Ch. 17
Mano A Mano

DECEMBER 12TH, 1988
15:06
CALCUTTA, INDIA

"Tokyo, Hong Kong, Singapore, Burma... And now, we're finally crossing India."

Joseph had listed off the countries they had been to so far, as well as where they were going. At the moment, the group had been waiting patiently on their boat for their arrival in Calcutta. None of them could wait to get on land, where hopefully, their traveling will be easier. As if that's gonna make a difference, thought Joaquín ruefully, knowing that no matter how they travel, they'll always be attacked by more of Dio's merciless minions.

It had been a rather stressful journey thus far. Everywhere they've been, there was always at least one or two of his assassin's lying in wait. Even before they left Japan, both Joaquín and his brother had been attacked. The only true moment moments of peace they had were when they were asleep. And throughout their boat trips through Burma, save for their encounter with poor Chordette. There would be no easy rest the closer they come to Egypt.

"But, to be honest, Avdol," continued Joseph, who scratched his cheek in embarrassment, "I'm actually a bit worried about that. Don't get me wrong, Dio's Stand users are still my top concern, but… this is my first time being in India. The only image I have of that country is one filled with curry-eating, disease-ridden thieves."

"Oh, Abuelito," sighed Joaquín with embarrassment himself. "You can't just walk into a country believing in such stereotypes. That's just going to make you look like a peinabombillas."

"A what," he asked in incredulous confusion.

"Never mind. Point is, it's not gonna look good on you. Or us, for that matter."

"There is a bit of a culture gap, too," piped up Della. "I mean, we're complete foreigners in India. And their culture is far different than what we've seen in other countries." She stole a glance at Jean Pierre, who looked to be the only other person worried. Both she and her boyfriend chuckled. "I think it's going to make at least one of us sick. Maybe we should send someone back."

Mohamed couldn't help but chuckle along with her. He spoke to them all in his usual reassuring voice. "Mr. Joestar, those are simply distorted views. There is nothing to fear in India, everyone. This is a wonderful country with simple folk. I guarantee it. Now, let us not dwell on uncertainty. Calcutta awaits, my friends."

He made an excellent point. It's not right to make an assumption about a country until you've been there to experience what it had to offer. They may experience culture shock due to the different ways of the Indians, but Joaquín was certain they would all benefit from it. They could all learn something new from their time there. I can feel it. We're going to have an interesting trip here. After all, if Mohamed trusts this country, so should we.

Several minutes passed, and the group finally arrived in India. Everything about this country looked rustic thus far. Almost slum-like. But they had no time to say anything about their surroundings, as a mob of excited, loud Indians swarmed them. They weren't bad people, so they assumed. All they wanted was to offer them wares, from tattoos to currency exchange rates to even hashish marijuana. All the while, most of them beckoned with their hands and repeated the word "baksheesh".

I guess they're asking for money, realized Joaquín as he watched his grandfather swat away at flies. It was almost funny watching his discomfort. From the beggars to people sleeping on the sidewalks and a cow nonchalantly defecating on the road. It was almost everything he had imagined. The others, barring Mohamed, were showing equal signs of overwhelmed discomfort.

"Merde, I stepped in cow shit," cried out Jean Pierre in disgust.

"Hey, someone took my wallet," exclaimed Noriaki, who didn't retaliate violently.

"Hey, who touched my butt," yelped Della to a group of kids.

The only other person not phased by all this was Joutarou. Even as children were guilting him into giving them money, he did not look bothered at all. The younger of the brothers looked at his grandfather and asked over the crowd, "Jijii, are you going to order us a taxi?"

"Such an irritating crowd," mussed Joseph before looking up at his grandson. "As soon as I spot one, I will… Ah, there! Hey, taxi! Over here!" As soon as one pulled up before them, some of the crowd made a mad dash to the door. None of them were trying to get in, but rather to open the door for them with the impression that they'd be paid. "My god, this is a nightmare…"

"It could be much worse, Abuelito," said Joaquín as he stifled a laugh. "None of them are out for our blood."

