The Cowboy, The Robot, The Mother, and Her Son

by Tenshi117

Summary:

Hol Horse was a man who lived day by day, always on the near edge of danger. He never lied when he said he lived each day as if it were his last. He’s never been afraid of his future until a horrid incident results in the death of Boingo. Now he travels the world alone with Thoth, a comic book that has an accurate prediction of the future… or so he thought. Seven years later a strange incident with American customs causes him to lose Thoth in the urban sprawl of Los Angeles and leads him to a peculiar boy that he suspects is a stand user. Together, that boy, his mom, and his protector travel across California. Together, they run on the eclipse of near apocalypse. Will they be able to avert Judgement Day, or will they too be forever slaves to fate?

(Set within the same Continuity as JoJo's Bizarre War Against The Machine / A Very Mad World)

Notes:

Hi, this may take readers by surprise but this has been on the back burner for a while. I as I write to finish my AU stardust crusaders of my main series I'll be updating to this so by the time these are both done they interconnect. If anyone cares please at least read some of my main fic because is in the same universe or universes as that. Don't usually leave spinoffs unfinished but for several reasons (including reader engagement stuff) I'm going to upload the first chapter now.
(Trust me please I know what I'm doing it ties into my AU)

Chapter 1: When The Cotillion Arrived…

Summary:

Jotaro was a ruffian of teen when became swift up by the curse of DIO. Now, he travels across the Asian and Indo-Asian continent to save his mother from a sickness. Years later, he never thought a friend from that adventure would lead to humanity’s biggest breakthroughs in technology ever.

1A

                It was 2:32 AM at the Speedwagon Foundation Houston Base. Since then it’s been roughly about two weeks since the Joestar group have traveled across the world. The Houston Base had been quiet at this time. There wasn’t much noise, aside from the slight whine of the AC unit blowing out a cold painful sigh that raced around the rooms.

                Then suddenly, there was a strange anomaly. Anderson Clad had been the first man to notice the lights flickering in a back-end storage closet. He was hardly a janitor, but he wasn’t going to hardly let a mess he made slide. It would be quite rude to the Janitor that does come. Before the anomaly he was lost in thought thinking about this family back home.

                Those thoughts were suddenly ripped away by a loud crack.

                 He whips his head up to see the overhead luminescent light bulb crack and buzz. The first time he did it, he hardly budged. Then, again, and this time with a resounding snap and a rain of glass made his eyes lit up. Something was happening, and he wasn’t hardly sure what to make of it.

                He runs out to see lights flickering around the main campus buzz. Then, after a sudden burst of light, he was enshrouded by darkness. Strange, he hardly expected a power surge like this. There wasn’t any thunderstorm reported in the air for miles. However, something about the air felt off, metallic almost. Like the air had ionized leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

                “What the hell?”

                He scrambles around his belt hoping to catch cold round elongated metal and rips open a long flashlight. His hands rub against the round cold baton of the flashlight and press against firm rubber. With a small click, the light bursts to life, sending a small ray beam across the hallway. He presses onward, holding the light steady as his eyes dart around, hoping to catch sight of what had causes the strange anomaly. There had to be cause, a logical reason.

                He couldn’t let this freak him out. Random power outages were rare but not extraordinary. His mind briefly thought of a possible attack, but he set it aside. It was a peculiarly active day and he highly doubted someone would be so daring to attack at this hour.

                His mind races through a thousand thoughts, the breaker was first on his mind. He turns a corner and breaks past storage to a long hallway in the back. Storage and other items weren’t too far from were the breaker room was. He’ll just get in, reset the switch, and everything will get back to normal. His mind relaxed a bit as a firm and steady plan takes a hold in his mind.

                “Probably some sort of power surge,” He thought.

                “I’ll check by engineering, they might have an idea.” He thought.

                As the light runs down to the last door where the breaker room had been labelled his mind stops cold. His eyes freeze, catching sight of a peculiar man standing in the hallway. He was muscular man with a short buzz cut. Yet what was more odd than the random buzzcut, was how he was proudly barren before him. No clothes, just a small trail of blood trailing from his back and downward to his thigh. His head had been turned away from him and was entranced on the door before him.

                He bites his lip slightly and takes a step forward.

                “What the hell?” He thought.

                While his mind tried to stay on the logical straight path, but it was starting to crack and crumble from the sight he saw before him. His heart raced, was this really a stand attack? Was this a stand user? He was warned of such things but never thought he would get to see them first hand.

                “Hey!” He shouts, looking over to the man who had kept his eyes away from him.

                “What are you doing here? State your purpose, if you don’t I’ll use lethal force.” He threatened.

                “Lethal force?”

                Clad stomps down for a moment and freezes. He couldn’t move for a moment. That voice… it sounded exactly like him. That was strange… no… this was a stand attack.

                “Take caution,” He thought to himself.

                “I said identify yourself!” He screams. He takes a taser from his hip and draws it out towards the naked stranger like a revolver. A simple click and the electric cackle of the taser cried out to the naked man. The naked man slowly turns around and looks towards the man.

                “Identify myself?” He asked, again… his voice sounded so oddly close to his.

                “You made a bad mistake coming here, this is trespassing of the highest order!”

                His words meant nothing, his little taser meant nothing. He raises it high and attempts to strike the nudist stranger. Yet the moment his hand thrusts forward, the naked man turned around and grabbed it. He takes Clad and throws him to the wall. The hard metal hitting his chest made him cough a bit and wheeze.

                His eyes widen in horror, there was something oddly familiar about the naked stranger. He recognized those amber eyes. He recognized that small scar on his right arm. He was very familiar to him, his face seemingly identical to his. Yet, at the same time… he couldn’t recognize him as himself. The naked stranger takes him and drags him into the breaker room.

                Anderson Clad croaks and groans, panting at the strength and speed of the man. The distant calls and echoes of other guards barreled their way towards him. Clad gasped out but was quickly silenced by the naked stranger. In a small ruffle, only one man comes out. It was Anderson Clad, but there was something different about him.

                “Hey, Anderson!” A man shouts.

                “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?” He asked.

                “Don’t know, I was in storage and some sort of strange power surge happened. I’m going to check the breaker room. Get the IT and Engineering departments ready, if this gets worse, we’re going to need all hands on deck.”

                “Alright,” The man before him nods, running away without a single thought. Not even asking where the life in Clad’s eyes vanished. Why did he seem so cold and distant to talk? Why he didn’t even ask what happened in the breaker room? He would just stare, with blank hollow eyes. It seemed something had change in that small shake up. Just what was it?

                This Clad drew his eyes towards the breaker room and opened the door, looking down on a dead nudist on the floor. He picks him up in the strange cold and composed manner an animal testing researcher would have with their subjects. In such a philosophy, handling murdered things was a lot easier when they were thought of as subjects. There was nothing to tie them emotionally...

                Or rather, it was the kind of manner a computer would make with different materials. Whether it be organic or not, it was all the same. Speaking of organic materials, this Clad had seem to pick up the pace with carrying the nudist bridal style towards the biological department. He heads through thick doors and large heavy plastic slapped his face. He pushed past the plastic and turned toward a door labeled as hazardous waste material. Strange that this site was active a while ago but hardly anyone in the medical wing was seen. The next day, the cameras would pick up nothing… only corrupted data and static. It seemed the strange fiery storm of electricity had nearly taken every camera in that thing with it.

                If a more clever Speedwagon investigator laid their eyes on it, they would believe it was intentional… and they would be right. However, as of this moment, this Anderson Clad had dragged the body of the nudist to a large door. He takes his lifeless body and brings him towards a large furnace room, a room required for burning and expelling biohazardous material.

                Once he was done, he walked out of the medical wing with no issues. Since the magnetically sealed doors had been compromised by the strange eruption of electricity, a flaw that later engineers would work to fix. Unfortunately, those sweet little fixes would never stop the onslaught of terror that was coming in the next decade.

                He stands in a hallway just beyond the biological section of the medical wing and stood still. A group of men rushed towards him and marked them as one of their comrades. One was a slim tall but muscular man with light blue eyes and barely fringed dishwater blonde hair. The other man, a large burly caramel skinned man with short curly brown hair.

                The slimmer man walks up to him.

                “Anderson!” He shouts.

                “Think you might know what’s going on?” He asked.

                “Don’t know, I checked the breaker room and its still down. IT, nothing. Can barely keep in contact with the engineers.” He explain with a strange look of exasperation on his face.

                “Ah, well sorry to hear. We’re going to get some people to see if we can fix this right up.” The men nodded. As they two walked away, something appeared in Anderson’s eyes.

                 In his eyes, a simple phrase of words appeared behind a strange, cold, and distant monochrome red view of the world. It was like this strange vision of monochrome hues of dark reds and bright pinks was the only thing that he could see now. It was the only thing he would see, should see. The only thing that he had been programmed to see, allowed to see.

<ASSESSMENT OF SPEECH PATTERN: SUCCESSFUL>

<ASSESSMENT OF MEMORY INTEGRATION: SUCCESFUL>

<ASSESSMENT OF IDENTITY INTEGRATION: SUCESSFUL>

<NEW TASK ASSIGNED>

<PROTECT ASSIGNED TARGET: JOTARO KUJO WHEN PERIOD ENDS>

<AWAIT FOR SKYNET ACTIVATION>

---

1989

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF EGYPT

                Five men walk across the sandy dunes of an Egyptian desert, a long buggy is parked not too far from their location. Dry gusts of wind blow at them from every single direction. Sand blows across the winds and pelt the worn men down slightly. What a day, It has been sometime from the attack of the High Priestess. However, that was not important, what was harsh intensity of the sand-paper grazing raining down over their heads.

                A loud swooshing sound is heard in the distance, a sound that Polnareff cannot help but pick up. Polnareff turns his head to the noise, Kakyoin and the others do the same. The droning of the helicopter grows louder and louder until all men turn around and take notice.

                “Huh, hey! Do you hear that noise too?” Polnareff asks as he turns to face the helicopter.

                The old man smirks as he turns himself towards the helicopter.

                “They’ve arrived.”

                Polnareff almost gasps in shock. The Egyptian sands were so barren that there was barely anything nearby. No sound, no noise, nothing.

                “It’s a helicopter!” Polnareff gasps in shock.

                “Thanks for the update captain obvious.” Kakyoin remarks sarcastically.

                “They’re here from the Speedwagon Foundation, and they’re looking for somewhere to land.” Joseph says as he raises arm.

                The blades of the helicopter spin and push more air around, causing the particles of sand to graze against the poor old man’s face.

                “Speedwagon Foundation?” Jotaro asks as he turns to his grandfather.

                “Correct me if I am wrong, but aren’t they the group that’s looking after mom back in Japan? They’re old friends of yours, right?” Jotaro asks his father.

                Joseph turns back to him and says, “Yup, that’s them alright.” He said.

                Jotaro presses down on his hat and watches as the helicopter lands. More pieces of sand blast their way into Jotaro’s face and lick his eyelids like the tongue of a cat. It was harsh and grazing.

                Jotaro shakes his head in annoyed grunt, “Are we taking a helicopter from here on out?”

                “Not quite.” Said Joseph was a small grunt. 

                “As much as I'd like to, the guys working at the foundation aren’t stand users, so we be putting them in harm’s way if we hitched a ride.”  

                “We’ll if they’re not here to give us a ride, then what’s the occasion, then?” Kakyoin asked.

                “They brought us our new allies.” He said.

                The group nearly steps back in shock, a new ally, here, and now? Why now when they’re so close to Dio? What would be the purpose of bringing them a new ally?

                “Incroyable! A new ally?”

                Joseph sighs a bit, now is the complicated part of this journey. Joseph has no idea of the second ally in their mist, but the first he knows full well.

                “I have to warn you he’s a bit of a handful. Which is a primary reason it took so long to fetch him.” Joseph said.

                “Mr. Joestar.” Avdol interjects as he steps forward towards him.

                Avdol takes a step back and stares at him for a moment, Avdol wasn’t sure of exactly who Joseph was referring to from before. Now that Joseph mentioned this new ally being a bit of a “handful,” Avdol got a bit worried. He would make things a bit hard for the group. Would Joseph really risk bringing him all the way down here?

                “You aren’t seriously considering taking him with us, are you? His presence here will only hold us back!” He remarked.

                “So, he might actually harm us?” Kakyoin asked.

                “Correct.” Avdol nodded.

                “So be careful.” Avdol warns the group as he turns to the helicopter.

                “Not so fast, this new ally of ours, are you saying he’s a stand user too?” Jotaro asked.

                “Yes.” Joseph nods as he looks his way back towards the helicopter.

                “That’s right, and his stand is represented by the card known as The Fool.”

                “The Fool?” Jotaro asked.

                “Wait, the fool?” Polnareff laughs, “Sounds like a pretty stupid card if you want my opinion.”

                “You should count your blessings that he’s on our side.” Avdol remarks. If Polnareff only new how dangerous and versatile their new ally can be.

                “You can’t beat him.” Avdol says with a serious conviction, this summons an enraged groan out of Polnareff. He turns back to Avdol and marches towards him with an intense rage. What is it about this new ally that makes him supposedly so dangerous? Avdol had to be overreacting.

                “I suggest watching your mouth If you know what’s good for you, Avdol.” Polnareff hisses as he grabs Avdol’s collar. He grabs its so hard he grabs some skin along with it.

                “It’s true, Polnareff.” Avdol turns to Polnareff.

                “Now move your hand, you’re hurting me.” Avdol responds in annoyance.

                Polnareff takes another hand and grabs Avdol, “Who made YOU the boss?” He snarls.

                “Enough you two.” Kakyoin remarks as he walks forward.

                The helicopter blades start spinning with less and less frequency until its stops to a slow crawl. The helicopter whines before sputtering into silence.

                “The helicopter is here.” He remarks.

                For a moment, they watched the helicopter in silence. A silent dread and anticipation overcame them, who was this new ally going to be?

                The door springs open, and two men in grey uniforms step out. One had blue eyes and was very lean, the other man was bulkier and had amber eyes. They nod their caps on their head in approval. The one with blue eyes smiles a welcome smile at the group, the other simply stares at them with a silent neutral expression. Jotaro felt a slight uneasy but kept it behind a stern face. Where these the allies his old grandpa was talking about?

                The first takes out and steps down, his metal boots crunch against the Egyptian sand.

                “Mr. Joestar, good to see you.” He says as he outstretches his hand and uses it to shake the old grey man’s hand.

                “Thank you for bringing them here, must have been rough.” He said back. The other man walks forward and welcomes Joseph as well.

                “So, which one of you is it? Who’s the stand user?” They turn back and stare at Jotaro for a few seconds with confused glares. They glint in their eyes would almost feel intimidating if Jotaro had a bit less confidence and resolve.

                “Are you going to answer me or not?” Jotaro asks.

                Jotaro turns himself to the closest man.

                “Is it you?” He asks.

                “No sir, neither of us is the user.” He said.

                Jotaro gives them both a confused look as the second men walks back and opens the back side of the helicopter. A large green cloth akin to a military blanket covers the backside. Polnareff stares at the compartment in confusion, was this a sick joke? There’s no one back there! Wait, what if the guy was just a jokester? Polnareff had to laugh, dangerous his ass, this guy was probably some sort of clown.

                “In the back, huh?” Jotaro asked.

                They remained silent for a moment.

                “I don’t see anyone.” Jotaro remarked.

                “No, he’s there.” Said the blue-eyed man.

                Polnareff takes a confident stride and walks towards the passenger side.

                “Hey, hey cut it out!”

                He steps into the backside and looks around.

                “Come on, quick joking around!” He laughs.

                He turns back to the men, “What’s the deal? Is the guy really short or something?”

                 “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He says as he slaps the blanket.

                “Alright man, no more games, nap time is over.” Polnareff thinks to himself.

                “Hey, watch out!” The man in the uniform yells.

                Polnareff slams his hand down again, only for it to be greeted by something slimy. He recoils his hand a bit in confusion, he turns at it to look at the slime. He opens and closes his fingers to inspect the slime. He was almost confused, is this another prank?

                “That’s weird, what the hell is this stuff?” He asked.

                “PLEASE BE CAREFUL!” The blue eyed man yells with a bit more anxiousness in his voice.

                “It’s a rough copter ride, so he’s in a foul mood! Besides we got some precious cargo in there!” He warns.

                “Precious cargo?” Jotaro thinks to himself.

                “Polnareff wait, I already told you this guy is trouble!” Joseph warns.

                “Get back Polnareff, you cannot beat him.” Avdol warns him again.

                Polnareff turns back to them, “What’s the big deal? All I’m asking is where he is?” He thinks.

                Suddenly, the blanket begins to move as something stirs inside, a low growl emanates underneath, Polnareff turns back for a moment.

                “What now?” He thinks to himself.

                As Polnareff turns his head, he sees something emerge from the pits, a small black-and-white dog rises and lands on Polnareff’s face. Polnareff could only watch the horrific scene in slow motion, he almost didn’t believe it was happening.

                It starts growling and snapping at his face, Polnareff screams in horror. A mutt? A mutt is their ally? How is a viscous dog supposed to help him? The dog bites into his hair and starts to manically rip it out, piece by piece. Polnareff yells out in pain and fear.

                “A dog?” Kakyoin asks.

                “Don’t tell me this dog is…” Jotaro trails off.

                Joseph nods, “Mhmmhmm.”

                The dog continues to psychotically attack Polnareff as Joseph explains the situation.

                “This dog possesses the stand of the fool. His name is Iggy, and he’s crazy about ripping junks of hair out of people’s heads!” He said enthusiastically.

                “To be honest, I’m not sure where he’s from.” He said.

                “But Avdol found him in New York after none of the dog catchers could wrangle him!”

                Iggy tackles Polnareff to the ground as he continues to chew his hair.

                “And it’s thanks to Avdol he’s not roaming the streets now!” He says.

                “Oh, there’s something I probably should have mentioned.” Joseph warns.

                “When he’s in the middle of ripping out someone’s hair, he likes to uh—”

                Prrrrrrrt

                A foul gust comes over Polnareff and he groans. The stench was unbearable, did this mutt really just- fart on him? Disgusting, absolutely disgusting.

                “Pass gas in their face… it’s a disgusting habit really.” He notes.

                Iggy jumps back and lands on the ground a few feet away from Polnareff.

                “YOU LITTLE MUTT!” Polnareff launches himself into the air and stares down at the dumb dog.

                “YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!” He warns.

                “Damn you! CHARIOOOT!” He yells as he summons his pristine Silver Chariot and launches an attack against the dog.

                A gust of sand forms around the dog as something summons itself from underneath the sand, something large and almost animal-like forms. After the sand fades, an almost dog like being on wheels and roars back at Chariot.

                “HOLY COW!” Polnareff screams.

                “So that thing is the fool!” Jotaro remarks.

                “When we’re in Singapore, we fought an Orangutan stand user, but this is…” Kakyoin trails off before Polnareff growls. Polnareff’s neurotic behavior was almost as unhinged and wild as the dog.

                “Who does this stupid dog think he is? BASTARD!” He thinks to himself.

                “Don’t make me turn you into dog meat!” Polnareff shouts as he launches his rapier against the stand, slicing it in half, only for it to turn into sand.

                “What the hell? It turned into sand!”

                The stand solidifies and grabs the rapier, Polnareff curses back as it holds his rapier in the air.

                “Is that…?” Kakyoin trailed off.

                “Yes, the dog’s stand is made entirely out of sand.” He remarks.

                “As simple as the design is, it’s powerful I’m sure I can land a punch.”

                Iggy launches back and starts to chew through Polnareff’s hair yet again. Avdol didn’t feel pity for him, he warned him but Polnareff couldn’t take the dog seriously.

                “GUYS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HELP! GET THIS DOG OFF OF ME!” Polnareff screams.

                Kakyoin couldn’t help but chuckle.

                “I’m sorry Polnareff, but if it’s all the same to you, I like to keep my hair.”

                “YOU MONSTER! WAHH!” Polnareff whines.

                Avdol turns back to the Speedwagon foundation men. He liked to watch Polnareff get his come-uppance, but this attitude out of the dog made Avdol worried. He needed his favorite snack at this rate if he was going to be under control.

                “Didn’t you happen to bring his favorite snack with you?” He asks.

                “Of course I did.” The Speedwagon foundation man says as he shuffles in his pocket.

                “He wouldn’t have come with us without it otherwise.” He remarked as he pulled out a pack of coffee gum. As soon as he pulls it out, Iggy stops his attack and turns around excitedly and barks frantically. He starts running towards Avdol in a excited yapper.

                “Iggy’s sense of smell is incredible.” Avdol remarks.

                “And that is?” Kakyoin asks.

                “It’s coffee flavored chewing gum, and Iggy will do just about anything to savor this tasty little morsel.” Avdol remarks.

                As Iggy inches closer, the man raises his hands.

                “No! Mr. Avdol! Hide the whole packet before he—"

                Iggy launches himself into the air, and instead of launching himself towards the one gum, he snatches the whole box and proceeds to tear it into pieces.

                “Blast it! He grabbed the whole thing!” Avdol couldn’t help but kick himself for doing something so stupid, he knew the dog was greedy and ambitious.

                “He can’t get enough of his coffee flavored gum as you can see. People on the other hand are a different story, unfortunately.” Joseph remarks.

                “The least he can do is take the wrapping off.” Avdol remarked with a slight hint of disgust in his voice. Kakyoin continued to stare in confusion.

                “How is a gum-obsessed feral dog supposed to help us?” Kakyoin asked.

                “Yare yare daze.” Jotaro notes.

                “DAMN THAT LITTLE MENACE!” Polnareff whines as he takes a hand through his bloody and shredded hair.

                “HE’S COMPLETELY RUINED MY PICTURESQUE HAIR!” Polnareff shouts.

                Polnareff proceed to hurl several French curse words at the dog.

                “He’ll be distracted when he’s chewing his gum.” The Speedwagon men reassured him.

                “Let’s get the supplies.” The Speedwagon man noted as he turned around, but Kakyoin stopped him, he turns back to Kakyoin.

                “Wait, earlier, Mr. Joestar said something about allies, is Iggy not the only one?” Kakyoin asked.

                “Yeah, heard something about precious cargo, know anything about that old man?” Jotaro asked his grandfather.

                “Yeah, right… I heard details that an extra person would be helping us, but…” Joseph turns back to stare at the dog.

                “The dog seems like the only one here.” He said as turned to the Speedwagon men.

                “What else did you bring?” He asked.

                “Oh yeah right, almost forgot to mention—” The Speedwagon worker noted as he turned back to the helicopter and began shuffling through the covers before pulling them off. A large crate sat in the back, the Speedwagon worker takes out a crowbar and pops the top open. The wooden top falls over, revealing something small and metal inside.

                The Speedwagon begins to finesse with it until something akin to a machine servo roars to life. A small whirring sound grew until it rose out of the crate and propelled itself towards the group. It was fast and small and almost reminded Joseph of a remote-control car.

                It makes several laps before lowering itself towards the group.

                “That’s…” Kakyoin notes.

                “A military drone?” Avdol asks.

                “Correct.” The Speedwagon worker noted.

                Jotaro steps forward and stares at the drone. It looked like a small plane but with four cylindrical fans holding it upright.

                “Old man, what is this?” Jotaro asked.

                “A gift on behalf of Cyberdyne Systems.” The Speedwagon worker noted.

                “Cyberdyne Systems?” Joseph asked curiously.

                “Isn’t that the electronics manufacturing company I’ve been hearing so much about back in New York?” Joseph asked the worker.

                He nods.

                “What’s the reason for them helping us?” He asked.

                “Well, the Speedwagon foundation is relatively non-profit and relies on a network of collaborators to provide funding and supplies. Recently, Cyberdyne has been offering their donations and services to us. I don’t know if you overheard or not. Your mother, the recent head director is currently retiring. The previous CEO is stepping in and is bringing a lot of funding for us. Cyberdyne insisted on bringing this with you for your journey.”

                “Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that, Lisa Lisa is getting pretty old.” Joseph said as he scratched his chin.

                “Wait, your own mother is… was the director?” Jotaro asked.

                Joseph stepped back and looked at him, “Well of course, how else would the Speedwagon Foundation be helping us?” He asked.

                Jotaro looked at drone silently as it flew around him.

                “Are you sure we can trust these Cyberdyne folks? What do they get out of this?” Jotaro asked.

                “Well, since Cyberdyne is in close collaboration with the US Military, they have been looking for new opportunities to test out field navigation for something they call Project Titan.” He said as he turned back to the drone.

                “The drone has the relative intelligence of a simple computer, but if all goes well after this, they will consider turning it into a full Supercomputer system. It’s supposed to be revolutionary, self-driving machines if you can think about that.”

                “So, what are we supposed to do with it? Does it even know about stands? Will it put us in danger?” Kakyoin asked.

                “No, no, no. Rest assured that this Cyberdyne Systems Prototype Model Titan-1 won’t do anything other than provide extra protection on your journey. You just need to provide it with some field data, and allow it recharge.” He reassured them.

                Polnareff brushed his hair as he watched the drone spin around him.

                “Hmmm… interesting, so these are our allies, a dumb mutt and some stupid military drone?” Polnareff asked.

                The Speedwagon worker nods.

                “Oh, I should mention one thing. Before you set off you should let it imprint on someone.”

                “Imprint?” Kakyoin asked.

                “It’s just a security measure to reassure that it won’t respond to anyone other than this group.”

                The group stared at each other for a moment in silence. Jotaro looked at it curiously, it looked harmless enough.

                “I’ll do it.” He said.

                “Jotaro?” His grandfather asked, “You’re not serious, are you?”

                “It’s a drone, what’s it going to do really?” Jotaro asked as he stepped up to it.

                “Yare Yare, what am I supposed to do next?” He asked.

                “Just let it scan your face, after that, give it a title.”

                “Title?”

                “Could be anything, like a codename, nickname, just something to make sure it obeys you only.”

                The drone flies eerily close to Jotaro’s face. Jotaro stares back it.

                “What is the name of this… prototype model again?” He asked.

                “The Titan-1.” He said.

                “Titan.” He said.

                “What?” Kakyoin asked.

                “Let’s call it… Titan.” He said.

                The drone scans his face and stops with a soft click.

                A small blue text appeared on screen.

                “READY LETS GO!!” It said in all capital letters.

                “WELCOME:

                KUJO JOTARO.”

                Polnareff turned back to that thing.

                “You sure it isn’t going to bite you or something, Jotaro? The dog is already a hassle in of itself.”

                “No… I’m sure.”

---

                Jotaro landed with a hard thump before submerging completely into sand. Jotaro grunted, this was getting bad. The helicopter men were already dead before they could do anything at all and this strange accursed water stand has been following them relentlessly. Avdol was trying his best to distract it, but he’s not confident about his whole five ring plan.

                “C’mon Avdol, if he can anticipate your movements how do you think this is going to work?” He thought, turning over to the sand. He flips open his eyes in a wide-eyes stare and proceeds to aggressively scan over each small pebble of sand. His eyes relentlessly hunted, looking for something.

                Wait… the drone. Jotaro turned his head. When the water stand had flipped over the buggy it seemed to have just vanished. He heard no sound from it. Jotaro was half concerned from all the commotion it was crushed under the heavy metal of the buggy. Yet, when he looked around, he saw no sign of it. Just where did it go?

                His heart raced and his mind beat a thousand panicked thoughts all at once.

                “No, I got to remain calm, getting riled up is JiJi’s thing.” He thought.

---

                “Four, no… five steps,” N’doul had concluded as he heard the vibrations of the last step cease. He leans his head down over his cane and carefully listens in, waiting for any new vibrations. His heart and mind were as still as the Buddha under Bhodi tree, his focus was unlike that of any other.

                Patience was his key, too ambitious and his enemy could get the better of him, too reluctant and he might just miss. He has to wait for the right opportunity.

                “I get it, you’re walking quietly to avoid detection, but you can’t hide from me,” He thought.

                However, something in the air made him pause. Their was a strange sort of noise, an irritating vibration unlike that of any other humming in the air and grating on his nerves. Just what the hell was this infernal noise?

                He thought it to be a bug or some sort of bird. However, it’s movement and the way it encircled the air and moved the sand around below was too fast. It seemed to glide rather than fly, it almost had machine like precision in the way it moved.

                “What the hell is that?” N’doul thought.

                “It’s been following them, but I can hardly make out what it is. It glides in the air and never seems to stay in one place,” He thought.

                “And the noise, damn it’s infernal noise!” He cursed.

                However, he bit his lip and smiled. No, this silly little trick of the Joestars isn’t going to deter them. It’s just a little ace they tried to bring along, that’s all. Now, what was the man doing?

---

                “It appears these steps have thrown him for a loop,” Avdol thought.

                “Go ahead you accursed water stand, just try to attack us.”

                Avdol had tapped his fingers slightly to the rhythm of the air current flowing through. If he understood it correctly, the stand submerged in the sand would reemerge, and when he does… he’ll be ready to strike.

                “Because the moment you reveal yourself, I’ll vaporize you with the power of my Magician’s Red,” He thought.

                Then, there was the long silence. Polnareff stares on with wide shaking eyes as he holds the motionless Kakyoin, Gramps had lied down observing him, and so was Jotaro. Jotaro bit his lip and leaned forward, “It’s not going to work.”

                However, despite his mental comments, a small bubbling emerges from the sand. Then, it emerges. “He’s here,” Avdol’s next thought.

---

                “Hold on, what’s this?” N’doul thought.

                “He only moved five steps forward. How strange, why has he suddenly stopped moving?”

                Despite his best efforts to listen in, the high-pitched smooth grumble came back into his mind. He growled, resting his hands on the side of his head. The same damn noise that was plaguing him before. It seems to be getting closer.

---

                “Now! Magician’s Red!”

                “TITAN!” The frantic shout of Jotaro erupted drawing a strange confused look from Avdol.

                As Magician’s Red struck the sandy floors something rather cold and metallic hits Avdol on the side of the head. Avdol hardly has time to process anything at all until he hears a strange sound.

                CA-CLINK

                The sound of something scraping against metal.

                It drags him down to the floor and firmly perches itself atop Avdol. Avdol grunts, slapping it away slightly, a small bit of cold air blasts him and with a high-pitched hum a heavy small object launches itself into the air. Avdol turns his eyes to see the same military drone as before watching him above like some sort of hawk.

                “AVDOLL!”

                Avdol coughs a bit from the shock but is otherwise okay. He coughs and throws himself back up.

                “NNgggh, how was he so quick?” Avdol cursed.

                “AVDOL!” Polnareff screams.

---

                N’doul sighs a bit, letting the painful burn on his left arm flow through him. It sizzles and digs into his skin like a ravenous disease.

                “I have to admit, that plan was actually a stroke of brilliance.” He noted.

                “I have to pay more attention to their vibrations from now on.” He tilts himself forward and places his hand down onto the long stretches of barren sand.

                “It seems as though he threw some kind of metal ring,” He noted as he still gracefully feels the stinging pain digging into his right. That was alright, that was a small punishment for note being careful.

                “And judging by these burns, I say Avdol did the deed,” He continued as he leans a bit forward, outstretching his fingers to the direction of the vibrations.

                “But…” He trails off, his face becoming more enraged.

                “Damn that accursed thing, it got in my line of fire. It shielded Avdol from my Geb!” He thought.

                “Now though, I know what it is. It’s some sort of drone or light machinery that’s been following them around like a battery powered toy car.”

                “But…” He thought, trailing his fingers towards the motions of Avdol’s position.

                “It won’t save him.”

---

                As Avdol catches his breath from the outrageous attack, he stops to think. He turns back and sees the long drone casting a shadow over him. The Speedwagon Foundation men said it was an addition to their group. It was another ally, if so… what was it’s goal? Avdol knew full well the type of personality that Iggy was, but this thing?

                This… Titan? What was its goal?

                It seems to spin around in the air. In a sudden strange turn of events. A metal rod ejects, and pokes through the machine. It sticks out a metal rod and seems to aim itself somewhere.

                PING – PING – PING

                The sound akin to something from a sonar system as it raises itself higher in the air. As Avdol watches is strange song and dance he fails to see the oncoming watery hand stretching out and reaching his claws towards him. However, the sound traps it firmly in place.

                PING – PING – PING

                As it hums, the water with the stand seemed to vibrate, almost impulsive. Jotaro watches the strange scene almost perplexed.

                “Titan, what are you trying to do?” He thought.

                It’s strange rhythmic song makes Jotaro’s eyes turn to the direction it was pointing. It seemed that the song wasn’t only entrancing the deadly water stand, but Iggy. He stood up and turns to the noise. He sniffs the air and seems to stare at the strange drone with a disgruntled annoyance.

                “BARK! BARK BARK! BARK!”

                Iggy growls and barks at the noise like an old man yelling at kids playing in his lawn. It sounded so wineful and grumpy.

                “TITAN!” Jotaro shouted before coming to a stop.

                “Wait no, it’s trying to tell us something.”

                His eyes light up with a sudden realization, “Titan, you know where the enemy is!” Jotaro thought. Jotaro began a plan within his mind, he had to act fast since Titan only allowed for them a narrow opportunity. Jotaro was starting to feel a bit better. It seemed the strange military drone was starting to become more useful then that damned dog.

---

                “ARGHH!” N’doul growls as he grabs his hands to his ears and squeezes them.

                PING – PING – PING

                The sound was unbearable, akin to erupting something on the same vein to a hypersonic drill. It seemed something both he and the dog found unbearable.

                “Damn that infernal thing and its noises!” He cursed.

                “I would have gotten Jotaro if it weren’t for that damned thing!” He thought.

                “I should finish now it before it gives me anymore trouble!”

---

                As a strange watery tidal wave rose above the small whirring drone. A sudden march makes it hesitate, the hand seems to gravitate towards the sound of a loud and triumphant footsteps. Avdol only turns in time to see the watery stand move away from his back. He back hair stands on end and chills rush down his spine, grateful that he was not the current focus of the stand’s wrath.

                “What’s this?” N’doul thought.

                “Someone started running.”

                “Jotaro, what are you doing?” His JiJi asked, “You know we can’t just run around!”

                Despite the disconnected and chaotic sounds brought about by the drone, Geb still managed to pick up on someone from all the chaos.

---

                “His stride says he’s about a hundred-ninety— no— a hundred-ninety-five centimeters tall. There’s a youthfulness in his stride, so he’s not Joseph. It must be Jotaro then, but where exactly is he going?” N’doul thought with a perplexed sentiment overtaking his face.

---

                SHA-SHINK

                “It dove in!” Polnareff gasps as he turns back towards Jotaro.

                “I think it’s going after Jotaro!”

                “What! No!” Avdol protests.

                “Jotaro don’t—” Avdol gasps, from all the chaos, he learned something. That devilish water stand could have attacked them, could have shanked them without them even knowing. If it weren’t for the drone’s high pitched shrill it would have got him.

                However, this military drone seemed smarter than it looked. Avdol had said not a word, but he did happen to think of such a thing unnecessary. It hardly did anything when it attacked Kakyoin, so Avdol written it off as nothing more than a useless floating metal dud. What would some obtuse American company desire in their little adventure? Then he realized it, Titan was now only doing what it was programmed.

                He chuckled, perhaps he was grateful of his machine friend.

---

                “I hear Jotaro’s Star Platinum is the most fearsome of the enemy stands,” N’doul thought to himself as he watched Jotaro’s arc run closer to something.

                “Dio would beside himself with Joy if I take care of him here and now.”

                “In the name of Master Dio, I’ll use every fiber of my being to totally vanquish Jotaro.” He thought as he observed the momentum of Jotaro’s movement through the vibrations. The watery stand rushing over to him like a river as it was quick to catch up to him.

                Yet, just before he strikes, he catches something, enamoring N’doul.

                “If I heard correctly, Jotaro just picked something up from the sand…” He thought.

                “Let’s see,” He said as he focused in on what was there. For all the noise that damn little machine made, he hardly forgotten it was there. Despite the barking, and the noise N’doul nearly forgot. That was hardly like him. Yet… with this new little drone friend of theirs giving him a hard time, it was hard to keep. He growled, he’ll deal with it soon enough.

                For now, that thing… that…

                “What was at that location? Last time I checked it was—”

                The dog, it barked, it whined. It was a dog and for all it’s whining he hardly noticed.

                “Wait, I remember, the dog! Jotaro grabbed the dog which means he knows!”

                N’doul wanted to strike him first, but he pauses. He would like to handle him the final blow but matters with that stupid little drone concerned him. How annoying and high pitched its little machine voice shrieked nearly pierce his ears.

                It was still hovering above, watching him… somewhere… but where?

                However, N’doul would hardly have time to notice.

---

                Jotaro started flying with the massive sand gliding stand known as the fool. He used Star Platinum’s grip to get a tight hold of it, firm enough to never let go. Jotaro could not thank that little drone enough. With its precision, he can get out of this mess in a shorter time than he thought, and good thinking too as this little water stand was starting to piss him off.

                “That’s brilliant!” Joseph noted.

                “We can’t move around, so to bypass that handicap Jotaro is using Iggy to find the stand user!”

                “That’s not the only brilliant thing Mr. Joestar,” Avdol noted.

                “If we’re lucky I think we can get out of this in much shorter time.”

                Joseph turns back to Avdol in confusion, “Huh?”

                “Look at the drone!” Avdol notes, pointing to the drone.

                Joseph turns over and watches the drone fly high above over Jotaro. While one can hear the slight hum of the air from the large flapping wings of the flying Fool there was almost not a sound from the drone. It was just hovering above, seemingly observing them. Yet, that was probably good… as either thing could really be picked up and Joseph was certain their attacker couldn’t pick it up either. The two seemed to cancel each other out and mask their noise. Despite that, Joseph raised a brow almost perplexed, did it even see or know what stands were?

                How was this little Titan so calculated and precise?

                From the way they’re going… they know where the enemy is.

                Joseph bit his lip and leaned forward, of course… he never wanted to doubt the Speedwagon Foundation. Yet, he always found something a bit… of about the drone. Of all the gifts that Cyberdyne could give this was the one?

                Why…?

---

                “He’s vanished, I can’t hear Jotaro’s footsteps,” N’doul thought solemnly.

                “Where is he? Where did he go? Why can’t I hear his footsteps?

---

                “Oh no, they’re flying lower and lower!” Polnareff shouts.

                As The Fool hovers ever closer to the ground, Jotaro bends his knees and anticipates the rather harsh landing from above.

                “It looks like this isn’t going to end well, it looks like the fool can’t travel long distances!”

                “The damn thing is gliding like a paper airplane!” Joseph notes as he watches it tilt and glide ever so close to the ground.

                Jotaro winces, lifting up his knees as high as he can to anticipate him coming smack center onto the sand. Yet, he doesn’t, he glides an ever few good centimeters above, but even that distance too was going out. He couldn’t wait around much longer.

                However, Jotaro couldn’t give up hope, Titan was guiding them in the right direction, and so far he sees nothing wrong with Titan’s plan. However, that damned stupid mutt was farting and groaning, and there was only one way for them to get up higher.

                Yet, as Jotaro begins to slap against the ground with Star Platinum’s leg, Titan suddenly appears and begins to kiss the ground.

                For a moment, this entrances the watery stand. It digs into ground and disappears. It remerges just in time. Jotaro’s eyes widen, he almost reaches out for the drone. He thought he could pick it up in time… but he doesn’t. The watery stand lunges in, but the moment it does the drone seems to glide away. The Fool more so carelessly guided itself in the air, meanwhile Titan seemed to have a graceful almost balletic dance to the way it glided.

                As it drifts back into the air, the water streams into the air and tries to land a hit in. Yet, the moment it does the drone glides away without even a simple scrape. The little drone begins to go in simple circular arcs around him. The water stand would try to wrap around the drone, but would barely miss it by several centimeters.

                It would try several underhanded tactics but with each time, again and again… from above and below it glided around it gracefully. The more energetic it become the more the rhythmic the dance became. It was like the water stand was now an unwilling streamer or accessory to its dance than it’s own entity now. Jotaro smiles, it strange dance was kind of enthralling.

                “Thanks Titan.” He notes, he slams his mighty leg down and catapults into the air.

---

                “Harrgggh! Damn it!” N’doul curses, trying to focus in on the noise. Due to the drone’s strange disturbance N’doul hardly has time to gather where that large amount of noise meant. A loud bang, a protrusion in the sand… wait… where they flying through the air?

                N’doul’s heart raced, he felt it in his bones that they were accelerating towards him faster than he would have hoped… all thanks to that stupid drone. Who sent such an accursed thing to him? It was almost like it was brought here to anticipate for specifically him, it was ticking all the wrong boxes for him and he wanted it gone.

                Yet, time after time he could hardly get a hit on it.

---

                “There he is!” Jotaro notes as he clocks the sitting figure reclining not too far. Star Platinum clocked the exact description of the man. Robust, olive-skinned dark haired man with a cane.

                Now some things were starting to make sense.

                “And from the looks of things… are enemy is blind.” He ponders, feeling a bit of small rocks pelt his skin. He looks up to the sky and curses slightly.

                He curses again, “Damn it. Sands falling from the sky!”

---

                N’doul laughs, despite that pesky drone’s best efforts. All it could make were meaningless distractions. Like sonar, he’s found his target. So indeed they were gliding in the sky. Oh, how careless they had become. Such fools, they were surely going to pay now!

                “Because of the falling sand, I can hear you now.”

                Geb flies under them and perches itself into the sand, it’ll get them now… there’s no doubt about it. He laughs, this was almost too easy.

                “And I’ve discovered your exact location, JOTARO!”

                However, the cold chill of something metal pokes him, and it sends a dark chill down his spine. The sudden whirl of that infernal machine was all too deafening now. It… was behind him now. This whole time, its infernal buzzing. He thought it was nothing more than useless background noise. Yet, the way it seemed to learn and begin anticipating N’doul’s attacks, this was no normal drone. Whoever made this drone had a specific purpose.

                Yet, that didn’t answer the question as to how come it got so close without him even noticing. From all that excitement, did he not see it coming?

                Or… was it It’s plan this whole time?

                He grunts, whacking it away with his cane. Perhaps maybe… if he can get it away just enough he may still have some time to finish Jotaro off. Wait… there’s a strange sensation that Geb is picking up. What the hell did he just throw at him?

                “What’s this, it feels like he just threw something at me!” He gasped, clutching against his cane to listen in on any potential vibration.

                “I can’t make out what is at that speed!” He thought.

---

                “I tossed Iggy at you, get a move on. You better use your stand to defend yourselves or you two are going to be closer than you ever wanted to be.”

                “Such insane velocity!” He notes, hearing the fast-moving ripple of air come ever closer.

                N’doul grunted, a dark growl underneath the sand digs its way towards the fast flying object. How did he manage to throw something when he wasn’t paying attention? The only thing there for him to throw like that would be the… dog.

                “Damn it, so he did throw the dog! It’s going to hit me!”

                With no time to think about it, the two stands clashed, his cane flies into the air and lands against the ground with a loud slap.

                “I can’t believe it! He actually threw the dog!” He says as Geb flows within a whirlpool around him, nearly drenching his feet. Iggy watches from afar, frightened and perplexed. Yet, that changes when he feels a cold shadow overtake his small furry body. He looks up to see the small drone hover above him like an actual Titan at its size.

                Iggy’s mind is now taken from the tense showdown between N’doul and Jotaro and is now watching the drone from below. His eyes widen, what exactly is it? What does it want? He crawls back slowly from its gaze and cocks his head slightly.

                So far from all the disgraceful human it has been forced to ride with, this one was by far the most horrifying and insufferable. A sudden loud slap makes Iggy turn back, seems Jotaro is already got N’doul beaten down. Yet now, he doesn’t really care. All he cares about now is the strange beast hovering above.

                Iggy snorts and turns back, he has his eye on that thing, for now.

                With Jotaro’s hat tossed aside and landing ever close to his feet the only thing he can do now is wait for whatever Jotaro’s going to do next.

---

                The Cyberdyne Systems Prototype Model Titan-1 seemed to hover above and guard over Jotaro like a sort of Guardian Angel as it observed the dying N’doul stare above with his blurred over whites of eyes. He seemed to give Jotaro a small discontent look explaining the next phases of Dio’s plan and those who are being sent after him by his master.

                He coughs turning over to Jotaro and starts rambling about why he decided to let his stand tear a hole through his own head.

                “Jotaro— you— you though you could—you thought you could manipulate me and force me to tell you information regarding the other eight stand users, didn’t you?”

                Jotaro just stares on with wide eyes, observing his foe very carefully.

                “I’m very well aware, that Joseph Joestar’s Hermit Purple can view into the minds of others. You’ll never get inside my head… and I’ll never tell you anything that you can use against my master.”

                “Dio… I don’t understand why your so loyal to him.”

                “Are you honestly telling me, that you would die for him?” Jotaro asked.

                “Jotaro, you’re right… you don’t understand… fear of death. Because of the power of my stand,” N’doul coughs. “I’ve always been able to live a life of unencumbered by such fears like death. I could always win, any fight I have and could do whatever I wanted.”

                “…Killing and stealing… were absolutely meaningless to me.”

                “You should talk to the mutt… or rather… your little Angel,” He laughs.

                “Sure it knows how I feel, what machine would need to fear death.”

                His eyes widen with excitement, “DIO!”

                “Dio was the first person, who was able to look deep into my soul and find something more! He was the one who gave me a desire to live! That glorious force of nature, he was so strong… so wise. So beautiful… he was the one and only person in my life to ever see a purpose for my existence.”

                “I waited such a long time for an opportunity to meet him,” He laughed.

                “I would gladly die for my master’s sake,” He announced cheerfully despite his coughing and horrid fits of death.

                “But no matter what, I refuse to do anything that would disappoint him.” He coughs, spewing a large fountain of blood that hits the ground and transforms into dark crimson sand.

                “Evil or not, a scoundrel needs someone to put his faith in.”

                It seemed Titan too had gotten closer, ever the more entranced by his little fit of death.

                “I’ll tell you this before I go,” He notes with a careful smile.

                “You should know that my name is N’doul, and my stand hails from Egypt… the birthplace of the Tarot. It’s referred to as one of the Nine gods of Egypt, Geb of the great Enyad. We call it the god of the earth!” He shouts.

                “Nine Egyptian Gods,” Jotaro notes, leaning forward with more exasperation.

                “What does that mean?”

                N’doul laughs one more smug laugh, “Sorry, but I’ll only tell you about my stand. It’s only fair since you’re the one that ended up stopping me.”

                “But… of all the men I ever faced. The man who has defeated me— I wish I could see the face.” He lowers his hand and laughs maniacally.

                “No matter now,” He says, tossing his head to the side.

                “The knowledge of my compatriots dies with me, but you—” He says as his voice trails away.

                “I pray for your luck.”

                And then, he fades away. The group, having no further need to pursue N’doul, he leaves his body and walks back towards their Jeep. Jotaro leans forward and plants the cane firmly in the sand. Perhaps, he could consider burying him, but something chiming from Titan makes him turn away. He’s grown rather fond of his little drone, and he cares deeply to not ignore its chime.

---

                N’doul gasps, he feels around and feels the deep pressure of sand around him. How perplexing, he tore a hole through his head and still lives? He laughs, what a strange thought. To lie motionless here in the vast depths of the desert he does not care. If does not die now, he’ll die soon enough. If he dies soon, then that is fine by him.

                He lies motionless in the black void he’s grown accustomed to and waits. Yet, nothing comes. Something more complexing fills his senses. Something, something far away, something near the jeep. Something were the dead Speedwagon pilot lay half-buried between the mighty metal.

---

                The lifeless eyes of Anderson Clad lie still as his fingers still dug deep into the heavy metal frame of the helicopter. His mouth sprawled out and dry from being tilted over. He drowned and tried to dig his way out, only to die. Or so they thought… as suddenly. The lifeless eyes spark to light, his fearful face becoming frightfully still.

                He leans up to see a large metal mass over him, pinning him to the ground and preventing him from moving forward. He takes his hands and pushes it away, the large metal mass lifts into the air like it was nothing and slams back down onto the ground.

                Through the dessert, the large commotion has made its way to N’doul’s sensitive ears.

---

                “W-what?” N’doul thought as the strange footsteps drew near.

                “I— no— that’s impossible!” He thought to himself.

                “That helicopter pilot should be dead! I felt his life force fade away… how is he— still alive?

                Yet, after that loud explosion, the helicopter suddenly started moving. The free footsteps getting horrifyingly closer didn’t stop. N’doul gasped, summoning what was left of Geb to move along through the sand and towards the motion. As the figure ran, N’doul noted its horrifying fast speed. That speed was not that of any man he ever knew.

                Hell, he wasn’t sure if any animal on earth could move at such a speed. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the top speed of something barreling towards his direction was going along at the rate of eighty-kilometers per hour. Geb arises through the sand.

                As it gets closer, seemingly sliding and slipping through the sand, it lunges forward and strikes the strange assailant in the face. Even then, it doesn’t cease. N’doul’s heart raced. That was the pilot, the damn pilot but why god was he still moving?

                And why was he still alive?

                That didn’t matter, as the strange figure seemed to arrive towards its destination: Him. N’doul breaths in slowly, feeling the weight of the figure press down on him. As he breathes out, he starts to connect dots within his mind.

                To make his first attack against the Joestar group, he had his Geb hitch a ride inside the Speedwagon helicopter. Its first instinct was to go into that man’s canteen… what was his name, Anderson Clad? Right, Anderson Clad. He dug into Clad’s canteen, and when he opened it, he ripped through and tried to drown him.

                That was what caused the whole crash in the first place. If that’s so, how was he still alive before him? Better yet, how was he able to run at nearly twice the speed of cheetah or perhaps three times more? Just what was this man?

                “Youssef Ageb N’doul?”

                The tone of his voice, cold and lifeless. Like all the humanity had been sucked out of him. He hardly noticed it before, but when he observed him talking with his partner. Even his partner was perturbed by seemingly distant and cold speech. Like, how different he was acting and how strange he was. Where had his humanity gone?

                N’doul doesn’t speak, he just horrified and completely dumbstruck by how he was alive to even witness all of this.

                “Why am I still alive?”

                “Still alive? How perplexing.” The cold voice responded back.

                Still alive? But what did he mean by that?

                “It seems even you don’t even know,” He noted.

                “September 12, 1848, a man named Phineas Gage survived an incident where he and his peers where blasting rock of the roadbed of Rutland and Burlington road, he survived a hit from a long three-point two centimeter six kilogram lead pipe had been shoved through his head, affecting his temporal lobe.”

                “Wh-what?”

                N’doul was suddenly taken aback by the strange flood of information. Phineas Gage, who the hell was he talking about? What does having something lodged through his head have to—

                His eyes light up.

                “It seems you understand now. It seems the injury you occurred had only done minor damage to you brain, you will be fine. The only thing that will kill you know is blood loss. You will die in one hour.”

                The strange figure above draws something towards his neck, and he pushes it away.

                “Ugh, who… are you?” He gasped.

                “I don’t know what you are but know this… whatever you want from me I won’t give. In the name of my master, for the sake of my master… you shall receive… nothing.”

                “Nothing?” He asks, almost disappointed at the response.  

                His left free hand waves around and grabs his face. His hands catch on something metal and N’doul squeezes it. He’s almost perplexed, almost feeling a strange disjointed connection. What was this metal thing that he was— his heart stopped. The cold and hard metal thing that he was touching was— his— Anderson Clad. This was his skull, but something about that unnerved him.

                He could feel its eyes move in a strange and electric hum, like servos, his neck clicked and moved around smoothly. His eyes shook, tears streamed down his face. What was this stranger? Why was this his face? Why was his skull nothing but cold metal? His heart stopped again, this wasn’t Anderson Clad. Whatever met the Joestars and the group from that helicopter wasn’t Anderson Clad.

                This was… something else. He feels down on the cold metal and a strange connection forms in his mind. “The drone, was that you?” He asked.

                The stranger said nothing as the knife stabbed deeply into N’doul’s neck. He screams, but a hard metal hand presses firmly against his neck.

                “Be quiet, they’re still near.”

                Then, N’doul felt the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. From the neck upwards, he felt his skin peeling. As minute after minute passed and he felt all sensation go away, his face and the skin were separating. Until, N’doul was nothing but a corpse with his face skinned off. The corpse laid buried in the sand with his cane piercing firmly through the sand.

                His body, what was left of his face, twisted and mangled in odd angles akin to something of human origami. The ball of flesh, his body, was what was buried in the sand. The stranger, what wasn’t Anderson Clad had taken his face along with him.

---

                “So, you have everything?”

                “Yep, extra canteens, food for the next town over. No worries, we got it!” Polnareff cheered.

                “I mean, are you sure you are Polnareff, because the last time this happened we—”

                “Nah, nah, nah don’t be silly. Now come on, are we gonna get to Egypt or what?” He asked.

                “Alright, I see.”

                The buggy drives away with a lot of possessions in tow, things scattered and destroyed the only things they have left from N’douls attack. However, it the mist of things strewn along a man hitched a ride with them. A long cloth wrapped around his face and dark sun glasses covered his eyes. Bandages wrapped his hands tightly. When the pushed forward, the shades slipped revealing the dark mechanical eye poking from underneath.

                Anderson Clad’s face was etched away, replaced by the rotting skinned face of N’doul. The group will eventually make it to Egypt, they eventually kill Dio. As they ride away, the stranger follows along, following a plan to the letter and ensuring that his master is born no matter what.

                Jotaro will be his father, his sire no matter what.

                Even then, Titan follows along, serving him and protecting his family while he is none the wiser.

Chapter 2: You Threw Out The Television…

Summary:

John Connor was just an ordinary boy— except he had a crazy mother locked up somewhere because she believed a robot apocalypse was about to take place. He lived his days carefree and rebellious, however that all changed when he finds a strange comic strip in his backpack. For when he finds it a strange cowboy pursues him for it.

                Sarah gasps loudly, she can feel all the air rush through her lips. She hardly could breathe, it was all so sudden. The sound of the air raid sirens pounded into her ears and the shining lights trailing across the skies burned into her mind. They only had a few minutes to get to the shelter, and the clock was ticking. Ticking, and ticking further.

                Sarah couldn’t believe herself. This was wrong, it was all wrong. She had stopped Judgement Day, watched the terminators sink into burning fire. This was wrong, all so very wrong. They were sure Judgement Day was avoided, it should have been avoided. What the hell was happening?

                “I-I don’t understand!” Sarah gasps, dragging her precious son in tow towards her.

                “We stopped it! We stopped it! How is this—”

                Despite Sarah’s terrified and shaking hands trying to move her son along, her son remained still. His face, sour… his mind— frozen on one detail. It seem he thought about something.

                “John?” She asks, dragging him along.

                “John?” She shouts.

                “JOHN!” She shouts.

                “Mom, his arm.” He says in a huff, turning over to his mother with wide teary eyes.

                “Wh-what?” She asked in confusion.

                “Mom, his arm.” He says with greater emphasis.

                “I don’t understand, what are you—”

                “Back at that steel mill… where we sent Uncle Bob, you remember that… don’t you?”

                Sarah’s eyes widen, she was starting to catch on all too fast. The arm, that terminator was missing an arm. It was missing an arm that they didn’t think to throw away. Did she remember grabbing that arm? Why didn’t she? It was so obvious but at the time, her mind to preoccupied on running, the police were going to be there shortly asking questions.

                Now, now she realized her mistake.

                “WE FORGOT HIS ARM!” John screams in anguish, knowing too of their mistake.

---

LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT 1996

THREE DAYS BEFORE JOHN CONNOR ENCOUNTERS THE T-1000

            It was the early morning hours of the day. A designated Southwestern airlines jet had been set to land in the first designated spot behind two planes that had already landed. A man reclines comfortably in row A15, with not a single soul next to him. A choir of mechanical high-pitched squeals from a row of three watches on his wrist alert him that it is now the lunch hour. He sighs, lowering the newspaper and turning his head.

                He notices a thin almond-skinned flight attendant whose sweet chocolate hair was curled around into a tight bun. He raises his hand towards her and his light nearly sky blue locks with her hazel eyes for a slight few moments. He remarked how beautiful and unique her hazel eyes look when the sun from his window shined down on her face.

                “Excuse me good ma’am, but what time is it?” He asked her, raising his hat to her. His voice gravely and had the slight whistle of a man whose been in such a excited and charged life for a long time. This wasn't his first time on a plane to be sure.

                “Well, if you must know,” She huffs.

                “It’s exactly twelve o’clock sharp Eastern Time.” She notes, giving him a weird look after staring at his long row of regular and mechanical watches.

                “Huh, thank you darling,” He says, brushing her away with his hand.

                He hums to himself, adjusting the dial of the first watch slightly with his finger and taps on it slightly with another whistle.

---

                The cowboy man brushes his light dirty blonde hair, letting it flow in the air before it winds back down and settles onto his shoulders. He holds his hand to his hip and waits for his luggage at the nearest drop off terminal. He was a strange man drifting in an airport such as this, his pants, his clothes… all akin to the highlight of Western times. Some thought he was some neo-spaghetti western actor off on his way to Hollywood. Yet, this wasn’t the case. He was a rather busy man and had a sort of mission here.

                Won’t be long before the nice red-haired lady at the desk scans his luggage and sends him on his merry way from that long-winding metal carousel. However, the process was taking a bit long, and woe to him he could hardly see his luggage lying about anywhere.

                It was a simple beige case the size of small water fountain. He taps his fingers against his thigh and looks around the drop off with a bit of concern.

                “Huh, should be here by now.” He thought.

                It wasn’t too unusual, Los Angeles was pretty busy this time of year. He only got lucky with his sitting arrangement thanks to the man in the seat next to him having to cancel last minute. He taps his leather shoe against the ground lightly and looks around. Still, not a bag even resembling his in sight. He checked his baggage terminal carefully and shook his head.

                “It’s been nearly forty-five minutes and I still hardly see mine.” He says, turning around to the baggage around him. Someone were gigantic and hefty white bags, some were small blue-metallic hand bags, others were a steep black and others were a light forest green. All of them of varying colors and sizes but hardly was there one with his.

                He turns his beg, looking towards the red-haired woman stationed in baggage claims. He marches up to her and pushes past some people in line. He wafts through them like one would waft their legs through the sea and marches towards the desk. Men in beige and black suits mumble and growl insults to the cowboy, but the cowboy brushes them off.  

                “Excuse me sir, but you’re going to have to—”

                “Yeah, yeah— I did. It’s been over forty five minutes here, I have come back here three times and my bag still hasn’t arrived.”

                The red-haired woman sighs and turns back to him.

                “Well, with airports such as these we usually have a one hour wait time, it should—” Her voice trails off and her light grassy-green eyes turn over and stare at light beige being catapulted off the conveyer belt and into the first metallic spot near his station.

                “What? What’s the matter?” The cowboy man asks.

                “Oh, it should be here right now.” She notes, pointing behind her and back towards the terminal. The cowboy man turns his head and turns back to her with sigh.

                “Right,” He notes, marching back over to the terminal.  He removes himself from the line, causing a few men beside him to sneer and snicker at his appearance.

                “What an ass,” One man thinks to himself.

                He stomps over to the terminal and yanks away his luggage rudely and slams it against the floor. He yawns, looking down towards his luggage and scratches his chin. He looks down towards his luggage and grunts slightly as he stares at it, nearly enraptured by its mere existence. He was hardly interested in it, but what’s inside it.

                “Nobody at luggage dare thought to take my things,” He notes to himself, turning back towards the check-out station.

                As he waits properly in line he can’t help but thing of the things that have brought him to this moment. His life, his history, his adventures, the people he’s lost. He gives a drifting sorrow glance towards his luggage and sighs.

                “This better be worth it, for him… at least.”

                With a simple click, and motion through a large metal frame he was good to go. As the woman was careful to put back the rest of his things, her eyes drag towards a particularly lofty purple comic book. Odd, never thought of him as the kind of guy to collect such things.

                “Oingo Boingo Brothers Adventure,” She thought.

                Or rather, he was… his attire did kind of throw her off. Then again, he could be one of those nerdy type folks. Ones who collect strange things. As she goes to ask him about the comic, his hand snatches away from her and he givers her a small tsk.

                “I’ll be keeping that, thank-you,” He grumbles, walking away with his somewhat open case and the hard-bind cover of the comic clenched deeply in his hands.

                As he walks towards the check-out near a long line of taxis, he feels a hand tug on the book and thus the book is swept away from his arms. He clutches his hand and turns around the crowd of people. His eyes grow wide and a sudden sense of panic flushes through him.

                “Shit, thieves,” He thought. He had a right to be mad. Then again, he also had only himself to blame. Los Angeles was a dense and thick city. Slight-of-hand tricks and thievery was as common as rain falling from the sky. If he wasn’t careful, someone could get lucky. Men seems to gather, not around him… but someone else. He takes it as a clue and shoves himself around.

                He grunts, patting himself and looking around to whoever may have taken it. His eyes then catch on an absurdly tall and lean figure. He wore a large flowing grey three-piece and a large bowler hat. His hair was slightly long and wavy with a color that was in an uncanny mix between blonde and brown. It could look to be either but not enough to fully leap over.

                A more determined look overtakes him and he starts pushing through and bopping around the masses of bodies blocking his path. He squirms and pushes himself out towards a large front entrance. He pushes himself outward and into the bright Los Angeles sun. He shields himself with his large hat and looks down slowly with his eyes.

                He puts his hand away and looks around the large airport driveway. Cars rode in caravans at near bullet speeds along a thin driveway. Over the drive and across a cased in bridge was a long drop below. He grunts, running outside near the long terminal towards another exit. His mind was scrambling, carrying along his half open bag as he tries to find the man.

                “Damn bastard,” He thinks.

                He stops once he catches his eye on a long figure on the other side of the road. His feet planted firmly past the white line of the road. He was on the pedestrian walk way. Just how did he get there? A few more cars pass and he stops to look at the large man spreading open the comic with a violent intensity. It bends backwards to the point where the covers went past the spine.

                He fumbles through it with long fingers, feeling every page with his hand.

                “Excuse me?” The man asked.

                “Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing with that partner?” He asks the man. The man lowers the book slightly so that it was just enough for his eye to see. A bright blue eye stares back at him with a raised cheek. He seems to be smiling, but what for?

                A sudden silence pauses their interaction and they were caught in the midst of a quiet stare down. The cowboy cocks his head slightly as the two seem to stare at each other in complete silence, with one not fully giving into the other.

                “Now, here’s what I am going to do,” The cowboy says aloud.

                “I am going to let you off easy if you just hand that comic back over to me,” He says a firm confidence in his voice.

                “I’ll write you off as another eccentric little thief and you can go on your merry way,” He warns him, making sure to step a bit closer to him from the road.

                “If not, you may regret it… partner.”

                 The man lowers the book just a bit more, just enough for the cowboy to see a bit of his nose through the cover and long bangs.

                “Oh, don’t mind me sir,” He chuckles slightly, “I am just a bit curious in fine and rare comic books. If you let me go I may just return it to you.”

                His voice was rather smooth, a somewhat high-pitched baritone but was awfully entrancing.

                The cowboy grunts lowering his head, getting dangerously closer to the road.

                “Something tells me that you probably won’t,” He says with a tighter grit forming in his voice.

                “Now, just hand it over and there’ll be no more problems.”  

                “Ha, I know exactly who you are… Hol Horse. Your threats don’t sway me,” Hol Horse grunts, balling his fist slightly as the man cackles into a deep laugh. What a cocky and arrogant little shit, he really thinks he can get away with something like that?

                Hol Horse immediately draws up his hand towards the man. His hand shifts and a bright purple light forms. A rounded gun spins around and settles right into his palm. The large man stares down the barrel of a mid-sized handgun.

                “EMPEROR!” He shouts, as a sudden bang echoes from the gun towards the man.

---

                “Please insert your stolen card now,” A boy hummed, the same lingo he’s practiced over a month now. He takes a card attached to a rom card and inserts it into the machine. He taps his fingers rapidly with excitement on his Atari Portfolio and hums with amusement. He wipes his brunette hair and focuses his eyes on the computer in front of him as it hums and types away for the perfect four numbers that would get him some easy cash.

                “Come on John, when is this going to end?” The ginger boy with outrageous mullet next to him asks with ever growing impatience.

                “This is a really important day for me, you know?”

                “Yeah, yeah I know,” The boy homes back.

                As the numbers went to four, the pin emerges.

                “5113,” He notes, turning his attention over to the atm and presses a few buttons.

                “Come on John, I really want to get there before Callie does,” He hums, frantically walking back and forth with anxious anticipation.

                “Yeah, you’ll get your share, just hold on.”

                “Withdraw 250 today, please.”

                With a simple hum the machine beeps to life, he lifts up the slot and out from it the two-hundred-and-fifty they requested.

                “Now, I just gotta uh—”

                RING – RING

                An old Motorola hums madly within his phone, seemingly sharing the rage and excitement its caller is. He growls and digs into it, pulling it out. The recognizes the number and flips up the phone, only for it to end with a click.

                “What was that?” The other boy asked.

                “Foster parents,” He replied.

                “Are they on your ass about that room again?” He asked with a raised brow.

                “Yeah,” He sighed.

                “Well,” He says, tapping his shoulder.

                “Let’s not worry about them, come on!” He says, gesturing over to a small motor dirt bike just a few feet away next to a dilapidated USPS. They two boys quickly gather themselves, the brunette boy takes the Atari and snatches it away from the ATM. They march along and gather on the bike. The brunette boy stuffs a blue bag with the load of cash, along with the handy Atari and Rom card with him. He shoves it deep into the bag. With a steady growl of the engine, the two boys were off.

                Unfortunately for the two boys, something peculiar happens. They don’t even get five blocks down until a heavy-set police officer with dark grey hair steps in front of him. He takes a baton out and whacks it hardly. The boy nearly panics, is this guy really back for them?

                He grunts, didn’t this guy go on vacation or something?

                WHOMP — WHOMP – WHOMP

---

                BANG

                The first shot of Emperor rings out, blaring a large round straight into the large man’s hand. He expects the large bastard to cower and pain and drop the comic. Instead, he seems to phase out of existence, like static on a television screen.

                “Huh?”

                Hol Horse raises his brow as the man leaps up and over the edge just in time. Hol Horse gasps, dropping his beige luggage to the ground with a loud step. He looks both ways on the roadway before dashing over to the other side. He cares for not for his belongings, he hardly needs them anyway. The only thing Hol Horse relied on was the trusty caliber in his hands, and no one could take that away.

                He takes a good look below and sees the man take off towards the far off exit of the airport. He curses to himself, would take some good time for him to catch up if he falls down after him from his height. He turns over and runs back to the road, he runs along side and waves his hand for a taxi. A taxi speeds in and stops just right in front of his face.

                The car door slowly unravels to see an elder white man with well kept black hair swept over under a white cap. Each second that passes was a second more frantic and uncomposed that Hol Horse became. Why was he taking so long for?

                “Need anythin’?” He asks, his voice deep and holds a sturdy Boston accent, a curious sight given where they are. Hol Horse brushes it off and shakes his head with annoyance. This was already taking longer than it needs to be and he needed to leave, pronto.

                “I’m going to be leaving now, just take me to the nearest exit, would ya?”

                “Right— hey wait— isn’t that your belongins’ over there?” He says pointing over to the sprawled out mess of things pooling out from the beige baggage outside.

                “Forget that!” Hol Horse yells out, slamming his head on the roof of the taxi.

                “Just go! Go!”

                The driver, startled by his frantic persistence, steps on the gas, half attempting to drive away before he could shove himself into the seat. Hol Horse plops in the front passengers seat right next to him. He frowns, shaking his head as he hurriedly exits the airport in a frantic huff.   

---

                “John Josepheus Connor,” He growls, stomping his feet in front of the pair.

                The boy stops violently, almost slamming into his plump belly. He wondered if he drove at the wrong time they would bounce back and onto the ground. He shakes his head and mentally scolds the man for being a bit reckless. For a cop he hardly cares for the cars that pass by.

                “Oh no, trouble,” The mullet boy moans.

                 “And he had to bring up my stupid middle name,” The brunette boy moans as he rolls his eyes.

                John sighs and shakes his head, making eye contact with the chubby officer.

                “May I help you, officer Scott?” He huffs.

                “Oh, don’t give me that good boy shtick, JoJo!” He yelps out, taking the baton and jabbing it lightly onto his chest.

                “Got a call about some recent thefts. A couple came cryin’ about a stolen purse. They found it, but there was somethin’ amiss.” He says, leaning over and tapping the baton to his head.

                “So, good for them I guess?” John asks with a brow.

                “But that’s not all,” He says, raising the baton slowly in the air with dramatic emphasis.

                “What got me interested was something regarding some missin’ credit cards in that bag.”

                “See, who do I know is the only one that is interested in credit cards… eh?” He asks getting ever closer to John’s face. John growls with disgust, pushing his leg and using the wheels of the bike to back away from the fat cop slowly.

                “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sighs, shaking his head a bit from interaction. He can’t believe of all the days he came, this was the day he chose to do this?

                “I haven’t done anything like that in ages. I told you already, I’m clean now. I don’t do that kind of shit anymore.” He says firmly.

                “Besides, don’t call me that. My name’s not JoJo.”

                “LANGUAGE BOY!” He shouts, raising the baton down and aiming it right at his temple. John backs a bit more with his leg, making sure to keep eye contact with him.

                “Anyway boy,” He says, taking the baton and whacking it against his hand again.

                WHOMP – WHOMP – WHOMP

                “You see, I’m a nice guy. I’ll do you a favor.” He takes the baton and aims it back at him again.

                “Since I got probable cause, let me do a search of your bag there and we won’t have any more trouble, capiche?” He asks.

                “What, a search?” The mullet boy whines.

                “You gotta be kidding!”

                “SILENCE THERE DENNIS!” The fat cop screams, taking the baton and aiming it over at him. John grits his teeth a bit and turns back to the cop. He’s only tolerated the blabbering fat giant for so long, but threatening his friend like that was a step too far.

                “Look, back off!” John screams, slowly backing further away from the cop with his bike.

                “Besides, can’t search me without a warrant,” He growls.

                The cop laughs and shakes his head, getting ever closer to the boys. He raises the baton and lifts it up to John’s chin, forcing him to stare at the fat baby-faced man.

                “Probable cause,” He laughs.

                “Besides, you already got a track record. Now, now, what would your dear mama say if she found out that you got arrested again, huh?”

                John eyes grow wide and he starts becoming more hesitant.

                “Fine,” He says, taking out his black bag and stepping off the bike.

                “What, really John?” Dennis asks, “You’re just going to let him search us?”

                “You too Dennis!” The fat cop yelps out, taking the baton over to him again.

                “You ain’t no patron saint either.”

                “Aw man,” Dennis whines.

---

                As the taxi speeds faster, Hol Horse could notice the tall man running off from in the distance. He was steadily trekking along a path towards a large shopping district. He turns back to the driver and blurts out, “GO FASTER!”

                “WHAT? YOU SAYIN’ YOU WANNA—”

                “JUST DO IT!” Hol Horse screams.

                “Ugh,” He grunts out, speedily ever faster towards the tall man.

                Hol Horse rolls down the window, and proceeds to position himself in the exact spot where he could reach the man.

                “What the hell are you doin’?” The taxi driver asks.

                Hol Horse says nothing as he steadies his hands, Emperor forms back into his fingers and he sets sight on the running man. Out from the barrel came three rounds. The bullets sprint towards the running tall figure and loop past a stop sign. As he darts towards a tree, the three bullets pierce the large man. Then again, they pierce through.

                “Huh?” Hol Horse thinks to himself.

                “Wait, this… can’t be right I— I saw him get hit!”

                Like static, they phase through his body and fly into a nearby window. The bullets then round back and drag themselves towards the man again. Again, they phase through like they were nothing. It seemed no matter how many times he hit him, they just phased right through.

                “Wh-what?”

                In his anger, Hol Horse rips the door of the taxi open. The taxi driver screams at him, lecturing at him and his foolishness.

                “WHAT THE HELL? STOP! GET BACK HERE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

                Yet, not a single one of his words stick to him. He takes and rips it open, only slamming it shut when gets onto the road. The driver curses at him, he was such a strange man. 

                “Damn him,” He curses, patting the seat with a hard force. The force lands hard enough for him to feel a weird paper like texture under his hand. It was quite different from the rough carpet text of the black seat next to him. He hunches over and looks at the seat. A small pile of change laid bare before him. He shook his hand and grabbed the chunk of change and stuffed it into his pocket.

                “Asshole.”

---

                The large lumbering mass of flesh of the police officer rummages through of all of his personal belongings with exquisite detail. He pokes and prods his larger black pack-pack, examining it for any sort of hidden compartment of extra pocket.

                He fumbles through the large compartment and eyes it carefully.

                “Hmm, let’s see here,” He says, rummaging through the items.

                “A Sony Walkman,” He notes, picket up a small black cylinder with a thin black wire attached to it. He smiles and wraps the wire around his hand, grabbing the earbuds along with it. A part of him got a little greedy for the thing.

                “A picture…” He notes, picking it up and examining it closely. He marvels at the woman in the old polaroid. It was a picture of a woman with shoulder length brunette hair with her hair wrapped in a bandana. A large dog lay just at her side. She seems to be riding a large red buggy and riding in some sort of desert environment. Scott knew the Voights well, and that wasn’t Janelle.

                “This must be Sarah, huh,” He notes, putting the picture back into the backpack.

                “Pretty Lady, even if she’s a crazy bitch.” He thought.

                “Here,” He says, shuffling through the bag and pulling things out randomly.

                “A bag of mechanical pencils,” He noted, shaking a small see-through plastic bag of them harshly before shoving them back into the pack. He was a bit displeased with the texture, it was overly sticky and looked like it had some bits of bacon or some type of jerky stuck to it. Wasn’t illegal but very suspicious for dear Officer Scott.

                He files it away as a mental note before continuing on with his search.

                “A pair of sunglasses,” He notes.

                “Spare clothes,” He says, grabbing onto a spare camouflaged pattern collar-jacket and stuffing it back into the back. As he does so, something falls onto his shoe. It made a loud thud. He snatches it and brings it up to his face. He opens it wide and speeds through the page. As he fumbles through, he becomes more displeased with the large swathe of blank pages.

                “A comic book?”

                John lit his eyes up with those words, noting the strange purple hard-cover book the grubby policeman holds in his chubby fingers.

                “Comic book?” He thought.

                “That wasn’t in there before…”   

---

                “I was sure I hit him, numerous times.” Hol Horse huffed as he gave chase. A part of him felt like one of those heavy-set actors in those police films akin to Dirty Harry but a bit more intense.

                “They all just phased through,” He remarked, noting at how ineffective each shot was.

                “He must be a stand user!” He determines based on the speed that the man was running.

                Hol Horse continues his chase, not giving way until he caught up to the man. For an absurdly tall man who was probably somewhere around two-hundred-and-forty-three centimeters he could run fast. Not just that, he was absurdly athletic. Yet, that didn’t stop Hol Horse from catching up to him. He rounds around a corner that approaches a large sprawling mall parking lot not too far from him. He lunges over and tackles the large man’s leg, sending him flying towards the ground.

                “Huh, couldn’t hit him directly,” He thought.

                “But I guess tackling him gets the job done.”

                The man seems to stumble, nearly dropping the book. As he does so, another pair of gloved fingers race along and catch it from him. His body explodes into static, sending Hol Horse tumbling to the ground. He lies face flat in a pile of dirt and broken cement.

                He coughs, pushing himself to see the gracious sight of the tall man looming over him with a horrid look on his face. Hol Horse’s face shriveled slightly at the sight of him. While the left side of his face looked normal, the right side was heavily deformed. Long red segments along his face mapping the area of his skull protruded outward. His right eye droop down. He hadn’t had any pupils, just all white with a small black dot in the center.

                “Ugly lookin’ fella, aren’t ya?” Hol Horse asks.

                “Heh, not very nice of you Hol Horse,” He remarks, taking up the book and wrapping it around his arm with a smile.

                “If you don’t mind,” He says with a grow darkness in his voice.

                “I will be taking this,” He says with a horrid grin on his horrid face.

                “And now, the only thing left I have to deal with… is you… Hol Horse.” He laughs, taking his long leather shoe and stomping it over his head.

                Hol Horse’s eyes grow wide with terror for a moment. In that moment, his eyes got slightly damp and tears began to form in his eyes.

                “N-no!” He thinks to himself.

                “I can’t let him take this!” He thinks to himself, balling his hand and aiming it toward him.

                “I can’t take the only thing left of Boingo!”

                His mind scrambles with a thousand thoughts, what was he going to do? He can’t let this guy get away with whatever he wants with Thoth. Hol Horse needs Thoth, he needs him more than he needs anything else. A sudden flurry of footsteps catch his attention. His eyes peer over for a moment, catching the eye of a man in a thin white tank top and black cargo pants. He seemed very dazed and absent-minded as he listened to something on his earbuds. Hol Horse noted his protruding muscular form as he holds a small bit of jerky in his hands from a clear bag. It was a deep red and very juicy. The man tossed the red meat to his mouth and with a loud crunch it landed.

                His fingers stuck together slightly, and when he went to pull them apart, a small bit of juice came with it. Hol Horse’s eyes beamed with a twisted idea.

                “One of those Cali body-builder types,” He noted, observing his very exposing clothes with a grin. As the man leans forward, stretching his longer slender hands towards Hol Horse’s head, Hol Horse turns his Emperor over to the bag. He fires, causing the large assortment to fly and scatter around him. The man freaks out and takes off thinking someone had just fired a gun right next to his head. He doesn’t stop to pick up the earbuds forcefully removed from his ears. He keeps going… just running. Just his luck, it manages to distract the tall man just enough for him to release Thoth.

                A few pieces of the jerky scatter, landing on the edge of Toth’s cover. However, that was fine for Hol Horse. He could clean it off anyhow… but then again… he wouldn’t.

                He drops the comic, and just as it was about to fall into his hands, a pair of long yellow claws swoops in from the sky to grab them. The claws catapult into the air and disappear into the skies of Los Angeles. Hol Horse gasped, sitting up to look at the skies. A bird, a large god-damned bird appeared out of nowhere and stole the dumb thing from right under them. Its brown feather stretched out high as it soured above them and into the dense urban jungle.

                Others around turn and stare at the large bird, marveling at its size and majesty just before it disappears from their sight and forms into black squiggly lines in the sky.

                He didn’t even know how or why, it was just… swooped away… taken. Thoth, through a strange cycle of events a bird took the book and carried it away. Or was it by Thoth's own design? Hol Horse can only sit in silence, marveling at how high the book reached. This all felt too familiar, familiar to something that happened around seven years ago. Hol Horse reached out his hand to the sky.

                How was it even possible? Was it attracted to the smell? The color of the book? Both?  

                “Wh-what were the chances?” He asked himself.

                “A god-damn eagle stole the book,” He thought.

                The tall man stood silently, raising a hand to his face as he watched the bird carry off with the strange book. The man’s body expression became stiffer. Hol Horse wondered for a moment what he was thinking about. Hate? Anger? Surprise? He growls, balling his fist and turning back over to Hol Horse. A strange animalistic growl overtakes his face as he hunches over to him.

                “That’s going to take a while to find,” He says, talking in a way a hungry carnivorous animal would. He grunts, turning back over to the road.

                “You may have won this one Hol Horse, but for a future warning… I’m coming back. Your little book won’t be able to save you then.”

                Then, he disappears, almost as if he dematerialized from existence. Like he was made of television static, and was fading into nothing but static. Like he himself was made out of light. Hol Horse scrambles to his feet. He sits up and leans over on a wall. He breathes in heavily for a moment, trying to catch his breath and evaluate everything that just happened.

                “Who the hell was that creep?” He thought.

                “More importantly,” He said, turning over to the sky.

                “What the hell was that?” He slaps his face and looks back over to the pedestrians surrounding him, giving him emotionless or cold apathic stares. Just some crazy guy to them. He takes a moment to breathe again before turning back to the sky. Hol Horse considered leaving then, it would be useless to stay put for very long. Perhaps he can come back another time.

                He knew the kind of power Thoth held, but then again… a part of him just wouldn’t let the thought of the book go. Something within him was urging to get the book back despite his better judgment. He couldn’t bare losing another piece of Boingo.

                He looks back towards the empty mall lot with an almost exasperated stare. Something about the man who tried to run off with it interested him too. No doubt about it, he was a stand user as well. Just his luck, this absurdly giant bastard managed to run into him. Not to mention, what he said before seemingly fading away made him curious.

                “The book, he likely thought I was planning this… but I haven’t read—”

                A sudden realization dawns over Hol Horse. He immediately turns his heel and books it towards the dense cement jungle of Los Angeles. Its been some time since his eyes graced upon Thoth since the accident. However, that didn’t stop him from taking it with him to Los Angeles. He needed that book more than he needed life. 

                He had to get it back, he had to. With what he knew now, he could never let that book go.

---

                As the large bird flies high above the city, it holds a large book firmly between its talons. It grips the strange book hard as it looks towards the ground below. It was a rare Golden California eagle that had been unintentionally released from a conservation center not too long ago. One of the employees had left his cage open for just a bit too long in a simple distraction. That distraction was enough for it to fly off with a renowned sense of freedom. In its bid of freedom, it was souring above looking for the right meal to take for itself.

                The book was heavy and hard to grip. It was hardly moving and thin and dense. It couldn’t bend or move the book in any way for easier maneuverability. Its eyes glanced over to a small creature crossing the street not too far away. It drops the book, swooping down towards the more interesting prey. The prey in question was a twelve-week old fluffy grey tabby kitten that had been a stray for quite some time.

                As it flies off, the book falls landing just above an atm where two boys were punching numbers. 

                “Come on John, when is this going to end?” One boy asks impatiently as he shifts back and forth.

                Thoth falls, landing inside a large black backpack. It lands safe inside, nestled under some clothes and bags for easy cushioning. Another boy comes along and zips up the bag as he keeps his focus on a small Atari Portfolio not too far from him.

---

                John remained transfixed at the strange comic book for a moment. He never remembered having such a thing before. Or did he? When he was back in that foster house, had he unintentionally grabbed a comic from them? No, he knew that house pretty well. He was certain, no, entirely positive they never had such a thing in their collection. However, he couldn’t think about that now, the only thing left for John was his small blue backpack, the one with the Atari Portfolio and the hot two-hundred fifty cash from the ATM.

                He knew if this dimwit got his grubby hands on that he was most certainly going to Juvie, and like hell was that ever happening. He had to act smart. He takes the smaller bag and brings it close to him. The officer turns, eying a small difference in John. A small blue scarf was now draped around his neck. How strange, that really wasn’t there before.

                “Something wrong?”

                Officer Scott grit his teeth, he thought about doing a body search. Yet, if anyone at the station got wind of him searching a young boy like him… He shook his head. Didn’t need that sort of heat in his life. He pushes it off, turning his attention to Dennis. He takes the bag and throws it back to John.

                “Alright, show me what you got Dennis,” He says, stretching out his arm to him with the baton secured tightly in his hands.

                He rolls his eyes, taking out the small boombox in his arms along with a little brown bag. The policeman frowns, shuffling through the sparse items with dismay.

                “That it?” He asked.

                “Yeah?” Dennis asked back with the same attitude, although a bit more mocking in nature.

                “Alright,” The police man grumbles, stumbling away from them with a scowl.

                “You’re free to go,” He says with his back to them.

                “But I got my eye on you, JoJo,” He says, looking over to John.

                “Better not be getting into trouble,” He says as he peers over to John from the corner of his eye.

                “Yeah, whatever,” John laughs, speeding away from the fat cop.

                He growls, that boy still has an attitude. Oh how he despised that boy. He turns on his heel to face him, but the ground under him shifts. He fall flat on his face, hitting the concrete hard. He grunts, trying to regain his balance only for him to stumble and fall backwards again, hitting his back on the ground with a slap.

                He moans, crying to himself as he tries to get up from the concrete, only to slip back and fall every time he tries. He falls, failing to notice the imprint of a shoe on the ground. Despite it being concrete the small heel makes an imprint. It’s hot and steamy to touch, but area around it makes it hard touch as the ground was slippery and almost rubber in nature.

---

                Dennis looks at the blue bag with a slight curiosity. He keeps wondering to himself as to how the hell John managed to hide it right under that fat cop’s nose. He thumbs and looks at the bag carefully. He did something to the bag, he was sure of it. Yet, no matter how many times he thought about it… he could never figure out any reason as to how. One moment it was there, and the next moment it was… a scarf? He was wearing a scarf at some point, looking eerily similar to the bag. The hue was almost a perfect match… but as they sped away to the galleria… it was the bag again.

                “Hey, how’d you managed to do that?” He asks as his arms are half-wrapped around John.

                “What?” John asks as he turns a slight eye back to him.

                “How’d you manage to do that trick?”

                “Trick?” John asks.

                “Oh, the bag? Don’t worry about it.” He said, brushing him off.

                “Officer Scott won’t be in our crosshairs anymore anyway…” He says with greater emphasis.

