User blog:Stevethebarbarian/JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Freddo (Capters 1-4)

Chapter One: Tarnished Gold

Giorno Giovanna tried to maintain his posture even as he strolled through the halls of the prison, intensely aware of the echoing click of his shoes on the hard, exposed granite floor with each step. Though if he’d thought about it, he would have told himself he was standing straight and keeping his expression neutral to display confidence to the mysterious capo he was just about to meet, subconsciously he had different reasons.

Giorno was not easy to scare. He had gone through three violent encounters in as many days, and had emerged from each one victorious. Leaky Eyed Luca was buried, the kid whose luggage he’d stolen was kilometers away, and Bruno Bucciarati had become his ally. Two of those individuals had been hardened gangsters, and two had been Stand users with abilities he barely comprehended. Still, he never wavered, and still, he came out on top. Almost nothing could cause him to stumble in his resolve; nothing could force him to waver in the path towards his cause.

As the heavy door behind him slammed, Giorno Giovanna turned swiftly around, his heart leaping in his chest. He paused a moment, catching his breath. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d become in preparation for this encounter until he’d been startled by a mere loud noise. Indeed, his attempt to keep his posture strong and consistent had also been for his own benefit, to convince himself that he wasn’t in any danger. He took one last deep breath and turned around.

Now that the prison’s hall was isolated from outside light, it was considerably darker, and it became immediately, eminently obvious which cell the Capo he was here to meet was inside. From the bulletproof glass lining one particular cell there shone a bright light, in sharp contrast with the flickering bulbs that lit the hallway itself.

Giorno steeled his resolve and stepped forward with long, confident strides, his hands neutrally at his side, his expression displaying no emotion other than sheer determination. Finally, he stepped forward; glancing into the room he was sure held the powerful Capo who commanded Bucciarati’s group, Polpo. Bruno had warned him that Polpo was a deeply unusual man, and one who somewhat relied on his own nature to throw those he met off-balance, and Giorno had prepared himself for almost anything.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was Polpo not even being present in the cell he stared into. Inside the room, he spied almost nothing but furniture. The cell was dominated by an enormous bed (king sized at least, he guessed,) but also contained a toilet, a sink, what appeared to be a small refrigerator, and a desk with a lamp and a clock atop. Several paintings hung from the walls, but as he glanced about into the room, he saw no sign of Polpo, or any life at all for that matter.

He stepped slowly, and somewhat nervously, forward along the length of the window that looked into the cell, his eyes scanning every inch of it. Finally, convinced that he’d seen everything he could from his perspective, he paused.

''The room appears completely empty. Bucciarati told me that Polpo could come and go as he pleased, but the guards assured me he was within his cell- can he leave even without their knowledge? No, he must be here. He’s probably hiding, most likely to catch me off-guard or startle me- the only places in the cell I can’t see are directly behind the door, behind the bed, and under it- I’m certain, that’s where he currently is! One of those three places!''

“Have you gotten that left arm of yours checked out?”

Giorno’s heart jumped at the sudden sound of the deep voice. Just barely muffled by the glass, he was certain it had come from within the cell. And what a voice it was! Even though it was relatively soft in volume, its tone and key made Giorno think of a voice amplified by a megaphone, or an opera singer. He involuntarily shifted his weight to his back foot in his surprise, frowning as his eyes darted around the inside of the cell.

Finally, he noticed something. The bed was shifting, shaking. Was Polpo underneath it? The answer to this question was immediately proven negative as the bed shifted again, what appeared to be part of a blanket or comforter taking the shape of a hand and arm before Giorno’s eyes. The “bed” continued to move, its center expanding outward as if something were growing within it, its head lifting upward as the arm became more prominent and was joined by a second on the far side of the bed, grasping forward with thick, meaty fingers.

That isn’t a bed at all!

 

“It looks like you’ve injured it rather badly.”

The bed’s transformation came to a climax as its foot changed into a pair of literal legs and feet, disproportionately small compared to what was swiftly becoming a body, and its head, in kind, transformed into a literal head, accentuated with a long, pointed nose, unsettling red cap, and mountainous rolls of fat. The form of the Capo, clad in the garish yellow that moments earlier appeared to be the covering of a bed, was fully revealed. He was an enormous man, fat to such an inhuman degree that the shock of his mere appearance was comparable to the shock of seeing him apparently transform from a bed.

He turned to Giorno, deep green eyes staring into the smaller man’s blue with enough intensity to force Giorno to take a full step back for the first time since approaching the cell.

''It’s only been moments, and I’m already losing the mental battle! What is this man? Is he a “man” at all?''

 

“I couldn’t help but notice you were carrying it a bit easier than your right- and furthermore, the fingers of your right hand are a bit red, like you were carrying something- like a bag! But you weren’t using your left hand- you really should get it treated, it’s bad for your health to ignore injuries, even if it makes you feel like a man.”

As Polpo opened his mouth to laugh, Giorno couldn’t help but waver slightly. While Polpo spoke, his mouth had appeared rather small compared to his face, but when he began laughing, it seemed to take up all the space in the room, as if he were preparing to swallow up an entire human being. His laugh was brief, a few booming exhalations of breath, and then silence as his face returned to its natural state, a simple, quiet smile.

“So tell me, Giorno Giovanna… was my guess correct?”

Giorno was startled for a split second when Polpo used his name, before swiftly realizing that he had learned it from Bucciarati before he arrived. How else could he have gained Polpo’s audience? He calmed himself, quieting his breath and heartbeat, to ensure that his voice would neither stutter nor waver when he spoke.

“You’re completely correct on both points. Up until recently, I was carrying a bag, which I left with the guards outside. I also injured my left arm recently, so I wasn’t using it to hold the bag.”

Polpo let out one last hearty chuckle before turning away from Giorno with movements less labored than he would have expected from a man of Polpo’s size. The mountain of a man reached down to his miniature refrigerator, which he utterly dwarfed.

''He’s not just fat… Polpo must be four- no, five meters tall at least! He’s practically reclining in that cell, and he still fills it almost completely. I can hardly imagine how he even got through the door…''

 

Polpo retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses from the fridge and held the both of them up, waving them slightly in Giorno’s direction. “Are you thirsty, Giorno? This is Chianti Classico, aged to perfection. It’s absolutely fantastic with a fine cheese and caviar on a cracker.”

Giorno, recalling his instructions from the guards before he entered, and furthermore not trusting Polpo whatsoever, elected to decline. “If I recall correctly, I am forbidden from taking anything from you or offering you anything. Also, I don’t drink.”

Polpo rolled his eyes, shrugged, and placed one of the glasses next to him as he poured himself a drink. From the same place he set down the glass, he also picked up a small black remote, clicking a button on it. As a wall panel on the side of his cell began to open, he sipped his drink, swallowed, and spoke. “You shouldn’t take what they say seriously. What people say and what people do rarely cross over with one another.”

As he finished his sentence, he fixed a knowing, perhaps even intimidating look at Giorno. Giorno, however, didn’t notice this. He was distracted by what he saw behind the wall panel. Several handguns, a considerable supply of ammunition, and what appeared to be a military grenade. In addition, the panel also contained a DVD-player, a VCR, several books, a radio communication set, a box of cards, a violin, a baseball, and, perhaps most surprisingly, a large teddy bear.

''Is there even a difference between the prison and outside for Polpo? No, the prison might actually be even safer for him, since any potential assassination attempt would have to get through the guards outside and into his cell.''

 

Polpo pulled away from the wall panel, resting his weight against the wall of his cell and taking another drink of wine, as well as starting to eat the crackers he’d mentioned earlier. He was silent for a few moments, leaving Giorno to his thoughts- until they were rudely interrupted by a sickening crunch.

Giorno’s eyes swiftly shifted upwards to Polpo’s face, where he saw- the monster wasn’t just eating the cracker! His teeth dug into his fingernails, skin, and flesh, tearing through them with as little effort as they would have the cracker itself. From the sound of it, it was even possible that Polpo was even biting into the bones of his fingers themselves.

There was no question of if his eyes were mistaken- blood even stained the Capo’s lips and ran down his fingers and chin. Polpo’s eyes met Giorno’s, carrying a knowing, almost impish look. Giorno felt for a moment like a child caught looking at something he shouldn’t have, and for just as short a moment, he shamefully glanced away. When it came to him that he was showing weakness and looked back, the Capo was suddenly mere inches from the glass, still staring at Giorno.

Giorno realized he was getting used to Polpo’s strangeness when he didn’t even jump this time, his heart failing to skip a beat as the sudden movement would have caused it to just moments before. He glanced to the hand that the Capo had bitten into moments before, seeing it apparently completely restored. Not only was it fully intact, there wasn’t so much as a drop of blood left on it.

''That doesn’t make any sense… are my nerves getting to me? That’s impossible, I couldn’t just be hallucinating- there doesn’t seem to be any doubt that the Capo is a Stand-user, like me and Bucciarati!''

 

As if reading Giorno’s thoughts, Polpo’s next words immediately parroted the name in the young man’s mind. “Bucciarati told me a lot about you, Giorno Giovanna. And about your great resolve to accomplish your goal… and join this organization!”

