Jojo's Bizarre Adventure - Elegy of Giants (IC)

[Lycodrake]

Michael Steinman

A single eye stares back at you. Yes, you, Michael Steinman.

"Well? How about it, kid?" The man sounds like he's on the edge of laughter. "Maybe you come over here and sit down, and I maybe let one of these people go. Or maybe this chick keeps walking and sentences one man to death, and an expecting lady to life in prison."

He wasn't sure if Justin would still be alive, but now the situation was much more complicated. The man had two hostages and would terminate both if Voltina walked through the door - and she didn't seem to care. The man keeps on calling Michael a kid and invites him to sit down. This either meant the man knew what Michael could do and was not afraid, or didn't see a "kid" as a threat. However, that didn't make sense with all the metal around and in reach.

Michael had never been seen using his Stand before, though - unless the Speedwagon Foundation and their "competitor" had kept tabs on all Stand users.

"Say that I take a seat: am I just another hostage? And you just said 'maybe' you'll let one of them go. I don't have a good reason to do what you say if you can't guarantee that one of them walks away from all this alive."

[Sherrinford]

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

Having said so, Arthur finally decided to step into the dark alleyway.
Sure, he was accostumed to the darkest part of a city, but to be honest, you can never be too used to certain things. The more he walked on, the more the silence grew, as if the darkness was able to mute sound along with light. That is, except for a certain subdued murmuring coming from the end of the tunnel. Anyway he kept walking, until a voice halted him.

"Hey, doc," the man on the mountain says. "Since you look like the only one here who has half a brain, tell the bitch to stop moving. If I see her pass that door, you won't like it. I'm sure you know a bunch of long words that'd be able to describe it, but I only need one."

“Mph. You just told her yourself. Really, displays of theatricality such as these bore me.

... why don’t you drop the antics and go to the point? You want something, don’t you? Be quick... I have a score to settle with you.”

"You know I heard trauma makes very cute babies, well the ones that don't end in miscarriages you know."

“Tsk. Now’s not the time, woman. Seriously, how irritating. I have no interest in pointless swagger. The fuck is she talking about?” lost in his thoughts for a split second, he however managed to get over it. And for the sake of... whatever strategy they were playing, he deigned her of an answer: “Mmmmh... at the very least it makes them... interesting.”

"Say that I take a seat: am I just another hostage? And you just said 'maybe' you'll let one of them go. I don't have a good reason to do what you say if you can't guarantee that one of them walks away from all this alive."

Deep down, Arthur’s attention played a zzzing. They had the numerical superiority, no matter the hostages. However if the bastard managed to bring Steinman on his side, things would get more... difficult to work out. So he opted for a “Just be careful, Steinman. Remember that he’s not our friend.”, with his tone of voice perfectly concealed by the surgical mask.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Alma Allegro, Jack Daniels
City X
Pollyanna Park
10:27

A great deal many things happen to you at once.

The effects of the EMP-creating device made real by the photographer are nowhere near as devastating as they theoretically could be. Much of its energy-taking energy can barely penetrate through the immediate perimeter of the event's field, let alone the rest of the park. Needless to say, due to the low-tier nature of the replicated gizmo the city does not get a chance to experience any sort of blackout effect as a result of its overloading. However, its shorting out does as the User intended it to.

The effects of the EMP-creating device made real by the photographer are nowhere near as devastating as they theoretically could be. But, chaos is chaos, and the sudden cessation of all festivities is not on anyone's schedule. The darkness that hits might as well be all-encompassing. The backglow of the concrete jungle that surrounds Pollyanna Park act in the place of starlight, a distant metropolitan cosmos that does little to light your way in the black spot the place has become. In place of the up-and-coming hits of the Toast Points are the susurrations of confusion and disappointment from the crowd. Even the rich-kids and opportunistic procurers of army surplus who possess means of night visions are unable to see anything due to having taken the brunt of the pulse. Those who have mechanical enhancements both without and within - a mercifully low number - play their inadvertent parts and spazz out.

All of this means one thing: the crowd is no longer as solid as it used to be. As it stands now either one of you could more or less run to anywhere in the field and not have to bump into anyone on the way there.

To the one with control over sound, this wild turn of events does not wreak so much havoc on your powers. The noises do overlap erratically, but that is expected, and the bleed over and unpredictability of the thousands of murmurings of people and things is acceptable. In this case it's just like surfing, you give yourself over to the flow of the elements and use your skills to navigate them and keep afloat.

In the equivalent of the wave, the sweetest of spots, is one suspiciously out-of-place ripple. Instead of flowing naturally within your proverbial grid it appears suddenly. The movements it makes, the sounds it produces as it displaces the air, are frankly out of context with the crowd's reaction. It appears, something large is removed at fast, fast speeds.

You both see it. You both see the shadow of a sizable statuelike object sail through the sky like a cannonball into the treeline, some nine meters away and across the stream.


Arturo De Niro
City X
Pollyanna Park
10:27

Your steel ball cuts a beeline directly towards the upturned cross. A distance of two and a half meters separates you and your selected target.

It is then that the lights from the nearby concert cut out, along with the hum of the playing music. Luckily for you the time you've spent in the dark of the woods has let your eyesight get acclimated to conditions of low lighting. The blackout bears little on your capability to react and respond. You do notice the telltale whining sputter of dying electronics. That does not bode well for your beloved headphones, or anything else with digital capabilities you may have on you.

The darkness changes nothing. Your steel ball continues to fly along its trajectory.

In the shadows, the wooden cross before you is now out of sight. Not because of the obfuscation of the dark, but because a person now stands in its place, balanced atop the horizontally aligned bar in a pair of steel-toed, cleated hiking boots. At the corner of scrawny and curvy, you'd estimate this new arrival's age to be somewhere between teenybopper and high school. His or her gender is inscrutable. Bandages wrapped around the upper torso can be seen from the unzipped v-line of their multicolored zebra hoodie, which hangs below the waist like a lace-hemmed minidress, and a pair of tight bicycle shorts barely cover milky, athletically trim thighs. The person's face is equally androgynous, all high cheekbones, soft lines, a disheveled bob-cut of hair and obscured with Pierrot-like makeup or tattoos.

Their hand is held out, your steel ball stopped in its tracks. Of course, it is not their hand that has touched it, otherwise the effects of your weapon making contact with their body would be seen. No, it is held in that crudely hewn palm, attached to a bulky arm of the same quality of craftsmanship. This arm and is attached to a body cloaked in a shockingly red, tattered poncho. A looping pattern adorns its worn hems. And its face, an otherwise blank canvas of features drawn with grease pencil, crayon, eyes and mouth inky voids, looking so much like an immaturely created mess from every art shop supplyits creator could get their hands on.

The steel ball continued to rotate in the Stand's - for what else could it be? - grasp, the power of the Spin at work and keeping it at full velocity. The User's expression was manic, apprehensive, and focused on the orb.

"It's moving and it won't stop!" the User yelps with a stutter, its arm quivering emphatically, "It'd make one hell of a vibrator, but it's moving and it won't stop!

"You have the power, too? That's unexpected, but not so surprising. I hardly ever meet other Stand Users out in the wild like this. It just about makes up for how you didn't die when I wanted you to."