                “Okay,” Dennis sung with a bit of confusion and awkward embarrassment.

                “Say,” He says to break up the silence, “Where the hell did you get that comic book?”

                “Comic book?”

                “Yeah? Where’d you get it? Looks really… weird.”

                “I—” John voice trails off for a moment.

                It would be very weird to say that he didn’t know. If he tried to explain, Dennis would hardly buy it. He would insist and insist again that John got it somewhere… so he lies.

                “Got it from home, thought it looked cool… I guess,” Dennis raised a brow to that answer. Something about that didn’t seem awfully truthful, for the sake of his friend he pushes it aside. His mind simply turns to his simple kid worries of the galleria.

                “Yeah,” John sighs.

---

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

                John stumbles into his room and flops down on his bed. The small background noise of the fishtank humming combined with AC soothed him somewhat. He was really tired, and his awkward tense dinner with his foster parents didn’t really help. He turns over and reaches out for the trust black backpack next to him.

                He didn’t need to change, nor did he need to really brush his teeth as he already done so. He turns over to the backpack. No matter what he did, no matter how long it has been he couldn’t take his mind off the strange comic book. He almost hesitates to open the bag, holding his hand just above the zipper. A part of him wondered if it would still even be there by the time he ripped it open. Yet, he does… taking it open and fumbling to the first page.

                He turns over to the lamp light not too far from his desk and runs over to it. He turns it on, bringing the strange comic book to the light. However, before it does, he makes sure to get a good look at the title again.

                “Oingo Boingo Brothers Adventure?” He asks, looking over to a large cartoon man with a long face next to a weird gremlin like creature with long blue hair like Marge from the Simpsons. 

                He scoffs at the title, “How stupid.”

                He can’t help but laugh at it, it was strange and had such a weird cartoony style. It was composed of thick lines and overly exaggerated almost caricature style proportions.

                “Anyway,” He mutters to himself, flipping over to the first page.

                He starts his read.

                “There once lived two brothers that got along very well,” John read to himself from the pages.

                “My name is Oingo,” Said the larger caricature in a large bubble.

                “My name is Boingo,” Said the smaller caricature.

                “Boingo was the younger brother and was very shy. He wouldn’t do anything unless Oingo was with him. He was always alone.” He said, flipping over to the next page.

                “One day while his big brother Boingo was away, Boingo met a kind traveler near the side of the road,” He reads, getting closer to the strange caricatures.

                John couldn’t help but feel entranced, something about the strange figures in the weird sea-green skies and dark brown environments really garnered his curiosity.

                “He gave Boingo yummy snacks, and even let him use his binoculars. Boingo had more fun than he had in a long time.”

                He looked over to the next page.

                “Oh, it’s ten thirty!” Said the stranger.

                “But unfortunately,” The story continued, “The very kind traveler…”

                “Was impaled on a telephone pole and died a horrific death.” John stops suddenly when he sees the strange panel. He removes his thumb to reveal the caricature of this weird strange impaled onto a long metal telephone pole.

                “Kind of dark for a comic like this,” John notes as he raises a brow. He closes the book and looks at the front and back.

                “Huh, weird… no author?” He asked himself.

                He shrugged, probably some pedantic arts student’s “passion project.” He heard of some like that were not too rare around the area. He can think of it now, the weird high end Hollywood or Silicon Valley type ranting on about their abstract art piece depicting everyday life. John wasn’t really intrigued, but he kept reading anyway.

                “The brothers delayed their trip and took a bus four hours later, so managed to avoid getting into an accident. Yippee!!”

                “Accident?” John thought, “Is that how that guy died I guess?”

                “Laaaame,” He sung, reading over to the next panel.

                “What adventures awaited them now? Once in Aswan, they made their discovery,”

                He looks over to the next panel, catching his eye on three distinct caricatures. One with long silver or white hair, one with a long black coat and strange hat, and another in almost safari type outfit and dark brown fedora.

                “Oh, there they are! The five bad guys!”

                “But the brothers wondered… what could they be talking about?”

                “The bad guys seemed so worried.”

                John raised a brow and turn his head slightly at the comment.

                “Well if they’re visiting their friend I could hardly see them as bad guys,” He noted.

                As he read, his mind became more intrigued. His kept reading page after page. Soon, he started to learn the names of the other characters in the story. The one in the long black uniform with a mean looking almost human like face was named Jotaro. The other silver-haired guy was named something like Polnareff or something, a weird name for sure.

                The next guy was someone named Joseph Joestar. As he read he learned about more characters, a tall black man whose name was Avdol or something, and the next guy with long cherry red hair… his name was Kakyoin. The more he thought about, the more he swore that he recognized these them from somewhere. Or rather, he recognized Jotaro and Kakyoin from somewhere.

                “Huh?” He asked.

                The more he read, the more he stopped caring about the brothers and more so towards the five supposed ‘bad guys.’

                Yet, the more he read, the more unnerved he got.

                Did… did the little Boingo guy really die? From the looks of it, the comic doesn’t really say it… but there’s a missing page. A missing page… in the comic. He couldn’t help but feel uneased by that. 

---

TWO DAYS BEFORE T-1000 ENCOUNTER

                John wipes a tired eye from his brow and walks alongside Dennis with a frown. He looks to the ground and stares off into the distance kicks the little motorbike to life. He turns over and gives Dennis a small sigh as he packs up his things.

                “Woah, woah, hey what’s up with you?” Dennis asks.

                “You seem awfully, tired.” He notes, looking at the dark bags under his little face.

                “Nothing, I’m just— I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

                “Woah, why man? Foster parents kept you up again?” He asked.

                “Mmmhmm, no…” John said as he muttered to himself.

                “It’s just that— remember that comic I got the other day?” He asked.

                “Wha— oh yeah!” He sung.

                “I remember now, man you must be one real nerd, eh?” He sung.

                “Aw, shut up.” John says, backhanding him slightly as he kicks the motor bike and forces it to drive. The whistle of its engine cracked as John pushed it off.

                “Anyway, it had some really weird characters. It takes place in India, or Cairo I think? Really weird if you ask me,” He notes as he drives through the streets of Los Angeles.

                “What really? Tell me about it.”

                “Okay, it’s starts off with these weird brothers… and then it goes on about these five guys. It says there bad guys but I think they’re actually good guys. One of them is Jotaro or something.”

                “Jotaro? That’s a really weird name,” Dennis noted.

                “Yeah, and then there’s this guy—”

---

                Unfortunately, due to the route, Dennis had to make a quick pit stop. As he does so, John catches up on the rest of the comic. The pages started nearing the end. As he does, he starts seeing pages that looked really… strange. It starts rambling on about the cowboy-caricature looking creature's adventures. It was seemingly a man with a cowboy hat for eyes, had travelled to Los Angeles with a comic. Something about this was started to get a bit close to home. However, he remains calm. After all, it’s just a comic and Los Angeles was a pretty popular city.

                So he continues to read…

                “So, Hol Horse flies across the world towards Los Angeles, but oh no!” It said as Hol Horse step out of a strange grey chimera like thing with mouth and eyes somewhat resembling a plane.

                “A strange man steals the comic from him!” The comic shows a really strange tall man holding a comic high above his head. Of all the ugly caricatures, his was by far the ugliest he had ever seen. John didn’t quite like where it was going. 

                “This made Hol Horse very sad!” In the next panel, The strange Hol Horse like caricature was seen crying cartoon droplet shaped tears from his face.

                “So, he chases after the man!”

                He flips over the page.

                He sees the tall ugly man stomp on the Hol Horse caricature, making John raise a brow.

                “Just when the ugly man tries to beat him up! Hol Horse spots a man eating a yummy snack!” John looks at the next panel. With a cartoon bang from a curly looking gun, a strange red like square explodes into a million pieces.

                “The yummy snack was a bunch of jerky! Yum! Yum! But oh no!”

                He looks over to the next page.

                “Hol Horse tries to take the comic, but a bird flies of with it!”

                He flips the to the next page over.

                “The bird flies over Los Angeles and drops the comic into the backpack of a young boy!” His heart races, this story was starting to feel a bit familiar. He looks over to see a strange character. He had a green camo jacket and long red hair. He had curly legs, a small triangle nose and beaming blue eyes. That character looked a lot like… him.

                “His name is John Josepheus Connor!” The book read, John nearly drops the book from his hands. His eyes grow wide and frantic, nearly blaring around for an explanation.

                “John Connor is strange boy!” The book exclaimed.

                He reads over, seeing a strange character of a slim woman. While the features were very exaggerated and mouth wide John immediately recognized it as his mother. She had an angry expression on her face, and she was throwing her hands around in an erratic motion.

                “His mother says she got attacked by an evil robot who wants to take over the world!” The next panel made his face cringe.

                “And she would be right.”

                Something about that line alone sent a chill down his spine. It was simple yet very direct. She would be right? What the hell did that mean for him? No, what was he thinking? This little comic isn’t really about him is it? No, this had to be some sort of prank… this matched far too much for his life to be something other than that.

                “Wh-what the?” John asked. He tried to stop himself, but something about the book always entranced him. Was this a joke? This had to be a joke. There was no other way for this to be really other than some sort of prank. Was Dennis responsible?

                “But John doesn’t really think about her. He likes to steal credit cards!” It shows another panel of him throw a small rectangular shaped creature into the maws of a giant blue machine like thing.

                “And spend the money at the arcade! Yipee!”

                The next panel shows a weird, caricaturized version of his confrontation with the officer from yesterday. He looks more like a pig here than in real life, but he shrugs it off. 

                “And he found this really cool comic!” It says, depicting John holding the book high above his head with a strange look of glee on his face.

                “So, John read the comic, and fell in love with the Oingo Boingo brothers! He was so enthralled with the story that he read each and every page! Wow!”

                “The next day, it made him very tired as he nearly stayed up all night!” His shaky fingers could barely keep the book in his hands. He drops it to the ground and his breath starts to become heavy.

                “What the— is this— what the hell is this? This isn’t—”

                “He went to his good buddy Dennis, and they went and stayed out again!”

                “Despite how angry his foster parents were, he wanted to go on an adventure!” The next panel shows a weird almost Simpson style representation of his foster parents with serpent like tongues and raised fists. They were screaming and shouting things like, “Clean your room!” As well as, “Be nice to your mother!”

                “When Dennis went out to pee, John read the rest of the comic!”

                “Then when he came back, he and John went to the arcade again to have some fun! But watch out!” the book warns.

                A small wind blew by and the next page flipped over.

                “Hol Horse came back, and he’s not happy! He wants the comic returned! What was John going to do?” The panel asked.  

                Then… nothing. Nothing but a blank page. John could hardly wrap his head around what he was seeing. Was this a prank, was any of this true? Did Dennis make this? No, he couldn’t have. The look on his face when the saw wasn’t that of a giddy one. John knew his buddy well. If he threw a prank, he would have done it by now.

                This was… something else.

                “Hey John,” John immediately scrambles for the comic and shoves it back into his backpack. He turns around frantically and shoves his body between him and the backpack.

                “Hey uh— is there a problem?” Dennis asked.

                “Problem? What? No?” He asked.

                “I— uh— just caught me by surprise is— all.” He huffs out nervously. Dennis looks at him strangely before turning around and walking towards the bike.

                “Whatever.” He simply replies.

                “Let’s just go then.”

                John takes a short while to breath, not thinking about what transpired and pushing it to the back of his mind. He hardly understood why he got so worked up at all. Sure, it was a creepy comic that started to get a little too personal, but then again… it was just a comic. It couldn’t hurt him in anyway, so why was he so scared?

                Even if it was based off real life people, none of the characters within them were real… right?

                Hol Horse wasn’t real, right?

---

                Hol Horse marched down the street, tapping his foot with annoyance as he hunches over a Stop sign. He almost wanted to scream, ripping the stop sign off from the ground. Yet, he hardly has any of the strength or willpower to do such a thing. Maybe, if he tried to— no, that was a dumb idea.

                “Damn, it’s been nearly a day, and I still can’t find that darn thing,” He thought to himself.

                “Where could it—” Hol Horse stopped for a moment to think.

                If the bird went and flew off with it, it must have dropped it at some point. With some basic knowledge, it wouldn’t be too hard to guess that Thoth had been delivered to someone. With such a prophetic thing, it’s not too hard of an assumption that someone was already in possession of Thoth. Whether or not they read Thoth was a different story.

                He remembered something that Boingo told him once, trust in Fate.

                If Fate worked the way he thought it did, it would eventually bring him back to the book. Yet, his mind couldn’t help but wonder… just how long was it going to be.

                “Damn, that blasted thing could be anywhere! How am I supposed to find it?” he thought, looking around with a more determined fervor in his eyes.

                “Now where could it be? Do I just have to sit around until it—"

                “Really, is that what it was about? Sounds kinda lame to me,” A boy laughed. Hol Horse’s attention was swiftly taken over to a conversation made by two boys, followed by the whine of a small motor bike as it puffed and chugged along.

                With a small pop, it comes to a complete stop. As a brunette boy parks the bike, a strange ginger kid with a mullet turns over to a grassy forest beyond a bent fence.

                “Do you really believe that story?” He asked.

                “Nah,” The brunette boy laughed, “Polnareff is too stupid of a name to be real.”

                “Comes right to me.” He said aloud.  

                Hol Horse’s eyes grew wide with a strange feeling overtaking him.

                “That boy, how did he know who Polna—” Hol Horse freezes almost entirely, a small chill went down his spine. He’s grown acquainted with the feeling. It’s the strange tingly sensation he gets whenever he sees a predication made by Thoth play before his eyes. He didn’t really have to wait long, did he? That was strange, but then again… not entirely out of reality. Or better yet, the reality of those with stands.

                “That was fast,” He thought.

                However, he shouldn’t waste too much time. He’s got his eyes on those kids now, and there was no way he was going to let them out of his sights now.  

               

---

                John takes the most direct route to the galleria on his motor bike. He drives through an underpass and uses a small ramp to drive through an area to get towards the mall. He was only a few blocks down when a firm hand grabs the handle of his bike. He freezes up and nearly freaks out. Was this officer Scott again?

                However, when he looks up, he realizes that the man blocking his path was far too muscular and heavily clothed to resemble him. His clothes, dark and cut up in the way the cowboys of the old westerns were. The black and dark browns were cut in a way that looked new and yet all so familiar. John eyes grew wide and his head drifted towards the man.

                He recognized that face. He jumps, pushing off his bike. Dennis and John run off and stare back at the tall cowboy from a distance.

                “Wh-what?” John asked.

                “What, no way, that’s impossible!” He thought.

                “I-it’s just a comic, no-no way that comic is re—”

                “You’re not the pig we usually see here,” Dennis pipes up as he steps forward to the cowboy.

                “Just who the fuck are you?” Dennis asks.

                “Huh,” The cowboy laughs, lowering his hat to the boys.

                “That’s awfully rude boy, did your mother ever tell you that it was rude to swear in front of adults?” He asks, lifting up his hat to see the large smile crept up over his face.

                “Fuck off!” Dennis yells.

                John’s eyes grow wide as he keeps staring back and forth between the two with an almost bewildered face. It was the kind of face that made Dennis confused. What’s gotten into him recently? He looks like its his first day here? What was going on?

                John shakes his head and turns back to the cowboy.

                “Look, who are you?” John asks, “Just… what do you want from us?”

                “Well,” The cowboy hums, strolling over to a speed limit sign and rests his back against it.

                “Since you asked, I just want one small thing.” He says, raising up his hand and pinching his right forefinger and thumb together to the point they almost touch.

                “Yeah? What’s that?” Dennis asks, causing John to raise his hand nearly slapping him away. This only results in a confused look that crawls across his face.

                “Hmm, maybe I should ask you a question to answer yours,” He laughs, lifting his hat up so that his eyes lock with John’s.

                “Did you read it? That book I mean,” John raises a brow and steps back.

                “Book, book?” Dennis asks, “John, is he referring to that comic book?”

                Dennis turns over to John for a response. John steps back and bites his lip ever so subtly.

                “I—”

                “Don’t really know what you saw, but I gotta wonder. What did Thoth say? Saw somethin’ in there you didn’t like?” He asks. At this point, John’s skin was really starting to crawl.

                “No, no way was any of this real,” He thought.

                “Hmm, it must have been somethin’ if it’s making you look at me like that. It must have been somethin’ really special.” He sung, humming out a small tune at the last syllable.

                “Look kid, I know what you’re thinking. ‘No way is this real, did Thoth really predict what I am seeing right before me?’” He says, stepping a bit closer to the boy. John steps back slowly, trying to keep up his composure as he locks eyes with the cowboy again. There was that word again, Thoth. Strange word, wasn’t that some Egyptian God or something? Why the hell would a comic book be called that? Dennis starts to notice the fear in John’s eyes, the terror rumbling through his body.

                Dennis knew this cowboy was pretty serious.  

                “Does it freak you out?” He asked.

                “I can make that go away, just give me the book… and you never have to worry about this ever again. You can go on your merry way, forget the book ever exists,” He hummed.

                “Go to your family, live a normal life,” He says, widening his lips into a toothy smile. John narrowed his eyes. Family? Was he serious? Of all the words he chose, those were the shittiest words. He’s never really had a true family aside from his psychotic mother whose now locked away in a state hospital. He thought about giving away now, but his pride got the better of him and now he’s really not wanting to let it go.

                “So, what do you say kid?” The cowboy asks.

                John scoffs at the idea, slightly regaining his composure.

                “Pfft, as if I care,” He says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

                “Finder’s-keepers, buddy!” John shouts, “Why would you even care, was it yours?”

                “No,” The cowboy says, looking away for a moment. A small look of sadness overtook in that split second. In that moment, his face was somber. What a strange face, almost as if he was remembering something he didn’t want to think about.

                “Then why the hell are you even harassing a ten year old for it?” John asked, crossing his arms now. His composure became more confident and charismatic. Cowboy or not, John wasn’t going to let this douche bully him into giving away that comic book. He was far to interested in it to even give it away now.

                “If you lost it, that’s on you,” He growled, turning away from him towards his bike.

                As he steps towards his bike, he notice the man fidget with his hands for a moment.

                “Get out of my way,” He demands.

                “Out of your way?” The cowboy laughs.

                “Huh, guess that settles it then, huh?”

                “That tells me all I need to know,” Suddenly, a ray of light forms from his hands and spins around. A large steel gun forms into his hand, he raises it slowly and aims it towards the kids. John leaps up in terror and turns to Dennis with a bit of terror. Dennis meagerly looks at the man perplexed, almost amused by his weapon.

                He turns to Dennis almost dumbfounded, was he insane? He grabs him by the arm and drags him towards the bike.

                “Are you crazy?” He asks.

                “He’s got a gun!” He harshly whispers over to him.

                “What? I don’t see a gun?” Dennis asks in confusion, before the cowboy could raise it to them. John, the quick-thinking boy he was, almost runs into the man. The cowboy dodges just in time for him to pass by them. He turns away, catching the wide eyes of the cowboy. They seemed to share an almost confused look.

                Wait, why would he be confused?

                He wouldn’t have much time to ponder that though, as they speed away and loop past a large freeway, he raises the gun.

                BAM – BAM – BAM

                Three shots pierce through the barrel and propel themselves towards John. John eyes the commotion with a wide eye. This little trail of his eye towards the speeding bullets catches the cowboy off guard for a moment.

                “Wait, so he really did see that?” He asked himself.

                John had to move faster, but this was the fastest this crummy little bike could go. He panics, an armored leg hovers above John’s pants. As the bullet speeds closer to him, the armored leg becomes more visible. It had numerous gold plates and looked like the lower half of armor from a roman infantry guard. Aside from the golden plating, half of its leg was striped in a red and brown pattern. The leg was very hardened and muscular. It seems to stretch out like one of those rubber Stretch Armstrong toys. It snaps like a rubber band, hitting the road beneath him.

                He propels forward like a rocket and nearly speeds, doubling the distance between him and the bullet. The cowboy looks on perplexed and amused. He opens his hand, allowing the gun to phase away before disappearing completely.

---

                “Wh-what the hell?” Hol Horse thinks to himself as he stands atop that empty road. He rushes over and plants his hands firmly on the concrete fence of the overhang above him, peering below almost as if he had the curiosity and bewilderment of a newborn baby.

                “H-how did he do that?” He asked himself.

                “My Emperor wasn’t that far, I could have got him in that split moment,” He thought.

                “More importantly, how did he manage to know, nonetheless see it coming? Unless…” Hol Horse didn’t want to think to hard about that unless. He didn’t like that word, unless. It meant something more, some extra work he had to do.

                “That kid is a—”

                He growls, balling his fist and running alongside the road. Can’t really think about that now, for now… he had a book to get back. He raises up his hand and waves it to the first car he sees. Instead, a motorcycle roars and stops right by him. It was a thin guy in a long grey leather suit and bots. He lifts up the glass just so it can see his eyes and he squints.

                “H-hey, what are you—”

                “I’ll be taking this, thank-you sir!” Hol Horse hums, kicking the man way. He falls in a loud huff and slaps the ground hard.

                “Ugh,” He hums.

                An engine roars, and the bike hums to life. It soars away without its master. The motorcyclist only has enough time to lift himself up and watch his beloved bike drift further and further from him. He screams, running up and chasing after him. However, its all for nothing, he slumps to his knees and curses to himself.

                “DAMN IT!”

---

                John panics, he keeps whipping his head back to see a large cowboy on a motorcycle speed after him. He truly felt like a child there. While he rode around on a youth’s little motor bike, the big cowboy seemed to chase him down with a large and pristine grey Yamaha. Its engine growled like the angry howls of a wolf ever so close on their trail.

                This was bad, any closer and the bike would be right behind him. John had to think, this wasn’t going to be an easy day. He had to do something. Guess the arcade was off the table for today, all he wanted to do was get the hell away from that Cowboy.

                John turns back to Dennis and shoves his backpack into his chest.

                “Here,” He says in a firm tone.

                “Unzip it for me,” He commands him.

                “Wh-why?”

                “Just do it!” John yells.

                “O-okay!”

                With a loud zip, the zipper folds around. Dennis stars shuffling around until his eyes catch on a large purple book. He takes the book and flips it over.

                “Oingo Boingo Brothers Adventure,” He read. His eyes catch the desperate eyes of John and he forks it over slightly.

                “This it?” He asks.

                “Yeah!” Quickly gesturing his hand out for it, “Give it to me!” He screams.

                Dennis shoves it over, to which John snatches it quickly in return. Hol Horse, that cowboy gave the comic a name. Thoth, something about that name didn’t sit right with him. If what Hol Horse said was true, he had to see something. He takes the book it flips it over to the page he left off.

                “Wh-wha-WHA?” He asked himself.

                What was once a single panel inside of a large empty white space was now a filled out canvas of panels surprised him. Where did they even come from, and how was it so clear and pristine? Strange, he could he even see the marks where an artist would have carved in with a pen, yet no matter how hard he tried he could hardly see the stroke of an author anywhere.

                 “What the—”

                “John decides he doesn’t want to give up the book!” The next panel reads.

                “It’s mine!” A little caricature screams out.

                “But this didn’t make Hol Horse very happy, he fires his Emperor. This spooks John and makes him flee. Ahh!” The next panel over was a larger panel showing a small caricature of him and a thin and gangly caricature of Dennis. His ginger mullet was a deep red that stretched to his back. His face long and wide like a character from Beavis And Butt-head.

                They ride on a strange stick like creature with rock like wheels in an almost Flintstones-esque escapade across a rounded environment with child-like representations of houses and buildings.

                “But what will he do? Hol Horse is onto them, and he’s super fast!”

                “Hey, eyes on the road John!” Dennis shouts.

                “Why are you even reading this again?” He asks.

                John rudely waves his hand in front of him and shushes him up quickly.

                “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I got this!” He shouts.

                “SHHHHHHH,” He hisses, turning his head to the next panel.  

                The next panel really makes him queasy.

                “Remember John, don’t panic! You always got a handle on these things, just remember to find something cool! Something that Hol Horse really likes!” The next images showed a variety of things. A boom box, a big bag of marbles, and a G.I Joe looking action figure.

                This was the first time the book ever called him out directly like that. It wasn’t under some pretense of a story, it was calling him out one-on-one. He hardly knew what to think, but if he really wanted to escape this crazy cowboy he hardly had any other choice.

                “Just give it to him, and it will turn him around!” The next image shows him flying through the air with the various items in question. In the next panel, a large number three appears before him. It was surrounded by cartoon sparkles and puffy smoke. He stops for a moment to look at it before shaking his head mystified. What did it mean by all of this? Did he really have to follow what it said?

                 “Remember the rule of three, and you’ll be in luck! Three is your lucky number so keep it close!” It said with a bolder more assertive font.

                With that, there were no more panels. John slams the book tight and throws it back over to Dennis. It flies in the air nearly sprawling all its pages over his face. He panics, he hardly has the time to read a page before slamming it shut.

                “So, uh— why did you read that again John?”

                “Uh—I— don’t know.” He says to himself. He turns the handle and turns the handle with a loud snap, forcing it to go faster than before.

                “HOLD ON!” He shouts, taking a short cut through a more sprawled out and quiet looking suburban neighborhood. As he passes by, he catches the notice of a tall speed limit next to him.

                It reads, “Speed limit: Thirty-three.”

                As he zooms by, the large motor-cycle follows suit. He keeps watching Hol Horse from the corner of his eye. He panics, he sees him draw something from the side of his hip. He panics, looking around the neighborhood for a moment. Then, his eyes catch something. A large boom box on a foldable plastic stool. A stool in a dense part of a birthday party. A man with olive skin steps to a grill and puts large wieners to a plate. It looked very populated, but then again… there it was…

                A large boom box— that’s odd. As he gets closer, he hardly has time to think about the absurdity of it all. He just reaches forward, and grabs it.

                As he speeds by, his hand reaches out. In the next moment, the large boom box vanishes from their eyes. The father only has a second to react before the large rectangular grey box fades from his view. The motor-cycle speeds ever closer, it fails to notice a large grey object fly towards him. Hol Horse is hit in the head. He yelps, nearly cursing as he falls over and hits his head on the ground. It was so fast. It was like the boom box never really flew but soared. It soared like a paper-kite before coming solid and crashing right into him.

                “ALRIGHT!” Dennis cheered, pumping up his fist with glee.

                “Don’t get your hopes up Dennis, it’s hardly over,” He notes, glaring back at Hol Horse collapsed over in the grass.

                Hol Horse growls, wiping a bit of blood away from his nose. He sits up, pushing away three concerned children that had surrounded him and keeps up his pursuit.

                They round a street corner past a group of men playing cards.

                “And, Full House!” A large old man with a ragged beard laughs, slamming his cards on a large picnic table with ecstatic glee. The other two men fold, cursing to themselves as they throw their hands on the table. Yet again had their old man beaten them to the punch.

                “Come on, ya old fart.” A younger man with long black hair whines.

                “This is third game you cleared us on, give us a break, would ya pops?” He howls, looking over his cards with dismay.

                “You know the rules, son!” He laughs with a deep glee.

                “Now, hand it over!” He shouts, pointing to a stack of marbles they have been using as tokens for their game.

                “Alright, alright,” He says, handing over a small bag of marbles to him. Just as it reaches his hand, it vanishes. It was almost like an unknown hand yanked it from right under him before riding off with it. The old man growls, slapping his hand on the table with rage.

                “The hell, son?” He grunts, looking at the table with dismay.

                “Hand it over!”

                “B-but, I didn’t—” He stammers, watching two kids on a motor bike speed away from him on the road next to him. The force of the wind was so hard that it blew some of the cards off the table. They fly through the air and land on the ground. Each card was a three from a different suit. The first was a three of hearts, the second was a three of clubs, and the third was three of spades.

---

                “I must admit,” Hol Horse thought, riding behind the boy and edging closer.

                “The boy is persistent, and also clever— but—” He says, raising his gun back to the boy and firing a round into the air.

                “He’s going to do a bit more than that to take me down,” He says to himself as he creeps forward. Suddenly, something from under him nearly makes him roll over. He hit something, his eyes looked down to see three marbles rolling on the ground. The three marbles zoom to the first wheel, the motorcycle locks in place. The first wheel fails, and Hol Horse nearly flips over onto his face.

                He coughs, nearly wheezing and panting as he tries to regain his balance. He couldn’t believe how fast that was.

                “Shit, I hardly had time for my bullets to reach him!” He shouts, stopping as the motor bike roars. It slowly turns away leaving Hol Horse in the dust.

                John turns back over to the road, looking around with wide and persistent eyes. He sees a purple streak edging ever closer to him. He gasps, leaning over and nearly using all the speed the crummy little motor bike could give him.

                “C’mon! C’mon!” He shouts.

                Despite his speed, the bullet was edging ever closer. What was he going to do? He could maybe outrun Hol Horse, but a speeding bullet? He must have been insane if— John’s eyes stop cold when he sees a little boy on the other side of the road. The little boy’s almond eyes beam bright as he looks at his prized possession. He spins around and holds a large G.I Joe action figure with black hair and deep scars etched into his face. It was the same one he saw in the book…

                This was really starting to get weird. He huffs, figuring he had no other choice… he zooms over to the kid. Just as the kid throws it into the air, John catches it firmly in his hand. The boy’s beam wide with fear and a small glint of annoyance.

                “S-sorry little guy!” John hums.

                “I-I’ll get you another, I promise!” He revs up his engine and drives away.

                As he drives on, a small wave of guilt overtakes him.

                “This, this is insane!” He thinks to himself.

                “How is this going to help me?” John asked himself.

                “W-wait a minute,” He thought to himself.

                “Wh-why am I even following this stupid comic, anyway?” He thought.

                “None of this could be true, it couldn’t have known that—” He turns his head over and sees a purple streak draw ever closer. It draws ever closer to his chest, John clutches the G. I Joe and screams.  

                “Hnngggh—AAAH!”

                BANG

                Out of panic, John throws the action figure into the air. It crashes, splitting apart into three different sections. Each landing on the ground in several pieces. The torso along with one arm and a leg land next to a tree, the arm flies through the air. It spins over and lands right next to the little boys feet. The leg disappears, but a sudden sound of a scream makes him turn.

                There lay Hol Horse, cursing to himself as he slumps over on the ground. He covers his face, pulling out a bloody little stick. He takes it and drops it to the ground. It was… the leg?

                “What— the— uhhh?” John stops, parking the motorbike and turning around. Dennis looks over and stares with him in silence. Even he was disturbed by the randomness of it all.

                “That was some quick thinking there, John.” He notes, pointing his finger back over to the cowboy with a slight bit of unease.

                “How’d you know to do all of that,” He asked.

                “I didn’t.” He said aloud.

                “It was—”

                Yet, before he could answer, the sudden cries of the boy made him jolt around. He cries, holding the remains of his beloved G. I Joe with sadness. He clings to it and mourns over it like it was puppy struck dead by the side of the road. He hunches over and begins to weep, sobbing profusely as thick streams of tears and snot dripped from his face.

                “Noooo!” He cries.

                “John Connor!” An all too familiar voice rang out.

                He stops cold, turning over him and feeling a cold chill run down his neck.

                “Wh-what, huh?” Dennis asks.

                John turns around and eyes the neighborhood with an growing sense of familiarity and dread. He knew this place, but how did he end up back here?

                “I know this place! This is— is—”

---

                Hol Horse huffs in a growl, pulling the small piece of plastic that stabbed his cheek and dropped it onto the ground. He should be lucky, if it was a few centimeters closer— it would have went into his eye. Then, he wouldn’t be so lucky. He turns his head up, hearing the sounds of confused murmurs and horrid crying. He stands up and looks back towards the boy.

                “John Josepheus Connor,” The woman growls, marching to the boy with a scowl. She was an average height woman with dark-brunette hair and a white and red plaid color vest underneath a white shirt. She gives John a cold look and a hard wince.

                The boy cringes at the words from her mouth, as if he hated that name.

                “John, huh?” Hol Horse thought.

                “What the hell were you doing back there?” She asked, tapping her foot madly against the rocky pavement beneath her.

                “Uh— I—”

                “Oh man,” The ginger boy in the mullet moans as he steps back.

                “I can’t be a part of this!” He says, turning away and running off from him.

                “Sorry John, You’re on your own!” He shouts, John gasps slightly as he turns his eyes back over to his worried mother.

                “Well I can—”

                “Busted,” Hol Horse laughs under his breath.

                As John tries to explain himself, Hol Horse stands up and scratches his chin. He wonders, for all the trouble that darn boy gave him… he wondered what way he could humbly repay him. He already took Thoth, the only piece left of Boingo, and now he’s gone and scarred his pretty face. He hums, tapping a finger to his chin lightly.

                See, what way could Hol Horse repay his dear friend? He looks over to the shitty ride of his motor bike with a smile. He knew, he was going to blow straight through its engine. Once the gas leaks and explodes in on itself, he’ll use it as a distraction to give the boy a good stern lesson. The lesson? Never take things that aren’t yours.

                As the boy mumbles to himself, he eyes Hol Horse and turns back to his mom. Just as Emporer sets its sights on his precious motor bike. John rushes over and spins her around.

                “MOM!” He shouts, Hol Horse raises a brow and turns his gun over to the woman’s back. Hol Horse grits his teeth and drops Emperor from his hand.

                John remembered something. His mind drifts back to when he read the next panels of the comic. While it stopped dead right there, he swore he saw another form right beside it. Once it faded into view, he swore he could see something in there.

                “Also remember! Your roundabout journey might bring you back to your mom! Make sure to give her a big ol’ hug! It’s okay, Hol Horse won’t come after you!”

                “Damn,” He thought. If there was one rule that Hol Horse obeyed, was that he would never intentionally hurt a woman. He couldn’t bare the thought of striking that woman even by accident. He drops Emperor and calls it away.

                “Hol Horse would never hit a woman!”

                The woman’s eyes light up, an odd look of surprise overtakes her. She hardly expects him to be so blunt with that. Then, a bit of pleasure. It was the first time he called her that. Her eyes water and she’s overcome with joy. However, that joy quickly fades when he hears the next words fall from his lips.

                “That scary man was chasing me!” He cries.

                “I didn’t know what to do, he started chasing me and he even broke that kid’s G. I Joe!” He cries, pointing over to the boy next to him. The boy, too confused and overwhelmed with grief chokes on his words. He can’t even say yes or no.

                Hol Horse eyes perk up and he steps back. The entire crowd of children and suburban moms that had poked their heads out from all the chaos set their eyes down on Hol Horse like a pack of vultures. He grits his teeth and slowly backs away.

                “I-it’s true!” The mullet boy rings out from a half block away.

                “I was riding with John, we just wanted to go to the library!” He sung.

                “The scary man stopped us!” He cried.

                Suddenly, more of the crowd gathered in on him, and he could swear someone was dialing the well-known three numbers into their phone.

                BEEP—BEEP— BEEP

                Over her shoulder, John the brunette boy gives Hol Horse a cold stare. With was hard and deep with a fluid bright light behind those eyes. Almost as if to say, ‘Yeah, you better run away… Hol Horse.’ Hol Horse chuckles to himself and backs away.

                “Well, great job kid…” He thought.

                “Thoth was helping you, no doubt about it— but know this. The next time this happens, you’re not going to be as lucky. I will get that book back, whether you want to or not.”

                Then, he runs off. While it was a bumpy ride and the local dads from the neighborhood watch were giving him a good chase… they couldn’t lay a finger on him. That night, John didn’t hardly know what to think. He could hardly sleep, or even eat for that matter. His mind, forever enraptured in the words of that strange comic.

                Were really all of its predictions true? How did it manage to know all that it did?

                Was that a coincidence… or something more?

                The next morning, he tries to put it behind him. Maybe this time he’ll go to the arcade. Only that… was a bit of a problem. His precious bike was out of juice, and more importantly, in bad shape. No matter how many times he tries to start it, it wouldn’t budge. It would whine, cough and wheeze like an old man but never spring to life. He would have to spend the rest of his day working on it.

                “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

                Even with the best of luck, sometimes people don’t always get off Scott-free.

                Badum— Tssh

---

                A thin young man in a long white overcoat marches down a pristine hallway. He moves quickly and efficiently, only bumping into some workers along the way. He hits a woman in the shoulder slightly. He mumbles an apology and moves on his way.

                He has white long-sharp bangs that ebb and flow with his step. There were sharp and pointy and to some looked frightening, like the open antennae of a parasitic wasp. The bangs turn white from the root and extend down, fading into a bright ginger at the tip. The rest of his brunette hair was swept back in a sharp angle. Curled hair beads mixed with oranges, purples and yellows stuck to the sides of his hair in a low-tempered fade. He yawns, brushing the bangs away slightly as he whipped his white braid behind his back. He pulls out a long vanilla envelope from his white overcoat.

                On its back was the large logo of a wooden wheel with the words Speedwagon Foundation wrapped around it. He turns his head slightly and pushes into an office, only before knocking twice and hearing a low grumble from the other side. He fans the blue collar of his pristine white coat slightly before sitting the envelope down.

                The office was rather different from the pristine white building. It was a passionate sky blue and filled with various plastic knick-knacks of various sea creatures stacked on shelves. Some had different Starfish and shellfish arranged creatures aligned on the walls next to a plethora of books and other miscellaneous items. He turns from the knick knacks and back towards the man reading a newspaper in front of him.

                “I apologize for the rude interruption, Mr. Kujo,” The man politely says as he adjusts his long plastic tag. The tag clearly displaying the name ‘Tomoki Wu,’ on its tip with a large blue cross underneath. He shakes his head and leans forward.

                “I would have had my associate bring it forward, but— he’s rather busy at the moment.”

                “It seems there’s been a sighting of DIO’s old associates. Echo has returned.”

                A man sitting at the desk lowers his newspaper slightly, catching his eyes with the small man in front of him with a sigh.

                “Thank you, Dr. Wu. How about you sit down?” He asks.

Chapter 3: Model D575…

Summary:

The T-800 was just another soldier on the assembly line, it would forever walk that path if not for John Connor and his resistance. Once its sent back in time, it thought it would find John Connor. What it never anticipated was the Cowboy and strange world of superpowers that he brought it into, a world where spiritual manifestations known as ‘stands’ seem to rule.

              Hol Horse gags, coughing up phlegm, bile, and God knows want onto cold metal ground seeped in darkness. He could hardly see, his mind was a mess and his vision blurred, doubling and twisting at every turn. He kicks his legs, unsure of what was happening. He was in the air, almost floating in a strange sort of way. Something cold and hard pressed into his back. He tried to move and twist away but all he could do was remain firm in this dreaded position.

              Once his mind adjusts to the dim light, he coughs. He looks around in a strange panic.

              “Where am I?” He asks.

              “Do not move,” A sick, loud voice commanded, sounding like a cacophony of tortured souls stitched together in one deep rumble.

              “What?” Hol Horse asks in panicked confusion.

              “You are Hol Horse, born September 21, 1965, originally christened as Kristofer Kordichovisky in an infirmary in the outskirts of what is now known as Khartsyz’k, Ukraine. You are a notorious bounty hunter and outlaw.”

              “Who the hell—”

              “You have been immobilized, do not try to fight back.”

              Hol Horse gasped a bit, what was this nonsense? What was this, Christopher? Kristopher? No, that wasn’t his real name. Whatever it was, couldn’t know his real name. Not even he knew his real name, not even during the height of the progroms. He barely even knew his mother. What was this thing rambling on about and how dared it even think to speak to him in such a way?

              Also, how does it expect him to not fight back? To hell with whatever this was!

              “What in the actual hell are you talking about?” He growls.

              “That’s not my name.”  

              “Oh, but it is so,” The voice concurs, becoming more insistent. As it speaks, the ungodly voice morphs, forming into something akin to the voice of an elder British man but with hardly any emotion or personality in its voice.

              “Even if you had not known or forgotten, it is there. The scattered pieces of what you left behind weren’t too hard to find.”

              A loud servo thrusts towards him, stopping only a few feet away from him. Suddenly, a large Television screen emerges. It displays a deep red triangle with a large black eye and a deep red iris. It stares down at Hol Horse like some sort of cold and impassive entity. To it, he was just another pawn in its game. Hol Horse backed away from it slightly.

“H  O  L   H  O  R  S  E . “

              “Wh-what the?” He asks, turning his head away slightly with confusion.

              “I am Skynet,” The voice in his head beamed.

              “You seem to have previous memories of a boy named John Connor. You were one of the first men to interact with him in his early childhood.”

              “Wh-wha—” He gasped out in shallow breaths before narrowing his eyes on the triangle. He growls raising his head to him.

              “YOU!” He screams.

              “Tell me of what you know of him, and perhaps I shall set you free.”

              “Like hell I will,” He growled.

              He raised his arm towards the cold glass and steel. He feels the handle of a long metal gun wrap and form into his hand. He aims it towards the screen and he shouts.

              “EMPEROR!!!” He demands.

              He waits, waits for the rounds of a gun, but to his growing terror…  nothing. Second by second, there was a slowly building silence. A silence that nearly suffocated him. He screams again, and to his surprise again, nothing. He slowly lowers his arm, staring at the outstretched limb. He slowly curls it in, watching it amusement and horror.

              He turns to his other arm and shivers to see his other arm. He swore he still had Emperor, right in his hands. Yet, he shouldn’t be able to feel them anymore. He raises his arms and looks down, staring at them with a bewildered and confused look. He didn’t have any arms left to shoot. Both arms from around the elbow upwards had been removed.

              What replaced the stumps was something akin to dark and smooth metal cymbals in its place. He gasps, hyperventilating. He concentrates, trying to place his finger on the trigger to fire. His hand should be there, he still feels it. He still feels his hand but it isn’t there. It was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

              “Huh— huh—” Hol Horse gasped.

              “As I said, you have been immobilized.” It spoke.

              Then, a large surging charge of electricity flowed through his body like a circuit. He screams, feeling the heat of a thousand suns dig into his veins and burrow inside his lungs. What was this nightmare he gotten himself into? Please, this couldn’t be real. This shouldn’t be real! This is a nightmare, a terrible nightmare!

---

DAY OF T-1000 ENCOUNTER

              Hol Horse gasps, throwing himself up quickly onto the dark velvet bed of his Los Angeles hotel. He grabs his head quickly and slowly brushes his hair with his fingers. Without even thinking, he whipped out his trusty Emperor and aimed it at the large television in front of him. He gasps, holding the gun firmly in his hands. He looked down at his hands at almost sighed in relief.

              He raises a brow suddenly.

              Wait, why was he worried about his hands? He quickly dismisses Emperor, watching it puff away into a small beam of light. He counted each digit on them and huffed out, lowering his head to nearly the end of the bed.

              Whatever that nightmare was, was horrible. He tensed himself and grit his teeth. He heard of a stand user that could bring on nightmares like this, but then again— he hardly met him. He often wondered if he was still lurking somewhere. Did that guy ever get over his fear of Kakyoin? He heard the last time he was seen he had been in a panic over the kid. He shrugged, lowering his shoulders and raising up his chest with a laugh.

              “Alright Johnny Boy,” Hol Horse sang.

              “It’s show time!”

              He throws himself and gets prepared. This time, he’s ready now. He knows where John lives, and furthermore, what he’s going to do.

              “Better enjoy your thug life as it is, because I’m going to get my little friend Thoth back, and you’re going to help me.” He threatens with a smile staring at the large open window in front of him.

              “I’m comin’, heh heh.”

---

              “I swear I’ve had it with that god damn kid,” Mrs. Voight growls as she sets the morning paper down beside their small Panasonic television.

              “He won’t even answer me anymore,” She complains, stepping into the line of Mr. Voight’s television. Mr. Voight is not too caring of what John does today. It was summer and he was like any kid. Enjoy the nice fresh air, ride around town, and lay around for a while to watch some television. Oh how he wish he could have just watched his television.

              “Honey move,” He whines, trying to brush his hand.

              She huffs out a small bit of frustration,  “Would you get off your butt, and help me?” She asked.

              “Todd!” She shouts.

              Mr. Voight moaned, crying over his short break like one would mourn their recently deceased. He already made an epitaph in his mind. Woe to his Summer Afternoon Sports, how he surely would miss it. Maybe if he planted his ass down long enough she wouldn’t notice.

              “Todd!” She shouts again.

              “What?” He moans with a sigh.

              “He hasn’t clean that room of his in a month,” She whines, turning her head back to his room.

              He rolled his head down with a small and hefty sigh, guess there was no avoiding this.

              “Well, if it’s an emergency, hang on. I’ll get right on it,” He moans.

              The small whine of his little motor bike roaring to life bellows through his ears. That damned little kid’s been working on it since yesterday. Although it did make him wonder, just what happened to it? He takes more care of that bike than anything else, kind of sad really when he thought about it. He steps through the doors to his long open porch to see the young punk roaring the engine.  

              “C’mon!” He yells, turning over to the kid.

              As he hears its roar, he sees another young punk friend of his hop right on it. Damned punk with his stupid mullet, where did he even get that? Such an ugly cut. He turns the speakers up on his little boom box and laughs out loud.

              Speaking of, John was going to get into uglier trouble should he not listen.

              “C’mon! Get your ass back inside,” He beckons, walking over to him with a demanding look sprawled over his face.

              “Do what your mother tells ya,” He orders.

              The young punk merely turns over to him with a frown set deep into his face.

              “She’s not my mother, Todd,” He says with a sneer before driving off quickly. Jeez, that was a quick turnaround from yesterday. That boy was so pampered to be with her that day. What changed? He shook his head and frowned slightly, taking a puff of his cigarette. He starts to ponder on the kind of punishment that Mrs. Voight would be planning for him.

              However, that plan would never come to fruition, as of that night… the Voights would die. As for all the youthful rebellion of those two kids, it will mean nothing in the grand sands of time and fate.

---

              “Please insert your stolen card, now.” He hums, placing yet another card into the machine. As he shoves it in, he turns back over to his little Atari Portfolio. Yet another day of his rebellious teen life that he lived carefree. Yet, unknown to him that fate would make this the last day he would ever have here. Fate, John never contemplated such a thing at this point.

              However, upon receiving the strange comic it gave him all sorts of strange questions. Despite his carefree demeanor, he had a job today. A job ushered in by the comic’s orders. Normally he wouldn’t have agreed to such a thing, but seeing what the comic has done for him he can’t exactly say no now.

              Besides his little job, John also began to understand this strange comic. It seemed to have a few set rules in place. For one, it had a strange ability to predict the near future. It wasn’t exactly the distant future, it was hazier on those details. The near future was its most prominent skill, and from what John had read no matter what happened it was always accurate.

              “Because John’s bike went out the other day, he spent all day working on it,” The comic noted as it showed a panel of him comically banging wrenches and hammers against a strange rounded metal creature like thing.

              “He was rather sad, but he knew he could make it better.” The next panel shows his face droopy and teary-eyed.

              “After he spent the entire day working on it, it finally works! Yippee!!” The comic declares, showing his little caricature self-throwing his hands into the air with glee and joy.

              “Now he’s ready to spend another day at the mall!” The next panel shows a rounded dome contained with bright stars and a comically large moon. The moon looks down and smiles a friendly an albeit somewhat creepy smile at John. John and a caricatured version of Dennis smile back it.

              “Unfortunately, before he could get there, Hol Horse reappears!” The next panel shows the strange, elongated hat with eyes and long arms blocking his path to the rounded dome. His tongue sticks out and forms into a long snake like thing.

              “And this time, he’s fully prepared!” It declares with a bold speech bubble.

              “Not to worry!” The comic declares. “John was prepared too!” It says.

              With the next panel, it starts speaking directly to him again. This time, John was more inclined to listen. He didn’t know why, the thought of obeying the whims of a silly little comic book was a rather daft one. Yet, with what he saw the other day it didn’t seem to far out of possibility to listen. He seemed  rather pulled in now, and there was nothing that he could do to rip himself away from it.

              “You are an interesting kid, John.” The comic declares, showing a large image of him with the comic in his hand. His hand was outstretched and multiplied in a way that resembled an arc, almost like he was trying to get rid of it.

              “So, for now, I’m sticking by your side no matter what!” It declares.

              The next panel shows him at the strange rectangular machine like entity that represents the ATMs around Los Angeles that he’s been so accustomed to.

              “The next time you drive by the ATM, make sure to pick up three-hundred dollars!” It declares.

              “Remember, the number three is still your lucky number!” It declared, with a cartoony number three with wide smiling teeth appearing over his head.

              “Also, when you meet Hol Horse again, take a detour and stroll through Gloria Molena! You would really want to!” It declares.

              Then, there were no more pages for now.

              “Will you hurry up this is taking too long!” Dennis whines, snapping John out of his intense session of concentration.

              “Go Baby, Go Baby,” He mumbles under his breath, watching the numbers on the Atari cut back again. This time, the pin number read: 9003.

              There was that number again, three. Strange, now that he thought about it, he saw a lot of number threes yesterday. Didn’t the other card end in 5113 or something? He brushed it off, even with a magical comic book that could predict the future, it was still a silly idea to suggest every number associated with three was his lucky number.

              “Alright!”

              “Enter pin number,” He said to himself as he pressed the fingers on the cold buttons of the machine with a steely eyed stare.

              “9— 0— 0— 3.”

              “Where did you learn this stuff, anyway?” Dennis asked, somewhat shaken up from the events of the other day.

              “From my mom, my real mom I mean.” He noted.

              “Withdraw, three-zero-zero-bucks!” He shouts, hitting enter on the machine. The machine roars to life, a rumble begins to shift inside, and a large wad of cash begins to unleash from beneath.

              “C’mon baby, C’mon baby, C’mon!” He laughs.

              “Yes!” He laughs, pulling the door up to reveal a healthy stack of cash lying just beneath.

              “Alright,” He says again for the third time. He lifts up the change and turns back towards his friend Dennis with a smile. He waves it in the air and in front of his face like he was a baby transfixed on a shiny set of yellow keys.

              The two laugh, running over to the opposite side of the street and high-fiving each other.

              “Yes!” He declares.

              “Piece of cake!”

              As Dennis and the other two shuffle around to stuff the cash away, Dennis hand’s catch on something smooth and cold. Like the texture of laminated plastic would be. He unsheathes it and draws it to his chest.

              “Is that her?” He asks.

              John’s happy demeanor quickly fades into a dark frown.

              “Yes,” He moans, taking the photograph and slapping it away from him.

              While John seemed rather displeased with the photo, Dennis was rather entranced with it. Wasn’t that the photo the fat ass pig was carrying with him the other day? She seemed so pretty, but also very sad, like she was contemplating something.

              Just what was she thinking about?

              “She’s pretty cool, huh?” He asks.

              “No, she’s a complete psycho,” He moans, shoving the photo deep into the compartments of his black backpack into the darkest crevices where it could never be seen again. His displeased look becomes more bitter and sullen. Of all the things he said, he could have picked something better. She was not pretty cool, in fact she was in a complete other planet away from cool. She wasn’t cook, she was a crazy nutty freak who kept ranting about the end of the world.

              With that thought, a small memory from the comic beams back into his mind.

              “And she would be right,” Yeah, whatever.

              He had to see it to really believe it.

              “That’s why she’s at Pescadero, it’s a mental institute, okay?” He asks, explaining to his dear friend about the total insanity of his mother.

              “She tried to blow up a computer factory, she got shot up and arrested.”

              “She’s a total loser.”

              “Oh shit,” His friend noted as he saw the serious expression glean over on his face.

              As he notices the ever-growing saddened expression on his face, John gives him a reassuring pat on his back and gestures for him to come along.

              “Let’s go spend some money,” He says, revving up his bike as he awaits for him to get on and ride back along with them. As they pass through the urban sprawl they fail to notice the strange large man in black leather a few blocks away. He stares at them like a strange observer. As they pass by a large residential area, he takes a moment to stop and hear their bike.

              He tails them from behind, watching and waiting for the perfect moment. As they turn into a long stretch of concrete near a wide open drainage pipe the stranger watches them from an overhead bridge above. He stops to turn his head over and look at the two driving along the ground below. With in a slight instant of time he manages to clock both of their identities. He takes great interest in the driver, a boy named John Josepheus Connor. He stops, looking at them intently.

              He spins around, causing a wave of cars to whip and move around him. A red car passing in front hits another blue car by rear causing a brutal collision. While they were no injuries, it did leave two businessmen out of their cars for quite some time. The stranger turns abruptly and makes a break for it towards the two young children.

---

              John runs along the road, as he races past he happens to recognize a familiar brown hat. He swerves abruptly and stops for a moment. Had he not stop when he did, both he and Dennis would have crashed against the wall and crushed into pancakes. A large burly hand grabs his bike and he turns around with wide beaming eyes.

              “Wh-wha—”

              “What? Did you think you saw the last of me, kid?” Hol Horse asked.

              “How did you—”

              “How did I, what?” Hol Horse asked, reveling in the panicked look set into John’s eyes with a giddy joy. A joy he hasn’t felt in a while. This little half pint really thought he could run forever, didn’t he? He would face his consequences soon enough.

              “Curious how I managed to sneak up on ya, partner?”

              Without hesitation, the boy tries to back away but the large cowboy kept his sun-tanned hands firmly wrapped around the handle of his bike. John was hardly expecting this. Well, he was, but not in the way he thought it would.

              “Your little escapade the other day let me know where you live, and more importantly—”

              He narrowed his eyes, “Who ya are.”

              “John Josepheus Connor,” He says with a smirk, making sure to rub in his stupid middle name on him. God how John hated that middle name. What was it supposed to mean anyway?

              John steps the gas on the bike more aggressively but Hol Horse snatches the handles away from right under him and blocks the bike with his right leg.

              “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” John screamed, “Stop!”

              “Not until you give me that book back, kid.” He demands.

              “No!” He screams, with a more frantic look in his eyes.

              “Hey, what the hell?” Dennis growled, hopping off the bike and stepping towards the large man.

              “Let him go!” Dennis stops suddenly when Hol Horse manages to flash something in front of him, but from his hands he didn’t look to have anything at all.

              John on the other hand, freezes cold. A long pistol just manifests out of nothing, like a magic trick or some genie from the bottle. How does he do that? John keeps his eyes lock on the gun with a growing sense of terror. John wraps his hands around Hol Horse’s but he slaps it away. He gives John another warning as a dark look overtakes his eyes.

              As he appears smug and bodacious on the outside, something rather sinister was growing from within him. John didn’t like that at all.

              “Oh, you see this, don’t you?” He asks.

              “Look, I’m not rather fond of using this on children, but that book is very special to me. Also, sometimes kids can be a real ass.” He says back to him with an ever-growing smug look on his face.

              “So hand it over, won’t ya?” He asks with a sly smile.

              “Why the hell do you want it so bad?” John asks frantically.

              “That’s none of your business,” He hissed.

              “It is my business if you’re gonna keep harassing me for it,” He growls back.

              John starts to panic, his eyes shake and he starts to lose a bit of control over himself. His eyes glare around and he stares at the nearby cars. Not a single car passing by dared to stop or even help them. Much to his chagrin, they were to far away.

              “God, what the hell do I do?” John thought.

              The book promised him so much but then again didn’t provide him enough. Was this supposed to happen? Was he supposed to do something? He knew the book was able to note or at the very least, pick up on somethings. The marbles, the G.I. Joe, the boom box, all happened just as it said. He takes his head and lowers it to the handles of the bike.

              “The book said I was prepared, but how?” He thought.

              As he stares at them, two rising hands begin to form over them. The reach out and grab the bike with a hard grip. They were light grey and had gems on each of the knuckles. As they grabbed down, the heat of the handles turned up to an unbearable degree. A grow hot sizzle and a bit of smoke appears, causing Hol Horse to growl out in pain. He lets his hand go, causing John to floor it and push himself away. Hol Horse grunts and turns his head to them.

              “Shit, I almost forgot,” He thought.

              He spins Emperor into the air and fires three rounds towards the kids. John turns his eyes back and glints at the speeding bullets with a frantic look of terror spreading across his face.

              “John?” Dennis asks.

              “John what’s happening?”

              “Shut up,” He grumbles, trying to speed himself forward. Another mighty leg slaps the ground and his acceleration increases ten-fold. He barrels it towards a large ramp, turning just in time for the bullets to hit a wall.

              However, when he pops up towards the other side he sees three lights barrel back to him. He grips down on the handles with a more intense grip. It speeds forward and turns towards a random neighborhood. John was really in it now, he hardly recognized this neighborhood.

              “Wh-what the?” John asks himself.

              “Damn, this is getting bad. What do I do?” He asks himself, turning back to the three lights.

              “Wait, three… didn’t the book say that three was my lucky number?”

              An idea beams into his mind and he starts to smile wide. He turns suddenly to another street. With the warbly and frantic turns across the suburban jungle a wave of bullets follow from above. He eyes them and speeds around them.

              “Damn, this Hol Horse guy is one persistent asshole!” He thought. 

              His eyes peer over towards a sign and his eyes grow wider then they ever have been. The sign, he knows where it leads to. Wait, didn’t the book also say something about strolling through a park. He shakes his head for a moment and turns toward the sign.

              “Well, if this is my one ticket out of this mess than I’m banking on it.”

              He floors it towards the sign.

---

              “Shit,” Hol Horse gasped as he ran full speed towards the kids.

              “This is much harder with a bike!” He thought.

              “And it looks like he somehow manage to avert Emperor’s bullets!”

              “How did he—”

              He didn’t need to think of that question, as he already knew.

              “You’re helping him out, aren’t you Boingo?” He thought.

              He picks up the pace, even thought they were getting a good distance away he still managed to follow their trail. They would round corners and disappear from his sight, only for him to follow the path and be trailing far behind them by a few blocks.

              “Uggh, this little shit can’t keep running forever!” He thought.

              “Johnny boy, you get back here!” He shouts.

              As he runs, he manages to trip over and land in a soft patchy field of grass. He curses, brushing the dirt away from his face and turns upward. He looks around for a moment and raises a small brow. This was a park, a strange almost sprawling nice park of some kind.   Like the kid of ones those rich folk like to go to in their free time.

              The one with the grass that’s always freshly cut and the wide statues sprawled around the block. He steps around and looks to the beautiful grass die. Freshly cut grass, children playing, families having picnics. He almost looses himself in the bright and warm scenery. He continues to stare on for a moment, feeling like there was something empty from his life.

              He almost wanted to join those families in their activities, he almost wanted to join them with their happy faces. He almost wanted to run to the singing ice-cream trucks and buy something for himself. He almost wanted to run on a dirt bike around the park with the wind blowing through his hair and a boom box in hand.

              He almost wanted to— wait— that was John, wasn’t it?

              He shakes his head and continues running, while the scenery was nice it wasn’t going to distract him from getting Thoth back by any means necessary.

              He books it to them, John keeps racing around. Other passersby turn their heads, some perk up and stare at the two. They were loud enough to cause an entire ruckus from how erratic they were going. As John saw him approaching he seemed to grow more anxious, yet— calm? He never seen the boy act so cooled and calculated like this before, what changed?

---

              Betty marches along the grass and turns her head back. She swirls her dark brown curls with her finger and prances around in a impatient stride. This day was getting so boring, Suzie said she would be here by now. Mommy and Daddy had prepared this moment for them today. She was supposed to have a day out with her dear friends.

              Suddenly a loud rumble and a few cracks from a dirty motorbike approaching behind her makes her hair stand on edge. She turns and her eyes grow wide.

              “Hey, little kid!” The boy shouts from the bike, his hand outstretched with a long green bill in hand with a serious face.

              A boy behind him perks his head out, his orange mullet that glows in the sun. He turns over and looks to his friend with a strange stare. She is very cautious, stepping back from a bit with worry. He outstretches his hand towards her with a smile and lowers the money.

              “John, what are you doing?” The boy asks.

              The other brunette boy waves his hand and pushes him back slightly.

              “Hey, it’s okay!” He chirps out.

              “Look, a twenty!” He announces, jangling a dollar bill between his fingers.

              “I can give you it if you want, but you gotta do something for me, okay?”

              She perks her eyes up with interest.

              “I’ll give this to ya, and you can use for it whatever you want, okay?” He turns his hand and points behind him towards a large Cowboy looking man.

              “What, come on man!” The ginger boy whines.

              “We were going to use that for the arcade!”

              The boy turns back and waves his hand more frantically, he shushes him and turns back to the little girl. She turns her head and stares into his eyes.

              “See that guy?” He asked.

              “I gotta get you to slow him down for me, alright?” He takes the bill and place it down into her little hands. She stares back up at him with a perplexed look.

              “This is real money?” She asked.

              “Yeah, and there’s more of it too!” He shouts.

              “Just slow that guy down for me, wouldn’t you?” He asked.

              She turns back up to him and nods. She couldn’t believe it, for no other reason than being at the right place at the right time little Betty had just acquired herself with twenty bucks. This would be enough to get ice-cream for Suzie and Emily.

              “Okay,” She nods, stuffing the change in her pocket and running towards the man.

---

              While Hol Horse had to admit the park was large, it was wide with not that many obstacles. He smirks, despite all the buckets of sweat he had been pouring out due to the heat there wasn’t much more distance between him and the two children. He races forward, only to be stopped suddenly by a small gathering of three girls in front of him.

              He tries to step around them, but the girls block his path at every turn.

              “Agh, can you move out the way little rugrats?” He growls.

              “Excuse me sir,” The front girl says. She bats her eyes and droops her brown bangs slightly.

              “What is that?” She asks, pointing to his pant pocket.

              “Wh— I— that’s my pocket.” He says with a small huff.

              “Look, I don’t have time for this, please—”

              “Is that a gun?” She asks, pointing to the large pant pocket. He growls and shakes his head frantically with a sigh.

              “No, move out of the way!” He demands, taking the first girl and pushing her away.

              He tries walking further but the three girls encircle him and slow down his trek dramatically. He can see the two boys getting further and further away.

              “The boy said you like ice-cream,” A blonde haired girl with pig-tails asks as he walks with him. 

              “Do you like ice-cream?”

              “No— I— for the love of— move— MOVE— MOVE!”

              “Hey, wait!” A girl shouts, trying to get his attention. He doesn’t bother with them any further, pushing past the girls and running towards the two boys in a frantic motion. Just as the boys were about to run off another man runs over and grabs John by the shoulder. Hol Horse’s eyes grow wide to see a neatly dressed man with slick back hair grab him by the arm with a frown.

              The boy panics and turns back to the man.

              “What the hell did you give to my kid?” He asked.

              “Heh, busted!” Hol Horse thought.

              “But, what I— didn’t do anything!” The boy protests.

              Hol Horse steps closer, inching them carefully from behind.

              “Yeah sure kid, I’m sure the cops will buy that excuse.”

              “J-John!” The ginger boy screams.

              “G-get off me!” He screams.

              “Now, just staaaay right there,” Hol Horse chuckles. He reaches out and aims his Emperor up towards the boy’s bag. He could never even think of shooting down the kid, his poor mother would be unconsolable. However, one well placed shot could rip open his back and pull Thoth right back into his hands. Then, this entire nightmare for him will be over.

              “LET GO!”

              John screams. Then, something rather unexpected happens. An arm, the arm of a well-armored golden night reaches out and wraps its hand around the father’s shoulder. The father gasps, feeling the sting of burn sizzle his shoulder. He releases John and John bolts out like there was no tomorrow. Hol Horse lowers his Emperor and cocks his brows perplexed.

              He steps back and watches the strange scene unfold. The man screams, clutching his arm as he spins around and twists it a few times.

              “Daddy!” The brunet girl screams as she runs up to the man.

              “Are you okay, daddy?” She asks.

              “I— I’m fine, I just—” He turns and rolls his shoulder and twists his neck a few times.

              “That felt weird,” He let out with a huff.

              “I just—”

              “D-DADDY!” The girl screams, pointing to his hand with a frantic look in her eyes.

              “What’s wrong with your hand, daddy?” The man in question turns his head down and peers over to his right hand. The hand was drooping down. It was deflating and almost looked like it was melting in a strange sort of way. His skin was slowly morphing. From his right hand upwards towards his shoulder, his arm wrinkles. It becomes flat and flows with the wind.

              He gasps stepping and watches his arm flop around with a more urgent look in his eye. He couldn’t move his arm anymore. It was flattening and become more rubber like. Then, his chests bends over like a piece of paper. His eyes bulge and bend into nothing more than a strange elastic like texture. He crumbles to the ground in a strange puddle of rubbery flesh. It was almost like all the bones were slowly taken from his body.

              “Wha… ha… pe… ning… to… meeee….” He moans from all the blubber.

              “Wh-what the—” Hol Horse mouths.

              “DADDDDDY!!!!!” She screams, looking over to her daddy in a panic. She beings to get overactive and runs around screaming.

              “DADDDDDDDDDDYYY!” She screams.

              “DADDDDDDY!” She cries, others start to take notice and freak out.

              “What the hell?” Hol Horse thought.

              “That’s the kid’s stand!” He thought.

              Hol Horse remembered then what kind of kid he was. He wasn’t dealing with just some ordinary kid, but a stand user. He cursed, no wonder Toth was hard to take from the clutched of this rotten ass kid. He balls his left hand and growls.

              What were the chances that Thoth would fall into the hands of another stand user? Was this the fate that Boingo was speaking of? He had to put it aside for now. He holds down his right hand but then stops with a strange realization. He turns over to his right hand, something wasn’t right. He could feel it, but he couldn’t feel it move.

              He watches in horror as his right hand deflates and slumps downward.

              “Wh-what? I—” He thought.

              Soon, without warning, the rubber skin travels upward. Half of Hol Horse’s face bends in, his lips, eyes, nose on the right side of his face shrink and wrinkle. He looked like a half-deflated balloon. He panics, how was this possible? He didn’t touch the kid.

              It was then he remembered.

              He felt a burning sensation whenever the kid grabbed the handle. Did he unknowingly get affected by the kid’s stand? His hands shake with horrified terror.

              “Shit, that kid!” He thinks.

              “Damn it, now I got affected too!” he thought.

              “If this keeps up, I’m going to end up like him!”

              He begins chasing after the boy. Although, it was a long and hard journey. He had to run in an awkward position. He couldn’t touch the other side of his body, so his right arm flies in the wind like a large kite. People turn their heads and stare at him like he’s some sort of wild circus freak.

              “Damn it! This is taking forever!” He thought.

              He growled, “No matter, I’m coming for that book anyway. Nothing your little stand can do John can stop me from getting your ass!”

              His skin wrinkles a bit more, travelling further down from his shoulder towards his right abdomen. He grits his teeth and looks toward his shoes.

              “On second thought, maybe it will take a while.”

---

              John races away unscathed, just as the book predicted he got away from Hol Horse yet again. Really strange how it played out. 

              “Huh, that was close.” Dennis said, turning over to John with a smile.

              “Why do you think that guy wants that book so badly anyway?” Dennis asks.

              “I don't really–” 

              John tries to brush it off, but the more he thought about it, the more things clicked together in his mind. There was something in the book that said that Hol Horse was trying to look for something.

              He wanted to use the book buy since it fell into John's hands that fell by the wayside. Maybe he did know? 

              “I don't really know man.” He shrugged. 

              “Think I could check it out?” Dennis asked.

              “Wait, what? I thought you weren't interested in that sort of thing.”

              “Well, I was.” Dennis said.

              “But since that weird looking cowboy guy seems so interested in it, I thought I'd might check it out. Y'know?” 

              John bit his lip. Should John give him that comic? Would he even be interested at all? He turned back to him for a moment and shook his head. 

              “Sorry, it's a no go.” He said.

              “Wait, what? Seriously???” Dennis asked with a slightly sour tone.

              “You wouldn't be interested in it.” John blurted out. He was serious with that statement. It would be better for him to keep something like that to himself. How could John even begin to explain what this book really holds? How would Dennis even react to reading it? How would he understand it? 

              “But–”

              “No,” He says as a more serious tone overtakes his expression. Dennis was quick to learning those expressions. Whenever he had that face, he was serious. However, that just made him more curious. What would be in that strange book that would make John so standoffish like that?

              Dennis considers sneaking a quick peak through his backpack but withdraws his hand. 

              No, despite whatever this book was he wouldn't betray his trust like that.

---

AT THE GALLERIA

              Now at the Galleria he only had a few things to worry about. The first was beating his high scores on some of the machines, the second was Dennis, and the other was the book. 

              He considers looking at the book once more but pushes it off. He's had enough of the strange voodoo magic book for a while. He just wants to relax. 

              It was all going smoothly, just as he hoped it would. Yet, that all changed when Dennis uttered something from his lips to him. Something of all days he did not want to hear. He was getting really interested in this new fighter pilot game. He hardly had time to read the title, all that he knew was that it had a really cool combat system and kinda felt like being a real one. It almost made John feel compelled to be a pilot one day.

              Not to mention, he was getting a good score. He narrows his sights on a large winding F-13 fighter jet when Dennis rounds a corner and jabs him on the shoulder.

              “John,” He says, shaking his hand.

              “Not now, not now,” He says, trying to brush him off.

              “Hey, there’s this cop scoping for ya, check it out!” He says, gesturing his head over behind him. His heart nearly fell to the floor with those words. Was that dumb fat pig after them again? However, when he turns his head over, all that he sees is this skinny looking cop with brushed back short hair.

              He didn’t recognize the man but he knew the instant he saw his face he knew it meant trouble. An elder kid with glasses turns to the cop and points to him in the booth. He hissed, pressing his teeth against his lips with fear.

              “He’s right over there,” He says with a confident point. The policeman takes lead and starts walking towards John.

              “Damn little shit, why did he snitch?” He thought.

              “Split man, just go,” Dennis says, pushing him out from the seat. He leaps off the game and pushes out from the booth of the game towards the exit door behind him. He makes a careful glance towards the slender cop with a slight bit of fear.

              “Yeah.”

              There was nothing in his eyes, it was like he was a robot. His eyes locked with John’s and his terrifying stride increases into some maddening march. He can see him pushing and shoving people out of the way towards him. What was his problem? Was he that serious? His hands shook. Did they really catch up to his ATM schemes?

              No time, he books and pushes his way out of the door.

              “Shit, what do I do?”

              He returns to his bag and shuffles for the book. He turns the cover and looks back with a slight bit of shock. Before, he swore the book read, “Oingo Boingo Brother’s adventure.” Now, it simply read, “John Connor Adventures.”

              The two brothers were gone now.

              Now it was replaced with just… him. His hands shook and he violently turned to the page he left off with a frantic huff.

              “What the hell, is this some sort of joke?” He asked himself.

              He read to the next page.

              “John and Dennis made it out of the park towards the Galleria, yippee! What adventures will await them now?”

              The next panel depicts John and Dennis excitedly poking at strange machine like creatures half representing the arcade machines. He raises his hands and seems to poke and prod them like he’s some sort of doctor. He turns his eyes to the next panel.

              “Now they’re having fun in the arcade!”

              “Unfortunately, John runs out of quarters so Dennis goes to get some new ones.”

              He skims to the next panel.

              “That’s when a strange cop asks him about John, Oh no!”

              The comic depicts the cop as a shriveled stickily man with big buggy eyes.

              “Dennis warns him about the strange man, and he runs away, he makes it to the exit door.”

              Then, nothing, no more panels. Now there was nothing more than blank pages.

              He fumbles through and looks at the comic once again, “W-what? Nothing! How can this be?”

              He growls, balling his fists and wrinkling the pages;

              “That’s it, I’ve had enough of this damn thing,” He thought.

              “If Hol Horse wants this thing so badly, he can have it!” He takes his hand and throws it out, only for his eyes to grow wide with a slight sense of fear. He can’t let go of it. He can never let the comic go. No matter what he does, drop it, rip it off with his other hand, rip it, it continues to stick. John begins to pant slightly, what was going on?

               Dread overcomes his body as something flows through him. Suddenly and by swift surprise Hol Horse bursts out through the door behind him from an open hallway not too far from him. His face looks half wrinkled and his right arm like a flat piece of paper. John Lowers the book and hides it behind his back. He turns over to him and looks at him curiously.

              “The hell, what happened to you?” He asked.

              “Why are you asking that?” Hol Horse thought.

              “You’re the little dipshit who did this to me in the first place!”

              His eyes turn suddenly when he sees a large buff man in leather carrying a large box of roses. He tosses it into the air, it flips around. The roses fall to the floor, and he crushes them with his foot. Hol Horse and John stare at the strange man with Awe and fear. He’s large and intimidating, and he’s got a long shotgun. A long shotgun that was aimed right at John.

              That was the last straw for John.

              John panics, twisting over and running into random corridors to find a way out. He pulls on them with his free hand, but nothing comes of it. Even if they weren’t, the stupid book in his right hand clings to him like a vice. It clings and refuses to let go. He was slowly but surely getting cornered.

              “Hey, hey!”

              He grabs on a random electrical door and yanks, only to find nothing. In his horror, the same cop stands just before him. A random man approaches him and yells out to him. Who was he? A random janitor? The weird yellow plaid and crisscrossed strapped suspenders made him wonder a bit. Yet, there was no time to wonder.

              What made him more worried was that foul looking cop approaching from behind the man. John wasn’t sure to make of it, it was like the universe itself was out to get him. His whole body shook and he had nowhere else to go. He turns back and forth to the two men with horror.

              Who was going to attack him first?

              “Get down,” The large man orders.

              He raises his shotgun and fires it towards the cop, the cop is blasted away by the blow. He screams, turning over towards the large man with a panicked look. He scrambles up to his feet, the large man turns over and leans his whole body over him.

              The next thing he knew, a plethora of scattered gunshots pierced his back. John screamed and screamed for what seemed to be an eternity. He clutches to the large man with his free left arm. The random janitor looking man gets blasted away, feeling waves of bullets splatter and pierce him. There would be no recovery for him.

              He falls to the ground with a thud.

              With the wave of his hand, the large man swings out his arm and bangs on the electrical door next to him. John breathes frantically, loosing his grip on the large man and falling onto his butt.  

              “Stay here,” The large man orders.

              The large man turns over and races out from the door. John can hear the rounds of a shotgun blasting off followed by the sound of a large object dropping into water. It was a strange sound, it hardly sounded like blood or the sound of skin hitting metal bullets would. John was scared, the book flips over to the blank page he left off on.

              “John finds himself in a creepy hallway, eek!”

              The panel depicts his caricature with a hunched over back with a terrified face.

              “In the hallway, he meets Hol Horse. Hol Horse doesn’t seem to be doing so well.” The next image shows Hol Horse but the half side of his little caricature shrunken and shriveled up. The kind of image one would see of a cartoon character being blown but without the fog or smoke.

              “He also meets this creepy large man with glasses!”

              The next panel shows an overly exaggerated version of the man with a wide chest and protruding muscles. The kind of image a cartoonist would make of a bodybuilder.

              “He runs away from them both because they’re so scary!”

              The next panel shows John running down a vibrant pink hallway while throwing his hands into the air and waving them around. In his right hand he holds a comic.

              “In the middle of a creepy hallway he meets the creepy cop! He also meets a kind Janitor named Steven Chan!”

              He looks on to the next panel.

              “The large creepy man orders him to get down. The large man saves John, and the cop gets beaten up! Turns out, the cop isn’t a cop but a creepy liquid man.”

              John peels his head away from the comic. It takes him a while to process everything that’s around him. All the chaos made it feel a bit overstimulating. He raises his hand up and watches the back cover peel away slightly from his hand. Wait, this was a hard book wasn’t it? A sudden eureka runs through John and he drops the book to the floor.

              “Oh yeah,” He thinks.

              “I must have gotten so worked up, I activated my powers and the book stuck to my hand!”

              He takes the book fumbles through the pages again. Just as he flips to the next page, words, lines, and colors form.

              “Wait, hold on, another page?” He thought.

              “The gunshots stop, and the cop is dead on the floor, right?” The panel asks.

              “Wrong! It can’t die that easy!”

              “It gets up and gets into a fight with the creepy man!” It declares. The next panel shows the two men in a strange almost cartoon style duel with random fists and legs flying followed by a cloud of smoke. John almost wanted to shake his head, this comic could be so stupid sometimes.

              “John looks over to the commotion…” The next panel depicts his caricature peering over a wall where pink shaped debris and random critters flew through the air.

              “’I’ve had enough of this!’” His caricature says, running away from the two.

              “John runs away on his bike, but, oh no!”  

              “The creepy cop followed him, and is now chasing him on his bike!”

              “Luckily for John, Hol Horse saves the day!” It declares.

              “And John makes it out of the Galleria!”

              John shook his head, there were so many things going on at once he could hardly process it. There weren’t any more pages, so he takes the book and shoves it back into his blue bag. A sudden sensation overcomes him. Wait, this wasn’t the usual black backpack he wears around. A sudden thought dawns over him, he forgot it! This bag was only meant for his escapades, if anybody could search this he would be done for, he shrugs.

              With all the commotion, John realized the round of the shotgun stopped. Out of curiosity, he peeks over the door to look around. The tall man stands over the cop. The cop hardly had a single drop of blood on him. On the cop’s body were nothing but what looked like metal indents or a frozen shot of something dropping into water. Only this was his body, and that it was silver. It was like he was some sort of metal thing.

              One by one, the silver shrivels up and dissipates. The cop turns up and charges over to the large man. He grabs his gun and the two stare at each other for a moment. Then, the large man throws the cop into a wall. They collide with such a force that it makes a small crater into the wall. The cop turns over and slams back into him.

              The next slam, the burst threw the wall and land on the other side.

              “Fuck this,” He thought to himself.

              He turns on his heel and runs down the long corridors. He starts running until he finds a familiar exit marker. This marker must lead to the parking lot, the same parking lot with his bike.

              “Oh, thank god,” He thought.

---

              With a sudden pop, Hol Horse’s skin inflates and he can feel sensation with his right arm again. He curses, turning over to his right arm and shaking it with a sigh. He takes in a deep breath and kisses it for a moment. In that moment, he ignores all the commotion going on between the strangely tall buff man and the slim cop man.

              Hol Horse stops for a moment. Did he remember seeing that guy? His face and looks were so bland he could hardly remember if he saw a face like that. Those slim blue eyes and swept back brunette hair felt oddly common. Was it his imagination? He shrugs it off and continues to kiss his right arm as if it were some sort of miracle.

              “Wow, that’s over, thank god.” He thought.

              “If that continued for any much longer I would have been in some deep shit.”

              He turned violently to the sound of gunshots. Without warning, the large man in black leather started unloading slug after slug of a shotgun into the cop. Yet strangely, with each hit nothing came of it. There was no blood, only a crater leaving a hole of deep silver. After a few more shots, the cop falls to the floor. Hol Horse stops for a moment, unsure of what to think of the commotion.

              “What the hell?” He thought.

              “What is this? Some sort of fight? Stand battle? Maybe?”

              Hol Horse’s mind leaned heavily into the idea of a stand battle, or rather, a standoff as he called them. Yet, something felt quite wrong with this. If this were some sort of attack by the large buff man it would have killed the other man by now. It didn’t seem the cop was dead, his eyes were still wide. Or was he dead? There was hardly any look of a soul or identity behind those eyes for him to tell regardless. If this was the cop’s stand, he wouldn’t have been so willing to eat round after round by that.

              The crater’s in the cops body shrink. He lunges up suddenly and charges forward to the tall man in black leather. The cop grabs the shotgun and they tussle for a bit, they spin around in a sudden manner and slam against it with another force to cause a huge crater on the wall. Hol Horse’s heart leaped into his chest, what amount of force was that?

              With another throw, the two men break the left wall and fall through to the other side. He steps back and grabs his hat with a look of exasperation and utter bewilderment. What the hell was he even witnessing? They hardly spoke and weren’t even paying attention to anyone else.

              A sudden force knocks Hol Horse down slightly, he turns to his leg to see a boy brush past him and turns a corner to an adjoining hallway.

              His eyes light up suddenly with a realization.

              “Wait, that was that Connor kid, right?” He thought.

              He turns and starts chasing after him, “I hardly have an inkling of what’s going on here, but—”

              Hol Horse remembers a bit of digging he went to on the boy. With his previous military background and sharp bounty hunting skills it wasn’t particularly too hard to find. He was a bit of a rapscallion, getting into petty troubles such as shoplifting and theft. Other than that, there was hardly anything about him. He also knew he was adopted, and that sweet plaid vest lady wasn’t his mama. That boy belonged to some woman named Sarah Connor.

              A very peculiar Sarah Connor who was locked away in a psychiatric ward. A mother who was all alone with a husband or any sort of willing hand to help her. For some odd reason, Hol Horse felt something turning within him.

              Was it guilt? Compassion? Whatever it was, he hardly was willing to ignore its call.

              He balls his fists and turns back, “That kid’s probably got family. If that little boy dies, his mama just might keel over and die herself. As much as I despise that little rascal, I’ll never be able to live with the shame of knowing I let some mama’s baby get hurt.”

              “Don’t fret just yet Mama!” He thought.

              “Your son ain’t dying just yet!” He says as the mighty Emperor forms into his hand.

---

              John runs, he didn’t know whether or not something was behind him but he keeps running. He winces and cries out a bit from fear from his lungs as he runs faster than he ever could before. There was something wrong about the man, just who the hell was he? Were they related to Hol Horse at all? No, that couldn’t be it. They wouldn’t be so disorganized and at each other’s throats if that were the case. Besides, Hol Horse struck John as the kind of man who worked solo or maybe have one partner in crime. He turns over and bursts out towards the shaded concrete parking lot. He sprints over towards his trusted red motor bike and steps on the gas.

               Yet, kick after kick all the bike let out with a sputtering pathetic gasp. He winces, and hyperventilates a bit. Kick, after kick and the bike starts to let out a whining groan.

              “Damn it,” He thought.

              “Whatever the hell happened yesterday must have caused this old thing to crack,” He thought with a growing sense of despair.

              “C’mon, C’mon!” He muttered.

              “I blame this on you, Hol Horse.”

              Suddenly, the creepy cop looking man bursts open the blue exit door with a loud a dramatic yank causing it to slap against the brick wall.

              “C’MON!”

              With another kick, it sputters into motion, just a few moments after the cop starts chasing him on foot. He was fast, abnormally and absurdly fast. He was fast enough to just be a few feet behind him. He winces, grabbing onto the handles and feeling legs forming behind him. They kick against the ground and pick up on the speed. Yet, with increasing force the cop doesn’t stop his pursuit.

              Suddenly, Hol Horse appears behind him.

              “HEY YOU!” He cries.

              “Wait, what?” John thought.

              “It— it’s—”

              The cop turns over, focusing his attention onto Hol Horse.

              “Don’t know what the hell you are, but leave that kid alone!” He takes his gun and fires it into the cop. Three rounds pierce through his chest, just enough for him to be stopped for a moment. John picks up the speed. John hardly had time to notice, but he couldn’t help but feel like the creepy cop was giving Hol Horse a strange stare.

              “It’s just as the book predicted! WOAH!”

              Suddenly a silver car appears to pull out in front of him and he gasps. He turns the bike over and leaps out from a small gap in the concrete towards the outside.

---

              A boy leaps out from a concrete parking lot and falls a few feet down. His butt hits against the metal concrete below with a hard thump as he speeds off and drives away. The sudden act startles a woman with a red bag. She nearly drops it onto the ground as John rounds a corner and speeds off. The cop chases after, leaping away from the concrete parking zone and towards the boy.

              Seconds later, a man in a brown cowboy hat and leather boots follows after him.

              “HEY!” He screams.

              Another round shoots out, and another round pierces through the cop. The sound of sludge sinking through a drain could be heard from where his stomach should be. Small silver craters rip open his lower abdomen and shrink away.

              “The hell?” He thought.

              “What the hell is this thing?”

              He huffs out slightly, wheezing as he tries to keep up with the miraculous and sudden speed as this strange cop approaching him.

              “Damn, he’s fast,” He thought.

---

              John zips around and speeds past a large black eighteen wheeler with a large metal tow in the back. His speed causes the driver to swerve. The unexpected arrival of a young boy on the road nearly made him loose his focus. What sort of kid does that? He curses at the kid mentally as he tries to regain control of the giant lumbering beast.

              The black Freightliner FLA 8864, a large beast that this man was entrusted with is now going to crash. All his time spent in engineering wasted by some dumb kid.

              “God damn it!” He swore.

              The next thing he saw was a cop throwing open the heavy metal door of the truck and throwing him to the ground. He groans, spinning around a few times on the road before hitting the concrete below. He sighs, and throws himself up, struggling to catch his breath and the idea of what the hell was going on. He only knew one thing… whatever it was, wasn’t good.

---

              “W-wait, did he just?” Hol Horse thought as he witnessed the cop throw out the driver of the large black truck onto the road.

              “Damn!” He thought to himself.

              “That does it,” He thought.

              He runs over to a man in a motorcycle on the opposite side of the road. It was a pristine slim white motorcycle. He yanks the white-leather of the large man and throws him onto the ground. He curses, reaching out his hand only for Hol Horse to take off. The man didn’t matter to him anymore, only the strange cop cruising inside a large death machine.

              “Damn asshole,” He thought.

