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Being the right hand of the leader, Melone was calm, silent and attentive, took business seriously and could compete in rank with Prosciutto, if not for a few minor nuances.
Every stand was useful, especially if its owner knew how to use it and wasn't afraid to experiment.
Baby face was one of the most powerful Stands that did not require combat skills from its owner and was capable of truly instilling horror with its appearance, history and work.
But perhaps it was the caution of those around him, with which they preferred to have as little to do with Melone and his escapades as possible, that influenced his increased carelessness.
It was often possible to sit early in the morning over a cup of cheap coffee and hear the crash with which someone ran out of the bathroom, finding Baby face there.
How everyone sat in tension, squeezing into each other in the aisle, when in the common room there was a stand on a table or sofa.
It was difficult to call it some kind of enormous trust, a little easier, but doubtfully carelessness, but the fact of understanding that no one in their right mind would mess with his baby was quite in Melone’s style.
Although Ghiaccio and Risotto would prefer the second option.
After all, this idiot could have simply recalled it and summoned in his own hands.
But, apparently, even a mission with a capo wasn't a sufficient reason, since Ghiaccio came across a strange-colored computer with eyes in the meeting room.
Well, of course.
He rolls eyes involuntarily, ready to loudly express displeasure about this.
But that didn't make sense. He had no particular idea whether the Baby face itself had any intelligence or basic manifestations of consciousness.
He would reserve the tension in the vocal cords for his owner, with whom they had known, if not longer than anyone on the team, then certainly long enough for Ghiaccio not to feel such an almost animalistic fear or caution in relation to this strange, like both its owner, the stand, and the created junior, who, if you think about it, should be feared much more, especially when Melone can screw up with his training or mother's choice.
So many nuances.
Why exactly did they go to someone so obsessed and unable to communicate with people?
Although, maybe this is exactly what he needs.
He leisurely walks deeper into the room, walking around the table and sitting down in his rightful place, next to where Melone usually sat, opposite which, on the table, lay the ill-fated stand.
Apparently, he worked here before, and even more likely, he tried to create a junior, but apparently something went wrong.
The stand was, apparently, inactive.
Or was in sleep mode.
Most likely, this is true, given the possible fact of use.
The eyes on the small protruding face were relaxedly closed, and the top lid was lowered down.
But even in this form, Ghiaccio felt a strange, inexplicable tension for himself, discomfort, a direct threat, from which he simply didn't know how to defend himself, although usually he was always ready for an attack and was a threat to others.
At the same time taut as a string and devastated body squirmed in one place, impatiently awaiting the return of Risotto.
Now wagging from side to side, now nervously tapping his finger on the chair, simultaneously looking for spiders in the corners of the room and counting the cracks in the paint.
Basically doing anything to avoid looking and thinking about the stand.
Although, perhaps, by doing so he only more strongly provoked an internal, unbridled and simply childish interest in something incomprehensible and dangerous.
Plus, he had a stand that could rival Metallica, there's no point in being afraid of a ridiculous computer on legs.
Therefore, with a heavy exhalation, splashing out some pressure inside with a stream of air, he moves to the side, crawling into Melone’s place and crossing his fingers opposite.
And yet, even with such self-confidence and self-importance, he strongly wanted to spend a few seconds leaning forward and looking at the tiny humanoid face with peacefully closed eyes.
Opening his palms, he hesitantly extends his hand towards the stand and with his fingertips, almost with nails, clings to the top cover, opening it slightly and, apparently, bringing it out of sleep mode.
And after the first rays of the burning screen break through the crack, Baby face’s eyes immediately open, involuntarily prompting Ghiaccio to shudder from a look in which absolutely nothing was read
Frightening, bottomless nothing.
He was not a coward, and certainly wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to call him one.
But perhaps it would just be rude to interact with someone else's stand with dirty hands.
For his own comfort and an imaginary sense of security, Ghiaccio summons part of the White Album onto his hands, now through the thin but dense surface of cryogenic gloves closing his palms together and thoughtfully looking at the screen with a bunch of incomprehensible windows and symbols, the only ones of which he could understand only in the window with error information.
– Not so ideal in choosing a mother, huh?
Ghiaccio lets out a slight chuckle with an almost involuntarily faltering grin as his gaze finally moves to the keyboard.
The problem was of a slightly different kind.
The keys were empty.
Some had a certain position and shape, but the majority of them were almost identical.