Upon Polpo mentioning his “great resolve to accomplish his goal,” Giorno’s heart nearly skipped a beat. For just a moment he feared that Bruno had betrayed him and revealed his true motivation to the Capo, which would have put him into a potentially lethal situation. It seemed, however, that Polpo was blissfully unaware of his desires against the gang’s Boss.

“If that’s the case, there’s no point in wasting time. I have a few questions to ask you.”

Polpo straightened himself, staring directly down at Giorno through the glass, his constant little smile still gracing his enormous face. “What do you think is the most important factor in choosing an ally, Signor Giovanna?”

“Could it be their abilities and skills, perhaps?”

“That is important indeed, Giorno! So tell me, what skills do you have?”

Polpo’s posture and expression had changed. His attention was totally on Giorno, and the blonde man knew exactly what was expected of him. Even if this was not the moment of truth, this was doubtlessly his best opportunity to immediately impress the Capo. Knowing this, he’d prepared his next trick in advance.

He lifted his fists, tiny, nearly invisible fleas in each hand twisting and squirming, the influence of his ability, Gold Experience, transforming the living beings into their original forms. As he opened his hands, rather than miniscule insects falling from them, their place was taken by paper money, coins, credit cards, and a wallet, complete with the IDs of one of the guards outside.

Polpo’s mouth opened into a wide grin, an impressed gasp bursting forth as he burst into applause, showing no shame in admitting that Giorno had done well. Giorno didn’t let it show, but he was deeply relieved by this display.

“I pulled this off of her when he was patting me down- of course, I plan to return it. Money is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to take someone’s ID for no reason.”

Polpo quieted, before chuckling. “Certainly a useful skill. Are you capable of anything else?”

Giorno shook his head. “Other than party tricks I can perform, that is my only useful skill.”

Polpo let his normal expression shift slightly, his eyelids lowering an almost imperceptible level as he took another sip of wine and sat back, slightly further from the glass. “Really? That’s all? You don’t have any particular skill in fighting, or in assassination?”

Giorno raised an eyebrow at this line of questioning and frowned slightly. “No, I do not. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

Polpo laughed again, the same laugh as before. A terrible laugh, the deep sound emerging from his gaping mouth with the sort of impact one might expect from a foghorn. “Well then, Giorno Giovanna, you must be a truly lucky man- to be able to defeat Bruno Bucciarati and Leaky-Eyed Luca in combat without any skill at fighting at all! We could use a lucky man like you in our gang!”

Giorno gasped in surprise, his eyes wide as he took another involuntary step back. “W-what? I thought-“

“You thought that Bucciarati wouldn’t tell me? Well, you were right about that, Bruno did not speak a word of it to me. But then, Bruno often forgets to tell important parts of a story. I merely noticed that when Bucciarati came in to tell me about you and offer his support to you joining, that he was missing a tooth- a molar, no less, not an easy tooth to lose. Furthermore, his cheek was bruised, and he was favoring his right side. I presumed he gained those injuries fighting the killer of Leaky-Eyed Luca. And now you enter this place with injuries of your own. Not only is your left arm injured, but you are having trouble standing fully straight, right?”

Polpo shifted his weight further back, resting his back against the space between his refrigerator and the false wall of his cell. He raised his free hand, before lowering it and pointing his finger at Giorno’s chest. “That’s because of your sore ribs, right? I see the expression on your face! I’m right, aren’t I?”

Again, he laughed, longer and more uncomfortably than before. What was more uncomfortable, though, was his sudden cessation of laughter. Giorno clenched his fists and took another few steps backwards, his eyes flitting about to ensure that no sudden attack was coming from the sides- and more importantly, that no Stand was preparing to attack him from an unexpected angle.

“Ah, and that’s strange! You expect that I will attack you, and yet your gaze keeps travelling to either side of me! It’s as if you expect something other than me to come from my cell, or perhaps to appear from outside it! How very strange! And yet you say you have no special ability, Giorno Giovanna?”

''Shit! He’s been onto me from the first word he said to me! And if he knows I defeated Bucciarati, he must also know there’s no way I could have defeated him without a Stand ability! If he knew that from the start, why did he spend all this time leading me on?”''

 

When Polpo spoke again, his voice was suddenly serious and somber, its bouncing tones and playfulness immediately gone. “What caused you to attack Luca, Giorno Giovanna?”

Giorno cringed, not certain how to answer. Ultimately though, it seemed that the answer that made him seem the most innocent of ill-will toward the gang was the truth.

“I’m not certain why Luca attacked me. I believe he was under the impression I was invading his territory as an enforcer. He struck at me, and I defended myself.”

“And how did you defend yourself? You see, Polpo had an “ability.” One that made him very, very difficult to kill. Since he died, I have been quite curious as to how it was done.”

Giorno blinked. ''Is he bluffing? When Luca attacked me, he merely struck one of Gold Experience’s creations and fell unconscious immediately. He didn’t demonstrate any ability, Stand or otherwise! If he’s bluffing and I lie, he’ll know I’m untrustworthy, but if he’s not, or if I tell the truth, he’ll learn the nature of Gold Experience! In that case… I need to attempt a bluff myself.''

 

“I’ll be completely honest. I never noticed Luca ever using any ability. He merely swung his shovel at me. I used my Gold Experience to generate a poisonous insect that flew into his mouth. After he swallowed it, he fell unconscious, and I struck him once with his shovel to ensure he didn’t follow me. I didn’t mean to kill him, but it appeared that his shovel must have been weighted with lead, because it came down with more force than I intended on.”

“Gold Experience, is it? Tell me about it.”

“It is an ability I’ve had for a few years. It allows me to create poisonous or venomous animals which then obey my command or attack targets of my choice. The poison I struck Luca with would not have been fatal on its own, but it was very fast-acting.”

“Interesting! A very useful ability! Can you demonstrate it?”

Giorno reached to the ground carefully and picked up a coin. It seemed he’d be forced to reveal that he needed to transform an object into a living creature, but at least he could hide Gold Experience’s full ability from Polpo for the time being. The coin in his fingers glowed gold, before shifting and altering itself into the form of a red-colored fly, which took flight and buzzed around outside the cell.

“Is that a sufficient demonstration, sir?”

“It certainly is. And you can change the coin back?”

Giorno snapped his fingers, the fly’s buzzing suddenly stopping as it changed back into a coin and struck the ground with a ringing sound that seemed to fill the entire silent prison hall. Polpo nodded slowly.

“I suppose that ability is also somewhat useful for transporting objects.”

“Only somewhat. I can only change a given object into a poisonous creature of the same size, so the largest item I can transform is one that’s roughly the size of a king cobra, the largest poisonous land creature that I know of.”

“And you used that ability to defeat Bucciarati?”

“He attacked me with his ability, and did considerable damage before one of my creations stung and paralyzed him. His injuries all came from striking the floor of the train we were in, as I didn’t hit him afterwards.”

“This is all very interesting indeed. May I know why exactly you decided to join this gang afterwards, and why Bruno decided to trust you? Trust, after all, is the most important aspect of choosing your allies! Without trust, everything else is meaningless? How can I trust you, knowing you killed a member of this gang and attacked another?”

“For my entire life, I’ve been forced to fend for myself. My mother and father beat me, and I had to provide for most of my needs from a young age. I was kicked out of home when I was 11, and have lived on the streets since then, making a living through stealing, and sometimes even begging. The only man who’s ever been kind to me was a gangster I met when I was younger. The man has since died, but I’ve always told myself I wanted to be like him- when I was much younger, I once told myself I wanted to be a “Gang-star.”

Giorno forced himself to release a natural-sounding laugh at that last bit. The addition of the embarrassing name was meant to make Polpo trust him more, of course. Who would willingly add something that would embarrass them if they were lying? Polpo further relaxed in his seat, before suddenly nodding.

“You are a strange man, Giorno Giovanna, but there is one thing I cannot deny- your ability is truly useful. I cannot, while being responsible as a Capo in my service to the Boss, allow you entry to a team with a man who knowingly lied about you, and with whom you have had an unknown alliance. However, your ability is incredibly useful for the purpose of assassinations- and thus, I will allow you a place in our gang! You will be joining La Squadra Esecuzioni, the Hitman Squad!”

''Shit. I knew my luck couldn’t keep going like this. Obviously this fat bastard won’t let me join up with Bucciarati if he know we’re keeping secrets from him- I’m lucky he isn’t attacking me outright… but joining the Hitman Squad? How can I possibly accomplish my goal if I’m working alongside outright strangers? Murderous strangers, no less… but I can’t fail to take advantage of this. I have to count myself lucky that Polpo admitted me into Passioné in the first place. If I can’t-''

 

“Lost in thought, Giovanna?”

When Giorno looked back up at Polpo, the serious expression on his face had finally been replaced by a knowing smile. It seemed he didn’t fault Giorno for being troubled by this sudden decision.

“I suppose I am. I assume that La Squadra Esecuzioni is exactly what it sounds like.”

