Chapter Text
You have to admit, giving your abductors the slip in their own domain left you feeling rather proud of yourself. There were two of them- athletic, gruff-looking types as you’d expect. You wouldn’t fancy your chances against them physically. But you saw a chance and you took it, sprinted through a side-door so quietly that they didn’t even notice you were gone, until you were practically at the end of the corridor.
You think you’ve lost them now. This building’s structure is convoluted, though more the type that results from decades of extension and renovation rather than the work of a single malicious architect. The air stinks of cleaning fluid, like an old school, a hospital or some kind of laboratory. You think it might be some sort of laboratory, actually, judging from all the chemical cupboards and idle apparatus trolleys abandoned in the hallways. The letters ‘SPW’ are printed on the white-walls at certain turns. Regardless, they’re kidnapping commuters from the streets, you don’t want to know what they’re researching. You want even less to be a part of it. At some point you realised you wouldn’t be able to reach the exit unconfronted if you just kept running, but fortunately for you, your work as a private investigator has taught you plenty on how to blend in. You discarded your jacket (a sacrifice you’ll mourn greatly), fessed up your hair and stuck your hands in your pockets.
It’s amazing what such small changes can do to disguise a person.
You see, there are people here. Quite a few actually, especially the further you go, but they don’t bother you. Some, standing to attention in pairs around the doors and hallway midpoints, wear the hardy, policeman-like getups of the people who dragged you in here. You’re keeping a wary eye on those ones. The rest, and from what you can tell the vast majority, are more innocuous. Their clothes are office-like, business casual, nerdy. As they pass you, carrying folders and laptops and speaking to their companions with an easy familiarity, they eye you briefly. It’s the way someone might look at a new-co-worker, and categorically not how they’d react to an escaped hostage. Whatever plans this institute had for you, they weren’t made privy to it.
A man in white is seated by the lockers. Prying into the dossier he reads as you pass him, you make out a word underlined: ‘Passione’. If you read that right, you really are in trouble. You need to get out of here now.
The halls are getting wider and more populated. You must be nearing the institute’s heart. At the end of this hallway there’s a lit-up sign hung from the ceiling. Left arrow- Jonathon Joestar Centre, right arrow- exit. The anxious knot in your chest loosens and you pick up your pace. A woman half-collides with you. You mumble an apology and push on forth. It’s lighter here- more windows. You’re near the front of the building. If you can just make it out onto the street…
Up ahead is one of the men who took you. You didn’t see him before, his face lost on you as your eyes darted between the exit sign and the passers-by, but he’s standing right under the sign in conversation with two more men. The new people shrug their shoulders, and the thug looks around with a scratch of his head.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
You make a sharp left, keeping your head low as you duck behind a gaggle of young women who round the corner at the same time as you. You could honestly kiss those women right now, but you’re rearing for somewhere to hide until your hunters disperse. There’s a door up ahead, it looks the same as all the others that lead into hallways. You start towards the door, throw it open…
And walk straight into a room with your other abductor.
“(y/n) (l/n)?”
You were so fixed on the sight of your aggressor that you failed to notice the second, more disinterested man among his company. He sits at a steel desk, flanked on the right by his crony. He is a younger man, perhaps as young as thirty although his tiredness is beyond his years. An age peculiar, you’d think, for the authority his surroundings would imply.
“That’s correct,” you respond. Your angered, frightened confusion brings your voice to a squeaky hiss. The seated man gestures to the chair opposite his desk. You decide against sitting down. Looking at him some more, you note the long, white coat he is wearing. You might take him for a scientist if it weren’t for his stupid hat.
“This is not a kidnapping,” he tells you. You almost want to laugh.
“I was just dragged off of a train and led into a building by my elbows,” you exclaim, gesturing to the other men in the room.
“This is no longer a kidnapping,” the seated man sighs. He turns to his standing companion and points to the door to the side of you. “Open that please,” he requests. The agent complies and sunlight streams in. You watch on in hopeful bafflement. The door leads to an open street. “Now, leave,” he instructs the other man, emotionlessly obeying as he returns to the corridor behind you. The seated man returns his attention to you. “Now, should you feel threatened by me, it should not be hard for you to escape.”
“Great!” you huff, marching straight for the door.
“I should warn you it would be financially beneficial for you to hear me out,” he cautions you. You stop, turning to him angrily.
“Look mister, I don’t care what fucked up experiments you do here but I’d rather be alive and poor, thank you,” you snap.
“This offer is in regards to your stand, (y/n),” he clarifies. That stills you.
“…How did you…”
“You’ve underestimated the frequency of stand users such as yourself, and overestimated the trustworthiness of the few you’ve interacted with so far. Rookie mistakes, but unfortunately the specifics of Wanna Know’s ability make it crucial for us in spite of your inexperience with it. We are hence looking to offer you 500,000 American dollars, in exchange for your compliance,” he reaches for a briefcase underneath his chair and opens it, filled to the brim with money. Okay, now that’s a lot. You’ll admit he’s piqued your interest. “Now, would you care to take a seat?” he prompts you again, punctuating each word. As though pulled by string, you do as you are told. The man adjusts himself, steepling his hands, and begins to speak.
“Thank you. My name is Jotaro Kujo, and I’m currently in collaboration with the Speedwagon Foundation, who own this building. As I understand it, your stand Wanna Know has abilities pertaining to the gathering of information, which you have utilised quite effectively in the trade of private investigation. Am I correct?”
Your breath dries in your throat. He really knows everything.