The Stand turns its head, averting your gaze all the while.

"You're no hamburger, guy," The User says with vigor, "You're secretly steak!"

''

Silly Switch

「 Swing Shift 」

''

Gone is the User, and in its place is an attendee. He is knocked flat on his back, writhing and clawing at the ground and air as he lets out a muffled wail. A wet, crunching sounds off, like the splitting of a tree, reverberating through the grove.

You know exactly where your steel ball has ended up, and where it has delivered its Spin payload. The young man's distended jaw and wildly flying bloody, bony spittle is the only answer you need.

This all happened in an instant of an instant.

Whirrr-
-Thunk.

"-And I know just the place for you, because Peter Pan likes meat."

[Bloble]

Leila Voltina
City X
Alley, 25 meters in
10:30

As the closest to the target, only a little more than twenty meters away, you can see more of the situation than the other two companions some distance behind. The low light conditions are not unknown to you, but you can still make out little more than shapes and shadows.

The man at the top is easiest to observe, but definitely not the prettiest. He's big, buff, and ugly, just like the Stand that blew through your windshield and crashed the van. A three sizes too small moth-beaten red vest riddled with holes strains around his chest, and his bare arms are muscled, but not like those of a body builder. This strength is the kind that's devoted solely to practical use, just like the steel plated leather glove on his left hand. Below his bare belly button is a pair of loose, tattered shorts that end at the knees much like those of an ancient green super hero. Unlike that person, this one doesn't seem the least bit angry. His face is heavily scarred, but other than that, relatively unmarked. No tattoos or piercings, and hair of a colour that indicates a lack of modification, unless someone would ever go for a boring old black.

He sees you and turns his head to meet your gaze in response to your mechanical laughter.

He's not angry. Far from it, in fact. At first you think he's just winking at you, but his right eye fails to open even after a few seconds.

He grins. On the surface it's cocky and sure, but for someone like you, grasping at what's hidden underneath can be called a second talent. Or perhaps it's simply something granted to you by that Stand of yours? At the very least, you can be certain of one thing just by seeing this person's face.

He's tense. More specifically, that emotion is directed towards you. He thinks little of you, but at the same time, there's a certain hesitation there, one that forces him to consider you something that can't be ignored. It's not powerful enough to be certain fear, so... uncertain fear? Whatever the case, from the beginning, you've been one element that he doesn't want to deal with.

"We've got a hyena here, don't we?" he growls. "Well as long as that one doesn't get too hungry, she won't get stomped down."

As for the others: Justin is... well, whole. Light reflects from the stream of blood running down his forehead, and one of his arms is a bit crooked above the elbow, but you can make out the steady rise and fall of his chest. However, his eyes aren't opening.

To your left, opposite the steel door and behind the curve of the hill of trash, you can see a thin face, thin arms, and thick gun, shaking as the unnamed woman strains with the efforts of holding it up. Her eye (the other is behind a white eye-patch) is locked onto the king of the mountain. It doesn't take a genius to see that she's on the edge of panic. If she pointed that piece at anybody, she'd probably miss even at point blank range.

Thinking of it like that, the fact that a kidnapper is entrusting his hostage with a gun isn't very strange. In her hands, that weapon will be a disease that poisons her thoughts. Delusions of fighting back, terror at having the power to end life, and revulsion at the thought of having to kill a defenseless stranger will make it impossible for a normal person to think of anything coherent as they war in her head. And should she decide to turn that gun against the man on the hill, you have no doubt that he'll be able to take care of it easily.

But that turns out to be an unnecessary thought.


Michael Steinman and Arthur Arthur
City X
Alley Entrance
10:30

"Say that I take a seat: am I just another hostage? And you just said 'maybe' you'll let one of them go. I don't have a good reason to do what you say if you can't guarantee that one of them walks away from all this alive."

At your query, the man stops and thinks for a moment. He doesn't swear or get angry or laugh, just staring at you as his grin widens. After a moment, his reply arrives.

"I can't guarantee shit, kid, and I ain't gonna try. Except one thing: I ain't gonna die today. That one's true. A 100% certain prediction. 'Cus I'm invincible."

An arm, not the man's own but shaped exactly like it, yanks the pregnant woman upwards by the scruff of her neck. She shrieks and looks around wildly, struggling against it without any progress. The arm is followed by an indistinct shape that could be the man's twin if not for how easily it floats through the air. It deposits her on the ground in front of the pile, and she barely manages not to fall.

"So," he addresses the woman. "Don't think too hard about what just happened, lady. Here's the deal. That spiky haired kid steps forward? You step forward. He goes back, you go back. He tries anything? You try anything? You're dead." The gun is yanked away from her hands by the Stand, and her eyes bug out at the sight. She can't even scream. But she nods.

"Now it's your choice. If you think of this as hostages, then I'm trading someone useless for someone just as useless. But you guys are goody-two-shoes, so you're not gonna let anyone die that doesn't have to. I'll say this though: Once I let her go, I ain't gonna touch her. Got no time for useless people. But 「 Renegade 」 here... well, if he doesn't get to carve someone up, he gets very impatient." The Stand deposits the gun in the man's right hand, and then steps right behind the woman, towering over her.

Even if she can't see it, she can certainly hear it, and trembles as the sound gets closer. The creaking noise earlier... that wasn't the trash. It was this thing. This hideously muscular, pale blue monstrosity with no face. Every time it moves, the high pitched screech of metal goes through the alley, reaching you on the other side.

... why don’t you drop the antics and go to the point? You want something, don’t you? Be quick... I have a score to settle with you.”

"Heh." The man is less than intimidated. Against you, there's not a hint of fear in his voice. "The point is this, doc: I'm strong, and you're not. You're useless, I'm not. I've got you by the balls, and you've got nothing. I was sent here to 'take care' of you three. Now me being a nice guy, I thought I'd scare you off and leave the rest to the other guys. But since you came after me, it means you're stubborn enough to keep at it, brave enough to walk in here, and dumb enough to buy all the bullshit that little flying bug has been feeding you."

"Now you can still make it through this alive, believe it or not. The only way to do that is to shut up and do what you're told, or..."

He lifts the gun up and points it at you. "Bring out your Stand and show me a medical miracle."

Then he lowers it, points it at Justin's stomach, and pulls the trigger.

In the quiet space of the alley, the bang is deafening. Justin's choked scream isn't as loud, but it drags out for a good three seconds, eventually devolving into rasping breathing as he's forced out of unconsciousness and into a world where there's a slug buried in his gut. He gasps, blindly grasping at his abdomen, as if he can keep himself from eventually bleeding out.

"I'm sure you can tell me how long he has," the king on the mountain says calmly, even as Justin groans and the pregnant woman shivers. "But it'll definitely be quicker, just like you wanted. Maybe you've got a first aid kit in that van, or you called the police like a good little doggy. But whatever the case, this is how much you're worth. I only do equal trades, so it'll only work if you're equally useless. The punk for the lady, you for this half-dead guy. And that bitch... well, that's one trade I won't be making. Unless you can offer me something better, that's all I'm giving you."

"If you can get me a name," The orb of eyes finally speaks up. Its tone is no different, but all of its eyes, every single one of them, is either closed or locked onto Justin. It whispers, so only you two can hear it. "I can give you all of our info on this person. The name of his Stand isn't enough. And... this is not a test."