“That exactly, yes. “La Squadra,” as members of the gang like to call them, are sent to eliminate enemies of Passioné, and most of them work as private hitmen on their own, or at least have in the past. I hope you aren’t squeamish about killing people, Giorno Giovanna.”

“I’m not certain. As far as I know, the only person I’ve killed thus far is Luca, and I can’t say I feel much grief. T-that being that he assaulted me unprovoked, that is.”

Giorno’s heart had skipped a beat when he realized he’d admitted to not regretting his outright murder of a member of Passioné. His sudden explanation was his best hope to not look like some sort of enemy of the gang.

“No need to excuse yourself. Luca was known as a loose canon, and I cannot fault you for being the one to finally end his volatile life. You should be aware, of course, that La Squadra is a group made up of some particularly eccentric individuals… you have got to be somewhat odd to live a life so full of killing. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

Giorno sighed and frowned. “I hate to admit it, but you’re probably correct. How shall I make contact with the Hitman Team?”

“I’ll leave it up to them how to initially contact you- but you can wait for them at Bucciarati’s restaurant… and that’ll also give you the opportunity to let him know that you’ve failed to join his group in the gang.”

Polpo winked, a deeply unsettling gesture purely by virtue of the way that it stretched the skin of his bald head. “Understood, Giovanna?”

“Understood, sir. When do you advise I go to the restaurant?”

“I’ll tell La Squadra to meet you there at noon tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time to prepare whatever you need.”

He shifted his weight again, lying against the far wall of the room, in a position that seemed to be more comfortable. Pulling his bottle of wine back out of the fridge, he glanced up at Giorno. “Well? What are you still doing here? Don’t you have an ID to return to someone?”

Giorno jumped slightly at his sudden gruff tone and nodded, collecting the money and wallet from the floor and stepping away from his cell. Strangely, his second trip down the hallway of the prison, having already met Polpo and being informed he’d be working with a team of killers, was considerably less stressful than the first. He didn’t have to fake his confident expression or unaffected posture. If the mysterious Capo was no big deal- then maybe he wouldn’t have so much trouble with this after all.

''La Squadra Esecuzioni. I certainly would never have guessed I’d be rooming with professional murderers earlier today. What a truly bizarre turn to this adventure. ''

 

Chapter Two: Unpleasant Experience

The moment Giorno passed through security again and stepped outside of the prison, he drew his phone the way a killer would draw his revolver moments before a murder, immediately dialing Bruno Bucciarati. Before he even opened his mouth to speak, Bruno took the initiative.

“How did it go? Polpo hasn’t yet contacted me.”

“Not well. Presuming he was telling the truth, he reasoned that you and I fought, and from that determined that I was a Stand-user… for that matter, did you know that Leaky-Eyed Luca was a Stand-user himself?”

“… Did you not know that, Giorno?”

“No! I used Gold Experience and immediately killed him! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just assumed you must have known if you had killed him, it didn’t occur to me your ability was capable of instantly killing someone.”

“Well, it occurred to Polpo. He assigned me to join La Squadra Esecuzioni, the Hitman Squad.”

For several moments, Bruno didn’t reply, silent across the phone line. In the background, Giorno could hear several belligerent-sounding voices seemingly arguing, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, except that one of them shouted something about “fish rubber.” Finally, Bruno broke his silence.

“This is a disaster. Not only will this make our collaboration difficult, the Hitman Squad is known as untrustworthy within Passioné and disloyal to the Boss. There’s almost no way a member of La Squadra could get close to the Boss without heavy suspicion.”

Now was Giorno’s time to pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with worry. “Bucciarati… do you think they’re actually disloyal to the Boss?”

“I cannot say for certain, except that there was a time a few years ago that at least two of the members of La Squadra attempted to ascertain the Boss’ identity and were killed for it. I don’t know about the others.”

“Then isn’t it possible that if I was sent to their squad, new to the gang and unheard-of, that they might suspect I was a spy from the Boss, sent to keep tabs on them, or even undermine them?”

This fear was followed by yet another long pause, before Bruno finally replied. “Giorno… you do not have to go through with this. You are not yet deep enough within this gang that it is impossible for you to leave. If you so desire, you can still leave Passioné behind you and seek other ways of accomplishing your dream.”

There was no pause this time. Giorno’s reply came immediately and with conviction. “No. Even if Polpo has made things difficult for me, I cannot allow this to overcome my resolve. It will not overcome my resolve. Polpo placed me in La Squadra because he knew I was conspiring with you, and he wanted me gone, dead, or at least crippled. But I, Giorno Giovanna, refuse to be crippled. I will join this Hitman Squad. If they seek to turn traitor, then I will join them. If they do not, I will still offer you all the assistance I can. I will not allow Polpo or anyone else to control my destiny.”

“Powerful words, Giorno. I wish you the best. But you shouldn’t be so swift to declare your revolution against the Boss. If you do not show restraint, you will be killed.”

“I know. Bucciarati, I will keep your words close to my heart. I’ll also keep contact with you as much as possible. Would it be reasonable for me to call you at least once a day for us to trade reports?”

“For the time being, I will call you. If my team noticed I was always taking calls, they might grow suspicious, or even answer the calls themselves, and it would give me more to worry about. Let me know if La Squadra or anyone else grows suspicious in the same way, alright?”

“Understood. I’m going to return to my hotel and collect my things. Goodbye, Bucciarati.”

“Godspeed, Giorno.”

With that, Giorno hung up his phone, returning it to his pocket and heading back off to his (conveniently rather nearby) hotel on foot. Not long after hanging up, Giorno silently cursed himself for forgetting to ask Bruno if he knew anything about particular members of La Squadra. Polpo had ominously warned him about them, so it behooved him to get an early understanding of them as individuals if he could.

Still, he recalled what Bruno had said about repeatedly taking calls and decided to hold off until later. As he headed home, he passed by several people who needed help, including a small elderly man carrying furniture and, bizarrely, a human pyramid that was at risk of losing its balance. He assisted each of them in turn, puzzling over the fact that so many people needed help just as he was reaching his hotel.

Having decided it was no matter, Giorno ascended the stairs leading to his hotel, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. The moment he entered, he was struck by how warm his room was compared to the air-conditioned halls of the hotel he’d just been in, but he didn’t think about it much at first.

He stepped over to his bed, somewhat heavily sitting down before beginning to take off his shoes. As he was doing so, though, something tickled the back of his neck. He turned, to see that it had only been the light curtains in his window. For a split second, the significance of this, too, escaped him.

Only for a split-second. He leaped to his feet, stepping to the center of his room and glancing about. The reason the room was so warm was because hot air from the Italian summer had been blowing in through the window, and the curtain blew against him as it was pushed by wind. This all happened because his window was open, when he’d been certain to leave it closed.

This could only mean that someone or something had opened his window in his absence. Gold Experience shined to his side as he swiftly glanced about the room. Once he’d made sure that no one was in full view, he began checking hiding spots. Under the bed and desks, against the walls, and above him in the… ceiling.

Giorno stared up at the light fixture, from which was hanging an unusually-short Japanese kid in a school uniform, a hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face. Next to him was his Stand, the same one he’d used to fight Giorno before. The white Stand, even smaller than its user, stared at Giorno with a similar expression to its master’s in its eyes, before speaking.

“S-H-I-T. Masta, it looks like we played ourselves.”

''That’s the Japanese tourist I robbed earlier! Why is he here? How is he here? He shouldn’t even know where I’m staying! Can he somehow track his wallet? Why was he hiding on my ceiling? How!?''

 

The tourist, a certain Koichi Hirose, was paralyzed by inaction for only a few moments, before suddenly exploding into frantic movement, attempting to dive from the light fixture to the still-open window. He was quick, but Gold Experience was much quicker. The thin-built Stand rushed at him, fists swinging.

“MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDAMUDAMUDA MUDA!!!”

 

Instead of battering Koichi, however, Gold Experience’s attack was aimed at the light fixture he was still holding, transforming it, and the light attached to it, into a leafy plant, the vines of which swiftly extended, coiling around the white-haired tourist and restraining him, eventually pressing him tight against the ceiling.

As he struggled, his Stand disappeared within him. Giorno, considering the battle resolved in his favor, pointed up at his captured foe with an accusatory look.

“Why are you here?”

Though Koichi didn’t answer, instead continuing his attempts at escape, Giorno delivered a swift punch to his face with Gold Experience, encouraging his lips to start moving. “I asked you why you came here!”

Koichi sniffed, a drop of blood falling from his nostril as he glared down at Giorno, his struggling quieted. “Why do you think, asshole? I’m here to get my wallet back! I don’t even care about my money, but it has my passport in it! Without it, I’m stranded here in Italy!”

Giorno mostly ignored the reply, before simply asking another question. “How did you find this place?”

Again, Koichi remained silent, simply burning holes in Giorno’s eyes with his stare. For the second time, Gold Experience punched Koichi’s face, this time leaving him with a slowly-bleeding lip. “Did you not hear me?”