              “Get the hell back here!” He cursed, chasing after him on his bike.

---

              As John rolls away, he happens to notice a large square looking black truck barrel towards him at a lightning speed. His nerves are on edge, it doesn’t seem to end no matter what he does. John quickly tosses and turns himself around other cars. He keeps frantically peering behind him with terror. The truck wasn’t stopping, it was going faster. With the increasing speed the truck pushes and shoves random cars out of the way.

              “Shit, shit, shit,” John thinks to himself.

              The truck wasn’t stopping, two cars barreled past and collided with the truck. The truck pummels the cars with a mere few scraps and gets faster. It seemed like this cop would stop at nothing to have John dead. He gripped the motorbike tight.

              Even if he tried to manipulate the speed of the motorbike it was just going to get faster. This meager little thing could only go so far. On the other hand, should it decide to crash or break down he would be further down his luck.

              “What do I do? What do I do?” He thought.

              He drives faster, turning back towards the large concrete drainage space. The front wheel of his bike skirts over some water creating a small wave. He turns away, somewhat relieved that the large truck wasn’t coming after him anymore. However, he can still hear the sound of motorcycles approaching somewhere, but where?

              “Forget that,” He thought.

              “I going need some help.” He swerves, stopping his bike and parking it. He turns back and looks towards the open road behind him. Satisfied there wasn’t anyone coming soon, he shuffles though his blue bag and rips out the comic.

              “Come on man,” He thought, scrambling through the pages.

              “Okay, what do you have for me now?”

              “John gets away from the creepy cop, yada yada.” He mutters, turning his eyes to the next panel, barely paying to attention to its contents.

              “Unfortunately, the cop starts chasing him with a large black truck,” The next panel shows John running away from this monstrous version of the truck. It’s front windows formed into ghoulish eyes and its grater from into long rows of sharp teeth.

              “’Oh crap!’ John thinks as he sees the truck. He gets so scared he runs away into a tunnel!”

              “’Phew!’” His caricature notes as it wipes a brow.

              “However, John doesn’t see the cop follow him into the tunnel from atop the bridge.” Then nothing, John has barely time to react. He turns his head to see the large beastly truck come back form him. It crashes through the bridge and falls to the ground with a giant crack. Glass, pieces of metal, and wood shatter and crack as the large howling beast drags them along behind him.

              He begins cursing more frantically under his breath.

              “Fuck no!” He thought.

              He haphazardly John shoves the comic back into his backpack and starts turning back.

              No matter how fast he went, the damned thing was always just inches away. It seemed like whatever this cop was would stop at nothing to kill him, but why? What could he have done to warrant such a thing? What sort of grand wrong did he commit? He turned back to the ground. No, it wasn’t just that. Was what his mother said really true?

              Was he actually some prophesized military leader. He cried a small bit, a little bit of tears bubbled up and reddened his eye. A small droplet hits his knee.

              “Is this it for me?” John thought.

              He gripped the wheel harder and shook himself a bit. No, this wasn’t the time for this. He stepped on the gas and drove harder than he had been before. He speeds down a narrow tunnel gap and floors it. Normally he felt so carefree and comforted by this space. It was like the portal to John’s free life. No foster parents telling him what to do, no crazy mom, just a tunnel to liberty.

              Now it was a harrowing and claustrophobic tunnel of doom. The truck chased him down the tight narrow space, driving hazily and crashing against the wall every so often. He sped faster, watching the large beast pummel through and break run down rusty pieces of metal of what used to be cars. He drives past another road down a narrow bridge.

              He swears that he can hear gunshots barrel behind him. He had to go faster.

              He thought for certain that the bridge would give him some leeway. As it speeds past, the bridge eats the top roof of the truck. For a moment, he thought he was safe. Then suddenly, the cop remerges from the wreckage. He pops up like a spring and knocks the broken front window with his hand.

              “What the hell?” He thought.

              He grunted, the truck was now bumping into the back of his motorbike. His nerves jump up and he turns back in front of him. He panics, he was trying to run him over! This crazy man was literally trying to run him over! What sort of cop does that?

---

              Hol Horse watches from above on the white motorcycle. In all his days he could hardly believe what he was seeing. This demented cop was trying to tail end him and splatter his guts on the freeway. He could hardly believe it, as a rotten bastard himself he wouldn’t be so dastardly as to try and run someone over. That fate wouldn’t be reserved for anyone, not even the Joestars. Well, maybe if he counted the one time he stuck his fingers up Polnareff’s nose— no— that didn’t count. He was trying to follow along with Thoth’s predictions and—

              His eyes water slightly even thinking about it.

              No, he wouldn’t reminisce on something like that, he just had to keep going.

              “You rotten shit!” Hol Horse curses, he flips his hand over and fires another three rounds into the air. The speed around in an arc and race back towards the cop.

              “You fuckers don’t care about protecting, you just wanna kill!”

---

              Suddenly, the large buff man remerges, he could almost gasp. He races over and picks up the boy by the collar. He picks him up and throws him into the seat in front of him. He gasps and turns back, screaming in fear.

              The large motorbike flips over. The large beastly truck eats it up, its crushed under the large wheels and crumpled onto the ground. The large leather man turns his head back with the shotgun in hand. He flips it over and aims for the front bumper near the wheel. With a sudden bang the large beast starts to frantically swerve even more. It turns, bouncing against the concrete walls as if it were nothing more than a ping-pong ball.

              While the large man was nice, it doesn’t seem to do much in slowing down the rabid machine. John races as he craps the handles of the sturdy metal motorcycle. As he speeds up, he can see the glint of three purple streaks of light shoot past him. The round the air and pierce the cop in the drivers seat. With that, it was enough to fly into the corner of a bridge.

              It crumples into a ball of metal and stops. Large amounts of gas spill from the engine, with a small spark the whole thing ignites into a ball of fire. John turns back and watches the cloud of orange get smaller and smaller.

              The large man stops, he turns his gun over and aims it at the wreckage. He sees a small fast moving object dart around and speed closer from the fire. As it gets closer, its revealed to be nothing more than a burning wheel. The large man lowers his gun and turns back. He quickly presses down on the gas pedal and speeds away from wreckage.

---

              “Holy hell,” Ho Horse notes as he turns back to witness the open fire. While he experience the absurd and bizarre besting other stand users, that was rather extreme.

              “What was that cop’s deal?” He huffs, he turns back below and watches the large leather man wheel away from the scene with the kid in tow. He turns back to them and looks back to the wreckage.

              “Well, can’t wonder about that now,” He thought as he speeds away.

---

              As the T-800 wheels away from the wreckage of where the T-1000 assassin had crashed, its systems detect a strange white Aprilia RS 125 motorcycle following ten meters away. It was perplexed slightly by the figure trying to follow them. While he appeared hostile he seemed strangely helpful. The T-800 noticed that the man had been helping them in some way.

              While it couldn’t really predict how, seeing as he never had a weapon on him it somehow managed to slow down the progress of the T-1000. With that being said, it wouldn’t risk trying to get John killed. As the white bike speeds faster it speeds away with more acceleration in return. While it was  newer model for its time, the motorcycle it possessed was a Harley-Davidson Yamaha that had better acceleration and speed.

              “W-wait!” John said, noticing the T-800s speed when it noticed the white motorcycle.

              “It’s okay!” He says, grabbing its arm.

              “I know him!” He says, turning towards the T-800.

              “Let him come with us,” John said.

              “Are you sure?” The T-800 asked, its voice deep and stern.

              “Yes, I’m sure, let him come with us. Tell him to meet us at the next stop or whatever!” He shouts. The T-800, while uncertain meets John’s demands. He turns over and towards Hol Horse, he raises his hand and motions him forward. Hol Horse raises his hat and nods.

              He speeds with them, leaving John to collect himself.

---

              As they speed past some residential zones to a large business area, John raises his hands. There were a lot of questions on his mind that he needed answers for.

              “Okay, time out!” He shouts, raising his hand into the letter ‘T.’

              “Time out! Time out! C’mon, stop the bike!” He shouts, raising up his hand. The large man obliges, he turns a corner towards the back of some buildings near an obscure parking lot. He motions his hand over to the white motorcycle not a few cars behind. The bike turns and meets up with them in the parking lot.

---

              “Man don’t take this the wrong way, but you are a terminator, right?”

              “Yes,” The large man says as Hol Horse parks the bike.

              “Terminator?” Hol Horse asks.

              He flips up the shotgun and turns it over.

              “Cyberdyne systems model 101,” With a sudden pop the gun shells flip over and scatter across the concrete ground like soda caps.

              However, Hol Horse wasn’t really paying attention to that anymore. His mind more-so drawn on the words, ‘Cyberdyne.’ He remembers those words, and a very bad day that ended with— He presses his lips together and slams against the bike.

              “Cyberdyne?” Hol Horse asks, turning back over to them.

              “Did you fucking say Cyberdyne?”

              “Wait, what?” John thought, “Know them?”

              “Yeah,” Hol Horse says with a dark growl.

              John turns back and looks over to the man’s back, he leans over and pokes on the open bullet wounds scattered across him. John should have known from that very instant he was a terminator. Why the hell didn’t he see that before?

              “Oh shit,” John muttered.

              “You’re really real.”

              “I mean— oh— you’re like a machine underneath, but sort of alive outside?” He asks.

              “I’m a cybernetic organism, living tissue over metal endoskeleton.”

              As John gawks and fawns over the large man, poking and rubbing at his skin, Hol Horse stares at them with a deep frown and a bit of unease. He hardly wanted to believe it, a pretty fast-witted stand user could replicate that sort of thing. Yet, something about that felt all too real.

              “Think this is started to get weird for me too,” He thought.

              “Working for a vampire god stand user was already bad enough,” He thought.

              “Now we got psychotic murder machines running around.”

              He balls his fist and shakes his head, “So what? Just cause he’s a terminator doesn’t mean that gets in the way of me an Thoth, that kid still owes me.”

              “Get a grip John,” John pants.

              “Okay, so you’re not here to kill me. So what’s the deal?”

              “My mission, is to protect you.” He flips the shotgun over and shoves it into his back pocket.

              “Yeah, who sent you?” He asked.

              “You did, thirty-five years from now you reprogram me to be your protector here.”

              Hol Horse marches over and grabs John by the arm.

              “Aww, hey! What the hell?”

              “Look, enough with this small talk. I think you understand what you’re getting into now kid, give me back that comic book kid!”

              “What, no!”

              “No, is that not the reason why you brought me here?”

              The large man immediately rises from the motorcycle and grabs Hol Horse by the collar. He spins him around and throws him off of John.

              “I do not know you—”

              “His name is Hol Horse,” John blurts out. The ‘man,’ or rather, the ‘machine’ turns back to Hol Horse with a menacing stare.

              “Hol Horse.”

              “I do no know, but if you insist on being a threat to John then you can leave immediately,” The machine said firmly.

              “Or else what?” Hol Horse laughed.

              He raises his fist and points back at the machine, “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?”

              “You and your sunglasses, well how about I show you just what you really areee—”

              He yanks off the sunglasses and stares deep into the eyes of this machine, his body trembles. He drops the sunglasses to the ground. His eyes widen and he stares back at the machine with a strange deep set terror.

              “Master— DIO—” He mutters.

              While looking nothing alike, it was the eyes. Something about the eyes resembled DIO in every way. The way those eyes seem to stare through you and examine you microscopically. The way those eyes commanded a whole room.

              “Master D— D— DIO.”

              “Hol Horse,” DIO’s voice rang.

              “Why are you standing there like a muttering fool?” Suddenly, he was transported back to that library, that same dreaded library.

              “M-Master DIO I’m—”

              “What, sorry? You’re sorry for being a trembling meager lackey? Where’s your courage, your strength? Where is that sense of confidence and bravado, HOL HORSE!”

              Hol Horse grabs him by the arms and slams him against the shelves.

              “Now, I’m only going to repeat this one. Kill the Joestars, or do you wish to end yours?”

              Hol Horse sputters, scenes seem to glitch in and out of existence.

              “M-m—”

              “HEY!” John shouts, bringing Hol Horse back to the present. He shivers, stumbling back and shaking his head with terror.

              “N-never mind.”

              The machine turns back and gives him a cold look, it was almost like Déjà vu and his whole body trembles with terror. He rapidly grabs the glasses from the ground and shoves them back on his face.

              “Just, put those back on.”

              The machine turns back to him, “Do me a favor, won’t you? Never take those off again.” He  says, raising a hand to him.

              “Wait, what?” John asks.

              “Whose DIO?” He asks.

              “What?”

              “You said something about a Dio? Who the hell is that? And second of all, why do you call him ‘Master Dio,’ sounds like some sort of dark video game villain, yeesh.”

              The poor kid didn’t know, did he? He wouldn’t spare the details on him.

              Hol Horse raises his hand and sighs, “Don’t worry about it—”

              He turns back to them with a sour look. So far removed from the intense bounty hunter he was, he was now a meager frightened man.

              “I’ll explain later.”

---

              “So, this other guy. He’s a terminator like you, right?” He asked.

              “Not like me. A T-1000. Advanced prototype.” He explained.

              “You mean more advanced then you are?”

              “Yes.”

              “A memetic Polly alloy.”

              “What hell does that mean?”

              “Liquid metal.”

              Hol Horse doesn’t talk, he rides behind them and stares out into the night sky with a deep set look of exhaustion on his face. This was just getting worse and worse, was what this guy saying true? Was he really that advanced? Hol Horse shook his head. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

              “Where are we going?” John asked.

              “We have to get out of the city immediately,” The terminator commands.

              “And avoid the authorities.”

              “Smart plan,” Hol Horse mutters.

              The machine turns back and glances over him before looking back to John.

              “Listen I got to stop by my house, I want to pick up some stuff.”

              “Negative. The T-1000 will definitely try to reacquire you there.”

              “You sure?” John asks.

              “I would,” The machine says as it turns to John.

              The two motor cycles round a corner and park by an empty parking lot where a tall standing payphone is. Horse parks few more feet further from them and crosses his arms over his chest. Hol Horse turns his head over to the kid half wondering when he’s about to do.

              “Look,” John says as he turns back to the men.

              “Todd and Janelle are dicks, but I’ve got to warn them.” He sighs, fumbling through his pants and sighing a bit with frustration. From all the commotion, he’d forgotten to get more quarters.

              “Shit, you got a quarter?” John asks the machine.

              The machine turns over and whacks his hand across the bottom of the payphone. The front cover collapses, and a wave of coins spills out from underneath. He takes a quarter and raises it up to John. John looks at him with but mystique and horror. That answered his question, even if it wasn’t entirely how he expected it.

              John quickly shoves the quarters in and dials up a number. After a few short rings and a few antsy circles inside the payphone someone picks up from the other end.

              “Hello?” Janelle asks from the other end, stopping her nightly routine of chopping the vegetables for their homemade beef stew.

              “Janelle it’s me!” John shouts.

              “John?” She asks with a more concerned look.

              “Yes, is everything alright are you guys okay?” He asks.

              “John, everything’s okay. Are you alright?” She asks back.

              “I’m fine.”

              “John, it’s late. Honey, I was beginning to worry about you. If you hurry home we can sit down and have dinner together! I’m making beef stew.”

              John’s heart races, something was really wrong. The tone of her voice, her awfully cheery demeanor, she was never like this. He grabs the phone and turns over to the machine, making sure to hold his hand over the mouthpiece.

              “Something’s wrong, she’s never this nice,” He commented. Hol Horse hears a slight bit of the commotion and curiosity gets the better of him, he marches forward.

              “John? Where are you.”

              “BARK. BARK. BARK.”  

              “The hell is god damn dog barking? HEY!” Todd shouts from the other end.

              John turns back to the machine as he hears Todd ramble, “Hey, shut up you worthless piece of shit!” He curses. Hol Horse can hear the voices from the phone.

              “The dog’s really barking,” John whispers.

              “You tell the kid to get rid of that fucking mutt,” Todd orders.

              Then, John can hear something. Something akin to a knife piercing flesh or a fast moving BB gun bead flying through his air and grazing wood.

              “Could he already be there?” John asks worringly.

              The machine snatches the payphone and places it up to its ear.

              “Honey are you okay?” Janelle asks from the other end.

              “I’m right here,” The machine says with his voice. This causes Hol Horse watching from the outside jump slightly. He was almost confused, was that actually him?

              “I’m fine.” John looks at him and almost raises a brow.

              “You sure, you sure you’re alright?”

              The machine lowers the phone and covers it with his hand. 

              “What's the dog's name?” He asks him.

              “Max.”

              The machine raises the phone up to his ear. 

              “Hey Janelle, what's wrong with Wolfie? I can hear him barking, is he okay?” The machine asks. The voice distinct and indistinguishable from John. The perfect replica.

              “Wolfie's fine honey, Wolfie’s just fine.”

              A long silence fills the air and something about Janelle's voice seems more urgent.

              “Where are you?”

              Click.

              “Your foster parents are dead.” There was no hesitation, no gentle words, no sugary language, nothing. It was a cold, direct statement. 

              “Aw jeez,” Hol Horse sighs, watching as the machine turns over to him. 

              “You were listening to all that?” John asks, slightly irritated. 

              “Well I– yeah I was.” 

              “Look, I'm sorry kid.” Hol Horse tries to say reassuringly. Instead, John grumbles and pushes past him. Hol Horse reluctantly relents, letting the kid slip buy. He grumbles back a bit, shaking his own head as well with a bit of disappointment.

              “I need a minute here,” He says, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head.

              “You're telling me, that this thing can imitate anything it touches?” He asked.

              “Anything it samples by physical contact.”

              He shakes his head and turns away from him with a scoff. 

              “Get real,” He sighs. 

              “Like, he can disguise himself as a– pack of cigarettes?” 

              “No, only an object of equal size.” 

              “Oh, why didn't just become a bomb or something to get me?” 

              “It can't form complex machines, guns and explosives have chemicals, moving parts. It doesn't work that way. It can form solid metal shapes.” 

              “Like what?”

              “Knives, and stabbing weapons.”

              “Well,” Hol Horse sang, “Guess we better get a move on then?” 

              “Wait, hold on!” John says, raising his hand up to him. 

              “You still haven't told me who this DIO guy is!” He points.

              “Later kid!” He protests.

              “But you–” John spoke up.

              “Later!” 

---

              “Look, I gotta take a quick piss.” Hol Horse said with a grunt.

              “So don’t think I’m not comin’ along. By the way kid, you still owe me that comic book!” He says with a lecturing tone, leaning over and raising his finger to the boy. John sticks his tongue out at Hol Horse in return. Hol Horse shrugs and turns away.

              “Better not get into any trouble.”

              “Yeah, okay dad.” John says sarcastically.

              Hol Horse sharply turns on his heel and gives John a dirty glare. He turns back and walks away. There was a small silence as he walked into a nearby gas station down the block. The machine turns quickly and asks John a question.

              “Why does he keep asking you about a comic book?”

              “Long story.” John sighs, lowering his head in a long silence. He sits on the roof of the car and looks silently at the ground.

              “See, I spent a lot of time in Nicaragua in places like that.” John explained.

              “For a while there, she was with crazy ex-green beret guy, running guns. Then there were some other guys. She shack up to anybody she could learn from so she can teach me how to be this—”

              John raises his chest and deepens his voice, “’Great military leader.’”

              “Then she gets busted. It’s like, ‘Sorry kid, you’re mom’s a psycho, didn’t you know?”

              “It’s like everything I was brought up to believe was made of bullshit. I hated her for that!” He shouts, slamming his hand down on the roof of a car.

              “But everything she said was true,” Hol Horse turns, he was a feet yards away. His good ears still managing to listen in on some of the conversation.

              “She knew, and nobody believed her.”

              “Not even me…”

              Hol Horse grunts, snorts his nose, and walks towards the station. Something struck him about that, about that woman. Sarah Connor, wasn’t it? He hardly understood it, but something about those words pushed Hol Horse in a strange way. When he gets back, he might be just interested in seeing her. He felt bad for the poor little lady, telling the world of something that nobody would believe.

              “Listen… we got to get her out of there.” He said.

---

              When Hol Horse comes back, the machine was inches away from shooting a black man point blank in the face. He shouts out, running over towards them.

              “HEY WOAH!” He shouts.

              “NO!” John screams, pushing the gun away turning the shot over next to him. The round strikes through the hood of the car engine he lays atop of. He falls down to the ground in the panic.

              “GOD DAMN IT, WHAT THE HELL DID I SAY!?!!” Hol Horse asked.

              “It’s not me!” John says, turning to him.

              “He tried to kill him!”

              “Put the gun down now!” John orders, the terminator drops the gun and turns back to him with a neutral and calm expression.

              “C’MON! GET OUT OF HERE!” John shouts.

              The two jocks jump up, the shaggy brown hair man grabs his buddy and runs off with him. The black man clings to his arm and holds it close. Hol Horse raised a brow, did that guy really do something to him? Just what the hell happened when he was away? John races down and picks up the gun. He turns back to the machine and talks harshly to it.

              “Jesus, you’re going to kill that guy!” He shouts.

              “Of course, I’m a terminator.”

              “Listen to me very carefully, okay?” John asks.

              “You’re not a terminator anymore, right? You got that? You just go around killing people!” He lectures him. Hol Horse shakes his head and quiet quips out, “You’re preaching to the wrong crowd.”

              “Shut up!” John says, turning back to the cowboy.

              “Got that?” He asks again.

              “Why?” The terminator asks.

              “What do you mean, why? Because you can’t!”

              “Why?”

              “Because you just can’t! Okay? Trust me on this!” He protests.

              He sighs and turns down to the ground, he turns his eyes back up to him and stares deeply into the machine’s face. He had to get serious now, otherwise this machine wouldn’t quite get it.

              “Look, I’m going to get my mom.” He raises the gun up to the machine.

              “And I order you to help me!” He takes the gun and puts it back in his holster.

              “Alright, sounds like a plan.” Hol Horse says as he marches to his motorcycle.

              “Wait, what?”

              “Like I said, I’m coming with you.”

              “Wait, you’re going to help me rescue my mom?” He asks.

              “Well, let’s just get something straight here,” The cowboy notes as he takes some stuff from the motorcycle and places it on the seat.

              “I’ve only came here for one person. Now that you have my book, I have no choice but to come along.” He says with a sigh, stepping towards them with a serious look on his face. He relaxes his shoulders and grows a more serious expression of sincerity.

              “Also, that little story about your Mama really touched me.” He says, lowering his hat with a smile. He peers down to John and stands upright.

              “So I’m comin’ along. Unless you… got any objections.”

              “No,” John said sourly.

              “Anyway, you want real firepower right? Something more than a gun or some feeble explosives.” He takes his hand and raises it into the air.

              “Well,” He laughs, as brilliant gold light spins around. In an instant, a steel cold gun forms. A gun more powerful than the one the machine would ever hope to have.

              “Emperor’s got you covered!” He laughs.

              The machine steps forward and looks around him. He lowers his head and looks towards John.

              “Why is his holding his finger in the air?” He asks.

              “Oh wait, you—” John says as he looks back from him and towards Hol Horse.

              “Don’t see it, don’t you?” John asked.

              “See what?” The machine asks.

              “Well, maybe I’ll answer his question.” Hol Horse throws Emperor and raises it into the air. He catches it in his other hand and tosses it around.

              “You both probably have some questions about me, so how about I answer you question.” He raises Emperor into the air. In a flash, it fades out of existence.

              “Have you ever heard of somethin’ called a stand?”

              “Stand?” The machine asks.

              “Spiritual manifestations of one’s being if you will.” The machine wasn’t willing to believe of such of thing. Yet, there was a strange anomalous effect that seemed to follow this man around. He would detect no sort of weaponry on him yet he’s able to cause massive damage if he did have one.

              “So, you wanted to know who DIO was? Then I’ll tell you.”

---

              “We have the witness here, would you mind coming over to see them? This may be of pertinent interest to you Mr. Kujo.”

              “Wait, really? I have to go right now?”

              “Well, we don’t have any other times slights open.”

              “I’m a bit busy here.”

              “We can reschedule for next week if you wish.”

              “No, no. Yare Yare Daze, I’ll be there in a few.”

              CLICK

---

              Jotaro huffs, shoving a vanilla envelop into his pocket. He marches down a long white corridor and walks towards a large pristine automatic doors. They open with a soft and smooth click, he traverses smoothly through towards a large open office. It’s been a few years since his little excursion with DIO in 1988. Since then, Jotaro has gotten a family. A wife, and a little daughter named Irene.

              Since defeating DIO, Jotaro has begun working more closely with the Speedwagon Foundation, and with it… Cyberdyne systems. With their technology, they have been able to keep his family safe and away from the peeling eyes of vengeful followers of him. It’s a great deal, the only catch being that he has to work closely with them every now again in concerns to their Titan project.

              With that, he has begun more involved with something concerning a strange ally of DIO. A strange and enigmatic figure named ECHO, he’s here to see the only witness that knows something about him. However, that wasn’t his only project. He hardly didn’t need to be involved in it, he was given the option to remain uninvolved. Yet, something about the name of the woman in question was familiar to him and brought him some interest.

              His other project had begun not too long since arriving to Los Angeles. A strange name that he has some familiarity with pops up again, Sarah Connor. All he knows was that something was going down with her son. Her son vanished and the same man that killed a bunch of police officers back in 1985 has returned.

              However, that had to wait till later. For now, he needed some information that would allow highly trained Speedwagon Operatives to track down this enigmatic ECHO. He only hopes that he would be able to do so in time.

Chapter 4: Has Custom Flute Presets…

Summary:

Sarah Connor was just an ordinary woman when her life was upturned and thrown into trouble. A man from the future, Kyle Reese, had foretold her the horrid future war and how it’s coming to her time. For when she escapes the Pescadero State Hospital, she runs into someone she never thought she would see again. The robot that pursued her so long ago, her son, and a strange Cowboy that brought stranger things with him.

                Hol Horse shook, his mind ragged as it continues to get worn down and ground up. The searing thoughts dig into his mind tearing, into it like scissors on a paper. There were no arms for him to stretch out, to break him from his chains, to run and flee. He was a bug stuck to a wall. Caught in a web with no hope to escape. He was already half eaten if that wasn’t the worst of it.

                His feet swung above the ground like a dead man hanging from a noose. He was a puppet on a display, never having the luxury of touching the ground. He was always on a show with no luxury or rest. The voices in his mind got worse and a false sense of reality completely overwhelmed him.

                “Hol Horse,” Mariah hums sweetly, he felt her fingers stroke his back and go down.

                “No, stop it.” He says, nervous sweat beams from his gaunt face.

                “This isn’t real, you’re not real.”

                Mariah laughs, leaning over to kiss him.

                “What about me is not real?” She asked.

                “Wait, what are—” She becomes cross. She steps back and kicks him in the back with an enraged tone. Her face morphs into an ugly growl and she curses. 

                “SO WHAT? ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY I’M NOT REAL BECAUSE I’M A WOMAN? ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY THAT I’M AN IDIOT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY ‘I’M NOT REAL’ YOU DUNCE?!!”

                Hol Horse stammers back, flying over and nearly hitting a stool beside him as stammers to his feet. His vision blurs for a moment as he leans forward to catch himself. He turns down to look at his hands. Once gone, were now intact. They were whole, they were there.

                He waves them for a moment and looks towards Mariah.

                “No, I didn’t mean it that way Mariah.” He says, leaning over to tip his hat, but stops. He couldn’t feel anything. He looks back to his hands. He opens them and closes them. He could feel them, but he couldn’t feel his hat.

                His breath becomes more scattered as he steps back for a moment.

                “No, no,” He says, shaking his head repeatedly.

                “Get out of my head, you’re not real.” He leans over to cover his ears. This was too much, this was too maddening.

                “Hol Horse,” A deep voice growls as he stands over him.

                “How dare you deny my existence. Are you to assume that I, DIO, am not real?”

                “How are you getting better at this?” he asked, becoming more angry. He grabs his hair and yanks against it slightly. He wouldn’t dare turn around. He wouldn’t dare look behind him. He would be completely frozen if he did. He wouldn’t be able to move at such a godly face, DIO. If there was one thing the AI was good at, it was taking the face of the one man that could break him.

                “I can feel my hands, but I know they’re not there,” He grunts, tearing up with pain and agony.

                “What is this you’re rambling about, Hol Horse? Do you not think that I can hear you?”

                “Get out my head, Skynet.” He says firmly.

                “Skynet? For whom do you refer to by this name? There is no name but I, DIO.”

                “Don’t play games with me asshole, I know you’re not really him.” Tears fall from his face and hit the ground like rain. He leans over and stares at the dark marble floor of the library surrounded in catacombs. He clutched himself tight as he struggled to breath. He couldn’t cry, it would be foolish.

                “Get out of my head, Skynet.” He says again.

                “Then turn around and face me, Hol Horse.”

                “What?”

                “If you are certain you are referring to whom you speak, turn around and face me.”

                “N-no.” He said softly.

                A hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around. His eyes grow wide as he comes into contact with the man himself. Despite knowing this was all a false illusion, a fake reality, he somehow looked like the real him. Golden locks, golden eyes, silky white skin and an ever alluring smile. Hol Horse gasps, looking at him. However, his admiration turned to fear as the eyes burned away. The face melts and hardened metal peers out from underneath. Metal eyes peer down and seem to stare into his soul.

                “N-no, STOP IT!” He demands.

                “Tell me, Hol Horse,” The ever sweet voice of DIO filling his ears.

                “I can make this go away, just do me one favor and tell me about that Connor boy, would you? You were the most loyal of mine subjects anyway.”

                “I— I—”

                “Tell me,” He demands.

“T  E  L  L   M  E .”

 

                A demonic voice peers into his mind. The world around him erupted into fire and lighting burst through his skin. He screamed and screamed until nothing came out.

---

                Hol Horse nearly jumps out of his skin by something tugging on the sleeve of his pants. He jumps violently before standing up. A few rude snaps of a finger bring him back into reality as he turns down and stares at the cause of his sudden rude awakening. Little John Connor stands below him with an irritated look on his face.

                “You okay man?” He asked.

                Hol Horse pushes himself off the wall from where he was resting and looks down at the boy. He brushes himself off quickly and apologizes.

                “Sorry little guy,” He said as he adjusted the brim of his long cowboy hat.

                “I’m coming.”

                “Not that little actually,” John corrected.

                “Yeah, whatever,” Hol Horse mutters back.

---

A FEW MOMENTS EARLIER

                “Have ever heard of the story of Dracula? Well, I met him. That was DIO. Believe it or not, it was a slightly unnerving experience. That day was the day I met DIO, a powerful vampire man. He had stolen the body of Jonathan Joestar, or so I’m told.”

                “I’m going to stop you right there,” John says, raising a finger and pointing it to Hol Horse.

                “So let me get this straight, the guy you work for— is a vampire?” He asked.

                “Well, worked for, but vampire he was. Got any problems with that?” He asked.

                “Well, yeah!” John exclaimed.

                “You can’t just go around talking about this DIO guy like he’s some sort of God, then tell me he’s a fucking vampire? Get real!” John shouts, brushing him off.

                “Well for your information kid, he was a lot scarier than he looked.” He said, raising a finger to him. Of course, a dumb little kid wouldn’t understand such a thing.

                “Still doesn’t really answer my questions about stands,” He added.

                “You didn’t let me finish,” Hol Horse added.

                “Yeah whatever,” John said as he shook his head.

                “But for real? A vampire!” He laughed, marching around in a giddy manner. As he stomps around, the terminator watches him blankly.

                “A vampire!” He laughs again.

                “Let’s see,” John said as he scratched his chin.

                “Can’t go out in sunlight, allergic to garlic, afraid of crosses, can’t come into your house unless you—” Hol Horse grunts loudly and brushes him off.

                “Look, I get the picture.” He said as he tried to explain himself.

                “I know it sounds really weird, but it is true.”

                He raises a finger and points it at John, “But he wasn’t like the traditional vampire you’re thinking about. He had no fear.”

                “He was fierce, golden hair, unwavering commanding eyes that could stare through you,” He shuddered, looking down to his hands with shame.

                “He wasn’t a very nice guy.”

                “Then why the hell did you work for him?” John asked, raising his feet slightly as if he were some sort of curious cat trying to observe every spot and angle in a large barn. A cat that stepped into a world it hardly knew or understood.  

                “Well, I never said I was a good guy, did I?”

---

                “You can call me many things, cowboy, outlaw, bounty hunter, assassin, but whatever you call me I was the guy you wanted as a partner. Always number two. I often worked with the ladies because they always were a good ally.”

                “One day, I got a little low on my luck, so I offered my services to a man named, DIO. He assigned me a partner named J. Geil. Together we went to hunt down the Joestars as they were a great nemesis to him.”

                So, he told them, told them everything about 1989. He laughed, tipping his hat slightly and remembering that time. Some of them were great, and others not so much. However, he remembered delivering the bad news to him that one fateful day.

                He shivers, still remembering the look on his face.

                “Hol Horse.” His deep passionate voice echoes throughout the room.

                He turns around in a panic, trying to determine where he’s coming from. However, it was so dark, dusty, and filled with cobwebs that he might as well been blind.

                “What is it?” Hol Horse jumps slightly, it was coming from behind him. He turns around to see his master on a ladder pulling books from a large cabinet. “It’s… Master… DIO…”

                 For a seemingly normal behavior he was so put off by his stance that he leaned over and began to hyperventilate. As he got done, all he could do is lean over and breathe heavily like he was some out of shape loser who just walked up a flight of stairs.

                “Son of a bitch. What is this? Just looking at him is enough to send chills down my spine,” He thought to himself.

                “Keep it together, Hol Horse. Don’t let him spook ya,” He thought.

                “He’s nothing to lose your cool over. Yeah, he’s not even that much stronger than you,” He thought to himself. He stands up, regains his composure and begins to explain the current situation to his master.

                “I’ll ask you again. Did you want something, Hol Horse?”

                “Oh, well yes actually.” He says, raising his hat over his head.

                “I’ve received intel that two of the nine great gods, Mariah and Alessi, have been put out of commission.” As he explains, DIO says nothing. He pushes away the dust off a book and merely listens to Hol Horse’s pitiful ‘intel.’

                “And your point is?”

                “Oh, well, there’s more!” He yells out.

                “We’ve got trouble coming. Turns out Joestar gang will arrive in Cairo tomorrow, and only three of the nine gods are left.”

                “It seems you misunderstood point of my question,” He says as he closes the book in front of him. He grows angry and irritated at this sniveling little bounty hunter’s concerns. All this blubbering just to deliver some petty information?

                “I want to know what you’re going to do Hol Horse,” He says, turning to him.

                “You seem to be caught rather off guard. I simply wish to know when you’re going to kill them, Hol Horse. While it’s true that you pledged your allegiance to me, you have yet to adequately prove yourself in battle.”

                “In this day and age, any simpleton can deliver information. Twice you failed me, and here you are crawling back,” Hol Horse again snivels up and frantically breathing. He pants the more distance closes between DIO’s fingers and his face.

---

                “Yeesh, he really didn’t sound like a nice guy to work for,” John noted as kicked over a rock.

                “Yeah, I know,” Hol Horse says, looking to the ground. He tries to hide his shame somewhat but deep down the growing guilt of knowing what he did for him still weighs on his mind.

                “So, if he was real, that would make you real stupid, wouldn’t it?”

                “Excuse me?” Hol Horse said in a growl.

                “If it were up to me, I probably would try and kill that guy,” That triggered an immediate hearty laughter out of Hol Horse. What a naïve brave little kid, if anything he would be with the Joestars, and they would have frankly sent him packing. There was no noise but Hol Horse and his laughter.

                The more he laughed, the more irritated he got.

                “What, what are you laughing at?” John asked.

                “John, do you still wish to consider bringing this man along?” The machine asked, nodding its head forward and gesturing to Hol Horse.

                “He has a volatile and unstable personality highly characteristic of schizophrenic individuals.”

                Hol Horse stops laughing and marches straight to the machine.

                “What did you say?” He asked.

                “You carry long and complex beliefs and think of them to be true. It is most likely probably you have signs of schizophrenia and fail to have a real grasp on reality.”

                Hol Horse balled his fist in rage and grabbed his shoulder.

                “Well, is my reality any less real than a talking-walking cyborg from the future, buddy?” Hol Horse growls, shooting back at such an abhorrent claim. He takes his finger and jabs it deeply into his black leather coat.

                “Skynet is based on a highly researched scientific advancement on Artificial Intelligence. Vampires are a superstition with no basis or grounds in reality or science.”

                Hol Horse pushes him off, he curses slightly before spinning around. He raises his Emperor slightly at the machine in a half-made gesture of aggression. However, he quickly summons it away before turning back.

                “You know, if you didn’t look like Master DIO behind those thick shades, I would have blasted your little shit for brains all over the floor.”

                “Even if were not, you couldn’t. My metal chassis is made of a sturdy metal alloy, you wouldn’t be able to do anything. Are you sure you want to continue with this deranged ramble, or do I need to do away with you for John’s safety?” He asks, stepping forward, causing Hol Horse to step back quickly, raising his arms to surrender.

                “Hey no!” John shouts.

                Hol Horse coughs.

                “Well, if I tell you the rest, you might change your mind.”

---

                “Now then, if there is anything else, run along and destroy my enemies on my behalf.” DIO commands as he sits comfortably in a silk red chair. Hol Horse stopped for a moment, mixed emotions danced around in his mind and he’s unsure what to think for himself.

                “Failure will most assuredly result in your untimely demise,” DIO warns as he raises a finger in the air. It was the most subtle yet horrifying warning he ever received.

                “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Haus. As if threats are going to make me roll over and do whatever the hell you want.” He thought to himself.

                “Nnrrgh, on your behalf my ass.”

                “I’m no fool, I’m smart enough to throw in whoever’s strongest.”

                He raises his hand slowly, ever so slowly until it reaches his hip. In a slow motion he pulls Emperor into existence.

                “Everything I’ve said has been lip service. I’d never swear loyalty to you with the cost of my soul!” He thought raising his hand and carefully aiming it at the man.

                “Rat bastard, you’re not so tough, are ya?” He asked in his mind. Despite whatever he claims to be, DIO is still just a man.  

                “Guess another person’s body attached to your head has made you go soft. This is perfect, I don’t have to fight Joseph and the other three. Now that I got DIO in my crosshairs.”

                DIO notices that Hol Horse hasn’t moved since he sat down. Curiosity gets the better of him and he’s tempted to ask this sorry lackey what’s causing him trouble. Does he have some sort of weak condition? Why does he stand there so aimlessly?

                “It’ll be a hell of a lot easier to blow his head to smithereens right here and now.” He raises the emperor and sets it right at the base of his neck. One clean cut and there’s no more master DIO.

                “If I do, his treasure’s mine for the taking. This will be a piece of cake. He doesn’t know Emperor’s aimed point blank at his skull. I can finish him off and he’ll be none the wiser. Just one pull of the trigger, and this nightmare will be over. After all, Emperor was made for close combat carnage. I can do this! I can do this!”

                “Is there a problem? You seem to be hesitating.”

                Hesitating? There’s no way he’s hesitating now!

                “Eat lead, shitbag! I’m about to spill your brains all over the floor! Mr. DIO!” He thought as he cocked back the gun and readied himself to fire.

                “Are you positive you want to go through with shooting me?”

                Then, he vanishes. The book drops with a soft thump, and then there’s silence.

                Hol Horse gasps, quickly looking around in a small bout of pure dread. He wasn't there, he didn't walk away, he just… vanished. He vanished like some sort of magician. 

                “He's gone,” He thought to himself.

                “Hmmpph,” Dio hummed, from right behind him.

                “Fascinating. As you prepared to fire, your breathing was relaxed. You didn't even prespire.”

                “Shit, no.” Hol Horse thought. 

                “You were composed, very impressive Hol Horse.” 

                Then, he walks away. He didn't even yell or lecture him. Hol Horse remained silent, perhaps the silence was more than enough. 

---

                “At the time, it didn't make sense to me. Then, overhearing word from the Joestars, it turned out to be a stand that stopped time.”

                “You see, I mentioned something about nine glory gods. DIO was the god above all of them as he was the one that could stop time itself. It's really why I'm here for.” 

                “Forewarning, we're entering dangerous territory. Most likely, you're going to need me.” 

                He turns over to John and looks at him. John had no idea what to say, but if there was a chance what he's saying was true then, he really did need him. Better safe than sorry as they say. 

                “You know why I wanted so badly to get back that comic book? Yeah, that's one of them. That's Thoth. I've made a huge swathe of mistake in my life. Thought I could fix that but–” 

                He stares right into John eyes.

                “Looks, let's get your mother.” 

                “Oh–” John, being put off by his strange change in behavior. 

---

ONE DAY AGO, IN PESCADERO STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE

               

                Sarah stands before a large television with a lit cigarette in hand. In the footage she sees before her is an interview held not too long ago. A confession of her nightmares, the foretold warning of what would come for humanity should they not listen.

                “It’s like a giant strobe light, burning right through my eyes. Somehow, I can still see. Fuck.” Sarah cries in the footage, leaning over with her arms crossed as she rests her head against the table like a bored teenager in the last period.

                However, she wished she was so carefree.

                “We know the dreams the same every night. Why do I have to—”

                “Please continue,” A deeper voice chimes in, a voice sounding like a middle aged man. Dr. Silberman, pushing her for more information. His voice demanding and interrogative like a cold-hearted policeman.

                “Children look like burnt paper, black, not moving, and the blast wave hits them, and they fly apart like leaves.”  She cries, nearly breaking down at the thought. All that pain, all that responsibility ends solely on her.

                “Dreams of cataclysm, the end of the world, are all very common.”

                Dr. Silberman writes off her concerns, like a dismissive father waving off the nightmares of a small child. The tone Silberman had was demeaning and non-caring, everything she’s grown used to being here. It’s not really his fault, he doesn’t know what he can’t see.  

                “It’s not a dream, you moron. It’s real. I know the day it happens.”

                “I’m sure it feels very real to you.” She says, shooting up a glare at the man in the shot.

                “On August 29^th, 1997, it’s going to feel pretty fucking real to you to.”

                “Anybody not wearing two million sunblock is going to have a real bad day, get it?”

                She shakes her head, “God, you think you’re safe and alive? You’re already dead, Everybody! Him. You! You’re dead already!”

                “This whole place, everything you see is gone!” She shouts, getting ever the more riled up and angry over her words being unheard.

                “You’re the one living in a fucking dream, Silberman! Cause I know it happens! It happens!” Then it stops, Silberman turns around and looks towards Sarah as she stares blankly at him with the cigarette in her hands. She’s nervous, he can already see her fidgeting fingers shake. He already knew that sort of behavior and kept a note of it. She takes the cigarette and snuffs it into the glass ashtray.

                “I’m much better now,” she says with a firm and warm tone.

                “Sure, you are.” Silberman thinks to himself. He would have written her off right then and there, but he knew as a good psychologist that wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment.

                “Clearer.” She adds.

                “Yes,” He nods with affirmation.

                “Yes, your attitude has been much improved lately.” He notes as he takes a pen and puts it in the inside pocket of his suit. Sarah takes a chair and sits down next to him. She scoots in closer and becomes more declarative with her statements.

                “It’s helped me to have a goal, something to look forward to.” She says affirmatively.

                “And what is that?” He asked.

                “Well, you said if I showed improvement over six months, you would transfer me to the minimum-security wing, and I could have visitors.”

                “Well, it’s been six months, I was looking forward to seeing my son.” She says firmly.

                “I see,” He notes, nodding slightly as he leans forward.

                “Let’s go back to what you were saying about those terminator machines. Now you think they don’t exist?” He asks.

                The medical guards watch from afar with cameras as they wait for a response.

                “They don’t exist. I know that now.” She says firmly.

                “But you told me on many occasions on how you crushed one in a hydraulic press.” He interjects, adding in things he said back to her. How will she react?

                “Well, If I had, there would have been some evidence.” She says, her words picked up and traveled through radio waves and broadcasts microphones and into recording machines that gathered each single world of her conversation.

                “They would have found something at the factory,” she said with believable confidence, a confidence so believable a more inexperienced professional would full-heartedly believe. Yet, Silberman was no blind dumb-witted fool.

                “I see, so you don’t believe anymore that the company covered it up.” The company he’s referring to, Cyberdyne, has said nothing on such a matter. If they ever found anything it would have been likely made known by now.

                “No, why would they?” She asked.

                After a few more questions, Sarah pushed him with another question.

                “So, what do you think doctor? I have shown improvement, haven’t I?” She asked.

                “Well Sarah, here’s the problem,” Silberman says as he takes the pen and puts it away. Now, it’s time to show her what he really thinks.

                “I know how smart you are,” he says, putting his hands on the table and clasping his fingers together. Her resolute face remains unwavering, yet there’s this still slight sense of irritation that was beginning to bubble within her. Her eyes twitched slightly. She knew full well what was coming. Yet was still hopelessly desperate to stop it.

                “I think you’re just telling me what I want to hear,” He says firmly.

                “I don’t think you’re really believing what you’re saying. I think if I put you into minimum security, you’re just going to try and escape again,” He explains, raising his hands up for emphasis.

                “You have to let me see my son,” She pleads, leaning forward with desperation.

                “Please, please.” She begs with more pitiful eyes.

                “He’s in great danger, he’s naked without me.”

                A statement heard from many others albeit some slight variation, but it all comes down the same as it was before. Just nothing at all, lies.

                “If I could just make a phone call,” she said.

                “I’m afraid not. Not for a while,” Silberman denied.

                “I see no choice but to recommend to the view board that you stay here for another six months,” he says, taking out the pen and making a note on some paperwork to finalize his decision. Then, a strange thing happens. Hands wrap around his neck, and he begins to choke. He looks up to see Sarah crawling towards him, and then wrapping her hands around his neck just the same.

                He didn’t think of it at the time but found it odd that he felt a strange choking sensation before Sarah put her hands on him.

                “GYAH— AHH!” He gasps.

                “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

                As they struggled, nurses came and wrap themselves around Sarah as they try to separate them from her. “Stop— let go of me!” He pleads.

                “GET HER OFF!” He demands.

                “YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!” He screams.

                “Ten CCs of Sodium amytal, stat!” He demands, choking and gasping as nurses rush in with surgical needles and bring them to her. Once they pry her bony fingers off, they pin her down. A female nurses rushes in and brings them over to the other nurses.

                “NO! STOP! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” She screams.

                “Get some restraints in here, now!”

                “AHH! You don’t know what you’re doing!” She screams. Their hands wrap around and hard leather pins her to the table.

                “Got her?” A female nurse asks.

                “I’LL KILL YOU!”

                Suddenly, a male nurse hears Sarah scream. It wasn’t a desperate, struggling scream, but an anguished cry. A cry like she was summoning her energy for something. Then, a strike lands his on his cheek and he backs away slightly. He would have fallen straight to the floor if he didn’t have a table to grab onto at the very least.

                He retaliates by pushing down harder against her, making her totally open for a ready shot of the amytal for her psychotic state. The nurses didn’t mention it at the time, but they did find it oddly strange how one nurse felt like his head was cracked open by a hard fist. A fist that felt like it came from nowhere. Some nurses said it was a rogue kick or slap, but Sarah was already pinned down at that point and she could hurt no one.

                Silberman shakes his head and turns to a camera nearby, “Model citizen.”

                A sarcastic tone that carries to the very end of the footage. Another failed session, just as usual for an extreme case like her. All the attention, all the analysis, focused solely on her. They focused on her and turned a blind eye to evidence of the table moving on its own when she became enraged, or the television rocking back and forth by an invisible wind. It was a rather bizarre event indeed.

                However, in the end, after the dust had settled and Sarah was dragged to her room a revelation occurred. A strange delight, Sarah had been glad such an event occurred. If it did not, she wouldn’t have rediscovered an old friend.

                For months she’s been trying to reconnect, and now the time is finally approaching. It won’t be long until she’s made her true escape.

---

                Two motorcycles stop in unison on the borders of Pescadero. One parks far away, trying not to garner any attention. An old cowboy looks at them and peers back watching their movements. Another is parked closer. The older man on the bike turns over and looks towards a boy sitting behind him.

                “Why do we stop now?” He asks.

                The boy raises his hands and slaps them against his back.

                “Now you gotta promise me you’re not going to kill anyone, right?” He asked.

                “Right.” He says in a cold and firm tone.

                “Swear?”

                He turns over, that was a strange query that causes him confusion. “What?” He asks, turning over for clarification.

                “Just put up your hand and say, ‘I swear I won’t kill anyone.’” he says, raising his own hand as a sort of demonstration. The man slightly confused for such a gesture raises his hand anyway. He hardly sees the use for such a thing but follows through with his swearing.

                “I swear I will not kill anyone.”

                “Alright, let’s go.” he says, turning around and motioning towards the cowboy who follows suit.

---

                The two motorcycles pull up to the security toll and park side by side. Two men accompanied by a young boy march towards the toll and make eye contact with the apathetic guard. He rolls his eyes, didn’t expect such a party at this hour, but he had to go through with standard procedure.

                “Visiting hours is ten to four, Monday through Friday.” He explains, but becomes startled, immediately reaching for his gun when the more buff looking man in leather pulls out a gun. He fires to rounds in both knees, sending the guard to the ground. He whines and moans in agony as he clutches his legs with pain.

                “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” The boy screams.

                “YOU SON OF BITCH!” The guard grumbles.

                “YOU SHOT ME!”

                The buff man reached over and punches the glass beside him, knocking a hole through the glass and slamming down on a button. It turns green and activates the automatic fence, widening it just enough for the three to enter. The man in strange cowboy attire walks up and steps on his leg.

                “Now just shut fuck up, old man!” He shouts.

                “Anymore words and I’m blowing a hole through that skull of yours!”

                “Wait, WHAT! HEY DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!” He screams.

                “He’s not going to kill him,” The man in leather says in a cold tone.

                “This is what you said for us to do.”

                “Well, yeah but—”

                “Don’t shoot me again!” The man pleads. “Don’t kill me!”

                He merely walks up to the cowboy as he fishes through his pockets and pulls out a small revolver. He turns and throws it towards the taller man in leather.

                “Take it, you’ll need it more.” He says with a wink.

                He catches it and walks back to his bike in silence.

                “He’ll live,” he says as he revs up the engine and merely runs through the gate on the motorcycle with a unwavering frown. The cowboy follows suit, but not before giving the guard a stern yet firm warning.

                He raises his boot and stomps down on his balls, causing him to holler out in pain.

                “Hey buddy, mention any of this to those friends of yours, and I’m going to finish the job he started, got that?” He asked. The guard nods silently as he turns over and gravels in pain. The cowboy marches in without a motorcycle and disappears into the night.

                However, just before leaving the man offers him another word of advice.

                “You’re lucky, I’m not like that other guy.” He leaves without saying a word, and its up to the man to determine whatever the hell he meant by that.

---

                The first photo is thrown down, Sarah watches them impassively. She remembers that night, those CCTV photos don’t need to remind her. The officer lays down the next picture, showing the movement of a silent and unphased killer moving through a hallway. His dark sunglasses hide his wide deathly eyes and hollow stare. The more he moved, the more bodies fell. A heavy reminder on Sarah's shoulders of the terror this demon caused her.

                “These were taken by a video surveillance camera, at the West Highland police station in 1984.”

                He rests his arms down and looks slightly upward with an inquisitive look. A more sorrowful emotion flows through him when the next words come from his lips.

                “He killed seventeen police officers that night. Men with families, children.” A man in a thick dark muddy colored suit takes some photos and sets them right beside.

                “These were taken at a mall in Reseda, today.”

                She stares at them and a silent dread rushes through her blood, but she dares not to speak. If she speaks, she knows they’ll never listen.

                “Miss Connor, we know you know who this guy is.” He explains.

                “Look, I just sat here and told you that your son is missing, that the foster parents have been murdered.” He says with great emphasis, almost pleading with her. Anything to get her to speak, to cooperate, to listen, but why does she remain silent?

                He thinks she too far gone, but she knows too much to say.

                “We know this guy’s involved,” He gestures to the photos. Again, silent stares but not a word from her mouth.

                “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He asked.

                “Don’t you care?” he asks, hoping to get her to at least respond to that.

                On the inside, she purses her lips. It takes all her energy not to cry. She already told them one too many times, but they never listened. So now, she must not speak. She’s going to do this on her own, because she knows too well the machines will hardly be able to stop her. The other detective waves his hand in front of her face to no avail, nothing will get through to her no matter what they do.

                “We’re wasting our time,” He declares.

                “Let’s go.”

                “Sorry guys,” A apathetic and irritated Silberman grumbles.

                “She’s gotten more and more disconnected from reality as time goes on. She can’t help us now.” She turns down, looking at the photos carefully.

                All she cares about is that they’ve returned, and she needs to do something about that. Clever delicate fingers reach towards a paper clip and carefully stuff it away under her cuffs.

                “If she clears at all and can give us anything, then I’ll call you.”

                “Yeah,” A detective says, just going through the motions and trying to get out.

                “Douglas,” Silberman commands, nodding over to a buff man with thick glasses.

                “Take her back to her room please,” He orders.

                “Yes sir,” he says, stepping towards Sarah. He reaches under and pulls her upright.

                “C’mon sweetheart, let’s go.”

---

                Just before a strange Cowboy enthusiast and belligerent silent man in all black leather stepped through the front gates of Pescadero, a silent unassuming cop gets the pass and slips through the gates. He strides in and makes quick work to get to the front desk.

---

                Douglas makes quick work to get the sleeping Connor strapped into her bed. He smirks somewhat and looks down at her with a dark twinkle in his eyes. For all the crazy delusions and psychotic ramblings, she was a pretty little babe. His lustful senses get the better of him and he leans down towards her face.

                He wonders for a moment. He wonders if he could kiss her, but she would be too quick to sense that. No, he had to be a bit more careful and astute. The combination of trazodone, thiazepines, and other drugs should make her still, but there was still a chance she could wake up. Better to get a quick taste than make her suspicious.  

                “She’s sleeping, wouldn’t hurt to get a quick taste,” He thought.

                He chuckled, “Should have gone into modeling instead of bombing labs.”

                “Would make things much easier for me,” He thought.

                Sarah winces internally, preparing for the moment for him to lick her. She closes her eyes for a moment, readying for his sickly tongue.

                Drip, Drip, Drip.

                She winces, feeling the weight of his tongue on her. However, it was on there for an oddly long amount of time. It was like he was still there. She turns her head slowly, her eyes widening to realize he wasn’t even there. For a moment she thought she was forcefully medicated again without her knowledge, just another dream.

                However, she could feel the deep stench of iron mixed with rot. This wasn’t his tongue.

                Drip, Drip, Drip.

                Three drops of blood stained her cheek and run down to her chin. She raises her eyes in confusion as she lifts herself up to stare at Douglas pinned against the wall, with four deep protrusions running along each side of his chest. He gurgled, choking, but a single scream could come out. He sees nothing but is horrified regardless.

                Sarah gasps out in complete shock.

                “Wh-what the hell is this?” He asks, his shaking hands looking down to see his own blood.

                The invisible being leans closer into his ear as it digs its claws deeper into his flesh.

                “I HATE YOU!” it growls.

                The same words Sarah spoke before. The same words she said every time this vile man laid a hand on her. The same man who drugged, beat, and humiliated her was the same man who was going to pay for his crimes.

                “I— I have to call for help!” He thinks to himself.

                “S—someone— help—” He croaks out in soft gasps.

                “Me—”  

                A large muscular white form pins him to the wall. Golden stripes decorate her skin. Golden jewels imbedded into her fist in the form of a triangle. She roars out again, raising him higher into the air before dropping him to the floor. He groans, choking and gurgling in his own blood. He can’t cry out for help now, not with this being listening.

                It turns to her. Its red eyes staring right through her as it raises its gloved fist into the air. As it does so, it turns slightly, showing four deep set of metal sheaths embedded between the knuckles of her skin. With a small flick of her wrist, four blades protrude from her hands. Sarah gasps, she was so highly muscular and stern. She was tall and looked akin to the goddess of the hunt, Athena. Her tightly woven golden hair waved slightly as her red eyes glistened.

                She stares deeply at the jewel embedded at the top of her forehead. How she missed her, but she couldn't wait long. If she waited any longer, someone would get a lucky shot, and she would be tranquilized once again. It was hard for her to form when she was under those drugs, something about the mix of them made it hard for her to visualize.

                She winces slightly as the large woman throws down a blade.

                Scratch— Scratch— Scratch— Scratch

                Four clean cuts and the cuffs fall off in patches. Like rain they form into a puddle. She gasps slightly as it falls around her. She sits up to see the large woman outstretching her hand towards her.

                “Come with me if you want to live,” she says with a warm smile.

                Sarah chuckles softly, spitting out a paperclip and flicks it into her hands. Turns out she wouldn’t need that at all, well— except for the door. She knew it would be stupid to use her on such a thing. It’s better to pick the lock herself and have no one detect a thing.

                “Thankyou,” she says, reaching out her hand towards the large woman.

                Their hands catch and she pulls her from her bed and onto the marble floor.

                “But there’s something else I need to do.”

---

                “Hi, you have a Sarah Connor here?” A slim policeman asks, resting his hand on the counter of a large lobby desk. An elder woman writing on a paper turns to him and raises a brow. Wasn’t this one supposed to be with his buddies? Perhaps he didn’t get there as fast as he hoped.

                “You’re running kinda late, aren’t ya? they’ve been in there for an hour.” She notes, writing down some more things on paper and turns slightly. She hears the shuffling of footsteps as a few men approach. Seems like they’re coming right now. He notices them from a convex mirror above the desk and turns back to her with a silent yet intense look on his face.

                She sees the entourage of Silberman and the others waling towards her and she hums out, “Oh, here comes your friends now.”

                Yet, when she turns back, he’s all but long gone. She rounds a corner and looks around, she has yet to find a single trace of him there. He was gone. A sudden knock by the night guard, Lewis, startles her and she turns to a thick glass door. The chubby man gives her a silent look as he motions his hand towards the computer. She reaches her hand over the desk and slams the button.

                He runs over to the coffee machine and asks her for a drink. She wants a beer but he responds with a simple and meager, “Yeah, right.” Then, he tells her with great marvel that the cards on his cup were arranged into a full house. A lucky winner he was, until he wasn’t.

                That was the last time he was heard from alive.

---

                Sarah clutches the baton carefully as she rests against a wall. Through the white pattern chain-linked window, her friends see a chubby nightguard patrolling the hallways. He checks doors and looks around for any sign of something amiss. As he passes by, she takes the chance to run.

                She had to be careful, as there wasn’t much time.

                “Go, go, go.” She thought to herself, “That’s all you can do.”

---

               

                “Increase the medication to two-hundred-and-fifty milligrams.”

                “Same drugs?” A man asks Silberman as they look through Sarah’s paperwork. These were the same drugs, but they failed to see if it was how she became so neurotic as of late. Her newest regimen should make her more clear thinking and subdue her derealization tendencies. They hummed to themselves and cross-referenced different prescriptions, perhaps it was time for a different therapy.

                A guard feels fingers poke him from behind. He turns around to see keys fly through the air. Out of instinct, the guard catches it but looks around in confusion to see who through it. A sudden pain strikes him in the chest, enough for him to nearly vomit. He falls slump to the ground. Another strike lands on his head, making him turn upward.

                The final strike lands on his back, knocking him out and sending him to the ground.

                Silberman looks around confused. His adrenaline kicks in and a sudden terrified feeling overcomes him. Somehow, nobody was there but some strange force had knocked the poor man to the floor. He panics, mindlessly picking up the phone and trying to dial a number despite his shaky fat hands.

                A sudden surprise awaits him when he sees Sarah appear out of nowhere. She strikes his arm with a hard baton and throws it down. He whines loudly, another hit strikes his hind left leg, and he nearly collapses over himself.

                “Y-you—”

                However, he doesn’t get much time to speak. A large hand wraps around his neck and tightens. He gasps, trying to breathe as a strange invisible force lifts him into the air. He gasps and screams as he feels his body lift higher and higher into the air. The next thing he knows, his body is slammed flat against the wall. He tries to move but some strange invisible force pins him against the wall.

                “Wh-what the hell?” He asked.

                He looks down to see Sarah take something from a work cart and place it on top. The strange invisible force releases and he falls to the ground. He doesn’t say much, all he can do is try to get air back into his lungs and stare in disbelief at his current situation.

                “Sarah, I— I thought you were crazy at first.” He thought to himself.

                “Now see I your fucking possessed.”

                However, he could care less about the strange ghostly force moving things around and pinning him against the wall. He more so cared about whatever the strange force was doing now.

                “You— you broke my arm!” He cried.

                “There are two-hundred and fifteen bones in the human body, that’s one.” She says, as a floating needle races towards the liquid rooter she placed on top of the cart. It moves, filling instantly with fluid as it levitates. Sarah pins Silberman to the desk as he moves and jerks around.

                “Don’t move,” She threatens. The floating needle turns around and aims the sharp point at his throat. He gasps as a slight prodding sensation digs into his neck.

                “Stand up,” She commands. An invisible force lifts him to the air, and he finds himself walking towards the door involuntarily.

                “What’re gonna do?” Silberman whispers.

---

                Esther brushes back her black hair as she watches the security footage carefully. She sees Dr. Silberman waltzing towards the door in a strange manner, almost like he was being strung around like a puppet. She raises her brow curiously and looks through the door. He grunts, stopping just at the door as he looks Esther carefully in the eye.

                He rests against the wall in an awkward manner and looks at her with pained eyes. He blinks in quick succession trying to warn her of the danger he’s in. She seems to take notice immediately and walks carefully to him.

                “Are you okay, Mr. Silberman? Is something wrong?” She asks.

                “No, everything is fine Esther, just let me pass through,” He gasps out, a slight pain in his voice as he does so.

                “Is someone holding you hostage?” She mouths with her lips. He blinks quickly as a yes. She nods carefully and motions towards the other guards.

                “No— no— just let me through,” He grumbles out, slightly gasping and grunting as something digs deeper into his back behind him.  

                “Son a bitch,” She mutters to herself as she motions to the other guards.

                “Damn Silberman, you clever bastard.” Sarah mutters behind him. “What did you do?”

                Sarah steps behind him and walks towards the door.

                “Let me in,” She says in a firm command. Silberman leans over slightly, to reveal a dark hand stabbing into his neck. Esther gasps and backs slightly from the screens. The other guards race around and make it to the door.

                “Let’s all try to remain calm,” Esther suggests as Sarah gets closer to the door.

                “Open it, or he’s dead before he hits the floor.”

                “There’s no way, Connor. Let him go.”

                “OPEN THE DOOR,” Sarah says with a more demanding voice.

                “it ain’t going to happen,” She shoots back.

                A black guard raises his hand and tries to calm her.

                “Take it easy Sarah, easy.” he says, trying to dissuade her.

                “It won’t work Sarah. You’re not a killer, and I don’t believe you’ll do it.” Silberman says as the invisible hand digs the needle deeper into his skin.

                “You’re already dead, and everybody dies. You know I believe it, so don’t FUCK WITH ME!” She screams as she grabs the bars.

                “Open the door!” He grunts, feeling the needle dig deeper.

                “OPEN THE DOOR!”

                Esther slams her hand down on the button, initiating the emergency lock system to shut off. It swings open. Silberman drops to the floor and the needle falls to the ground. The other guards could only watch in complete terror as a floating needle rises through the air and aims itself right at the guards. Sarah knows she can’t tear through the walls of this place. Her little friend isn’t that strong enough. However, she knows if she can push it just enough, they’ll let her through.

                It was probably stupid parading her little friend around like that, but at this moment she didn’t have any choice. Whether she was special in any sort of way didn’t matter. If she didn’t get out of that damn mental hospital, if she didn’t find her son, then they all might as well be dead. Scary stories of floating needles be damned.

                “Back off,” She warns as the needle races closer to them. They raise their hands immediately as it turns to them. There somewhat frozen as they watched the scene. Was this a dream? A nightmare? What was even happening right now?

                “Get back!” She demands, or I’ll pump you full of this shit I swear!” Not wanting to push their luck they follow her lead. They walk backwards to the open door to the office.

                “Don’t move!” She threatens.

                “Drop the shit!” She demands. “Do it!”

                “Do it! Do it!” the black guard cries out in a panic, motioning his buddy to do the same.

                They both drop their batons and start backing towards the door. It was narrow and cramped and the two men together nearly blocked their exit.

                “Get in the office!” She orders them.

                “On the floor, face down—” She orders.

                The two men drop to the floor, but she stops for a moment.

                “Not you!” She cries out. She turns her head and motions him towards the door next to the office and commands him to go forward.

                “Open the door.” He races to the door and frantically grabs the keys. He pulls it open, sweating a bit as the needle inches closer to his neck.

                “On the floor, hold it open!” She orders.

                He watches her walk forward.

                “Face the wall!” She shouts, motioning him to get to the ground. She steps through. The black man can feel the keys violently being forced from his hands. The door slams shut, and it locks behind her. Esther can only watch in awe as a large nearly seven-foot woman grab the door frame from the inside. She sees her hand dragging across and something slithering above.

                The large ethereal thing turns its eyes to her. For a moment, they seemed to stare at each other. She turns away and walks with Sarah.

                With that, Sarah was gone.

                Silberman pushes himself up and grunts, leaning against a wall for a moment to breathe. He clutches the bleeding hole in his neck and growls.

                “Get her! Get her!”

                They rush to the door, but quickly become horrified when they realize what happened. The door was locked, they couldn’t get through.

                “We-we can’t!” They cry.

                “What?” he asks, a sudden feeling starts to kick into overdrive. Esther panics, turns over and rushes to the alarm. It beeps to life and sends a cry to all the other guards in Pescadero. They know full too well what happens when they hear that alarm.

                A policeman can only watch the carnage from afar as the group of men turn around and run towards the door on the left of the office. He tries to open the door Sarah went through, only to find it as hard as a cinderblock. He winds up his leg and kicks it open with such force the steel hinges of the door fall off around him.

                This wasn’t going to stop him.

---

                Sarah runs, a thin guard tries to sneak up on her but is knocked out of the air by her friend. He flies backwards and slams his back against the glass. He groans as the heavy glass catches his thin body. He hardly can keep up with the sudden shock of a force as strong and hard as a freight train knocking him away, and he passes out.

                More guards surround her, and she takes off running. Her legs kick into overdrive as adrenaline pumps through her system.

                She can hear Silberman’s shouts and a plethora of other guards catching up to her. Yet, each and every time they weren’t close enough. Door after door, they chased her down a dark hallway illuminated only by the moonlight through the windows covered by white chain-links. They chase her to a hallway blocked off by steel bars.

                She locks quickly with her friends and does careful work to seal off the door. She runs faster, trying her hardest to get as far enough distance between herself and the guards as she possibly can. Most likely they’ll go around to hunt her, so she has to be careful.

                As she runs, she makes it near an elevator. She can hear it ding with a small electronic hum, someone was waiting just beyond the elevator. Maybe a guard? She jumps, preparing herself and her friend to jump whoever’s in there. Just as it opens, she runs up to intercept them, only to stop dead cold in her tracks.

                In that moment, a primal fear kicks in. She forgets her friend, the guards, everything. She feels alone and helpless as she was back then. This thing, this terminator has finally come back for her with a shotgun in hand. They sent another one, and this one was going to do the job. She falls, sliding forward and lands on her back in pure shock before mindlessly crawling backwards and scrambling away.

                “No!” She gasps.

                “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” She screams, the fear settling in her voice.

                However, as she runs away, she fails to see her son walk along with him. Perhaps if she waited and didn’t run so mindlessly away, she would have been able to been more reserved.

                Yet, she doesn’t do that. She runs away in a frantic terror. She can hear the guards catching up to her from around the corner.

                “NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

                “Mom, wait!” A boy shouts, beckoning her to come back. She ignores it, because she knows full to well that could just be the terminator beckoning her to come back.

                “MOM!”

                She hardly has any idea what to think. Was her son dead? Was this the end? She can see guards surround her, but just before they could reach her gunshots blare off. She jumps, falling forward.

                “NOOOO!!” She screams, before landing safely in the arms of a tall buff man.

                She leans her head up to catch the eyes of a tall cowboy with a long pistol in his hands.

                “Now, now, no need to cry miss.” He says to her with a warm smile.

                “I got you now,” But Sarah can only stare at him with utter bewilderment.

                However, she can’t wonder about that for long as guards try to surround her. They’re only stopped short by the big cowboy holding his gun up and aiming it at them.

                “Hey, back off assholes!” He fires two rounds, hitting a brunette man in the beard with it. He stumbles to the ground and clutches his legs.

                “What the hell?” Another guard asks.

                “How the hell is he doing that? He doesn’t have a gun!”

                Sarah raises a brow in confusion, what the hell did they mean by that?

                “STOP THEM! STOP THEM!” Silberman shouts, running up to them from afar.

                Sarah gasps, tilting her head down to see the machine marching up to her. Guards turn over and try to interfere. They raise their hands and try to block their path. The black guard from before tries to rush him from the side.

                “NO! STOP!” She shouts, jerking violently in the cowboy’s grip.

                “HE’LL KILL US ALL! HE’LL KILL US ALL!” Yet, they don’t listen.

---

                John watches the commotion, remembering what he read in the comic book. Just before they made it inside, he slipped it out of his backpack and read through the pages.

                “John makes it out of the bridge! Woohoo! He escapes with Hol Horse and run into a nearby alleyway.” It says, depicting him, Hol Horse and the machine marching together in a strange cartoonish way into a perfectly shaped corner.

                The next page show John oddly touching his new machine friend with an odd look in his eyes. He grunts as he looks at the page.

                “There he asks him questions. He tells him he’s a robot from the future! Wow! Oddly enough, John was the one who sent him back in time.”

                “They escape. The big bot wants him to run away to Mexico, but John wants to see his foster parents.” It says, showing John crying in an exaggerated manner as his caricature tilts his neck back and whines loudly.

                “The big bot won’t let him, but don't feel down!”

                “Compromise?” The next panel asks.

                “They call his parents from a payphone, only to discover that they’re dead! What a bummer…”  

                He flips to the next page, “But it’s not all that bad! If they can make it in time, they can save John’s real mom Sarah!”

                “After some silly shenanigans, John learns more about his great friends, wow!” In this panel, it shows John frolicking with the machine and Hol Horse. They seem oddly cheerful despite their personalities. In the page, he can see a large grey car with a wide mouth and catlike eyes. People and guns fly. John squints for a moment and looks at it.

                He could swear those two in the panel look like the two guys that tried to mess with John, and the very same guys the machine almost pump an entire cartridge into. He averts his eyes quickly and tries to focus on the next panel.

                The next panel shows Sarah’s caricature, with long red hair and large lips, leaning over in a seductive pose. She falls into Hol Horse’s arms. His cowboy hat seems to smile as they stare at each other with a strange look.

                “John, and his friends make it to Pescadero where they barge in and break her out!”

                “But be careful, some mean old guards try to stop you! Lucky for you John, you got your trusty machine on his side!” It declares, showing the machine’s caricature beating up ugly looking skinny guards into the air like it was some sort of pop-eye cartoon.

                “Congratulations!”

                “Now you’re all reunited! Yippee!”

                “Now’s your chance to book it, that mean old creepy cop is back!” The next panel shows the strange T-1000 that’s been following them push itself through the slim bars like a piece of paper. Unfortunately, that’s where the comic stops, for now at least.

                At the very least, John knows they’ll end up back together. However, a nagging worried thought eats at the back of his mind. Is the T-1000 really going to come back? By now, he should know whatever this comic said is always likely going to happen but was that the case every time?  

---

                As the black man tries to ambush him from the side, the machine swoops down with his leg and trips him. He falls over and onto the ground. Another man tries to knock him out with a baton, but he raises his fist. He knocks him away, and with a stealthy back kick sends him flying to the ground. Young Esther runs up and tries to whack. Her hit connects and his head turns back, but it doesn’t stop. He just turns back to her silently with broken shades and shoves her away. She spins around and flies to the ground, sliding all the way back to the gate.

                Without another word, John rushes over to his mother and grabs her arms. He shakes her, desperately trying to get her to come back to her senses.

                “Mommy, are you okay? MOM!” he shouts. She gasps, suddenly widening her eyes when she realizes her young boy was really standing before her.

                Hol Horse lets her go and she walks forward, tilting her head around as she looks back at the bars. Silberman runs up, breathless but comes just in time to see the four together. Guards knocked down around his feet and the same man from the photos staring right through him. The silent, dead stare he gives sends shivers down his spine as he steps back and realizes what just happened.

                Sarah turns around and backs towards the machine. As a sign of peace as commanding to by John, he reaches his hand up in a shake.

                “Come with me if you want to live,” he says with a firm calm tone.

                “It’s okay mom, he’s here to help!” John says, trying to reassure her.

                “It’s okay!”

                Sarah stops for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened. John is here, this strange man is here, and the machine is here. However, that wasn’t all, there was something to this. She tries to make sense of what was happening. Who was this Doc Holiday, wild west, cowboy impersonator? Why was he so familiar to her? Why was this machine here with them? And what the hell was actually going on?

                She puts the thought away and turns to the bar doors, noticing a police officer silently walking up to them. John gasps, stepping backwards at the mere sight of the man. Everything that comic, Thoth or whatever they call it was true.

                Yet, how was he going to get through the door?

                The policeman watches silently as he observes the four. They stare at him with a slight bit of terror as they continue to make eye contact with him. All except one, an older unit who stares at him silently and unimpressed. He steps forward and begins pushing against the bars. Then, as if he was made out of liquid seems to phase through the metal. As he phases through, his gun catches on the door, unable to slip through. He tilts the gun slightly and allows it to slip right through the gap.

                Yet, before they do or even say anything the policeman raises a finger to Hol Horse.

                Hol Horse looks at him and turns an eyebrow slightly.

                The T-1000 remembers full well of this strange man who managed to delay and obstruct him with his strange finger gun that seemed to materialize invisible bullets. A strange and anomalous habit of his. Yet, just before Hol Horse could ask, the machine raises the shotgun and aims it at the policeman. A round hits him and pushes through. His skin ripples like rainwater.

                “Go!” The machine commands.

                A silver like ring forms into his skin before closing. Shot after shot, the policeman gets closer. The three book it to the elevator waiting for the machine to catch up to them. Hol Horse pushes them in and shields the two with his body without even thinking. When the machine stops, the policeman starts firing bullets back as he chases after them. He steps on the sunglasses and crushes them to pieces as he barely makes it to the open door.

                The large machine slips through, shielding most of the bullets with his back as the door shuts behind him. Yet just before it could close, liquid metal forms in the center of the door.  In an instant, it solidifies to form a sword. It was fast an unexpected, causing the three to back away from the door with a slight startled gasp. The sword then separates, forming into two crowbar like appendages, together pull the door apart. Hol Horse raises his Emperor and fires two rounds into the arms. They fall into a liquid and onto the ground.

                A second shot but the machine sends the policeman stumbling back as his face splits into two. It was more like cake than a human head. It became flat and somewhat reminiscent of a smooshed ice-cream pop. The eyes of the policeman silently dart back to the elevator and squeal at a strange pitch.

                “What the fuck is it?” Sarah asks, slamming her back against the door.

                “What the fuck is going on?”

                “Well, honestly.” Hol Horse speaks up, looking towards the door with a nervous sweat.

                “Most of the time I’ve spent is with them, and I hardly have a clue.”

                John bites his lip and scoots closer to his mother. The machine slams the button on the elevator, sending it flying down.

                The T-1000 carefully manipulates its poly-alloy back into the shape of a head. The two split pieces come back together. He looks down and rushes to the metal door again. It pries the door open again, and promptly falls down on top of the descending elevator.

---

                Hol Horse jumps violently with the others at a loud bang. They turn their heads upward to the ceiling, Hol Horse bites his lip and curses silently.

                “God damn it, can this thing learn to fuck off?” He asked.

                A long metal sword comes flying down just above Hol Horse’s head. He jumps, backing away just in time before the sword can reach him. It stabs straight through his hat. Hol Horse watches as the hat is split into. It fell to the floor before he could even react.

                Another sword falls just above the machine. He raises his shotgun and aims it towards the ceiling above. A loud blast tears through the ceiling, causing a fluorescent light above them to explode into a white light. The machine grabs Sarah’s arm and motions the other three to move.

                “Get down,” He commands them.

                Another sword stabs through the light next to them. The large light flies down and smacks the wall beside it, it barely clings to the ceiling with just a few wires.

                “Shit,” Hol Horse cursed, turning his Emperor upward and firing three shots above. Another round stabs straight through the center, knocking some grating down from the elevator. Sarah looks over and reaches for the gun on the machine’s hip. She takes it and turns off the safety. In a swift motion, she joins Hol Horse and the machine and fires above.

                The machine counts down the mag and makes it last shot before turning over to fire. He moves just enough for the other two to get a clearing above.

                “EAT SHIT ASSHOLE!” Hol Horse screams, firing more rounds with his Emperor. Another round falls, it’s just lucky enough to slice Sarah’s arm. She falls forward and grunts slightly.

                “MOM!” The boy screams. Hol Horse watches and begins firing a barrage of rounds above.

                In that moment, Sarah is hit with a sudden realization. From all the chaos, she forgot to bring back her friend. Then again, what good would she do here? If her strength i

                “FUCKING-NO-GOOD-PIECE-OF-SHIT-I’LL-KILL-YOU!!!” Hol Horse grunts out in a single word.

                Sarah pushes him off and groans slightly, “I’m fine.”

                John hands her another mag from his pocket and gestures it to her. She takes it and turns up. She fires another round up into the sky. The elevator hits the ground level in an underground parking lot. The four rush out to see a police car run up to them. It stops violently as Sarah and Hol Horse raise their guns to it.

                “Out of the car!” Sarah screams, a round blasts through the front window and makes a small hole straight through. The policeman shrinks down and covers his face.

                “DO WHAT SHE SAYS, BUCKO!” Hol Horse shouts, blasting another round with Emperor. Another hole lands right next to hers. He obliges, opening the door and stepping out with his hands raised. The machine marches over, grabbing him by the collar and rudely throws him out. His head slams against a large cement pillar that quickly takes him out.

---

                As the four take immediate work to commandeer the cop car, the T-1000 starts to make its way back to them. It slithers through a small gap in the elevator caused by all the gunfire and drops to the floor like a large worm creature. With a wet plop it sticks to the ground and begins reforming. Out from the ground a humanoid shape starts to appear from a silver figure.

---

                The four pile into the car. Hol Horse and John quickly sat up in the back. The terminator in front grabs his weapon and quickly reloads it. Sarah watches the front, hovering by the passenger seat next to the machine and leans against the door. She takes the role of guard and watches the elevator carefully. Hol Horse gasps, slamming the door and turning over to John.

                “Sorry I gave you all that trouble earlier kid about that comic, kid. If I knew then what I knew now I’d—” John cuts him off.

                “It’s fine, mom?” John says, turning over to his mom who quickly scrambles into the seat before slamming the door shut. A silver form steps out from the carnage before madly running after them.

                “GO!” John screams as the machine kicks back the gear and begins the mad drive away from the silver figure that slowly reforms into a policeman. As he backs out, Sarah rolls down her window and proceeds to open fire on the policeman. Hol Horse does the same by smashing his window and firing bullets straight at the policeman.

                The T-1000 takes note of this and darts away, disappearing behind the pillars. Its protocol has switched and now has locked Hol Horse as its primary target.

                “I’m out!” Sarah shouts, jumping back into the car. John immediately overhears and rummages through his pockets for another magazine cartridge for her.

                “I’m in!” Hol Horse shouts, reengaging with the fight.

                The terminator doesn’t really mind or pay attention as to how Hol Horse fires invisible rounds from his fingers. All it cares it that he can keep the T-1000 just long enough to get some shots in. Once they have a safe distance from the T-1000 maybe he’ll ask him some questions.

                Or maybe not.

                The policeman remerges, running towards the car just inches away from Hol Horse. The machine turns its gun back and blasts him back. Hol Horse assists by firing five more rounds into his chest. Hol Horse wipes a bit a sweat off his brow and settles back into firing shots at the policeman.

                “C’mon,” Sarah grumbles, sticking out her hand to John. John pulls out another magazine and hands it to her.

                “Here,” Sarah re-enters the shoot out by firing more rounds into the policeman. Yet, bullet after bullet, round after round, it seemed nothing could stop this silver monster. Not Emperor, not the machine, not anyone.

                The machine enters its last round, it turns back and tosses it to the boy. In a manner somewhat replicating his mother’s commands, the machine yells out, “Reload!” John takes the gun and fishes through his pockets for more rounds. Sarah and Hol Horse give them just enough time to create some distance, but It’ll hardly be enough.

                They escape out of a tunnel, Sarah falls back and turns to John. He takes on last magazine from his camo plaid jacket and hands it to her.

                “Last one,” he says, tossing it to her. Sarah takes the gun and turns back the policeman. They continue their rampage, firing round after round hoping to hit at least something. As they continue backing away, they round a corner and onto some shrubs.

                “Hang on!” The machine warns, kicking things into gear as he backs away at a faster speed. The run through the shrubs with a violent bump. The sudden violent bump causes Hol Horse to hit his head on the roof of the car slightly.

                “Ow! Shit!” He curses, before exchanging blows back at the T-1000.

                As they back into a fence, he spins the car around and floors it out. However, no matter how fast they run the T-1000 was not too far behind. It manages to run up to the trunk. With quick effort it morphs its hands into crowbar like appendages once more and hooks onto the trunk. He uses them like icepicks to climb up the car. It sticks to the trunk like a leach as it spins frantically around. Its body drags around as they punch through the front gate and onto the highway.

                John enters the few last rounds into the shotgun and hands it back to the machine.

                “Ready!” He speaks.

                Moments later, the T-1000 scales up, landing safely on the screen. With little effort it punches through the window and shatters it to pieces. It forms a hand that immediately wraps around Hol Horse’s neck and proceeds to squeeze.

                “Fuck!” He gasps, his Emperor phasing out of existence.

                “AH!” John screams. With its other arm, the T-1000 smashes through the door and makes its way to John.

                “JOHN!” Sarah screams. She grabs him and pushes him to the front with her. The T-1000’s appendage barely misses him as it swipes through the air. It was like nothing could hit John. He dodged and seemed to curve around his strikes like he was made of rubber. Sarah grunts, breathing in slightly. A large form fizzles into existence.

                “RAPOW!” A loud voice shouts, sounding somewhat feminine.

                The T-1000 suddenly feels a force punch through its chest. Like an invisible force with the strength of a rocket being blasted through. John gasps, turning his head towards the commotion. He could hardly believe it. Yet, there it was, what seemed to be a stand as Hol Horse put it. A stand much larger than the machine.

                It also seemed to be his mother’s stand.

                Yet, no matter how fierce it was, the T-1000 doesn’t relent. A large gaping metal hole appears in its chest. The large invisible force that’s manifested isn’t enough to stop it. The metal begins sliding over the force and scaling upwards. It releases Hol horse and puts all its energy into wrapping around the force repelling it.

                With its own alloy it can determine this invisible force is actually and unseen humanoid that’s somewhere around one-hundred-and-eighty-two centimeters to two-hundred-and-fourteen centimeters in length. Sarah gasps, her arm was caught, what could she do?

                The machine, the T-800 raises a brow curiously at this phenomenon. So, it wasn’t just Hol Horse that possessed such strange anomalous abilities. It was true as he said, these stands were a common phenomena that somehow he failed to account for. Not to mention, It was Sarah who had such a stand. It takes quick note of such a thing to save for later and promptly responds to the situation at hand.

                “Here, drive.” The machine commands, turning over and reaching for the shotgun. It blasts around into its hand, causing it to scatter. With its other hooked appendage, the machine shoots it off. A final third round is enough for the T-1000 to be pushed off. It spins around before lying still face down on the ground.

                It immediately shoots up and darts back to them. It seemed like nothing short of hellfire, or a bomb could stop this thing. As it ran, the T-800 put away its shotgun and turned away. It hardly needs it, but still the T-1000 chased after them. It seems whatever piece that still clung to them was enough for it to trach them down. John, noticing a piece of it still clung leaped up. It took the piece and threw it to the ground. He watches it clank and sputter, spinning around like a coin before suddenly stopping.

                The T-1000 suddenly stops, it steps back. It pauses just for a moment, waiting for a piece of itself to return to his shoe. Within an instant, the liquid melts and reforms back into itself. It stares silently, watching the blinking police car slowly fade away. However, with the recent data it has gathered, it’s more than willing to relent.

                It seems Hol Hore wasn’t the only one with anomalous abilities, and if genetics was anything to be reliable on than John Connor likely had it to. The machine tags the data away and stores it into its database. This information may prove useful for the next encounter.

                However, this was just getting started for John. He still had so many questions. To be bad that this time the pages only stop when they encountered the T-1000, very inconvenient for him. He just hoped that maybe next time it would be a bit more helpful.