Drops of blood stain the concrete red.

Time is running out, and the clock is not on your side.

[Break]

A large grin appeared on both Jack's and his stand's face; that went about as smoothly as it could.

"Jackpot~"

losing no time, Jack ran to where the object came from; at the same time, Colorado Bulldog flew straight up and started firing wildly at the thrown object, burning through endless supplies of lead bullets.

[TheInfamousMan]

"Ah, shit." Arturo groaned out as he looked at the attendee. He sorely wanted to run to the attendee and check to see if he was alright, but there was the risk that the Stand user would use his ability to switch the guy with something deadly.

Arturo raced to the side as he avoided what appeared to be an iron safe. As he did that, his mind raced through his options. His opponent was obviously unhinged, probably was picked up easily by whoever his boss was. His Stand had some sort of control with placing and replacing objects of his choice, even if they were other people. "But the fact remains that he has to be in a position where he can see me." Arturo thought, ducking behind one of the trees. "Otherwise he would not know where he has to throw or replace objects. If I can just lure him out then... A grin then formed on Arturo's face, and a wooden brown figure began to appear behind him. It pointed its finger down, and a single brown pellet fell from its hand and burrowed into the ground.

"Hey! Psycho!" Arturo shouted out, his face twisting in anger at the memory of the dead attendant. His knees slightly bent, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice while his left hand fingered one of his Steel Balls. "Professor Pyg called! He says he wants his schtick back!"

[Lycodrake]

Michael Steinman
City X
Alley Entrance

'Well, talking to him to make sure he would let one or both hostages go just became a big n.o. Let's see if I can do something worthwhile!' So thinking, Michael Steinman's Stand appeared over his shoulder; he had already made his move back on the street by touching the ground! A corrosive energy bat swoops out of the sky, its target: the hand holding the gun-!

[Sherrinford]

!!!

Arthur reacts to the shot as quickly as his reflexes allow him, sprinting forward and rushing without an hint of hesitancy. But what is even more quickly... is an ominous, scary looking shadow emerging from his very body, projecting out in front of him. A phantom clad in black leather, and his face concealed by the mask of a medieval plague doctor, and if you would look through its lenses, you will find nothing, just an hollow void.

「Dear Doctor」!!!

The Stand and its User reaches Justin’s bleeding body, and the creature’s hands, morphing fluidly into surgical tampons and stapler, stops the hemorrhage and heals the man’s wound at a blindling speed precision and secure dexterity, faster than the human eye can follow.

But in doing so, Doctor Arthur has exposed himself to a potentially fatal danger. Arched over Justin’s body, with Dear Doctor floating beside and above him, he can feel the murderous pressure of the mysterious attacker’s aura... his very own Stand. And while Dear Doctor is fast, it stands no chance of putting up a defense against the direct attack of a short-ranged, physically powerful attack from the enemy...

... however, to say that the back-alley doctor entered the enemy’s range without a strategy would be underestimating him.

“I hope your eyes got used to the darkness, asshole.”

From the shoulders of the Stand Dear Doctor, two big surgical lights emerge, discharging powerful rays of light directly in the face of the enemy, with the intention of blinding him and giving the companions a chance to attack-!

[Sakuraba Haru]

Alma's teeth gritted and grinded themselves for a few moments as she saw the emergence of the enemy the air was twisted along with it and the shadow of the statue like thing could easily give away its position but for Alma and her Stand... it isn't the type that can work well against that.
Her Sonic however... is that Stand a physical manifestation? That was the question.
If it is manifesting physically then her Sonic might be able to shoot it, otherwise it won't do much of anything.
Alma needed to draw out the user for her fighting style to flourish.
While the crowd was less active now there was some movement left and some was left over from before... she rose her right index finger to the statue's whereabouts, making sure to avoid civilians in her line of sight and raised her left hand and index finger to the sky.
With two small but powerful movements of her fingers burst of "sonic" would fire forth!
If the Stand is physically manifested then he should take some damage and be easy to find, otherwise the shot above should draw attention to the sky for a moment...
Surely the stand user may do something to give himself at that moment, something that will distinguish him from the crowd!

[Zenieth]

“Tsk. Now’s not the time, woman. Seriously, how irritating. I have no interest in pointless swagger. The fuck is she talking about?” lost in his thoughts for a split second, he however managed to get over it. And for the sake of... whatever strategy they were playing, he deigned her of an answer: “Mmmmh... at the very least it makes them... interesting.”

You smile at getting a response. At the very least you know that banter won't fall on deaf ears throughout. Course you surmise it's likely due to how he prides his medical profession than his willingness to chew the fat. You've not moved however, could you be considerate of those held hostage? Honestly, no. You're just contemplating your opponent and allies no need to rush, not just yet.


You whistle as you lean against the wall right by the door taking in both sides contemplatively.

He's tense. More specifically, that emotion is directed towards you. He thinks little of you, but at the same time, there's a certain hesitation there, one that forces him to consider you something that can't be ignored. It's not powerful enough to be certain fear, so... uncertain fear? Whatever the case, from the beginning, you've been one element that he doesn't want to deal with.

Whether it was you yourself, or your power, you could feel his strain, it wasn't so obvious from further away, back then you could only speculate, but here, here you could get the inkling of it, not strong enough for you to get a particular feeling, but you feel it.

It's an uncertainty. It's just enough to assure you that at the very least, you may have the upper hand against him. Now you just need to let him show his power, just something to work on.

"We've got a hyena here, don't we?" he growls. "Well as long as that one doesn't get too hungry, she won't get stomped down."

You snicker, the mechanical nature of your voice resonating, you don't actually care about his threat, no you're doing it solely for the sake of being unsettling. Even if it's a little, the more you can unnerve him, the more definitively the game goes in your favor.

To your left, opposite the steel door and behind the curve of the hill of trash, you can see a thin face, thin arms, and thick gun, shaking as the unnamed woman strains with the efforts of holding it up. Her eye (the other is behind a white eye-patch) is locked onto the king of the mountain. It doesn't take a genius to see that she's on the edge of panic. If she pointed that piece at anybody, she'd probably miss even at point blank range.

Thinking of it like that, the fact that a kidnapper is entrusting his hostage with a gun isn't very strange. In her hands, that weapon will be a disease that poisons her thoughts. Delusions of fighting back, terror at having the power to end life, and revulsion at the thought of having to kill a defenseless stranger will make it impossible for a normal person to think of anything coherent as they war in her head. And should she decide to turn that gun against the man on the hill, you have no doubt that he'll be able to take care of it easily.

But that turns out to be an unnecessary thought.

Such a hopelessly pathetic woman. Her only redeeming factor was that she was a looker, well sans the baby bump. You whistle out to her. Your voice moving from the laughter to a monotone statement.

"Well, hear that darling? By the end of all this, you'll have a baby that's one of a kind."

You give her a smile, it's patently fake and as sincere as one of those 'authentic' local craftworks.

"Course you could have a misscarriage, eh life's a gamble, right?."

Considering the kind of stress the guy is putting her through as she walks your way, you can't help but expect that your words'll just make her all the more hysterical.

