Chapter 2 Keep the Beat

St Charles Army Base, Detention Cells.

Illinois.

November 12^th 2017.

Once again, she found herself being woken up by the morning trumpet and the rhythm of the first 5-mile run of the day, at the very least the tune was pleasant. She wished she could say the same for her accommodations, or even the food, but she knew that the Master Chef never made quality for prisoners, so no such luck. At the very least she had a tiny window that gave her a glimpse of world beyond this closet sized cell, so she could at the very least still get sunshine. Though if she was being honest she’d trade the view for a change of clothes, or at the very least a cell with more privacy.

“RISE AND SHINE MAGGOTS!” Rang the annoyingly familiar voice of Warden Officer Sergeant Hoyt, a veteran who loved talking about his military career almost more than making things difficult for the inmates, because in his own words “there is nothing more disgusting than degenerates pretending to be patriots” so very few were saved from his wrath. Judging by the clicking of his boots, she was about to receive another lecture from the windbag.

“PRIVATE BLAGDAN,” he screamed, “TO YOUR FEET MAGGOT! DON’T MAKE ME GET THE BILLY. SOUND OFF!” And just like that, Tyler brought herself out of bed and on her feet, but judging by the scowl on Hoyt’s face not fast enough, not that she really cared though, to her this was just another Sunday morning. Though she did have to give the old-timer credit despite the volume he was barking at, his face had yet to turn red. She gave a quick salute before placing her hands behind her back.

“Private Tyler Blagdan,” she responded, “Still in lock up.” Were it any other prisoner, Hoyt would had hounded her for not adding a “sir” to her statement, but for whatever reason, he just never bothered to correct her, so she always kept it going.  He simply nodded, and preceded with his rounds of checking through his entire prisoners in lock up, and when it was finally finished, he loudly placed himself in the middle of hallway.

“CADETS,” he bellowed, face still a healthy shade, “PRESENT. MEALS!” And with that a group of cadets entered, followed in by armed security detail, each of the cadets carrying a tray of “food” in hand, and despite being cadets each not a single one of them their trays become unstable or spill any of the contents. Tyler had to admit, it was always something she respected during her incarceration. It had been maybe two years, since she had been placed here, and everyday she could not tell if she hated it more or less than before.

“PRISONERS!” Hoyt barked, “RECEIVE MEALS!” The armed soldiers trained their sights on each prisoner, and Tyler had no doubts in her mind that each one of them was at the very least a crack shot, judging by the way the weapon were maintained and held. Meanwhile, the cadets approached the cells doors, adjusted their hold on the trays and unlocked a one-way counter on the doors, and placed the trays there, before taking two steps back and snapping back to attention. This was just the way things were, prisoners were given three meals a day, delivered to their cells with heavy supervision, and once the meal was completed would the cadets collect the trays and the armed detail would return to their posts. Tyler had to admit it was a very efficient, though extremely paranoid security measures given that this was low-mid security prison, but nothing she could do about it. 

“So eggs today, huh?” She asked the cadet after inspecting her tray. To be honest, she was not sure if they were eggs, but looked close enough, as they seemed to have mixed in something since the color was off, and the single slice of bread and small apple looked just a sloppily made as ever. Of course, the cadet did not answer her question, nor did she expect them too, but she at the very least showed them she kicking. Without pause, she started eating the food on her tray and tried to survey the bodies outside her cell, hoping maybe she’d recognize somebody, but no such luck. According to Hoyt he made the perfect rotation, so that the only one the prisoners would recognize would be him, and much to her irritation, he was right.

“COMPANY HALT!” Hoyt exclaimed, resulting in Tyler actually looking towards the sergeant in surprise, this had never happened before. Usually he would silently let them eat their meal, and would bark orders for prisoner to have heads against the wall while his people gathered up and cleared out. Hoyt was like a machine, and hated anything that disrupted the flow of his system. So what in the actual hell caused him to go off script? Whatever it was, Hoyt was walking out of the hallway, mostly likely to confront it. Time seemed to halt while he was gone, Tyler could not even hear the breath of the cadet in front of her cell.

