Hol and Mista looked from Giorno to Dio. Dio frowned at them and held up a finger. "Now, hold on." He reached into his pocket. Mista narrowed his eyes and his posture shifted defensively; when Dio only pulled out folded paper Mista didn't quite relax but he also didn't move any further.

Dio flipped through the printed sheets. The first had the picture of the man who looked like Dario from the juvenile detention center. The second was also from a juvenile detention center, but it was a psychiatric referral form. The third was a heavily redacted medical file. Only the first had a photo. "Let me guess," Dio said. "Donatello? It would correspond with the Italian."

Mista and Giorno shared a look that spoke volumes. Hol felt a vague dread as Dio tsked and went to the next paper.

"No? Is it Rikiel, then?" Dio held the printout close to his face and tried to read the grainy, scanned-in document. He shot a sharp glare over the top of the paper at Giorno. "Or are you another one that Pucci already spoke to?"

"That name is not familiar to me," Giorno answered.

Dio narrowed his eyes and re-folded the printouts. Hol felt sweat break out on his forehead. If the blonde guy was Dio's kid, there was no way he didn't have a Stand. Plus there was Mista, whose tiny team of whining Stands had gone silent and were now watching the exchange warily. If they had been sent here by Pucci…

The door to the gas station jangled as it opened. They all turned to look at it, but a customer had simply walked outside. They had unfortunately let in a stray pigeon, which was now up in the fluorescent lights and cooing in confusion. Its antics didn't do much to diffuse the tension; Dio tilted his head and crossed his arms as he peered at Giorno. "Oh? Then you're just here completely by chance?"

The pigeon flew over them. Hol heard a small splat. He grimaced and looked at the white splotch on his shoulder. "Ya gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

Dio ignored him, but Mista was struggling to fight back a smirk. Hol wiped the sweat off his forehead and sighed. Christ, Florida was muggy.

"I have no ill will towards you," Giorno said, his gaze cool and even. "And I have no plans to attack you. I think this meeting was just... inevitable."

"Of course." Dio leaned forward. "Inevitable. Fated. Would you even call it gravity?"

"Um." Hol swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He waved his hand in front of his face but found no relief for the sudden burning sensation on his skin. Giorno glanced at him, then at the splotch of pigeon shit on his shoulder, and then up at the ceiling.

"Ow, ow, ow, god damn!" There was steam coming off of Hol's skin. He grimaced in pain and stumbled back against the chips. Mista leapt out of the way and went to Giorno's side. Dio grabbed Hol by the shoulder to prevent him from falling to the floor; he frowned as his hand blistered at the heat coming off of him. He focused and his arm began to freeze; the chill fought against the growing heat. Hol yelped as one arm turned to ice and the other boiled, leaving the rest of his body at an uneasy but safe balance.

"Stand attack," Giorno said quietly. "Mista-"

Mista pulled out a gun (a real gun, Dio noticed, and he hoped the apathetic store clerk wouldn't decide to look over at them any time soon). Giorno squinted up at the ceiling. "The pigeon," he stated.

Dio followed his gaze. The pigeon bobbed its head as it strutted across the top of the fluorescent light. Upon closer inspection, the back of its head glistened; a Stand disc had been mostly forced into its body.

Dio went to stop time but realized that Hol still had his sticker on; it was frozen into his arm. Pucci may have stolen his discs, but much like the deceased Cinderella, the effects remained even when the Stand was indisposed. That was the whole reason they had been able to get a head start in the first place. If Dio let go of him to kill the pigeon, he would still boil to death in the stopped time. If he jumped up and carried Hol with him, his arm would probably snap off and then he would boil to death.

It would be a fairly pointless sacrifice when there were two other capable Stand users nearby. Then again, Dio wasn't sure that they were willing to help him; for all he knew, they were in cahoots with the pigeon.

Mista raised his gun and fired three times. The gunshots were nearly deafening in the small space and Dio heard the store clerk shriek. He also heard tinier, higher-pitched shrieks as Mista's Stand flew out with the bullets. Mista focused as they prepared to ricochet the bullet around the ceiling, but Dio noticed that Giorno was now staring down at the tiled floor, where there was another white splotch.

Dio heard the hissing of growing steam. He stopped time.

"Walk carefully," he said to Hol as he steered him forward by his frozen arm. "There must be a water pipe under the floor. We need to leave before it cooks us."