Good, an uncontrollable piece is a useful piece.

"Cus I'm invincible."

You don't believe it for a second, but it piques your interest. A pointless boast or a hint?

"then I'm trading someone useless for someone just as useless."

So the kid's worth as much as a pregnant cyclops...

You can't help but feel that such a statement suggests this guy must know at least something about the kid's power. If he did, then he knew the docotor's and worst of all you. Of course it might only be superficial info, but knowledge was power, even only superficial knowledge.

"But 「 Renegade 」 here... well, if he doesn't get to carve someone up, he gets very impatient." The Stand deposits the gun in the man's right hand, and then steps right behind the woman, towering over her.

Was the creature, his stand independent to an extent? If that was the case... then it might be a problem, especially if it's got hairpin personality. At the very least, that means his range is definitely better than yours, at least for now.

"and leave the rest to the other guys. But since you came after me, it means you're stubborn enough to keep at it, brave enough to walk in here, and dumb enough to buy all the bullshit that little flying bug has been feeding you."

So... you've gotten some tid bits. This was organized, there are others, that other group's also probably in deep shit and of course, the eyeball's got enemies and secrets. None of this surprises you, but confirmation is always good. Turns your theories into facts.

Then he lowers it, points it at Justin's stomach, and pulls the trigger.

...fuck


And there you have it, a time limit's been put on you. Not the driver's life expectancy, no that's worthless to you, what's a problem is that sound, all that noise. And with a car crash not far off, any chance of police not showing up soon was unlikely. You had what? 10 minutes tops? You feel that the eyeball can clean up the mess... no, you're absolutely certain of it, but you don't doubt that it'll take time and the more time you're stuck somewhere, the more vulnerable you are, especially with these new unknown enemies. You were definitely going to kill this guy now.

[quote"]this is how much you're worth. I only do equal trades, so it'll only work if you're equally useless. The punk for the lady, you for this half-dead guy. And that bitch... well, that's one trade I won't be making. Unless you can offer me something better, that's all I'm giving you."[/quote]

Another hint... another hint. His power had to do with trading huh? So that's what he's doing, he's trying to trigger his power.

Well, let's see

A corrosive energy bat swoops out of the sky, its target: the hand holding the gun-!

"Well now." you whistle lowly as you watch the bat, you can't help but feel that's probably not exactly a useful move. Disarming him is pretty pointless, unless that bat can do more. If it reaches...

「Dear Doctor」!!!

The Stand and its User reaches Justin’s bleeding body, and the creature’s hands, morphing fluidly into surgical tampons and stapler, stops the hemorrhage and heals the man’s wound at a blindling speed precision and secure dexterity, faster than the human eye can follow.

But in doing so, Doctor Arthur has exposed himself to a potentially fatal danger. Arched over Justin’s body, with Dear Doctor floating beside and above him, he can feel the murderous pressure of the mysterious attacker’s aura... his very own Stand. And while Dear Doctor is fast, it stands no chance of putting up a defense against the direct attack of a short-ranged, physically powerful attack from the enemy...

... however, to say that the back-alley doctor entered the enemy’s range without a strategy would be underestimating him.

“I hope your eyes got used to the darkness, asshole.”

From the shoulders of the Stand Dear Doctor, two big surgical lights emerge, discharging powerful rays of light directly in the face of the enemy, with the intention of blinding him and giving the companions a chance to attack-!

You whistle really loudly at that display.

You of course do nothing, but you are impressed, such a stand clearly has its importance for support. You think that most likely neither move will amount to much.

But knowing is half the battle, and you're quite ready to see what this guy can actually do.

Let's see his equivalence.

[Break]

While Jack runs to the source of the big object, you fly straight up toward it. Even if it hadnt been part of the plan to split up, you likely wouldnt have been able to resist the prospect. After all, you'll finally get some good, old...action.
"Now, lets hear you scream, shall we?~"
Appearing from right under the thing, you, the Stand of the photographer, immediately launch a thundering kick right between the enemy's crotch.

[Bloble]

'We do not negotiate with terrorists.'

It used to be a popular turn of phrase decades ago, when the world was rife with meddling wars and terror attacks. The United States of America took it as a motto of sorts during a period where its citizens were ever fearful of being attacked by extremists. It was a promise of sorts, to never admit defeat, and to uphold a rigid certainty: that these attackers would never draw forth the compromise they hoped for.

Well, it turned out to be different in the end, but those words still exist to this day.

In fact, they can be used here as well.

Because despite the position, three people will never bend their knees for a killer.

That is their conviction.


Arthur Arthur
City X
Alley - Scrap Hill
10:31

It is a brave move. Some would even call it reckless. Most? Suicidal. One not meant for combat, charging into an unknown situation just to help a near stranger? It's something that only an idealistic cartoon hero would try to do.

And also... a protector of life whose spirit upholds the Hippocratic Oath with every breath he takes.

Your Stand helps you speed up as much as it can, but it still takes you a good ten seconds to cross the expanse of concrete.

Five seconds in, you pass by Leila, who watches with barely veiled amusement. It's almost as if she can sense your desperation, your need to fix that person's wound before it kills him. But she does nothing.

You blast past the pregnant woman, who stumbles aside at the last second, looking at you as if you're some kind of alien.

You reach the bottom of the scrap heap, and Dear Doctor comes to life. A bevy of instruments materialize from its delicate arms, and the spirit dives into the wound with mechanical precision and gusto. It takes barely a second to ascertain the damage, remove the slug, sew together the lining of Justin's intestines, and replace the lost blood. All he needs now is some rest and flowers from a loved one, and he'll be good to go.

The same, however, cannot be said for you.

"Good trade," the man says from above, looking down at you. "Well, for me. It might've been equal, doc, but it sure as hell wasn't smart."

And then his Stand is swinging for your face. He doesn't announce the attack. The man's body language doesn't change one bit. He simply weighs the life he now holds in his hands... and decides to end it.

Yet your duty as a preserver extends to your own life as well, and you've no qualms about how to protect it.

“I hope your eyes got used to the darkness, asshole.”

Light.

Pure light.

It blasts away the darkness and shadow that surrounds the pile of junk, as well as the mystery your opponent spent so long building up. His eyes are exposed just as his Stand begins to swing, and he instinctively shuts them. It'll prove to be his undoing.

You observe the punch in slow motion as it approaches. You can see every wire, every thick finger, every tiny scar on that hand. At this rate it'll be close, but-!

Enemy Stand

Name: Renegade

Power: A
Speed: B
Range: ?
Endurance: ?
Precision: E
Potential: ?

Stand Type: Close-Range

Stand Ability: ???

vs.

Arthur Arthur

Name: Dear Doctor

Power: C
Speed: A
Range: ?
Durability: D
Precision: A
Potential: ?

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability: ???

You can see it. The attack is blindingly fast, but you can definitely see it.

The punch, despite being diverted, was on target from the beginning. It heads straight for your stomach, and you know instinctively that if it connects, it'll take more than some emergency care to put you back together.

So you defend. It's all you can do. Even if you were capable of it, in this situation, a counter attack is impossible.

As is a direct defense. Putting force into pushing away the punch only succeeds in moving it slightly. Strength is useless against overwhelming force, so you put your all into another way.