He grumbled in response and tried to get into the taxi, only for the driver to stop him. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "but we cannot leave just yet." He then pointed to something blocking his taxi. It was the cow, who had decided to rest in their path. "I cannot go until the cow has finished napping. It is a sacred animal, therefore I cannot disturb it."

"Of all the dumb-" Joseph turned to a smiling Mohamed with exasperation. "A-Avdol, is this really India?!"

"Of course it is," he replied. "It's a wonderful country. All this is what makes it so great."

India, according to 19th century Englishmen, was considered the worst place on Earth. With a population of a whopping almost 850 million (a great number of whom are vagrants), it was easy to see why. But at the very least, the air was not somber like Rangoon was several days prior. It was rather peaceful. Though how long that would last given their current situation, none of them knew for certain.

Before they went to choose their hotel, they figured they could stop someplace for dinner. This time, it was Mohamed who chose for them, a rather dainty-looking restaurant that served "the finest Indian cuisine in Calcutta" according to him. Also according to him, the average exchange of one USD to rupee, the country's currency, was 20 rupees. Not a bad exchange.

"I ordered us some chai tea," said Mohamed as they all sat down. "Joaquín, have you ever drank chai before?"

"I've heard of it, but never drank," he admitted as a waiter approached with their drinks. "Is it any good?"

"Well, it is brewed with milk, sugar, and ginger. Depending on your tastes, it just might be." Joaquín, who enjoyed any tea no matter the taste, drank and fell into peace. Everyone, even his grandfather had a complacent look on their faces. "Peaceful, is it not? The point of getting used to a country is to know the depth of its pockets. In other words, Mr. Joestar, you must broaden your viewpoint to what is great rather than what is not.

"Well said, Mr. Avdol," said Della. "It's like back in New York. Sure, some places are scummy, but it's what lies underneath all that scum that makes it such a nice place."

Joutarou set down his cup and stoically added. "She's right. I like this place. It's pretty interesting." While their grandfather was shocked to hear his youngest grandson actually like a place, Joaquín was not at all surprised. If he likes a place, then there's really nothing to worry about. You've got some good taste, bro.

The only person not convinced was Jean Pierre. "India… it's quite the culture shock. I'll like it if I get used so it? Hmph." He stood up out of his seat and made his way to a bathroom. "Well, I guess I can. I mean, I am human, we can adapt to anything."

"Polnareff," called Joseph.

"Yes?"

"Aren't you gonna order something?"

"I'll let you guys order. And it better be something amazing. Something gorgeous and magnifique for my French palate." And so he went, leaving Joseph agape in disbelief.

"He's too much," muttered Joaquín. "Well, I guess that means we can choose whatever." As they all browsed their menus, they all took the time to plan out their next route. "So, I guess we don't have to worry about water for a while, huh? We can just drive a good portion of the way until we get to…"

"Pakistan," said Joseph, unfolding his map on the table for them to see. "I planned it all out on the way over. We can't pass through the Middle East. They just got out of a war with each other, and having foreigners in their land might cause some tension. So we cross Pakistan until we reach a harbor and charter a personal ship to Saudi Arabia, travel straight to the Red Sea, cross that, and we'll already be in Egypt. It sounds easy enough. We just need to take the same precautions as before."

"More so the moment we reach Egypt," said Della. "We'll be on Dio's territory. I'm sure he'll have his most dangerous henchmen there. Hopefully, by that time, my Stand will awaken." At the mention of her still dormant Stand, her expression quickly became downcast. "I do hope it's soon. I… I know I'm trying to help out, but… without one, I almost feel like I'm burdening you all."

The others looked rather hurt by this. The first to even say anything was Joutarou, much to their surprise. "Listen, you're not a burden. You help when the situation calls for it. Hell, from what I heard, you were willing to fight that monkey. Yeah, you don't have a Stand, but you don't need one to help. I should know, more than my brother and grandfather. I mean, look at me. I don't have any hamon at all."

