. We’re hoping Buccellati won’t seek revenge on our territory after Salé and Zucchero attacked his crew.”

Bibita paused, taking time to register all the information. “Buccellati wouldn’t do that,” she said softly. “He just became Capo. Starting infighting after he just got the promotion of a lifetime would be petty at best. That’s far too impulsive to do after just getting in the good graces of la familia. Bruno is smarter than that.”

“That is what Soldi is hoping,” Dolchi continued. “But, just in case, he wants to keep things cordial between our territories.”

“Buccellati knows me,” Bibita noted. “If Soldi would like to establish correspondence with the Naples crew, I could travel there. Bruno would listen to me, and we could clear up this whole situation.”

“That’s what Soldi suggested,” Dolchi said. “But I wasn’t too sure about that. It could be dangerous, and I know you avoid unnecessary risks.”

“But this isn’t unnecessary,” Bibita said, eyes focused with determination. “I have a real chance to patch things up between our teams. I can really make a difference here!”

“Alright,” Dolchi’s said. The bold woman looked a bit apprehensive. “I’ll inform Soldi… But, just know if you need back up, I’m always right here.”

“Thank you,” Bibita smiled. While she didn’t anticipate a conflict arising from meeting the Naples team, she was glad to have back up… especially when that backup could strangle a man with his own necktie.

Dolchi got back to her chipper attitude. “Since lasagna is out of the question now, I was thinking of ordering some pizza instead.”

“Oooh, extra cheese please!” Bibita said, crossing over to the upstairs loft.

“And where are you going?”

Bibita had just made it upstairs and got her paints ready. “I’ve had painter’s-block for a while now… but I think I know what I want to paint now.”

Dolchi went out to pick up the pizza, while Bibita sketched, preparing the canvas for her next art piece. She drew out the coastline for Naples, specifically the dock area where many ships would arrive. Over a year earlier, she painted a mental image in her mind of a story a good friend told her, and after so many months, she was finally putting that image on the canvas. When Dolchi returned, Bibita had already sketched out a scene of a young boy waving to a fisherman just arriving on the docks.

“Oooh! Whatcha got there Picasso?” Dolchi asked, after setting the box of pizza on the dining room table.

“I think this would be more of a Caspar David Friedrich’s sense of scope meets Camille Pissarro’s lighting technique,” Bibita said out loud, tilting her head at her unfinished sketch.

“So… like Van Gogh?” Dolchi said, approaching the art studio. “Or, like… what’s his name? Monet?”

“Not quite,” Bibita said. “However, it’s hard to tell when I haven’t begun to paint it yet.”

Dolchi got a closer look at the work in progress. “I can’t wait to see it all finished!”

“Thank you,” Bibita smiled. “I figured this could be a nice gift to the Naples crew, sort of a tribute to pay our respects.”

“Oooh, smart! Do you think I should design them a dress as well?” Dolchi offered.

Bibita was silent.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Dolchi laughed. “Now, take a break from your work. The pizza’s gonna go cold.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, April 4th, 2001

Bibita stifled a yawn as she approached her desk and set a good dozen papers on her work zone. With the sudden change of power in the Naples area, she had to do some number crunching to adjust their budget. In particular, she was hoping to open other avenues to launder money, remembering her run-in with Sorbet and Gelato over two years prior. If she could make peace between the Naples and Rome divisions of Passione while increasing the pay of the hitman team, she would make some very powerful friends.

“You okay kid?” Ossobuco asked, lifting his eyes away from the newspaper he was reading.

“Of course,” Bibita said, stirring her morning coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you just stirred your drink with a pen.”

“Ah, shit,” she mumbled, shaking her pen dry.

“Language-” Ossobuco interjected.

“I guess I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately. I’ve been busy preparing-”

“What, a finger painting?” Pecorino taunted, gesturing to the bits of dried paint caked under the girl’s fingernails.

Bibita wrinkled her nose at his remark. Since Minestra’s passing, the glasses-clad man took up the mantle of being the office’s resident bully. Bibita usually found herself the butt of his jokes and quips, but she let it slide. She knew he was still grieving over his mentor’s death, and, worse yet, still blamed Bibita for that death.

“Oh, you should see the art piece she’s working on!” Dolchi skipped over to their desks. “The designs, the color choices, the emotion. It’s just beautiful!”

Dolchi’s approval was enough to silence Pecorino. Bibita was grateful for her interjection. “Yeah, between the painting, the expense report, and my trip to Naples this weekend, I’ve been pretty busy,” she explained, trying her best not to yawn.

“Keep overworking yourself like that, and you’ll end up looking like me,” Ossobuco said with a sly smile. “I can already spot a wrinkle. And -oh- is that a grey hair?”

“Ha ha, very funny…. Wait, seriously?” Bibita scrambled to find a pocket mirror.

“You’re not going grey,” Dolchi reassured her. “Besides, not all of us can be as lazy as Ossobuco here.”

“Ey, if stress ages you, then I’ve found the secret to immortality,” the elderly man joked.

“Yes, all hail the old lazy man,” Pecorino muttered, adjusting his glasses as he scrolled on his computer. “Hey, did you guys hear about the plane crash in the Tyrrhenian Sea? Just a few days ago?”

“Oh, yeah… that’s near Sardinia, right?” Dolchi asked.

Pecorino nodded. “Apparently, when they sent in a crew to rescue anyone, or retrieve bodies, they found the entire plane was empty!”

“The entire plane?” Bibita asked. “Like, not even a pilot? Then, how did the plane even get there?”

“That is the mystery, now isn’t it,” Ossobuco said, setting down the newspaper. “If you want my opinion, sharks and other vicious sea creatures got to them, leaving nothing behind.”

“There would at least be bones left, evidence of someone on the plane,” Pecorino said. “Clearly, this is some kind of self-piloting technology, created by the government, and covered up by the media.”

“You’re both wrong,” Dolchi said.

“Oh yeah, Sherlock? What do you deduce?” Ossobuco asked.

“One word,” she smiled. “Alien-abduction!”

“That’s two words,” Pecorino sighed. “And this is reality, not an episode of the X-files.”

“Like you’re any better with your government conspiracy theory,” the blond said with a huff. “You’re just jealous because I’d be Agent Mulder!”

“Come on, you can’t seriously believe in aliens-”

“Spoken like a true Agent Scully,” Dolchi retorted.

“I mean, we live in a world with sentient yarn balls, humanoid cash-registers, and magic spray paints,” Ossobuco added. “Aliens aren’t too crazy after all that.”

“Speaking of magic spray paints,” Dolchi turned her attention to Bibita. “What do you think happened.”

“Hmmm,” Bibita thought. “Maybe the passengers and pilot escaped the crash… they could have used the crash to fake their deaths. I bet they’re involved with some sort of life insurance scheme and are laying low until they can cash that check!”

“Wow, how amazingly… uninteresting,” Pecorino grumbled.

“That has to be the most Financial Division sounding answer I’ve ever heard,” Ossobuco noted.

“Hey it’s plausible,” Bibita said. “If you’re all so confident, why don’t we make a wager? I bet 10 euro the passengers escaped and faked their deaths!”

The other three went quiet, no longer boasting about their theories. “Well, it wouldn’t be a good government coverup if we ever found evidence,” Pecorino mumbled.

“If we were able to get an interview with an alien, I think I’d automatically win,” Dolchi said. “However… I’m not sure how easy that would be…”

“I’ll take your bet,” Ossobuco reached into his wallet. “And, because I believe you have the best theory, you win my ten euro!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Bibita beamed, snatching the money. Ossobuco narrowed his eyes. “Oh, right. Language… um, heck yes?”

The elderly man gave a terse nod of approval.

Soldi was busy in his office during this discussion. He had been on the phone for the better part of the morning and kept pacing about his confined office. The man had finally hung up, and took a deep sigh, peering through the blinds into the main work area. Seeing all his team get along was heartwarming, but that didn’t make the news he just received any easier give.

“This is what it means to be a Capo,” he told himself, collecting his nerves. “No one ever claimed this job was easy… we’ve all just been lucky up until now.”

He exited his office.

“Hello Soldi!” Dolchi immediately greeted him. “You were on the phone for quite a while. Would you like me to grab you a coffee or water or something?”

“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary,” Soldi said, expressionless. “Actually, could all of you meet me in the conference room in five minutes? We have a lot to discuss.”

The rest of them all nodded as they made their way to the conference room. “What do you think we’re talking about today?” Dolchi asked the group. “It’s too early to review the quarterly financial report.”

“Maybe he’s found the aliens that abducted the Tyrrhenian Sea plane crash,” Pecorino said dryly.

“Oooh, really?!” Dolchi hopped with excitement.

“No. I’m being facetious,” Pecorino retorted.

“No, you’re being rude,” Ossobuco said, taking a seat at the far end of the conference table. “There’s a difference.”

“If I were to guess, we’re discussing the new structure of the Naples territory of Passione,” Bibita said, gathering all her paperwork as she caught up with the rest of her team. “Although, I’m hoping we have some sort of team building exercise planned, those are super fun!”

“Oh my gosh, it’s been forever since we had a karaoke night!” Dolchi smiled, taking a seat towards the front.

After a few minutes Soldi joined the rest of the team in the conference room, taking a seat at the head of the table. “As some of you may already know,” he began. “There has been a significant powershift within Passione over the past week.”

“Yeah, the fat Capo of Naples blew his brains out,” Pecorino snickered.

“Hey, show some respect for the dead,” Ossobuco narrowed his eyes at the glasses-clad man. “I apologize for the interruption.”

“No worries,” Soldi reassured them. “Until things settle down, we are going to avoid direct and financial contact with the Naples Division.”

Bibita raised her hand, much like a child at school. “Sir, if you were concerned about the possible financial structure over there, I’ve already crunched the numbers, and selected a few new avenues to launder through.”

“Yeah, Bibita and I are planning a trip there this weekend to speak with the new Capo,” Dolchi added. “It should be really fun-”

“No, you two are not going to Naples,” Soldi said, in a slightly harsher tone.

“But, sir, it was your idea to create a dialogue with the new Capo,” Bibita raised her brow, confused. “I don’t understand your change of heart.”

“It is far too dangerous right now,” Soldi said. “With everything going on… It’s too dangerous.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Pecorino asked. “People die all the time in this organization. Why is Polpo’s death any different?”

“Because he’s not the only to die… is that correct?” Ossobuco asked.

Soldi’s silence on this matter spoke volumes.

“Holy shit! A-are we in danger? Are we gonna die?” Pecorino began to panic.

“Please, stay calm,” Soldi said in an even tone.

“Sir… what’s going on?” Dolchi asked, voice significantly softer than normal.

Soldi closed his eyes and sighed. “At the moment, I can’t disclose too much information,” he said. “But, provided we all follow instructions, we’ll get through this just fine. Now, Pecorino, Bibita, you two will work on wiring money to this account,” he slid a paper across the table to the man with glasses. “As for Dolchi and Ossobuco, I just got off the phone with Canella. She believes your talents could be used… elsewhere.”

“Of course, sir,” Dolchi said. While her words were confident, her tone was far from it. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I can’t disclose that information right now,” Soldi crossed to the window. “Just… head over to the airport and await further instructions.”

‘What is going on?’ Bibita thought. ‘Why is our team getting split up during a time of conflict? Something stopped Soldi from disclosing where they are sending Dolchi and Ossobuco… Either he doesn’t have all the information yet, or there is something in this room keeping him from speaking all of the truth.’ Slowly, she put together all the pieces. The sudden conflict. The canceled trip to Naples. The secret mission.

“Wait,” Bibita stood up. “Are we going after Buccellati’s crew?”

“Bibita, sit down,” Soldi said.

“Is that why you won’t tell us more? Because you know my history with Naples?”

“Bibita, please-”

“If that’s the case, send me! I’m sure we could talk all of this out!” she continued despite Soldi’s protests. “Th-this has to be some sort of misunderstanding-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Soldi said. “Sometimes, there isn’t a nice clean solution.”

“But, sir-”

“Sit down Bibita!” he commanded. Hesitantly, the girl followed his orders and took a seat. “During this time, Passione doesn’t need peacekeepers. They need soldiers who will follow orders. I am trying my best to keep us away from this conflict so we don’t end up like the hitman team!”

Immediately, Soldi knew he had said too much.

“Wait, what?” Bibita’s voice began to shake. “What… What happened to La Squadra di Execusione?”

“They… were traitors, and they were dealt with,” Soldi said as politely as possible.

“Wow, some hitman team,” Pecorino nervously joked. “If they were better at their job, maybe they would have survived long enough to get a raise.”

“Hmm, it’s not every day you see assassins turn traitors,” Ossobuco noted. The elderly man had been an assassin for decades, and always found a way to stay loyal to the organization in power. “I guess it must be a generational thing, just no respect these days.”

Bibita couldn’t believe her ears. The hitman team was killed. Buccellati was a traitor. It was like everything she had come to believe about the organization was a lie. “Please, sir. Let me help-”

“No. You are too connected to this conflict. While I know you are not a traitor, if the boss even suspects that you’re working with the enemy, you’ll end up cut into little pieces and thrown into a lake, or caught under the wheels of a train, or poisoned when you least expect it,” Soldi had raised his voice, but it wasn’t anger that fueled him. It was fear. Soldi coughed, but continued on, “So, please. Drop the subject.”

Bibita fell quiet, frantically evaluating all possible options, but, without a full picture, it was exceedingly difficult to determine what to do.

“I understand this is difficult for all of us-” Soldi said, but a cough interrupted his sentence. Once he cleared his throat, he continued. “But, if we play our cards right, we’ll all be back here in time for work next Monda-”

Once again, a series of coughs interrupted his speech.

“That’s a nasty cough, sir,” Dolchi noted, standing up. “Don’t worry! I’ll go get you some water!” And with that, the blond sprinted out of the conference room, toward the office kitchen.

Pecorino looked at the paper that was left on the table. “Wiring this money shouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure we can get it done in the next hour.”

“Thank yo-” Soldi tried to speak, but a violent cough kept him from completing his thought.

“Sir, with all due respect, you should probably get that checked out,” Ossobuco said. “Sounds like you could be coming down with something.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” Soldi said, his hand covering his mouth. It was difficult to notice, but Bibita could see a small trickle of blood escaping between her Capo’s fingers.

Suddenly, Soldi collapsed onto the conference table, heaving and coughing up blood. But, even more unusual than the copious amounts of blood, was what they found in the puddle of crimson.

“Razor blades?” Pecorino said, cautiously approaching his Capo. “Sir, is this some kind of joke?”

Soldi covered his mouth and shook his head.

“We should be cautious,” Ossobuco said, standing up. “Someone must have snuck those razor blades into his breakfast-”

“Then why did it take so long to have an effect?” Bibita noted. “Breakfast was hours ago. He is just now coughing up razors.”

The room went silent for a moment, and Soldi’s eyes went wide. “We’re under attack!”

“What? Why? We haven’t done anything,” Pecorino stumbled, hiding behind a chair.

“We’re in the Mafia, that’s reason enough,” Ossobuco said, helping Soldi on to his feet. “It isn’t safe here; we need to leave. Now.”

Just as they were about to grab the door to leave the conference room, a few blades flew at them, appearing out of nowhere. “Get down!” Bibita exclaimed, darting to the floor.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

The blades did not find purchase on them, as the conference table instantly moved to protect them, blocking the weapons from hitting.

“Paper Planes,” Ossobuco mumbled, as the team ran into the main office area. A dozen origami aircrafts flew around the room, possessing a wide array of office supplies.

“This has to be one of those stand things, right?” Soldi asked, blood dripping onto his pristine suit.

Ossobuco gave a nod.

“I don’t see anyone,” Pecorino’s eyes darted about. “It must be a long distance or remote stand?”

“I don’t know,” Ossobuco noted. “The attacks feel too accurate. The user must be close by.”

The desks animated by Paper Planes began to hover around them, acting as a large shield.

Pecorino also summoned his stand, carrying the cash-register humanoid as he ducked behind the cover. “Where is the user?”

Bibita cautiously peaked out from behind the desk. “I don’t see anything,” she turned her attention to her Capo, who already looked like he lost a lot of blood. “We need to get him out of here.”

“It looks like the enemy can create weapons,” Ossobuco noted. “They most likely have a greater range than us. If we retreat, they can continue to attack from afar, and pick us off from a safe distance. We need to defeat this stand user before they get the chance to kill us.”

Pecorino gulped, but shakily stood up. “I’ve been working on expanding Price Tag’s range. I can create a cover fire, and you find the son of a bitch!”

“Language,” Ossobuco sighed. “But, sounds as good of a plan as anything.”

“Guys, there’s something weird happening…” Bibita mumbled, noticing odd movement from under Soldi’s skin. “We should get out of their range while we still can.”

But her suggestion fell on deaf ears, as her two teammates attacked. Thrift Shop began shooting out coins in fast secession, creating a spray of cover fire as Ossobuco attacked, animating many desks, chairs, and tables, sending them violently flying in all directions in hopes of landing a hit. With the rate the destruction was going, the pair were bound to hit their attacker, or so they thought.

Shink

A razor sliced through Soldi’s wrist, yet there wasn’t a direct attack made against him. ‘It’s like the enemy is making weapons inside us… oh shit!’ Bibita stood up. “We need to leave, now!”

Suddenly, Ossobuco felt something under his skin. Something cold and sharp tore through his neck from the inside. He looked down to see a large pair of scissors poking through his throat.
“Oh… that’s a new trick…”

“Wait...W-what’s happening,” Pecorino’s voice cracked, as he removed metal nails that were poking through his side. “I-I didn’t see any attac-”

Ting-ting-tingting!

In a blink of an eye, all the coins Thrift Shop fired charged right back at Pecorino, littering his body with Euro sized holes. He fell to the ground, his glasses utterly shattered, his body completely mangled.

Ossobuco held his throat, continuing his onslaught despite his fading vision.

At this point, Bibita could feel something forming underneath her skin. Something solid was forming, and she could feel the sharp razors begin to poke through her cheek.

“I guess retirement was never in my cards,” Ossobuco struggled to stand up. By this point, he had lost far too much blood, and he could feel more razors under his skin.

Across the room Bibita could see a dozen little daggers forming out of thin air, heading right for them. Instinctively, Bibita clenched her eyes shut, and she shifted into her gaseous state.

Tink-Tink

The razors that were forming under her skin harmlessly fell to the floor once she was in her cloud form. The knives, however-

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK

-found purchase in Ossobuco.

“...Good...luck… kid,” the elderly man sputtered. And after a violent cough, Ossobuco failed to take another breath.

Both Pecorino and Ossobuco were murdered.

**************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Metallica

Stand User: Risotto Nero

Stand Power: Iron Manipulation- Metallica can pull the iron in the surrounding area using magnetism, creating weapons both around and inside his enemies. Risotto is also able to cloak himself by using his stand to reflect the light in the iron around him, turning him invisible.

• Power: C
• Speed: C
• Range: C
• Durability: A
• Precision: C
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

“That’s a nasty cough, sir,” Dolchi noted, standing up. “Don’t worry! I’ll go get you some water!” And with that, the blond sprinted out of the conference room, toward the office kitchen.

“Hmmm, I said I would get him some water, but based on how icky that sounded… maybe a hot tea with honey would be better,” Dolchi thought out loud, setting a kettle on the stove. “And while I’m at it, the rest of them seemed on edge. I could make Ossobuco some black coffee, some sparkling water for Pecorino, aaand,” she darted to the refrigerator. “There has to be a spare soda here for Bibita!”

Thunk Thunk Thunk

In the distance, she could hear some commotion, and she lifted her head to check out the noise. Unfortunately, she had forgotten her head was still in the refrigerator and bumped her skull on her way out. “Owch!” She grabbed the top of her head. “Ugh, that’s gonna leave a bump for sure.”

With a pout, Dolchi opened the freezer section and pulled out a spare ice pack, and began to
apply pressure to her injury. ‘If Pecorino finds out I’ve injured myself while making tea, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

However, her train of thought was interrupted by the feeling of rumbling under her feet. For a moment, she thought it was an earthquake, as she ducked under the kitchen table. However, she noticed some commotion outside of the window, facing the main office. Slowly, she approached, and peered through the window on the door to see an array of office furniture flying wildly without any clear direction. Yet, that was not the only peculiar thing she noticed, as Dolchi could barely spot something materializing across the room, forming into little knives. However, this was unlike Blink-182’s ability, this had to be a different stand entirely.

A large chair flung into the door Dolchi was peering through, nearly shattering the window. Dolchi backed away, and for a moment she was scared. ‘Who could be attacking us? And why us? We’ve stayed out of this coupe entirely,’ she backed behind the kitchen counter and slid out of sight. ‘I’ve never seen Paper Planes attack so indiscriminately. There’s a good chance if I head out there, I’ll get caught in the crossfire.’

SKREEEE

Dolchi nearly yelped in surprise, quickly covering her mouth with her hands. The kettle Dolchi set on the stove had begun to boil, the steam escaping causing the kettle to whistle shrilly. “Ah shoot!” she whispered, turning off the stove as fast as she could. ‘I hope that didn’t give away my position to the enemy… I just wish Soldi was here to tell me what to do. So long as I have his direction, I always know what to do.’

Ting-ting-tingting!

A new sound cut through the office, sending chills down Dolchi’s spine. The sound was not unlike a gun firing, but Dolchi was far too familiar with the sound of bullets. This was the sound of an improvised weapon, followed by the soft thud of a body hitting the floor.

Immediately, Dolchi darted to the door, her momentary fear for her life overshadowed by her urge to save her team. However, right as she was about to grab the handle of the door, the rumbling under her feet abruptly stopped.

“No,” her hands trembled, unable to grab the doorknob. “No. Ossobuco must have killed our enemy. That must be what it means,” she tried to convince herself and move forward, but she found herself frozen, unable to take a step, in fear of what she’d discover behind the door.

Pfsssss

The sound of gas squeezing through the gap in the doorway cut through the momentary silence. Dolchi glanced to her side and saw a familiar cloud like form squeeze into the small kitchen with her. The gaseous form shifted, becoming solid, until a very frazzled Bibita stood before Dolchi.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay!” Bibita frantically scurried to Dolchi. “I-I thought everyone was gone.” The green haired girl lunged to Dolchi and gave her a tight hug.

“Bibita, what is happening out there?” The blonde asked, still shook.

“It-it all happened so fast… I couldn’t do anything… I’m sorry.”

“Bibita, take a breath,” Dolchi instructed, trying to calm her teammate. Bibita’s breathing slowly returned to normal. “Now, please,” the woman said, squeezing the girl's shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

Bibita averted her gaze, as she softly spoke. “We were attacked. Enemy stand user. The other’s tried to fight, but they were all killed. I barely escaped-”

“And this stand. What can it do?”

“Uh, it looks like it can create metal weapons out of anything, and can place them anywhere, including inside our bodies,” Bibita explained her best. “I couldn’t see the actual stand, or its user… but it's fair to say whoever is attacking us is close enough to know where to strike. Pecorino's euros shot through his own body, and a pair of scissors formed in Ossobuco’s neck. They're both dead. It’s a miracle I got out of there-”

“And Soldi?” Dolchi asked. “What of him?”

“I don’t know,” Bibita said, summoning her left spray can. “But, if we don’t leave right now, we’re as good as dead.”

“Did Soldi die?” Dolchi demanded, her eyes shone with drive.

“He was targeted for a few attacks, but he wasn’t dead last time I saw hi-”

Dolchi immediately walked to the door to enter the office.

“Hey, hey, hey! Are you crazy?” Bibita grabbed Dolchi’s hand, trying to stop the woman’s exit. “If we go back out there, we’ll just end up joining the rest of the team in the afterlife. We should just run, at least we’d have a chance of survivin-”

“Soldi isn’t dead yet,” Dolchi said, unwavering. “If there is even a chance I can save him, I need to take it. He’s my Capo. This is my duty.”

Bibita wasn’t strong enough to keep Dolchi in place. “Fine,” she sighed, releasing her hand. “We can go check on Soldi. But, if he’s already dead, we should run.”

Dolchi gave a quick nod.

With great apprehension, the ladies opened the door to the office.

*****************************

Soldi laid on the floor, unable to move his body after all the damage he’d already taken. He was bleeding from his wrists and mouth, and another set of blades had sliced through his Achilles tendon, making his escape impossible. To his left lay Pecorino, pelted with euros like bullets. To his right lay Ossobuco, throat sliced by scissors. Soldi lay in a puddle of his own blood, but he knew he wasn’t alone. He could hear faint footsteps approach him, although he did not see anyone.

‘It’s probably one of those stand things…’ he thought, coughing up blood. ‘And it must be a very powerful one at that… but, everyone involved with the coup would be going after Buccellati’s crew… Why target the Financial Division? This person must want something… or they may just want to send a message and destroy the financial backbone of the organization.’

“Soldi, right?” a deep disembodied voice greeted the Capo. “I believe you have some information I need. Answer my questions, and you’ll be given a swift death. If you refuse… these two won’t be the only subordinates you lose today.”

Soldi had a hard time even breathing at this point, but his mind was far from slowed. Calmly, he went through all the options of who his attacker could be. ‘Buccellati’s gang is on the run from the Boss. Their main quarrel is with the Boss, not us, and they should be preoccupied with l’Unita Speciale anyways… But there is another sect of Passione who are traitors… most of them had died at the hands of Buccellati’s gang a few days ago… but, I believe their leader wasn’t killed.’

“You had a phone call with the Boss’s messenger today, didn’t you,” the deep voice continued. “You discussed a secret mission for two of your subordinates. I just need to know where those two were stationed to go-”

“...Risotto,” Soldi coughed. “Risotto Nero… right?”

The disembodied voice stayed silent.

“Capo of La Squadra di Esecusione,” Soldi continued, finding strength to speak. “You lost all of your teammates just the other day. Keeping his team safe should be every Capo’s number one goal. You failed…” Soldi lifted his head, looking at his fallen teammates lying before him. “So too did I. So, I am prepared for whatever punishment fate has prepared for me. Are you prepared?”

There was a momentary pause. “I can see why you made such a respected leader,” the voice commented. “Unfortunately, I have some unfinished business to attend to, so fate’s punishment can wait until then. If you truly value the lives of your comrades you speak so highly of, tell me the location of the secret mission.”

At this moment, the two young women stepped out of the kitchen and entered the main office space. Dolchi could hear coughing from the far side of the room. “It sounds like Soldi is still hanging in there,” she said, a wave of relief hitting her.

Bibita, however, crossed over to the elevator, and pressed the button to open its doors. “Thank God,” she remarked. “Let’s get him and get out of here.”

Bibita and Dolchi slowly approached their Capo, but something didn’t feel right. They couldn’t see any signs of the stand user, but it didn’t make sense to Dolchi. “You said you were under attack from a stand user, right?”

“Maybe they just left?” Bibita suggested with halfhearted optimism.

“Unlikely,” Dolchi said, maintaining a guarded stance. “If you were going after a sect of the Mafia, you wouldn’t leave before finishing the job. Our Capo was clearly the target, so why would our enemy leave when he’s already undefended and alone?”

“D-Dolchi… I think we should leave-”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dolchi could make out something quickly solidifying in the air across the room from them. ‘That must be the stand power then… this was a trap.’

A few dozen scalpels formed in the air and shot out towards the girls.

“I’m sorry, Bibita, but I can’t leave just yet,” the blond said. She only had a split second to react. She swung out her left hand behind her, as a little yarn ball like creature appeared on her shoulder.

Suddenly, Bibita could feel a force push on her, her very clothes being manipulated by her friend. In the blink of an eye, Bibita flew backwards, propelled by Material Girl’s manipulation of her clothing. The girl landed back in the elevator with a harsh thud, enough to momentarily knock the girl out.

Meanwhile, Dolchi, who was so focused on getting Bibita out of harm's way, didn’t leave herself any time to dodge, as all the scalpels shot towards her.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

The blonde fell to the floor.

“Now, Soldi,” the disembodied voice continued. “The blonde one will survive, if treated right away. There is still time for you to save the girls… just tell me what I need to kno-”

“You idiot.”

The enemy stand user stopped his talking, to see the woman slowly get to her feet, the scalpels that had attacked her fell to the floor with a clatter. There wasn’t a single injury on the woman.

“What? How?” The assassin thought out loud.

“Kevlar,” Dolchi dusted off her business suit. “My friend explained your powers a bit. I’ll admit, I’m not the brightest, but I know my fabrics. The tensile strength of Kevlar is approximately 3,620 MPa and has a density of 1.44. If Kevlar can stop a bullet, it sure as hell can deflect your puny attacks.”

“Bold statement coming from someone still within range of my stand,” the voice commented. “You’ve figured a way to defend against some of my attacks, but I assure you, I can place my weapons anywher-”

“I figured that much,” Dolchi shrugged. “But I didn’t call you an idiot because your attack didn’t hit.” The blonde held out her hand, feeling her stand find purchase on Soldi’s suit. “You’re an idiot because you showed me your range!”

With that, she flung her Capo towards herself, and at the same time, placed a hand on the floor. Like a surge of waves, the fabric carpet rippled outward, moving everything to the very edge of Material Girl’s range. Dolchi could feel weight shift on the carpet, moving twelve meters away from herself.

“When you attacked me and Bibita, the blades focused on Bibita stopped well before they could make it to the elevator,” Dolchi said with a smug grin. “If you were talking to Soldi, you would have to get in close. With those two pieces of information, I suspect you have a range no larger than 10 meters. And now, you’ve been flung further away, so I’m no longer in your range, am I?”

Through the fabric of the carpet, she could feel someone take a step towards her. “Not so fast,” she remarked, shifting the fabric around the spot where she felt the footstep, and suddenly the carpet itself twisted around to try to break the attacker’s ankle. But as soon as she felt the footstep, it was gone. ‘He must have retreated to a desk, to avoid getting in contact with the fabric floor… smart. But all the furniture is a good twelve meters away, so I should be out of his range, but he’s still within my range. Still, I can’t risk him getting any closer…’

Dolchi turned her attention to her Capo, who looked to be in bad shape, but was still very much alive. “Don’t you worry, sir,” she said, removing her bright pink business jacket. Slowly, the seams unraveled, and the jacket fell into pieces, and the thread moved to Soldi’s injury. Within moments, the thread patched up the Capo’s wounds, stitching together his wrist and ankle cuts. “Just hang in there. We should be safe here for the time-being. If that bastard takes so much as a step towards us, I’ll know.”

“...thank you, Dolchi,” Soldi struggled to speak. “However, you would probably be better off if you just left me-”

“Don’t be ridiculous! We’re a team, we don’t abandon each other,” Dolchi smiled. “Besides, all I need is one clear shot, and our enemy is as good as dead! He will pay for what he did to Pecorino and Ossobuco.”

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Dolchi felt movement on the carpet, and immediately turned to attack. Yet, she was surprised to see a row of knives sticking into the floor twelve meters back, just at the edge of her range.

“Huh… that’s odd,” she thought.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Another row of knives pelted the floor, now only eleven meters away. With all the blades hitting at the same time, it was difficult to register the exact weight on the carpet at that moment.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Now a new row of knives lined up, ten meters away.

“What the?” Dolchi muttered. She felt an odd tingling sensation in her right hand. She glanced at her hand on the floor and noticed odd movements just beneath the skin’s surface. ‘Oh no, we’re in his range now-’

Shink!

Several iron needles ripped through her flesh, the top of her right-hand bleeding profusely after the attack. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her screams. She did not want to give her enemy the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. Without a moment of hesitation, Dolchi slammed her bloodied fist into the floor, and once again, the carpet rippled outward, sending everything safely to the very edge of her range.

Using Material Girl, Dolchi tore the curtains off the nearby window and hurled it towards the edge of her range, hoping the fabric might catch on something and reveal the enemy stand user. “Where are you?” she mumbled, scanning the area.

“My qualms aren’t with you Dolchi,” the voice responded.

She lifted her hand in the direction she heard the voice, but her fabrokenisis couldn’t find purchase.

“If your Capo gives me the answers I need, you and your green-haired friend can leave,” the disembodied voice said. “I promise I won’t go after you.”

“And what of Soldi?” Dolchi questioned. “If he complies, would he get to live?”

“At this point, he has lost too much iron in his blood,” the enemy responded. “He’ll die in a matter of minutes-”

“Wrong answer!” Dolchi thrusted her hand forward, in hopes of catching her invisible foe with her fabric manipulation, but, once again, Material Girl found no purchase. “Show yourself, you coward!”

But there was no response.

“Dolchi… please,” Soldi spoke up. The blood dripping from his mouth was beginning to lose its dark red color and shifted to a dirty rust-like shade of yellow. “Please… Just leave me here. Get out while you still can.”

“No, we’re gonna kill this bastard, and then we’ll go to the finest hospital in all of Rome to fix you up,” Dolchi said, with a confidence even she had a hard time believing. “Don’t worry si-”

“Leave…” he coughed. “This isn’t a suggestion. It’s a direct order from your Capo… Now, leave!”

Dolchi looked momentarily confused. Her role in Passione was to be the Capo’s undercover bodyguard. She was to keep him protected and follow his every order. But now his order directly went against her primary directive. Her roles within the organization contradicted each other.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

A row of knives pelted the carpet twelve meters away. The assassin was starting his approach.
“I’m sorry, sir,” The blonde said, taking a defensive stance in front of her superior. “I’m afraid I have to disobey an order.”

Thunk Thunk Thunk

The rows of blades were growing closer, now only eleven and a half meters away.

Dolchi turned her attention to the little child-like yarn ball on her shoulder. “Hey Material Girl,” she said softly to her stand. “I know you hate doing this… but we really need Pretty in Pink right now. Think you could help us out?”

The pink yarn ball tilted its head slightly before patting Dolchi’s shoulder, as if to say it understood its user’s request. With a little hop, the stand unraveled, the individual threads untwining, before dispersing into the air.

“Thank you, buddy,” Dolchi softly said. “Now… Pretty in Pink!”

The threads of Material Girl began to move out in all directions, slowly filling up every square inch of her range.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

The new row of knives drew closer, now eleven meters away.

‘He’s trying to get me in his range to end this fight,’ Dolchi thought. ‘I need to find him before he gets in attacking range. Pretty in Pink is a gamble; it’s a lot easier to directly damage my stand in this form, but I can sense every individual thread as it spreads throughout the office. Even if he is invisible, there is no way to hide from Pretty in Pink if you’re in her range.’

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Now the blades were ten and a half meters away. As more and more knives plummeted to the ground like rain, they cut into Material Girl’s individual threads, and that damage reflected back to its user. Several small cuts scratched into Dolchi’s skin, but she did not waiver.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Ten and a quarter meter.

The entire room was almost entirely pink now, with bits of Material Girl’s threads creating a rosy filter for the mundane office space. Dolchi wiped off the blood and sweat from her brow. She could feel a pocket within the space, and area Pretty in Pink couldn’t cover.

“There you are,” She held up her hand, and for the first time this fight, her fabrokenisis found purchase.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

“I’ve got you now!” Dolchi clenched her fist.

“Material Girl!”

“Metallica!”

*********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Material Girl
Stand User: Dolchi
Stand Power: Fabrokinesis- Material girl is able to telekinetically manipulate fabric, altering the cut, style, color and material makeup of the clothing in question. While most would consider using it for fashion purposes, Dolchi has found a way to unlock the stand’s rather dangerous potential.
Special Ability: Pretty in Pink- Material Girl completely untwines itself and disperses its tiny threads of fiber within its user’s range. During this state, it is easy to injure the stand/user, but it gives Dolchi almost a sonar like special awareness of the area in her range.
• Power: B
• Speed: B
• Range: C
• Durability: E
• Precision: A
• Potential: B

Chapter Text

“Hey? Hey, are you okay?”

“What’s going on over here?”

“I don’t know… it looks like this girl’s passed out in the elevator.”

Bibita slowly opened her eyes and was greeted by harsh fluorescent light.

“Woah, woah! Don’t try to stand up!”

“Poor thing must have hit her head-”

“Wha-” Bibita blinked, her vision slowly returning. She sat in the laundromat on a bench between rows and rows of washing machines. A small crowd of people had gathered around her, all confused about the girl passed out in the elevator. She turned her head to better acquaint herself with her surroundings.

“Oh, careful,” a woman said from behind her. “We just got an ice pack for that little bump on your head. You should really get some rest.”

Bibita could finally feel the throbbing pain in the back of her head, only slightly numbed by the chill of the ice pack. She scanned her surroundings. She was in the laundromat located directly below the Financial Division’s office. The girl had a difficult time putting all the pieces together, ‘Last thing I remember? I was in the office… with Dolchi… and we were attacked?’ She glanced at the elevator through the hallway.

“Did anyone take that elevator after me?” she asked, trying to stand up, but her dizzy spells made it a bit difficult. “Did a blonde woman or a well-dressed businessman exit that elevator after me?”

A man shook his head. “No. You were the last one in the elevator.”

Bibita took a step forward but stumbled catching herself on a nearby dryer.

“Take it easy,” another woman reassured her. “We’ve called you an ambulance. They’ll be here any moment.”

‘Dolchi and Soldi must still be up there,’ Bibita thought, regaining her sense of balance. ‘So that means…’

Bibita noticed a smell in the air. While faint now, she recognized the stench of gasoline anywhere. She knew it was usually followed by a-

“...fire,” Bibita muttered. She turned to the patrons of the laundromat. Just average citizens of Rome, in no way tied to the organization or Passione’s mess. “All of you need to get out of here. Right now!” She raised her voice, but no one moved. She continued moving to the elevator, but more civilians tried to stop her.

“Hey, miss, you should get some res-”

“No. You are all in danger, right now,” she narrowed her eyes, catching the faint whiff of smoke. She knew if she told them of a fire, they could set off the fire alarms, triggering the sprinkler system, rendering her useless. And if their enemy was still on the loose, she just could not risk that.

‘I hate to do this,’ she sighed, summoning Blink-182. With a quick spray, she created a sleek handgun. “I said everyone leave. Right now.”

Immediately, the crowd ran out of the laundromat, the gun was enough of a motivator to get the innocent civilians out of the area. Now alone, Bibita was able to freely walk to the elevator, but hesitated before getting in.

‘If the enemy is still up there, the elevator would give my position away,’ she thought, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Lucky for me, I don’t need an elevator.’

Bibita shifted into a gaseous state, freely moving between the cracks in the elevator lift, heading up to the second floor. It was easy enough to squeeze through the doors leading to the office, however, she was apprehensive, afraid of what she might find.

The office itself was a wreck. Tables and chairs scattered about. Knives stuck out of walls. Blood splattered over the floor. Sure enough, the bodies of Ossobuco and Pecorino still lie on the floor, in the same spot they had died. Bibita had prepared herself for that much, but she found herself holding her breath as she floated further into the room,

‘Maybe Dolchi and Soldi escaped,’ she tried to convince herself. ‘They could have leapt out the window… or somethin-’

Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a familiar form lying in the far corner of the office. “Dolchi?” Bibita immediately shifted out of her cloud form and ran to her friend. The blond woman appeared unconscious, but other than needles poking through the back of her hand and some shallow cuts, Dolchi appeared to be fine.

“Hey, Dolchi,” the girl whispered, lightly shaking her friend. “We should get out of here. Wake up, Dolchi.”

But there was no response.

“Come on, Dolchi. Wake up!”

The woman didn’t so much as move a muscle.

‘No… no, she’s nowhere in the state of the others,’ Bibita told herself, forcing tears back. ‘She probably got knocked out in the fight. That has to be it.’

Bibita got closer to the woman and noticed Dolchi wasn’t breathing. With trembling hands, Bibita reached out to the blonde’s neck, hoping to feel a pulse. But the skin was cold to the touch now, and she could not detect a heartbeat.

“Dolchi… Please… wake-up.” Bibita vision began to blur, as tears flowed. This time, she did not try to dry them with her sleeve, as she was too preoccupied dragging Dolchi away. “D-don’t worry Dolchi,” Bibita said, lugging the body towards the elevator. “Someone’s called an ambulance. They’ll be here any moment. They…. They’ll know how to fix you.”

Bibita tripped over a stapler that had fallen during the scuffle, momentarily losing her grip on Dolchi’s arm. “I just need you to hang in there,” Bibita tried to smile, but the sorrow in her eyes defied her happy facade. “Please… just… just stay with me a little while longer.”

‘Let go, Bibita.’

A familiar voice called out in Bibita’s mind.

“Dolchi! Oh, you scared me. I knew you had to be okay!” Bibita turned around to greet the friend but noticed her body just as unresponsive as ever. “Wh-what? Who said that?”

‘It was me, Dolchi,’ the voice responded, faint golden wisps of light danced in the air and coalesced to a translucent humanoid form. Though she could see straight through the apparition, Bibita could tell, this was Dolchi. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t make it.’

Bibita shook her head. “No… no, we can still get you help. Hell, you barely even look hurt!”

‘I suppose it would look that way,’ Dolchi’s spirit noted. ‘In the end, all it took was a single needle through the heart to kill me. None of the gore or fanfare of the other deaths…’

“I… I should’ve stayed and helped,” Bibita stumbled, unsure if she should be addressing her friend’s body or ghost. “I’m so sorry.”

The apparition shrugged. ‘It was my decision to make. I made a calculated risk… and I was so close… but, let’s just say math isn’t my strong suit.’ The spirit laughed at her little joke, but all Bibita could do was cry. ‘Hey, don’t be sorry. I’m happy with my choices, even if I didn’t win. We never stood a chance against this enemy… But, at least I got to keep you safe, and protect my Capo just a bit longer.’

Bibita trudged on, carrying Dolchi’s limp corpse towards the elevator. “No… There has to be a way…”

‘Bibita, just let go.’

“But… but without you and all the others, I-I’ll be all alone again,” Bibita averted her gaze from the spirit. “I… I don’t want to be alone again.”

‘Sometimes, the only way to move forward, is to let go,’ Dolchi’s ghost said, setting her incorporeal hand on the girl’s shoulder. The ghost smiled kindly.

Bibita’s grip on the body finally loosened, and Dolchi crumbled to the floor. Bibita turned around to see the very dead Dolchi on the floor behind her. Immediately, she went in to pick her back up, but she froze. “You,” Bibita’s voice caught in her throat. “You really are dead… aren’t you?”

She turned around, hoping to see the apparition, but instead of the golden ghost, Bibita was greeted by smoke and flame. It appeared the fire that had started had spread to the hallway. Bibita began to wonder if she was going mad. Had she really spoken to Dolchi’s ghost, or just the flames?

Bibita pulled away from the flames and found that a window in Soldi’s office was shattered. She figured that would be her way out, and most likely the exit the killer had taken. She ran to the office, and nearly tripped when she got to the door. She looked down, and saw her Capo Soldi lying on the floor, a single bullet hole between his eyes. Part of her was glad his death must have been quick, but that didn’t make up for the overwhelming grief she felt.

The computer at Soldi’s desk had five bullet holes through the screen. ‘The assassin must have gotten the information he needed, killed the witnesses, and planned to cover up his tracks with this fire,’ Bibita thought. ‘He’s gonna get away… all of this was for nothing.’

Smoke billowed out the window, and, for a brief moment, the teenager could have sworn she saw Dolchi’s face in the golden smoke.

‘The world can be a dark place, Bibita,’ Dolchi’s voice whispered in the girl’s mind. ‘If we’re able to spread some light, we should. And, if you’re lucky enough to find that light, you outta fight for it.’

Bibita watched the smoke billow outside and dissipate into the air.

Pecorino. Ossobuco. Dolchi. Soldi… All of her team, murdered, their very office up in flames. And for what? Some larger picture Bibita couldn’t even imagine. They were just the unfortunate casualties of the internal war of Passione. The other sects of the organization wouldn’t mourn them. The mysterious Boss wouldn’t mourn them. But, Bibita lost more than just her teammates that day. She lost her family. And for the first time in her life, Bibita didn’t feel the urge to run away, or think her way out of the situation.

Bibita stood at the edge of the broken window, taking in the view of Rome. The smoke had caught the attention of many passersby who stood in shock as flames licked the building. However, there was one figure walking straight for the Piazza Del Popolo, undeterred by the fire slowly raging behind him. He wore a long black trench coat, black and white striped pants, and what looked to be a jester’s hat. That’s all Bibita could make out from this far away, but, in the pit of her stomach, she knew.

‘It was you,’ she thought, summoning Blink-182. Bibita clutched the canisters so tight, tiny cracks began to form on the stand. But the girl didn’t notice, she was far too focused on the killer. Her eyes narrowed at the assassin, tracking his movement as he neared the Piazza. In the blink of an eye, Bibita shifted into her cloud form, and with a gust of wind, she began her pursuit.

The dark figure pushed through the crowd of people, all preoccupied observing the fire. The assassin, however, continued past the Piazza, and turned to cross the River Tiber. He had gotten all the information he needed from the Financial Division, so his work in Rome was finished. He knew where he needed to go now.

Risotto Nero crossed a bridge lined with angelic statues on either side heading towards the rust colored cylindrical Castel Sant’Angelo. Halfway across the bridge, a strong gust of wind cut through the air, and the assassin had to brace himself against the railing. The wind came seemingly out of nowhere, as, based on the direction the flags were waving on the buildings either side of the Tiber, this wind was going against the natural flow of the air.

Risotto looked over his shoulder, only to see smoke floating in the air slowly condensed and solidified on the other end of the bridge. Emerging from the smoke was a teenage girl in a black jumpsuit, ash in her green hair, and the look of pure rage in her pink eyes. Bibita didn’t speak, staring down the killer, summoning her stand, yet, the cannisters seemed to be unstable. Little cracks spread throughout Blink-182, gas slowly escaping through the fractures, the very canisters shaking, seemingly unable to contain the current energy surging through them. The assassin immediately recognized the girl as the one survivor of the Financial Division, but he never anticipated she’d be brazen enough to attack him.

The wind picked up as Bibita charged Risotto with single minded determination. As she drew nearer, the cracks on Blink-182 spread, until the cannisters completely shattered, multicolored smoke filling the area around her. But, Bibita charged through the fog, paying no mind to the seeming destruction of her stand, and, with a loud battle cry, she slammed her empty fists into the floor of the bridge. For a moment nothing happened, leaving Risotto confused at this display of emotion.

Pfsssss

Suddenly, the bridge gave way under Risotto’s feet, the individual tiles of the walkway shifting into a gaseous state. The assassin barely had time to avoid falling, scrambling to a statue that was unaffected by the girl’s attack. He looked over to his attacker, who was still out of his range.

By this point, Bibita had finally noticed her hands were empty, Blink-182 was nowhere to be seen. And yet, her ability still worked, even better considering the range of her attack was significantly larger. She looked down at her hands, confused. However, she did not have time to dwell on this matter; not with the man who murdered her teammates so close by. Bibita stood up, and from a good twenty meters away from the murderer, extended her fist, punching the air.

Woooosh

Immediately, the wind picked up, blowing in the direction of the assassin. He braced himself for the wind, yet, right as the wind made contact with Risotto, he was launched back, as if a solid force had punched him. He landed, skidding still on his feet in front of the Castel Sant’Angelo.

‘This is new,’ Bibita thought. ‘This isn’t the work of Blink-182… this is something entirely different.’ She looked to her hands, and attempted to summon her stand, yet nothing appeared in her hands.

Instead, a slight breeze blew her hair out of her ponytail, messily falling onto her face and shoulders. When she adjusted her hair, she noticed a figure hovering next to her. The figure looked similar to a feminine genie from Arabic mythos. The figure was monochrome in the head and torso, yet its arms, flowing hair, and ghost-like tail all shifted bright ever-changing colors. While humanoid, it was difficult to discern facial features, as it wore a large gasmask that appeared to be grafted onto the odd creature. Two interlocking sets of fan-blades were secured to its back, looking almost like wings.

‘A stand is the manifestation of a person's fighting spirit.’

Bibita remembered the words Fugo and Bruno had told her years ago.

‘You have a great fighting spirit.’

And yet, Bibita rarely fought. And even when she did get into fights, she usually thought her way out of conflict. Her first reaction to a fight was never to fight, rather to find a creative solution to the problem. This was really her first time since getting pierced with the stand arrow where she truly felt the urge to fight back.

“A-are you my stand?” she asked the genie-like figure before her.

Silently, the figure nodded.

‘It’s definitely not Blink-182… It’s almost like the stand evolved,’ Bibita thought, getting a closer look at the stand.

While the figure didn’t speak, it waited patiently for an order from its user.

“Right then, you see that man over there?” she gestured to Risotto across the bridge from them. The stand nodded. “He’s our enemy!”

Without hesitation, the stand disappeared into the air, a strong surge of wind closing the distance to the assassin. Once again, right when it made contact with the man, the wind became tangible, unleashing a small barrage of punches on the man. Each punch hit with the force of the wind, significantly stronger than the average person’s punch.

Risotto was now on the defensive, dodging and weaving out of the way of the attacks. Yet, with the sheer power and speed of the stand’s attacks, the assassin knew he needed to retreat. He quickly jerked out of the way of the stand’s fist, and went invisible, leaving the figure unsure where to attack.

Risotto was gone, and the gasmask wearing genie darted its head every which way, hoping to find the jester-like assassin, yet nothing appeared.

“We’ll find him,” Bibita reassured her stand. By this time, the girl managed to cross the bridge, avoiding the giant hole she made. “I’ve made sure of it,” she paused for a moment. Since her evolved stand was more humanoid, she figured she should refer to it by name. “Don’t you worry, my Little Windmill.”

*******************************************************************************************
Stand Stats
Stand Name: Blink-182
Stand User: Bibita Bianche
Stand Power: Matter Manipulation: Can alter the state of matter from gas to solid and vice versa. Altered matter remains in that state for one hour, or until Bibita reverts it at will. Once in contact with liquid, the altered matter will revert to its initial state.
• Power: C
• Speed: C
• Range: D
• Durability: B
• Precision: B
• Developmental Potential: A

Chapter Text

Risotto had cut through the suburban area, passing by homes and businesses alike. Based on the girl’s ability, her power seemed to be tied to the wind. So, it was a safe choice to avoid wide open areas like the River Tiber or large Piazzas. It would be difficult to get any sort of momentum for the airflow with so many buildings in the way. That combined with his ability to camouflage into his surroundings using Metallica, it was all too easy to evade the surviving member of the Financial Division.

Risotto let out a small chuckle.

Almost laughably easy.

And yet… the chuckles didn’t stop there. The assassin laughed out loud at his seeming success, but the laughs persisted well after his celebration was over. ‘It could just be the nerves,’ Risotto rationalized, still laughing through clenched teeth. ‘The last few days have been… difficult to say the least.’

But, try as he might, the Capo of La Squadra could not contain his laughter, and soon people on the street turned in the direction of the disembodied laughter. ‘Something’s not right…. I’m not even happy, so why am I laughing so much?’ he thought, quickly turning his head to check if anyone was following behind him. The world almost seemed to spin around him, dizziness overtaking the assassin, yet he couldn’t spot anyone following him.

Between fits of muffled laughter, he let out a sigh, as a wave of calmness washed over him. ‘Calm down…’ he continued his march through the streets of Rome, nearing a Piazza up ahead. ‘Things are finally going your way… you should be happy.’

A light wind swept through the street, gently rustling Risotto’s jester hat. For a moment, it felt like a gentle spring breeze, but the wind only grew stronger, until-

THWACK

The wind solidified into a single fist, launching the laughing Risotto towards the open Piazza. While still invisible, he stumbled to his feet, and searched for his attacker, seeing the genie like form of Little Windmill solidify before him, followed by its user, Bibita Bianche.

‘That stand user,’ Risotto thought, trying desperately to stifle his laughter. ‘She must have done this to me. But, when did she even get the chance?’

The girl waited for the silence to break, sending Little Windmill towards the noise of the laughter, but Risotto was barely able to dodge.

“Nitrous Oxide,” Bibita approached the Piazza. “Colloquially known as laughing gas. When I attacked the bridge at Castel Sant’Angelo, that wasn’t just a fit of rage.” Her voice sounded unnaturally calm, as if she had grown up years in the past few hours. “I converted those tiles on the bridge into Nitrous Oxide, and you breathed it in. It’s typically used as a form of anesthesia for dentists, rendering their patients numb, but very much conscious. Side effects include dizziness, loss of motor control, and, of course fits of laughter.”

Once again, a gust of wind blew through the area, aimed at the source of the laughter.

THWACK

“I’m going to kill you,” Bibita said with a cold terseness. “I only tell you all this to give you the opportunity to drop your invisibility, so I can kill you faster. That way, you can be numb to the pain while you die… not that you even deserve that bit of mercy.”

By now, Bibita approached the Fountain Piazza Mazzini. A large circular pond was at the center of this clearing, with marble pillars surrounding the perimeter. Sculptures of eagles sat atop the pillars, while fish were sculpted into the base of the pond. Further out from the pond were trees bordering the outside of the Piazza, but they did not hinder the airflow as Bibita prepared for her next barrage.

A soft chuckle broke the silence, and Little Windmill attacked, its barrage of punches sounded similar to the shaking of a spray-paint canister.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

But without seeing the assassin, it was difficult to land a hit. Sure, Bibita had a general idea where he was through his laughter, but that was not enough for her to secure an attack. Slowly, the wind began to blow, circling the Piazza, but it soon picked up speed. Faster and faster the air whipped about, gaining more and more momentum with every rotation, till there almost looked to be a small twister, centered in the Piazza.

THWAAACK

Little Windmill landed a punch with the full force of the wind behind it. That was enough to knock the invisible Risotto off his feet. For a moment, he was air bound, and Bibita listened for him to land. Yet, instead of a harsh thud, she heard a splash. Her latest attack launched him into the fountain.

“There you are,” she pointed to an area of the fountain where the water was slightly distorted. A gust of wind cut through the Piazza heading straight for the center of the fountain. The gasmask clad genie materialized, ready to attack the sound of laughter at the pond’s center.

But, right at that moment, streams of water shot into the air, dancing about. This was the little fountain show, the streams were on a timer for every quarter hour or so. Little Windmill abruptly halted its assault, stopping right at the edge of the fountain. The added ripples and splashing noise made it even more difficult to detect her enemy.

“Shit,” Bibita muttered, as she began to circle the pond herself. ‘The assassin looked to be a large man… the Nitrous Oxide only lasts a few minutes for someone of his build. With his invisibility, it’ll be impossible to find him once the laughing gas wears. My only chance is to find him and kill him while his senses are still dulled. If this fight lasts too long, I’ll no longer have the advantage.’

Lucky for her, she saw the tracks of damp footprints leading out of the fountain.

“There you are,” Bibita followed the path. Little Windmill followed close behind, using its fan blades on its back to generate a breeze while they walked. The user and stand followed the damp trail, as it veered out of the Piazza, and crossed the street. Bibita ran to keep up with the trail, not wanting her one chance at revenge to pass her by.

The trail eventually led to a small church. ‘Confined space,’ she thought with a gulp. ‘He figures he’ll have the upper hand in an indoor arena… just like the office.’

Regardless, she followed, hearing a faint chuckle within the church.

The church was on the smaller end, nowhere near the prestige of other places of worship within the city of Rome. Two rows of wooden benches lined the walls, with a singular walkway leading to the front of the church. A simple cross was set up at the very front of the church, and a baptismal font was located immediately to its right. Stained glass depictions of miracles displayed in the windows overhead, and the sunlight hit it in a way, so the entire small church was filled with bright beautiful colors. Had it been a different occasion, Bibita would have loved to study the mosaic like stained glass, but now was not the time to appreciate the art.

A muffled laughter broke the silence, the noise located somewhere in the pews to the right side of the building. Though invisible, Bibita had a good idea where the assassin was hiding.

“There,” she pointed, summoning her stand. “Little Windmill!”

Bibita was sure to leave the large doors open, as Little Windmill used the outside air to create a strong draft within the church.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

The stand unleashed a barrage of punches, but, without a strong wind creating momentum, these punches were significantly weaker and slower than her previous attack. The chuckles continued, as Little Windmill attacked wildly, striking the church pews. Each time the stand hit the wooden benches, the seats broke into splintered bits, but the stand never got a good hit on Risotto.

“There’s no need for a fight,” a deep voice noted from the front of the church, the laughing gas starting to wear off. “I already got what I needed. I have no quarrel with you, but, if you continue to attack, I’ll be forced to defend myself.”

“And what about Pecorino? Ossobuco? Soldi?” Bibita said, voice shaking. “And ...Dol-” her voice caught in her throat, tears forming. “What about Dolchi? What did any of them ever do to you?”

“Nothing.”

Bibita wiped away her tears and looked toward the sound of Risotto’s voice with cold determination. “Then die.”

CRAAAACK

The windows surrounding the church shattered, covering the floor of the building with multi-colored glass shards. With all the windows shattered, more air flow could circulate in the vicinity. Luckily, there was no one else in the church at this time, so Bibita increased the flow of wind in and out of the church to help build the momentum.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

The stand punched toward where the voice last sounded, the swell of the wind propelled it, and finally, it actually made contact with its target.

Ting!

Yet when the fist made contact, it felt as though it hit metal armor, rather than a human body. No matter how much power Little Windmill built up, its punches were easily deflected by whatever defenses Risotto put up.

“Iron can be found anywhere,” the assassin explained, dodging the oncoming attacks. “In the earth, in the air… even in our bloodstreams. Using Metallica, I can manipulate the iron found around us, including the particles in my blood. When you attack me, I solidify the iron in my blood in certain areas of my body to act as armor. Any attack against me will be useless,” he explained, lifting an invisible hand towards his attacker. “I’m sure you’ll find this ability isn’t limited to only my own blood.”

He waited for Metallica to take effect on Bibita, but nothing appeared to change, and he could not feel any iron in her blood to manipulate. In fact, he couldn’t feel any blood in her body whatsoever.

“What?” Risotto muttered.

“I take it you create weapons in our bodies by solidifying the iron in our blood to attack us from the inside, right?” Bibita tilted her head. “Changing the state of matter is something I am very familiar with. Once I figured that out, I took the proper precautions to fight you.”

Little knives materialized and shot out towards Bibita. She barely made an effort to dodge.

Shinnk-Shi-Shink!