Even with perfect positioning, it's only the light, the enemy's hesitation, and your own speed and precision that allow you to deflect the rough blow away from your body, nudging Renegade's fist to the side ever so slightly.. Dear Doctor still pays the price of such activity, as its left arm is torn open along with the skin on yours. If you'd been even a little less precise, the limb would've been rendered useless just from a glancing blow. As it is, the wound is purely cosmetic, though annoying.

Renegade's fist hits metal, and with a scream the entire back half of the mountain is blown away. Rusty knives are embedded into walls, and old washing machines and dish washers crumple loudly as they tumble over each other. Miraculously, Justin is untouched, but his momentary return to consciousness was only a temporary one, because his eyes won't open even as his heart beats.

One eye opens, but it isn't his.

"You fucking-!" Renegade raises its other hand, just as the man raises the gun in his hands. Even squinting, he can see you, and both threats are unnervingly on target. Another punch flies forward, one that you won't be able to survive.

Yet, as it turns out, you don't have to.


Michael Steinman
City X
Alley
10:31

Coincidence.

It's a curious thing. Your attack, being timed almost perfectly with Arthur's? A welcome coincidence.

That bat reaching its destination just before Arthur can be killed? A wonderful coincidence.

Your target seeing something in a car mirror that was unearthed by the shifting metal? The worst possible coincidence. Or possibly... the best.

He sees it. No, he doesn't see your Stand, which flies silently through the night, but even the pregnant woman can't miss the result created by your Stand's flight and Arthur's Stand's shine. A sneak attack that would've resulted in an instant kill becomes something else entirely.

Something much greater.



The light intercepts your Stand, and hits the wall. The resulting shadow is massive and unrestrained, turning your small bullet into a massive, terrifying behemoth. None could look upon this result and not feel a tinge of primal fear deep in their hearts.

But he moves.

Your enemy moves. Somehow you know it. This person has fought and killed people. No, he's slaughtered others and survived impossible odds. This man has struggled and bled and lived where others would die. He has traded the lives of others for his own, making trade after trade.

And he's about to make another.

It's a soundless scream. The enemy spins, points, and fires a single bullet at the bat soaring through the air, with pinpoint accuracy.

It blasts through your Stand, scattering the phantom to the winds.

You, however, are fine. This was to be expected, after all. Stands like yours, as a rule, don't usually transfer damage taken to the user.

The winds become your weapon. The remains of your bat retain their momentum, except now they glow brightly with corrosive energy, promising a slow and painful death for all who are foolish enough to be struck.

Fear. Though you cannot see it from where you are, you know that even he is afraid now. There's nothing he can do to defend himself mid attack, except...

It's a horrible move. Certainly as an attack, it's sub par. But Arthur's diversion worked wonders, and the user of Renegade can only halt the attack in progress and throw his Stand in front of his body to take the hit that must only ever be avoided. In any other situation your bat would have been too slow, but now, it's just right.

Enemy Stand

Name: Renegade

Power: A
Speed: B
Range: ?
Endurance: C
Precision: E
Potential: ?

Stand Type: Close-Range

Stand Ability: ???

vs.

Michael Steinman

Name: ???

Power: B
Speed: C
Range: A
Endurance: D
Precision: ?
Potential: ?

Stand Type: Long-Range

Stand Ability: Hellmouth: The ability to form openings in dirt, metal, or rock materials that can release explosive and corrosive energy bats...

This time the scream is human.

Something a hundred times more powerful than the strongest acid hits the powerful Stand's back, and eats right through it without stopping. Flesh disappears, rotting and fading from your unstoppable poison. The bat's remains corrode without mercy, turning a powerful back into naked bone. Even muscle is stripped away. Renegade collapses and falls to the ground, unable to support its own weight.

The man, meanwhile, continues screaming from the pain, even as what's left of your bat hits the metal heap and keeps going.

It collapses. With screeching groans, the tower collapses. Arthur and Justin are thrown clear by luck, but the User was in the center and falls through. Sharp objects fall and settle, stretching the agony further. Renegade's own throne is now eating its master alive. No human could escape from that place without a Stand, and certainly not one that just took a lethal amount of damage. Just from the wound being replicated on his body, he should be dead.

But this man is more than human. He is...

"Invincible!"

The beast that emerges from the scrap is certainly the same man, but gone is his relaxed expression. He's a beast now, full of rage and hatred, just as berserk as his Stand would suggest. Metal is thrown aside, save for a massive zweihander that must've been stolen from a museum at one point, because it looks less like a sword and more like a slab of iron with sharpened edges.

"Youuu!" That rage is genuine. This howling is even more real.

He clutches it in one hand and drags the sword along the floor as he runs straight down the narrow alley. This man's Stand fades as he leaves it behind. At this point, he's just one guy with a ridiculously large sword, but that itself is still plenty to be nervous about. The man dashes away from the scrap pile at speeds that match those of an olympic athlete, running straight for Leila, or perhaps through her, if you are his primary target now. He completely ignores Arthur and Justin at his back.

His... completely unharmed back.


Leila Voltina
City X
Alley
10:31

Somehow, you seem to have found yourself in a pickle.

From your position, you should have been relatively safe, but you couldn't take into account a surprisingly effective combination attack that's left your opponent so blind with rage that any previous hesitation he had has completely vanished as he comes barreling down this tight corridor at the limit of human speed. In the time it took you to blink, the distance between you had shrunk to less than ten meters.

Is a sword that big even realistically possible?

Another thing you miscalculated on was the pregnant woman's fear of you. Granted, in most situations your comments would be suitably creepy, but apparently she'll take anyone short of a serial killer over her former captor, because the woman runs right past you as soon as Michael's Stand attacks.

As she passes you, you realize there is something wrong. Something very wrong.

The pieces don't fit.

Sure, she looks terrified. And she is. A bit. Anxiety, nervousness, apprehension, everything is there. Even a fair share of hatred is fresh. But terror isn't. Neither is a certain other emotion that should be at the forefront of this woman's mind.

'Protect my child'. Such a maternal feeling... is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is something much more sinister.

Restraint. That's what you sense from someone who should be releasing unrestrained fear without reservation, and in all respects appears to be doing just that. That disparity could mean almost anything.

And then she's past you, leaving you to face a charging bull by yourself.

You don't need special powers to know how pissed off this guy is.

[Zenieth]

You watch the parade of action, it goes far better than you expected, but there it is, at the very end of it, what you expected. No one put forth such a scenario without an ace up their sleeve and for all of their situational team work, Arthur and Michael of course don't put him down.

But you've got a greater concern, no it's not the guy barreling towards you, that's a triviality. You were more concerned with the woman. You'd only placed her as a possibility, but those residual feelings, they were all you needed to crack a smile so wide, they'd think you were glasglow.

Pivoting on your feet, you turn from the man and arthur and michael. He's probably only 4 meters away, but his berserk scream is nothing but white noise to you.

It's then that you ask the pregnant woman a simple question.

"I'm sure you can tell, I feel nothing for others. So, can you guess why is it, that I never went past this door?"

It was a simple question, but it rang somewhat true. You knew that stand type was similar to yours, power... so just like yours, it wouldn't be dangerous for another 15 or so meters, and yet here you were, 25 meters away from the location.