"He's right, Della," said Joaquín, placing a comforting arm around her. "You don't need a Stand or hamon to help. Because you know what you have? Smarts. With that brain of yours, you can outsmart anyone." Quite jarringly, there was a rather girly scream coming from the direction of the bathroom. Everyone's heads turned to it, but nobody stood up just yet. "Was that Jean Pierre?"

Mohamed's eyes lit up in realization before biting down a laugh. "Oh dear. I completely forgot. This restaurant has a unique bathroom. I suppose they have not fixed it since I was last here." He turned to the others, who looked less worried and more confused. "Beneath this restaurant is a pigsty. But it was built too shallow, allowing hungry pigs to peek their heads out of the toilet in search of food."

Now it was Joaquín's turn not to laugh, and with great difficulty. He could only imagine Polnareff feeling a wide snout on his rear end the moment he sat down. "Oh g-geez. You don't think they eat-"

"Unfortunately yes. However, from what I understand, they clean up rather nicely." The others made sounds of mingled amusement and disgust. Not wanting to stay on such a topic, they all placed their orders. It didn't take too long to cook, and the food looked as incredible as they were described. But alas, nobody was able to dig in just yet. From the same direction as where they heard the scream, there was a muffled shout and the shattering of glass.

"Okay, that wasn't a pig this time!" And Joaquín shot out of his chair, running towards the bathroom. He didn't need to make it too far, for around a corner, there stood Jean Pierre and Silver Chariot before a broken mirror. He looked far from scared. "Jean Pierre, what's going on? Was it a- Hey!" His words and presence were ignored as the Frenchman made a mad dash outside. Following right behind him, he beckoned the others to come.

They were led outside the restaurant, where Jean Pierre was frantically looking around the passerby. He was growling to himself. "That Stand..! Which one of them is it..?! That bastard..! With this many people..! Fuck..!"

"Jean Pierre, what happened," asked Della. "Was it a Stand?"

"Just now… Just now that Stand has… Finally..! He's here!"

"Who are you talking about?" But as soon as he said that, Joaquín suddenly knew. The answer flashed in his mind in the form of two right hands. "J-J. Geil?! He's here?!"

He nodded. "Yes. The Stand user who uses mirrors… The bastard who murdered my sister… I've finally found him!"

It was almost jarring. They knew that they would one day have to encounter this mysterious J. Geil, but never this soon. Joaquín felt very unprepared for this. Sure, he knew that he used mirrors, but that was it. We don't know what he or his Stand look like, he thought worriedly as his eyes darted between each passerby's hands. Nor do we know how effective it is, or its range… Damn, he's right. None of these guys have the deformity. He's probably not even hiding in plain sight…

This guy… is toying with Jean Pierre.

The Frenchman turned and walked back inside the restaurant, coming back with his bag over his shoulder. He looked at nobody, but his pale eyes showed them a cold determination burning within.

"Monsieur Joestar, I must act on my own from here on out." A wave of mild shock passed throughout the group, though they knew this would be how it would play out. This was Jean Pierre's battle, not theirs. "I know Sherry's murderer is here, and I will not sit here and wait for that bastard to attack again. It's not in my nature. Plus, what will I gain if I stay and get attacked again? I'm going to find him and kill him before he does me."

"But you don't even know what this man looks like, or what his Stand can do," Joseph reasoned. But Jean Pierre was stubborn.

"All I need to know is that he has two right hands! Besides, he knows I'm pursuing him. He should be the one worried about being caught off guard!"

They all stood there as they watched their friend walk off to his inevitable failure. It seemed that nobody knew what to say to him anymore. Except for Mohamed. "He who hunts mummies will eventually become one himself."

His level words were enough to stop Jean Pierre, who looked back in acknowledgment of his proverb. He, like Joaquín, knew exactly what he meant by that. He was unprepared. And he would die.