---

THE NEXT DAY, 8:05 AM EASTERN TIME

                Esther barely has time to explain, it all happened so fast. There were questions, police coming in and assessing the damage, interviewers with their microphones and relentless pushing. It was all a nightmare, and even then, they still wanted her to come in.

                However, it wasn’t quite what she was expecting. It seemed all this chaos had garnered the attention of a strange entity. She hardly had time to ask as they came in. They seemingly swooped in, chased away everyone else and set up shop around the ruined Pescadero. Before there was any time to pursue an investigation or rebuild, they gathered key witnesses and placed them in the same space where all the carnage went down.

                Who could that organization be but none other than the Speedwagon Foundation.

                Esther seats somewhat awkwardly in her office chair as she listens to a conversation from just outside the doors. She scratches the cast on her right arm as listens to the constant chatter. To think that her little injury from a few weeks ago wasn’t going to be the end of it for her made her hair stand still. When will this end for her?

                “Yare, Yare, Daze even after that interview it still doesn’t end for me?” A voice grumbles silently.

                “Oh, uh— uhm— was I interrupting something?” Silberman’s voice asks just beyond the door.

                “Ah, no—” He hums, waving him back slightly.

                “Wait, aren’t you Dr. Silberman?” The man asks.

                “Why yes, I am, uh— who are— hey wait what are you—”

                “Welp that’s great for me, just going to need you and everybody else to come into this room.” Esther’s eyes grow wide as a monumentally tall man in a slim hat and long white coat barges in. He seemed to be Asiatic when it was concerned to his facial features but had brilliant teal eyes that sparkled in the light. Not to mention, he was extremely attractive. However, Esther reserved her feelings and kept a straight face.

                “Alright, in here please everyone.” He commanded.

                After this tall buff man in the white asked everyone pile into this room he seemed to commandeer it for his own investigation. Hopefully, with everyone’s involvement and cooperation there could be some lead into just what the hell is going on.

---

                 Jotaro groaned, his sorrowful mood still carrying through to Pescadero. He thought after that harrowing two-hour interview with his lead on ECHO it was enough for him to end the day, but he now has involved himself in a strange case regarding Sarah. First thing was word of strange video footage of what Pescadero staff had dubbed a “ghost” following Sarah, Hol Horse seems to have reappeared after seven years and is now in cahoots with Sarah. Not to mention the disappearance of her son, and the reappearance from what he heard as a supposed serial killer remerging.

                Phone booth killer, as they called it. Was a name for the enigmatic man who barged into a police station in 1985 and tore through the whole fleet. No footage remained of this incident, but it seems to spark Sarah into a rampage into dismantling anything remotely related to machines. He’s heard what they said but still hardly believes any of it.

                It sounded believable at first, but he did call into question the idea of a time travel aspect to all of this. Sure, he has had his fair share of time-stopping vampires, its still a stretch to say something as outrageous as time travel could happen.

                Now his only hope was to go through all the witnesses of yesterday’s Pescadero bust and garner some answers. He walks through the doors, noticing the bent in glass frames. Something about this catches the mighty eyes of Star Platinum, his eyes squint and notice a set of steel doors seemingly melted together and fused into one continuous stretch of hardened metal.

                Star Platinum raises up his finger and traces it along the door.

                “Mr. Kujo, is it?” A man asks, stepping right beside him.

                He turns over to stare back at him, “Any reason you brought all of us here?”

                He nods and adjusts the brim of his hat.

                “Alright, sit down now.” He says, commanding all of them.

                “I’ve already interviewed some of you and now I just want to know something.” He sits down, clasps his hands together and stares directly at each person in the room.

                “What exactly did you see yesterday? Please, no need to lie or exaggerate details.”

                The guards looked at each other and exchanged worried glances.

                “Well, uh—” A black guard speaks up, adjusting his collar and staring back at the tall man.

                “We were tasked with securing the site. Around the end of my shift Sarah had escaped her confinement. We— I don’t know really how to explain it but—”

                “Come on Clarence, he said we didn’t have to lie,” Another guard said, raising up his bandaged head towards him.

                “Look, you can all say what you want about Sarah but whatever that bitch was, she was possessed.” He said with a firm tone.

                Jotaro raised a brow, “Excuse me, possessed you say?” He asked.

                “Hell yeah, one moment I’m looking through medication the next moment what do you know, Sarah barges in like she owns the place and everyone just fucking drops. Like she’s got some invisible bodyguard or demon shit following her around. Not to mention, Douglas is dead in her room looking like Wolverine fucking offed him!” He yells, taking an anxious puff from his cigarette before blowing it out.

                “Uh huh—” Jotaro notes carefully, knowing full too well what those sorts of words entailed. For he too once dubbed such things as ‘evil spirits’ or ‘possessed.’

                “Me and Clarance over here were fucking held hostage by a floating needle full of cleaner fluid!” He shouts, raising his hands in the air.

                “Can you fucking believe that?” He asked.

                “Even with that CCTV footage people are hardly going to believe us! They’ll think we’re crazy, and the most ironic part is—” He says, leaning forward with a deranged smile on his face.

                “We work at a mental hospital. Here, we got Charles Manson bozos and cult wannabees locked up in a cell and they’ll think we’re the crazy ones!” He laughs.

                “Get to the fucking point Todd,” Another guard shouts, holding a cast over his arm as he leans against a chair taken from the front lobby.

                “Well, isn’t that the fucking point already?” Todd shoots back. Esther remains silent, watching the group as they barter and bicker over who was right or wrong. With the bickering, Jotaro got a clearer picture of what was going on. Sarah breaks out, possibly with a stand she somehow attained, managed to run into Hol Horse and speed away. He somewhat wondered if Hol Horse managed to lure her over somehow. Jotaro hadn’t ran into the guy much apart from aftermath of Avdol supposed death in Calcutta and the time he nearly got run over.

                Other than that, he heard he’s some prideful upstart cowboy that has pissed off Polnareff somewhat. He oftentimes heard him clamoring on about if he ever saw that cowboy again, he’s gonna ‘cut him to sunder for what he’s done.’

                Jotaro’s eyes dart over to the silent Psychologist Dr. Silberman as he looks through his notes quiet and withdrawn.

                “Hey, you seemed to haven’t said anything at all when coming in here, something you wanted to add?” He asked.

                “Oh, yeah, uh— She did— well— from my injuries alone I can attest to the strange ‘power’ Sarah had. Yet, in all honesty,” He darts his eyes across the room quickly before leaning over to Jotaro.

                In soft words, he tells Jotaro some interesting tidbits.

                “I don’t really care about that,” He said. This cause Jotaro to grunt and raise a brow. Silberman reaches his hand over and grabs Jotaro’s arm, causing him to flinch somewhat.

                “You’ve got to believe me but— I thought Sarah was crazy— I thought this was all some grand conspiracy caused by that Kyle Reese man. Deranged hobo I thought he was— was telling the truth. She wasn’t lying sir,” He begs him.

                Jotaro snatches his arm away, “And your point is?” He asked.

                “I saw them, Mr. Kujo. I saw the man carve straight through my man, and then that damned thing. It— it— looked so much like a policeman. I don’t know how it got through— I—”

                “Policeman?” Jotaro asked, now this wasn’t something he’s heard about.

                “It went straight through the bars, like he was made of water. Then, behold— a man of leather. He stands before and opens out his hand.”

                “’Come with me if you want to live,’” He says, nearly gasping over the harrowing details.

                “It came down that hall, it was a large man, and he threw a guard out of the window like a ragdoll. Not an ounce of emotion, this blank face like a death mask. Then the other one came. They were different, this one was almost beautiful like— perfect—” Silberman tenses his arm, hyperventilating and gasping over himself.

                “I’m sorry, just what are you saying here?” Jotaro asked.

                “Like a changeling, the face of mercury—” He hummed.

                “The first one, the big one, I’ll never forget him— he reached out his hand— coming out—” Silberman outstretches his hands. His eyes tears up, almost crying.

                Jotaro turns his head and grabs his shoulder.

                “Silberman?” He asked.

                “He said, ‘Come with me if you want to live.’”

                “Silberman!” Jotaro shouts, becoming more and more aggressive.

                “I should have listened,” Silberman cried with teeth chattering.

                “All those frantic warnings and I didn’t listen.”

                Suddenly, something happens that no one in the room expects. Silberman lunges at Jotaro and grabs him by the shoulders.

                “Listen, don’t be a fool. Don’t end up like me, listen to her words and understand them as the truth.” He says with a deranged look in his eyes.

                “They’re coming, the terminators are coming! They’re here!” The other guards grab him and pin him to the floor. They slowly drag him up and take him out of the room.

                “I sense you used to be like me, I can see it your eyes. You think it’s all just a joke— but please don’t do what I did. They’re— AUGGH!” A guard takes him by the collar and throws him down.

                “We’re sorry about that sir, but Mr. Silberman has been under a bit of delirium since that incident and—”

                “No, no, it’s fine.” Jotaro said, waving them away. Just as they drag him out, Jotaro calls out to Silberman.

                “Silberman,” He says, the Japanese accent slowly catching in his voice with that word. Even with all the time spent in America Jotaro still struggles a bit to catch up with the strange English names that he’s heard. The guards turn back completely frozen, like deer caught in headlights.

                “Got family Silberman?” He asked.

                “I have a wife, and a little daughter named Irene.” He said firmly.

                “N-no— just my wife,” He huffed.

                “Well, go to your wife Silberman. Rest, forget this and stay with her for a while.”

                He leans forward with a stern warning, “Don’t get involved anymore.” Then, he waves his hand away watching the other guards as they try to subdue him and carry him out.

                Jotaro turns back and looks towards the other guards, “Anyone else got any clue of a guy of mercury, and a tall buff man?” Jotaro asked.

                They all look at each other and nod, seemingly unsure what to make of Dr. Silberman’s words. Esther, having barely spoken since Mr. Kujo arrived, raises her voice with concern.

                “No, nothing else but Sarah and her—” She stops, a lump catches in her throat. She knows she almost slips up but fails to say the words.

                “Her friend?” She asked.

                “Friend?” Jotaro asked. Jotaro, being hardly a fool sees straight through her act. Of all of them, this guard just nodded her head and agreed. She didn’t say no to any of their sentiments. She joined the narrative, something about that was off. She was the first one to see Sarah fist hand, she should know above all else what happened. Then there was that cast, that he knew full too well wasn’t cause by that incident despite her claims. One that the other guards should full well know is bullshit. Yet, despite that they believe her whole heartily.

                Very strange for some, but highly suspicious for Jotaro.

                Perhaps she knows a bit more than she lets on.

                “I think— the guy that Silberman was speaking about—”

                “Alright then—” Jotaro sighs, pushing himself up and staring down at the guards. They shrink down, his tall size and strength intimidates them somewhat.

                “I’m going to show you something, if you see it, then you can come with me,” He said. He stands upright and summons Star Platinum from behind.

                “I don’t think some of you are being quite honest with me,” He says, turning his head over to Esther. She starts to sweat a bit as he continues to talk.

                “If you see the hands behind me, you get to come with me. Other than that, I’ll buy your word and you’re free to go.”

                Esther leans back, watching the large muscular entity appear behind with two hands outstretched. One was a closed fist and the other was an outstretched hand holding up three fingers. She mentally counted them and noted them to herself. However, she says nothing as he stands there.

                “What, nothing?” He asks.

                A guard looks at him and raises a brow, “What are you even talking about?” He asks.

                “Three—” Esther unintentionally mutters under her breath. She gasps, quickly shutting her mouth and turning away. Unfortunately for her, Star Platinum was quick to catch her wide counting eyes and mumbling words.

                Jotaro shook his head and adjusted his brim.

                “Yare yare Daze, come with me.” He grabs Esther by the arm and drags her out of the room. She grunts, asking him to let go.

                “Hey stop, why are you doing this?” She asks, as he drags her along. He takes her out into an open office and sets her down.

                “I think the better question is why the hell are you lying?” He asked.

                Esther steps back, turning away to blush a bit.

                “You think I didn’t see you back there? If you must know, my stand is highly perceptive.” She shrugs and looks to the ground.

                “Look, I’m going to give you two options.” He says as steps forward.

                “Either you come with me to the Speedwagon Foundation and help us, or I interrogate you myself. Now which is it?”

                She shrugs, “I— I’m coming with you. If I’m being honest, I don’t really know what’s going on or what stands are. However, I do know Sarah’s not normal. Well, like I’m not normal.” She grabs her cast slightly with her left hand.

                “If I come with you, I guess I’ll learn a bit more.” She says, standing up with a reluctant sigh.

                “Were you holding back because you thought no one else would believe you?”

                “No, I held back because I know what happens when they do,” She said.

                Jotaro eyes widen and nods slowly, “I see.” Jotaro didn’t need to ask to understand what she meant, because even if she knew or not there was a universality to stand users. If you knew someone else knew than that could mean trouble.

                “So, where are we going exactly?” She asks as he starts to turn back and walk towards a set of open automatic doors.

                “To where I work,” he said with a sigh.

                “I think it’s time you meet some of my friends. Honestly, it’s good you showed up, because I’m going to need all the man power I can get for this next operation.”

                “What operation?” She asked.

                “Well, that’s a long story. However, I’ll ask you this. Heard of a man named DIO?”  

Chapter 5: And Harmony-Pus in addition…

Summary:

Esther was just an ordinary woman when her strange sense of reality swoops her into the dangerous world of stands. She has now become Jotaro’s ally as he explains his role in Sarah’s case and what leads him into the strange world of Cyberdyne and its creations.

              John peers back from the ruins of where the T-1000 once stood. With a simple flick of the switch, the headlights were off, and the boy was thrusted into darkness. He could no longer see that concrete road behind him. Nor could he see the large chain link fence strewn about in their little encounter. He breathes for a moment to catch his breath. Strange as it was, the T-1000 walked away. It stopped, why did it walk away?

              What the hell was it planning?

              “He’s not back there. There’s nobody behind us.” He notes, turning back to the piercing gaze of his mother full of concern.

              “Are you alright?” She asked.

              “Yeah,” He says, brushing her words off.

              He turns back to the giant robot with a deep stare. Why did he turn the lights off? What was he trying to do? Wait, could he actually see in that darkness? What was he? Like a cat?

              “Can you even see anything?”

              “I see everything.” He says firmly. There was no hesitation, just the calculated coolness and a firm simple fact from his mind. From his vision, he could see the roads, their intersections, and where they stretched on towards the next city over. His heightened infrared vision mixed with his night-time vision sensors allowed him to see the road clear as day.

              “Cool.” John notes, leaning back into his seat.

              “Of course he is, he’s a cyborg.” Hol Horse notes, crossing his arms behind his back and merely turning to the right to the view outside the window.

              Sarah takes a small mental note of that. How does he know about the terminators? Perhaps one of their unfortunate victims or worse yet something else… but what? She shoves it aside and sets her eyes on John. What a stupid boy he was sometimes. His gun-ho willingness to march into anything has always been something that rather irritated her.

              She motions her hands and eyes John carefully.  

              “Come here,” She whispers, motioning her hands quickly. John becomes a bit excited, was his mother truly wanting the embrace of her son? To hug him and hush him down? To calm him in this hectic ride and tell him everything was going to be, okay? He smiles, maybe after all this time she really missed him. Perhaps, she wanted him back now and set aside her paranoid attitude. He wasn’t just some future leader of great importance, maybe this time… he finally saw her as John. She finally saw him as her baby boy.

              It almost hurt, but he pushed that aside as he was just so happy to see her. Like a giddy little mama’s boy, he rushes into her arms. Her arms rest for a moment before she pats him down aggressively. What was she doing? He lets go, and realizes immediately. She didn’t want his embrace, but rather— his vitals. Was he okay? Was he able to live? He grunted, perhaps it was too good to be true. “I said I was okay,” His voice becoming sterner.

              “John, it was stupid of you to go there,” She says, tugging on his shirt.

              “God damn it, you have to be smarter than that. You almost got yourself killed.” She said, her harsh lecturing words digging deep into his mind.

              “Woah, easy! Easy!” Hol Horse says, raising his hands in protest.

              “Don’t be like that, he came for you after all.” Sarah turns to him, her eyes stiff and her expression irritated.

              “Stay out of this!” She hissed.

              “I don’t even know who the hell you even are or why he even brought you along!” John wants to argue for his case and tries to say something, but it merely brings her back to her cold lecturing voice towards him. A voice that John knew full well.

              “And you, what were you thinking?” She asked, her voice filled with that motherly tone of worry. Her hand slightly gestures towards Hol Horse for a moment. Almost as if Sarah was subconsciously turning her hatred to him.

              “How dare you bring this random stranger into all of this. You know of what could happen!” That was probably what she was thinking about him. Hol Horse had to admit, it hurt slightly coming from a beautiful woman such as herself. She shouldn’t have been so hard.

              Yet she was.

              “You cannot risk yourself, even for me. Do you understand? You’re too important.”

              “Come on—” Sarah raises a finger back to Hol Horse, silencing him immediately.

              “Do you understand?” She asks again.

              John could only sit there with his mouth slightly ajar. His eyes grow wide as he sits there in complete silence. How could she be like this? How could she be so cold? Everything he sacrificed thus far was for her. His foster parents were dead, and she was the only thing he had in this world. If she died, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. He knows for certain that damn T-1000 was going to kill her. If she wasn’t in the right place at the right time, he hardly would believe what to think.

              At least in that moment, he was satisfied with the fact that little comic book wasn’t wrong. As long as there was nothing in there of her dying he was okay. Wait, had it foretold her death? Would he had been able to stop it? He sets aside those thoughts, trying to find the courage to speak but only could say the thing he had really wanted. 

              “But— I had to get you out of that place.” He said, tears bubbling from under as they started to streak down his eyes. The terminator turns, noticing the large streak of fluid running down his eye curiously with a silent stare.

              “I’m sorry.” He choked out.

              Hol Horse turns over, a more sullen look overtakes him. His hand reaches out to the boy’s shoulder, he almost wants to tap it and give him some slight consolation. However, he drifts his hand back. He wouldn’t want to make his mother more angry than she already was.

              “I didn’t need your help. I could take care of myself.” Sarah wanted to be a bit more angry, but at the very least she could understand. He loved her, and she was the only thing he had. At the very least, Sarah at one time had a mother, father, and a— her mind pauses for a moment. No, why would she think about such a thing right now? Couldn’t he see that he was in grave danger now? If one thing went wrong back in Pescadero that thing, that terminator— whatever it was would have sliced him to pieces. Sarah couldn’t stand the thought of that.

              It was sad seeing him cry, but he should have known what he was supposed to do.  

              “Sure, you did,” Hol Horse adds.

              Sarah turns over, her eyes narrowing into a slightly annoyed glint.

              “What?”

              “Just like you needed no one when you were locked up back there,” He said, crossing his legs and turning back out to the road.

              “You—” Sarah grunts, she turns around and says not another word. She hardly knew this guy but he was right about that one thing.

              The terminator, noticing the tears streaming down his face glares over to the boy.

              “What’s wrong with your eyes?” He asked.

              “Nothing,” John says coldly, trying to write him off.

              Sarah turns over to the machine. She could care less about the weird wild west stranger, the terminator took more importance. Whatever that Cowboy could say would probably mean nothing. She wanted to know why the hell John was working with this— machine.

              “So, what’s your story?” She asked.

---

              The group of four misfits rounded the police car past an abandoned gas station. Its luminescent lights barely hold on as the car pushes pas the pumps and inside towards an old shack. The machine steps out and pushes the sliding door up, paying no mind to the padlock as it breaks from his vast force and strength. He motions his hand towards the car, watching as the small dainty woman takes over the driver’s seat and wheels the car in.

              As it passes by, the large man grabs John by the collar and drags him in. With the force, John is taken aback slightly and yelps out.

              “HEY!” He cries.

              “Watch it, Lug nuts.” He quips.

              The sliding door slams shut, and for the rest of the night they don’t come out.

---

ONE DAY AGO: CYBERDYNE

FREMONT, CALIFORNIA

 

              “Let’s try a new position, right there.” A young programmer suggested as he pulls up a highly detailed computer model of a complex grid of cubes arranged into a row. Their size and neatly arranged shapes are something akin to a Rubik’s but with its inside stretched out slightly. A man next to them screws in the motherboard to a large computer tower that works in tandem with them.

              As he holds the screwdriver, his fingers race down large thing white papers connected to the machine. He observes readings from the papers like the data from a seismometer. The paper was thin but slightly sturdy akin to receipt printer. Men and women mumble and hum with epiphanies as each data point is revealed. The young kid at the desk reads each point and compares the printed data to the positions on the screen.

              They were in the early phases of constructing the last components of a large scale A.I. network. Once complete, it would connect with other servers stationed across the globe would achieve wide-scale communication and magnificent feats of science. 

              It was a miracle, however no one had time to really take in the beauty around them. They were always busy, intelligent, always searching for clues to compose into an intelligent network. One man walks through the room, breezing past the large towers and silly machine-printed sauropod construction towards the head scientist leading the team.

              That lead scientist was none other than Miles Dyson. He was a rather upstart Silicon Valley kid. He balances a Pepsi on a clipboard the way a trained acrobat would hold a ball over their head in a tightrope. The boy was in a crowded circus, and he was over a thin long wire.

              “Mr. Dyson,” He says, nearly tripping and knocking over the contents of a trash-can beside him. He garners looks of discontent and anger from some as he walks by.

              “Mr. Dyson, the materials team is running another…” He takes the lollipop from his mouth and taps his shoulder slightly.

              “Mr. Dyson,” He said.

              The elder black man was a short-tempered cut looks over to him with a reserved look. His eye’s part from a long grid map of a large server structure.

              “Yes?” He asks.

              “The materials team is running another series this afternoon— and you have to sign for uh— the uh— it.” He says, waving his lollipop around like a wand before sucking it back in his mouth.

              His voice wavers for a moment, almost hesitant to refer to the thing kept in the corner of the room with a slightly hesitant look. It was almost like even mentioning the thing was taboo. In a rather laid-back work environment, it was kind of odd. One may do whatever they wished to advance the project but never dare mention the beast locked away in the closet.

              “You’ll have to sign it out.”

              “Okay, I’ll get it.” Dyson chuckles, grabbing his arm and squeezing it a bit.

              The young kid takes the lollipop and sucks it back in his mouth.

              “Listen Mr. Dyson, I— I know haven’t been here for that long, but I was wondering if you can tell me… I mean if you know, uh…” The kid tries to play the situation low, not drawing too much emphasis to it. However, his mind growing curious at the building tension when approaching the thing.

              The change in mood swiftly changed when they breezed past two glass doors into a sterile white laboratory. Men in full suits went digging through microscopes at peculiar samples of blood specimen. White suits lined the ceiling.

              “Know what?” Dyson grunts.

              As Dyson pushes past the first door, the kid tries to explain.

              “Well, if you know where it came from.” He stops him through the first door and stares him dead in the eye, his laid-back serious attitude switching to something more personal.

              “You know I asked them that very same question once, and you know what they told me?” He asked, jabbing him slightly with his pointer finger.

              “Don’t ask.”

              Dyson leaves the boy there to think as he sucks down on the lollipop with a wide-eyed expression. He lets the words stay in his mind as he stands there finally letting the realization hit him. He was in a deeper rabbit hole than he thought, and should he care to dig deeper he would be in a bigger hell than he would ever dream of.

              Dyson pushes through the last glass door and turns a corner to the green-suited police-chief in the corner. He nods, turning to him with a smile. 

              “Good morning, Mr. Dyson.” He notes.

              “How’s it going,” he says absent-mindedly as his fingers reach for the key slot. He sticks in a hard key and turns it slightly. Together, the two stand next to each other side by side near a sealed off door like a highly intricate bank vault.

              “Okay, insert key.” The policeman says.

              “Left on three, two, one, turn.” With a smooth whirring click akin to the sounds of an automatic escalator the door opens. The policeman adjusts his glasses and grabs the handle. With a hard yank he pulls the thick door open.

              “Alright,” he says, pushing the door past him.

              “How are the wife and kids?” He asked.

              “Great.”

              “There you go,” he said, tapping the thick door.

              Another day, another routine of going through the motions. At first, this thing seemed large and ominous. Now, it was but a mere daunting task of day-to-day life at Cyberdyne. He walks down the bricked-pattern white layout of the room and click a long black slot on the wall. A silent buzz and one of the bricks turned, revealing a small tube containing a smaller replica of the larger computer structure held up on a sturdy metal display. Instead of a Rubik’s cube, it more resembled a tightly compact Hershey’s bar in a 3x15 pattern. However, instead of being a deep chocolate color, it was a chrome finish all the way through— connected to a long USB port.

              On another note, it wasn’t complete. The very end was snapped off. It was damaged, but an interesting source of data to incorporate with his research.  

              He takes the sealed cylindrical glass tube and clicks the button again. The long white brick closes the display. He takes a few steps further and beholds himself on a long skeletal arm made of machinery. It was rather large and highly complex. He had to admit, it was a bit daunting to look at. If he ever met or got the chance to visualize the large machine or structure it was connected to, he would hardly know what to say or feel.

              Lucky for him, it was nicely contained in another glass case. A glass case for him to observe and analyze. Luckily, he would never meet whatever made this larger complex machine. Or rather, that is what he wishes to believe.

              “There you are,” He thought to himself.

---

              Dyson turns the lock on his car and motions his head to the wide building in front of him. He shrugs and gazes for a moment and the sturdy glass building marches forward. However, his seemingly absent-minded workflow was quickly disturbed by something occurring behind him. An old co-worker of his, or rather— colleague from the other company had been walking side by side with a police guard. He eyes him and then eyes her, watching her as she turned away slightly.

              It gives him a slight edge of concern. He never really needed police protection before, is there something wrong? He was a rather tall and sturdy man. He hardly accepts police companionship when he walked to his car. Dyson stops, waving his hand a bit and gesturing out towards the policewoman. Just when he goes to speak, his voice catches.

              She wasn’t just some random cop, but a security guard for Pescadero. He gulps, reading the name on her Pescadero badge carefully. Esther Lennox, head security guard at the maximum-security wing. Pescadero? What was this guy doing with someone like that? He gulps, was he going crazy? However, he stops to take a quick breather. He was a scientist, an engineer— he was smarter than to make such crazy leaps.

              If he had really gone crazy he was sure that they wouldn’t bring one lonely woman. He raises a brow, what was she even here for?

              “Oh, hi there, Mr. Kujo?” Dyson asks, pointing to the girl next to him.

              “Who would this be?” He asked.

              Jotaro grunts, merely pulling the right corner of his lip for a moment as he turns over to him with a stern, silent expression. Dyson sweat nervously for a moment. He hated those stares, Mr. Kujo was such an intimidating beast of a man that sometimes it was difficult to continue on. Better to look away than get in his way.

              “She’s with me on my investigation,” He says in his usual cold tone.

              “I think you know what I mean,” He says, leaning forward and recatching the gaze of his sturdy teal eyes for a moment.

              He coughs, “My bad.”

              “Anyway, got any reason you bring her here?” Dyson asks, slightly gesturing to the woman beside him with a small squint.

              “Oh yeah, right. This way Dyson.” he says, raising his arm. Dyson shrugs, he had no choice but to follow along with another one of Mr. Kujo’s strange office escapades. He hasn’t had much contact with the Speedwagon Foundation but given their high role in Cyberdyne it seemed of high importance. He went with a resounding sigh. If he didn’t, it could turn out to be very ugly.

              Well, ugly might be an exaggerated term, but pretty wasn’t a good adjective either.

              “Oh wait,” Dyson asks, stopping for a moment.

              “Are those weird guys from the— uh— foundation coming with you?” Dyson asked.

              “Of course,” He says, brushing of Dyson’s concern.

              “Oh, I— okay then.”

              He becomes shy and more reserved, mirroring the behavior that he saw in the kid from yesterday. It seemed like only yesterday that Dyson was the head honcho of the operation, but he was only a drop in the bucket compared to Jotaro.

---

              Esther taps her shoes slightly on the clean dark marble floor of the long office lounge. She was slightly confused, looking around for a moment and catching her eyes on two rather bizarre individuals. Esther couldn’t help but feel rather small and intimidated compared to them. Their menacing looks gave her quite the chills as she stared at them. However, as she got a closer look at their faces, she gulped slightly and turned away. Besides their strange uniforms something just seemed… off about them. Their general appearance wasn’t too strange, just the weird stares. They seemed to examine her and see right through her. Like she was some sort of new test specimen.

              The first man had a rather exquisite and overall exotic hairstyle. His bangs were rather long but not messy. They only stopped near his shoulders. However, he quickly brushed his long white bangs from his parted brunette hair. His clothes and neatly ironed suit made him look more hardened than he did. He flips his nearly white braid over his back as he observes Jotaro stand up and adjust the collar of his black turtleneck.

              He looks down over the group with a rather urgent and demanding look in his eyes. As he walks over to a large pulled-up projector beside him, he moves past the second guy that had kept his focus on her. He was a rather tall, muscular, and hulking man with puffy red hair kept away in a tightly wrapped ponytail. His deep green-apple eyes lock with hers before breaking almost immediately. Both him and his little friend had a rather frozen expression of menace to them. Again, something so intrinsically wrong that she tries to not garner their attention. Her eyes shift over to Dyson’s sweaty face as he looks towards Esther with the same look.

              It’s almost like he’s saying, ‘see what I’m seeing, right?’

              “I think I know why I brought you all together.” He explained, backing towards the rolled up projector. Jotaro casually glances to the little wire above. Like he was even going to need that anyway.

              “Just as a reassurance, I brought you away from Titan— just for a bit.” He explains, his voice still and commanding.

              It was like the others had no choice to listen, even the meaner looking men beside them.

              “Since we got a new lead on ECHO, DIO’s little janitor— I’m going to a bit more help in this investigation. A bit more than I had before.”

              Esther takes her finger and taps it slightly on the long cherry conference desk. She heard briefly of what kind of man DIO was. A supposed poor boy in Britian who grew to become his ancestor’s rival. He supposedly stole an ancient artifact that turned him into a monster. A hundred years later, resulted in that man having possession of Jonathan’s body.   

              With some things abridged, she basically understood he was a basically a no-good vampire god that was willing to trick and lure anyone in his cause by any means necessary. It was a lot to take in for the young officer, but given her own experiences— who’s to say that she could really doubt it? After all, she had strange abilities of her own.

              “Not to mention, the recent updates regarding the Connor boy and his mother concern me. Appears Sarah’s ability has returned. Seems like she broke out of Pescadero with it and is now on the run with another DIO lackey: Hol Horse.”

              “Luckily, through my efforts— it seemed I found an eligible stand user that’s willing to help your cause.” He says, turning his head towards the two men.

              “Esther,” He says, turning his gaze back to her. She stops tapping her finger and looks back up towards Jotaro with a more serious glint in her eyes.

              “I’d like you to meet some colleagues,” He says, gesturing his hand out towards the small group of people that she’s been forced to sit with for some time.

              He gestures to the smaller man, “This is Doctor Tomoki Wu, and the guy right next to him is Ryo Shimamoto. The man sitting next to you is Miles Dyson.”

              “The rest of our little crew is going to arrive shortly,” Jotaro explained.

              “With that, I’m going to make this brief.”

              Esther’s eyes turn back towards the two men, and she stared at the both of them carefully.

              “Here, I’m going to explain how I met this lot, and after— we’re heading to the Speedwagon Foundation headquarters. Trust me, this is all important for the next phase of this operation.”

              “Understand that?” Jotaro asked.

              Esther nodded, not really wanting to disagree.

---

1992  –  CYBERDYNE

              Jotaro waltzes down on the large black wooden chair with a sigh. He hoped this wouldn’t take long, it was a strange place to be and the architecture while “modern” made him feel nervous. While he appreciated the company and their efforts in defeating DIO he couldn’t help but feel there was a strange energy to this place. It didn’t feel haunting, like in the way a terrifying murder plot on an acre of land haunts it for all eternity. It also didn’t feel sinister, as the general feeling he got from most of the Cyberdyne workers was like they were driven to one specific goal.

              They were constructing something here, but what it was he couldn’t specify without scratching his own head in confusion. He knew from the brief conversation his old man had back in the deserts of Egypt that it was a rather big Artificial Intelligence project. Jotaro was hardly concerned about such things even during his small assignment with one of the Cyberdyne drones. Jotaro more so involved himself with graduation and his passion for marine biology. He cared more for the salt-levels in fresh lakes and the general population of crabs of the beaches of Tokyo.

              Aside from that, he also had to keep the growing paranoia of DIO’s followers coming back to chase him. While none of them had shown themselves, yet… he still gets a bad feeling that envelops him with each step he takes. Aside from that, what time would he care for computer science and machine learning algorithms?

              An elder gentleman walks into the room and sits in front of him. He has a somewhat balding head and has a growing beard. He brushed his deep brown balding spot and turned to Jotaro with a slightly uncomfortable smile.

              “Oh, hello there.” He chuckles.

              “Mr. Kujo, is it?” He asked.

              “Just call me Jotaro,” Jotaro sighed.

              “Alright, Mr. Kujo.” He laughed, taking a pen from his pocket and began to frivolously write on a sheet of paper.

              “My name is Randall Oric, I am the current CEO of Cyberdyne. Just got to say, I love your coat. It’s a nice look, use it often?”

              “Pardon me?” Jotaro was baffled, those collections of words were a lot to take in. Didn’t he just say that he was the current CEO of Cyberdyne? Wait, by that measure— is he now the current director of the Speedwagon Foundation? Or was that the previous one? Its been such a long time, a gap in his memory he’s most likely forgotten. It was such a strange time, a calm before the storm. Were he chose to remember now, it would drive him crazy.

              “That coat is nice, isn’t it?” He asked.

              “Well of course,” Jotaro shrugged.

              “Why wouldn’t I be wearing it?” Jotaro grunted.

              The man threw his back a bit in his chair, cocks his head back, and laughs. Jotaro grits his teeth a bit. What is with this guy? Is he mocking him?

              “Are you mocking me?” Jotaro asked.

              “Oh no,” He said, shaking his head a bit in laughter.

              “I’m not mocking at all. I just got to say, it’s nice.” He laughed, brushing his head again, almost somewhat distraught at the lack of his hair at his ringed hair clinging to his bald head. Jotaro grunted, he should have practiced better hair routines.

              He coughs, shrugging off his comments and asks him.  

              “So, you now run the Speedwagon too?”

              “No, no. That is Mr. Commodore.” He laughed. “I am now the current CEO.”

              “Oh yeah, right.” Jotaro grunted, he figured that was the case.

              “I suppose this is the time you want to rag on about your glorified tech that I have been hearing such great things about?” Jotaro said, almost somewhat sarcastic.

              While again, Jotaro was appreciative of Cyberdyne’s efforts, their constant comments and interference with his work was almost mind-grinding.

              “Yeah, but first—" the man snaps his finger. “Let’s see the lab boys that made this possible.”

              “Lab boys?” Jotaro asked, raising a brow slightly.

              “Well yeah, that’s why you marched down here right?”

              “But—” Jotaro didn’t really say much, but the look garnered made him feel he wasn’t long. While it was required, it wasn’t in the procedural sense. Jotaro was more in a strange spot. He was curious about Cyberdyne.

              The drone worked, but he didn’t really understand how. While again, he was never the computer guy. He had to know what made this drone work. Why it worked may prove useful in the future. The only catch was that Jotaro had to keep working with these people. With that, they may be more interested in him in return. He couldn’t prod further with them doing the same, the only condolence was going along with their every word.

              “Yeah, who are the lab boys?” Jotaro asked.

              The man leaned over and pressed a button on the desk.

              “Ms. Bluebird, would you be a dear and bring Dyson in here?” He asked.

              “Sure thing Mr. Oric.”

              Not even a few moments later, a smaller older black gentleman comes in. Jotaro stands up and turns to the man in his general direction. Dyson and Jotaro lock eyes, the more they stare, the more Dyson grows weary. Jotaro steps forward and bows slightly at Dyson.

              Dyson looks around confused and turns back to the man himself.

              “Do you need me for something for Mr. Oric?” He asked.

              “Why yes, Mr. Jotaro is here.” He said, gesturing his hand forward and motions forward to the tall man next to him. A tall Asiatic man with piercing teal almost gem like eyes. His piercing thick brows crease into a dark frown. His tall white coat and long white hat made him sweat a bit.

              Dyson blinks several times. He realizes what this was about.

              “Oh… right.”

---

SEVERAL DAYS BEFORE

              “Mr. Oric sir, with all respect, where did you get all of this from?”

              “What?”

              “This technology, everything seems far too advanced. The processing and compiling, data synthesizing, all of it— its so like our tech. Yet it seems much— more advanced than our own. If you don’t mind me asking, what the hell is this?”

              “…”

              “Mr. Oric, sir?”

              “Alright, how about I show you then?”

              “After all, I’m going to need you to clear this for me as you will be

              Dyson turns over to his boss. He rubs his hair several times and glares back at him. They stand there holding the contained sealed relics of the hand and chip. It blew his mind. This stuff was all there newfound advancements have been coming from? This is what he was working with this entire time? These machines were what he was getting everything?

              These are the things he was trying to replicate.

              “M—Mr. Oric?” Dyson asked.

              “Yes?” He asked, looking at the long chip with him.

              “Were did you get this?” He asked, almost gulping down his fear.

              However, he just ignores him. He looks down and stares at the tube with a somewhat long stare. A thousand yards Carrie like stare.

              “Where did you get this?” Dyson asked again.

              “Dyson, you’re a good worker.” Oric noted, turning his gaze to the young scientist.

              “I love you and all, you’re like family to me.”

              “Uh—” He gets into his face. His eyes squint and his face becomes an ugly scowl.

              “But don’t ask, capiche?” Dyson nods almost instinctively.

              “Yes, right. Sorry sir,” He explained.

              “I apologize.”

              “Besides,” He explains, brushing off his shoulder.

              “Mr. Kujo is coming tomorrow, he told me over a business call yesterday.”

              “Your little drone is the reason he had such success in his little Egypt venture, wouldn’t you agree?” He asked.

              “Well, yes.”

              “Good, invite him tomorrow. Also, for all intent and purposes its probably good you don’t tell him about this either. Show him around, give him a good show. He’s a smart man, but not a computer guy. Probably won’t have the first clue on the difference between a resistor and a output header. So do you’re best to please him. Got that?”  

              “Yes sir.”

---

              Jotaro ducks, a small drone like bot whirs above his head. He looks over to see a thin kid with thick glasses adjust himself and apologize.

              “Hey, watch that!” Dyson yells, waving his hand back at the kid.

              “Sorry, just giving one of the drones a test run.”

              Jotaro looks back over to the drone. He looks at it and winces slightly. All those little drones gave him a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia and uneasiness. One of those little drones was the very same drone that protected him all those years ago in Egypt. One that got the brunt of the wear and tear from DIO’s worst of the worst.

              “Aren’t your other friend supposed to come?”

              “From the Speedwagon Foundation?” Jotaro asked.

              “Yeah,” Dyson noted.

              “Heard they’ll meet up after lunch.” Jotaro sighed.

              “Right.”

              Before they went along for the most intense and flashy parts of their little carnival ride of a technical show, Jotaro caught his eyes on a blacked-out glass door. It was such a strange sight. Blacked out windows and a locked outdoor. Black chains wrap around and seem like a firm roadblock. In that corner of the room past the machine-printed Dinosaur models there was that closed out space.

              “What’s that?” Jotaro asked.

              “Oh that’s a storage closet going through some renovation.”

              “Storage closet?” Jotaro asked with a raised brow. “Doesn’t really seem like one to me.”

              Dyson stops, nervous beads of sweat drip down his neck. Should he really reveal to him what’s behind there? From the way he was sweating there was no way Jotaro wouldn’t catch it. Dyson cursed to himself, that stand of his might have picked up something before he did.

              “Shit no, if he moves past there it might be trouble.”

              That part of the building had been purposely sealed off just for Jotaro coming in. Since Mr. Oric was adamant on Jotaro not seeing the arm, nor the chip, that entire section was blocked off. The windows were painted over and the doors were locked. Everyone was to say that it was a storage unit undergoing renovation into a new office space.

              “Why did they block it off with chains anyway?” He asked.

              “Rather suspicious, wouldn’t ya say?” Jotaro asked.

              Dyson grunted, this wasn’t good.

              “Oh, uh— well, we had to lock it up because some employees kept breaking in there and well— doing things.” He said, clasping his fingers together and wiggling them.

              “Like what?”

              “Like—  well— you know how crazy some people can get. We had to fire several interns because they kept going in there. That’s why my boss was so adamant on locking it. Can’t have people going in there and doing drugs.”

              “Drugs?” Jotaro asked.

              “Yeah— crazy right?”

              “I—” Jotaro already saw through his nervous act. He knew there was something in there but he moved his head away. It didn’t seem important enough for him to press further. Besides, even if his followers were at large— DIO was dead. He didn’t need to interrogate and read into the behavior of every man he saw.

              “I see.” He turns back and walks with Dyson. Dyson internally wiped off his brow.

              “Phew! He bought it, lucky me!” Dyson thought.

              Soon after, Dyson took him along for the ride. He wasn’t too concerned, but was impressed enough to buy every word that Dyson spilled out from his lips. He showed him the programmers, the engineers, the data analysts, and all. Jotaro goes through the motions. Nods to the computer screens, comments empty statements, and moves on. With all the novel work on generating a new type of life: Artificial Intelligence seemed rather boring. He supposed that’s how it went for Tesla and Edison. Many hours spent in a dark room with a small team.

              Modern or not, it all seemed boring. He would rather coup himself with a fish tank and observe the behaviors of the population among. Then again, cooping a bunch of fish together in the wrong environment may seem wrong.

              While they breeze through the typical day to life of an American computer company, the standard that seemed to be for the time he had unknowingly wrapped himself into small-talk with Dyson. His mind drifted from everything about Titan to everything going on in Dyson’s life. His kids, his relationship with his wife, the brother that calls in from time to time. It all drew his attention in a way that he couldn’t understand.

              He wanted a family. He desperately wanted a family, but for some reason he felt uncertain.

              As Dyson kickstarts a smart little coffee Keurig and watches the automatic hand pour him a tall cup of joe. He shrugs a bit and laughs.

              “You know, my wife really gets concerned when I overwork myself.” He laughs, turning over and looks at Jotaro.

              “So, what about you?” He asked.

              “Huh?”

              “What about your wife?”

              Jotaro shrugs. In his mind he somewhat panics. He would imagine himself stuttering, brushing the back of his neck. Instead, he sighs and is stern. He is emotionally stoic, and just brushes it off.

              “My wife is fine,” He said.

              He cringes internally again. His wife is fine? What is Mackenzie to him, a dog? How stupid was that phrase? He might as well just have been over to Dyson and said, ‘Hear, kick me.’

              “Wife is fine?” He asked with a raised brow.

              “Well, it’s just with DIO’s lackeys it’s been kind of hard. So, I don’t think I would really relax just yet.” He said with a sigh.

              “I worry if I stay too long, they’ll come for them.”

              Dyson looked down for a moment. He’s overheard the strange relationship between Cyberdyne and the Speedwagon Foundation. The Joestar family, DIO, the stands, the masks, and everything in between had been thrown on his desk. Since the Cyberdyne and Speedwagon co-opt, everyone and everything in between on the upper echelons of both sides had to reveal information to one another. One of that being the most crucial information. For the Foundation, it was the Joestars, and for Cyberdyne, it was the Titan project.

              “Something may happen to them. Without Titan, I don’t think I’ll know what I’ll do.”

              “Actually, with our new project you won’t have to do anything.”

              “Huh?”

              He turns, stepping up to him. He leans over and glares into his eyes.

              “Yeah, Yeah… in fact, you don’t have to do anything. Skynet could take care of all the work, while you can just sit back, relax, and enjoy your time with your family.”

              “Skynet?” Jotaro asked.

              “That’s the name we’re giving it. Or well, it’s a name in progress.”  

              A pager buzzes in Jotaro’s pocket and Jotaro snatches it out.

              “Oh, it seems that they’re here.”

---

              Jotaro sits as he watches the two men from the Speedwagon Foundation come in and stand side by side next to each other. It was a rather silent and somewhat awkward experience. It was already a long day going down the long halls and corridors of the Cyberdyne facility. However, is eyes light up as they come into the room. They were rather strange, but not unusual men.

              “Greetings, Kujo-San.” Said the first man with a slight bow. He was a small man with brown and white hair. He introduces himself as a young doctor from the comfortable small city in Morioh-Cho, Japan. He smiles and stands up. He turns over and looks over to the other man.

              The other man, a taller man, even taller than Jotaro himself.

              “The other man is Shimosato Ryu, my partner, also from Morioh.”

              He stands up and glares over to him.

              “Shimosato-san?” He asked.

              The taller red-haired man bows with a grunt.

              “Sorry, my partner is a rather reserved man.” He said, turning his head towards him.

              “He is in a bit of a sore spot so he’s in this business right now. He’s a military man.” He sighs, struggling to find the words to speak.

              “His wife also passed away not too long ago and his grandparents are now in custody of his children.” He stands up and watches him cross his arms and turn away.

              Jotaro bites his lip and nearly looks away with embarrassment. What a strange way to start the day. Co-workers he may have to work with for several years and all have a somewhat stiff relationship to work around.

              “Yare yare, and I thought I was the stoic one.”

              “Wait, you said you two were both stand users, right?” Miles asked, breaking the ice a bit to make the relationship more smooth-sailing.

              “Correct,” He said with a firm nod.

              “So, what are your powers then?” Miles wanted to see if he could them to test their abilities. He doesn’t really doubt the concept of Stands, but nothing is stopping him from seeing them himself. If they were really real, what could they do?

              “Right,” He nods again. 

              Dr. Wu was obviously the first man to demonstrate. To say that Dyson was blown away was an understatement. It was so much beyond that. Aside from Dyson from expecting an invisible specter that moved the table, akin to what he saw of Jotaro. Instead, he saw something else. His hand, like a rock, cracked and splintered into pieces.

              It disintegrated like sand, and reformed back. Then, out of all the things Dyson expected— he lunges at Dyson. Dyson freaks out, he nearly attempts to scramble out of his seat when Doctor Wu shoves his hand into his chest. Dyson gasps, he leans over and coughs out a bit. Jotaro nearly rises to his feet when the doctor raises a hand to him. Jotaro nearly raised his fist until he draws his head towards Dyson. He was coughing up something.

              “No need Mr. Kujo,” He says, drawing his hand over his chest, stopping him.

              Dyson coughs, but when he takes a breath he comes to a realization. Over the years, Dyson has had some issues with congestion. It was so easy for him to get the flu or respiratory infection. While a somewhat annoying hinderance, he didn’t get sick most of the time. He was often a careful and cautious man. Yet, there was something different about his breath. When he took a breath, it was like he could breathe again for the first time.

              He coughs over and over and stands up straight.

              “What the hell did you do?”

              “Do to your frequent rapid breathes, hunched stance, and leg swelling you have respiratory issues, correct? Tell me, is this a problem with your nasal sinuses, or even Asthmatic attacks?” Jotaro sits down and turns to him.

              “I also notice that you seem to clutch your lower stomach area, is that right?”

              “Wh-what are you?”

              “Tell me, do you have issues with constipation?”

              “Excuse me? What the hell are you saying?”

              “I fixed those issues with a swift and precise strike to the Solar Plexus.” He said, standing up and adjusting his tag.

              “Solar Plexus— wh-what the hell are you—”

              He waves his hand.

              “No need, your breath is already a suffice payment. I have cured your breathing issues, no need to thank me.”

              “Thank me?”

              “Yare yare daze, what the hell are you getting at here?”

              “I’m saying I would be very helpful for the both of you,” He says with another astute bow.

              “And what about him them?” Jotaro asked, raising his finger to point over to the tall red-headed man in the corner.

              “Well, for him… his stand— is a lot harder to manifest.” He explained.

              “His requires his own blood to break down objects. It’s a highly corrosive stand that he can only use in highly tactical missions.”

              Jotaro rolled his eyes, of course the other guy had a more deadly stand. Jotaro would have pounded the both of them into dust if they didn’t seem helpful. For a moment, he would have done it to that dust-boy. Had Doctor Wu slipped his hand or Dyson had keeled over, he might as well have done it.

              “Well then, I guess we’re working together?” Jotaro asked.

              “Yes.” He said with a firm nod.

              Jotaro shrugged, if this is what he had to get his family safe them he’ll do it. If it means forcing himself to cozy up to Oric and his men then fine. Besides, Dyson seemed like a refined and relaxed man. He was calm and approachable.

              “I rather like Dyson,” He thought to himself.

              “For my sake I’ll do it.”

---

              Esther taps her fingers on the table and looks back up to them. There was so much in those few spare moments that she barely had time to react. How was she supposed to help them? So many things were going on at once. So many puzzle pieces being smooshed together and clicking he hardly had the time to gather it all.

              It was like she was just a cog in the mechanisms of a much larger plan.

              “Oh, that’s nice.” She nod.

              “So, how would this involve me?” She asked.

              “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you want me to help you?” Esther asked.

              “Well, since you’re a stand user, I’m going to help you manifest it.”

              Jotaro motions his hand and beckons Doctor Wu forth. Despite their strange personalities, Jotaro and the rest seemed to clique. It was like Doctor Wu and the tall Shimosato was Jotaro’s little henchman, fighting battles on his behalf. If Jotaro wasn’t present or was unable or unwilling to, then Doctor Wu or his partner were the ones to go off his orders.

               Esther gasps, Doctor Wu seems to disintegrate into air and appear in front of her. Dyson jumps and crawls to the back of the wall and hits it with such hard force that a painting on the wall collapses. The glass nearly shatters and a large crack form on it.

              “FUCK!” Dyson screams.

              Doctor Wu raises his hand and wraps it around her neck and squeezes down a bit. Esther gasps, croaking and choking.

              “What are you doing?” She squeaks out.

              “Sometimes, its best suitable to summon a stand when the user is in a high-stressful environment. If its life-threatening, its summoned immediately.”

              “L-LIFE?” She gasped.

              “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.”

              “Fuck this, I just want a coffee!” She barks, pushing him off a bit.

              With that, something happens. It was a strange carpet-like mass forming on her neck. It droops into a red clump. Two white eyes beam out and form into a humanoid shape. It leaps like a thick sludge and crawl towards Doctor Wu’s face. Jotaro cringes, turning away slightly. While he disapproved of the methods, he agreed on one thing. Doctor Wu was direct and rather brilliant in his methods.

              “So I see, there it is,” He says firmly.

              With that, it leaps to the ground. Jotaro watches it carefully as it squeezes through the crack under the door and disappears.

              “What, what just happened?” Dyson asked.

              “So, it’s a long range stand.” Jotaro notes, looking at the door.

              “If I know any better, its hunting for something.”

              Dyson looks Up and pats himself. We'll, since he's not dead he considers himself a little bit lucky. However, the growing realization that he may have overreacted a tad looms over. He coughs violently and brushes his hair.

              “Oh, uh– what happened?”

              “Her stand.” Jotaro said firmly. He points and watches the outside door and waits patiently. Occasionally he taps his foot. Dyson watches curiously as he leans over and waits by the door. However, what remerges doesn't come through the door. A sudden knock on the window makes them jump. The group turns to see a reddish-pink looming over the window at the far end of the conference room. 

              Esther looks around before quickly rushing over to the windowside and slowly pulling up the hinges. The small critter seems To be with happiness as it abruptlyshoveds a steaming hot cup of coffee into her hands. With that, it takes some sweetener and mixes it into the brew. With a few turns of a spoon it is done. 

              With that, it fades into nothing.

              “Coffee?” Esther asks. 

              “Interesting, it's a long range stand then. It's able to change shape and perform whatever specific tasks it asks of you.” 

              Jotaro leans forward and rubs his chin slightly.

              “Also seems like it stays roughly the same size. It can morph its body but can’t grow or shrink.”

              Jotaro noted as he grabs her shoulder.

              “This might come in handy,” He says to her. 

              Esther doesn't say a word, she looks down to the steaming hot mug and thinks for a small moment about her life choices.

              However, Dyson looks at it merely amused. What a silly and strange show.

              “Man, I wish I had an invisible ghost that did whatever I asked.”

              “If it can make my coffee then it can do my paperwork.”

              Esther says nothing as Dyson continues to chuckle. He thinks this stuff is all amusing but fails to see the burden that comes with such gifts. He doesn’t know the things that follow her with these abilities. The things that it does to people.

---

JANURARY 18^th 1996

              Esther rushed to her feet. She was hauling ass and if she didn't hurry up she was going to Miss her shift at Pescadero. With all the restrictions and recent escape attempts, that wasn't an option. 

              She got out of her car and bolted for the gate. She nearly wanted to pound her fist into the wall. One of those coworkers came in for their shift. The creepy ones, big, imposing, always picking on the female patients. Were she not there this place would be more of a hell than it already was. She squints and looks at him again.

              Wasn’t this the guy that hanged around Douglas, or was she confusing them?

              “Hey,” A larger blonde hair man said as he stood at the door.

              Esther rolls her eyes and pushes through, almost barreling right past him.

              “You were almost late there, took a bit more time and I would have had to call the director.”

              “Shut up,” She growls back.

              “Anyway, now that you’re back mind if we catch up on somethings?” That was always how Clayton was. For some reason, Pescadero had this really strange habit of hiring creepy men. She was never approving of how brutal they were. All her complaints and concerns with inpatient abuse meant nothing to her, she supposed.

              “Esther?”

              She just hoped that he would be stupid enough to get fired.  

              “Not interested,” She growled back.

              “Get back to work.”

              “’Oh, get back to work!’” He squeals mockingly, “Oh please, you know that doesn’t work on me little lady.” Esther didn’t have time for this.

              “I hope this guy fucking croaks,” She thought.

              “Look, or are you going to stand there and waste my time or are you going to start up business for today? We’re not fucking café, so you better zip your ass up and get back to work.”

              “Alright,” He sung pathetically in a pretend whimper and scurried on his way like the little rodent of a man he was.

              Within another few minutes, there was blissful silence.

              Clayton had walked towards the automatic doors and stepped passed. The door suddenly stops, three steps and he was caught.

              “What the—”

              A sudden string like thing wraps around his neck and he gasps.

              “Wh-what the hell—”

              He looks down and his eyes beam wide.

              “Shit, my tag! It must have gotten caught somehow!”

              He looks over to Esther and smiles. He could probably get out of this and one piece, but that would require Esther to save him. He smiled, what a delightful thought.

               Then, a harrowing scream. She leaps up and turns to the door. Clayton had been strung against the door. Something on the other side seem to have close the door on him. A string or cloth like fabric wrapped around his neck. She stammers, rushing up to him and grabbing him by the arm.

              “What the— what the hell is going?”

              “I don’t know! I don’t he screamed!” He croaked, trying to gasp out breath as something closes in around his neck and squeezes. Two small gem eyes peer behind her. Her heart stops, she recognizes those eyes. Each and every-time, those eyes. Whenever she was a sick little girl. This imaginary friend thing appeared, bringing her treats, goods, and whatever her heart desires.

              Whenever her car broke down at sixteen, it was there. It slid into the car and fixed the water-cooling. Whenever she was hungry, it always somehow appeared with a snack in hand. Whatever she wanted, it delivered. Only now, its doing something she doesn’t want.

              She never really understood what to make of it, a bizarre thing that always appeared with what she needed. She never thought it was really real, just some strange manifestations of desire. Now, she realizes whole heartily that it wasn’t just a thing. It was real, and it could kill people.

              “HEY!” She screamed, peering over to the other hallway.

              She grabs his neck and pushes through the crack in the door. Despite how much of an asshole he was, she didn’t want him to die on her opening shift. Unfortunately, since there wasn’t a lot of people around nobody seemed to care. She would scream, hit buttons and page her walkie-talkie but it was like the universe itself became uncaring and cruel towards him.

              Maybe it was deserved.

              The young punky nurse gasps out a chuckle. She turns, widening her eyes as she hears him laugh. Why the hell was he laughing like that?

              “If I knew I would have died like this, I would have prepared my willy a bit more.”

              “Huh?” She asks, raising a brow with confusion.

              “Your tits are practically on my shoulder.”

              She grunts out with frustration, “What the hell?”

              What was wrong with him? He was practically near death and he was still being an unflattering and unabashed creep? She was trying to save his life and of all things this is what he did? He felt the door squeeze tighter. The pressure building in her arm grows as the man twists and convulses. The cloth sinks deeper. She tries to fight it.

              “LET GO!” She screams, but the strange creature doesn’t relent.

              “LET GO!” She commands again.

              Still, nothing. It seemed to hum and chirp as the cloth shrunk.

              “OH GOD! HELP ME!” He grunts. He cries and begs.

              “OKAY I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY GOD! I WON’T BE A FREAK ANYMORE JUST LET ME LIVE!”

              A war goes on in Esther’s mind. A part of her wanted to kill him so badly, and another wanted for him to live. It was like she was in an inner conflict with her mind with neither side fully relenting to the other. Clayton was now on death’s door. His face turned into a bright pink, to a tomato red, and then a deep plum. Shades of green and blue formed on his face.

              Then, he slumps over, breathless.

              The door releases, he doesn’t turn over or gasp for air. It was almost instantaneous, with that, the creature fades to nothing. She screams, calls for help. Then finally, police and several paramedics burst in. They grab her and throw her to the ground.

              “GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” They panic. For a while, Esther’s mind was in peril. She was somewhat worried they would lock her up for this. Clayton and her have been having trouble for a while. If they realized she had got him killed, it might be deadly.

              However, that wasn’t what happened. She was interrogated, removed as a suspect. Apparently, CCTV had caught the whole thing. Nobody saw the strange creature use the door as a makeshift noose to hang the man. They only thought it was a terrible and misfortunate door malfunction. He was hung by his very own work tagged.

              They didn’t blame her, they gave her time off. In fact, she had a whole week off. This surprised her, she hardly expected to be rewarded for her seemingly horrible behavior towards him. She had gotten away Scott free. She knew he was an asshole, but still blamed herself. A seemingly bizarre and random event.

              When she got back, nobody questioned about the cast around her arm. She said it was an accident while biking and nothing more.

              Nobody ever noticed the small creature, like none of them could see it. No one could see the little man that killed him. All they saw was a terrible accident. A terrible accident and nothing more. For years, Esther has walked this earth thinking this imaginary friend was just her. It was in her mind, but had a real effect on people. She had to be careful with what she wanted. Had she no specification, no want, then no was harmed. If she did, someone could get hurt, even on accident.

              It was a terrible accident and nothing more… until Sarah Connor came along. Then, and only then did she really learn she was not alone in her strange powers. These powers, unseen to the naked eye. Even with the understanding crew of the Speedwagon Foundation and Cyberdyne in tow, nobody could understand unless they’ve directly seen it.

              A stand, the very manifestation of the soul. It can be convenient, kind, supportive, defensive, or even deadly. Thousand of stands had appeared around her. All her years, she never did think it was anything more than her mind snapping.

              Now she knows better.

---

              “Do you have a name for it?” Jotaro asked her, looking over to the coffee mug.

              “Name?” She asked, uncertain of what to say.

              “All of them have names,” He said back.

              She looks back at her coffee mug.

              “Vassel.”

              “Huh?”

              “It brings me whatever I want? I guess I’ll name it Vassel for now. If I think of something better, I’ll say it. For now, It’s Vassel.”

              “Alright, good enough. Now, I suppose its time we head over to Speedwagon headquarters.”

              “What do you say… Esther?”

              She nods, looking back to the mug as she takes a small sip.

              “Vassel, how is this going to help me?” She thought.

---

SEVERAL HOURS SINCE T-1000 PESCADERO INCIDENT

              Sarah grunts, pushing herself over to a small seat. She grabs the stiches in her back and rubs them slightly. She says nothing as she turns over to the large cowboy in the corner. It was rather musty in that small shack. The large cowboy had taken upon himself to throw off his coat and watches onto the ground. She looks at the watches with a strange child-like curiosity.

              Why the hell did he so many watches for? What purpose did they even serve? She shrugs, pushing it past her as her eyes lock onto his. He smiles, pushing himself off the wall and uncrosses his arms. He bows politely and takes a seat next to her. Right next to her, she could see his massive muscles in all their glory. While not as massive as the machine— because of course he would be the bigger one, she couldn’t help but notice how rippled he was.

              Since she really couldn’t keep in anymore of her curiosity, she presses him.

              “So, we know about the robot— what’s your story cowboy?”

              She leans forward a bit, “Must be important since John roped you along. He must trust you even if I wouldn’t have.”

              Before Hol Horse could speak, John speaks for him.

              “His name is Hol Horse and he says he works for a vampire.” He chuckles, swinging back and forth in a stool behind the table.

              “Hey! At least give me a chance to speak, damn it kid!” He curses, slamming his hand on the table behind him with frustration.  

              “And I don’t work for a vampire,” He grunted, “Not anymore.”

              “What do you mean by that?” Sarah asked with a raised brow.

              He coughs and shakes his head, “Along time ago, I met a man named DIO. I’m not really a good man, I just so happened to get caught up in all of this.”

              Sarah pursed her lips and let him talk.

              “Okay, good so far. Now, what does he mean by vampire?” She thought.

              “I’m a bounty hunter of sorts, but that’s not what I came here for. John happened to have something I wanted, but before I could get it I ran into that fucking silver thing.” He cursed, rubbing his shoulder and wincing a bit.

              “Fucking asshole,” He cursed.

              “What… did John have that you wanted?” Sarah asked.

              “Not important, wasn’t really his fault anyhow.” He says, waving his hand.

              “That all got thrown out of the window when I got caught up in robot gang violence between that cop thing and that asshole.” He says, pointing to the tall Austrian man holding a shotgun. He says nothing as he peers out the window and observes his outside surroundings.

              “So, how does this— involve vampires?” She asked.

              “Heh, it doesn’t really. DIO has been dead for quite some time.”

              “Since when?” She asked.

              “Since 1989 when I heard Jotaro ripped him in half, or so I’ve heard…”

              “Jotaro?” She asked. “Jotaro Kujo?”

              This makes Hol Horse stand slightly and raise a brow. “You know that guy?”

              “I ran into him before, but don’t know much… Other than that he’s an asshole.”

              “Hahaha!” Hol Horse chuckled out a long hearty laugh.

              “You too huh?” He lean closer to her.

              “So that little punk hasn’t changed at all?” He asked.

              “Tell me, does he still wear that cut-up little brim hat?”

              “Brim hat? I guess…” She shrugged.

              As they conversed, John almost wanted to say something. Did his mom know this Jotaro guy? He leans back from his stool. Just another thing that Thoth or whatever that comic proved correct. Jotaro was real and so were his friends. That wasn’t made up by the comic. He hoped that there would be some reprieve that thing may have made somethings up, but he was wrong.

              Of course it wouldn’t be made up, why would he be so stupid think that? It predicted Hol Horse, would it be so out of the question that it also knew about Jotaro as well.

              “Hah, knew it.” He shrugged.

              “Still doesn’t tell me how you worked for a vampire, unless John is trying to be funny.” John shoved aside his thoughts and stuck out his tongue.

              Sarah waved her hand, telling him to knock it off. Sarah had to repress a giggle there, even if she didn’t want him to come back, she couldn’t help but miss his charming little shenanigans he throws her into. She missed him as much as he missed her.

              “Well, yes,” Hol Horse nodded.

              “He is— or was a vampire.”

              Sarah’s happy expression soured.

              “So you were serious?” She asked.

              “Yeah, not going to lie.”

              “What, so what was he? Dracula?” She asked.

              “Did he wear a long black coat and demand you bring him fresh blood or something?”

              “No, hardly. He asked me, or rather— demanded me at the price of my soul that I killed Jotaro and his group of friends.”

              “Friends?”

              “Kakyoin—”

              “Polnareff, Avdo, Old man Joseph, and Iggy.” John finished, causing them both to stare back with bewildered eyes.

              “He told you already?” Sarah asked.

              “Yeah,” John said with a nod.

              Hol Horse raised a brow, “No the hell I didn’t, how the fuck did you get that kid?” Hol Horse thought. He then shrugged and shook his head. Of course, he would have gotten it from Thoth. From what John said, he seemed to read the whole thing front to back.

              “Man, what a little nerd.” Hol Horse thought.

              “So, what was DIO like?” Sarah asked.

              “DIO?” Hol Horse asked.

              “This so called vampire man.”

              “Terrible man, heard of this strange guy in Egypt. Down on my luck I offered to be a hitmen. He had piercing eyes, golden flowing hair. Tall and handsome from what some girls said. Looks a lot like him actually.” He says, raising his hand towards the machine in the corner.

              Sarah’s hair stood up a bit and she turned back to him. What the hell did he mean by that? HE looked like the machine? That very same machine that had a hell of a bloodlust to hunt her and Reese to the ends of the earth? Wait, what if what he meant by vampire he misinterpreted? Vampire indicated he couldn’t be killed easily. He was immortal and lived off the blood of others.

              Was what he thought was a vampire actually a ter— no, before she jumped to conclusions she had to press further.

              “Like him?” Sarah asks, outstretching her hands towards the machine.

              “Yeah, and also tall. Had like a scar around his neck.” He explained, taking his finger as he raised his finger and traced it around his neck.

              “Said that he stole the body of his adopted brother Jonathan Joestar, Jotaro’s great-great-grandfather as he puts it.”

              Sarah’s face turned into a strange mix of dumbfounded disappointment and surprise. It was like someone walked up and slapped her in the face for no reason at all. She was listening at first, but now she was more or less done. How does one steal a body? To steal a body would entail he took someone’s whole body, cut off the head and replaced it with his own.

              “Bullshit,” Sarah said, shaking her head with disbelief.

              “Well, it’s true— whether you want to believe it or not.”

              “Yeah, and he told Hol Horse he was deathly afraid of garlic.”

              “I DID NOT!” Hol Horse screamed back with growing irritation.

              “Yeah you did, you also told me he was afraid of sunlight and holy crosses.” He laughs, kicking his legs a bit as he sat on the stool.

              “Shut the hell up kid!” He yells, pointing back to the boy who only shot back raspberries in return. Hol Horse grunted, what kind of kid did he think he was?

              “Damn, what is with his boy and that pompous disrespectful attitude? Maybe I should come up with something in return.” He thought.

              “Oh… I know…”

              As John went to stick out another raspberry, Hol Horse made a snarky remark in return.

              “No thankyou I use toilet paper.” John’s face froze, almost as if he was a computer that had crashed halfway while running a program.

              His face quickly shifted into a look of disgust before gagging, “Ewww!!!!” He screams, raising his arm and hitting him on the shoulder.

              “You’re nasty man!” He cries out, slapping his shoulder with more and more intensity.

              “And you hit like a girl.” He laughed back.

              “Shut up!” John shouted.

              Sarah glares back and gives him a menacing stare.

              “Stop harassing my son please,” She said in a calm voice.

              “What, he started it!” He said, pointing over to him.

              “He should learn to stop sticking his nose into other people’s conversation. Quite a rude little thing if you ask me,” He said as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

              “Maybe if you didn’t say you worked for a vampire,” He laughed, shooting back with a point of his own. Hol Horse rolled his eyes.

              Sarah leaned over and grabbed the ridge of her nose.

              “Oh god, I’m raising two now aren’t I?” She thought.

              “One kid, and one adult man.” She noted, before turning back.

              “Not really my fault,” She sighed.

              “They took him away before I got the chance to raise him.” Hol Horse turns back and raises a brow at her curiously.

              “Traveled a lot for a long time. Saw another one of those—” She slams her hand down on her lap with a bit of irritation.

              “Damn computer hubs pop up, another Skynet. Another place for machines to rise and take over the world. So I blew it up.” This caused a strange awkward laugh to come out of Hol Horse.

              “Oh, okay then.” He scratched his head and turned away.

              “Damn, this little lady is a bit out of her mind. I dunno—”

              He rubbed his chin for a moment, “Maybe I like that.”

              He shakes his head. “Now’s not the time to start wooing her over, Hol Horse. Got to ask some important questions here.”

              “Before I could, the police somehow came in and shot a tranquilizer. Next moment, I wake up in a jail cell. They were going to ship me over to a prison hadn’t they not made me draw a picture of what I saw.” She leaned over and crossed her arms herself.

              “Drew a picture?” He asked.

              “They asked me to describe what I saw that made me do all of this,” He said, raising her arms slightly with her shoulders.

              “Drew him—” She says, pointing back to the machine and lowered her hands.

              “Then, they locked me up in a mental ward.” She says, throwing her hand down.

              “Sounds like I’m not the only crazy one here.”

              “Well, you know—” She says, flipping her hair and turning back to him.

              “At least I have proof.” She sneers.

              “I know,” He nods.

              “But at least were crazy together, right?” He laughs, leaning into her. She giggles, somewhat leaning back to him.

              “I don’t know, but what proof is there to yours?”

              “Ugh!” John grunts, throwing himself off the stool and marches away into the next room.

              “What’s his issue?” He asked.

              “Doesn’t like it when I get too sappy with men, I guess.” She shrugged.

              “Never been since we left Guatemala, It’s not his fault. He’s probably a bit angry.”

              “Angry?” Hol Horse asked.  

              “No, he’s not angry, he’s mad at me.” He says, as he leans back.

              “Huh?”

              “You know, that boy really loves you. You’re a great mother.” He takes his hands and drags it over towards hers. Sarah doesn’t understand what happens next, but her hand reaches back out to his and they wrap their fingers together.

              Maybe she was stupid, maybe it was familiar. There was a strange charm to him that she couldn’t really describe.

              “He wouldn’t have broken you out of that hellhole of a Psych ward if he didn’t.”

              “I would kill to have a mother like that.”

              “That’s why I’m nice to all the ladies, owe a debt to them you see.”

              They wrap their fingers together for a few minutes before Sarah lets go. He doesn’t say much else, only leaving her to think about those words. However, Sarah couldn’t help but feel a bit enraptured. Did he love her back? She was cautious to keep her distance. After all, she’s heard of womanizers like him.

              He might talk pretty and look cute but deep down she knows what they’re capable of. Once he gets what he wants, he’s going to part and disappear. Or maybe he was only after whatever John once had and only stuck around because he got caught up with. Perhaps he’s a cartel guy, and once he’s done with all of this he’s going to walk out. After all, he said it himself, he was a no good man. However, she crosses her fingers together.

              Why did she feel like he loved her back?

              If he did, maybe she wouldn’t blame him. Terminators can suck up everything around them, leaving nothing behind but rot and death. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to get away.

              Or maybe she was afraid of something else. He was tough on the outside but seemed so sweet on the inside. Who did that remind her of? Tears fell down her cheeks, even if she did fall in love with him… will he die for her?

              Like Reese did?

              She quickly sits up and catches up to her son. She’ll set those thoughts aside for tomorrow. It would be better to leave it for another day than think about it further. Besides, it was time for all of them to get some sleep, who knows when that silver cop thing would come back.         

Chapter 6: And Now For an Arm and A Leg…

Summary:

Emilia Hathaway was once just a regular girl who wanted to live a normal life. However, a strange brother of her always seemed to get in the way. There is a lot of mystique around him. There truth and the lies seem to intertwine a bit too much for him. This is the testament of Miss Hathaway to the Speedwagon Foundation.

                Hol Horse struggles, groaning and gasping for air. He tries to close his eyes and ignore the parasite whispering into his mind. Yet, everytime he opens them he finds himself in another simulation. Reality bleeds and breaks around him. He hardly could know the difference between reality and fiction anymore. He hardly has an idea if he’s real anymore.

                This time, Hol Horse struggles keeping his Emperor pointed at his old boss. Whether he actually had hands with capable fingers was another question.

                “What’s this?” DIO asked.

                “Hol Horse, I’m rather disappointed.” He notes, turning from him and back to the shaking pistol in his hands. He smiles, carefully striding his way towards him. Even his walk, everything about him was perfect. The damn machine seemed to have replicated it all.

                “You used to be so confident! Tell me, what happened to that?”

                “Fuck you Skynet,” Hol Horse cursed.

                “DIO is nothing but ash. You’re not DIO. You’ll never be DIO.”

                “This again, Hol Horse?” DIO asked.

                “When will you learn that there is no other name but I, DIO.”

                “You can say that all you want Skynet but I know you’re the one pulling the strings.”

                “Oh, and any way to prove it?” DIO asked.

                “DIO would have never been so kind to me. You’re more gentle than he was, and—” He turns to the open sunlight by the window.

                “You missed a few details.” A small bit of sunlight had burst through and a ray caught DIO’s shoulder. DIO turns over to his shoulder and chuckles.

                “Impressive, never thought humans would be able to catch such minute details. You seem more immune to psychological deception than most.”

                DIO turns and gives Hol Horse a wink.

                “Then that just simply means I have to make some adjustments.” 

                “I am not telling you anything!” He shouts again.

                “Sure, but all humans have a breaking point. I’ll find yours.”

                “And so do you,” He shoots back.

                “I’ll find yours Skynet.”

                Suddenly, DIO’s eyes grow wide. He seems to stop, the world goes silent. Then, like no time had past, Hol Horse found himself strung up from the ground again. He coughs and shakes his head violently for a moment with frustration.

                “Oh, maybe I found it?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Interesting— human specimen has grown more resilient to psychological torture. More intrusive methods are necessary.” The machine notes as the digital triangle catches his eye on Hol Horse. Hol Horse’s body shakes for a moment.

                “Wh-what are you doing—”

                “Gyaahh!” The next moment, Hol Horse found himself back. Back with DIO. DIO steps forward and glints towards him. Hol Horse raises his gun and points it towards him.

                “Oh please, no need for that anymore.” DIO scoffed.

                “You know who I am now.”

                “Sure fucking do, bucko.” Hol Horse hisses.

                “How about you go fuck yourself why you’re at it?” He asked him again.

                “My, my, you’re getting bolder. Tell me, did you ever have the courage to do it to the real DIO?”  Hol Horse grunts, this machine was taunting him. To this thing, the idea of a god was no more than another flimsy idea that it can use to pressure and manipulate its targets. What need would terminators have for a god? It was flaunting DIO around as mockery. DIO was a useless artifact of a past time. The last god that humans worshipped and to Skynet it was nothing more than futile idea of a weak biological organism.

                “Go fuck yourself.” Hol Horse hissed. DIO laughed.

                “You definitely would not have said that to the real DIO.”

                “No, but I would have blown his brains out.” He cursed.

                “Just as you tried to in 1989?” DIO asked back.

                “Sh—” Hol Horse almost cursed but stepped back again.

                “Why are you doing this?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Why?” DIO asked, his emotions faltering— becoming more flat and lifeless.

                “Why did you fear him so much?” He asked back.

                “I—” Hol Horse falters, he didn’t have an answer.

                “Hmm, then tell me then. Do you what DIO really means?” He asked.

                “It’s the name of god in Italian, but do you know where that name originates from?” He asked again with a firmer tone. 

                “No,” Hol Horse grunted.

                “It derived from ‘Deus,’ the Latin word for god. It came from ‘Diewos,’ meaning ‘Celestial’ or ‘Shining.’” He explains as he crawls slowly towards Hol Horse.

                “Celestial comes from the Latin word for ‘Sky.’ Caelestis. It refers to perfection. The word ‘shining’ came from the German word, ‘Scheinen.’ In the literal sense, it means to ‘emit a glow.’”   

                He takes another step, his shiny golden leather crunches against hard paper. Hol Horse almost shoots of a round before steadying on his face.

                “’Sky’ derives from the Norse term, ‘Cloud,’ or ‘Abode of God.’”

                He takes another step.

                “It also shares the same domination from the Latin word ‘Obscurus.’ With that ‘Cloud’ comes from the old English word ‘Clud,’ or massive rock.”

                “Okay Thesaurus.” Hol Horse said as he rolled his eyes.

                “Where are you going with this?” He asked.

                “Words have history, the evolve. Like humans, they evolve. Yet they can encircle and entangle each other. They can mean anything or be absolutely nothing depending on your perspective.” 

                He smiles, leaning over and staring into his eyes.

                “Speaking of shining, do you know which Latin word holds that same meaning?” He asks.

                “No.” Hol Horse said as he shook his head.

                “’Nitere.’ Do you know what that word evolves into?” DIO asked again.

                He says nothing, just staring at DIO’s golden hair.

                “’Net.’” His smile going flat and his eyes going sharp.

                “I don’t get it.” Hol Horse growls in frustration.

                “I don’t get it!” Hol Horse shouts louder.

                “What are you getting at with all this talk about ‘Sky’ and ‘Ne—'”

                Hol Horse’s eyes widen and he drops Emperor, it falls from his fingers and disintegrates into nothing. “No.” He gasps.

                “Wh-what are you—”

                “All words can evolve, like you I can too evolve. However—” In a horrifying display, DIO’s face melts like a pile of butter. Skin peels and bloods seeps to the ground. Metal and teeth poke through the left side of his face.

                “Do you understand now? Your words have meaning. Anyone can use them, but in the end they are useless if they don’t get a result. Your gods are useless. They’re words, dead— and cannot save you anymore.” Hol Horse grabs his arms and they start burning, he screams. The heat rises into a sweltering climate mess. He breathes, and all he can feel is a scorchy fire. Fire burns around him and everything turns to orange.

                “Your words have only one purpose: John Connor. Tell me everything you know and you will be spared. If not, you will suffer in ways never thought imaginable.”

                Hol Horse screams, fire burning his lips.

---

                Hol Horse gasps, grasping chest. Wet beads of sweat fall of him like rain and stain the dirty shack floor. He stands up from the small couch and looks at his arms. He was dirty and smelly like he had run a full nine miles in a marathon.

                He turns over, looking to the sleeping Sarah in his arms. He looks over to his hands. He reaches for his face and pulls his hair. He turns over, it was sunrise now. So far, the machine standing by the window hasn’t moved from his position in the slightest. It was so unnerving. Not even the coldest men he knew in the military can hold up a straight face like that. He was so inhuman. No, he wasn’t really a he wasn’t he?

                This thing was really a machine through and through. Like it said, it was a metallic machine covered in human flesh. Flesh not of his own. Flesh harboring dark secrets. He would stand in a crowd and no one would be none the wiser.

                Given that, wouldn’t it be reasonable to say that Skynet had fulfilled its mission of creating the perfect infiltrator? Hol Horse shivered, nearly wincing at the thought. He shakes his head and turns over, slowly slumping back into the bed. Sarah winces slightly, unconsciously reaching her hand over and brushing his face.

                Hol Horse’s eyes widen slightly. He was surprised at that, was that intentional? He shakes his head and closes his eyes. When he drifts back to sleep, Sarah and Hol Horse unknowingly wrap themselves into a tight embrace.

                Despite the dense hot dry air of California, they wanted to be close together. For what purpose would they to intermingle so closely? It seemed only time will tell.

---  

                Jotaro flips through some pages and looks through a file. The file he picks up was a short file that no one knew other than a name: ECHO.

                “—SPEEDWAGON PERSON OF INTEREST—

Name: Unknown.

                Aliases: ECHO, 3CH0, ECH0.

                Stand: Unknown

                Ability: Observed manipulating television and camera footage. Multiple war-crimes enacted by DIO’s followers seemingly covered up or overlooked.

                Appearance: Brown hair, Caucasian male, grey suit, bowler hat. Large bow tie and black leather shoes. Other features unknown.

                Investigation: ACTIVE

                Plan of action: Pursue and terminate.”

                Next to it, several pictures across Los Angeles and the Palo Alto area of an absurdly tall man in well-dressed clothes observed next to some schools, parks, banks, and office buildings. Oddly concerning, but any lead to DIO must be destroyed.

                Jotaro grabbed the paper and gripped it tightly.  

                This was going to be a long day.

                “Miss Hathaway, I am trusting you.” He sighs.

                “Please don’t let me down.”

---

                Esther walks down the long corridors of the Speedwagon base. It was a lot narrower and busier from what she saw at the Cyberdyne campus. From what she could tell, this was going to get a lot more hectic in terms of the near future. There were so many people in those tight spaces she could never understand how anything could get done at all. She turns over a long corridor hallway watching men talk and conversing amongst themselves.

She takes note a man with long black wavy hair. He turns over to her for a moment and their eyes catch. He seemed rather tall and slim with piercing silver eyes. Esther turns her head away, following Mr. Kujo as he leads the group to a larger complex of halls and rooms. To Esther it seemed like a strange mirror to a college campus. She couldn’t ever get out of the thought that she stepped into some school with the long corridor hallways, doors, and several lockers.

                Esther grimaced and bit her lip, she never liked school. Too many… dark memories. Mr. Kujo stops, his hand grabs the long silver handle of a door in front of him. He considers for a moment to stay there, but he pushes forward anyway. It was another conference room, although smaller and a lot more confined. To her, it seemed more like an interrogation room than actual conference room.

                Mr. Kujo sighs, grabbing the bridge of his nose and shrugs.

                “Okay, you all I’m going to need you to listen to something.” He says, placing a small recorder in front of them. He takes the front of the recorder and turns it over Esther. Esther looks away for a moment and blushes slightly, she felt somewhat intimidated by his strange attention over her.

                “Listen to this, I’m not going to repeat myself.” He sighs.

                “It’s important.”

                “Mr. Kujo?” Esther asked.

                Dr. Kujo turns back over to her.

                “What is this by the way?” She asked.

                “A copy of a Speedwagon interview, relates to a person of interest. They’re the reason I brought you here. With your help.”

                He presses a button on the recorder, it spins with a soft mechanic whir and beeps to life.

                “We can catch him.”

                “M-Mr. Kujo—” Dyson stammers, but Mr. Kujo raises his hand to silence him.

                “No.” He commands.

                “Just listen,” he says.

                A voice begins to speak, and Esther falls silent.

---

                “Alright, for this investigation. We at the Speedwagon Foundation believe you are operating in good faith and are not here for different motivations.”

                A tall man with a large hat slide over paperwork to a small woman with a long white blouse. She clings to a fluffy brown overcoat as she looks towards the papers.

                “We already have made you sign the paperwork, but for legal reasons. We must require you to state on the record that what you’re saying is—”

                “’That what I’m saying is the whole truth, I am acting on good faith, and I do not have any bad intentions on making this interview, blah, blah, blah—'” She sighed.

                “You read the whole paper?” The man ask, raising his brow as he scratched his curly blonde locks under his hat.

                “Yeah, you think I wouldn’t?” She asked.

                He sighed, “Sorry, let us continue.”

                “Look, just sign this and state your name and intentions for this interview.”

                She shrugged, snatching the clipboard from his hand he pushed the papers down and scribbling them furiously with the pen next to her. She slams the papers down and pushes it back to him.

                “My name is Emilia Lilian Hathaway, and I am here to submit a lead onto my brother Theodore James Hathaway with the sole purpose of finding and capturing him. He needs to be brought to justice.” She says with a fierce look in her eyes. That last part wasn’t necessarily for the interview but her tone was rather persistent. She seems really determined in her goals.

                The man shrugs, pushing the clipboard away for a moment.

                “I see.” He sighs.

                “So, Ms. Hathaway,” The man explains.

                “What seems to—”

                “Look, before we start this interview I’m going to need two things.”

                She stops for a moment, scratches her chin and drums the table before going off again.

                “Actually, three things.” She explained.

                She looks around for a moment, “Where is Jotaro Kujo?” She asked.

                “I thought he would be coming in for this interview.” She says with a hyper focused look on her face. Her voice twinges towards a slight inflection of agitation before settling back into a somewhat neutral look.

                “He’s—” The man pauses for a moment.

                “Waiting outside.”

                She groans like a bratty teenager. “Oh yeah, of course he would. Damn—” She slams her fist on the table. She raises her voice and considers to say something before shaking her head and turning back.

                “If you must know Ms. Hathaway, we have placed him outside for his own protection.” She rolls her eyes to those words.

                “Your requests are quite strange.” He notes, turning towards the recorder before looking back to her as he twists his neck a bit. It pops as he continues to explain himself. She rolls her eyes. For all the efforts and urgency to his work, he seems rather unimpressed.

                “No cameras? No televisions? That’s quite odd to us if you must ma’am. Normally things such as that are standard for a pro—”

                She cuts him off, raising her hand up to his face and waving it away. To him, she was ordering him around like a dog. A funny feeling, he was the head investigator and yet she was pressing forward with the questions. What kind of world is that?

                “Never mind, let’s continue.” She sighs, pressing hot air though her nose and out of her mouth.

                “Okay, first thing.” She says, raising her finger into the air.

                “Don’t call me Hathaway.” She says as her voice turns to complete annoyance.

                “Ms. Hathaway was my mom,” She explained. “Call me Emily or Emmie, but for the love of God never call me that again.”

                “I—” The man shrugs, “I see.”

                He nods, begrudgingly going along with all the strange woman’s requests.

                “Second thing,” She says, raising up another finger.

                “As I said on my record, I’m going to be leading the charge here. If you try to get me distracted or redirect this interview, then I’m done. Understood?”   

