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Jack Flash EVENING
June 6th, 1988
A shady club, Miami, Florida

The Catscratch Club sits in a seedy corner of one of Miami's shadier neighborhoods. A known criminal meeting place among those with any criminal intel, despite this, it hasn't been shut down. With a neon sign of a dancing girl at the top, it's clear this is a place for people who want to get up to bad stuff.

Inside are neon lights, various tables and chairs with terribly patterned upholstery, and a disco dancefloor with pretty young things dancing the night away. At several of the booths sit men in cheap suits, rare are the nice ones. In the back is a bar, with a stern older man creating drinks. Bouncers walk the floor, coats hiding whether or not they're armed, and in what appears to be a VIP section, a pair of men in /terrible/ suits, one lime green and one pink, drink with gorgeous ladies, wearing sunglasses inside.

Jack Flash, private eye, dressed in a hat and a Members Only jacket, steps into the club, short dark hair, eyes hidden by his hat enough to help him. A bouncer steps up to get the cover fee, and asks his name. Jack just narrows his eyes at him.

"I'm here about Johnny Angel."

The bouncer's eyes widen, and he steps back. After a few moments, he's about to call the rest of the bouncers over, when Jack just coldcocks him in the face, stopping the party instantly. And then, in the corner of any ally's eyes, a strange purplish shadow manifests...

And most of the lights go out. Or, not go out, necessarily, but the darkness spreads, causing chaos in the club. "It's showtime, ladies and gentlemen. Let's find the boss and get some damn answers out of 'em!"

Anyone who makes a hostile action, such as Jack, gets a pistol drawn on them by one of the three remaining bouncers, shot if they continue to make aggressive maneuvers, as the men at the booths, over a dozen, start standing up. The VIP section, meanwhile, is starting to open up. The two men in colorful suits are about to walk out. It's time for a showdown!
Nameless      Hostile action is made.

     There is a crash. The sound of glass being shattered by a fast-moving object. A table is crushed, turned into chippings and dust. Glass rains down, caught in the flashing neon lights. The dust becomes a laser show, the entry for a rock band, for all of a minute. Then the drums of war start to play. Hammers on the back of bullets. The ugly wet thud of a man being shot in the head at point-blank range.

     What emerges from the dust is a man with dark skin and white hair, with gold eyes that catch the light, with two wicked-looking guns in his hands.

     "I am the bone of my sword."

     The words run through the air like fire. He drops one of the guns. It hangs there in the air as a bullet comes to life in his fingers, gold spiderweb cracks merging along his fingers as he slots it into the gun.

     He levels the weapon at one of the fleeing men.

     Bang.

     "Lost Nail."

     Just before the lights go out and the darkness devours the spasming neon Pollock painting that is the club, the bullet trails golden loops of light. They're forming a chain. The bullet is a spike. The chain is linked to the end of the slick red gun.

     Darkness.
Abigail Barton Among the throngs of people in the nightclub itself, among those partygoers and reveling in their excess, among those serving drinks and serving as eye candy is an orange-haired woman in a white jacket and a black dress. She hasn't been there for long, but she's already poured a few drinks here and there for various people, brushing their hands briefly before sneaking away to get the attention of those closer to the VIP area only to disappear from their sight as well.

When the true festivities start around Jack Flash, she starts to make her move. She's freaking out just like the other people in the club that aren't shooting at Jack and company, but she's not running towards the exits. No, she's running further in towards the VIP section, pleading for help from anyone that can take her to safety inside away from whoever those crazies shooting and punching people are. She's making sure to grip and grab at the arms or jackets of whoever she can to get said help, of course, leaving behind traces of an odd orange substance that might be overlooked compared to the guy punching people in the face or the one shooting people trying to escape.

Just in case JAM Project needs somewhere to start.
Sylvi June 6th, 1988
A Wonderful Establishment Full Of Delightful Gentlemen.

Inside, flanked on both sides by a one Absolutely Definitely A Mafioso, at an especially smoke-choked table, is a young woman in black. Black hair that pool to either side of her front streaked down both sides with hot pink, black choker, black top missing any sort of strap or cloth across her neck or shoulders, black skirt that stops above her knees, black stockings, and no shoes.

Well, she probably has shoes, but she is engaging in an absolutely heroic sprawl across the two men besides her. Neither seem very 'there', but the young woman has an impressive spread of empty bottles of all sorts, an ashtray with at least two dozen smashed-in cigarette butts leaving a sickeningly thick cloud of stale tobacco, and a few plates of cold, mushy finger food barely paid any attention to.