"Polnareff, I can not allow you to leave on your own."

"What was that," Jean Pierre whispered dangerously. "You think I'm going to lose this battle?"

"I do. The enemy is among us. He attacked you on purpose in order to isolate you. Do you not understand? This is a trap, for you."

The tension was growing. Joaquín didn't need Jean Pierre's silent glare or the edge in Mohamed's voice to know an argument was about to break out. He did not want to be a part of this. And neither did Della, given how she clung to his arm with worry. He wanted to intervene, to stop them before one of them said the wrong thing. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place.

"Let's make something clear, Avdol," said Jean Pierre. "I don't care at all about Dio. I told you back in Hong Kong that I was joining you to find my sister's killer. I never said anything about hunting Dio myself." He was right, thought Joaquín bitterly, thinking back to when he first told his story. "Monsieur Joestar and his grandchildren know this. I've been alone from the very beginning, and have fought alone. They all know that this battle is mine to take."

None of the Joestars looked at him, but they knew well enough that he was right again. It was established between them that when the time came, they would not stop him, no matter what. It wasn't because they didn't care. They cared a lot, and if it were up to them, they would be the ones preventing him from leaving. But it would be for naught. And it killed Joaquín on the inside knowing that his new friend's mind would not be at swayed with J. Geil around.

"You conceited fool!" Having uttered those words, Mohamed finally gave up keeping his calm. He approached and came nose to nose with the Frenchman. "Have you forgotten that it was Dio who brainwashed you into subservience?! That it was Dio who is the culprit behind everything we have experienced thus far?!"

"You think you can fucking understand how I feel about my sister's murder," Polnareff shouted, jabbing a finger at his fortune-teller's chest. "You can't because you have never experienced losing a loved one the way I have! Ask your friends!" His finger then moved to the group. "Ask them how it feels! They know better than anyone else what it means! It's happening to them right now!"

While he knew Jean Pierre had a point, it wasn't right to bring his family into the argument. Especially involving his mother. It was now that he spoke up to intervene, his voice clear and hard. "You keep my family out of this. This is between you and Mohamed. If you bring up my mother again, I will beat your fucking face in. Now stop acting like a tonto and just stand down."

"Oh, so you want me to just do nothing, huh? Just like Avdol?" He turned back to a stunned Mohamed and sneered. "Oui, you heard me right. You ran from Dio when you first met him. I heard many things when I was under his control. And that was one of them." He managed to chuckle condescendingly. "It makes sense now. No wonder you don't understand why I'm doing this. Because you're a coward."

The blow of his words was felt all around. Mohamed, who stepped back dumbstruck could only whisper. "W-What did you say?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself. And get off me!" He slapped away Mohamed's hand, which was pressed on him the moment he rounded on him. "You have no right to give me a sermon just because I let you win back in Hong Kong!"

"How dare you..!"

"Oh, what's wrong, have I touched a nerve?" The Frenchman turned his back to him, only giving him a cold, backwards glance. "I have more of a reason to be upset than you. If you would just quit acting so high and mighty as you always do, you would understand that, Mohamed Avdol."

What little restraint Mohamed had finally broken. Eyes alight in flames, he poised his fist to punch at Jean Pierre, who was walking away. But before he could even get at him, Joseph held his arm back with no effort. The fortune-teller's flame went out under the tired gaze of his elderly friend, and the thick air around them calmed.

"That's enough," said Joseph in an almost hollow voice. "Just let him go. We knew this would happen eventually, and we all have to respect his decision. Calm down, Avdol."

He turned away, looking forlornly at the man growing further away from them. "Forgive me. I was… disillusioned. I had never thought of him like this."

None of us did, and Joaquín knew that despite the anger in his words, Jean Pierre had a point. Being someone whose loved one had fallen to a murderer, he knew just what it was like to want to avenge. Revenge is a powerful drive, and while his was not as grand, Joaquín could understand why he acted the way he did. He was toyed with, which unleashed an unstoppable inferno in Jean Pierre's heart. And it was a sad sight to see.