For the second time, Koichi complied under threat of physical violence. “I just followed you. My Stand has a long range and can get a bird’s-eye-view, so I just kept track of where you were and came here as soon as I could.”

Giorno ruminated on this for a moment before accepting it. Finally, a question occurred to him that he simply needed to ask thanks to his burning curiosity. “You’re a total stranger from another continent, but it just happened that when we met, we both had Stand abilities. How common are those abilities?”

For the third time, Koichi refused to answer, this time going as far as to spit blood from his crimson-soaked mouth down at Giorno, missing him but staining the carpet. And for the third time, Giorno fired upward at Koichi with Gold Experience’s fist- but a split second too late, he realized something was wrong. Written on Koichi’s face was a small, but boldly-colored symbol.

Giorno didn’t recognize it, but this symbol was Japanese kanji, and when translated it simply read “DORA.” Giorno didn’t notice it in time to stop Gold Experience’s punch, and when it connected, it was punished with a ''vengeance. ''The second his fist made contact, Gold Experience’s “muda” was overpowered by the furious shouting of a similar cry- “DORARARARARARARARARA! DORRRRAA!”

The noise wasn’t alone, however, as from the rough place on Koichi’s face that the kanji had been and the sound was emerging, dozens of ethereal pink fists emerged, punching at Giorno and Gold Experience with relentless fury. Each punch connected with an impact that Giorno only knew to compare with Bruno’s Sticky Fingers, driving him to the floor of his hotel room.

As soon as he was down, Koichi’s humanoid Stand appeared, its mach-speed punches assaulting the vines around him. “Act Three! Three Freeze!”

With those words, the vines restraining Koichi began to grow heavier and heavier, straining against the ceiling, before finally tearing free of it and dropping to the ground- directly on top of Giorno. Koichi positioned his legs so that both of his knees, weighted down by the vines, impacted Giorno’s stomach directly.

Giorno didn’t know what a powerbomb was, and he’d certainly never been hit by one, but there was a first time for everything. Almost immediately, his gasping cough was followed by a burst of blood from his mouth. Gold Experience, staggered by the attack but still acting to defend Giorno, rapid-punched Koichi in his side, forcing him off of Giorno’s stomach. At the same time, the vines around him convulsed and shifted, before transforming back into a rigid light fixture with enough force to throw Koichi off of it.

The tourist didn’t seem too bothered by this, despite the fact that it must have hurt like hell. Instead, he simply sprinted for the window, diving out of it fast enough that the out-of-breath Giorno didn’t have time to react until he was already out of Gold Experience’s range. Even if he could have caught him, Giorno wasn’t certain he particularly wanted to.

He was lying on the slightly-cracked wooden floor of his hotel room, occasionally coughing up blood, with a torn-down light fixture on the ground next to him, complete with shattered bulb. Giorno had never heard of an NFL linebacker, but if he had, he’d have said it felt like one of them slammed his gut with a sledgehammer.

He gingerly made an attempt at sitting up, before swiftly deciding against it when he realized that all of the muscles involved in sitting up had been crushed into a pulp along with 50% of his digestive system. Instead, he simply rolled over and used Gold Experience to haul him into the nearby bed. He was still lying down and in horrible pain, but at least the bed was more comfortable than the floor.

''That kid… he wasn’t just an average tourist. There’s no doubt, he’s had to fight for his life before. Those eyes… I didn’t realize it before, but… I was no match for him. Those were the eyes of someone who wouldn’t allow himself to be defeated, no matter what. When he put his mind to something, he would accomplish it- even if I’d moved to Siberia, he still would have followed me to get his wallet back… I never should have… made him my enemy…''

Just as he was about to slip into blissful unconsciousness as his body’s defense mechanism to avoid the agony, he was brought out of his stupor by a careful knock at the door. Giorno gritted his teeth as he did his best to speak loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Y-yes? Who is it?”

“This is housekeeping. Are you Mister Giorno Giovanna?”

“That’s right. What’s wrong?”

“We were told by some other guests that there was quite a commotion in your room. Is everything alright?”

Giorno internally groaned, thinking a moment on his answer. “Everything is fine. I had a bit of an accident I’ll pay for when I check out, but I’m alright and I don’t need anything. Do you mind giving the other guests my apologies?”

“That won’t be a problem, sir. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to improve your stay.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes sir, sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you, miss.”

With that, Giorno finally relaxed, or at least the best one can relax with a bruise that takes up 30% of their skin’s surface area and a perforated intestine.

''Ever since Gold Experience appeared, my wounds have always recovered swiftly, but this is probably the worst injury I’ve ever had. It won’t do to meet La Squadra weakened, but I can’t exactly see a doctor… I guess I’m just going to have to lie here until I can stand and then tough it out. I can only hope this day doesn’t somehow get even worse.''

 

Chapter Three: Chilling Wind

By dawn the next day, Giorno had already stopped hacking up his own guts, and he was even confident that he might be able to stand if he wanted to.

He really, really, did not want to. He’d barely moved from bed all night and the rest of the day before, and the closest he’d come to getting up was sitting up slightly to drink a bottle of water he had Gold Experience bring him. Still, it was about 6 AM, which meant he had to be in shape to move out in about five hours, and had to be ready to meet La Squadra in one more.

He knew he could do it, but he definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. Koichi had done a real number on him, and even when he did finally manage to get into shape to move, he’d be far from operating at his best. Still, he resolved to show no weakness to La Squadra, or even to Bruno for that matter.

And not just because he was embarrassed that he lost to someone who looked like they were 11. That was only part of the reason. The primary reason was that he knew that, to La Squadra, he’d either look like a threat or a liability. Either way, they’d want him gone at first, and if he fit the bill of someone they could defeat without losses, he stood in very real danger of them attacking him.

Bearing that in mind, he decided it was about time for him to stop acting like an American and actually get off of his ass. He clenched his abs, forcing himself to sit up. The pain that shot through him was so unexpectedly intense that he let out a desperate gasp for air upon completing it, but that was the hardest part done. He turned to the side of the bed, setting his feet on the ground and once again forcing himself upward, though most of the work this time went to his legs, which compared to his abdominals were in absolute tip-top shape.

With a few more involuntary noises of pain, Giorno began to pace around his room, doing his best to imitate his own natural, confident stride. After a few minutes of this, he managed to basically hide the fact he’d gotten his ass thoroughly kicked just a few hours earlier, and moved to the mirror. Sure to his suspicions, his face was covered in bruises from the “Dorara” barrage that the tourist had somehow attacked him with before.

''What sort of unfair Stand ability did he even have? Not only could he increase the weight of objects, but he was also able to attack me with punches at least as strong as Bucciarati’s… and from his face, no less. I almost wish I could have known him as a friend, if only just to learn about that ability. Or to have it on my side…''

 

Giorno wasn’t too worried about this, however. He sat down in front of the mirror, pulling out his makeup palate. Within a few minutes, he was already well on his way to hiding the multiple bruises (including one particularly deep purple mark where it appeared his cheekbone had been broken,) and within the hour, he looked basically completely normal. He internally thanked his lucky stars for his life-long interest in fashion giving him that sort of skill with the blotter.

Again, Giorno stood, and again, he cringed in pain. It was getting better, or at least he was getting used to it. Gingerly, he rapped his knuckles against his stomach a few times, at first barely able to hold in a cry of agony, but eventually managing to keep a straight face as he normalized himself to the pain.

''Still, I hope nothing hits me in the gut. It wouldn’t do well for La Squadra’s first impression of me to be me crying like a baby.''

 

He wasn’t actually too worried. His willpower was anything if not weak, and he was confident that his injuries would be mostly healed in a few more hours. It seemed that Gold Experience merely needed to exist in order to “give life” to his body. It was all strikingly convenient, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Giorno once again began pacing about his room, this time collecting a few small things he’d want to have on him if he didn’t have the opportunity to come back, keeping them in a small purse. At the same time, he confirmed that Koichi had indeed stolen back all of his belongings that Giorno hadn’t already sold.

In his bag, Giorno collected about half of the money he had stockpiled (equaling out to 65,000 yen,) makeup, cologne, spare ladybug brooches for his shirt (they were always falling off!) a knife, his ID, and a small bit of money in the form of pocket change, which he always carried for the purpose of using with Gold Experience.

''I’m certain I’m forgetting something. There must be something I should be putting in here that I haven’t… damn, what is it? Well, if I can’t remember it, it shouldn’t be that important. I can probably get it later anyway.''

With this little collection of useful stuff ready, he sat down on his bed once again, catching his breath. Inhalation was the most painful part, so he’d found himself simply declining to breathe, which naturally wasn’t the best way to keep up the façade of perfect health. Giorno, trapped between the “rock” of standing up and the “hard place” of lying down and then being forced to sit up again, simply resolved to sit there, closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, thirty minutes had passed and he was already feeling better than he had when he sat down, albeit a hell of a lot lazier as well. His drive to get off his ass once again led him to get to his feet, pick up his bag, put on his shoes, and stroll out the door. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going; only that he had to get moving somehow so as not to feel like a sack of trash- and to get used to the pain of walking.

