Chapter Text
To say Jotaro Kujo was a man of few words would be an understatement. In his infancy, his mother would recall a surprisingly easy baby who cried so little that she found herself checking his crib several times a night to make sure he was still breathing. As a child his complaints were so few and far between that he had once stood patiently awaiting the attention of his Grandma Suzie – whose indecision on the plethora of sandwich choices at the deli counter had left her rather preoccupied – before showing her a rather deep and nasty cut he had sustained on the palm of his hand thanks to a broken display case. Only seven at the time, he showed no sign of tears or pain. He simply held his hand carefully closed with the other cupped underneath to keep the blood – which had started to drip past his wrist – from spilling onto the floor. Therefore it was no surprise that at the age of seventeen when faced with the possible possession by a violent and evil spirit, Jotaro Kujo had chosen to lock himself away in a jail cell to ensure he could do no further harm.
Luckily, it had not been an evil spirit.
Unluckily, however, he would be stuck with the possessing entity for the rest of his life.
It wasn’t as if Jotaro Kujo was incapable of speech. He simply chose his words carefully. Some might call this practical, expending energy only where needed. However, at best, people found it downright exhausting to navigate a conversation with him. At worst, it left others disturbed that, along with his words, he’d locked away most of his emotions too.
Clearly, the latter was what the young and inexperienced Speedwagon Foundation agent must have been feeling as she laid out a series of gruesome photographs for Jotaro Kujo to examine, his reaction forever incomprehensible.
It was 2003 and the rainy season had started in Tokyo. Both SPW agent and Jotaro Kujo sat at a small café table while the rain poured outside. Customers came and went with brightly colored umbrellas and squeaky, water-logged boots. Jotaro had chosen the table farthest from the busy counter; secluded in the back corner of the café. However, despite the inconspicuous seating arrangement, Jotaro Kujo’s impressive 195cm stature caused many patrons to stare. It also didn’t help that the café tables were smaller than average.
“W-we had your grandfather produce these for us in an attempt to see the Stand user,” explained the agent as she spread out the Polaroid photos. Her name tag read Lennox, Jotaro had noted, but he had yet to address her beyond a short hello and invitation to explain the nature of their meeting. “But we only got pictures of the victims’ bodies….”
To the average person, the photos would have shown three different people of varying ages, genders, and body types lying on pavement, their limbs contorted and their faces splashed with visible anguish. Over the photos a filmy, mist-like appearance hovered around each subject, giving the impression that something had smudged the camera lens as the image was taken. In fact, it looked for all the world like a photograph a TV ghost hunter might use as evidence that ghosts were real. But for someone like Jotaro Kujo – as well as his grandfather and some distant relatives – he saw not a formless mist, but bizarre creatures – some humanoid and others not.
These creatures were Stands. Powerful, physical manifestations of an individual’s life energy or willpower or fighting spirit - or a combination of all three depending on who you talked to. Despite having his own Stand since seventeen, Jotaro hadn’t quite figured out exactly what made a Stand a Stand. It seemed that each new Stand user he met during his course of work with the Speedwagon Foundation brought some new and bizarre revelation. Stands could manifest as humanoid figures, like his very own Star Platinum, or appear as an object like his grandfather’s Hermit Purple which manifested as thorny, translucent, violet-colored vines. Hell, Jotaro had once met a Stand that was an entire freighter drifting out a sea. The possibilities of what a Stand could be seemed endless.
And that was just how they looked. Their myriad of abilities was a whole other matter.
Agent Lennox cleared her throat, “As you can see the photos have yet to show us the user. Instead, we only get photos of the victims and their Stands.”
The agent paused waiting to see if Jotaro asked any questions, but when he remained silent, she continued, “All of these attacks have occurred around the same neighborhood, just outside X_ City. It’s clearly a Stand attack. But we aren’t sure what type of ability we’re dealing with here –”
“And you called me,” said Jotaro plainly. They always did.