He looked at his grandfather and wondered just how he was taking this. What unfolded before them all was a familiar scenario to him. Two friends arguing, culminating with one of them stomping off to his inevitable demise. In his eyes, Joseph probably saw himself and Caesar Zeppeli all over again. It must have shaken him badly, for he didn't quite meet Mohamed's eyes when he stopped him. No wonder he didn't speak up. History's repeating itself. There was nothing he could do.

But that doesn't mean there's nothing I can't do…

~+JO*JO+~

Without Jean Pierre around, a cloud of worry hung over them. There was always a joke to be had around him. Everything felt more relaxed and jovial during their stressful journey. And now that he was gone, possibly for good, the same stress they felt the moment they left Japan reared its ugly head again. Their dinner did not sit well in their stomachs when they returned to the restaurant. And nobody said a word before or after checking into the Hotel Grand.

Not even Joaquín, who had spent the night consoling a crying Della in his arms. Jean Pierre was their friend, no matter what happened. And it wasn't fair that he was throwing his life away all for the sake of blind revenge. Something needed to be done before he was killed. Which was why before they went to sleep, he made her a promise. In the morning, he was going to go look for him. And against his better judgment, he was going to help him.

He wasn't going to let history repeat with another vengeful youth dying alone.

The next morning came, and so did the rain. Under normal circumstances, Joaquín would have waited for the sky to clear up, or at least get a jacket. But there were no jackets to spare, and he could not waste any time not searching for Jean Pierre. He had to chance it. So before he left, he shared a kiss with Della and said, "I'll be back. We both will. Let the others know, okay?" And with that, he took off into the town in search for his friend.

Finding him wasn't difficult. The townsfolk all pointed out where he walked off, all of them being asked about a man with two right hands. Naturally, they never met the freak, and they were better off. He'd probably kill them just for looking at him funny, he thought as he continued his search through the rain. It didn't take long before he managed to find a rather frantic Jean Pierre crossing the street. He noticed Joaquín and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Joaquín?" His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed as he approached with purpose. "What are you doing here?

"My grandfather lost his friend in battle after an argument," he said upon facing him. "I'm not letting history repeat with mine."

"I don't need-"

"I'm not saying we can kill him together. That privilege is yours and yours alone. But just working on your own is gonna end with you getting killed before you can even strike him down. Trust me. I know what it's like to want revenge. You need to keep yourself level and not do anything rash. Besides, I made a promise to Della that we'd both be okay."

The Frenchman's gaze softened an a sigh escaped him. He seemed to reach him much better than Mohamed could. "Alright, fine. You can join me. Just don't get in my way, understand?" He did, and the two made their way into a rather busy street. As the passerby went about their daily routine, the two men approached one of the homeless sitting alone against a building. "You, have you seen a man with two right hands around here," asked Jean Pierre.

He nodded. A cold wave that had nothing to do with the rain pierced them.

"Y-You've seen him," asked Joaquín. "Where? Show us where they went."

The man raised his finger and pointed towards the crowded street. Two distinct figures were making their way towards them. One of them looked like a cowboy, a wide-brimmed hat and a tannish-yellow, tunic-like shirt. The other was wearing an open vest and what looked like an fancy beret. They noticed right away that the rain was not hitting him, his body enveloped by some invisible dome of sorts. There's no need to check his hands. This guy is him. It's J. Geil…

"Which one is it?! Where's that bastard?!"

"Huh?" Jean Pierre's shout had startled him somewhat. When he looked back at where the homeless man had pointed, he was shocked to discover that it was only the cowboy approaching. "Wait, wasn't J. Geil with him," Joaquín asked with the same confusion as his friend.

"That's impossible," he growled. "He can't have just disappeared!"