He considered heading early to Bruno’s restaurant, but didn’t want to pull up unannounced. He considered calling ahead, but remembered Bruno’s warning not to call (except in emergencies, he presumed,) and decided against it. It was just as he was about to decide on somewhere else to go that his phone rang, the Caller ID revealing Bruno’s name. Swiftly, Giorno answered.

“Hello? Bucciarati?”

“Giorno! Why didn’t you tell me that you would be meeting La Squadra at my restaurant?”

Giorno took a moment to answer. After meeting Polpo, it seemed that particular detail had completely slipped his mind. “I… I utterly forgot. I had something of an altercation unrelated to Passioné afterwards and haven’t done much thinking about the situation. I’m sorry.”

“’Sorry’ hardly cuts it, Giovanna! I just received a call from Risotto Nero telling me that two of his men would be having an interview with you at noon, and it wasn’t two minutes before they were in here ordering drinks!”

“You mean members of La Squadra are already there?”

 

“Apparently waiting for you to arrive at noon, yes. Where are you?”

“I’m already on my way. I was planning on showing up early anyway.”

“I expect you to at this point! One of those here is an assassin named Prosciutto. He’s infamous for causing enormous collateral damage, and having him seen here could jeopardize my entire operation.”

Giorno gulped and nodded, a gesture that Bruno couldn’t actually see. “I’ll be right there, and I’ll have them out of your hair as quickly and painlessly as possible. Who’s the other?”

“Illuso. He’s mysterious, even by the standards of La Squadra. All I know of him are rumors- the first is that the bodies of those he assassinates are never found, and the second is that he had never killed anyone before joining the Hitman Squad. Also, he ordered a gelato, so apparently he likes sweets. That reminds me that- never mind! Just hurry up before people start remembering my restaurant as “that place that Formaggio eats.”

“I’ll be right there, Bucciarati. Count on it.”

“I hope I can.”

Having heard that reply, Giorno hung up his phone, putting it away. With a grunt of pain, he picked up his speed, moving from a swift walk to somewhere between a jog and a sprint. After Gold Experience manifested, he had always seemed to have nearly-unlimited stamina, but that didn’t mean that pushing himself with his injured gut would be any sort of easy. Still, he wasn’t going to let pain stop him, only slowing once Bucciarati’s storefront was in view, at which point he shifted down to a casual walk, normalizing his stride and catching his breath.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t be sweating or breathing heavily upon his entrance, Giorno stepped through the door of the restaurant. He was immediately greeted by the waiter. Before the smart-dressed man spoke, Giorno took the initiative.

“I’ll be seated with Mr. Formaggio and Mr. Illuso. I believe they ordered a table for three?”

The waiter looked a bit nervous upon hearing those names, but nodded. “That’s right, sir. They’re right over here.”

He guided Giorno to the table where the two were seated. Though he didn’t immediately know which was which, one of them was dressed in an eye-catching black and white checkered suit, with a slicked-back black haircut. The other had hair that couldn’t decide if it was white or blonde, styled in a “big” cut that would have been more at home in the 80s. This latter member wore an outfit that was something of a pastel grey-blue.

Giorno sat down wordlessly in front of them, acutely aware of the fact that despite how garish their outfits were, he’d somehow managed to wear something even more dramatic and head-turning in his overpoweringly blue outfit, complete with ladybug brooches.

Formaggio and Illuso didn’t say anything at first, merely looking Giorno up and down, overtly sizing him up. This left Giorno the clear opportunity to initiate conversation, and that he did.

“I’ve been told the two of you are Formaggio and Illuso, but I’m afraid I’m not sure which of you is which.”

The man with light hair and the simpler outfit offered a hand to Giorno. “My name is Illuso. The guy with me is Formaggio, yeah. You’re Giorno Giovanna, right?”

Giorno reached out and took his hand, shaking it firmly. Illuso’s handshake was fairly natural, neither limp nor crushingly tight. “That’s right, I am. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

After Illuso retracted his hand, Giorno turned to Formaggio and offered him a handshake in turn. As Formaggio reached toward his hand to grip it, Giorno thought he caught some movement in the corner of his eye, which led his gaze for a split-second to Illuso’s glass of water. Determining he was simply nervous, he turned his attention back to Formaggio, who took his hand in a grip that decidedly was crushingly tight.

“You’re a bit young, aren’t you, Giorno?”

Giorno kept a completely straight face during the time that Formaggio was apparently trying to break his fingers, with no small thanks to the fact that his gut hurt much worse than some intimidating handshake.

“I’m only 15, yes. That’s never gotten in my way before.”

Illuso willingly let his eyes go wide. “When he said “you’re young,” I had it in my head that you were about 17 or 18. You’re 15? My younger brother is older than you, and he looks like some sort of acne infestation that came to life. I never would have guessed you were so young.”

Giorno chuckled. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment, so thank you.”

Formaggio finally released his hand, pulling back and delivering a stare at Giorno that seemed to bore into his very soul. “I’ll get to the point, Giorno. Why are you here?”

Giorno turned to him, looking him directly in the eye with a determination that matched Formaggio’s own. “If you’re doing me the favor of being direct, I’ll give you the same benefit. When I was younger, my heroes were the Mafiosi of my community. It’s been a dream of mine to join the mob myself. When I was interviewed by Polpo, he decided that my abilities would be useful for assassinations, and sent me to you.”

Formaggio leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and seeming to be thinking to himself for a moment. As he did, a smug grin crossed Illuso’s face. He, too, leaned back, resting on the two back legs of his chair. “And what abilities are those, Giorno?”

Giorno turned to Illuso, looking him dead in the eye. As he did so, Gold Experience manifested behind him and reached over his shoulder, tapping its finger against a fork on the table and turning it into a writing snake. Keeping a totally deadpan expression and never breaking eye contact with Illuso, Giorno answered.

“I’m a very good shot with a revolver.”

At this display, Illuso set his chair back down on four legs and scooted a few inches away from the table, as Formaggio found it in him to let a slight smile cross his face. “I understand, Giovanna. Your aim could prove useful to us indeed. That’s enough demonstration.”

 

Giorno nodded, snapping his fingers as the snake twisted, curled, and transformed back into its original form as a piece of inert silverware. Once it had turned back, the startled Illuso grinned. “That’s impressive! Really impressive indeed. But everyone here is a pretty good shot- Formaggio, how about we go out to the shooting range and test out the newbie?”

Formaggio nodded. “Definitely. He’d ought to prove that he’s a remarkably good shot if he wants to join us.”

Without another word, all three of them got to their feet, Formaggio quietly turning around, slouching slightly, and walking toward the door. Without ever fully letting Giorno out of his vision, Illuso followed. Giorno took a moment to scan the inside of the restaurant before leaving, making eye contact with a very relieved Bruno across the room. Giving Bruno a single nod, he turned and followed Formaggio and Illuso.

Once they were out of the doors, Formaggio began talking, using no more volume than necessary to be heard by Giorno. “The general idea I got is that your ability is able to transform objects into snakes. From its shape, I assume it can also fight with its fists. Is that all?”

“Gold Experience can transform objects into venomous or poisonous creatures of a size roughly the same as the original objects. These creatures can obey my direct will, attack a specific person, or simply act as they would in nature at my choice. Also, you’re correct. Gold Experience can attack physically, and is very strong and swift.”

Formaggio nodded, never missing a stride or allowing his eyes to stray from straight ahead of him. Thanks to his performance, no one on the street paid them a moment’s notice. “And what sort of skills do you have yourself?”

“Not many. I’m quick with my fingers, and I’m a very good pickpocket. I’m also quite fit, and I tend to heal from injuries extremely quickly.”

Illuso, apparently tired of holding his peace, finally chimed in. “All Stand users have that last ability. We come back from getting hurt in no time compared to normal people. That’s why I think it’s better to have a Stand than not to, even if it’s a very weak one.” He paused to chuckle. “Prosciutto.”

Formaggio turned back for a moment, frowning at Illuso, before returning to his earlier normal walk. “I’ll expect you to demonstrate that pickpocketing ability, not that it’s something we use often. Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Just one.”

“Were you caught?”

“Yes.”

“Red-handed?”

“No.”

“By the police?”

“No.”

Formaggio was silent for a moment. “That’s good enough, I suppose. You’ll be properly interviewed by the boss to see if he can really let you work with us.”

Giorno raised an eyebrow. “The boss?”

Illuso laughed, shaking his head before Formaggio had a chance to reply. “Not the “Boss,” boss. Our boss, the boss of La Squadra Esecuzioni, Risotto Nero. Believe me; no new recruit is going to be meeting the actual Boss. Certainly not if they’re joining the Hitman team…”

 

Giorno nodded in understanding. “Risotto Nero. That’s the one that Bucciarati said called him and told him you were coming.”

Formaggio turned back to make eye contact once more, this time with Giorno. “Are you two friends?”

“I wouldn’t say “friends.” He’s the one who invited me into Passioné in general, and the one who vetted me to Polpo.”