As someone bursts in the front door, the young woman raises up her socked foot to shove her toes into one of the gorked-out mafioso's faces. "Hey. Someone's at the door. Hey. Hey useless. Hey. Do your job, or whatever it is you do."

Dumbly, the man stands up, trying to find his hat and instead picking up the young woman's right shoe and placing it atop his head shortly before the back of his head ventilates with hot lead and splatters gore all over the C-shaped couch and the pale-skinned woman.

Who looks utterly impressed. "Lame."

She grabs the second man by the collar, weilding him by the tie to shove in the way of the gunmen arranging themselves at the door, before righting herself.

Sitting up and dropping her legs down in front of her unsteadily. She spends long, dark, gunfire-filled moments finding a cigarette in the dead man's coat pocket, before muttering to herself.

"Stupid... lighter..." she mutters, before a wick of flame erupts before her face highlighting her neon pink hair-streaks and odd blue eyes.

Drawing a puff of the cigarette, and lit by the flickering paper of her burning cancer-stick, she rises from her couch. "May as well see if the crazed gunmen are any fun. Heyyyyyyyy! Crazed gunmen! Wanna buy a girl a drink?" She calls, directly to the dark-skinned magic bullet lunatic chainshooting thugs. The 'absolutely normal' detective is barely a blip on her radar, even as he charges in to start blowing away thugs that return fire with the deafening bark of period weapons.
Jack Flash Sylvi would know that this club is absolutely full of gangsters, just by spending time with them. They're horrible people. But they have good drinks.

A man with guns drops out of the skylight. Instantly, a head is blown open as a man slumps to the ground, and there's screaming from the sounds of gunfire. Bullets fly at Nameless, as his spike bullet slams into the pink-suited man's shoulder, causing him to scream. There's just barely enough light to see what happens next, as the two men manifest something. Stands.

One is tall and grey, with fingerless cylinders for hands, and a spherical head, the top half oblong and rotating like a radar dish. This one stays near the pink-suited man.

The other, with the green-suited man, is short but lean, silver with black and white wire-like protrusions along its body, pulsing slightly after a few seconds. There's no rhythm to the pulsing,. The green-suited man speaks up, diplomatically but clearly panicked, as a woman pushes past him and leaves orange goo on him. He doesn't notice because of the commotion.

"Hey, hey, we don't need to fight in here! Let's just take five, shall we?"

There's an oozing confidence from him a few moments later, and then, the pink-suited brother's Stand moves to try and rip the spike out of him with light superhuman strength, even as he's stuck to it and possibly being whipped around or pulled towards Nameless. It also glows lightly

Nameless will definitely have a hell of a time, though. The gunmen refocus on him after kicking up some tables as cover, and their aim and reflexes are...much better. They also clearly have a plan, despite no one talking to each other. It involves coordinating positions and movement to focus as much fire on Nameless as possible without threatening each other, which may make it difficult for him to stay in one spot. Their accuracy allows them to mostly miss Sylvi, but it's still quite dangerous for her to be in the middle of the firing range.

"You're making a mistake." These are the Blues Brothers, the men Jack Flash was interrogating before. The pink-suited one, with the spike inside him, is the one to speak up, clearly having a plan up their sleeve.

Jack Flash, meanwhile, draws his own pistol and starts dealing with the bouncers himself, but he's not as efficient as Nameless is. He can get one or two off of him immediately, but there's still a whole slew of gunfire coming straight at him. And as the Stands show themselves, Jack shouts out. "Watch out! Those are enemy stands!"

Real helpful, Jack.
Nameless      The Nameless gunslinger says nothing to the man who asks him not to start a fight. It's far too late for that. If you wanted civility you should have been civil.

     The woman gets a glance. The gunman chuckles. It's a distant chuckle, the sound of a man who doesn't really laugh at much. "If you don't mind being disappointed, I'll mix you one afterwards." Of course he knows how to make drinks. He jerks the chain backwards in an attempt to drag the man in the pink suit to him.

     He's met with resistance from the Enemy Stand. It whips the pink-suited man around. It struggles with him. He struggles with it.

     "Trace, on."

     Gold cracks spread around his eyes and ears. They spread along his arm. His gold eyes glow the same brilliant color, the cracks in pottery. He gives the chain a fierce jerk as he rolls backwards, both to get himself out of the firing range and drag the Stand into it.