But he did. And as the rain slowed to a halt and the clouds parted to the light of the sun, it became obvious that there was only one person now. And he stopped just a few feet from them. Looking at him closer, he could tell he was quite a mature man with long blonde hair and a broad chin. His hazel eyes and dimpled smile were filled with cocky confidence. It was as if he were ready for an old-fashioned Western stand-off.

"The gun is mightier than the sword," he spoke with a Western drawl. "That's some quote, innit?"

"Who the hell are you," asked Jean Pierre as they watched the man stick a cigarette in his mouth.

"Hol Horse. That's my name. And the Stand I wield is 'Emperor', right from the card of the same name. It's pretty obvious for y'all at this point that Dio's paid me somethin' nice to rub you out."

"Look, you Western prick, we don't need you to introduce yourself. Where's the man with two right hands? Do you know him?"

Hol Horse looked amused at Jean Pierre's anger. "You're a pushy little bastard, ain'tcha? Well, since you're so desperate to know, I figure I can tell you… You see…

"He came with me. And he's right nearby."

So he was with him, thought Joaquín. We weren't just seeing things. "Tell us where he is," he demanded.

"It don't matter whether he's here or not. Cause it's ol' Hol Horse who's gonna clean you boys up."

"You sure are full of yourself," said Jean Pierre, hands on his hips. "Everyone like you has said the same thing, and they all met the same end!" Their assailant simply scoffed at this threat. "What, do I amuse you?"

"It's not that. It's just somethin' Lord Dio told me. He said that you, Polnareff, are the type of guy that don't take things seriously. And that you, Joaquín, are quite an emotional kid who feels he has to protect everyone. Beating you both would be a walk in the park. That's why I was laughing. Because he's right. Heh…"

Joaquín's eye twitched. Dio was right about him, but it was that drive to protect that saved their skins several times. And he would continue to do so until the day he died. He clenched his fists and made an inviting gesture to come at them. "If you wanna think that about us, that's fine by me. But that's not gonna stop us from kicking your ass before we hunt down J. Geil."

Hol Horse scoffed again. This whole time, he had not lit the cigarette bouncing in his mouth as he spoke. "Y'all ever play military chess? Like Stratego? The tanks are stronger than the soldiers but stronger than that are the landmines. Same principles apply to battle. Me bein' Hol Horse, my Emperor is stronger than your Silver Chariot and Preciosa. Since I'm a nice guy, I figure I can clue you in on my Stand's ability before we fight. It's all right in the quote I gave y'all earlier:

"'The gun is mightier than the sword.' Damn, that sounds so nice."

"And your point is..?"

"Simply put, my Stand's a handgun. And last I checked, neither a fist or sword can't beat a gun."

"I'm sorry, did you say our fists and sword can beat your bum," teased Jean Pierre as he cupped his ear. "I didn't know you swung that way."

And with that crack, the tension between them all diffused into raucous laughter. The joke wasn't that funny, but just hearing it was enough to make them all forget that they were meant to be enemies. Joaquín had to hold onto his friend's shoulder because he could barely stand from his laughter. Across from them, Hol Horse was holding his gut and wiping his tearing eyes. For a brief moment, they were all chums sharing a laugh.

Then the laughter stopped.

"I'm gonna kill you, bastard," they all shouted, and out came their Stands. Preciosa and Silver Chariot burst forth, and materializing in Hol Horse's hand was a uniquely crafted revolver. It was his Stand, Emperor.

"Y'all underestimated me, and now y'all are gonna lose," shouted Hol Horse , discarding his cigarette into the air as he took aim and fired. A single golden bullet was whizzing straight at them. Preciosa was already poised to catch and break it, and Silver Chariot had discarded his armor. It was only a bullet. Whether it came from a Stand or not, they would break it all the same. But when Silver Chariot, closest of the two, went to slice the bullet, something frightening happened.

The bullet flew around it, and it was now headed towards Preciosa.