Two blades caught her arm, while a third blade slashed her cheek. And, even though all wounds looked deep, not a single drop of blood was split. Instead, a red smoke could be seen slowly escaping her body through her injuries. “I figured once I was in your range, you’d try to use the iron in my blood to attack me from the inside out, so, I am keeping my insides in a gaseous state. I have complete control over my own state of matter, so I refuse to let your stand alter that,” she said with a calculating grin, wiping away the cut on her cheek, as more red mist seeped out. With all of her insides gas, it would be difficult to do any lasting damage to her, and any wounds would only be skin deep. But, keeping up this half solid half gaseous form was difficult, and drained a good amount of energy and concentration. “Face it… you can’t kill me.”

More daggers fell from above the girl, and in this inflated balloon like state, she had a difficult time dodging, but she paid little mind. She stayed focused on her attacks and keeping her insides gas.

Drip-Drip-Drip

Bibita felt a few droplets of water hit her shoulder. She looked up, to where the droplets fell from, and saw damaged sprinkler pipes, right above her. “What the-” another drop of water fell onto her cheek, right where she had been previously cut. Once the water made contact with the injury, the red smoke seeping out of the wound slowly reverted to its initial state, and Bibita’s cheek began to bleed.

“Not good,” she dodged out of the way of the falling droplets, and frantically swatted the water off her. She was still able to keep the majority of her insides gaseous, but she could feel the areas hit by the droplets were shifting, blood returning to her cheek and shoulders. Likewise, her stand, Little Windmill, had a similar experience, with its cheek and shoulders reflecting Bibita’s state. Little Windmill couldn’t seem to solidify in the area’s Bibita had gotten hit with water. ‘So… the damage is reflected between us,’ Bibita thought, keeping a safe distance from the leakage. ‘And it seems to have the same weakness as Blink-182.’

Regardless of this discovery, Bibita continued the turbulent wind, Little Windmill unleashing its attack wherever it suspected the invisible assassin was lurking. At the same time, more and more scalpels formed in the air, shooting towards Bibita. The girl made more of an effort to dodge, hoping to avoid the blades hitting her in the areas the water had splashed her.

The more blades Risotto created, the more iron was stolen from the area around them, including the sprinkler pipes. So, not only did Bibita and Little Windmill have to dodge the blades, but also the occasional spray of water from the damaged pipes. The tables had turned, and the girl found herself on the defensive.

‘I need to end this, fast,’ Bibita thought, ducking behind a church bench as a set of knives shot towards her.

Thunk-Thunk-Thunk

The blades narrowly avoided hitting the girl, blocked by the wooden pew. Based on the attacks, she knew Risotto had to be nearby. Bibita turned to the front of the church, where she had last heard the assassin, and sent Little Windmill to attack wildly in that direction.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

The stand struck the front of the church, but made no contact with the assassin, and with the Nitrous Oxide wearing off, it was impossible to locate the invisible enemy. However, as more iron gathered in the air, it was clear the assassin knew exactly where Bibita and her stand were.

Without any warning, water from the sprinkler system sprayed, drenching the front of the church. The water hit the left side of Little Windmill, and half of the stand dematerialized. Likewise, Bibita felt her blood and insides on her left side revert out of their gaseous state and returned to normal.

“I told you not to fight me,” a deep voice remarked, right next to Bibita.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her left arm, the side of her she could no longer manipulate. With extraordinary strength, Risotto threw the girl, not even giving her a chance to react.

SPLAAASH

Bibita landed in the baptismal font, now completely soaked. With that, her stand faded away, no longer able to maintain a physical form.

“You really shouldn’t attack someone when you have such an exploitable weakness,” Risotto continued, dropping his invisibility as he approached the girl.

Shink! Shink! Shi-Shink!

Little razor blades formed under Bibita’s skin; the girl no longer able to counter his stand. She let out a shrill scream as the blades cut through her flesh.

“And you should never say that you’re going to kill someone. That’s just unprofessional,” Risotto lectured as more blades materialized in the air. “You’d want to wait until after the job is done, and say you killed your target. Past tense. Definitive. Fact.”

As the intimidating man approached Bibita, she did not falter, staring daggers at the red eyed man. “Just like how you killed Pecorino, Ossobuco, Soldi and Dolchi?” she spat, still ready to fight tooth and nail, even without her stand. “You killed them all. My entire team… my family… gone.”

Risotto sighed, “I take it you’re not going to admit defeat, are you?”

The girl remained silent, struggling to get out of the Baptismal fountain, a familiar look of revenge shown in her eyes.

“Very well,” Risotto said, lifting his arm toward the girl. “Metallica!”

*******************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Little Windmill
Stand User: Bibita Bianche
Stand Power: Tangibility- Using the fan blades on its back, Little Windmill can manipulate air currents. The stand uses the wind to propel its attacks, turning the intangible wind solid. The more open air, the faster and more powerful the stand becomes.
• Power: B
• Speed: A
• Range: B
• Durability: D
• Precision: B
• Developmental Potential: C

Chapter Text

“You killed them all. My entire team… my family… gone.”

“Keeping his team safe should be every Capo’s number one goal. You failed.”

“Listen, all of you… Forget about Sorbet and Gelato. From this moment on, the two of them never existed.”

March 1999, Naples Italy

“Honey, we’re ho-ome!” Gelato sang as he and Sorbet entered the dimly lit headquarters of La Squadra di Execuzione.

“Technically, that’s incorrect,” a curly blue haired man noted, adjusting his red glasses. “Since there are multiple people in this room, you should refer to us as honeys… even though I’m not sure why. We’re humans, not condiments!”

“Calm down, Ghiaccio. It’s a common expression,” Sorbet said with a sigh, taking a seat with the rest of the team. Their headquarters was dingey to say the least, a small apartment located in a poorer neighborhood of Naples. In the main living room area, several couches surrounded a coffee table. On one end sat their Capo, Risotto, with the rest of the team sitting in the couches to his immediate left and right. On the opposite end, Sorbet and Gelato shared a loveseat, clearly meant for one person. “Anyways, we weren’t the only ones to go on a trip. How was your and Illusio’s mission in Turino?”

This time, a brunette man with hair tied into multiple low ponytails and a quilted white shirt spoke. “Easy enough,” Illusio said with a yawn. “The traitors there weren’t even stand users, so they quite literally never saw it coming. Honestly, any goon with a gun could’ve done the job, but the pay was worth the trip.”

“Did you get any information on the French gang?” a well-dressed blond man interjected. Prosciutto sat at one of the side couches, next to his younger brother, Pesci. “Did you get any information on that threat?”

“Unfortunately, the Turino traitors didn’t know the identities of the members of the French gang,” Ghiaccio grumbled. “Also, if you ask me, we weren't paid nearly enough. I doubt the Boss calculates the extra expenditures, like travel and hotels when determining our paychecks. It’s ridiculous!”

“Well, hopefully you two will have good news on that front,” a lavender haired man in an odd spandex uniform said. “So… how was your expedition to Rome?” Melone asked, leaning forward. “Spare no detail.”

“Yeah, were you able to get the financial people to increase our pay?” Pesci, the youngest member of La Squadra, asked sheepishly. “I-if you don’t mind.”

“Well, we have some good news, and some bad news,” Gelato said. “Good news: we were able to find the newest member of the Financial Division, and I think we can consider her a potential ally for the hitman team.”

“Her? How curious,” Melone sat at attention. “Would you happen to know her astrology sign?”

“Uh… Aquarius I think,” Sorbet added.

“Di molto!” Melone said, taking notes. “Do you know her foot size-”

“Alright, that’s enough questions from you,” Gelato interjected. “She’s our ally, so she is off limits. Understand?”

“Well, that’s great, right?” Formaggio decided to change the subject with a chipper smile. “We have an ally in the Financial Division. She could get us more money!”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” Sorbet sighed. “She argued our case, and even came up with a new avenue to launder from, but her ideas were rejected by the Boss’s messenger.”

“Are you sure she even tried?” Illusio narrowed his eyes. “She could’ve just said all that to get you off her case.”

“No, I don’t think she would do that,” Sorbet said, setting a folder on the table. “After her meeting, she went out of her way to try to help us, coming up with a couple ideas to try to save us money, or get us money in the long run. If she were just trying to get us off her case, she wouldn’t continue to help us.”

Prosciutto was the first to look through the papers. “This looks to be a list of potential side jobs, investment opportunities, and a casino scheme?”

“Yeah,” Gelato shrugged. “She wanted to find a way to get us more money. You know, not to place all our eggs in one basket-”

“Well, maybe we could afford more baskets if we were paid more!” Ghiaccio began to go on one of his famous tirades. “Also, why would we need multiple baskets for eggs anyways? That’s an inefficient way to transport eggs if we need multiple baskets to carry them! Also, why the hell does she think we’ll even need so many eggs, huh?”

“Hey, hey,” Formaggio interjected. “Chill out dude.”

Ghiaccio took a deep breath and grumbled, “You know I hate puns.”

“Huh, she says here we can save money by cooking at home instead of eating at restaurants,” Pesci noted, holding a paper.

“Really now?” Fromaggio leaned over to look at the paper as well. “I’m actually pretty good at cooking!”

“You cooking?” Illusio laughed. “Maybe you’ve finally found an outlet for that useless stand of yours.”

Fromaggio shrugged. “Well, I was thinking of hosting a barbeque for the team, but I suppose I don’t need to invite everyone here.”

“Oooh, that could be a lot of fun!” Gelato smiled. “We can share recipes while we research our next targets!”

Their Capo, Risotto, who had remained silent during this interaction, finally stood up, and moved towards Sorbet and Gelato’s loveseat. “Sorbet… Do you mind if I speak with you in private?” the dark eyed Capo asked.

Gelato gave an understanding nod, leaving his partner enough room to get out of the seat and follow Risotto to his office. The rest of the team continued their conversation, as the pair of men entered the office.

“I’m sorry we weren’t able to get that pay raise,” Sorbet was the first to break the silence. “We really tried, but, the Boss’s influence on the financial side of Passione is too strong.”

“It was a longshot at best,” Risotto stated calmly. “But, I really do appreciate you both trying. Thank you.”

Sorbet nodded. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“Now, what do you and Gelato plan to do?”

“Continue with our work, sir,” Sorbet said with downcast eyes.

“Sorbet don’t lie to me,” Risotto said. “You’re not good at it.”

“Fine… Gelato and I are looking into the Boss’s identity-”

“No-”

“-as a way to increase our pay-”

“No-”

“And rise through the ranks of Passione.”

“That’s far too dangerous,” Risotto said, narrowing his eyes. “Something like that will put us on the Boss’s bad side. We already have it bad enough as is.”

“Then why not try to take some power for ourselves then?” Sorbet stood his ground. “We are the best at what we do, and we’re given chump change! We don’t have anything to negotiate with but getting the Boss’s identity will finally give us a bargaining chip.”

“No, I forbid it.”

“Then what would you suggest, huh?” Sorbet raised his voice.

“You asked the girl for financial advice,” Risotto stated coolly. “I suggest you take it.”

“Our pay… our expenses… this shit isn’t sustainable. I’m finding a solution.”

“Promise me you won’t look into the Boss’s identity,” the Capo said. While serious, his tone of voice almost sounded like pleading.

Sorbet turned away from his leader. “I can’t in good faith make that promise.”

A silence fell over the small office, neither man sure how to respond after that conversation.

“Just… stay cautious, okay,” Risotto finally spoke.

“Of course, you don’t need to worry Risotto,” Sorbet said with a slight smile. “We’re professionals, remember?”

The pair headed over to return to the rest of the team, when Risotto stopped in his tracks. “Oh, before we regroup with the others, I’d like you to send me all the info you gathered on your contact in the Financial Division,” the large man added. “It could be useful. She could be a potential ally.”

“Um… I’m not too sure…”

“I promise, Melone will not have access to this information-”

“Oh, thank God,” Sorbet chuckled. “Yeah, sure. We can get you that information on your desk by tomorrow.”

The pair of men exited the office and returned to the rest of the squad. Risotto looked over all of his subordinates, who seemed to have devolved into bickering. He smiled slightly.

But, this was just a memory.

“Listen, all of you… Forget about Sorbet and Gelato.”

Risotto looked to the couple, and saw small horizontal lines cut through Sorbet all the way from his head to his toes. Gelato, however, turned pale, eyes going bloodshot.

“ From this moment on, the two of them never existed.”

Risotto frantically looked to his left side. Framaggio looked to be mid conversation, as flames engulfed the man. Illusio’s laugh was cut short, as he melted into a sludge like stain on the couch. Prosciutto went into his breast pocket to grab a cigarette, only for his arm and leg to be torn from his body.

“Keeping his team safe should be every Capo’s number one goal. You failed.”

The casual conversation continued, as Risotto turned his head to the other side. Pesci raised his hand, as if he had a question, only for small zippers to appear all over the young assassin’s body. Melone patted the kid’s shoulder, and spoke, blood spilling out of the man’s mouth. Ghiaccio crossed his arms in a huff, blood pouring out of a gaping hole in his neck.

“You killed them all. My entire team… my family… gone.”

Risotto looked over his team of living corpses, seemingly unaware of their tragic fates. But he knew what would ultimately happen to them. His memory was corrupted, the man struggling to remove the memory of his teammates from their ultimate fates.

He blinked, and found his memory shifting. He was still in their headquarters, but Risotto was completely alone. Couches where his teammates would sit were left empty. This was his reality. For better or for worse, he was the last one standing

****************

Wednesday, April 4th, 2001, Rome Italy

Risotto sighed, “I take it you’re not going to admit defeat, are you?”

The girl remained silent, struggling to get out of the Baptismal fountain, a familiar look of revenge shown in her eyes.

“Very well,” Risotto said, lifting his arm toward the girl. “Metallica!”

Bibita flinched, closing her eyes, expecting dozens of blades to cut through her. She was told that when people were about to die, they saw their lives flash before their eyes, yet she saw nothing. And she felt nothing, no pain, no agony. Instead, the solid razors in her body seemed to dissolve.

“W-what?” she hesitantly opened her eyes.

“I’ve returned your iron into your bloodstream,” the assassin spoke. “You’ve already lost, but I have no need to kill you.”

“So… your showing mercy?” Bibita scoffed. “After everything you’ve done, you decide only now to be a decent human?”

Risotto sighed, lowering his gaze. “You helped Sorbet and Gelato before. You helped them when no one else would. I figured I owed them that at least.”

Realization hit the girl. “Sorbet and Gelato… that must mean you’re in La Squadra,” she muttered. “I was told everyone in the hitman team died-”

“Almost everyone,” the man said, looking at the shards of glass littering the floor of the church. “My name is Risotto Nero, the Capo of the hitman team… or, at least, I was.”

“I heard you were traitors to Passione,” Bibita continued, struggling to get out of the fountain. “That’s true… isn’t it?”

Risotto nodded.

Bibita went silent for a moment. “So… Sorbet and Gelato… are they,” she struggled to form her sentence. “They were killed along with the rest of your team, right?”

“They were the first to die,” Risotto said. “Nearly two years ago. After you tried to increase our pay, and the idea was rejected by your superiors, the pair continued to look for more… aggressive ways to increase our pay. Though I warned them not to, Gelato and Sorbet tried to uncover the Boss’s identity. Soon after, they were killed.”

“Was it… Was it a quick death?” Bibita asked, hoping her friends had a painless end.

“No,” Risotto shook his head.

Bibita’s heart sank. Though her time with the two assassins was brief, she considered them her friends.

“Our Boss found out they were looking into his identity,” Risotto explained. “Sorbet was sliced into individual pieces, and Gelato was forced to watch, until he too died, choosing to suffocate on his own gag. So, no… their deaths weren’t quick. That’s the punishment your Boss has planned for traitors. That’s the kind of person your Boss really is. That vile devil of a man has sat atop Passione, unopposed, until now.”

Bibita remembered Minestra, the traitor within the Financial Division. Her teammate. The Boss had dealt with the woman similarly, sending Minestra’s body to her team in a vat of acid, forcing the rest of the team to dispose of what’s left of the body… The cruelty of the Boss perfectly reflected off Canella’s nonchalant attitude. Bibita’s team had also received a message from the Boss that day.

“Why attack us?” Bibita spat, shoving her conflicted emotions down. “We have nothing to do with the Boss. We aren’t his soldiers or bodyguards. Why target us?”

“Your Capo Soldi had information I needed,” Risotto continued. “He was sending some of your teammates to attack Buccellati’s crew, and I needed that location. The Boss must be genuinely concerned about their whereabouts if he’d be willing to risk the Financial Division for this mission.”

“Bullshit!” the girl shouted. “You could have done that without killing my team. Don’t you dare lie to me after you’ve taken everything from me. Tell me the truth. After everything that’s happened, I deserve that much.”

Risotto gave a sigh, and finally made eye contact with the girl. “In order to destabilize any organization, you can either attack its head, or its backbone. I plan on attacking the head of Passione by killing the Boss. I understand that may not happen, and I could die on this journey. That’s why I have destroyed the backbone of Passione by attacking the Financial Division. Even if I am unsuccessful in killing the Boss, I have still crippled his organization. I’m afraid your team was just… collateral damage.”

Bibita began to shake, trying desperately to summon her stand, but nothing appeared. In her rage, she charged the assassin, brandishing the switchblade she always kept in her back pocket.

“Metallica,” Risotto said half heartedly, taking control of the metal blade, flinging it out of the girl’s hand. “This fight is over. You lost.”

Bibita paid no mind, sprinting to close the distance between her and her enemy. Once he was close enough, she punched the man with all her strength. She hit him, over and over again, but without a stand to bolster her strength, her attacks left no impact. “I’ll kill you,” she kept saying, as tears fell down her face. “I’ll kill you!”

Risotto, finally having enough of her antics, grabbed her wrists. Try as she might, Bibita didn’t have the strength to free herself from his grasp. Even without a stand, the assassin possessed incredible strength. “You want revenge,” Risotto stated calmly, as if he were speaking to a misbehaving child. “Rightfully so. I get it. But, right now, there are bigger things at play. Passione is at war with itself, and it is far from over. There will be many more casualties before this war is over. If you want my advice, you should leave Rome immediately… If the Boss finds what happened to the Financial Division, you being the only survivor will certainly look suspicious, and we all know what he does to traitors-”

“But, I’m not a traitor!”

“I know that, but the Boss might not listen to your side of the story,” Risotto rationalized. “He’d much rather send a message to the remaining members of Passione. So, please. Just run. You’ll be safer that way.”

Bibita still struggled against the assassin’s grip, forearms beginning to bruise. “I don’t care about all that,” she spat. “I’m going to hunt you down. I am going to kill you for what you did to my team.”

“If I had a euro for each time I heard someone swear revenge on me or my team… let’s just say La Squadra’s finances would never be an issue. And, for what it’s worth, you deserve revenge,” he slowly released his grip over the girl. “But, I still have work to do. I can’t die… not just yet.”

Bibita swiped at him, but Risotto ducked out of the way, and turned invisible. She noticed a small pile of Euros in a bag at the front of the church, undoubtedly some of the money Risotto stole from the Financial Division.

“Here, take this money, and start a new life for yourself,” the deep voice of the assassin echoed in the church. “I have work to do, so I must be going. I, too, have a score to settle. But if after all this is over, and you still want to kill me, you can find me in Sardinia. I hope we both can get our revenge.”

Bibita could hear footsteps exit the church. The assassin was gone, leaving the destruction of the Financial Division in his wake. Hesitantly, the girl picked up the stolen money, and looked out over the wrecked church. For better or for worse, she was the last one standing.

Chapter Text

Thursday, April 5th, 2001, Sardinia Italy

“Scuzi, sir. Have you seen this man recently?” Bibita handed a very detailed sketch of her target to the general store owner.

“Oh, wow! Did you draw this?” the shopkeeper looked at the artwork with a smile. “This is very good work.”

“Nah, the shading is all over the place. But, that’s beside the point. Have you seen him? About this tall, pretty grumpy, menacing red eyes… Sound familiar?”

The man examined her sketch. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen a character quite like the one you described. And from the sound of it, someone like him would definitely catch people’s attention.”

“Yeah, well, thank you anyways,” Bibita moved to exit the general store.

“But, now that you mention it, someone else passed by here looking for the exact same person you drew.”

Bibita stopped in her tracks.

“Yeah, a few hours ago,” the shopkeeper continued. “Young man, bright pink hair, turtleneck. Very polite kid.”

“Oh, and... uh, do you remember where that pink haired guy went after visiting your shop?” Bibita pried for more information.

“Oh, that was a while ago…. I believe he was heading towards the coast,” the man struggled to remember.

‘We’re on an island… everything is the coast.’ Bibita thought.

“Is there anything else you could tell me?” she said with a smile.

“Ah, no… can’t say I remember much from the interaction,” the man raised his brow. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you after this man?”

‘Because he killed my entire team.’ Bibita thought

“Oh, uh, it’s just a silly little scavenger hunt,” Bibita lied. She wasn’t a convincing liar, so she decided to double down. “Oh, speaking of which, do you happen to know where I could find the longest pasta noodle on Sardinia? That’s on the scavenger hunt list too.”

“Hmmm, longest noodle?” the man turned around to consult a map of the area behind him. “I imagine Cagliari would have the best selection-”

But when he turned around to explain how to get to the capital of the island, the girl was nowhere to be seen. The man shrugged, going back to his work.

Bibita, however, had shifted into her cloud form, exiting the shop as quickly as possible. Once she was far enough away, she pulled into an alleyway, and shifted back to her solid state.

“A scavenger hunt? Really, that was the best you could come up with? You idiot!” she grumbled to herself. Bibita wore her street clothes but had added a cap and sunglasses to help hide some of her more identifiable features. But, even with the added precaution, the girl was just as paranoid.

“And who the hell is the pink haired dude? Probably a member of Passione sent to deal with traitors… Maybe I should try to work with him-”

“No! No, are you crazy? You heard what Risotto said,” Bibita argued with herself. “Passione probably already suspects you of being a traitor. Mr. Pink over there probably has you next on his hit list-”

“Okay, then maybe I could team up with Buccellati’s crew?” she suggested. “Work with him to take down a common enemy. Who knows, I might be able to sort everything out, convince them not to betray Passione-”

“It’s too late. They’re already traitors,” she said, while pacing the alleyway. “This isn’t some fairy tale where you can just explain everything away. You’ve seen the Boss’s messages before. Does he seem like the kind of man to forgive? You join Bruno, you’ll die a traitor…”

Bibita’s hands trembled as she contemplated her options. She walked through all her options in her head, but all routes seemed to lead to treachery, danger or death. “What do I do? Why did I even come here? I already fought Risotto once and lost, I’m lucky I wasn’t killed back then,” She threw her cap to the floor, frustration building in the girl. “I shouldn’t even be here. I should be heading out on a business trip to Naples with Dolchi…”

The memories of the departed teammates stopped her dialogue with herself. They were the reason she was out on Sardinia, tracking down a deadly assassin in hopes of avenging their deaths.

Bibita took a deep breath, her hands slowly steadied, their shaking subsided. “Right,” she sighed. “Just kill Risotto. That’s what matters right now. Don’t worry about the future… you’ll figure it out eventually.”

Bibita continued her search, and while she was glad the assassin had even given her a hint of where to find him, Sardinia wasn’t by any means a small island. She decided to take the only lead she had, which was the fact some pink haired man looked like he was heading to the coast. Based on the small town’s proximity to the rest of the island, she figured the shop owner must have meant the North East coast. It wasn’t much, but that was the only real lead she had to work with.

She neared the local oceanside village, not sure exactly what to look for. But, if the pink haired man was also after Risotto, he must have had a reason for heading to the coast. At least, that’s what Bibita reasoned. She continued showing her sketch of her target to locals, and occasionally got some helpful answers, sending her further East.

The sound of police and ambulance interrupted the typically quiet Thursday, catching the locals of Porto Cervo off guard. Bibita tensed, knowing the sirens could mean anything, but based on the trail she was currently following, she hoped the police would send her closer to her target. Shifting into her cloud form, she followed the sound of sirens to Costa Smeralda.

Bibita watched from a distance, as the vehicles parked on a beach to greet a small group of boys in football uniforms and their families.

‘Shit, it’s probably just some kid with a sports injury,’ Bibita thought, watching from a distance. ‘Some kid got hurt, and now his mommy is threatening the other moms-’

That’s when she noticed the boy in question being rushed into the ambulance. The child appeared to be missing his football uniform, and looked to be in bad shape, with his mouth sewn shut with shoelaces, and a large gash on his wrist. The families and other children were hysterical, as the local police tried to calm them down. This was far from a typical sports injury, but Bibita didn’t have time to sympathize with the poor child, as she continued to explore the coastline in her gaseous state. Something bizarre happened along the peaceful coast of Costa Smeralda, and Bibita was going to figure out exactly what happened.

A swift wind blew down the beach, propelling Bibita past the crowd of people, following a faint trail of blood. She floated by some larger rocks along the coast, until she found some beautiful golden wildflowers growing on the large bluff. However, there appeared to be something under the flowers.

Cautiously, Bibita reverted to her normal form, as she approached the flowers. The faint smell of blood was nearly drowned by the combination of salt water and the flowers’ perfume. She moved a few of the vines away, to reveal a body lying beneath. She only had a view of the torso from this angle, but the figure seemed to have a good portion of his midsection missing, as if something had torn through him, leaving a sizable hole.

This wasn’t the work of Metallica, or, at least, what Bibita understood of the power. Hesitantly, the girl reached toward one of the flowers situated by where the person’s face would be. She plucked the golden plant, to reveal the man’s face. He looked to be in his early twenties, with long silver hair. He looked vaguely familiar, and Bibita realized he was a cop back in Naples, a man who was sitting with Buccellati’s crew at Libeccio. Though over a year had passed since she’d visited Naples, she took note of the members of Bruno’s crew.

“Bruno’s group must have been here,” Bibita said, looking at the body in the flowers. “I’m sorry this happened to you… I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but too many people have died in this conflict.”

A slight glint of light caught her attention. A few small scalpels stuck out of the sand, catching the sunlight. Immediately, Bibita recognized the weapons. These blades were made by Metallica, but it did not look like Risotto was involved with this death. This was sheer brute force, not a series of well-placed weapons. Risotto had fought, yes, but not at this location.

Bibita looked around the shore, trying to figure out how the scalpels could have gotten to a secondary location. Her attention lingered on the nearby bluffs bordering the beach. Based on the angle, it wasn’t impossible to believe if Risotto was on the cliffs, a few of his blades could have fallen to the beach below.

Part of her felt nervous to continue, but that urge to stay safe was smothered by her need for closure. For revenge. She shifted into a gaseous state, floating upward, easily scaling the sheer bluffs of the coastline. At this point she had spent hours searching for the assassin, she began to wonder if she was on a wild goose chase. That worry subsided as she crested the bluffs, and saw the carnage.

Blood spattered all over the area, and an array of needles, razors and scalpels indicated the fearsome assassin was in a brutal fight here… a fight he did not win, Bibita realized as she saw the body. The man lie on the floor, absolutely riddled in tiny bullet holes, staining the surrounding area a vile shade of crimson. His ankle was torn asunder, and left on the side, detached from the rest of his body. His dark red and black eyes stared blankly at nothing, as if he were looking into the abyss. There was no point to check for a pulse. The Capo of La Squadra Di Execuzione, Risotto Nero, was dead.

“No… no, you weren’t supposed to die!” Bibita shouted at the corpse. “I was supposed to kill you!”

Her hands trembled, rage consuming her, but with Risotto already dead, there was no outlet for these emotions. In frustration, she let her anger out on a nearby boulder, punching it over and over until her knuckles bled. She didn’t care about the damage she inflicted on herself. With one final punch, Little Windmill activated, the force of the wind successfully shattering the boulder.

“Now, what am I supposed to do, huh?” Bibita took a breath, her hands aching from her emotional display. “Where do I go? Whose side do I choose? The only thing I had planned was killing you… but you somehow found a way to ruin that too, didn’t you?”

The girl took a seat on a rock near the dead assassin. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re dead… I mean, I didn’t have much of a plan to defeat you anyways,” she sighed. “I’m assuming the Boss or one of his soldiers did this to you. I should thank him, but I really just wanted to kill you myself.”

In the distance she could hear the police on the shoreline. They’d undoubtedly found the body of Abbacchio, and soon would find their way to Risotto’s body. A child attack near the locations of two murders was sure to draw the attention of all law enforcement in the area. Bibita figured she only had a few moments before the cops closed in on her location.

She stood up and looked at her slain enemy once more. “I just want you to know, I hate you,” she said bluntly. “I will never forgive you for what you did to my team… but, at least, in the end, you’re reunited with your team, your family. If you see Sorbet and Gelato, tell them I said hello.”

Bibita could hear the cops rounding the corner of the steep mountain road. It was only a matter of time before they spotted the crime scene.

“In the end,” Bibita said, pulling out the flower she’d picked earlier. “It looks like neither of us got our revenge.”

As the cops rounded the corner, Bibita shifted into her gaseous state, and disappeared from the gruesome crime scene entirely. The officers took in the violent display, the blood, the weapons, and a single golden flower resting on the corpse of Risotto Nero.

Chapter Text

Thursday, April 5th, 2001, Florence Italy

The sun had recently set over the capital of Tuscany, as the sky faded to darkness in Florence. The bells of the domed Cathedral di Santa Maria del Fiore chimed, signaling the beginning of the evening worship, followed by a choir of Latin. The buildings in Florence all had similar color schemes, white walls with terra-cotta colored rooftops. Florence was beautiful, rich in history, art and religion, yet so impeccably uniform, a trait that drew Canella Mercury to the city in the first place.

Canella had a mansion in the heart of the city, walking distance from all the main tourist sites, and never too far away from the main highways or train stations, as she knew her job could drag her out of the city at any moment. Even with such a high stress job, acting as the messenger of the Boss, Canella was always sure to enjoy the simple pleasures of life in Florence, including sampling the local Chianti and listening to the sounds of the nearby Cathedral di Santa Maria del Fiore. Those simple pleasures tended to calm the orange haired woman down significantly during times of stress. However, no amount of wine or Latin hymnals could undo the stress of the past week in Passione.

“You’ve got Falco’s position tied down?” she asked on her phone. She waited for a response. “That’s excellent! If you feel the team is prepared, go for it…. Just, be sure to keep him alive. I’m sure Passione has some questions for him…. Of course, have fun with it, just, make sure he’s fit for questioning later…. Thank you, Barracuda.”

With that, she hung up, and with a sigh, smiled. Her side project since the Milan fiasco was tracking down the elusive leader of the French Gang, Vivante, yet, every time the Espionage team got near him, Falco would disappear without a trace. But, after sixteen months, the Espionage Team of Passione had the leader cornered. And, with everything going on in Passione at the moment, Canella needed that win.

The woman crossed to her immaculate kitchen, with marble countertops, and a bay window overlooking her garden in the backyard. She poured herself a glass of wine, inhaling the strong scent. With that, she moved to her office, circling up her spiral staircase to the second floor, entering through one of the mahogany doors.

She turned on the lights to her office, illuminating the entire room with a soft glow. She turned on the TV on the far wall, and switched it over to the news. Her momentary peace was shattered when she was greeted by the reports from Rome. A weird mold had spread through the city like an outbreak, killing all in its path. The report didn’t have all the details just yet, but the estimated casualties were already in the hundreds.

“You fool,” Canella pinched the bridge of her nose in understated frustration. “You really let maniacs like Cioccolata and Secco out in the city. What were you thinking, Boss? Is catching the traitors worth all this… mess?”

She muted the news as she crossed to her desk, still shocked the crazy duo would go this far. On her desk was a myriad of religious paraphernalia from all different faiths; a cross for Christianity, a Star of David for Judaism, a Crescent Moon and Star for Islam, a little Buddhist statue, a vase depicting the Greek Gods, and many other religious symbols. From the odd display, it would be difficult to pin down what faith this woman practiced. But she ignored her display of varying faiths, and instead booted up her computer, taking a quick swig of wine as she waited for the computer to load.

Canella immediately opened her email to find her correspondence with one of the members of the Data Analysis team… or, if her math was correct, the last member of the Data Analysis team, as the rest had died at the hands of the hitman team earlier this week. With a sigh, she opened the report from a C. Murolo.

Inside was detailed information about Buccellati and his band of traitors. Most of this information was familiar to Canella, their names, stands, backgrounds, strengths, weaknesses. She had a tendency to conduct her own research on Passione’s operatives, mostly for the fun of it, or out of sheer boredom. However, there was some interesting information in this email, including a few coroner reports, confirming the death of La Squadra’s Capo, and a member of Buccellati’s crew.

“Huh, I guess they aren’t invincible after all,” she shrugged. “Farewell, Leone Abbacchio.”

She scrolled through, stopping at the information regarding Passione’s latest recruit. All this mess started shortly after this kid joined the gang a week earlier, and if Canella was a betting woman, she’d bet this Giorno Giovanna was the cause of this entire war within Passione.

Her research was interrupted when her phone rang. Canella checked the number, and begrudgingly answered, with an all too forced smile. “Oh, hello Boss,” she said. “How are you doing this fine evenin-”

“Cut the shit, Canella,” the robotic voice responded, cutting the woman off. Due to the software in the phone, the boss’s voice was masked, but there was no covering up the man’s rage. “This is not a fine evening. It’s far from it. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”

“Are you referring to the flesh-eating disease outbreak in Venezia, the plane crash in Sardinia, or the killer fungus in Rome? There’s been a lot of crazy news as of recent.”

There was a slight pause. “.... the killer fungus in Rome,” the robotic voice hesitantly answered. “Listen, Cioccolata and Secco are getting out of hand-”

“That’s an understatement,” Canella muttered, continuing to look into the file on Giorno. She was very intrigued with his stand power, the ability to give life to anything. Canella found an ability like that extraordinarily useful.

“Listen, I need you to send the Espionage Team to Rome right now,” the Boss demanded. “Get them to track down Buccellati’s crew while the chaos of Green Day is distracting them.”

“But sir, the Espionage Team is over in France right now,” Canella said. “We’ve finally cornered the leader of Vivante-”

“I need the team here now-”

“We’ve spent so many months tracking Falco down, we might not get an opportunity like this agai-”

“Find them a first flight over here then-”

“Boss, we believe Falco is working with another stand user, we have to get him while he’s separated-”

“Enough!” the robotic voice of the cut off the woman. “Do I need to remind you what your position within this organization is?” He waited a moment. “Well? What is your position?”

Canella took a deep breath. “The Boss’s messenger, sir.”

“And, what, pray tell, is my position?”

“... The Boss,” the woman frowned.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

“You are the Boss of Passione,” Canella spoke up.

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I have spoken,” the robotic voice continued. “Now, it is the messenger’s job to relay the message.”

“U-understood sir,” the woman’s voice trembled, but she quickly pushed that apprehension down. “I will look into flights immediately. But it will take them four… maybe five hours to get here-”

“Make it three.”

“Working on it,” Canella opened a tab on the computer to look into flights. Finding something so late notice was going to be difficult.

“In the meantime, I need you to head over to Rome as well,” the Boss continued.

“Wait, me?” her golden eyes widened.

“Correct, I need you to talk some sense into Cioccolata and Secco. Possibly subdue some of the traitors while you're at it.”

‘That’s far too dangerous,’ she thought. “With all due respect, I am not exactly a fighter-”

“From what I’ve heard, your words are your weapons,” the intimidatingly inhuman voice continued. “Unless, of course, you’re not as capable as I thought-”

“Alright, alright, I’ll head over there right away,” Canella rolled her eyes. She was always so sure to be careful, but now the Boss had gotten himself into a mess he couldn’t get himself out of. But, throughout every conflict, the woman found herself on the winning team, so, she had to believe she was on the victorious side.

The Boss continued to give orders as the messenger quickly went to make notes on the computer, accidentally clicking on C. Murolo’s email regarding Bruno’s crew. Once again, her attention was drawn to the new recruit, and Canella couldn’t help but read more on the Giovanna kid.

Defining Features: blond hair (used to be dark, reason for change unknown), green eyes, 172 centimeters tall-

“Now, you should be careful around Mista and Narancia,” the Boss explained. “They have range-”

Nationality: half English, half Japanese-

“Don’t reveal yourself as their enemy right away. Try to get in close before engaging-”

Birthmarks: five-pointed star located on the back left shoulder-

‘What?’ Canella though. ‘Did I read that correct?’

“Once you subdue them, one of my guard can dispatch the traitors-

Birthmarks: five-pointed star located on the back left shoulder

‘I know that mark…’

“Canella?” The deep voice waited for her reply. “Canella?”

‘A five-pointed star…’

“Canella, do you understand your task?” the voice commanded.

“You are going to lose,” Canella spoke up, with an icy tone to her voice.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

“You’re going to lose. As in you can’t win,” Canella clarified. “There’s no winning against these foes.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” the voice became enraged. “Need I remind you your position-”

“There’s no need, I quit,” the woman smirked. “I would typically send in my two weeks’ notice, but this is to be enacted immediately.”

“So, you fear the traitors more than you fear me?” the Boss scoffed. “That is a miscalculation on your end-”

“I can assure you, I’m not afraid,” she said. “I just don’t believe you can win, and I’d rather not stay on the losing side. So, I’m done.”

“So, you’re joining the traitors, then?” the Boss demanded.

“No, not quite, I’m staying out of this conflict,” Canella said, tone even and calm. “I am on my own side.”

“You don’t get to just walk away from all this. That’s not how Passione works,” the synthetic voice sneered. “You won’t get away with this. You will pay for this betrayal-”

“And who is going to enforce that order?” Canella stood up, finding her confidence. “Your elite guard? They are dwindling in numbers day by day. Possibly the infamous stand killer, Rigatoni? Oh, wait, he died in Venezia, didn’t he? Killing me sounds like the perfect job for the hitman team, except you mistreated them, and they rebelled against you. Not like they’d be useful, considering they’re dead as well.”

“Listen to me, woman. Set aside these foolish ideas of abandoning Passione, and I might forgive you,” the Boss threatened. “Believe me, you’d much rather me be your ally than adversary.”

“All of that is on the assumption you’ll be the victor in this conflict, which is debatable at best,” she sighed. “Even if you win, who would you send after me? You’ve run out of resources and rebuilding an empire after a coupe of this magnitude will take time… Unless, of course you come after me yourself. But you rule from the shadows, would you really risk your anonymity to punish me?”

“I have taken care of my enemies in the past. You will be no different.”

“Maybe… or, maybe you die tonight,” she said, opening up a tab on flights to France. “That’s what’s so great about the future, it’s so wonderfully malleable. Anyways, I must get going now-”

“Canella, don’t you dare hang up on m-”

Cliiiick!

“Ahhh,” Canella exhaled, hanging up her cell phone. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “I just quit the mob… over the phone. That. was. Amazing!” She smiled, selecting the next flight to France.

Once more, her cell phone rang, and for a moment, Canella was prepared to continue her shouting match with her former employer. Lucky for her, the number calling belonged to the Espionage Team.

“Hello Barracuda,” the woman answered the phone. “How did it go? …. Oh wow! You guys sure make fast work…. And Falco, he’s alive? …. Perfect. Listen, there’s been a slight change of plans… It’s dangerous to discuss over the phone. I’m getting on the next flight to France. I can explain everything in person then.”

******************************

Friday, April 6th, 2:15am, Lyon France

“Are you sure this is the right address? It doesn’t look like anyone is home, and this isn’t exactly the best neighborhood for a lady this time of night-”

“Oh, don’t you worry, darling. This is exactly where I need to be,” Canella said, getting out of the taxi.

“Seriously, there’s a nice hotel just a few blocks north from here-”

“I said don’t worry,” her eyes glowed a soft gold and she spoke more pointedly. “Here’s your money. You’ll find there is more than enough to cover my fare and a sizable tip for you. Now, leave me, and have a wonderful night.”

The cab driver immediately grinned, pocketing the money. “Will do,” he said, driving off.

Canella stood alone on the street corner, clutching her blazer for warmth. She crossed to what looked to be an abandoned hotel, lined with a chain link fence. She made her way through a hole in the fence and stood by the door, ready to knock-

“Ah, there you are, about damn time!” The door swung open, and Canella was greeted by a petite woman with dark hair, a beautiful evening gown, and light brown eyes. “We’ve been waiting for forever now!”

“It’s been a little under five hours since our last correspondence,” a man stepped toward the door, looking at his watch. He was slim with dark slicked back hair, and impeccable tuxedo, and grey eyes. He turned to his companion. “Barracuda here is just exaggerating-”

“BaRraCUda hEre Is jUsT ExagGerAtiNg,” the girl said in a nasally voice. “See, that’s how you sound!”

Canella couldn’t help but smile at the bickering duo. “Morrissey, Barracuda, it’s so nice to see you both again.”

“Likewise, Miss Mercury,” the man, Morrissey, said with a slight bow of his head.

“I’ve got to say, you two look impeccable,” Canella added, eyeing the pair’s attire. “I’m assuming you blended right in?”

“I swear, if one more man offers to buy me a drink, I’m gonna explode,” Barracuda grumbled. “Canella, can I please take off this ridiculous wig now?”

“Oh, of course,” Canella said, heading into the abandoned building, followed by the two spies.

Immediately, Barracuda tore off her wig of beautiful brown waves, to reveal her real style. Messy pink hair with the right side undercut. She threw the wig on the floor with a huff, excited to be free of the disguise. Morrissey, on the other hand, carefully removed his wig, to reveal his bright teal locks, slicked back much like his disguise.

“Ah, it feels so good to be outta that stupid wig,” Barracuda continued, ruffling her pink hair. “Can you believe they made me wear a dress for this mission? It’s ridiculous! You wouldn’t catch the hitman team disguising in a dumb dress-”

“Well, they’re all dead now,” Canella shrugged. “So, you wouldn’t catch them in anything.”

The pair stopped in their tracks.

“They’re what now?” Morrissey asked.

“We’re undercover for three months and the whole hitman team died? I miss all the fun stuff…” Barracuda rolled her eyes.

“I suppose there is a lot I need to catch you up on,” Canella tapped her cheek with a thoughtful look. “Now where to start…. So, Polpo died. The Boss had a daughter. La Squadra Di Esecuzione were all killed by Buccellati’s crew. Rome is on fire. I’m technically a traitor now. Oh, and there was a plane crash by Sardinia-”

“I’m sorry… what?” Morrissey didn’t look any less confused. “Could you please elaborate?”

“Holy shit!” Barracuda interjected with a gasp. “The Boss had sex?!”

“What, no,” Morrissey sighed. “That’s not the iss-”

“Oh yeah, how do you explain the daughter then?”

“Canella, could you please explain what’s going on?”

“Well, I’m assuming the Boss had sex at some point,” Canella answered casually.

Morrissey narrowed his eyes, to which the orange haired woman laughed. “Truth be told, I don’t believe the Boss can survive the current conflict he’s engaged in. The whole situation is exceedingly… messy. And I am not his maid. So, I left Passione. I figure I’ve spent too long working for weak minded men, and it’s about time I start working for myself.” Canella’s shoulders dropped slightly; her eyes downcast. “I came here to start up my own group, and I would like you both to join me. I understand this is a lot to ask for from you. So, please, take as much time as you nee-”

“I’m in!” Barracuda raised her hand instantly.

“Oh… uh, are you sure you don’t need any more time to reflect on that decision?” Canella politely offered.

“Nah, so long as you don’t make me where a stupid dress like the last Boss, I’m in,” the petit woman beamed. “Also, could I be an assassin? There’s not enough action as a stupid spy.”

“Oh… of course,” Canella nodded, still surprised at how quickly the spy joined her. “No more dressed for our best assassin-”

“Yes!” Barracuda punched the air with excitement.

“So… you’re asking us to choose sides then, between you and the Boss? No, between you and all of Passione?” Morrissey asked, not nearly as enthusiastic as his partner.

“It sounds bad if you put it like that,” Canella said, a bit apprehensive. “But, in so many words, you will have to choos-”

“Alright, I’m in as well,” the man shrugged.

The rest were silent, waiting for his reasoning. “It just makes sense,” he said. “I don’t know anything about the Boss. It’s likely he doesn’t actually care about us. But we know you Canella. You are the one to properly utilize our team and remember our birthdays. So, if I am to choose between the two, I guess I am a traitor as well… Plus, I’m like, 90% of Barracuda's impulse control.”

“That’s true!” the girl piped up.

Canella smiled, not expecting such loyalty out right. “Today is going to be a good day, I can just feel it!”

“So… What do we do now...Boss?” Barracuda tilted her head, her pink locks falling in front of her face.

“Bring me to Falco,” she said, taking a moment to react to her new title. “And, please, just call me Canella.”

The trio headed down the stairs to the abandoned underground parking garage.

“Due to his range with the stand, we had to subdue the leader of Vivante over here,” Morrissey explained as they headed to the dimly lit garage. “He’s bound in the center there, and the thick concrete walls will keep his stand contained. However,…” he held up a pair of safety goggles and handed them to Canella. “You may want these to block out the effects of his stand. Just in case.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be just fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Barracuda said, grabbing a pair of goggles. In complete unison, Morrissey and Barracuda put their goggles on, and followed behind Canella.

The smell of must and mold was strong in the garage, as it had been years since it was properly used. Multiple pillars kept the structure aloft, with only one working overhead light. Situated directly beneath the light, chained up to one of the pillars was the barely conscious Falco. The man looked severely beaten, his left eye was closed from his black eye, bruises and cuts littering his body, blood staining his white leather jacket. With his good eye, he looked up to see a woman in a beautiful turquoise sundress approaching him.

“I see my associates roughed you up quite a bit,” Canella said, continuing to get closer to the bound man. “I apologize if they took it a bit too far-”

“So… Passione sent you here to finish the job, right?” Falco asked, coughing a little.

Canella remained silent, walking towards the man without hesitation.

“I hope you know,” the Frenchman said, shadows billowing behind him. “I’m not going down without a fight! Papaoutai!”

With that, the shadows formed into a dark humanoid figure, appearing like a willowy specter with gouged out eyes, and long sharp claws. While it’s user was bound, the stand was still able to move freely in its range, and, instantly, the phantom darted to Canella prepared to attack. Papaoutai lunged at the woman, slashing with its long appendages.

“Nirvana.”

The attack was stopped midair, a slender golden arm blocking the specter. Slowly, the rest of Canella’s stand materialized. Three pairs of thin golden arms and long golden legs floated detached from the purple and blue swirled body, its head a miniature sun, completely illuminating the darkened room.

“Merde,” Falco mumbled. “Do all you Passione underlings have stands? That’s just not fair.”

Papaoutai swung towards Nirvana, unleashing an animalistic attack with its claw like fingers. Yet, even with the clear rage fueling Falco’s attacks, Papaoutai was unable to land a hit on Nirvana. Considering the bright golden stand had three sets of arms, it was all too easy for Nirvana to deflect and maneuver out of the way of the strikes. Yet, oddly enough, Nirvana never fought back, even though it had plenty of opportunity to.

Canella seemed completely unconcerned with her adversary, and had Nirvana cross all three sets of arms, letting Papaoutai land a hit.

TWACK

The specter like figure punched the woman’s stand right in its sun like head, and likewise, Canella felt the punch impact her face. “Interesting,” she mused, wiping the blood off the corner of her mouth. Upon seeing their superior hurt, both Morrissey and Barracuda ran to Cannella’s sides, flanking their boss, ready to help fight. But, Canella shook her head, signaling the two to stay out of it.

Papaoutai went in for another attack-

“That’s enough. Withdraw your stand,” Canella interrupted, the light from Nirvana pulsating. Immediately, Papaoutai vanished, much to Falco’s surprise. Canella continued walking towards her apprehended foe. “The stand seems to possess about… average strength. Nothing too impressive in physical combat, however, that isn’t your specialty, correct?”

“Wha-What did you do right there?” Falco stammered, struggling against his restraints.

“But, I suppose physical strength isn’t always the most valuable,” Canella continued. “I’ll admit, on its own Nirvana isn’t very strong. But, that’s why I always ensure I’m never alone.”

“So that’s your power then, making other people obey your orders?” the Frenchman demanded.

“Hmmm, not quite. Anyone can follow orders,” Canella turned to the two spies behind her. “Morrissey, Barracuda, would you mind doing some push-ups for our friend here?”

With a nod, the pair dropped to the floor, displaying perfect form push-ups for no apparent reason.

“Good, now jumping jacks.”

Immediately, the pair got up from their position on the floor and started to do jumping jacks.

“Stop,” Canella said.

The pair returned to their normal standing positions.

“That right there wasn’t any kind of power, those were just orders,” Canella said with a smile. “Anyone can issue a command, and anyone can follow it. What’s important is to surround yourself with friends, who will want to do as you say. And I believe you and I can become very good friends.”

“Unlikely,” Falco spat. “I’d never work with you Passione gangsters.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m no longer in Passione,” she said. “If I was, well, you would probably already be dead. However, la familia is very… unstable at the moment. There’s a good chance the Boss won’t live to see next week, and even if he does, so many in the organization have already died or are traitors.”

“So… you’re abandoning ship?” Falco looked perplexed.

“And, why would I stay and sink?” Canella tilted her head. “I have bigger plans, and I would like for you to join me. Tell me, what do you want?”

“I want to destroy Passione,” Falco said, without skipping a beat.

“Vengeance. A simple motive, but achievable,” Canella said. “I’m not sure how much more Passione will be left to destroy after this coup, but I will assist you with this goal. What say you? Would you like to work for me? You’re a very talented man, and it’d be a shame to let your abilities go to waste.”

The man took a moment to compose his thoughts. “So long as Passione falls, I’ll follow you,” he said, significantly calmer than before.

With that, Canella closed the distance, and began to unlock her former adversary from his restraints. While most would be hesitant to work with the enemy so quickly, the woman appeared completely confident and unconcerned, as if she knew for a fact this man was now her ally, her friend. This confused the man.

“And you.. What is it you want?” Falco asked, stumbling away from the pillar, finally free.

“Machiavelli once asked is it better to be feared or loved,” Canella explained. “The Boss of Passione ruled by fear, but, once that fear faded, there was nothing to keep his subordinates loyal to him. I can assure you, I will be a much different leader from the previous ruler of Passione.”

“So… you want to be loved?” Falco asked.

“No,” Canella shook her head, and with a grin, began to walk away. “You’re thinking too small. I want to be adored.”

Chapter Text

November 2nd, 1995, Naples Italy

A young girl with bright green hair dragged her feet through the streets of Naples, one hand holding onto her backpack, the other hand holding her little brother’s hand. The girl looked to be about ten years old, her brother looked to be about five or six. The pair had just gotten out of their classes and were walking back home.

The scent of dolci dei morti, sweets of the dead, filled the air, and the younger child’s stomach rumbled. The girl looked down to her brother, seeing he was clearly hungry. “Hey, Vino, don’t worry,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure mom has made us something nice for dinner tonight.”

The boy stayed silent as they trudged through the street, passing by a street vender selling the delicious smelling sweets of the dead. These treats were customary for All Souls Day, a nice way to commemorate those who had passed on. The boy, Vino, couldn’t help but look at the brightly colored biscuits, shaped like bones and skulls.

“Oh, I got to tie my shoe,” the girl said, letting go of Vino’s hand. “You go on ahead, I’ll catch up in a minute.” She bent over to tie her shoe right next to the display of desserts, as her younger brother continued.

After a minute, the girl caught up. “Hey there!” she grabbed his hand once more, as she shifted her backpack, discreetly pulling out one of the dolci dei morti. “I got this for you.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “How did you get it, sis?”

“Let’s just say, I have my ways,” the girl said with a grin.

“Thank you, Bibita,” the boy said, immediately taking a bite out of the treat.

“Don’t worry about it,” the young Bibita shrugged, picking up her pace a bit. “Hey, let's walk a little faster, okay bro?”

The pair quickly turned the corner, out of sight from the street vendor, who had just noticed his display of the treats of the dead were one short.

Bibita and Vino made it to their house, the simple building was in the lower income area of Naples. The boy immediately ran to their room, to discard his backpack, meanwhile, the girl walked to the kitchen to greet her mom, who was hard at work cooking. The woman looked to be in her early thirties and had brown hair and the same shade of bright pink eyes as the daughter. She was busy cooking store-bought spaghetti, the cheap kind, and already had tomato sauce splattered on her nursing scrubs.

“Hello Bibita,” her mother said, exasperated. “Would you mind grabbing the garlic bread from the oven for me? Mommy has her hands full with the pasta.”

Bibita nodded, setting her backpack on the kitchen counter, as she retrieved the only slightly burnt bread. “The food smells really good,” Bibita said, with a fake smile.

“No, it doesn’t. You’re lying,” the mom narrowed her eyes, stirring the pasta. “What’s up? You only lie-compliment when you're trying to cover up something…. Didn’t you have a math test today?”

Bibita frowned and handed her mother a paper from her backpack.

The mom studied the paper. “Only sixty percent… Bibi, you can do better than this,” she sighed. “Why do you have little doodles on the page?”

“I… I ran out of time and didn’t want to leave the page blank,” the girl stammered.

“Oh, that’s great,” the mother rolled her eyes, preparing the plates for dinner. “And tell me, in your art classes, are you solving your multiplication tables when you should be drawing?”

“I’m not dumb,” Bibita said, tired of this conversation. This was not the first time her mother got upset with her grades this school year. “I just get distracted sometimes. But I’m not dumb!”

“I know that Bibi, and that’s why I get so upset,” the woman said, in a kinder tone. “You clearly know the math in the questions you managed to answer. You just need to concentrate more. I’m paying good money to send you and Vino to school, and it isn’t easy to pay for all of that myself since…”

“Since dad died. I know, I know,” Bibita finished the thought.

“...Right,” the mother looked lost in thought, as she shook her head and returned her focus to the spaghetti. “Dinner will be ready soon. Let Vino know.”

Bibita reluctantly nodded, and headed towards her and her brother’s shared room, and got ready for dinner. In a few moments, the pair were ready, and sat down at the dining room table. A bright yellow chrysanthemum was the only decoration set at the table, as four plates of spaghetti and garlic bread soon greeted the children. Their mother joined them, and each of the family members took a plate, leaving one extra plate, situated where their father would have been seated.

Silently, the three ate their food, Vino, in particular, shoveled all the food as quickly as he could, finishing the meal in moments. He sat quietly, as the ladies continued eating, until he finally broke the silence. “Mom… why is there less food than normal today?”

“Vino, sweety, mommy gets paid next week, so we’ll just have to make do,” the mother explained.

“I’m still hungry, could I have seconds?” he asked.

“Sorry, we don’t have extras today,” she said, unable to make eye contact with her hungry child. “But I’ll tell you what, next paycheck, I’ll buy you some gelato. One scoop, of whatever flavor you want!”

The boy smiled at the prospect of a delicious frozen dessert, but soon his stomach grumbled, and the smile faded.

Bibita stopped her eating, noticing the full plate of untouched spaghetti at their father’s section of the table. She reached over and passed the plate to her brother.

“Bibita, what are you doing?” her mother demanded.

“Vino’s still hungry. There’s food right there,” Bibita explained.

“That is set aside to honor the dead,” the mother said. “This is the day the souls of the departed return to Earth. We need to make sure your father has a plate set up if he returns.”

“But… he’s dead,” Bibita said dryly. “He can’t eat. We’re alive. We can eat.”

“Bibita, don’t speak like that,” the mother raised her voice.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” the girl continued. “You’re always telling us not to waste food, but thats exactly what you’re doing-”

“No, this is tradition! We have always done this for generatio-”

“Dad’s gone. He abandoned us,” Bibita said coldly. “The dead shouldn’t get our food while Vino here is starving. He’s never going to grow with his current diet-”

“Enough!” the mom yelled, her eyes watering. Though he had died months ago, the wound of her husband’s death was still fresh, and Mrs. Bianche was still processing being a single mother. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “Put the plate down, and drop the subject, young lady.”

Bibita looked to her mom, and then to her brother. Apprehensively, she set down the plate for the dead, and returned to her meal. With all the fighting, the girl had lost her appetite. “Here,” the girl said to her brother. “You can have the rest of mine… I’m not hungry anymore-”

“Bibita, don’t be dramatic, and eat your food,” the mother sighed.

“But he needs more food, mom. If you can’t get him enough food, then I will-”

“Do you think all this is easy?” the mother stood up gesturing to the entire room. “Raising two kids? Working double shifts? Paying for all this all by myself? This stuff isn’t easy, okay! I’m trying my best here. Please, just eat your food.”

Bibita wrinkled her nose. “I’m not hungry. So, either Vino could eat my portion, or dad’s ghost can. I mean, he’s already taken so much from us already. What’s another plate of spaghetti on top of it?”

“That’s it!” The mother was shaking, tears falling onto her cheeks. “Go to your room young lady!”

Without saying a word, Bibita stood up and pushed in her chair. She patted her brother’s shoulder, and silently crossed to her room, and slammed the door.

Once in the shared room, she finally broke down, unable to contain her emotions. She saw a picture of her, Vino and her father at a park, taken years ago. In her rage, she threw the picture, cracking the glass. Immediately, Bibita hated what she’d done, but she didn’t know where to direct these emotions. Her family was struggling enough as is, they couldn’t afford her temper tantrums. That’s when she came to her conclusion.

She emptied out her backpack from school supplies, and filled it with clothes, toiletries, and other supplies she might need. She went into her nightstand, and retrieved a small switchblade, one of the few things her father left her when he died. She pocketed the blade and looked out to the setting sun.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she said to herself, opening the window to the outside. “And, without me, mom will have one less expense to worry about.” She pushed herself onto the window ledge and hopped outside.

“Besides,” she muttered, heading off to the streets of Naples. “Things will be better this way… for everyone.”

***************************************

November 2nd, 2001, Vernazza Italy

Five colorful chrysanthemums sat at the center of the tiny wooden table. Each one of them to reflect on a teammate the girl had lost. Almost seven months had passed since Bibita’s world was shattered. But all that was behind her now. She had forged a new life for herself at one of the beautiful coastal towns of Cinque Terre under her new name, Cola.

