Interlude 2.

He was an old man, long used to waking up in the middle of the night with pressing matters to attend to, and when walking through the dark rooms of his home he heard it. A voice, humming softly a few rooms away.

It was male, he realized with a chill. With only him, his wife and his adopted daughter here, and with no servants having been called, it had to be an intruder. Reasons as to why anyone would break into his home raced through his worn mind as he moved as stealthily as he could towards the phone in the living room. His vision had deteriorated heavily the past decade, but he knew these rooms like the back of his hand. It was only a moment before-

The voice, one several rooms away suddenly shifted to come from a place in front of him. Through old and weary eyes he could see a figure, human yet eerie, standing between him and the phone. The dark made it featureless to the old man's eyes, yet even from where he stood he could feel the figure's 「Smile」.

Humming suddenly turned into song, the syllables softly echoing in his ears.

"You left the scene, without a trace."

He turned as best he could, his legs shaking under the strain, but try as he might the door fled from him, the other side of the room disappearing into the horizon.

"One hand on the ground, one hand in space."

And then the figure was right in front of him, hands with skin like rough rock striking with lighting quickness to close around his throat.

"Hello."

He struggled, tried to scream, to knock something over, but the figure's grip vas like iron, and whatever objects he might have knocked down fled from his reach like the door had.

"Hello."

He tried to fight, striking the figure with feeble blows that only seemed to amuse it. His hands bled as the skin of his knuckles was scraped off by the rough hide of his assailant.

"Hello."

As his struggles weakened the figure brought the old man's face closer to its own. It whispered the last words of its quiet song into his ear, its words barely heard by the old man through his vain efforts to escape.

"「Hello Again」."

Those were the last words the old man heard before he passed away from oxygen deprivation, strangled to death by an attacker he didn't know. After carefully lowering the body to the ground the figure waited, with its hand on its heart, as if 「Waiting for something」.

Whatever that something was, it failed to appear, for with a small slump of defeat the figure took a step forward.

And disappeared.

The four of them, three men and one woman, sat around an expensive-looking table. They met regularly, as was their wont, to discuss matters of policy and governance. Today was different, for how could it not be?

It was not every day that 「Joseph Joestar」 is found murdered in his own home.

"Would you believe me if I told you that Century Color wants me to give an unsupervised projection a license to run a teleportation business in this city?" Director Emily Piggot asked Armsmaster, her attention only partially on the conversation and miles away from the paperwork on her desk as she watched the news of the dramatic chase and capture of some hostage takers at that very news station by Century Color and his idiot thugs.

"Yes." The man answered, as if the idea was nothing out of the ordinary. "I can believe he asked you something like that."

The Director didn't wait for him to continue. "I'd rather have this 'Make a Wish' thing where I can see it." She wrote something down in her notebook. "I told Century Color to bring it here on Friday."

"And in other news:" Declared the newscaster with an odd look on his face, as if he was honestly surprised by the text on his teleprompter. "Two villains, whose identities are as of yet unconfirmed by the authorities, are reported as having escaped from the Birdcage.

Witnesses claim that the pair has disguised themselves as musicians Hall and Oates on their way towards the Bay area. Citizens are advised to not request 'I can't go for that'."

The pen snapped in her grip, spraying ink all over her desk. How many complaints did she need to send to the Chief Director before something was done with that little European shit?

AN

Interludes do not include Stand Data.