“W-WHAAAAAT?!” Hoyt’s voice cried out from another room, it was quickly followed by the armed detail priming their weapons, and for once Tyler actually felt worried. Until, the echo of his boots came from the hallway, followed by a second pair of footsteps that were unfamiliar to her. Finally, Hoyt returned with some guy in a suit and shades in tow, Hoyt looked irritated, more so than usual.

“Private Blagdan,” he said somewhat restrained, “Place down you meal, and sit on your bunk. Now.” Though not immediately, Tyler followed the order, and watched as the cadet to her cell took the tray and backed up towards the wall. Hoyt came to her cell door, keycard in hand, but he never brought the damn thing out. Suddenly, her cell door was open.

“Effective immediate,” Hoyt said without masking his confliction, “You are to be turned over to custody of this representative of the Speedwagon Foundation, but herby your military service record has been erased. These orders are from brass. I don’t know how or who you got cover for you, but you’ve been given a second chance. Do not fuck this up!” Tyler looked at the man in the suit, there was nothing that special about him, but now she saw a pair of pins on his suit, both had the Speedwagon logo. Her mind started to race. Why would the Speedwagon Foundation spring her? More importantly when did her body start following the man out the door? The suit was saying something, but whatever it was sounded like static to her, she was still trying to process what was going on, she did not even chew out the clerk for dropping her personal effects before returning them to her. She didn’t even blink when her eyes were nearly blinded by the natural light when her body stepped outside, but she still was following the Speedwagon Suit, who led her to a black Cadillac. Before they got closer to the car, the back passenger door opened, and her eyes widen taking in a familiar sight.

“Well hot damn,” a familiar cocky voice chuckled, “ Shijo wasn’t joking the Speedwagon Foundation really does have a lot of pull, hell if I didn’t know better, I’d say they got some Illuminati level of influence.” Jason Gerard was leaning against the car door, that goofy smirk that never seemed to fall.

“Wait, what?” she finally spoke up, “Jason how did you know? What are you doing here?”

“Well Clancy,” he kindly smiled, “I knew, because my folks found out when they hadn’t heard from you. And I’m pretty sure it’s obvious why I’m here. Gotta admit I thought you woulda been a little teary eyed.” She weakly smiled, lightly punching his arm as she entered the car, and took her seat.

“You moron,” she sighed with small smile, “You always got yourself wrapped up in my problems back in high school, and I still can’t figure out why.” Jason followed her in suit, and shortly after closing the door the car lurched forward.

“Seriously?” he chuckled, “Far as I’m concerned you’re family, dumbass. Plus, I know you well enough to know you’re not stupid enough to kill a superior. Beat them within an inch of death, maybe? But not out right murder.” She looked at Jason, remembering all the times she had spent at his house to get away from her toxic family, and the kindness both he and his parents had showed her. Were she a different person, she probably would have shed a tear, but that was not exactly her style.

“I…I guess that’s true,” she smirked, “Still, trouble always seems to follow me. And I never really got used to you helping me out.” Jason responded by leaning back further into the backseat, crossing his legs in a very dramatic fashion.

“Well tough shit, Sis,” he smirked back, “You might not be blood but yer family all the same. And I don’t leave family hanging out in the dust.”

“Thanks,” she smiled,  “Well I guess one of us has to be the bum sibling anyway.”

“Exactly why I need you out of prison,” he laughed, “I’d already been slumming it in Boston. So obviously I need you to get out and show up me.” She looked at him with utter shock, last she had heard he had landed a solid paying job; so how or why had he been slumming it?

“Really?” she looked surprised, “When did you start slumming it?”

“Shortly after graduation,” he explained, “I got hired by the Speedwagon Foundation’s Commercial Advertisement Division. Got myself a cheap apartment, and used my money for other stuff, never cared much for luxury.”

“Back up,” she interrupted, “The Speedwagon Foundation? The multi-million dollar corporation?” Her look of disbelief became even more pronounced, and she could have sworn that her jaw would have hit the floor if it could.