Established by a close friend of his great-great-grandfather Jonathan Joestar, the American-based Speedwagon Foundation had spent years investigating supernatural happenings – from vampires to Stands – under the cover of their general medical research and environmental conservation operations. And Jotaro Kujo had been on the Speedwagon Foundation’s payroll ever since he had left high school. He spent much of his college years, balancing school work alongside investigations in strange Stand phenomenon. Much of the work involved tracking down old followers of Dio Brando, a man who had once been his great-great-grandfather’s adopted brother and who had turned himself into a vampire, killed Jonathan, stolen his body, and then resurfaced a hundred years later in 1987 to wreak havoc yet again until Jotaro stopped him. To say Jotaro’s senior year of high school had been a bizarre one was an understatement.
“Does the Foundation believe Dio’s followers are involved?” Jotaro asked, passing the photographs back to the agent.
“It’s too early to tell at this stage,” replied Agent Lennox. “All I can tell you is that each one of these people are now dead.”
Jotaro frowned and pulled one of the photos back to examine.
“This person is dead?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But their Stand is still visible,” he remarked. The connection between Stand and user seemed absolute. When a Stand was destroyed it left the user either dead or severely maimed. When a Stand user died, the Stand simply stopped existing.
“Whatever kills these Stand users leaves the Stand behind, but only for a short time - it varies from a few minutes to several hours, but never much longer. However, during that time, the Stand seems to be in a berserk state,” explained Agent Lennox. “The few Stand users at the Speedwagon Foundation who’ve managed to witness these berserk Stands say they’re like a rabid animal. They attack whoever approaches them or their user until they finally fade away.”
Jotaro sighed, reflexively tugging at his white, brimmed hat he never took off. It had been worn so often that the back had frayed, leaving his black hair to stick out the back. He had had a similar hat in high school, only black in color, and had apparently chosen to maintain this particular hat style way into adulthood.
“I’ll get to work,” said Jotaro. “Give me all you have on the case so far.”
As Agent Lennox pulled out several manila envelopes from her satchel, she said, “There is one clue we have to how this Stand user works. We’ve found debris that’s been cut in a very precise manner.”
“Cut?”
Agent Lennox made a slashing motion with her arm. “Like a knife. We found a streetlamp, several parking barriers, and even the steel door of a delivery van cut clean off.”
“Sounds strange enough to be a Stand’s ability,” Jotaro conceded, pulling out a small black notebook from the recesses of his large white overcoat and taking down some initial notes. “Thank you, you may go.”
Agent Lennox hesitated.
Jotaro raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The Tokyo headquarters of the Foundation has asked me to mention that should you need any assistance on this case that we can always ask Mr. Ka–”
“I won’t need help,” Jotaro cut her off. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
Jotaro had an office at the Tokyo headquarters of the Speedwagon Foundation, but he seldom used it. He chose instead to conduct the majority of his research from his home office in his apartment. Despite having lived in the apartment for almost two years now, he had yet to unpack and organize the place. Except for his home office which is where he spent most of his time anyway.
When Jotaro wasn’t moonlighting for the Speedwagon Foundation, his day job was that of a marine biologist. The décor of his wood paneled office was nautical in theme with a saltwater fish tank set into the wall to the right of his desk. Framed photos of sea stars and other aquatic life lined the walls. In fact, only two photos in the entire office depicted humans. One was a family photo of his mother and grandmother holding up a little baby girl with jet black hair which contrasted against the light blonde and gray of the women holding her. They stood in front of a traditional Japanese styled house. Jotaro could be seen in the corner of the photo, sitting at a distance from the others, barely in frame. The second photo showed a teenage Jotaro standing with his friends and grandfather as a bright, sandy desert stretched out behind them on all sides. Once more Jotaro’s position in the photo seemed distant. He stood in the back, angled away from the others.
Jotaro checked his watch. In two more hours the Tokyo headquarters would be closed for regular business hours. Jotaro planned on examining the bodies of the victims then.
For now, he figured he’d take stock of the information the SPW agent had given him. He pushed various legal paperwork out of the way and dropped the stack of manila envelopes onto his desk. He booted up his clunky laptop and waited, making himself some tea in the meantime. He kept an electric tea kettle in the office, only using the kitchen to retrieve water from the sink. An assortment of mugs and spoons were already lined up next to the kettle.
Once his laptop was running, Jotaro checked his emails, making sure the Speedwagon Foundation hadn’t sent him any additional information on the case. He found nothing new except for an unread message from his ex-wife. The subject line read simply: she misses you. Jotaro shut the laptop. Outside the rain poured on.
