Chapter Thirty Six.Dio strode the streets of the city, the rain lashing him. He carried a dozen notes, maps and papers in his carry back, with one from U.A. about a work study or such nonsense. The rain pooled in open pockets of his uniform, making it clear that he would be putting on an early wash upon returning home.
He despised the Heights Alliance building, being forced so close to those would-be do-gooders, it made him feel sick. Or more correctly, they disgusted him. But, in the end, his comfort was a necessary sacrifice if his goals were to be achieved.
First, he had to make money and become famous, securing for himself a comfortable position in society. Then, once he had set himself up, he would recreate his old organisation, perhaps using the League of Villains as a scapegoat organisation. Upon doing so, he would search out strong Stand Users and any other Arrows, beginning with the dead Bkr's associates.
After consolidating his position further, he would have to eliminate any major opposition to him. Quirk-using Pro Heroes and renegade Stand Users not under his control, bureaucrats and police, inquisitive journalists, all would fall before him in the end, their heads hung low.
And foremost amongst them would be the Joestars. Jotaro and that senile fool who dared to even share that name, then their was the coward whore-daughter Holy, if Dio remembered correctly. He would kill them each in turn, making them suffer.
Dio walked into a side street, losing himself in a hurried herd of individuals. This street was quite nice, somewhere between his current abode and Ogre Street. And by good, he was not referring to the standard of living. No, he measured this street by the services it provided.
He came into a fruit shop, one wall was taken up by a counter, an old craggy faced man smiled at him. 'Oh, hello young Brando, ain't it a bit early for your apples?' The old man asked, earning Dio some worrisome looks.
'True, true,' Dio said, approaching the old man. 'But I am not here for apples, no I feel like pineapple would do my health better. Perhaps some… Pumpkin's as well, if you have some.' The old craggy faced man smiled, before walking to the back of the store.
'Oh, well if it ain't you, Dio,' came the voice of a familiar voice, that of one of his neighbours. 'I thought you were renting out that home of yours, since you're staying at that U.A. Then again,' the woman sighed. 'Your hobby does require some privacy,' she laughed, as did the others in the store. They were an odd lot, then again, Dio was the oddest of them all. What they did, they did for payment, nothing more. What he did, he did for himself and himself alone.
'Here you go young Brando,' the craggy faced man said, returning with a plastic bag, filled with obviously fake fruit, but with some fresh fruit mingled in to avoid suspicions. The bag was heavy, much heavier than it had any right to be. 'Any other business for today, young Brando?'
'Yes, I have a few individuals I need to find. If you can find them, well, I would greatly appreciate your assistance,' Dio said, taking from his pocket a scrap of paper written with names, places and dates. 'Sadly, much of what I could find on them is outdated to say the least.'
Looking at the paper, the craggy faced man nodded with a smile. 'Well, we do love a good day's work here, we look forward to delivering these oranges to you in the future, young Brando.'
After paying with a smile, Dio Brando made his way home to his Arrow.
As Dio replaced the contents of the fake fruit, he pulled out his laptop once more to deal with his work, not that such things could not wait. Simply put, he had nothing else to entertain himself with. U.A. was proving to be unfulfilling, if anything, he suspected he would have had a better time as a Vigilante, at least then he would only have limited interference from local authorities.
He opened a tab, looking for local hero agencies that might serve him well for his work study. With any good fortune, there might even be one that progressed his career. 'Planet Saxon… Rainbow of dark, who names these agencies? Eh, let's see, yes. Just these two. Well, let us see this Planet Saxon…'
Somewhere close to Gibraltar, a cruise liner slid out from the Mediterranean and into the much freer Atlantic. The cruise liner headed south, keeping close to the African coast for its passengers to marvel over. Upon reaching the coast of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania, a heavy rain fell across the cruiser liner.
The ship was called the Splendid Pinion, it carried in excess of four hundred passengers, with seven hundred staff, of which eighty-seven attended to the mundane task of cleaning rooms. The ship was over a mile in length, being one of the super-liners of the many subsidiary companies of the Poseidon Arms Foundry. The ship had eight decks dedicated to passengers, fifty for a deck of over a hundred. With a width of over two hundred meters, it was truly gigantic. Few people could afford to travel in such style.