You owed nothing to justin or this woman. In fact with your attitude, you're certain anyone there would assume you'd willingly kill them if it meant killing the attacker. You refrained from action, both to test the waters, but also to get distance... but distance from who?

You stand finally materialized. The leaking knight hovering behind your svelte body. Its head of knivea pointed in every direction. But you don't attack, well you don't attack a person anyways.

The gauntlet like fist punches to its right, towards the hinges of the metal door. You wanted that door between you and them, not as a precaution, but as a makeshift barrier.

"A stand that strong, that fast, and yet that sack of shit wasn't close by? I don't know everything, but just comparing orb boy there."

you point the eyeball then to your own stand.

"and S&S, that difference in power, just don't sync with the distance between us."

you step towards the woman.

"but, you, you've been real close since the beginning right?"

You tilt your head inquisitively before letting that light mechanical chuckle out calmly.

Flipping your hair back so that you can pull your hood over your eyes you make a declaration.

"it's about time the real fight got started don't you think?"

But before you can make a move, you ponder to yourself and then chuckle.

"I'm not going to lie, I don't usually feel anything, but you did good my sweet lil lady." you comment

"YOU PUT THIS BITCH IN HEAT!"

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Alma Allegro, Jack Daniels
City X
10:30
Pollyanna Park


Despite the otherwise independent nature of your actions, at that moment the two of you had a clear shot at something together.

The night sky is riddled with projectiles unseen - those launched from the photographer's Stand, one at a time, one after another, one every half second, a tune of spectral bullets played to the beat of a camera shutter, and a single blast, acute, swift, and powerful enough to displace the air as it cut a path to your target.

On the ground, your impromptu duet continues - another shot sent by Allegro at the source from where the thing was launched, and Daniels dashes, carried on legs like wind, honed by countless hours of exertion spent in the far-off reaches of The Middle of Nowhere, Buttfuckistan. Population: you versus the world.

As it breaks the sound barrier like the crack of a whip the projectile fired by the woman hits first. It shreds right into the point of impact, all the way into the depths of the target. The Stand-Girl's psych-shells, unimpeded by physical laws, too hit their mark. As it strikes, but before flying out of the Stand's effective range to fizzle into un-energy, it shreds and bends and warps. At almost exactly the same location, no less, enough for it to matter. When the 'sonic' 'bullet' struck, it lost penetrative momentum. It could enter, but not leave. When the Stand's bullets struck, the sonic-stuff had truly gone on a one way trip and was sealed into the target, the way a trapped .22 caliber shot bounces around inside a skull.

The icing on this cake? The fact that the female Stand has not only destabilized and sent the target careening at even greater speeds to its destination - mostly through virtue of the enhancement of inertia and momentum already at work rather than through its own physical prowess - but done so through kicking Bob's Big Boy in its unsuspecting statue dick.

If it wasn't an inanimate object, he surely would be crying for his mother, the thought may occur to you.

Jack Daniels' Stand

Name: ???

Power: D
Speed: B
Range: C (B)
Durability: ?
Precision: A
Potential: ?

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability(s): ???

Back on the ground another strike was made. Allegro's second, simultaneously fired sonic bullet hits the thing at the launch point. It tears into a sizable, but certainly small enough cross of wood that juts from the ground, more plus sign than a symbol of the Christian faith. It is stalwart in its position. It does not move a micrometer.

Enemy Stand

Name: ???

Power: ?
Speed: ?
Range: ?
Durability: D
Precision: ?
Potential: ?

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability(s): ???

Yet that is still enough to splinter it where it stands. Two of its 'limbs' are blown off. It now looks like a geometrical diagram - a right angle, 90-degrees of mathematical goodness.

It may merely be the imagination of one of you, but even at the distance you are from it, even amidst the sensual cacophony the is to be expected from a concert's overbearing atmosphere, you swear that you can smell from it the aroma of freshly ground sawdust and raw blood.

Whatever it is, has been wounded. And you know well of wounded animals.


Arturo De Niro
City X
10:30
Pollyanna Park

You blink once, and come to realize - there is no safe. It is only your mind that bends.

Right?

After all, the adrenaline pumps within you. A chemical payload in your blood surges to and provides energy to all places in your body that need it. Your eyes subconsciously flicker more than normal, ready to react to anything that doesn't look right, real or imagined. Your eyes mean well, but at times like these, when needed most of all, inadvertently deceive when in their frantic motions pick up on movement where there is none, or chase after doubtful shadows.

After all, something has knocked out all power in the concert, and likely in all the park. Your eyes are still getting used to a darkness the likes of which is rarely seen as something usual in a modern city. Such a darkness is a primal thing: encompassing, barely illuminated by stars and moon if weather permits, and so very black. Forget how the metropolitan lights of the skyscrapers in the distance serve a role otherwise taken by the cosmos anywhere else more rural and natural, for the moment you are a human, and it is dark, and you instinctively know that now is not a time for you to be outside. Not when you could be safely hidden elsewhere until the sun rises again.

Not when the predators roam. Not while they look for you, ready to sate their lusts and needs.

"Oh please," the User chirped in its sweetly singsong voice from somewhere hidden among the trees, "An over one hundred years old Z-Lister? That's more obscure than dodo bird shit in a cuckoo clock!"

Whirrr-
-Thunk

It's that sound again. That hateful, annoying noise. That which keeps following this 'Peter Pan' in his or her wake, and by extension is intrinsically linked with you being stalked by the androgynous User. This time, however, you are either lucky, or Peter Pan is careless, all too eager to finish what they've started - from the corner of your eye, and you're certain you can trust it this time, a blur of a whirl zooms a short distance away to your right, the west, partially hidden by tree branches. It stops somewhere where your line of sight is blocked by tree trunks. From behind one of them you see that familiar zebra hoodie-ed figure, with the same cartoony googley-eyes and flapping horse tail, rush at you. Swing Shift, true to its name, shadows the User, its fists drawn back and raised to the sky in anticipation of a storm of blows about to be unleashed.

"I've never liked comic books. Want to know why?" Peter Pan asks-declares, in a voice that indicates they're ready to tear your threat out as soon as you're near. Fists like wooden wallets swing out at you, that aim to tenderize you. Void-black ink eyes glare balefully. A dark mouth wide, as if to gulp you down.

"-Because they've always been too close to reality for me!!!"

Again, you're not sure whether you're lucky or if Peter Pan is careless.

Your ears are treated to yet another sickening crunch. It is not from the sound of your face being caved in by Swing Shift's log knuckles. It is not even the sound of yet another innocent concert attendee breaking. It came from dead ahead, right where Peter Pan is. Swing Shift's User screams, loud and high pitched. The way a girl's would sound. Peter Pan's ambiguously budding bandaged chest rises and falls a mile a minute, swaying as the User fights to keep balance through the intense pain they're being put through. Through it all Peter Pan's right arm, jerks spins, stops, and spews trailing blood like a spraying hose from horrid bruises that turn the User's pale fingertips a blotchy, swollen, decidedly unattractive purple. Dripping nails flap loosely, ready to come off at the next big shake.