He swiftly shot at it, but his fingers could only pinch air. The bullet curved around his hand as well. I-Impossible, Joaquín thought alarmed. The bullet's trajectory changed! T-That means that the bullet's a part of the Stand! Shit!" They had made the grave error of underestimating Hol Horse's ability. Now they were going to pay the price. Before any of them could move, someone called out to them.

"Polnareff! Joaquin! Move!"

And the two were pushed out of the way. It was none other than Mohamed who brought them onto the ground. The bullet flew by them and curved overhead. They had been saved.

"M-Mohamed", spoke a shocked Joaquín. "W-What're you doing here?" When the fortune-teller looked up, it was clear that there was a serious concern in his scarred face.

"I came because you both had me worried," scolded Mohamed. "What on earth were you both thinking?! You, Polnareff, for being too full of yourself and not heeding my words! And you, Joaquín! You ran off and left your girlfriend worried sick! She was in tears when you left!"

"I did what I thought was right!" They all stood up, and while his anger wasn't as great as Jean Pierre's, he felt a bit upset that he was being reprimanded. "I wasn't going to let my friend die!"

Jean Pierre almost got into his face again. "You were worried about us," he growled in annoyance. "You bastard, you're probably here to lecture me again, aren't you?!"

"I was worried because the enemy knows about you both! Especially you, Polnareff! You told us that you have been fighting alone, but you have to realize that there are times where you need help in battle! This is one of those times!"

Dios santo, this isn't the time for- His thoughts stopped short when he looked into the air. The bullet had curved again, and was flying straight for- "Mohamed, stop, it's coming straight for you!"

He didn't need to be told twice. "Then I shall burn it to ash," he cried. "Magician's Red!" At the call of his name, the flaming bird burst forth from behind his master. Both were ready to scorch the bullet, and for that moment, they all believed it. Until he let out a pained grunt, that was. Both Joaquín and Jean Pierre turned to see that Mohamed was staggering backwards, his eyes focused on a puddle behind him. Blood was spurting from a sudden wound on his back.

"T-The puddle," he gasped.

And then the bullet made its mark on Mohamed's forehead.

Time slowed for them all. They watched in horror as their friend was thrown off his feet and onto his back. Magician's Red fizzled away into stray embers. The now torn, bloodied bandanna he wore around his head floated down beside the puddle, a cruel metaphor of its wearer's defeat. This isn't happening, thought Joaquín numbly as he watched Noriaki appear from nowhere and kneel beside their fallen comrade. He's not dead... There's no way he could have been killed... Not like this... Not like this..!

Hol Horse had spoken up again, but his eyes were still on Mohamed. "God damn, that was scary! I was sure my gun and J. Geil's mirrors were gonna have a tough time with his fire. Out of everyone, Avdol's the only one I was worried about. Man, am I lucky! Looks like that one scary piece in this game of military chess has been eliminated."

Joaquín turned to Jean Pierre, and was about to say something before he noticed how stony his face looked. The Frenchman was staring at him as well, but then spat at the ground before averting his entire gaze. He then muttered the last thing they wanted to hear in this situation. "That's what he gets for his constant preaching. Now look what happened."

Both him and Noriaki were taken aback by this. Their friend had just been murdered, and here he was still acting stubborn over wanting to fight on his own.

"I never asked for anyone's help," Jean Pierre spoke aloud. "This happened all because he likes to come unannounced and meddle in others' affairs. People like him are nothing but a burden. That's why I wanted to come alone."

"How… How dare you," uttered Joaquín, the words sinking in and fueling his growing anger. "He sacrificed his own life to save you, just as I would have done. How can you be so ungrateful, you piece of-" He stopped when he saw Jean Pierre shaking where he stood. Something was dripping at his feet. When he turned to look at them with an anguished look on his face, he knew what it was.

"I'm sick of it," he choked through his tears. "I'm so sick of seeing the people I care about dying because of me! I can't stand it!"