While Bibita wore formal business attire and laundered money for an underground criminal organization, Cola wore more casual outfits, and worked at a street vendor, selling her art to tourists and locals. Bibita shared a decent sized town house in Rome, while Cola rented a small room on a vineyard overlooking the town below. The girl had gone out of her way to get off the grid, and make an honest living for herself, away from the dangers and heartbreak of mafioso life.

Cola loaded her wagon with all her art supplies, ready for her daily trek up and down the hill to town. She wore a tight black jumpsuit with holes cut into the knees and sides of her waist. On top of the spandex bodysuit, she sported denim shorts, combat boots, and a short grey hoodie with pink paint splattered all over. Two braids pulled the left side of the bright green hair off her face, while the right side of her hair was left wild and free, creating a very asymmetric look.

“Early day today, Cola?” the woman who owned the vineyard asked, as Cola started her journey down the hill.

“Hey, I have to pay rent somehow,” Cola joked, waving to the sweet old lady. “Would you like me to pick you up something from town?”

“Oh, if they’re selling any dolci dei morti down there could you pick me up a couple?”

“Consider it done,” the teenage girl responded with a smile.

Cola began her walk down the hill, with a stone wall bordering the edge of the vineyard, and she looked over Vernazza. From up there, she had the best view of the coastal town, the yellow salmon and orange colored buildings looking like a pastel sunset over the gorgeous Mediterranean. Most tourists did not know to head uphill for the birds’ eye view of the surrounding area, but after months of living there, Cola had found the best spots.

Cola walked down the steep steps, passing by a couple wandering stray cats on her way down the hill. Once she was down the hill, surrounded by brightly colored buildings, Cola made a quick stop to buy some chrysanthemums from a florist infamous for singing opera whenever he worked. After she had a decent number of flowers in her wagon, she continued her journey finding a relatively empty section in the promenade overlooking the town’s makeshift docks. While there were no cars or large thoroughfares in the town, Cola still had to keep an eye out for children on their bicycles. But, other than the occasional scuffed knee and yelling tween, life in Vernazza was beautiful and simple.

“Cola’s Creations” the sign read as the girl set up shop next to a fruit stand, with a view of the tourist filled boat heading into the town. During the Summer, Cinque Terre generated huge crowds of tourists, but by this time of year, the crowds had died down a bit. Either way, there were always enough people to sell her art to, as she greeted the tourists entering the coastal town.

The first hour of work passed by quick, selling a few paintings, handing out chrysanthemums for those mourning loved ones, and taking commissions for future works. Cola put on her little gasmask as she started spray painting a blank canvas, entertaining a small crowd which had gathered around to see her art in work. After she finished her spray-painted canvas, and sold the work to one of the passersby, the small crowd dispersed, leaving only two individuals standing before Cola.

The girl had dark skin, brown hair tied into three long braids, and a large scar over her eye. She appeared to be in more summer attire, with a brightly colored bikini under loose fitting dance attire. She looked more like a belly dancer than a tourist, however, her icy expression did not seem to fit in with the rest of the crowd.

She was accompanied by a young man with golden blond hair, with his bangs neatly curled into three buns, the rest of his locks tied together in a single braid. He wore a very nice black suit with three little green ladybug broaches pinned on his shirt. He appeared significantly less intense than the girl. The pair looked closer at Cola’s artwork.

“Hi there,” Cola greeted the newcomers, removing her gasmask, setting it on a side table. “How could I help you today?”

The girl in the dance attire focused her gaze on the chrysanthemums. “How much for one of those?”

Cola shrugged. “Typically, a couple euro… but considering the day, I’m selling them two for a euro.”

The girl nodded, handing the artist a coin in exchange for a flower.

“Oh, uh, you actually get two… you forgot one.”

The girl simply turned away with her one chrysanthemum. “I only need one.” She turned her attention to the young man she traveled with. “I’m gonna walk around a bit. Do a little sightseeing. I’ll be close by.”

And with that, the teenage girl walked further into the town, leaving Cola and the young man relatively alone. The blonde man looked contemplative as he perused all the different art on display. “Buon Giorno,” he said with a smile. “This is all really great work… tell me, how do you make such precise art with spray paints? That seems really difficult.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t easy,” Cola said, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. “Luckily, I’ve had a lot of experience with spray cans. But there’s a lot of useful tricks out there. For example-” she pulled out a deck of cards from her back pocket. “A simple card like this can help create precise lines and borders.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “On your sign, it says to take commissions. How long does that usually take?”

“It depends on the piece, but, typically a couple of days,” she shrugged. “I usually just offer that for the locals, since tourists may be gone before the painting is ready.” She looked at the well-dressed teenager, figuring he probably had a lot of money on him. “... But, if you're interested in a commissioned piece I can try to get it finished before you guys head back.”

“Oh, there’s no rush,” he said. “We’ll be here as long as we need to be. But I would love a custom painting, if you aren’t too busy.”

Cola took out her notebook, as the pair discussed pricing, style, and other logistics of the commission. “All in all, this would be your total,” she handed him a receipt.

“Wow, that’s actually lower than I expected,” he said.

“If that’s the case, I could always add a few dozen euro to the price,” she joked.

“Nope, I’m good with the current price!”

“Good,” Cola said, setting up an area to sketch and take notes. “Plus, that isn’t factoring tips. Now, what can I make for you?”

“I would like a painting of a fishing dock at around sunset,” the young man explained. “With a little boy waving to one of the ships.”

The imagery sounded familiar to Cola, but she shrugged it off. A lot of Italy’s coast was known for its fishing-based economy, so someone wanting a picture like that wasn’t too farfetched.

“Easy enough,” the girl said with a smile. “I can get that done by tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

“Take as much time as you need,” the blond man said, turning to take in the scenery. “One could get used to a beautiful coast like this.”

“I know, it’s like I live in a fancy postcard now!”

“So, did you grow up here?” the young man asked.

“No, I grew up…” she stopped, not wanting to reveal too much. “Let’s just say I moved around a lot. But, since moving here, things have been a lot simpler.”

“I can imagine, great view, pleasant locals, and so off the grid,” he returned his focus to the artist. “Someone could just move here and start a new life. Small quiet town like this is the perfect place to hide in paradise.”

“Yeah… I suppose,” Cola was quieter.

“And starting up a little small business like this is great with all the tourists,” he continued. “A cash-based industry like that has to be great when it comes to laundering money. It would be so easy to slip in whatever dirty money you had with the legitimate money. Especially when there was never a set price on your product-”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cola said calmly, playing dumb. “Laundry-ing money? Is that like throwing euros in a washing machine to clean them?”

The boy raised his brows. “No… it’s a different way of cleaning money. I apologize for my odd train of thought.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Cola shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve heard weirder things from the tourists on a daily basis.”

“So, how long have you lived here?” the boy asked, continuing the conversation despite the girl’s lack of interest.

“Uh… This summer, or spring,” she deflected. “I can’t remember-”

“Where were you April fourth this year?” the blond narrowed his eyes.

“T-that’s oddly specific-”

“There was a fire in a business building in Rome near the Piazza del Popolo, killing four people-”

“Let’s change the subject, pleas-”

“-but there were apparently five people working at the business-”

“I really should get back to work-”

“- so, people are wondering what happened to that fifth person-”

“Enough,” Cola said sternly. “This conversation is over, mister…”

“My name is Giorno Giovanna,” the young man said, a glint of determination in his eyes. “And we still have a lot of questions for you, Bibita Bianche.”

***********************************************************************************************************

Bibita Bianche

Chapter Text

The first week of April 2001 changed a lot of people’s lives in Passione, especially for Bibita. Within the span of just a few days, she went from a happy worker within the Financial Division, to a girl utterly alone and scared. It was a good thing she left Rome when she did, as she’d heard the day after the massacre of her team, an odd mold spread through the city like wildfire, killing or injuring hundreds of Roman citizens. Bibita always figured that was connected to the internal war of Passione. Part of her was glad she’d left Rome when she did, but she hated the situation that led her out of the city.

A few weeks later, the mysterious Boss of Passione officially stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to his gang. Oddly enough, the Boss was just a sixteen-year-old kid by the name of Giorno Giovanna, and he claimed the reason he’d finally made his identity known was because the fighting within Passione had caused too many civilian casualties.

Bibita, however, was suspicious of the Boss’s true motives. If he really was as terrible as Risotto described, she did not want to take her chances reentering Passione. And, with her team dead, and the Napoli crew traitors, she had no one in the gang, no reason to continue her life of organized crime. So, she took the money Risotto left for her, and traveled to Cinque Terre to start a new life, removing herself from the gang entirely.

Or, at least, she thought she had.

She was always very careful to cover her tracks and avoid any kind of paper trail. She strategically chose Vernazza to avoid her old life. She even changed her name and was starting an honest living. And yet, somehow even after all those added precautions, the Boss of Passione had found her.

‘If the Boss finds what happened to the Financial Division, you being the only survivor will certainly look suspicious, and we all know what he does to traitors.’

Risotto’s warning echoed in her head. The blond man standing before her was the ruthless leader of the gang, responsible for so much death and cruelty.

“My name is Giorno Giovanna,” the young man said, a glint of determination in his eyes. “And we still have a lot of questions for you, Bibita Bianche.”

There was a long silence, as the girl going by the name of Cola froze. Her cover was blown, and the worst possible scenario she imagined was playing out right before her. Bibita put on a fake smile, as a chill ran down her spine.

“Scuzi, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she said, turning her attention to her art supplies. “You must have the wrong woma-”

“Your real name is Bibita,” Giorno took a step towards her, only the little foldable table between the two. “You joined Passione in January of 1999. You were hired into the Financial Division to launder money for the gang. In April, there was a fire in the offices of the Financial Division, killing four. A good sum of money was either destroyed or stolen. We were hoping you might have some… insight on that incident.”

“You, sir, have a very active imagination,” Bibita sighed, grabbing a canvas and spray canister to begin a new painting. “But, if you are not going to purchase, I’m going to have to ask you to leav-”

“Where were you April fourth this year?” Giorno demanded. “This is my second time asking, and I hate repeating myself. I find repetition utterly useless. Now… will I have to repeat myself a third time-”

Pfsssss

Bibita interrupted the young man with a swift spray to the face with one of her paint canisters. The attack was too quick for Giorno to avoid, as he barely had time to shield his face with his arms. Bright blue spray paint stained his pristine suit, but, surprisingly, none of the paint reached his face. However, in the moment he took his eyes off the girl, Bibita made a break for it, darting further into town.

Pink. Orange. Yellow. Teal. Bibita sprinted past the bright colored buildings, escape was the only clear thought in her head. She needed to get away from the Don of Passione. She had no clear destination, she just needed to get away.

The girl with the dance attire and three braids soon noticed Bibita running away, and soon gave chase after her.

‘Shit!’ Bibita thought. ‘She must be one of Giorno’s lackeys. How many others has he brought along with him?’

The other girl was far more graceful and agile than Bibita, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would catch up with her. “Blink-182!” two multicolored spray paint canisters appeared in Bibita’s hands.

Pfsssss

She activated the right canister, spraying the ground behind her. The green mist condensed to form dozens of little marbles. The marbles scattered across the street, and Bibita’s pursuer had a difficult time traveling, almost slipping on the marbles.

By the time the mysterious braided lady found her footing, Bibita had turned the corner heading into a nearby alley way. Without hesitation, she followed her green haired target, rushing to catch up. Yet, right when she turned the corner, she plummeted, falling into a hole undoubtedly created by Bibita’s stand.

The teen in the dance attire climbed out of the hole she fell into, and looked around for the girl she was after, but noticed the previously empty alleyway was now closed off, a new wall suddenly appearing. The girl gave a sigh, as she reached for a walkie talkie. “I’m sorry, Giorno. I’ve lost visual on the target.”

“Don’t worry Sheila E.” Giorno’s voice responded back on the device. “I’m on it.”

Bibita had traveled a good distance further into town, away from the oceanside promenade, but she was far from at ease. She could still hear footsteps chasing after her. She briefly looked over her shoulder and noticed the Boss of Passione was still pursuing her. ‘If we keep up this footrace, he’ll eventually catch up,’ Bibita thought, looking up towards the top of the skyline of the town. ‘It’s time I started thinking in three dimensions!’

Bibita brandished her right canister, creating stair steps out of thin air. Blink-182 swiftly made a makeshift escape for the girl on the side of one of the pastel buildings. For every step she took up the stairs, the previous step would revert to air, ensuring her pursuer had no way of following her up the building.

Bibita ducked out of her way of laundry strung up between two buildings, air drying in the temperate Italian sun. She glanced back to the blond man, who had just arrived at the building she was climbing, but he had no easy route up the building.

‘He’ll have to go inside, and use the stairs in there,’ Bibita rationalized, hopping on the roof of the building. Her heart pounded with adrenaline as she took a moment to catch her breath. ‘Good… I can use this time to formulate some kind of plan-’

Creeeeeeek

Her thoughts of escape were interrupted by an odd sound of shifting wood. She turned around and saw a large tree, seemingly growing at an accelerated pace. That tree wasn’t there a minute earlier, as Bibita had made sure there was no easy way for the Boss to follow her. And yet, sitting atop the growing tree was none other than Giorno Giovanna.

“Oh, come on!” Bibita mumbled, still out of breath. She turned on her heel, ready to sprint off to the neighboring building, only to find Sheila E. scaling the side of the building. The braided teen seemed to create her own footholds in the wall, an ability undoubtedly tied to her stand. Now, both Giorno and Sheila were on the rooftop with Bibita. She was surrounded.

“We just have a few questions for you,” Giorno explained calmly. “There is no need for this situation to escalate.”

But, Bibita couldn’t listen to his words. All she could hear was Risotto’s warnings about the Boss, and she remembered the messages the mysterious ruler of Passione had left for his subordinates. Her fear combined with the intense glare Sheila E. was giving her made it difficult for Bibita not to be paranoid.

“Now,” Giorno said, approaching the girl, his action mirrored by Sheila E. “I will ask a third time… Where were you April fourth thi-”

As he spoke, Bibita clenched her eyes shut, and shifted into her gaseous state. Suddenly, as Giorno and Sheila approached their target, Bibita vanished, a soft wind carrying her cloud form away from the building.

“So… she can just evaporate now?” Sheila E. tilted her head with confusion. “That’s a thing she can do?”

“Certainly, looks that way,” Giorno said, walking along the perimeter of the roof. “Could you still track her down?”

Sheila E. took a moment to close her eyes and smell the air around them. “It’s difficult to say. With her in a gaseous state, her scent ends here. I may have to wait for her to solidify to find her trail again.”

“Alright then,” Giorno said, scoping out the town. “She can’t have gone too far. We’ll split up to look for her.”

Sheila gave a terse nod and jumped gracefully to the next building. Meanwhile, Giorno made his way back over to Bibita’s little art shop to look for any kind of a lead.

*******************************

“Train departing in two minutes! I repeat, train to Cornglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore departing in two minutes!” the conductor's voice boomed, alerting the crowd at the station of the southbound train out of Vernazza. Typically, the best way to travel between the five coastal towns was to walk the trail or take the local train if you were in a rush… which was exactly what Bibita was.

The girl has solidified already on the train, avoiding leaving any kind of trail, and also avoiding having to buy a ticket. Bibita was confident she’d lost her pursuers for at least the time being. Now, all she had to do was get to the southernmost town, Riomaggiore, and get on a connecting train out of Cinque Terre, and then…

‘And then what?’ Bibita though, clanging out the window as the train departed from the station. ‘Where do I go from here? Passione never had a stronghold here, and they still found me. No matter where I go in Italy, they’ll find me.’

She realized she’d never be safe from Passione, at least, not in Italy anyways. She began to study the scenery as the train pulled out of the station, knowing this may be her last time to take in the Italian coastline.

“Mmmrow!”

The soft mewing of a cat dragged Bibita’s attention away from the picturesque view. A small Calico cat had somehow found its way onto the train, and while cats were all too common within Cinque Terre, finding one on the public train was a little unusual.

The orange and black speckled cat walked through the train compartment, looking at each of the passengers, as if it were trying to find its owner. The cat dodged the occasional child trying to pet it, or the ruder passengers trying to shoo it away. The little cat stopped right in front of Bibita, as if it knew her.

“Hey there, little guy,” Bibita said with a disheartened smile. “You feeling lost too?”

The cat jumped onto Bibita’s lap and began to purr. The girl was taken aback by the feline’s friendly behavior, but the cat did help cheer her up. Bibita pet the animal, scratching behind its ears, much to the cat’s enjoyment.

The cat looked up to the green haired girl, and curled up onto her lap, much like how any cat would with their owner. However, it then shifted colors, its fur darkening suddenly, with bright streaks of green and blue appearing. The cat’s form folded in on itself, the soft fur soon replaced with shiny plastic, and it soon lost all its feline features entirely. Before Bibita knew it, the cat had transformed into a little gasmask, the exact same one she had left at her little art shop back in Vernazza.

“What the-” Bibita covered her mouth with her hand, fighting the urge to scream.

“Life giver,” a voice said matter of factly. “Or, the ability to imbue life to nonliving materials. Turning your gasmask into a kitten was an easy way to find you, as the object is connected to you, and will always return to its owner.”

Bibita looked up to see Giorno Giovanna approaching her. He must have followed the cat he created and got on the train right before it departed. Bibita’s heartbeat faster, a slight tremble to her hands. She realized she would have to fight her way out of the situation.

“I only tell you this in case you attempt to run away,” Giorno said with a cold indifference. “We’ll find you. So, you’d save us all a lot of trouble if you just follow our instructions and answer a few questions for us.”

Bibita stumbled to her feet, backing away from Passione’s Don. The train slowed its pace, entering the town of Cornglia. The doors of the train car opened, as the Conductor proudly announced the stop.

A few people shifted, but Bibita didn’t want to drag anyone else into Passione’s mess. “Everyone get off the train, now!” she demanded, readying Blink-182. “You’re all in danger, leave now!”

“But, that’s not our stop,” a middle-aged mother interjected. “My family is heading to Riomaggio-”

“I don’t give a shit about your family va-cay! Okay?” Bibita shouted, creating a gun with her stand. “Now, everyone. Leave!”

Sure enough, everyone in the train car exited, leaving only Bibita and Giorno in the compartment. Giorno raised a brow, watching the cart empty. “Smart move,” he said, as the train began to move again. “Not to get the others involved… But I take it that means you don’t intend to just answer questions.”

Bibita did not answer the Boss, already too busy plotting her next move. She didn’t have time to waste on a response. She held onto both canisters of Blink-182, akin to how a cowboy might ready his pistols in one of those old Western movies. She didn’t know what kind of stand Giorno had, but the fact he sat atop Passione had to mean he was powerful. She had to be smart moving forward. Bibita charged to the blond man, who almost seemed to glimmer a soft gold, undoubtedly summoning his stand.

“Blink-182!” she cried, spraying both canisters at the same time, creating shifting rainbow fog between her and Giorno.

When the blond man took a step toward the girl in the fog, his foot didn’t find purchase, and instead fell through the floor. “What the-” he immediately jerked his body to the side to avoid falling out of the moving train, as once the fog cleared, he could clearly see the girl had created a large hole in the vehicle. Even odder than what her stand had erased, was what the stand left behind, as Blink-182 created a whimsical archway, acting as a bridge from one side of the cart to the other.

Bibita leapt from the bridge she created, landing on the other side of Giorno, leaving the Boss of Passione stuck between a hole in the train, and the renegade stand user.

“Just leave me alone,” Bibita said, both canisters facing the Boss. Though her eyes were determined, staring down her enemy, there was no hiding her fear, as she couldn’t keep her hands from shaking. “Let me go, and I’ll stay out of Passione’s hair forever.”

“You… you really don’t want to fight, do you?” Giorno took a step towards her, and on trembling legs, Bibita retreated. “Believe it or not, I’d rather not fight as well. So, just come with us, and answer some questions-”

“I bet you said the same thing to Sorbet and Gelato,” Bibita interrupted, steadying her stance. “Right before you had them killed!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Giorno said in an even tone, attempting to deescalate the situation. “Now, call back your stand, and we can have a nice conversatio-”

Fffwooshhhhh

Bibita sprayed both canisters again, filling the space with brightly colored mist. This time, Giorno wouldn’t repeat his first mistake and charge in without thinking. He instead, waited for the fog to clear before proceeding after his target. Something appeared to be forming through the mist-

Thwack!

Giorno was punched point blank from the cloud-like form in front of him, knocking him off his feet, and sending him toward the gaping hole in the train car.

“Gold Experience!” The Boss shouted, as a set of incorporeal arms reached out for the sides of the hole, barely avoiding plummeting out of the moving vehicle.

“Little Windmill,” Bibita breathed, summoning her full stand to face her enemy. The blond man got his footing, and stared into the mist, watching the gas mask wearing genie-like stand consolidate before him. Without warning, the stand flew towards the Boss, readying a barrage of punches.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Little Windmill pelted Giorno with its punches, however, the golden arms of his stand easily countered each of its attacks. Once he got his bearings, the ornate golden arms threw a right hook right at the renegade stand.

Swooosh

Yet, his punch passed through its form, the stand losing its tangibility, returning to the air.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Swooosh

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Swooosh

The pattern of attacks continues for a few moments, Little Windmill going on the offensive before reverting to an intangible state to avoid Giorno’s counterattack. However, without the open air to help bolster its strength and speed, Little Windmill’s pattern was all too easy to read. Giorno simply waited for the genie to appear next to him for its next onslaught. He felt a slight breeze tussle his hair on the right side of his face, an early indicator of where the stand would appear.

Cli-cli-cli-c-

THWACK

In the middle of Little Windmill’s attack, Giorno swung out, his Gold Experience decking the enemy stand square in the face, denting its gas mask. Little Windmill tumbled to the floor after the attack, as Giorno dusted off his suit.

“That’s a nice trick,” he said, observing the more humanoid stand before him with vague intrigue. “I’ll admit, we didn’t anticipate a secondary stand from you… I suppose you're full of surprises. But, you’re gonna have to try better than that if you want to win, Bibit-”

He turned to address Bibita, only to realize the girl was no longer in the train compartment with him. Instead, he could just make out the girl on the other side of the sliding glass doors, entering the next train cart just ahead of their makeshift battleground.

She looked behind to see Giorno realizing she was getting away. “Little Windmill was never going to defeat you,” she said, summoning the left canister of Blink-182. “That was just a distraction.”

Bibita sprayed the axel connecting their train carts, and, suddenly, there was nothing connecting Giorno’s compartment to the rest of the moving train, as the rear half of the train quickly lost all momentum. Giorno scrambled to exit the compartment, trying to jump to the next cart, but he was pulled back by Little Windmill.

“Ciao,” Bibita said with a smirk, waving to the stationary train car, as the distance between the two only grew. Sure, she didn’t defeat the boss, but escaping with her life was victory enough. She closed the glass door behind her as she entered the compartment, filled with tourists curious about where the other half of the train went.

Bibita took a seat on one of the benches, struggling to catch her breath. Little Windmill got hit during the fight, and that damage reflected to Bibita, who attempted to dry her bloodied nose with her sleeve.

“All in all, that went better than expected,” she muttered to herself as the train slowed to arrive at its next stop, Manarola. “The Boss doesn’t seem to have a long-range stand, and it’ll take a while for him to catch up on foot…. I should be in the clear for the moment.”

The doors of the train opened at the Manarola station, as a few passengers left the train. But a few more got on the vehicle. That’s when Bibita remembered the Boss probably wasn’t alone. She was already familiar with his one lackey with the long braids, and there was no telling how many others he’d brought with him. Anyone of the people entering the train could be on his payroll, sent to kill her.

Paranoid, Bibita shifted into her gaseous state. ‘Just lie low until you get to the next town,’ she thought, hovering over the crowd of brightly fashioned tourists. ‘Anyone of them could be an enemy in disguise.’

The next few minutes felt agonizingly slow, as the train departed the station on the way to the most south bound town, Riomaggiore. Bibita couldn’t even enjoy the picturesque view of the coastline. She was far too preoccupied worrying about her next steps, as she didn’t have a destination. It would be easy to head to France, but considering Falco was never apprehended, she did not want to risk running into that gangster in the country. Switzerland and Austria also bordered Italy, but Bibita only spoke Italian, and the culture shock could take some time to get used to. Italy was her home. The only home she ever knew.

‘There’s nothing for you here,’ she told herself. ‘Your family doesn’t know you and are better off now without you. Your team at the Financial Division were all killed… and Buccellati’s crew were also traitors, most likely killed by the Boss.’

The train began to slow, preparing its arrival at Riomaggiore.

‘Face it,’ Bibita thought, moving her gaseous form towards one of the doors. ‘There’s nothing keeping you here anyways.’

The train reached its destination, stopping at the southernmost town in Cinque Terre. The doors of the train slowly opened, and everyone shifted, ready to leave. However, it was Bibita in her gaseous state to bolt out the doors first, with no real destination in mind. In her rush to escape what she was running from; she wasn’t paying attention to the train station ahead of her.

A young man in a maroon suit filled with odd holes all over stood in front of the terminal, ready to enter the train. His black tie was adorned with a little strawberry design, matching his earrings. Messy light blond hair fell into his face, framing his violet eyes. Bibita ran into something she didn’t anticipate; a familiar face.

“Fugo?” Bibita shifted into her solid physical form without really thinking. Her feet skidded to a stop right in front of the teen. Though years had passed, there was no mistaking it. Standing before her was her old friend Fugo.

He looked a bit shocked to see her suddenly appear right in front of him, Fugo’s eyes wide with surprise.

“Is… is that really you?” Bibita’s voice caught in her throat. “I thought everyone died during that coupe back in April.”

He smiled slightly. “It’s nice to see you again, Bibita.”

“Listen, we need to get out of here, right now,” she said, grabbing his hand, trying to head in the opposite direction of the train. “We don’t have a lot of time. The Boss is here, and probably wants us both dead-” She tugged on his hand to leave the area, but Fugo remained still. “Come on Fugo, we have to leave!”

“I take it you met Giorno?”

“Yeah, Boss of Passione,” Bibita raised a brow. “You know, the one who you and Buccellati’s crew betrayed all those months ago?”

“Oh boy… there is a lot to catch you up on,” Fugo murmured.

“What are you talking abou-” Bibita stopped herself mid-sentence. “Never mind, we can catch up on the next train out of Italy.”

“Bibita, please. Calm down,” he said squeezing her hand. “I came here with Giorno and the others.”

“W-what?”

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Fugo explained. “We just need some answers.”

Bibita recoiled at that news, but still held onto his hand.

“I know you have to have a lot of questions, but, please… trust me,” Fugo said softly. “Don’t run away.”

She could hear footsteps approaching them from the train, undoubtedly another member of Passione. Every muscle in her body ached, adrenaline pushing her to keep running. And yet, she didn’t even know where to go. Despite her fear telling her to run away and never look back, a familiar face of a life she’d thought had been destroyed months earlier kept her anchored.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll stay.”

Click

“Finally,” an unfamiliar voice remarked, approaching the pair, readying his handgun. “Little miss pesto hair over here took forever to track down.”

The man wore a short blue turtleneck, exposing his midriff, tiger printed pants, and an odd beanie hat with an arrow centered on his forehead. Still aiming his gun at Bibita, the stranger reached for a walkie-talkie and brought it up to his ear. “Ey Giorno. Mista here… yeah, we got her.”

*******************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats

Stand Name: Gold Experience

Stand User: Giorno Giovanna

Stand Power: Life Giver – Gold Experience can imbue inorganic material with life, whether it be animal or plant.

• Power: C
• Speed: A
• Range: C
• Durability: D
• Precision: C
• Potential: A

Chapter Text

“So… to say we have a lot to discuss would be a bit of an understatement, wouldn’t it,” Giorno said, attempting to lighten the mood of the very tense room. While Bibita voluntarily followed the Boss, she still felt extraordinarily anxious.

Giorno had led their group onto a luxurious train, and paid to clear the entire vehicle, a blatant display of power and wealth. The train was exquisite, with fine polished wood decorating the streamlined vehicle. There were multiple private rooms and compartments ensuring guests would have complete privacy… however, considering only six passengers were on the train, the privacy was a bit superfluous.

Bibita sat at a very nice table in one of the private rooms. Fugo sat next to her, trying his best to keep her calm, and, more importantly, keep her from running away again. Across the table sat Giorno Giovanna, pouring some tea for everyone at the table. He passed the girl a cup. “Here, you must be parched after everything that’s happened today.”

Bibita just stared at the cup with suspicious eyes. “No,” she said, pushing the teacup away from her. “It could be poisoned. There’s no telling what you put in there-”

For some reason, that comment elicited laughter from the man named Mista, who was stationed guarding one of the doors of the private room. “Ha! Hopefully this tea isn’t as bad as your initiation, right GioGio?”

Sheila E, also guarding an exit, narrowed her eyes at the beanie wearing man. “Read the tone of the room,” she murmured. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

Giorno cringed at whatever memory Mista had brought up, but the Boss quickly got back to business. “I can assure you; I’m not going to poison you-”

“I mean, if you were, this would definitely be the place for it,” Bibita shrugged. “Isolated, no witnesses. The perfect place for you to send one of your messages-”

“Bibita, please,” Fugo said. “I told you. None of us are going to harm you.”

“And I believe you won’t,” she responded, still staring daggers at Giorno. “It’s him I don’t trust. If I’m not careful, I could end up cut up into tiny little pieces or shoved into a barrel of acid to send a message to anyone who dares defy the great ‘Boss’ of Passione.”

Everyone got quiet for a moment.

“It’s funny, really,” Bibita continued. “You keep pestering me to answer your questions, yet you stay completely silent whenever I mention your horrible acts.”

“That’s because I have no idea what you’re talking abou-”

“Minestra: Thrown into a vat of acid and sent to the Financial Division to send a message,” Bibita stood up, raising her voice. “Sorbet, sliced into tiny pieces while Gelato was forced to watch, their deaths a message to La Squadra. How dare you pretend to not know the names of the people you had killed.”

“I’m not pretending,” Giorno said dryly. “I honestly don’t know any of the people you mentioned.”

Bibita lunged toward the Boss, her anger getting the better of her. Mista and Sheila E both reacted, rushing to stop the girl. But before Bibita could close the distance, Fugo grabbed her by the waist, keeping her from attacking the don of Passione.

“Alright, everyone needs to calm down, okay?” Fugo sounded exasperated, struggling to keep Bibita in place. Slowly, Mista and Sheila returned to their posts, and Giorno relaxed into his seat. “Now, I believe there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here,” Fugo said. “Giorno only recently became the Boss of Passione-”

“Wh-what?” Bibita questioned.

“I joined Passione late March,” Giorno explained. “Together with Buccellati and his group, we defeated the previous Boss. To make sure my rise to power wasn’t questioned, I decided to act like I was the Boss the whole time.”

“So… you weren’t the one to order their deaths then?” Bibita asked, still wary.
Giorno nodded.

Bibita let out a small sigh. ‘So, he’s not the same Boss that Risotto warned about,’ she thought. ‘Still, I can’t let my guard down.’

Fugo, who had been keeping the girl from decking the Boss, felt Bibita relax a little. “Good, now that we’ve gotten that cleared up, will you sit back down and not attack the Boss?” he asked with a concerned brow.

“...fine,” Bibita grumbled under her breath. “...I won’t attack him…”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you-”

“I’m not gonna attack the ‘Boss’ okay!” she said louder. “Now, could you let go of me?”

Hesitantly, Fugo released his grip on Bibita. She crossed her arms, and took her seat, looking just as pissed off as before.

“You better not try anything like that again,” Sheila E. warned. “You’re lucky Fugo got to you before I did. No one threatens Giorno Giovanna.”

“Looks like pesto-hair has a very short fuse,” Mista remarked, lowering his gun.

Bibita paid their comments no mind, as she was still trying to piece together everything that happened during the coupe. “So… You joined the gang and became the Boss within a month?”

“Uh, it was actually about a week,” Mista noted.

Bibita merely blinked, registering the absurdity of the time frame. “Anyways, it sounds like your side won. Buccellati’s crew defeated the Boss and took over Passione. And yet, Bruno isn’t sitting as the Boss of Passione,” Bibita lowered her gaze, voice soft. “He… he didn’t make it, did he?”

Bibita was greeted with silence, which was enough of an answer for her. Fugo gently placed his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. The girl had already assumed everyone she knew from Passione was dead, so she had come to terms with Buccellati’s potential death months ago. But, after seeing Fugo alive and well gave Bibita a false sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, Buccellati had survived.

“Yeah, I figured that much,” she muttered, shrugging Fugo’s hand off her shoulder. “Whose idea was it? Usurping the Boss? I’m not going to pretend I knew Bruno too well but based on the time frame from you joining to overthrowing the Boss, it seems like this was all your idea.”

Giorno chose his words carefully. “Yes, I joined with the intention of overthrowing the old Boss, and Buccellati was aware of this. We worked together towards this goal. Everyone in our group had a choice, to follow us and be traitors, or stay loyal to Passione.” With this comment, Fugo averted his gaze from the Boss. “By the end of it all, all who chose to follow us were traitors aware of the danger ahead of them-”

“Their blood is on your hands then,” Bibita interrupted. “Everyone who died during the coupe is because of you, either directly or indirectly. The people you killed, those who followed you, all the innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire…”

Giorno took a deep breath, listening to the girl’s concerns. “Alright then,” he said. “I believe I’ve answered more than enough of your questions. Now, it’s time for you to answer our questions. What happened April 4th?”

“I didn’t kill my entire team, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Bibita said. She looked around, and saw the others still looked apprehensive. “Wait… you guys seriously don’t think I killed my entire team… do you?”

“Let’s just say the facts don’t make you the greatest case,” Giorno said flatly. “Fugo, would you mind telling her the facts?”

Fugo sighed, rubbing his temples. “Four bodies belonging to the other members of the Financial Division were found in the charred remains of their office. Due to the burned state of the bodies, the direct cause of death was deemed inconclusive. A large sum of money also went missing that day. And, the last member of the Financial Division was found living off the grid with the missing money going by a new name-”

“I would never do anything to harm them!” Bibita said, raising her voice. “They were my teammates, my friends. I would do anything to bring them back,” she looked to Fugo. “You have to believe me.”

“I believe you must have had your reasons for leaving,” Fugo had a difficult time meeting her eye contact.

Giorno, meanwhile, motioned to Sheila E., and the teenager crossed to the table. “Lucky for us, we have a way of verifying this.” Giorno gestured to Bibita. “Sheila E. if you would…”

Sheila E. gave an enthusiastic nod, before winding her hand back, and slapping Bibita on her cheek-

thwack

“Ow! Shit!” Bibita clasped the side of her face after the attack. While the slap didn’t hurt too much, her face still stung a bit. “What the hell was that for?”

“Voodoo Child,” Sheila E. responded.

Bibita could feel the skin on her side of her face shift, as she removed her hand, to reveal a pair of lips forming on her cheek.

“My stand has the ability to excavate your secrets,” Sheila explained. “You may lie to us, but Voodoo Child will uncover the truth.”

Bibita’s newly formed pair of lips took in a breath and spoke. Only some of the voices were Bibita’s.

“You killed them all. My entire team… my family… gone.”

“I’m afraid your team was just… collateral damage.”

“In the end, it looks like neither of us got our revenge.”

It was that last line that seemed to have a visceral effect on Sheila E, her aloof attitude shifted to serious anger.

“In the end, it looks like neither of us got our revenge.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sheila E. snapped, grabbing Bibita’s hoodie, pulling the green haired girl into the perfect range for another slap.

“Woah, I’m still confused about the weird lips forming on my cheek,” Bibita raised her hands to show she surrendered.

“Neither of us got our revenge,” Sheila E. repeated, narrowing her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“That’s enough,” Giorno commanded.

As soon as Sheila E. heard his voice, she snapped out of her rage, releasing Bibita. She returned to her position guarding the door, withdrawing the effect of her Voodoo Child. The lips on Bibita’s cheek soon disappeared, and the voices echoing in the room subsided.

“Now then,” Giorno returned his attention to Bibita. “Care to explain what those voices meant?”

Bibita took a shaky breath, the voices excavated from Sheila’s stand bringing up memories she tried to move past. “On April 4th… The Financial Division was visited by Risotto Nero,” she began, trying to keep her eyes from tearing up. “He killed Pecorino and Ossobuco first. He needed information from my Capo, Soldi. Dolchi… Dolchi sacrificed herself to try to take down Nero… she wasn’t successful.”

“I fought Risotto across Rome,” Bibita continued, trying not to dwell on the image of her best friend lying motionless on the office floor all those months back. “I lost, but he spared me because I had looked into increasing his team’s pay years earlier. He had lost all his team and was going after the Boss in Sardinia to avenge their deaths. But, by the time I arrived on the island, Risotto was already dead. Risotto never got his revenge on the Boss… and I never got my revenge on Risotto.”

“And so, you left Passione,” Giorno interjected.

“I thought everyone was gone,” she murmured. “My team was dead. Buccellati’s crew were traitors, just like La Squadra. And like La Squadra, I thought they were as good as dead. Risotto warned me of the unforgiving Boss of Passione, and the messages he’d leave in his wake… so, leaving felt like the only option. Even knowing now there’s a different Boss in charge, I still feel leaving was the best choice.”

Giorno listened intently, interlocking his fingers, resting his chin on top of his hands. “I see… you could have told me that back in Vernazza, but we eventually reached the truth.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

Bibita looked around. She wasn’t told where their train was headed towards, and Mista and Sheila E’s eyes were still locked on her. “I never betrayed Passione,” Bibita said, gathering more confidence. “I never betrayed the old Boss, or you. I just left when I saw no other option. Now, if we’re done here, I’d very much like to return to Vernazza. I’ll stay out of Passione’s life, and you all can stay out of mine.”

“It’s… not that simple,” Fugo said softly.

“Huh?”

“Sure, you didn’t betray our organization,” Giorno mused. “But, if I were to let you go, how can I be sure you won’t betray us in the future. As the surviving member of the Financial Division, I’m sure rival organizations would love any information you could provide on Passione-”

“I wouldn’t tell them anything,” Bibita interjected, her voice almost pleading. “I just want out of Passione.”

“And we’ll gladly grant you that retirement,” Giorno said. “Provided, of course, you prove your loyalty to us first.”

Bibita’s heart skipped a beat.

“Bibita Bianche, Passione still has one more mission for you.”

************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Voodoo Child
Stand User: Sheila E
Stand Power: Repeating Lips – Voodoo Child creates lips that spew whatever was said at that spot. If it strikes a person, it excavates their secrets. Repeating these phrases causes great emotional trauma to those attacked.
• Power: B
• Speed: A
• Range: E
• Durability: E
• Precision: B
• Potential: B

Chapter Text

Settled on the outskirts of Naples, nestled between the rambunctious city and a pristine vineyard, was the mansion of the don of Passione, Giorno Giovanna. The three storied behemoth of a building was exquisite, borrowing many decades of architecture techniques, feeling both modern, yet respectful to the styles that came before it. Acres of fresh gardens and vineyards surrounded the mansion, giving it a peaceful, serene feeling. Yet, despite staying in one of the exquisite guest rooms in the mansion, Bibita still felt more like a prisoner than a welcomed guest.

She had stayed there the past week, along with the other members of Passione she met earlier, undoubtedly sent to keep an eye on her while they wait patiently for the next mission. The Boss stuck to his office and private study most of the time, so Bibita didn’t really see him around. Mista and Sheila E each had their own guest rooms, both tasked with making sure Bibita didn’t try to escape. Sheila was always very intense, never speaking, just watching, and waiting for Bibita to step out of line. Meanwhile, Mista was more lighthearted, trying to make conversation with the Bibita, but she knew by the gun he kept in his boot he wouldn’t hesitate to attack if needed. Due to the general company, Bibita kept to herself, spending most hours locked away in the guest room.

Knock-Knock-Knock

Bibita glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a bit after noon, and, undoubtedly, someone was beckoning her to lunch. The girl sighed, “I’m not hungry.”

“Ah, what a shame,” the familiar voice of Fugo said from behind the door. “I brought you some Dr. Pepper for lunch, but I guess I could drink it all myself-”

By this point Bibita jumped from her bed and crossed to her door in a mere moment. "Wait, wait, wait!" She swung the door open with a slight grin.

Fugo chuckled. "Yeah, I figured soda would be an excellent motivator for you."

Bibita hadn't seen Fugo since her train trip back to Naples, so she was glad to have lunch with him. It was a hell of a lot better than trying to make small talk with Mista or Sheila E.

Bibita followed Fugo down the hallway over to the dining room, a decent lunch of paninis and sodas were already set up on the large mahogany table, accompanied by a nice window view of the vineyard.

“So… do you have any news on what my mission is going to be?” Bibita asked between bites of her sandwich.

“And here I thought you weren’t hungry,” Fugo muttered, before getting back on topic. “We’ve done some research on our target, but we’re waiting to pinpoint their location before moving in.”

“It’s gonna be dangerous, isn’t it?” Bibita grumbled.

“Most likely,” Fugo admitted. “But I suppose being involved with Passione always contains some aspect of danger inherently.”

“But I’m literally doing this to leave Passione. Can’t they just have me file some taxes for them or something,” Bibita said. “I mean… I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to combat.”

“I know you're trying to leave the gang… and I understand how that feels,” Fugo said, voice a bit softer. “I was in a similar situation not too long ago.”

Bibita raised her eyebrows.

“There was a time during the coupe when our group had a decision,” Fugo explained. “We could either join Buccellati and Giorno and become traitors to Passione, or leave, and stay loyal to the gang… In the end, I was left on my own, too afraid to betray Passione. I had thought for sure they would all die, that no one could survive against the gang... And yet, Giorno succeeded and took down the Boss. A month ago, Passione found me, and I was sent on a mission to prove my loyalty-”

“What did they have you do?” Bibita asked, opening her soda.

“Uh… I had to take down the entire Narcotics team-”

Bibita nearly spat out her Dr. Pepper. “Holy shit! That had to be super dangerous!”

“Yeah, it was dangerou-”

“I’m gonna die-”

“Okay, I was saying this to try to cheer you up, but I see I may have missed the mark,” Fugo shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “But just know, I wasn’t in it alone. I had a team that helped every step of the way. I’m sure, whatever mission Giorno has planned for you, he’ll grant you a team to help out-”

“And to make sure I don’t just run away,” Bibita added.

“Well… yeah, that too,” Fugo rolled his eyes. “But the point still stands, you won’t be alone on this mission.”

“That’s good to know,” Bibita said, looking relieved. “I just have to complete the mission… not die… and then I’m out of Passione forever!”

Fugo frowned at her remark. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“The not dying part?”

“No, the leaving the gang part,” Fugo clarified. “Look, I understand the feeling of wanting to leave, but I honestly feel you’re a good fit for Passione. Or at least Giorno’s Passione. A few months ago, I was just playing piano in a hotel for money, constantly in fear. I wasn’t really living. And then, well… the point is, I rejoined Passione, and things are better for me now. I know it may be a different experience for you. But just keep an open mind.”

Bibita silently listened to Fugo’s advice. “Okay… I make no promises, but… I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

Fugo smiled.

“Ey, you two,” Mista called out, poking his head into the dining room. “Giorno is ready to see you.”

Whatever feeling of ease and comfort Bibita was feeling was immediately replaced with dread. She grabbed the half full bottle of soda, and proceeded to chug the rest of it, not wanting to let the carbonation go flat while she met with the Boss.

“This should be fun,” she muttered.

**********************************

A man looking to be in his early thirties with a large Borsellino hat stood in the center of Giorno’s office. The man had a pristine old-fashioned suit, looking like a gangster from the silent film era, his orange hair the only pop of color to his look. Yet, despite his old-fashioned style, he had a modern flare, with his prominent eyeliner and mascara.

“Thank you for joining us,” Giorno said from his desk, perfectly overlooking the both the door and scenic window. “May I introduce you to the current head of the Data Analysis team, Cannolo Murolo.”

The stranger by the name of Murolo gave a large theatrical bow to Bibita, to which the girl merely waved back, taken aback from the flare of the old-fashioned gangster. “Pleasure to meet you, miss….” Cannolo said, the end of the sentence extended, waiting for the girl to introduce herself.

“Oh, uh, Bibita,” she stumbled after a few seconds of prolonged silence.

Murolo seemed to wait for her to continue, but the girl stayed quiet. “Ugh, kids these days,” Murolo grumbled under his breath. “No respect. Back in my day, we treated our elders with respect.”

“Murolo,” Giorno said, cutting off the man’s rant. “I believe we have more important matters to discuss.”

“Right, right,” Murolo practically jumped in place, the Boss’s voice sufficiently startling him. For a suave as the Borsellino hat wearing man tried to appear, it was entertaining to watch that facade shatter. Bibita covered her mouth to avoid laughing at the try hard gangster.

The man reached into his jacket’s interior pocket, and pulled out a simple deck of cards, and began to shuffle them with a true showman’s speed and precision. With the flick of his wrist, he shot the cards into the air, catching the falling paper rectangles in his hat. Once all fifty-three cards had landed in his hat, he placed the hat on a nearby table. Murolo then patted the table with his hands, creating a drumroll for his own performance.

“Clap,” Fugo muttered, nudging Bibita. He, along with Giorno, were already clapping creating an odd cacophony of applause. “I know it seems odd, but that's just how his card tricks work.”
Bibita shrugged, but hesitantly joined in with the clapping.

Cannolo abruptly stopped the drumroll, slicing his hand through the air to signal the rest of the room to halt their applause. Once the room had gone quiet, the man smirked. “Lady and gentlemen,” he began, sounding akin to a ringleader in a cheap circus. “You could have been anywhere today, but instead you have chosen to witness the glory and renown of the Watchtower Players!”

Murolo removed the hat from the table, catching the accessory on his head like one of the fun hat tricks one might see physical comedians perform. Yet, it was what was left behind on the table that really caught the audience’s attention, as all the cards had stacked on top of each other, creating an intricate tower of cards, impossibly tall. That, by itself, would make for an amazing magic trick, but the show was far from over.

Oddly, the cards moved and shifted, seemingly sprouting arms and legs out of nowhere. Bibita figured this had to be related to his stand power in some way.

The card at the top of the tower cleared its throat, “Welcome, one and all!” the Joker card bellowed. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are-”

“-the Watchtower Troup!” all the remaining cards joined in all at once.

“There are fifty-three of us, but don’t worry,” the Joker said. “I’m the only name you’ll need to remember. I am your host, the Joker-”

“Hey, that’s awfully bold talk coming from a card without a suit!” the Jack of Spades said, eliciting laughter from all in his suit.

“Oh, spades, spades,” The Queen of Hearts mused. “What does your symbol even mean?”

“Like you’re any better,” The Queen of Diamonds retorted. “They just slapped an organ on a card for you. What, was the liver already taken?”

“And whoever said diamonds are a girl's best friend clearly never met these stuck-up rectangles,” the King of Clubs chuckled.

The cards bickered for a bit while the Joker tried to keep them in line. Bibita just looked blankly at the ensuing chaos. “Why do they all have British accents?” she asked Fugo, who merely shrugged.

“Places everyone!” the Joker commanded, as the remaining cards went silent. “Our target today is a mysterious man, known only as the Scientist… however, based on his reputation, he might as well be a mad scientist!”

“That’s right,” the 2 of Diamonds chimed in. “He’d make Victor Frankenstein look like a substitute biology teacher!” The cards erupted with laughter.

“Rumor has it, the boy was born to a wealthy family, and he was a very intelligent boy, however, that bit of empathy that makes us human was missing from the child,” the Joker said. “He knew when his parents died, he’d be the heir to all their fortune-”

“So, what did he do?” the 7 of Clubs asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” the Joker continued. “He slowly poisoned his dearest mommy and daddy over a few years; however, the courts could never prove he’d done it. He inherited their riches and grew up to become a very renowned Chemist, but, not for the right reasons-”

“The infamous Scientist would test his chemical concoctions on human test subjects,” the Ace of Hearts interjected.

“The Scientist is responsible for dozens of deaths due to his horrid experiments,” the Joker said with a dramatic flair. “Five years ago, he was arrested and imprisoned for his unethical experiments.”

“Locked away! Locked away!” the 6 of Spades sang.

“All was well,” the Joker said, “Until, a few months ago-”

“Prison break!” both the 8 of Diamonds and the 3 of Clubs said at the same time.

“Ey, you stepped on my line-”

“It’s not my fault ya can’t pick up yer damn cues!”

“Oh, yes, leave it to a Diamond to act like they’re worth more than the rest of us-”

“Guys, we’re going off script now-”

“Everyone shut up! I know I have a line coming up soon-”

In mere moments, the cards were at each other's throats, punching and kicking the other cards, until one by one, the tower of cards fell. Each card fluttered down, landing on the wooden table in elaborate staged deaths. Finally, there was only one card left standing.

“You can find the Scientist at the Napoli Rehabilitation Center,” the 5 of Diamonds coughed, before collapsing on the table.

Murolo immediately clapped at the ending of the performance, and soon, the other’s in the room followed his example, joining in the applause.

“Okay… so his stand just spouts exposition?” Bibita scoffed, earning her a glare from the man in the Borsellino hat.

Before Murolo had a chance to rebuttal, Giorno spoke. “Thank you, Murolo, once again for all your help,” the blond man smiled, gesturing to the door. “But I believe the rest of us have it from here.”

Cannolo grumbled to himself, gathering all his cards, and exiting the room in a huff.

“So, this Scientist,” Bibita began. “Was he another member of Passione or something?”

Giorno shook his head. “No connection from what we could see,” he said. “But he seems to be targeting former addicts, trying to drag them back into his new drug trade.”

“Luckily, we have a lead now,” Fugo added. “But we’ll have to move fast. We don’t want him to get away.”

“Wait just a second,” Bibita said, eyes darting around the room. “I was told I would get a team or something to help out.”

“My apologies if I was unclear,” Giorno stood from his desk, dusting off his black suit. “Fugo and I will be accompanying you on this mission. Consider us your team.”

****************************************

“It’s quite typical for those recovering from addiction to demonstrate flu like symptoms,” the nurse at the rehab center explained. “Hot flashes, runny nose, nausea, muscle aches and tension-”

“Irritability, vomiting, diarrhea,” Bibita interrupted, listing off more symptoms. Both Giorno and Fugo looked at her response to this, but they didn’t say anything.

“Oh, yes, those are also typical symptoms,” the nurse continued, leading the trio down the halls of the impeccably clean facility. “But recently, our patients have had very, well, atypical recovery symptoms.”

They passed a few rooms, with people at different stages of their recovery. There was a woman, mid-twenties, who looked beyond exhausted. The next room had a young teenage boy, happily eating his meal. The room after that had a middle-aged man with a wedding band, clutching his head, clearly struggling with a migraine. Bibita slowed at the sight of the man in the room. He was most likely a husband and father, and yet, he was trying to better himself by going to rehab.

“You okay?” Fugo asked, noticing Bibita had fallen behind the rest of the group.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bibita mumbled, walking ahead. She tried not to show it but being in the building was giving her an uneasy feeling.

The nurse continued her observations. “Recently, there’s been a spike in sicknesses at the rehab center, without a clear cause. People come in, relatively healthy, prepared to recover from their addiction, and the next thing you know, they’ve got chicken pox, pneumonia, strep throat… all different ailments,” the brunette woman looked perplexed. “I can assure you we keep these facilities clean and try to contain any outbreaks that occur. But patients who get sick just… don’t get better.”

“What happens to them?” Giorno asked, a seriousness to his tone.

“We’ll usually send them to more advanced medical professionals to the hospital just across the street from here,” she explained, opening a door to one of the rehab’s offices, a place meticulously organized with papers and prescription pills. “It really is unfortunate. People are afraid to treat their addiction now, fearing they may catch something worse than withdrawals. And after all the money you put into this rehabilitation center, I’m so sorry, Mr. Giovanna-”

“Don’t apologize,” Giorno said, offering a comforting smile to the woman. “You are all doing great here. Don’t let this deter you from your work.”

“You hear that,” Fugo whispered to Bibita. “GioGio is donating to rehabilitation centers. You could say that Passione has turned a new leaf-”

Creek

“Shhh!” Bibita interrupted. “What was that noise?”

“Oh, that?” the nurse shrugged. “That’s just the vents. They’re constantly squeaking. We really need to get a repairman to look at that.”

“Getting back on topic,” Fugo stepped forward. “Now, has anyone new been admitted to the center around the time of the odd illness outbreak?”

“Oh, let me look through our files,” the nurse opened a cabinet, and began pouring through the papers.

Fugo turned to the rest of the group. “The way I figure it, whoever was admitted right before the spree of illnesses has the best chance of being our target.”

“True, but, considering the Scientists reputation, he could have also blended in with the rehab staff,” Giorno suggested. “You have any ideas, BiBi?”

Bibita looked confused, “My name is Bibita, not BiBi.”

“Oh, I just thought since your name is Bibita Bianche, BiBi would be a nice nickname for you,” Giorno explained. “See, since becoming the Don of Passione, I’ve tried to steer away from the title of ‘Boss’. I’d rather use a nickname like GioGio.”

“Well, you're not my boss, and I’m not calling you GioGio,” Bibita said completely expressionless. “And to answer your question, no, I don’t have the slightest clue, Mr. Giovanna.”

“Oh-Okay then,” Fugo interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. “Let’s just find out what we can from the nurse and take it from there.”

There was another rumbling from the air vent.

“Any luck?” Giorno asked the woman, peering through the filing cabinet.

“We had a few people admitted around that time,” the nurse explained. “However, they all became sick recently, all different symptoms.”

The air vent rumbled again, this time, startling the nurse.

“Were there any staff hired in that time frame?” Fugo asked. “Any new doctors, instructors, hell, even janitors hired recently?”

The nurse thought for a moment. “No… I can’t say we’ve hired anyone recently.”

“What about guests?” Bibita piped up. “Any suspicious guest visit right before the outbreak began.”

The nurse’s eyes widened “Well, now that you mention it, there was this one guest who visited a few days before the incident. He was-”

Shink

The nurse looked shocked for a moment, lifting her hand to her face, wiping off the blood slowly dripping from her nose. The silence was broken when the nurse started coughing, each cough getting progressively louder and more violent. She didn’t get a moment to process what happened before she lost consciousness.

Giorno leapt to catch the unconscious woman before she hit the floor, while Fugo and Bibita took defensive stances, unsure what exactly happened.

“Be on your guard,” Fugo instructed. “It looks like she was silenced before she could tell us what we needed.”

Giorno placed the nurse safely on the nearby desk, but soon noticed there was something latched onto the poor woman’s back. The creature appeared to be a large metallic amoeba, both organic and robotic. On one side of the creature, dozens of tiny holes littered its surface, while the other side tapered off into a tail with a bloody syringe at the tail’s tip. A single blue eye, situated in the center of the synthetic organism, looked to Giorno, and blinked. Before Giorno had a chance to warn the others about the enemy stand, the creature attacked, shooting out a white mist through its little holes, aimed right at the Boss of Passione.

The battle had only just begun.

************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Down with the Sickness
Stand User: The Scientist
Stand Power: Immune Destruction- Down with the Sickness produces a fine mist, that, when inhaled, targets and destroys the host’s immune system.
Disease Database- the stand keeps an internal database of every disease it has come in contact with and can then infect its enemies directly through its needle like appendage.
• Power: E
• Speed: D
• Range: B
• Durability: A
• Precision: D
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

The enemy stand sprayed a light mist into the air, aimed directly at the Boss of Passione. Giorno’s hands were still full with the unconscious nurse, leaving him wide open for the attack. Before he could brace himself, though, he felt a forceful tug on his shoulder.

“Careful GioGio,” Fugo said, pulling Giorno out of the way of the attack.

“Scuzi,” Bibita rushed through the crowd, gas mask already secured on her face. “Blink-182!”

She leapt toward the enemy stand, brandishing her right canister. Before any of the trio could inhale the stand’s mist, Bibita sprayed it, as it shifted into a solid form, and landed harmlessly on the floor as a dozen or so little marbles.

Once the mysterious mist was taken out of the picture, Giorno began to shimmer, a pair of incorporeal golden arms appearing before him.

THWACK

Giorno’s stand swung out towards the odd amoeba, and the creature flung into the opposite wall from the impact, leaving cracks in the plaster. However, despite the power of the punch, the stand did not look damaged whatsoever. The silver stand floated away from the crowd, returning right back to the air vent. It barely avoided the series of strikes from the Giorno’s stand, as it soon vanished from sight within the air vents.

“So…. I take it that was the Scientist’s stand?” Bibita said, once it looked like the scuffle was over.

“Certainly looks that way,” Fugo noted. “We can assume its power has something to do with the recent spread of disease among the patients.”

Giorno had finally set the nurse safely on the desk. “I need to figure out what’s wrong with her,” he turned to Fugo. “Once we know what exactly the stand does, the sooner I can heal those afflicted.”

There was a microscope set up in the far corner of the office, and Fugo immediately set up the investigation. “Thanks for turning the mist solid,” he smiled to Bibita, picking up one of the white marbles left over from the fight. “It’ll be a lot easier to study it in this state.”

While Fugo began collecting samples and testing out the lab equipment, Bibita kept her guard up, barricading the air vents with her stand. After, she took a quick look out the window of the door, scoping out the hallway for any suspicious activity.

“It’s probably a long-range stand,” Giorno joined her by the door. “I’ve dealt with quite a few of those in my line of work. Typically, damage won’t reflect to the user, hence why our enemy wasn’t afraid to reveal his stand in front of all of us.”

Bibita hesitantly removed the gasmask from her face. “So, we can fight the stand all we like, but we’ll need to find the user to really stop it.”

“Hey, I found something,” Fugo said, motioning for the other two to join him by the microscope. “It looks like there’s two separate things happening in quick succession with the Scientist’s attacks.”

All three of them gathered around the microscope to get a better look at the stand’s power. Set up under the microscope were several samples of blood, each interacting differently to foreign agents introduced to them.

“Over here, we have regular blood, untampered,” Fugo explained, as he then placed a piece of the solid mist in the blood. “But look what happens to the molecules when they interact with the mist the enemy stand gave off.”

Giorno and Bibita leaned in to observe the interaction.