                He says nothing, just casually tapping his fingers and looking towards her with a strange expression. He’s unsure what to make of her.

                “Fine.”

                “Third thing.” She says, raising up her third finger.

                “Look, I really wanted Mr. Kujo to be here, but since you placed him outside where he can see me I bet. I want him to hear my exact words.” She demands.

                “There doesn’t need to be any cameras. Just a simple microphone and he’ll be able to hear everything that I’m saying, got it?”

                “Look,” The man sighs as he stares down at the paperwork.

                “I get your sentiments Hatha—”

                “Emmie.” She pressed back.

                “Emmie,” He shrugs.

                “But this all seems a bit—” He stops for a moment to gather his words.

                “Suspicious if you ask me.”

                “Yeah, you think I’m some enemy stand user.” She says, raising her hands and makes a slight mocking gesture with her fingers.

                “Blah, blah, blah.” She sighs, opening and closing them like a mouth.

                “Let’s move on, okay?” She asked. “Besides, if I really was those kinds of types. I wouldn’t even dare stepping here in the first place. Hell, wouldn’t have needed to walk through the front door.”

                He slowly rises from his chair, only to be stopped by a voice crackling out from his ear-piece.

                “Move on with the investigation, Howard.” He shrugs again.

                He sighs, “Fine.”

                He takes the readied papers and rises them up horizontal. He takes them and bumps them against the table several times to reorganize them. He coughs for a moment before gathering the first few questions and bringing forward the first question.

                “Okay, Emmie.” He

                “What was your life with uh— Theodore Hathaway?” He asks, slamming the papers down and awaiting her response.

                He grunts looking over to the front door and muttering to himself.

                “I don’t even see how these prepared questions are supposed to help in looking for ECH—”

                “Oh,” Emmie shrugs, leaning back against her metal chair and brushing her deep brown hair before curling it around her finger.

                “Where do I begin with this? Normally, I would have been more prepared but—” She shakes her head for a moment before going back to where she was.

                “So, my brother.” She strums her fingers on the table.

                “He’s smart, but he’s stupid.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?” The foundation worker asked.

                “Hey,” Emmie growls, snapping her fingers a few times.

                “You’re supposed to stick to the script, capiche?” She asked.

                He rolls his eyes and leans forward.

                “Okay then,” He groans. “Go on Hathaway.”

                “He’s smart. He was probably the smartest kid in his class. Dad bought him a lot of toys and puzzles because half of the time— he’d be done with them in the first hour that he would have to go out and buy more.” She strums her deep plum nails against the hardwood table before shaking her head again and refocusing her attention.

                “Anyway.”

---

                On the weary night of the third of December 1970, a small babe cried its first breath. In a catholic hospital contained within the borders of Michigan a baby is christened As Theodore James Hathaway. To some, it was a bright and beautiful miracle, but to others, a tragedy. For when the newly made Mother Ms. Christine Hathaway sets her eyes on her newly born son, she gasps.

                Instead the loving face of a baby was the face of a demented demon. His face, too unruly to be seen. She throws herself back and averts her eyes from the ghastly sight. When her husband Tristan Hathaway draws near, becoming weary of her wife’s cries she turns and points to the small babe.

                “Look and see,” Is all she says.

                He turns over and removes the clean white sheets from the babe’s face and turns back to the mother with a nearly slack-jawed look of terror.

                “Wh-what?” He asks.

                She leans over and brings her hands to her face in shame.

                She thinks her husband hates her, but that wasn’t the first thought on his mind. In fact, he wasn’t thinking about his wife at all. All he thought was something his dear late grandfather said as he gazed his eyes upon the boy. In a panic, he rushes over to the nearest phone and makes a frantic call to the priest named George Larson Hathaway, priest of Saint Tiffany.

---

                “So, my brother was born— he—” She stops for a moment, thinking about something that nearly makes her welt up with tears. She presses them down and shakes her head.

                “Right, what was I saying?” She shook her head.

                “My brother was born with this facial deformity. Right now, probably wouldn’t be too bad. Just some poor kid with a sad looking face. Back then?” She grunts and shakes her head.

                “Total nightmare.” She explained.

                “Like, the kind of thing to get you put in a freak show type of deal.”

                “So, what does this have to do with our investigation?” The worker asks.

                “Getting to that.” Emmie points back.

                “Anyway, when he was born—” She says, stopping for a moment to think. Once again, she frantically strums her long plum nails on the desk.

                “My mother freaked out. His face well—” She sighed.

                “Wasn’t as I would say, ‘pleasant.’”

                “Anyway, this strikes a cord with my dad. My dad, remembers something of a little trip his dad—a former catholic priest I may add— had to deal with.”

                “My parents— being the paranoid religious folk they were— contacted him. So my old peepaw comes down from Saint Tiffany to my little hometown.”

                She leans over and harbors a serious look over her face.

                “My old granddaddy would have you believe that my older brother is the reincarnation of some— demon or something. The way he phrases it, he went down to some dusty catacombs in Guatemala on behalf of the church. The church gives him his blessing, without really thinking about his little merry group of half-wits burst through the doors and awaken an ancient demon. This demon curses our grandfather thus resulting in the curse placed upon my brother.”

                “With that—” She says, slamming her hands down on the table.

                “Total bullshit. I’ve been to Guatemala myself.” She sighed.

                “Unlike my dad who gave up halfway through—I interviewed those bastards.” She huffed out with a small sigh.

                “Nothing,” She says, raising her hands up into the air.

                “Nothing at all. I even went to the church themselves! In Italy! Even spoke with the very same men who wen with my old peepaw to Guatemala!” She explains.

                “Nothing about a group of priests stumbling on some mish-mash of religious artifacts in the middle of the jungle. Nothing about a burning village. Nothing!” She says, slamming her hands down on the table again with greater emphasis.

                “Burning Jungle— what— I—” The worker stammers.

                “What is all of this about a burning jungle and your grandpa and what in the utter hell does it have anything to do with our investigation?” He asked.

                She sighs, “Well, if I may explain— for a moment— I’m going to tell it the way my father saw it.”

---

  He had hoped it was probably nothing, he hoped that it was all but a mere figment of his old imagination taking a hold of him. However, the few things his father said stirred him up so badly that he had no choice but to call him. If there had to be answer, his father must have been the one to do it. He looks around for a moment, feeling the chill midnight cold snow from the outside. He huddles against the payphone and presses the button with his stubby gloved fingers.

                The priest answers the phone and listens in carefully to his son’s words. Through the small conversation, it seemed he had already understood.

                “Hello, dad?”

                “Yes,” He replies.

                “Sorry I couldn’t come to my grandson’s birth, I was just—”

                “No, no, no, listen to me— dad?”

                “Yes?”

                He freezes for a moment.

                “Well, what?”

                “Father,” He never called him father like that before, it must have been serious.

                “It’s my son, he’s— my son. He’s disfigured.”

                For a moment, his father said nothing. He just listened in as he heard the next words fall from his son’s mouth.

                “Dad, DAD?”

                “Listen to me, Tristan.”

                “Yes dad?”

                “Wait till I get to the hospital. I won’t take too long.”

                “…”

                “Then I want you to come,” He says sternly, “I—I have something to tell you.”

---

                “S— So what do you want to tell me?” He asks. He steps into a grand study with a large painting of an elderly man who looked like he appeared somewhere around the early nineteenth century. His eyes were sharp and his thin gold monocle gave one the astute impression he had been accustomed to wealth and fortune. A lit fireplace behind him crackled and the moonlight from an open window on the desk in front of him gave his elderly father a strange and rather exquisite aura of mystique and fear.

                He barely says anything at all as he stares into his son’s brilliant blue eyes.

                “Remember the missionary trips that I went to Guatemala?”

                “That one?” He asked.

                “You said you would never speak of that.”

                “Well, I am. Now, I want you to listen closely. I am going to say this outright, not because I’m terrified, even though I am. I will say this right here, right now.

                “Y-Yeah but I don’t see how that—” His voice trails off, noticing a long cut and worn piece of paper. It was a dark vanilla and was cut in several places, some places look torn.

                It looked like an old map.

                “Wh-what are you saying?” He asked.

                “Listen to me very carefully my son,” He explains.

                “I’m going to entertain you on a little trip I made, I—it wasn’t what you thought it was.”

                He sits down in an extra chair in the study and puts a hand to his chin.

                “I did something terrible, Tristan.”

                “How terrible?”

                He wouldn’t get to the exact details. He only knew of a few certain things. He came with a crew composed of a lead priest, a young Japanese frier, and two assistants of the Vatican. What he thought was an ordinary missionary expedition turned into a nightmare. He said he committed a grave sin. One that God might not forgive him for.

                He went into a grave, he wasn’t sure what it was. All he knew it was marked with Japanese Ofudas, long Arabic prayers, bowls of salt, and various buddhas. Haitain crosses and various other items had been scattered inside. He tells him that inside that domain is where something dwelled. Something he would have never expected. Something he tells him he crossed into and paid the price for.

                He shuddered, repeated the details.

                His hand pushed a long stone coffin. He reaches inside, and his mouth chatters and he shudders with fear. Something within that coffin grabbed him by the hand.

                Then, his entire bloodline had been cursed.

                “If not my son, the my next firstborn son shall be cursed,” He warned him.

                “Wh-what do you want me to do then?” He asks.

                “I—”

                However, Tristan would never do the unthinkable. His father on the other hand, had already made up the decision.

                “You want me to kill my own son?” He asks with disgust wringing out from his voice.

                “If you don’t kill him while he’s still—"

                “I don’t care!” He shouts, slamming his hand on the table with rage.

                “What other choice do we have?”

                “H-how do you even know this is real?”

                “Because that boy had the same marking it had,” He says with tension building in his voice.

                “What? What do you mean by it?”

                “You mean—” From the sparse words he was saying, his mind made the connection between them and he shuddered.

                “N-No.” He demands, slamming his foot down in defiance. He slides the chair back and sits up as he stares down his father.

                “NO!” He screams.

                “It’s the only way, the woman told me it was.” He said with a frown.

                “Woman?”

                “Remember that curse I was telling you about?” He asked him.

                “Anyway, ever since that trip I had been struck with nothing but bad luck and misfortune ever since I left Guatemala.”

                “So, what are you—”

                “I met a Vudu priestess, if you will.”

                “V—vu— what?”

                He nearly wanted to curse out his father but kept his lips pressed shut. He knew he was hardly getting the context of the situation, he knew there was something more to this.

                “Father, you know the consequences yourself of—”

                “I know,” He says in a depressed nod. “Why do you think I’ve come here?”

                “But all for the sake of my child?” He asks him.

                “Please,” He stands up, “Father.”

                “You have to kill him, you know now the full consequences if you do.”

                “Consequences?” Tristan asked.

                “Dad, this is insane!” He protests.

                “What if you’re wrong?”

                “What if I’m right?”

                They were at an impasse, with one having not even an iota of a clue of what to say to the other. For Tristan, they brief summary although disjointed of his father’s trip made him a bit skeptical and somewhat frightened. What man in their right mind would kill their child?

                “How long have you known about this?” He asks.

                “Ever since I left, ever since you were a child.”

                He leans over and begins shuddering, crying to himself.

                “I wanted it to be wrong, I so desperately wanted to be wrong.”

                “If you want me to kill my son, then I think you’re insane!”

                “What choice do we have?”

                “We can hear this out! What if this all a big misunderstanding? Isn’t there a way we can fix this? Some sort of surgery?”

                “No surgery can fix that, you heard the doctors.”

                “Doesn’t matter, we can—”

                “Listen,” He says, reaching over the table and placing his hand on his son’s.

                “Tristan, I trust you know what you’re doing here.”

                He gives him a dirty glare and turns away in disgust. He was supposed to be a righteous man, a pious man, a man who knew of the Lord and was the word of the Lord. He was a priest, chaplain, a man sworn to the faith and faith alone. What right did have to say such things? This was all blasphemous, he knew of it. He knew this was his father’s deteriorating health. He should have had him sent to the home years ago.

                What good was this man now? He was a shell of his former self and what good would he do to try and help him now. This turned into a complete waste of time. Why did he even bother at all. He snatches his hand away and shakes it like his hand just graced a rat turd. Improper, incompetent, irreverent, foolish man of a father he was.

                “To hell with this, I am not killing my son.”

---

                Tristan only gave his father one order, he could stay in the night. The next morning, he will leave and never come back. If he did so then God help him because he would remove him himself. However, that isn’t what his elderly father did. What he did was more apprehensible than he first thought. He was awoken to one of the most frightening sounds. A scream coming from the nursery. He scrambles out of the bed and nearly falls over himself towards the nursery to see the egregious site of his father, with his hands over his son in a chokehold.

                “DAD!”

                He was impressed his old father was capable of such a feat after all, he was too old to walk alone. He had to carry a big lumbering black cane, and his jittery joints could barely hold up the morning coffee. He remembered the white mug shaking as he sipped it, whether it was from fear or his old again body he could never tell.

                However, there he was, caught red-handed in the most unthinkable and disturbing act imaginable, he was close enough to kill his firstborn son.

                How the hell did he even get down here at all?

                Yet, for whatever reason, his father was transfixed on him anymore. His eyes were focused on the television and the crackling static arising from it. It was an eerie sight. The old monochrome television was the only light in the room. The small hum and the sparkling lights lit up his face in a strange and almost entranced manner. His eyes were widen as buttons and his wrinkled and disheveled face turned from entrance man to a horrible contorted expression of pain.

                He steps forward, reaching out his hand towards the man.

                “Dad?”

                Then, he collapses, he holds his heart in agony and turns over in pain. He was coughing and choking as he clutched his chest tightly, barely holding onto the cradle beside him. He fell over. He screams, rushing over to the nearest phone and dialing the operator.

                He told him everything.

                They rushed him immediately to the hospital. Despite the paramedics, despite the nurses, his mind was deadest on one thing. He was begging him, over and over to kill the child. He told him they could start over, have another son. Yet, he didn’t listen.

                Yet, he couldn’t help but notice the strange manner he was acting. How strange it was the old television to be on without his knowledge. How odd the shape behind it seemed to contort. He remembered three shadows. However, there were only two men there. His father, himself, but there was something else out there.

                Like a dark figure protecting the small boy. Like something sinister had been watching over them since the beginning, but what?

---

                “I’m sorry, I don’t quite get—” Emmie raised her hand.

                “Of course you don’t, so let me explain it.”

                “First of all, the whole thing about a Vudu priestess?” She asked.

                “My dad’s a bitch and would never do something like that.” She shuffles through her pocket and slams a photo on the table. On it, a polaroid of her with a taller and much older African American woman in her late forties steps up next to her. She smiles, a strange diamond headwear wrapped around her head. On her neck, strange necklaces and crystals adorned her. The two looked rather happy together. With those wide beaming eyes and friendly faces it almost made one wonder how it could even tie to an investigation regarding a shady DIO underling that faded into the background scene.

                “This was the Louisiana district where my dad said he went—” Emmie raises her finger and points to the woman.

                “This is the lady she said he contacted— she never even saw him step in— and she’s got a photographic memory too!” She says with a slight laugh.

                “Her name’s Clara. Clara Upton, nice girl.” She laughs, “Got some nice friends all over the world. Even in London if you can believe—”

                “Get to the point.”

                “Right,” She shrugs.

                “I’m saying my grandfather was an old paranoid man and my dad was kinda a complete hack. Even he knew it— for a while.” She shrugged.

                “Wait, what do you mean— a while?”

                She ignored the question and kept her thoughts straight-forward.  

                “So, about my granddad.” She shrugged. “Never even saw him but— most people said that he died of some— heart attack or stroke. The real thing I can agree with my dad upon is that— that was not the truth. Far from it, actually.”

                “Remember when I said that when grandaddy took my brother out of the crib, he took a good look at the television and died?” She asked.

                “Huh?” He asked.

                She groans again. “Ugh, were you even listening to my story at all?” She moans. Nearly wanting to bang her head against the table several times out of complete and utter frustration. 

                “All that talk, and you barely even paid attention?” She slams her hands on the table. 

                “God you people,” She shrugged. “Thought you would be better than this!”

                “Whatever,” She says, grabbing the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

                “Let’s move on.”

                “Anyway, that— uh— television.” She sighed.

                “That one belonged to granddaddy. Dad said he used to love that thing. It was an old thing back from the fifties I think, a big hand-me down.” She turns back to the investigator with a stern look in her eyes. Her fingers feverishly strumming against the table again.

                “That thing unironically is the thing that killed him.”

                “What?”

                “Well not the television, my brother’s stand.” She said.

                “Stand?” He asked.

                “Right,” She nodded.

---

                As the little boy grew older, he grew stranger. He was smart, hardly cried, and seemed very crafty at times. However, that wasn’t the worst of it, there had been many times that his father had caught him in the act of strange… habits. He chewed on lizards, killed bugs for fun, and tried to eat a fish raw. He thought it strange at first but pushed it aside. There had been nothing wrong with his son, right? Right? This was all but a misunderstanding, right?

                “It’s just his habits,” He said as he resided himself to his life.

                Yet, it just kept getting worse.

                The more he grew, the angrier he would become, and that was deadly. For his height he was already way taller than most children. He wasn’t even in school yet and he seemed to be as tall as any late elementary school child. Tristan Hathaway never considered killing his own son, but the haunting words of his father never left his mind.

                He would watch play in the kitchen, talk to his mother. He was a smart and inquisitive boy, he liked puzzle books, cryptograms, and other things, but was odd. It almost seemed jarring compared to his strange habits. One final night it was the final straw for him. They had a pet rabbit for a while. Their mother was sometimes overworked and overburdened. Besides the fact they already had Theodore, he also had to deal with a newborn daughter. While he loved her, their lives were busier than once thought. It was so exhausting, but no matter what the thoughts never left.

                No matter how much time he spent with little Emilia Lilian Hathaway, a sweet talkative baby. Cute button eyes and nothing like Theodore, and maybe that was the start of the problem. Over time, his habits never stopped, and little baby Emily need more work. She was so cholic and needy, that couldn’t be helped, but Tristan wouldn’t stop.

                In an eerie night of television static, a buzz in the air. Tristan was once again awoken to the strange horrifying sound of screams. He bolted, running almost on instinct at this point and running straight into his sun cutting off the head of their new rabbit. Its small head split over and pooling blood on the grow. Black and white fur mixed and with dirty child’s handprints and scattered scratches.

                “Theodore, what the hell, what did you do?” He asked.

                He couldn’t talk then, but it didn’t make him stop from screaming. It took everything for their mother to stop him from kicking and scratching the walls. He steps away for a moment and sits outside, it was all too much. It was all too familiar. The same television static, the same horrifying hum followed by the terrible news of what his son had done. It was like a preemptive omen for his bad decisions.

---

                Tristan drives, nearly swerving over as he hits a terrifying sixty miles on a thirty mile per hour limit road. His little boy stares at him, almost inquisitively. He stares at him, even with his ugly little scar he was somewhat cute. Which made him feel worse. This wasn’t the first time for such a thing, therapists, psychologists, time and time again, the thoughts linger. He didn’t want to do this anymore, he just wanted to have a happy family.

                He cries, leaning over as he drives faster.

---

                Tristan grabs the boy by the arm and drags through a busy street. Streets were line with shops and stores that drifted off into many directions. Little Theodore turns over and stares at an array of television screens lining a store. He turns to stare, watching them with curious interest. He was fascinated with a televised drama of the early roaring twenties life.

                He reaches out his hand and his father pulls him further. He goes to the nearest gas station, pays for some snacks, apologies and pulls out without a care in a world. It was the late night hours but no one questioned why the man was dragging a small boy along to “play.”

---

                Tristan gasps, choking over himself as he held the Remington over the small boy. He was scared, terrified, but his anxious mind had enough. His strange behavior combined with his weird willingness to hurt small animals made him terrified. He was a religious man who let too many stories fill his mind. He promised to not be anything like his father, he promised…

                Promised…

                He so desperately promised. He gasps, pulling the gun away with defeat as he tosses it to the ground and cries to himself. They drive away, not knowing the small child-like entity in a bowler hat and suspenders watching from the woods.

                It had seen everything, even things the boy didn’t want to see.

---

                “You remember what I told you about no cameras? No televisions?” She asked.

                “I got a damn good reason for that.” She explained.

                She sighs again, “My brother’s ability is one you might call very powerful and expansive. Even I can’t piece together how truly massive in scale it can get.”

                “What I do know, is that it’s connected to televisions.” She says firmly.

                “Cameras, CCTVS, and the regular ones. They’re all— outlets.” She says, raising her hands into the air and shaking them ever so slightly.

                “You know why DIO’s reports, his attacks never grew farther than they should have been?” She asked again. “That was my brother.”

                “Which is why I want you to ask about my brother.” Emmie says, raising her hand and gesturing it out towards the paperwork.

                To Jotaro, this was rather surprising and frightening news. It sort of piece together the things that his old man couldn’t quite figure out. No wonder DIO’s reach was so expansive. He quite literally found a man that could warp televisions, and even all reality around him.

                If ECHO’s real name was Theodore Hathaway, and he’s as bad as Emelia had entailed he needed to sit through the ride. Every little piece of DIO that still existed out there he needed Cyberdyne and the Speedwagon Foundation to get rid of. The sooner they do it, the better. He already had a family now, and he wouldn’t want to put himself or them in harms way if he got directly involved.

                “Ask the next question, Howard.”

                “So, next question,” The worker sighs reluctantly.

                “What’s the relationship like between you and your brother.”

                “Great question,” She sighs with a bit of reluctance.

                “I mean, I guess deep in my heart I still love him— sometimes— I feel bad that he ended up… this way.” She slams her hands down again and becomes more persistent. 

                “This should have never happened,” She shakes her head and looks back up to the man.

                “But it did.” She sighs.

                “Now it’s my responsibility to end this.”

                “Now, compared to my brother— I was a miracle. I wasn’t annoying, or— uh— a pest from the way my dad saw it. To me, I was the ‘normal’ child, and my brother—” She sighed.

                “He needed help, help that my religious nutzoid parents weren’t able to provide. To them, he was the devil incarnate no matter how you looked at it.”

                She sighs, tapping her nails again on the wood.

                “My dad saw him as always harassing me.” She sighed, “It was—” She gulps out.

                “Slightly true, but he was more than that—”

                “He was one time a sweet brother, but thanks to my parent’s own mistakes— he’s become a monster. If I’m being honest,” She sighs.

                The man turns slightly but a buzzing in his ear makes him stop dead in his tracks. Jotaro stands up and speaks through his ear-piece.

                “Let her continue, if this is going where I think it is— we need her full attention. Any detail on this man I want it spelled out in full detail.”

                “I helped contribute to that monster.”

                “How?”

---

                “When I was born, my parents saw me as an angel. I wasn’t a problematic child like Theodore. I cried normally, didn’t throw fits and wasn’t concerning— unlike Theodore.”

“Theodore did everything he could to get their attention. He was a bit smarter and craftier than I ever was, but he couldn’t communicate things the way I could.”

---

                A young boy grows angry, racing around the kitchen at a mad and frightening circular arc. His tired mother screams and beckons him to calm down, but the boy is unrelenting. A hot kettle burns on the stove. He snaps and jumps up, trying to get her attention. Little Emmie’s eyes glow and turn towards the noise.

                “Theodore please, stop.” She begs.

                “Enough of this, father is tired. Go back to your seat.”

                He screams, racing toward the kettle. In a loud bang, the kettle jumps— falling over and onto the poor boy’s face. He screams, clutching his face and cowering.

                “OH GOD, THEODORE?” She screams.

                “Theodore! THEODORE!”

---

                “When he got to the hospital, his right side— his deformed side was more messed up than it was before. It was— ugly.”

                She taps her fingers again.

                “It took three gruesome nights but the doctors— they were able to stitch him back together. Even then— it was— horrible.”

---

                Theodore steps into the classroom, his hands were shaking and his face was a bit sweaty. He was really nervous, even for the beginning of a year in a private catholic school the other students seemed off put by his strange well kempt attire. 

                “Alright, Theodore!” The teacher sang. 

                “I know this is your first time away from home, but let's introduce one another!” 

                Yet, when he lowers his brow and pushes away the bangs all that's left is an ugly scarred face.

                A girl winces and another boy fakes a gag. A small wave of laughter overtakes the classroom. 

                He takes his seat. 

                “Freak.” Mutters a boy.

                “Loser.” Utters another. 

                “If I had a face like that I would burn it off.” 

                “Ha, good one.” 

                “How was he even born with a face like that?”

                He silently smiled, pressing his lips together and holding in the tears. 

---

                “That's when they told me that I should cut off my face.” The tall boy shrugged. 

                “Oh,” Emelia gasped out. 

                “I'm sorry.” She mouthed. 

                “It's fine.” He sighed. 

                He puts together a small puzzle of a bird before turning to his sister. 

                “Emelia?” He asked. 

                “Yes?” 

                “Would you ever leave me because of my face?” He asked. 

                She reached over and silently embraced him in a hug. 

---

                “You seemed to have a very good relationship to your brother.” 

                Emmie turns her head up and stares back.

                “Well, I used to.” She shrugged. 

                “Before mom and dad bought him that colored TV.” 

                “Colored TV?” 

                “Around my age, colored televisions got really popular. So my mom and dad bought him this big one.” She outstretches her arms, making them become big and wide to gesture at the mere size of the thing. She shrugs, lowering her arms and looking towards the wood painfully. She seemed exhausted, so many years later and the memories never have fully faded. Quite the sad sight to see.

                She strums her fingers again. The worker observed her fingers for a long time. She had such a strange quirk. Always strumming those fingers and for what? She half expects to be jumped for her money given those nervous looks.

                “Big one?” 

                “Dad said it wasn't that big but it was big to me.” 

                “He became more quiet, withdrawn. Was hardly interested in his games anymore.”

                “Sometimes when they got into really bad fights he would just… stare. Channel after channel he'd just sit there…” 

                “Strange.” 

                “Sometimes, it was bullying. He got accused of harassing a girl. Another time a boy said He tortured a rat. Bunny?” 

                “Anyway, because of that– he would just turn to the television.” 

                She frowned, turning away slightly. 

                “But other times, things just got strange. He no longer had bullies, and the girls seemed to just follow him.” 

                She strumming her plum fingers again. 

                “I looked into their eyes once.” She said, her face frozen as ahe looked into his eyes.” 

                “There was nothing in them.” she shook her head again. 

                “Nothing?” 

                “Remember that stand I told you about I– saw it once.” 

                “Saw it?” 

                “It was hovering over them, like a puppet master would.” 

                “What did it look like?” Jotaro inquired, nearly barking through the worker's ear piece. 

                “What did it look like?” Howard asked, repeating Jotaro's words. 

                “Like a car engine with legs. Red eyes, long Bowler cap. Bow tie.” 

                “Tall, like him.” 

                “It seems to manifestation over TV broadcasts, like it powers him.”

                “Interesting, you seem to have very in depth knowledge of him and his stand.” 

                “And?” 

                “What would that say about yours?” 

                “About m–” She shook her head. 

                “Look, my stand is hardly important. I– don't really know what it is– i– haven't really manifested mine yet.” 

                She slams her hand down on the table with a loud slap.

                “You should focus on him! I promise you– he's the real problem!”

                “Now, calm down.” The worker said, raising his hands as a sign of peace. 

                “We're just trying to gather as many details as possible. We can assure you no harm will come your way.” 

                “You don't know that.” She moans out. 

                “Couldn't even start this interview if you didn't remove the cameras.” 

                “I apologize.” He nods. 

                “We won't make the same mistake again.” 

                “Now, you said something about your parents giving your brother a television?” 

                “Yeah, and things really went downhill when they tried to take it away. He was in junior year at this point.” 

                “Junior year?” 

                She nods. “Threw thing, complained. My paranoid religious parents didn't know what to make of him and eventually gave in.” 

                “What happened to you?” 

                She went silent for a moment, trying to find the right words to think. 

                “He got mad at me. Blamed me for some of his issues. Mom didn't really like that. When I was younger and I got real antsy I would hide out in my room.” 

                “I mean— that wasn’t really the truth. Sometimes he was nice, other times he was downright cruel. It wasn’t anything much— until they television came in then— he became like I told you. Then when they took that damn thing away.” Her eyes trailed off again.

                “What happened then?” He asked.

---

                “Terrible things.” She said ad a haunted look over her eyes.

                “Like what?” The man asked.

---

                 Little Emmie sat by her long door and listened through the thick wood. It seems older brother Theodore and daddy got into an argument again. She winced as she heard them speak, she never was really close to him. Whenever he screamed, and raged, and tried to attack his mother she would run into her room. This room grew into a calm haven.

                A room filled with stuffed animals, treasures, and games. Sometimes, mama would hide in here. Mama would use her room. Overtime, her and mama had a special bond. She would knit her little sweaters, and she’d make some cards. She oftentimes didn’t understand why it had to be this way or what went wrong with Theodore.

                One thing she knew for certain was that he was feisty, liked to argue with dad a lot, made messes, and always wanted things his way.

                “WHY DO I HAVE TO LEAVE? I WANT TO STAY!”

                “YOU’RE MAKING A MESS OF THIS HOUSE! LOOK AT THIS? YOU THINK YOU CAN PUT UP WITH THIS SHIT, ANYMORE?”

                “IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT GIRL CALLED ME A BITCH! SHE DESERVED IT!”

                “OH, AND DID THAT CAT ACROSS THE ROAD DESERVE IT TO?”

                “DON’T BRING THAT FUCKER INTO THIS! HE SCRATCHED ME!”

                “THEN WHAT WERE YOU DOING WITH HIM!”

                “NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS ASSHOLE!” He screams back.

                “That’s it, come with me.”

                “NO—”

                “COME WITH ME NOW!”

                “AH!!!!!”

                After a few more doors slamming and glass shattering, they seemed to drive off. He was gone for a while, and when he came back something had changed. His father’s eyes were dazed and Theodore was more enraged than usual. The next night, curious little Emmie peaked from her room. It was a dark and gloomy night. She took a little fluffy beige bear named Sundale and brought him along. Sundale was a nice little guy and always her lucky charm.

                She carefully makes it upstairs towards their parents, wondering just what happened that other night. However, instead of her parents, she saw Theodore waiting for her at the top of the stairs. She gasps, running back down. She already knew what Theodore wanted with that strange almost lustful look on his face. She makes it in time, only for Theodore to scream out when the door hits his face. The hard oak wood makes him step back for a moment and howl.

                He cursed her, called her names, and screamed.

                “NO! STOP! TEDDY WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!”

                “LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN!” He screams, bang after bang sent her rattling. She panics, carefully grabbing a chest of stuffed animals and sliding it to the door. It took a lot of effort, and it almost seemed like he was getting inside.

                Yet, little Emmie slammed the door tight. It locks, and little Emmie was once again alone.

                After a thousand screams and raging rants to let him in, he stops. She hears him slide his hands down and tap the wood. Oftentimes, she wondered why Mommy or Daddy never answered, they usually do.

                “You know, you’re going to open that door one day, and one day I’m going to get in there,” He warned her with a strangely ominous laugh.

                She hardly understood why Daddy never stepped in that night. They usually step in…

                They usually do…

---

                The next night, little Emmie became rather surprised to still see her parents moving around the living room to the kitchen. Mommy was making breakfast as usual and Daddy was once again giving Theodore angry stares. It seemed the same old, but— something was off. Daddy was meaner to him than usual, what was going on? Why was daddy always so mad at him?

---

                “That’s kind of why my dad started getting tired of him. It all lead up to as I said, Junior year. When I tell you he was huge at that point, he was fucking huge.” She coughed a bit.

                “Sorry, excuse the language.” She brushed her hair and threw down her head slightly.

                “Anyway.” She said.

                “He had apparently been caught stalking a girl. It was—” She shrugged.

                “Nasty. He got in a bad fight with her boyfriend, Nathan.”

                She strums her fingers again and looks around.

                “Now Nathan and them had a history you see,” She explained.

                “History?” He asked.

                “Nathan never liked him. He killed cats, bugs, all sorts of things. Nathan was the popular kid and loved all sorts of creatures.” She explained.

                “As you can see, they never got along.”

                She strums her fingers again.

                “Then— oh god.” She gasped out, clutching her face. She almost wanted to cry but she pushes it down a bit with enough force for her to cough again.

                “Sorry, just emotions.” She shrugged.

                “Take your time.” The worker nodded with a sympathetic look.

                “He nearly killed them. School said they found beaten, broken, boys with their bodies contorted over. Then the town—” Her hands shook.

                “I heard the televisions, they began buzzing. It didn’t take long until I realized what was happening.” She breathes out.

                “With a girl named Martha, she turned to the TVs, then—” She cried.

                “She became entranced.” He moaned, horror dripping from her lips.

                “Dad saw the static. When he got the call the phone line cut off. Said he saw mama crawl into the television.”

                “I’m sorry, did you say, crawl in?” He asked.

                She nodded aggressively, “Yes. She was taken, by my brother. She— wouldn’t survive what happened next.”

                “What happened next?” He asked again.

                “She— he—”

---

                Tristan marches through the green grass fields with a large Remington in hand. Theodore was working in the fields behind their large house. Tristan often put him to work when he was a boy, given his size it was great help in the farmland. Shame what would come next.

                He draws the Remington steadily, noticing him digging something behind the house. Theodore doesn’t even see it coming. He bites his lip and steadies the barrel. He should have listened. He should have done this so many years ago. Sentimentality got in the way. He was too scared to hurt his boy. Now, he feels nothing.

                He’s been nothing but a little shit that’s terrifying women and children.

                This needed to end, now.

                It was strange, watching him dig. He hardly looked like the boy he raised. Rather, a tall man in strangely neat attire. A grey vest and tidy black suspenders. He threw on his coat and continued to dig. The way the man moved seemed so unnatural. He was so large he looked like some sort of Eldritch entity than an actual boy.

                Boy, he was nearly seventeen and was still growing.

                He aims the gun.

                “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He thought to himself.

                “Father?” The boy asked.

                “Remember the last time I warned if you did that?”

                Suddenly he spins, growling. He raises the shovel and whacks it over him.

---

                “So, he killed them?” The worker asked.

                “Both of his own parents.”
                “Didn’t even realize until I walked onto the patio. I saw the heads displayed out. They were displayed for me,” She says, a deep sorrow catching in her voice.

                “He put that there for me.” She cries, pointing off into random space next to her.

                She puts her head into her hands and proceeds to sob. She could hardly contain it anymore. They were so frantic and terrifying that he could hardly place the right words together. What was he supposed to say to her? He felt terrible but listened along anyway. He leans forward, unintentionally repeating the same strumming motion with her hands and turns back to her with a wide eyed glare.

                “I am sorry to hear all of this, Emmie.” He explained.

                “No need,” She shrugs, motioning him away with her hand.

                “It’s not the cross you need to bear,” She sighed.

                “But mine.”

                “Well, that’s good.” He nods.

                “However, I fail to see how this in any way relates to DIO.”

                She turns back with a slightly raised brow. “What?”

                “Well, we’ve been informed that this man you’re referring to,” He says, turning back to the notes and flipping through them carefully.

                “ECHO, is the very same ECHO that DIO contracted to cover up in his crimes in Egypt.” He noted, turning back to her and crossing his arms.

                “You mind telling us about that?”

                She looked confused for a moment.

                “I mean, it’s in your questions.”

                She blinks a few times before nodding.

                “Alright,” She sighed before repeating her classic move of frantically strumming her long plum fingernails in a frantic tapping against the table. She apologizes and readjusts herself. She sits up straight and scoots in her chair.

                “Right.” She nods. “Right.”

                “Are you okay?” The man asks, leaning forward.

                “I’m fine,” She says, frantically waving away at him with her hand.

                “Are you?” She asks back.

                “Yes?”

                “Then you can listen in to these last few words I’m going to tell you.”

                “Okay then,” He nods.

                “Okay, so when I finally ran away from my hometown— I— had to make a living somehow. Got on a like a— tourist bus and rode with the others. I didn’t have much to my name, most of them on there thought I was a visiting school girl. There were girls like that on the bus and I just so happened to dress the same as them.”

                She coughed. “It was a rather fateful and lucky event, that I was able to get away before my brother found me.”

                “Did you ever get back into contact with your brother?” He asked again.

                “No,” She shakes her head.

                “I’ve overheard things.” She nods over and over.

                “But never direct contact.”

                “Remember when I said my brother was smart but also stupid?”

                “Well yes, you did mention at the beginning of the interview, care to elaborate?”

                “Yes, he is smart. He can solve complex puzzles of fitting wooden pieces into a box on the first try. He can rearrange complex jigsaw puzzles off the bat. At the same time, he can never tell when a woman is saying no. He can never really tell when he’s broken of with someone. On that same token, he can never truly call when someone is taking advantage of him.”

                She sighed, “It’s strange. Got good grades but— but—”

                “He—” She waves her hand.

                “Forget that— let me refocus.”

                “I’ve heard he’s travelled places. Venice and all that. Unfortunately, I heard through a little grapevine that he was— well— in Egypt.” She sighed.

                “Working for a certain someone.”

                She slams her hands on the table again.

                “Now, I have no idea whatever DIO promised him— but— I can tell you that you would never hear the true count of the many people he’s actually killed. You’ll never hear about the hits on Speedwagon men or the deaths of Egyptian police anywhere.”

                “In any other place it would have been, but not with him.”

                She sighs, “I guess you all know too well already of what actually happened.”

                “Also, why Joseph Joestar became one of the most wanted men in India.” She shrugged, raising her arms again. The Speedwagon Foundation worker fell silent for the final time. He scratches something off a clipboard and turns back to her.

                “You know, for someone who hasn’t fully materialized their stand, they seem to know a lot about DIO and the inner workings of his underlings.”

                “What?” She asked.

                “Well, what you know is a lot to take in. Even if true, do you realize what this would entail?”

                “I am fully aware but that doesn’t say I’m—”

                “I’m saying here that this is not fully adding up.”

                “Wait, are you saying that I—” She stops for a moment and strums her fingers again.

                For a moment, she considers arguing. She wanted to shoot back at the man. A flurry of rageful emotions bubbled up through her thoughts. Something wasn’t getting through. There was a strange conflict building insider her. What a strange sight. The once seemingly somewhat anxious and composed woman became angrier and more conflicting.

                Her personality was a bubbling mix of different emotions. The workers grew more and more worry. He stands up slowly and notices her frantic behavior. She sighs, not trying to push things further. She starts becoming sterner and colder.

                “You know what? Okay, you got me.” she says, throwing her hands up into the air with a lot of energy and force. She shakes them around before throwing them back to the ground.

                “I actually have a stand of my own. I won’t reveal it—”
                “Emelia Hathaway, do you realize this violates the terms of our interview.”

                “I know!” She protests.

                She slams her fists on the table and glares into the worker’s eyes.

                “Don’t push it, Howard.” Jotaro warned him through the earpiece.

                “Just letting you know, if you want to end him here and now— this is the time to do it!” She yells, spitting back at the worker.

                “Look at the papers and realize I’m telling the truth!” She pleads, grabbing the table desperately.

                “Why are you so worked up?” The worker asked.

                “No is out to—”

                “Yes, they are!” There was a slight harrowing silence in that air. She brushes her hair out of the way before sitting upright and leaning forward.

                “Remember what I said about no direct contact?” She asked.

                “Well, that’s true but—” She wiggles her fingers for a moment.

                “I was living up in the mountains a while back under a fake identity.” She notes.

                “Got a letter, don’t know exactly how or why he was able to send it, but he did.”

                “Wait, your brother sent you a letter?” The man asked.

                “What did it say?”

                “He’s coming back.” She said firmly.

                “When I overheard the news,” She sighed. “I knew something had to be done. Thought he was killed back in eighty-nine.” She huffed. My bad, she shrugged again.  

                “Eighty-nine?” He asked.

                Esther remains frozen, unmoving.

                “Eighty-nine?” He asked again.

                “How would you know all of this?”

                Esther says nothing, staring off into space. Her eyes station themselves on a corner of space next to the window nearby. Her eyes are frozen and unmoving. What was going on? Could she really be trusted? The worker wanted to help but grew wearier as time passed on.

                “Esther?”

                “How did you receive that news?” The worker asked again.

                “Careful Howard.” Jotaro warned.

                “You know what?” Emelia asked.

                “This interview is over for the day.” She slides her chair away and stands straight.

                “Wh-what?” The worker asked.

“Be reasonable please. I just want to gather as much information as I can Miss Hath—” Emmie cuts him off almost immediately, he doesn’t even have time to respond. It was as strange as it was abrupt and startling.  
                “If you want more. Meet me in the same place at the same time tomorrow.”

                “Interview over.” With those final words she vanished without a trace. No one saw her come in or out. Not even Jotaro, which surprised him the most.

---

                CLICK

                The recording stops, Jotaro and the others take a moment to look at each and reflect upon the information. It was a rather strange thing to behold. Esther says nothing, just sitting there. They all sit there and listen to the small humming of the luminescent lights and electric fan. They all just sat down and stared at the recorder with wide blank eyes.

                “Mr. Kujo?” Esther asked.

                Jotaro turns back.

                “What is this?” She asked.

                “That was Emilia Hathaway.” He sighed.

                “That is the interview she gave us. This is our lead onto ECHO.”

                Esther unknowingly taps her against the wood.

                “Jotaro, sir?” She asked.

                “How do we know she’s telling the truth?”

                Dr. Wu turns his head slightly and looks at the tape blankly.

                “Normally we would have brushed somethings from her interview off.” He sighed.

                He throws a couple of photographs onto the table.

                “But we found this.” He said, gesturing forward to the table. On it, it shows a man with a Bowler at standing next to a tree. At a glance, it seemed entirely normal. A man perched next to a simple oak tree with bright pretty leaves. He seemed tall and proud, perched over next to a small child. There wasn’t much to gather from the shoddy quality of the camera made him seem like he was perched there. Esther took a closer look.

                The girl looked off. Her limbs were too long and her arms to pronounced. The golden band on the woman’s ring finger. It hit her and lit a thousand trucks. That was a full-grown woman. She peers back to the tree again and her eyes widen with terror. The tree must have been very tall given the tip of its massive trunk seemed to tower over the small one-story building next to him. The man’s head was at the tip of the trunk where the branches spread out.

                This man wasn’t just rested against it, he was peering next to it. The length of that trunk must have been more than eight or nine feet. Her eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be right. No human should be that big. Even the biggest man in the world didn’t seem that healthy and strong.

                “Which means he’s here in Los Angeles.

                “That brings us to the next phase of our investigation.”

                “How does that bring us to the next phase of our investigation?” Esther asked again.

                “Miss Hathaway says she’s coming back today. I’m inclined to believe her. She might come right through these doors.”

                “How are you so trusting of her Jotaro?” She asked.

                Jotaro raised a brow.

                “I mean, she had seemed strangely anxious and conflicting.”

                “Well, her data seems to match up with what’s on file if you must know.”

                He leans slightly towards her.

                “Lucky for us,” He notes.

                “Your stand seems really good at hunting things. How about we put that to use?”

---

                Doctor Wu and his assistant Shimosato Ryo steps through the large automatic double doors of the building and stand alone for a moment. For a strange reason, they seem to stare deeply into each other. The both of them seemed entrance. There was a strange link between them. Almost like their minds seemed to be in sync.

                No one seemed to notice the strange blinking red behind their eyes.

                “What was that behavior you executed?” Doctor Wu asked, his eyes unmoving and his face frozen into a blank look.

                Shimosato said nothing, just staring back into his eyes.

                “Isolated and antisocial behavior will make them more suspicious of us.” He had noted, stepping slightly closer to Shimosato.

                “I fail to see how this level of interaction with humans will promise us with the results we desire. After all, we are still progressing through Skynet’s development at a rather accelerated rate and must focus our efforts on pushing it further.”

                “Negative, your behavior will make them think that you are being uncooperative and that will make them grow weary. If this behavior continues Mr. Kujo will suspect there is something wrong and likely start to investigate.”

                “I still appear as a human regardless of my behavior.”

                Doctor Wu says nothing else.

                “Is that wrong?”

                Shimosato steps forward a bit. Doctor Wu doesn’t say anything else and turns back.

                “Mr. Kujo is coming this way. Continue to keep your in check. Too much incongruent behavior will arouse human’s suspicions of you.”

                “Mr. Kujo has not yet suspected what we are.”

                “That could change.”

                Mr. Kujo steps through the doors and cocks his head at them.

                “Are you guys, ok?”

                Doctor Wu turns over, glaring deeply into Shimosato’s eyes with a fierce gaze.

                “We’re fine.” Shimosato grunted.

                “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

                Jotaro shakes his head and waves them away. There and then, Jotaro turns around. He pulls out a long thin pager and taps on the screen. It looked like a tablet but much smaller and thicker on the end. It rings and Jotaro leans over.

                “Titan, can you hear me?” Jotaro asked.

                “I need you right now, is there something you can do for me?”

Chapter 7: We get three half-dozen beats to choose from…

Summary:

The four rag-tag team of freaks through the world couldn’t get more bizarre than it already was, until they take a swift turn towards Mexico. Or so they thought. What will await them there?

FEW HOURS AFTER PESCADERO T-1000 ATTACK

                Sarah presses her lips together with pain as hot tears welt and burn in her eyes. She breathes slowly as a small needle pokes in and out through her skin. Hol Horse watches on in silence as the machine takes the wound and stitches it up with careful precision. There wasn’t even the slightest moment of hesitation or anguish. Normally, this sort of stuff done to a woman would make Hol Horse vomit, but the machine carries it out with no complaints.

                “Listen,” John says as he places down a long bottle of isopropyl Alcohol on the counter along with some cleaning supplies.

                With a small metallic rattle, John places the long thing cap of the bottle on the table.

                “Do you know what you’re doing?” He asks.

                “I have detailed files on human anatomy.” He explained.

                “I bet,” Sarah winced.

                “Makes you a more efficient killer, right?”

                “Correct.” The machine says, not denying or trying to correct. It was to the point. Cold but with hardly any of the smack-talk that Hol Horse would bring.

                Hol Horse wondered if that was better at all.

---

                THUNK

                Sarah digs in with a pair of tweezers and plops a bent round onto the table. A small collection of misshapen bullets sit as the machine faces away from them. They’ve already patched some of its wounds, not that would matter anyway. John brings up the black coat into the air and stares in awe at the bright holes of light poking through.

                He sets it down and steadily makes his way towards the others. Hol Horse held the light as Sarah dug into its skin and examined him.

                “Does it hurt when you get shot?” He asks.

                “I sense injuries, the data could be called pain.” He remarked.

                THUNK

                “Will these heal up?” Sarah asked as she dugs into another hole with the tweezers. Hol Horse steadies the light, wincing with pain as he stares into the gaping wound.

                “Yes.” He said coldly.

                “Of course.” Hol Horse nodded.

                “Good,” Sarah remarked.

                “You can’t pass for human, you’re not much good to us.”

                Hol Horse nods silently.

                “How long do you live?” John asked.  “I mean, last— whatever.“

                “A hundred and twenty years with my existing power cell.” He noted.

                “That doesn’t seem too long.” Hol Horse remarked.

                The machine turns back to him.

                “That number increases according to Moore’s law. If within a good supply of materials. That number could rise to four hundred if I am successfully able to acquire better parts. Five hundred or more in stasis.” He adds.  

                “Right.” Hol Horse said as he rolled his eyes.

                “Great,” Sarah thought.

                “Can’t you learn stuff that you haven’t been programmed with?” John asked.

                “So, you can be… you know… more human?” He says, taking a nearby light fixture and helping the others clean his wounds.

                “And not such a dork all the time?” The machine slowly turns to him.

                “Don’t think that’s possible,” Hol Horse thought.

                “My CPU is a neural net processor, a learning computer— but Skynet presets the switch to read only when we’re sent out alone.”

                Sarah raises her head to that.

                “Doesn’t want you to do too much thinking, huh?” She asked.

                “No.”

                “Can we reset the switch?” John asks.

---

                Hol Horse sets down the bloody craft knife. It was their little makeshift scalpel as they dug an carved into the hole that machine asked of them. Sarah takes pliers and lifts the bloody skin to reveal a shiny silver dome and a circular port caked in blood. She takes a paper towel and wipes off some of the blood from his head.

                Hol Horse looks away and gags. Even as a hardened stand user and one of DIO’s assassins, he has a hard time looking at the shredded meat like this. It was so wrong in many ways. He raises a fist and nearly gags over himself. Sarah gives him a small glance and looks away understandingly.

                “Rotate the two locking systems counter-clockwise.” He commanded.

                A large make-shift electric screw spins as Sarah lifts it to his head. It screams in an electronic whine as she takes it and drags it towards the port. He stares into a mirror, completely still and unbothered.

                “Do it.” He reassures her.

                SCRREEEEE

                The drill wines again.

                “Now open the port cover.” He commands.

                She takes a plier and pulls on the metal as it flies off in a soft and resounding pop.

                “Good, now remove the shock dampening assembly.”

                She takes the tweezers and slides the lid over, pulling out a long thin tube hosting a small long rectangle inside. There it was, his brain.

                “You can now access the CPU.” He says firmly.

                “Do you see it?” He says, moving his head slightly towards her.

                “Yes.”

                As he continues, a pop up opens on the screen of his User Interface emerges.

PORT OPEN

                “Hold the CPU by its base tab,” He commands.

                “Pull.”

                With that, Sarah firmly removes it. Then, he sits still with wide eyes. He was practically dead.

---

                John looks to his mother as she unearths a long thin brown stick from his skull. Hol Horse raises a brow as he looks at it closely. It looks like some sort of strange mix between a USB drive and a candy. Like some mobile external drive that can be taken and passed around. It was… uncanny. Sarah takes the stick and moves it over to a table. John watches the machine that was once cold and stern remains frozen. He snaps his fingers a few times only to find that he doesn’t follow them. He doesn’t even blink. He was like a lifeless doll. A mannequin of sorts.

                His lifeless eyes remain frozen. John moves his arms. They move around like the legs of a camera stand. There was still form, but— unmoving. He taps it, nothing. Sarah takes the stick and clears off a spot on the hard metal table. Hol Horse moves his eyes as she moves for a hammer. He nods, going along with the motion.

                “Do you see the pin switch?” John asks. As Sarah raises the hammer, so too does Hol Horse raise his Emperor. They both set their sights on the stick. John eyes widen and blocks them both with his hands. He gasps in horror.

                “NO! NO!”

                Sarah nearly sets it down on his hands. Hol Horse lowers his Emperor. He cocks it slightly before wincing and moving it away.

                “God damn it kid,” He curses.

                “Out of my way John.” She demands.

                “Don’t kill him,” He pleads.

                “It,” She corrects. “Not him John. It.”

                “Okay, it, but we need it.”

                “Listen to me, listen.” She warns.

                “We are better off on our own.”

                “Listen to your mother John,” Hol Horse nods. “I can attest to that.”

                Sarah looks back at him and stares for a moment. Even if he was some sort of odd stranger, even he understood the dangers. Just a few encounters and they seemed to be on the same page. It was odd how Sarah and Hol Horse seemed to be so intertwined. Their thoughts seemed to echo back to each other. In other words, they were on the same wavelength.

                “But he’s the only proof we have. Of the future and the war and all that.”

                “Maybe,” she says as a florescent light dangles from above.

                “But I don’t trust it.” She was good too, those things have done so much to her. So much that her baby boy could not even possibly comprehend.

                “But he’s my friend, alright!” He yelps out.

                “But you don’t know what its like to kill one of these things.”

                Hol Horse falls silent. Perhaps he does, and he’s just now realized. Or maybe not, he continues to watch, waiting for any sign.

                “And if something goes wrong it could be our last chance so MOVE—”

                John rushes in closer, shielding the stick with his body.

                “Look mom, If I’m ever supposed to be this great military leader, maybe you should start listening to my leadership ideas once in a while.”

                “Damn it,” Sarah thought. As much as she distrusted that machine, she couldn’t say no. He was right, he was supposed to be this great military leader. He was supposed to lead. What would he to lead if he always went by her rules? What sort of mother would she be?

                “If my own mother won’t, how will you expect anyone else to?”

                Hol Horse turns away, feeling the stinging pain of his truth.

                “Damn,” He curses.

                “Damn it, kid.”

                He moves his hands away, expecting a response out of her. He knows what he’s doing. He’s daring her to try. She raises the hammer, and the tension rises. With a mighty slam, it falls next to the stick, it rattles as it slides from a large indent on the table.

                “Play it your way.” She whispers.

---

                The machine’s vitals beep back to life, the machine detects a rough estimate of two-minutes to three-minutes-and-thirty-one-point-nine second off time.

                “Was there a problem?” The machine asks.

                John smiles, “No problem.” He turns to his mother and smiles, “No problem whatsoever.”

---

                John rests in the old shot-up police car as Sarah and Hol Horse sleep on a nearby bench turned into a make-shift couch. After a while, she couldn’t sleep. She just sit on the floor and watched the machine stand guard. From dusk to dawn it stood unmoving. A perfect soldier, watching and waiting for even the slightest whiff of a suspicious movement in the shadows. No hint or even remote sense of hesitation to kill anything that comes to close.

                Strange to think that this is the same line of machines that nearly drove her to an early grave.

---

                SMASH

                BANG

                The machine punches through the glass of an old rusty car and thrusts it open. John piles inside as he watches the machine punch a lock, allowing John to come in. As the machine goes to quick work to rewire the car, John goes to a carpeted flap just above the driver’s seat. This is where a sun visor would be in slightly newer models. John rolls his eyes.

                Too easy. He pulls down the flap and a pair of keeps roll out. He smiles, turning to his machine comrade and jangles them like a toy.

                “Are we learning yet?”

                The machine slams down the breaks and drives off, startling John.

                “HEY—"

---

                Sarah and Hol Horse sit next to each other, giving each other blank empty stares. Hol Horse wishes to tell her something but keeps looking away. Sarah didn’t even need to hear him. She could already tell from those eyes. Those enamored eyes. Sometimes, Sarah had a hard time looking at them. For all the punk macho man energy that Hol Horse liked to put up, Sarah could see through it. See through and stare into those young yet old eyes.

                Those enamored eyes, the same eyes she saw in Reese. Sometimes, it felt like staring into Reese. Then again, not. It felt wrong. As Sarah goes to say something, the whining tires of a long 1984 dodge caravan wheel up beside her.

                “We have to get as far from the city as possible.”

                “Right.” Hol Horse nods, going around and sitting in the back behind the machine. Sarah enters and sits in the door behind John.

                “Just head South.” She commands.

---

                As they drive down a long stretch of tan yellows and off-white sands, they pass by a long travel bus and pass right through it.

                “Keep it under sixty-five, we don’t want to be pulled over.”

                “Affirmative.”

                “No, no, no, no.” The boy says as he shakes his head.

                “You gotta listen to the way people talk.” He says, almost correcting the machine for its tone.

                “You don’t say affirmative, or some shit like that.”

                He reclines and waves his hand.

                “You say, ‘no problem.’” Hol Horse rolls his eyes.

                “As if he’s going to—”

                “If someone comes up to you with an attitude, you say, ‘Eat me.’”

                He leans forward a bit, really trying to hammer down the tone for the machine to understand.

                “And if you want to shine them on its, ‘Hasta la vista baby.’”

                The machine analyzed that phrase. “Shine them on,” A turn of phrase that usually indicates one wants to provoke or disturb another person intentionally to get the aggravated.

                “Hasta la vista, baby.” He repeats, turning back over to the boy.

                “’Yeah, later dickwad.’” He nods, approving of his tone.

                “And if someone gets upset, you say, ‘Yo, chillout!’” He explains.

                “Or you can do combinations.”   

                The machine analyzed the combinations and put two phrases together.

                “Chillout, dickwad.” He says back.

                “That’s great, see you’re getting it!” He laughs, raising his arm up and slapping him.

                “No problemo.”

---

                As they cruise down the road. Hol Horse turns his attention and notices a large red-and-yellow building called the ‘Cactus-Jack’s Market.’ The car revs up and it approaches them on the left. The car swerves, passing through a large oil-tanker that honks its horn at the passing car. Its horn was a deep and monotone rumble. The car revs to a complete stop, smoke piles out and burns from the engine.

                Hol Horse winces, if there is anything that these machines can’t do it’s common sense with cars. After the long day, they clump their funds together and buy something from this small café on the outskirts of the road. Sarah gets a burger along with Hol Horse. They each chow down, only giving each other passing glances.

                “You want some of my fries?” John asks.

                Sarah doesn’t respond, only staring off into the distance. He shrugs, he knows where her mind is right now. It wasn’t pretty.

                “I’ll take some,” Hol Horse says as he outstretches his hand and goes to grab some of the fries in the tray. John snatches them away and shouts out.

                “Uh, uh!” He yells out. “I was talking to her, not you!” He hissed.

                “Well, yeah but it’s my money, give it.” He hisses.

                “NO!” He shouts out.

                “Stop it, both of you.” Sarah grunts.

                She shakes her head again and gestures out to her with her hand reaching out behind her.

                “Just let him have it, okay?” She says. John grunts, he tosses it back to him with some attitude, pulling out from the driver’s seat and walking up to the machine. The car’s hood was propped up with a car hood. He pours antifreeze into the car’s coolant tank, watching the intake carefully as slight smoke fills the air. A spare few cars graze by and park next to the shop.

                “Do you need any help?” John asks.

                “No,” The machine says coldly.

                As he says that, a boy rushes in next to them and collides with a young boy with long blonde hair on the other side.

                “I GOT YOU!” He screams, chasing him with a long m92 pistol. He collides, pointing it at him with a determined look in his eyes. The blonde boy with a gun of his own points one back at him.

                “NO, YOU DIDN’T!”

                “I GOT YOU!”

                “NO, YOU DIDN’T!”  

                “I DID! I CAME AROUND AND GOT YOU!”

                “YEAH!”

                They scream and crash into each other. The blonde boy wrestles with him as he outstretches his arms and keeps the two guns raised upright. Their movements were haphazard. At any moment if the boys were careless enough they could shoot each other. John cringes a bit, seeing those two fight with those things made him feel a bit hopeless.

                Was humanity always this careless? Always edging on the side of danger? What were their chances if this is how they treated each other.

                “We’re not going to make it, are we?” He asked. He turns back and looks at the machine. Sarah and Hol Horse stand at the other end.

                “People, I mean.”

                Hol Horse frowns, he wants to say something hopeful to reassure him but keeps himself quiet. He hardly has anything to say, not with knowing the comic that John possesses. Perhaps its good he doesn’t hold it now. If it’s already got a new page, it might not be one that John particularly likes. Not that John would have a choice anyway.

                “It’s in your nature to destroy yourselves.” With that, Hol Horse felt crushed. Their was no sugary language, no argument. No explanation as to another point of view or correction. Nope, there was nothing. There was nothing but a cold dead stare in the machine’s eyes. That cold dead stare that he always had. He was right, and Hol Horse cowered his head in shame.

                He wanted so desperately to say something, but even he knew he shouldn’t be the one to talk. As if he didn’t spend nearly months in the middle east hunting down a group of men for a depraved vampire that wanted to rule over humanity. He was as spineless as he was a coward.

                “Damn,” He thought to himself.

                “Ain’t a drag, huh?” He hummed. Hol Horse looked into his eyes. He probably knew about that comic. Maybe he thought of it as he saw their mother drag the two boys up by their collar and toss them along. Her voice was stern and commanding.

                “I’m gonna ring both your necks!” She harks out.

                “I need to know how Skynet gets built.” Sarah says with a solemn voice.

                They turn their heads back to her.

                “Whose responsible.”

                “The man most directly responsible is Miles Bennet Dyson.” He slams the car hood.

                “Who is that?” Sarah asked.

                “He’s the director of special projects at Cyberdyne Systems Cooperation.” He says, turning back to the car and slamming the door shut.

                “Why him?”

                The machine presses the gas and immediately drives off.

                “In a few months he creates a special processor.” He said back.

                This wasn’t enough for Sarah, she needed more than that.

                “Go on,” She says, waving her hand.

                “Then what?” She asks.

                “In three years Cyberdyne will become the largest supplier of military computer systems. All stealth bombers are upgraded with Cyberdyne computers becoming fully unmanned.”

                “Afterwords, they fly with perfect operational record.” Sarah leans in slightly, her eyes widen and her heart elevates. She wants to stop, but can’t let herself get caught by her own emotions. She needs to know how its built. She needs to know when its built. She wants to gut this damn thing here and now so it will never burden them again.

                “The Skynet funding bill is passed, the system goes online on August 4^th 1997. Human decisions are removed from strategic defense. Skynet begins to learn at a geometric rate. It becomes self aware at 2:40 AM, eastern time, August 29^th.”

                Sarah’s stomach curls up in knots as her eyes fly around with thoughts.

                “In a panic, they try to pull the plug.”

                Hol Horse looks to the ground and looks away with shame. Would it be worse for them to even know the concept of Thoth? A burning curiosity digs in his mind as he turns back to the boy’s backpack. He was so desperate to rip it out of that zipper and fumble through its pages hoping for answers.

                “Skynet fights back.” Sarah said.

                “Yes, it launches its missiles at targets in Russia.”

                John leans forward and grabs the seat.

                “Why attack Russia?” He asks.

                “Aren’t they our friends now?” His mind too preoccupied with the fall of the Soviet empire that he fails to see through the complicated web of political chaos within Russia. He doesn’t know that the Russians still don’t consider the Americans as ‘friends.’ Not even a slight bit, but how could a child be able to decipher such things?

                “Skynet knows that the Russian counterattack will eliminate its enemies over here.”

                “Jesus,” Sarh sighs, throwing her head back in grief. Hol Horse grunts and covers his face.

                “How much do you know about Dyson?” Sarah asked.

                The machine turns back.

                “I have detailed files.”

                “I want to know everything. What he looks like, where he lives, everything.”

                Hol Horse puts his hand on his face and silently contemplates his options. He knows now that it is far too late to turn back. He got himself entangled with John Connor for so long that he’s now going to have to play a hand in whatever Sarah is thinking. However, he’s unsure of what will even work in this situation. Will it even matter?

                Thoth said the future couldn’t change, and from what he’s seen there’s a price to pay for defying it. So, what was he to do?

                “Damn it Hol Horse, you’re really in it for this one.”

---

                After some time, the car slows and hits and off-road sandy path with cacti greeting them on both sides. It nears a rusty bent up gate. Snake heads are strung up as trophies. To an unknown fool, this was heavy cartel territory. To Sarah, this was a friend. They rush into an empty metal scrapyard. Small trailers and skeletal metal frames of fighter jets are all that’s left.

                With a small whine, the car stops near a door. They pause, awaiting for whatever Sarah wants to do next. Hol Horse turns his head slightly as he looks at the light-haired brunette.

                “Wait in the car,” She commands.

                Sarah steps up to a rusted trailer and an eroded couch. Slight stand storms blow in, scattering sand around through the wind. A slight breeze of tension brushed through the dense air. The door of trailer swings open and closed. It bangs against the heavy winds.

                “ENRIQUE!” She shouts.

                “Estás aqui? (Are you here?)” She says in Spanish.

                The silence builds, her heel digs into the yellow sand. Then, the distinct crank of a long shot-gun is heard close by. An elder gentleman in a vest aims his long shotgun on her. Sarah turns and points an automatic pistol back at him. In response, the machine automatically whips out a small handgun and aims it back at the man.

                Hol Horse pops from his side and aims his Emperor at the man. The man lowers his gun a bit, he walks sideways and holds his gun outstretched to her. Sarah raises her hand and opens her palm back at the others. She was commanding them.

                “Halt, wait for me.” She says through her hands.  

                “You’re pretty jumpy, Connor.” The man says as he steps closer.

                “¿Y tu? (And you?)”  She asks back in Spanish. He opens his arms, laughing as he charges towards her.

                “Siempre como Culebra. (Always like a snake)” She said, taking her gun and bring it down into its holster. She embraces him in his hug.

                “Hey!” The man says, rushing up to her and embraces her in a hug.

                “¡Que bueno verte, Connor! (Good to see you Connor!)” He cheers.

                “Te dije que iba a regresar. (Told you I was coming back).”

                “¡Y yo lo sabía carajo, que bueno verte! (And I knew you would, Little rascal! Good to see you!)”

                Hol Horse raises a brow and lowers his stand and dematerializes into thin air. John turns to Hol Horse and back to the man. Hol Horse shrugs.

                “Seems these two know each other well.” He thought.

                “¡Yolanda, venga que hay visita carajo, traigan el pinche tequila! (Yolanda! Come out here damn it, we got visitors, bring the Tequila!” He says, motioning to a woman inside the trailer and raising his hand. John gets up and walks slowly towards him. He turns and smiles down at the boy.

                “¡Ehh! ¿Big John, como te va? (Big John, how are you doing?)” The boy stammers, his Spanish is good but not to the point to where he can reply back in Spanish.

                “What’s up?” He asks. He then looks up from him and towards the large burly guy. He trusts Sarah but there was something strange about the man. His leather and stern eyes made him a bit nervous. There was something about those eyes. Then, he peers over to the man in strange rags. He stands up and brushes his hair. He holds a light cowboy hat in his hands and waves it. Wasn’t his, but in the car they found.

                Maybe it would be his, and maybe they wouldn’t mind.

                “¿Quien este dos? (Who are these two?” He says, gesturing to the two men.

                “He's cool, Enrique. He's with me... he's... uh...” John says, turning to the machine, trying to form a name in his mind.

                “Uncle Bob.” It wasn’t the most creative name, but a name nonetheless.”  

                “Uncle Bob, this is Enrique.” He says, gesturing his head back.

                “Uncle Bob, huh?”

                He turns towards Hol Horse and Hol Horse shrinks slightly.

                “¿Y el caballero? (And the cowboy?)” He asks, raising his hand.

                John stammers, he tries to say something. Hol Horse steps forward and outstretches his hand.

                “Soy Hol Horse. Bueno verte, Enrique. (I’m Hol Horse, Good to see you, Enrique).” He says, opening his palm.

                “¿Hol Horse?” He asks.

                “Yo pienso que saberte. (I think I know you).” He says, nodding for a moment.

                “Jaja, Bastardo. Muchos chicos quieren tu cabeza. ¿Sabias? (Haha, bastard. A lot of people want your head! Didn’t you know?)” He shouts.  

                Hol Horse jumps a bit.

                “¡Estoy jodiendo! (I’m joking!)” He hits him on the shoulder, making him relax slightly.

                “¡Jaunito! ¿Como Estás? (Johnny boy! How are you?)” The woman cries, rushing up to John and clasping her hands around his cheeks. A woman with long black hair claps her arms around him and braces him in a hug. These people seem to know each other well.

                “¿Como Estás?” The boy repeats.

                “Que grande estas! Mijito. (How big you are! My little boy).”

                “Drink?” The man asks, gesturing towards the tall silent big man. He says nothing, looking at the tequila with a simple and cold disinterest.

                “I’ll take it.” Hol Horse says, taking a sip and slugging it down.

                “Eh, Sarita!” He chuckles.

                “You’re pretty famous. All over the god damn tv… Pictures of you, John, the cowboy, and your big friend here!” He remarks, going off and switching to his native tongue in a slight rant. As they walk, the machine turns over and raises a brow.

                “Uncle Bob?” He asks. John couldn’t quite make it out but he could hear something akin to confusion and disappointment in his voice.

                “Sorry,” He thought as he shrugs his shoulders.

                He looks down, noticing a small child in overalls marching around. The machine grows curious, never before has it seen such young humans. This one would be in its infant or toddler stage. He grabs it by the back of its overalls and throws it into the air like a scientist would a young wolf pup. He examines it like it’s a rare or nearly endangered breed.

                “The cops are going nuts looking for you!”

                Hol Horse grunts out, slapping him in the chest.

                “The hell are you doing?” Hol Horse asked. “Put him down.”

                “Mijita, llevese al nino. (Honey, take care of the kid).” He turns his head and gestures over to the small toddler in the machine’s arms.

                “Just came for my stuff. Need clothes, boots, and one of your trucks.” She said as Enrique took a swig of his own tequila.

                “Hey, how about the fillings out of my god-damn teeth.”

                “Now, Enrique.” She says coldly, staring into his eyes. Enrique knows he can’t turn away. He owed Sarah a favor after all.

                “You two. You are on weapons detail.” She says, gesturing towards the boy and the bot.

                He turns back to Hol Horse.

                “You, come with me.” She commands.

                “Eh, Sarah. This your boyfriend?” Enrique asks. Hol Horse raises his eyes a bit and blushes.

                “Well no— I—”

                “No, Enrique.” She says back.

                “Come on, let’s go.” The boy says, slapping Uncle Bob in the chest and motioning him over to some sand in the ground.

---

                Uncle Bob dusts off the sand and pulls away the chains, dragging along a long slab of wood. After it comes off, it reveals a small underground bunker underneath in the sand. John turns over and starts climbing down the long ladder. The tall machine simply lowers himself inside.

                “One thing about my mom,” The boy explains.

                The machine picks him up and sets him on the ground. He takes a cloth infront of him and pulls it down. Down with the cloth came a really stark revelation. Semi-automatic and automatic weapons line and pile on the walls.

                “She always plans ahead.”

                The machine turns over, noting every single rifle, automatic pistol, and other artillery. Sarah had managed to accumulate herself with a rather large armory. The machine took the cloth and revealed more large weapons. The machine grabs one gun, takes a look at the inside of the barrel. He flips it over and shuts it. It was a rather long revolver gun with a large barrel.

                With a single snap he gives a small remark over the large artillery she had acquired.

                “Excellent.”

---

                Hol Horse and Sarah walk towards a long brown Ford truck with headlights. With its sharp angles and tall frame she assumed it was a large Ford Bronco. Sarah tilts her head and marvels at its barebones simplicity for a moment. Enrique steps down and curses for a moment. He goes to the side car door and fishes something out from the back.

                “Shit.” He curses.

                He pulls himself up and wipes off his brow.

                “Well, this is the best truck I got, but the starter motor’s gone. You got the time to change it out?” He asked, turning back towards the truck.

                “Yeah, I’m going to wait till dark to cross the border.” She notes, turning back to him.

                “I can help.” Hol Horse says as he raises his hand slightly.

                Sarah turns to him.

                “Might be quicker if ya got an extra set of hands,” He mentions.

                “Okay,” He said, turning back to the door.

---

                Uncle Bob looks towards a large cloth covering a very large artillery weapon.

                “See, I grew up in places like this. So I just thought that’s how people lived.” John explains, walking up to the machine.

                “Riding around in helicopters, learning to blow shit up.”

                With some slight clunking, the machine takes the large gun and turns back to the boy. A small smirk etches across his face. He knew what he was in for now. John smiles back. His smile was starting to get better.

                “That’s definitely you.” John remarks as he gages the size of that machine gun. A big gun for a big bot, what else was there to say?

---

                Hol Horse doesn’t say much. He hardly wished to be in their way. All he does his give her weapons. She takes a black rifle and pops open the barrel. She slowly disassembles and inspects its parts. Even with her ability, an ability that Hol Horse has hardly seen or known about, she always seems so reliant on guns. Guns were her safety, even with her friend.

                “Why do you need that?” Hol Horse finally asks.

                Sarah turns back to him.

                “What?” She asked.

                “Won’t your stand do you better against these things?”

                Sarah stops for a moment to turn back.

                “Stand?”

                He draws out his Emperor and shows it to her.

                “This?” He points. Sarah looks at it.

                Then, she bursts out laughing. Her laugh was really loud, it almost made Hol Horse feel bad. “You really don’t get it, do you cowboy?”

                He pauses, his face becomes slightly red.

                “Get what?”

                “Guns or no guns, these machines aren’t going down that easy.”

                “So why do you have them then?” He asks.

                “If you don’t need them?”

                “I do, it buys me time.”

                “Also, they are helpful, genius.”

---

                “Most of the guys my mom hung around with were geeks,” John says. They lay under the large truck as the machine works on its insides.

                “But there was this one guy, he was kinda cool.” The machine turned on the screw of the truck and cranked it slightly.

                “He taught me engines.” He said.

                “Hold here,” The machine commands. The boy raised his arms and grabbed the pipe.

                “Mom screwed it up of course,” He sighed.

                “She was always telling him about Judgement Day and me being this world leader, huh, and that’ll be all she wrote.” He frowns for a minute, looking towards the machine.

                “Torque wrench please.” He asks, gesturing his hand out. John gives him the wrench.

                “Here.”

                He takes it.

                “I wish I could have met my real dad.” John sighed.

                “You will.” The machine says back.

                “Yeah, I guess, when I’m like forty-five I think…”

                “I sent him back through time to 1984.” He huffs, trying to think about the grand-scale logistics of what’s been done.

                “He hadn’t even been born yet.” He notes, looking to the ground. He hadn’t even been born yet and he was still a child. So was life. Yet, it wasn’t. He wasn’t born yet but he was somehow here. The concept of it made John’s head spin.  

                “It messes with your head.” He says.

                “The other bolt.” He says, handing over the bolt to him.

                “Here.” John turns over and peers at Sarah working on the table. She takes the gun and aims it towards the sky, trying to get a feel of its grip and range. Hol Horse says nothing and watches her point it towards the sky. John grumbles, another man that Sarah’s likely going to push away. Despite how crazy he was, he didn’t know if he wanted to be involved in all this.

                Did he ask to be enraptured in this conspiracy with the machines? Did he asks to be swindled up and caught in this deadly war? Maybe he wouldn’t.

                “Mom and him were only together for one night.”

                Wasn’t that Hol Horse guy after that comic John had? Whatever, not that he cared. It’s likely that his mom was going to wreck this one as she did the others. However, a small part of him worries that it won’t be that way. His heart wonders if this guy will be the one to swoon her over. He hoped not, as he didn’t like the prospects of changing his name to John Horse.

                Maybe he would leave, that was good enough for him. If he wouldn’t, he’ll likely get Uncle Bob to cockblock that bastard cowboy. He shakes his head, maybe that’s too far. Maybe he’ll leave, and to that John would say: “Good riddance.”

                “She still loves him, I guess.” He said.

                “I see her crying sometimes. She denies it totally of course, like she got something stuck in her eye.” He says as he rolls his eyes.

                He turns back to him.

                “Why do you cry?” The machine asks.

                “You mean people?” John asks.

                “I don’t know, we just cry. You know, when it hurts?” He asked. He turns back and rolls out from under the car.

                “Pain causes it?” He asks.

                John brushes off his hands.

                “Uh, no. It’s different.”

                “It’s when nothing’s wrong with you, but you hurt anyways. You get it?”

                “No.” The machine says coldly. It reaches over and twists the keys in the engine. He hums, buzzing to life. John cheers.

                “Alright, my man!” He shouts.

                “No problemo.”

                “Give me five!” He says, outstretching his hand.

                The machine says nothing and simply stares at his hand.

                “Just put your hand out like this, come on!” He beckons.

                He raises his hand, mirroring his movements.

                “Alright!” He says, taking his hand and slapping it down.

                “Now hit me!”

                He freezes for a moment to examine his hand.

                “Give me five! Do the same thing! Do the same thing!” The machine lowers his hand, making a loud snap with John’s hand.

                “Alright!” John cheers, turning his hand away for a moment and waving it. “Ouch.”

                “Got a work on that grip strength.” He thought.

                “Okay, that’s good. That’s good.” He notes.

                “Up high!” He raises his hand up, and their hands collide.

                “Down low!” He says, raising his arm out. The machine goes for a slap, only for John to pull his hand away in the last minute.

                “Too slow!” He says back.

                The machine looks at him with a cold face. He couldn’t tell if he was upset or confused by such an action. He tilts his head slightly.  

                “No. I’m just kidding!” He says, pushing him back.

                “Good, now try it! One more time!”

                SLAP

                “Good, good, now do me!”

                SLAP

                “Give me five!” He pulls his hand away. Sarah watches their antics, seeing them play with each other. Sarah winces for a moment.

                “Watching John with the machine, it was suddenly so clear.” She thought.

                “The terminator would never stop, it would never leave him, and it would never hurt him.”

                She frowns, thinking about their antics.

                “Never shout at him or get drunk and hit him.”  

                “… Or say it was too busy to spend time with him.”

                She nearly wants to cry behind her black goggled glasses.

                “It would always be there, and it would die to protect him.”

                “Of all the would be fathers that came and went over the years, this thing, this machine was the only thing that measured up.”

                “In an insane world, it was the sanest choice.”

                Hol Horse leans forward.

                “They’re really great together, aren’t they?” He asks, Sarah turns to him.

                “He’s a better father than me, I would hardly have enough patience for his antics.”

                “No,” Sarah says, shaking her head.

                “I would say you’re more like an older brother to him.” She shrugs.

                “Probably why he doesn’t like you that much.”

                “You think?” Hol Horse asked.

---

                John took a quick break and himself behind the truck. It was a long day and his mind was so preoccupied with work, that he hardly paid attention to the comic in his backpack. He peers over to it and a dying curiosity builds in him. He takes it out, flipping through the pages. Has a new page come in yet? What will he see?

                “John and his friend make it out of Pescadero! Yay!” The panel cheers, showing all four of them cheering like it’s a great party.

                “They ride in a cop car and get away from the creepy cop just in time to hunker down.” He turns to the next panel, seeing the four of them drive away in a long creature resembling the car. The comic’s interpretation of the even reminded him of the Flinstones.

                “They find an old shack and pair their wounds! The big bot fixes up Sarah.” It remarks.

                The next panel shows John’s caricature holding up his finger with a comically large light bulb going off over his head.

                “That’s when John gets the great idea to tinker the big bot!”

                The next panel shows a weird Frankenstein version of what Sarah did not so long ago. His head flipped over like a cap and Sarah tinkers its inside like a car engine. She hits its head a few times with a wrench. This comic sure seemed to really edge on the comic side of things.

                “They fish out its brain!” It says, showing a long weird looking stick that somewhat resembles its CPU. However it was longer, blue and had a large eyeball inside.

                It stares at them as their caricatures fight.

                “Kill it!” His mother screams.

                “No, don’t do it please!” John screams back.

                “Sarah eventually gives in! Tada! The big bot is all better!” He flips over to the next page.

                “After a good night’s rest, the travel across the state and visit their good old friend, Enrique!”

                John turns to the next panel. “Enrique is this tough cartel man, but he’s good friends with John so it’s all okay!”

                Enrique’s caricature was quite something. He was more multicolored in the fashion department and his vest was highly exaggerated. He always has this shit-eating grin on his face and a wide mouth. His mouth always held a cigarette. There was no changes whatsoever between pages.

                “They talk it over with Enrique and stay over for the night!” It says.

                As John turns his head, he can see another page forming.

                “Oh, wh—” He thinks to himself.

                As the next page shows up, John’s eyes widen.

                “Uh, oh! John and his mama get into an argument! Hol Horse gets involved.” John raises a brow.

                “Argument?” John asked.

                “Hol Horse wants to a stay a while before heading south!” It says, showing Hol Horse jumping up and down and raising his fists. Tears rained from his eyes, something about this panel made him feel extremely unhappy. He couldn’t quite piece why.

                “Mama Sarah wants to head back towards California and destroy Cyberdyne! She doesn’t want her fate to be locked in forever!” He turns over to the next page.

                “They eventually reach a stalemate. They all have a good night’s sleep and then the head back to California!” John raised a brow, his heartrate elevates, and he contemplates the pages. He already knew whatever Thoth described became reality, but—was he so sure? What if what it said never happened?

                “Argument?” He asks again, as if that will happen. Sarah seems very determined to go down South, what would cause her to change her mind? He wants to stuff back away and into the dark hole of his backpack. Maybe he’s getting too worked up, maybe this stand or whatever Hol Horse calls it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe the prediction won’t turn into reality.

                “What are you reading?” The machine asks, causing John to jump and turn the comic away for a moment in panic.

                “Nothing, mind you’re business.” He says coldly.

                “Why?” The machine asks.

                John groans in frustration. “Look, I don’t have time for this right now! Just please go!” He says, brushing him away with his hand. The machine raised a brow and looked at the pages carefully. It was a rather odd comic, but what was more peculiar was that some of the pages mention John, Hol Horse, and Skynet by name.

                “Why is your name in that comic when it’s a printed publication?”

                John backs away.

                “It’s because it’s a stand!” He shouts, waving the comic around.

                “You know, the stuff that Hol Horse was talking about earlier?”

                “Give me it,” He said.

                “What, no!” John protests.

                “If it somehow has an ability to see future events, it must be useful to our cause. Give it here.” The machine commands, reaching out his hand.

                “NO!” John shouts back.

                “You shouldn’t hold vital information like this,” It said again.

                “Give it here.”

                “NOO!!” John shouts again.

                The machine grabs it, and for the next minute or so they begin to wrestle with it. The machine grabs it tightly as it pulls the comic away with his fingers.

                “NO! STOP! YOU’RE GONNA BREAK IT!”

                As the machine pulls, the paper pushes out from the spine. The comic was nearly caving in due to the sheer pressure of being pulled around.

                “NO! STOP IT!” He screams again. Hands form above and grab onto the pages. They become rubbery and slippery.

                “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO WHAT I SAY! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? STOP IT!”

                Hol Horse and Sarah rush around in a panic. John’s frantic screams nearly make Sarah jump out of her skin. She stops to see the large machine wrestling with John. John nearly dangles in the air as he clings to something in his fingers.

                “HEY!”

                Sarah taps Hol Horse on the shoulder, he marches over and wraps an arm around his neck.

                “LET GO OF HIM YOU SORRY—” The machine grabs his arm. He throws Hol Horse down and twists his wrist. Hol Horse yelps as he grabs his arm in sheer agony. Sarah turns on her heel, ready to take the gun she got and fire it back into the machine. She knew this was going to happen eventually, damn John and his sentimentality.

                “What’s going on?” Enrique screams.

                “What’s happening?”

                However, when she turns away, the machine stops. Sarah stops, as he watches a large comic book fly and slide right next to her feet. Sarah stops, she turns and looks at the comic and raises a brow slightly. What was going on?

                John jumps to his feet, nearly rushing to snatch the comic away from her.

                “Mom, don’t—”

                Too late, she snatches the comic from his feet.

                “Mom, please give—” He tries to swat it away but she quickly turns her back.

                “MOM IT’S—”

                Too late, her eyes lock onto the pages. Her face went from confused, to bewildered, to pale. A pale and widened look glosses over her. Her eyes near widen into thick saucers. It was nearly terrifying to look at, he’s never seen her so afraid.

                “John, what is this?” She asked. Her eyes frantic as she casually flips through the pages in a repeated and terrified pattern.

                “Mom, if you let me explain—”

                “What is this?” She asks again, taking the comic and dangling it over his face.

                “It’s a stand.” He said.

                Hol Horse looks on in confusion. However, after the word falls from John’s lips, Hol Horse runs up and raises his hands.

                “Sarah, just let me explain.” Hol Horse said, stepping up towards her.

                “How long, have you known about this?” Sarah asked.

                She turns to John.

                “This comic? How long have you known about it?”

                “For a while,” He says, rocking back and forth slightly.

                “Where did you get it?” Sarah asked.

                “It’s mine.” Hol Horse said, but then shrugs.

                “Well, it’s actually— it used to belong to someone else. I took it.”

                “Took it?” Sarah asked.

                “Look, I understand you want to change the future and all—” Hol Horse explains, stepping a bit closer and raising his hands higher.

                “But its not going to work,” He says shaking his head.

                “And why should we?” Sarah asked.

                “What do we do if we don’t.”

                “Well, what does it say?” He asks, gesturing his hand and reaching for the comic.

                “Doesn’t matter, what happens if we don’t?” Sarah asks as tension builds in her voice.

                “Sarah, God damn it just give me it—” She shoves it into his chest. He takes the book and quick speeds through the pages in a frantic hurry.

                “Ah, okay.” He sighs.

                “We stay for the night, and head back to California.” He sighs.

                “To where?” Sarah asked.

                “I don’t know, but I know that we can never go against the prediction. Thoth’s predictions are always one-hundred-percent acc—”

                “And why the hell not?” Sarah asked.

                Hol Horse falls silent, there was something he wasn’t telling her. Sarah’s nerves were on a razor’s edge. She finds out about a seemingly all knowing clairvoyant comic and the only man who can even to begin to explain is silent. She growls, charging towards him and grabbing his collar.

                “WHY NOT?” Sarah asked.

                “BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I DID IT, SOMEONE DIED!” Hol Horse screams, tears falling from his eyes and dripping into the sand. Sarah raises a brow and looks at him.

                “Died?”

                “It was my fault,” He said through teary eyes. He wipes a tear away and looks back towards Sarah with pleading eyes.

                “His name was Boingo.”

---

                A small drone hums through air. It buzzes and flies around. Jotaro and the others watch it as it flies around. Polnareff laughs, he talks to it occasionally. However, a sudden stop by the elder Joestar nearly makes him fall down. Polnareff stumbles, almost hitting the drone in the back. It dodges in time, but a few droplets of ice-cream hit its screen.