“Yep,” he mused, “That and I have a connection with the one who made this all possible. Shizuka Joestar, adopted daughter of the Joestar family, and it turns out they’re pretty tight with the Foundation.”

“Christ, Jason!” She exclaimed, “Even I know that the Joestar family is richer, than rich. So, what’s the catch in all of this? No one throws this much money around, without a catch.” It was like every word that left his mouth was just to bring her more disbelief, and though she hated to admit it, he was succeeding.

“Hmmm,” he hummed before listing, “Basically, we have to put a band together, enter the Mercury Royale Theatre, and win all the way up the end, and take on some murderous asshole Stand Users.” Silence lingered, as she waited for him to add more details to this condition.

“Wait, hold on,” she asked completely dumbfounded, “That’s it? Really?” Actually, earning a reaction from her other than just looks, she moved her hands as she sank back into her seat.

“Yep,” he answered, “Shizuka Joestar, is basically gonna be our producer. But, I need you to take a look at this.” He passed her a New York newspaper; with the article Shizuka had showed him the other day. Finally, he wore a serious expression, and continued to explain the details.

“I’m guessing that this is what we’re up against,” he explained, “Whoever the killer is, they’re tied to a group calling themselves Heaven’s Progeny, and they’ve got some serious beef with both the Joestars and the Speedwagon Foundation.”

“Heaven’s Progeny, huh,” she repeated, “Well they sound like a bunch dicks. Also, you know I’ve never been one to walk away from a fight, but we aren’t running in to get ourselves killed, right?”

“Oh hell no,” he assured, “There’s one more guy we gotta pick up, first. Plus, I already took out of one the Progeny, this crazy chick with a weak ass Stand. Speaking of which, you can still summon him right? Otherwise, we might be set back a bit.” She rolled her eyes as she shook her head at him.

“Relax,” she said, “I can still summon Bandito, although its his fault that I was in thrown in there, in the first place.” She stretched out one of her arms and held it like a perch, and in a flash of dark smoke, a large raven materialized on her arm. Its yellow eyes seem to observe everything with ease, and shadow-like mist seemed to be emitting from the bird.

“Kinda figured that’s what happened,” Jason nodded, “Bandito always was extra when it came to you’re safety.”

“Not wrong,” she muttered, “Still I still can’t believe they over looked that the prick was doing that shit. But I kept him sharp by having him do stuff outside my cell.”

“Good,” he smiled, “Well on the upside you’re out. Now, lets get you some new clothes and a proper shower.”

“Wait hold on,” she interrupted, “So how are we gonna handle the Mercury Royale?”

“You still like to beat the shit outta drums, right?” he asked, “Well, I can still sing and picked up guitar, plus I got a really good idea for a bass player.”

“You know I can still drum better than anyone,” she quipped, “Plus my voice isn’t bad, so I could do back vocals at the very least. So I’m guessing after we grab this bass player, we start rehearsing.”

“Oh yeah,” he responded, “But before rehearsing, we gotta attend a meeting in New York, but right after that we get ready for the audition in two months, but first we gotta head to Seattle, Washington.” He gave a toothy smile as he dramatically pointed off in the distance, and yet despite the absurdity of his behavior, for some reason Tyler had the utmost confidence in him. Maybe it had always been this way, Jason did have this seemingly unbreakable spirit, and he did have a track record of things generally working out for the better.

“But first,” he grinned, “Driver, stop by the nearest place for some Cherry Cola!” Then again, maybe he was always high in spirit, either way Tyler was along for the ride.

STAND: Bandito.          USER: Tyler Blagdan.           TYPE: Long-range/Autonomous

POWER – A. SPEED – A. RANGE – B. DURABILITY – D. PRECISION – B. POTENTIAL – C.

ABILITY: [Feathers] Bandito’s form resembles that of a raven, and is able to weaponize its feathers into blades and shoot them, from any height. It has the speed and maneuverability of the greatest birds of prey, and can share its vision with its user.  It can also create bladed weapons for its user to utilize in melee combat, or create a barrier of blades to protect them. Bandito also possess a low level of sentience and protects its user above all else.