It's all like a broken marionette that an unseen master is desperately trying to re-exert control over in the middle of a show.

"FUck nuGgeTs DiCKcHeesE ShiTSHItShITshIT!!" Peter Pan says with a guttural snarl as tears freely roll down his or her angelic, but heavily made-up or inked cheeks. The User all but bites through their own lip in the madness of pain, "Now, of ALL TiMeS?! You deserve it for DiLlY-dALlyINg, assMUNCH!! Who's it WHO's FUCKED US?!?"

For all that it oozed unimpeded the wounds were not a serious problem. For all the drama put on display Peter Pan still stood solidly, whipping dangerously, mewling animalistically through gritted teeth and throat-noises no one should hear outside of the dankest sex parlors. Is it a psychological response? The pain felt when a phantom limb is meta-amputated? Swing Shift's head turned, once more towards the concert, and Peter Pan's eyes glanced so hard, so far in the same direction that he or she might have been trying to stare through the side of their own skull.

You could see the veins of the User's baby blue eyes throb.

Once more, you're not so sure whether you're lucky or if Peter Pan is careless.

The nearby downed statue of Bob's Big Boy, buried up to its bright eyes upside down in the forest mulch, blows up like a ceramic bomb. An odd noise, unlike anything you've ever heard in the aftermath of an explosion before, sounds off and fizzles out until it was too quiet to be heard by human ears any longer. It's no landmine; the restaurant mascot was never designed as a weapon, but the chunks of shrapnel were of good enough size - enough to work in conjunction with the sheer force of the shockwave and blast an un-expectant Peter Pan before Swing Shift has a chance to activate and hurl them in your direction.

The impromptu explosive has surely done some damage to your foe, and they are clearly under the effects of whatever has struck them from before, but for all the bluster you know Peter Pan should not be underestimated. Peter Pan means business. Business, to Peter Pan, means nothing short of your messy and confirmed death.

Think fast.

[TheInfamousMan]

"Checkmate" This was it. The opportunity Arturo needed to turn the tide of this fight!

While Peter Pan was spazzing out, his mind was in the Green. His mind was one with the seed in the ground. As he boasted, Arturo has roots begin to spread within the ground, reaching throughout the area. Arturo had been waiting. His declaration from before was madeto have the psycho rant.

"First thing's first.." Arturo then grabbed his Steel Ball, and felt his skin twist and contort. This would help in guarding against the shrapnel. What would also help...

*RIP!*

Was the Quebracho rising up in front of him.

"Like it? This is the power of my Stand."

The shrapnel hit the tree,and Arturo darted to the left to see Peter Pan only a foot away. He waved his right hand, and the roots shot from the ground and wrapped around the man's body before he could even blink. The roots then dug into the Stand User's skin, making blood spew out and Peter Pan screamed in pain. For equal measure, the roots along his arms and legs then tightened before the sickening crack of bones breaking echoed through the air.

"Honestly, when you rant utter nonsense you leave yourself open, you know that?" Arturo asked as a being stood behind him. A humanoid male, but body is very wood-like and has slicked back leaves on its head to represent hair that look a lot like maple tree leaves. Has hard green-colored 'bark' as a chest piece along with elbow, shoulder and knee guards. Its eyes are a dark red, and it has no mouth.

"Now then." The Stand then raised its fist. "Lets finish this shit up." The Stand then threw its punch at Peter Pan's face.

[Break]

Jack Daniels
City X
Pollyana park




"heh".
While running up to the source of the Stand, Jack could no longer keep his laughter inside. Finally he could let loose.
"Ha. Hahaha! Jackpot! JACKPOT!"
No need for complicated schemes anymore. His goal was right in front of him! His Stand and the girl's were playing pinball with the enemy stand!
"[Colorado Bulldog]! I'm borrowing this!"
As he said that, he took something out of his mantle pocket. What was it?
Was it a picture? It surely was, it was a picture....
No! It was something far more sinister. Something that could be used to kill a person. It was... A knife. A completely jet-black knife with a small trigger near its hilt, indicating that it was fitted out with an electroshock-function. It was the ultimate short-range weapon for those living on the battlefield, commonly known as a "shocker".

Right when he reached the target, without hesitation, he swung down the weapon while activating the built-in taser. Even if he dodged the blade, he would still get electrocuted. Such was the simple, but awesome trick behind this weapon.

- - - Updated - - -

[Colorado Bulldog]
City X
Pollyana park




She lost no time to follow the statue into the woods; her blood boiling with lust for battle, one of the few aspects she and her master shared.
"Cornered, eh? See if i care! Cant hit me anyways, Big boy!"
No matter how dangerous he was and how much she lacked information on him, it didnt matter. This was her kind of fight, and this was her kind of battlefield. Jumping from tree to tree, never staying more than the time it took to blink an eye, and unloading another batch of astral bullets on him whenever she jumped, she would slowly whittle him down in the darkness.
"Still standing up like the fucking dick that you are, huh? What, can't you move? How boring!"

[Sakuraba Haru]

"Hm? It hit... something. Is that thing even stand? Or was it just being moved by stand? Or maybe a user...?
Or did it explode and just caused collateral damage to people? Well... I don't think the damage should be too heavy, probably.
I can always make that doctor guy patch anyone innocent up anyway. Well, regardless I should check it out. Well I did damage."

Alma began walking towards where the bullets had fired.
She was not afraid of almost anything that could happen to her.

Unless something pulverized her whole head in a single strike she would be fine. If she took serious damage she could drain some blood.
She has and never will kill a person when she does. She usually takes a little bit before switching to the next person.

It is inconvenient though, because well, in a middle of fight taking a little bit from each person to not hurt anyone...

Oh well.
This type of stand though is not the best for Alma to fight in her opinion.
Still the sooner she could find the user the easier it would be to finish all this.

She just needs to smash her fist into their face.
Or just step before, behind, or with them. At that moment she would win.

She followed the scent of fresh blood. It shouldn't be hard with this.

[Sherrinford]

Shrouded in the deep end of the alleyway by its darkness, no one could see the cold glare of Doctor Arthur Arthur. A stare even colder and dispassionated than usual. The look of a doctor at the end of a successful operation, after which there is only to wash off, change clothes and maybe take a nap.

Looks like the threat is still far from over though... ?

The human behemoth emerged from the pile of scrap metal screaming his rage at the top of his lungs and rushed in the blink of an eye to his other enemies. How rude.

Letting out a brief sigh from under the mask, his Stand Dear Doctor is once again infused with life force.

“That’s enough, big boy.” Above its right shoulder, the leathery cloth which envelops Dear Doctor starts to rip and break out, but it doesn’t look like an injury... it’s as if its very skin– no, maybe its entire body can respond to its User’s mental commands and reshape accordingly. Thin and snapping and black tendrils emerge and begin to move in the dark, indubitably an unsettling sight for anyone whose eyes could penetrate the shadows.
And suddenly, with total fluidity, they snap at blinding speed towards the hurt berserker, and if your reflexes would have been fast enough you could have seen the end of those tendrils turning into syringes, homing towards the enemy Stand User like missiles.

As they make contact with his unprotected back, Mr. Asshole there is injected with enough morphine and muscle relaxants to stop an elephant...