Neither Illuso nor Formaggio decided to ask about why Bucciarati invited Giorno in, or why he was so quick to speak for him. It went without saying that Bruno had also seen Giorno’s Gold Experience, and had invited him on the merit of him being a Stand user. When someone did speak, it was Illuso, breaking the silence with another quiet chuckle.

“Was Polpo still as fat as he used to be? When I last saw him, he must have weighed 400 kilograms!”

Giorno laughed as he replied. “Either you’re underestimating, or he’s gained weight since then. I’m pretty sure he was at least 600 when I met him. He also must’ve been five meters tall!”

Illuso shook his head in something resembling disbelief. “That’s just ridiculous. What a monster. If that’s true, he must hold the world records for both the heaviest and tallest man! Formaggio, do you think that’s possible?”

Formaggio shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s worth the energy to think about. One way or another, Polpo is some sort of freak. But in my opinion, he must be so large because of a Stand ability of some kind.”

Illuso rolled his eyes. “A Stand ability that just makes you fat? Or at least, one that makes you tall and fat. It must be called “Earthquake,” because of the way he shakes the ground when he walks anywhere.”

Giorno chuckled. “No, that’d be too on-the-nose. It’d be called “Whirlwind,” because when he enters a room, he displaces all the air and makes a blast of wind out the door.”

Formaggio allowed a ghost of a smirk to cross his face, speaking softly, but somewhat less seriously than before. “No, even that’s too logical. Call it “Firestorm,” because the friction between his rolls of fat ignites his clothes when he moves.”

Giorno and Illuso both laughed, but it seemed they both decided the joke was at its end, because neither continued. If they had, Giorno would have suggested calling it “Earth, Wind, and Fire” as a combination of their suggestions, but it was probably a good thing he didn’t. It probably wouldn’t have been funny.

The three continued moving until Formaggio abruptly turned and strolled into an abandoned alleyway, a move that seemed to surprise even Illuso. Formaggio leaned against a brick wall, motioning for Illuso to make himself comfortable. Locking eyes with Giorno, Formaggio frowned.

“Giorno Giovanna! This will be the last part of my test. I’ll be determining the limits of your Stand’s strength and speed. But first- hand me Illuso’s wallet.”

Giorno smiled slightly as Illuso raised his eyebrows in confusion and immediately began checking his pockets. In the mean time, Giorno tossed his leather wallet straight over to Formaggio’s waiting hand. “Not bad, Giorno.”

Illuso jumped back up. “You seriously stole my wallet!? When? How did you get that past me?”

Giorno shook his head. “If I told you, I’d be giving away my secrets, and if I did that, you’d have no reason to keep me around, would you?”

Again, Formaggio seemed at least slightly amused; enough to let a small smile crack his face as he handed the wallet back to an indignant Illuso, who mumbled something about “keeping his eyes open next time.” Giorno regretted angering Illuso right after they seemed to be getting along, but Formaggio had clearly implied he expected Giorno to do so, and failing to succeed would have been “failing the test.”

As Illuso did something with his wallet, Formaggio stood and stared Giorno straight in the eye. “Prepare your Stand. I’m going to attack you with mine, and I’ll be aiming to kill. If you fail, you’ll never leave this alleyway. Don’t use your abilities, either. I only want a demonstration of your strength, speed, and precision!”

Giorno nodded, his previously somewhat mirthful expression changing to one of grim determination, his body tensing into a battle stance. He barely noticed the bolts of pain striking up and down his gut, instead focused on the fight at hand. Gold Experience appeared before him, floating in the air with its fists guarding its face and its legs somewhat protecting its midsection.

Formaggio took one step back and thrust out one arm to the side, flexing each of his fingers in turn. “Grateful Dead!”

With that exclamation, a sickly green-purple light began to glow around him, and an uncomfortable, animalistic growl filled the air. The first physical signs of his Stand were drops of liquid that dripped to the ground from thin air, before the two massive, trunklike legs of Grateful Dead animated into view. From there, the Stand made its appearance fully known, its shape that of a large head and torso, supported by two titanic limbs that resembled an elephant’s padded feet, except complete with meaty, clawed fingers. The Stand floated into the air, moving slightly closer to Giorno.

Gold Experience didn’t waste a moment, rushing toward Grateful Dead with a few feint jabs that Grateful Dead blocked by lifting its arm, roaring like a rabid beast as it did so. Gold Experience’s other arm swung with a more powerful haymaker, also blocked. This time, Grateful Dead slammed its “palm” into Gold Experience’s fist, the two of them clashing evenly. It seemed that the two Stands were closely comparable in sheer power, despite Grateful Dead’s superior bulk.

As Illuso watched with rapt attention, Giorno moved closer to Gold Experience. The change in positioning would increase his Stand’s speed and power, but put himself at risk of direct attack from Formaggio. Gold Experience rushed Grateful Dead, changing its strategy to simply deliver strike after strike, aiming at gaps in the Stand’s guard whenever possible.

Though Grateful Dead’s guard remained ironclad at first, Giorno began getting more and more hits in over time. Even before, Grateful Dead was kept on the defensive, but now it seemed it was unable to do even that. With each successful strike, Formaggio flinched, damage to his Stand converting directly into damage to his own body. Still, he didn’t surrender, keeping his eyes carefully locked on Giorno and Gold Experience.

Though Formaggio’s tactics kept him safe at first, they finally seemed to break down at the worst possible time. Just as Giorno was preparing for a powerful strike, a gaping hole in Grateful Dead’s guard appeared, which Giorno eagerly attacked, pounding the Stand in the side of its head. The satisfying impact of Gold Experience’s fist was followed by a trickle of blood from Formaggio’s forehead- and strangely, a confident grin on his face.

Giorno realized too late that he’d fallen for Formaggio’s bait, Grateful Dead’s powerful limb swinging toward Gold Experience’s legs with a monstrous hook and a terrifying roar. The impact didn’t do much damage, but knocked GE’s stance out of whack, and threw it completely off-balance. Meanwhile, Giorno slid a good meter across the concrete floor of the alleyway, barely managing to keep his footing.

This wasn’t the end of Giorno’s troubles, however, not by a longshot. Grateful Dead’s other arm was still only lining up for its attack, swinging forward with a victorious screech. Unimpeded, it hammered into Gold Experience’s stomach with the force of a high-speed collision, sending Giorno immediately falling backwards, hacking blood from his throat and gripping his injured gut.

Formaggio missed no opportunity, rushing forward toward Giorno so that he could get him once again within the Grateful Dead’s range and attack his body directly. “You made a grave mistake, Giorno Giovanna! Though it’s important to guard vulnerable parts of your body, being too careful to guard one area makes it an obvious target! That was your ultimate mistake!”

''Was I really guarding my stomach that carefully? I didn’t even realize I was making it obvious. Shit, this really hurts! If anything, it’s worse than when that bastard first slammed down into it before! But he won’t beat me here. He says he’ll kill me if I lose? He won’t have the chance.''

Once he was in range, the watching Illuso now completely invested in the results of the fight, Formaggio returned to his earlier stance, Grateful Dead’s leg lifting into the air above Giorno’s head. He was moments from attacking and presumably crushing Giorno’s skull when he was given pause. Giorno, too, was grinning in just the same way as the assassin had been before.

Formaggio only hesitated for a moment, but that was enough for Giorno. “You made a mistake too, Formaggio. You’re right that I had a weakness- but nothing’s going to bring me down in just one attack. If you really wanted to beat me, you should have used your Stand’s ability- because now, you’ve missed your opportunity.”

Formaggio realized his mistake even before he saw Gold Experience. By bringing Giorno into Grateful Dead’s range, he’d also brought himself into Gold Experience’s- and Giorno’s smile had made him hesitate just long enough. “Don’t underestimate my resolve, Formaggio! Take this as a learning experience!”

Formaggio had already learned his lesson, and Grateful Dead began attacking before Giorno had finished his sentence- but Gold Experience was quicker on the draw, its fist impacting Formaggio right where Grateful Dead had attacked Giorno before, before rearing back to deliver another punch- the first of a few dozen, naturally.

“MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDAMUDAMUDAMUDAMUDAMUDA- MUDAAAAA!!!”

 

Each punch struck Formaggio at a slightly different angle, each one coming with enough force to send him staggering back, but not to send him flying- until the very last strike, which caught him under the chin and lifted him straight into the air, flying back and landing on the ground.

Neither Formaggio nor Giorno wasted time getting to their feet, Formaggio gingerly feeling at his injuries as Giorno almost hopelessly gripped his stomach, trying and failing to resist as he vomited a mixture of stomach acid and blood at a wall. After he’d finished that experience, embarrassing and painful in equal measure, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his lips, turning toward Formaggio with a pained smile.

“Sorry… I got a bit caught up in the moment there. Are you alright?”

Formaggio replied merely by looking from the puddle of blood-vomit up to Giorno and then back down to the puddle. “I’m better than you, apparently. You pass. And you’re right- next time, I’ll use my ability, and I won’t hesitate to kill you. I don’t expect that you’ll pull your punches when, or if, that happens either.”