Rhapsody Design.

Seattle, Washington.

November 13^th 2017.

Oliver always found the morning drive to work to be soothing, maybe it was smooth jazz on the radio, or the fact that traffic was nearly nonexistent at this hour. Either way, he was able to enjoy the morning commute at his leisure and that suited him just fine. He even found himself humming along to whatever song started playing, and smiled as he pulled into the company parking lot. The building was not much, but it was better off than most sound design companies, they had a section underneath for employee parking, a nice lobby lined with tasteful modern art for potential contractors, but of course the crown jewel of Rhapsody Design had to be the recording chamber. A wide, spacious room, which he estimated could fit two to three bands including all their equipment, custom hardware that was leagues above the Yamaha brand, and the hypnotic patterns of the soundproofing foam was always fantastic.

Oliver would be lying if he did not say that he showed up to work most days with a smile on his face, most days being the operative word. As he opened the door, he could not help but notice something that should not be there. A leather jacket hanging on one of the racks, which he did not recognize immediately, and he knew for a fact that the night janitor, Harvey, was more of a denim guy. Next thing he noticed was that the lights of the hallway to the camber had been left on, yeah now he was sure that something was amiss. Cautiously he walked down the hallway, and as he approached the recording booth for the Chamber, he could hear the guitar rift from Jimi Hendrix’s Voodoo Child emanating from the room. In any other situation, you can safely bet that Oliver would be calling either the security company or police, but there was something very familiar about how this guitarist played the rift, it was as if he purposefully speeding through some of the notes sloppily, and he only knew of one person who played Voodoo Child that way.

No longer airing on the side of caution, Oliver picked up his pace slightly, opened the Chamber’s recording room, and glared at the intruder with annoyance. Sitting in the middle of the Chamber, playing a worn yellow and black Fender Stratocaster was his college classmate Jason Gerard, and of course flashing that cocky grin.  From a quick glance, Oliver determined that Jason had only turn on the audio within the Chamber but thankfully hadn’t set the equipment to record. Yet, there was a paper placed on one of the chairs in the room, but Oliver could always make Jason take that on the way out.

“Morning Ollie,” he greeted, “Long time no see!”

“How did you even get in here?” Oliver sighed, as he pinched his brows together.

“Simple,” Jason smiled, “I convinced the janitor that I was a new hire, and I wanted to be her bright and early. “ This resulted in Oliver briefly placing his face in his hands, before taking a loud breath.

“Great now I gotta report that,” he muttered before, “Follow up question. Why are you here?”

“The short version?” Jason replied, before standing up and putting down his guitar, “I’m looking for a bass player for a band I’m putting together.” He then walked towards the window of the recording room, and looked in as Oliver moved around.

“Really should have just called,” Oliver quipped, “Would have saved you a lot of time. Find someone else, I happen to like this job a lot thank you.”

“Oh I have no doubt,” Jason smiled, “I mean look at this place. Man, the acoustics alone are to die for, and I can only imagine what it sounds like when a full house plays in here.” Jason raised both hands up to the air, and turned towards the Chamber.

“But,” he dramatically decreed, “I doubt it holds a candle to sound you’d get at Royale Theatre’s final stage.” Now that caught Oliver’s attention. Anyone with an interest in music had heard of the Royale, but still Oliver knew Jason was not foolish enough to compete in something so monumental on a simple whim.

“The Mercury Royale?” Oliver clarified, “As in the cross country battle of the bands, that is going to be televised both nationally and internationally? That will have an estimated millions of applicants?”

“The very same,” Jason answered, “I’ve been hired by a third party to enter, offering me the resources needed to put a winning band together, including convincing your bosses to let you join without jeopardizing your position.”

“Who in the world,” Oliver stated in bewilderment, “Would hire you for that? And more importantly why pick me?”