“I have no idea what’s happening,” Bibita said bluntly.

“Yeah, I’m also lost… care to elaborate?” Giorno said slightly embarrassed.

Fugo sighed. He’d forgotten not everyone had gone to college at age thirteen. “Basically, it destroys the immune system. Inhaling that mist will eliminate your immune system in a matter of moments-”

“Leaving the victims vulnerable to all sorts of disease!” Giorno interrupted. Fugo’s head snapped, glaring at the boss. “My apologies for interrupting, please continue…”

“Anyways, after victims have inhaled it’s mist, the stand injects it with a disease,” Fugo explained, showcasing another blood sample. “From the look of it, this nurse has tuberculosis, and, without an immune system, the disease spread without any resistance.”

Bibita looked up to the filing cabinet. “That makes sense,” she noted. “The nurse was the closest to the vents when it attacked, so she must have breathed in the mist before we even knew the stand was here.”

Fugo nodded, adding a new solution into the microscope display. This solution was a quick moving purple liquid, interacting with the blood molecules. Once the violet substance passed over the blood, it seemed to target the disease directly.

“What is that?” Bibita asked.

“Purple Haze… or, at least, the more refined flesh-eating virus from Purple Haze Distortion,” Fugo explained. “I’ve gotten better at… controlling and tempering my stand. Now, I can specifically target what the virus destroys. In this case, it can combat the disease afflicting the nurse… but, without an immune system, she will be incredibly weak. She’s gonna need more leukocyte to recover.”

“Oh yeah… Luke-oh-tight… definitely gonna need that…” Bibita said, stumbling over the large word. “What exactly is Lucky-site?”

“White blood cells, I believe,” Giorno replied.

Fugo nodded.

“Yeah, I totally knew that” Bibita said under her breath.

“I should be able to create the white blood cells with Gold Experience,” Giorno offered, he and Fugo quickly crossing to the nurse on the desk. Bibita was sure to keep her distance from them while they worked, using their stands to destroy the disease, and regrow the woman’s immune system.

Instead, Bibita crossed to the other side of the room, and kept watch, looking out the window of the door. All the while, she was contemplating the Scientist’s plan. ‘He targets former drug addicts… lowers their immune system, gets them sick,’ she thought. ‘And then they’re taken to a hospital to recover. What happens after? Why do all that? Is this just punishment for the addicts trying to recover? The Scientist is smarter than that… He has to have some big picture in mind.’

From her vantage point, Bibita could see a good section of the hallway, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. That was, until a light mist escaped through the vents across the hallway.
“Uh, guys?” Bibita put on her gasmask, refusing to look away from the window. “How’s the nurse doing?”

“She’s weak, but we got her all healed up,” Giorno said.

“Good… cuz you may have a lot more healing to do before this is over,” she muttered.

“What are you talking abou-” Fugo crossed to the green haired girl but stopped when he saw the state of the hallway. The rehab center looked more like a haunted house, with a thick fog covering the hallway, obscuring the flickering overhead lights. In the distance, muffled screams, coughs and cries broke the silence. “He… he’s targeting everyone here.”

Giorno joined them, taking in the off-putting hallway. “The Scientist must know we’re on to him, so he’s trying to infect everyone now. We need to find him. He’s got to be hiding somewhere in this building-”

“You said this could be a long-range stand, right?” Bibita noted. “I don’t think he’s here at all. I mean, if you had a long-range stand, why would you stay in the same building as it? He’s using his power to infect former drug addicts and getting them back to using.”

“But those infected are taken to a nearby hospital, right?” Fugo asked.

“Exactly! The scientist has to be at the hospital, undercover as one of the doctors!” Bibita continued. “There, he could easily prescribe the street drugs, and withdraw the effects of his stand, making it look like the miracle drugs solved their ailments, when, really, he’s just a slimy opportunistic ass. It’s simple supply and demand. Giorno’s eliminating the drug trade and rehabilitating former addicts, lowering the demand for narcotics. So, the Scientist is manufacturing a demand for these drugs as a cure all prescription!”

The room went quiet for a moment.

“I see you learned a lot from your time with the Financial Division,” Fugo mumbled.

Bibita merely rolled her eyes. “Right now, the Scientist is waiting us out, hoping to get us infected too. So, we need to find him before any of us start feeling under the weather.”

The light mist filling the hallway was starting to seep through the gap in the door, and all three took a few steps back. Bibita was very glad she’d decided to bring her little gas mask on the mission, but that didn’t make her any less nervous.

“Alright, everyone, try not to breathe in the mist,” Giorno said, preparing to open the door. “Let’s go!”

It was like the releasing of floodgates once the door opened, as the white fog greeted the trio.

“Little Windmill!”

A sudden burst of wind cleared their immediate area in front of them, as the genie-like form of Bibita’s stand materialized behind her. The trio rushed out to the hallway, making sure to close the door of the office behind them. Now, the sounds of coughs, sniffling, and screams were no longer muffled. The enemy stand wasted no time infecting as many people as it could.

As the trio turned the corner, a flash of silver darted towards them. More and more mist clouded the corridor, while the stand attacked with its needle like tail. Worse yet, the stand seemed to have an endless supply of the anti-immune system mist, as the air filled with the substance.

“Guys… I can’t keep this up,” Bibita glanced at Little Windmill. Her stand was circulating out the mist, but they were losing fresh air fast.

Fugo ducked out of the way of the amoeba’s tail attack, yet he refused to bring out his stand to fight back. “I can’t risk bringing out Purple Haze,” he muttered. “Confined space like this… the virus could spread like crazy.”

The trio’s pocket of fresh air was shrinking by the second, the enemy stand almost teasing them, floating around just out of their reach. The tiny holes on the creature emitting the mist almost seemed to laugh at them in a shrill distorted chortle. The exit to the building loomed in the distance, but at the pace they were going, they would run out of air long before they reached safety.

“You guys can take in from here,” Giorno said softly, unfastening one of his ladybug broaches, his hand glowing a soft gold. “Gold Experience!”

Giorno chucked the ladybug broach to the enemy stand, but the accessory appeared to shift midair, until it transformed into a porcupine.

Shink!

The porcupine collided with the enemy stand’s eye. The amoeba-like creature recoiled from the unorthodox attack, letting out a cacophony of wails. Giorno took a deep breath of fresh air, before turning around, and running down the hallway as fast as he could.

“So… his brilliant plan was to run away?” Bibita asked dryly.

Enraged, the metallic amoeba lost interest in the pair in the pocket of clean air, and instead rushed after Giorno through the fog filled hallways.

“No, he’s the distraction,” Fugo grabbed Bibita’s wrist as they ran to the exit. “We gotta be quick. GioGio can only hold his breath so long. We have to find the Scientist and stop him while the stand is distracted!”

The pair darted towards the door to leave the rehab facility, their pocket of clean air diminishing, as the mist in the facility grew thicker. Little Windmill ran out of clean air to circulate, right as Bibita and Fugo reached the doors of the exit.

“That was a close one,” Bibita said, slamming the door behind them, finally out of the rehabilitation center. “For a second there, I thought we were going to run out of air-”

Her comment was interrupted by Fugo’s coughing.

“Fugo? Fugo, are you okay?” her voice shook as she approached him.

“I think I may have breathed in some of that mist toward the end there,” he admitted, noting the sudden fatigue he was feeling. Despite that, he kept walking toward the hospital across the street. “My immune system’s been compromised.”

Bibita gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, only to realize she was still wearing her gasmask.

“Here,” she tried handing her gasmask to him. “Take this. You’ll need it more than me-”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to decline,” he said, taking a pointed step away from her. “I know you aren’t sick, but there’s no telling how many germs are on that gasmask. It’s safest for us to defeat the stand user as quickly as possible, before I interact with any germs.”

Bibita furrowed her brow but followed behind the blond man. “Yeah… we just have to avoid getting sick in a hospital.”

************************************

“And tell me, how long have you experienced these symptoms?”

“Oh… a-about two weeks. The folks at the rehab center said I should get a professional to check it out-”

“And it’s a good thing they did. Untreated, this could be very serious,” a tall doctor with dark blue hair, sleek glasses, and classically handsome features consulted his patient. His white lab coat and stethoscope completed his professional look. While the man smiled, his icy blue eyes seemed devoid of that kindness. “Luckily, I believe I have the perfect prescription for you.”

The man crossed to his computer and opened his email. After clicking an attachment, a bottle of pills materialized right before him. The man quickly acted as though he’d gotten the bottle from the nearby cabinet. “Here, take two of these pills each day, and your symptoms should immediately subside.”

The patient hastily grabbed the bottle and took one of the pills. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure, and just let me know if you need a refill on that prescription,” the doctor said, as the patient left the office.

Once he was alone, the doctor sighed, gesturing a hand toward the direction the patient just went. “Down with the Sickness,” he mumbled, withdrawing the effects from his stand on the patient.

“That was too easy,” he mused, grabbing the pile of euros the patient left. After pocketing the money, he crossed to the door and cleared his throat. “Alright nurse, you can bring in my next appointment.”

“Oh, yes, I believe we have your three o’clock appointment right here, doctor,” a feminine voice responded.

The man opened the door, expecting to see his next patient, when-

THWACK

A strong gust of wind propelled a fist right into his face, sending him stumbling into his office.

“Or should I say Mister Doctor the Scientist!”

“Too many titles, Bibita.”

“Yeah… that sounded cooler in my head.”

Bibita and Fugo entered the Scientist’s office, closing the door behind them, leaving just the three of them in the room. The Scientist collected himself, “Well, you two certainly made an entrance… and succeeded in breaking my glasses-”

“That won’t be the only thing broken if you don’t withdraw your stand,” Bibita said in her best intimidating voice.

“See, that sounded way cooler,” Fugo muttered.

Bibita smiled, but quickly returned to her serious facade.

The Scientist, however, did not seem phased by the girl’s threats, and instead looked over the pair with an icy gaze.

“You inhaled the mist, didn’t you?” the Scientist, narrowing his eyes at Fugo. The pair did not respond to the accusation, but the Scientist still knew. “It’s adorable, really, that you actually believe you have the upper hand. You chose to corner me in my office, but confined space only works in my favor. All I have to do is send Down with the Sickness over here to finish the job.”

“We don’t have to fight,” Bibita said, noticing his form shimmer. “Just, undo the effects of your stand, and we won’t have to resort to violen-”

“Or, you two can leave my office and send in my three o’clock appointment,” the Scientist joked. “But I think we all know that’s not going to happen.”

Bibita felt the air behind her shift, as she turned around to see the metallic amoeba materialize right behind her.

“Down with the Sickness!”

The creature darted toward Bibita, flailing its needle tail at the girl.

Fugo sighed, his form shimmering violet. “Keep the stand occupied. I’ll handle the Scientist.”

Bibita summoned Little Windmill, placing her stand between her and Down with the Sickness. Meanwhile, Fugo summoned Purple Haze, and the patchwork monstrosity quickly cornered the Scientist. Oddly enough, Fugo’s stand did not attack, but it was missing two virus capsules on its fists.

Crack

The missing capsules were in Fugo’s mouth, as he burst one of them, spitting the vile violet solution right at the Scientist’s face. Their enemy recoiled, trying desperately to shake the disease. Fugo quickly bit the second capsule, allowing the virus to attack itself before it could fully attack himself. However, even with that counter measure in place, he was left incredibly weakened from that maneuver, as blood pooled out of his mouth.

“Interesting… very interesting,” the Scientist mused, inspecting the purple substance between his fingers. “I can assume this is a deadly flesh-eating virus… correct? And it appears not even you are immune from its effect.”

Fugo was shocked to see the Scientist was still breathing after a direct hit from Purple Haze Distortion’s virus, but he was unable to speak after all the damage his mouth took from his attack.

“Lucky for me, I am completely immune to all sickness, disease and viruses,” the Scientist gloated. “I suppose that’s one of the side effects of Down with the Sickness… But I do have to thank you for introducing me to this wonderful new virus. I have added it to Down with the Sickness’s database. I can assure you; the Disciples of the New Dawn will make good use of it. I am certain She will thank you for this generous contribution.”

Fugo stumbled to the floor, body so weak after interacting with the virus. His compromised immune system certainly didn’t help matters any.

“Fugo!” Bibita rushed to his side, helping him back to his feet.

While she was distracted, Down with the Sickness slithered to her, and undid her gasmask with its tail. Once her defense was down, the stand emitted more of the anti-immune system mist. Bibita gasped, immediately covering her mouth and nose with her hands.

“I’ve already weaponized your virus. This fight is finished,” The Scientist smiled, motioning to Down with the Sickness to finish the job.

Little Windmill leapt into action, trying its best to keep the metallic amoeba from getting any closer to them, however, its needle like tail was very difficult to guard against.

Fugo knew if he tried anything with Purple Haze, there was a chance a capsule could break, infecting them all, so he withdrew his stand. Weak as he was, Fugo charged the Scientist by himself.

THWACK

His fist collided with the Scientists face, the blue haired man looking shocked at the attack. But before the man could respond with something witty, Fugo punched him again. And again. And again.

Images of the professor he’d beaten years back flooded his memory, as Fugo picked up the keyboard to the computer, and bashed the Scientist over the head. His enemy fell to the floor, but Fugo continued to pummel the man.

Down with the Sickness soon faded into nothingness, but Fugo continued punching. The Scientist stopped breathing, but Fugo continued punching. The enemy’s head was bloodied beyond recognition, but Fugo continued punching.

Bibita hesitantly crossed to the enraged man. This was her first time really seeing the full extent of his rage, and it scared her. “Fugo, it’s over,” she said, but she found her voice was drowned out from the sound of bones breaking. “He’s already dead,” she raised her voice. “Please, stop it, Panacotta.”

Fugo finally snapped back to his senses. He was exhausted, and he could already tell he’d broken a few bones in his hands. His suit was stained with blood, matching the same shade of crimson that was splattered all over the floor of the office. At the center of all the carnage was the Scientist, mangled beyond recognition, lying in a pool of his own blood. It did not take a doctor to tell this man was already dead.

*********************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Purple Haze Distortion
Stand User: Panacotta Fugo
Stand Power: Feral Virus – the capsules on its fists contain a flesh-eating virus able to kill anything it comes in contact within a matter of minutes. Once distorted, the virus becomes more precise and deadly, however, its range is severely impacted.
• Power: A
• Speed: B
• Range: E
• Durability: E
• Precision: C
• Potential: A

Chapter Text

“It looks like everyone infected got better once the Scientist died.”

“Thank goodness. We’d be here all day if you had to heal each one.”

Fugo and Giorno discussed the conclusion of the battle, while in the lobby of the hospital, leaving the mangled body of the Scientist in his office just a few dozen meters away. Due to Giorno guarding the rehabilitation center, there were no innocent casualties from Down with the Sickness, however, after the fight, Fugo was in bad shape. Luckily Giorno was able to heal him right up once they reunited. Bibita, meanwhile, kept to herself, hugging her knees as she took a corner seat.

“So, I take it he didn’t give you two too much trouble?” Giorno asked, finally finished healing Fugo. “Does BiBi need any healin-”

“Bibita is just fine,” the girl mumbled from the corner, eyes downcast.

Giorno took a breath, ready to respond to Bibita, but Fugo gave him a quick look, letting him know to drop the subject.

“There was something of interest the Scientist said before he died,” Fugo said. “He mentioned something about Disciples of the New Dawn… There’s a good chance he’s just one piece to a much larger machine.”

“That makes sense,” Giorno sighed. “We’ve killed the drug supplier, but there’s still the mystery of how he broke out of prison, and how he was able to distribute the drugs without leaving any sort of trail. It’s likely he wasn’t alone. We just have to find the Scientist’s boss, and stop him-”

“Her,” Fugo interrupted. “It sounded like the Scientist was working for a woman.”

“Either way, it’s just another mysterious Boss who needs to be taken down,” Giorno continued. “I’ll have Murolo look into it… but, as of right now, without an enemy to interrogate, we don’t have much of a lead.”

“I’m sorry, GioGio…”

“Don’t be,” Giorno shrugged. “You were in a difficult situation, but our enemy was defeated, and now the folks at the rehabilitation center can begin their journey unimpeded.”

“So, are we done here?” Bibita piped up. “Our job was to take down the Scientist… and, to put bluntly, he’s never getting back up again.”

“Well, yes, we defeated our enemy,” Fugo explained, walking towards her. “But… there’s a good chance he isn’t alone.”

“My mission wasn’t to take down a rival organization,” Bibita said, turning her attention to Giorno. “My mission was to defeat the Scientist… Am I correct Mr. Giovanna?”

“Correct,” Giorno replied with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood. “And, from what I heard and saw, you were a great help to Passione.”

“Cool,” she got up out of her chair. “Mission accomplished. Loyalty proven. I’m done now.” She crossed to the door to exit the hospital. “Ciao.”

The sky was dark and heavy. Typical weather for that time of year, the faint moisture in the air signaled rain was in the forecast any day now. But the green haired girl paid that no mind, as she shoved her hands in her pockets and crossed the street. Bibita had already made it halfway down the block when Fugo finally caught up with her.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” the young man asked.

Bibita slowed her pace a bit for Fugo to catch up, but she remained silent.

“You did good out there, honestly,” he said. “Now, I know it was dangerous, but with all of us looking out for each other, everything worked out, right?”

“I kept an open mind, just like you said,” she muttered. “And I’m making my choice. I want out of Passione.”

“I know you did, and I know how this decision must feel,” he continued. “Believe me, months ago, I thought I’d made the logical choice by not joining Buccellati’s coupe. That was a mistake on my part. It took a while for me to realize that, but I see now my place is with the gang… I don’t want you to go down that same path.”

Bibita stopped in her tracks, taking a moment to listen to his words. “You told me to keep an open mind, right?” she turned her head to look at her friend. “That’s exactly what I did. You wanna know what I saw out there today? I saw a rehab center full of people on the brink of death. I saw a man’s head smashed to a bloodied pulp. And I saw my friend nearly die-”

“Yes, but we all ended up just fine-”

“Even so… that amount of violence. That’s not for me. I mean, for God’s sake, I filed taxes while in Passione,” Bibita said, with a hollow laugh. “For the most part, my time in the gang was relatively uneventful… until Giovanna there decided to play kingpin.”

“Bibita, give him a chance,” Fugo said with earnest. “He’s really turning Italy around for the better. Eliminating the drug trade. Lowering the crime rates. Donating to orphanages and rehab centers-”

“Look, I’m sure you see blondie as a good guy… but, from an outside view, all the violence and carnage began when he decided to become ‘Boss,’” she said. “He didn’t just defeat the old Boss and his followers… There were casualties along the way. His actions rippled outward, and my city suffered for it. My team suffered for it.”

“I’m sorry you lost your team,” Fugo avoided eye contact. “We all lost people along this path. But I can guarantee Giorno is a far better option that the old Boss-”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Bibita shrugged. “From what I heard the old Boss was a real piece of shit. Plenty of enemies… Did you know that La Squadra Di Esecuzione also wanted to dethrone the old Boss? Both your teams were after the same goal, but instead of talking through it, you all tried to kill each other. And the violence didn’t stop there. All the big players in the Passione war stomped around with no regard to the little people trapped under their boots. No matter who is in charge, people are gonna get stepped on, so I’m just making sure I’m far enough away when the boots start kicking again.”

“Bibita, please stay,” Fugo said. “We could really use your help.”

Bibita shook her head. “You guys don’t need me. My stand’s nothing spectacular, and ninety percent of the finance stuff I know was from reading your textbooks. Face it, I’m just some street rat who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Passione doesn’t need me. And, more importantly, I don’t need Passione. Besides, I do better on my own anyways.”

Fugo looked taken aback, unsure what to say next. Bibita, on the other hand, had more to say.
“I know you don’t want me going down that same path you did. But… we’re different people, and these are different paths,” Bibita took a step toward Fugo, reaching out for his hands. “You felt leaving Passione was a mistake for you, but right now, that’s the only path that makes sense to me. But, for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. If you say Passione has helped you, then I’m grateful for that. It’s just… not for me.”

Fugo sighed, clearly upset with her decision, but it at least sounded like she’d put thought into it. Besides, at the end of the day, joining was entirely her choice. If they tried to keep her in Passione against her will, she wouldn’t be a gangster, she’d be a prisoner. Fugo brought her in for a tight hug, “Alright… just know, you don’t always have to be alone. If you ever need any help, just know you have some allies in la Familia. Don’t be afraid to reach out.”

Bibita returned the hug, unable to hide her smile. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Same goes for you… but like, don’t try to get me roped up in all that mobster drama,” she felt the need to clarify. “But, if you ever need a mural or something painted, hit me up!”

The pair’s hug ended, and Bibita continued down the street.

“Where do you plan to go now?” Fugo asked.

“I don’t know,” Bibita said, without turning around. “I’ll figure that out later. But, for now, I’d rather be alone. I’ll pick up my stuff from Giovanna’s mansion tonight. Stay safe out there, Fugo.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Fugo alone on the street corner. He felt an awful cocktail of emotions in the pit of his stomach, watching his friend turn her back on the organization. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Buccellati’s crew felt that fateful day at San Giorgio Maggiore, when he decided not to join the traitors. Despite the similarities, Bibita didn’t seem conflicted in the matter, in fact, she looked relieved. Nothing like the anguish Fugo felt when he betrayed his crew.

*****************************

“It looks like they’ve defeated the Scientist,” a man with teal hair and a bright yellow hoodie remarked, looking through his binoculars.

“What? For real? Mr. Smarty-pants got himself killed!” a petite woman with bright pink hair and a black leather jacket scoffed, reaching for the man’s binoculars. “Lemme see! Stop hogging the binoculars.”

Morrissey handed the tool to Barracuda, who snatched it with great enthusiasm. The pair were staking out the area and were stationed in a rundown apartment building with a good view of the Napoli hospital.

“Ah man… there’s so much blood,” Barracuda pouted, shoving the binoculars back to her partner. “I can’t believe I missed out on watching that bloodbath…”

“I’ll be sure to forward you the autopsy report,” Morrissey offered, lighting a cigarette. “You can use your imagination to fill in the blank-”

“Cool! My story is gonna have lasers, and explosions, and at least three cyborgs!” the pink haired woman smiled, revealing her sharp teeth. She stopped pitching her Syfy crime noir drama when she noticed something odd about the people in the hospital. “Oi! I recognize that one dude as the current boss-man of Passione, but the other two weren’t on the report.”

Morrissey looked through the binoculars. “Huh… They’re also former members of Passione. Finally out of hiding by the looks of it. And, lucky us. Our target appears to be isolated. You know what that means?”

“Murder time?”

“No… not yet,” Morrissey pulled out a cellphone. “Canella has other plans for our target.”

**************

Bibita walked through the streets of Napoli, feeling a sort of distant nostalgia for the place. For the first time in a long time, she felt unencumbered. She was free from the gang. No need to look over her shoulder. No fear of assassins or getting caught in turf wars. Retired at sixteen.
“Huh… now what?” she thought out loud. “People typically go to school, get a job, and then retire. I sorta got the order all wrong. And it’s still way too early for a midlife crisis.”

She crossed the street, passing by some of her old spray paint art. The graffiti had since been painted over, and replaced with someone else’s street art. It was a bit of bittersweet freedom she felt, but all new starts had to feel that way. The important thing was, she was finally free, beholden to no one but herself.

“Pardon? Have you seen my cousin?” a little boy’s voice interrupted Bibita’s thought.

A child, no older than ten, with dark skin, aqua eyes, and wavy brown hair with sides cut shorter walked the streets. He wore a school uniform that was several sizes too big, undoubtedly old hand-me-downs from an older family member. Over his uniform, the child sported a large black jacket, with tiny ones and zeros printed all over.

The child greeted a few more people along the street, asking each person if they’d seen his cousin. The people on the street would then explain directions to the distraught child. Bibita tilted her head, realizing the kid would continue this ploy with each person he interacted with, not considering changing his path based on the directions given to him.

“Pardon? Miss?” the child approached her. “Have you seen my cousin? We were on holiday together, but I seemed to have lost him-”

“Ah, the lost child act,” Bibita smiled. “That’s definitely a good angle. Pulls on the heart strings.”

“I beg your pardon… What do you mean?”

“The hand-me-down clothes and the fake French accent really sell the scheme… nice job kid.”

“Have you seen my cousin?”

“You’re a pick pocketer, right?” Bibita interrupted. The kid went silent, there was no masking his guilty expression. “Don’t sweat it. It takes one to know one.” With that, she revealed a small wristwatch she’d taken without him even noticing.

“What? How did you-”

“The trick is to not draw attention to yourself,” she tossed him back his watch. “Become socially invisible.”

The child smiled, front tooth missing. “Become invisible! Got it!”

“Now, tell me, how much have you made so far?” she asked, walking further down the street, the child following closely behind.

“Twenty-eight Euro… and four buttons,” he said, riffling through his pockets.

“Well, that’s certainly a start,” she shrugged, pulling out a hundred Euro bill. “Here you go. You probably need it more than me.”

“For real?”

She nodded, as the two approached an alleyway. “Just, promise me you’ll try to stop pickpocketing. Bright kid like you oughta go to school.”

“Got it! Merci Miss!” he said, following her into the alley with a skip to his step.

Yet, the child was the only one to reach the end of the alleyway, as Bibita was nowhere to be seen.

“Become invisible,” he noted, withdrawing a cell phone from his pocket. “You seem to be very good at that.”

******************

Fugo paced the halls of Giorno’s mansion, checking his watch every so often. Hours had passed since their mission to take down the Scientist, yet, Bibita had yet to show up. Fugo understood that she was done with the gang, but she did say she’d stop by to collect her things. Even if she wasn’t in the gang anymore, she was still his friend. So, when he checked his watch again to discover it was already one in the morning and Bibita had yet to return, he couldn’t help but worry.

Knock-Knock

Fugo lightly tapped one of the doors of the mansion.

“Ugh… What time is it?” the voice inside grumbled.

“Quarter past one,” Fugo responded. “Sorry to wake you, Sheila E.”

“It better be important,” the voice yawned from inside one of the guest rooms. “Otherwise, it can wait till morning-”

“Bibita hasn’t returned from our mission… I’m worried something might have happened,” Fugo interrupted. “I need your help.”

There was a slight pause, followed by a reluctant sigh. “Fine… I’ll be ready in five.”

As Sheila E got prepared to leave, accompanied by a small commotion, Fugo leaned against the wall next to the door.

“Whatcha doing Fugo?!” Mista snuck up next to the blond man, unnoticed.

“What the-” Fugo jumped, clutching his chest. But, before he could summon his stand, he saw the smug smile of Passione’s beanie wearing sharpshooter.

“Ha! I totally scared you,” Mista grinned.

“No, you didn’t” Fugo said, collecting his nerves. “Besides, startling the person with the killer virus power isn’t the most intelligent-”

“Yeah, I definitely got you,” Mista continued, completely ignoring the potential danger his prank could’ve caused. “So… What are you up to?”

“Well, Bibita was supposed to stop by here to pick up her things, but she hasn’t arrived yet,” Fugo explained.

“Oh, I get it,” Mista lightly nudged Fugo in the ribs. “You’re worried about her.”

“Yes. I am. Because she’s my friend,” Fugo said tersely.

“Suuuure. Just friends,” Mista said with a wink.

Fugo rolled his eyes. “Anyways, what are you doing up?”

Mista shrugged. “I don’t know. Just bored.”

Creek

The door to Sheila E’s room opened, and the girl was ready to go, already changed into her loose-fitting dance attire. “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Fugo and Sheila began walking down the hall.

“Hey! Wait up!” Mista said, rushing after them. “Can I come with? I haven’t been on a mission in forever, and quite frankly, boredom is killing me.”

“As melodramatic as always, I see,” Sheila E muttered, eyes still tired from her interrupted sleep.

“Fine, you can join,” Fugo reluctantly answered. “But this isn’t a mission. We’re just looking for Bibita. And try not to make things weird.”

“What? Me? Weird?” Mista scoffed, following the pair out the mansion. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

The three of them wandered the streets of Napoli, following Bibita’s trail. Along with being a fearsome fighter and top bodyguard in Passione, Sheila E possessed another useful skill completely unrelated to her stand. She had a heightened sense of smell, making it easy for her to track down her targets. The trio of Passione gangsters stopped by a dingy alley as Sheila E sniffed the air. “The trail grows faint about here,” she noted. “Bibita was definitely here, but I’m not sure where she went next. There is a faint trail heading North, but it’s not nearly as strong.”

“She could have gone into her gaseous state,” Fugo offered. “That could be why the trail is faint. I think we should follow it.”

“Maybe she just left and doesn’t want to be found,” Sheila E commented, leading the men further into the zigzagging alleyways. “I mean, she had the choice to stay, and she left. Why even go after her?”

“Ooooh, I know why,” Mista sang with a cheery tone.

Fugo shot him a glare to shut him up. “I know she made her choice. But just because she isn’t in Passione anymore doesn’t mean she’s exempt from gang violence,” Fugo said. “It sounded like the Scientist was working for a larger group. That combined with the fact she hasn’t gotten her stuff from the mansion yet, and I can’t help but worry.”

“Fine… but if this turns out to be nothing, you owe me,” Sheila stifled a yawn. “I’m losing valuable sleeping time.”

“I know, I know,” Fugo said sheepishly. “And have I told you recently how much I appreciate you?”

Sheila E didn’t respond, but a slight smile spread over her lips.

They walked in relative silence over the next few minutes. The trail led the three of them to another alleyway with a dead end. Yet, instead of Bibita standing at the end of the alley, the trio were greeted by a child in an oversized school uniform, who looked to be counting euros on a nearby crate.

“Well, this is a dead end,” Mista said quietly. “So much for an adventur-”

“No, her trail leads here,” Sheila interrupted, inhaling the air. She looked to the child, who didn’t seem to pay them much mind. “Hey there kid. We’re looking for our friend, we were wondering if you’ve seen a girl about this tall, green hair, street punk aesthetic?”

“Oh, me?” the kid looked over his shoulder, realizing he was the only other person in the alley. “Uh… no. Haven’t seen that girl.”

The child quickly grabbed his money and began shoving it in his pockets.

“Woah, calm down there,” Mista said in an even tone. “No need to freak out on us. Isn’t it past your bedtime, kiddo? What are you doing up this late? Shouldn’t you be at home or something?”

The kid didn’t respond back to any of the questions, and instead filled his pockets with the euros and rushed to exit the alleyway, bumping into Sheila E on his way out. Upon bumping into her, a loose euro bill fell out of his pocket, and landed by Sheila’s feet. The girl sniffed the air and noticed Bibita’s scent was tied to the hundred-euro bill on the floor.

“Hey, where did you get this euro?” she asked, picking up the bill.

“I don’t know,” the child said in a rush. “I just found it. I don’t know.”

“The trick is to not draw attention to yourself…. Become socially invisible.”

The bill Sheila E held sprouted lips, and began talking, replaying the words Bibita had spoken earlier that day.

“Here you go. You probably need it more than me…. Just, promise me you’ll try to stop pickpocketing. Bright kid like you oughta go to school.”

The sound of Bibita’s disembodied voice shook the child, as his body froze up, caught in his lie.

“Do you know where the girl who gave you this money went?” Sheila asked, in a cold tone, frightening the child.

“You’re not in trouble,” Fugo said, kneeling next to the frightened kid. “We’re just looking for our friend.”

“I don’t know, she just left,” the boy stammered. “I don’t know!”

“He’s hiding something,” Sheila E said, reaching out for the child’s shoulder. “I can tell he’s lying-”

“Woah, calm down,” Mista interjected. “We’re just looking for Fugo’s girlfriend, there’s no need to interrogate a literal chil-”

“Bibita’s not my girlfriend-”

As Mista and Fugo bickered, the child took a deep breath.

“Technologic.”

That’s when Sheila E noticed her hand on the kid’s shoulder was changing. Disappearing. Turning into binary codes of ones and zeroes. “Guys… something weird is happenin-”

The code spread across her, moving up her arms, her torso, her legs. Her entire body was entirely comprised of codes. She tried to speak, but the code had already spread to her face. Once the entirety of Sheila E was nothing but ones and zeroes, the codes swirled around and flew toward the child, disappearing into his new form.

The child still wore his school uniform and his large black jacket, but now his face was covered by a large computer monitor, acting almost as an oversized helmet for the small child. Along with the computer head, the boy sported futuristic metallic gloves, with multiple colorful wires connecting the helmet to the gloves. This was the child’s stand. Technologic.

“What the-” Mista gasped, watching Sheila E disappear entirely into code. Acting quickly, he summoned his stand, as six little sprites emerged. “Sex Pistols!”

But, before he had a chance to reach for his gun, the boy turned around and held out his hands, creating a rectangle with his fingers, capturing one of the Pistols' images. Just like Sheila E, Mista’s body began to transform into code.

“Kid, what’s happening to them?” Fugo said, trying to appear calm, as he struggled to keep his hands from shaking.

“Th-they knew too much… you know too much,” the kid turned his attention to Fugo. But, before the kid could line up his shot, Fugo quickly grabbed the child’s wrists.

“Please, just bring them back,” Fugo said. “There is no need for this to escalate.”

“You’re right, there is no need,” the child muttered, the computer monitor flashing bright colors. “It’s already over.”

Fugo then noticed he could no longer feel his grip on the child, as his hands were already a series of ones and zeroes. Reluctantly, Fugo summoned his stand. However, Purple Haze was in a similar position, with its arms already shifting into code. In a matter of seconds, both Fugo and Purple Haze were gone, replaced with binary code, and absorbed into Technologic.

The monitor flashed once more, the text on the screen matching the child’s emotion.

:D

“I-I did it! I captured them all!”

:/

“But… Falco specifically said only to capture the green haired one…. And, I don’t have all the codes for that beanie wearing guy...”

:’(

“Oh, darn it! I messed up… I messed up, and now they’re all gonna be mad at me… Stupid Manuel! Stupid, stupid stupid!”

The child, Manuel, continued cursing at himself, as he paced the alleyway, completely alone once more, no evidence of the Passione gangsters to be found.

Mista was the lucky one, as the effects of Technologic was divided by six, since it only captured number two. Mista limped through the streets of Napoli, one sixth of his body was incorporeal coding. He didn’t know if the kid knew he didn’t completely catch him, but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out.

“This is not what I had in mind for an adventure,” Mista muttered, retreating to Giorno’s mansion as fast as he could with only five sixths of his body.

************************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Technologic
Stand User: Manuel
Stand Power: Digital Download- Technologic targets tangible objects and transforms them into digital codes, safely stored in the stand. These codes can not be deleted, but Technologic can store or send the codes as an attachment to safely smuggle it’s targets without detection to any device with email.
• Power: N/A
• Speed: B
• Range: E
• Durability: B
• Precision: A
• Potential: B

Chapter Text

Giorno awoke early the next morning, as per usual. He had his staff create a hearty breakfast for him as he took a seat in the dining room, expecting the rest of his friends to join him for breakfast. However, this day, Giorno sat alone.

“Huh… that’s odd,” Giorno said, as he took a bite of his breakfast. “I can understand Mista sleeping in, but Sheila E is always very punctual.”

He waited a few more minutes in silence, before finally standing up, and shouting to the empty mansion “If you guys don’t show up, I can’t assure there’ll be any bacon left ov-”

“Shhhh!” Cannolo Murolo interrupted Giorno, as the Borsellino hat wearing ginger entered the dining room.

“Oh, Murolo! Glad to see you,” Giorno said, taking a seat once more. “Have you seen Mista or Sheil-”

“No questions before I have my coffee,” Murolo muttered, taking a seat opposite the boss, sipping his mug of coffee. Giorno waited in silence for the man to finish his drink.

“So…. have you seen Mista or Sheila E?” Giorno asked once the drink was finished.

“Nah, haven’t seen them today,” Cannolo shrugged.

“Oh,” Giorno frowned, but immediately got back to business. “Have you had the chance to look into the Scientist’s connections to a group called the Disciples of the New Dawn?”

“I’m working on it,” the man said. “Say what you will about the Scientist, but he really knew how to cover his trac-”

Knock Knock Knock

A thumping at the main door interrupted their conversation.

“Guys? Let me in please,” Mista’s voice called out from outside the mansion.

Both Giorno and Cannolo walked to the front door.

“What, did you lose your key again?” Murolo asked with a chuckle.

“No, well… not exactly,” Mista said, sounding exasperated. “It’s a long story. Just, let me in so I can explain.”

“Fine,” Giorno reached to unlock the door. “I’m sure you're just exaggeratin-”

Upon opening the door, the pair could see Mista, or at least what was left of him. Passione’s sharpshooter had patches of translucent codes taking the place of different sections of his body, including a chunk of his face, his left hand, and the majority of his right leg.

“I swear, I have a good explanation for all this,” Mista laughed nervously, limping into the mansion.

Giorno rushed to help Mista into the mansion, while Murolo stood in the doorway, slowly blinking, still registering the odd display he’d just witnessed. “Huh… here I was thinking we’d have a normal morning.”

The three of them crossed to the dining room, as Mista explained what exactly happened the previous night. “And so, I spent the last few hours limping around Naples hiding from that computer head kid,” he said, taking a bite of bacon from Giorno’s plate.

“And Fugo… Sheila E?” Cannolo asked.

“They’re all coding now,” Mista said, mouth full of food. “Sent to Matrix or whatever-”

“So, they’re in a virtual reality and being used as batteries to power machines?” Giorno raised a brow.

“Was that the plot? Okay, I’ll be honest, I only watched the movie for the slow-motion action sequences,” Mista shrugged, finishing his bite. “The point is that pint-sized poindexter has our friends-”

“So… you ran away from a child?” Murolo scoffed.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t want to shoot a literal child!” Mista rolled his eyes, as he reached into his boot for his gun. However, just like the rest of his leg, his gun was just a series of codes. “Not like this would do much damage anyways…”

“Interesting,” Cannolo muttered, observing the semi translucent coding on the gunman.

“Yeah, codes are super interesting,” Mista said sardonically, turning his attention to Giorno. “Now can you hurry up and heal me?”

“I would… if I could,” Giorno said, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

“Ha, ha, very funny man,” Mista said. “Now, come on dude! I want my leg and arm back already!”

“Well… it isn’t not there already,” Giorno explained poorly.

“Yeah, I’m missing my leg, we get it-”

“No, it isn’t not there… as in it isn’t missing,” Giorno reiterated. “The code in your body contains life. I can’t replace what’s already there-”

“Ah, come on! How am I supposed to track down that computer kid with only five sixths of a body?” Mista stood up, nearly slipping from the lack of traction on his coded leg.

“I figure, we find this kid, and convince him to give us our friends back,” Murolo said, revealing the pack of playing cards in his jacket.

“And my body, right?” Mista’s eyes went wide.

“Eh, I guess we can try to get the rest of your body back, if it isn’t too much of a hassle,” Murolo joked, but after a glare from Giorno, he quickly changed his tone. “Right now, the kid could be anywhere, and based on what you described, a head on fight might not be the smartest.”

Cannolo shuffled the cards, as a soft red glow emanated from the cardboard rectangles. Suddenly, the cards all shot off in different directions, finding their way out of the mansion. “Back in my day, we fought our battles with words and information,” Murolo smiled under his large hat. “I think All Along the Watch Tower can assist in this matter.”

*****************************

“Okay Manuel… All you have to do is capture the rest of the beanie guy before he alerts the others,” the child said to himself, as he ran through the streets of Naples. “That way no one in Passione will find out… and the rest of my team won’t be mad at me… I can’t mess this up.”

Manuel ran without direction, already out of breath from hours of looking for Mista. But the child was more experienced with exploring the online frontier, not the great outdoors.

The boy nearly ran into oncoming traffic, skidding to a stop right in front of a busy intersection, the gloomy dark clouds distracting him from the imminent danger. Once he steadied himself against a nearby lamppost, he took a moment to catch his breath, as the oncoming traffic zoomed past him. After the dust settled, a single playing card fluttered in the air, landing right next to the exhausted child.

Curious, Manuel leaned over to pick up the card.

“Are you serious?” a voice chuckled from the alleyway right behind the kid. “This is the stand user that’s caused so much trouble?”

Manuel turned around to see a ginger man in a Borsellino hat, accompanied by the only partially coded Mista.

“Hey, don’t let his looks fool you,” Mista said, taking a step behind Cannolo. “This kid is dangerous.”

Manuel’s hand started to shake. “Oh no…. No, no. He got away and told the others,” the child grumbled to himself, pacing the sidewalk in an effort to calm his nerves. “Stupid Manuel! Now everyone is gonna hate you-”

“It sounds like you’re going through your own… stuff at the moment, so I’m willing to give you a deal,” Murolo smirked, taking a step toward the panicking kid. “We’ll let you go, no questions asked, if you just kindly return our friends-”

“And my leg!” Mista interjected, from a safe distance. “Don’t forget about my leg!”

“... and the rest of this idiot’s body,” Cannolo rolled his eyes.

“Yeah… wait, hey!”

Manuel stared at the man with the cards, still about a dozen meters from the pair of Passione gangsters. ‘There’s no telling how many people they’ve told,’ he worried. ‘But, if I could capture them, that will stop them from telling anyone else.’

Manual took a step toward the pair. “Y-you promise?” his voice shook. “I give you your friends back, and I won’t get in trouble? No questions asked?”

“Cross my heart,” Murolo smiled, taking a step toward the child. Mista, however, stood his ground, not wanting to have any more of his body coded.

‘Almost there,’ the child thought, as he approached Cannolo.

Five meters away… Four meters away… Three meters away-

“Technologic!” The boy summoned his stand as he sprinted to close the distance. The large computer monitor covered his head, connected to his metallic gloves by brightly colored wires. Once Murolo was within reach, Technologic activated and the screen flashed.

“I take it yours is a short-ranged stand then,” the hat wearing mafioso shrugged.

“What does it matter?” the boy retorted, his voice autotuned from his computer helmet. “I’ve got you now! You’ll be nothing but codes in a matter of seconds!”

And yet, only a few patches of codes appeared on Cannolo, and the code did not spread to his entire being.

“Wh-what?” Manuel took a step back. “You should be all code now! No one can avoid the upload with direct contact.”

Above them, a single playing card fell to their feet, the black and green coding of ones and zeroes spreading across the card.

“You have the ability to transfer tangible objects and lifeforms into digital codes, storing them safely in your stand with no way for them to escape, right?” Murolo said, admiring the patch of codes clustered on the back of his hand. “However… I believe you’ll find the effects of your ability don’t fare well against those of us with colony stands. All damage or effects done to me are divided by fifty-three due to my stand, All Along the Watch Tower.”

Manuel put his hands in front of him, capturing his opponent’s image. Yet only a small cluster of codes emerged on Cannolo’s cheek.

“I’ll admit, that’s a powerful ability,” Murolo approached the child, who took a shaky step back. “But, after seeing what happened to Mista after you captured one of his pistols, your limitations were clear.”

“Always glad to help,” Mista piped up, still hiding in the alleyway. “From a sizable distance, of course.”

“My offer still stands,” Murolo continued. “Just return our friends, and you can leave. Kid like you shouldn’t get mixed up in this kind of business.”

The child looked around. If his enemy’s stand divided his effect by fifty-three, it would take forever to capture all of his enemy. And with trained mafioso’s they would most likely retaliate before he had the chance to capture all of them. In the boy’s mind, he only had one course of action…

Manuel bolted, rushing down the sidewalk, away from the Passione gangsters.

“Yeah, you better run!” Mista shouted from the background, as he hobbled to catch up to Murolo. “I say that more for intimidation… but we actually should catch up with him if we want our friends back.”

Manuel had quite a distance between him and the gangsters, as he searched around for that one tech business, he’d seen earlier that morning.

‘I just need to get to a computer,’ he thought as he recklessly crossed an intersection without looking for potential traffic. ‘Once I get to a computer, I can upload myself, and regroup with the others. They’ll never have to find out I messed up, and Falco won’t be angry with me!’

He skidded to a halt in front of a computer and appliances shop, admiring the pristine computer in the front display.

“Yes. This will work!” he smiled, rushing into the shop to access the computer. Once he was close enough to the display, the colorful wires attached to his stand lashed outwards, ready to connect him to the display computer, when-

“Yeee-Haaaw!” a few tiny voices cried out.

Manuel turned around to see a couple little golden sprites, each with a number written on their heads.

“Pass-pass-pass!”

Ting!

Ting! Ting!

Mista’s stand, the Sex Pistols, kicked around a little pebble in the air as if it were a football. Once number one had the shot lined up, it kicked the pebble at full force.

Crack!

The computer on display shattered entirely from the Pistols’ attack.

“Boo-yay baby!” the Pistols celebrated, giving each other elaborate high fives and handshakes. Manuel merely stood there, dumbfounded, his only route for escape literally shattered before him.

“Nice work lil guys,” Mista said, finally catching up to the tech store, smiling like a proud father at his stand. “Unfortunately, I’m down a firearm today, but my Pistols made do with that pebble. Hey, was that computer important? Oh, I hope that computer was important-”

“Miiiistaaa!” one of the stands cried out.

“What is it, Number Five?”

“Number Two won’t stop glitching!”

Sure enough, the Pistol that would have been marked as Number Two was nothing but coding, clipping through walls and speaking in distorted Morse code.

“I know, buddy,” Mista said, leaning against the doorway of the shop. “We’re working on bringing him back.”

“Speaking of which,” Cannolo said, walking into the shop, and approaching the child. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you were about to give us our friends back, right?”

The child was silent, his body shaking, yet, with Technologic covering his head, it was difficult to tell what the kid was thinking. Without a word, Manuel turned to face the pair, and reached into his computer head with his metallic gloves. But, instead of accessing their coded friends, the boy pulled out a small gun.

Bang! Ba-Bang! Bang!

The child fired the gun, bullets aimed right at his enemies.

“Pistols!” Mista called, all of his stand darted off to safely deflect the oncoming fire. Not a single shot hit their targets with the Pistols running interference. “Come on kid, did you really think you could land a hit on me with my stand active?”

Frustrated, the child threw the empty gun at the marksman.

THWACK

The gun smacked Mista right on the forehead, wiping the smug grin right off his face.
“Well, he couldn’t hit you with the bullets, but managed to hit you with the gun,” Murolo chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” Mista mumbled, grasping his head in pain. “Now if you’re not too busy laughing at me, you might want to go after the kid. He’s getting away!”

Sure enough, Manuel took the momentary distraction to bolt to the back door of the tech shop.
The pair of Passione gangsters were on his heels, the child so focused on the men chasing him, that he paid little mind to his surroundings. He darted into traffic narrowly avoiding oncoming vehicles.

“Careful kid,” Cannolo hollered from the safety of the sidewalk.

Mista, who had selected another route out of the tech store, found a way across the street faster than Manuel, waiting on the other for the fleeing child.

Seeing Mista standing ahead of him, the cold look of a mafioso shined in the marksman’s eyes, Manuel skidded to a stop, trying desperately to change direction.

HONK! HONK! HOOOOONK!

A semi-truck barreled down the street, honking and breaking as fast as it could, but there was no way the vehicle would be able to stop in time. And, standing right in the truck’s path of destruction was the computer helmet wearing lad, Manual. He barely had a moment to register the large vehicle skidding towards him. Thinking this was his end, the boy clenched his eyes shut, the only thought to cross his mind was how much he let his cousin down, as he braced for impact.

“Out of the way!” Cannolo yelled, tackling the child, shoving Manuel safely out of the way of the speeding semi. While the kid landed safely on the sidewalk, Murolo was unable to get out of the truck’s path.

Skreee

THWAAACK

The truck hit Cannolo, sending his body violently tumbling down the road. Manuel, still shocked at recent events, looked to the man who’d saved his life. He was completely dumbfounded on why he’d throw away his life like that for his enemy.

Mista rushed over to Cannolo, who struggled to get to his feet. “And they call me reckless,” Mista joked, helping the man on to his feet.

“Eh, I’m fine,” he coughed. “Only a broken rib, a couple of bruises and a few abrasions. All damage is divided by fifty-three, remember?”

“I know. But a speeding semi-truck is always dangerous,” Mista shrugged.

“...Why… why did you save me?” Manuel asked. The kid had deactivated his stand, revealing his face, his bright aqua eyes darted around confused. “You could have been killed. Why throw your life away for a stranger? For an enemy?”

“Okay, first things first, stop acting like I’m all heroic,” Murolo grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It was a calculated risk. I was never really in danger. And next… I don’t know, you’re just a kid. Sure, you’ve made some mistakes, but that doesn’t mean you should be left for roadkill.”

The boy watched the pair of Passione gangsters through new eyes. His whole life, he’d been told about the horrors Passione, the ruthlessness of the gangsters and the bodies left in their wake. And yet, these two men didn’t fit that description. Sure, they were intimidating, but they did not want to hurt him.

Slowly, the coding on Mista and Cannolo faded, their bodies returning to normal. The two looked confused, turning to see Manuel, having activated his stand Technologic.

“My...my cousin told me stories of Passione for years. I was told you were all horrible criminals and murderers… but that’s not what I saw today,” the child admitted, lifting his metallic gloved hands. “You guys risked your life for me… so, you might not be my enemy. At least, not right now. I feel like I at least owe this much.”

Suddenly, two blobs of binary codes appeared on the sidewalk, each shifting its form to become more and more humanoid. Then, with the snap of Manuel’s fingers, the codes faded away, replaced with Technologic’s former captives. Without warning, Fugo and Sheila E appeared on the sidewalk, finally free from their digital prison.

“Hey! You’re back!” Mista ran, practically tackling his two friends. “How was it in the Matrix? Do you understand Excel now?”

“Wait, are you talking about that one Keanu Reeves movie?” Sheila E held her head, still getting her bearings. “I don’t watch a lot of cinema.”

“And Excel is a fairly simple spreadsheet application,” Fugo mumbled.

“Ah, glad to see you both haven’t changed,” Cannolo chuckled, approaching the newly downloaded friends.

“What happened?” Sheila E asked. “Last thing I remember, we were after some kid… and then my memory is fuzzy.”

“So, you and Fugo got captured by Manny over there,” Mista explained, gesturing to the kid. “But he only got part of me, cause I’m super-ultra-lucky-”

“And because he only captured one of your Pistols,” Cannolo cut in. “Anyways, we found the kid, and he agreed to bring you back.”

Sheila and Fugo turned to see Manuel, who, even under Technologic’s computer helmet, was avoiding returning the eye contact.

“And what about Bibita?” Fugo looked around, expecting to find his green haired friend.

:/

Manuel just shook his head, the computer screen reflecting his mood. “I’m afraid I don’t have access to her codes anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Fugo stumbled to his feet. “You were the one to download her, right? So, where is she?”

“I-I don’t have her codes-”

“So, you lost her? Deleted her?” Fugo raised his voice, hand trembling slightly.

:(

“N-no, Technologic can’t hurt people,” the child explained.

“Then what happened to her?!”

“Fugo, that’s enough,” Sheila E said pointedly. “Take a breath. You’re frightening the child.” She set a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and could feel Fugo begin to relax slightly. “So… if you no longer have access to her codes, what does that mean?”

“That means someone downloaded her,” the kid said.

“Wait, like an email attachment?” Mista asked, most of the tech talk went over his head.

Manuel nodded.

“So, who has her now?” Fugo demanded.

“I… I can’t say… I’ll get in trouble,” the child muttered. He turned his attention to Murolo. Despite getting hit by a truck, the man appeared to be the calmest amongst the Passione gangsters. “Listen… you risked your life for me, and I’ve given you your friends back. We’re even now. But I gotta go. I’ve already messed up a bunch, and I don’t want them mad at me. Merci, and au revoir.”

The child walked away from the gangsters, turning to a nearby alleyway with an ATM. The colorful wires attached to his stand plugged into the screen, his body slowly shifting to coding.

Fugo instinctively took a step to follow, but Murolo blocked his pathway. “We have to go after him!”

Murolo shook his head. “Nah. Whoever the child works for, he’s more afraid of them than he is of us,” he spoke. “Right now, we’re on good terms with the kid, that could be an opportunity. But we don’t want to play all our cards at once. If we get too involved too fast, his team may grow suspicious of Manuel, or possibly punish him. It’s in our best interest to keep him at a distance for the moment.”

“So, what? We just abandon Bibita?” Fugo insisted. “That kid is our shot at finding her, and we’re letting him get away.”

“If what he said is true, that someone has downloaded her, that means she’s no longer trapped in that digital prison,” Sheila E noted. “So, she must be back in her physical form now. That’ll make her easier to find.”

By this point, Manuel was entirely code, his new form shifting into the ATM, leaving no trace of the child.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Fugo mumbled.

*****************************

[Downloading Attachment]

[20%]

[85%]

[98%]

[BB.exe Successfully Downloaded]

There was a swirl of light and coding, before Bibita suddenly materialized. She blinked, slowly coming to her senses. The last thing she remembered was walking through an alley with the pickpocketing child, and then… nothing. There was a gap in her memory, as if she was abruptly transported with no recollection of how she got there.

She sat in a dimly lit hotel room, sitting in front of a bright laptop computer. The hotel room appeared to be very elegant, undoubtedly an expensive suite based on its many rooms and ornate designs. Yet, with the curtains blocking out any outside light, it was difficult to determine exactly where she was, and how much time had passed since her last memory. All she could hear was the soft pattering of rain outside.

“Ah, our guest is finally awake,” a friendly feminine voice broke the relative silence.
Bibita turned around to see a woman with tan skin, wavy orange hair, and bright golden eyes leaning against the wall opposite her. Instead of her typical business attire, the woman wore a beautifully draped dress of turquoise and gold, with little flowers blooming on the fabric, creating a trail of petals down the beautiful gown. With a smile on her face, and a bronze stand-arrow in hand, Canella Mercury approached Bibita. “We have a lot to discuss.”

*************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: All Along the Watchtower
Stand User: Cannolo Murolo
Stand Power: Espionage: All Along Watchtower has the ability to spy on targets without being seen or alerting them, then relay the information back to Cannolo in the form of a circus act. They act individually, taking advantage of their thin shape to perform assassinations and gather information while remaining unseen.
• Power: C
• Speed: B
• Range: A
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Potential: E

Chapter Text

India, 1986

The sun had only recently set over the auspicious mansion, decorated so lavishly, it felt akin to a palace. One would expect royalty or some business millionaire to live there, yet only a single teenage girl took up residence there. She had plenty of servants and bodyguards, but this structure of wealth was made specifically for her.

The girl walked out to the balcony to get some fresh air, removing her ornate jewelry that was weighing her down. She enjoyed the last bit of the sunlight, as the sky soon faded to a deep violet. “I suppose now would be a good time for the servants to make supper,” she said to herself, as she returned to her spacious living room, covered wall to wall in different religious imagery. She crossed through the room, on her way to the kitchen, when she noticed something, or rather, someone longing in her chez long.

“Ah, Miss Mercury,” the figure spoke, his features still obscured by shadows. “I see you have certainly made quite a life for yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded, taking a moment to place his accent. He sounded British, which meant he was most likely of Christian faith. “Unfortunately, you’ve arrived a bit early for Sunday service. You are welcome to attend our sunrise prayer session tomorrow morning, but there nothing for you here toda-”

“That’s incorrect,” the figure interrupted, standing up, and stepping into the light of the room. He was a large man with perfectly sculpted muscles, his loose-fitting white tunic showing off his fit body. His golden blond hair fell to about shoulder length, an odd scar ran across the man’s neck, and a five-pointed star birthmark branded on his back left shoulder. “I am exactly where I need to be.”

Immediately, the girl felt she was in danger, but she kept a calm facade, as she crossed to her desk and discreetly pushed the button to alert her bodyguards. “I… understand you’ve come to me as a prophet,” she smiled, keeping her voice calm and friendly. “But I’m afraid God hasn’t spoken to me today. He will speak to me before service tomorro-”

“God has never spoken to you,” the man took a step towards her. “You are a fraud, using people's faiths in different religions to gather your own following. You claim to be a prophet of many gods, but you’re nothing more than a cult leade-”

“You watch your tongue,” the girl said with a bit of an edge. “To even think something like that could be considered blasphemous.”

By this point, a dozen guards stormed into the living room, all their guns pointed at the strange man. “Now, you were never invited to my humble abode,” she said, regaining her confidence. “So, I’m going to have to politely ask you to leave.”

The guards loaded their weapons, ready to fire at the girl’s command. Canella merely smiled, and gestured to the main entrance, signaling the man to leave. Yet he did not move.

“Sir, I suggest you leave now, before things turn ugly,” she reiterated. “I would really hate to get your blood on my floors. We just got this room renovated.”

The man didn’t seem affected by her threats, as he began to chuckle. Softly at first, but it soon grew louder and louder. “Oh ho! You really think you can threaten me?”

“This is not a threat. It’s a promise,” she raised her hand in the air, a signal for her guards. “You have till the count of three to make your way to the exit. Otherwise, I cannot make any assurances for your wellbeing.”

The man did not respond.

“One!”

His smile faded, a look of annoyance spreading on his face.

“Two!”

The man sighed but did not move a muscle.

“Three!” Canella lowered her arm.

And yet, not a single bullet was fired. The smell of blood wafted through the air, yet, the mysterious intruder looked just fine, not a single scratch on him.

Instinctively, the girl raised and lowered her hand once more, but the guards did not react to the signal. A shiver ran down her spine, as she slowly turned around to check on the guards. “That was the signal to shoot hi-” her voice caught in her throat, seeing the mangled mess of limbs and bones where her loyal guards once stood.

When she turned back around, the mysterious man was right in front of her, clearing the distance as if no time had passed. She let out a shrill scream, nearly falling over while jumping backwards. “Stay away from me!” she commanded, her eyes crackled with bright gold energy. “You won’t do anything to harm me,” Three pairs of thin translucent arms materialized in front of her, ready to protect the frightened Canella.

And yet, the intimidating figure did not move to attack her, rather, he took a step back, giving her some space. “Finally, you’ve displayed your special ability I’ve heard so much about,” the blond man mused. “It’s not quite refined just yet, but you have certainly made the most of your stand power.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” her voice shook, but she was intrigued by the man standing before her.