Normally, a person like Julian Helicos, an elderly-looking broad-shouldered man, would not be able to afford travel via such a fine transport. However, his former lord had left his boss, a fine man if ever there was one, with sufficient funds to last several lifetimes. Smiling, he remembered his lord. He had not been a particularly good man, not even decent, but he had charisma and power. Such simple tools, two which could have conquered the world.
Julian had left his cabin a short while earlier. He had donned dark blue fatigues, with a hidden blade in his black boots. Due to his cover story being a former general in one of the new Quirk-governed countries, he wore such clothing to match his supposed origins. He despised the Quirk-users, disgusted by them. Thankfully, his lord was in possession of a cure for them. Or rather, he had been in possession of a cure before his defeat.
The corridors of the ship were quiet, most of the passengers locked in their cabins during the torrential rains, all the while the few crew at work busied themselves with preparing for dinner, or attending to other duties. Given that his colleagues were becalmed and the pool was closed, he had no reason to stay locked in his cabin. So he walked, keeping off the main arterials and finding a measure of calm in the less-travelled stairways.
Once, before exiting to the main deck, he saw a lizard-faced Quirk-born human. Anger, disgust, hatred. These he had and always would feel when the Quirk-born crossed his mind. But acceptance, never that. They needed to be controlled.
People like Julian, Stand Users, they were few and far between, making up less than one in a million - or so he guessed. The Quirk-born, no, over eighty per cent of the world had a Quirk. Stand Users like him rarely acted out, but the Quirk-born, they had destroyed countries, almost entire sub-continents. Eastern Europe, now a mirror of the cold war with Quirk-governed nations and enclaves of Quirkless city-states. North America, well, America was fine. Mexico was now a state of Anarchy, little better than a drug den on a national level. Siberia was a prison, pure and simple. Then there were the deaths. So many, too many. Julian had lost too many people in those early days. When the world had fallen to crime. He could never trust the Quirk-born, never accept them as anything less than human.
And now he had this burden. Running about a ship crawling by Quirk-born, pretending to enjoy their company. At times, he suspected his boss was testing his loyalty, something which would never be in doubt to their shared lord. As he exited onto the rain-hammered deck, he let out a heavy sigh. He let his muscles slacken, even letting the weight of his Stand fall from him in waves of euphoria. The thing was his only connection to his past life, before his lord, before his salvation, before the Quirk-born. It reminded him of those dead and lost, those he would never meet again.
Quirk-born, such a simple term, one which he had devised in those earliest of days. Some said that it was equivalent to racism, but he did not, he saw it as a reprieve. One simple term, two words, in that he was given freedom. 'Freedom,' he breathed, testing the word, one he had not used in a long time. He remembered freedom, those memories made him smile.
He let the rain drench him, let it soak his clothes, let it clean him. He enjoyed the rain, it also reminded him of his old life, of freedom. Of home. He heard squawking, that would be Pet Shop, free to do as he pleased. He suspected that, if the falcon chose to, it could kill him in an instant. Reflecting on its Stand, Horus, and the rain, he knew that if the two did battle here, then he would surely die. Of all those who accompanied him and the remains of the lords, only one other was as deadly, if not more so, than Pet Shop. Julia, one of the so-called twins.
Now she was a woman to fear. She had joined them not long before their lords defeat. She had been a child then, aged about six or seven. In those days they could care for her. But after their lords defeat, well, Julian had relived the early days of the Quirk-born then. He was nothing if not caring for the others, even a sadist like him was capable of kindness.
Somewhere in Japan once more, a non-Japanese man was bound to his medical systems. He went about his home, controlling his movements with shifts in his malnourished muscles. He had atrophied much in the last ten years, becoming a shadow of his former self. 'C-Corswain,' he beeped. 'How goes the search for our reborn lord?'
'Very well, Mister E,' Corswain said. 'However, it seems someone has begun to make inquiries into you and the Joe… I mean, our hated enemy. Shall I have this individual taken care of?'
'No,' Mister E beeped once more. 'Our return shall soon be made. And once we are known again, such people will not matter.'