Giorno nodded. “I hope we don’t need to fight again, but when we do- don’t expect me to go halfway a second time.”

Formaggio half-smiled at this display of resolve, at which point Illuso finally broke his stunned silence. “What a fight! Formaggio, I had no idea Grateful Dead could even attack physically! And Giorno, you were also very impressive! Is that what fights between Stands are usually like? I’ve never had the misfortune of finding out for myself…”

 

Giorno gave an agonized chuckle and shook his head. “No, this fight was civilized. Usually, someone tears your arm off or drops a 100 kilogram weight on you.”

Formaggio actually laughed out loud at that. “Or they trap you in a hall of mirrors full of broken glass, or fill your bloodstream with needles. Yes, compared to that, this was more of a schoolyard football game.” Though he stopped laughing, that elusive smile finally stuck on his face. “Giorno, your Stand is quite powerful, and you have expert control of it. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ll give the boss my best endorsement… but don’t get your hopes too high up. He doesn’t like outsiders, and you probably won’t get as warm a greeting from the others as you did from us.”

Giorno nodded, attempting to give Formaggio a cheerful smile to show he wasn’t worried, but only ended up gagging and spitting up another not-inconsiderable bit of blood. Illuso’s eyes went a bit wide.

“Are you… gonna be OK? You look like you’re in pretty bad shape.”

Giorno, bending over with one hand on his knee and his head pointed down at the ground, gave Illuso a thumbs-up. I’ll be… fine.”

''I’m glad I was able to get the two of them on my side, but I swear to God if I get hit in the gut one more time, I might just murder that entire team. Or at least commit suicide-by-assassin, because death would frankly be preferable to… fuck! Asprin! That’s what I forgot earlier!''

 

Chapter Four: The Eighth Little Piggy

Formaggio had been kind enough to give Giorno a few minutes to recover from Grateful Dead’s devastating gut-punch before they moved on, this time heading directly for La Squadra Esecuzioni’s current base of operations. By the time they headed out, Giorno’s health had been somewhat restored, but he still felt far worse than he had when he woke up the previous morning, which was saying something.

For a few minutes, Illuso had continued to try to make conversation, but it became clear to him that neither Giorno nor Formaggio were in the mood to talk, though Giorno did attempt to politely deflect any questions he had without being rude.

Giorno walked in practically a haze of pain (and more than a little blood loss,) feeling he wasn’t fully lucid. It felt like he’d been walking for merely seconds, but every one of those seconds gave him the impression of an eternity as he fought to stay focused. Finally, (or perhaps “almost immediately,”) the three began walking up the stairs to what Illuso said was “it.” A small stone staircase led to a large and somewhat ornate wooden door. Formaggio knocked once, twice, and then a third time in what seemed to be a deliberate pattern, before simply opening the apparently-unlocked door and entering.

The foyer of the building they walked into was strikingly dark. No lights were turned on, and as Giorno glanced about, he noticed that all the windows were blocked by heavy curtains. Whether that was to keep the place dark or merely to keep people from seeing inside wasn’t immediately obvious. Giorno was tempted to turn on a light, but he figured that they must have had it this way for a reason.

Once they were inside, the front door closed behind them, Formaggio turned back to Giorno. “Stay here. Illuso and I will inform the rest of the group of how things went, and then we’ll call you in to introduce you. Don’t forget, you’re here hours early, so they won’t be expecting you yet. Stay quiet, don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything, and don’t vomit on the floor.”

Giorno nodded, confident on all counts except the last one. “Yes sir.”

Formaggio nodded in way of reply and waved for Illuso to follow him as he turned a corner and strolled out of Giorno’s sight.

''He’s certainly doing a lot to hype this first meeting up. I hope it disappoints, because I’m sort of starting to expect Dracula and his brides. Except he’s a murderer and they’re all men…''

 

Giorno waited for some period of time he wasn’t completely certain about, but it had to have been at least three or four minutes before he heard Formaggio’s voice from the next room. He didn’t waste any time striding swiftly toward where he heard the voice, and after opening an ominously-heavy door, he walked into a room that finally had a bit of lighting, even if it was dim.

The first thing Giorno noticed was that the room was lit in a dour red glow, most likely the result of someone literally using a red lightbulb. The second thing he noticed was that, counting Formaggio and Illuso, he was face-to-face with seven people, all sitting ominously around a table like the Bela Lugosi version of King Arthur’s Court.

Ignoring Formaggio and Illuso, Giorno immediately picked up a few immediately noticeable traits from each of them.

One wore red-rimmed sunglasses, sported very light, curly baby blue hair that bounced, immaculately-styled above his head, and shockingly well-defined cheekbones. He wore a sneer on his face as he stared at Giorno, as if he was having to restrain himself from spitting in his general direction.

Another looked quite dull compared to the rest of the pack. His main distinguishing feature was a reddish-brown almost-buzz-cut that looked like an alien spaceship had landed in it, judging by the incomprehensible pattern cut into it. He wore a red jacket with a variety of haphazardly-placed metal studs on it. His eyes, beady and cautious, glanced suspiciously over Giorno, examining him carefully.

The third was in the running for the oddest of the entire bunch. His appearance was overwhelmingly, shockingly purple. His hair, his tight leather outfit, and the silken Venetian mask he wore were all varying shades of violet. His “shirt,” if it could be called that, looked like someone had cut out large parts of it specifically to show off his pecs, abs, and chest, but still skillfully hide his nipple. His long hair fell down one side of his face, covering his right eye and reaching to his collarbone. He looked at Giorno with a sort of self-satisfied smirk that made it hard to imagine he saw the young man as anything more than a source of amusement.

The fourth was built the way a potato is built- haphazardly, and in a vague lump. His large, strangely-proportioned body was capped off with broad shoulders and a titanic, egg-shaped head, contrasted to long, slim limbs. He was one of only two at the table who’s expression didn’t offer any opinion of Giorno. Instead, he seemed somewhat confused, not attempting to hide the way he looked the newcomer up and down, or how hard he was thinking trying to formulate an opinion.

And the fifth (or seventh, counting Illuso and Formaggio,) was the crowning loony of this entire barrel of monkeys. The most immediately obvious thing about his appearance was the fact that his outfit was overwhelmingly black, to an extent that left the “overwhelming blueness” of Giorno’s own outfit utterly in the dust. Black pants, a black trench coat, black boots. A deep V-cut in the torso of his coat revealed his fantastic pecs, but they were somewhat obscured by black leather straps. To top it all off, his head was mostly covered by a black hood. From that hood jingled perhaps the most ridiculous part of any outfit in that entire room, Giorno’s own ladybug brooches and titty window notwithstanding.

This man’s hood had hanging, round pieces of copper in the same way a Christmas elf would have hanging bells. Though the round pieces of metal didn’t seem to be ringing like bells, each one did have a letter engraved on them. From Giorno’s perspective, the six of them seemed to read “R-I-Z,” on the right side of his face and a mirrored “Z-I-R” on the left size. Once Giorno finally managed to stop gaping at his elf-balls, he noticed three more facts about the man.

The first was his unreadable, piercing stare. Giorno, before this day, had only imagined he knew what a “piercing” stare was like. He’d thought that the expression on his father’s face in the picture of him looked right into his soul. He thought Polpo’s expression bored holes through him. He had even thought someone like Formaggio or Koichi had the potential to intimidate with his gaze.

But this? This horrible, unrelenting look that refused to allow him any respite- this made all the others look like cooing babies. He felt as if he was trapped, not just in this room, but in this moment, in this gaze. As he sat there, Giorno knew how the antelope must feel as it catches sight of a lion leaping from the tall grass.

And finally, the man blinked, and Giorno was free. Free to notice the second factor. This was that the man stared at him with black irises and red pupils, which was deeply unnerving on its own. Was he wearing contact lenses? Was it even possible for a man to stare at you like that wearing contacts?

And finally, the third thing to note- this last man, sitting at the center of them all, was ''enormous. ''Even sitting down, he towered over his fellow assassins like he wasn’t a man, but a statue of marble. Though he didn’t even approach the size of Polpo, his appearance was still inherently intimidating. Though Giorno wasn’t sure how tall he would be standing up, compared to an also-seated Formaggio, Giorno was sure this man was at least 2 meters tall.

''Dios mio… not one of these people has said a word, and I’m already on the back foot! Every stare here could either kill me or is being delivered by someone who wants to! I can’t just sit here gawking, I have to say something, do something, to not look like a terrified child! I have to steel my reso-''

 

“I am Risotto Nero.”

 

Giorno’s heart skipped a beat. The man to speak was the dark-hooded giant in the middle, apparently named “Risotto Nero.” Knowing that those balls on his ears saying “RIZ” were apparently short for his first name instantly made him less intimidating, but not so much less intimidating that Giorno was able to breathe yet.

“You’ve met my colleagues, Formaggio and Illuso.” He gestured to them, before moving on to the angry-looking one with blue hair. '''“This is Ghiaccio. And this is Prosciutto.” '''This time, he was pointing toward the suspicious-looking one with the shaved head.