     He's made his way behind a booth. He's holding one gun. The other one is holding itself in the air. He's bleeding from a number of shots, either ones that managed to catch him dead-on in the chest or the head or ones that grazed his uncovered arm. His red-clad arm is already fine. Little blades are knitting flesh back together piece by piece. It'd be more disturbing to watch if the lights were on.

     "Take care of them," Nameless says in the direction of the snake woman, "And I'll make a meal for you, too."

     His tone is dead but it's not sarcastic!
Abigail Barton This will do nicely. With the gunmen focusing their fire on the more obvious threats while the man in the green suit suggests diplomacy, Abigail can move on to stage two of her plan. She starts grabbing whatever bottles of booze she can find, gathering them in her dress before hastily finding a counter to take cover behind.

Abigail takes a swig, cricks her neck, then starts tossing them at the ground near the man in the green suit. With any luck, enough of those bottles will break and leave the floor nice and covered in alcohol. It probably wouldn't be much of a tripping hazard or a danger on its own, but as luck would have it...

The nameless gunman tosses a flare her way. That's actually rather convenient. Standing briefly to get a better bead on where to aim, Abigail winds up, then tosses that flare right into the pool of glass and booze, trying to light Green Suit right up!

The orange ooze lingers. It's just sticking to his suit, but it doesn't seem to do anything.
Sylvi The Blues Brothers, who Sylvi had categorically ignored because their suits were of a terrible color and that automatically disqualified you from notice if you decided to dress that way, have a bunch to say. Like taking a break.

Sylvi draws her cigarette from her cupid's bow lips and shakes her head, snorting out a thick cloud of smoke. A handful of meaty yet dry 'thunks' and then metal clatters as she re-settles her stance around the impacts of bullets, flattened discs of ballistic metal tumbling to the ground making superficial rips in her black top or blowing holes in her skirt. It doesn't overmuch phase her, physically, but her eyes narrow with each impact.

"Nah." She finally answers Nameless, having approached the mad gunman's booth and leaned over it while still being essentially 'shot directly at', leaning in with crossed arms perched on the lip of the booth, one leg cocked up and waving back and forth as her sock drips with blood and spilled alcohol.

"I really think I want a drink now. That's how this works, right? I'm the pretty girl in the bar, so you buy me drinks. A leads to B. That's the only reason you make shitty bars like this, right? Well, that, and stupid gun fights.

She's shot again, a magical bullet causing her to nearly tumble aside, her eyes flashing a bright green.

"HEY! MORONS! I'M TALKING TO THE HOT ANGRY GUY, PISS OFF!"

Her nose snorts smoke once, before she unleashes a raging inferno from her mouth of smoky flame like a wall of fire between Nameless, Sylvi, and the Leitmotif Gang. The fire eagerly leaps to the alcohol-soaked boards, beginning to fill the room with a choking smoke.

Sylvi rolls her head back to Nameless. "And, yeah. I wasn't asking."

One hand uncoils from her crossed arms, fingers spreading before digging into the booth's side and with a creaking, ripping, sharp tearing force, picks up the booth (and Nameless with it, unless he acts fast), and throwing it directly towards the bar counter area.

"I said I wanted a DRINK, so MAKE me one!" She shouts, fists clenching and unclenching.

"Doesn't anyone in this FUCKING bar have a pair of ears?!"
Jack Flash Nameless makes his way behind a booth, dragging the Stand into the firing range. The pink-suited man's eyes widen. But then, in the same moment, he calms, and suddenly - the Stand rolls. It still gets hit by several bullets, but what was a death sentence is now just painful, for both Stand and wielder. The green-suited man and his Stand are about to rush towards Nameless and Start A Problem, when...

The booth is just thrown at the bar. That's a problem. There's also a molotov being tossed at his suit, which sets him on fire and causes him to scream, and then drop, stop, and roll the fire out, clearly injured and not wanting to deal with this. He starts moving for the door.

The gunmen moves to reload and refocus, when...

Around them, the shadows thicken, and some of them start getting lifted off the ground by an unknown force. They get thrown.

In Sylvi's direction.

As Jack clears out the bouncers, it's clear that the unknown force actually Belongs To Him, and he's trying to Help by dealing with the super strong crazy woman. This might just cause more problems.