“Ah, see that’s the juicy part,” Jason grinned, “The reason I was hired, why I sought you out, and why I was given all these resources, all have the same answer. You and I are Stand Users.” And with a snap of his fingers, Party Poison manifested, looking much more relaxed than the last time it had been summoned. Of course, Oliver could see 2P, and Jason saw the recognition in his friend’s face.

“Who exactly hired you?” Oliver asked now genuinely curious.

“The Speedwagon Foundation,” Jason answered properly, “And the Joestar Corporation. Both companies very worried by the contents of that headline I left in the recording room. You’re welcome to read it before making a decision, but just to let you know, there’s a whole bunch of money involved, not including the prize money. Don’t know if that sweetens things for ya, but there ya go.” Oliver then looked at the paper mentioned, it was from a New York City paper, and the headline read “Police Put Out Warrant for the Phanton Killer.” Apparently, three bodies had been discovered in a hotel room, slashed and hacked to pieces, and the police could not find a single trace of the killer’s presence in the room given the evidence they were able to gather. Even, with that little information to go off of, Oliver could see where this was going, both the Speedwagon Foundation and Joestar Corporation believed that a Stand was cause the of the murder, but he could not for the life of him see the connection to the Royale, until he read “all three men were employed by Mercury Arts Inc. as art historians.” When Oliver raised his head, Jason had entered the recording room with him, with the guitar slung around his back.

“So the Royale,” Oliver spoke up, “They believe that the murder is going to start targeting that next? Why not just warn the authorities or Mercury Arts?”

“I wasn’t told,” Jason bluntly said, “But I am going to give both the benefit of a doubt, and assume they tried only to be ignored, plus how to do you even begin to explain Stands to people who can’t see them. Pretty sure you’d be locked up in the loony-bin before they tossed the key.”

“Alright,” Oliver responded, “I’m in. Don’t get me wrong; I’m mostly interested in the money and showing off my talent. Plus, it could be fun, or at the very least entertaining.”

“Perfect,” Jason clapped, “Now few things to warn you about, the killer is tied to some group called Heaven’s Progeny, pretentious I know. They seem to be keeping tabs on both companies movements, hell one of their agents tried to attack me after I accepted the job, despite how ill prepared she was.”

“Kinda sounds like a cult,” Oliver joked, “But I’m confident in my own Stand’s abilities, so I’ll be ready. Speaking of which, when and where do I need to head out, and do I need to talk to my boss.”

“New York City,” Jason quickly said, “And don’t worry, as soon your bosses will get a call from the Foundation, and you’ll have time to get packed up and hop on a plane.”

“Well that’d be a great plan,” a wicked voice called out, “If Heaven’s Progeny hadn’t already sent out me, the best of the Slayer caste.” Both Jason and Oliver leaped to defensive stances, and each trying to seek out the source of the voice. The voice sounded as if it was coming from inside the room, but no matter where they looked, they could not see a person or Stand, and they both knew there was no spot for any to hide.

“Okay,” Jason smiled nervously, “That’s different, this one’s not attacking out right, guess not all of them are morons.”

“Seriously?” Oliver exclaimed, “Is the security even worth what we pay?”  They heard a loud creaking from above them, and saw that one of the light fixtures was about to come crashing down. Without a word, both dove in opposite directions, just before the fixture shattered on the floor. Oliver then went back to searching for the attacker, and nearly lost it when he saw that Jason had pulled out his cellphone.

“What are you doing?” He asked a little stressed, “I don’t think this is exactly the time to be sending a text.”

“Trust me,” Jason replied without hesitation, “This one is a matter of life or death. We need to keep moving though.” As they started running soon a variety of object began to rain down behind them; nails, screws, wooden boards, even some live wires.

“Seriously?!” Jason exclaimed, “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?! Where are you, ya damn coward!”

“Oh, please!” the enemy replied still hidden, “As if it’s cowardly to play to one’s strengths. Not every Stand User is blessed with close-quarters combat like your Stand, Jason Gerard!”

“Why does this guy know you by name, Jason?!” Oliver cried out as they continued to run.