The man’s image began to blur, and then double, as if he shared a space with some incorporeal figure. The semi materialized figure appeared to be a well-built golden ghost, with sharp features, and what looked to be a scuba tank on its back. Even though she’d never seen this man or his specter like double, she was familiar with the energy exuding from the man.

“That’s… That’s like me,” she muttered. “I’ve… never seen anyone else with an ability like mine.”

“This is a stand,” the man explained. “It’s your spiritual energy given shape. Each stand has an ability completely unique to the user.”

“Are there others like me… like us?”

“No, there are not many,” the man admitted. “Most people will never receive a stand, very few will activate one, and even fewer are born naturally with that ability. You, Canella, are a very special young woman-”

“I already know that,” she said, keeping her guard up. “You could have told me that without killing my guards. Now I’ll have to get hire someone to clean up this mess, and get all new guards-”

“Not like that will be a problem for you, with your ability,” the man shrugged. “I have heard many stories of the great prophet. A girl born amongst the lowest of the low, forced to beg each day to get enough food just to survive, all while crowds walked on, ignoring her. Until, finally, one day, she stopped begging and demanded to be noticed. After that, she could ask for anything, and people would willingly give her whatever she wanted. It was easy for her to establish wealth after she discovered her power… but she wanted more. Since everyone would listen to her, she decided to build a following of worshippers all her own, claiming to be a prophet of whatever God those flocking to her worshipe-”

“I am a prophet,” she interrupted.

“Don’t lie. It doesn’t look good on you,” the man scoffed. “But you and I are similar in a lot of ways. Both born in squalor. Both have incredible abilities. And both have an insatiable ambition.”

“So, did you come here to monologue, or do you have a point here?” Canella chided.

“I can do both,” the man said without missing a beat. “My name is DIO, and you can say I am building myself an empire. I am currently looking for more followers, and, considering your abilities, I feel you would be a very useful asset.”

“You just need another follower,” she frowned.

“Oh, no,” DIO said. “That is far beneath you. That would be a great misuse of your ability. No, no… What I need is a recruiter. It’s easy enough for me to gain followers, but, for my machinations, I will need more. I’ll need financial backers, allies in banking, law, and politics. Routes for me to generate wealth and affluence through. I can only do so much on my own, but, with your influence, you could easily acquire these things for me.”

“True… I can get anything I want simply by asking politely,” she shrugged dismissively. “Tell me, if I already have that power on my own, what is my incentive to work for you? I’ve created my own following. Why would I go from leader to lowly follower-”?

“Why haven’t you commanded me to leave?” DIO interrupted. “Why haven’t you told me to shut up? With your stand, such a request would be all too easy… and yet, you allow me to stay in your mansion and monologue. Why do you think that is?”

Canella lowered her gaze, remaining silent.

“A part of you is curious, isn’t it? You are invested in this conversation, though you feign indifference. The truth is, I intrigue you.”

“That may be true,” she admitted. “But the point still stands. I have no incentive to join you. I can get anything I want on Earth simply by asking. What could you possibly offer me?”

The room went silent for a moment, as DIO turned around, and crossed to the balcony. Curious, the girl followed from a safe distance. DIO stood in the light of the moon, looking over the lush landscape.

“You say you can get anything on Earth on your own… That may very well be true,” DIO said without turning to face Canella. “But I offer something beyond that. Something much greater and grander than anything on Earth could provide.”

Canella continued approaching him, taking a spot on the balcony next to DIO, admiring the evening view.

“To put simply… I am offering Heaven.”

***********************

November 2001, Italy

“Miss Bibita Bianche… you certainly are a difficult woman to track down,” Canella said, with a disarming smile.

“You know, I keep hearing that… I’m starting to believe it’s not true,” Bibita halfheartedly joked, still taking in her strange new environment. The girl rarely stayed in hotels, other than the occasional business trip for Passione back in the day. But, even then, the rooms were nice, but not at the level of luxury and opulence of the suite she currently found herself in. She felt incredibly out of place in this setting, and above all else, was confused and worried about her sudden arrival at this strange place. “But… uh, I should really get going-”

“Nonsense,” Canella interjected, setting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t leave. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

Slowly, Bibita felt at ease, the tension in her shoulders loosened. Though she was so suspicious earlier, it was as if her worries faded when Canella spoke. Like she was comforted by a good friend. “I suppose I can stay for a little bit… but, just so you know, I’m officially retired from Passione now. I paid my debt, and I’m out of that world forever now.”

“Oh, you have no need to worry,” Canella said, crossing to the other side of the room, giving Bibita plenty of space. “I’m not here to track you down for Passione or anything. I am also done with that life, and I have decided to work for myself, rather than follow any Boss. It’s more freeing that way, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I supposed so,” Bibita mumbled, still confused over the entire situation. Somehow, she was transported from the alleyway in Naples to the exquisite suite, without any memory on how she got there. But, at the very least, no one seemed hostile at the moment. “So, if you have nothing to do with Passione anymore, why am I here?”

“Would you believe I just wanted to chat with an old friend?” Canella asked but was met with silence. “Alright, you got me. We’re not here to just chat,” The woman laughed, as she fiddled with the stand arrow on the nearby coffee table. “I figure you’ve seen one of these before?”

“Yeah, everyone in Passione got poked with one from Polpo’s stabby ghost, right,” Bibita blurted, without really thinking. “That’s how you get a stand.”

“True, most in La Familia had to go through the initiation to get their stand,” Canella said, collecting a paper from the small table, as she returned to Bibita’s side. “There is something in these arrows that force humanity to evolve, or die, resulting in a stand for those worthy enough of its power. However, there remains an even more powerful arrow. My former employer was struck by one, unlocking truly amazing abilities.” She handed Bibita the sheet of paper. “Tell me, have you heard of such an arrow?”

Bibita studied the picture of the arrow in question, which looked to be a bit bulkier than the typical stand arrow. “It looks like a beetle,” was all she said.

“I’ll take it you’ve never seen it then,” Canella continued. “No matter. All we need is for you to recreate that arrow. Remember, it is exactly the same as Black Sabbath's arrow, but it’s larger and more potent… something like that shouldn’t be a problem for you and your stand… right?”

Bibita shrugged. “I don’t know… I’ve never tried that-”

“No matter! Just do your best to create the beetle arrow for us, please? As your friend, I would greatly appreciate it.” The woman’s eyes flashed gold, and the little voice inside Bibita’s head subsided.

“Um… alright,” Bibita muttered hesitantly summoning her stand. Deep down, she felt incredibly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but, whenever Canella spoke, she found herself calmed, and compelled to obey. With a quick spray from Blink-182, an ornate bronze beetle arrow materialized before the women. It matched the picture perfectly and seemed to be made of the same mysterious material as the stand arrows.

“Oh, excellent!” Canella patted the girl on the head, as she reached for the new arrow. “The Disciples of the New Dawn thank you for your contribution. With this, our goals are within our grasp!”

Canella’s form shimmered slightly, as a second body appeared in the same space as her. This incorporeal form undoubtedly had to be the woman’s stand, but not too much was revealed at this point. With a smirk, Canella twirled the makeshift beetle arrow in her hand, before plunging the arrow into her chest.

Shiink!

Light emanate from the wound, as Canella bit the inside of her cheek to distract from the pain. Bibita merely sat there, dumbfounded. With everything that happened to her since joining Passione, she had pretty much forgotten what normal looked like at this point.

Power surged through Canella’s veins, and for a brief moment, she felt truly unstoppable…

Pfsssss

But, almost as soon as the artificial arrow touched Canella’s blood, it reverted to its initial state. Soon, the arrow was nothing more than air, leaving Canella with a shallow cut in her chest, and no additional powers.

“Wait… What is happening?” Canella looked perplexed, one hand over her bleeding chest, where the arrow once was.

“… I’m no doctor, but it looks like you’re bleeding,” Bibita noted rather monotone.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock! How ever did you deduce that?!” Canella snapped; her calm demeanor shattered for a moment as she glared daggers at the girl. But, almost immediately, the woman composed herself, taking in a deep breath, and fixing a curly hair that had fallen into her face.

She took a moment to stop the bleeding, using a nearby towel to soak up the blood from her self-inflicted injury. “My… apologies for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have been so harsh,” Canella’s voice returned to its typical kind tone. “But please explain what happened. From what I understood, your stand can create anything… why did it fail?”

“My stand can’t create just anything,” Bibita explained, not able to stop the words from pouring out of her mouth. “It converts gas to solid material, and vice versa. But Blink-182 is weak to liquids, so anything it shifted will revert to its initial state once it interacts with liquid. The arrow pierced your skin, so it turned back to air once your blood contacted the arrow-”

“Oh, I see,” Canella frowned. “How very disappointing. The way how Sorbet and Gelato acted, I had hoped your power was more… useful. No matter, the beetle arrow would just be a shortcut. I can still achieve my goal without that nifty shortcut, and I’m certain we can still find a use for you-”

“Wait… Sorbet and Gelato? You-you knew them?”

“Oh, yeah, the couple from the Hitman Team?” Canella shrugged. “I knew them… not well by any means. I was tasked with finding those traitors, and, well, dealing with it.”

“You killed them?” Bibita said, her voice a tone darker than earlier.

“Oh, please, I would never dirty my hands with such an act,” Canella said, tossing the bloodied towel off to the side. “I merely asked them some questions, and they answered.”

“You interrogated them.”

“Interrogate is such a strong word,” she frowned. “But… I suppose that’s technically correct. They were looking into the Boss’s identity, so I was tasked with plugging that leak before it got out of hand. Ironic, isn’t it? If they had started their search a few years later, they could have easily toppled the boss. Their over eagerness was their downfall in the end. So, we had them punished for their transgressions. Your name actually came up in conversation, but they assured me you had nothing to do with their act of betrayal. I’m glad too, you have proven yourself very useful to Passione, and I hope you can continue being useful to me in my endeavors.”

Bibita didn’t respond to the woman, rather her eyes were downcast, her hands trembling at the mention of her old friends. Canella, ever observant, was quick to notice Bibita’s emotional state.

“Oh… are you mad?” Canella moved closer to the girl. “You are mad at me? You blame me for their deaths, don’t you?”

Bibita stayed silent, refusing to make eye contact with the woman.

“There, there,” Canella said, lifting Bibita’s chin, forcing the girl to look her in the eye. “You have no need for anger. So please. Relax.”

Once again, Canella’s eyes flashed gold, and Bibita’s anger slowly subsided. Her breath steadied, and her hands stopped shaking. No matter how she felt about the woman earlier, Bibita couldn’t help but view Canella as a friend.

“Feeling better?”

Without thinking, Bibita nodded, with a smile.

“Excellent! Glad to hear,” Canella backed away, a slight skip to her step as she crossed to the other side of the room. “We want you in good spirits when you meet the rest of the team.”

“Wait… the rest of the team?”

“My followers. The Disciples of the New Dawn,” Canella said, with a casual attitude. “I believe you met one of them actually. He goes by the Scientist… or, I suppose I should use past-tense when referring to him, after what Passione did to him… Never mind,” she shrugged off her follower’s death. “He was responsible for creating a steady flow of income, but no matter, plans can always be adjusted. The point is, I now have an open position on my team, and with your experience in the financial division, I believe you could be a good fit.”

Creeeek

The front door slowly opened, as a few figures began to enter the suite.

“Ah, that should be them,” Canella said, with a smile. “It’s time for you to meet a few of the Prophets.”

Bibita turned her attention to the door and saw three figures walking into the suite. Two of them were unfamiliar to her; a petit woman with bright pink hair and a punk rock aesthetic, followed by a man with teal hair and a bright yellow hoodie. But the third figure Bibita knew well. A tall man, with blue eyes, dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, and the same white leather jacket she’d first seen back in Turino.

“Falco?” Bibita’s eyes widened, and immediately shot out of her chair, rushing to find a way out of the suite. As her body shifted into its gaseous state, a tall golden figure emerged with three pairs of arms and a small sun in place of where its head would be.

“Nirvana,” a blinding light emanated from the stand.

“Oh, Bibita. You should stay, don’t you think?” Canella said sweetly. As soon as those words left her mouth, Bibita could feel her body returning to its solid state. Try as she might, the girl couldn’t seem to flee. She could not disobey Canella.

“Besides,” the orange haired woman said, placing a hand on Bibita’s shoulder. “It’s rude to leave before introducing yourself to all your new friends.”

*******************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Nirvana
Stand User: Canella Mercury
Stand Power: Friendship - Canella has an undeniable charisma, and anyone in her presence will view her as a friend and feel compelled to obey her orders.
• Power: C
• Speed: B
• Range: C
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Potential: A

Chapter Text

“Bonjour Mademoiselle. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?” Falco said with a smug grin, bowing before the girl. “Tell me, Bibita, how is the rest of your team doing? The… Financial Division, I believe.”

Bibita remained silent, taking a few shaky breaths. She wanted to punch the smug grin right off his face. She wanted to run away. She wanted to forget about this entire interaction… But she couldn’t. She stood in the suite, compliant with whatever Canella commanded.

“Falco please, taunting is beneath us,” Canella scolded, sensing the tension in the room. “Besides, we should treat each other civilly if we are to work together.”

“Alright, fine,” the Frenchman sighed, crossing to one of the luxurious couches and taking a seat. “I take it you’ve already met my cousin Manuel?”

Bibita thought back to the little boy she’d met in the alleyway. His accent combined with the similar features made the family resemblance clear. ‘That was all a part of their plan,’ she thought to herself. ‘I guess it serves me right for trusting anyone…’

“Speaking of the kid, has your group seen him yet?” Canella asked. “He was successful in getting us the girl, but he hasn’t regrouped yet.”

“No… I was too busy baby-sitting these imbeciles,” Falco said, gesturing to Morrissey and Barracuda.

“I resent that statement,” Morrissey muttered. “We’re plenty matur-”

“Hey! Canella! You said we could order whatever we wanted, so I got milkshakes and caviar!” the pink haired woman interrupted, taking a sip out of the Styrofoam cup. “As it turns out, those flavors don’t mix good.”

“.... I would like to rephrase my earlier comment,” Morrissey pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am plenty mature.”

“Uh… noted,” Canella said feigning interest. “Now, everyone, I want to introduce you all to Bibita Bianche. I take it you’ve already met Falco from your previous… interactions.”

The man with teal hair stepped forward, with a tired expression. “Hey, I’m Morrissey,” he said, and then gestured to the petit woman behind him. “This is Barracuda-”

“Pleasure t’meetcha Bibita!” Barracuda smiled. “Did you know the lobby here sells milkshakes and caviar? Crazy right?!”

“...well, I know that now,” Bibita managed to mumble.

“These are just a few of my many devoted followers,” Canella explained. “I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but I would like you to join us.”

“What are you planning?” Bibita said. “Are you planning on destroying Passione, or… restarting the drug trade?”

“Nah, Falco over here wants Passione to fall, and the drug trade was an excellent way to generate revenue, but neither are my main goal,” the woman said.

“What is your main goal… what do you want?”

“To put simply,” Canella said, tapping her cheek with her index finger in contemplation. “I want everything.”

Bibita once again fell silent.

“I suppose elaboration is required,” Canella shrugged. “A while ago, when I was still figuring out how to use my ability, I was employed by a strange man who wanted to achieve the power of a God. A rather ambitious goal, I’ll admit, but he truly believed he could do it. But… he failed, and his goal died with him. I figured there was no way to complete this goal, but new information has come to light, and I’m closer than ever to achieving my goal-”

“Wait, what does that all mean?” Bibita interrupted.

“Well, I am going to rewrite the universe and become a God,” Canella said nonchalantly. “Those who help me will be greatly rewarded. And those who stand in my way… well, let's just say it’s best not to stand in my way.”

‘Oh, okay… so she’s insane,’ Bibita rationalized.

“But, enough about me. What do you want?” Canella asked.

“I’m sorry… what?” Bibita was taken aback.

“What is it you want?” Canella repeated. “Money, love, power, revenge? Tell me what you truly desire. I figure once I’m God, I can repay my devoted followers with whatever they want. So, Bibita, tell me what your heart desires.”

The girl stayed quiet. With all her running away and hiding, she hadn’t given too much thought to what she really wanted, she was too focused on merely surviving. Canella waited a moment, but the girl didn’t respond.

“Oh, that’s a pity,” she sighed. “I see you as a potentially powerful young lady, yet you don’t have ambition. If there’s one thing I find useless, it’s either people with lots of ambition, but no power to turn those dreams to reality. Your teammate Minestra was like that, big goals, insignificant power. Or people with plenty of power and no ambition. The former Boss of Passione was a great example; so satisfied with his current lot in life, he was terrified of any change. I have both power and ambition, and I want to believe each of my disciples do as well. I hope you would tell me what it is you desire when you think of it.”

Bibita still had no answer for Canella. But luckily the flash of the nearby computer screen interrupted any prolonged silence. Everyone’s attention turned to the computer, as a jumble of codes consolidated, a small figure emerged from the screen. The binary codes soon transformed into a human body, a child in an oversized school uniform, with what looked to be a computer monitor helmet over his head.

“Technologic,” the boy muttered, as his stand disappeared, revealing his face, which Bibita immediately recognized as the child in the alleyway the other day. He was the reason she was in her current predicament. Immediately, Bibita glared at the child, but the kid merely glanced off the side, looking very guilty. “Oh… uh, I see you were able to download the attachment,” he mumbled.

“Yes, much appreciated,” Canella smiled.

Falco approached the child. “Nice work, cousin,” he said, but there was less warmth in his voice. “But what took you so long to regroup? You were supposed to head back here last night.”

“I don’t know, I just got distracted,” the boy stumbled, eyes still focused on the floor. “I don’t know.”

“What happened?” Falco continued, narrowing his eyes at the kid.

“N-nothing, just looking at the scenery,” Manuel fidgeted with his fingers. “Nothing.”

Falco looked as if he was going to continue pestering the child, but Canella soon interjected. “That’s enough, Manuel over here did a great job,” she said, getting Falco to back away from his cousin.

She then turned her attention to Morrissey and Barracuda, who were already flipping through channels on the suite’s television, paying little mind to the ongoing conversation. “You two, I need you to contact our transport team-”

“What? We’re leaving already?” Barracuda huffed.

“Our work here is done,” Canella shrugged. “It’s pointless to stay here with Passione so close by.”

“Understood,” Morrissey nodded, quickly nudging the pink haired woman. “We’re on it.” The pair of brightly colored followers quickly exited the suite, leaving Bibita alone with Canella, Falco, and Manuel.

“So... where are you all going?” Bibita raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t you worry your silly little head with the specifics,” Canella said, her eyes glowing softly. “Just know we are all leaving now… that includes you, of course.”

Without thinking, Bibita nodded, and began to follow the rest of the group towards the exit of the suite.

Skiiirt

Skiiirt

There was the faint sound of scratching at the door, causing all four inside the suite stop short of the exit.

“Mmmrow!”

Skiiirt

“Mmmrow!”

“What the-?” Falco muttered, stepping ahead of the group, hesitantly opening the front door.

“Mmmrow!”

A little calico cat sat in the doorway, just waiting to enter the suite. Immediately, black and orange speckled cat bounded into the room, looking at each of the people, as if it were seeking out someone in particular. It looked to Falco, then Canella, and quickly passed by Manuel. Yet, the feline stopped right at Bibita’s feet, and purred with recognition.

“Hey there, long time no see,” Bibita smiled, leaning over to pet the small animal. “You feeling lost too?”

“You recognize the cat?” Canella asked, her voice calm, but a layer of suspicion lay underneath.
Falco, on the other hand, turned his attention to his little cousin. “Manny, tell me exactly why you were late today?”

“I, uh…” the boy stumbled. “I captured Bibita, just like you asked.”

Canella gave Falco a look, to which he backed away, and the orange haired woman took his place in front of the child. “Now Manuel, you can be honest with us,” Canella’s eyes shimmered a bright gold. “What exactly happened on your mission?”

The kid looked trapped, but when he opened his mouth, he found he could no longer lie. “I captured Bibita, but more of Passione went looking for her,” Manuel said, shocked at what he was saying. He covered his mouth with his hand, but the words continued to flow out. “I… I had to capture some of them, which only alerted more of their team. I was pursued by a couple gangsters, but, when I was in danger, they risked their lives for me… so I gave them their friends back in exchange for them leaving me alone. But I didn’t tell them where I was going, or your plans with Bibita, I swear!”

The cat hopped on to Bibita’s shoulder and curled up, purring, completely unaware of the rising tension in the suite.

Canella looked at the little animal with great scrutiny. “Huh… It looks like he is on his way then,” she muttered quietly.

“You idiot!” Falco snapped at his little cousin, curling his hand into a fist. “You’ve brought the enemy right to us!”

“No, I-I swear, I didn’t mean to,” Manuel pleaded, practically crying.

Falco readied to strike his younger cousin. Instinctively, Bibita lunged in between Manuel and Falco, trying to protect the little one from getting hurt. The Frenchman stopped his hand midair, barely avoiding punching Bibita.

“That’s enough!” Canella said sternly. "Falco, please, join the rest of the team. I will handle everything from here-"

"But, what about Passione?" Falco questioned, slowly pulling away from his younger cousin.

"You will be granted your revenge, but now is not the time," Canella took a deep breath to compose herself. "Patience, my friend."

Falco glared at his cousin once more, and then took his leave, quickly exiting the suite, rounding the corner of the hallway, falling out of eyeshot of those still in the suite. Manuel, still a bit shaken, began to instinctively follow his cousin.

"No, not you," Canella instructed, placing a hand on the child's shoulder. "You alerted Passione to our presence. I'm afraid I cannot ask you to follow us."

"A-are you mad at me?" Manuel's voice shook. "Are you all mad at me?"

"Oh, no. I'm not mad," the woman said in an even tone. "I am just… disappointed. We expected better of you."

Her comment cut the child more than any knife could, as Manuel trembled, hitting his head with his hands. "Stupid Manuel!" he cursed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Bibita reached out to the boy, keeping him from injuring himself. Canella meanwhile looked at
the pair, wrapping her brain around the best course of action. The tiny cat curled up on Bibita's shoulders caught the women's attention, as she had a strong idea who was responsible for this feline's intrusion.

"I suspect he is tracking you, Bibita," Canella frowned. "So… as much as I would like you to join my Disciples, I'm afraid it would be far too risky for you to join us-"

"So, I could leave now, right?" Bibita questioned.

Canella took her time answering and crossed to the far side of the suite to open the sliding glass door to the balcony. The rain from the outside splashed onto the pristine tiles of the suite.

"Bibita, dearie," Canella turned to face the green haired girl, a bright glow to her golden eyes as she spoke. "Please, would you mind waiting on the balcony for me?"

As if in a daze, Bibita stood to her feet and slowly walked to the open balcony. She could hear the splattering of the pouring rain right outside and was aware of her inability to activate her stand if exposed to liquid. Yet, she still took a step outside, unable to go against Canella’s request. Within moments, she was soaked, standing shivering on the balcony of the skyscraper, overlooking the rainy city of Naples. She had never seen the city from that high up, and a part of her was happy to see the familiar city. However, deep inside, she knew she was in danger.

“Very good Bibita,” Canella smiled, her stand Nirvana appearing out of nowhere. “Now, stay out there and remain calm.”

Nirvana approached Bibita at the balcony and lifted the girl into the air. In normal circumstances, she would be terrified, but due to Canella’s effect, Bibita felt unnaturally at ease. The little calico cat, however, leapt on to the balcony and scurried back into the suite, not wanting to get its fur wet.

Creeek

“You know, typically some paperwork is required for retirement,” a familiar voice dryly said. “But I suppose you were in a rush to leave, weren’t you?”

Through the front door of the suite entered the current Don of Passione, Giorno Giovanna. Upon seeing the young blond man, the little cat scurried over to the familiar stand user. “Lucky for me, our little friend over here was able to find yo-”

By this time, Giorno finally noticed Bibita out on the rainy balcony, held aloft by a slim golden stand with a sun for a head. And, between Giorno and Bibita stood Canella, casually observing the intruder.

“Ah, so this must be the Giorno Giovanna I have heard so much about,” the woman said in a cheerful tone. “It is truly a pleasure to finally meet face to face.”

Giorno didn’t respond. Rather his expression hardened, a golden aura glowing around him, ready to summon his stand.

“Now, now. There is no need to bring out your stand,” Canella lifted a palm towards Giorno. “I’m sure we can solve all this like rational human beings. Matters shouldn’t escalate.”

As soon as she spoke, the glow surrounding the boss diminished, but his face was still rather intense, staring down the charismatic woman. “I take it you’re the leader of the Disciples of the New Dawn,” he stated coldly. “You should know, I didn’t come here alone. I’ve got a few dozen guards surrounding the perimeter, and several on their way up here right now.”

Canella’s smile did not faulter, despite Giorno’s thinly veiled threat. She instead motioned for him to continue talking.

“It would be useless for you to try to escape,” he said, eyes wandering back to Bibita held aloft on the balcony. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what your intensions are. Whatever you have planned, I ask you don’t involve her-”

“Oh, believe me, I definitely wanted to recruit the little one,” Canella shrugged. “But it appears Passione has its ways of finding her. No matter. She has inadvertently brought you to me. I wasn’t sure at first, but after meeting you in person, there is no question-”

She took a step towards Giorno, a keen eye observing all his features, comparing them to the man she’d met back in 1986, her former employer DIO. “You are exactly who we have been waiting for,” she said, lightly tapping her cheek. “But it’s too early… far too early, so I’m afraid we’ll have to depart-”

“If that’s the case, release BiBi, and I’ll kindly be on my way,” Giorno muttered, taking a step towards the woman.

“Oh, I am not that foolish,” Canella gestured to her stand outside. As if on cue, Nirvana picked up Bibita, and held her over the balcony, dangling dozens of meters above the busy streets of Naples. “If I simply hand her over, there would be nothing stopping you from pursuing me, so I’d rather play it safe.”

Bibita finally snapped out of her daze, realizing the dangerous predicament she was in. Yet, in her current state, she couldn’t even summon her stand, and she was unable to directly interact with Nirvana. She was completely at Canella’s mercy, and that thought combined with the perilous fall below completely terrified the girl.

Giorno immediately ran out to help Bibita, but Canella was one step ahead of him. “Stop,” she commanded, her eyes shining bright with golden energy. As soon as she spoke, Giorno stopped in his tracks, unable to take a single step forward. That same golden energy shined from Nirvana's sun head, illuminating the surrounding area.

"Ah, children these days are always in such a hurry," Canella sighed, casually walking towards the suite's main exit, passing by the immobile Giorno on her way out. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

Click

With that, Canella exited the room, closing the door behind herself. Yet even though the woman was gone, her stand Nirvana remained, light still emanating out of its sun head. Even with the woman gone, Giorno still found himself unable to move, still under the effect of her suggestion. Bibita struggled against the stationary stand, trying desperately to reach the railing but it was just out of her grasp. The seconds passed by agonizingly slow, and what was only a dozen seconds felt like an eternity.

Until Nirvana disappeared, suddenly fading into nothing. With the stand gone and the light no longer filling the immediate area, Giorno was finally able to move. But it was too late, as Bibita was already plummeting to the rainy city below. She let out a scream, her cheeks drenched with tears as she watched the street below quickly approach. She realized the cold concrete would be the last thing she'd see, and she clenched her eyes shut, anticipating the impending impact.

"Requiem."

Bibita never impacted the pavement below. Instead, she found herself back at the top of the balcony about to fall once more. But, this time, a translucent golden hand reached out and grasped her wrist, abruptly halting her descent.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Giorno said, heaving Bibita back onto the balcony, nearly giving the girl whiplash. “Are you okay?”

Bibita still shaking, slowly blinked, the image of her falling fading from her memory. She wordlessly nodded and pointed back into the suite. “Canella will get away,” she muttered. “I hate to say it, but I’m useless right now. You should go after her while you still can.”

Giorno, seeing that Bibita looked to be fine after that near-death experience, stood to his feet, and ran after Canella. He entered the suite and crossed to the exit, bolting down the dimly lit hallway, looking for where the mysterious woman could have gone. A few of his guards stood in the hallway, dumbfounded, as if they were finally coming to their senses. It was clear Canella had her effect on them as well.
Giorno continued forward, searching for the charismatic woman. He noticed the light tot the nearby elevator was still lit, signaling someone had recently used it.

Giorno opened the elevator doors, expecting to see Canella, yet only a single black balloon greeted the Don of Passione. The black balloon slowly rotated towards Giorno, revealing a red eye printed on the plastic. The eye looked around, staring directly at Giorno, and then blinked. Suddenly, the strange balloon popped, leaving not a single scrap of rubber behind, disappearing entirely. Giorno stood in the empty elevator, perplexed on where Passione’s latest enemies could have gone.

Canella Mercury was gone without a trace.

Chapter Text

“-But, by the time I got to the elevator, Canella was gone,” Giorno explained. “I figure that balloon was some sort of stand that helped her escape, but as of right now, we don’t have any leads on her current whereabouts.”

Since the Disciples of the New Dawn made their swift exit, Giorno called in the rest of his team to meet them in the suite. In all the commotion, Manuel was able to sneak out, using his stand Technologic, to upload himself onto the nearby computer. This left the members of Passione in the empty suite, searching for any sign of where the Disciples could have gone.

Bibita sat on the couch still shivering, wrapped up with several blankets to try to dry off from her near-death experience on the rainy balcony. Fugo took a seat next to her, handing the girl a hot cup of coffee. “Here, plenty of creamer,” he said. “That’s how you like it still, right?”

Bibita silently nodded, sipping the hot beverage with a slight smile.

“So, the Scientist we faced earlier this week was on Canella’s team, correct?” Fugo asked.

“Yes,” Bibita mumbled.

“And it sounds like that computer head kid was also a part of that group," Mista added, already checking out the fine amenities, flipping through the channels on the TV.

"The girl's interacted with Canella in the past," Sheila E said, gesturing to the bundled up Bibita. "Understanding their leader's ability could be our best chance at taking her down."

With that, all eyes were on Bibita, and Giorno gestured for her to speak. "Well, uh, her stand's name is Nirvana," Bibita said. "I don't think it's really a combat type stand, although, based on her ability, Canella probably never saw the need to fight."

"And what is her ability?" Fugo asked.

"Okay, don't laugh," Bibita warned. "But… I think her power is friendship."

The suite went quiet, taking in what the girl just suggested, until Mista broke the silence, laughing hysterically. "Oh, wow! I had no idea Bibita was so funny," Mista managed to say between bouts of laughter. "Alright. In all seriousness, what's the lady's power?"

"I am being serious," Bibita said with even less confidence than before. "Her power is friendship."

Mista finally stopped laughing and looked utterly perplexed at her suggestion. "Uh, last time I checked, this is real life, not a Saturday morning cartoon," Mista scoffed.

By this point, even Fugo looked doubtful at Bibita's hypothesis. However, Giorno seemed more intrigued at what she had to say. "She isn't making it up," Giorno stated, turning his attention to Bibita. "Please, continue."

"I… I’m not sure exactly how she does it, but Canella is able to make anyone her friend," Bibita explained, still not too confident in her own words. "I've seen her do it plenty of times before, and it doesn't matter what you thought of her beforehand. Once she uses Nirvana, even her enemies will treat her as a trusted friend. And, she doesn't even have to summon her stand to use the ability. It just sorta… happens."

"So, if she can make anyone her friend, it will be difficult to directly confront her," Sheila E wondered out loud.

Bibita remembered all her previous interactions with the woman. All the times the sly woman used her ability on the Financial Division without them even knowing. “At first, I just thought she was a charismatic asshole,” she said. “But now I know she’s a charismatic asshole with a stand.”

“And, that ability is pretty powerful,” Giorno admitted. “I hate to admit it, but the second Canella spoke, I had to obey-”

“Psh, easy solve then,” Mista chimed in. “Just don’t listen to her. Plug your ears once she’s near!”

“I don’t think it would be that simple,” Fugo said, contemplating the scenarios. “Considering this woman plans to become God, I imagine she’ll have plenty of safeguards in place. We can never be too cautious.”

“Regardless, she’s a danger to Passione, as well as all of Italy, and she needs to be stopped” Giorno’s eyes shined with determination. “I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream. A dream of a brighter day for all of Italy. And right now, the Disciples of the New Dawn pose a threat to the wellbeing of this fine country.”

“If you’re asking for people to follow you, you already know I’m in!” Mista said, unable to contain his grin. “Rival gang, dangerous stand users… should be fun!”

“Wherever Giorno goes, I go,” Sheila E stated bluntly. “Besides, I would be a terrible bodyguard if I didn’t.”

Fugo stood up and walked to the Boss. “I will join as well… it’ll be nice to have a mission all together again. Just like old times,” he said.

“Well then,” Giorno cleared his throat, turning his attention to Bibita. “I believe I have my team. Passione thanks you for all your work. As of right now, you can consider yourself retir-”

“I’m in,” Bibita interrupted in a dry tone.

Giorno blinked in confusion. “Oh… well that’s a pleasant surpris-”

“It’s not because I give a shit about your golden dream,” she continued, catching the rest off guard. “But Canella is dangerous, and she needs to be stopped. So, I’ll help you guys out to the best of my ability, but not as a member of Passione. I do not intend on joining any gang, but with the wannabe god around, I don’t think I’ll be safe.”

“No offence, but we got all the information we needed from you,” Sheila E muttered, taking a step in front of her Boss. “You don’t strike me as a fighter, and you aren’t willing to pledge your loyalty to the gang. I don’t see a reason in you joining us.”

“The Financial Division would frequently have meetings with the old Boss’s Messenger,” Fugo calmly explained. “Having someone with that sort of knowledge on our team could be beneficial.”

Bibita gave a grateful smile to her blond friend.

Mista was busy counting on his fingers. “Giorno, one, Shelia E, two, Me, three, Fugo, f… and Bibita, five,” he smiled, holding up five fingers. “Yeah, I’m okay with her joining. Five people is waaaay better than four.”

“Alright, she can join us,” Giorno said. “But she is no longer a member of Passione, and after we take down the Disciples of the New Dawn, we will officially cut ties with Bibita.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bibita shrugged, picking up the small calico cat. “For the time being, you can count me and Banksy in-”

“Wait, who’s Banksy?” Sheila E questioned.

“That’s my cat… or gasmask?” Bibita tilted her head. “I’ll be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure on how Gold Experience works.”

“Wait, you actually named your gasmask?” Mista chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Excellent, we’ll add both Bibita and her cat slash gasmask to the team,” Giorno said standing up. “But, considering Canella has a stand arrow at her disposal, we may need some… well, outside help.”

“What did you have in mind?” Fugo asked.

“I figured we’d give our friends at the Speedwagon Foundation a call,” Giorno said with a smile.

************************

A few days later, the Passione team arrived at a quaint pub at the edge of Napoli. The building looked to be more British in design than the typical Italian architecture of the surrounding area, but the contact in the Speedwagon Foundation insisted on meeting there.

“Alright, Polnareff said our contact will be in there,” Giorno said, readying the door of the red brick building. “Just know a place like this tends to host a rowdier bunch, so try to keep to yourselves.”

As the others entered the building, Bibita stood at the threshold. “Uh… should I know this Polnareff guy?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know him,” Mista noted, lingering behind the group. “He’s a Frenchman who’s helped Passione defeat the Boss. He’s currently second in command of Passione. And he’s also a turtle.”

“Oh, okay,” Bibita muttered, still taking in all the information, as they entered the establishment. “Wait,” she stopped in her tracks. “He’s a turtle?!”

“Yeah, he’s a turtle,” Mista reiterated.

“What? Why? How?”

“It’s a long story,” the man sighed, opening the door. “But we’re falling behind now. We should catch up with the others.”

“But why is he a turtle?!” Bibita said, stumbling after him into the pub.

CRACK

Thwack!

She was greeted by the sound of a bar fight already in process, an overweight man colliding with the wall just a meter to the left, shattering his beer bottle. Not wanting to get caught up in the scuffle, Bibita quickly rushed toward the rest of the group, hiding behind Fugo as they crossed to a table in the far corner of the dingey pub. Sure enough, there were six chairs surrounding the table, and a turtle situated right at the center of the table. Yet, despite the inclusion of the armored reptile, the patrons of the pub were too preoccupied with the ongoing tussle to notice the turtle.

The gang began to take seats at the table, Mista in particular looking over his shoulder at the tussle with a slight frown. “Ey, GioGio, are you sure we can’t fight?” the man said, lingering by his seat. “It’s been forever since I’ve been in a good bar fight-”

“No, we’re not to draw attention to ourselves. That’s what Giorno said,” Sheila E narrowed her eyes at the beanie clad man, making sure he didn’t try anything funny. After a short pause, she took a seat next to the Don of Passione, and the rest followed suit. Yet, there was one empty chair at the table, reserved for their contact at the Speedwagon Foundation.

“It’s good to see you again Polnareff,” Giorno said directed at the turtle. For a moment, Bibita thought this was some elaborate joke everyone in Passione was in on, like some form of initiation. Those thoughts subsided when the turtle spoke.

“Ah, the pleasure’s all mine,” the turtle said, grinning to the best of his ability. “I had a nice stay with the folks at the Speedwagon Foundation, but it’s nice to be back.” He craned his head to look at a few of the group seated around him. “I see a couple new faces here.”

Fugo immediately stood up and bowed his head slightly in respect. “My name is Panacotta Fugo, I have heard a lot about you Mr. Polnareff,” he said in a serious tone. “I only recently rejoined the gang, so we haven’t met just yet.”

“Glad to have you here, Fugo! And please, just call me Polnareff…the title Mister sounds far too formal,” Polnareff chuckled, as he turned his attention to Bibita. “I don’t think I’ve heard about this one yet.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Bibita. I was in Passione, and then I left, and then they found me… and now I’m talking to a French turtle,” she said, under her breath.

“I noticed an empty seat,” Sheila E said. “It’s not like the Speedwagon Foundation to be late. Where is our contact?”

Polnareff slowly walked to the edge of the table and gestured to the ongoing bar fight with his head.

“What? That’s no fair!” Mista huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s okay for the Speedwagon dude to tussle in a bar fight but when I do it’s not professional.”

The group turned their attention to the chaos, studying the group of ruffians to determine who their contact was. This bar seemed to attract a bunch of colorful individuals, all to varying degrees of fighting prowess. There was one muscular man, built like a fridge, who was plowing through the crowd, delivering one punch knockouts to anyone bold enough to challenge him. He bumped into a figure clad in pristine white, and, without even hesitating, threw a left hook, which never made contact.

Swiftly, the figure dodged, going into the splits, as the attacker’s fist glided harmlessly through the air. The figure in white’s hat fell off, revealing their contacts face. She was a tan young woman, early twenties, face covered in freckles, and a pair of large circular glasses in front of her olive-green eyes. She wore a white lab coat labeled SWP on its back, layered over a golden woven crop top, revealing her abdominal muscles.

While still holding on to her full shot glass of tequila, the woman shot back up, connecting a forceful uppercut to the chin of the large man attacking her. For just a moment, her fist glowed with crackling golden energy, sending her adversary flying several feet into the air, only to fall back to the cold pub floor, knocked out from that powerful punch. After the dust settled, her diamond printed sunhat gracefully fell back onto her head, as if the entire scene were a well-choreographed dance, rather than a rambunctious bar fight.

It was at this time the woman looked over to the group of Passione gangsters, and quickly crossed to their table, dodging the ongoing scuffle with ease and grace. “I take it you’re my contacts from Passione,” she said, taking her seat at the table.

“And I take it you’re from the Speedwagon Foundation,” Giorno noted. “But, I’ll admit, I was hoping for that short Japanese fellow I met several month ago-”

“Yeah, he mentioned you still owed him money from your last encounter,” she muttered dryly, adjusting her glasses, looking over the new crowd of faces. “Now, let me guess. Gold Experience, Voodoo Child, Sex Pistols, Purple Haze and…” The blonde woman pointed to each member of Passione, listing their stands with no sense of decorum, but she stopped short at Bibita. “Huh… I don’t know this one.”

“Do you want my actual name or the name of my stands?” Bibita questioned.

The woman in the glasses raised her brows. “Stands? As in plural?” she smiled, quickly pulling out a notepad. “By all means, do go on.”

“So, uh, you seem to know a lot about us already, but do you have a name lady?” Mista interjected.

“We’ll talk later,” the woman in white slowly pulled her attention away from Bibita to address the entire group. “I am the head researcher for the Speedwagon Foundation’s Washington D.C. branch. My name is Doctor Pandora Zeppeli.”

“Zeppeli, right? So, you’re Italian as well?” Sheila E noted.

“Part Italian, part Mexican, stationed in America. All of which is beside to point,” Pandora continued on, back to business. “Now, from what I hear, Passione is having some problems with Canella Mercury and her Disciples.”

“You know about her too?” Bibita asked.

Pandora nodded, taking her shot of tequila. “That woman has been a thorn in the side of the Foundation for months now. Though, at the time, we didn’t have a name. I have all the research inside the turtle, if you care to follow.”

“Understood, it’s probably safest to discuss in there,” Fugo said. “I can keep watch-”

“Are we just gonna gloss over the ‘inside the turtle’ thing?” Bibita asked.

“-Excellent,” Pandora interrupted. “Let’s go-”

“I guess we are glossing over the turtle thing,” Bibita mumbled, as the rest of the group all reached over to Polnareff at the center of the table. She followed suit, placing a hand toward the ruby crested key on the turtle’s back.

Suddenly, the world warped around her, and Bibita felt she was jettisoned out of the pub, pulled into a brand-new space. Before she had time to register, she landed on her rear in a rather well-furnished room, with a large couch, desk, coffee table, and even a mini fridge. Pandora, Giorno, Sheila E and Mista all landed just fine, taking their seats on the nearby chairs or sofa, seeming as if they’d dealt with whatever spacial warping process they went through before.

On shaky legs, Bibita stood up and took in her surroundings, her eyes finding their way up to the red crystalized ceiling. But what was even odder than the ruby roof, was what she saw just beyond the room, as a gigantic Fugo looked down on them.

“What the hell?!” Bibita’s eyes went wide, trying to comprehend the bizarre turn of events.

“This must be your first time in the turtle,” a voice explained, as a translucent man appeared before her. He was on the taller side, with mechanical legs, and tall, slicked up white hair. “That’s an understandable reaction to Mr. President-”

“Wait, who are you?” Bibita backed away from the specter like man. “Are you a stand?”

“No, that’s just Polnareff,” Giorno explained.

“I thought Polnareff was the turtle.”

“Oh, no, see his ghost is just sorta occupying the turtle as a vessel for his soul after he died,” Mista said casually.

“So, is he a ghost or a turtle?”

“A bit of column A, a bit of column B,” Polnareff shrugged.

“How does that eve-”

“Excuse me, are we just going to gawk all day?” Pandora said flatly, already situated at the desk with a computer.

Bibita hastily took a seat next to Mista, and shut her mouth, even though her questions were far from answered. Being in the world of stand users for the last few years, she was accustomed to the occasional oddity, but the enigmatic Polnareff had to take the cake on weirdest stand user by a long shot.

“Now, let’s get to business,” Pandora said, gathering her files. “About five months ago, the Speed Wagon Foundation received reports of important religious artifacts stolen and political assassinations with evidence pointing to rogue stand users perpetrating these acts. But, due to their stealth and organization, we were unable to pinpoint exactly who was responsible for such crimes-”

Pandora crossed to the group and set the laptop computer on the coffee table. Black and white security footage played on the screen, as the woman continued, “Until three months ago, three stand users infiltrated the Speed Wagon Foundation.”

Sure enough, the screen played the security footage, as three figures appeared seemingly out of nowhere within the foundation. For a moment, the guards readied their weapons, but, after a flash of shadowy energy, the guards went back to their normal business, as if they never saw the intruders.

“Pssh! Some security,” Mista scoffed. “They’re just letting the bad guys waltz on in the facilities.”

Pandora narrowed her eyes at the man, but continued on, “Believe me, the security was questioned for this. However, according to them, they never saw any intruders, despite what the security footage shows.”

“Clearly they are lying then,” Sheila E noted. “They must be in cahoots with Canella’s gang-”

“Not necessarily,” Bibita interjected, getting a better look at the screen. “That man right there, next to Canella. That’s Falco, the former leader of the French gang Vivante. His stand can create illusions, so the security most likely never saw the intruders, even if they were in plain view.”

“Interesting,” the glasses-clad woman said, retrieving her notepad. “And how do you know this Falco?”

“He tried to steal from Passione, I gave him fake money, he kidnapped one of the members of the Financial Division, and he broke my hand… all in all, not a fan,” Bibita said with a shrug. She noticed the room had grown silent. “What? I had my own adventures in Passione before the coupe!”

“Anyways, that little illusion trick worked on most of the guards,” Pandora said. “But there were some areas they could not access on their own. But, instead of fighting or forcing the agents to let them in, the woman simply asked… and our staff let her in.”

“Canella certainly has that effect on people,” Giorno muttered. “What did she take from the Foundation?”

“Mostly research,” Pandora said. “She also managed to steal a stand arrow, as well as a few… sensitive materials the Foundation needs back. However, just as quickly as they appeared, the trio vanished without a trace. Try as we might, the Foundation has had some difficulties pinning the location of Disciples. For months we’ve been looking, but every lead has ended in a dead end.”

“That’s probably because the kid’s with em,” Mista pointed out on the computer with a shrug. “That little guy, Manny, over there can just upload himself and others onto any computer. So, he can just email the crew out of there-”

“Any computer?” Pandora glanced at the laptop on the table.

“-uh, yeah,” Mista said. “I think s-”

Without warning, Pandora grabbed the computer and flung it across the room, shattering it when it impacted the wall. “With an ability like his, it’s not safe for us to use computers then,” she said, matter of factly.

Everyone in the turtle was surprised at her abrupt reaction.

“Oh, uh… I believe Canella kicked Manual out of her group,” Bibita said, breaking the silence. “So, he might not be a major concern right now.”

Dr. Zeppeli crossed her arms. “You could have said that before I wrecked the laptop, but thank you for the information,” she muttered. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, you were recently in contact with Miss Mercury, correct?”

Bibita nodded. “She wanted me to use my powers to create a special kind of stand arrow. But my replica didn’t last long enough to work.”

“Wait, a special type of arrow?” Polnareff turned his attention to the green haired girl. “How did this arrow look?”

“Like a regular stand arrow, but larger, with a beetle design.”

Polnareff opened a drawer and withdrew the exact arrow she described.
“Yeah, that’s the one!”

Everyone in the room, aside from Bibita, recognized the arrow.

“And you just made her the arrow?” Sheila E spat. “Do you have any idea how idiotic that was?”

“Hey, it didn’t work!” Bibita said, defending herself. “What’s so important about the beetle arrow anyways? All she said was the beetle arrow was more powerful than the regular arrows.”

“That is true, but it’s not that straight forward,” Polnareff said. “The beetle arrow can give amazing stands for those who survive, however, there is a step beyond that. Stands pierced by this arrow will evolve, receiving a requiem ability… that is, if they survive the process.”

“Requiem stands are insanely powerful and dangerous,” Pandora said, her jaw tense. “Tell me, did Canella mention anything about Requiem or evolving her stand?”

“N-no, she only said that arrow was better than the others.”

“It’s safe to say Canella doesn’t have full knowledge on the true power of the Requiem arrow, or its whereabouts,” Giorno said. “Still, we can’t let her get a hold of that information, or the arrow.”

“It didn’t sound like her plan hinged on the arrow,” Bibita explained. “She said it’d be a nice shortcut, but she didn’t seem too disheartened. So, she must have a backup plan for becoming a god.”

Pandora and Polnareff let out a sigh of relief, but the tension in the room was still high.

“I mean… that’s impossible, right? Becoming a god?” Mista asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “Even with the arrow, she can’t become a god.”

“She mentioned something about a former employer trying to achieve godhood or something,” Bibita said. “So, evidently, she’s not the only one who thinks they can become a god.”

Polnareff looked pensive, but Pandora was the one to speak up. “That goal is impossible, but her wild and reckless ambition will lead to many casualties if she keeps this up. Canella needs to be stopped, her cult disbanded, and the Speed Wagon Foundation’s materials returned.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Giorno said. “But, at the moment, we don’t have any leads on her whereabouts.”

“Pandora and I have actually been discussing her possible targets,” Polnareff said. “She seems to target financial backers or important religious artifacts. This weekend, there is an important Gala happening off the coast of Italy on a private island. It will hold dozens of important businessmen and politicians, and the island contains the remains of an ancient Roman temple, so it appears to be the perfect place for Canella to make an appearance.”

“Great, so we just fly over there and stop the woman before she hurts anyone else,” Sheila E said.

“The island is fairly remote, so there’s no airports,” Pandora explained, reaching into a suitcase. “And getting a private jet or helicopter may draw the Disciples attention. It’ll be easiest to sneak on to the island using public transportation.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Bibita asked.

Pandora pulled out a few tickets and tossed them on to the coffee table. “Pack your bags. We’re going on a cruise!”

***************************

The group of Giorno, Mista, Fugo, Sheila E, Bibita, Pandora and Polnareff finished up over at the pub, and, towards the end of the night, headed out. With the cruise departing the next day, the group decided it would be best to stay the night at a coastal hotel, to avoid having to rush out the next morning. As the seven of them entered the threshold of the seaside hotel, a pair of eyes a block away studied them. The figure, obscured by shadows, reached for his cell phone.

“Hello, Canella?” the figure said. “I’ve found them.”

“Very good Aquilla,” Canella said sweetly. “You may proceed. You remember what you have to do, right?”

The figure nodded. “Targets will be completely eviscerated.”

“And Giorno?”

“You want him alive, so I’ll capture him.”

“Excellent,” Canella responded. “Now, these are seasoned stand users. We can always send you some reinforcements if neede-”

“Not necessary,” the figure, Aquila, interrupted, as he studied the establishment Passione was spending the night at. “I have it handled. They’re not gonna stand a chance against Hotel California.”

Chapter Text

At the hotel, the group from Passione split up a few to each room. With an early day the next day, most decided to go to bed early, however, there were some in the group that had difficulties getting rest after everything they’d learned. Sheila E, in particular, paced the small hotel room, waiting “patiently” for her roommate to hurry up and return.

The door to the room opened, and with a large yawn, Bibita stepped through.

“What took you so long?” Sheila immediately questioned.

“Yeah, Pandora had a couple hundred questions for me,” Bibita said, crossing to one of the beds. “That lady really likes researching her stands… but, you didn’t have to stay up and wait for me-”

“I just find it a little suspicious,” she said curtly. “The only two members of the task force not affiliated with Passione breaking off from the rest of the group-”

“Are you going to interrogate me too?” Bibita said with a tired laugh. “If so, could it wait till morning? Also, can’t you just use that stand of yours to dig up any answers you need?”

Sheila E glared at Bibita.

“Not too talkative now,” Bibita said. “Good. We should get some sleep before the cruise tomorrow-”

“This isn’t gonna be easy, you know.”

“Wha-”

“You don’t strike me as someone who could handle an insult, let alone a punch,” Sheila E noted, eyeing the green haired girl. “Do you really think you have what it takes to fight the Disciples of the New Dawn? Do you even have the heart to kill?”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Bibita frowned. “Second, I believe there’s a less violent route to solve conflict. But” images of Risotto entered her mind. “There was definitely a time where I wanted to kill someone-”

“But did you follow through?” Sheila E continued to pester the girl. “Because, the way I see it, if you don’t have the stomach for this kind of work, you’re just a liability.”

Bibita took a deep breath, refusing to get worked up over the ongoing interview. Instead of dwelling on the past, she cleared her throat. “In the end, it looks like neither of us got our revenge.”

There was a visceral shift in Sheila E, as she immediately tensed up.

“See, I know why this line means something to me, but I couldn’t help but notice you sorta lost it when that line was said,” Bibita said with a smug grin. “But, if we’re exchanging questions, I wanna know why you freaked out at that phrase: In the end, it looks like neither of us got our revenge.”

Sheila E remained silent, but her crinkled nose did a poor job hiding her anger. Wordlessly, she crossed to the door.

“Oh, what, we’re not asking questions anymore? We were just getting started!” Bibita taunted.

Shelia opened the door-

“Hey, would you look at that? I found a less violent way to end our conflic-”

The door slammed behind Sheila E as she stormed out of the room.

“Good conversation! See you in the morning!” Bibita’s muffled voice called out, as Sheila continued down the hallway.

The dimly lit hallway stretched on for a while, as Sheila E strutted through, unsure on a clear direction. All she knew, she did not want to continue talking to that traitor. For some reason Giorno trusted Bibita enough to add her to the team, but it was going to take more than that for Sheila to trust the girl.

She turned the corner and spotted at the end of the hallway a familiar man in a maroon suit slamming his fist against a vending machine. “Come on, you stupid hunk of junk,” Fugo mumbled under his breath. “You already took my money, what else do you want?”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Sheila joked, approaching her friend.

Fugo jumped, not aware he was no longer alone in the hall. “Oh, hey,” he quickly collected himself. “I’ve tried that already, but the machine’s gotta be busted or something.”

Sheila took a moment to inspect the vending machine, before setting a hand on the glass. The glass then contorted, forming a large pair of lips.

‘Piece of crap vending machine ate my euro!’ a feminine voice grumbled through the glass lips.

“Evidently, this is a recurring issue,” Sheila shrugged as she used Voodoo Child to open the glass lips. Sheila reached through the glass and was easily able to access the snacks from within. “So, what was on the menu?”

“M&Ms please.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow as she tossed him the candy. “Healthy diet I see,” she teased.

“Hey, they’re not for me,” Fugo defensively pocketed the sweets. “Pistols are getting a bit hangry.”

“So why isn’t Mista out buying snacks?”

“He’s sleep-summoning... again,” Fugo gave a tired sigh.

“Really, again?” Sheila E chuckled whilst removing Voodoo Child’s effect from the glass. “And they say you can’t control your stand.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Fugo rolled his eyes, a slight grin forming. “So, how’s the rooming situation for you? You and Bibita getting along?”

Sheila’s smile immediately faded.

“Really now, that bad?”

“Look, she isn’t in Passione, she certainly isn’t a fighter, and at this point, she’ll just get in the way,” Sheila said dryly. “Frankly, I trust her as far as I could throw her.”

Fugo glanced at her well-toned arm muscles. “So, by that logic you trust her quite a lot then-”

“Shut up,” the girl grumbled, punching Fugo’s shoulder.

“Ouch,” Fugo recoiled from the light punch. “Kinda proving my point here.”

“You know what I mean,” Sheila’s scowl slowly lost its intensity. “Let's change the subject. How’s it rooming with your old teammate Mista?”

Fugo shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s acting like no time passed, and we’re back to being best buddies… But it doesn’t feel right. It’s like he’s not acknowledging everything that happened between our crew. Not even a month ago, he had me at gunpoint and ordered me to hunt down the narcotics team, and now we’re back to working together like we did back in the day.”

“Would you rather him be a stoic gangster hellbent on revenge?”

“No but… I don’t know,” Fugo sighed. “There has to be some middle ground.”

Sheila E opened her mouth to respond, but a shrill scream interrupted their conversation. Instantly, both turned their heads to the origin of the noise. Down the hallway, in the hotel lobby, a maid covered in deep gashes and cuts limped to the main entrance. But she wasn’t alone, as the sound of heavy foot fall quickly approached her. Bounding down the corner, entering the light of the lobby, emerged the shadowy beast.

The large wolf like creature had dark black fur, with a white bone exoskeleton, acting like armor for the abomination. Its six muscular legs propelled it through the room, but instead of paws, the creature's legs ended with human-like hands with sharp talons. Its bright red eyes left a streak of afterglow in the air, as it grew ever nearer to its victim.

Panicked, the maid ran through the front entrance, the enraged beast close on her heels. Its jaw practically unhinged, ready to take another bite out of the terrified woman, but, as soon as she crossed the threshold of the entrance, the creature lost its interest, leaving the injured maid to flee outside. The wolf-like being twisted its head, focusing its attention on the only other people in the lobby.

“Is that a stand?” Sheila muttered under her breath.

“Certainly looks that way,” Fugo whispered back.

“I think it’s noticed us,” she said.

The creature bent its knees, and then leapt toward the pair, bloodlust and rage pulsating through its crimson eyes.

“Yeah, I suspect it's noticed us!” Fugo said, grabbing Sheila’s hand as they sprinted down the hallway. He knew engaging with an enemy stand without understanding its ability could be dangerous, so their best course of action would be to alert the others and put some distance between them and their enemy.

The six legged canine sprinted after them, its talons tearing the nearby floors and walls in its single-minded pursuit.

“It’s fast,” Sheila noted, glancing back at the monstrosity approaching from the corner of her eye. “It’ll catch up with us before we get to the others.”

“Looks like we’ll have to fight it here then,” Fugo said.

“Now you’re talking my language!” Sheila E smirked, her form glowing a soft green, ready to summon her stand.

But, before the duo could prepare for their counter assault, a door in the hallway creaked open, and a middle-aged man stepped out. “Hey, what’s going on out here?” the man asked, walking into the hall. “I thought I heard screaming?”

Without warning, the beast turned its attention to the newcomer, and sprinted to the unsuspecting person. Despite the sheer size of the stand, the man standing in the hallway could not see the encroaching danger.

Fugo’s eyes widened, and he saw the stand turn and race after the man. “Get back inside!” he urged. “You’re not safe here-”

Cruuunch!

Pop!

While the civilian was still registering the blond teen’s words, the enemy stand was upon him, and with one swift bite, tore the man’s arm from his body. The civilian in the hallway watched in horror as his arm was consumed by the beast he could not see. As the man went into shock, falling on the floor, a puddle of blood pooling around him, the ravenous beast leaned back, prepared to strike its victim once more-

Thwaack

A punch reverberated through the hall, impacting the enemy stand’s muzzle. Dazed from the attack, the beast missed its target, instead fumbling full force into a nearby wall. Once it regained its bearings, it looked back to see the attacker. Standing between the beast and the man slowly bleeding out stood Sheila E, and her stand, Voodoo Child.