"What about those two?" Hol asked.

"Well, that one did fire at the bird. Perhaps they actually will be our allies." Dio sighed and grabbed Mista by the collar with his free hand, then hoisted him over his shoulder. He then hooked his arm under Giorno's shoulder and began dragging him along. It was awkward and slow but it would be enough to get them out of the gas station before time began again.

Dio dipped his shoulder and Mista tumbled to the pavement with a shout, nearly landing on top of a bewildered Giorno. There was a high pitched whistling and steam exploded out of the floor inside the gas station.

Hol waved his arm and grinned. "Oh, we must be out of its range. That feels way better. But, uh. Ow. Ow, ow, ow." He yanked his frozen arm away from Dio. "Christ, that's cold."

Mista rolled to his side and then crouched. He aimed the gun at the entrance to the gas station. "I can't tell if I hit it. Seems like a dumb pigeon, though. You think it cooked itself in there?"

Giorno got to his feet. He peered at the fogged-up windows and frowned. "No. It's still alive." He paused. "So is the clerk, but I think they went unconscious."

"Let's just get the hell out of here. You two got a car?" Hol asked. "Ours is outta gas. And stolen."

Mista squinted at him. "You want to run away from a pigeon?"

"I agree." Giorno nodded at Hol. "We should run away from the pigeon."

Mista pursed his lips in confusion at him, so Giorno explained further. "This is a gas station. It wouldn't be safe if it flew out here and superheated the gas tanks." He pointed towards an inconspicuous van. "We'll stay out of its range. A pigeon can fly at speeds up to 120 kilometers per hour. If it pursues us, we'll lure it onto the interstate and get a clear shot at it there."

"That fast? That's what, like 80 miles per hour?" Hol frowned and hugged his thawing arm to his chest. "The interstate here barely hits 70."

Mista clicked a key fob and the van unlocked. "We have a good source on where the speed traps are. We should be able to avoid them."

Giorno paused on his way into the driver's seat and gave Mista a wide-eyed look. "Oh. Consigliere."

"Cross that bridge when we get there, huh?" Mista ducked past Dio and jumped into the front passenger seat.

Hol slumped into the seat behind Giorno and Dio sat behind Mista. As Dio moved to slide the van door closed they heard a coo and the pigeon waddled out of the entranceway.

Giorno rummaged through the center console and pulled out a half-eaten bag of sunflower seeds. He rolled the window down and swung the bag, flinging the seeds out into the parking lot. "I hate to litter, but perhaps that will distract it for a short while."

"My sunflower seeds," Mista said with a pout. "We didn't even get to buy more snacks at this place."

"Buy? We have a tight budget to follow, Mista." Giorno put the car into reverse, held the steering wheel with one hand, and dug into his pockets with another. He tossed a small assortment of slightly crushed candy and granola bars onto Mista's lap. "Thankfully, the clerk was very inattentive."

"Ah, molte grazie." Mista opened a granola bar that immediately degraded to dry crumbs in his hands. He sighed.

Hol pressed his face against the window as the van pulled onto the road. "Hey, I think the sunflower seeds worked. The bird's stuffin' its face."

"Pucci likely inscribed directions to follow us onto the disc," Dio said flatly. "It won't stay distracted for much longer."

"Disc?" Giorno took a quick right turn and glanced around for the way to the interstate. "The one in the pigeon's back?"

"Let's trade answers," Dio said as he crossed his arms. "Yes, the disc in the pigeon's back. That pigeon doesn't really have a Stand of its own. The Stand was installed there by someone else. The disc can also contain information such as simple commands. Now, answer me this: have we met before?"

Giorno responded immediately. "No."

Dio frowned. He had a hunch that he was lying, but perhaps he was just being too paranoid. He half-wished that he had Speedwagon around as a convenient lie detector. "Then how did you recognize me?"

"Is that another question?" Giorno glanced at the rearview mirror. "I'll still answer. I have three reasons. The first is that we look quite similar, no?"

Hol gave a quick nod. "I mean, I got the two of you confused."

"The second reason is that I have dealt with the Speedwagon Foundation before," Giorno explained. "I was once contacted by them about, well, my paternal lineage. I did some digging of my own after that." He paused and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, then reached back into his pocket. "The third reason is that you gave my mother a labeled glossy headshot of yourself." He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open.