“Well,” Jason, gasped, “It may or may not have something to do with me either hospitalizing or causing the death of one of their agents? Honestly I’m not sure about her condition, kinda had to get to move with the dead line I was given!”

“You did what?!” Oliver declared, “Why didn’t you mention that in the sales pitch!”

“Well,” Jason explained, “I did say I took care of one of their agents.”

“Next time,” Oliver panted, “Mention that you may or may not have killed them, okay?!” And with that they both dived underneath a table for cover, and took a look at the destruction that licked at their heels. Oliver was horrified; the hallway looked like it had been through a natural disaster or a bombing, and before he could even utter a cry of disbelief, glass shattered on top of the table.

“Seriously!” He shouted, “What the hell?! Stop destroying the office! You sneaky fuck! Jason why aren’t you stopping them?”

“Well,” Jason answered calmly, “To be honest, my Stand is only useful for short ranged combat. The only thing I’d be able to do is smash away at the falling debris. This guy has to be long ranged, since we can’t see him.”

“Can’t see him?” Oliver muttered, “Jason, can you keep him busy?”

“What?”

“Think about,” Oliver explained, “This guy already knows about your Stand’s power, so he’s bound to make a mistake while trying to capitalize on that, I’ll be wait on that chance.”

“Alright,” Jason grinned nervously, “Sounds crazy, but hey I’m trusting you on this one Ollie. Don’t let me down!” Jason exclaimed as he began sprinting out in the open, and suddenly more random debris began to rain down towards him.

“Party Poison!” Jason cried proudly, as his Stand manifested and launched into a blinding flurry of punches, shouting ODA with each punch battered away the falling debris. Oliver had to admit; he thought Jason was putting on airs when he said his Stand would be able to defend him from the falling objects. He would compliment Jason later, but for now he had to look for the bastard behind all this. The debris was true to form as the previous ones, although from observation alone Oliver did not see a single tear or hole in the ceiling, not even a scuff mark. He did not even see anything being carried across the ceiling, as far he could tell there was nothing was on the ceiling.

That’s when he saw it, the spot directly above Jason, he watched as a pipe just dropped through it, but not a single sign of disturbance. It was as if the pipe just melted through the ceiling panel, but that would be impossible, unless there was some kind of illusion of the ceiling. Oliver figured that since Jason was directly beneath it, so he was probably able to come to the same thought. While Party Poison battered the debris away, Jason leaned down, and grabbed small chunk of wood.

“Got ya now!” Jason exclaimed as he threw block right at the ceiling, but much to both Oliver and Jason’s surprise, the block hit its mark and disturbed the ceiling panels, and yet the debris continued to rain down. The actions resulted in a menacing cackle of laughter from their attacker.

“What was that?” They taunted, “What? Did you think that by destroying that panel, the onslaught would stop?! You morons, you’ll never be able to figure out the secret of our power!” Suddenly the number of debris increased drastically, forcing Party Poison to increase its speed even further, Oliver could barely believe the level of speed it possessed. Still, all that speed would only be able to protect Jason for only so long, and Oliver could only guess at the how long he would be able to keep it up for. How was the attacker doing this? How could these objects just be dropping from the ceiling without causing any damage to it? He just could not figure it out.

Just then the sounds of metal bounced towards him, he saw it was that pipe he had from before, but he noticed something off about it. It was a pluming pipe, he only recognized it because he saw a renovator carrying it when the building’s second floor needed new pluming, but the second floor bathroom was nowhere near the lobby. Even more bizarre was that the only damage that Oliver could see was the dent from Party Poison’s punch, not even a single sign of a tool used to cut it loose. But that was impossible. Unless? Oliver smiled.

“I finally figured you out,” he declared proudly, “I’ll admit, you power was a bit difficult to figure out. But I now know the basics of it.” He declared as he walked out from his shelter with a silent yet defining confidence.