The humanoid rodent looking stand with a lithe build and spikes protruding out of its tail struck a defensive pose, with its user right behind it. Voodoo Child punched the beast once more, but this time the wolf was aware of the attack, and spun around, whipping Sheila E and her stand with its tail. The girl skidded several meters but managed to keep upright.

“Crap,” she murmured, sprinting to close the distance. “This thing isn’t even focusing on us!”

“It attacks indiscriminately,” Fugo said, rushing to the beast as well. “Even though we would most likely be its target, it just goes after anything that gets near.”

“And we’re in a hotel full of civilians,” Sheila said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lucky us.”

By this time, the commotion of the battle was starting to wake the neighboring guests, as the pair could hear the nearby doors slowly creek open. In moments, the civilians staying at the hotel would flock the hallways, right into the jowls of the enemy stand. Fugo dipped out of the way of the beast’s claws, still hesitant to unleash his own stand. As he regained his footing, he reached for his cell phone, and began dialing as he tried his best to stay out of the way of oncoming fangs and claws.

“Uh… Hello?” a groggy Mista answered the phone on the other end after a few rings. “It’s super late, man. What is it?”

“Stand attack,” Fugo stated bluntly.

“What? Where?” Mista instantly woke up with that response.

“It’s a giant wolf creature, and it just appeared in the hotel.”

“I’ll be right out-”

“It attacks anything nearby,” Fugo explained. “The longer we fight, the more curious hotel guests will draw its attention. We need to get everyone out of this hotel and isolate the stand before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Hey, over here!” Sheila E called pointing to a nearby conference room, deflecting an oncoming attack with her stand. “There wouldn’t be anyone there this late at night, and it’s far away from the main exits.”

Fugo gave a quick nod, and then continued giving instructions on the phone. “Alright, Mista, in one minute, I’ll need you to go out in the hall and hit the fire alarm. Let the others know and help evacuate the building.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mista?”

“Oh yeah, this is a call, you can’t hear me nodding,” Mista sheepishly admitted. “Sorry, I just woke up.”

Fugo rolled his eyes and hung up, as he and Sheila began sprinting down the hall towards the conference room. The pair had less than one minute to isolate the stand before the guests at the hotel evacuated. The beast was quickly gaining on them, and it was clear the stand would reach them any second. The door to the conference room was just ten meters away. Eight meters. Five meters-

Creeeek

Yet, before the pair could reach the conference room, the door opened ahead of them, and a janitor entered the hallway. The man carried a cart of cleaning supplies, and was listening to music on his headphones, so he was unable to hear the general chaos echoing in the hallway. The beast trailing Sheila E and Fugo was quick to notice this easy prey, and bent all six of its legs, and leapt.

Thud

The creature expertly bypassed the stand users, and landed on the other side of the hall, right in front of the janitor, with no one between it and its next meal. It opened its mouth, revealing its large white fangs.

Snap!

The wooden broom the janitor carried cleaved in two, splintering apart after the bite from the beast. Yet, the stand’s fangs never reached the man with the cleaning supplies. The creature snapped once more, attempting to eat the man, yet it could not get any closer. Peering back, the creature saw its hind leg caught in the floor, kept in place by a large pair of lips on the carpet that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“What the-” the janitor’s eyes widened, clutching both pieces of the once whole broom. Though he couldn’t see the stand, the man was clearly shaken by the shattering of the cleaning tool. However, he didn’t have much time to react.

“I apologize in advance,” Fugo said, grabbing the innocent bystander by his collar, “But you need to leave now!” With his stand, Purple Haze, bolstering his strength, the blond teen chucked the janitor across the hallway towards the relative safety of the lobby. The janitor needed very little motivation after that to bolt right out of the hotel.

Meanwhile, the beast struggled to free its hind leg from the trap Sheila E set for it. With monstrous force, it torqued its hind leg, the bones beneath its shadowy fur snapping from the harsh motion. But, even after breaking its own leg, the stand could not pry itself from Voodoo Child's lips.

Fugo and Sheila E opened the door to the conference room and looked back at the enemy stand. The beast, who had seemingly given up on freeing its leg, coiled inwards, and chomped on its own fractured limb. The wolf tore through its leg, leaving its shattered lower leg stuck in the floor, still oozing black blood. In an instant, the enraged stand was upon them, bounding into the conference room.

“That thing just willingly tore it’s leg off!” Fugo said astonished. “This stand has no sense of self preservation, and just attacks indiscriminately-”

Sheila E raised an eyebrow. “Sounds familiar-”

“Hey, I’ve been working on Purple Haze, okay!”

Once the beast was in the room with them, Fugo quickly shut the door behind them, isolating the enemy stand with the pair from Passione. Almost as soon as the door was securely shut behind them, the sirens from the fire alarm blared in the background, and they could hear the scurrying of footsteps race across the hallway.

“Good, sounds like the others are evacuating the building,” Sheila E cracked her knuckles with a smirk. “Meaning this carnivorous canine is stuck here with us.”

The beast thrashed about the rather spacious room, knocking about tables in its wake as it attempted to maul the duo. While the room was quite sizable, with foldable chairs stacked in the far corner, the hurricane of moving furniture made the terrain difficult to maneuver through. Fugo ducked out of the way of a stray table, as the beast’s claws narrowly avoided clipping his face.

“Alright, I think it’s time to introduce fido to our stands,” Fugo’s aura began to glow a soft lavender. “I’m thinking a simple pin and poison?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” Sheila E laughed, summoning her stand. As the beast lunged at her, Sheila and Voodoo Child gracefully dodged, weaving in between the multiple limbs. As if in an elaborate dance, the young woman and stand maneuvered around their enemy, gently placing a hand on the ground. Once the stand hit the ground, a pair of lips emerged, and snapped outward, trapping the beast’s leg in its grasp. Sheila repeated this process multiple times, her extraordinary natural agility keeping her out of the enemy’s attacks, until all five of the remaining legs were trapped by Voodoo Child.

“All right, the oversized mutt’s not going anywhere,” she called out, retreating away from the bound enemy stand. “You’re up next Fugo-”

Her sentence stopped short, as the air quickly escaped her lungs and a monstrous hand wrapped around her torso and squeezed. With wide eyes, Sheila glanced back, only to see the beast’s sixth leg had miraculously regrown and was free to attack.

Craaack

The sound of Sheila’s ribs breaking echoed through the room, drowning out the alarms and chaos in the hallway. Sheila tried to speak but could only manage to cough up blood.

“Sheila E!” Fugo cried, rushing to his friend, Purple Haze already summoned, ready to fight. In a rage, he prepared to strike the beast, but Sheila frantically shook her head.

“We… we’re in too close,” she sputtered, struggling against the intense strength of the stand's grip. “We can’t risk… shattering a capsule.”

Fugo halted his attack, knowing she was right. But, after everything they went through in Sicily, their fight against the Narcotics team, he couldn’t stand to see his teammate in such pain again. Instead, the violet patchwork stand turned its attention to Sheila, and tried to pry her out of the beast’s grasp. Voodoo Child emerged as well, as the pair of stands worked together to bend the enemy creature’s thumb way back, until-

PoP!

The beast let out a howl as its thumb snapped back, completely dislocated from the rest of its hand. With the additional space created, Sheila found some leeway in the enemy’s grasp, and painfully slipped out of the creature’s harsh embrace.

Fugo instantly supported her, as they rushed to the far side of the room, building the distance between them and the ravenous beast. The enemy stand struggled against their restraints, but, with all but one of its legs trapped, it had very little wiggle room.

Fugo opened a window on the far side of the room, as he turned his attention to the restrained monstrosity. His stand, Purple Haze, remained in front of the beast, looked back to its user for instruction.

“Alright, Purple Haze!” Fugo shouted, once he was sure they were out of range of the stands. “Attack!”

Taking a step towards the beast, Purple Haze stared down the enraged enemy stand dead in its eyes. The beast snapped outward, hoping to bite a piece off the approaching stand, but, instead of retreating, Purple Haze charged to the beast, and, with a visceral scream, unleashed its attack. “UBBAASHHAAA!”

A virus capsule on its hand shattered, leaving a violet cloud of a flesh-eating virus to consume the apprehended enemy.

“Thirty seconds, right?” Sheila E remarked, still clutching her damaged ribs. The pair looked on as the beast writhed in pain, fur and bones rapidly disintegrated. But the virus didn’t seem to spread as quickly as its previous victims.

The howls of pain were drowned out by the sounds of Fugo’s cell phone ringing. “Hey Mista,” Fugo answered the device, keeping his attention on the enemy stand. “What’s the status?”

“We got everyone to evacuate the building,” Mista explained. “The last of the stragglers are just exiting the hotel as we speak. Need any help bringing down the enemy stand? My trigger finger’s itching for a good fight!”

The wild enemy stand squirmed as more of its body contorted under the effects of Purple Haze’s attack, but Fugo had seen just how quickly his stand’s virus eats through its victim… and this beast was taking longer than most.

“We’ve isolated the creature,” he said. “But back up couldn’t hurt.”

“Alright, the last couple guests have evacuated now,” Mista said, the phone picking up on his footsteps as he rushed into the hotel. “I’m on my way-”

“Wait…There’s no need,” Fugo muttered, looking at the confined enemy. Despite how long the virus was initially taking, the stand began to dissolve at a quicker pace, soon fading into nothingness. “It’s already over.”

***********************

There was no sign of the stand or stand user after the initial attack, and the rest of the night was peaceful for the most part. Or, at least as peaceful it could be after a monstrous stand attack. In the end, three hotel guests were killed in the beast’s rampage, including the man who’d lost his arm. However, if it weren’t for the quick thinking of Sheila E and Fugo, many more would have been added to that list of casualties.

The next day, the crew boarded the cruise ship, the Black Betty, and were on their way to gala on the private island. The first stop on the Mediterranean cruise was the island in question, but, for the Passione gang, that would be their last stop. However, it would take a full day of sailing to arrive, so the group went from spending the night in a hotel, to spending the next night on a cruise ship.

The sun had set on the first day of the trip, scheduled to drop anchor on the island the next morning. Bibita, who was not accustomed to ship travel, had a difficult time acclimating to the ever-present swaying and bobbing of the vessel. She lingered at the ship’s deck hours after sunset, as she remembered she heard something about staring at the horizon helps with nausea. However, with the light fading from the sky, the horizon was getting increasingly difficult to spot.

“Great, just great,” she muttered under her breath. “Why couldn’t the Gala be on the mainland? That’d be so much easier.”

On wobbly legs, Bibita made her way into the cruise ship, having gained a bit of control over her nausea. She navigated her way through the red and gold decorated hallways heading to her room clear on the other end of the ship. She was only a few doors away from her room, but she noticed some commotion around the corner that caught her attention.

Curious, she continued down the corner, only to be greeted by a stampede of panicked cruise guests. She pressed herself against the hallway, allowing the flock of distressed people to rush by her.

“What’s going on?” she called out, but no one answered, all too preoccupied with escaping whatever loomed further down the hallway.

Bibita spotted a shadowy beast looming further down the hall, a couple bodies lying in its wake.

‘But… I thought Fugo killed that stand?’ Bibita frantically thought. ‘Purple Haze infected it. It should be dead!’

The beast looked up, it’s deep red eyes locking with Bibita’s, and instantly bounded towards the girl.

Bibita turned heel, pursued by the beast they all thought had died the night previous. “Well, shit.”

********************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name : Hotel California
Stand User: Aquila
Stand Power: This remote stand can only activate in an enclosed space, and will attack anyone else in the space with it (except for the stand user). Damage is not transferred to the user, and Hotel California will regenerate from any injury, slowing down the beast’s rampage.
• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: (Dependent on enclosed space)
• Durability: C
• Precision: C
• Potential: E

Chapter Text

Bibita scrambled down the corridor, nearly tripping over her own feet as she retreated from the monstrous enemy stand. She needed to create distance between her and the beast, as, from what she’d heard, the enemy was incredibly viscous. The green haired girl rounded the corner of the hallway, losing a bit of momentum. However, the wolf took the corner far too fast, and lost control, crashing into the wall, splintering through the door to one of the cabins. A scream cried out from the room the beast barreled into, and Bibita soon noticed the pounding of footsteps had stopped.

The wolf was after a new quarry, having accidentally crashed through the door, revealing a family of four in the room. While non stand users couldn’t see the beast, the imploding of their front door was enough to catch their attention. The mother clung to her children, in a feeble attempt to calm their nerves, while the father stood in front, ready to defend his family from the unseen assailant. However, there was no way the man would stand a chance against this enemy, as the wolf narrowed its glowing red eyes at its easy prey.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Before the beast had a chance to fully enter the room, a flurry of punches impacted its body, knocking it back into the hallway. Confused, the beast looked around to see who dared interrupt it from its meal. Striking a defensive pose stood Bibita, accompanied by her stand, Little Windmill.

“I really didn’t want to fight without backup,” she said. “But I suppose it’s time to show this mutt I’m more of a cat person. Now, let them have it, Little Windmill!”

A breeze cut through the hallway, propelling the genie like stand toward its enemy. The beast, no longer focused on the helpless family inside the room, turned its full attention to Bibita and her stand.

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Another barrage of punches connected, impacting the wolf’s torso and face. Yet, despite going full force, there appeared very little effect on the enemy, only slightly messing up its dark shadowy fur. Little Windmill only got a few good hits in before the beast retaliated, jaw unhinging as it lunged to the colorful apparition.

SNAP!

The monster bit down, aimed right towards Little Windmill’s head… or at least where the head should have been. Yet, the only thing the enemy managed to catch in its attack was brightly colored mist, its sharp teeth clanging against each other.

“Yeah, that worked about as well as I thought it would,” Bibita said, having withdrawn Little Windmill. “Here boy!” she called out, frantically waving her hands to distract the beast. “Wanna go on a wal-”

Before she had a chance to finish her taunt, the creature bolted toward her, and the chase continued. ‘Wow, it didn’t take a lot to get it to follow,’ Bibita thought, summoning Blink-182 into her hands as she picked up her pace, fleeing the beast. ‘But, while I’m indoors, Little Windmill’s punches will have little effect. I need to get outside if I hope to stand a chance against this overgrown mongrel.’

Pfsssss

As she ran, Bibita sprayed the right canister of Blink-182, as a pink mist clung to the air for a moment, before consolidating into dozens of marbles, scattering along the hallway floor. As the beast bounded after Bibita, it slipped over the marble trap the girl made for it, slowing its pursuit significantly. With a sizable distance created between her and the enemy stand, Bibita had enough time to think up a quick plan, remembering a patio right off the main lobby, not too far from their current position.

While the marbles did slow the beast down significantly, the enemy stand was on her heels in no time. Bibita bolted into the lobby and barreled through the doors to the patio, the monster mere meters from reaching her. Bibita was finally out in the open ocean air, but she didn’t have to catch her breath before the assailant was charging toward the balcony doorway-

THUNK

Bibita squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating an impact. But, after a moment, she hesitantly opened her eyes. The beast repeatedly flung itself toward the opening to the balcony, yet no matter how hard it tried, it could not cross the threshold, as if an invisible wall kept the creature from escaping.

“Huh… that’s odd,” Bibita noted. While she found herself momentarily safe, she pulled out her cell phone to inform the rest of the crew of the situation in the lobby.

“Some open bar,” a voice complained out from the lobby. “They didn’t even have my favorite brand of tequila.” Bibita glanced to the far side of the lobby to see a woman clad in white carrying a turtle in her hand.

“Miss Pandora! Polnareff!” Bibita waved her arms, hoping to get their attention. “Be careful, there’s an enemy sta-”

But, by that point, the ravenous wolf was aware of the new guest in the room. The mass of shadowy fur turned around, racing toward the intruder. Yet, Pandora seemed less than concerned, as the woman continued to approach the looming threat. Right as the monster was ready to snap its jaws down on the seemingly easy prey, Pandora took a pointed step around the beast, narrowly avoiding the sharp fangs. The beast continued to lunge toward the blond woman but couldn’t seem to take another step towards its new prey.

Casually, Pandora cleared the distance to the balcony to greet Bibita. “So… beastie here is new,” she shrugged, noticing Bibita’s mouth was still agape. “You look confused?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Bibita quickly focused. “I think that’s just my normal face. But I think you should be safe out here. The stand can’t seem to cross the threshold.”

“Huh… good to know,” the woman said, passing the reptile to the girl. “Here, hold Polnareff.”

“What?” Bibita stumbled to catch the turtle. “Wait, where are you going?”

“The best way to defeat an enemy is to understand them,” Pandora adjusted her glasses, as she walked into the ship’s interior. “And it’s time to take some notes.”

Bibita looked on as the beast frantically pivoted about, its back leg seemingly stuck to the hardwood floor of the lobby. Upon further inspection, Bibita noticed a thin gold chain linking the creature’s hind leg to the ground.

“What is tha-”

“Hey, could you turn me around?” Polnareff said, straining his neck to get a good view of the lobby. “I want to be sure to get a good view of the battle.”

Bibita obliged, turning the turtle around, as she thumbed through her phone to notify the rest of the gang. Meanwhile, Zeppeli crossed toward the large beast, as it barked and snapped at the approaching woman. Once she was within range, the wolf lunged out, raking it’s claws out to attack the blonde.

“The Chain!”

An explosion of golden energy rippled outwards, bright strands of energy coiled around the beast, until the glare faded, revealing Zeppeli’s stand. Instantly, the chains locked on to the wolf’s limbs, and bound them to the hardwood floor of the lobby. It struggled against its restraints, and went in to bite the woman, only to find its sharp teeth were already chained together, forcing its mouth shut like some malpractice dentist.

“Good boy,” Pandora said dryly, retrieving her notepad as she walked around the perimeter of her bound foe. “Now, what can we learn about your dearest stand user? We can assume they followed us aboard the Black Betty. Based on the toll inflicted yesterday, I’d guess the damage is not reflected to the user. And, oddly enough, you can’t take a single step outside… Why is that?”

“Pandora, are you sure you should be that close to the enemy?” Bibita called out from the safety of the balcony.

“You don’t need to worry,” Pandora scoffed. “While the Chain is not a power type stand, I can assure you, it's quite unbreakable-”

Creeeek

“That may be the case,” Polnareff added. “But I’m not sure the same is true for the floors-”

CRACK

Suddenly, the hardwood floors in the lobby splintered apart, freeing a few limbs from their chained prisons. At the same time, the wolf ripped its jaw open. Loud popping sounds echoed the chamber, as the creature pried its bound teeth right out of its maw, leaving its mouth a bloody gummy mess. Now free of its confines, the beast turned its attention to glasses clad woman.

Shink!

While Pandora was able to shield her body, the creature’s claws still slashed through her arm. Crimson blood spilled onto her pristine white coat, and while the cut was shallow, the blood flowed from the wound. She inhaled sharply, ducking out of the way of the next swipe of its talons. “Interesting, the stand pays little regard for its own wellbeing,” she noted, paying little notice to her own wound.

“Pandora, watch out!” Bibita said, entering the lobby after her teammate.

The beast, having finally freed its hind leg, leapt out to ambush the blonde. Yet, instead of retreating, Pandora reached an outstretched hand toward the monster, and quickly clenched her fist.

Clang! Cla-clang! Clang!

Dozens of chains formed from the ceiling, and lashed downward, tangling the beast in its web. In a moment, the creature was pulled up to the ceiling. “There, that ought to keep it busy for a bit,” Pandora said, as Bibita rushed to catch up.

“I called the others,” Bibita explained, looking up to the suspended stand. “Mista and Sheila E are on their way here to help with the fight, and Fugo and Giorno are alerting the captain to evacuate the guests to the top deck.”

“Good. If my assumption is correct, this is an automatic remote stand that is bound to a single building, unable to cross outside of the threshold,” she stated, jotting down her notes. “Based on the account from last night, I suspect the user needs to stay under the same roof as the stand to keep it active. So, evacuating the ship will help us narrow down the potential stand users.”

“And also reduce casualties,” Bibita added.

“Oh, yeah, that too,” Pandora shrugged.

***********************************

And with that, the gang split up, Pandora, Bibita, Mista and Sheila E busy keeping the unstoppable beast’s attention. Even with the constant damage they dealt, the enemy stand always regenerated any injuries, only momentarily slowing its vicious pursuit. The best their team could do was strike, and retreat, leading the wolf farther away from the rest of the guests. Occasionally, one from the group would get bit or scratched, but with four people watching each other's backs, nothing was too lethal at first.

Fugo, well aware of his stand’s effect on the enemy, only saw his inclusion into the fight a hindrance if the virus couldn’t directly kill it. So, the young man made sure to get all the passengers and crew on the deck of the ship. As more and more of the crowd gathered above board, Fugo walked the floors of the small cruise ship, keeping an eye out for any stowaways refusing to evacuate. But the only people he saw who weren’t making their way to the deck were the victims of the wolf, already long dead.

Giorno stayed above deck, healing anyone in dire condition, and keeping a watchful eye out for anyone suspicious. A few minutes later, after no more guests or crewmembers evacuated, he consulted the captain of the ship, and together they went through the ship’s passenger list, and compared the current numbers to the amount present on the ship’s deck. Giorno heard his cell ringing shortly after verifying the numbers.

“Giorno, any luck finding the stand user?” Fugo’s voice said from the other end of the phone.

“No luck up here,” Giorno said. “But it looks like including our group, there’s a total of two dozen passengers unaccounted for. Have you seen anyone suspicious still in the ship?”

“Hmmm,” Fugo took a moment to answer, doing some quick calculations. “That means there should be another seventeen still inside the ship. But I’m afraid any of the stragglers were already killed by the enemy stand. I saw seventeen people, but all of them were eviscerated. If I were to guess, I’d say the stand user is on the deck with you.”

“But, according to Pandora’s predictions, the user should still be inside.”

“With all due respect, she could be wrong,” Fugo noted.

Giorno frowned. Something didn’t feel right. “Regardless, we have an opportunity to find the stand user while we’re at sea,” he said, making his way back inside the ship's interior. “If we land back on the mainland, the user could retreat, and we’ll never find them. This is our best chance to stop them. I’m heading inside to help.”

“Understood.”

Giorno ran back inside the ship’s interior, determined to track down the elusive enemy stand user. But, without an article from the enemy, he couldn’t use the life-giver ability to pinpoint the user’s location. ‘It would be a lot easier to track heartbeats or breathing of possible stowaways,’ Giorno thought. ‘This would be a perfect mission for Naranci-’

His hand trembled at the memory of his former teammate. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that thought, as he could hear the ongoing battle raging on against the beast-like enemy. Somewhere, aboard the Black Betty, hid the stand user, and Giorno was determined to drag the enemy out of the shadows. But, just like Fugo reported, the only people not participating in the battle were dead, strewn about the hallway like used chew toys.

As Giorno approached a cluster of eight bodies, his Gold Experience sensed something odd. Within the pile of bodies, he felt a faint life force, like one of the victims was barely clinging on to life. Immediately, Giorno went to investigate, hoping to save whoever he could. He went through, body to body, sensing for any sign of life, until he got to the fifth body in the pile, and felt a heartbeat. Summoning his stand, Giorno studied the body, which appeared to be a young silver haired man in a red hoodie, although, with all the blood and carnage it was hard to make out any defined features. The Don of Passione’s hands glowed seeking to heal the man, but, despite the appearance of the body, Giorno couldn’t sense any injury.

“What in the-”

BANG!

As he turned the body over, the hoodie clad man pulled a handgun out of his pocket and fired at the boss. Giorno’s Gold Experience was able to catch the bullet just in time, but the shot was immediately followed by even more gun fire.

Ba-Bang! Bang! Bang!

“You just had to get curious, huh?” the body stood up with a sigh. “You couldn’t just focus on Hotel California as it decimates your entire crew. No, you had to play hero.”

Giorno, who’d fallen back after the onslaught of bullets, finally got a good look at the stand user. The enemy was on the shorter side, with red eyes and a laid-back attitude. He began pulling off his mangled skin, only to reveal a perfectly intact layer of skin underneath. “Latex and corn-syrup,” the man explained. “Little tricks like this are used all the time in horror flicks to replicate ghastly injuries, so I figured that would work well enough as a disguise amongst the bodies.”

Giorno got back up to his feet, Gold Experience manifesting right next to him, holding the bullets between its fingers. The don was not amused at the enemy’s makeup tricks, face remaining stoic. “You’re a member of the Disciples of the New Dawn,” Giorno said, more of a statement than a question.

“Sounds like you already know the answer to that,” the silver haired man shrugged, examining his gun. “But I didn’t come here to chit-chat.”

“You should only have one bullet left,” Giorno continued, his stand displaying the bullets it caught. “Based on your previous attack, I’d say it’s useless to try and attack me.”

“True,” the man muttered, turning the gun to the ceiling. “But who said you were the target?”

BANG!

The light illuminating the hallway shattered, shrouding both men in a thick darkness. Using the cover of night, the enemy bolted, putting a sizable distance from him and the leader of Passione.

‘Okay, hiding amongst the bodies didn’t work,’ the enemy, Aquila, thought. ‘But I just need to stay hidden long enough for Hotel California to finish the job. Passione won’t live long enough to see the mainland.’

With a good portion of that floor’s hallway covered in darkness, Aquila had lost his Passione pursuer. Or, at least he thought he had, until he noticed five soft glowing lights trailing behind him. Upon closer inspection, he released the illuminated orbs appeared to be buzzing.

“Lampyridae,” a cold voice noted from the darkness. “Also known as Fireflies, Glow Worms, or Lightning Bugs.”

One of the fireflies landed on Giorno’s shoulder, slightly illuminating the side of his face with an iridescent green light. “I turned your bullets into my little friends, and they were all too eager to track you. But I believe I misspoke earlier,” Giorno closed the distance between him and his enemy. “At this point, anything you do is useless.”

‘I can’t just recall Hotel California to defend me,’ Aquila’s mind raced, beginning to sweat. ‘I’ll have to unsummon it, and resummon to get it centered on my locatio-’

THWACK

He couldn’t finish that thought before a golden fist collided with his face. The sheer force knocked him off his feet, as he crashed through a doorway, leading to another well-lit hallway. Aquila tried to get his footing after that attack, yet he felt he was unable to control his own body, as if he were moving through molasses. He watched on like a spectator, soul momentarily disconnected from his body, as Giorno approached the hooded man.

“Well, here’s hoping that beast will fade away once you’re out cold,” Giorno mused. “Of course, we could always kill you, but we do have some questions for you, if you don’t mind?”

‘Unsummon Hotel California!’ Aquila concentrated, watching helplessly as Gold Experience pulled its fist back. ‘Hurry up and unsummon your goddamned stand!’

“MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA-”

Gold Experience’s cry echoed through the hallways, as even Mista, Sheila E, Pandora, and Bibita, busy fighting off Hotel California, could hear the chaos from the other side of the ship. Each of their crew had plenty of cuts and bruises, the fight starting to take its toll on each of them. Yet, the iconic battle cry of their charismatic leader signaled the fight was nearing its end. Sheila E’s Voodoo child went in to punch the beast while it was still regenerating its eyes from Mista’s bullets. But, as soon as Voodoo child swung its fist out, the canine like Hotel California vanished.

“The stand’s gone,” Bibita said breathlessly. “Does that mean the enemy’s dead?”

“Maybe,” Pandora narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Maybe not.” And with that, the blond woman sprinted away, following the echoes of Giorno’s battle.

“MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA- MUDA-”

Each cry was emphasized with a punch, Gold Experience slamming its fists into the defenseless Aquila’s torso. The enemy was quickly losing consciousness, the perimeter of his vision growing dark. However, the life-shot from Gold Experience’s first punch was finally wearing off, and with Aquila finally feeling grounded, he smiled, and between all the punches, he managed to speak.

“H...Hotel...California…”

There was a sudden swirl of pitch-dark energy, as the hell hound-like stand emerged between Aquila and Giorno, interrupting the beatdown. The beast snarled, lashing out at Giorno, who was forced to disengage with the barely conscious enemy stand user.

Using the newly summoned monstrosity as a distraction, Aquila bolted down the hallway, a slight limp to his step. ‘That was a close one,’ he thought, reaching for his cell phone as he neared the top deck.

As Giorno fought off the large wolf, the rest of his crew caught up with him, Pandora and Mista leading the charge. Instantly, Mista leapt to help Giorno fight off Hotel California, but the don shook his head. “No, focus on stopping the stand user instead!” he instructed. “If he gets away, he could hide and attack us later. We need to end this.”

“Understood,” Pandora held out her hand toward Aquila. “I’ll apprehend him-”

“Got it boss,” Mista said at the same time, reloading his weapon as he aimed for the enemy’s kneecaps.

“The Chain-”

BANG!

Pandora’s stand wrapped around the fleeing enemy, the chains clung to Aquila’s legs, pulling the man toward the ground. At the same time, the bullet Mista shot barreled forward, aimed at the elevation of where the enemy’s knees should have been. However, with the Chains dragging the man to the ground, his entire body was lowered, his head now at the exact elevation of where his knees once were.

CraaaCk!

The bullet found its way through Aquila’s skull, killing him instantly. With the death of the stand user, Hotel California faded into nothingness.

“You idiot,” Pandora grumbled in disbelief, glaring at the gunman. “We could have gotten important information from him, but you just had to shoot him-”

“Hey, I would’ve taken out his kneecaps if someone didn’t interfere!” Mista snapped back at the woman. “What part of ‘Got it’ did you not understand?”

“And what part of ‘I’ll apprehend him’ did you not understand?”

As they argued, Bibita, Sheila E and Fugo finally regrouped, taking in what was left of the enemy stand user. “Uh, guys? I hate to interrupt,” Fugo stated blankly, pointing to the dead enemy. “But it looks like our friend over here was making a call.”

Everyone turned their attention to the slain Aquila, and the cell phone that had fallen out of his hand, the dial tone still ringing. Hastily, Fugo shut the flip phone, ending the call before the person on the other end could answer. For a moment, there was silence among the crowd, before the cell phone began ringing again.

“Perfect, since he can’t answer the phone, our enemies will know he failed,” Pandora muttered. “There goes our tactical advantage.”

“Not necessarily,” Bibita stepped forward, an idea formulating in her head. “Hey, Sheila E, does your stand only work on living things?”

Sheila E tilted her head, not following the green haired girl’s request.

“Can Voodoo Child work on a dead body?” Bibita asked, almost excited at the concept. “If so, we can answer the call, and use our enemy’s voice talk!”

“That’s a little bit morbid,” Mista remarked.

“You got a better idea?” Pandora said dryly, turning to Sheila E. “Well kid, think you can do it?”

Sheila appeared apprehensive, looking to Giorno for approval. The boss of Passione merely nodded. She then approached the body, as the phone continued to ring, and placed a hand on the enemy’s torso. Using Voodoo Child’s ability, dozens of lips emerged, covering Aquila. With a nervous sigh, Sheila flipped open the phone, and answered the call.

“Hello? Aquila?” a voice very familiar to Bibita answered. The very leader of the New Dawn, Canella Mercury was on the other end of the line. “You called earlier. Is everything okay?”

Shelia waited a moment, figuring out which lips contained the right phrases. Gently, she gestured to the lips running along his left wrist. “Yeah, I’m fine,” his voice rang out, a bit too forceful for the situation. “I don’t know why you worry.”

“I care about all of my followers,” Canella said kindly. “But I am relieved you called. How is the mission going?”

“Everything’s fine here, how are you?” a pair of lips spoke from Aquila’s neck.

“I’m well… but tell me about the mission. Did you defeat Passione?”

“Yup,” a bored voice called out from the body’s forehead.

“What’s the state of Passione?”

“-completely eviscerated,” lips from his shin spoke, followed by lips from his midsection. “Nothing left of ‘em”

“And what of Giorno?”

“-completely eviscerated. Nothing left of ‘em.”

“Oh…” Canella paused a moment, as their entire crew held their breaths. “Well, thank you, Aquila. I’m very proud of you.”

Sheila E let out a silent sigh of relief, selecting the lips on his right shoulder to end the conversation, “Kay, gotta go now. Bye.”

“Well then, good by-” Sheila hung up the phone before Canella could ask anything else.

Their group was quiet for a bit.

“Did that seriously just work?” Mista chuckled. “Honestly, Sheila E, that has to be the best prank phone call ever!”

“Good call on that Bibita,” Fugo said with a smile. “Now Canella won’t suspect we’re one step ahead of her.”

As the tension in the group slowly winded down, Polnareff, who finally caught up to the group with his little turtle legs, spoke up. “I realize I should have mentioned this earlier, but public transportation may not be the best choice.”

*******************************************************************************************************

Stand Stats:
Stand Name: The Chain
Stand User: Pandora Zeppeli
Stand Power: Unbreakable Binding – The Chain can bind objects together up to a molecular level. As the Chain is unbreakable, this bond will last until Pandora release her stand, or until one of the objects subsequently breaks.
• Power: D
• Speed: B
• Range: C
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

“Alright, let’s go over the game plan again. We only have one chance to capture Canella, so we need this night to run perfectly,” Pandora explained, whilst pouring herself a shot of tequila. The group from Passione had landed on the island early that morning and were staying in a fancy resort where the gala was to be held.

“All of us will be attending the Gala,” Sheila E started. “Between the six of us, we’ll have excellent coverage of the event.”

“Since Canella most likely already knows what we look like, we’re blending into the crowd by wearing proper attire,” Fugo said, while fixing the tie to his three-piece suit.

“Luckily, we should get the drop on her since she should believe the previous stand user killed our crew,” Pandora said. “By the way, good call on the soundbite idea Bibita.”

Bibita nodded, pleased with the older woman’s approval. “So, all of us will have cell phones to stay in contact with everyone,” she continued, while fixing her green hair into a messy bun. “The second one of us sees Canella, the entire group will know.”

“After that, we pop these bad boys into our ears, and ambush the crazy cultist,” a man with short curly brown hair remarked, showing off the earplugs he had in his pocket.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Pandora raised a brow.

“That would be Mista,” Giorno explained.

“Oh,” Pandora squinted under her large glasses. “I didn’t recognize him without his silly beanie.”

Before Mista had a chance to retort, Giorno continued the conversation, “Once we have her cornered, we immediately get her into the turtle, so she won’t be able to use her ability on anyone else at the Gala.”

“After that, we’ll transfer her to the Speedwagon Foundation to be tried for her crimes,” Polnareff concluded the plan.

“Excellent. Seems like we all understand the situation,” Pandora said, though her voice showed little emotion. “I don’t think I need to remind you all how important her capture is. It’s imperative we all blend in at the Gala, so, please, act your age.”

“Yeah, the majority of us are about sixteen,” Bibita chimed in.

“What? For real? You all seem so mature.”

“Thanks, it’s the trauma,” Fugo murmured.

“Oh… well then, everyone act like you’re Polnareff’s age,” the Zeppeli woman quickly adjusted her statement.

For the next few hours, their crew went off to their separate rooms, getting ready for the Gala. To blend in, they all replaced their typical colorful attire with more subdued suits and dresses. This would not be Bibita’s first time in a dress, but she would prefer her typical street attire. The only time she would get dressed up was when her friend Dolchi would convince her to go shopping or something, so it felt a little weird to wear such formal attire without her fashionista friend. Though she was told to avoid any bright colors that would draw unnecessary attention, Bibita managed to add a pink hair clip to pull back her green locks, just a little something to remind her of her fallen friend.

In no time, the Gala was upon them, and the crew got an early start mingling with the crowd. The ballroom the Gala was held in was exquisite, spacious enough to host several dozen partygoers comfortably. There was a stage set up toward the front of the room, with a large space set aside for the dance floor and a plethora of tables set up around the perimeter. Situated on the side of the dancefloor sat a grand piano, with a well-dressed pianist playing an upbeat waltz for those on the dance floor.

While the rest of the group began to mingle with the crowd of well-dressed socialites, Bibita found herself venturing around the perimeter of the party. High society was never really her scene, so she was relieved to find a table full of little hors d'oeuvres, or, as she lovingly called it- “Snack corner! Hell yeah!” she immediately skipped over to the appetizing table.

She was greeted by a wide array of sweets, snacks, and cheeses, as she began to select her dish, settling on a few mini pie looking pastries. “Hey, hey, one at a time! You’ll all get some food if you wait your turn,” a familiar voice mumbled from the other side of the table. There stood Passione’s sharpshooter Mista, shoveling most of a cheese and cracker platter onto the little paper plates.

“Be sure to leave some for the rest of us,” Bibita teased, catching the gunman’s attention.

“It’s not my fault,” Mista shrugged. “I’m eating for seven.”

“I’m sorry, wha-?”

“Miiiistaaaa!” a small voice cried out from his suit’s pocket, revealing a few golden sprites with numbers imprinted on their heads. “We’re starving Miiiistaaaa!”

“I know, I know, I’m gettin ya food in one minute,” Mista murmured to his stand, sufficiently quelling their complaints for the moment. He then turned his attention to Bibita, “Yeah, I gotta be sure to feed Pistols before any mission, otherwise they won’t perform their best. Since we’re taking down Canella tonight, my stand needs to be well fed before the battle begins.”

“Wait…. Are we supposed to feed our stands?!” Bibita’s eyes widened. “Blink-182 is just a pair of spray paints, so I don’t think they could eat. But what about Little Windmill? They’re humanoid-”

“I don’t really think anyone else feeds their stand-”

“Wait, if damage is reflected between stand to stand user, does the same apply to hunger?” Bibita wondered out loud, diving into the rabbit hole of hypothetical questions. “If so, could someone die of starvation if they never feed their stand?”

“I really don’t know,” Mista said between bites of appetizers. “Never really gave that stuff any thought. Sounds like something that Zeppeli chick would be interested in studying though.”

“Huh, I guess so,” Bibita sighed, relaxing as she took a nibble of the little pie on her plate, expecting a sweet flavor. However, she nearly spat up the appetizer when her taste buds were ambushed by a salty flavor. “Ew! What’s wrong with this pie?”

“Oh, that’s quiche. It’s like an egg and bacon pie,” Mista explained. “It’s actually pretty tasty, if a little rich.”

Bibita frowned, looking at the plate of imposter pastries. “Here,” she said, passing the plate of four mini quiches to Mista. “You can have the rest if you lik-”

“Nope!” Mista interrupted as soon as he saw how many were on the plate. “Nope, no thanks, nope!” he said as he walked away from the table, leaving Bibita alone.

“Jeeze, I had no idea quiche was so bad,” Bibita said to herself. “I can’t just put them back on the table. That would be tacky...Maybe someone else would like them.”

As Bibita wandered around, in search of another member of Passione to pass her pastries off to, Fugo stood in the center of the dance floor. The blond teen was tense, eyes darting as he looked around for their charismatic target, but his gaze fell on a well-dressed middle-aged couple. The pair danced about the room, and while they clearly were not Canella, Fugo’s gaze lingered on the couple, his hands trembling slightly.

“Well, I checked the perimeter and the kitchen,” Sheila E emerged from the crowd and took a spot next to Fugo. “Any luck with the dance floor crowd.”

Fugo silently shook his head, eyes still locked on the dancing duo.

“You okay?” Sheila tilted her head. “You seem more brooding than usual.”

He didn’t respond.

“Uhhh, Earth to Fugo! Come in Fugo,” she said.

“Sorry,” he muttered, finally pulling his attention away from the middle-aged couple.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a softer voice. “This mission’s important, so we can’t get distracted.”

“I know, it’s just…” Fugo’s voice trailed off, searching for the right words. “These sort of lavish parties and blatant displays of social affluence remind me of my family. My father would jump at any opportunity to show off his status, my mother would pretend to care about whatever charity or social cause they were funding. So… I guess I was nervous I might run into them.”

Sheila looked around the crowd. “Are they here?”

“No, doesn’t look like it,” Fugo sighed.

“Good!” she smiled, grabbing his hand, pulling him away from the dancefloor. “If they’re not even here, they have no right making you feel down.”

“Where are we going?”

“You look like you need to cheer up,” she said, as they drew nearer the grand piano. “I know you play the piano, but I never got the chance to hear you play. I thought that might cheer you up?”

“We’re on a stake out,” he said in a hushed tone. “Wouldn’t playing piano count as distracting us from the mission?”

“Not necessarily,” Sheila E gestured to the position of the piano in relation to the ballroom. “While you play, you’d have an excellent view of the main entrance and hallway. Anyone entering the Gala would have to pass right by you, and no one would suspect the musician to be the enemy!”

Fugo didn’t respond, but his small smile was approval enough for Sheila E as she led them to the piano, right as the waltz music came to an end. The pianist was about to begin the next number, as the Passione girl cleared her throat. “My friend over here would like to play for a bit,” she said, sliding a wad of Euros toward the musician. “We would appreciate it if you sat the next few sets out.”

The man slowly reached out to the cash, and the pair got a better look at the extravagant man, who wore a fancy suit that exposed his midriff, a tall top hat, and a white mask with music notes in leu of facial features. “I suppose I could take my break now,” the masked musician mused, taking the bribe. “Just be sure to play something lively. I don’t want to come back and find the crowd’s been bored to death.”

And with that, the pianist headed out toward the hallway out of the ballroom, and Fugo and Sheila E sat down at the piano. The blond teen began to play, getting a soft tune going, and the pace of the music slowly picked up. The crowd responded by dancing to the beat, in an upbeat ballroom dance. As Fugo played, Sheila E sat close, and gently leaned her head on his shoulder, keeping an eye out for any newcomers while she enjoyed the tunes.

Bibita had made her way across the ballroom, still looking for someone to hand her extra quiches off to. The change in music caught her attention, and she turned her head to the piano. ‘Oh, there’s Fugo!’ she thought, walking toward her teammate. ‘He was a rich kid, so he’ll probably like quich-’

It was at that point she noticed Sheila E next to Fugo. They looked to be close. Too close. Bibita stopped in her tracks, confused. She knew those two were close, but never realized what great friends those two had become. However, with the way Sheila E rested her head on Fugo’s shoulder, they looked to be more than friends. And for some reason, this sight perplexed Bibita, feeling a knot in the pit of her stomach.

‘Huh… so that’s a thing now?’ Bibita thought. ‘I suppose I should be happy for them… but why do I feel sad? I was gone from Fugo’s group for almost three years, so there’s no reason for me to be upset he’s made other friends…’

From a distance, Fugo made a remark, causing Sheila E to crack up, playfully hitting his arm. This sight caused Bibita’s heart to sink.

The green haired girl quickly shook her head. ‘Nope! You’re on a mission right now,’ she thought, briskly walking away. ‘You don’t have time for these thoughts, or emotions. I mean, I don’t have feelings towards Fugo anyways, so this shouldn’t matter… right? Unless Dolchi was right all those years ago?’

Bibita threw away the plate of quiche, as she bolted toward the balcony. ‘I just need some fresh air, that’s it,’ she rationalized, bursting through the doors to the balcony. She was greeted by cool night air, and a beautiful view of the island town’s nightlife, the light of the buildings reflecting in the calm ocean. That accompanied by the soft flickering of the stars up overhead made for a very relaxing scene, perfect for Bibita to take a breather and clear her mind.

‘You need to focus,’ Bibita nervously wrung her hands. ‘Canella will be here any minute and we need to be prepared. After she's taken care of, you can try to figure out whatever the hell these emotions are-’

Creeeek

The door to the balcony opened behind her, and from the corner of her eye, Bibita could see some blond hair approaching her. For a moment, she smiled-

“Evening Bibita,” Giorno said.

That smile faded as soon as she registered who was joining her on the balcony. “Oh, it’s you,” she mumbled. “If you're here to scold me, don’t waste your breath. I’ll be back inside in a minute; I just need some air.”

Giorno didn’t react, rather took a spot next to her, leaning on the banister overlooking the town. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bibita responded quickly.

“You know, Buccellati had a method of figuring out when people were lying,” Giorno said, narrowing his eyes. “Apparently, when someone isn’t being truthful, their sweat has a particular tang to it-”

“Wh-what the hell!?” Bibita’s shoulders tensed, leaning away from the don of Passione. “Stay away from me!”

“Relax, that won’t be needed. Luckily, you’re not particularly good at lying,” Giorno said with a slight grin. “Just, try to be honest. We are on the same team for the moment.”

Bibita let out a slight sigh of relief, but the tension did not leave her shoulders. “Alright, you caught me. I’m not just fine,” she said, returning her sight to the town below. “Typically, people will say that when they don’t want to talk about it… and to be honest, you are the last person I’d want to talk to about it.”

“Why is that?”

“Listen, don’t you have better things to do, Boss?” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’re taking down your gang’s rival, you should be focused on tha-”

“You have quite the ability to avoid the subject,” he cut in. “But we’ll never reach the truth like that.”

Bibita groaned. “You’re not going to just leave me alone, are you?” she asked, only to be answered by Giorno shaking his head. “Alright, hurry up and ask your questions.”

“What is your issue with me?” Giorno asked point blank, catching the girl off guard. “I understand we’re only working together temporarily, but I still want everyone to at least try to get along.”

Bibita took a moment, contemplating a way out of the conversation, but ultimately decided to just talk. “I’ve never actually killed anyone… at least not directly,” she began, staring blankly at the darkened horizon. “But I’m not naive enough to believe I am not responsible for deaths. I know due to my work in Passione, people have suffered and died. There was a time I filed a financial discrepancy report, which led to my teammate being discovered as a traitor. She was punished, killed, and sent to our team as a message.”

“She was a traitor,” Giorno said. “That wasn’t your fault-”

“Yeah, I didn’t kill her, but the report I filed led to her betrayal being discovered. That day, I realized my actions affect other people, even something as indirect as a financial report,” she continued. “I have spent every day after that worried how my actions could hurt people. There was not a single piece of paperwork I didn’t stress over, paranoid how my action could ripple outward and hurt those around me. There are always casualties.”

“So, Giorno Giovanna, how many people have you killed?” she turned her attention to the blond teen. “How many deaths are you responsible for in your rise to power? Because, the way I see it, everyone who died that night in Rome is dead because of you.”

Giorno remained silent, taking in what she had to say.

“And, I know it’s irrational to connect all those deaths to you, but if you hadn’t initiated the coupe, who knows what could have happened,” she continued, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’ll never know. Maybe they would still die. Maybe the bad Boss would kill even more people if you didn’t intervene. All we have to work with is this reality. I know that you are a better Boss then the one who came before you...but I feel there had to be a less violent path. La Squadra also wanted to take down the Boss. Maybe if you all would have talked it out, you could have worked together, and my entire team would still be here-”

“That wouldn’t work,” Giorno interrupted in an even tone. “The Hitman Team were bad people-”

“You think I don’t know that already?” Bibita spat, angry tears welling in her eyes. “I watched them slaughter my entire team. Don’t you dare lecture me about their morality!”

Bibita took a moment to collect herself, quickly wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her dress. She turned away from Giorno, as she quietly muttered, “I don’t pretend to know what the right answers are. All I know, was you chose violence, and that violence spread.”

Giorno waited until she was calmer before speaking up, “If you feel so strongly about me, then why are you here?” He asked.

“Canella needs to be stopped,” she responded.

“That goes without saying, but why do you want to bring her down?”

“Because I-” Bibita paused, trying to find the best way to phrase it. “La Squadra were avenged when you took down the old Boss. Sale and Zucchero were avenged when Fugo and the others defeated the Narcotics Team. My team, the Financial Division, was avenged when the Boss killed Risotto. Everyone’s gotten avenged… but I still want revenge.

“Years back, I helped a couple from La Squadra, Sorbet and Gelato, with their finances. They weren’t good people, but I considered them my friends. They were actually looking into the Boss’s identity, but they didn’t get far. Canella found them and ordered their deaths. Who knows, if Sorbet and Gelato lived, the Boss might’ve been dethroned years ago. Imagine all the lives that could have been saved if Canella hadn’t killed them,” Bibita explained. “So, I can’t avenge my team anymore, but I still have a shot at revenge by avenging Sorbet and Gelato once we take down Canella.”

“I see,” Giorno said.

“Now, do you have any other lingering questions?” Bibita asked. “Because I’d really like to just be alone right, now.”

“No. No more questions. Just a comment,” Giorno said. “I may choose violence, but it is never my first choice. Sometimes, it’s the only option.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be an option.”

Giorno didn’t continue arguing with her, finding persuading the girl useless. “I’m going back inside,” he said quietly. “Once you’ve cleared your head, feel free to join us. We could always use more help.”

Bibita merely shrugged, keeping her attention on the evening view.

For a moment, she was alone. But not even thirty seconds later, she could hear footsteps approach her. “What? I can’t have a minute to myself?” she rolled her eyes, turning to face a worried Giorno. “I thought you were going back to the Gala?”

“I was… The door is gone.”

*****************************************************

Inside the ballroom the Gala continued, with Fugo playing piano as he and Sheila E kept a close eye on the main entrance. Meanwhile, Mista and Pandora kept watch on the perimeter, blending in with the crowd while searching for the cult leader Canella. The night was still young, but the sooner they found their charismatic adversary, the better. Despite the man hunt, the atmosphere of the ballroom felt normal, with guests chatting and dancing at their leisure.

The crowd’s attention was pulled to the stage when a projector screen remotely pulled down, looking like someone was ready for a presentation. But no one from the crowd approached the stage.

“Hello? Is this thing on?” a disembodied voice asked from the speakers. “Ah, my apologies, technology was never really my strong suit.”

The projector flickered, and a figure emerged on the screen.

“Okay, if I followed the directions correctly, I should appear on the projector,” the figure on the projector said, however, between the top hat and the musical note covered mask, it was difficult to discern any real features of the mystery man. “Hello! I hope everyone is having a splendid evening. I know there’s a great night of festivities planned, so I will try to keep this quick.”

“Isn’t that the piano player?” Sheila E asked.

“Certainly looks like it,” Fugo said, both actively watching the projector now.

“I know some of you were looking forward to our guest speaker, but, unfortunately, She had to cancel,” the Piano Man explained. “You see, some people here take Canella for an idiot… which I can assure you, She is not.”

“Crap, she’s onto us,” Mista muttered under his breath.

“There goes our advantage,” Pandora said. “This mission is a bust… We need to go-”

“She would have loved to spend her evening with you all, but there’s been a change of plans,” the masked man said, a cheerful tone to her voice. “She would like to apologize, but at this point, you are all expendable-”

The crowd became unsettled at this news, and some guests rushed towards the main entrance, only to find an invisible barrier keeping them from exiting. However, the stand users in the ballroom could see the room shift and morph. The floors walls and ceiling suddenly lost their fancy art deco design, and were replaced by flesh and veins, this organic material covering the entirety of the ballroom, sealing the exits, and trapping everyone inside. Even the furniture changed, as if they were painted over with human flesh. The piano Sheila E and Fugo were sitting at likewise transformed, the black paint replaced with skin and veins, and the keys replaced by what looked to be teeth. Without either of them touching the piano, a distorted upbeat melody began to play.

“But worry not!” the Piano Man sang. “While this is your end, I’ll be sure to keep the music playing! Might as well end on a high note before Ballroom Blitz finishes the job.”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean the door’s gone?” Bibita said flatly, walking past Giorno as she crossed to the entrance of the ballroom… only to find a thick skin-like material spread over the threshold. “Holy shit, the door’s gone.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“Is this some kind of stand?” Bibita raised a brow, inspecting the odd barrier.

“Certainly looks that way,” Giorno said, pacing the balcony to find another window leading to the ballroom. But much like the doorway, the same fleshy material barricaded the window as well. “I suspect the stand user intended to split up our group.”

‘And I’m stuck with Giorno,’ Bibita complained to herself, as she summoned Blink-182. “Well, let’s break them outta there then!”

Pfsssss

Bibita sprayed with her left canister, expecting to burrow a hole in the organic barrier. However, after the mist cleared, the skin-like threshold looked no different. The matter conversion abilities of Blink-182 had no effect on the odd enemy stand.

Before she could relay that information to Giorno, the blond man had already summoned his stand, and approached the doorway. There was a barrage of golden fists that hit the makeshift barrier, but the impact of the attack didn’t break through. Much like Bibita’s attempt, the skin covered doorway looked exactly the same, no indication they were any closer to breaking their friends out.

However, the odd enemy stand impacted Giorno, as a soft sizzling sound cut through the night air. Looking down at his knuckles, he could see a corrosive liquid was slowly eating away at his hands, already drawing blood. “Direct attacks don’t seem to harm it,” he noted, beginning to heal his damaged knuckles. “It looks to be coated with hydrochloric-acid.”

“Hydrochloric….” Bibita thought out loud, the chemical sounding familiar to her. “Wait, isn’t that-?”

Giorno nodded. “Stomach acid. Our team is trapped in a gigantic stomach.”

*****************************

“You can’t be serious?”

“We’re all going to die here?!”

“I’ll pay you whatever you want! Name your price- just get me out of here!”

It did not take much to get the crowd of socialites to panic, but their actions did feel exaggerated for people of such high standings. The figure on the projector, known only as the Piano Man merely waited. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to set up any the audio from there, so I’m just going to assume one of you lovely people have asked ‘Why are you doing this to us?’” he said, waiting for a response he could not hear. “While I can’t get into any specifics on the matter, I can at least show you the individuals responsible for your soon to be untimely deaths.”

The Piano Man reached off screen for something and revealed a few sheets of papers to the camera. Depicted on each of the papers was a head shot of each of the crew: Guido Mista, Sheila E, Pannacotta Fugo, Pandora Zeppeli, Bibita Bianche and Giorno Giovanna. A few of the guests nearby them recognized the faces, and glared at the members of the taskforce.

“Do with this information as you will,” The Piano Man sang, removing the papers from the camera. “But, I must get going now. So, the rest of you, spend your last evening in the realm of the living however you see fit. Pick a fight, dance your feet off, kiss a stranger! Just have fun and keep your energy high!”

With that, the projector flickered off, and the screen retracted back up. The organic looking grand piano picked up the pace of the music, as the crowd panicked. The four members of the taskforce regrouped, taking in the hysteria.

“So much for our ambush,” Sheila E grumbled. “How did they outsmart us? We should be ambushing Canella, not the other way around!”

“I’m guessing we didn’t answer a question correctly when she called last night,” Pandora noted, her gaze distant, as if she were replaying the scene in her head. “There must be a specific answer only the previous stand user knew, and we answered it wrong-”

“Hold up, is this everyone?” Mista asked, noticing their group were a few short.

Fugo looked around. “Bibita and Giorno are missing.”

“One, two, three, fo-” Mista counted those remaining, already freaking out.

“Hey, don’t forget me!” a voice called out from Pandora’s purse. The woman opened the accessory to reveal Polnareff, his turtle form seated uncomfortably in the handbag. “I’m here too!”

“That makes five… thank god,” Mista sighed in relief.

A fight broke off in the far corner of the room, while the catchy distorted music convinced many of the guests to dance wildly, as if they had no inhibitions. The group of stand users watched perplexed at this odd display. However, their attention was pulled with the subtle burning smell coming from under their shoes.

Tssssssss

“What the-” Mista jumped back. “There’s some sorta acid on the floor or something!”

Sheila E swiftly leapt onto one of the skin covered tables to avoid touching the ground. As she placed her hand on the surface to help balance herself, a searing pain shot through her palm. “Yeah, it’s not just on the floors,” she said, pulling her hand out of harm’s way. “The furniture is also leaking acid or something.”

“We gotta find a way out of here,” Mista said, readying his gun. “Since the stand user was playing the piano, my guess it the eerie looking instrument hold the key to our escape.” He pointed the weapon at the deformed looking grand piano. “We just gotta murder this musical monstrosity.”

Bang-Ba-Bang!

Three bullets hit the piano, but, rather than cracking or breaking, the flesh covered musical instrument absorbed the force, as the bullets harmlessly fell to the floor. Surprisingly, the piano seemed to grow after the hit, the melody picking up its pace, causing the guests dancing to move even more rapidly.

“Fascinating,” Zeppeli mused. “A stand like this must take a significant amount of energy to maintain.”

“How would a stand of this size maintain that power?” Fugo wondered out loud.

Polnareff, who’d remained silent, watched the group of guests dancing. There was one lady dancing like a mad woman out there, sections of her skin already dissolved. The pace of her dissolve was far quicker than those who dance at a slower pace. The more the guests danced, more and more flesh covered furniture began to grow out of the floor

“It’s simple,” the turtle interjected. “Ballroom Blitz feeds on our energy. The more energy we exert, the more power it gains.”

“So, the more calories we burn, the more we actually burn then?” Fugo hypothesized.

“Looks that way,” Pandora said. “So, we need to conserve our energy, and either find our way out of here, or wait for the stand to wear off. Something as colossal as Ballroom Blitz can’t stay activated for too lon-”

“Hey, those are the assholes that got us into this mess!” a crowd of pissed off, well dressed socialites yelled, recognizing their crew. “Let’s get them!”

As the group rushed towards them, Sheila E and Mista stepped forward, prepared to fight off the enraged party goers. “Jeez, can’t we have a second to plan?” Mista huffed, cracking his knuckles. “Oh well, I guess I’ll take the half to the right -”

But, before the half dozen angry guests could close the distance, golden chains appeared out of nowhere, and made quick work wrapping around the combative party goers, instantly binding them in place. “Seriously, am I speaking the right language here?” Pandora muttered, her aura glowing gold with her arm outstretched. “What part of conserving your energy is difficult to understand? Getting into tussles will only expedite the process.”

“Wouldn’t using your stand count as expending energy?” Fugo asked, noticing small patches of skin on Pandora’s arm dissolve.

“You’re absolutely right,” Pandora inhaled deeply. For a split second, the others could have sworn they saw sparks of electricity jolt around her. After she exhaled, the damage on her arm healed, and the pace of the dissolve was reduced. “Luckily, I have my own ways to combat that. Now, we need to contact the others. This looks to be a classic FTSU.”

“A what now?” Sheila E raised a brow at the acronym.

“Find The Stand User,” Polnareff explained. “I've dealt with quite a few FTSUs way back when.”

“Alright, we’ll call Giorno,” Fugo said, already reaching for his cell phone. “And while we wait, we could hold some of the more active guests in Mr. President. That should hopefully slow down the pace of their external digestion.”

“Wow… I’m really glad none of us are squeamish, cuz that sounds super gross,” Mista laughed, trying to lighten the mood of the dissolving room.

No one looked amused.