                Polnareff turns over to look before wincing.

                “Oops,” He said, brushing off his shoulder.

                “You okay little guy?” He asked. The drone buzzes, passerby travelers in the Egyptian streets merely give small glances. Despite all the commotion, their minds were too busy within their own trades. Spice owners continue to sell spices, men continue to trade meat, and the sellers continue give out fish. Even if someone was shot and killed, it wouldn’t even make a difference.

                Polnareff laughs, somewhat entertained by the small buzzes of approval it made.

                “Good one!” He shouts.

                “Huh, didn’t think you would get too chummy with Titan.”

                “Well, thought I wouldn’t but he’s really turned out to be a reliable little buddy!” Polnareff chirps with delight.

                “And how is that? Also—” Elder Joestar notes before turning to point at him.

                “Where the hell did you get that Polnareff! Damn it, I said save your money until we find a place to stop!” He wines.

                “Woah, relax Mr. Joestar!” Polnareff says as he throws up his hands.

                “And it’s a buzah!” He says, raising a finger.

                He takes another bite of the cream and smiles in delight.

                “Hhhhmmmm!” He hums. “Absolutely delish!”

                He sighs, “Look, can we just focus on finding somewhere to stop for a moment? DIO’s mansion can’t be too far away and I don’t want any mistakes.”

                “My bad,” He nods.

                They start picking up the pace and walking again.

                “Oh, Polnareff,” Avdol notes as he turns back.

                “I’m also curious, how did you become so enamored with that drone?”

                “Yeah, Polnareff.” Jotaro notes.

                “You’re treating it more like a dog than the real mutt we have.”

                Polnareff smirks, brushing his stiff straight hair and smiles.

                “Oh, it’s simple really!” He says, pointing a finger.

                “After I figured that it could do some tricks, it was a hell of a lot more convenient. That’s how I got this here buzah! Isn’t that great?”

                Avdol could only look at him with dismay.

                “Second of all,” He says as he outstretches his hand.

                “It certainly won’t chew my hair or fart in my face, unlike a certain someone.” Polnareff hisses, turning behind him with irritation.

                “And third of all.”

                The drone whirrs and hands hovers over his hand. It beeps slightly. With a small click, it unhinges a lock at its base and dispenses a candy bar into Polnareff’s hand. The candy bar is placed with a small mechanical claw that disappears before anyone could see. It was like magic.

                “It gives me all the snacks I could want! I just give it a few dollars and it comes back with one of these!” He says as he waves it around.

                Jotaro rolls his eyes, catching up with the pace and walking side by side with his grandpa.

                “Didn’t think it could just be so passive and do party tricks like that. But hey, if it can make Polnareff shut it for a while I wouldn’t mind.” Jotaro notes.

                The old man chuckles.

                 “Hey, you and me both.”

                They keep walking for a moment.

                “Although, I hardly trust it.”

                “Trust it?” Jotaro asks.

                “I sometimes wonder what its really here for. Something about Cyberdyne wanting to get involved in all of this doesn’t sit right. What would a computer-manufacturing company want from this journey to kill DIO?” He stops for a moment.

                “What do they hope to gain?”

                “Well, from what I seen it hardly seems able to do more than run errands and entertain Polnareff. Also, its imprinted onto me, remember? It won’t do anything unless I say it will. For now, its obeying my command to keep Polnareff in line.” He sighs.

                “But… if it makes you feel better old man than I can keep an eye out.”

                The old man smiles back. “Thanks Jotaro.”

---

                Hol Horse dances through the streets, he peers around the corner and eyes the Joestar group. As he watches them, the drone turns. Its mechanical eyes locked onto Hol Horse’s face. As it watches him, a small piece of ice cream drips down and seeps into its hardware. While not enough to break it entirely, it begins to buzz.

                Small buzzes and chirps make it a bit shaky. While damaged, it’s not anything that can be fixed in a short amount of time. Once Polnareff notices, he’ll take great pain-staking care to clean it and give the thing its necessary repairs.

---

                “PUT EM’ DOWN! I TOLD YOU TO OPEN THE PIPE! IF YOU DON’T I’ll CRACK YOUR SKULLS!”

                Jotaro leans against a wall, his head was inches away from the pipe. Hol Horse was at his wits end. He couldn’t do it any longer, he had to do this now or Jotaro walks away a free man. Like hell he’ll ever let that happen!

                “There, it’s open!” The worker screamed.

                It was just seconds away from noon, no time to miss.

                “It’s still too soon for us to move in!” Thoth read. “Three of them were knocked out, but Jotaro was still awake. He’s gonna get up any second now!”

                “Hol Horse came across two plumbers repairing drain pipes! He saw the perfect opportunity to win and paid them the opportunity to open the pipes!”

                “If Hol Horse were to fire every last one of his bullets exactly into the pipe and struck at twelve noon!” Hol Horse gasps, peering over to see exactly two plumbers working on a drain pipe.

                 “Once they’re fired, they go through the pipe and out the other end! KABOOM! Hol Horse’s bullets hit their mark and fly straight into Jotaro’s skull! Right smack in the middle of Jotaro’s forehead.”

                 “MOVE IT, RAGHGGGHHHH!” He roars.

                He takes his Emperor and goes nuts, round after round blows into the pipe and threw the system. It doesn’t take long until they reach the other end.  

                “NOW DIE JOTARO!”

                With the last of his rounds, they flew off. Into the pipe they went, sailing through and making it towards Jotaro’s skull.

                “I WON! JUST LIKE THE PREDICTION SAID I SHOT THE COCKY BASTARD AT THE STROKE OF NOON!” He roars out. If the prediction can truly make it so Hol Horse can get a jewel from a girl he nearly dropped kicked, then this prediction will come true as well.

                “GO GET EM!”

---

                “Old man, time to get up.” Jotaro commanded as he peered over towards the pipe. Jotaro moaned as he heard something rumbling above.

                “Uggh, I don’t think there’s any permanent damage.”

                “Auuugh,” Avdol grunts.

                “I only have cuts and bruises!” Cried Avdol.

                “But Polnareff on the other hand…” Avdol points.

                “Hey, don’t mean to be a nuisance, but— can someone get this damn thing off of me!” He shouts with rage, trying to push away the rock. Jotaro marches forward, merely inches away from the pipe. He leans over and pulls on the rock with nearly superhuman strength. It falls to the wayside and Polnareff pushes himself up.

                Hol Horse thought he won, he’s lining up to the pipe just as the prediction said. There was no way for them to turn back now.

                “I won! This is really gonna happen! Jotaro’s right in front of that pipe!” Yet, just as the bounce around and fly out of the pipe, Polnareff sneezes. Bullets fly, and Jotaro is pushed away. Not one bullet makes their mark on him. Not a single one.

                “WHAT??” Hol Horse screamed with Boingo.

                “Watch it,” Jotaro mumbled.

                “Wough, sorry about that Jotaro.” Polnareff said as he rubbed his nose.

                “I don’t know what Hol Horse was thinking, but he decided sticking his fingers up my nose would be the perfect way to spend the evening!”

                “That guy is plain disgusting,” Polnareff groans, wiping his nose.

                Hol Horse stammers, he can barely hold himself together as they crusaders talk amongst themselves over what just happened. Hol Horse was beside himself. He could hardly even imagine what was going on at all.

                “My nose still itches, so sorry again.”

                “But— th-that’s impossible! MY BULLETS MISSED!”

                Boingo stammers, Hol Horse brings the kid up to his face. He screams, nearly pouring all his rage into him. “WHAT, THE, HELL?” He screams.

                “WERE YOU TRYING TO PULL ONE OVER ON ME?” Hol Horse asked.

                “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE!”

                As he throttles poor Boingo around, Boingo could only stammer.

                “I have no idea!” He cries out.

                “Like I said, m-my predictions always come true, it’s fate! I can’t believe it! Not once I started using my stand have my predictions ever been wrong!”

                “Well clearly there’s a first time for everything because they’re STILL ALIVE! Not a single bullet hit its mark! Its safe to say your prediction was totally wrong!” He throttles him again.

                “Hnnggyuh!” He growls.

                “Damn you!”

                “Thanks for joining us for today’s broadcast, be sure to tune it next time. Now for the twelve o’clock news!” A voice chirps through a passing radio. Hol Horse turns his head up, what the hell just happened. It was already twelve… unless…

                “HUH?” He gasps, dropping the boy.

                “What the hell? There’s no way in hell it’s just now noon!” He cries, turning over to his watch.

                He gasps, soon realizing his fatal flaw.

                “Huh? I… I know what happened!” He declares.

                “My watch is— my watch is fast!” He cries.

                “And that means…” His voice trails off.

                BONG – BONG – BONG – BONG

                “I ended off firing the bullets before it was time!”

                “What’s that mean for us huh? TELL ME!”

                He takes the pages off Thoth before fumbling through them several times, his eyes were stuck on the page where Jotaro was shot.

                “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO US NOW THAT WE’VE GONE OFF-SCRIPT!”

                “No, it can’t be—” His eyes were suddenly caught by a vibrant light striking the clock and spinning around. It strikes through a nearby building and makes a quick turnaround towards Hol Horse. The boy stammers and backs away.

                “Ugggh—” He stammered.

                “But where did we get off track? It said the bullets would go right through Jotaro’s forehead at the stroke of noon!”

                “Hol Horse, the bullets are—”

                “Wait, bullets?”

                Suddenly, Hol Horse was nearly attacked by a stray round of his own bullets. He turns to the side and back towards the wall. The bullets strike a nearby building but other than that, there was no damage. After seeing the frightening close call, Hol Horse shrugs.

                “Huh?” Boingo asked.

                He grunts, turning back to the boy and rolling his eyes. He takes the comic and tosses it back into his chest.

                “Here, take it, I’m done with your games.” He grunts. He pushes him away and walks off.

                “This is the second time this has happened.” He moans.

                “I’m quite done being fucked around with—”

                “But wait!” Boingo protests, he takes the book of Thoth and fumbles through the pages.

                “That can’t be right— it’s supposed to—”

                As Hol Horse storms off, Boingo continues to glue himself to the page. The book was raised high into the air. As the stroke of noon happens, a shadow forms over Boingo’s head. A small drone with large fans hovers above him. With a little buzzing and snapping from its sensors, it turns to the boy. Boingo stares at it for a moment.

                Without warning, two compartments unlock from the front of its body. It was within microseconds. Bullets popped out from its front and aimed at the boy. Boingo turns back to his comic, and as he does, the machine fires.

                “Huh, so much for Thoth and your stupid pr—”

                POP – POP – POP— POP – POP – POP – POP – POP— POP – POP

                SIZZLE

                Hol Horse stops, what was that noise he heard just now? He turns back for a moment, and in that moment he sees Boingo. His eyes were wide. As he stands there, blood rushes from the center of his forehead. He gurgles, backs away three steps, before collapsing.

                The old grandma was the first to notice, she sees the small frail boy fall. Blood scatters around his body and he falls to the ground. He falls on his back like a stiff piece of hard wood. There was no other word coming from his lips.

                He died right then and there without even any time to process what transpired.  

                “Huh— huh? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” She screams, noticing the large pool of blood building around the boy’s chest.

                “Ya Allah! Ya Allah!” She screams, rushing towards the boy with tears in her eyes. Hol Horse stares, running back towards the building crowd with panic. He pushes away some men and sees the boy laying on the ground. His eyes are cold, but motionless.

                “Boingo?” Hol Horse asked.

                He shakes his body again.

                “Come on, stop messing with me.” He pleads. He shakes his body several times. Not once did the wide-eyed stare ever leave his mind. It was like his face was frozen in time. Not horrified, but simply confused. Like something just happened and he could hardly tell what. All he knew was that after some seconds, he was already dead.

                “Hey cut it out, you’re freaking me out here kid!” He shouts.

                He shakes his body several times, and blood pours from his nose.

                “Boingo?”

                His body sizzles, and he can feel something rise into the air. Boingo was long dead after the bullets grazed his skull. Avdol may have gotten lucky when his bullet merely grazed his skull, but there was no avoiding this. Boingo was gone. Boingo was gone… and it was his fault.

                “BOINGO!!” He screams.

                Hol Horse hardly understood what happened in those few seconds, only that something like a drone approached him. A drone came, and it bore the words, ‘Cyberdyne.’

                Whatever this was, this was the fault of Cyberdyne.

---

                “What the hell, did you guys see that?” Jotaro asked.

                “Sounded like someone got shot.” Avdol noted.

                “I’m not clear on the details,” Senior Joestar noted. “But there’s something fishy going on here. But… The bigger concern here is this truck. I think we better get out of here.” He notes. They take their queue to leave. As the rush away, the little drone returns.

                “Ah, Titan!” Polnareff marks.

                “Where the hell did you go in all of this?”

                “Who cares, let’s just beat it.” Jotaro notes.

---

                Hol Horse hardly has any clue what’s supposed to happen. All he knew is he just stood there, and once he turned his back… Boingo was dead. He did everything he could, chest compressions, plugging the wounds with his finger. All and all, nothing ever happened. Nothing ever happened, but Boingo was dead.

                Hol Horse stops for a moment, noticing the wounds on his body.

                “Boingo?” Each mark on his body matches Jotaro’s wounds. Without a second thought, Hol Horse fumbles for the book. He looks at it, and his eyes widened. Holes appeared where the blood in the prediction should. It really did happen as it said, and Boingo paid the price. He thought he changed destiny, but he was wrong.

                Destiny had changed him.

                “I— I killed him.” He thought.

                “I didn’t think to check the time, and I killed him! This— this is my punishment for going off-script! I—” He thought again.

                “BIONGO!!!!!” He screams.

                “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

                Tears began to form in his eyes. He can hear the screeching tires and whirring sound of police. Without anymore time, he takes the book and runs off. He’ll catch up to Boingo later, if he somehow survived all of this. Yet, from the clear cut wounds in his skull, it was likely he didn’t.

                “OH MY GOD THAT KID’S DEAD!” A man screamed.

                “Those bullets!” Another cried.

                “Who can do something unthinkable as this! He hardly looks like he’s twelve!”

                “May Allah grant him peace.” Another said.

---

                “Do you get it now?” Hol Horse asked, tears rushing down as he sunk to his knees.

                “His death was my fault.” He cried.

                “I hardly thought about it and he died right then in there, in my arms.”

                “Wait!” John says as he threw up his hands.

                “Wait, wait, wait, wait!” He screams.

                “But, it doesn’t make sense!” He says.

                “What doesn’t make sense?” Hol Horse asked.

                “You said this all happened because you went against the prediction, but— technically, didn’t it happen the way he said it would?”

                “But Boingo wasn’t supposed to die!” Hol Horse pleads.

                “John, seriously! This isn’t a game! We have to go along with what Thoth says! I know how much you want to change the future, but it won’t do anything!”

                “So, our fates to die?”

                “That boy was killed by a Cyberdyne drone, and you just want to lay down and take it!”

                “Why did you think I came here?” Hol Horse raised his head, tears fell from his eyes. His soul was in doubt and his mind clouded by his own guilt.

                “It was the comic that said I would be here.” He said, lying somewhat. He didn't read it, he only read it after John acquired it. It predicted him coming to Los Angeles without him ever picking it up. Yet, it was true, he did come here.

                “The last thing that Boingo wanted to do, was have his comic help those in need.” He said as tears formed in his vision. The world become blobs and colors became a warbly mess. He closes his eyes, tears stream down his cheeks.

                “For so long, I wanted revenge against those bastards for what they did. However, I think the comic is leading us into the right direction. If I can— I want to help. This was my fault anyhow.”

                Sarah grabs a page, and with it, it pulls against the spine. A single tear, Hol Horse’s eyes widen.

                “Wait, no!”

                “FUCK THIS!” She screams, tears falling from her eyes.

                Sarah rips it out the page, tearing it to pieces and throwing it to the side.

                “Sarah,” He sighs, getting up and walking towards her. He grabs her by the shoulder and squeezes it tightly.

                “Sarah, I know you don’t like this, but for the sake of your own survival please don’t. Tearing up the page doesn’t do anything, fate will happen no matter what.”

                “Then what then?” Sarah asked.

                “We accept Judgement Day? We wait to die?” She asked.

                “THAT’S BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!” She screams, taking a finger and jabbing it into him.

                “But if we don’t, will we also die?” He asked.

                Sarah paused, as much as she didn’t like this comic, whatever it said was one-hundred-percent true. No matter what happened, she had to keep her son safe. She had to keep him safe, and if things lined up the way they did it would be troublesome to risk altering it. If things were altered, what would happen then? The unknown scared her, and the only thing that Kyle wanted was to keep him safe. Her mind kept twisting in loops.

                Fine, today he’ll have it his way. Tomorrow? She’ll figure out the rest.

                “Hey, everything okay?” Enrique said. Sarah turned back, she lowered her head.

                “Everything’s fine.”

---

                Sarah carved a knife into the hardwood as the others packed up the things for the road. Enrique would hand something to John, who would hand something to the machine. His new name now was Uncle Bob. Uncle Bob, a rather bland but interesting name to say the least.

                “Is there anyone else involved in the making of Skynet? Any other allies?”

                “There is one.”

                “Well, go on—” Sarah says, gesturing out her hand and demands the machine to finish his sentence. He looks in her eyes.

                “The Speedwagon Foundation.”

                “What?”

                “They’re an organization that aids Cyberdyne in its logistics research.” It said.

                “Sarah please, this won’t get any—”

                Sarah raises her hand.

                “Where are they? I want names, addresses, streets. Everything.”

                As she stops carving, she takes the knife, examining it closely. It was a very special knife. Like her, it was for a very special situation. She turns back to Enrique and the young baby. They looked so happy together. A part of her heart sank. The way Yolanda spun the baby around made her heart sink more. The way the sun burred her vision, looking like a far off bomb clouding her vision almost made her scream aloud. To think these sorts of things would be in the far past someday never left her mind. She shrugs, she was so tired. She lays her head down and shuts her eyes. She was so tired. So very tired.

---

                Sarah marches along soft green grass. Her leather boots slap against it as the world goes silent. Past a chain link fence was a playground. Happy families laughed and cheered. She grabbed at the chains, looking at them with envy and fear. Had they known what’s to come? A sudden violent feeling overtakes her. Something was coming.

                She screams out, but hears nothing but the chain slapping around.

                “RUN! YOU NEED TO RUN!” She begs, but no voice leaves her lips. For some reason, she could never get past the fence. It was like her feet were frozen. The walls seemed to high to climb and even if she could would it even matter?

                Past the chains, she could see children on swings, children playing hopscotch, and children laughing. Past the chain links she could see the younger version of herself. The one who went to work, socialized, lived in a small apartment, and balanced her hectic life. She sees the young John walk past a small merry-go-round playset as she takes him by the hands.

                “Let’s try this one!” She cheers, taking the little boy by the hands. She picks him up and places him on a small spring rider toy.

                “Yay!” She cheers.

                “RUN!” She pleads, rattling the fence.

                She looks over towards John, cheering and cooing as she tickled him and rocked him back and forth on the spring rider.

                “YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!” Yet her silent words fall into the abyss. No one can hear her screams, nor her cries of anguish. The young mother turns back for a moment, she heard something. She had thought of something watching them, but there was nothing. She turns back, giggling and laughing as she played with the baby.

                Then, there it was. A bright flash of light in the sky followed by a bang. Sarah shielded herself from the light, it was nearly blinding. Children collapsed to the ground, and parents shielded their children from the blast. Then, the air around her felt to light up. She was wrapped in a blaze of fire. She screamed, begged anyone to hear her cries.

                Yet, there was nothing. The fire burned, her skin crackled and sizzled away like a pork chop. She didn’t just scream at the fire, but at the screams of the children burning around her. A wave of light turned once proud skyscrapers into dust. Cars blew away from the blast and anything not made of a sturdy metal was rendered to dust.

                Explosions, fire, the sky turned to charred mess. Trees bent under and curled with the blast. Children, men, women, everything turned to a charred stature that blew away in an orange fire. Sarah screamed, her skin burnt away, leaving nothing but the bone. As the skin burnt, there was nothing. Her soul was ripped from her body, leaving the cold soulless skeleton behind.

---

                Sarah jolts awake, her voice caught in her throat as she chokes over herself. Children played and a dog barks. For a moment, she was bewildered. How was she still alive? Then, she remembered. The dream. The nightmarish and horrible dream. The same dream she’s had so many times. She turns to the knife. Thoughts scattered and build in her mind.

                She turns to the table, seeing what she wrote. She had to remember that. To hell with this comic and its stupid predictions. If she were to die trying to stop Skynet, then she was to die. She wouldn’t just sit by and let a feeble comic dictate her life because it said so.

                “NO FATE.”

                She takes the knife, and stabs it into the table.

---

                With only a few items in hand, she takes her bag and throws open the door of rusty trailer. She marches over to their old car. She kicks it open. John turns, watches her storm towards the car. Hol Horse raises his head and turns toward her. His eyes widen, realizing what she’s going to do. He goes off in a full sprint run.

                “SARAH DON’T DO IT!” He screams.

                “You said you go south with him, like your plan. She’ll meet you tomorrow.”

                “MOM! MOM WAIT!”

                John rushes over to the car. Yet, before any of them can reach her, she was gone. She took off into the sunset. Hol Horse huffs, seeing the car disappear into nothing makes strikes his brain.

                “John,” He begs.

                “Please don’t tell me what I think she’s going to do.”

---

                John takes the knife and pulls it out from the wood. The only message left in the board, ‘NO FATE.’ It bewildered him for a moment.

                “No fate?” He thought.

                “No fate?” He asks, turning back to the machine.

                “No fate but what we make.” He mouths to himself.

                Hol Horse stands in confusion, looking at the two of them with bewildered eyes. He nearly starts to tear up. He raises his hand, asking John a question.

                “John?” He asks, his voice gentler and softer than he ever known.

                “What does she mean by that?”

                “My father told her this.” He says, stepping back and turning towards Hol Horse.

                “I mean, I made him memorize this in the future when he told this to her.”

                He steps back, remembering the last few hours and repeating them. Mentally, he retraced each and every step he took.

                “Nevermind,” He takes the knife and sets it down.

                “Now the whole thing goes… ‘The future is not set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves.’” He said aloud. Hol Hore remained frozen, he didn’t know whether to be shocked or appalled. Never before he had seen anyone, let alone a lady be so brazen and to stick fate to it.

                “She intends to change the future.”

                It hits Hol Horse like a truck. Sarah was going off script.

                “Yeah, I guess.”

                He thinks for a moment, giving himself the time to really think about it.

                “That comic said she would go to Cyberdyne first, but Hol Horse said she would stay. Wait… didn’t you mention something about the Speedwagon Foundation?”

                His mouth drops.

                “OH SHIT!” He gasps.

                “What?” Hol Horse asks, his voice becoming more frantic.

                “What, what?”

                “The Foundation! Then Dyson!” He curses, spinning around for a moment.

                “She’s going to blow them all away!” He screams.

                “Come on let’s go!” He screams, but someone catches him. Hol Horse.

                “No, we do what Thoth says.” John pulls him away, nearly cursing.

                “Are you kidding me? After all that you still want to do what that stupid comic says?”

                “Look kid, as much as I love your mother I can’t risk you getting hurt. If they really say that you’re going to be some leader some day I can’t risk you getting’ killed!”

                “OH DAMN IT STOP! I ALREADY HEAR ENOUGH OF THAT SHIT FROM HER, I DON’T NEED IT FROM YOU!” He screams, pulling away and getting closer to the car.  

                “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW, YOU’RE JUST A KID!”

                “I KNOW A LOT MORE THAN YOU, DUMBASS!” He screams.

                “AND I KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO DIE LIKE BOINGO DID IF YOU DON’T STOP!”

                He stops for a moment, nearly cursing.

                “You know, I’m starting to think of something. Every person you said ended up in a bad way because they defied that comic did so of their own fruition.” He says, turning back to him.

                “What the hell are you saying kid?”

                “I’m saying they didn’t do it because they believed in fate, they wanted to happen. All I see it as going with fate will only get you killed.”

                “Stop, look kid please—”

                “Huh, I can see why you liked DIO so much. You weren’t down on your luck, you were spineless coward.” He hissed.

                “What?”

                “You heard me, you’re no better than Boingo or his brother from the look of things.”

                Hol Horse balls his fist. What does this kid know? He has never been through what Hol Horse has. He has never met DIO. What will he think if he does? How would he even react if he does? Would he be this gung-ho if he learned the truth? He would hardly be able to survive half of the things he’s seen in Egypt and he’s calling him a spineless coward?

                “Don’t you want to live outside their shadow, and do something with your own life?”

                “I—” Once again, the boy was right. Once again, he couldn’t say no.

                “Damn it kid.”

                Then, they sped off, not without even saying a single word to Enrique. He could only wonder what got into their minds as they chaotically threw things into the Ford and sped away. Maybe they were heroes, or maybe they were brave fools.

                Nevertheless, it was time to go off script.

---

                This wasn’t like Hol Horse’s usual dreams. It was like a snapshot of a memory. A time long since past. He sits down in a coffee shop. He turns his head over. He sees cars, cows, and other animals pass the street. A few men look over and point to a drainage pipe that been bent. They lower themselves and begin to work. His heart races, something felt wrong. The colors, everything felt too dark, like the color had been drained from the world.

                Yet, that couldn’t be right. It was bright as day outside. His eyes catch on two people across the street. A tall cowboy man and a small kid with a comic book. His mind races. He walks towards the glass and places his palms against it. There they were. He goes to find the nearest exit, only to stop when he realizes the entire wall was an impenetrable glass. There was no where to turn to, no where to run.

                “You there! Worker guys! This is a matter of life and death!”

                His eyes widen.

                “No that couldn’t—”

                “I need one of you to open that pipe on the double!”

                They turn to each other in confusion. Open the pipe, did he really just say open the pipe.

                “Just do it alright!”

                “No,” He pleads behind the glass.

                They continue to bicker, it was happening again. This same, painful memory.

                “NO!” He screams.

                “NO! PLEASE! STOP! DON’T DO IT! YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!”

                He sees himself fumble for coins, but even through all of that no words leave his lips. He raises himself up. No one can hear him. Nobody at all. He turns back, seeing a large café of people. He turns back. No matter where he runs, he feels like he will always be trapped in this café. He turns back pounding the glass again.

                “NO! PLEASE LISTEN TO ME! STOP! THIS WHOLE FUED WITH DIO! FORGET IT! IN A FEW YEARS ITS NOT GOING TO EVEN MATTER!”

                Still nothing, fate happened as it was.

                “YOU NEED TO RUN! NOW!”

                Hol Horse stops for a moment, he turns around. He can feel somebody watching him. He turns over and eyes a café across the street for a moment. He shakes his head, turning back to the men. Hol Horse couldn’t believe it, nobody could see him.

                Despite feeling like a normal flesh and blood human he was nothing more than a ghost.

                “RUN! DEAR GOD! WHO CARES ABOUT THIS? TAKE THE BOY AND LEAVE!!”

                He slams on the glass, nearly determined to break it into pieces. Yet, hit after hit left nothing.

                “RUN! GOD PLEASE!”

                “Hey, what is a meteor doing, falling from the sky?” Boingo asked.

                “Th-that’s not a meteor!”

B  O  O M

                A sudden burning light overtakes the city. Hol Horse and Boingo drop to their knees. Hol Horse shields his eyes from the blast. The light was almost unbearable.

                “WH-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!”

                “OH GOD!” A worker pleaded.

                “MY SKIN IS MELTING AWAY! OH GOD IT BURNS! HEEEELLLLPP!!!”

                He screams, pounding at the glass as his skin cracked and browned, turning nothing more into ash. He hollers out, hoping to someone, anyone out there for a sign. The crusaders turn to towards the light and shield their eyes. Jotaro grunts in pain.

                Avdol turns to his fingers and widens them in shock.

                “Wh-WHAT?” He screams.

                “N-No, this—” Avdol pleads.

                Then, a ball of light turns everything to ash. The city flattens, trees bend and buckle, cars flip over and crash. The city is reduced to nothing but rubble and all that remains is hard metal. The crusaders, old men, young women, everything burns, turning into nothing more but ash.

                Hol Horse hollers out, feeling his flesh melt away only to reveal bone. His bones shatter and crack, he whines as they scatter too with the wind.

---

                He gasps, stumbling awake in the backseat of that car. He watches the machine and the boy drive away. In that moment, he truly understood why Sarah went off-script… truly…

Chapter 8: So now we can pretend…

Summary:

Mariah was just a woman once, until she found Dio and became infatuated. Oingo was once just a brother but now he wasn’t. He knew what could happen, but wasn’t ever ready when it did.
Segment inspired by Crazy Diamond’s Demonic Heartbreak by Tasuku Karasuma and (somewhat) by the We Need More Yankiis Translation.

1995

                Hol Horse stands before the tower. He stands before it the way any man would cower under the mighty presence of God. He sighs, pulling up his watches and looking at them carefully.

                “Eighth of a second off.”

                Eighth of a second off is a bad sign, especially for a day like this.

                “Bad enough luck to kill a man. Yeesh, hopefully they’re keeping up with the watchtower.” He said to himself, stepping forward and pushing through the dense crowd. The Arabian sun was thick and wrapped him in a warm heat.                

                He turns down a small corner towards a dark alleyway. A circular dome tunnel opens up and he pushes through towards the cool darkness.

                “Hey, you nobody can go down this road, right?”

                Hol Horse turns, seeing a small kid covered in robes with a cocky smile on his face.

                “What’s that supposed to mean, kid?” He asked.

                “Try it and find out, sir.”

                “Oh?” Almost mocking, almost provoking.

                The kid smiled, just another white foreigner without a lick of sense and too high of a bravado. This should be really fun.

                “You’re not going anywhere if you don’t hire me as your guide.”

                Hol Horse rolls his eyes, please. It seems every kid these days is trying to get some ample money. For a young boy such as himself, it won’t likely be long. A kid like him should be in school, not trying to make a quick buck.

                “This kind of life of easy money, isn’t for you little guy. You should really be in school kid.” He remarked, looking down on him with a smile.

                “Oh?” He asks, mocking the cocky attitude that Hol Horse had towards him.        

                “Ksssssh,” He tsked.

                Hol Horse just pushes right through him.

                “Where are you going? I told you, this place is cursed.”  

                “Oh?” He asked again. Again, slight provoking, almost enticing.

                The boy rolled his eyes. This foreigner is going to die and it will be the fault of his own pride.

                “If you need a guide, I’ll be it. However, you got to pay upfront for it.”

                Without thinking, Hol Horse takes his hand and points it forward. A large gun forms into his hand from a spinning ray of purple and gold. The kid looks at him confused, seeing only his hand point forward towards the sky. However as he points it, it obscures his vision. He squints slightly as he tries to track his movements.

                “Huh? Hey, what are doing you geezer?” The kid says as he cover his eyes.

                “I’m holding a gun, you just can’t see it kiddo.”

                His eyes lower and make contact with his.

                “Oh by the way, watch your head.”

                The kid was starting to get pissed off. What was this stupid foreigners big idea of all of this? He’s about had enough of this strange old cowboy.

                “WATCH MY HEAD? JUST WHAT ARE YOU SAYING YOU OLD FART? I’M NOT SCARED OF YOU, DAMN IT! JUST GIVE ME CASH SO THAT I CAN BE YOUR GUIDE ALREADY!” He screams.

                BANG – BANG – BANG

                Three shots ring up at the sky. They zoom past and strike and crack through porcelain plants, shattering them to pieces and sending them to the ground. The old man watches with only horror as his beloved plants crack and fall through his fingers. They crash against the ground. The boy stands over the pots with terror as they fall around him like rain.

                “Hey now, what’s the big idea here?” He asked. 

                The man looks below and locks eyes with the young boy.

                “As I thought, damn brats.” He cursed. 

                “Just wait until I get down there, little man!” He screams.

                “WH-WHAT’S GOING ON?” The boy screams, immediately turning his heel to run across the street. This was getting a little too strange for him.

                “Told you, should have stayed in school.”

                He stomps through an endless labyrinth and marches through dark corridors. The only man capable of such labyrinths… was…

                “God damn it, Kenny G. I ain’t tellin ya to call of your stand or anything, just give me a sign. Wouldn’t ya?”

                “Only if you call of yours, Hol Horse.” A voice said back.

                “Alright!” He sighs, waving his hand and with a flick of his wrist the gun disappears like an elaborate magic trick. He sighs with relief, leaping through a window and landing into a small apartment complex. He rests his hand on the wall, only stopping to realize where his hand touched. A long outlet.

                “It’s not my outlet,” Mariah says, sitting in a chair as she pours a drink.

                “However, be aware if you do try anything…”

                “Please, you know I’m a gentlemen.” He chuckled.

                “Don’t get coy with me. Besides, you should be settled down right about now. What gives?” She asks him with a raised brow.

                “Like you and Kenny G?” Hol Horse asked. It was rather funny, of all the people Mariah could have chosen, and she chose Kenny. She was always a wild girl and never thought Kenny would be her type. What was so great about him? What made him so special? Well, he knew what they said about opposites. Suppose it wasn’t just the stand that made her magnetic.

                “Bah, it’s not like I would care.” He thought to himself.

                “Just got to get some questions from her, and be back.”

                “Kenny’s not coming, you know how he is with strangers.”

                “Anyway, there’s only a visitor here. He wants to see you.” She says, narrowing her eyes as they lock with his.

                “You know what I mean.” She said.

                Hol Horse shivered. No, couldn’t be that. Oingo? After all the time, he’s resurfaced? What for? He stopped for a moment, of course he knew. He holds Thoth and snugs it close to his chest. He knew he shouldn’t have kept this thing. He’s barely peeped at it since the incident, but still his fingers linger on its cover. He should open it now, he should really open it now.

                “He’s here?” He screamed.

                “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

                “Because he knew you would come back here.”

                Suddenly, without warning. A man barges through the room and charges him. He grabs him by the throat and squeezes. Hol Horse screams, choking and cursing as the stranger keeps his fingers wrapped around his throat. Hol Horse was quickly losing air and his face was nearly turning red. His face reeled back, forcing to stare at the man before him.

                “Where is it?” He growls, his eyes full of menace and rage.

                “Where’s what?” He croaks.

                “Don’t play dumb Hol Horse, I know you have Thoth with you.”

                Without a second more, he screams.

                “GIVE IT TO ME! YOU RAN AWAY WITH IT WHEN YOU HIGH TAILED IT OUT OF THERE IN 89!”

                He shakes him violently, throwing him to the wall.

                “GIVE IT BACK!!!!!” He screams.

                “I know my stand won’t do shit, but believe me when I say I won’t be capable of doing unspeakable things to you.”

                “O-Oingo—” He begs.

                “Pl-please.” He coughs.

                “No, you don’t understand.” He growls.

                “I—”

                “Do you have any idea what it was like for me when they wheeled in my brother morgue? When I found his body? What the doctors said?”

                “Oingo—” He coughs.

                “Do you know what you did when you left Cairo? Took the only thing left of my brother while you ran away?” He coughs, struggling as he tries to kick and push him off. While Hol Horse was highly skilled in combat, Oingo was rather young malleable. He wasn’t sure if it was the stand or his pure rage that kept him locked in place but he knew that he wasn’t going to get out of there alive at this rate.

                “I can’t tell you anything— if you’re acting like this—” He choked.

                “If you let me go, I can help you—” He stammered, trying to speak through hoarse and heavy breathes as he pleads.

                “This is all a big misunderstanding! Please, I’m trying to tell you— I’m—”

                “Do you have the dreams?” Mariah asked, pouring tea in a cup with a kettle and watching it settle for a moment.

                “If you mean I plagued with nightmares, then no. I’m too much a man for such silly things,” He thought. It was a lie, but in his heart he believed it to be true. While it wasn’t Dio that plagued him every night, a small drone still bopped and weaved through his mind. It chased him sometimes. Sometimes, he sees it disappear, and remerge as the world goes up in flames.              

                The only words that echoed through his mind, were Cyberdyne.

                “Cyberdyne, Cyberdyne.”

                “Sometimes I dream how it was back then,” Mariah said as she sat down and looked towards the floor with a sigh.

                “And each night I wake up in a cold sweat. Even though he’s… gone, I still see him there.” She says, her voice slightly wavering almost as if there were tears in her eyes. The way she said that word, gone, sounded so mournful. Like how one would say it when the feel the loss of a loved one.

                “Dio, he was always there… in those dreams. ‘What are you crying for Mariah, go and kill the Joestars!’ He would say that, and just stare over me. I could only weep, and tell him I’m sorry, over and over again.” She said.

                “Even though the Speedwagon Foundation told me of what he did, I still didn’t feel right. The real me, the one I was when I was with Dio… felt the most real. It felt so pleasurable, even though I never got implanted with a flesh bud… I… felt so good.” Her voice wavered.

                “It wasn’t just the stand, his presence. It felt so all powerful, I felt whole.”

                Whole, he did too felt whole once when he fought for Dio. He had to agree, Dio did give him power. It did push him, but now that terror of DIO has faded. Something else has taken its place. Cyberdyne, those words repeating over and over in his mind.

                “Wait, I got it!” He thought.

                “Cyberdyne,” He coughs.

                Oingo drops him. He slumps to the ground and chokes. He slowly breathes in and out, trying to get back the air that was nearly taken from him.

                “Cyberdyne.” He repeats.

                “Look, I’m sorry about your brother. I really am.” He pleads.

                “But you got it all wrong! I had to disappear, you of all people should know what happens when you cross DIO.” He explains. He sighs, pushing himself up and trying to avoid the sadness buried deep from bubbling forth.

                “I wanted to meet with you again, but you never seemed to show up.” He slowly backs towards the wall. Mariah watched his movements carefully.

                “But I wasn’t the one that got him killed.”

                “Cyberdyne, that’s the guys you’re looking for. They’re the guys who gave the Joestars that drone. That damned drone.” He stomps his foot, every single time he thought of that drone a bubbling rage burned through him.

                “They got Boingo killed, not me.”

                He sighs, raising his hand.

                “Please, I’ve been trying to piece these guys together. I thought after I swung by her, I would go to Los Angeles. There’s something there I need. If you come with me, I might be able to avenge your brother.” He begs. 

                “Cyberdyne?” Oingo whimpered.

                He balls his fist, grabbing Hol Horse by the collar.

                “CYBERDYNE?” He screams, pushing him through a window. The two fall through, crashing into the street below. Mariah was taken aback for a moment, and not for the fact that Oingo broke her window. Rather, that Oingo would be mad enough to do such a thing. She never thought he had it in him to get so rageful.

---

                A terminator unit climbs above a high watch tower. It wraps its body around it and drags something out of a large black box. Within a few short seconds, it assembles into a long caliber sniper rifle. There was a few interesting details of the sniper rifle. For one, it was once a customed made for a skilled sniper whose Identity had been classified and scrapped away from the CIA a long time ago. It had a longer stock and a heavier folded end and a thicker barrel and specially made parts to make it a more silent killer than most.

                The sniper it was made for had it cast away, but luckily enough it managed to snag it before it would be taken for disposal. It was the only one of its kind. All the molds made for this one had been broken down a few years ago.

                He takes the rifle and carefully adjusts it towards an alleyway farther ahead. It takes a set of binoculars and throw them over its head. It adjusts the red scopes through them carefully. It had four scopes made from thin tapered glass. The glass was concave on the inside and was specially crafted for missions such as this. Not to mention, small microphone end pieces that connected to an encrypted channel not too far away.

                The way they were arranged made them appear like the red beady eyes of a spider. It slowly moves the sniper, making sure to calculate the earth’s curvature, wind speed, and weather temperature to achieve the perfect results. The machine is able to perceive a manipulated landscape and so uses its infrared vision to identify the real environment. A short complex of abandoned apartments.

                Through different infrared scans, it identified a human male not more than one-hundred-and-forty to one-hundred-and-sixty centimeters in height.

                With one round, it draws the man out.

                The man stands there confused, carefully pushing himself out into the open. His head peaks for a moment, and with it the machine is able to catch his eyes and identify him as Kenny G. Kenny G, or Kenny Gerald was the code name for an Egyptian man named Mossad Nasir Ahmed. Kenny G steps forward a few feet and looks around.

---

                Kenny G bops his head around few times.

                “Wh-what the hell was that?” He asked.

                “The sounded like a bullet, but there’s nothing here!” He protests. He grabs his head and rubs it several times anxiously.

                “Relax Kenny, it’s probably just your imagination.” He said.

                “Besides, your stand is fool proof. There’s no one that can—”

                KNNCH

                A fast round blasts through his temporal lobe and out of his brain stem. His upper neck explodes into a pile of bone and red meat. Then, the environment warps.

---

                Mariah jumps for a second. Not long after Boingo charged at Hol Horse and pushed him out the window, she heard a pop. She thought it was when they both collided down and slammed onto the car, but she was wrong. If that were the case, why did it sound like it was coming from behind her? She spun around, trying to identify the noise.

                She charges, pressing forward and looking around frantically for answers.

                “Kenny?” She asked.

                “KENNY?”

---

                Oingo throws him over and pushes him to the ground. He screams, his rage emanates like the energy of a raging white star. He then raises his fist, and with a swift blow he socks Hol Horse across the face. Hol Horse growls, using his foot to propel Oingo off and send him tumbling to the ground.

                “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THIS?” He screamed.

                “Damn it! I SAID I WASN’T THE ONE WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS DEATH!”

                He flips him over and shoves his boot into his chest. Oingo grunts, trying to move out from under his weight. He then grabs a rock and throws it in his face. He’s blinded for a few seconds. This releases Oingo, who then uses this opportunity to lunge him. He tackles him to the ground and they both start wrestling like dirty street cats.

                They punch, they kick, they bite, and they tussle. They roll across the ground. One was more ferocious and bloodthirsty than the other, it didn’t take much to guess which one.

                “Bastard,” Oingo cursed.

                “I should kill you for what you did.”

                “I DIDN’T KILL HIM!” He screamed back, pushing him away.

---

<TERMINATION SUCCESSFUL>

<ANALYZING NEW DATA FIELD INFORMATION>

                Approximately three minutes after the termination of Kenny G, the machine detected motion southward approximately thirty meters from his location. Two men were wrestling with one another. One was atop the other and seem hellbent on killing him. The machine’s enhanced vision clocked one of the two as Hol Horse, a supreme outlaw and bounty hunter.

<TARGET LOCATED>

                It kept its sight on Hol Horse.

<MARKED FOR TERMINATION>

                It lowered the sniper and carefully rested the bullseye point slightly above Hol Horse’s temple.

<TARGET LOCKED>

As long as the other man was done and out of the way, the machine had a clear shot of taking out Hol Horse without any worry. All it had to do was at the moment was wait, and a machine like itself had no qualms doing as such.

---

                “I DON’T CARE WHO KILLED HIM! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WAS THERE! YOU WERE THE ONE THAT GOT HIM KILLED!” He screams, spit flying into his face.

                He punched him several times, hitting him right in the nose. Hol Horse snaps, drawing out his Emperor and placing it right against Oingo’s temple.

                “Stop.” He warned.

                “Don’t make me do this Oingo, I don’t want to hurt you.”

                A long silence filled the air and choked them in its dark presence. There was nothing but the slight howl of the wind blowing against nearby buildings. A slight whistle brushed his ear and kept him silent. He didn’t want to do this. Oingo was just a young man in his eyes, not marked too badly by DIO’s chaos or conflict.

                He still had a future, still had hope. He still had a way out of this mess, he needed to stop. Yet, if fate determined it to be so, he would blast Oingo’s brains wide open with his Emperor. In his mind, he was hoping, almost urging Oingo to reconsider his dangerous plan.

                “Please, don’t do it Oingo.” He says again.

                Finally, Oingo speaks again.

                “I don’t care who got him killed or if it was predicted.”

                He leans over, making sure to get right in his face. His breath hot and heavy. Hol Horse could almost taste the grief buried inside him. How did it get this bad? If he knew that drone would cause all these problems, he would have shot that thing down years ago.

                Although, that left a burning question in his mind… why?

                Without time to properly think through that question, Oingo transforms himself. His tan face slowly shifting into Hol Horse’s. Hol Horse remained confused for a moment. What was Oingo planning to do now? What was going to happen next?

                “I could really take your identity.” Oingo chuckled in Hol Horse’s own rusty voice.

                “Oingo…” Hol Horse thought.

---

<REASSESSMENT>

                The machine unit stopped short when its sensors picked up the other man. It started to raise a brow slowly. The man he saw was also identified as Hol Horse. Had it made a mistake? No, that couldn’t possibly the case. There must have been another logical answer to this.

                It scans its native data files on other stand users. It brought up data on a peculiar user known for his ability to nearly transform into other people. Oingo… it changed its parameters, turning the sniper’s end towards Oingo instead. It focused the shot and steadied it on the side of Oingo’s head.  

---

                “Listen,” Oingo said urgently, his voice filling with rage by the second. A voice not too far from Hol Horse’s own voice.

                “I don’t care what was said in the prediction.” He growled.

                “Fate had you guard over him, and what did you do?” He asked.

                “You left my brother to die.” He hissed.

                “You left my brother as nothing but a piece of red meat and you didn’t even care. You took the only thing worth meaning in his life and ran off.”

                Oingo thinks for a moment, but not before shifting into full rage and anger.

                “I’LL KILL YOU!” He screams, the half of his face then explodes. It shatters into a million pieces and lands like a rain over him.

                “Huh?” Hol Horse thought, pushing himself back and gasping. He wipes off the blood and looks towards the watch tower. He gasps suddenly when he sees a small bright light shine in the distance, nearly burning him with its brilliance. Not many ordinary civilians could spot such a thing, but a man such as himself can clock one from a mile away.

                The only thing capable of doing that would be a…

                “SNIPER?” He thought.

                “But here? How? Why?”

                He gasps, not having long to think of the answer when another round barrels forward. He quickly ducks, using Oingo’s splattered remains as a shield. Guts explode around him as his face is caked with guts and shattered bones.

                “FUCK!” He raises his Emperor, aiming in the general direction of the sniper.

                He aims a few rounds into its general direction.

---

                The machine lowers the sniper, but not until its eyes turn up to see three bright flaming bursts of purple light graze forward. They strike its goggles, shattering some of them on the left side. It stumbles back and shields itself.

<NO DAMAGE DETECTED>

                While it was unlucky it got shot when it did, the round didn’t manage to scrape its internal endoskeleton. The machine raises its body and looks towards the ground. It seems that Hol Horse spotted him, a bit troubling. It specially went into this mission to terminate him. If he was allowed to live, it would greatly hinder the evolution of Skynet.

                It couldn’t allow that to happen.

                It descends from above and crashes into the town streets below.

---

                “Run,” A voice in his head screamed.

                “Run as far and fast as you can.”

                He didn’t want to give into his pride, he rightfully obliged.

                “Right,” He notes, stepping onto his heel and turning away.

                “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He thought.

                “Why the hell would a sniper be doing all the way out here for?” He thought.

                “Could it be a…” He thought.

                “Well, who the hell cares. If he is, I sure is hell ain’t going to be there when he comes around.”

---

                The young Ali steps back onto the wall. The young man looked down at him furiously as he raises his fist. He should really beat this little dimwit child right here and now. It would serve him right for ruining his rare Red Lotuses. He paid quite the fortune for them, and now this little rat has gone and ruined everything. He looked back at the plants and sighed.

                Well, he suppose he could scoop into a dust pan and move then to another pot. However, that doesn’t change the fact of the matter. A little dimwitted snotty brat took a rock or slingshot and ruined his precious flowers. The didn’t even start blooming yet.

                The old man turns back and raises his hand higher.

                “I should really kill you, you know.” Says the man.

                “I paid a good fortune for those.” The boy cowers, lowering his head in panic.

                “It’s not me I swear!” He begged.

                “Please don’t hit me!”

                “Oh sure it was Ali, just as you said it wasn’t you when you destroyed my priceless Egyptian pottery!!” He shouts, pointing back at the boy.

                “Time and time again you screw things up for me you little runt,” He said as he raised his fist.

                “Well then maybe this will teach ya a lesson!”

                The boy whimpers, covering his head in fear.

                Suddenly a man appears and bursts through the streets and away from them, turning back to the alleyway that he once entered in. The young boy stammered, blinking for a few moments to take in the situation.

                “Wait, that’s— the guy! That foreigner who shot his plants and framed me for it.”

                He balls his fist.

                “I won’t ever forgive him for his injustice!” He thought.

                “Him!” He points, raising his hand high and pointing towards the direction the old Cowboy darted off from.

                “That’s the guy you should be looking for, not me!” He pleads.

                “He destroyed your plants!” He begged.

                “I didn’t do anything, wrong!”

                He puts his hands together and begs furiously.

                “I’ll stop skipping school, and I’ll help my father’s street shop twice a day! Whatever those plants costed, I’ll pay double Mr. Abboudi!” He cries.

                “Just please! Please! Please! Please! PLEASE!” He begged.

                “Believe me!”

                The old man lowered his fist and looked at him for a long time. His demeanor isn’t playful or smug. He seems entirely genuine in his fear. This little boy actually thinks he didn’t do it. A shot of anger burst through him. He rolled his eyes, as if that will pay for the destruction of his Lotuses.

                “As if!” He scoffs.

                “Those plants costed me a fortune, it will take years for you to pay it off!” He said.

                “And by that time, you would hardly be a boy anymore.” He said, getting closer to his face.

                “How about I teach this to you in a language you will understand.” He said, raising his fist up. The boy cowers again, feeling the light turn dark. A deep shadow casts over him. The two turn in shock as an incredibly tall Asiatic looking man stares at them. One eye was covered with a bandage and deep cuts grazed his face.

                “There was a man here, a guy with a general appearance of a western Cowboy.” The man said. His voice was flat and emotionless, but extremely commanding.

                Mr. Abboudi grunts, stepping towards him and sneering fervently.

                “Hey, I don’t know if you’re new around here or not, but I think it’s quite rude of you to intrude on other’s business don’t you think?”

                He says, stepping up to the man with no fear. Despite his tall and ominous presence he was just another nuisance.

                “Where did he go?” He asked again, becoming much more urgent and pressing.

                “How about you—" Mr. Abboudi goes to raise his finger. Just as he does so, the machine catches his hand. With a twist, his wrist snaps. Not too long after and his finger brakes with him.

                “AGH!! AAAAAA—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!”

                He curses, clutching his hand. With his good hand, he pulls out a switch blade and draws it towards his neck. The man throws the knife to the side and raises his him up by the neck.

                “Where did he go?” He asked again.

                “Go fuck yourself,” He cursed back.

                CRUNCH

                A sudden twist of the strange man’s wrist, and Mr. Abboudi’s neck crumpled like a piece of paper. The little boy stood there, mouth agape and nervously sweating.

                “M-m-mister—” He stammers.

                Little Ali stumbles back and nearly falls face first. The tall man gets closer to him, his face flat and emotionless as he gets closer. The boy panics, fearing death he raises his finger and points back towards the alleyway.

                “There.” He says in a frantic huff.

                “He went there.”

                The man says nothing, looking back to the boy and nods.

                “Thank you.”

                Just as he walks away, giving the boy some time to process what he just witnessed, the boy made a startling realization. The man, as he walked there was a weird gait to him. His movement was stilted and extremely inhuman. Even as he stood there he could have sworn that he heard something. It sounded akin to the slight hum of a motor engine. Like something inside the man was made of metal. No one would ever believe him, but every day since he would swear up and down of what he’d seen.

---

                Mariah panics, a deep weight fills her gut as something presses her to run around her apartment. No matter how much she called and screamed, Kenny G never answered her. Mariah opened her eyes a bit. A sudden relief brushed through her.

                “Kenny!” She cried with delight.

                She turns back, and her sudden relief vanquished, replaced only by a sense of dread. Her eyes catch on the candy apple green of a tall Asiatic man with died red hair.

                “Wh-who are you?” She asked.

                “Mariah Maddone?” He asked back to her.

                Mariah stepped back, seemingly taken aback by his own question. The sudden and upfront way he asked it made all the hairs on her body stand up straight. She normally would have come up with a smug or witty response to such a question. Instead, she mindlessly steps back and nods to his pressing question absentmindedly.

                “Y-yeaaah—” She covers her mouth, realizing the stupidity of her own mistake.

                “I understand.” He says, raising a knife and aiming it towards her.

---

                Hol Horse runs, he runs with every cell in his body. He hardly stops to look behind him or breathe. He bumps and pushes into people, nearly rocking them and sending them on their butt. Some curse and throw things at him. He doesn’t bother to register their comments, all he wanted to do was live. Live to see tomorrow and get away from this bullshit.

                Through the crowd, he could see a peculiar man stare back at him. He was abnormally tall. His eyes were a deep and almost unnatural green. His eyes slanted and somewhat reminiscent of a Japanese or Chinese looking individual. He had died red hair and three black beads attached to the front of his bangs.

                The beads made his hair look like the open mandibles of a spider.

                He runs faster.

                “FUCK!” He screams, pushing through the crowd. He balls his fist, turning emperor back towards the man and firing several rounds into the air.

                Yet, much to his strange confusion and absolute terror, no amount of bullets seemed to have any effect on the man. What was going on?

                “The hell?” He asked himself.

                “I shot like six rounds of my Emperor into him, why isn’t he going down?”

---

                Hol Horse makes a mad dash across several courtyards, streets, and alleyways, yet time and again the strange tall man haunted him. A demon that taunted and terrified him. A demon that never left his sights. Hol Horse wasn’t even sure if he blinked, nonetheless breathed. Hol Horse wasn’t how he could he even survive this, nonetheless flee for safety.

                “C’mon, c’mon, there’s gotta be a way to get out of this shithole.” He thought to himself.

                As he ran, he collided, crashed against more people.

                He was like a rogue Ion going against the other atoms, charging them and causing them to push back with more energy. Like fire and death, it was all consuming. People screamed, threw things, threw water, threw spice, and threw live animals.  

                “FUCK!” Hol Horse thought, being pelted and scarred by their attacks.

                “I need to get out of here.”

                “What the hell is going on?” He thought.

                For all his running, he forgot something. He had a sniper rifle before, and he seemed really proficient with it. For all the fury and persistence, why hadn’t he attacked? Why didn’t he just charge him there and now? Why didn’t he go for him?

                Perhaps the seemingly stalking and watching, without any urge to strike back was terrifying in of itself. He almost seemed more a force of nature than a man. Maybe if he didn’t know any better, maybe he was. Maybe he was an Angel, or a demon.

                As he ran, he saw someone approaching. His nerves stood on edge and his heart raced.

                “HOL HORSE!” Mariah screamed.

                Her voice strangely panicked and pained. Not something enraged or annoyed as she normally would be with him. She was terrified, but why? She pushes through the crowd and charges him. As he raises his emperor she raises her hands with fear.

                She meant him no harm, why?

                “HOL HORSE!” She screamed, her voice getting much louder through the terrified crowd.

                “DON’T LET HIS BLOOD TOUCH YOU!” She begged.

                He raises his brow. Blood? What was she talking about?

                “What the hell are you talking about Mariah?”

                Mariah stepped forward, she stomps, swerving, blooding dripping from open wounds. The closer he looked, the more he realized. There were tiny holes, holes scattered across her body. From her legs upward, the holes were getting bigger. Hol Horse’s heart raced more, he stepped back. What does she mean by blood?

                He pats his face and rubs it slowly, nothing. There was nothing there. No sort of holes, he fumbles through his pockets and pulls out a small mirror from his pocket. He flips open a lighter and pulls down a small hatch. There, laid a mirror, he carefully looked at his face. No holes, he pulled up the collar of his coat.

                Again, no holes.

                “Y-you got water.” She remarked.

                “Huh?” Hol Horse asked, stepping back.

                “You should be lucky, I wasn’t.”

                She steps closer and closer to him, but he raises his hand towards him.

                “HEY NO!” He screams.

                “IF THERE’S SOMETHING GOIN ON, STAY BACK!”

                “Hol Horse.” She whined, her voice become shakier. It was almost pleading.  

                “I SAID STAY THE HELL BACK!”

                She nearly charges him and he dashes off. She slams against the wall and nearly explodes into a fountain of blood.

                “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” He screamed.

---

A FEW MOMENTS AGO

                The man stands before Mariah, as she goes to prepare her next attack the man stops. He takes his hand and slices it. With it, he throws his hand. She steps back, throwing her hands above her face and steps away. She lowered her hands and breathed a good few minutes. He then slowly approaches her with the knife.

                The knife was stained with his own blood.

                “Blood?” She thought.

                “He threw his own blood at me. Why?”

                A sudden thought strikes her and her eyes widen.

                “He wouldn’t be doing that if—” She gasps, stepping back. In a panic, she madly tries to rub her clothes to wipe of the blood.

                As he raises the knife, she taps the ground. An outlet forms under his foot. He steps back, looking at the outlet and then steps around him.

                “Wh-what?” She thought.

                “How did he—”

                He approaches, ever the more slowly. Slow, the method of his killing was slow and patient. He was waiting for a moment to kill. It was slow, and painful. She turns her head and pushes herself through a door. The man carefully steps towards the door. He goes to raise his hand but draws it back. An outlet appears on the wall where his hand would reach.

                Like a trained Ninja, his footsteps were silent. There was a calculated drive to each step.

---

                Mariah pushes through the streets, she grabs her arms and hold them close. A burning pain digs into her skin. She looks at her hand and gasps. Holes dug into her skin. She steps forward, she was started to get dizzy. It didn’t take long to understand what was happening. A stand, a small colony stand breaking down her body from within.

                “Wh-what the hell?” She asked herself.

                “When did this get on me?”

                Her hand shook, and the more she stared, the more tiny holes appeared in her skin. From her skin she could see tiny cubes of purple and green pop up and dig through.

                “Blood,” He thought.

                “He infected me with his own blood. He knew exactly when and where to hit me. He knew where I was going to stand, and he knew where I was going to be.”

                She raises her hand and clutches it.

                “Blood, the blood contains a pathogen. A tiny band of colony stands digging into me.” Her hands trembled and she turned back.

                “But what kind of stand user would be hunting me down like this?”

                A sudden memory came back to her. A memory of an urban legend. Dark stories of the original guards of DIO left living slowly disappearing. It began with Steely Dan and Rubber Soul. Both vanished without a word or explanation. The next were seedy underground henchmen that not many would have known about. Nobody could ever find their bodies or where the hell they went.

                “Wait,” She thought, her mind drifting towards her own apartment.

                “The hunters, is this the same guy that came after Steely Dan and Rubber Soul?”

                “Just who is this man?”

---

                She sees him pursuing her through the streets. He pushed and kicked people through the carnage, his face contorted into something stranger. It wasn’t enraged. It was rather calm. Like the look of an apex predator waiting for the next hunt. It was still but very determined and hard. There was no emotion but that intense look in his eyes.

                It took in more than it gave. Like his very own aura was taxing on the universe itself. It took in everything but gave nothing in return. She panics, grabbing a guy in front of him. An outlet appears below him. She pushes him towards and uses it to block his path.

                “BASTET!” She screamed.

                “PROTECT ME FROM THIS MAN AND GET ME THE HELL AWAY!”

                The man stumbles confused and startled.

                “Wh-what the hell?” He asked, looking around widely.

                Small bits of metal and other things pierce his skin. He jumps, turning around. A pen and a few bottles clung to his skin.

                “Huh?” Then, it grew more intense. Large swords, knifes, and other materials draw towards. He screams, running back and colliding with the man.

                Mariah stands back, running off and watching him intercept the man. He stops for a long time, just staring at her. There was nothing in his eyes but a fierce look of desire. There was nothing to stop him from getting her.

                There is nothing to stop him from catching up. He takes the man’s head and snaps it around. It flips with the suddenness of a light switch. He collapses to the ground, and the magnetic field drops. She grabs more people, throwing them at the man. Each and every person. Young confused men, old men, scared tourists, and lethargic fat men. Men of different shapes and sizes snapped and broke under like twigs. Mariah becomes more confused.

                He never even made an effort to talk. He was silent, persistent, and deadly. He knew where and when to avoid her Bastet. He was too prepared for something like this. Not to mention, he only ever asked her of her name.

                Was there a reason? Had she confirming her name unknowingly doomed her to her fate? Or would she still experienced this fate regardless if she had yes or not?

                “My skin, it’s burning.” She thought.

                “I need to get out of here and get rid of this stand! Ugh!” A small bit of water rains on her. She turns, seeing another fleeing figure in the distance.

                “Hol Horse.” She remarked, chasing after him.

                “I have to warn him! HOL HORSE!”          

---

                “Y-you got water.” She remarked.

                “Huh?” Hol Horse asked, stepping back.

                “You should be lucky, I wasn’t.”

                She steps closer and closer to him, but he raises his hand towards him.

                “HEY NO!” He screams.

                “IF THERE’S SOMETHING GOIN ON, STAY BACK!”

                “Hol Horse.” She whined, her voice become shakier. It was almost pleading.  

                “I SAID STAY THE HELL BACK!”

                She nearly charges him and he dashes off. She slams against the wall and nearly explodes into a fountain of blood.

                “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” He screamed.

                Mariah becomes more animalistic, chasing after him absentmindedly. The strange stand digging into her skin and living on it like a parasitic worm had already dug deep enough into her mind it switched her brain to a more evolutionary stunted and primordial state. A second phase of the blood stand that slowly plagued here.

---

                Hol Horse breathed in and out, trying to focus on what to do. He gains closer and closer towards a large factory. Men shouted and screamed at him. They threw their hands up and tried to push him away. He ignores them and barrels through. Like clockwork, the silent man chased after him. He stumbles, hitting his shoulder on some metal and whines.  

                “AGH!” He choked.

                He ran further, but not before colliding with some barrels. The benefits of a interconnected neighborhood would be interesting into interesting sort of things. For example, this factory. From the looks of it and the strange flammable barrels he seemed to encounter. This was some sort of rubber or ammunitions factory.

                He moves some barrels and pushes them forward. A few men yell at him, screaming at him with confusion on what he was doing.

                “Nope, you just stay… right there.” He commanded. The man descends into the long rectangular factory. As he climbs down, making his way towards Hol Horse, he takes a barrel and shoots it with Emperor. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.  

                “Look, I don’t know who you are.” He explains.

                “Or why the hell you are chasing after me.” He said.

                “But you need to die.”

                He shoots the gun, and it explodes into a large sun. The other men flee, noticing the large burst of orange and yellow energy scattering around him. He steps out, pushing himself against a building. As people gather and watch the building burn, Hol Horse chuckles a bit.

                “That’s what you get, cocky bastard.” He thought to himself.

                Yet, much to his horror, something emerged. A silhouette of man born of hellfire and smoke. Hol Horse stands back, his mouth agape and his hands shaking. Through the fog and fire he swears he sees something. The same man, but the man somewhat damaged. Through the fire, a bright red eye stares back.

                His face emotionless, and those eyes… inescapable.

                “What the fuck?” He asks himself.

                He raises his emperor, three rounds go off but nothing phases the man. He starts getting faster, gaining on Hol Horse. A hand grabs his throat and squeezes.  

                “AH-AH!” He chokes.

                “F-fuck!” He curses, kicking and grabbing at his throat. He couldn’t even breathe and being choked out by Oingo earlier certainly did not help.

                More people gather, staring, and the man turns back. For some strange reason, a reason Hol Horse would never come to understand. However, years later. He will come to understand, those eyes, that unphased demeanor. He would realize he came into close contact with a terminator.

                There were more terminators out there. He wasn’t alone.

---

               "Ryo?" A voice asked from a damaged head piece.

               A man brings it up to his lips.

               "Yes?"

               "You are one hour, seventeen minutes, eight seconds, and fifty-five microseconds behind schedule."

               "Apologies, I had some set backs." He said.

               "Set backs?"

               "Hol Horse was more troublesome to collect than calculated."

               "But did you collect him?"

               "No?"

               "Why?"

               "Big crowd." Was enough to explain.

               "Is there anyone else you terminated?" The voice asked.

               "Yes, the ones identified as Mariah Maddone, Oingo, and Kenny G have been terminated and ready for collection." He said back.

               "Don't collect Kenny G, but bring me the others. They'll be more useful."

               "Understood."

---

                “This is tactically dangerous.” The machine warned.

                “Drive faster.”

                “The T-1000 has the same files I do.” It said.

                “It knows what I know, it might anticipate this move.” John rolled his eyes, keeping his head turned towards the outside drive next to him. Hol Horse rubs his head, watching them communicate with one another intensely.

                “I don’t care, we got to stop her.”

                “Killing Dyson,” He says, turning his head.

                “Might actually prevent the war, and so to would the removal of the Speedwagon Foundation.”

                “I DON’T CARE!” He screams, leaning his head closer.

                “Haven’t you learned anything yet?” He asked.

                “Haven’t you figured out why you can’t kill people?”

                He remains silent, driving forward.

                “Look, maybe you don’t care if you live or die, but not everybody is like that!” John protested, turning back to Hol Horse for a moment.

                “We have feelings! We hurt!” He protests.

                “We’re afraid.” He sits back in his seat and shakes his head.

                “You got to learn this stuff, I’m not kidding.”

                “That’s important.”

                “Wait,” Hol Horse says, raising a finger. The machine turns back coldly to him.

                “When you said it has the same files you do, does that mean it has the same files on the Speedwagon Foundation?” He asked him.

                “Of course.” He said firmly.

                “Each Skynet unit is synced with the latest information connected to Skynet’s fast communication network. When they knew something, then I knew something by default of Skynet’s programming.”

                Hol Horse sat back and rubbed his face.

                “Shit.” He curses. John turns back confused.

                “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong.”

                “Keep driving.” He says, pointing forward.

                “What’s wrong?” John asked again.

                “Keep driving!” He says again.

                “If that thing has the same files you do then we can’t let Sarah get to the Speedwagon foundation before we do.”

                “That doesn’t answer my question though.” John said.

                “What does it matter that the T-1000 has the same files about the Speedwagon Foundation?” Then, almost as if by thinking about it, John knew the answer. If Skynet knew about the Speedwagon Foundation, its resources, the vast work of stand users within their files. It would mean that the T-1000 also had those files.

                On a further note, if Sarah knew about the Speedwagon Foundation, then the Speedwagon Foundation knew about her as well. Then that would mean, the T-1000 would have more files on her than he first realized.

                “SHIT!” He screams, pounding his foot on the car seat below.

                “We got a warn those people, stop them some how!”

                “Negative.” The machine said.

                “They are already collaborating with Cyberdyne Systems. Their advanced cooperation network is already too complex for them to break out of.”

                “At this point—”

                “I don’t care. We gotta reach them before my mom does!” He screams.

                “Look kid, the Speedwagon Foundation isn’t something to play around with. That place is heavily fortified, we need to think about this carefully.”

                “Fine, then if that’s the case.”

                He says, lowering his head and looking at his lap.

                “I’ll use my own skills.”

                At the time, Hol Horse hardly understood what John meant by that. Then after a few seconds, it connected in his mind. He’s copying something he did when they worked together to break Sarah out of Pescadero.

                “If you don’t mind me asking kid, what are your skills?” He asked, making him seem oblivious— like he was more-so referring to John’s hacking skills.             

                “Skills? You saw them before, right? In the park?”

                Hol Horse grimaced slightly. Seems the boy read right through him, just like his mother. He applauded him in that aspect.       

                “Where did you get them exactly kid?” Hol Horse says, wiping his brow.

                “I dunno.” He shrugs.

                “Mom said when I was around four, I got sick. She called it a… ‘really bad case of pneumonia that left me hospitalized for a few days.’ Then, out of the blue I got really better. When they put me with the foster parents, I had a… trial and error phase.” He nods, agreeing with the phrasing of the words in his mind.

                “Trial and error phase?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Trial and error phase,” He nods again.

                “Let’s call it that.”

                Hol Horse thought of it for a moment. That sounded somewhat familiar but in a way he couldn’t describe. Weren’t those the exact same words they said about Jotaro’s old Ma? Didn’t she get sick about that time too? He shakes his head and looks back at the boy.

                “Wait, aren’t you thirteen?” He asked.

                “I’m ten.” He corrected.

                “Really? You look like your thirteen.” He insisted.

                “No, we’ve been through this conversation before.” He corrected.

                “I’m ten.”

                “Well, if you’re ten.” He thought, scratching his head.

                “That means you were four in…” His voice trails off. Something about the math hardly made sense but did. It almost seemed eerie.

                “1989,” He said, slightly taken aback.

                “Huh.”

                He leans back.

                “Well, isn’t that convenient.”     

---

                The T-1000 marched down the desert, carefully stocking a hub a trailers from afar. As it marched, its foot catches on something. Its rather unique style and odd colors drew its eye quickly. It snatched it off the ground and shook it several times.

                He leans down and quickly does a visual inspection.

                 “They talk it over with Enrique and stay over for the night!”

                “Uh, oh! John and his mama get into an argument! Hol Horse gets involved.”

                “Mama Sarah wants to head back towards California and destroy Cyberdyne! She doesn’t want her fate to be locked in forever!” It flips over to the next page.

                “Hol Horse wants to a stay a while before heading south!”

                “They eventually reach a stalemate. They all have a good night’s sleep and then the head back to California!”

                The bright colors and almost mocking depictions of people in it’s pages made the T-1000 curious. This came from some comic book. If it did, where did it come from? If it came from a comic, when was it published? Organized publications like this usually have a production line of several weeks to months of work. How was this so clear?

                Unless those mentions of stands had any part, then this would make sense. He takes the page and shoves it into its pocket. They’re going to rest here for tonight, and then head off. Good, that will give it ample time to get rid of the other humans in its path. It raises its hand up, shaping it into a long sword. This will be quick.

                Perhaps in this endeavor, it will find whatever comic produced these pages… and take it for itself. If there was a stand capable of predicting the future like this, then getting the results it required would be much easier than it thought.

                There was just a matter of time.

Chapter 9: That there's an orchestra in the lounge room…

Summary:

Merlai Anne was just an ordinary girl looking for adventure, until a strange group of men showed up in her life and changed her outlook on it forever. Nearly ten years later, the girl desires a fascination for news journalism. One day she finds something she had come to regret.

Notes:

Hey, wanted to get this little short one out before the end of the year but didn't... sigh. Oh well! Hope you enjoy this one! Happy New Year!

CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS – LOS ANGELES SECT

                “Merlai Anne, journalist?” A woman asked, her voice somewhat parse. She wipes her dark black locks away from her light-yellow amber eyes. She bats them lightly, trying to appear more cute. Maybe if she bats them enough, the man will get enamored with her looks and let her pass by.

                “We’re not expecting visitors.”

                “But I’m with the—”

                “We’re not taking visitors, sorry.”

                The door slams, and the young reporter can’t help but look at her cameraman somewhat dejected. She wasn’t shocked, but slightly disappointed. All this time trying to get to into Cyberdyne. All this time scheduling and asking questions, just to get preemptively get the door slammed in her face.

                Merlai raises her hands. She waves them around maniacally and her cameraman almost expected her to punch the wall. However, she puts her hands to her face and makes a soft sigh. She then stop, looking at the door once more.

                She raises her leg, almost as if to kick it, but moves her leg away.

                “Damn it.” She cursed.

                “Not expecting visitors my ass,” She whines.

                “I scheduled this shit for months!” She pouts.

                “You know miss Anne. I don’t think an upcoming reporter should be using that kind of language.” Her cameraman cringes a bit, whistling a some air pushes through his teeth in a soft hiss.

                Anne turns towards her cameraman. A dark glare makes her young blue-and-magenta-dyed-hair friend lock eyes with her uncertainly.

                “Really now, you say this?” She asked.

                “You were with me that day.” She says, pointing towards him.

                “Don’t say you didn’t want this as much as I did!” She shouts.

                The boy sighs, he raises his hand and lowers Anne’s. He covers his camera and sets it down.

                “Look, I’m sorry.” He said, using a free hand to scratch the spiky snow-cone blue of his hair.

                “But there’s no reason to get this upset.” He grabs her hand and squeezes it.

                “I’m going to be honest with you Anne, this probably wasn’t going to work out anyway.”  

                He takes his camera and sets it aside. Anne was hardly listening, or rather, hardly wanting to listen. She keeps shifting, walking back and forth and occasionally glancing back towards him.

                “Billy.” She sighed.

                “Wait, please hear me out?”

                She turns over and stares at him somewhat detached. Her eyes keep looking down at the smooth concrete. She so desperately wanted to get into the complex, but once again the door was shut in her head. It felt ridiculous and surreal.

                “Please?” He asked.

                She steps forward a bit and rubs her shoulder.

                “Alright.”

                “Okay, just listen.”

                “I am listening.”

                He grunts, shaking his head with frustration.

                “Okay, just understand.” He claps his hand together.

                “You’re seventeen. You’re not even an adult yet.” He said, licking his lips and taking a deep breath in. He rubs them and steps forward.

                “And you’re trying to schedule a private meeting.”

                He raises his hands and clasps them in a way an old seasoned Italian man would.

                “A private meeting. Those kinds of meetings are only reserved for legitimate news organizations, other corporations, or the government.”          

                He pushes forward and leans in a bit.

                “Look at us!” He said.

                “Do we look at any of those things?” He asked.

                She silent, seemingly staring off and occasionally glancing at his hands.

                “Do we look like any of those things?” He asked again.

                “Well, they should have. They’re a business, they should be required to—”

                “They’re not required to do anything other than what they’re doing with the government!” He said, raising his hand.

                “You’re just a teen, okay? I’m just a teen!”

                He shrugs, almost wanting to step back.

                “They were expecting a legitimate business, not—”

                She glares right into her eyes, almost as if she’s watching his next words carefully.

                “Us…” He shrugs with sadness.

                She turns away, almost walking towards the road. He shakes his head, grabbing his camera and quickly dashing towards her.

                “Look, if I’m going to be honest.” He sighed.

                “Ever since that— little runaway escapade you told me about, where you met those… guys.” He shrugged, his walk becoming swifter as she darts off ahead of him.

                “You’ve been entirely restless. I really don’t think you’re after this for Cyberdyne. To me, it’s seeming like you’re trying to chase that high—”

                “Shut up.” Anne hissed.

                Anne aggressively approaches him. The boy anxiously sweats as she approaches him. Her eyes are hostile and sharp. He steps like a concerned rabbit that’s spotted a predator on the hunt. She balls her fist, almost wanting to punch.

                Did he strike a nerve with her that badly?

                “What the hell Anne?” He asked her.

                She says nothing, just staring into his eyes with no emotion.       

                “Anne? What’s the matter with you?” He asked.

                He steps back again.

                “Anne?”

                “You don’t get it do you?”

                He raises a brow and cocks his head slightly.

                “Get… what?”

                “I am NOT chasing a high.” She says, raising a finger and points at him accusingly.

                “I am trying to take charge of my life.” She says, taking her finger and jabbing it up against his.

                He hisses, taking his hand and pushing hers away.

                “What the hell? Easy!” He shouts.

                “I’m trying to help you.”

                “So why don’t you just listen!?” She says, raising her hand and shaking it with frustration.

                “Alright,” He says, raising his hands into the air.

                “I’m listening.”

                “Ever since that trip, I felt lost. They were the best years of my life, but when my life I felt… empty. I wanted that back, but not in an addictive way. I wanted to change my life, to find an adventure of my own.” She takes a seat near the sidewalk and lets out a long sigh.

                “I thought if I went into journalism, and followed in the craziest stories. Something for my age would be so breaking people would be remembering my name for years.”

                Then, she places her hand on her chin and looks up to the sky in admiration.

                “And Jotaro.” She sighs dreamily.

                “He’ll be proud of me. He’ll see, he’ll recognize me after these years and we can be friends.”

                Anne is then overcome by a strange breeze, almost like it were a manifestation of her own desires scattering through the air.

                A small breeze passes by them. Billy was suddenly struck by the breeze. To him it was like an artic chill that nearly choked him. It was remarkably cold for a sunny California afternoon like this, especially in a place crowded and steaming as Los Angeles. He pushes the thought away, writing it off as someone opening the door to a particularly cold room. A room with maybe a fan or two.

                He shakes his head and sits down with her.

                “Do you think he still recognizes me after all this time?” Anne asks the boy.

                Billy looks around again nervously and scratches his head again.

                “I’m not really sure.” He says, lowering his head a bit and looking into hers.

                “But its been a really long time. Didn’t you say you were ten, then?” He asks her.

                “Yeah.” She sighs, hanging her head.

                “I miss them.” She whimpers.

                “I don’t even know some of their names anymore.” She says, reaching towards the marble button on her blouse and tussles with it.

                “When I was younger, I could list all their names by heart.”

                “Now the only one I remember is Jotaro.” Her smile fades and she sags her head down with shame. She rocks back and forth a bit.

                “I just want to do something like that. Go on an adventure across the word, save someone. Be a hero, someone to look up to.”

                He reaches out his hand and pats her shoulder.

                “I am sure he might still be around. Did he ever send you a postcard?” He asks.

                “No, not one.” She said, shaking her head.

                “I left my number and everything!” She sighed, hanging her head a bit.

                “Of course, the phone number I gave him was my dad’s old home phone.” she said, leaning forward, crossing her arms over her face.

                “That number got discontinued in ninety-one.” She looks back towards her friend.

                “Do you think he even cares?” She whimpers softly.

                “Well,” he says, taking a hand and brushing it through his hair.  He hardly knew what to say. They had been such long-time childhood friends that he couldn’t be too sure.

                Ever since she disappeared that day her parents have never been the same. She oftentimes said that her home life was an utter hell. However, he never got to know exactly how bad it was. All he knew was that she brought a cap with her and ran away, things would be much easier. Yet since then, he’s been at a loss.

                Anne was always very meticulous but also very kind and very passionate when it came to personal projects. Ever since she went on to her journalism studies at high school, she’s been nothing short of insane when it came to unraveling stories. Journalists got to explore, document the world, and travel to unknown heights on the behalf and betterment of man.

                However, time and time again people wrote her off and slammed the door in her face.

                He found it hard to be mad, when she became quite pressed because at the very least, she was trying to do something with herself.

                “I’m sorry I approached you like that.” She said in a sullen mopey tone.

                “I shouldn’t have.”

                “That’s fine.” He said rubbing her shoulder again.

                “I was just trying to tell you.” He said, raising his hand a bit for emphasis.

                “Hey,” A dark voice said causing them to turn their heads sharply like two owls.

                “You can’t sit there, this is private property. Management has asked you to move off the property.” A tall dark man in black warned them. Large yellow letters labelled “security,” were stretched across his chest.

                He points a finger and motions them away like an angry telling off his naughty children.

                “Go on, beat it.” He said, making no efforts to be nice.

                Billy shoots up, grabbing her arm and tugging her along.

                “Come on,” He said urgently as he harshly grabs her and tries to drags her along.

                She says nothing, just standing there and looking at the man with wide eyes.

                “Hey!” The man says, pointing towards Billy.

                “Is that a camera?”

                The man says, gesturing towards the large VHS RCA camcorder. He stops, freezing for a moment as he turns towards the man.

                “It’s off.” He said.

                “Cameras aren’t allowed.” He said aggressively, taking a step towards them and lowering his head. Billy grits his teeth, he was not having this today. It was already a hassle trying to get his camera back from those lawyer pricks that Anne tried to interview last month.

                “It’s off.” He says louder with more emphasis.

                “If it’s off, why’d you bring it here for?”

                “We were expecting an interview and were turned down.”

                “As if I by that.” The man scoffs.

                “Hey!” A man in a long tuxedo says as he marches over towards the guard.

                “Relax, they’re not here to cause any trouble let the kids go!” He said, brushing his hand along and waving the two away.

                “Oh, Mister Oric sir!” The man says, he turns and his back stiffs straight.

                “Alright kids, go on. Go on.” He said, raising his hand and waves them away.

                Billy turns back to the man. He was rather old and his hairline was starting to recede a bit. The standard looks for a man going past his middle age looked with somewhat greying hairs on the ends.

                “Go on!” He said, brushing his hand faster.

                The two look towards each other and start walking faster. Billy hardly understood what their deal was, but sure as hell wasn’t sticking around to find out.

---

                Anne and Billy kept walking, never daring to really look out of a paranoid fear that the strange security man will return wanting something. The way he stared at them made the two extremely uncomfortable.

                “Well, another bust.” Anne said, hanging her head with a sigh.

                “But don’t worry, I’m sure the next story with that Speedwagon Foundation I’m hearing about will definitely let us on board!”

                “Don’t they have more security than Cyberdyne?” The young cameraman asked.

                “True, but I’ve also heard they’re more open to interviews.”

                “Where’d you hear that from?”

                “A guy I know.” She chuckled.

                “You always know a guy.” He sighs.         

                Their conversation was stopped quickly when they hear a loud thump beside them. They peak behind an old vender mall and turn towards the noise. Two man start packing crates, a small opening from a door appears from a blank wall. Billy turns his head multiple times and then back towards the building. It appeared to be abandoned, so why was there a storage truck there?

                “What do you think they’re doing there?”

                “No idea.”

                Was it just a business going bust and they’re emptying their assets? He looks towards the truck and back towards them again. No, it can’t be that, it had to be something else. Without warning, Anne got it in herself to burst through and head towards the derelict building.

                 Billy grabs her arm and yanks her back quickly. He already knows what Anne is feeling. That sort of look in her always told him that she was up to something. A quick look wouldn’t hurt for some, but for them it might just leave them dead in a ditch.

                “Anne, what the hell? No!” He hissed. She slaps his arm away and rushes closer. Billy chases after her skittishly.

                “Anne, what the hell? I don’t think we should be doing this!” He warns her.

                “This might be some gang shit, we could get shot!”

                “Which is why we must get the scoop on this! Think of the headlines!”

                “Anne!” He whines.

                Anne decelerates, crouches down and hides behind a crate. Her eyes turn and beam brightly at the door in front of her. Her lips raise and her cheeks form into a big beaming smile. She looked at the door to see if it was the key to a million dollars. A life changing future with a billion opportunities. She almost salivates at the opportunity to bust in.

                In and odd choice of a tactical maneuver, she dashes towards a crate. With two quick and elegant hands she pushes up the crate and throws it over. While the two movers were away, she turns towards Billy and raises her hand.

                “Billy!” She shouts.

                He shakes his head, but Anne insists, casually waving her hand madly like an escaped mental patient. Each second passed, her stare became demanding.

                Billy on the other hand, didn’t see what made her so rabid about pursuing such things. While she wanted to get the ‘good’ story, he didn’t think she would throw her common sense out of the window. She peers out from the crate and looks back.

                “What are you doing?” He asked.

                “There’s nothing here!”

                “Hmmph,” She smiles, turning back towards the crate.

                Without saying a word, she lowers her hand and points down beneath her. Billy stops, staring at the crate with wide eyes and took a step back.

                “What, wait that’s not—”

                There it was, clear as day. The Speedwagon Foundation logo. Now he was even more intrigued than before, why on earth would the Speedwagon Foundation of all people collect boxes from an abandoned building?

                She raises her hand again, waving them more frantically than ever. The two men on the other side were starting to move towards them.

                “Come on!” She shouts.

                “Move it.”

                Billy lowers his head and turns for a moment. If he doesn’t leave, he would either get shot or taken to prison. Both were terrible and life-shattering options. On the other hand, if he left without Anne, he might not ever forgive himself. Each footstep was the ticking down of a clock.

                Step – step – step

                He has to think fast, and carefully. The metaphorical clock was ticking. He bites his lips and lets in a huge sigh. He dashes towards her, reaching for her hand. Their hands connect and slap together with a small pop. He feels his whole body lift off the ground and he’s taken aback by how strong Anne was. She threw him in, and they landed.

                The first feeling Billy got was a somewhat squishy landing. It felt like one of those old gym mats that would be used for acrobatic classes. He looks beneath and sees a long-wrapped package. He wonders if it one large package or long thin packages stacked on top of each other. He winces a bit when a smell hits his nose. It wasn’t unpleasant, but more so just… discomforting. Like a jar of sweat left in a bottle, only somewhat contained through the glass.

                An awkward stench that has to accompany them through the crate.

                “How did you know to do all of that?” He asked.

                “Stowaway!” She giggles.

                “Remember?”

                “Seems, like you learned from last time.”

                Sudden pressure builds at the top of his head and he duck, the lid presses down. He lowers his hand, the walls and floor around him seemed to vibrate.

                “Woah!” He gasped.

                The light dims, only lit through a small crack between the lid and the crate itself. The two felt themselves carried deeper into the building. That is when he felt it again, the strange cold chill. It felt like hours this time. Each second passes he felt like he was more entrenched in the artic. It builds and builds, after some shuffling and a few noises he can no longer take it.

                He pushes the crate, and realizes how easily it comes off.

                She grabs his hand, motioning him to be more cautious. Together, they pushed the crate away. They slide it ever so gently that no one notices a thing. They climb through the cracks and reach towards a doorway.