Are they different from a regular laptop? Probably, given that their position and number were different.
But what each of the keys meant was even more puzzling.
Nervously, but decisively, the hand nevertheless moved from its place, rising above the stand and pressing a random key with a nail from a creogenic suit, the choice of which was justified only by the vague thought that it should do at least something that could be called useful.
Whether this idea came true or whether he broke something, if this is applicable to the stand at all, will remain an eternal secret.
The sudden and traceless disappearance of all the tabs made Ghiaccio freeze for a second, which, as he realized a second later, was stupid and unjustified, especially for him.
//Date of Birth//
He instantly removes his hands from the unexpectedly pop-up window and moves back slightly, frowning in puzzlement.
– What nonsense.
Even if not right away, Ghiaccio still enters the required data, for which he was provided with surprisingly precise instructions, including demonstrating the location of the necessary keys.
Did Melone really use the instructions for his own stand?
Ridiculous.
//Health group//
– You'll owe me, Melone.
With undisguised mockery, Ghiaccio carefully read the required parameters, among which, in addition to the basic ones, such as blood type and general preferences, a window soon popped up with a variety of types of kisses, so different that there were several slides with options.
Do people really use such weird ways to just fucking kiss?
As far as he knew, this was the final stage, after which the data entry process would be completed and accepted for processing.
– This is such an important question…
Hissing venomously under his breath, he began to lazily but peer through a bunch of perverted options, looking for and settling after some time on the most, in his opinion, adequate.
And after the last, decisive click, the window instantly closes.
Absolutely all the windows are closed, from which Ghiaccio even tensed for a moment, again returning to the thought that he had broken something, although this didn't make sense as such.
Although, was it possible to damage the stand in this way?
After all, in some ways it's a computer…
However, any doubts or even fear were kindly refuted by Baby face itself, when after a couple of seconds a window appears on the screen with strange images and a percentage line closer to the corner.
– Reboot? God, you're even more ridiculous than I thought!
With clenched teeth, Ghiaccio slams his tightly clenched fists onto the table from the overwhelming anger caused by the stupidity of this whole situation, until he catches the stand twitching, followed by a poor-colored hand hitting the table.
– Oh, wait…
He involuntarily, as if succumbing to an awakened animal instinct, which also made no sense, recoiled back, pressing himself into the back of the sofa, before a second hand burst out from under Baby face's, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him towards itself.
– GET AWAY FROM ME.
He jerks blindly in an attempt to break free from the death grip on his coat, even more so, taking the Stand by the wrist and quickly covering it in ice.
The blood runs cold, and not even from White Album, when the absolutely zero effect of the attack becomes clear.
Each crack that appeared on the ice squeezed Ghiaccio’s chest more and more, finishing him off when he split into spheres and merged with the table.
– Why the hell can YOU do that, bastard?!
Realizing that attempts to attack were useless, he began to try to throw the stand away, twitching and even trying to hit.
However, the total disregard for any attempts at resistance threw Ghiaccio into the abyss of long-forgotten despair, beginning to freeze everything he could get his hands on.
Baby face, on the other hand, wasn't particularly interested in this process or was even frightened, nervous, and it wasn't exactly clear whether he was aware of it in general.
Pushing off the table with feet, it rushes at the exhausted guy, in a moment of weakened vigilance, immobilizing him and pressing into the sofa, painfully pressing his entire weight on the ankle of his leg.
– You bitch.
Ghiaccio growled as he felt the Stand's hand move away, giving him hope for a chance to attack.
If only this hope hadn't been false, when the slight movement of a pale hand on the sofa didn't again cause division into spheres, this one crashing around the wrists, thereby immobilizing him and giving Baby face a little more physical capabilities.
This time, even an attempt to summon White Album was unsuccessful, plunging headlong into a pool of painful defeat, poisonously palpable somewhere in the throat and creeping down to the fingertips, as soon as Baby face’s caught on the edges of his striped pants.
– FUCKER. YOU’RE NOT-
Ghiaccio feels himself almost suffocating at the moment of the collision, as soon as he twitches in protest, with the empty eyes of the stand, on the surface of which, out of the corner of his eye, he notices a peeking bottle with DNA, for which Melone, apparently, after all I couldn't find the vessel.
Well, until now.
– MELONE, I'LL FUCKING FINISH YOU.
He twitches again, at least with one part of his body, stiff and petrified from panic, but he twitches to the last, until he is roughly pressed with his face and chest into the sofa, leaving the opportunity only, God grant, to blink.