***********************************

Meanwhile, outside the ballroom, Bibita used Blink-182 to construct a walkway for them to get off the balcony and around to the main section of the resort. The rest of the building appeared unaffected by the enemy stand, as just the Gala was being consumed. After they received Fugo’s call from inside the belly of the beast, the two had a better picture of the situation.

“So, we just gotta find a flamboyant man with a top hat and mask somewhere in the town,” Bibita said. “Someone like that isn’t going to blend in well, so that’s a plus!”

The two of them bounded outside of the resort, searching for the enemy stand user in the sleepy surrounding town. There was a bit of ground to cover, but the town wasn’t large by any means, and there were only so many places to hide. Their optimism was interrupted when a strong wind cut through the town, carrying dozens of little black balloons, each with a red eye printed on its surface.

“Isn’t that the same stand you saw while chasing Canella?” Bibita asked, cautiously slowing her pace.

“Yes,” Giorno said, counting all the balloons. “Although, at that time, there was only one balloon. Our enemies must be communicating with each other and working together.”

Each of the strange balloons began to shake, before new figures stepped out from them. The new figures were of varying heights and builds, but each of them wore pristine suites, top hats, and music note masks. Once all the figures emerged from their odd floating transports, the balloons faded, the strange enemy stand withdrawn.

“So, this certainly complicates things,” Bibita whispered. “Do you have a way of figuring out which one of them is the real Piano Man? You know, like how you turned my gas mask into a cat to find me?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “But, if Ballroom Blitz is still active, then its user will have a similar energy signature. If I get close enough to them, Gold Experience should be able to discern who the real Piano Man is.”

The ominous figures noticed the pair by the resort, but instead of running away, they pulled out weapons. Some had guns, others had daggers or bats, but all were well armed as they charged the pair.

Bang-Ba-Bang!

A flurry of bullets fired upon them.

“Blink-182!” Bibita cried, summoning the right canister. With a frantic spray, she created a brick wall to safely barricade them from the enemy fire. “So, uh… they aren’t running away.”

“That’ll just make it easier for me to find who the real stand user is,” Giorno said, undeterred from the approaching enemies. Once the gunfire died down, he turned to Bibita. “Alright, let’s go!”

The pair leapt from either side of the makeshift wall and charged the small army of masked assailants. Giorno had Gold Experience at the ready, expertly dodging the enemies’ attacks, before countering with the sheer power of his stand. However, it didn’t appear like anyone from the first batch of attackers were the real Piano Man.

‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Bibita thought, using Little Windmill to fling one of the masked men into another. ‘Why would the real enemy actively fight us when he could try to run away?’

A baseball bat swung out toward the girl, who shifted into a gaseous state.

‘Unless, of course, the user’s range isn’t too far,’ she thought. Little Windmill pried the bat out of the attacker’s hands, and knocked him on the head, successfully knocking him out. ‘But why would he risk getting caught like this?’

The large group of decoy Piano Men began to spread out, scattering throughout the town. Giorno surveyed the scene. “We should split up,” he offered. “We’ll cover more ground that way and catch the real stand user in no time.”

“Got it,” Bibita responded, bolting toward a group heading south, while Giorno went north after a few of the masked enemies.

Bibita would never categorize herself as a fighter, so facing multiple armed enemies was quite the task for her. But she knew if they failed, everyone in the Gala would die. She couldn’t have those lives on her conscience as well.

She mostly aimed to incapacitate her enemies, knocking them out or turning their masks into sleeping gas. However, she had to be careful not to get too close. Even if these enemies weren’t all stand users, they were still full-grown men, physically stronger than she was, so she needed to be careful.

A pair of masked men reloaded their weapons and took aim at the girl. Not wanting to unsummon her Little Windmill, Bibita decided to duck for cover, retreating in the direction of the resort. However, instead of firing, the masked men slowly approached the side of the building she was hiding behind, almost trying to coax her out. As soon as she peeked out from behind the wall, the enemies instantly ran off, heading further into the town.

‘They aren't trying to kill us,’ Bibita realized, eyes going wide. ‘They’re trying to pull us away from the resort!’

The girl quickly turned heel, and sprinted back toward the resort, knowing deep down, the real enemy was somewhere within. Almost instantly, the group of masked enemies chased after her, quite a few of them gaining on her. One reached out, his hand clutching the back of her head. Right then, she shifted into her gaseous state, leaving the masked man with nothing but her pink hair clip in his hand.

**************************************

In her cloud like form, Bibita was able to slip away from all the decoy Piano Men without issue. She floated into the resort before solidifying, finding it easier to search while in her normal state. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since Ballroom Blitz attack began, so she needed to act fast if she wanted to save the party goers. It would take a bit of time to search the entire building, but, luckily, she had a pretty good idea where the real Piano Man was hiding.

She rounded the corner of the hallway, as a security camera on the wall followed her motion. Each time she passed one of those cameras, they seemed to focus in on her movement exclusively, only confirming her suspicions. Bibita followed the wiring along the walls, knowing they must lead somewhere. Sure enough, toward the center of the high-class resort, all the wiring converged in the room simply labeled Security. The door required a code to enter, but that was no obstacle for Bibita, who shifted into her gaseous state and squeezed through the small opening between the wall and the door.

Once inside the room, Bibita could see the man, clad in a pristine suite, top hat and music note mask. Instantly, she rushed toward him, still in her cloud form, however, she couldn’t seem to reach him. There, between her and her enemy was a thick piece of glass, acting as a barrier halfway through the room.

“I take it this would be Bibita Bianche, correct?” the Piano Man asked, turning around on his swivel chair. “I was given a brief review of your powers. This section of the room in sealed airtight, just in case, so you may as well revert to your physical form… It feels a little weird speaking to the wind.”

Hesitantly, Bibita solidified, standing on the other end of the security room. The room was quite larger than it appeared on the outside, covered wall to wall with computer monitors, surveying all the public areas in the resort. On the other side of the glass wall sat the Piano Man, surrounded by several computers. “Ah, there we are,” the masked man mused, filling through a paper pamphlet. “Wait-wait-wait! Let’s see. Bibita Bianche, former member of the Financial Division of Passion and stand user of Blink-182, right?”

Bibita stood still for a moment, trying to come up with a clever retort. “Yeah… well you’re the enemy with a dumb aesthetic we’re gonna stop,” was all she managed to come up with.

“Oh, really now. How fascinating,” the Piano Man leaned toward the glass barrier mockingly. “And who is going to assist you in that matter? Your stand is not exactly threatening, the dearest leader of the gang is on a wild goose chase around the town, and the rest of the crew… well-”

His voice trailed off as he clicked a button on the computer, shifting all the monitor screens to show the interior of the ballroom. The footage from the security cameras at gala surrounded Bibita, as she was bombarded with chaotic and gruesome imagery of the ballroom. Partygoers, compelled to dance by supernatural means, were in varying states of being dissolved, while other guests fought each other, with every hit thrown, more and more of their bodies dissolved. Bibita’s eyes darted about, searching for her teammates, until she recognized a few familiar faces on the screen to her left.

The crew appeared to be taking a defensive stance, as more and more enraged socialites fought them. Yet, despite all the punches thrown, the Passione taskforce refused to fight back, conserving their energy to the best of their ability. After taking so much damage from the partygoers’ attacks, the crew looked to be in bad shape. In normal circumstances, the guests would be no threat for the trained mafioso, but these were no normal circumstances. Fugo, in particular, shook, trying to smother his building anger, his aura glowing slightly. Purple Haze flickered in and out, Fugo’s rising anger summoning the stand.

“Stop it! Please,” Bibita pleaded, watching helpless as the partygoers were slowly digested. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah… but, you see, I want to do this,” the Piano Man beamed. “The Goddess Canella has been gracious enough to grant me a stage, and I will not disappoint Her. You have nothing to offer me. Now, if Giorno were here, then maybe we’d have something to discuss. But, since you’re here, you might as well enjoy the grand finale!”

“You have the power to end this,” Bibita’s voice rose, hoping to sway the masked maniac. “No one has to die tonig-”

A sharp yawn interrupted her, the Piano Man pantomiming falling asleep. “Oh, I’m sorry, your pacifism nearly bored me half to death,” the man snickered, returning his attention to the computer screen. “Truth be told, I can only sustain Ballroom Blitz for about half an hour, but that’s more than enough time to get the job done. However, now with your blond friend bringing out his stand, we might not have to wait that long!”

He pulled out the file he had on their team. “Ah yes, Pannacotta Fugo. Intelligent kid, short temper, prone to fits of violence. His stand creates a fast-acting flesh-eating virus. All it takes is one of those little capsules to break, and BAM!” The Piano Man threw the papers into the air for flourish. “That stuff will spread like wildfire in that crowded ballroom! Everyone will die in a matter of minutes!”

On the monitor, Fugo was clearly trying to restrain himself, taking deep breaths to calm down. But, with the ongoing brawl and elevated energy, he couldn’t withdraw his stand. Bibita’s eyes watered, unable to help her friends. ‘Thirty seconds,’ she thought. ‘That’s how fast the virus takes to kill its host. Only thirty seconds…’

“I’ll ask you one last time,” Bibita said, voice trembling slightly as she attempted to sound intimidating. “Please, withdraw your stand. We can all walk away from this unscathe-”

Her ultimatum was interrupted by boisterous laughter, the Piano Man nearly keeling over at her proposal. “Oh, dearie, that’s rich,” he sighed. “You must really be stupid if you think this evening will end without bloodshed. Someone clearly hasn’t been paying attention. Peace was never an optio-”

Pfsssss

The glass wall separating the two opposing stand users shifted into a violet mist. Bibita held aloft the left canister, a look of fury to her pink eyes.

“Curious,” the masked man took a step back, away from the strange mist. “What in the world is tha-”

“Little Windmill!” Bibita cried, as the canister vanished, and was quickly replaced by the genie-like humanoid stand.

Woooosh!

Using the fan blades on its back, Little Windmill sent the airflow surging toward the masked assailant, carrying the strange violet mist with it. The moment the odd gas connected with the enemy’s skin, his flesh began to bubble and tear.

“What have you done?!” the composure of the Piano Man fractured, watching the unknown substance eat away at his flesh. “Answer me girl!”

“You were so interested in his stand, I’m surprised you don’t recognize it,” she stated blankly, from the far side of the room. “This is the same Purple Haze Virus you intended to infect all those innocent people with. But, so long as you’re gone, everyone will be safe. Like you said… Peace was never an option.”

From under his mask, the Piano Man’s eyes were wide with fear, disbelief, and anger. But he refused to go down without fighting, as he charged toward the girl. “I’m not dying alone!” He screamed, brandishing a small pocketknife. “Consider this a deadly duet! Now, die you bi-”

Cli-cli-cli-cli-click

Little Windmill kept the enemy at bay with a flurry of punches. The onslaught of fists combined with the fast-acting virus made quick work of the Piano Man, who was nothing more than an unrecognizable pile of sludge in a matter of seconds. By the end, the top hat and musical note mask were all that was left of the Piano Man.

“Ciao,” Bibita muttered to her slain enemy.

She looked over the nearby monitors to check on the Gala, and, sure enough, Ballroom Blitz vanished, freeing everyone from the evening from hell. All the fighting and dancing stopped, partygoers no longer under the influence of the enemy stand. She let out a sigh of relief, seeing her team safe.

That feeling of ease immediately subsided when she turned around to see her stand. Little Windmill floated in the center of the room, looking down at its hands, a look of deep concern conveyed on its eye. Upon inspection, Bibita could see the virus had spread to the stand, the surface of its arms bubbling. Little Windmill looked up to Bibita, as if to apologize for getting infected. As damage was reflected between stand and user, Bibita discovered the virus was spreading up her arms.

‘Thirty seconds, right?’ she thought, withdrawing her stand, rushing to the exit. ‘I only have thirty seconds to stop the spread.’

She opened the door while she could still somewhat use her hands. She stood in the doorway as she concentrated. She had only ever shifted her own state of matter as a whole unit, so trying to isolate a section to become gaseous was something new to her. She closed her eyes, thinking about how far up the virus spread. Bibita strategically selected the area of her arm, right above her elbows, and shifted that space into gas.

Thu-Thunk

The lower half of her arms fell to the floor, the virus soon consuming them entirely. Lucky for Bibita, the virus hadn’t spread to the rest of her. However, when she reverted the section of her arm back to its solid state, she began to bleed profusely. Her impromptu amputation left her without any lower arms, and with that connection severed, there was nothing stopping the blood from leaving her body.

“Shit,” she said, stumbling down the hallway of the resort, searching for the rest of her team. “There goes my art career,” she laughed halfheartedly.

She didn’t make it far before her vision blurred, the blood loss taking its toll on her. Her knees wobbled, giving in under her weight, as she tumbled to the floor. Unable to pry herself off the ground without the use of her arms, Bibita stared vacantly up at the flickering fluorescent light of the hallway.

On the edge of consciousness, Bibita noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A soft pink butterfly fluttered down the hallway and perched right on Bibita’s chest. The girl smiled a moment, watching the butterfly contort, transforming into the hair clip she’d misplaced earlier that night. The last thing she could remember before losing consciousness entirely was the sound of footsteps approaching her, and the face of a genuinely concerned blond man looking down at her.

*********************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Ballroom Blitz
Stand User: The Piano Man
Stand Power: Hyperactive Digestion - Ballroom Blitz is a stand bound to a single room. Once activated, the bound stand will transform the room into a stomach, slowly digesting all those inside. The stomach acid acts as a hyperactive stimulant, and the more calories people burn, the faster they dissolve.
• Power: B
• Speed: D
• Range: B
• Durability: A
• Precision: C
• Potential: E

Chapter Text

Mista looked longingly at a nearby cafe, trying to sneak a peek at the brunch specials for that morning. Six little sprites appeared around him, likewise entranced from the savory smells of sizzling bacon and fresh baked bread.

“Hey, eyes on the target,” a feminine voice scolded. The marksman turned around to see Pandora Zeppeli tapping her toe, waiting for him to focus. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“You know, it’s never good to work on an empty stomach,” Mista shrugged.

“Then you should have eaten back at the resort.”

“I did, but my stand didn’t,” Mista explained. “And if we want Sex Pistols to be at peak performance, they’re gonna need some food.”

Pandora didn’t respond, rather she rummaged through for something, before tossing a wrapped bar his way. “Here. Dig in.”

Mista caught the bar, and tore through the wrapper, expecting a candy, only to have his hopes dashed when he discovered it was just a dry granola bar. “What? You can’t be serious; you don’t expect Pistols to eat this bland mush?”

“I’m always serious,” she responded, focusing her attention on the surrounding area. “Granola bars are an excellent source of fiber.”

“Fine,” Mista begrudgingly unwrapped the bar, as he split the snack into six even sections. “But I can promise you, they aren’t gonna like it.”

After the events the previous evening, the Passione crew discovered their enemy was somehow a step ahead of them. While the Piano Man was defeated, it was evident he wasn’t working alone. Dozens of cultists dressed as the Piano Man were apprehended, but none of them were stand users. However, based on Giorno’s report, there had to be at least one other stand user who assisted in the fight. Therefore, to better track down the enemy stand user, the gang split into groups.

There were two main ports on the small island, so Giorno and Sheila E took the Eastern port, while Pandora and Mista surveyed the Western port. Bibita was still recovering after her fight with the Piano Man, and while she got new arms thanks to Gold Experience, she was in no shape to fight. She was resting at the local hospital, with Fugo keeping watch, making sure she would recover in peace.

“Alright, but how are we supposed to find the stand user among this crowd?” Mista questioned, as the six little sprites surrounding him devoured the granola bar. “None of us even got a look at the person.”

“By this point, the stand user knows we defeated their ally,” the turtle Polnareff explained, having tagged along with Pandora on this mission. “They will want to regroup with their side for safety.”

“Luckily, the Speedwagon Foundation called in a favor,” Pandora continued the thought. “They’ve locked down the harbors for private boats. Meaning if the stand user wants off this island, they’ll have to go buy a ticket for the public ship back to the mainland.”

The trio of Mista Pandora and Polnareff approached the harbor, and despite the early hours, it was already bustling with life. Even with the small size of the island, plenty of cars zoomed along the coastal highway, clearly in a rush to get to their destinations. Likewise, a sizable crowd had gathered at the ticket station for the public ferry to the mainland. The first ship of the day had yet to set sail, as even the ticket office wasn’t open, resulting in quite a few families of impatient tourists waiting to secure passage back.

“So, our target is gonna be one of these guys then,” Mista said, narrowing his eyes at the crowd by the ticket station. “Any idea who it might be, Miss Zeppeli?”

“I’m keeping an eye out,” she stated, analyzing the crowd from afar. “But, for our sakes, it’s probably not best to refer to each other by name. That may inform the enemy of our presence-”

“Okay, we could do nicknames then!” Mista smiled. “How about I call you Pan?”

“No,” she responded dryly.

“Dora?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Uh… How about Panda?”

“You may call me Doctor,” Pandora said.

“Alright, spot the enemy stand user, Doc?”

“You ruined it,” she sighed, her attention still focused on the crowd of potential stand users. She analyzed each person, quick to determine who was traveling alone. In no time, she had a short list of who the stand user might be.

“That guy at the front of the line,” Mista pointed out. “That could be our guy. Looks impatient, keeps checking his watch, and hasn’t interacted with anyone else.”

“Nice observation, but I feel the real stand user would try to blend in better,” Pandora shrugged, looking to one of the Pistols floating nearby.

“Holy shit,” Mista said under his breath. “Was that actually a compliment?”

“From her, those are rare,” Polnareff noted.

“What can I say, I’m a bit of a charmer, aren’t I Pistols?” Mista said, awaiting the Pistols response. But no one answered. “Uh… Pistols? Where ya at buddies?”

“Quiet,” Pandora was quick to cut him off. “I’m working on something.”

Mista looked around frantically for his stand, noticing a few little sprites had crossed the street, nearing the ticket station. Once close enough to the crowd, Number Seven cleared its little throat, “Attention all Passengers! Attention all Passengers! The ATM is currently broken, so all tickets to board must be paid via check!”

“I’m sorry… but I’m lost,” Mista grumbled.

“I asked your stand for a little favor,” Pandora said, her sharp eyes observing the crowd. “Remember, non-stand users can’t see or hear our stands.”

Sure enough, the vast crowd of people did not respond to the abrupt announcement, aside from one figure in the middle of the line. The woman with bright red hair pulled into multiple buns rummaged through her purse in search of her checkbook. Only this redhead in plain black clothes seemed to react to the instructions.

“And there’s our stand user,” Pandora confidently smirked. “According to my calculations, she should be right in range for your stand.”

“Ohhh, I get it now!” Mista quickly pulled his firearm out of his boot and took aim. “Let’s go, Sex Pistols!”

Bang! Ba-Bang!

“Yeehaw!”

Mista fired three bullets, and the Pistols expertly redirected the shots. The bullets maneuvered around the crowd, until they found their target.

Shink!

One shot landed in the redheaded woman’s calf. “Ah, scheisse!” she cursed, nearly buckling to the floor, as the next two bullets drew nearer to the injured stand user. For a moment, fear sparkled in her dark blue eyes, before she muttered something under her breath.

Right as the remaining bullets were about to impact, a pair of sleek black balloons appeared between the woman and the bullets. As soon as they impacted the balloons, the bullets disappeared entirely, saving the enemy stand user from a potentially fatal wound.

The surrounding crowd panicked at the gunfire, as they dispersed, running out in all directions. In their desperate attempt to flee from the attack, the injured stand user stood out amongst the panicked crowd. The redhead stuck out, as she tried to limp off toward the docks.

“This’ll be easy,” Mista remarked, crossing the street toward the panicking crowd. “That German ginger can’t get far on that bum leg now.”

The panicked crowd scurried across the street to avoid the gunfire, bumping into the couple from Passione’s taskforce in their attempt to flee the attack. “Scuzi!” a man in a red tracksuit apologized after bumping into Passione’s sharpshooter, following the flow of the retreating mob.

Mista led the small group, one hand carrying the turtle Polnareff, while the other hand stealthily concealed his weapon. Pandora followed close behind, never taking her eyes off the target. “She’s still out of my stand’s range,” Pandora calculated. “We’ll need to slow her down a bit more. Think you can take out her other leg?”

“Consider it done,” Mista lined up the shot, and fired.

Bang!

The redheaded woman struggled to create distance, limping away from the pair as fast as she could. Despite her injuries, however, the oncoming bullet missed its target, the enemy just barely able to avoid the shot.

“Huh… I thought you were the sharpshooter of the bunch,” Polnareff said, still held by Mista.

“I am, I am,” Mista said, quick to defend himself, already taking aim once more. “I just miscalculated and didn’t use my stand. That won’t happen again.”

Ba-Bang!

Two more shots fired, Sex Pistols ready to ricochet the bullets into their fleeing enemy. The little golden sprites kicked the bullets, redirecting the shots. But, for some unknown reason, the shots lost their speed almost immediately, and no matter how hard the Pistols kicked, they couldn’t build the momentum.

Ti-Ting

The bullets clattered to the ground, once again, not reaching their target.

“This is all Number Five’s fault!” the golden sprite with a three on its head said, prepared to strike. “He let the bullet fall!”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Number One intervened. “Two and I were on the other bullet, and that fell also.”

“Miiiistaaaa!” Number Five retreated, greeting its user. “Something’s wrong with your bullets. They’re too slow!”

Mista and Pandora exchanged a worried glance. “Something is definitely off,” Polnareff noted. “Keep your guard up.”

Pandora nodded. “We might not be able to shoot her, but if I get in close enough, The Chain can bind her,” she said, sprinting toward the enemy.

The pair gave chase, following the injured enemy stand user, and Pandora quickly took the lead, leaving Mista struggling to catch her pace. ‘Wow, this chick’s really fast,’ the gunman thought. ‘But that’s cuz she got a head start. There’s no way I’d be slower than her...right?’

“Hurry up,” Pandora instructed, maneuvering around a streetlamp. “We’ve almost got her in our range now.” In just a few more meters, the enemy would be in The Chain’s range, and Pandora outstretched her arm, golden energy crackling around her.

“The Chai-”

THWACK!

A flash of bright red streaked through the air, impacting the glasses clad woman with a punch to the gut. The hit sent the woman skidding backwards. Once she gathered her bearings, Pandora saw the red headed enemy was out of her range once more. And standing between the Speedwagon Foundation agent and her target was a new figure.

“Sorry for the cheap shot there. You were just getting too close to my friend,” the new figure explained. The man looked to be in his early forties, with olive skin and dark brown hair. But the most notable feature of this interloper was his red track suit.

“Hey, that’s the asshole who bumped into me earlier,” Mista said, having finally caught up with Pandora.

“Outta the way, tracksuit,” Pandora chided, barely paying the man any attention. She continued to follow the redheaded woman. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the man in the tracksuit blocked Zeppeli’s path. “You see, I was hired to make sure that woman leaves this island safely. If you two intend on hurting her, then you’ll have to be dealt with.”

“Ha, you can’t be serious,” Mista laughed. “You’re outnumbered dude, two to one…. Three to one if you include the turtle-”

“Winning doesn't matter,” the man shrugged. “All I have to do is slow you down.” With that, his form began to shimmer, a cherry red aura surrounding his body. “And with my stand, that won’t be a proble-”

“The Chain!”

“Go Pistols!”

Both Pandora and Mista didn’t wait for the strange man to activate his stand before initiating the attack. Mista, having reloaded his gun, fired three shots, while Pandora unleashed a wave of chains toward their new enemy. But, in a single moment, the man in the tracksuit vanished, moving too quick for their eyes to register. All their attacks missed their mark.

“Of course, killing you all would technically constitute as slowing you down,” a voice remarked from behind the pair. “So, the decision is yours. Leave and live or stay and fight. Your choice.”

The group from Passione turned around, shocked to see how quick the enemy moved passed them. “Yeah, I think you already know the answer to that, buddy,” Mista scoffed, readying his gun.

Pandora, meanwhile, took her eyes off the redheaded target for just a moment, but when she returned her gaze to the retreating woman, she found a dozen balloons had taken her place. “Balloon girl’s on the move,” she grumbled. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Lucky for you, speed is my specialty,” the new enemy explained summoning his stand. But rather than a new figure appearing beside him, a shiny red armor covered his body. The new suit looked to be comprised of pieces of a race car, molded to a humanoid form. The design was sleek, aero dynamic, and even sported white wall tires by the man’s lower legs. A helmet covered his face, leaving only his eyes visible behind the tinted glass. “I’ll try to make this quick. The name is Torta. My stand’s called The Distance. And your fight is with me now.”

Ba-Bang Bang!

Not needing to be told twice, Mista initiated the fight, unloading another three bullets at Torta. However, much like before, the bullets seemed off, as the enemy was easily able to dodge. As he ran around the shots, Torta withdrew The Distance’s armor over his hand, and gently touched one of the bullets still flying in the air. As soon as he touched the bullet, it fell to the floor.

“Thanks for the boost, kid,” Torta said to Mista, unphased by the gunman’s attacks. A blur of red shot passed Mista.

Meanwhile, Pandora gave chase, heading toward the balloons drifting toward the docks. Her mission was to apprehend the female stand user, so the new additional enemy was irrelevant to her. While she didn’t know exactly what the redhead’s stand’s power was, Pandora was fairly certain their foe was hiding in one of the dozen black balloons drifting towards the boats at the docks. But, before she could tie down the floating orbs, a flash of red energy zipped by her.

Thwack!

Moving as quick as a bullet, Torta struck Pandora in her side. The woman blocked the brunt of the attack with her arm, but there was enough force to launch her off her feet. Using her stand to anchor herself, Pandora landed gracefully on the ground, but her arm was already starting to bruise.

“I figure you’re going to make it difficult to ignore you,” Pandora sighed, narrowing her eyes at the enemy speedster. She took a deep breath, and with a flare of golden energy, the bruised muscles repaired themselves.

“Careful. That guy’s a suit stand user,” Mista said, struggling to catch up to the conflict.

“You’re familiar with other suit type stands?” Pandora asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mista grumbled, remembering his fights with Giaccio and Secco. Both of which did not end well for him. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan of those types of stands.”

“Good to know,” Pandora narrowed her eyes, as The Chain manifested, whipping outward to attack Torta. “I’ll have plenty of time to study it after the user’s been subdued.”

Despite the Chain’s flailing, The Distance was easily able to dodge each attack. The stand was just too fast for her to keep up. While Torta was preoccupied dodging the Chain’s assault, Mista took the initiative and sprinted toward the enemy. Or at least he felt like he was sprinting. In actuality, his pace was that of a light jog, easy to avoid even without super speed.

“Eat lead, asshole!” Mista announced, his mouth moving faster than the rest of his body, as he struggled to reload his gun.

“Would it kill you to pick up the pace?” Pandora noted dryly. “The slow-mo act isn’t funny-”

“It isn’t an act,” Polnareff called out, still held by Passione’s gunman. “He is running as fast as he can.”

Pandora’s eyes widened, putting together how the enemy stand works. But there was little time to theorize, as the Distance blurred out of sight, speeding over to the sluggish sharpshooter.

Thwack!

Before any of them had the chance to register what happened, Torta’s attack sent Mista flying backward right into the oncoming traffic. “Mr. Polnareff!” Pandora cried out, concerned for the turtle now stranded on the busy thoroughfare with the slow-motioned Mista.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Torta’s voice rang behind her.

Instinctively, Pandora took a step away from the enemy. But this now put her back against the rushing of oncoming traffic. She was stuck, between the enemy and the street, with no clear way out of the situation.

“You’ll be joining them soon enough.” Torta wound up to attack.

Pandora struck a defensive stance as oncoming traffic barreled down the road towards Mista and Polnareff.

**********************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Sex Pistols
Stand User: Guido Mista
Stand Power: Bullet Control- The sentient Pistols can expertly redirect small projectile weapons, specializing in trick shots with Mista’s revolver.
• Power: E
• Speed: C
• Range: B
• Durability: A
• Precision: A
• Potential: B

Chapter Text

August 2001

“Don’t worry... Dad’s gonna take care of this. Just hang on there.”

A plain minivan zoomed through traffic, as the driver tried his best to console the passenger in the back seat. His calming words couldn’t mask the fear and anxiety in his voice.

“We’re gonna get you to a hospital, and they’ll know what’s with you,” He reassured the girl in the back seat. The minivan barreled through oncoming traffic with little regard for other vehicles. “You just gotta stay strong for just a little bit longer-”

SKREEEEEEEEE

The sound of tires screeching, and metal crunching was the last thing the driver registered before falling unconscious.
….
…
“Vitals’ appear fine. Light head trauma, most likely concussed.”

The driver slowly opened his eyes, only to be bombarded with harsh fluorescent lights. The room was spinning, although, after the car crash, he figured that may just be in his head. He appeared to be in a hospital, hooked up to a machine checking his vitals.

“Oh good, he’s up,” a voice from the far side of the room remarked. The figure wore a white lab coat, sleek glasses, and styled his dark blue hair back with an air of professionalism.

“Where’s my daughter?” the driver demanded, trying to pry himself off the hospital bed.

“Woah there, you still need to recover. Just stay put, and I will answer any questions you have,” the man is the lab coat calmly approached. Hesitantly, the patient sat back down, and allowed the professional to continue. “Now, your name is Torta, correct? That is what your ID stated.”

Torta merely nodded.

“There was another person in the vehicle during crash, Torta,” he said. “Am I to assume she is your daughter?”

“Is she okay?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” The other man said to himself, before clearing her throat. “She is alive, but she is currently in a coma. There appears to be something else going on despite the crash injuries. If you have any information at all, please share. That will help our doctors pin down what’s ailing her.”

“I…. I don’t know,” Torta’s voice cracked, recalling recent events with a heavy heart. “She was just fine yesterday. And then, she was suddenly sick. It looks like she’d gotten cut… or, uh, pierced with something that got infected… but she wasn’t well enough to tell me how she got hurt-”

“It looks like She has been busy building Her followers then,” The man in the lab coat noted under his breath.

“What was that, Doctor?”

“Nothing, nothing. And please, just call me the Scientist,” he said adjusting his glasses and returning his gaze to the injured Torta. “Right now, it’s too early to determine your daughter’s fate. But you appear to have a strong fighting spirit.”

“I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with my daughter?”

“My Godde… employer is seeking those with strong wills to join Her cause,” The Scientist explained. “If she succeeds in Her mission, She will grant those loyal to her all they desire. Saving your daughter would be all too easy if She succeeds.”

Torta took a moment, his eyes glazed over, not really looking at anything. He finally took a breath and spoke. “Alright. What do I need to do?”

***************************
November 2001

“Oh, don’t you worry… You’ll be joining them soon enough.”

Torta, fully armored in his stand, the Distance, threw his arms back, only to propel them forward full force towards the cornered Speedwagon operative. A flurry of punches targeted Pandora, who stumbled backwards toward the oncoming traffic. Yet, she didn’t look nearly as worried as she should be.

“The Chain,” She nearly whispered as she fell into the street.

Suddenly, the blond woman was no longer standing helpless before Torta. The armored stand user assumed the fight was drawing to an anticlimactic finish and took his eye off the woman for just a moment.

“Huh… I suppose a car might have hit her,” Torta thought out loud, tilting his head with confusion. “But it’s a little weird there’s no body.”

While the enemy stand user pondered his adversary’s whereabouts, Pandora clung to the bumper of a truck, fleeing the scene unnoticed. Using her stand, she bound herself to the vehicle. Once the truck was far enough from the enemy, Pandora stealthily attached the Chain to a traffic light, and swung across the street to the side opposite the docks.

Meanwhile, Mista struggled to get to his feet. The attack from the Distance left him stranded in the middle of the street. Cars honked and swerved out of the way as the gunman feebly attempted to run to safety, only, his body refused to move any faster than a leisurely pace.

“Mista! You need to hurry up!” Number Six urged.

“I second their concern,” Polnareff added, still in the gunman’s grasp.

“I know! I’m going as fast as I can!” Mista huffed, his exaggerated movements didn’t appear to speed up his retreat.

Most cars were able to avoid the gunman by merging into the neighboring lane, but a large semi-truck hurtled towards them. The truck hit the brakes, but it was evident it wouldn’t stop soon enough.

SKREEEEE

Mista clenched his eyes shut, anticipating the collision, when he suddenly felt another force pull him in another direction.

“Get over here!” Pandora commanded her Chains to pull the sharpshooter to safety.

Once they were all on the sidewalk, Mista finally opened his eyes. “Thanks for the save,” he said, still putting the pieces together. “Wait… was that a Mortal Kombat reference back ther-”

“Mr. Polnareff, are you okay?” Pandora ignored the beanie clad man and instead focused on the turtle.

“Yes, just a little shaken, that’s all,” Polnareff said.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, in case you were wondering,” Mista mumbled.

“Excellent,” Pandora continued, briskly walking in pace with the crowd of pedestrians. “Torta hasn’t noticed us just yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he spots us. We need to strategize. Walk and talk.”

Mista, still under the effects of the Distance, soon fell behind unable to keep pace. Polnareff gave his hand a kick, freeing himself from Mista’s grip. Soon, even the turtle was moving faster than the sharpshooter.

“Oh, come on!” Mista scoffed.

Pandora turned around to see the other two in a race for the slowest on the island. “Okay… new plan,” she grumbled, grabbing Polnareff. “Mista, get in the turtle.”

“But I’m the gunman,” Mista protested.

“And right now, snails are jealous of your leisurely pace,” Pandora narrowed her eyes. “Just get in the turtle.”

“Fine,” Mista begrudgingly placed a hand on the turtle, and transported into Mr. President. “This must be how Trish felt all the time…”

Polnareff kept quiet, and instead kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He noticed a flock of seagulls nearby, with two of them flying in slow motion.

“Alright, let’s review what we know so far,” Pandora said in a hushed voice. “The Distance is a suit stand, which clearly acts as an armor for our enemy.”

“Stand power is an easy one,” Mista chimed in from within the turtle. “Red suit. Super speed. The guy is basically the Flash.”

Pandora looked puzzled.

“Oh, right, you probably don’t read comics,” Mista shrugged. “The Flash is a hero in the Justice League who ha-”

“I know all about Barry Allen and the other iterations on the character. I just don’t feel like the Distance falls neatly into the speedster category,” Pandora theorized. “His ability is more akin to Rogue’s ability from the X-Men. But rather than draining us of our powers, Torta is sapping our speed. This appears to be activated through direct skin contact, much like Rogue.”

“Wait, you read comics?” Mista asked, distracted by her knowledge.

“...Yes.”

“Here I thought you were a seriously boring Foundation agent,” Mista teased. “Turns out you’re a comic book dork like the rest of u-”

“I’m not a comic book nerd,” she retorted, a bit quick to defend herself. “I just find the power system in the comics comparable to stands, but I…. wait, I don’t have to explain myself. We are in the middle of a stand fight.”

“Alright, alright, dropping the subject,” Mista shrugged, still bearing a smug grin. “So, red Sonic over there can steal our speed, but needs direct skin contact. Meaning he’d be without the Distance’s armor while refueling.”

“That would be the opportune time to attack,” Pandora noted. “But, with his current speed, he’d have little need to refuel.”

“I think there’s a range for this stand,” Polnareff finally spoke up. The turtle was busy staring at the group of birds, flying down the coast. “He needs to keep those whose speed he’s stolen close by. Two of the birds in that flock of seagulls were slowed by the stand, but, after they traveled about a quarter kilometer, they returned to their regular flying speed.”

“So, in order to slow him down, we’ll need to retreat?” Pandora asked.

“Oh, that’s great, I’ll just stroll a good 200 meters from the super speedster,” Mista sarcastically chided from the turtle.

“And with Torta’s speed, we wouldn’t get the opportunity to get that far,” Polnareff sighed.

“Regardless, our mission is to stop the female stand user,” Pandora said, turning to cross the street toward the dock. “At this pace, she’ll get away-”

“Oh, there you are.”

A blur of red sped towards the blonde woman, causing her to stop in her tracks. “And here I was hoping you would wise up and just walk away.”

“Yeah, well joke’s on you,” Mista hollered from inside Mr. President. “We’re not wise!”

“Please don’t talk,” Pandora sighed.

“Wait, did the turtle speak?” Torta asked.

“No, that was Mista,” Polnareff explained.

Though his face was covered by his armor like stand, there was no masking his visible confusion at the talking turtle. “You know, sometimes I forget how weird our line of work gets,” Torta said under his breath, before striking a more aggressive stance. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you get any further. Please just walk away.”

“You and I both know that’s not an option,” Pandora narrowed her eyes.

A moment passed, with the two stand users staring at each other, waiting for their opponent to make the first move. It was clear the Distance had the speed advantage, but Pandora was coming up with a plan in these tense moments.

Pandora moved first, bolting into the street towards the docks. Stealthily, she used her stand to bind the turtle to a passing vehicle, securely getting both Polnareff and Mista out of the immediate danger. Torta moved quick, weaving between the heavily trafficked street toward the glasses clad woman. Yet, when he was just a few meters away, Pandora used the Chain to latch onto a nearby streetlight, and propelled herself out of the way, swinging clear to the other side of the street.

She stumbled a bit on her landing, immediately sprinting towards the docks. She was determined to catch the mysterious balloon girl.

“Nice trick,” a voice called out behind her. “But you’re not gonna shake me that easily.”
The was a flash of red, the Distance zipping right to the woman. Without giving her a moment to dodge, Torta reeled his arm back to deliver a punch-

Ting!

The impact of this hit sounded different than normal. Likewise, the force of the attack seemed to have little effect on the woman.

“I should thank you,” Pandora smiled. “Your wearable stand gave me a bit of an idea.”

Torta pulled his fist away, but soon discovered he could not move his hand. “What the-”

“I’ll admit, my stand isn’t intended for combat, but you’ll find it’s quite durable,” she continued, removing her long lab coat. Underneath, the Chain was protectively coiled around her body, like golden armor. “I decided to wear it, much like your stand. I suppose you can refer to this technique as the Iron-Maiden.”

Torta looked down to his hand, discovering the fist was attached to one of the chains, linking him directly to Pandora.

“Now, I believe it’s time to test my theory,” the blond woman struck a defensive pose. “Let’s see how a stand called the Distance holds up in close quarter combat, shall we?”

THWACK

A swift elbow collided with the enemy stand user’s side, throwing him off balance. As torta tried to retaliate, Pandora gracefully pivoted around him, striking him once more in the back of the skull. Each of her strikes felt supercharged, as if there was something else bolstering her attacks.

She went in for a kick, but Torta was prepared this time, using his enhanced speed to lurch his body out of the way. There was less than a meter of chain connecting the two of them, but he decided to make use of what he had.

Cra-ack!

With a flash of movement, Torta struck Pandora’s unarmored face. The force of the attack broke her large glasses, as they clattered to the ground. While she was still recovering from the hit, Torta took off, hoping his super speed would throw her off his trail. However, with each spin and turn, he noticed he could not shake her while she still had her stand attached.

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Pandora muttered, the chains unraveling around her form. The chains glowed bright, crackling with energy as she took a deep breath, before launching her arms towards her enemy. “Sunlight Yellow Overdrive!”

Dozens of chains whipped outward, like tendrils of some eldritch beast. Her stand, the Chain, was not particularly strong, but combined with her unusual technique, each lash was supercharged. With such up-close combat, Torta couldn’t avoid all the attacks, as the Distance got pummeled by the lashing, each hit leaving a searing mark on his pristine suit stand.

Seeing she had withdrawn her stand acting as a protective armor in order to attack, Torta took the opportunity to bolt towards her. However, he couldn’t seem to move more than a few steps, before his foot snagged on something.

“Huh-”

“I figured I needed to limit the movement of someone with your powerset,” Pandora explained, as most of the Chain faded away. All that was left was a section of chain linking the enemy stand user’s foot to the sidewalk. “I knew you’d see that trap coming, so I had to bombard you with so many attacks, one was bound to hit.”

“Release me,” Torta demanded.

“Sorry, I gotta deal with the balloon girl first,” She said, turning her back on the enemy, heading towards the docks. “You just be a pal and stay put, won’t you?”

Without her glasses, finding the female stand user would be difficult. There were only five boats currently docked, so that would at least narrow her search a little bit. However, before she had the chance to inspect the boats, a strong wind tore through the air, whipping her sun hat off her head, and knocking her off balance. This was not normal, as there was no storm in the forecast to predict such strong winds. The force of the wind seemed to draw her away from the docks and pull her towards the source of the odd weather pattern: Torta and the Distance.

Using the little bit of slack in his restraint, Torta ran in quick tight circles. With his speed, a miniature tornado appeared, pulling everything towards the rotating pillar of destruction, including innocent bystanders. Likewise, Pandora struggled to fight the current, as it took all her strength just to avoid getting pulled in.

“Oh, perfect. Just perfect,” she grumbled, weighing her options. If she kept the restraint, Torta would stay put, but the tornado he created would damage the town, and halt her progressing to the boats. With a halfhearted sigh, she lifted her hand. “This is probably a mistake.”

She snapped her fingers, and the Chain connecting Torta to the sidewalk vanished. With nothing keeping him grounded, the inertia from the centrifugal force sent him flying outwards down the coast. The enemy stand user was flung several blocks, and Pandora quickly lost sight without the aid of her glasses.

Based on how far Torta was flung, he was most likely out of range of all he stole his speed from, so Pandora figured that would slow him down quite a bit. Not wanting to take her chances, she bolted towards the docks, passing by the abandoned ticket station on her way. She noticed one of the boats docked was slowly setting sail, most likely the being stolen by the female enemy stand user. If Pandora could get to the end of the dock, she could anchor the boat with her stand.

HONK! HONK! HOOOOONK!

The noise of cars’ horns blaring pulled Zeppeli’s attention. A while down the road, about twenty cars were caught in a traffic jam. However, there was no car accident or construction creating this traffic. No, for some reason, many of the vehicles were suddenly slowed down. A blur of red wove between the cars on the street.

‘Oh no… not good,’ Pandora thought, racing toward the boat leaving the docks. ‘Just a few more meters, and it's in my range.’

She outstretched her arm, golden chains ready to lash out at the boat-

Thwack!

Her vision blurred as a force pushed her away from the docks with a punch to the guts. Pandora buckled over, shakily getting back on her feet. Her window of opportunity was passing her by, as Torta stood between her and her target once more.

After such a hit, Pandora found it difficult to take a breath, as the air was knocked out of her. The bruise on her stomach did not heal, and her chains lost their golden shimmer. Despite that, Pandora continued her approach, but Torta easily bolted to her and launched her back even further.

Thunk!

Pandora landed harshly against the abandoned ticket stand, the boat well out of her range now. But that was nowhere near her biggest problem at the moment. She shakily inhaled, the bit of oxygen brightening her aura.

“Yeah, that’s how I figured it worked.”

The Distance was suddenly upon her, the armored stand pinning her against the wall with a hand to her throat. “You see, I’m not that smart, but I notice every time you heal yourself or bolster your attack, you have a habit of taking a deep breath,” Torta explained, withdrawing his stand. “So, if I keep you from breathing, that should weaken you, right?”

Pandora went to inhale, but his grip on her throat tightened. Her thrashing of limbs began slowing, as the enemy stand user siphoned her speed.

“I really hope you fall unconscious before your heart slows to a stop,” the man said, his eyes downcast. “I don’t want your death on my conscience, but you do need to be stopped. So please, make this easier on the both of us, and just go to sleep.”

The blond woman struggled against his hold, her stand lashing out. But even the Chain was moving sluggish under the effects of the Distance. Her ever slowing pace kept the adrenaline from kicking in, as the edges of Pandora’s vision began to darken, and she slowly lost feeling in her extremities.

“Yeehaw!

Ba-Bang!

While her senses were dulled, there was no mistaking the sound of gunfire aimed in their direction. The familiar faces of the Sex Pistols kicked a couple bullets, expertly redirecting them towards Torta’s arms.

Shi-shink!

Two bullets tore through Torta’s forearms. His grip on Pandora slipped, as he recoiled in pain. The woman coughed, falling on the floor as Torta looked around for this new attacker. It did not take long for him to spot the culprit. A man in a beanie brandishing a revolver sat atop a motorcycle, zooming toward the enemy stand user.

“Hey asshole!” Mista cried, as the motorcycle skid across the sidewalk. “Let’s see you outrun this!”

Torta’s eyes widened, about to summon his stand. But he didn’t get chance before-

Skreeeee

THWACK

The bike collided with the enemy stand user, as Mista Torta and the motorcycle tumbled across the sidewalk. Pandora watched, still catching her breath as the carnage flew past her. Moving underneath the pile of broken motorcycle pieces, Torta’s body moved slightly, a final attempt to free himself. However, after a slight nudge, his body gave out, falling unconscious from the sheer force of the motorcycle “accident.”

Mista was flung a bit further but was in better shape than their adversary. The gunman had a few cracked ribs, a bruised-up torso and arms, as well as a small gash on the back of his head from impacting the pavement. He was glad his plan to stop the Distance worked, but he hadn’t quite calculated his own landing.

“Passione: 1. Crazy Cultists: 0,” Mista joked, stumbling on to his feet.

Pandora, still shaken from her fight, collected herself. “Did you seriously just ride a motorcycle full speed into the enemy? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking, ‘I’m gonna ride a motorcycle full speed into the enemy,’” Mista replied with a chuckle that hurt his damaged ribs. “And you know what, it worked!”

“Hmm,” Pandora shrugged, looking at their knocked-out enemy. “I suppose your idiocy was highly effective-”

“Was that a compliment?”

“An underhanded compliment, yes-”

“Good enough for me,” Mista smiled, whipping off the blood from his brow. “But to be honest, I wouldn’t’ve been able to pull that stunt if you hadn’t gotten me and Polnareff out of his range.”

“Well, you two were slowing me down,” Pandora said. “It seemed like the logical choice.”

“Either way, thanks.”

The woman shrugged off the compliment, as she collected her sunhat and looked off to the fleeing boat in the distance. “The target is still getting away,” she mumbled. “She’s out of both
our ranges now. We failed.”

“We can always catch her later,” a familiar voice behind them called, as the turtle Polnareff approached the wreckage. “Sorry it took so long, Mista dropped me off a block away, and I’m not as fast as I used to be. The important thing is, we’re out of immediate danger, and we can let the rest of the crew know where the female stand user is going.”

“Oh yeah,” Mista said, finally acknowledging the damage his body sustained in that kamikaze attack. “We need to get Giorno here before I lose too much blood. It’s never smart to leave your healer!”

Pandora didn’t speak as she approached the gunman, taking a deep breath, and placing a hand on either side of his face.

“Uh, Panda... Watcha doing?”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered as her hands began to glow. An electric shock bolted through Mista, but he did not feel pain. Rather, he could feel the gash on his head repair itself. Likewise, the other scrapes and bruises faded away, as even the cracked ribs seemed to mend. While still sore, Mista looked as good as new.

“The Ripple, or Hamon is an ancient martial art that utilizes breathing to harness the power of the sun,” she explained, withdrawing her hands from Mista’s face. “On my own, my stand is fairly weak, but with Hamon, I can bolster my attacks. This technique has certain healing capabilities as well-”

“You can heal too!” Mista sounded shocked.

“...yes. Although for serious injuries you should still seek help from medical professionals-”

“I don’t know if it’s the blood loss or what,” Mista said with a grin. “But you have to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Pandora waited a moment, before lifting a brow. “It’s the blood loss.”

*********************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: The Distance
Stand User: Torta
Stand Power: Speed Sapping-Activated through skin contact, The Distance can siphon speed, and the slower those effected get, the faster Torta becomes. The Distance must keep its victims within a certain range, otherwise their speed will return if they venture too far.
• Power: B
• Speed: C-A
• Range: A
• Durability: B
• Precision: C
• Potential: D

Chapter Text

A sample of ocean water sat beneath a microscope under great scrutiny. The man observing adjusted the scope, fiddling with the objective lens and selecting the proper fine adjustment until he was satisfied.

“I knew it!” the man scrambled for a notepad. “The specimens from the Tyrrhenian Sea have a higher acidic level than the surrou-”

Ring! Ring!

The man jumped at the sound of his cell phone ringing, his elbow bumping into the microscope, spilling his test samples. Immediately, the man, clad in a casual wetsuit, dove to the floor of the pristine lab, trying to preserve the sample, but it was already too late. He sighed, standing back up to check who might be calling him during his study time. As soon as he noticed who was calling, his attitude changed, as he answered the phone with great urgency.

“Good morning, Canella!” he said with a smile he hoped translated over the line. “I wasn’t expecting you to call this early. To what do I owe the pleasure? .... Oh, my apologies…. Ah, that’s too bad…”

The wetsuit wearing man nervously pulled his hair back into a messy bun. “Well, at least she’s still alive, right?... Uh, I’m actually sort of in the middle of somethi-”

The voice on the other end was quick to cut him off.

“Right, right, of course,” he backpedaled. “That isn’t too far away… yes, I’ll get right on it… Understood…”

The call ended as quickly as it began, as the man let out a small sigh, before collecting his things. “At least the Balearic Sea isn’t too far away,” He rationalized, heading out the door of his quaint research facility. “If all goes well, I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

***********************

After the mysterious stand user, known only as the Balloon Girl at the moment, escaped from the island, the Passione crew was quick to follow. Due to his money and influence, Giorno acquired a lavish yacht for their pursuit, but such a ride only felt appropriate for the Don of the Italian Mafia. However, their chase of the renegade stand user looked to be pulling their crew further and further away from their familiar home of Italy. The member of the Disciples of the New Dawn sailed west, toward Spain, and as the pair of racing boats sailed through the Balearic Sea.

“Why is she heading that way?” Sheila E asked, watching the fleeing boat in the horizon. “I thought the cult was stationed in Italy.”

“That may be the case,” Fugo admitted, while helming the steering wheel. “But Passione is also stationed in Italy. Our enemy knows we could easily call our forces to whatever port in Italy to corner her. But, if she docks in Spain, we’ve lost that advantage.”

“Plus, it looks like The Disciples of the New Dawn may expand past Italy,” Giorno added. “We know they infiltrated an American Speedwagon Foundation facility, and there are many more crimes attributed to them that span all over the globe. We already know two of their followers are French, and according to Mista, the lady we’re after is German. It would be wise to assume they would have the advantage in a foreign country.”

“Okay, so we stop this balloon lady before she can dock,” Sheila E said matter of factly. “We did the same with Aquilla, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Fugo looked off in the distance. Their enemy was quite a way ahead of them, as she had a significant head start. “If we continue at this pace, we should catch up before she docks in Spain… but we’ll definitely be cutting it close,” he calculated.

“Good,” Giorno said, turning to walk away. “I’m heading out for some fresh air. Let me know if you need a break from steering.”

Fugo merely answered with a nod, as the Boss of Passione exited the captain’s quarters.

Meanwhile, a floor below them, the remaining crew members rested up after their intense stand fights. They were situated in a large fully furnished bedroom. Mista lounged around on a couch, Pandora sat on a chez long, and Bibita took the king size bed that felt far too big for her. When they found out the stand user had set sail, the crew immediately took Bibita out of the hospital and onto the boat, and while she was not in any immediate danger, her recovery was far from over.

“You okay over there, kid?” Mista called out. “Ya been pretty quiet.”

“Oh… sorry,” Bibita said, her arms still wrapped in bandages. “I guess I’m just not used to… well, any of this.”

“Yeah, losing a limb can be really weird,” Mista said with a casual laugh. “You’re definitely hanging out with the right group; we have a bit of a track record with dismemberment.”

“Great,” Bibita mumbled, staring at her hands as if they were completely foreign to her. “Do you know how long it takes the new limbs to… well, feel like your old limbs?”

“Uhhh, that’s more of a Giorno question,” the man shrugged. “I don’t really give that stuff much thought.”

Bibita frowned, but she figured once they docked, she could paint her nails. That would at least help her new limbs look like her old ones.

“Cheer up,” Pandora added from the corner of the room. “You did good out there last night. A lot of people would have died if you hadn’t found the stand user.”

The girl smiled for a moment, but her victory felt hollow. She’d spent the night debating Giorno on morals, only to end up taking someone’s life. She knew there weren’t many other options, but it still didn’t sit right with her, and, evidently, the others could pick up on this.

“Maybe a soda will brighten your mood,” Polnareff offered, the turtle placed on a nearby coffee table. “I think there’s still a few beverages stored away in Mr. President’s mini fridge.”

“So, what could we get for you?” Pandora asked, touching the turtle. She instantly transported into the pocket dimension, awaiting instruction.

“Uh… Dr. Pepper?” Bibita asked hopefully.

“There’s only Sprite and Coke in here,” Pandora’s voice responded from within the turtle.

“Oh, then Coke, I guess.”

Soon, the blond woman exited Mr. President, and handed Bibita the can of soda. With the promise of bubbly caffeine, the girl cracked open the seal of the beverage. But, instead of hearing the fizz and crackle of the soft drink, there was no noise. Cautiously, she took a sip. Much to her disdain, the teen found the drink was completely flat, devoid of any carbonation. Her disappointment was obvious, as her face soured.

“And that’s why you should’ve chosen Sprite,” Mista shrugged. “Five letter words are always a safer choice.”

Bibita didn’t argue as she set the beverage off to the side, feeling utterly deflated. “I’m just gonna go back to sleep,” she reasoned, lying back down on the bed.

Unbeknownst to the half of the crew recovering from their injuries, the yacht was about to receive an unexpected guest. Zooming towards Passione’s boat was a lone jet ski, carrying a man in a wetsuit. He had sun tanned skin, and platinum blond hair that was turning green towards the tips due to overexposure to the sun and chlorine. There wasn’t a lot of marine traffic, so the gang was easily able to spot the man coming miles away, yet he did not appear worried.

“Ahoy!” the man on the jet ski hollered, waving his hands to grab the attention of the Passione crew. “Over here! Hello!”

The yacht continued its pursuit, leaving a wide berth between them and the odd wetsuit clad man. “Our apologies,” Fugo announced over the intercom. “But we have very important business to attend to, so please, for your own safety-”

“Get outta the way or we’ll hit you with our yacht!” Sheila E finished the statement, brashly stealing the intercom from the impromptu captain.

But the threat of a marine collision didn’t sway the man on the jet ski, as he continued his approach. “I know why you’re all after her,” he stated.

Fugo narrowed his eyes, and looked to gauge Giorno’s reaction before taking the intercom from Sheila E. “I take it you are another enemy sent to fight us,” Fugo said in an event tone. “In which case, you should expect no mercy from us-”

“Woah there,” the man in the wet suit almost chuckled. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to negotiate. I just want to talk.”

The trio at the helm of the yacht exchanged glances.

“This is clearly a trap,” Sheila E muttered. “He’s just trying to get in close-”

“Possibly,” Fugo said, though he appeared less convinced. “But it’s odd he’d approach us so directly and ruin the element of surprise. He’s also vastly outnumbered, and isolated if he planned on attacking us here.”

Giorno, who had remained relatively quiet up till now studied their approaching adversary. “It’s clear we don’t know the full picture,” he said. “We could get some answers from him, and better understand Canella and her followers.”

“So,” Fugo said. “Should we let him aboard-”

“-Or hit him with the yacht?” Sheila added.

Giorno reached for the intercom and spoke. “We will allow you a board. But we will continue our pursuit of our target until further notice.”

“Excellent!” the man smiled, pulling the jet ski alongside the yacht as the sea vessel momentarily slowed down. After the jet ski was tied to the yacht, the strange man climbed aboard. “Thank you for the hospitality,” the stranger said, his Italian was barely able to cover his American accent, though Giorno’s crew had difficulties placing the exact nationality of the man.

He was greeted by Sheila E and Giorno, as Fugo helmed the wheel and continued sailing ahead. As the stranger stepped aboard, Sheila E summoned her stand, and Voodoo Child rushed towards the newcomer. Yet, the man didn’t pay the stand any mind, never altering the pace of his stride. Sheila recalled her stand, and shot Giorno a glance, “I don’t think he can see stands,” she whispered, too soft for anyone to overhear.

“So, Canella sent in a non-stand user to negotiate,” Giorno murmured back. “That seems a little risky… even for her.”

“Hi there,” the man in the wetsuit waved, finally close enough to the pair. “I believe I should speak with Don Giovanna directly for the negotiation. Could one of you grab him for me real quick?”

“Uh… he’s right here,” Sheila E gestured to the blond man next to her.

“For real?” the man looked perplexed, eyeing the teens with scrutiny. “He’s only a child-”

“I am sixteen,” Giorno stated. “I am also the leader of Passione. This is Sheila E, my personal bodyguard.”

The man turned his attention to the even younger looking woman before him. “Is everyone on this boat children?”

“I never really gave that much thought,” Giorno shrugged. “But I suppose the majority of us are.”

The man in the wetsuit’s face soured a moment, before he put on a friendly smile. “No matter. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Don Giovanna,” he stuck out his hand to shake. “My name is Dr. William Joel, but my friends call me Billy-”

“Well, Dr. Joel,” Giorno cut him off, purposefully ignoring the handshake gesture. “We will have a lot to discuss, so let's get started.”

Dr. Joel looked taken aback by Giorno’s harshness but followed the Don through the hallway to a smaller office room on the yacht. Sheila E tailed them, never taking her eyes off the negotiator. She was about to enter the room with them, when Giorno stopped her.

“Keep watch outside,” he instructed.

“But, Boss, I’m your bodyguard,” she protested. “I should go in there in case anything happens,” she glared at Dr. Joel.

“Your boss is in no danger,” Dr. Joel said with a smile. “If we wanted him dead, Canella wouldn’t send a single operative to the middle of the Mediterranean ocean to intersect a yacht filled with Passione. I can promise I will not harm Don Giovanna.”

Sheila E narrowed her eyes at the man. She was pretty good at weeding out lies, but from what she could tell, he was being genuine. With a sigh, she backed down. “I know you need privacy for these negotiations,” she said, taking an attentive guard position outside the door. She gave one final glare to the Dr. Joel. “But, if I hear anything out of the ordinary, I won’t hesitate to kill you… understand?”

“Loud and clear,” Dr. Joel nervously chuckled.