Giorno could hardly focus on putting names to faces as he was still focusing on putting air in his lungs. Still, at least the shadowy veil over these people was beginning to recede… still…

''This overwhelming pressure… is it possible that this is completely natural? Could I be affected by a Stand ability? No… it’s these eyes… these horrible, overwhelming eyes. I saw in Koichi’s eyes that he’s fought for his life… are these the eyes of men who have fought to take them? Nevertheless, I cannot fail! I will not show a face of weakness! I will summon my resolve, for the sake of my dream!''

 

With that, Giorno’s own eyes shifted from those of confused terror to those of focused will. His breath and heartbeat steadied, and he took one step closer to the table of assassins.

''I, Giorno Giovanna, will not take one further step back! My humanity shall not limit my potential! From now onward and until the day I complete my goal, I only step forward! Even if a chilling wind blows in my path, my golden light shall shine through!''

 

Newly refocused and re-determined, Giorno returned his full attention to Risotto’s introductions. Next, the beast of a man pointed toward the man in all purple.

'''“This is Melone. And last of all, though not least of all, is our second-newest member, Pesci.”'''

 

The potato-shaped man blinked in confusion, leaning back. “Huuu~uh? But aren’t I the newest, boss? Who else is newer than me?”

Risotto replied by way of pointing directly at Giorno. His arm, visible underneath his sleeve as he pointed toward Giorno, looked like it had been filled with concrete and reinforced with rebar.

'''“Giorno Giovanna is our newest member. Giorno, Formaggio has judged you and found you not wanting. This will not be the last test you face as a member of La Squadra Esecuzioni, but you are without a doubt a member of this team. Sit where you like at our table, but two seats are reserved.”'''

 

Again, Risotto moved his hand, this time pointing toward two chairs at the far end of the table which were pushed close together.

'''“Those seats belong to two of our departed colleagues and friends. They may not be touched, moved, or used by anyone else. Is this understood, young Giovanna?”'''

 

Giorno took a few steps forward, pulled out one of the chairs that Risotto had not disallowed, and sat down in it, across from all seven of the other La Squadra members. He placed each of his hands on the table, his line of sight scanning slowly across each of the other members, locking eyes with them in turn. When faced with the resolve in his steely blue eyes, each reacted somewhat differently.

Ghiaccio only increased the hostility of his expression, his head cocking and lip jutting out like a mob enforcer that’s trying to look tough. Illuso grinned in approval, while Formaggio simply crossed his arms, unimpressed. Prosciutto’s expression grew more outright hostile, dangerous eyes staring back into Giorno’s. Risotto’s expression remained completely unchanged. A man of steel. Pesci blinked and slightly jumped, perhaps even intimidated by Giorno’s glare the same way Giorno had been by Risotto’s.

Melone, perhaps most uncomfortably, licked his lips.

Finally, Giorno spoke. “Completely understood, Mr. Risotto Nero. In turn, I shall make myself understood. When I joined Passioné, I did not intend for anyone to know of my Stand ability. I also did not intend to join a team of assassins. In fact, I have only killed one man so far in my life, and it was a case of self-defense.”

His hands, palms to the tabletop, began lifting as his fingers curled, eventually changing their shape into clenched fists, his elbows slightly rising as his shoulders squared.

“However! I should also let it be known that I plan no treachery against this team, nor do I intend to betray it in spirit. I am no spy, either literally or in any sense of metaphor. I will obey the orders of this team’s leader without question, with nearly no exceptions. I will kill neither women, nor children, nor those I know personally unless they turn traitor. In addition, I will not kill those I find completely blameless. Outside of those considerations, I intend to follow this Hitman Team I have ended up in wherever it goes, and I shall use all my strength to do so. Is this understood, Mr. Risotto Nero?”

With this last line, Giorno locked eyes with Risotto, matching him glare-for-glare, if only for a moment. The altercation, a battle of wills rather than bodies or minds, finally ended when Risotto, if only for a moment, smiled.

'“This is understood, young Giovanna. ''You and I shall speak further in private. Gentlemen, I am sure all of you have many things in mind you’d like to say to our new member- and perhaps, things you’d like to say to me. These will have to wait, if only for a moment. Giorno and I will speak. In private.”'''

 

Risotto needed to say nothing more. With that line, everyone else rose from the table, stepping out of the room, though a few of them grumbled a bit. As Illuso stepped out of the door, Giorno heard him verbally assaulted with questions and accusations from another member of La Squadra who’s voice Giorno didn’t yet recognize, all about him.

'''“They squabble, as all groups squabble, but they operate as a terrifyingly dangerous team in the field. Only once has the current team of seven, you withstanding, been in the field all at once. I wasn’t even a part of the plan. Watching them work together, their unique skills in harmony- it was like a symphony.”'''

 

Giorno grinned with bitter irony. “A symphony of death.”

'“Indeed, perhaps, but a Beethoven ''of death. You’re hiding part of your Stand ability from us.”'''

 

“Yes.”

'''“That’s alright. We all hide some of our abilities. Sometimes it’s to surprise or impress others, sometimes we merely wish to keep our cards close to our chest. Sometimes, we wish to use them in ambush against those we would call our allies. Sometimes, you simply want to keep a fat man from knowing the sort of power you have. Polpo is the smartest fool I know.”'''

 

“An apt description. He tore me apart with his eyes, and yet he missed what seemed obvious.”

“Polpo is a Holmes, but not a Poroit.” 

 

“I’m unfamiliar.”

'''“He’s very swift to understand what he sees, and he sees everything. He doesn’t miss a tiny detail. He’s even good at putting them together. But if there’s nothing to see, he understands nothing. He makes grandiose assumptions about the world, and until they’re contradicted, he assumes they’re always true. Perhaps it’s to his detriment that he always stays somewhere those views cannot be challenged.”'''

 

“Does he send everyone he doesn’t trust to you?”

'''“No. You’re the first. It’s why the men will be suspicious.”'''

 

“Aren’t you?”

'''“Of course. I’m just not afraid of you.”'''

 

“Because you could kill me. Crush me…”

Giorno, suddenly holding a coin he’d pulled seemingly from nowhere, flipped it into the air. It never landed, having transformed into a mosquito in midair.

“Like a bug, right Risotto?”

'''“That’s mostly correct. I mean you no harm, and I wish for your best success as a member of this team. Know that means you will be under strict scrutiny, and your early tests will be harsher than you expect.”'''

 

“I’m not entirely certain what to expect.”

'''“Formaggio introduced you to our method of testing. Before you’re proven, the price of failure will not be removal from the team.”'''

 

“I expected as much. I presume you don’t “test” your trusted members that way.”

“Once they’ve proven themselves, they’re valuable.”

 

“For more than just their assassination skills, right, “Boss?”

“You’re dangerous, Giovanna.”

 

Giorno moved his hand, leaving it palm-down. The mosquito, hovering some distance above the table, contorted with the sound of glass grinding against glass and fell swiftly, reduced to a hunk of molded metal. Just as it landed on the back of Giorno’s hand, his other swiftly struck it, trapping it under his palm.

“Not as dangerous as you, Nero. Heads or tails?”

Risotto smiled. His grin of amusement wasn’t nearly as malicious or slimy as Polpo’s, but it somehow still managed to be infinitely more threatening than Formaggio’s.

'''“Heads. Your room is down the hallway the men went down, sixth door on the right. #11. I’ll send in those you aren’t familiar with one by one so you have a chance to meet them without having to deal with the crowd all at once. Afterwards, get some rest. The group usually does their own things most days, but on Sundays we eat breakfast at 08:00 and supper at 18:00. The next time I get a job that would normally go to one of the others and doesn’t break one of your “rules,” it’ll be your responsibility. Luck to you. We’ll speak tomorrow.”'''

 

Giorno nodded and stood from the table. “I look forward to working with you, Risotto Nero. I hope this relationship can prove profitable for the both of us.”

When Risotto didn’t reply, Giorno simply walked out of the room, stepping to the hall the others had gone down. Sure enough, each door was marked with a number, staggered as if this had been a hotel at some point. As he walked to #11, he checked the coin in his hand. He was almost sure it would have landed heads-up, but what he saw actually managed to surprise him.

Each side of the coin had had all of its markings completely removed, replaced by a single “R” on each side. Giorno chuckled slightly, before slipping the coin into his pocket. However Risotto had done it, the cryptic change served two purposes- a warning and a clue.

Giorno didn’t feel up to exploring either in depth, and instead stepped inside his room, dark, bare, but at least not drafty. He sat down on the bed, coughing into his fist as he did so, seeing blood left on his fingers. He’d managed to power through it during the time he was meeting with Risotto and La Squadra, but it seemed he still hadn’t recovered from Koichi’s knee-drop and Formaggio’s gut-punch.

''Risotto already knows what job he’s going to give me. It’ll be either early tomorrow or during the afternoon or night tonight. At the very least, he’ll wait till the others have had a chance to speak to me. Risotto is too clever for my own good- but with any luck, I might just end up being too clever for his.''