The Blues Brothers are both trying to flee since there's crazy people. They can be stopped, especially by Abigail, but it's sure to be one hell of a fight. As they start to flee, one of them shouts, "Don't fuck with the Leitmotif Mafia! We'll kick your ass!" The other shouts "Yeah!"
Nameless      Making a flare is easy. It's a snap of his fingers. It's a shot of gold in his thumb. It's almost no expenditure at all. The Nameless gunner just tosses it over in the vague direction of Abigail, and she catches it to use it to set someone on fire. Nameless already likes her more than he likes a lot of people. That's a good common-sense use of a flare.

     Sylvi walks over in the middle of the gunfight and demands a drink. He doesn't even sigh. He's not EMIYA. He's a man without a name. So as she moves to hurl the booth, he rolls past her and behind the bar. There's probably a bartender down there. He doesn't really care. He stands up, one hand on his gun, the other in mid-air, both firing apparently-carelessly into the crowd.

     He's not firing carelessly, but it sure looks like he is as he grabs a pair of bottles off the shelf. He flicks the red gun forward, sending it hurtling like a dagger, and pops the bottles open, pouring them into a mixer. The gun embeds itself in someone's head. Then it disappears.

     The nameless gunner snaps his fingers, and the other gun falls into his hand as he shakes the drink. Then he pours it into a glass and slides it down the bar in the direction of Sylvi. A bullet catches him in the chest, punching through his shoulder. Another bullet catches him between the eyes, and his head tilts back from the force.

     It swings forward. Tiny blades, knitting flesh. Tiny swords. Golden light. He's not regenerating. He's rebuilding. It might not even be conscious.

     He brings up the white gun.

     "I am the bone of my sword."

     A bullet falls into his hand. It's red. It's a spiral. He presses it into the loading slot and fires it at the door above the Brothers.

     "Lost Caladbolg."

     It is a shot meant to delay them. Abigail can stop them. She's closer and better-positioned. This is just helping her out as he mixes her daqiri.
Abigail Barton From her position behind the counter, Abigail's getting a decent idea of what everyone's shtick is. Between Jack's Stand throwing those bouncers around and the gunman riddling the man in the pink suit full of bullets, it's easy enough to tell that they're working together. The lady in black hurling fire and furniture around is harder to place, and Abigail actually has to get up (with appropriate civilian-like panicking) to flee to a less on-fire part of the club.

Unfortunately, that's right in the path of the fleeing Blues Brothers. If she had only gone to the right or towards another exit, she'd be able to use JAM Project without raising too many eyebrows! Since they're running nearby, though, she'll just have to improvise. What's there to work with, though?

Nameless' delay might be a good starting point. As she runs, she veers too close to a table and slams her leg into it, 'tripping' and landing in a heap right in Pink-Suit's path. As she does that, JAM Project springs to life, sliding around Green-Suit's... Suit as it works its magic in enfeebling both his and Abigail's legs. She's already on the ground, but he might just be in for a nasty fall if he can't get that orange goop off him!
Sylvi Pink and Green - the Leitmotif Mafia - make their attacks against Nameless, and the Mafioso Goons fire like stormtroopers down-range at the booth, Sylvi, and the Brood Brotha. Really, it's brother on brother violence.

More bullets zing and swing and ping through the air. More direct hits on Sylvi do 'not a whole lot', usually drawing momentary flares of ire or snarling obscenities under her breath.

"God-bothering fucking amateur hour." She growls, as Nameless does what he's told. Her gaze follows his work - his actually pretty dope work, mixing gunplay and... mixing... together.

"Finally. Someone that does what their told. At least I only had to repeat myself once." She grunts audibly, as shadows thicken around her, as she's dogpiled by ragdoll goons.

The first upon her isn't so much a 'body' that 'connects' with her as it connects with the lashing out of her claw-fingered hand, the upper torso of the goon exploding in a shower of gore as she closes her fist aroud his face.

More and more bury her, but the dull crunching becomes a gory mess as she shoulders out of the pile with a bug-eyed and broad shouldered man. One arm embraces him around the neck, her arm choking out his windpipe as her other hand holds him faux-tenderly around the ear.

She spins his neck so hard the sound of his spine unseating like a wine bottle being corked out by a screw echoes through the room.

"DIDN'T I TELL YOUR LIMP-DICKED FAKE-ASS LIGHTWHATEVERS TO PISS OFF? TAKE YOUR POSER SHADOW-WEAVER WITH YOU!" She screams roughly, her voice barely feminine and rumbling with a depth that is altogether too booming to be a young woman. Or even a woman at all.