With that, the door closed behind them, as Giorno and Dr. Joel were alone in a small office room. Both figures took a seat on either side of the table, waiting for the other one to speak first.

“Passione has certainly proven to be quite troublesome for Canella and her followers,” Dr. Joel began. “Eliminating her biggest source of financial income, picking off disciples one by one, chasing one member over an ocean,” he gestured in the direction of the renegade stand user the yacht was currently following. “But, while you are a thorn in her side, her plans have not shifted. If you continue this assault on her organization, she will be forced to retaliate-”

“We’ve seen what her followers can do. We weren’t impressed,” Giorno said dryly.

“Oh, you have no idea what the Disciples of the New Dawn are capable of.”

“I’m sure we can handle it-”

“Sure, your crew may be able to fend off attack after attack,” Dr. Joel shrugged. “But I am sure you have witnessed the odd powers of her followers. The destruction that lies in their wake. Those killed in the incident on the cruise and at the Gala will look like mere child's play compared to what’s to come. How many innocent lives will be lost in this futile conflict?”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh, heavens no!” Dr. Joel casually said, swatting the air. “Just a mere observation. Whenever your forces and Canella’s forces meet, there tends to be a bit of collateral damage. However, if you continue your pursuit, you will be separated from your organization in Italy. Meanwhile, Canella has operatives around the globe. I cannot ensure your safety, or the safety of others if you continue, but I can tell you this… the disciples of the New Dawn don’t care how many people are killed, so long as Canella achieves her goal. But her path to godhood doesn’t have to be so bloody.”

“I assume that’s why you’re here,” Giorno interjected.

Dr. Joel nodded. “Canella’s plan has a lot of moving pieces. Her back up plans have back up plans, and she never seems too deterred at her follower’s defeat. However, she has informed me of one important piece of her puzzle that you could actually assist with.”

Giorno lifted a brow. “And what might this piece be?”

“You.”

Giorno’s confused expression did not falter.

“I suppose that needs some elaboration,” Dr. Joel shrugged. “Apparently to properly ascend, she will need you, or, at the very least, a piece of you.”

“Why?” Giorno crossed his arms, sure to keep his guard up.

“I don’t pretend to know,” Dr. Joel said. “Maybe it has something to do with your weird powers, your genetics… or possibly the fact you’re the current ruler of Passione. All I know, she will need you for her plans.”

Giorno waited silently, expecting the wetsuit wearing man to attack, yet nothing happened.

“I have heard rumors of your interesting abilities,” Dr. Joel continued. “Imbuing life to inorganic material. From what I heard that same ability has saved the life of you and your crew many times over, replacing bullets with flesh and creating new fully functional limbs for unfortunate amputees. That should make this decision fairly straight forward-”

Dr. Joel leaned to the side, to grab something around his ankle. There was a flash of silver, as Giorno instinctively jumped back, his aura glowing a bright gold, ready to summon his stand.

“Woah, calm down there,” Dr. Joel said with his arms raised, revealing a small knife held in his hand. “This is just a standard diving knife. Here,” he slowly slid the knife over the table, hilt first, toward Giorno.

“You’re giving me your weapon?” Giorno tilted his head.

“Of course. Consider it a gift. Canella needs a piece of you for her plans, so go ahead a lop off one of your fingers,” Dr. Joel suggested. His earnest tone did not fit the morbid subject matter. “With your power, you can easily imbue that same knife with life, and replace the missing appendage in an instant.”

Giorno stared at the knife with a cold expression. “Why would I ever do that?”

“For peace, of course!” Dr. Joel said. “You give us your finger, and stop hunting down the disciples, and Canella won’t retaliate. Her forces won’t attack you or your allies, and when she becomes a god, you and your accomplices will not be punished for your transgressions. That seems fair to me.”

“Tempting,” Giorno said halfheartedly. “But I have a counteroffer. You tell us everything we need to know about Canella and her plans, and we let you leave. The way I see it, you have no leverage in this negotiation.”

Dr. Joel gave a tired grin. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Seems we’re at an impasse then.”

“Seems that way,” Dr. Joel sighed. “But you were wrong about the leverage.”

Thunk

Outside in the hallway, something fell, sounding like a human body hitting the floor. Giorno immediately recognized the noise, and a chill ran down his spine. “Sheila E!” his eyes widened as he bolted towards the door.

The yacht took a sharp turn seemingly out of nowhere, and Giorno tumbled to the floor.

“No, I believe I have plenty leverage here,” Dr. Joel said, still seated at the table, seemingly unphased by the shifting boat. A light blue aura surrounded the man in the wetsuit, an obvious signal the man was a stand user. “Now, let’s return to negotiations, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Sheila E diligently stood guard outside the room while the negotiation continued. As the personal bodyguard of Don Giovanna, she was quite used waiting from a distance while her superior discussed important business. In fact, Giorno was the most powerful person she ever knew; it was very doubtful he even needed a bodyguard with his power and resourcefulness. Regardless, he asked her to be his trusted guard, so she obeyed, and he asked her to wait outside, so she obeyed.

Sheila E didn’t pay that any mind as she waited for the meeting to end, hearing the faint mufflings of conversation behind the door. In the distance, she could hear the rhythmic hum of the engine, along with a slight ringing she did not recognize. Curious, she tilted her head trying to isolate the sound, only to find the ringing was coming from inside her eardrums. The world around her began to spin, as she caught herself on the wall. Sheila tried to regain her balance, but her vision was fading, as she quickly lost consciousness.

‘I knew it was a trap,’ she thought, unable to vocalize her concern before falling to the floor unconscious.

At the same moment, all the other crew members felt similar ailments, and one by one, they all fell unconscious. The three resting on the floor below were quick to succumb to the enemy stand’s power. Meanwhile, Fugo tried his best not to doze off, yet his attempts were futile, as he too slumped to the floor, knocking the steering wheel as he fell. Soon, all on board besides Giorno and Dr. Joel were knocked out.

Giorno got back up to his feet and immediately activated his stand, Gold Experience lunging towards the new adversary.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Dr. Joel said. “Not if you want your friends to survive.”

“You’re a stand user,” Giorno said, Gold Experience taking a step back.

“That’s true… but I had to put on a bit of an act at first. It’s doubtful you’d intentionally let a stand user working for your enemy aboard,” the man in the wetsuit explained. His aura glowed a light blue, until a humanoid figure appeared before him. “I’m sorry for misleading you, but it was the only way to get Under Pressure on this yacht.”

The enemy stand leaned against its user. Its light blue skin looked to be made of glass, as one could see right through its translucent exterior. Inside the stand floated shifting panels, sectioning off different regions of the body. Little particles drifted inside the stand, becoming denser in areas where the panels were closer together. Instead of human like features, Under Pressure's face was completely blank, aside from a pressure gauge located in the middle of its head.

Giorno didn’t look impressed. “So, tell me, what’s to stop me from killing you?” he asked, his tone as cold as ice. “In my experience, that typically undoes stands’ effects.”

“That is an excellent question, but if science has taught me anything, there’s always an outlier,” Dr. Joel continued. “You could kill me, but that wouldn’t help your friends. See, right now, they are all suffering from severe Decompression Sickness, also known as DCS or the Bends. It’s common with divers, or people experiencing a drastic shift in altitude, but with my ability, it becomes a bit more flexible.”

“See, Under Pressure helps regulate internal pressure, making it an absolute godsend on deep dives. However, for my enemies, I could easily adjust that pressure, causing gas bubbles to form in the body,” the man seemed giddy, as if he were lecturing a class on his favorite subject. “The damage has already been done; the Nitrogen bubbles are already infiltrating their bodies. This isn’t just some body part you can replace. This is a serious affliction, that requires a Hyperbaric Chamber to properly treat. Unfortunately, you won’t find any out here in the middle of the ocean, so your friends would all die well before then.”

“That leads me back to my leverage,” Dr. Joel rested his head upon his interlocking hands. “I could easily send Under Pressure to begin the re-compression process, and your friends will be as good as new. So, my offer is simple; You give us a piece of you, I save your friends. Passione stops going after the Disciples of the New Dawn, and in turn, Canella won’t retaliate. All in all, a pretty fair deal.”

Giorno’s expression was hard to read, as he glared at this new enemy. His eyes wandered to the knife still lying in the middle of the table. “You make a sound argument,” he said, approaching the table. “But I hope there’s still room to negotiate-”

“Oh of course,” Dr. Joel gestured for Giorno to take a seat at the table. “I’m just glad we got a dialogue going. I would really hate to see all your friends die for nothing.”

“Yeah,” Giorno mumbled, not paying attention to the man’s words. Instead, he gently picked up the knife, and examined the blade in comparison to one of his fingers. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to present a counteroffer.”

Dr. Joel raised his brows, as he leaned back in his chair with a grin. “By all means, go on,” he chuckled. “I’m all ears-”

Shink!

His laughter was interrupted by a flash of silver, as Giorno hurled the knife directly into the man’s upper arm. The force of the attack sent Dr. Joel tumbling out of his chair.

“Are you insane!” he demanded, struggling to get back on his feet. A shaky hand went to grasp the blade. “That could have killed me!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Giorno said. “I was aiming for the brachial artery. You remove that blade, and you’ll begin to bleed out. You’ll fall unconscious in a matter of seconds, and you’ll bleed out in as little as ninety seconds.”

“B-but you need me alive,” Dr. Joel stuttered. “I mean, without me, all your friends will die. We don’t want that, right?”

“True, as you have so graciously explained, my friends are on a bit of a time limit,” the Don stated, a hint of bitterness to his voice. “I just returned the favor. Now, you will save my crew, and in turn, I will heal your arm. That’s my counteroffer.”

Dr. Joel’s eyes dashed around the room, panic beginning to set in. “I-if I die, then all your friends are as good as dead. Why risk it?”

“It’s a bit of a gamble, I’ll admit,” Giorno said, standing up from his seated position. “But I like to think of it as preemptive revenge, in case you don’t hold up your end of the bargain.”

The man in the wetsuit examined the room for a way out. To get negotiations back on track, he needed to diminish Giorno’s leverage, but he couldn’t very well do that with the kid watching his every move. The leader of Passione stood between Dr. Joel and the door to the room, leaving the singular window as the only viable means of escape.

Without a word, Dr. Joel bolted to the window, and dove into the open sea. Giorno wasn’t expecting such an abrupt retreat, so Dr. Joel had a bit of a head start entering the frigid winter waters. The yacht had drifted well off course by this point, and the only sea vessel nearby was a large cargo ship on their starboard side. Under Pressure was practically made for the water, as it used its pressurization ability to keep a sizable air-bubble around Dr. Joel’s head. He dove beneath the yacht and stood upside down on the underside of the boat.

“Fifteen seconds,” he mumbled, eyeing the knife still lodged deep in his inner arm. With a preemptive wince, he removed the weapon, and spurts of blood dyed the nearby water red. His concentration nearly broke from the pain, but he focused, as he murmured, “Under Pressure.”

His aura glowed a bright blue, offsetting the red that was quickly dispersing in the water. The aura shifted and concentrated directly on the wound, and the blood slowly decelerated its pace. Between the natural pressure from the surrounding ocean and the stand altering his internal pressure, Dr. Joel significantly slowed the flow of blood. In a matter of seconds, the wound was bleeding like any other cut, not some life-threatening injury.

“O-Ok, that had to buy me some time,” He thought out loud, reevaluating the negotiation. “I’ve slowed the pace, so Giorno no longer has that leverage… still, I’ll need a proper first aid kit to fully stop the bleedin-”

Splash!

His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar blond man dove into the water. Much like Dr. Joel, Giorno swam under the yacht and squared up against his enemy. Both men stood upside down on the underside of a moving yacht. Unlike the man in the wetsuit, Giorno didn’t have an air bubble, so Dr. Joel figured he’d have the advantage. However, the glint to the Don’s eye told the enemy stand user Giorno didn’t come to further negotiate.

A golden figure appeared beside Giorno, as he lunged toward his enemy. Dr. Joel was grateful for the drag fighting underwater caused, as the blonde’s attacks were slowed and easy to read. Dr. Joel shifted out of the way, swimming toward the stern or back of the boat. However, it was difficult to shake Giorno, who continued his approach, until the wetsuit clad man found himself stuck between the angered Don of Passione, and the starboard side engine.

Giorno reeled his arm back, prepared to attack his cornered foe. With quick exhale, the air bubble surrounding Dr. Joel popped. He increased his own pressure, causing him to sink a few meters into the water, successfully avoiding the oncoming attack. Giorno, however-

Shi-Shink!

-was not as lucky, as his fist connected with the engine, the blades slicing up his hand. Dr. Joel grinned, seeing bits of flesh litter the water. This was exactly what he was told to collect, but after popping the air bubble, the enemy stand user would need to surface for air.

As he swam back up to the stern, the blades on the engine began to shift. The metal elongated, and turned a sickly green-yellow hue, as kelp grew from where the engine once was. The tendrils of vines lashed out toward Dr. Joel, undoubtedly the work of Giorno’s Gold Experience. Thinking quickly, the wetsuit-clad man decreased his pressure, and he shot right up to the surface, narrowly avoiding the kelp.

Dr. Joel pulled himself aboard, right as the boat jerked to the side. Without the starboard side engine, the yacht veered off course once again; this time, the vessel was heading on a collision course with the nearby cargo ship.

“At this speed, a collision will destroy the yacht, along with everyone on board,” Dr. Joel muttered, crossing to where his jet ski was held. “I can make a quick exit, avoid the carnage, and circle back to retrieve a piece of the Don. Simple enough.”

Yet, the man hesitated. He would surely survive if he fled right now, but all the crewmates on the yacht were still incapacitated. They surely wouldn’t survive the collision. Dr. Joel, peered down the hall of the yacht, seeing the unconscious Sheila E crumpled on the floor. The man knew she was just a child, along with most of the crewmates aboard the yacht. He knew he should just retreat and leave the Disciple’s enemies to their watery graves… but he couldn’t.

Dr. Joel raced to the steering wheel, while the light blue form of his stand split off, visiting each of the incapacitated crewmates. He struggled to correct the course of the yacht, as the cargo ship only got closer and closer to impact.

There was a slight grunt coming from the floor, as Fugo slowly regained consciousness. “Wh-what’s going on?”

“We’re going to crash,” Dr. Joel said, trying to keep his panic from showing. “Everyone needs to get off the yacht now!”

“Aren’t you one of the Disciples of the Ne-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Joel interrupted, jerking the wheel as far as he could to try and lessen the impact. “Get your friends and get off the yacht now!”

Fugo stumbled to his feet and bolted to the rest of the crew. Meanwhile, the yacht failed to slow down, as the cargo ship was mere meters away. Dr. Joel winced, closing his eyes, anticipating the dreaded impact.

“Requiem.”

When Dr. Joel opened his eyes, the yacht had stopped entirely, and the cargo ship passed safely by them. Perplexed, the man looked around, to see Giorno approaching the captain’s quarters.

“I temporarily turned the port side engines into kelp,” the Don explained before the enemy stand user could ask. “That slowed us down from colliding with the cargo ship-

“B-but we were about to hit the…” Dr. Joel did a double take out toward the ship. He could have sworn they were just seconds away from crashing a mere moment ago. “Wait… How-”

“Tell me,” Giorno interrupted. “You had every opportunity to escape and leave my crew aboard. Why did you stay and cure their Decompression Sickness?”

Dr. Joel, still perplexed, looked down to his hands, still shaking. “I… I only came here to negotiate. I had no intention of killing. It would be different if you were all adults, but you’re just children. I… I couldn’t just leave them to die, even if they were my enemy. Canella was paying me a hefty sum, but no amount of money is worth that.”

Giorno tilted his head, examining the man before him. “You’re not like the other disciples we’ve met,” he admitted. “They wouldn’t hesitate to kill, especially after using their lives as leverage.”

“Well, I guess I’m just shit at gambling,” Dr. Joel nervously laughed. “You called my bluff… So, are you and your crew going to kill me now?”

“No. You’re a good person, just working for the wrong people,” Giorno concluded. “I believe we can negotiate a better outcome.”

Dr. Joel let out a small sigh of relief. “Is your counteroffer where ‘I tell you everything you need to know about Canella’s plans, and you let me leave’ still on the table?”

***************************************************

Giorno and gang docked shortly after sunset in the coastal city of Barcelona, Spain. Due to their run in with Dr. Joel and Under Pressure, the gang had lost their lead with the female stand user, who docked a good while before them. However, before parting ways, Dr. Joel had spilt some information on Canella and her followers that would surely come in handy, so hope wasn’t completely lost.

After suffering from a severe case of the Bends, Passione decided to call it a night, and return to the search early the next morning. They purchased a few rooms in a hotel with a view of the Balearic Sea, and many of the gang headed off to bed early, except for their enigmatic leader who had a difficult time calming down after the tense negotiation. Giorno decided to walk around the outside of the hotel, taking in the view. He spotted a familiar green haired figure near the edge of the water.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, approaching the railing the girl was leaning on.

Bibita didn’t respond, but merely scooted to the side, leaving space for Giorno.

“You know, you should probably rest up,” he began, taking a spot next to her. “After everything that’s happened, you of all people need-”

“I’m not tired,” she responded quickly cutting him off. “I spend the majority of today sleeping anyways… Look, if you came here to lecture me, just get it over wi-”

“Why would I lecture you?”

“You know, about the other night,” Bibita said, still gazing at the ocean they traveled across. Her eyes stopped at a few empty soda bottles littering the waves. “Before the fight with Ballroom Blitz. I told you violence shouldn’t be an option… and then I killed the enemy stand user. That makes me a hypocrite. So, if you’ve come to say, ‘I told you so’ get on with it.”

“I wanted to talk about that night, but for a different reason,” Giorno said calmly, trying to ease the tension. “Today, I wagered the lives of my friends in a negotiation. I didn’t think my actions through, and everyone could have died. The only reason we were able to get out of the situation was because the enemy was like you.”

“What, no upper body strength, and absolutely useless in the water?”

“No… he was a good person, who thought a lot about how his actions affected others,” Giorno explained. “At the end of the day, he sought a nonviolent solution. It was my actions that put you all in danger.”

“So… we were both partially right, and partially wrong?” Bibita furrowed her brow. “Well now neither of us can gloat.”

“I suppose not.”

Bibita laughed a little, “That’s a relief. I really didn’t want to admit you were right.”

“I think in this case, we could just say ‘You weren’t one-hundred percent incorrect,’ if that helps,” Giorno offered with a small smile.

“Fine, you weren’t one-hundred percent incorrect, Giorno,” she said, finally making eye contact with the leader of Passione. “That was a lot easier to say.”

“Thanks for not being afraid to call me out,” Giorno added. “As the Boss of Passione, not a lot of people are bold enough to critique me. It’s kind of nice to have someone like that around again.”

“Again?”

“There was another member of Buccellati’s team, who, to put mildly, was not my biggest fan,” the blond said.

“What happened to them?”

“He died during the coupe,” Giorno said, breaking eye contact, returning his gaze to the sea. “I couldn’t keep him safe in the end.”

“I know how that goes,” Bibita muttered.

The pair went silent for a moment before Bibita changed the subject. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home, from Rome and Naples.”

“I was actually born in Japan, so that’s the furthest for me,” Giorno said, but quickly understood what she meant. “But we’ll get back to Italy. Don’t worry, BiBi.”

Bibita crinkled her nose at the mention of the nickname, but before she had a chance to retort, Giorno was already heading back to the hotel. She returned her focus to the ocean, noticing the empty bottles once more. However, the plastic stretched and twisted, forming into something else. Soon, in the place of the empty bottles floated a bloom of jellyfish, their bioluminescence lighting up the area with a soft blue hue. Bibita smiled at the surprising sight, but her mind soon wandered, wondering what piece of trash Giorno used to repair her arms.

“I still have no idea how Gold Experience works,” she said to herself.

******************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Under Pressure
Stand User: Dr. William (Billy) Joel
Stand Power: Internal Pressurization – The stand can regulate the internal pressure of anyone within its vicinity. Power can be used on the surrounding area and objects but is the most reliable on human targets.
• Power: D
• Speed: C
• Range: B
• Durability: C
• Precision: A
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

Naples Italy, November 2001

“Yeah, I’m telling ya, she’s still in Barcelona,” Cannolo Murolo said, holding a cell phone between his shoulder while consulting a large map of the Mediterranean. “She hasn’t retreated yet, otherwise the Watchtower would have told me.”

Since Giorno and the others left about a week earlier, Murolo was primarily responsible for the Giovanna estate. Though a bit of a conman at times, the ginger man had proven himself on the Sicily mission, taking down the Narcotics Team. Additionally, with his stand, All Along the Watchtower, he had many eyes, ever watching, ever present. Keeping Murolo stationed at Passione’s home base in Naples just made sense.

“Right, right,” he mumbled, placing the maps on the office table. “I’m working on pinpointing the location of the remaining disciples, but that may take a few days. Unless I get more information to work wit-….”

“Yes, I know I’m the head of the Data Analysis Team, but I’m also the only living member of the team, so I’m not sure how much that title counts,” Murolo joked, booting up the computer on the desk. “Regardless, if there’s anything the Watchtower Players excel at, it’s information gathering. I’ll letcha know next time they find something.”

As the conversation neared its end, Murolo quickly jotted down some notes. “Yeah, you stay safe out there, Boss,” he said, his eyes lingering on the map of the Mediterranean on the table. Specifically, his attention was drawn to Sicily. “And, uh… Keep an eye out for Fugo and Sheila if ya could. Those kids could be a bit, uh, brash at times. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid to hurt themselves or something.”

Murolo hung up and proceeded to pour through his research. Back in the day, he would never put forth so much effort… except if he was blackmailing someone. But, ever since Giorno came into power, and promptly called out Cannolo on all his bullshit, things were different. The ginger mafioso actually respected the kid as his boss and began to take his role within la Familia more seriously. He couldn’t deny the mission to Sicily helped a little bit.

As he opened a new webpage on the computer, there was a notification ding, signaling an email recently received. Cannolo ignored the noise, continuing with his research. Yet, the computer almost seemed to run on its own, and his email application opened automatically. The mouse on the browser clicked the new message, despite the man’s attempts to exit the email.

Click

A black and green swirl of ones and zeros burst out of the computer monitor. Murolo jumped back, fumbling over the chair behind him as he tried to avoid the sudden tangible coding. He got back up to his feet, ready to call in the guards for this cyber-attack, when he got a better look at the anomaly.

The coding materialized into a humanoid form, the ones and zeroes fading away. A young boy, with dark skin, wavy hair, and an old hand-me-down school uniform stood before Murolo. Instantly, he recognized the youth and his ability since Passione had a bit of a run in with Manuel and Technologic almost two weeks earlier.

Before Murolo could theorize what attack the kid had planned, Manuel crumpled to the floor. A puddle of crimson pooled around the juvenile stand user, and Cannolo was left wide eyed, whiplashed from the sudden turn of events.

With great caution, he rolled the child over, to find a bullet wound buried deep in his side.

“Ey, we need help in here!” Murolo called out to the guards outside the office. “Someone get a doctor over here, pronto!”

Manuel was unconscious from the blood loss, using the last of his energy to digitally travel through Technologic. Murolo knew this could very well be a trap, but his stomach churned thinking about yet another kid falling victim to unforgiving criminal underworld. The guards barged in the office, carefully moving the fatally wounded child.

As they carried Manuel away, Cannolo sighed. “Kid like you shouldn’t get mixed up in this kind of business.”

*********************

Verona Italy, November 2001

A pink haired teen leaned in towards her large backstage mirror, inspecting her makeup. She wore an elegant black dress, with sequins that reflected the light when she moved. A large belt with mathematical signs adorned her hips, as her large jacket matched the design and style of the accessories. Her emerald green eyes noticed something in her reflection, a splotch of black in her bubblegum pink hair. The teen frowned, knowing exactly where she got this unusual hair trait from, as she quickly grabbed a brush and re-parted her hair, hiding the subtle reminder of her father in a puff of hairspray.

“Miss Una,” a stagehand called, opening the door to her room ever so slightly. “Ten minutes till call time. Also, we have the sparkling water you wanted.”

Trish Una’s expression lightened. “Is it from France?” she asked.

“Of course,” the stagehand said, setting the bottle on her dresser. “Good luck up there… or, uh, break a leg!”

Trish smiled. “Thanks. Will do.”

With that, the stagehand left the young singer alone to get ready. Trish was thankful for that, as she had quite a bit of nerves. She always enjoyed singing, and recently created quite a name for herself, singing classic Italian songs with a bit of modern flare. Her career took off surprisingly quick, her music gracing local radio stations in mere months. She had performed at a few concert venues in the last few weeks, but when she booked the Verona Arena, she was still shocked. She was to open for a more seasoned classical singer, but Trish was still ecstatic to get such an opportunity so early into her singing career.

The Verona Arena was built in the first century and hosted many opera and concert performances over the many centuries. In fact, the whole city appeared to be frozen in time, with many of the architecture unchanged since the middle ages. Trish found this fitting, as this was the setting for William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, as walking through the city felt like stepping through to another time. The unchanging architecture felt reminiscent of the great romance, but Trish knew better. Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy masked as a tale of young love gone wrong, so she found herself cautious in the medieval city.

With another quick swig of sparkling water, Trish exited her changing room. She made her way backstage, waiting for the cue from the stage manager to take her place in the spotlight. As the minutes ticked by, Trish glanced at the venue in all its glory. The open-air arena could seat thousands of people in the stands, and that wasn’t including the additional seating in the center of the amphitheater. While the ancient structure weathered multiple earthquakes over the last several centuries, it was in marvelous condition with only slight wear and tear. Two levels of archways surrounded its perimeter, and from the outside, one might mistake it for a smaller Roman Colosseum.

The Colosseum.

For a moment, memories she’d suppressed washed over her. The dread. The bloodshed. The loss.

“Trish? Trish, you ready to go on?” a stagehand asked.

Trish blinked, returning to reality. “Yeah… yeah, of course,” she nodded, putting on a forced smile. “Just nerves. Nothing I can’t handle.”

The stagehand gave Trish the microphone, but her hands were shaking so bad, she nearly dropped it. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. ‘That isn’t your life anymore,’ she told herself, as her shaking hands subsided.

She walked on to the stage to the cheering of her fans, as well as complimentary claps from those who came to see the headline performer. The second she was in the spotlight, the nerves disappeared. She was in her element. The music started up, and she began to perform her five song set. The large jumbo flat screen above the stage projected her performance, so even those in the very back could see. While her songs were Italian classics, she altered the tempo and percussion to liven it up. That combined with a liberal use of a synthesizer created her signature sound. She could tell some in the crowd were not fans of the style change, but there were more than enough fans who supported her more modern genre.

Before she knew it, her set came to a close, as she sang the final note. With a bow, she took her leave, ushering in the main performer’s musicians. Once safely backstage, she finally allowed herself to relax. She survived the performance and could now sit in the VIP section to watch the main act.

‘I can watch after a short break,’ she reasoned to herself, flopping onto a chair in her changing room. ‘Besides, people usually play their best numbers towards the end anyways.’

As the musicians set up, the crowd enjoyed a slight intermission. But, before the band got properly stationed, the jumbo projector screen flickered above the stage. The image shifted, and many in the crowd thought this was simply part of the show. But the concerned looks from the stagehands proved it wasn’t planned.

“My apologies for the interruption,” a feminine voice boomed, grabbing the attention of the amphitheater. The screen’s image cleared, and a new figure appeared on the jumbo screen. A woman with wavy orange hair and unnatural gold eyes smiled at her new audience, “But, I need to borrow your attention for just a moment.”

The audience murmured to themselves, suspecting this was all part of the show, but backstage, the production team scrambled, trying to figure out what took over their sound and video. All the while, the woman on the screen continued her speech.

“I do appreciate you all coming out here today,” the woman on the screen said. “But I’m afraid if you are not seated in the VIP section, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

The screen glowed gold, as all the audience in the regular seating got up and exited the arena by the hundreds. People who’d paid good money to see the main act simply left, following the order of a woman they just met. The crew backstage tried to get control of the screen, but they were unsuccessful.

“Now that they are gone, I can speak directly to the ‘Very Important People’ the upper crust of Italian society,” the woman monologued with a smile that betrayed her bitter undertone. “My name is Canella, and like you all, I seek an elevated status. Specifically, Godhood…. But I won’t bore you with the specifics.”

“What’s going on?” Trish asked a stagehand, noticing the intercoms backstage were not playing the artist as planned.

“We’re trying to figure that out,” the stagehand muttered, listening in on his headset. “Some asshole has taken over the video and sound.”

“But, with any status upgrade, sacrifices need to be made,” Canella said, looking down at the VIP section from the Jumbo screen. “Although, you already understand that truth, right? I could lecture you all about the underhanded deals, morally grey decisions, and cutthroat tactics that lead you all to your positions of prominence, but who really has time for that? Instead, I’ll liven this show up with a bit of audience participation. Everyone, look under your seats.”

Her eyes once again flashed gold, and everyone in the VIP section looked under their seats. When they stood back up, each person looked perplexed and held a different weapon. There were baseball bats, knives, pipes, hammers, and other assortment of potentially dangerous objects, looking very much like someone dumped all the weapons from the boardgame Clue into the arena.

Trish watched wide eyed from one of the backstage security cameras. “How did she get the weapons in?” she asked the stagehand, who looked just as confused as the pink haired teen. “Don’t we have security?”

“Y-yes, our security made sure the venue was safe,” he stammered back. “Unless they all smuggled in the weapons individually… but I can’t imagine all that slipping by security.”

Something wasn’t adding up, and in Trish’s experience, if there wasn’t a logical explanation, there was probably a stand user to blame. “Call in security!” she ordered, turning heel, bolting toward the stage.

“On it- wait, Miss Una! Where are you going?” the stagehand called out, but the young woman was already out of earshot.

“What I need is simple,” Canella smiled over the weapon wielding audience. “In order to achieve Godhood, I need the blood of some sinners, which, I believe you could provide. When I become God, all who fall here will be brought back, and rightfully repaid for their generous contribution. But, for right now, I will need you to kill each other.”

The moment those words left her mouth, the crowd began to stir. Some reached under their seats for their weapons, while those who were already armed scanned their surroundings for their first sacrifice. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline in the front row brandished a baseball bat and scooted passed his wife to attack the nearest stranger to them. He wound back, then pivoted, slamming the bat toward the audience member’s face.

Thunk

The force of the strike should have been lethal, yet the bat harmlessly wrapped around the victim’s head, like a limp noodle.

“Spice Girl.”

Trish stood on stage, a hot pink aura glowing around her as she unleashed her stand. A feminine humanoid figure with mathematical symbols covering its pink form struck a pose next to its user.

Another woman in the audience picked up a knife and scrambled over rows of seats to kill an unsuspecting elderly man. Yet, just as she went in for a stab, the knife crumpled in on itself, too soft to make any impact.

“Trish, you should get back inside,” one of the bodyguards called out. “It’s not safe out here-”

“Trust me, I’m just fine,” she responded, Spice Girl hard at work softening the first fer rows of weapons. “You and the other guards contain the violence.”

He looked a little perplexed, but he and the rest of the guards raced to the warring crowd, pulling apart the audience members from attacking each other. Meanwhile, Trish hopped off the stage, using her stand for damage control, softening and dulling any weapons in her range. Even without the weapons, the audience still attacked each other with fists and kicks, but the damage was far less.

For a moment, Trish felt hopeful. She knew the destruction of Green Day all those months back; all the innocent civilians who died that night in Rome. But this time would be different. This time, she could make a difference.

“It looks like we have an interruption,” Canella on the jumbo screen noted. “Unexpected to be sure, but not unmanageable.”

Trish could hear the woman speak from the screen behind her, but she was too busy trying to save the audience to pay Canella any attention.

“Ziti, be a darling and take care of this interloper, will you?” Canella suggested sweetly.

Spice Girl reached out to soften a machete, when the floor beneath Trish moved backwards, as if she were on a treadmill. Suddenly, the swinging machete was out of her range, as the weapon connected, and an audience member fell limp to the floor. Likewise, the dozens of guards also retreated, the ground beneath them shifting outwards. The audience was now free to kill each other without interruption.

Trish desperately scanned the audience for the new enemy, who was responsible for getting in her way. At the far end of the Arena, Trish caught a glimpse of a man, lurking in the shadows, with a colorful stand forming behind him.

*****************************************************************************************

Stand Stats
Stand Name: Spice Girl
Stand User: Trish Una
Stand Power: Softening- Upon contact, Spice Girl can soften any non-organic object.
• Power: A
• Speed: A
• Range: C
• Durability: B
• Precision: D
• Potential: C

Chapter Text

The Disciple of New Dawn known as Ziti was a rather unremarkable man. He looked to be in his late thirties, with a below average height and stout build. Whatever hair the man did have was shaved down to a short crew cut. He wore a plain black suit paired with sunglasses, even though they’d be unnecessary this time of night. The only bit of Ziti that might draw attention was his tie, which was a busy intersection of brightly colored arrows. Other than that, Ziti perfectly blended in with any crowd.

To the average person, one might view Ziti as one of the many guards stationed about the Arena. But, as a stand user, Trish could see the bland looking man was an enemy. His aura flickered blue, as his stand manifested besides him.

“I guess that’s our enemy stand user,” Trish murmured to Spice Girl, taking a step forward. Yet, much like before, she felt the floor of the stage shifted once more. The quicker she ran, the faster the floor would retreat, so Trish found herself stationary. She glanced down, expecting to see the hard wood floor of the stage, yet she saw the floor was replaced with a yellow column of arrows leading further upstage.

“Miss Una, I presume?” Ziti called out from the comfort of the far side of the arena. “Huh… I never thought we’d find another stand user out here. But the Goddess said to take care of you, so we don’t have time to chit-chat.”

Trish jumped to the side, now free of the yellow pathway of arrows. She rushed to the crowd, activating Spice Girl to soften some of the weapons of the rampaging audience. She figured if she could remove the weapons from the picture, she could stop the carnage, but once again, the floor beneath her shifted. She was running in place, as the floor beneath her turned into a yellow column of arrows, propelling her back once more. The speed increased, as the column shifted to green, and Trish was flung back.

“Can’t have you doing that,” Ziti called out, his stand now visible by his side. The stand looked to be a bipedal creature comprised entirely of multicolored ribbons of reds, yellows, and greens. Those ribbons all connected at a circular center point, with angular facial features.

“Now, Canella needs the blood of some sinners,” Ziti continued. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t add you to the sacrifices-”

“Why are you doing this?” Trish interrupted, jumping to unmoving ground. “Or are you just another low-life trying to topple Passione?”

“Passione… no. I haven’t been involved in Passione in months. Not since my branch was dissolved a while back,” Ziti said, cocking his head at the question. “I am surprised someone like you knows about La Familia though.”

Trish hesitantly took a step forward, but Ziti’s stand didn’t impede her advance this time. She remembered back to all the battles Buccellati’s crew fought while protecting her. While she was rarely directly involved with stand fights, she learned quite a bit while journeying with them. ‘He has a long-range stand,’ she thought, taking another careful step forward. ‘He seems intrigued… If I could distract him long enough, I might be able to get him in my range.’

“Your branch was dissolved, was it?” she asked, feigning curiosity. “Were you in the Hitman Team? Or maybe L’Unita Speciale? I heard the Narcotics Team was also dismantled.”

“No… no, I was in the Transportation Division, but that branch was considered unnecessary a few months back. Luckily, Canella was here to invite us all to join her,” Ziti said. “How do you know so much about Passione?”

“That’s confidential information,” Trish smiled, as she took another step, finally hopping off the stage. She hoped her enemy was curious enough to let her a little closer.

“Pity. I was hoping I could learn something interesting,” Ziti sighed, looking to his stand. “OK-Go.”

The ribbons of colorful arrows stretched along the floor, targeting Trish. The pink haired girl placed a hand on the ground, bracing for impact. However, the arrows never reached Trish. The area surrounding the singer turned soft due to proximity to her stand Spice Girl. With the floor soft, the directional arrows couldn’t move the ground. It would simply bounce back into place after any force was applied to it. With this, she found a way to counter the forced retreat, at least with in her immediate vicinity.

Feeling a bit more confident now, Trish reached out with Spice Girl, softening the weapons of the first few rows of the audience. Her work was far from over, as she could see the rest of the crowd viciously attacking each other just outside of her range. ‘Even if I soften all their weapons, they’ll still kill one another,’ she thought, treading the edge of the brightly colored arrows.

“How’s about a deal?” Trish offered her enemy. “I’ll tell you how I’m involved with Passione, and you call back your stand. It’s not too late to do the right thing here.”

“Canella needs the blood of sinners, and that’s exactly what she’ll get,” Ziti said, almost sounding board at the prospect of the negotiation. “Even if you take the weapons out of the picture, the order has already been given. They’ll just continue to kill each other, with or without tools. But, if you insist on intervening,” he sighed, reaching for his firearm tucked in his suit. “You’ll have to be dealt with.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots rang out, aimed right at Trish. Due to her run in with Passione months earlier, she was not a stranger to enemy fire, as she prepared to block the attack with her stand. Spice Girl swiped at the zooming bullets. Upon contact, the bullets went soft, gently colliding with the stage behind Trish.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Another three shots fired. Trish was confused on why he’d perform the same attack after seeing she could easily counter the bullets. Regardless, she prepped Spice Girl to intercept this volley.

Shink!

She felt a bullet graze the knuckle of her stand, and likewise, the damage reflected to her. This time, Spice Girl couldn’t soften the bullets. As the other two barreled toward her, she could barely see the bullets were wrapped in a thin layer of green ribbon. Ziti had used his stand to both protect and bolster the bullets.

Trish rolled out of the way of the next bullet, knowing she couldn’t deflect the attack this time. Without many options, she leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the last bullet. But she should have kept a closer look on the ground.

“OK-Go.”

A pathway under her feet lit up a bright green. She landed right onto the enemy stand’s directional pathways. Trish flung backwards harshly toward the stage.

Thunk

Her back hit the apron of the stage. Though the impact nearly knocked the air out of her, she did not get the chance to catch her breath. A new directional pathway formed along the apron wall Trish was leaning against. Suddenly, the girl was propelled upward.

Trish felt like a ragdoll, getting tossed around with each new pathway. She knew if it were to continue, she’d be too discombobulated to properly dodge the bullets. All the while, the audience would tear each other to pieces, all because some woman on the jumbo screen asked them to.

Inspiration hit Trish before the next set of bullets could. While momentarily suspended in air above the stage, she felt the light and soft buzzing noise from the jumbo screen just a few meters away. ‘All this started when that lady took over the screen,’ she thought, her form glowing pink. ‘Defeating Ziti won’t stop the massacre… but maybe this will!’

As Trish was in freefall, and Ziti aimed his gun from across the arena, Spice Girl manifested. The pink stand reached backwards, its hand connecting with the jumbo screen. With a single touch, the screen softened, and like saltwater taffy, Spice Girl pulled the screen to the ground, knocking a few metal beams out of place as well. The screen stretched, slowing Trish’s fall to the stage below. Once safely on the stage floor, Trish yanked the wires from the jumbo screen, cutting off the transmission of the mysterious woman.

Once the screen stopped projecting Canella’s message, the audience paused, as if they were all waking up from a long slumber. The crowd was understandably confused and scared, but they set down their weapons, and the chaos ended.

Trish smiled. The main threat ended. For the time being, the audience was safe, though they’d undoubtedly need lots of therapy after the whole ordeal.

“How dare you!” Ziti bellowed.

Trish was aware she still faced the enemy stand user, as she watched brightly colored directional pathways snake their way over to her. Now she was even further from Ziti than she was at the start of the fight. With the falling metal beams, she didn’t even have a clear exit strategy.

“Do you think it was easy setting this all up?” Ziti demanded, raising his gun. “Hijacking the sound and video of a concert? Transporting hundreds of weapons into a heavily guarded arena? But you just had to mess this all up!”

The floor beneath Trish flashed green, as she found herself plummeting backwards, toward some abandoned support beams.

“I suppose I’ll just have to add you to Her list of sacrifices then,” he smiled, pulling the trigger. “I can at least find consolation in that fact.”

Bang! Ba-Bang! Bang! Bang-ang!

Three shots tore through the air. Trish was stuck on the treadmill like stage, unable to run in any direction. Her back hit one of the support beams, as she instinctively activated Spice Girl to cushion her impact. The beam stretched back, like elastic, as the bullets zoomed to the girl. Yet, Trish didn’t show any fear.

“Spice Girl.”

The support beam flung back into place all at once, it’s hardness properly restored. Like a slingshot, the force of this shift was enough to launch Trish off her feet, into the arena. The bullets missed their mark with this new maneuver, and, for the moment, Trish was outside the effects of OK-Go.

‘Time to close the distance,’ she thought, as Spice Girl manifested next to her midair. ‘Alright Spice Girl, let’s end this!’

The feminine pink stand grabbed its user and threw Trish with all the force it could muster. Ziti frantically reloaded his weapon, as Miss Una barreled towards him. The man was too preoccupied on attacking, and he missed his opportunity to dodge his enemy.

“WANNABEEEEE!” Trish screamed, and her stand let out a barrage of fists. Spice Girl did not hold back, each punch hitting harder than the last. The girl remembered all the casualties of the coupe months earlier. She remembered her one fight, where the best she could do was exile the Notorious BIG to the ocean. She was unable to truly defeat that monster, and BIG continued to terrorize sailors in the area. This time, however, she was determined to not allow that to happen again.

THWACK!

With one last uppercut, Ziti flew into the air, arching outside the arena. The enemy stand user was just on the cusp of consciousness, his eyes barely able to track the pavement of the sidewalk loom nearer and nearer. Ziti didn’t get a chance to brace for impact, yet his fall was cushioned, the pavement made soft through Spice Girl.

But, before her could celebrate surviving, he began to sink, falling between the cracks in the pavement. Panicked, he swung his arms and kicked, feebly trying to climb his way to the surface.

“W-What?! Impossible!” Ziti managed to squeak, struggling not to drown. He sank lower and lower into the pavement, the light fading, as he could barely hear heels clacking approaching him.

With cold eyes, Trish tightened her hand into a fist.

The sidewalk returned to its initial hardness, with Ziti stuck deep below. All at once, his body was crushed, the sickening sound of bones crushing was barely audible under all the cement. The only thing left of Ziti was a small puddle of blood oozing up between the cracks in the pavement.

“Arrivederci,” Trish said.

**************************

Tyrrhenian Sea

“I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, but are you sure this is a good idea, Canella?”

“You worry too much, Morrissey. Trust me.”

The day after the Verona Arena Massacre, Canella, Barracuda, and Morrissey took to the sea, renting a lavish yacht and anchoring just a few kilometers off of Sardinia. Canella leaned on the railing of the bow (front of the ship), looking into the dark waters, while Morrissey fiddled with a remote behind her, controlling a small RC plane which flew around the yacht. Barracuda sat inside the cockpit, on the phone and taking notes. With a grumble, the pink haired girl hung up, and joined the rest on the deck.

“Well, d’ya want the good news or the bad news first?” Barracuda grumbled.

“Let’s begin with the bad news,” Canella said.

“Kay, so we’ve completely lost contact with Dr. Joel, so the negotiation didn’t work,” Barracuda explained. “Only thirty-five people died at the Verona Arena… well, thirty-six if you include Ziti-”

“Wait, Ziti’s dead?” Morrissey interrupted.

“Oh, yeah,” Barracuda said, slapping her hands together making a gross squishing noise. “He’s definitely dead.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Morrissey said.

“I know, right!”

“I believe you mentioned some good news?” Canella asked.

“Oh, um… There wasn’t really any good news,” Barracuda admitted. “But it could be worse! At least it’s not raining!”

“Oh joy,” Morrissey rolled his eyes.

“No matter,” Canella shrugged, her attention still on the ocean, as the surface rippled. “If we don’t have good news, we’ll just have to make our own.”

The remote-control airplane whizzed by the surface of the water, which rippled and shifted. Under the surface, something pink and large lurked in the depths. Before the trio had a chance to get a good look at the mysterious creature, multiple tendrils lashed up towards the toy plane.

“What the-” Morrissey jumped back.

The tendrils tore the tiny aircraft apart, consuming the debris with ravenous speed. The chewed-up bubblegum looking creature then turned its attention to the trio on the yacht. All three moved back, clearing space as the pink monstrosity leapt aboard the yacht. The entire vessel shook under its weight, and Morrissey and Barracuda instinctively struck defensive poses. Morrissey glowed blue while Barracuda glowed red, clearly about to summon their stands. But, before the beast could lash out, Canella stepped toward it.

“Stop,” she merely said one word, but that was all it took. The monstrosity sat still, staring at Canella with unblinking yellow eyes. While the other two looked at the beast with disgust or disdain, there was a light to Canella’s gaze. She looked to the beast with warmth and friendship.

“I see you’re here alone. I suppose that means Carne must have fallen a while ago,” Canella began. “It must be very lonely, lurking the ocean without your stand user to keep you company. Doomed to attack passing ships, with no possibility of getting your revenge. For that, I am sorry, Notorious BIG.”

“After everything that’s happened, you deserve some peace, but Buccellati’s crew denied you that as well, exiling you here,” She continued, negotiating with the blob of unyielding destruction. “I’m afraid I cannot offer you revenge… at least, not directly. But my friends and I can get you that peace you so rightfully deserve.”

Notorious BIG did not respond. Months of rage and bloodlust had warped whatever mind a userless stand could have. Yet, Canella’s words seemed to calm the beast. Even if it couldn’t speak language, it understood the jist of Canella’s message.

“I only need one thing in return,” Canella reached into her blazer pocket, and unfolded a picture of Giorno Giovanna. “I believe you ran into this young man a few months back. For my plans, I just need a piece of him, but he was not receptive to negotiation. So, I turn to you BIG. If you have any of Giorno Giovanna you’ve consumed in your altercation, I ask that you give me just a piece for my plans.”

BIG tensed at the picture of Giorno, but the orange haired woman kept it at ease. The surface of the beast rippled, as if something moved beneath its bright pink form. Slowly, something poked through Notorious's body. It was hard to make out at first, as BIG’s bubblegum like skin appeared to cling to this object, but, soon enough, a skeletal hand poked through the mound of pink. The arm had been picked clean of any flesh and blood, but the white bones still were in immaculate condition, all things considered, only a bit of chipping where the radius and ulna were severed.

Clack-clack

The skeletal remnants of Giorno’s arm fell to the deck of the ship with a clatter. Without breaking eye contact, Canella leaned over to retrieve her grim prize.

“Thank you, BIG, for your generous contribution to the Disciples of the New Dawn,” she said, slowly backing up from the beast, allowing Barracuda and Morrissey to take the front. “I can assure you, we will remember you and your fallen user when I rewrite the universe. But, until then, I offer you peace.”

Canella glanced to her subordinates. Barracuda and Morrissey looked tense, but they gave a quick nod, signaling they were ready for the next step.

With a sigh, the glimmer to Canella’s gold eyes dimmed, deactivating Nirvana’s hold on the beast. For a moment, Notorious was still, as if contemplating its surprising lack of violence. But, in no time the creature was on alert, seeking out its next victim. The breaking of waves upon the yacht was the first thing to catch its attention, as it crawled off the bow of the ship. This was interrupted when a colorful duo began to move.

Morrissey’s aura glowed blue, as he whipped a translucent cape. The movement was swift, and soon the cape disappeared, and sitting on the deck of the ship was a medium sized missile. Barracuda rushed up to the weapon and reached out. A second incorporeal arm with three elongated fingers grazed the missile, leaving a red pulsating smear on the weapon. Sensing the movement, BIG returned to the deck with lightning speed, tendrils lashing out towards Barracuda.

“Intergalactic Planetary!” Morrissey shouted, activating the mysterious missile. The projectile rocketed up towards the sun. With that object moving the fastest in BIG’s general vicinity, the creature forgot about its colorful prey, and hunted its new quarry. Both missile and BIG shot into the sky, and, after a few moments, the three on the boat lost sight of the monstrosity.

“Where’d ya send the missile anyways?” Barracuda asked, squinting up at the sky struggling to spot Notorious BIG.

“The end destination was the sun,” Morrissey explained. “But, provided it gets far enough outside earth’s atmosphere, you should be safe to activate your stand.”

“Cool cool!”

“Thank you for your work you two,” Canella said, still focused on the skeletal arm. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“So, now that you have a piece of Giorno, what do you plan to do with Passione?” Morrissey asked.

“I no longer have any use for them,” Canella shrugged. “If kept alive, they could pose a threat. It’d be best to eliminate that threat before they become an inconvenience.”

“Awesome!” Barracuda beamed. “I’ll let the rest of the Disciples know!”

“If I’m not mistaken, both the Schilling siblings should already be in Barcelona,” Morrissey added. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to mobilize the rest of them.”

“Are we gonna fight them?” Barracuda asked, grinning with sharpened teeth. “It’s been forever since I’ve had a decent fight!”

“No, at least not yet,” Canella stated. “You two are my most trusted followers. I’ll need you for protection. Make sure no one gets too close to hinder my plans. The Solstice is only a few weeks away after all. It’d be rather inconvenient if we had to delay my ascension.”

The pair nodded.

“All in all, I’d say today was a success,” Canella said cheerfully. “I’d like to reward you both. How’s about some McDonalds once we get to shore? My treat!”

“Oh… we’re actually banned from McDonalds now,” Barracuda admitted sheepishly. “Don’t look at me like that! It was Morrissey’s fault!”

After their run in with the renegade stand, the trio set sail, heading back to the mainland of Italy. As the sun dropped further and further into the sky, and stars began to twinkle in the early evening, Morrissey nudged Barracuda.

“The missile should be well outside the Earth’s atmosphere by now.”

“Ugh, finally,” Barracuda muttered, snapping her fingers. “Cherry Bomb!”

Meanwhile, flying out in the cold emptiness of space, Notorious BIG latched onto the missile. The creature digested the missile piece by piece, yet the odd red smear could not dissolve. The red smear pulsated and ticked down, confusing the single minded BIG. Suddenly, the bomb went off, and Notorious BIG exploded scattering into countless pieces in the vast expanse of space. With nothing around to activate its hunting instinct, and its consciousness spread too thin between all its discarded pieces, Notorious BIG eventually faded away, finding peace at last in the cold embrace of space.

***************************************************************************** 

Stand Stats
Stand Name: OK-Go
Stand User: Ziti
Stand Power: Directional Pathways – OK-Go creates direction pathways on inorganic objects, acting akin to treadmills. The color of the pathway dictates its speed; Red= stationary, Yellow= slow, Green= fast.
• Power: D
• Speed: B
• Range: B
• Durability: C
• Precision: B
• Potential: D

Chapter Text

“We have a bit more information on the Disciples of the New Dawn thanks to Dr. Joel and research from Cannolo Murolo,” Giorno began.

A few days had passed since the altercations with the Distance and Under Pressure. The gang all grouped up in the miniature pocket dimension in Mr. President to review information that had only recently come to light. Even Polnareff, who technically inhabited the body of the turtle, appeared in the room as a sort of spectral onlooker.

“According to Dr. Joel, Canella has twelve primary disciples,” Giorno explained, gesturing to a corkboard with the profiles of each of the enemies they fought. “We’ve already faced off against The Scientist, Manuel, Aquila, The Piano Man, Torta, and Dr. Joel. That’s six so far, which leaves six more potential enemies. That’s not including her Prophets, her inner circle. Dr. Joel had less information on the Prophets, but the group is significantly smaller than her disciples.”

“And what about that balloon chick?” Mista asked, lounging on the couch. “That lady keeps popping up!”

“That would be Käse Schilling. Murolo actually got a bit of information on her,” Giorno said. “Käse and her twin brother Brot Schilling were German immigrants who moved to Italy shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall. They joined Passione and acted as the co-Capos of the Transportation Division, in charge of shipping the drugs and money Passione was infamous for all over Italy. However, after I took over, we had no need for that department-”

“So, you fired them, and they decided to join Canella out of spite,” Bibita interrupted, already seeing where this conversation was going.

“... In so many words... Yes,” Giorno admitted. “I’d hoped the division would take their termination amicably, especially considering that was a nonviolent solution. But apparently there was a bit of bad blood.”

‘Wow, it’s almost like there are consequences for your actions,’ Bibita thought, but she refrained from saying that out loud. Most days she would have jumped at the opportunity to criticize the Boss of Passione, but after their last conversation, she felt there was no need for her snide remarks. He already admitted she was right, or at least, not one-hundred percent incorrect.

“We’ve seen Käse’s stand in action,” Pandora piped up from the desk in the room. “On its own, it doesn’t seem to have a lot of offensive capabilities, but it could be a valuable asset for team fights.”

“So, we just need to find her before she can retreat back to other disciples, right?” Sheila E said. “I mean, taking her on by herself should be an easy fight!”

“True, but I find it odd she hasn’t tried to leave Barcelona yet,” Fugo scratched his chin. “Based on her stand, I’d imagine she’d try to regroup with the others-”

“Unless she came here for a reason,” the spectral figure of Polnareff added. “At first it appeared she was sailing blindly, but maybe there was a reason for her to dock here.”

The room fell silent for a moment, wondering if they were playing into their enemies’ hands.

“I think it’s best we don’t underestimate her,” Giorno said, scanning the room. “Now, we’ll cover more ground if we split up, but everyone should be paired up to avoid a possible ambush-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sheila E was already by his side, indicating she would be his partner. With that, the tone was set, and like children choosing their partner for a science experiment, the rest of the group scrambled.

Mista hastily looked to Pandora and waved as soon as they made eye contact. To which Pandora turned her head to look at Fugo.

“Hey, Fugo,” she muttered, grabbing the blond’s attention. “You. Me. Partners. Okay?”

“Uhh, sure?” Fugo said.

Mista’s shoulders slumped.

“So, I guess that makes us partners then, right Mista?” Bibita piped up from behind the beanie clad man.

“Yeah,” Mista sighed. “Great.”

**********************

Barcelona. The cosmopolitan city along northeastern Spain is the second most populous city in the country. Known for its architecture, Barcelona boasts such sights as La Sagrada Familia, Park Guell and the Casa Mila. However, Bibita and Mista were nowhere near those popular locations. Instead, the pair found themselves at the Port of Barcelona. With over 2000 years of history, and one of Europe’s most important ports in the Mediterranean, this was quite the busy port. Colorful rectangular container crates stacked all around the port and surrounding cargo ships. Bright yellow cranes loaded and unloaded these ships, creating quite a colorful scene.

“Did you know Barcelona is thought to be the pickpocketing capitol of Europe?” Bibita asked. “I mean, there’s definitely more dangerous cities out there, but this place really knows how to do their petty crimes!”

“You’re not very good at small talk, are ya?” Mista sighed.

“I’m just saying, as a former pick pocketer, I could have really made a name for myself here,” Bibita continued, following Mista’s lead through the aisles of brightly colored cargo. Suddenly, Mista stopped in his tracks. “Hey, what’s up? Did you spot something?”

“I can’t go up this aisle,” Mista pointed to the yellow crane at the end of the aisle.

Bibita tilted her head. “Why?”

“Are you blind? Can’t you see it?” Mista dramatically gestured to the crane once more.
Bibita squinted to get a better view. “All I see is the crane marked number four-”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed.

Bibita blinked, expecting an explanation.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mista said. “Four is crazy unlucky. If we go down there, something bad is gonna happen.”

“That just sounds like a silly superstition-”

“No, for real. It’s unlucky,” Mista insisted. “I’ll give you an example. What day was your team attacked by Risotto?”

“... Wednesday?”

“No, I mean, yeah, technically it was a Wednesday,” he said. “But what was the date?”

“April fourth.”

“Exactly! That was the fourth day of the fourth month, and tragedy struck that day. And how many of your teammates died that day?”

Bibita was silent, merely holding up four fingers.

“I rest my case,” Mista crossed his arms.

Bibita furrowed her brows, and cautiously studied the crane in the distance. “Okay, I’m not saying I believe your theory,” she began, removing her little gasmask around her neck. “But just in case, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

She set the gasmask on the floor, and it shifted, transforming into its calico cat form. “Hey there Banksy!” Bibita greeted the feline. “I need you to survey this aisle. We’re looking for Käse Schilling. If you see her, let us know.”

With a happy meow, the cat headed down the aisle, unencumbered by the crippling fear of the number four.

“There we go,” Bibita smiled, leading the way up the next aisle. “Problem solved. You can’t spell ‘tactical’ without cat!”

“That’s… that’s not how you spell it,” Mista stammered, following behind her.

The pair headed off to the next aisle, passing by stacks of colorful cargo containers. While they knew what their enemy looked like, they were mostly keeping their eye out for those black balloons. If they saw that stand, that would mean the user had to be somewhat nearby. But, after several hours of searching, none of the groups had any luck.

“How do you think the rest of them are doing?” Bibita asked.

Mista shrugged. “If we haven’t heard anything, we gotta assume they haven’t seen anything yet.” The gunslinger’s eyes focused on a pile of iron chains, likely used for hauling cargo on and off ship. “Hey, Bibita. You’re a chick, right?”

“Uh… yeah. Last time I checked,” Bibita stopped in her tracks, her brow tense with confusion. “Why are you asking?”

“So, what do chicks like?” Mista asked. “Like, do they like flowers, or chocolates, designer shoes?”

Bibita thought back to the women she knew back in the Financial Division. Although, thinking back, Dolchi and Minestra were vastly different people. “I think it really depends on the woman. Who are you asking abou-”

“Never mind,” Mista interrupted, taking the lead through the aisle. “We’re wasting time.”

Bibita wanted to argue, since he was the one to bring up the subject in the first place, but she held her tongue. As she caught up, she glanced at the pile of chains that had caught Mista’s attention.

“Mmmrow!”

Her attention was pulled when she heard a cat meow in the distance. It was too far away to pin exactly where it was, but, if that was Banksy meowing, that meant her cat found the enemy stand user.

“Keep on your guard,” Mista said, in almost a whisper. “Looks like we have company.”

Bibita turned her head to look down the aisle of the port. Sure enough, dozens of black balloons with red eyes printed on their surface floated down the aisle, in the direction of the pair of gangsters.