“You know, if you found me online, you could have always contacted me by email instead of resorting to this!” you protest. Jotaro raises his hand to cut you off.
“The work we request of you is of such significant importance we felt this would be the only way to convey the gravity of the situation,” he speaks. You shake your head angrily. You’ve had enough. He knows too much.
“Wanna Know!” you shout. Obeying your bidding, the silver spectacle of your stand emerges out from behind you. Wanna Know shines in myriad of colours as the white light of the office bounces off of it. In one hand it conjures a red square of film. In the other, it rears its fist towards Jotaro. “Listen pal, after the shit you’ve pulled I don’t trust a word you have to say! So tell it to my stand!” you yell. Wanna Know lunges forwards and grasps Jotaro by the wrist. As the red film slivers towards the palm of his hand, your stand readies a punch right to the bastard’s face.
“Star Platinum!”
The next thing you register is blood squirting out of your nose as a hulking figure sends Wanna Know careening into the wall behind you. It slides to the ground, the red film floating onto the table in front of Jotaro.
“I presume this is how you collect your fingerprints,” Jotaro observes, flicking the little square forwards with the cuff of your sleeves. He waves for the agent lingering at the doorway to lower his gun. “You have some sort of mechanism to store them for future use, yes? Then you retrieve them for your memory tricks.”
“Analysis, and adjustment,” you hiss, clutching your bleeding nose.
“You’re going to have to learn to be more strategic than that if you’re going to accept our work,” Jotaro chides you indifferently.
“Just tell me what it is already so I can figure out if it’s worth my time,” you impede him. To your relief, he obliges you.
“Are you familiar with the Italian crime syndicate Passione?” he asks you. There it is again, that familiar name. You’ve never been unfortunate enough to deal with their sort directly, thank god, but your occupation’s entanglement with the criminal underworld has forced you to be aware of the group’s existence. It’s why you were so scared to see mention of them earlier. Recalling your audience, you nod.
“Good. I’ll get straight to the point. We have reason to believe they’re absolutely teeming with stand users. My organisation is concerned. Our working theory is that they are headed by a man in possession of one or more supernatural arrows allowing him to create stand users at will. As you can imagine, he’s hardly doing it for the greater good. It is imperative we take him down. The problem,” he speaks exasperated, “is that nobody knows who he is. That’s where you come in,” he explains. You shake your head profusely, readying to get up again.
“No, absolutely not. If you’re looking to expose a mafia boss I am not your guy,” you insist. Jotaro looks at you as though he expected this.
“We don’t expect you to pursue him directly. Your role involves interacting with a single outcast squad we believe could serve as a weak link to uncovering the boss’s identity.”
Oh, now that changes things. Infiltrating the headquarters of a crime syndicate is well above your commitment to this occupation but a single squad might just be manageable. If there’s half a million bucks involved, of course. Seeing your regained attention, Jotaro continues.
“Two years ago, it is rumoured that two individuals within Passione attempted to uncover the identity of their boss. Their names were Sorbet and Gelato,” Jotaro reveals. “This is for you to keep.” He places a single photograph on the table. It depicts two men, embraced on an oak bench surrounded by roses. The man on the left rests his messy blond head on the shoulder of his accomplice, who smiles softly, looking down on him. “They served a squad of elite assassins, though as a couple and among the more senior of the group, they were allowed to act with little oversight from their superior, a man we believe to be named Risotto Nero. It was under this pretence they carried out their research. We haven’t found any insight into their motivations, but they may have simply been looking to blackmail their way into better financial prospects.”
“I see. Do you want me to… liase with these men or something?” you ask.
“I think we may be on different pages,” Jotaro informs you. “The plot was uncovered, and they were executed.” You look down at the picture once more. You can’t help but wonder how much of their fates were known to them when it was taken. “However,” Jotaro continues. “We have hope that some trace of their research may still exist, if not in conventional forms then in a way accessible by Wanna Know’s memory analysis. Risotto Nero’s assassin squad still exists, and if any memory of the dead men’s findings can be salvaged, it will be with them. I will leave the specifics of how to go about this task with you.”
“And if I find anything, I get the money?”
“Yes. Any information resulting in the identification of Passione’s boss will suffice. Additionally, we are willing to offer you an additional 30,000 euros upfront, in order to cover your costs of living in Italy. That should last you a good few months, letting you to conduct your work at a pace you deem acceptable. Are you in agreement?” Jotaro urges you.
“Yes,” you respond.
“Well?”
You pause. This work is dangerous, and completely above anything you’ve taken on before. But 500,000 dollars could change your life. That’s a collage degree, or a house, or like a decade of just doing whatever the fuck you want. Second, you have Wanna Know. You’ve achieved things seasoned police officers have been stumped with for decades. And last of all, you’re taken with the idea of an adventure. Swallowing your doubt, you extend your hand.
“I’ll do it.”
Jotaro shakes your hand firmly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. He still doesn’t smile, though. “My associates will be in touch to negotiate the time of your departure. In short, we are willing to allow you a couple of months to get your affairs in order and make necessary preparations.”
You get up, your chair scraping the old floor with an uncomfortable screech.
“Cool, make sure they send me a damn phone call rather than opt for street-abduction,” you mutter, picking up the photograph and heading for the interior door.
“There’s a faster way out here,” Jotaro reminds you.
“Look, I have to go get my coat,” you mutter, making your way past baffled researchers as you trudge back into the halls. You look down at the photo as you walk. Sorbet and Gelato stare back. Your stand willing, you’ll be seeing more of them soon. You have to admit the thought intrigues you.