Hours later the rain had still not let up. It was dark now, most office buildings in the surrounding area closed for the day. The Speedwagon Foundation building was also closed, but Jotaro easily let himself into the back entrance. He nodded to the security guards on duty who sat monitoring the many surveillance cameras scattered throughout the building. A flash of his badge and they let Jotaro continue on his way. Nothing about the groundlevel floors with their lines of cubicles, desktop computers, and bulky printers gave the impression that the Foundation was any different from any other office building in Tokyo. But as Jotaro descended to the basement, he was met with a research facility that included several holding cells, what appeared to be a firing range, and, at the very end of a long, dimly lit hallway, a morgue.
The business of Stands was often a nasty one.
Jotaro entered the morgue and found three bodies covered in white sheets. Donning a pair of gloves, Jotaro removed the sheet from the first cadaver and found himself looking down on a middle-aged woman with a face twisted up in excruciating anguish. The second body belonged to a man in his sixties with a similar expression. Lastly, the third body was that of a short, stocky twenty-something man who, like the other two, appeared to be experiencing the same pain. Taking a look at the notes he’d been provided by Agent Lennox, Jotaro found that at first glance nothing seemed to connect any of the victims – family, work, school – except for two things: one, they lived in relatively the same area of X_ City, and, two, they each had had a Stand.
A shimmer in the air announced the summoning of Jotaro’s own Stand Star Platinum. It was a powerfully built entity resembling that of a wild man with untamed black hair and piercing blue-green eyes. On its large hands and feet and around its neck the Stand wore white gloves, boots, and a scarf respectively, matching Jotaro’s own white coat and cap. Star Platinum's skin color shifted from purple to blue to purple again with gold, wave-like patterned tattoos stretching out across its wide and muscular torso and limbs, giving it the appearance of gold-crusted ocean waves sinking into a never-ending twilit night.
Without a word, Jotaro commanded Star Platinum to examine the bodies, using its keen eyesight to find any markings out of place. But all that was found were the bruises and scrapes one might sustain if they were to collapse suddenly from a standing position. This told Jotaro that the enemy Stand must have struck only the victims’ Stands in a non-physical manner. An attack on a Stand was usually reflected in its user; for example a cut across the palm of a Stand’s hand would result in a similar cut on its user’s own palm.
Perhaps it was something psychological? Vaguely, Jotaro remembered being told about a Stand that could infiltrate a person’s dreams and harm them from inside their mind.
The thing about Stands is that they often shared thoughts with their users. Star Platinum was no exception. As Jotaro found himself thinking back on the dream-infiltrating Stand, Star Platinum was bringing forth the memory of the person who had told Jotaro about it. A person Jotaro had been very carefully trying not to think about the entire time he had been inside the Speedwagon Foundation offices.
He won’t be here at this hour.
Star Platinum tilted its head making its wild mop of hair float and wave as if underwater.
How did Jotaro know?
I just do.
But Jotaro wasn’t too sure. However, he didn’t let it deter his investigation. He spent another hour, taking notes as Star Platinum memorized the autopsy reports of the victims left behind by the Speedwagon Foundation coroner. It was as Star Platinum checked the addresses of each one that Jotaro decided the best place to start his investigation would have to be in the neighborhood where all the victims’ bodies had been found.
Back outside with the rain, umbrella open in hand, Jotaro glanced up at the Speedwagon Foundation building. One solitary light shone out from an office window on the third floor.
Star Platinum’s thoughts rippled against Jotaro’s own, but he pushed them away. Not fast enough, however, as one image managed to breach his mental wall: the vibrant green of an emerald.
It was past midnight when the rain slowed, knocking only a faint pattern of droplets against Jotaro’s umbrella as he stood in a public playground in the heart of X_ City. It hadn't been an overly long train ride, but it had been far enough that Jotaro found himself in unfamiliar territory. Curious to see what type of area the three victims had lived in, Jotaro had wandered his way through the city until the taller buildings began to fade away and be replaced with smaller, more compact ones. In the distance Jotaro could see a small, local hospital rising above the rooftops.