Without resisting own emotions, his mouth opens wide again, but as a result only in a silent cry, cracking hoarsely, when chilling goosebumps ran through his body from the pressure of the slippery, slightly warm moisture behind, pressed between his legs.
With all the possible meticulousness of which humanity was capable, Ghiaccio could feel how the length of something,
that he didn't even want to think about, much less imagine, a strange shape wriggled between the tense buttocks.
But it was impossible to ignore the way this appendage rummaged between the legs trembling in an attempt to close, sliding between the cock flaccid from fear, pressing against the side and reaching approximately to the level of the navel, in thickness catching up, if Ghiaccio hadn't thought too much, of the colon.
Cold sweat appeared on his forehead, which had been flowing down his forehead for a long time, for the first time in all time not immediately turning into ice crystals, and his teeth seemed about to crack from the pressure with which they were painfully clenched.
His limbs hardly moved, frozen by some strange internal primal signal, previously unknown and frightening not so much by the situation as by the horror that it was able to evoke inside him.
Baby face, without the slightest hesitation, ignores the interfering tension in the body beneath it, which it obviously encountered every time it was activated, and quickly slides its tentacle-like organ in search of an accessible and similar to the usual gap, for the slightest deepening in which he immediately clings and presses, causing a burning sensation piercing through and a painfully muffled growl from the front.
For the first time, a raging storm of emotions could not escape from Ghiaccio, both physically and simply not being able to pick up, form letters into words, and words into sentences, as if he had never been able to speak.
His body again involuntarily, as if in its own attempt to escape, jerks back, crashing back into the stand. The feeling of the restraints cutting into the skin didn't even reach the brain, leaving the body to blindly crawl and tear the skin around the wrists, every cell of the body focusing on how the thickness was being pushed inside, tearing, he could swear, all of his insides, which it couldn't even reach.
The stand's hand displeasedly removes Ghiaccio's head, pressing him by the throat into the back of the sofa through a boring, plaintive wheeze.
Could it even hear?
The tentacle began to casually scour inside, twisting, hitting with jerks to the side, forward and almost scraping along the fragile walls, stretching with its size and resourcefulness, seemingly impossible, in an attempt to find and get to, apparently, the uterus.
Completely exhausted, Ghiaccio emptily limp on the back of the sofa, resembling more a carpet than a once invincible and proud killer, shrinking every time the stand twitches in indignation somewhere in its depths in an attempt to ram its way into the biologically absent organ.
This seemingly minor hiccup was reflected in the fertilization process, showing a window in the center of the screen with information about the error that Baby face was diligently trying to correct.
He shudders again when he feels how the tentacle began to move with a new, overflowing enthusiasm, pushing inside along the very base and rapidly approaching the percentage to 100.
.
.
.
.
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Click
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.
Click
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.
Click Click
.
As if being in a viscous, sucking weightlessness, Ghiaccio feels himself shuddering from the irritating sound hitting his temples.
However, it is precisely under the pressure that he abruptly, as if by a muscle reflex, explodes from his spot.
– YOU'RE DOING THIS ON-
For the first time, he consciously bites his tongue, looking around Melone’s room out of the corner of his eye, in whose bed he was lying, feeling a slight dizziness, not understanding whether he had the most terrifying dream or
The lump in the throat rolls down the larynx of its own free will when he feels the soft bandages around his wrists, wet from the medicine, and catches the eye of Melone, hunched over in his usual position opposite... it.
Ghiaccio's lips twist at different angles in a silent attempt to find the right words, but each time stopping for a reason, that is not entirely clear, at the very beginning.
– I hope you don't mind. I took your DNA!
Inside Ghiaccio, everything shrinks from Melone’s cheerful voice, whose enthusiastic gaze caused discomfort for the first time. But not nearly as strong as the one piercing through the screen of the stand, which was kindly shown to him, thereby opening up a view on the eyes of Baby face itself, rushing in the opposite direction through the lenses of red glasses and already familiarly throwing him into a cold sweat.
– About that..
He shudders again when the smile unusually abruptly falls from Melone’s face, and the already dry gaze from under golden eyelashes silently, but so loudly envelops Ghiaccio.
His gums ache with pain when his tongue catches the burning, chilling taste of his own answer to an incompletely asked question.
However, he still lacks the determination to ask the question that follows from the first.