[Lycodrake]

Michael Steinman

His attack landed in a devastating way thanks for Arthur's Stand, but it seemed that the pregnant woman was an ally to the now berserking Stand user, who had pulled out a chunk of metal from the junk to use as a "sword". Leila had pulled the woman aside and Arthur was attempting to use his Stand to inject something into the berserker, but Michael felt out of place.

What could he do to help? His Stands attack could fail completely against the berserker, and he had reservations about using either type of bat on the woman, especially with Leila so close. Even then, he had revealed a part of his Stand's powers, and he had no doubt that more eyes were watching than those of the Speedwagon Foundation representative's Stand's.

So rather than be useless, he decided to use his Stand to scout the surrounding area for any irregularities.

[ItsaRandomUsername]

Arturo De Niro
City X
10:31
Pollyanna Park


Your years of life as a street ruffian, as well as a subsequent lifestyle change to the other side of the law, has not only granted you fast reflexes, but also a quick thinking mindset with experience-based tactics suitable in application for a variety of street-fighting situations.

What this means is that in your fight with Peter Pan you capitalize successfully on the opening that presents itself. Tree limbs made prehensile by your Stand's power ensnare your wily, deranged foe in a wooden viselike grip. Vindictiveness spurred on by righteous anger at the involvement of an innocent shines through in your actions. Gushing blood from numerous wounds inflicted by you splatters wildly as the User thrashes around, both from pain and the controlling, constricting movements of the tree.

You deal the finishing blow. You've knocked Peter Pan's block off, and then some. Who's been reduced to so much meat know, huh?

If only everything in life could be so simple.

It is true that your rapidly laid trap was unavoidable to the User. Peter Pan bad been legitimately caught off-guard by events that had transpired right before you made your move. Your promptly carried out strategy was sound, and effective to boot.

The thing is, even if you do everything right, sometimes it just isn't enough.

Peter Pan's reactions are fast enough in its own right. In the moment of entrapment their body moves. Not meant in any way to break free from the capture, or even a bodily reaction to right the positions of painfully twisted askew limbs and avoid further injury. Each motion, each adjustment contributes to the effects of the death trap the User has been caught in - a shift of muscle here pops the joint of a snapping arm, a flex there squirts a miniature crimson stream from a brutally ruptured wound. Even the screams of bloody murder are derived from an existing basis in reality, but extended and elevated in intensity to levels of stagedness.

To top it all off-

"

Shift Swap

「 Swing Shift 」

"

The quebrancho's torturous limbs grasp at nothing. The User has vanished in a puff of sawdust.

A short distance away, in front of and above you in the trees, is a girl. Unlike your enemy, this girl is unambiguously a thing of distinctively feminine appearance. This time there is no question of the sex and gender identity of the being before you, garbed as this young lady is in the cutesy but harsh faux-military vogue of a beret cap and bullet belt accessories worn over what would have been a stylishly altered private girl's school uniform.

The girl is also floating in midair. And has a generally ethereal feel to her overall presence.

You know right away that it's a Stand. But whose, and what powers are at its disposal?

You briefly make eye contact with its wild gaze. The reason it does not last longer, you have no time to interact or react to this new development, is because you're kept busy by the continuation of your ongoing conflict.

Peter Pan is gone. You hear a loud, rude raspberry blowing somewhere nearby. You see a ProTect Ltd. "Thor-Thunder" brand stun gun - thrown, not dropped - that crackles with electricity overcharged past maximum voltage just about to hit the ground. With its nanocore power source and all-terrain heavy duty casing, this is the kind of self-defense instruments used by the army to taze full grown grizzlies in the wild into paralytic submission.

All over the mulch-brown dead leaves, the wooden tendrils, stains on your clothes and splashed on your very own face, are copious amounts of Peter Pan's blood.

Projectile (thrown by Swing Shift)

Speed: B

vs.

Arturo De Niro's Stand

Name: ???

Power: B
Speed: C
Range: ???
Durability: B
Precision: C
Potential: ???

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability(s):
Tree Growth/Manipulation

It just so happens that blood is an unconventional, but fine, conductor of electricity.

"Forget this. Take number two. You're charcoal now. Good-fucking-bye, 'riddance."

Sometimes it just isn't enough.


Alma Allegro, Jack Daniels
City X
10:31
Pollyanna Park


You, the photographer, bring the knife down on the partially broken little right angle. Just then, the scent of sawdust explodes outwards from the locus of the pitiful, but firmly positioned wooden beams. You were in the middle of an action, and cannot react until you have completed it. You, however, are not allowed to carry it out - your hand has been struck with force like a falling tree, it and your arm bend backwards so much, so fast, your entire limb basically folds on itself.

The back of your hand touches the top and back of your shoulder. It's not supposed to go that far. It hurts. A lot. It goes without saying a thing that your cattle prod-cum-combat knife is sent flying. The shock of the strike just might be enough to revert it back into a photograph, but it cannot be said for sure or confirmed for the time being. Not until you regain your bearings, to not reel from the pain.

You're taken aback. The pain and momentum of the attack flings you down and away a handful of feet away from your target. This has saved you from receving any immediate, any more of those monster blows. Simple physics is a small salvation.

While your wits are still about the both of you, with what little time you have left until everything goes to hell again, you size up this threat.

The enemy is here and they are a Stand User.

User and Stand together cut a fearsome presence. The power, that psychic strength like you two also have, towers over its slight User by a good couple of heads. Cloaked in a crimson poncho and built like a harshly carved puppet or artist's anatomical mannequin, its inkspot eyes on its Pollockian, messy face are dark and hungry even in the black of night at the EMP-blasted concert. It had a single arm possessively, protectively draped around the svelte waist of its User.

As for the User itself, your guess is as good as any as to whether it was male or female. The figure is too slim, too waifish to definitively suggest an identity. The User's clothing is dark with a sickening amount of soaked-in bloodstains, still slightly glossy with freshness. The outfit obscures and hints to a great many things, but nothing conclusive. Most curious of all is that the User's body is in such a contorted position that even the most dedicated of performance artists would be taken aback by its difficulty and painfulness. In one hand, the User holds the fragmented once-a cross Alma had partially broken with her Sonic. In one horrendously swollen, almost mutilated hand, the User holds a fully intact one, gripped so tight that they'll probably bruise their wounded hand in the act of doing so.

The User's eyes are murky with impatience and hatred.

"Was it you or you, huh?!" the User snarls in a pitchy voice through parted lips, a mouth that does not move, "Which one of ya's responsible!? Talk!! I'll kill you anyway!" User in tow, still locked up in a convoluted pose statuelike, they are held close to their Stand like a rigid toy, a live, vengeful, screeching doll.

The Stand rushes forward with its free arm drawn back into a fist - out for blood, with disregard to the most vulnerable prey, and straight for the immediately biggest threat in the vicinity: Alma Allegro.

(Peter Pan's Stand)

Name: Swing Shift


Power: B
Speed: C
Range: ???
Durability: D
Precision: A
Potential: ???

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability(s): Teleportation(?)

vs.

Alma Allegro's Stand

Name: ???

Power: ???
Speed: ???
Range: ???
Durability: ???
Precision: ???
Potential: ???

Stand Type: ???

Stand Ability(s): ???