Well, there he was. Hol knew better than to laugh when he was sitting right beside Dio but he looked physically pained as he held back a guffaw. Dio didn't think that he personally gave her the photo but the early Cairo years were a slightly hazy blood-drunk time.

"My turn for a question." Giorno merged onto the interstate. "I take it I have other siblings?"

"Yes." Dio crossed his arms. "At least three. Would you like to meet them? If you know the way to Avon Park, we can kill two birds with one stone."

"Speaking of which." Mista reloaded his revolver. "Is it following us?"

Giorno was silent for a few moments, then he nodded. "Yes."

"My turn again," Dio stated. "If you've done your research, you know exactly how my Stand works, and you know how dangerous it can be. In the interest of trust, safety, and our continued allyship, I'll tell you that his Stand," he said, nodding towards Hol, "is a gun." Hol sputtered and frowned, but Dio ignored him. "We've seen some of what your Stand can do," he said to Mista. "It seems straightforward enough. But yours," he said, and he tilted his head in thought as he peered at Giorno. "You just used it to track the pigeon, correct?"

Mista had finished reloading his gun, but now he was fiddling with it in such a way that Dio could tell that he was trying very hard not to look at Giorno.

"Your Stand is very dangerous, yes." Giorno glanced up at the rearview mirror, his expression blank. "If you're expecting the same of me, I'm sorry to disappoint you." He looked out the left window, made sure the lane was clear, and shifted over. "My Stand can sense living beings within a certain radius if I focus on a specific area, such as within the gas station or over the highway. It doesn't have many applications in direct combat, but it is good for surveillance. I call it Radar Love."

Giorno had an excellent poker face, but Mista's posture was just the tiniest amount off. He shot a glance at Giorno, then rolled the window down and held up his revolver.

"My turn for a question," Giorno said, and he gave a small smile. "I'd ask you how you're alive, but I'm sure it's some complicated bullshit. It might make for an interesting conversation later, but for now, I just need to know that I can trust you." He swung up one arm and pointed towards the back of the van with his thumb. "I suppose my question is more of a request. Can you reach into the back and pick up the turtle for me?"

Dio quirked an eyebrow but he turned and looked into the back of the van. He was surprised to find that the space had been converted into a sort of terrarium, with a pebble substrate, assorted plants, and even a shallow pond that sloshed gently with the movement of the car. A turtle was perched on a log and it stared at Dio impassively. It had an odd metal contraption on its back.

Hol craned his neck to look back, as well. "What, does the turtle have a Stand, too?"

"Yes," Giorno answered, "but not a lethal one. On the back of the turtle, there is a small keypad. I need you to press the upper left, upper middle, center right, and bottom left."

Dio pressed the buttons; a gear spun and the metal slid over a hinge and hung off the side. Revealed beneath the metal plate was a key with a circular ruby-red gem.

Hol blinked and Dio was gone. The turtle landed on the car seat with a light thump. "Hold on," he stammered. "What the hell? Where'd he go?"

"In the turtle," Giorno replied nonchalantly. There was a mechanical whir and the metal plate slid back up and over the key.

Mista frowned. "Jeez, shouldn't we have given him a heads up?"

Giorno pursed his lips. "The consigliere is strong and I respect him greatly, but… I think if we told him ahead of time, he would solidify his decision too early. The surprise will keep his head clear."

Hol picked up the turtle and jammed his finger against the keypad, following the same pattern Giorno had just given. The plate refused to move. "Did you just trap him in a goddamn turtle?"

"Not trapped," Giorno answered. "Just secured. The code changes every time the cover is opened. The consigliere will text us the new code if he wants us to let him back out. I have no doubt that Dio could force his way out if he wants to, but I do hope that it doesn't come to that."

"Consigliere?" Hol held up the turtle and squinted at it. "Y'all are with the mafia?"

Mista turned in his seat and glared at him. "Enough questions, huh?"

The ground rumbled and orange light flared up behind them. Mista poked his head out the window and looked back. "Fucking pigeon," he muttered. "It overheated someone's gas tank."

Giorno sighed. "Unfortunate for the driver, but it might block any more traffic from entering the bird's range. Can you see it?"

Mista squinted. "It's dark, but the flames… there." His Stand appeared and hovered just outside the window, whooping with excitement. He fired the revolver and they flew after the bullet.

Hol frowned and held the turtle close to his ear. "Merde alors!" he heard an oddly familiar voice shout, and the metal cover rattled.