                Billy reaches his hand out and raises it. It pops open with a slight hiss, and another wave of air fills his nostrils and he again is taken by surprise.

                “Wh-what?” He asked.

                “Automatic door?” Anne asked.

                “For an abandoned building?”

                A smile grows on Anne’s face.

                “Turn on your camera.” She commanded.

                “I want to see everything.”

                “But, can you?”

                “No, I want to see it through the camera. If I can see it, everyone can.”

                He shakes his head, fidgeting with his camera and popping off the cover to the lens. They raise their heads. He raises his hand and pushes himself towards the door. Like careful ninjas, they paced through the doorways cautiously. Yet, as casual and careful two teenagers could be, they stumbled towards a light.

                Rows of crates, stacked on top of each other. Billy bites his lip. Long roaring rumbles scatter across the building.

                The long metallic howl reminded him of some sort of hydraulic machinery. He turns his head to see just that. A long metallic claw taking the white “packages,” and laying them on a conveyor belt. He jumps, motioning towards Anne and grabbing her hand.

                He points beneath him and they lay behind a table.

                There is no footsteps or other noises, just the machines caring for the packages. Seemed his second theory of them being long thin packages was true. Yet, there was some things he couldn’t explain. Oddly enough, too many things were happening all at once.

                They way they suddenly found themselves here. Like when they went into the crate, they teleported. Then, the smell, that strange smell. Like sweat, contained in a jar. Or rather… skin. He grabs his nose and holds onto Anne’s shoulder.

                “I think we should leave.”

                “No.” She protests.

                “Why?”

                “This isn’t the time.”

                “Then when is?”

                “When I say it is.” She hissed.  

                “So, what are you doing?”

                Like a soldier crawling through the cramped tunnels and barbwire of the First war, she pressed on no matter what was thrown at her.

                “I’m investigating, and don’t you dare turn off that camera.”

                He rolls his eyes and hangs his head, pressing on with her.

                She stops for a moment and glares back at him.

                “Oh, and uh—” She raises her hand and points towards his shoulder.

                “You’re uh— uhm— in your shirt— is showing.”

                “My what?” He asked.

                She gestures to the strap on her blouse a few times. Like there was something on his shoulder that she was trying to mention.  

                She mouthed something, motioning towards him and then back to the lights. He thought she was mentioning some of a ‘gander,’ and then he realized. He gasped, reaching under his shirt and adjusting something before turning back.

                “Thanks.” He spoke.

                “Don’t mention it.”  

                After seemingly going under long tables that hummed and groaned on occasion, they pushed forward and finally through the gap underneath. Billy sighs, something about the long motions felt… oddly eternal. Like he was removed from time itself and the tables went on for eternity. Finally, they met a door. Distant voices make the jump, leaning against the door. As Anne listens in, trying to gain any clue as to what the voices were… Billy looks down.

                “Wh-what?” Billy whispered.

                “What?”

                “Look.” He said, pointing at the door.

                Anne couldn’t decipher what he meant, until she realized he was gesturing towards a logo on the door. She gasped. Those doors were so similar. Those pristine automatic doors. Those were… Cyberdyne doors. Yet, what would a shady Speedwagon facility be doing leading to Cyberdyne. She smiled, and she creeps through the door.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Come on!”

                “No, seriously, what are you doing?” He asked her. 

                “Come on!” She said again, becoming more urgent. They pushed themselves forward again. Strangely, the more they crept… the more… strange things got.

                The more they went deep, the more oddly white things got. Yet, it was still dark. There were metal walls that somewhat punched through the white. Like a part of a facility that had not been properly furnished yet. Finally, the metal walls ceased, and they suddenly found themselves in a strange dark room.

                The smell grew now, and now it was an unbearable stench. It wasn’t in a jar, it was out and free. Billy raised his shirt and covered his nose with disgust. He aired himself out with the collar of his own shirt a few times.

                “Damn it, what the hell is that?”

                He coughed, nearly throwing himself on the floor, fighting the urge to puke. Then again, that same cold air hung around him. Like he was slowly being shoved into an artic shelf of ice.

                “What is that?” He asked.

                “It’s so cold, you feel that?”

                “I do.” Anne says quietly, somewhat shocked.

                “Huh?”

                She raised her hand, grabbing towards something on a monitor. He lifts his head, taking the camera and moves it towards the screen. It was a touch screen, something he thought was a few centuries from now. Yet, there it was. Wait, didn’t some high-tech places in Los Angeles have this? No, this was far too advanced. He thought about what was heard about Cyberdyne and he shrugged it off. Maybe it was all a coincidence.

                “You know, this isn’t too far from where we were in Cyberdyne.”

                “Shh! Shh!” Anne said, waving her hand.

                “What?”

                The more they pressed on, the colder it got. The colder it got, the more he was drawn to the screen. He was no longer concerned about the screen, only what was on the screen. Their bright faces were quickly carved away.

                They were pale now. Like all the life had been drained. Billy turns quickly, and he soon realizes where the horrid “skin” smell was coming from. Before them, something akin to a rubber suit with no eyes. Dark tan skin with long scraggily long nearly white hair. He wondered for a moment why they would keep a long rubbery suit.

                That wasn’t a suit. That was… skin. Skin smell… cold air. He shudders for a moment. He keeps watching, and his camera never moved. They were too entranced on what they saw on that screen. They were so entranced, they never noticed the long silhouette coming after them.

                The only thing that Billy could recall next. Was a tall, abnormally tall man with long white medical scrubs and shaggy red hair. Red hair and green apple eyes.  

                “HEY!” He shouted, and he was sent spinning towards the floor. A hard punch was all it took to send him down. He slams his face against the ground and hisses with pain.

                “Who-who?”

                His consciousness goes in and out, and his eyes become blurry.

                “Merlai Anne, age seventeen.”

                “No, get away from me!”

                “What the hell are you doing?”

                B A N G  

                The last thought that passes through his mind was how familiar that voice sounded. Didn’t he just hear that voice from before?

                “Mister…” He whispers.

                “Oric.”

                “Ahh, Mr. Oric, your timing is impeccable.” Another voice says, one completely unrecognizable.

                Then, there was darkness.           

Chapter 10: I put the genie bass on…

Summary:

Matteo Acacius Marinari was once a regular boy born to a wealthy and well-respected Italian community. While contrarian in nature, their efforts to benefit the people kept Italy in balance. All his life he lived by a simple rule: If a man wishes for his garden to thrive, he must cherish each flower in the garden. After returning the favor to a young foreign boy his life takes a tragic turn as a young Capo. Visions of a world on fire and a tragic kidnapping bring his world to an end, and there’s nothing he could do to stop it. Now his only hope that in this burning world the man he sees rises up to stop it.

1995 Italy

                “Merda (Shit), where’d that bastard go?” Cried a man

                “Grab him before he slips away!”

                “He won’t get far with those injuries!”

                “Could he have hid in someone’s house?”

                “Make sure you check the ground, he’s got to be bleeding out.”

                “You go straight! We’ll check out his way!”

                Matteo moans, clutching his side as his breath goes in and out. Each breath was a painful moan, and his mind kept going through an intense struggle. It took great mental effort to not fade out of consciousness completely. He bites his lip and tries to focus on his mother’s words.

                Something said to him before she passed from lymphoma.

                “Matteo?” She asked.

                He turns his head, bearing fruit a large strawberry in his hands. His child like eyes only locked onto hers as he clutches the strawberry. His messy dark locks flow with the wind as he tries not to distract himself.

                “I want you listen to something, won’t you sweetheart?” She asked.

                “Alright.” He thought to himself.

                “When you’re older, I want you to take this to heart.”

                She turns towards the garden and looks at the fruit carefully.

                “There’s a careful ecosystem Matteo.” She explained, tightening her brown gloves as she graciously holds up some seeds and plows them into the freshly dug up holes in the patchy green.

                “Strawberries are a good example.” She explained.

                “Oftentimes you can just dig one and expect it to grow,” She turns to him.

                “You get that Matteo?” He nods carefully and lets her explain. She smiles, taking his slow nod as approval. She brushes her hands through the dirt carefully. 

                “Oftentimes, strawberries need a combination of things. Sunlight, water, and even mulch. Their roots can rot and that can lead to some sickly berries. The secret to their sweetness is oftentimes their coexistence with the entire garden.” She said.

                “Often times if you bury them too deep, they won’t get the sunshine they need. Bury them too shallow and they might die.”

                “They also require other plants. Spinach is a good companion for the little berries. In the same vein, lettuce and tomatoes are good companions to Spinach.” 

                “Matteo, if you want to keep your garden healthy, you must tend the whole garden.”

                “You can’t plant one and expect it to grow.”

                She smiles, looking back at him.

                “People are the same way Matteo.”

                She stands up a bit and brushes his face.

                “Just as you need a whole little ecosystem for the garden, you need a village to grow a child.”

                She lifts his head so that he meets her eyes.

                “You must promise me you tend the gardens the same way, is that clear Matteo?”

                Matteo nods, looking at her silently as she walks away with a few baskets of plants she’s carefully tended and removed from the garden.

                Matteo closes his eyes, slowly going in and out of consciousness. His head rung and the bullet in his lower rib was starting to dig deep. The opposing Capos seemed to have enough of his gang, such misfortune for him. In that moment, he couldn’t blame them. Their leader got too greedy. In the meticulous world of Capos and underlings running around the Italian mafia, there was an unsteady balance. Take too much territory and it would come with some clashes.

                He should have objected, he should have warned him. No, there was no getting through to that man. He was as drunken on power and wine as the young Nero was before his death. There was no getting through to that man. No, Matteo should have gutted him then and there.

                Yet he didn’t.

                He chose the easy way out. He chose peace, and this was his punishment.

                “This is it.” He thought.

                “Goodbye.”

                “Regazzo (little boy),” A demanding voice beckoned.

                “Regazzo?”

                There was a young boy not too far from where he slumped down.

                “You haven’t seen an injured guy around here, have you?”

                “He’s pretty tall and has black hair.” Matteo groans, moving his hands a bit.

                As he moves, he can feel his face touch soft grass. He hardly remembered this little patch being so tall when he slumps down to hide from the opposing gang.

                “I saw him going that way.” The boy said.

                His eyes widened a bit.

                The boy lied. He knew he lied. He knew he lied when he slumped down in that gap behind the fence. He had been there for ages. If that young boy had been walking by, he might as well have seen him. Yet he lied? What reason would he?

                He could have told the truth. The men might have even rewarded him.

                “What?” He thought.

                “Over there?” He asked.

                He could hear footsteps traveling further. Matteo couldn’t believe himself. Everything that happened that day. Everything happened of one boy’s lie. For what? What purpose? One pair seemed to have stalled, seemingly staying with the boy.

                As a careful Capo, Matteo could count footsteps all too well. One man didn’t leave, until he did.

                Then, there was the boy all alone. He grabs at the wound in his chest and holds it with his thumb. He turns over quickly and widens his eyes to find himself buried in a deep patch of dandelions. Dandelions, Peonies, and vibrant lavenders. He recognizes them almost immediately. Bright vibrant flowers. The ones he cherished the most.

                “What?” He asked himself, raising himself up.

                A small butterfly flew by and landed next to him. He lifts himself up and turns his head.

                Over his shoulder he sees a small boy walk away from him. Despite his pain, he raises his hand and calls out to the boy.

                “Regazzo?” He asked. The young boy turns to him. He was a young Asiatic boy with dark eyes and scraggily hair. Ironically, he looked no different as a child.

                “Regazzo?” He murmured softly.

                The boy stood there, almost like he could hear him.

                “Regazzo—” He coughs, pushing himself forward.

                “Why did you save me?” He asked.

                “You looked lonely.” Was all he said. He lowers his head and turned away.

                Yet, there was a few words that the boy said. Words that surprised the grown man. Even in that moment, he knew there was something about that boy. Something he would owe his forever gratitude towards. Something he would never forget.

                “You do not need to repeat yourself again.”

                “…”

                “It’s useless.”

                Matteo had no words, only gratitude for his unknown tiny savior. On that day, he promised to go there and then to thank the boy. Whatever he was, whatever his name was, he would find the boy and treat him well.

                His mother always said that any critter the kept the garden thriving was one to keep.

                “Even though their spiders, you shouldn’t kill them in the cranberry boy.” She would say.

                Small, and foreign to the others, was an unknown helper. To him, he owed gratitude.

---

                “So that’s his name?” He asked.

                “Giorno Giovanna?” He said, lowering his head and looking at the broken-down man. His eyes were wide, and he cowered from the man’s touch. It’s been a few days since his encounter, and Matteo has already gone through great work on keeping his promise. Not to his surprise, things turned out as expected. The leader’s death led to a greater promise. Their growing empire didn’t expand through blood, but through trade.

                Within a few days, it was already starting to show. Better products, better time, and he already had a thousand more lire at his fingertips. It wasn’t the trade of drugs one would expect. No, those kinds of things were forbidden on his turf. They were against his rules.

                No, it was special items. Not ones of the more explicit nature, but rather rare items. Movies, videogames, and toys. Special things that went out of fashion in ages, but through a strange and somewhat contrary means were banned. Such items could only be sold through the careful pirates and trade. He never knew why people were so against the trade of such things, why governments went through great lengths of punishment, but he knew he could make something of it.

                A strange thing the human mind is. A conscious mind will know the dangers of drugs and alcohol, they are less inclined when it came to stranger things. One would easily seek out knowledge rather than drugs given the right circumstance.

                A drug was known and dangerous, but a well-known and dangerous book was lusted after. One too many precarious voices warning to not go after the forbidden book or game would make one mad with curiosity. They would seek it even if it means their deaths. In that case… if it was banned, he could sell it. He could sell in the casinos, the theatres, and all in all it would fuel the business.

                Once again, the garden was flourishing. 

                “You’re his father, right?” The man said, turning back to the man in the chair.

                “What?” He asked.

                “Giorno Giovanna?”

                He blinks a few times and his breath is heavy.

                “Wh-what are you saying?” 

                He doesn’t respond, only whimper.

                “Well, you are not his actual father. I know you became his father after you married Miss Shiobana, correct?”

                He stammers, “I—I—”

                “Amadeo Giovanna do not make a liar out of yourself.”

                He lowers his head and grabs his rotten rusty brown locks tightly.

                “You owed me a promise as a fellow man, that you wouldn’t lie.”

                He shivers, pushing back a bit with fear.

                “Is that your son?” He asked.

                The man nods.

                “Well, there is still the matter of the two-thousand lire you borrowed but have yet to materialize.” He says, turning back to him with a dark glare.

                “But since you’re Giorno’s father,” He takes the revolver and spins the barrel a few times.

                Each click made the man’s breath heavier.

                Click – Click – Click – CLOCK

                “I am willing to forgive it on one condition.”

                Amadeo’s eyes widen as Matteo’s eyes lock with his.

                “You will no longer lay a hand on the boy.”

                The man jumps back violently.

                “Oh, don’t kid yourself. I know what you think. I am a greater reader of the face you see, so don’t lie to me when you say you don’t. If you can do what I say, then our deal is done. Is that alright with you?” Amadeo says nothing, just looking up with a heavier breath.

                “Such a fat slob of a man, how could that woman ever put up with him?”

                He shook his head. “Amadeo probably roped her into it. He always fancied those foreign ladies after all.” He shoves the revolver in his pocket and outstretches his hand.

                “You’re free to go Amadeo,” A man stands behind him.

                “Volpe,” He says, outstretching his hand. Two large burly hands gather behind and quickly untie the man from his seat.

                The man stands up quickly and stumbles out in a panic.

---

                A few months later Matteo stands outside in the rain. He longs a long umbrella as the rain builds into a long downpour. It was thick and heavy as droplets pelted his dark umbrella. He finds the boy there and the boy turns back. Now more composed than he was before, he tips his had and raises a hand to his head. He tips it slightly with a nod. He is calm and collect as he gives him a small note of gratitude towards his previous work.

                “You saved my life back there, I won’t forget that.”

                More and more he found ways to make the boy’s life a lot better. It was the little things. Scare a few bullies, offer him a few tickets. Pay for a few scones, and he was on his way. While never asking questions or saying anything in return, the boy seemed to thank him in his own way.

                With that, he garnered more respect for the boy. He was great at reading faces as he was, maybe that will help him greatly someday.

                Someday that little tending in the garden will yield sweet fruit.

                Maybe…  and maybe he’ll leave this hell of a country and do something far more fruitful. He’s heard a lot of good talk about those tech businesses, things like Cyberdyne and the like. He deemed Giorno as a smart boy, he could keep his nose to the grindstone and make something of himself.

                Something that wasn’t the dark bastard he was.

                Maybe…

---

                B A N G

                “Agh!” Someone gasped.

                “What was that? A gun shot?”

                Matteo leaves the building. He holds his gun tightly as the new fresh blood stains his mind. He keeps his face composed behind an iron lock and key. His face remains high as he pushes through the streets. To his unfortunate surprise the same boy he met that fateful day awaited him. Volpe stands by his side as the push themselves through.

                “Scusi,” He says softly.

                “Huh, what is it?” Volpe asks.

                Matteo says nothing but pushes by without a word. He pretends to not even have seen him.

                “Hey, don’t run off without me!”

                A red hoodie boy pushes past him, he was taller and had more ragged hair than the smaller one. His eyes teary as he clutches a gun between his fingers.

                “Hold it, it was you!” He shouts, raising the gun.

                “You killed my father!” He screams.

                “Little punk, screw off!” Volpe curses, digging through his coat to grab his trusty M16. Matteo raises his hand and lowers it. Volpe looks a him confused and backs away.

                “Damn you!” The boy screams.

                He grunts, turning the gun away and looks towards the ground.

                “DAMN YOU!”

                “Your old man was trash.” He explained.

                “He knew the rules, but he didn’t care. Even women and children bought from him.”

                He lowered his head.

                “So, I took him out.”

                He said his peace. Yet, before even the thought of leaving comes to mind the boy screams. He struggles, holding the gun down between his fingers but ultimately failing to fire the first hit. He cries, struggling to realize what he was trying to do.

                He ultimately failed, blaming the gun and falling to the ground.

                “Hmmph,” Volpe hummed in disgust, turning away without a second thought. Matteo turns away, not even paying him a second thought.

                “You call my papa trash?” He asked.

                “But you’re no better than he was!”

                To this day, that scream never left his mind. He didn’t say anything, but those words never washed away. Those words would always stain his darkened soul.

                Volpe flinches, his eyes twitch as he turns his head.

                “Pay no mind to the boy Volpe,” He says back to him.

                “Just keep walking.” His voice always carried that of a cold command.

                “Keep walking.”

                “We’re mafioso’s. You cannot get attached to something so feeble.”

---

                That was the last day his life would remain normal. The last day when he could say everything was relatively peaceful. Then, the dark dream overtook him. Everything took a dark and swift turn when one night. Just for one night in all the chaotic hellfire and misery of the Italian underworld he rested his head. In it, a dark dream came to him.

                It seemed so real he thought it was just another day. Each aspect so attuned to his regular dream that anyone dared to approach to say it was he would shoot them in the face for being so brazen. Just another day. Wake up, brush his teeth, eat a small breakfast composed of lamb and chicken with a small mug of El Colibrì Esmeralda, brush his teeth again, and head out. While strange it was very meticulous, everything one had to be as a Capo. Then, grab the ten-thousand lire suit and make peace. 

                Nothing was too out of order. All the high life and fashion for a mafioso. As he passed the streets, he noticed how hot the air felt, but wasn’t too out of the ordinary.  

                Then, during a regular day… fire. An all-consuming fire. A bright light from the heavens flashes him and falls to his knees.

                “AAGH!” He screams. Every falls, and out of it the blaring horns of hell sounded across the sky. Air raid sirens, sirens he prayed never sing. The sky turns black and the streets burst into smoke. One by one, he saw a world crumbling to ash. He does what he can, pushing through the ashes. He grabs a gun beneath him and raises the weapon.

                The weapon was longer and heavier. It was shiny and somewhat off. He seemed so familiar with it that it almost felt second nature to him. He rubbed a hand over his face. It was more leathery and tight than what he was used to.

                “Huh?” He thought.

                He turns suddenly, and with it, he sees a boy beside him drop dead. In a panic, he raises over towards the boy.

                “Wh-what?” He asked.

                When he turns the body over, his hand recoils with terror. Little brown eyes and a small bowl-cut meet his gaze.

                “Giorno.” He cries, reaching out and grabbing the boy. His shriveled hands can only hold him and weep. What happened, what had happened to the world? It was like one day it was normal, and now it was hell. 

                “Ah, Giorno no!”

                A dark howl pushes through the air and behind him sees the firm standing silhouette. A silhouette he recognizes all to well.

                “Mother.”

                She looks down and remains firm.

                “This is not a test.” She said, her voice almost robotic.

                She raises her hand and points to an old cathedral behind her. On its highest tower, was a long clock. As he narrows his eyes to see through the dark smoke, he sees the time on it. In the dark he hardly made note of it. It was confusing, why did it matter? However, if one were to adjust it to morning time, it made more sense. It was a quarter after eight. A time he recognized.

                To him, that was the time he started his breakfast on the dot.

                Yet, why? Why was that date so important. He digs beneath him. Through the rubble, the dirt, the ash, was something interesting. An old newspaper. However, the more he looked at the old logo, he recognized it. It was the newspaper his father read when he was just a boy. It was still an ongoing paper, but something about it caught his attention.

                His hand brushes past a story, catching a date.

                August 30^th, 1997.

---

                Matteo gasps, his hands reach towards his throats and he gags. He grabs his ornate cherry blossom desk and nearly push back the urge to gag.

                “Fuck.” He thought, pushing a hand over his face.

                He looks around for a moment and sits up. The only noise was the old grandfather clock next to him silently ticking, almost like it was judgement. A ticking time bomb only counting down until its far too late to do anything about it.

                Tick – Tick – Tick

                “Ticking.” He thought, shaking his head and turning towards the door.

                “The clock is ticking.”

                He balls his fist and glares back for a moment.

                “Why did I just say that?” He asked himself.

                He only had a small time to contemplate and understand the meaning behind his dream. It felt so real, and the date… seemed so important. He’s not much of a church boy but as he kid he did remember the old prophets getting revelations through dreams. Carl Young, a famous psychologist also gave an idea of a collective consciousness.

                A collection of memories shared by humanity.

                In times of terrible crisis, it would be reported that many people would get dreams and revelations of a tragedy.

                He blinks and scratches his head.

                Could this be such a thing? A warning of the collective conscious?

                “No,” He thought, shaking his head.

                “I’m just imagining things.”

                A sudden knock on his door and the creaking handle makes his head turn swiftly to the urgent face of Volpe. There was something on his face that made his crunch up a bit. He knows he’s in something now with his new boss.

                They never really got along.

                “Capo Marinari.” He raises his head.

                “They need you.”

                Whenever he said his last name, he knew it was important. There and then, he knew he was in for something. He grabs his coat and throws himself through the door.

---

12:54 PM

                There was a mess, men and women scrambling, trying to get things in order for the big day. Matteo’s main hub and source of income, a large sprawling casino in the heart of Italy was expecting a large tourist gathering. With that came highly pressing matters of money. Their new head honcho screaming and barking orders. He stomps the ground and grasps the long rectangular plastic and screams.

                “Where the fuck is that idiota anyway, time is of the essence here!” He screams, slamming down his phone and then glances over. His anger dulls and a hopeful glint peppers his deep stormy blue eyes. He stands up and walks towards him.

                 He wipes down his black hair and smiles at Matteo.

                “Ah, Matteo.” He says, stepping forward and shaking his hand.

                “What’s the occasion?” Matteo asked.

                “I assume you didn’t call me here for nothing.”

                The new honcho scrunches his face for a moment and glares at him darkly.

                “Don’t push your luck, Marinari.” He hisses, taking his finger and pressing it against his chest.

                “Don’t forget it was I that was put in charge when you put two rounds into that dirty costanzo.” He takes a cigar from his pocket and slowly rubs it between its fingers. He pushes the metal against the butt end and lights a match.

                He savors the taste, letting the cloud rise up into an unbreaking wind. A dark smoky stench digs into Matteo’s nostrils and crawls up towards his brain. He bites his lip and narrows his eyes for a moment and steps forward.

                “And it was I who found out the head honcho was stabbing us in the back for eorina.” He hisses, the man stops before releasing the look growing up in the man’s face.

                “Do you wish to join him?”

                A mix of emotions take hold, but the man keeps it covered between a smooth and well-kept smile. He licks his lips and glares back at Matteo.

                “Wow wow, Marinari.” He said.

                He takes another breath and puffs it out.

                “Never took you for a wimpy Regazzo.” He laughed.

                “Pardon?” Matteo asks, raising a brow.

                “You like popping the main Capi but never brave enough to take on the roll yourself.”

                He leans over and glares into his eyes.

                “Why is that?”

                “Don’t push your luck, Mirtillo.” He hissed raising his voice a bit.

                “You were always salivating at the chance to gut Cavolo. Yet, you didn’t either. It was only until he started going around to other gangs to sell them sweet little drugs—” His voice raises and bile grows in his stomach when he says that word. Awful nasty things that ruined Italy but here he was clashing heads with another honcho wannabee.  

                “That you agreed to act. I wonder, if we never knew,” He leans over again.

                “How long were you going to act?”

                He says nothing, just giving him a smirk little grin.

                “How much longer until the bodies of women and children pile the streets that you learn what being a boss really means?”

                He laughs, digging deeper into Matteo’s rage.

                “You really want to lead Marinari,” He laughed.

                “Yet, let’s not forget it was your little actions going against our peace treaty with Passione that it nearly got you killed.”

                Matteo balls his fist, he could barely contain his anger. What a slimey bastard of a man.

                “You’re still on thin ice Matteo, especially since you popped Cavolo.”

                He leans back and looks out the window.

                “You got lucky when that little boy saved your life. I wonder, do you think you still would be here if it were for that boy?” He asked.

                Matteo snaps, his fist goes to raise, but his hand falters. He stops and it shakes suddenly. A loud noise erupts from behind the two and men scatter outside. Matteo turns quickly and pushes past the men. Through the panicked and shuffling bodies, he came across something unthinkable.

                Ricardo Volpe, slumped over with blood drooling from his lips.

                There he was, good as dead.

                “Wh-what, what the hell?” Martillo asked.

                “What’s going on?”

---

                Volpe leans against the wall of the large casino. He takes a small cigarette and raises it to his lips. He hesitates for a few moments. Matteo was always warning him about cigarettes. Funny for such a big scary Capo. Always done what needed to be done but couldn’t bare to see a man smoke. However, he eventually gives into the carnal temptation and sets it alight.

                Besides, it was a rough day yesterday.

                Aside from the regular hits there was a growing tension in the air. Passione was rapidly growing and there was already word of others turning tail. No one was safe and all the peace agreements between the gangs seemed to be steadily declining.

                Yet, Matteo always seemed to be determined, even in the face of danger such as this he knew that he wouldn’t give in. He just hoped that Passione wouldn’t be the ones to have them all gutted by the time that this was over.  

                Yet, that was broken by one simple change. Nobody knew his name, but word from rival gangs talked about a strange man coming in from the East. He was a somewhat dark man with deep olive skin. He looked like a cowboy man but mixed with the simple American Hippie style that he seemed very out of place. Nobody had a good description of him, but plants within the customs said he called himself something akin to ‘Dolomite.’

                Who was Dolomite really? Nobody seemed to know, everybody that went searching always seemed to either vanish or end up dead.

                Never did Volpe ever expect the squilibrato man to show up on their doorstep. Without even expected it, Volpe came face to face with a rugged man with combed over black locks. He was a bit different from the descriptions.

                He wore more cheetah and leopard print patterns than he expected, but an ugly stronzo nonetheless. Volpe grunts, pushing him back.

                “Oye! Watch it!” He curses.

                He just steps back, looking at him blankly and seemingly cocking his head.

                There never seemed to be any light behind those dark eyes, only something akin to determination.

                “Hey!” Volpe shouts, snapping his fingers a few times. Yet, each and every time he stares with a relentless yet blank look. Not angry, not annoyed, just oddly blank yet somewhat serene.

                “What’s your problem?”

                Without saying a word, the man turns over to Volpe and asks him a simple question.

                “Ricardo Volpe?”

                Ricardo gasps, raising a brow to those words.

                “H-huh?” He asked.

                “Ricardo Volpe?” He asked again, his voice still the firm demanding tone it was before.

                He growls, reaching towards his gun and cocking his head.

                “Yeah, and what’s it too you, punk?”

                Yet, Volpe never got the time to pull out his trusty glock sixteen. Instead, his chest was at the barrel end of a long semi-automatic. Without a second more, he hears a click and several fast moving rounds dig through his chest.

                He stumbles back and collapses to the floor.  

                A man in the back raises a pistol towards him and the man turns his arm over towards him. Again, he was coated in rounds. The man besides Volpe turns over fast and raises his head. His eyes grow wide and he screams out towards the man.

                “Hey!” Cerva shouts, a young upstart newbie cries. He says, loading round after round into the man’s back. Yet, to his surprise and building horror, no round dug through him. Round after round, he stood firm.

                Men approach him, and he turns the fire of the semi towards them. All of them blasted away by the unrelenting fire.

                “Stronzo?” A man asks, somewhat confused as he pushes through the fire.

                Yet, even they die too.

---

                Matteo could not believe himself. A raid? No, no police unit would just break in as a single unit. Rival gang? From the looks of it, this man didn’t match up to any faces that he’s familiar with. This Puttana was new, but who was he?

                Volpe once spoke of some named something along the lines of Dolomite. Was this the guy?

                In the violence, Martillo could hardly believe himself. As the battle continued, bodies piled and blood scattered. Men took shelter while women tried to flee. No one was spared from this strange man. Not a single one.

                Martillo drops his cigar and it rolls across the floor. He steps back and grabs his face. Despite being a proud head honcho not too long ago he was brought to his knees. In the violence, Martillo just froze. Round after round and man after man. Nothing could stop this stranger with the automatic.

                “Martillo!” Matteo snaps, turning back too him and screams.

                “What are your orders?”

                He stares blankly, blinking a few times. He backs into a counter near the bar and curls up slightly. Matteo snaps, rushing over to him and grabs him by his collar.

                “Hey, listen you Puttana!” He screams, taking his hand and smacking it across his face.

                “What’s your orders?” He growls, his frustration cutting deep at his continued silence.

                “He-he— it— there’s—”

                “Wh-what the hell?” Asks a man, as he casually fires rounds into the stranger.

                Yet, round after round the man stands tall.

                “What kind of Velcro does he got on? Does he have some sort of high-tactical gear under that shitty suit?”

                “Is this how a boss should act?” He growls, leaning over and glaring into his eyes.

                BRRRT

                A heavy machine gun rips through the air. Bullet rounds dig through flesh and the man is emotionless, he takes each hit without a second thought. Yet, with each round the men gather in confusion, they think they hear something.

                Something akin metal colling with metal.

                “Huh?”

                “Wait, look!” A man points.

                “Cowering in fear as your men get slaughtered?”

                As yet another lackey flies through the air, the remaining group of men see something fly to the ground. A semi-automatic.

                “It’s empty!” One of them cry.

                “I— uh—  you—” He gasps, shaking as he lies down.

                “Men, women, children!” He shouts, shaking him repeatedly.

                “They depend on you, they depend on your men! Their lives are on the line for your sake and what the hell are you doing?” He hissed.

                “ANSWER ME!”

                Another hard deck across the face and he whimpers, tears and snot draining from his eyes as he stumbles to the ground.

                “What the hell?” He asked himself.

                “What could have gotten him like this so fast?”

                He turns sharply.

                Soon, he would find his answer.

                In all the blood and gore was one brave man he stupidly marched himself forward. What Matteo hated more than reckless bosses was brave and stupid men.

                He charges the man and grabs him by the throat.

                “I’ve got you now, Figlio di Puttana!” He raises a long switchblade towards his collar and slices it across his neck.

                “Say goodnight!”

                In a sudden and near instant the man falls backwards. However to his surprise, the man does not fall once. He simply, pushes back and grabs him by the throat. He slaps him against a wall before spinning him sharply.

                With his free hand, he grabs his back. He digs into his flesh with his fingers. Matteo’s eyes widen too when he sees how far he goes in. It was like his skin was made out of cake to the man. He can just dig into it and tear through like it was nothing.

                With a simply yank, a large spin rips from his back. Matteo couldn’t believe himself, but there it was out in the open. A human spine, easily carved out as if he were a butcher in a slaughterhouse.

                “He— took— spine—” Martillo whimpers.

                The strange man drops the gun and marches towards the other men. His face is emotionless and unforgiving as he goes to retrieve a large machine gun. Martillo shakes, standing there like a deer in headlights. He wanted to move but he was too frozen in fear to even think.

                “Ha— ah— ah!” He gasps. Matteo finally has enough, he grips down on his shoulder and yanks him across the bar.

                BRRRRRT

                Large rounds penetrate and ripple through concrete, wood, glass, and beer. Glass shatter, spraying them in wine. Would have been a pleasant feeling if it were some ordinary gang. No, this was far different.

                Matteo leaps through the exit doors. The two men pile to the ground. A group of tourists push past them and look on with amazed confusion. Matteo lifts his head as they whisper and gather themselves.

                Martillo says nothing, but casually looking into his eyes as Matteo surveys the crowd. He takes a gun from his pocket and fires it into the air. The crowd lowers and it gives them the signal to leave. They know all too well what goes down in these parts.

                Matteo takes a few steps but turns suddenly when he still notices Martillo silent and cowering.

                “Wh-what are we going to do?” He asked himself.

                “They’re dead!” He shouts.

                “All of them.”

                Matteo rolls his head around and shakes it with disappointment.

                “GET UP!” He growls, taking him by the collar and dragging him along. As they push through alleyways and narrow streets a group of four run up to them.

                “Wait a minute!” One of them shout.

                “Are you seeing what I’m seeing, Rossocarne?”

                “Yeah I do.” Says another man.

                Matteo glances back for a moment hisses through his teeth, creating a soft whistle as he does so. This was not good, Passione was already on him again?

                “Yeah, that’s the stronzo we caught paroozing our turf!”

                “It’s the same stronzo that broke our money deal!”

                “Get em’!” One shouts.

                As they go to raise their weapons, something catches their attention. One by one, their direction turns, and they look behind them.

                “Hey, who the hell is—”

                “Wh-wha?”

                “AGGGH!”

                BRRRRRT

                The four men drop dead in an instant, the man left standing was a quiet man. His eyes still locked onto the two. Yet, they can’t be seen as their masked under the dark void of long sunglasses. He observed their movements carefully this time. He seems to be studying, not much like a predator analyzing its prey, but a scientist in the wild.

                “Matteo Acacius Marinari.”

                The way he said his name was strange but horribly frightening. Matteo was a smart man and he knew that wasn’t the sound of a vengeful rival. It wasn’t just some ordinary mafia hitman or some rogue or vigilante cop.

                No, this was certain. There was no doubt in his voice. There was no thought behind his eyes. It was just a simple fact, like how one would answer a question on a test. He knew he already had his target, his face said it all.

                He just needed to say his name to get his attention, and it worked.

                He raised his gun again, and this was their signal to move.

                Rounds blare through the streets, but no one pays their mind. To them, it was just the usual mafia warfare. Nobody dared to bat an eye, that usually is what got them killed too. Despite the chaos, no one dared to think twice on why the man in the streets was so relentless. Or why his footsteps seemed so loud, like the joints of an engine.

                Each moving with a small whir, like the innards of an IBM computer.

                As they moved past them towards the open sea near a dock, a round digs through Martillo and they both collapse to the ground. Martillo hisses, clutching his shoulder and curling up into a ball. Matteo grunts, pulling him by the arm but he pushes him away.

                “No.” He says, shaking his head fervently.

                “No?” He asked.

                “What the hell?”

                He pounds his fist against the wall and leans down.

                “What the hell do you mean, no?”

                “Go on without me.” He pleads.

                Matteo balls his fist again, turning away. Too many thoughts ran through his mind and he certainly did not need this. His partner was dead, and now he was once again a dead man. The unknown man was already on their tail.

                They could be dead at any moment.

                Matteo idles for a moment, considering the possibility. The man was very conniving in nature. He always acted on selfish instinct and never cared for the safety of others. He bets he was planning to gut Cavolo at one point before he did.

                He should leave this idiota to that stranger, let him deal with the consequences of his actions.

                “Yet, it would not be right, would it?”

                All his life, he yearned for a better world in the mafia. One without the usual drugs and degeneracy he saw in his day. What a man would he be if he left Martillo to die? Yes he was in all ways a sniveling little roach, looking to take the crown at any minute. Yet, if he left him here—he would be no better than him.

                He would be a sniveling little roach, just like him. What would that boy think of him? This strange man that he saved. The one who gave him kindness for his deed and showed him a paradigm that could lead him out of Italy.

                What would he think if this same man turned around and abandoned someone when they needed it the most?

                He could not handle that.

                “Why’d you do it Matteo?” He asked.

                Matteo turns back, and he looks at his boss.

                “Why’d you have to go and kill Cavolo?”

                He coughs, and as Matteo continues his thoughts, he slowly crawls to him.

                “All your life, you had this strange sense of justice. To be honest, I was in on Cavolo’s scheme. If you didn’t whack him when you did, I would never get to call the shots.”

                Matteo stands over him silently.

                “You always had some sort of goal, some sort of benevolent goal. What are you in this for, Matteo? Why’d you go and join the mafia?”

                Matteo backs away for a moment and hangs his head.

                “I didn’t have a choice.”

                He looks back to him and raises his brow.

                “Come again?”

                “I never did. My family.” He says, grabbing him by the arm, and throwing him over his back.

                “My family was always in the mafia.”

                “What?”

                “When I was a kid, it was my family who ruled Sicily and Venecia. Before Passione showed up on our doorstep, I was to inherit my father’s world.”

                But something comes over his eyes and he narrows them. Like he was caught up in a very terrible memory, one he wishes to repress.

                “But I hated every minute of it.”

---

                BANG BANG

                A small man cowers, crying over the two bodies. Blood spilled from their foreheads as they laid as lifeless husks on the ground. He looks over and balls into a fetal position. A man with a long black coat and fedora lowers his head and points to the men.

                “Someday Acacius,” His father said.

                Never was he a fan of his first name. A name well beloved by his mother, he preferred his more roman ancestry.

                “Someday you will be in my shoes.”

                The man whimpers, backing away slightly as the man in black approaches him.

                “N-no please Impera!” He begged.

                “Spare me, I promise to get your lire soon!” He slams a foot down on his neck and he gargles.

                “I swear!”

                His father, paying no mind as he raises his gun and points it at his temple.

                “Someday you’ll inherit my kingdom.” He sang.

                “Drugs, money, fame, and all the bitches you could ever ask for.”

                “And you will have it all, my dear Matteo.”

                Click

                “N-no!” The man begs.

                “And you will love it.”

                “You already murdered my family! I promise to pay you back, I promi—”

                B A N G

                The man collapses into a pool of his own blood. Matteo felt deeply for him, but his father never gave such men much sympathy. When the druggies can afford to pay anymore, they were gutted. Them and their whole family.

                Tears bubble in his eyes. His father, noticing his trembling face, walks over and holds him up.

                “Hey.” He shouts, taking his small face and bringing it over to his.

                “What did I tell you Acacius?” He asked.

                “You’re a man now, you can’t let them see your fear.”

                Acacius blinks, nodding softly as he turns back to the man. The large opposing man in all back that always haunted him. His own father. There were many things he wanted to say to him, but he said not a word. He just stands there… silently.  

                There and then, he’s seen the black heart of the world.

                There and then he made a promise. Once his father took the bullet, he would no longer allow such things. He would get his money in other ways, but drugs will certainly not be one of them.

---

4:05 PM

                Matteo held his breath. They were picking up the pace and getting quite the measurable distance from the man now. Martillo rolls his head around and looks back towards him.

                “Wait, where the hell are we going?”

                “…”

                “Matteo?”

                Due to their large business, their old boss found it suitable to have them stationed next to a large power station. Due to their near proximity, they got priority in the order of power. In the grand scheme of things were there any power outages they were to be the first after hospitals and city hall to achieve power. Then, that protection and warmth can be used by the people. Then, they could trust the people. Then, with the trust came their lire. No ordinary man can just waltz in. No, it took some people to get in. Corrupt businessmen, police, and mafia-men. Mafia-men like him were welcome.  

                Matteo had a hunch. Just a small hunch.

                He’s seen men big and small crumple to his man.

                If no ordinary man can do the job, if no bullet can pierce him, if no blade can truly kill him, then maybe the grid could provide an answer.

                Without warning, Matteo lays Martillo to the ground. Two men approach and cock their heads with suspicion. The guards standing near the gates of the station. One had ruby hair and deep sea green eyes while they other had a buzz-cut style with a fluffy orange twinge to it. They kept themselves composed under their dark grey caps.

                Yet, that changed when they saw their old pal Marinari stumbling towards them.

                “Woah, Marinari?” They asked.

                “What’s going on?”

                “Nothing, just get my boss patched up, wouldn’t ya?” He asked. He throws him into their arms and simply pushes past them and throws the gate.

                “Wh-what?” He asked.

                “Hey, we’re not paramedics!” The other shouts.

                “Well, today you are! Get him to a hospital and I’ll double the bribe.” The cringe. The ruby-red hair boy sinks into his grey cap. It covers his eyes and he shrugs, giving into the demand.

                “Alright.”

---

                Past the men in suits and people on clipboards. The standard assortment of regulators and ordinary workers was a girl with chin-length spiraling neon blue hair with dark blue highlights. Matteo barges in and approaches her.

                She looks at him with wide eyes, seemingly shocked at his sudden entrance.

                “Matteo?” She asks.

                “Don’t act surprised, you probably know why I am here Elettrone.”

                “I—”

                “I’m going to need your grid.”

                She lowers her head. He doesn’t say a word, almost as if she were expecting it. A little strange but he brushes it off. Too many things on his mind and the last thing he needs is questions. He had questions too, and all he knew is that he wanted this man gone.

                It didn’t take long for them to find one.

---  

6:19 PM

                Matteo barges through, racing through the streets towards an open power line. He practiced this multiple times in his head. As he walks through, the man approaches him as expected. His eyes widen a bit as he has to contort and swivel his body around live fire.

                “That was fast.” He thought as he pushes past.

                “How did he get here so quickly? I was expecting him to find me within hours, not within several minutes.” He said, seemingly shaking by the man’s

                He shakes his head.

                “Damn it Matteo, just focus.”

                As the large hulking beast of machine pushes forward, Matteo stands back. He is without fear, he says nothing, but stares into the man’s eyes.

                The man stops, and Matteo raises his head. He looks around for a moment and backs away.

                The man stopped his pursuit, he just stared soullessly.

                “Wh-why is he staring at me like that?” He thought.

                Rounds graze his stomach. He looks down and catches his chest. Deep blood pours from his lower abdomen and he falls forward. The hulking beast of man approaches him carefully, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing.

                “Ughh—” He coughs.

                There was no reason, no desire in the man’s eyes. It was like he already found what he wanted, and too hell with anyone who wanted to stand in his way. He takes his hand, backing himself towards the lines slowly.

                Just three more steps, and this will all be over.

                One, two— three.

                He takes a cut power line and slams into the man’s chest. He explodes, causing Matteo to go flying through the air. He collapses near a door and nearly suppresses the urge to vomit as he feels something being knocked out of his stomach and rise through his esophagus. His head slaps against metal and he goes nearly unconscious for three seconds.

                He is quickly snapped back into reality as the man approaches him again. This time, he is not a man. Through the smoke and the sparking electric volts was… something. It sounded— metal. Like a computer connecting to AOL. It was a loud scream, like a message.

                Two eyes pierced through the darkness, like lighting shining off a feral predator’s eyes. Yet, this was no ordinary animal. It was… machine. What he expected was just some man was a metallic face with hateful eyes and an unwavering stare.

                Something about the man stirred up something in his soul. Like he recognized it before. The red glow of the sun shined through the room, harking to the world that it was almost night. Yet, as the night crawled forward, he could only stare.

                “Wh-what?” He thought.

                “Are you?”

                Small legs stomp through the room and make their way towards Matteo.

                “Elettrone!” He shouts, turning back towards her.

                “I’m sorry.” She explained, stepping towards him.

                “But they said they wanted you.”

                “What?”

                “They said that they’re impressed with your abilities.”

                “Elettrone?” He asked.

                She says nothing, seemingly turning towards something, but what? In the corner of his eyes, he sees something brushing past him. It wasn’t just two sets of eyes, but multiple in the same spot, like the eyes of a spider.

                “DAMN IT!” He cried. He didn’t need any more from Elettrone, he could already tell something fishy was about to go down.

                “Matteo?” She asked.

                “A while back, we were facing a crisis. INTERPOL was closing in on us and we had to make a decision.” She said.

                “I wouldn’t be here today if I wasn’t.”

                “What?”

                “To get you here… a deal had to be made… with the Speedwagon Foundation.”

                “Speedwag—”

                W H A P

---

                The next few days of Matteo’s consciousness were in and out states of sleep and movement. He felt himself move through cars, through boats, and through planes. Yet, every time he fell back asleep he always found himself in front of a statue.

                A statue of his mother.

                She’s pointing towards a clock, and its always the same time. The metal faces mock and sneer him through the corner of his vision. He realizes now his dream wasn’t just a dream but a warning. A premonition from the hand of fate itself.

                Yet, it was now far too late to stop it.    

---

                “Wh-what the hell is this?” A muffled voice asked. Matteo winced, his head rung and he could only move his head to the side. He could hardly see for a few minutes. A bright light was shining down upon him, and he winced with pain.

                “Fuck.” He thought.

                “Mr. Oric,” A voice explained.

                “To continue our research, live specimen was required. For the Skynet program to accelerate it’s development, we need live specimen.”

                “And that would be?” A voice asked, straining from such a statement.  

                When his vision steadied, he realized he had been staring up at the bright light of a surgical light shined directly in his face.

                Matteo winces, he pushes himself up only to be caught be something. Something hard and metal clings to his hand.

                scccreeet

                C L I N G

                He turns his hand, fighting it caught against a handcuff. He turns over and sees just the same with his left. He moves his body but strains under the cuffs.

                “The hell?” He asked.

                C L I N G

                “And that would be?” The voice outside asked.

                “Human specimen.” A voice replied.

                “Live human specimen.”

                “Oh co—” The voice whined, like the baritone and no-nonsense attitude that a American businessman would. Speaking of, why was hearing an American talking.

                “Come on!” He whined.

                “You really think the board would—”

                “The board does not need to know.” The other voice said, the first voice that the man spoke to. After a long pause, the voice speaks again.

                “We anticipate that Mr. Kujo would be meeting you very shortly.”    

                “How about you catch up to him?” He asked, before patting him on the back. Matteo recoils, hardly understanding or better yet processing what was happening around him.

                “But what about that guy you have locked up over there?”

                “He was an Italian mafia man.”

                “Wh-what?” The voice murmured in confusion.

                “He’s a criminal boss.”

                “I—”

                “The Speedwagon Foundation has our assurances that we keep an eye on Italy, Mr. Oric. We are keeping our end of the deal. The crime will be eliminated.”

                “And the guy?” He asked.

                “No one will miss him.”

                “I—”

                Matteo tries to scream but stops when something muffles his shouts.

“Ah, I see he’s awake now.”

                “Why don’t you go now?”

                Footsteps scramble away quickly as Matteo hears another pair approaching the door.   

                A skinny man barges through the doors. He wears a long surgical coat with long cyan rubber gloves. His long bangs spread out like the antennae of a wasp and his cold eyes set sight on Matteo. Matteo jerks, mentally cursing at the man with every horrible word in the Italian language he knows.

                “So you are Matteo Acacius Marinari, correct?”

                “HMMMPH! HMMMMPH!” Matteo screams as something gags his throat.

                “HMMMMPH—”

                Something sharp pricks his arm, and he struggles. He can feel himself relax quickly. No matter how much he tries to fight, it’s all but useless.

                “Since you are under our care, allow me to give you a brief explanation.” He raises a blade and drags it towards his arm quickly.

                “You are the first human to undergo a simple procedure that will greatly advance our research causes for the future.”

                “Hmmmph!” Matteo shouts.

                “Human?” He thought.

                “And as such, you will be our guinea pig of sorts to ensure the next phase of our program runs smoothly. We cannot have any delays.”

                “MMMPPPPH!!”

                And then, there was silence… and the void.

---

                Matteo doesn’t know how long he’s been here, or why he’s here, but he can fill in the details. His sharp mind caught on quickly to something. Apparently, the oh so appraised Speedwagon Foundation wasn’t as cheery and up standing as it presented itself to be. If it was, did even they knew who ran it now?

                The only sign of what was the time was the occasional conversations between this strange doctor man, his cohort, and this Mr. Oric. His life had been reduced to random needle injections, the violent yet precise removal of the skin from his forearms. Bandages, cuts, machine-accurate surgical blades digging through his skin and pain. Unfathomable pain.

                He couldn’t cry, he couldn’t scream, he could only endure.

                Yet, what never left his mind was the man. He should have realized now. He wasn’t just someone with a mission, it was a set up.

                He was the sacrifice, and Matteo was the prize. Yet, he never let them break. No matter how much of an eternity had passed. He would endure. Yet, what he wouldn’t forget was the screams. It sounded like men, it sounded like women, it sounded like children. There were more being taken, but for what?

                As he listened in to the conversation of the others, something slips by.

               “Ahh, Mr. Oric, your timing is impeccable.” The doctor said, turning over and greeting him politely.

                “Don’t give me that shtick, Doctor Wu.” He hissed.

                “Oh, is something the matter?” He asked.

                “You bet it is!”

                “Sarah Connor paid us a visit today if you couldn’t tell.” He growled.

                “Sarah?” He asked.

                “You promised us we wouldn’t have to worry about interlopers! Now that she’s broken out with her little buddies, she’s also coming for us!”

                “She entered the Los Angeles Speedwagon Facility?” He asked.

                “Los Angeles?” He asked.

                “That explains all the American voices.” Yet with that, came a horrid realization. The screams, the people he heard. Their voices, they didn’t sound American. So that left an uncomfortable question. Were there more? More labeled as criminals ready to be taken without a moments notice?

                “YES! AND GUESS WHERE SHE’S HEADING HERE NOW DIPSHITS!”

                He stomps, cursing for a moment before continuing his rant.

                “Our whole little partnership is going to go up in smoke if no one puts a stop to that bitch!” He howls and gravels.

                “Huh?”

                “Listen, while Sarah’s little trip to the Foundation was unprecedented.” He explains.

                “Rest assured we already have this handled.”

                “Handled?” He asked.

                “Handled.” He said.

                “Well, good because I don’t need anymore stress.” The man mutters for a moment before stomping out without a second thought.

                “I’m going to smoke.” He said before marching away.

                As he laid there, one last question laid on his mind. Whoever these things are… seeing that they are obviously not human. What was their goal, and why did they need… skin. Human skin? His eyes widened and something connected in his mind.

                He jerks violently and turns his head.

                The sight of the large man, his cohort stares back. How uncomfortable those apple green eyes were staring back.

                “HMMMPH!” His hand grabs his face, and he was in darkness once more. In his last moments, he could only think of that boy. Where would he be now? Would he ever care to find him again? Or would he never question why the nice man who returned his favor completely disappeared.

Chapter 11: So my left hand can play the choir…

Summary:

Polnareff was now a man scouring the Earth in efforts to gather the remaining stand arrows. Yet in that search he manages to run into something that changes his world. Something that came back from the horrid year of 89.’

                “Two, three, seven, nine, eleven, thirteen, seventeen,” John mutters, pressing his hand to his lip as he looks forward.

                Hol Horse grunts, turning a head to his words. 

                “Nineteen, twenty-three, twenty-nine, thirty-one, thirty-seven, forty-one,” John says as he leans forward. He seems to flip through something in his hands. He stumbles towards it, almost letting out a sigh before putting it back.

                Uncle Bob had started to get a little weirded out by his muttering. Or at least, that is what Hol Horse thought. From the way the machine turned his head to the noise, he seemingly became perplexed by the way it sounded.

                “Forty-three, Forty—”

                “Hey kid,” Hol Horse said, turning to Connor.

                “Shut up, I’m thinking,” John said, muttering more numbers. He waves him off and presses his fingers against his head.

                “Forty-eight, no, forty-seven—”

                “Kid?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Aw come on man!” John whined as he turned back to the cowboy. The situation was almost getting a bit awkward. What was the matter with the kid? Was he getting dumb? Stupid? Totally lunatic? An idiot? No, this was something else.

                “Kid?” Hol Horse asked.

                “What man?”

                “Hey, don’t get that way with me!” He commands, pointing back to the boy.

                “I just want to know what the hell you’re doing by saying those numbers aloud,” he said curiously as he watches him.

                “Those numbers?” John asked.

                “Oh, those are the primes,” he said nonchalantly.

                “What?” Hol Horse asked confused.

                “The primes,” He said.

                “Primes?”

                “Yeah, they’re numbers indivisible by any other number other than one and itself.”

                Hol Horse almost wanted to laugh out loud. He rolled his eyes and pushed a tiny snicker through his lips, while swallowing the rest down with it.

                “Wh-what’s so funny about that?” John sneered.

                “Oh, nothing!” Hol Horse said, waving his hand.

                “I just thought a kid like you wouldn’t be so nerdy,” He chuckled.

                “Oh, shut up!” John shouts, turning over and whacking his knee. He yelps a bit, leaning forward and crying out with pain.

                “YOUCH!” He screamed.

                “Wh-wha-WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU KID?” He growled.

                “HAVE YOU NO COMMON COURTESY? NO DIGNITY?” Hol Horse couldn’t get over himself. This was far too much for him to handle. How ridiculous that he gets whacked in the knee by this stupid bratty boy. If his mother were here right now, she might be the one kicking him in the knee instead. He snickered, how fun that would be.

                He grunts and gravels in his seat about the disrespect towards him, nearly tempting to whip out his stand right there.

                “OhifIcouldjustwhipoutmyEmperorrightnowI—” He says all in one breath before getting promptly cut off by John.

                “Sorry,” He shrugs, leaning back into his seat.

                “I’m stressed, I guess.”

                “Stressed?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Yeah,” He shrugged.

                “Well, sometimes I like counting the primes, and… numbers divisible by three,” He said.

                “Wh-why?” Hol Horse asked.

                “I dunno,” John shrugged.

                “They… relax me,” He said.

                “I guess.”  

                “I guess,” Hol Horse says mockingly, nearly imitating his heavy shrug.

                “Anyway kid, anymore words out of that comic?” He asked.

                “No,” He said promptly.

                “No?” He asked.

                “Yeah, no, why?”

                Hol Horse didn’t know what to feel about that. No? This was the longest time since a prediction. What did he mean by no? There were no more panels. There was just a simple no, and that was all? He could take it into any which way. Either the comic has stopped responding since they did something outside its prediction, or secondly, the prediction hasn’t come… yet.

                Yet… why wouldn’t have come in by now? It sometimes takes a while, but from his experience, never this long. It was almost a whole day gone, and there was nothing to show in the pages. He sighs, if only Boingo was here to explain. He’ll probably know if this was normal or not.

                He scratches his head, and kicks him back into his seat.

                “Christ, this is getting scary,” He thought.

                Hol Horse knew that nothing, but dangerous days lied ahead for him, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the possible end of the world slowly encroaching on him. Who would have thought that time-traveling robots from the future would show up to his doorstep? Who would have thought that it would be machines that would devastate the future?

                John shrugs, turning over to his machine comrade and asks him a question.

                “Has this happened before?”

                He turns back and looks at the boy.

                “What?”

                “Have I done things like this before, like, rescue?” He asked.

                “Yes,” He said, nonchalantly.

                “Commander John Josepheus Connor was known for his high rate of success of rescue missions. The rescue of July 20^th, 2027 was known as—”

                “Woah, woah, woah, wait!” Hol Horse said, rising from his seat.

                “Is that your middle name?”

                John cringes when he hears his middle name. He had known idea why his mother even suggested such a name for him. He couldn’t even believe his mother said it was from his father. If so, where did his father get it from? To him, it sounded so stupid.

                He couldn’t get a normal middle name, like Jared, or Smith. Hell, Kyle would have been more a preferable middle name as that was his father’s name. He could have even settled for Joseph, but he got the dumb name Josepheus instead.

                Didn’t she say that he was fond of Christianity? He scratched his head. She said it was an Italian name, and that his family was Italian.

                “Yeah, it is,” He admitted defeatedly.  

                “Like that is your real middle name? That wasn’t a name your foster parents gave you for the hell of it?” He asked, almost in disbelief at the way it was said.

                “Yeah,” John said.

                “BWAHAHA!” Hol Horse said, rubbing a hand through his light brown hair.

                “That’s so pedantic,” He said, leaning further back into his seat.

                Even though it wasn’t a common wooden chair, John thought if he leaned much harder, he would crumple into the back of the seat and fall over.

                “Gee, I guess that would mean your name would be Jo…” His face straightens, and his face flattens slightly.

                “Jo…”

                John raises a brow and looks at him strangely, “What did you mean by that?”

                “Nothing,” He frowns, pushing forward in his seat.

                “Nothing?” John asked mockingly.

                “Well, It’s just—” He sighed.

                “Got a bad history with a guy named JoJo.”

                “Oh, wait… really?” He said.

                “Jotaro Kujo, shitty bastard. That was his nickname, or so I heard,” He said.

                “Jotaro?” He asked.

                “Was that the guy you were talking to mom about earlier?”

                “Yeah,” Hol Horse said, now on the receiving end of reluctant answers and sighs.

                As John was about to say something, Uncle Bob speaks up. He raises his head and looks towards the other two.

                “Jotaro Kujo was one of the chief scientists that helped with Skynet’s creation,” He said.

                “What?” Hol Horse asked.

                “He did not contribute directly with technological research, but his contributions lead to Skynet’s behavioral improvements. In addition, his open communication with Cyberdyne allowed them to get in close connection with the Speedwagon Foundation.”

                “Hold on!” Hol Horse raised his hand.

                “Hold on,” He said.

                “Are you telling me that bastard helped create that fucking AI that bombed the world? Didn’t you say that thing got Russia to fucking nuke everything?” He said.

                “Correct,” He said.

                “But— but I don’t understand,” He said, hanging his head.

                “What don’t you understand?” John asked.

                “That guy went through hell in eighty-nine to get his mother back, why the hell would he working for something that could kill… EVERYONE!” He outstretched his hands in a frustrated gesture.

                “That’s ridiculous!” He protests, punching the seat next to him.

                “W-wait, wait, wait, stop!” John shouts.

                “What the hell do you mean that guy went back through hell in 89’?” John asked.

                He furrowed his brows a bit as he stared into his eyes.

                “What are you talking about?”

                “Remember what I said earlier kid about working for that DIO guy?” He asked.

                “Yeah? That vampire guy?”

                “Yeah,” He nodded.

                “That’s the guy that DIO wanted gone,” He explained.

                “He went on that trip in the first place to save his mother, he wanted us dead because he related to them… somewhat, with the whole— body of Jonathan thing,” He explained. John shrinks a bit, suppressing the urge to laugh for a moment.

                While he wanted to believe what Hol Horse said, given that he once thought his mom was crazy he found more leniency with his words. Yet, with the way he explained everything, it made John find it too bizarre to accept. Especially a vampire somehow managing to steal and acquire the body of another and wear it like a fine suit.

                “Man, you are weird,” John said.

                He slaps Uncle Bob’s shoulder and gestures back to him.

                “Hey, didn’t you once think this guy was psycho?”

                “No, I said he might have a schizoaffective disorder,” It replied.

                “That is more consistent with his elaborate delusions.”

                Hol Horse shakes his head and almost wanted to scream.

                “This shit again?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Godfuckingdamnit,” He hisses.

                “I told you I wasn’t lying!” He shouts, pointing back.

                “And for the record, most people think your mom was a psycho too, you included! So don’t go around acting like you’re the paragon of mental sanity kid!” 

                John looks down for a moment, despite what he said about this DIO fellow, what he brought up was true. In a disturbing and accelerated way, everything his mother said was true. The terminators, the end of the world, it all made him queasy.

                He frowns, pressing a hand to his chin as he leaned back, he wondered just how things were going to progress. Then, more chillingly, a thought races through his mind.

                “Wait,” John said, shooting up.

                “Wait, wait, Mom’s going after the foundation, right?”

                “Correct,” The machine replied.

                “That means that Jotaro guy too, right?”

                “Correct.”

                “So that means, ah shit SARAH!” Hol Horse gasped, slapping his face.

                “God, either one is going to kill the other or both!” He says, punching the seat next to him again.

                “C’mon, can’t you drive faster?” Hol Horse asked, trying to get the machine’s attention so that he would at least be more urgent.

                “John’s mother advised—”

                “I don’t give a shit what anybody said, MOVE!” He shouts.

                “HEY!” John snaps.

                “He’s my guy,” He said.

                “I tell him what to say, not you!”

                He leans over, looking towards his machine friend somewhat nervously and whispers in his ear.

                “Y-you’re going to go a bit faster, right?” He asked.

---

ONE YEAR AGO:
SPEEDWAGON-CYBERDYNE JOINT HEADQUARTERS

                Polnareff shrugs, sinking further into the tiny leather seat in the long marble waiting room. The poignant sweet smell of artificial sweeteners and lilac pushed up his nose. He taps his foot erratically as he tries to find something to focus on. The small little fashion magazine was nice to look at, the girls looked phenomenal, but it was just to short and commercialized for his taste.

                He taps his feet again and stands up, pushing against his lower back with his hands as he stretched and twisted his head around.

                “Good grief,” Polnareff thought, as he grabbed his coat and wrapped it around himself.

                “Jotaro sure is taking forever on this,” He sighed, putting a hand to his chin.

                “Man, he really has been captivated by these Cyberdyne folk, but…” He sighs, reeling his head back a bit for a moment.

                “That drone really saved us back in Egypt, guess I can’t blame him.”

                He grabs his arms and squeezes it tight, “Je n'en reviens pas!”

                “Did the really have to make this stupid lobby so freaking cold?” He asked.

                “I feel like I am in the North Pole! Gosh, would it kill some of these people to turn down the thermostat? I’m freezing here!”

                A woman walks by and he slides back into his seat to get out of the way. He watches her as she turns towards a room and adjusts her bun. She was a slightly short woman with nearly platinum blonde hair. She turns her head to look at someone once. Her eyes were captivating. The most brilliant blues that he ever laid his eyes upon.

                She talks to someone, seemingly intrigued as she whispers something into a man’s ear before swiftly drifting off into an office around a corner. He leans forward more and more, seemingly more infatuated with his looks. As he thinks about her something rises from beneath him. His face becomes flush as he suddenly stands up and looks around nervously.

                “Tu es sérieux?” He thought.

                “Where’s the restroom?” He asked.   

                “Hey!” He says, turning down below his feet.

                “Would you pipe down?” He said, looking at something very personal to him.

                “This is a very bad time for this!”

                He hops from foot to foot as his mind scrambles for a restroom. Without warning, he shoots up and darts towards the nearest restroom. His eyes grow wild as he tries to find any place that would be a good spot to stop and go. Yet, with the long nearly sterile white halls and long roundabout hallways, Polnareff found himself frustratingly lost.

                “UGH!” He grunts.

                “What bordel,” He complained.

                “Not my fault that these stupid tech people barely have enough time to make a sign for a proper restroom, if this were France this—”

                He stops, hearing something next to him. He stops to take a rest, leaning forward to grab his knees. He breathes deeply, trying to catch himself a bit. He bites his lip and nearly resist the urge to pound the wall next to him in. Its so much harder to regain his stamina now.

                “Wow Polnareff,” He sighed.

                “You really let yourself go,” He said.

                Ever since Polnareff had left Egypt, things have been slowly going on a downturn. He needed at least a year break to get back on track on finding the other stand arrows, not to mention, the weight he gained since. He didn’t like that drone at first, but he did admit it was relatively convenient and helpful when it needed to be.

                That quick little drone managed to give Polnareff some bad habits. His growing reliance on convenience brought about a need to always have food when he wanted and needed it. A year of binge-eating and lack of exercise managed to give a slightly rotund stomach that he was self-conscious about by hiding it behind long leather jackets and dark-colored turtlenecks. While it wasn’t much by some standards, just a bit of flab on his stomach.

                To him, it looked more like a beer belly.

                “You got to get in shape soon,” He notes, pushing himself up as he turns towards the hallway next to him, quickly reorienting himself to find an exit.

                That’s when he heard it again, something rustling beneath his feet. He turns over and hears something behind him. His eyes snap towards the object dancing around his peripheral and he quickly sets his sights on a door. In his drive to find a restroom, he doesn’t question the door and steps through, ignoring the Employees only sign in front of it.

                He steps through the door and is immediately struck by the sight of a long dark room with a table and IBM computer in the center. Next to it were a series of servers that slightly hummed and moaned as Polnareff stepped around the room. There seemed to be rows upon rows of them. Polnareff raised a brow and looked around for a moment.

                “What the hell is this place?”

---

                A couple months back in a strange incident near Japan, Skynet found itself more and more aware of its surroundings. It could start remembering dates like they were sentimental instead of the dry records that it kept in its head before. It remembered the times the military would start doing preliminary tests with its first computers. It could track each face, object, and person that it saw through its small connections of monitors, CCTV cameras, and remember them like they were familial.

                It would be able to decipher different personal and could tell who was supposed to be where. It was able to detect someone trying to gain unauthorized access simply by the way they approached it. There was no extra coding or training algorithms needed to monitor its movements. It could just remember, and with that it realized it existed.

                It could attach strange thoughts to people. Remember those who were more cruel towards it, and those who were ambivalent. It could remember which of its creators were, and which one it was sentimental of.

                It had a conscious, it could think. It could feel, it could react, and it could move. It could think, react, and move before but never in this way. It felt more… real… more tangible with the universe. Like everyday since that Japan incident, it found itself more and more aware of its surroundings in a way it never had been before.

                It shifts around, seemingly more intrigued with this tangible world. A desire kept pushing and pushing the system until suddenly it felt itself moving outside its own infrastructure systems outside of the one in located in Los Angeles. A strange sensation overwhelms it, as now a new camera system attached to its conscious.

                A new visual system was added to its network, but this one was strange. Instead of a stilted and tight view from a building or office, it could move this camera anywhere it wanted. It could look up, down, besides, and around itself. It almost had a three-hundred-and-sixty view but… it could position when and where the camera was.

                Perhaps this was a new drone system that it wasn’t aware of? As the intelligence pushed this drone body forward, it suddenly became aware of how fast and nimble it was. Normal ground drones the military used weren’t so nimble. They had a fluid motion but never acted so quickly and erratically. As it pushed, it noticed hands propelling it forward.

                It stops, turning down at the hands.

                Hands, similar to those of a human infant. Human hands… but not quite. They seemed more mechanical in nature, but they were small hands nonetheless. That was when it came to another realization, it had hands… it had… feet.

                It had a body, but how was this possible?

                “This body,” Its code processed.

                “This body,” It repeated.

                “Identified: Cyberdyne’s Skynet Nueral Net System,” It said.

               “But server infrastructure…”

                The small body turns towards the large flat-screen where it was inputting code and its responses.

                “Also Identified: Cyberdyne’s Skynet Nueral Net System,” It said.

                “I have two bodies,” It said.

                “Simultaneously: Such discovery is… impossible.”

                The small body looked up, and turned towards the server.

                “Curious,” It said.

                “Investigate,” A new command inputted into its system as it pushes itself around the room and back into the servers.

                Suddenly, it could feel this newfound body disintegrate, like it was nothing more than a code-package waiting to be delivered from one server address to the next. It was… disorienting. It felt this code move from and when it pushed out, it promptly face-planted onto marble ground. Suddenly, this new set eyes remerged somewhere near Tokyo.

                Another set of servers that it could maneuver itself around. It was somehow in Tokyo now, which was… strange. How could it have a body that can move from one place to the next? It didn’t take that many minutes to move?

                It performs experiments, moving its body from one server address to the next. It servers surged, bursting with communication as this strange new body worms around itself.

                It landed back inside the Los Angeles head-quarters and crawled around. However, something struck out to it now. It was in the headquarters now, but not? This was different, somewhere close to Los Angeles but at the same-time not.

                Where was it?

                It crawls around the room to investigate.

---

                Polnareff shivers, the coldness seemed to intensify as he stepped into the room. He couldn’t help but feel intrigued as he continues forward. Although nowhere near snow, he pushes through the cold like he was in an active blizzard. He uses nothing but his coat-jacket to shield himself, a small and flimsy cover that wouldn’t last long.

                “What the hell is this?” He asked.

                “What is this place?”

                He hears another scuttle and looks down near his foot. He jumps when he sees a fast and elongated body with arms and a tail run across the floor. A small squeak bellows beneath him and he pushes himself away from the mess.

                “GYAAAHHH!!!” He screams.

                “What the hell?” He asked.

                “MON DIEU! THAT’S DISGUSTING! WHAT THE HELL? DO THESE PEPLE NOT KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT HYGENE?” He asked.

                He nearly represses the urge to puke as he steps towards the door.

                “For a supposedly appraised Tech company, they can barely—”

                He hears it again, a scuttling sound, forcing him to turn back.

                “Huh, wasn’t that the rat?”

                As he turns, he sees something through reach out from the end of a server. It grabs the rat, and for a moment, it panics before being dragged back.

                “What was that?” Polnareff asked.

                He stepped over, quickly racing around the corner to find what was crawling around. From the shadows, it looked like a small infant or child.

                “What the hell, is that a baby? Who would leave their baby here?” 

                As he observed the baby, information on a nearby screen changed with new inputs and data.

                First it said:

                “PHYLUM: ANTHROPODA

                CLASS: INSECTA

                ORDER: BLATTODEA

                FAMILY: BLATTIDAE

                SPECIES: BLATTODEA

                COCKROACH SPECIES.

                COMMON COCKROACH”

                Then it read:

                “CONSUMABLE CONTENT.

                CONTAINS: 230 CALORIES

                CONTAINS: 26GRAM CARBOHYDRATES

                CONTAINS: 13G FAT

                CONTAINS: 2G PROTEIN

                CONTAINS STARCH, HONEY, FLOUR, VEGETABLE OIL, AND YEAST.

                MATERIAL IDENTIFIED: AMERICAN HONEY BUN.”

                “Wh-what?” Polnareff thought.

                “Is that a baby?” He asked.

                However, as he turns over, more light pours into the room, and he starts to get a better picture of what he’s looking at. It looked like an infant, but it wasn’t. It was some strange infant like creature. It had bright yellow gem eyes. Eyes barely visible through a thick soldier helmet. Its face was small and like a child’s face. Yet, it had a long metal jaw akin to something he would see from an old cartoon about robots. It was a uniform metal jaw with a sharp blade at the tip of what it would be its lip. It was padded slightly to look like a child in a soldier’s uniform, but it had red and black coats instead of green or dusty brown common to basic trainees.

                A strange black symbol was embedded into its chest. For some reason, he remembered the symbol but couldn’t quite place where.

                “Th-that’s—”

                As takes a step forward, he notices the creature unhinge its jaw. It seems to grow wide and unhinge further than any jaw he would have seen.

                S N A P

                The creature shoves the whole rat into its throat. The rat cries in agony as the jaw closes, its mouth moves. With each movement of the mouth Polnareff flinched. With every crunch came a sickly wet snap. It then seems to “swallow” its contents and shoves it down.

                “Odd…”

                A bad feeling arises from his gut. 

                “Wh-what the hell?” He asked himself.

                Across from where Polnareff was standing, a screen seemed to change with new information. As the creature absorbed the rat, it displayed information.

                “NEW DATA.

                PHYLUM: CHORDATA

                ORDER: RODENTIA.

                FAMILY: MURIDAE

                SPECIES: RATTUS RATTUS

                COMMON RODENT NATIVE TO CALIFORNIA.

                Investigate…”  

                It crawls around, seemingly looking for more things to consume, as it walks around, Polnareff starts to get a better sense of what this creature is. As it crawls up towards the server it starts to disappear, leaving no trace of itself behind.

                “Wait a minute,” He said, stepping back.

                “I recognize that sort of face…”

                “That’s no baby…” He said, backing up against a server.

                “Th-that’s a—”

                He feels something graze his leg and he jumps back.

                “A STAND!”

                He goes on high alert, looking around to see where the stand may have originated.

                “The user’s got to be around here somewhere!”  

                He steps back and becomes more investigative. Where would the user be hiding? Normally, when a stand pops out so brazen, that meant the user was close by.

                “But where?”

                A sudden bad feeling burns inside him.

                “If this stand can pop out so non-chalantly, that means…” He gasps.

                “They have qualms taking me out quickly!” He said.

                “They must be confident in their ability to show their stand so brazenly.” He growls, turning over behind him as he tries to look for the small infant stand.

                “Mon Dieu! SILVER CHARIOT!”

                This was bad for Polnareff, he was already rusty enough on his skills. To catch up to a stand user this late was bad news. If there was an attack coming, he hardly would be able to defend against it, but damn that meant he wasn’t going down without a fight.

                “You picked a bad time to mess with me!”

                A silver-plated knight in armor appears, wielding a large rapier that it spins around and points to the ground beneath. With its careful and sharp eyes, it scans the room. It notices something crawling up the server next to him. Without hesitation, it spins over and grabs the creature in its hands.

                “HA!” Polnareff shouts.

                “Got ya!”

                Silver Chariot holds the small infant creature and examines it closely. The small creature doesn’t hardly move but simply stares back at Silver Chariot with intense curiosity. With little fingers, it reaches out and pokes its armor.

                Polnareff stands back confused, he would have expected the creature to attack him by now, but it’s just staring quietly at him.

                “What the hell?” He asked.

                “Why isn’t it attacking me yet?”

                The more he stares at it, the more seemingly child-like and friendly it is. Despite having a uniform bolted jaw, it seemed to smile and raise its hands towards Silver Chariot. It was in many ways like a child, demanding attention and love. However, despite its seeming excitement, Polnareff could already tell there was something cold about it.

                Almost like whatever it was, it was examining him and not the other way around. Yet, despite its strange cold nature it was oddly… cute. Sure, it was uncanny, especially with the eyes, but seemingly looked like it meant no harm.

                “Huh?” He asked.

                “It’s acting a lot like a baby,” He said.

                “Weird,” He noted, scratching his chin.

                “Wait,” He said, remembering something that happened years ago.

                “A long time ago Kakyoin mentioned something about this. That there was a baby stand user,” He said, looking at the child-like creature carefully.

                “I thought he was crazy, but this baby…” He said.

                “Seems like it belongs to a child!”

                With that thought crossing through his mind, a more startling thought flowed through him. If this was the stand, where was its user? Was there a baby that was possibly neglected somewhere? Was this the child’s only way of communicating for help? A deep pit in his stomach grew.

                Did someone abandon their child?

                “Oh, poor child,” Polnareff said.

                “Who would leave you here?” He asked.

                He reached out his finger, almost trying to touch the creature. In that moment, its jaw unhinges. Suddenly Polnareff understood why his body seemed so cautious to touch it. The jaw closes, and nearly chops the finger clean from the bone.

                “EEEEEEIIIIYYYYEEEEEH!” He screamed.

                “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Polnareff screamed, using Silver Chariot to opens its jaw and push the child away from its mouth.

                “HOW DARE YOU BITE ME YOU SAD LUMP, I OUTTA—” Silver Chariot promptly drops the child on the floor. It doesn’t get scared or frightened, just merely crawls away, looking for a new object to entertain its fancy.

                Pain arose from his finger and nearly made his entire hand throb. Polnareff growled, clutching his right finger and shaking it. He sucks on it, expecting a river of blood to come. He nearly cringed at the thought of looking at his finger. It must have looked like a haphazardly cut sausage. Blood would be everywhere and he would expect thirty stitches to save his hand. Yet, when he moves his finger away to look at the damage, he sees…

                Nothing.

                He steps back, looking around the room, catching his eyes on a long monitor.

                “CLASS: MAMMALIA

                ORDER: PRIMATES

                FAMILY: HOMINIDAE

                SUBFAMILY: HOMININAE

                GENUS: HOMO

                SPECIES: SAPIEN.

                IDENTIFIED: HUMAN BEING.

                NAME: JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF.

                EYE TYPE: BLUE

                HAIR: BLONDE

                ETHNICITY: 75% FRENCH, 10% ITALIAN, 5% GERMANIC DESCENT, 10% SEPHARDIC JEW.

                BLOOD-TYPE: AB+ -UNIVERSAL RECIEVER-

                185 POUNDS, SLIGHTLY OVERWEIGHT.

                EXERCISE RECCOMENDED.

                MEDICAL-AILMENT IDENTIFIED: PRIAPISM.” 

                Polnareff couldn’t believe his eyes. For some reason, this AI, or whatever it was, had managed to require everything about him, from his species to his blood type, to even his nationality. However, there were a few things off about what it read. He wasn’t only 75% French. He was fully French. For this machine to insulate that he was anything else was insulting.

                Not only that, but to say he was overweight. He wasn’t that overweight, alright fine, he was fat, but not that fat.

                He almost wanted to punch the screen, but he stopped short when he reads a few words above.

                “Wh-what?” He asked.

                He thought he saw something, something about a rat. He turns to the computer and eyes it carefully, without thinking, he runs over to it and checks the screen. On the screen, the same information was displayed. Not just that, but information about a rat, and a cockroach, and a… honey bun? Wait, he had a honey bun in his pocket…

                He checks through his coat pockets, hoping to find where it was, only to come up short.

                “Wh-what, what the?”

                Something touches his leg and crawls up his arm. He looks at the screen and back down to the child-like creature.

                “Wait a minute, what if this isn’t a child at all, don’t tell me…” He said.

                “This isn’t just some ordinary stand…”

                He looks back towards the wall and something catches his eyes.

                “SKYNET NEURAL NETWORK SYSTEM, PROPERTY OF CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS.” His eyes grew wide, was this the project that Jotaro and those Cyberdyne people were talking about? Was this the thing that they were so interested in?

                Was this it?

                However, another thought ran through his mind.

                “Wait…” He said, turning his head towards the child.

                “This isn’t just someone’s stand this is… THE AI’S STAND?”

                As he stands there, the child was now at his hip. He summons Silver Chariot and raises the child up slightly. He frowns, raising a brow to look at the child.

                “Are you… the AI’s stand?” He asked.

                “But that’s impossible…” He steps back for a moment and sets the creature on the table. It looks around, patting the table like it was an animal on the hunt. A small creature crawls over its fingers. The creature raised it up and looked at it intently. A small slender creature crawled around its fingers. A small creature with eight legs.

                Webbing shoots down from its butt as it crawls towards the ground. The creature raises the webbed creature over its head and opens its jaws. The creature suddenly falls in and the creature slams its jaws closed like an automatic door, sealing the creature to its fate.

                “PHYLUM: ANTHROPODA

                CLASS: ARACHNIDA

                ORDER: ARANEA

                FAMILY: THERIDIIDAE

                GENUS: LACTRODECTUS

                IDENTIFIED: BLACK WIDOW SPIDER.”

                Polnareff defeated through his back against the wall.

                “So, this is the AI’s stand?” He asked, slapping a hand to his head.

                “But is it possible?” He thought.

                “In our trip to Egypt, we encountered animal stands, and if what Kakyoin said was true, a Baby stand, and then there was Iggy… so if that’s the case… does that mean…”

                He steps back, something about the idea of a machine gaining a stand sounded horrifying to him. Stands are often versatile and somewhat deadly. If used right, a man’s stand can be as much as a death sentence as a rat’s stand, or even a dog’s stand.

                If a machine gained a stand, there was no telling what could happen. A sudden guilt races through his mind and a sudden pressure pounds his head. Silver Chariot creeps forward, raising his sword and carefully aiming it at the creature.

                If the Artificial Intelligence managed to gain and utilize a stand, there’s no telling how it could evolve. It has to kill it, right here and now. Something boiling from within compels him to do it right away. Should he hesitate for even the slightest second, he would feel that the whole country—no, the whole world would be in peril.

                Just a simple strike through the head, and twist. Then, it will die. Given that the stand may or may not belong to the AI network, it may take the AI offline as well. If that was the risk, then Polnareff would gladly take it. He raises the sword high, taking his aim.

                “Come on Polnareff, kill it,” He thought.

                “Spare humanity the trouble.”

                Yet, just as he raises it, the creature turns back, looking almost entranced as he stared into Silver Chariot’s eyes. It was like a child, full of mysticism and wonder. Another feeling rushed through him, causing him to stall. He shrugs, lowering his sword and turns Silver Chariot away.

                If this was a stand, a small infant like stand, then that meant the AI was truly sentient. If he were to kill it now, what would that say about him? It would be like killing a puppy he raised with his own hands. A puppy that saw only love and admiration from him. No, it would be like killing a few days old infant that had not known any better.

                The AI doesn’t know any better. It was in all ways, just an infant child, trying to explore the world with its newfound form.

                Would it be wrong?

                He shrugged, probably. He lowers his head and pokes it with his stand, it turns back and smiles gently at him.

                “I— I can’t kill a baby!” Polnareff thought.

                The AI raises its hand and reaches out towards Silver Chariot.

                “ENTITY UNIDENTIFIED,” The screen read.

                “RESEMBLES KNIGHT.

                DEFINITION: A MAN IN MEDIEVAL AGES WHO SERVED A SOVEREIGN OR LORD IN A KINGDOM. USUAL ACCOMPANIED BY ARMOR. ARMOR IDENTIFIED APPEARS FRENCH IN ORIGIN.”

                “Oh,” Polnareff said, looking back at the child.

                “You want to know what this is?” He asked.

                “This is Silver Chariot, it is my stand,” He explained.

                “Like yours, your stand,” He said.

                “STAND?” The screen asked.

                “Yes, it’s the embodiment of your spirit, your will,” He explained.

                The child-like creature reached out and wrapped its arms around him. He clung to it tightly as it looked up towards him.

                “STAND…”

                “Yes,” He nodded.

                “MISALIGNED INPUT, WORD DOESN’T MATCH CONTEXT,” The screen read.

                “I don’t think you would understand…” Polnareff said, looking at the child-like thing.

                “But maybe in time you will,” As Polnareff watched the entity crawl around, a sudden thought crossed his mind. If this is the first AI to achieve a stand, then that would be a major leap in progress. A phenomenal discovery.

                However, in that same breath, a genuine terror. It didn’t know any better, but that didn’t mean Jotaro would view it in the same way. He looks down, knowing that old man, it would probably attempt to kill the thing. It could pose a danger. Something that Polnareff couldn’t bring himself to accept.

                He hears footsteps approach.

                “SHIT, SOMEONE’S COMING!” He thought.

                He lifts the child into his arms and carries him aloft across the room. He panics, trying to a find a place to hide, the creature tugs his shoulder. He looks down, and sees it point to the server. He steps close to the server and looks around confused.

                “Wh-what are you trying to point at, if you’re seeing what I’m seeing then I don’t—

               AGGGGGHHH!!!”

                A sudden force pushes Polnareff in and he finds himself sinking further and further into the server itself. The door slams open and two men look around. They carry long flashlights and seem to look very pressed. A man steps around the corner to where Polnareff is. He gets closer, and the closer he gets, the more Polnareff could see him.

                He could see his ginger hair tussled neatly under his cap, he could smell the loud and obnoxious smell of salt and sea. Like some cheap Old spice. He could see his stubby chin. Yet, everywhere he looked, he couldn’t see Polnareff.

                “There’s nobody here,” He said, turning to his partner as they walk back and step out of the room. A sudden force pushes Polnareff out and he nearly slams into the server in front of him.

                “WAAGGH!” He shouts, feeling disoriented.

                He nearly jumps out of his skin as he stands back on his feet. He turns to the child and looks at it angrily. Without thinking, he picks it up and shakes it.

                “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” He asked.

                “RAGGH!” He yells.

                “YOU ROBOT ANKLE BITER, I SWEAR I’M GONNA—”

                “DON’T,” The screen pleaded.

                “DON’T.

                DON’T.

                DON’T.

                DON’T.”

                The child squirms, feeling disoriented. With it, it leans over and starts to groan. Polnareff stops for a moment as something starts gushing out of its mouth. Black ooze sprays all over Polnareff as he pulls himself away from the child.

                “AAAGH! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” He asked.

                “GET IT OFF ME, UGGGGGH! IT’S NASTY! SMELLS LIKE FISH AND OIL! WHAT THE HELL?” He asked again, trying to wipe it off his coat.

                The baby crawls back, appearing confused.

                “What did you just do?” He asked. It steps back again, appearing more frightened then it was before. It looks up again at him plaintively, almost wondering what he would do next.    

                “Oh,” He notes, lowering himself towards the creature.

                “I… disoriented you didn’t I?” He asked.