“Your Stand,” Oliver continued, “It’s a Long-Range type, that much is clear, but the truly dangerous part, is your ability to make objects intangible. You’ve fine-tuned it to the point where you can choose to make only certain sections of items of you touch intangible, but they return to their natural state after you release them. So tell me, how accurate am I?” For a moment, silence lingered, but Jason could feel a wave of anger and frustration starting to spill out.

“SO WHAT?!” the attacker screamed, “So what if you figured it out?! That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to die. It won’t change a damn thing, the result will be the same! You’ll be crushed!” Immediately after, a number of rocks began to fall directly towards Oliver, Jason tried to move and protect his friend, but he was still pinned by debris being punched away by Party Poison. However, once the rocks made contact, they passed right through him, not even leaving so much as a scratch on him, as if Oliver was some kind of ghost.

“What?!” the attacker shouted, “No! IT CAN’T BE! YOU HAVE THE SAME ABILITY AS MY GHOST CHANCES!” To which Oliver simply smiled before giving a hearty laugh, before striking a dramatic pose, while pointing up to the ceiling.

“Oh heaven’s no,” he answered, “Our Stand’s don’t have similar powers. Just the opposite really, but I’ll let my Stand’s power speak for itself. But there’s something I want to confirm for myself. Earlier you said “we” and just now you said Chances, which implies there’s more than just one attacker or that you have multiple extensions of your Stand. So let’s see which is right?” Then suddenly there were a great number of Olivers that seemed to appear out of thin air. Both Jason and the attacker were thrown completely off-guard, and then suddenly the ceiling panels started being removed one by one.

“What?!” the attacker exclaimed, “WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” Then the enemy’s true form was revealed, the body was in the shape of a mint green hand, with the fingers acting like legs, coming out of where there the wrist would be, was instead a head with two eyes and a mouth, but had smoky like hair emanating from the top. As more and more panels were removed, another came into view, then another, and another, until Jason could safely say he counted roughly fifteen of these weird hand creatures. All of them carried a variety of object, but they all shared the same panicked and confused expression, and Jason had to admit he really enjoyed it.

“You made two big mistakes, Ghost Chances,” Oliver’s voice echoed, “The first attacking without knowing my Stand’s power, and the second, you tore up my work place, so I’ll be making you pay for the damages by pummeling the shit out of you! Show yourself, Smooth Criminal!” Then phasing into existence directly before one of the Ghost Chances, a humanoid similar in both height and build as Oliver, but it had a blue, black, red, and white colors on it skin. Its torso sported a pattern of black rectangles ascending up, and being divided by white triangle that started perfectly from the pectorals down, its face was paper white, with blue lips and accents, covering its eyes and head was a white helm that had a black stripe where the eyes would be, with the words “Not My Lover” written nearly in red on left hand side, around its waist it wore a red sashay tied in a way that allowed the two ends to dangle perfectly on the right. On its right arm it wore a white armband, and the blue of its arms transitioned to white at its hands, from the waist down the blue became black, along the sides of its legs were a series of small white circles and rectangles until it reached the feet, which looked almost like black and white tap dancing shoes.

“Now then,” Oliver’s voice once again echoed, “Shall we begin!”

Stand: Smooth Criminal.         User: Oliver Clark.         

POWER – C. SPEED – B. RANGE – A. DURABILITY – C. PRECISION – C. POTENTIAL – B.

ABILITY: [Illusions] Smooth Criminal has the ability to create illusions, the amount of illusions it can make is almost limitless, however, its User must understand the basic of whatever they wish to create an illusion of, such as texture, weight, dimensions, and other basic physical properties. Those without Stands can see these illusions. It also allows itself and its user to be invisible, making it optimal for dealing sneak attacks. However, its physical strength is only equal to that of its User, but it does pose a speed far surpassing the average human. The range in which the illusions can be projected out is limited only to the user’s line of sight, and Smooth Criminal can be separated from its user even by that very distance.

Disclaimer: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure is a series created and owned by Hirohiko Akira, I do not own the rights to any of the characters in the series. This is a fan project, in which I make no form of profit from, and is purely a passion project.