With her hyperviolence concluded and covered with a glaze of blood running down her face and neck and hair and clothes, wetly smacking on her bare socks, she grips the drink Nameless mixed for her, and shotguns the entire highball with one knock-back slug.

"Tingly. Not bad."

Turning to the rear exit, Sylvi shouts a raucous "IF YOU AIN'T RUNNING NOW, BABIES, I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO RUN FROM!"
Jack Flash The mobsters are turned into pinatas. Blown apart by Nameless, and then torn apart by Sylvi when Jack throws the rest at her. The green-suited man shouts at this time. "I said, [Take Five]!" Nothing happens as he shouts what is obviously his Stand's name, except for the wires pulsing again. But there's no noticable effect. The green-suited man falls and screams, as his brother tries to help him up, after the Caladbolg shot stops their escape.

Meanwhile, the pink-suited brother's Stand glows again, and one of the guys getting shot at...survives. The bullet impacts with his shoulder, but only shallowly, as he suddenly rushes at Abigail with speed faster than he had before. He grabs a chair.

He moves to start bashing the chair into the paralyzed woman. There's bone-breaking force behind it, over, and over, and over again. Something happened to him, to turbocharge him like this. One of the Stands must of did it.

Jack stumbles towards the bar, the weird shadow disappearing, to get his drink when it's ready. He turns to Sylvi first. "You're fucking terrifying." And then, he pauses, and continues. "Leitmotif Mafia. That sounds like what I heard Johnny Angel's gang is. But those two weren't Stand users before...how the hell did they get that power?" After he takes his drink, he's preparing to head back over...but the brothers may have escaped by then, if Abigail or the others don't have a plan!
Abigail Barton That should keep the brothers off their feet for a good bit. It's hard to really see what's going on from the floor, though, and it takes a bit just for Abigail to turn herself over to see what's going on when she hears Green-Suit going down.

And then someone starts bashing the crap out of her with a chair. The sudden onset of chair to the body actually catches her off guard, and she screams in pain when it feels like something's breaking or cracking inside! She quickly realizes that just pretending to be a civilian at this point won't really help her much. As the shot mobster brings his chair up for another swing, Abigail whips a pen out of her sleeve at his eye. It's not just any pen, though, but an explosive pen-knife that'd be fatal for a normal person if it got thrown at that force!

Yes, she had to make sure it was an exploding one. The chair shots already hurt too much for a normal person to be capable of, so she has to be doubly sure it'll stop him in his tracks!
Nameless      One of the goons, probably hoping to cover the brothers, starts running forward, beating Abigail with a chair. The Nameless gunman, having already finished mixing both the daqiri and the rum and coke, hops over the bar and surges forward. Gold lines glow around his feet. He moves lightning-fast.

     The goon is distracted with Abigail.

     This means that he is easy pickings.

     It's like watching ballet, except very, very messy and very, very murderous. The dark-skinned man shoots forward like a bullet. The pistols grow blades, golden light sketching out wicked swords as if someone took a pencil to the world and colored them in.

     He slides in as Abigail whips out her explosive pen-knife. He's not trying to save her. Her life is literally meaningless to him. No, he's taking advantage of something entirely different.

     As she throws the pen at the man, he moves to drive the red blade-gun through the man's head and shoot clean through it to the other side.

     To whichever brother is on the other side.
Sylvi "Fuckin' moron thinks if you call time out someone's gonna do it." Sylvi snorts, as Jack reaches the bar. The bar with an entire booth lodged into the upper area of it, leading to a dripping mess of glass and hard liquor.

As Nameless leaves the bar to go shoot people, Sylvi slides over the top of it, reaching around under the counter for a spigot.

It's pretty hilarious - and Sylvi laughs openly - as a cripple gets beaten to death with a chair, but she's now on a mission. "Yep, I'm the best. Don't forget it." She asides to jack, finding a spigot with two thumb-buttons. Aiming it at her mouth, she depresses the one on the left, and is blasted like a dog with a garden hose with seltzer water.

Nodding affirmatively, she starts hosing down her hair and face with the fizzy carbonated water, the colors of her hair and even eyes 'running' as she does so. Some color begins to fill her pale skin, as if she washed away powder with the blood.

When she finishes, she's still in the same (now soaking wet and clinging to her) outfit, but almost entirely changed. Her arms and shoulders thickened with muscle, her hair long and unkempt and silver-white. Her eyes rest at a cold lime green.