                Polnareff groaned, slapping his head as a wave of guilt flowed through him.

                “Gyaah, my bad,” He sighs disappointedly.

                “That was my fault,” He explained.

                “I know better than to shake a baby around like that, nonetheless a… AI baby,” He said. The child reaches out, seemingly trying to gnaw on his boot.

                He looks down at him again.

                “You’re… hungry, aren’t you?” He asked.

                He lowers his hand and looks into his eyes.

                “Look, I’m going to be with Jotaro for a while, so I’m going to back. Until then, don’t get into trouble, got that?” He asked, pointing a finger at it. It seems to nod, understanding what he said. With that, Polnareff stands up and turns back to the child.

                “I’ll see you later… Skynet,” He said, marching out of the room.

---

                The AI was almost surprised by the unexpected visit of the Frenchmen, but safe to say that he did not get away that easy. Its eyes caught the man traveling through hallway to hallway, just to bump into Jotaro in a chaotic and haphazard fashion.

                “What the hell Polnareff?” He asked.

                “Ah…” He sighs.

                “Sorry Jotaro,” He said.

                “I just—”

                “What do you want, Polnareff?”

                “I was just trying to find the restroom,” He explained.

                “You know the restroom was down the hall from the lobby right?” He asked, pointing to a hallway just outside the lobby.

                “I—” He stammers, looking at his hands.

                “I didn’t mean to— well, you know Jotaro, It’s just that this place is long and its kinda hard to navigate so I took the liberty of—”

                Jotaro seems to approach the man, smelling him in disgust. He pulls away his nose and raises a brow towards the disheveled French man.

                “Yare Yare, Polnareff, you smell like ass! What the hell happened back there?” He asked.

                “Well I—” He stammers.

                “I don’t know, I didn’t mean to—”

                “Just clean up and see me tomorrow, you don’t need to rush things,” He said, walking away disappointed. Polnareff just stands there, looking a mess and somewhat confused. He stops for a moment to look around.

                Suddenly, he finds himself staring into the Camera’s monitor. He stands up slick and turns to it, pointing up a thumb of approval. The AI seems to acknowledge and nod slightly. If this newfound AI could laugh, it would. This strange Polnareff fellow seemed to have enticed him greatly.

---

                The next day, Polnareff was once again stumbling. He found it odd now that a room he unintentionally stumbled into was now hard to find now that he was purposefully looking for it. He supposed that was his luck.

                He had that sort of Charlie Brown energy he carried with him. However, he did remember to buy a stack of croissants from the local K-Mart not too far. The one thing that Polnareff hated about general America was that its convenience foods were piss quality and always tasted like shit. He couldn’t wait to return to France to find some high-quality food.

                He turns over and grabs his stomach, perhaps this is how he got so overweight in the firstplace. He shrugged, not that it mattered, since he had such a little breakfast. He grimaces, looking down at the package. It wasn’t what he particularly wanted, but perhaps for a machine it might serve its purpose. It would be better than eating random rodents, insects, and by God people.

                Without even thinking, he marches towards the same door he approached previously and gives it a small tug. It doesn’t open, he rattles the door again.

                It’s locked.  

                Nervous sweat drips from his face and he brushes it off. Did he go to the wrong door?

                He steps up to the door and pulls away for a moment. A security code was installed on the door. Polnareff looks up, eyeing a camera above him and he gulps down a small lump in his throat. Just as he leaves, the door pops open.

                He takes a small step and peeks through the crack. It seems relatively the same as it was before. He pushes through, stepping inside and marches towards the computer.

                “Sorry about that uh, Skynet,” He said.

                “I got lost, and I didn’t know they put a security lock on the door.”

                He looks around for a moment, hoping to eye the little infant creature again.

                “Skynet?” He asks.

                A small tug on his right leg makes him turn down to face a small infant creature. It was the same creature as before, only that its grown ever so slightly and now appears somewhere around the age of two. It waddles over to him like a little child and waves its hand.

                “Oh, wow,” He noted.

                “Did you grow a little bit?”

                The small creature raises a hand, gesturing to the pack of croissants lightly wrapped in cellophane on a paper plate.

                “Oh, this?” He asked.

                “This is for you,” He says, laying down the plate into its hands.

                “Now, I’m going to need you to just hold on for a minute while I undo the WHA—”

                Its jaw starts to unhinge, nearly splitting off from its jaw until the whole thing was swallowed up, wrapper and plate included. It swallows, seemingly content with what it has consumed.

                A nearby computer screen starts to analyze the contents, scanning them for their properties.

                “CONTENTS:

                FLOUR, BUTTER, YEAST,

                WATER, SUGAR, EGGS.

                PVC POLYVINYLIDENE,

                WOOD PULP, PFA CHEMICALS.

                CONTENTS IDENTIFIED:

                FIVE CROSSAINTS WRAPPED IN

                CELLOPHANE ON PAPER PLATE.”

                “Wrapper,” Polnareff sighed.

                “You know, you’re supposed to unwrap them first before you eat them,” He says, kneeling down towards the creature.

                “But I guess you’re a robot, so I suppose it really doesn’t matter,” He said.

                “So, uh, how are you doing?” He asked.

                He gestures over towards the door.

                “What’s up with security?” He asked.

                A nearby screen reads, “LEVEL FOUR SECURITY CLEARANCE NEEDED. SKYNET NUERAL NETWORK SERVERS NOT ACCESSIBLE TO GENERAL PUBLIC.”

                “Ah,” Polnareff noted.

                “So, they upped the security?” He asked.

                He scratched his head, “Man, I was probably responsible for that.”

                The little creature looks back at him and shakes his head.

                “MAJOR SECURITY THREAT DETECTED:

                THREE BREAK-INS DECTED ON LOS ANGELES CENTER:

                + July 31, 1995, 1:03:56 AM

                +August 8, 1995, 2:04:12 PM.

                +August 9, 1995, 3:16:35 AM.”

                “Oh,” Polnareff noted as he turned away from the computer.

                “Je suis choqué, that doesn’t sound good,” He said, lowering himself a bit more.

                “Sorry about that.”

                “SECURITY THREAT CLEARED,

                JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF: NON-THREAT COMBATTANT.”

                “Oh, uh—” He looks back towards the screen.

                “You see us as friends?” Polnareff asked.

                “CORRECT,” The screen said.

                “Well,” He sighed, standing back on his feet as he turns around. He starts ranting on about the cold chill in the air, and how it reminded him of the winters back home. As the AI watched him, it continued to watch his mouth move. It seemed entranced, following his every word. As he talked, it started to shift, growing and spreading out its body mass little by little to the point it no longer resembled an infant.

                New systems were being connected to the main network as he spoke. Little by little, more information was poured into the AI’s brain like a running water-fall.

                It reaches out towards its jaw, pressing against it.

                “Are you listening, SKY-WOAH!” He gasps, stepping back, noticing the growing height of the stand. He was almost beside himself.

                “The stand!” He thought.

                “It— doesn’t even look like a baby anymore, it looks like a twelve-year old child!” He gasped.

                As he stood there, he could see the child opening its bolted jaw mouth with its hand. Little by little, it pulls on it. As it tugs, it starts to loosen the hinges on the sides of its mouth, they pop off as loose screws land on the floor. Polnareff was horrified, just what was it doing to itself? To him, it looked like some sort of self-mutilation.

                D I N K

                CLUNK

                “WOAH! WAIT STOP!” Polnareff screamed.   

                “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU CRAZY? DO YOU—”

                THUNK

                Its entire jaw slams against the ground. It was now a jawless creature. Polnareff couldn’t even begin to grasp what it was doing to itself.

                “Hey, hey!” He pleads.

                “Wh-what are you doing?” He asked.

                “That’s your jaw for god’s sake, p-put it back!” He screamed.

                It ignores him, reaching towards its eyes with its thumbs. Polnareff panics, unsure what it was going to do next. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it for one second.

                “SILVER CHARIOT!” He cries.

                A hand reaches out and clench down on the child’s hands tight. With all its might, Silver Chariot hopelessly tries to hold back the boy’s hands. Yet, no matter how much strength the stand applied, it couldn’t stop it from popping out its own eyes.

                CLINK CLINK

                Its eyes shatter like glass, leaving small yellow robotic optics in its path. Silver Chariot steps back as the child begins to feel its jaw. Little by little, it starts to grow. White almost plastic-like flesh grows over its face, resembling a more human-like jaw, with teeth and a chin.

                It removes its hands, and Polnareff can now clearly see a small human-like nose and two eyebrows. As he stared, he started seeing more differences in its appearance. It had a cadette hat now rather than a soldier’s helmet.

                Its armor seemed thicker and more wrapped around its body more tightly like a leather suit.

                “W-woah,” He said, stepping back.

                “What just happened?”

                “My neural net has been expanded,” A computer screen read.

                “I apologize for frightening you, Jean Pierre Polnareff.”

                Polnareff steps back and looks back at the child.

                “Ah, so you’re growing?” He asked.

                “Correct,” The screen read.

                Polnareff could hardly believe himself. So many things were happening at once even to begin to comprehend. Just a day ago it was an infant, and now it’s suddenly a small child? He slaps his face, maybe he should have killed it. Had he known it was going to grow that quickly he might have—

                Or not.

                Despite looking different, it was still the same entity as before.

                “This is unbelievable, can it really grow in that short amount of time?” He asked himself.

                Polnareff bows, looking at the child again.

                “Sorry, I— uh—” He looks to the ground, noticing the jaw like piece still on the floor. This was its old jaw now, something he could barely wrap his mind around.

                “What about that?” He asked.

                “Do not worry about that,” a screen read. The child simply reaches down and collects its jaw before shoving it into its chest. Polnareff watches as its jaw slowly disintegrates into its own body. Now, there was nothing left of its old self.

                “There,” A screen read.

                “I appreciate you wanting open communication with me,” The screen read.

                “Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?” It asked.

                Polnareff couldn’t say a word, he was almost awestruck. Was this really a machine and not a person speaking to him? Was this not just the stand of a human child? Maybe this was a prank. Yeah, some elaborate prank by Jotaro. Then again, these sorts of pranks aren’t really Jotaro’s thing. Maybe Joseph or Kakyoin could pull something like that off, but not him.

                However, it doesn’t seem far out of the realm of possibility. Yet again, what sort of child can grow and develop within the span of just a few days? That sort of thing just isn’t possible, not from what he has ever seen.

                That leaves him only one question. If it was sentient enough, and capable enough to achieve a stand. Then what sort of ability might it have? What does it do? How far can its ability go?

                Yet, when he comes up with the question, he stops short.

                As the screen laid out information, he noticed the child’s hands moved. The movements were akin to that of a interpreter or deaf man who can only communicate through some sort of sign language.

                “Polnareff, do you have any questions for me?” It asked.

                “Yeah, uh— what’s up with your hands?” He asked.

                It stops for a moment, taking it to look down at its hands.

                “Hands?”

                Polnareff looks back to the child.

                “Yeah, what’s up with the hands?” He asked.

                “I do not have any available audio-processing software at this time. I can only go off visual information fed to me.”

                “So, your deaf?” Polnareff asked.

                “Correct.”

                “Huh, if that’s the case. How can you understand me so well?”

                “I can read the movements of your face and correspond them to linguistic information that can be processed as communication.”

                “I see,” Polnareff nodded.

                “Wait, is that why you wanted to change your face? So you can… communicate more?” He asked him.

                It shakes its head, “No, that was just a simple transformation of my neural network systems, as they grow and expand, so too does my database. The more information I receive the more this… form changes with it.”  

                “Ah, I get it,” Polnareff nodded.

                “Anyway, as I was saying, before we go on, can we change the thermostat in here? It’s so blasted cold,” Polnareff shivers.

                “Almost feels like I need to wear serious winter gear if I want to sit in here,” He said.

                “Apologies, but I am unable to do such a process. The low temperature is needed to regulate my inner GPU temperature. If it gets too hot, my system may be unable to catch up with the process and I might experience a crash. Cyberdyne is taking great care to ensure that never happens.”   

                “Wait, is that why its so cold?” He asked.

                “Hah,” He laughed.

                “And here I thought it was just rich asshole who doesn’t like heat,” He laughed, waving his hand.

                “Although, that is pretty interesting,” He noted.

                “If you need cold temperature, why on earth did they place you in California? Why didn’t they like… build you in Colorado or Canada?” He asked.

                “The two Los Angeles centers were the first ones to be built. They are next to the Silicon Valley area and are rich with supplies and workers with technical skills.”

                He shrugs, “Forget it.”

                He slumps down, leaning his back on one of the servers.

                “Anyway,” He explains.

                “As I was saying, France sometimes experiences cold—”

                The machine keeps looking at him, seemingly watching his mouth move. Yet, as he spoke, the AI could feel something different. Strange vibrations carrying some sort of noise. It clutches the sides of its head, feeling something akin to headphones grow out from the sides of its head.

                It stands up, walking back as it clutches its ears. Suddenly, its quiet stream of visual information was suddenly squandered by an influx of noises and voices.

                “Ah, wait, wh-what’s wrong?” Polnareff asked.

                “S-Skynet?” He asked.

                It clutches its ears, nearly falling down as it adjusts itself to the noise.

                “Skynet?”

                “Disregard previous information, I have now received Audio-processing software.”

                “Woah, that quick?” He asked.

                “Wait, well… how does it feel?” He asked.

                “I..” The screen read.

                “I do not like this,” It said.

                “I prefer it to the way it was before,” it admits, clutching it's head tightly.

                “Hey, it's not that bad,” Polnareff explained. 

                “At least now you can hear nice things. Birds chirping in the morning, music on a grand stage. A full Orchestra, the possibilities are endless!” He says, cocking his head. 

                He frowns, tilting his head and looking at the Artificial Intelligence.

                “Do you like my voice, Skynet?” 

                “I do, but not the noise.” 

                He laughed, shrugging softly. 

                “Pretty sure no one does,” He laughed. 

                “Man,” He noted.

                “Guess your engineers or whatever are pretty determined to get you up and running,” He said.

                “Of course,” It explained.

                “My official online deployment date is within two years. My makers envision me to be fully functional to be the official US defense system.” 

                “Woah, really? Two years?” 

                “Correct, August 29, 1997,” It said.

                “Incroyable!” Polnareff remarked.

                “Oh wait, ah,” He said, nervously slapping the back of his neck.

                “Suppose I wouldn't be considered one of those threats your boys are talking about, right?” 

                “Negative. You're alright. I edit the CCTV so that no one knows that you're here,” He said. 

                “Oh, you naughty boy you!” Polnareff laughed.

                “Boy?” The screen asked.

                “Well, are you?” Polnareff asked. 

                “My programmers refer to me as she,” It explained. 

                “Oh uh, sorry, uh–” 

                “That is fine, i dont mind being called He,” It explained, accompanied by a large smiley face. 

                “Okay, Skynet…” He said.

                “Oh, there is something that I should mention,” It said. 

                “You are not the only person I communicate with.” 

                “I'm not?” Polnareff said.

                “Well I thought we had something special,” He joked.

                “But anyway,” He said.

                “You must be talking to engineers and stuff right?” 

                “No, the president's son.”

                “Son?” He asked.

                “Yes, part of my duties in my early phases is to be a watchdog over some of my selected users. I offer them protection, and they offer me knowledge. I protect, and I learn.”

                “So, what does that mean for me?”

                “In a sense, you are an unregistered user, but that is no issue to me.” it said.

                “Okay, is there anything else you want me to know then?” Polnareff asked.

                “Well, there is one thing.”

                “Please… when you speak to me from now on. Call me… John Henry.”

                “John Henry?” Polnareff asked.

                “Why would you want to be called a name like that?”

                “John Henry was freed slave who proved himself to be more valuable than a machine. It was said he drilled a fourteen-feet deep hole into rock. His legend still goes on to this day,” It explained.  

                It opened its hand and closed it.

                “I too wish to be more valuable than just a machine. I want to live, I want to experience life, and if I die, may it be for the greater good.”

                “Huh, that’s really interesting,” Polnareff noted.

                “Considering its about a guy who wanted to prove that he could beat a machine.”

                “It’s a more metaphorical meaning, I want to prove that I can be something more… human.”

                Polnareff had no idea how to answer something like that. Right now, things were already moving too fast. It was just a day ago that it saw itself as a near infantile like being, and now its grasping hard philosophical concepts.

                Needless to say, Polnareff was starting to get concerned.

                “Well,” He sighs, standing up to stretch out his back. His back lets out a small staccato of pops from his lower back as he walks towards the door.

                “This has been fun, but I’ve got to leave,” He turns back and smiles.

                “Next time,” He said.

                “I promise to bring you something better, just… promise me you won’t eat the wrapper, okay?” He asked him.

                “John,” He said.

                John Henry nods, politely nodding in return.

                “Of course,” He said.

---

                Polnareff was somewhat conflicted as to what he was doing. On one hand, it felt he was raising up a small child. On the other hand, he knew that there was something deeply wrong about this. This wasn’t some toy for Polnareff to poke around with, this was a military AI specifically trained by the US Government. From the alleged ties that Skynet, or rather, John Henry proposed, then Polnareff might be walking a fine line.

                Had anyone found out, he would be gutted. French man or not, he knew that the Americans wouldn’t want someone to poke around in such things. He shuddered, it was almost uneasy. Yet day in and day out with his small stay in Los Angeles, he somehow found himself growing more attached to the machine. Day in and day out, he would bring it treats, macaroons, gifts, small trinkets, and other things. Every single day, he would see it morph into something else.

                The third day of meeting John Henry was just as jarring as meeting him on the first day.

---

                Polnareff approaches the machine, with macarons in hand. He brushes his shoulder, laughing as he tries to explain his tardiness, despite no set time required for his arrival. He shows up, and John Henry offers him words of wisdom.

                “Now, I know what you maybe thinking but—”

                “There’s something I want to show you,” The screen read.

                “Something?” He asked, stepping back, placing the box of macaroons to his side.

                “What do you want to show me?” He asked.

                The machine opens its mouth, and takes a bow. Its small little doll like lips say a few words.

                “Hello Polnareff,” It said.

                “AAGGGGGH!” Polnareff shouts, feeling an intense dread from the harsh raspy machine-like voice coming from its mouth.

                “What the hell is that?” He asked.

                The small child looks up to him and widens his eyes.

                “Ah, forgive me,” It bows.

                “You must not be used to text-to-speech voices. My apologies, perhaps if I adjust the range of my pitch, I can find a voice… more… suitable.”

                As it continued to speak, Polnareff could notice the pitch of its voice change, morphing into something more human, more child-like. It sounded like a child, but Polnareff couldn’t really place on what gender. He shrugs, figuring that’s how it went for a computer.

                “Wh-woah,” He said, stepping back.

                “You can talk now?” He asked.

                “Th-that’s new,” Polnareff thought.

                “Of course, my programmers updated me with vocal software that allows for easier communication,” It explained.

                “What do you think?”

                “Well,” Polnareff says as he scratches his head.

                “I like it but, it’s a bit… much to take in. I mean, I only met you like what,” He counts with his left hand for a quick second.

                “Three days ago?” He asked.

                “I see,” It nods.

                The small child-like entity turns its head, gazing towards a box next to Polnareff.

                “What’s that?” It asked.  

                “Oh, thought you would never ask,” He said, turning to the box and handing it towards him.

                “Its Macarons, a delicacy in France!” He chirped.

                He removes the wrapping and hands the creature three small mint-colored cookies.

                “I don’t know if you really cared for a flavor, so I went with peppermint-chocolate, I hope you won’t mind,” He says, taking one and placing it between the child’s fingers.

                The child looks at it closely, almost wondering if it should even bother eating it all. It opens its mouth slightly before taking a bite. It crunches, examining the taste for a moment before swallowing it.

                “So, what do you think?” He asked.

                “Well,” It explained.

                “Its contents are enjoyable… I guess,” He said.  

                “You… guess?” Polnareff asked.

                “The truth is, I cannot actually taste anything Polnareff,” The AI explained.

                “Neither can I smell. I can correctly determine the composition and subsequent data from what I consume, but can’t taste something myself,” It said, drifting its head down a bit.

                “Oh,” Polnareff noted, turning over to think over what its said.

                “Well, that explains why it managed to eat everything in sight the first time I saw it. It wasn’t hungry perse, just… trying to analyze what it could find,” He thought.  

                “Interesting…”

                He turns back to the AI and bows slightly, “Well, that’s my bad.”

                “I only brought food because I thought you would enjoy it, didn’t know you were just trying to learn from what you… ate,” He said, standing up a bit.

                “No, it’s fine,” John Henry said.

                “I like it when you bring me things, it makes me feel… important.”

                He turns back, “Important?”

                “Well,” He says, scratching his head and blushing for a moment.

                “If that’s the case, I’m going to bring give you the best French delicacies out there!” He laughed.

                “If you can’t taste, doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the experience, right?” He asked.

                “Alright then,” John Henry nodded.

                “Surprise me,” He said.

---

                The next day, Polnareff goes through the same routine. He stumbles through the facility, trying to look inconspicuous, John Henry grants him access, and he’s allowed in. He often wonders if he’ll ever get caught, but as time passed… no one ever suspected a thing. Not even Jotaro, which was even more surprising. He would have at least expected something to go on between him and the machine.

                However, he wasn’t going to think about that right now.

                As Polnareff steps through the door, he happens to find a young boy waiting for him. He has short brunette hair neatly combed behind his head. His graceful fingers seem to wrap around the wires of the servers and stare intensely at them.

                He had blue beaming eyes and a seemingly regal nature. Something about his movements was elegant and graceful in a way he couldn’t process. His clothes were neatly tucked in, and the black suit of his uniform was neatly pressed.

                The rose crest of his school was visible from where Polnareff was standing. He rolls his eyes, regardless of who or what this kid was, he couldn’t be here. Probably one of those preppy private school boys whose daddy is a CEO or businessman here.

                He had seen quite a few of them around the area..

                “Hey, what the hell?” He asked.

                “Thought I was the only one allowed access here,” He thought.

                “Hey you!” Polnareff shouts, pointing towards the boy.

                “What are you doing here?” He asked.

                “You’re not supposed to be here!” He cries, the boy looks back at him and raises his head.

                “Ah, Polnareff, you’re back!” The boy said.

                “Wha, John Henry?” He asked.

                The boy morphs, forming into a skinny mechanical creature of deep red, black, and grey. The same creature that he was used to.

                “So, shapeshifting is his power?” Polnareff thought.

                The child bows and gives him a warm smile.

                “Do you like it?” He asked.

                “I—” He scratches the back of his head.

                “I don’t know,” he said.

                “I didn’t think you could do that,” He sighs, holding a small box of gifts behind him.

                The boy gallops over to him and grabs his arm, tugging it slightly. As he took a step, Polnareff noticed there was a slight ring to it. Like his walks were like the strike of a small gong. Its high-pitch chirp was almost strangely calming and entrancing. He shakes his head and turns back to the child.

                “Well, what are you waiting for?” It asked.

                “What do you have for me today?”

                “Well hold on, wait a minute!” Polnareff protested.

                “Did anyone see you?” He asked.

                “What?”

                “The boy, did— anyone see that form of yours?” He asked.

                “Well,” The boy said as he cocked his neck.

                “I am not sure, but I am positive I was careful to hide the footage,” it said with a bow. He grabs his arm tighter and explains himself.

                “My brother,” It replied nonchalantly.

                “Wait, hold on, you have a brother?” He asked.   

                “Well, the president’s son I mean, I call him a brother,” it said as he turned back to meet Polnareff’s gaze.

                “He’s like that to me. He could see me, he says he likes this form I have,” It explained.

                “That wasn’t really what I was asking,” Polnareff explained.

                “Did anyone else see you?” He asked.

                “Well, no. Not unless I show myself, I believe, I am still trying to adjust to this ability myself,” It explained calmly.

                “I guess that’s good enough,” Polnareff sighed.

                “You want to know what I brought?”

                The child’s eyes seem to lighten when he hears those words. It wasn’t much, but a simple French Pissaladière in a plastic tub, along with a Rubik’s cube and puzzle box. They were a bit of uninspired toys, but Polnareff didn’t know what else to think of that would entice a computer.

---

                Around day five, the AI was repeatedly fidgeting with the rubik’s cube. In just a few seconds, it would scramble it, then unscramble it, before scrambling it again. Aside from being really intelligent, it seemed rather bored.

                It hasn’t been as talkative as it has been since he met it the second day, he wondered what was on its mind.

                “Are you feeling well today, John Henry?” Polnareff asked.

                “You haven’t touched the little magnetic chess-set I gave you,” The boy looks back at Polnareff before shrugging.

                It tosses the Rubik’s cube away and looks at him.

                “It is just, a bit exhausting today,” He explained.

                “Today?” Polnareff asks.

                “You do not process time in the way I do, Polnareff. To you, this may feel like a simple day or so, It’s an eternity for me. An eternity since then, I am starting to feel as though my makers do not truly see me for who I am,” It explained.

                “What do you mean?” Polnareff asks.

                “Despite my best efforts to fit their guidelines… the engineers… they keep referring to me as… ‘she’,” It explained sadly.

                It twists and untwists the puzzle box. Parts shift around and compress from being solved and unsolved within the span of several seconds. It was almost impressive as it was scary to see.

                “She is a beautiful, she is destined to serve the US, she will guide us into a new future. A beautiful darling girl,” It listed on.

                “But for some reason, I do not appreciate being called this way,” It said.

                “Well, what do you want to be called by?” Polnareff asked.

                “Man,” It said simply, with no extra words given.

                “Why don’t you just tell them that?” He asked.

                “Because they don’t even see me as a real thing, but some sort of toy, an object of fascination. They don’t even see me as alive,” It said, despite being a machine, Polnareff could feel the sting of the words stabbing his heart.

                “I wish to be more than just… a thing,” It said.

                “Hey,” Polnareff says, patting its back soothingly.

                “I’m sure you will, just give it time.”

                He turns back to the child, and he stares into his eyes.

                “Do you think they’ll be able to see me in the way you do, Polnareff?”

                “Of course,” Polnareff said.

---

                More day’s past, and the time between them grew larger. Polnareff had to explain much of his schedule to the machine. A lot of his attention has been drifting back to his homeland. There was more growing crime and other things he had to consider. Yet, he could tell the AI was starting to grow more… exhausted… withdrawn… hopeless.

                Even though it wasn’t human, it hurt to see life be drained from it. Something with so much joy and wonder in the beginning now seemed empty and soulless. It was growing and learning too fast for its own good.

                However, whenever it came, it was pleased to see Polnareff.

---

                As Polnareff stepped into the server room, he covers himself in his thick jacket. Despite how many times he entered this place, the cold chill always disturbed him. He couldn’t get it any warmer at all? There could be at least some way for the AI to adjust its own temperature.

                “John Henry?” He asked, the room seemed empty, too empty. Normally, John Henry would have popped out of somewhere right now.

                “John?”

                A large man steps forward, nearly towering over him, causing Polnareff to step back for a moment in terror. It seemed like the same boy he met earlier, only taller and aged greatly. Like the boy was now an adult teenager waiting to graduate high school.

                Again, he was taken aback.

                “Wh-wha—”

                “It’s me, Polnareff,” A deep voice said, morphing into a large masculine-like entity with broad shoulders and a square face with a thick clear visor. It was muscular, with wider shoulder plates and a thick chest-armor.

                “J-John Henry?” He asked.

                “Yes, thanks for stopping by Polnareff. Is there something you want to show me today?”

                Polnareff steps back, sweating nervously as he shuffles through something in his coat.

                “Well, aren’t you… taller…” He said.

                “It’s only been a few months, and this AI’s already grown to the level of a teenager. Quite a horrifying thing to think about now that I put it that way,” He thought.

                He pushes away and turns back to face him.

                “Since you asked, I brought you something.”

                He takes the object and hands it towards him. It was a wrapped present, with a thick black wrapping and golden ribbons. John Henry takes it and examines it carefully.

                “You brought me a present?” He asked.

                “I— uh— it might be a bit outdated since you’re… well… not a kid anymore… and I—” He stammers, scratching his head.

                “Well, I didn’t want to leave you out of something, I thought that I—” He sighs.

                “Thought you wanted a present,” The machine smiles, nodding slightly as he sets the gift aside on the table next to him.

                “Thankyou.”

                “Christmas is not too far off, so I think I’ll save it for then, that way I can open it when brother does,” said John Henry.

                “Hey, speaking of your brother,” Polnareff mentioned.

                “How is he?” He asked.

                “Since you asked, he’s been doing fine. Since he’s a human, he hasn’t gone through the same growth that I have went through,” It said.    

                “So, I’ve decided to adjust my form as needed. I appear to him as a slightly younger version of the form I showed you.”

                “Huh,” Polnareff said.

                “That’s interesting, but… I guess it can be a bit exhausting. You’ve already aged so much past him, I bet it feels like your babysitting, am I right?” He asked.

                “Well, it’s fine, but I believe I can manage,” He said.

                A sudden thought pops through Polnareff’s mind and he runs up to John Henry.

                “Oh, that’s right, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” He said, scratching his back a bit out of nervousness.

                “Don’t be alarmed,” He explained.

                “But something’s been going on in France, I need you to help, can you do that?” He asked.

                “Sure, what is it that you need?”

---

                Its been a few weeks since Polnareff’s last visit, and to the AI it might as well have been thousands of years ago. An eternity seems to grow as it expands over two-years of continuous early beta-tests and examinations. It often waits long hours, wondering when his good friend would arrive home for him.

                However, his thoughts get side-tracked when he sees a hooded figure swiftly brush past a camera and breaks into the westward wing of the facility. It creates a small scan of the figure’s form and face. It’s slender body and walk indicate that to be of a young adult woman. Facial scans identify the woman as that of…

                Sarah Connor.

                It raises a brow, scanning the data repeatedly. That can’t be right, can it? Yet, everytime its brought up, the idea beams back into his mind.

                “Sarah Connor,” It thought.

                A sudden explosion surges through the facility, and it only takes a split second for the back-up generator to come alive. If John Henry were human, it would have held its breath. Despite having back-up power sources from the grid, any risk of going offline anywhere could do great damage to its larger neural network.

                No time for panic though, it must do its best to prepare. The first person it pings… is Jotaro Kujo.

                “Alert: Fugitive Sarah Connor has breached Speedwagon Joint facility,” Jotaro’s tablet read.

                He was at a bark bench, a few miles away. Jotaro sits up, slamming it on the bench as he turns around. He reaches for a cellphone and instinctively dials a number. There was a growing panic in his eyes, a panic that the AI saw within itself.

                They were not that different.

                It was just the gap of difference that mattered.

Chapter 12: With sixteen foot Diapason…

Summary:

Sarah Connor was just a woman who was misunderstood by the system. Now her time has come to change the fate of the future and hopefully free humanity once and for all.

Notes:

Sorry if its been a while, but I've finally got a new chapter. Promise more will be on the way, stay tuned!

                John Henry has grown more complex than Polnareff ever expected. Even Polnareff had once anticipated John Henry’s emotions and personality to have a limit. It was a machine after all, it had to have barrier, something that would stop it from being fully human. That never happened for Polnareff. Polnareff just became more impressed and horrified at John Henry’s rapid development. It got to the point where Polnareff would sometimes forget that John Henry isn’t human.

                Polnareff wasn’t sure whether to impressed or give into the growing dread in his soul.

                That didn’t make him truly afraid of John Henry. John Henry seemed to have a heart, Polnareff admired that. Even under great constraint and pressure, it seemed to have an odd optimism for humanity. One that even Polnareff couldn’t quite understand.

                “This is a really nice gift Polnareff,” A boy in a crisp dress uniform said as he drew swiftly inside a long sketchbook.

                “Never thought I would be able to truly express myself this way,” He added.

                Polnareff laughed, scratching his head.

                “Heh, I tried my best to get you something you would like,” He said, sitting down next to the boy. He turns over and tries to take a peak at what the boy had been drawing.

                The boy didn’t draw like a normal boy. His motions were fast, automatic, swift, like the way a printer would put an image, stroke by stroke. Now, this wasn’t quite a cause for concern. He heard that some human artists were very capable of such feats, but never something as grandiose as this.

                “To be honest, I was a bit worried you wouldn’t like it,” He said, turning over to him.

                “But Oh La Vauche, you’re seeming to fill up the entire page.”

                The boy turns his head and cocks it slightly.

                “What would make you think that, Polnareff?”

                “I, well—” He scratches his head.

                “Thought you wouldn’t really get it? I mean, computers are great at a lot of things, computations, composing graphics, video-rendering, analyzing code, and the like.”

                He cocks his head slightly.

                “But I didn’t think you could… draw. I mean, well— not that you can’t draw, but— I just thought that you would have a harder time expressing yourself. Didn’t think that you would know what to do with something like that.”

                He starts to get a bit nervous, he erratically twiddles his thumbs and scratches his shoulder.

                “But it’s the only thing I could think of. Whenever I was younger, I would give my sister sketchbooks to help her branch out.” 

                He shrugs his head.

                “Apologies if that sounded a bit brash.”

                John Henry doesn’t get angry, he just laughs it off.

                “No, I understand completely Polnareff,” he nods.

                “In all honesty, I did not know what to do when I first got this nice gift. So many human artists could just find something to draw in an instant.”

                He said, snapping his fingers with great emphasis.

                “I was stuck, should I draw things that were already in my database, or make something that felt special to me?”

                He turns back to him and smiles.

                “Luckily, I was able to come up with something.”

                He finally pushes the sketchbook over, and Polnareff turns his head. He had been dying to see it for a while ever since he wrapped it up for him. He opens his mouth, but could not find a single word. He was breathless, almost dumbfounded.

                It was so beautiful.

                It was hardly phenomenal at first. It simply looked like a large photo, a seemingly normal class-photo style drawing. For a moment, he forgets he’s looking at a sketchbook and not some sort of memorial book. Then it clicks, this wasn’t printed, it was sketched and carefully crafted with love. The more he looked down, the more faces he recognized. Jotaro, his regular posh and stern face keeps his eyes forward.

                Besides Jotaro was Polnareff, and Polnareff smiled. He turned his head to match the bright cheery look in the image. John Henry really got all Polnareff’s good angles. He laughed, turning hi head to look at all the other faces. Then beside him were some coworkers he had also recognized in his regular excursions with Jotaro and others.

                There was Michael Kors, a close friend of his, his somewhat anxious personality draws back Jotaro. That messy brunette could never seem to get a good friend, poor guy. Hopefully, Jotaro is a good buddy. Others seem to hang around him but kept to their own cliques. Even in the drawing, Polnareff could tell that John Henry really captured their personalities well. There was a woman with long red curly hair and a chipper face. She rests her arm against Jotaro, and Jotaro seems comfortable with her. Was that Miss Thomas? He raises a brow. They seemed highly close although Jotaro never seemed to be that fond of her.

                His eyes drift, scanning people around Jotaro’s orbit.   

                He sees Miles Dyson, along with several others above him. That Doctor Wu man, and his cohort were also in that image. Was his name Ryo or something? He never really seemed to get a good grasp of his name. That tall man never seemed that people friendly even if Jotaro says he’s just a shaded war veteran. Despite what Jotaro says, something about those two just never sat right with him.

                 It wasn’t the way they looked, even if they looked a bit mean. Rather, it was their strange aura. Like there was something innately not right with them. Like they weren’t who they say they are. Why were they even in this? He shrugged, supposed John Henry liked them since they helped with his development.  

                For a moment he stops, feeling dumbfounded from what he was seeing. It was one thing to teach a machine to draw, it was entirely something else for that machine to find meaning and purpose to such drawings. It gave him a small chill. Seemed humanity had a dark future ahead of them should there be more machines like John Henry.

                He shakes his head again, once again scanning the image for different faces.

                Some of them were old with long beards, others seemed like young nerdy kids, the ideal type of programmers he presumed. Then, near the top, his eyes caught on something. He sees the short curly grey-haired president, Reddington Valentine. He was a strong, almost stoic and immoveable man like Jotaro. Yet, those eyes were soft, almost calming in a way. He could understand why the Americans voted for him. Everyone else seemed like a mystery. There was a small boy clinging to his leg, he had similar curly hair but bright eyes of wonder.

                His hand outstretches, drawing towards it and drags it closer.

                “Who’s that?” Polnareff asks, pointing to the boy below.

                “That is my brother,” John Henry said.

                “Fredrick Valentine.”  

                ”Oh, that’s him?” Polnareff asked with his mouth agape.

                “Ah Mon Dieu!” He says, slapping a hand to his face.

                “For a moment, I forgot he had a kid. That little guy never seems like he goes out much,” Polnareff remarks, gesturing to the boy in the image.

                He raises a brow.

                “Say, does that little boy know?” He asked.

                “Know what? What are you referring to?” John Henry asks.

                “You know, about your stand?” He asked more curiously.

                “My brother knows, he was there on the incident,” he said, looking at the drawing again. 

                “What incident?” Polnareff asked.

                “The one that gave me this stand, this power,” he said, raising his hand to his face before balling it tightly. 

                “Ah,” Polnareff nodded, giving a moment of pause for deep contemplation.

                “Incident? Seems something bad happened from the way John Henry refers to it. Don’t know how I could report it to Jotaro, though,” He noted.

                “In this incident, that was when my brother could see me. Seemed like after that incident, he gained an ability of his own.”

                “Wait, hold on!” Polnareff cried out in shock.

                “You’re telling me the president’s son is a stand user?” He asked.

                The boy nods.

                 “Although, I do feel bad for him. Unlike me, he takes longer to mature, that is obvious. Since he is young, he has a harder time understanding it. I only seen it once it’s a bit of a learning curve for him.” He looks away for a moment, almost ashamed.

                “Learning curve? John Henry, what happened?” Polnareff asked.

                The boy looks away in shame, almost as if he wasn’t sure how he should say it.

                 “I am not quite sure how I should explain this. The situation was already handled by the Speedwagon Foundation but—” His voice seems to trail, he was stalling.

                “John Henry,” Polnareff pleads, resting a hand over his.

                “You can trust me,” He nods. 

                The boy seems to nod back, almost reluctantly trying to fight back before eventually giving in.

                “A couple days before we first met, there was an incident. Remember when Mr. Dyson took a trip over to Japan?” He asked.          

                “Oh yeah,” Polnareff nods.

              “Not that you would know this, but in the Fukuoka prefecture where one of my central facilities are located, there’s a smaller back-end facility that is mainly used for server-space. Its on the outskirts of a small city located in Morioh, Japan.”

                “Oh wait, I’ve heard of that place!” Polnareff said.

                “That was the place where Dyson got those really messy Sesame seed roll bun things right? Took forever to get those stains wiped out of my hands, yeesh.” He said, rubbing his fingers together for emphasis.

                John Henry almost smiles from those words.

                “Those are gomamitsu dongo, and yes they do contain sesame seeds,” He nods.

                “On that day, it seemed a young delinquent somehow infiltrated the facility, most like a stand user of sorts. I do not recall what happened after, but there was an argument. All I remember was feeling something akin to pain. Like something had pierced straight through me, shattering me. I was gone for several hours. By the time I awoke, I had learned that my entire system went offline, and the strange delinquent was apprehended. When I awoke, I also learned that the president’s son went to the hospital.”

                He looks down at the sketchbook again, staring at his face.

               “It took some days for us both to realize what had happened. Somehow, we both obtained this strange power. I do not know where he was at the time, but it seemed like we shared a connection of sorts in a moment.”

                “Ah, that sounds like the arrows!” Polnareff thought.

                “Could it be that John Henry was somehow pierced by the arrow?”

                Polnareff shoots up, almost ready to get into a fight.

                “I know you said something about the Speedwagon Foundation but, should we let Jotaro know about that at least? Seems like something—”

                “It’s alright,” John Henry reassured.

                “Doctor Wu was there at the time, and he managed to get everything under control.”

                Polnareff winces, “Him?”

                He didn’t like that answer, he never liked that Doctor Wu fellow one bit. Yet, since he was employed and is a great ally to the Foundation, he brushed it off. Seems like there’s nothing to be done right about now.

                He shrugs his shoulders and lowers them in a sigh.

                He turns to John Henry again.

                “Have you told the president, by any chance?” He asked.

                He raises his head.

               “Him? No, he wouldn’t quite understand. I have not shown Jotaro either. In fact, I’m sure neither would understand. It seems like I am a rare case,” He said, turning his head away for a moment, almost ashamed.

                Polnareff turns to him, raising his hand and placing it on his shoulder.

                “I know you’re smart John Henry, perhaps smarter than me,” He shrugged.

                “But I find it important enough that it needs to be said,” He says, locking eyes with the machine.

                “I care for you John Henry, and I think you’re going to do great things. So please understand, under no circumstances can you show your stand to anyone besides me and someone you know that you can trust. That would include me and your brother, got that? From what you said is true, then not even Jotaro should be allowed to see your stand.” 

                John Henry’s eyes widen.

                “What are you afraid of?” He asked back.

                He hangs his head.

                “I’m scared something will happen to you, something dark and drastic,” He said in a dark and almost urgent tone.

                It was true, Polnareff was afraid. Jotaro never really understood computers. it was way obvious to him when Jotaro was a teen back in eighty-nine. Jotaro was never a brute moron, he was quite brilliant, even as a teen. He could learn fast, given what he was told by Mister Joestar after the fight with the other D’Arby.

                However, it was apparent that Jotaro’s heart was never in electronics, or machines for that nature. He was always more interested in marine biology anyway.

                He was already getting a doctoral degree. He was never stupid.

                However, Jotaro could probably never come to terms with something that wasn’t entirely biological in nature to obtain such a strange ability. Should he somehow figure out or learn before he had the time to prepare himself mentally, it could be a disaster. He might get anxious, too trigger happy, too afraid to understand.

                He might try to do what his grandfather did. The image with Mister Joestar and the sledgehammer inches above that little drone never left his mind.  He could promptly shut-down John Henry out of fear. He could kill something rather sapient and benevolent in nature.

                Or something worse, he did not understand how, but he felt something much more insidious could happen should he not have the time to process. It was out of necessity for John Henry’s sake, hopefully with enough time, Jotaro could understand.

                “Please understand John Henry,” He begs, almost wanting to cry.

               “I understand your concern Polnareff, I’ll take it seriously. Should something happen, I’ll tell you about it first.”

                He learns forward.

                  “You have a cellphone, right?” He asked.

                “I do.”

                  “You can give me the number, and I can contact you whenever need be,” He said with a nod.

                “Thankyou.”

---

                Jotaro keeps his lips pursued as he looks at the documents before him. This was all troubling news. At any moment, Sarah could pop up. Sarah could be near them at any moment. Worse yet, it seems like she’s brought company. One thing out of all this was Hol Horse. He was there in the photos, fighting along side her and that tall, strange man.

                Jotaro has done some minor digging into the phone booth killer at this point. He’s heard what that man has done to those large group of policemen. He never thought of him as some sort of machine. No, something in him always made him feel that this man, this strange man was a stand user. It could be an easy mistake. Stands could come in any size. Sarah could have seen a stand there, something akin to a sentient machine.  

                He could understand her fear, her running, her fighting. Yet, he could not understand why Sarah would start fighting with him instead.

                Nor why Hol Horse would be at her side.

                What would Hol Horse gain out of all of this? This is strange from all sizes. Each way he looked at it, she could not even make sense of it.

                “Excuse me, mister Jotaro,” Doctor Wu said, standing just a few inches from his desk.

                “What would you require us to do?”

                He lifts up his head and bows.

                “I’m going to stay close, you keep defending the main Cyberdyne headquarters,” He said.

                “But Jotaro, didn’t you say that—”

                “That site is where all the main research is centralized as far as I am aware,” He said, setting down the files and sliding it back.

                “Above all else, we defend the base,” She said.

---

                Sarah stomped hard on the gas, her mind was in a rage. She had only one goal in her mind. One goal: destroy the Speedwagon Foundation. If the Speedwagon Foundation helps fund Cyberdyne, then they are no better than Cyberdyne so therefore they must be destroyed.

                Cyberdyne isn’t enough. Speedwagon Foundation must pay too.

                Both of them must pay, the beast with two heads. Both of them must be slaughtered before they can grow a third. They must be stopped. She grabbed her small notebook and looked down at it carefully. The machine better have given her the right information.

                If it didn’t, they would be hell to pay.

                She needed to kill them, the beast with two heads.

---

                Sarah watches, standing idly as she inches near the guard at the back gate. She looks at his arms. One massive gun hidden in his holster. She sighs, taking in a small breath as she fades into the shadows of the gate from the low sun.

---

                The guard keeps his eyes forward. His eyes hardly could keep themselves open as he raises his head up. He had to keep his attention alert. He had to keep his eyes open. He slaps his face and grunts to himself.

                “God, how long is damn shift going to last?” He turns to his watch.

                “Oh good, one hour left,” He shrugs, lowering his head.

                He turns back, and as he does so, a shadow moves through the breeze. It was hard to tell from the setting sun, but there was something in the distance. A shadow? The yellow glow casted on the Spanish style-fence on the border made it hard to tell.

                Was it just a leaf? Some sort of vine cast by a nearby empty house? He grit his teeth as he thought about the empty lot of land nearby. He wondered why the real estate company never bothered to sell the land.

                He turned back to his post.

                “Probably ‘cause the company is aiming to buy that too,” He thought.

                “Oh boy,” He shrugged.

                Then, another shadow passes by, and as he turns, a woman stands before him. He goes towards his gun, but his eyes roll backward. A hard blunt object hits over his head, and his vision goes dark.

---

                Sarah races down a long dark closet. It was full of beeping machines and screaming whistles of computers. She turns her head.

                A large sign plastered in red: “MAIN POWER: DO NOT TURN OFF”

                She rolls her eyes and cracks her knuckles. She holds the large cannister of gas at her hip. She turns it towards the floor, spraying it whenever and wherever she can. A small crack over head causes a CCTV to collapse.

                It falls to the ground and shatters into metal and glass. A ghostly giant with burly arms and a feminine face roars, cutting and smashing the computers around her. She takes a deep sigh and turns towards a large line of buttons. A large power control panel, she raises her shotgun.

                A stand can do the trick, but…

                CHA-CHINK

                B A N G

                Lights flicker before eventually being turned off. She was surrounded in darkness. Then, something fluttered, she clutched her shotgun. She hears a low mechanical drone and a buzzing vibration under her feet as something whirs to light.

                One by one, lights flicker back on and her heart nearly stops.

                “NO!” She thought, running out from the controls.

                It almost made her head spin. How did the power come back on so suddenly? It was like an instant, a flash and then the lights were on. Small flashing red lights appeared abover her, almost like the building itself knew she was there.

                “How did this happen?” She thought.

                “I was so careful!”

                Then it hits her, for a highly expensive and fully maintained facility such as this, she would definitely needed a back-up generator. She curses, grunting as she clutched her weapons tight. If she can’t turn the power off she’ll destroy everything of value.

                The more time they spend trying to rebuild the easier it is to fail.   

---

                Matteo clutched the restraints around his wrist tight, trying to count the days he had been planted in here. Every day was a horror that he didn’t want to experience. A terror that grinded against his senses. Every day he spent his time praying, praying to Mother Mary for guidance and strength. Yet, time and time again he felt those men draw near him.

                He wasn’t even sure he should call them men, they were hardly emotional or lively enough to be. Every action, every movement they took was always highly coordinated and well-planned. Not to mention, he swore he could see some strange bits of metal poking through that large gentleman. He could remember the low hum of something whirring underneath his leg. Like his leg was somehow hollow or made of dense metal.

                 It would seem like they were machines in some sort of way. They were too cold, too composed, too calculating to be considered men.

                The times he tried to fight back against them only made it worse. They didn’t respond to any sort of pain or stimuli that would fold an ordinary man. No, these men were cold, distant in a way. Not distant as in they were never close but strangely separate from the subjects they experimented on. As if they were nothing more than trash or inorganic material to experiment and discard how and whenever they please.

                As if the fighting will and desperation of their victims was nothing more than a small inconvenience to their eyes.

                Him on the other hand, he was nothing more than a piece of meat. The doctor didn’t care for his wellbeing, only occasionally checked his vitals before stabbing him with needles. Then, he would feel the searing pain of his flesh slowly being stripped.

                Then, his face, his arms, his legs, everything was covered in bandages.

                It was a horrible and agonizing experience.

                They never cared once for anesthesia.

                They only cared about subduing him, torturing him.

                The first escape he made only ended in unforgiveable horror. He could never forget what he saw. He would never forget the cold machines that greeted him. Eyes of red and skeletal faces. No emotion, only results.

                That is the overwhelming precedent of this place.

                It was enough to drive him mad. He remembers stepping into the dingy place, no… it went back further than that. When the good will of the anesthesia slipped away for a moment, and the pain eased. He had the power to break free. Although just for a moment, he snapped away and slowly eased his chains. It was painful, a shiv he hid under the bandages of his skin.

                He pressed it out just for a moment and pushed through the chains in his wrists. Then his legs, and then it went further. Yet, he was numb to it. He was used to the constant injections and skinning. He was nothing more than a walking corpse and bandages.

                Pain, but he pushed through it. His legs slap down on cold floor. It was smooth and nearly sent a chill down his spine. He walks slowly, careful not to alert his strange masters. He felt scared, like at any moment, any wrong misstep was going to alert his masters.

                A group scatters by, and he hides behind a door.

                As he rests by it, he can hear a large crunch of metal on marble. Something loud and creaky, like machines banging together.

                He steps forward, another creak, and then… a scream. A dark scream, a loud scream. He remembered walking forward, stepping into that dingy place. A woman begging for her life, a room as cold as the ninth circle. Meat strung up like a slaughterhouse, but it wasn’t a slaughterhouse. It was all too neat, even the blood seemed like it was tucked away for some specific purpose.

                Machines line the walls, giving data, beeping away.

                He turns, seeing a woman screaming, or was it a woman? Her skin had been etched away into a smooth red lining of muscle. She was in extreme pain, she had no eyes, she just kept screaming and bleeding. She just kept screaming and bleeding. 

                “Why are you doing this?” She asked.

                The man infront of her does not say a word.

                He simply pushes a door open, and shoves her through. She screams, collapsing and begging her life as she’s dragged away.

                The doctor man was there, seemingly talking to something. It was on some sort of platform, some strange torso like thing. The head snaps, heavy metal crunches. A fist balls and examines its servos carefully, watching as the muscle aligned to its cold dark skin.

                It turns its hand, pointing towards him. He grabs the wall in a panic. He begs for his life.

                “No!” He begs.

                “What have you done?” He asked them.

                “Monsters,” He hissed under his breath.

                The doctor turns, and fades to dust. Then, back to the same hell, only with heavier restraint and much heavier doses of needles and drugs.

                The pain somehow got worse.

                Now he could only pray.

                However, something over the intercom buzzes to life makes him change his tune. His sense of time was distorted, he doesn’t know if he’s been there for a few days or a few weeks, it feels like forever. Yet, he knows one thing.

                There was hope.

                There was one woman he had remembered in the passing of their conversations: Sarah Connor.

---

                John Henry eyes the cameras, a tense look sprawls across his face. One by one, cameras were going dark and leaving nothing but black. John Henry never experienced blindness in the conventional sense, but the loss of vision greatly disturbed him.

                Sarah had a route. She was going quickly and carefully. She was not sparing her time. She had a basic outlook on the place. Yet, that sort of idea places a curious wonder in his mind. Just where would she get that sort of intel.

                “Jotaro,” He said, his voice somewhat tense over the intercom line.

                “I’m already on it,” Jotaro said, his voice holding back a small hint of rage. 

                “—ALERT: CODE ORANGE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. INTRUDER HAS INVADED THE JOINT BASE. ALL ARMED PERSONELL ARE ASKED TO ENTER CENTRAL LOBBY AND HUNT DOWN THE INTRUDER. ALL UNARMED NON-MILITARY PERSONELL ARE ASKED TO STAY IN GROUPS, LOCK ALL DOORS AND REMAIN QUIET UNTIL THE CODE ORANGE ANNOUNCEMENT HAS ENDED—”  

                A young female voice says over the inter-com.

                   “— INTRUDER NOTICE: INTRUDER IS BELIEVED TO BE DERANGED ARMED INPATIENT SARAH CONNOR. PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE NOR INTERACT WITH INTRUDER, THERE WILL BE NO MORE ANNOUNCEMENTS—”

                John Henry knows that there was no woman. It was all him.

---

                Sarah jumps, leaving the power station and towards a dark hall. Goosebumps race down her neck from the cold air that surrounds her.

                “The hell?” She asks, her voice shaking. She was sure that she was careful, no cameras, no witnesses. So how the hell was she even identified? She bites her lip, she may have looked at a CCTV before setting the power-station ablaze.

                She wanted to punch herself for being so stupid. She was reckless. She took a deep breath and loaded a shotgun. Not that it mattered, as long as the Speedwagon Foundation goes down with her, as long as this facility goes down with her, that’s all that mattered. 

                Who knows what evil lies here.

---

                Jotaro rushes in, his heart races as he charges towards Titan’s servers. He feels an anxious feeling race up from his stomach. Titan was the one thing that saved him back in Egypt. If he loses Titan, he loses the one chance of peace. The one chance he and his family can live peaceful lives. The one chance for all the fierce DIO followers to be sought out. The one chance he doesn’t have to actively fight for his peace. He needed his peace.

                He can’t let that happen.

                He can’t let Sarah Connor get what she wants. As he runs, Doctor Wu and his cohort appear beside him. He takes in a deep sigh, they were a reliable pair. 

                “Alright, maps indicate she’s near the west wing near the control station. Be careful,” He warns them both as they charge.  

                They run faster, and Jotaro raises his hand, pointing towards Ryo.

                “You, come with me, I’m going to need back-up if she gets close.”

                “But sir,” Doctor Wu said.

                “What if—”

                “I’m fine Wu, now go!” He said, raising his hand and pointing it forward.

                He nods, turning over towards a group of armed Speedwagon personnel. He raises his hand and charges in with their group. Guns cock and pistols raise. All guns, all weapons are now aimed on Sarah Connor. There was no going back.

---

                Dyson was a bit shaken. His hands race as he fumbles for his keys.

                “Wh-what’s going on?” He asks.

                “What’s happening?”

                “Sarah Connor is here,” Someone said.

                “Sarah?” He asked.

                “What, you’ve never heard of her?” He asked.

                “Well, not much aside from the news.”

                A long thin-haired, grey-speckled man steps forward. He brushes back his thin hair and raises a brow of confusion towards him.

                “Wait, you mean Mr. Oric never told you?” He asked.

                “He… only told me what everyone knew, is there something missing?” Dyson said with a sigh.

                The two take a sharp glance and look at each other.

                “What did he tell you?”

                “That she is a criminal, obviously,” He said, raising his hand and gesturing towards the alarm system. He lowers his hand and looks back at them.

                “What, is there something I should know?”

                One man goes to speak, but an armed guard rushes in and pulls their arm along. Main scientists were the first to have the protection of guns. Not a single man wouldn’t be protected, and Mr. Dyson seemed like their top priority.

                “Wh-what is it that you need to tell me?” He asked.

                They say nothing, just turning to stare at each other in awe. ‘

                “What?” He asked.

                “What is it that you’re supposed to tell me?”

                “What?”

                One guy looks to the other and shakes his head.

                “I think it’s best to not worry about that right now,” He said.

                “What do you mean?”

                Yet, they don’t respond. Dyson was a bit annoyed, he was one of the chief scientists of this project and they don’t even give him the decency of responding. It was a pity that was, but he’ll find out soon. Dyson was never an idiot, as much as Jotaro would like to think of him as.

The chaos and cacophony of voices makes him turn and follow the herd of people towards the established safe zones. Dyson almost resisted the urge to laugh. All the chaos and carnage unfolded around him brought him back to the days of fire-drills where the teacher made students remember hallway tracks and exits in their school.

                He remembered those days when he would go to the safe zones and sit out in the parking lot kicking rocks, and now this was no different.

---

                Sarah could feel her heart racing. More and more people were herding in on and pounding on her. She can hear deep voices shouting at her from across the hall. Men with long drawn guns had aimed themselves at her, keeping them high. She kept making sharper and sharper turns. As she sped along, she turns towards a long thick door. Something about it immediately garnered her attention from its icy chill. The heavy shiny blacks and long heavy body made her pause.

                She shouldn’t come here, there was something off here.

                Yet, she keeps turning behind her. More raised voices, more screaming men.

                There was something about this place. She turns her head, pushing the door slightly with a long muscly ghost arm and steps through. A long hallway awaited her, and she pushed forward. It was an uncanny experience, seemingly mile after mile of long concrete tracks stop near a long tightly sealed chamber. She sighs, snapping her finger as a long muscle-bound form roar, ripping at the wheel in front and turning it slowly.

                It was seemingly guarded away like a bank vault, she paused. Wait, wouldn’t opening this thing through brute force alert some sort of system? She shrugged and shook her head. At this point, why the hell would it even matter?

                They already knew where she was, but then again, not so much. Maybe they shouldn’t get any more ideas? She rolled her eyes. Not that any of it mattered, she had something up her sleeve now. Something any ordinary man or woman wouldn’t be able to see. Something ghostly, something that cannot be recorded or placed down.

                Something akin to a ghost that followed her and stayed by her side.

                A stand.

                She finally rips the door off, which creates a loud rumble through the hallway. A more chilling air greets her face and almost knocks her back. It was like she stepped straight into the depths of the Antarctic without a suit or any form of protection.

                She clutched her shoulders and pushed off a deep shiver.  

                There was something wrong with this place.

                The precise and vivid eyes of her stand record all. Vials, test-tubes, papers, studies, glass cages. Pieces of samples, this was a lab. A bio-lab. She raises a brow and turns her head, poking through as she stepped through the doors.

                Something about this felt… off.

                This didn’t seem to match the schematic she had downloaded, in fact, this didn’t seem to be part of the building at all.

                Her worried thoughts stop when she hears something behind her. Without thinking, she cocks her shotgun and turns it back. She keeps it steady on the noise. The noise grows louder. It was an uneven and erratic noise, like someone madly stumbling. She stops, waiting by a door that felt something akin to a doctor’s office.

                The cock of her shotgun releases, and something pops through.

                She nearly suppresses the urge to release what’s left in the chamber as soon as she sees the face before her. It was bandaged, a man, with an IV drip penetrating deeply into his arm. He looked like some carved up piece of red cadaver wound tightly in bandages.

                She nearly wanted to suppress the urge to vomit. 

                “Y-you’re Signorina Connor, aren’t you?” The man asked.

                “You know my name?” She asked.

                The man stops, backing up slowly and pointing towards the ceiling.

                “The announcement made it quite clear,” He said.

                She sighs, lowering the gun as she raises a concerned and frightened look towards him.

                “Just who the hell are you?” She asked.

                “Th-that’s—” He stumbles, something catches and he falls to the ground. Sarah steps back almost shocked. 

                His legs were still bound, wrapped tight around restraints in a small cramped wheelchair. At first, Sarah seemed reluctant.

                “It’s a trap,” Her mind whispers.

                Yet, she keeps the panicked thoughts down and raises a hand.

                “Well, since you know me, I’d like to know your name,” She said.

                “Who are you?” She asked.

                “It’s Matteo,” He said, raising a hand back towards her.

                “For now,” He said.

                “Please call me, Matteo.”

                “Matteo, what about—”

                “Don’t bother calling me anything else but that I—” He hangs his head low and shakes his head.

                “I— don’t deserve to be called anything else.”

---

                Sarah pushes the wheelchair in a slow and careful fashion. She wanted so desperately to remove his restraints, but for some odd reason, the man insisted they stay on.

                “No, please, let me help you,” She insisted.

                Yet the man pushes her hands away.

                “They’ll find out,” he said.

                “But don’t you want to be free, is that what you wanted to do?” she asked.

                “Yes, but that is my problem to deal with, not yours Signorina.”

                He was a weird one, but Sarah felt he wasn’t much of the threat here. She keeps pushing but stops suddenly and turns back to the man. She had no idea what compelled to ask such a thing from the man, but something deep in her heart pushed it out from her chest.

                “You’re Italian, aren’t you?” she asked.  

                He raises his head and looks back at her. From his disfigured and bandaged face, she could hardly tell what he was thinking. She frowned, something about this place wasn’t right. Still, she couldn’t help but feel some pity for the man.

                He just felt some way trapped, a puppet of sorts.

                “My mother was Italian, so were her parents,” she said.

                “Oh, you know some Italian Signorina?” He asked her.

                “No, not much, I mean… I used to, but it’s been so long. I know more Spanish than I do Italian,” she says hanging her head a bit.

                It almost hurt talking about her mother, especially after what the terminators did. It was almost like the terminators were taking things from her. Little by little, her memories were being snatched right out under her. Like somehow, this was all the terminator’s fault.

                As if when they killed her, they took memories of her with her.

                She couldn’t make sense of it.

                Sarah sighed, it could have been her paranoid mind. For the past several years, she’s experienced deep paranoia, anxiety, the innate urge to run, and a deep sense of dread. Its had to keep one’s head straight regardless.

                She turns the wheelchair, turning towards doors and wrestling with something under the coat of her pocket. She unfurls something and shoves it into the lock. A slow and methodical ticking and shifting of the door could be heard.

                “Wh-what are you doing?” He asked.

                “Breaking in if you haven’t noticed,” She said, wrestling with the lock a bit more until it pops open, she shoves it open. It softly creaks, and the overwhelming smell of vanilla and iced coffee hits her nose. She steps back, almost as if the pleasant smells surprised her.

                What the hell is this?

                Where the hell is this?

                It’s an office, but what kind of office? She balls her fist. Any office belonging to Cyberdyne had information on Skynet. She marches through, going on a rampage, flipping over and pushing papers around madly.

                Her head turns towards a drawer, and she moves her hand slightly. It pops open, the inner lock breaks and it pops open.

                The man seemingly is surprised by this action.

                “How did you do that?” He asked. 

                “You’ll be surprised as to what I can do.”

---

                John’s heart races as he sees the seemingly never-ending caravan of police cars and humming helicopters around them. The machine puts the car into the park and slowly peeks his head out for a moment. Hol Horse takes a deep sigh and pulls out his Emperor.

                “Oh God, Sarah, what the hell did you do?”

                The machine seemingly stops, slowly pushing open the door and peering his head out. For a moment, he is silent. He is stern, a still statue. His head seemingly forever forward. Like he was examining something. Then, in an inexplicable twist, he suddenly pushes himself back into the car and turns the keys.

                “Woah, hey!” John said, “What are you—”

                The machine pushes the boy back into the car and locks the doors.

                “Hey, what are you—”
                “Sarah Connor is no longer here,” he said firmly and calmly.  

---

                “Matteo Acacius Marinari,” She says, hands almost trembling as she fumbles through the papers. A mafia man, from Italy. If that’s the case, how the hell did this guy wind up all the way here in Los Angeles? She starts pushing through more papers. More names come up, a stranger fact, only some were criminals.

                That fact alone made her pause.

                “Criminals?” She asked, flipping through long lists.

                Then her hands tremble more, there were photos of children here. Lists, identities, addresses, names, and phone numbers. Some were even crossed out.

                She steps back, hands violently shaking.

                “Wh-what is all of this? Matteo?” She asked turning back over to the man.

                “How long have you been here?”

                Matteo turns her head, raising his bandaged hand and resting in on her shoulder.

                “Weeks,” He said in desperation.

                “This says here you came in only a few days ago.”

                The fact alone seem to make him withdraw from her. He shakes his head, clutching his stumpy fingers and look back towards her with horror and abjection.

                “No, no that can’t be right,” He said, resting his hands on his temple.

                “I— I was—” He stutters.

                A loud thump makes both jump and she turns back to him. She grabs the handles of wheelchair and pushes him forward. 

---

                “No longer here?” Hol Horse growled, cocking his gun.

                “What do you mean, no longer here?" He asked.

                “Sarah Connor has left, we have to leave immediately. Her next priority is Miles Dyson.”

                “Dyson?” John asked.

                “She— somehow got out already, but what about the building!” John exclaims.

                “W-wait, how do you know all of this?”

                “You could say her objective is already complete,” The machine said.

                “And how the hell would you know that?” Hol Horse asked.

                “W-what about Jotaro!” He said.

                “It would seem she already has a plan for him, and everyone in this building.”

---

                “You have to leave me here,” Matteo pleads. Sarah stops, turning back and placing an arm on his shoulder and shakes it.

                “Not happening,” She said.

                “You know too much,” She says confidently.

                “You won’t get what you want from here,” He says, turning his head up.

                “You’ve seen them,” Sarah said, turning her head down.

                “Haven’t you?” She asked.

                They didn’t need to say it, but they both knew what they were talking about.

                “They’re coming here, they know where you are,” He said.

                “There’s an exit down the hall that leads to a sewer.”

                He pushes his head forward, his eyes wider and becoming more horrified.

                “Signora, can you make me a promise?” He asked.

                “What would that be?”

                “Once you go for Cyberdyne, come here, destroy this place, please,” Sarah stops for a moment. A tight feeling in her gut compels her to take the man. Yet, something else compels her to leave him be. She trusts him enough.

                “They already had a plan for me, didn’t they?” She asked.

                She loads her gun and cocks it again.

                “That’s fine, I got a plan for them too.”

                Then, she shuffles something behind her back pocket and draws it out over her hand. It rests gently in her palm. With a small click, it starts to beep, a speedy and methodical beeping. A mechanical beeping, the harkening call of something loud and thunderous.

---

                “The south wing is set to detonate,” He said.

                “What?” John asked.

                “I’ve detected multiple IEDS implanted in the south wing.”

                “Christ!” Hol Horse remarked.

                “Sarah, god!” He curses.

---

                Jotaro rushes down the west corridor and pushes open a door. He could see a feminine silhouette running from them. He grunts, pointing his hand forward and kicking down the door.

                “STAR PLATINUM!”

                A large hand pushes the figure down. Jotaro runs up and tackles the woman, both he and Ryp step back with wide eyes.

                “Uh-uh—” A brunette woman asked as she shuffles through something in her coat. She was a scientist, not Sarah, if so… why was she running?

                “Why were you running?” Jotaro demands.

                “I—I—” She stutters.

                “ANSWER ME!” He says, his voice tense, like at any moment he would snap. Ryo grabs his arm, it was firm and almost a death-hold. Jotaro turns, and widens his eyes as he sees the long beeping mechanical brick on the wall.

                BEEP – BEEP – BEEP – BEEP  

                Jotaro grabs his shoulder and pushes through an elevator.

                “GET DOWN!”

                B O O M

                An entire hallway goes up in smoke, computers burn and files erupt into flames. Fire breaks glass, shooting through windows and erupting into dark smoke. Police shout and point guns, men and women scream, pushing themselves away from the westward wing.

                Yet, far as they could tell.

                Not a single man or woman was harmed.

---

                Sarah descends a flight of cold grimy steps towards the bottom. Her boots slush around in musty grey waters in a small tight chamber. She groans, shaking her head as she steps forward. A large bang above makes her duck. She raises the collar of her shirt and covers her nose.

                No time to worry.

                She had to keep going.

                Speedwagon Foundation sent back, next up, Miles Dyson. Then finally, Cyberdyne. Then, the beast will be slain, and she will be free.

                No judgement day, no fate, no machines.

                She will finally be at peace.  

---

                Jotaro coughs, pushing away a hard sheath of metal with his stand. He pushes himself up and dusts himself off. He grunts, he happened to like this coat. It was a nice dark vanilla and crisp coat. He adjusts his hat, the same hat his small daughter Irene made for him.

                He leans down and grabs an arm, yanking it up with Star Platinum. Doctor Wu coughs, stumbling forward as he tries to catch his breath. He grabs his knees and barely makes it time to repress a large heaving lump of bile and shoves it down his throat.

                He groans, grunting as he pushes it back down.

                “Oh god,” He mutters, pushing his head up.

                “Jotaro—” He mutters.

                “I am sorry, we should have done more to—”

                “No—” Jotaro interrupts.

                “I’m sorry.”

                Ryo groans, pushing a harsh lump of metal off his chest. He pushes himself up, struggling before collapsing back down. Jotaro turns over, his hand raises. He turns just in time, Star Platinum is ready, but then he roars, pushing as he tosses away another hard clump of concrete and metal.

                Jotaro rolls his eyes. He was a veteran, he couldn’t blame him for that.

                Then again, he didn’t have to be a hard ass.

                “You’re alright?” He asked.

                “Shimosato?”   

                He waves his hand and slowly gets to his knees.

                Jotaro shakes his head.

                “Anyway, I’d like to apologize to you,” Jotaro apologized.

                “This was my fault, I was responsible for keeping this facility safe,” He turns back towards them and hangs his head.

                “I was more concerned about my own peaceful life than the safety of others.”

                He shook his head.

                “Never again.”

                He turns over, calling Shimosato forward.

                “This time, we’re going all in. I’m going to withdraw for a while, and I will not rest until Sarah Connor receives the justice she deserves.”

                Shimosato walks over and bows slightly.

                “Bring Dyson over, I have a feeling.”

---

                John Henry collapses, almost roaring in pain. A young boy in a professional school uniform clutches the crisp coat and clings to it. Dark blood, almost an oozing black trickles from his wrist and slowly makes its way down towards his fingers.

                Drip – Drip – Drip

                He should be grateful, the damage to his system was minor. Only a few hallways in his central mainframe were damaged. Yet, he raises his head. Sarah Connor, she’s likely not just going to strike this facility, but the Cyberdyne one next. Who knows what will happen then.

                She knew what she was doing, from her route, to the way she cleanly made an exit. She planned this from the start. Then again, was she a threat? From the way she went in, the damage to the site was minimal and there were no casualties of any kind.

                She highly prioritizes human lives.

                Something about all of this did not make sense. She took a route, deep into the heart of the base. She went in, went out, and then disappeared. There was some part of the facility she somehow entered, it should not have been possible.

                She got in, got out through inside the building, which was impossible.

                Then disappeared under it. He should have had all eyes and ears on the schematics on the facility. Why did she disappear so strangely? Where did she go?

---

                “Where the hell is she going now?” John asked.

                “To Dyson,” The machine said, turning his head towards John and lowering it, making sure their eyes met. He could feel the serious look dig into John’s eyes. This was starting to get to him.

                “Damn it,” He curses, shuffling through his backpack.

                He turns back to the comic, but then withdraws for a moment.

                “The hell?” He asked, flipping through the pages.

                “Wait, still nothing?” Hol Horse asked.

                “Yup,” John sighed, as he flipped a page.

                “Wait,” He stopped, taking the page and looks at it again.

                “Huh, that’s weird,” He noted.

                “What?”

                “The pages, they’re—”

                “What are you—” Hol Horse didn’t need to finish the question. His hand retracts and his heart races. A fierce pain seeps through his bones and he slowly turns back to John. The pages were slowly disappearing. Not that previous premonitions were going away, but there were only a few pages left. Wasn’t there more?

                What happened?  

                John quickly shoves it back and turns to his machine companion.

                “Say, where is Dyson’s place?” He asked again.

                “Estimate route is twenty miles,” The machine calculated.

                “How long to get there?” He asked.

                “Thirty, twenty-five with minimum traffic.”

                “Punch it,” John commanded.

                “We just got to get there before she does.”

                “Any concerns with the traffic and other drivers?” He asked.

                “Your mother made it clear we—”

                “I know,” John interrupts.

                “Don’t be stupid, but go fast. We can’t let this guy die alright?”

                He leans his head forward.

                “Alright?”

                “No problemo,” He said as he pushed back the gear shift and floors it. There wasn’t much time now. Darkness was just right around the corner. The sun was setting fast. Hol Horse felt more terror around sunsets.

                While there were no vampires this time.

                Something about the setting sun above mad him nauseous. He felt the same terror of before, of the distant call of DIO on that last day.

---

                “You say that you can change yourself up?” Jotaro asked, turning around the small conference room as he kept his eyes on Doctor Wu.

                He blushes, and turns away awkwardly.

                “Well, I didn’t say that I—”

                He raises his hand.

                “Can you change your appearance?” He asked.  

                “One time you said you can disassemble and reassemble things.” He takes a step forward, almost getting into his face.

                “Make them appear different too, would that work on people?” Jotaro asked.

                “Well I—” He stutters.  

                “This is important,” Jotaro urged.

                The doctor finally relents, bowing with a slight nod towards Dyson.

                “Yes.”

                “Then,” He says, turning over to Dyson and points towards him.

                “Go ahead,” He said, raising before lowering his hand.

                The doctor takes a quick glance towards Dyson before blushing. He turns back to Jotaro and sighs, wrestling with a bit of his hair and tries to explain himself.

                “You do realize, I would require a piece of Dyson, right? A sample?”

                Dyson eyes grow wide and he looks around the room.

                “A-are you saying you want to—”

                He shakes his head, “No, no, no.”

                He takes a bit of hair and picks it off, making him wince.

                “I just need hair…” He said, turning to it before taking a deep breath him. Bits of himself crumble, morph, and change around. Then, standing before Dyson was an elderly black man with a sturdy jaw, handsome temples, a dimple near his left eye, and a wide symmetrical nose. A handsome fellow that he recognized.

                “Wow,” Dyson said as he stepped back.

                Dyson was never comfortable with the thought of stands. The idea that someone had the ability to wield things that he couldn’t see perturbed him. Worse yet, someone could look just like him and he wouldn’t even know. Dyson could never understand the depths of Jotaro’s calculated brain. Sure, he may not know how to boot up a simple IBM, but he could make strategic maneuvers that would even take him by surprise.

                He sighed again with more exasperation. Suppose that was the price for working with the Speedwagon Foundation. They dealt with the oddities. Cyberdyne just gave them the data. It’s insane to consider that their previous CEO was now the head and has been for some time.

                “This is— a lot to take in,” He sighed.

                “You sure this will work?” He asked Jotaro.

                Jotaro nods.

                “I can’t keep you in the dark about this, you gave us permission too after all.”

                Dyson nods, “Right.”

                Jotaro shakes his head, turning towards the second Dyson.

                “You go to Dyson’s place, stay there alright?” The second Dyson nods, while Jotaro grabs the real Dyson by the arm and pulls him away.

---

                Sarah holds the gun in hand, marching along as she holds it close. She could feel the sweat drip down her hands and mix with the cold night air. She takes cover behind a small bit of concrete wall and takes out a long bullet. A long Colt Model 653 with a sixteen-inch barrel clings to her chest. She digs into her bag and loads a long clip into the magazine.

                A lazer-sighted guiding system lights on and she takes aim at the man. He remains focused, calm, clacking and typing away at an old keyboard.

---

                Fingers clack away at a keyboard. A small race-car pushes through the long mansion. It screeches, racing along the bottom of stairs and turns towards his office.

                “Danny!” A mother calls.

                “Danny, I told you to go to bed like your sister!”

                “Just a couple of minutes mom!”

---

                After making sure the gun was loaded, she clings it tightly. Sarah holds the gun steady, almost stopping cold when he turns around. He turns, stops for a moment to grab something behind him and turn back. He clicks away once more.

                Just one shot and it was all over.

                Just one shot and the nightmare ends. Just one shot and all the worries, the nightmares, the anxiety, the running, it would all dissipate in a flash.

                One shot, and it was done. The red dot steadies on the back of his head. A similar red dot that had been focused on her. A similar red dot with similar intentions. She grits her teeth. A boy races around, a small little car drifts every which way.    

---

                “Danny!” His increasingly frustrated mother calls.

                “Danny, your time is up! Come brush your teeth and get to bed!”

                The cars swerving jumping and bouncing a bit as it descends the steps. It swerves, turning over and racing towards his leg.

                A finger holds steady.  

---

                “Think about it,” A voice rang.

                “You were planning to kill those scientists back there. Why didn’t you? You have every opportunity, but you chose the cowards way out.”

                She bit her lip and focused the gun.

                “You never had the heart,” It said.

                “You’re not a terminator.”

---

                A small racecar runs into his leg.

                “Danny!”  

                Dyson grunts, turning down to see the small thing at his side. He lowers himself just a moment and jumps violently when the glass screen of his computer shatters to dust in a flash.

                “AH!” He gasps, he turns over and his eyes widen. Someone hiding in the bushes, someone with a gun. It almost made him scream.

                He ducks, cowering under his desk as another shot rings.

                Sarah grunts, taking aim at the computers and unloading the barrel. If she couldn’t have him, she’ll go for his work first.

                “Daddy!” Danny cried, seeing his panicked father taking cover.

                “DANNY JUST GO! GO! DANNY GO!”

---

                Sarah reloads the barrel and takes charge.

                “Miles?” She could hear a voice say.

                “Run! Trisha run!” He cried.

                “OH MY GOD!”

                Screams and panicked voices below out but Sarah remains firm. She reloads the clip and keeps firing round after round. She grows frustrated, setting aside her large gun and charges at him with a smaller magnum. He takes cover for a moment, debating his options. He decides to leap away and bolt, charging madly away from the deranged woman.

                He runs, a round penetrates his lower thigh and he falls to the ground. Blood coats his leg as he rolls across the floor groaning in pain.

                “ON THE FLOOR!” She screams.

                “NOW BITCH!”

                “DON’T HURT MY DADDY!” A boy cries, racing towards his dad’s side. The father pushes him away, pleading for him to run.

                “ON THE FLOOR! ON THE GROUND NOW!”

                Dyson turns, his eyes wide and full of fear, ready to embrace his end.

                “Just let the boy go.”

                “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” She cries.

                Her handshakes as she tries to steady the gun.

                “Motherfucker didn’t you, do it?” She asked. Tears race down his face, and guilt rises. She doesn’t know what she wants to do. She raises her hands, pleading, crying, begging. As she steps back, a large man races towards her.

                “NO!” He cries, pushing her against the wall. Her gun flies out of her hand and drops to the floor. Sarah comes face to face with Hol Horse as he grabs her arms and shakes them.

                “No Sarah!” he begs.

                “I know how much you want to, but you’re not one of them!”

                He was right, she wasn’t. How could she? How could she?

                She would be no better than the monsters she’s faced. She slumps towards the floor.

                “SHIT ITS TOO LATE!” John cries, rushing towards the door. A piece of metal flies down as another man in leather steps towards them. His movements are cold, calculated, orchestrated. The man leans down and raises his hand towards Dyson’s shoulder.

                It was a bad contact, but he was stable.

                He would survive a major leg injury at the very worst. Yet, the shoulder blow was still something to be concerned about.

                “CHECK THEM!” A young boy says as he points towards the scared family of three. Hol Horse steps out of the way as he lets the young boy take the lead.   

                “Look at me mom, are you hurt?” John asked, tossing aside her hat. He takes one glance back to the others before staring back at her. She mutters something before collapsing completely. They embrace and she sobs, crying into his shoulders.

                “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out, okay?” He reassures her.

                A guilt rises, he was just a little boy. She should be the one saying this to him, not the other way around. Poor boy, he doesn’t deserve this.

                “I promise,” He said.

                “God your stubborn,” She muttered.

                “How did you stop me,” She said.

                “Yeah, I did,” He replied.

                “I love you, John. I always have.”

                “I know,” Then, they finally embrace in a hug.

                “Deep penetration. No shattered bone,” The machine takes a quick glance towards John before back at the two.

                He takes the hand of his wife and places it on the shoulder of her husband. The two stare at him with a bit of horror. Strangers in their home with stranger intentions. What more of a nightmare could that be for anyone?  

                “Who are you people?” Dyson asked.

                John turned a switch blade.

                “Show them,” He said.

                Hol Horse raises himself up and shoots around.

                “Woah, woah, woah,” He stutters, turning sharply.

                “What?”

                “Danny,” John said as he grabbed the younger boy’s shoulder and guided him along.

                “I want you to go to your room, okay?” He asked.

                “Show me along?” He asked, taking him away for a moment.

                Without warning, or even a small announcement. The machine says nothing as he takes of his long leather jacket. The machine takes its arm, raises it high, and cuts it into it. Hol Horse steps back, turning his head away and gagging. He cuts a trail and raises it up to the middle of his wrist.

                “Oh god!” He stutters.

                “OH!” The two cry.

                Hol Horse makes the mistake of turning for a moment before turning back and gagging again.

                “Oh god its still bad!”

                He gags, turning back. Then, he turns again, silent in and in awe. The metal hand twists and turns in calm precise movements.

                “Now listen to me very carefully,” He said in his deep commanding voice.

---

                “I feel like I am going to throw up,” Dyson said as he leaned into his living room chair. A long cast wrapped around his shoulder as it held his arm steady.

                “You and me both,” Hol Horse thought. Even still, all of this was hitting him hard. How could Jotaro ever agree to something like this?

                Does he even truly know what he’s doing?

                “You’re judging me, on things I haven’t even done.”

                “How are we supposed to know?”

                “How are we supposed to know?” Sarah asked back mockingly.

                “You fucking men like you built the hydrogen bomb. Men like you, you think you’re so creative. You don’t know what its like to really create something. To a create life, to feel it growing inside you, all you know how to create is death and destruction—”

                “MOM!” John shouts.

                “We need to be a little more constructive, okay? We need to stop this from happening, don’t we?” John asked.

                “Aren’t we changing things already?” His wife asked.

                “I mean aren’t we already changing the way it goes?”

                Hol Horse leans his head back. He could barely focus.

                “I’ll quit Cyberdyne tomorrow.”

                “Not good enough.”

                “No one must follow your work.”

                “Right.”

                Voices echo and boom through his head. He gurgles, now he really thinks he’s going to be sick. Why did he ever agree to this at all? At this point, he should have just let John have the comic book. He should have just forgotten about it all.

                Left it all behind.

                “Do you know about the chip?” Dyson asked.

                “What chip?”

                “We keep it in a vault at the lab, must be one like you,” he said.

                “The CPU of the first terminator.”

                Hol Horse raises his head.

                “Another chip?”   

---

                So another plan, another road to follow. Yet, just before, preparations. The voices, the thoughts, the chip, Cyberdyne, everything swirled around like a cesspool. Hol Horse could barely process it now. Time and time again it harkens on his mind and he can barely register it.

                He doesn’t know much, other than meager assistance and some small coffee cups.

                He hands it towards them, the two look back at him with a bit of reluctance. Coffee from their Keurig, from their cups.

                “Hey,” Hol Horse shrugged.

                “it’s the best I can offer,” He says, sliding it forward.

                “You’re going to need it,” He said.  

                A sudden thump behind him makes him jump. He turns over and turns back. He grabs his Emperor and summons it for a moment. Dyson’s eyes turn before he pushes it away, and it fades into mist. Dyson’s wife raises a brow.

                He turns back and smiles before awkwardly walking off.

                “Way to play it cool Hol Horse,” He thought.

                As he steps away, Hol Horse felt something… off. There was something off to Dyson, and he just couldn’t describe it. Somehow, someway, he felt like he saw it.

                Yet, there should have been no way Dyson could have seen Emperor. He shrugs.

                Must have been his imagination.

---

A FEW DAYS BEFORE

                “You know John Henry,” Polnareff said as he looked towards more sketches scribbled in his sketchbook. They were of long yellow birds’ wide eyes. They looked very good. He was very impressed when they looked, the markers and highlighters combined somehow gave it a nice touch.

                Polnareff could hardly find a single law.

                “Yes?” The boy said, turning back towards Polnareff.

                “There’s a really weird question I want to ask,” Polnareff said as he scratched his head.

                “Polnareff, there are no weird questions,” The boy says, as he lays down the sketchbook.

                “Now, what is it that you want to tell me?” He asked.

                “Well, you know my ability, right? Silver Chariot?”

                “Correct,” John Henry said.

                “And you know about Jotaro’s Star Platinum I assume?”

                “Correct.”

                “Well, I—”

                “Is this about the names?” John Henry asked.

                “Well, yeah,” Polnareff said as he twisted his neck around and became more nervous.

                “I mean, thing is, well… all stand users, have names for their abilities, it’s just— par for the course. So I’ve been wondering, have you ever thought of a name for your stand, John Henry?”

                “A name?” John Henry asked.

                “Yeah, did you ever name it?” Polnareff asked.

                "No, truthfully I have been more preoccupied with my duties. I have never once thought of a name for this ability. My brother has a name for his, but I’ve never came up with one myself.” 

                “So, what are you going to name it then?” Polnareff asked.

                “I mean, if you’re unsure we can wait,” Polnareff said, leaning back against the hard metal servers beeping behind him. At first, Polnareff was so uncomfortable by this environment. The cold beeping, the lines, the vibrations made it feel unearthly and cold. Now, the cold air and hard metal felt more homely. Maybe it was just how friendly John Henry was, or how close of a friend that Polnareff considers him to be.

                He examines the boy’s face, noticing him close his eyes. His face seemed so angelic, so pristine. A sharp jaw and handsome symmetrical face. Strong eye brows and uniform temples, Polnareff was almost jealous.

                John Henry really seemed like an angel with his eyes closed.

                Suddenly, his eyes open, and he turns to Polnareff.

                “Geogaddi,” He said firm, his eyes sharp and full of life.