For a few moments only the sound of the slowing rain filled the air. Then, suddenly, the silence was ripped away with the rumble of an eruption so powerful that Jotaro felt the vibrations in the concrete beneath his feet.
Without a second thought Jotaro took off in the direction of the sound. Star Platinum reared its consciousness up from the depth of Jotaro’s heart in anticipation and flickered into life at his side.
From a vampire stopping time in the streets of Cairo to a pair of rats that could melt the flesh of their victims with a well-aimed sniper shot, Jotaro Kujo had been in his fair share of Stand battles and felt confident in saying that nothing could surprise him when it came to the bizarre abilities he’d encountered over the years. However, when he rounded the corner into a nearby alleyway where the streetlamps just barely reached and saw what he was up against, he gave pause.
There were two Stands. The first Stand resembled that of a thin, ghostly woman, bald and draped in a sheer gown and shawl. Both garments resembled more the fronds of a weeping willow than actual cloth. As it hovered in midair, its limbs and body jerked and contorted as if in a fit or seizure. The second Stand consisted of two small beings; doll-like in appearance and size with strangely jointed elbows and knees; each sported what looked like an infinity symbol on their chests. Neither being had any eyes, but both did have long, pointed ears, like a hybrid between rabbit ears and antenna. One of these small beings seemed coherent and aware of its surroundings while the other being jerked its body about in a similar pattern to the ghostly female Stand. The two small beings seemed to be fighting one another. Upon closer inspection, Jotaro realized that the cognizant one was trying to keep the berserk one from attacking the humans on the ground.
Jotaro counted two people; a dead woman in floral print scrubs, who lay prone under the convulsing willowy Stand and another young woman wearing jeans and a short blazer who knelt on the ground, her hair damp with rain and her face pale and screwed up in pain. She clutched at her chest somewhere above her heart and stared transfixed at the two small, doll-like Stands.
“Good grief,” Jotaro said under his breath. He had arrived too late. Whatever had attacked these two was gone.
It was just as Jotaro was getting close enough into range to use Star Platinum: The World and stop time that the small berserk doll Stand broke free from its twin and lunged at the kneeling woman. She gave a weak shriek and fell backwards. The sound of her voice seemed to awaken the willowy humanoid Stand who did not appear to be fully aware of its surroundings. It blinked its empty eyes and turned its gaze directly at Jotaro.
At that moment, it opened its mouth.
Where Jotaro expected a screeching wail, there was silence. Instead of sound, the Stand produced a strange smoke; long and winding as if it came from a snuffed out candle. And with the smoke came a strange, sweet smell; not the smell of rain washing over the concrete and steel of a city – no it was the smell of rain falling on parched, dusty roads and swaying palm trees.
Jotaro’s knees buckled. He hit the ground, and Star Platinum faded from his side. The longer the smell surrounded him, the drowsier he became until finally his whole world was nothing but darkness and the smell of rain that belonged somewhere else.
And that rain stirred in Jotaro a memory – a moment long ago, of leaning against the wall of a shoddy little hostel in a lonely village in a country far from his own, as rain poured so heavily it cascaded over the sides of the gutters and drenched the ground below, churning dirt into mud.
Jotaro lit a cigarette.
“May I join you?” said a voice to his right. Jotaro looked up.
Red hair. Lavender eyes. An oddly wide, albeit friendly, smile on thin lips.
Jotaro pulled his black school cap down so the brim covered his eyes. “Sure,” he said.
“Jotaro! Jotaro! Jojo! Dammit! Open your eyes!”
He was on his back, sore and cold and hatless; laying upon pavement and staring up at the night sky choked with light pollution and rain clouds. Someone had dragged him away from the berserk Stands and towards the entrance to the alleyway.
And that someone was kneeling at his side, wearing a dark green, almost black trench coat and cherry red earrings.
Jotaro blinked, wondering if he was still dreaming.
The hair was still red, but longer now and pulled back at the nape of the neck. The eyes were still lavender, but now looked out from behind silver wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
But the smile – the smile hadn’t changed at all.
“Oh, good, you’re not dead,” said the man with red hair. He extended a hand and Jotaro grasped it firmly, allowing himself to be pulled into a sitting position.
“Kakyoin, what the hell are you doing here?”