Tossing the water/soda spigot aside, she reaches for a bottle of well whiskey and snaps the top with her thumb casually, upending the bottle into her mouth.

"Sho. You some sort of cop?" She asks Jack Flash, trying to get eyes on Nameless breaking a badly dressed man's neck with his big, strong, swordy hands. Or street justice execute him!

Haaaaah, the classics.
Jack Flash Abigail draws an explosive pen knife and throws it at the goon. He's stopped in his tracks, but it doesn't kill him. What kills him is Nameless's bullet that rips through him, and impacts into the pink-suited brother, who goes down, heavily wounded. "Brother!" Green-suit shouts, but is urged on to escape, and does so as the pink-suited brother's stand moves to cover his escape.

"You want me to talk? Fine, fine...I don't want to die."

Jack, meanwhile, downs his rum and coke, and talks to Sylvi for a moment as he starts to head back. "Not anymore. I'm a private eye. I do this for cash, not the goodness of my heart." He's kind of lying.

Jack moves over to the Blues Brother, and crouches down. "Where'd you get that Stand? Where's Johnny Angel?"

"The demon...the demon gave it to us. I don't know how. Johnny...I've never met him! The demon gave us the power, I blacked out, and then from there on, we met with a guy named Baritone. Big dude, muscular, could probably throw a car. I don't know anything else."

"I give up, just throw me to the police. Beats dying, doesn't it?" Pink-suit says, pleading eyes looking at Nameless. Jack turns around, grabs a cigarette, and lights it. "I have a contact, if we want to throw him to the ICU with cuffs." And then, he steps over to give Abigail a hand and make sure she's not, well, dead.
Nameless      "Yes," The Nameless gunner says, "It does beat dying."

     There is a whole breath in between those words coming out of his mouth and the bullet leaving the gun directly for the Blues Brother's head.

     There's no speech. There's no dramatic sting. There's no 'shouldn't've done that' or 'if you wanted to live you should've stayed straight and narrow.' This isn't that kind of man. This is the kind of man who can just shoot someone with cold eyes. Who can then turn, offer a hand to Abigail, and then walk back over to the bar and say "what do you want to eat?" to the room (but mostly Sylvi) coated in another man's lifeblood.

     Which he does.
Abigail Barton That was much more painful than anticipated. Abigail's still seeing stars even after the goon goes down, not noticing right away that the pink-suited brother follows him soon after. Nameless' gunshot to the head barely even draws a flinch from the temporarily paralyzed woman, although she's still a little weak-legged by the time Jack and Nameless help her back up to her feet.

"Thank you both. Hm... Something stir-fried sounds good. Maybe... In a wrap." Indeed, she's favoring her non-battered side as she takes a seat at the bar, likely making her choice due to having one mostly functional arm!

She really should've asked about the payment earlier ,but... She'll make do later.
Sylvi From her position at the bar, with a bottle of whiskey that she had upended like she was setting up a water cooler and downed like a drain, not someone drinking, Sylvi watches Nameless street justice execute a dude for beating up a cripple with a chair.

"Boooooooo, do a flip!" Sylvi calls, one hand cupped around her mouth, before snorting at Jack. "Fine. A snitch. Not a cop."

The roll of her eyes is a captivating moment, even if it is sarcastic.

As Nameless moves over to start cooking, Sylvi tears part of the wall-lodged booth - part of the C-shaped seat, to be specfic, and flops into it, in a full masculine sprawl, legs akimbo and shoulders slouched. "You OK there, cripple girl? Real ironic, considering they were beating you with a chair!" She snickers.

"So, why are the Leet-jag mafia a big deal? They have superpowers? They have shit taste? They're so garish they deserve death for their eeeeevil crimes?"
Jack Flash Jack replies to Sylvi. "Not a snitch. I don't have a great relationship with the police, otherwise I wouldn't be in a shootout, yeah?" When she asks about the Leitmotif Mafia, Jack explains what he knows. "They seem to have Stands, which are, as far as I know, the manifestation of your Fighting Spirit as stupid superpowers. I have one, but I didn't get it from no demon. Their boss is a guy named Johnny Angel, someone who was supposed to have died in a building explosion years ago. Somehow, he's still alive. Very big deal in the Miami crime scene."

Jack pulls out a stack of business cards, passing one to each of the three people. "I should scram before the cops get here. Stay in touch and when I get a lead on that Baritone guy, we can kick his ass."

And then, Jack leaves. But the cops don't come for another fifteen minutes, and their response is limited. How very odd.