JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Beloved Chaos - Chapter 1: A Nostalgic Beginning!

March 3rd, 2032, Mid-Evening

The sun hanged low over the Pilsen streets, air still brisk from winter’s recent grasp. The day had been long and slow, and people were finally returning home after work. One man stepped off the 9 bus, bag slung over his shoulder. He reveled in the sunlight on his skin, himself not being fond of the cold. He turned onto W 21st, then left into an unnamed alleyway. It wasn’t exactly the fastest way to his apartment, but it took him by his favorite mural. But you might be asking, who exactly was this man?

Why, he was none other than Dean London, Chicago native and young rapper on the verge of success.

As he tread down the alleyway, Dean lost himself in his thoughts. He imagined the day where a major record label would finally pick him up. He’d definitely seen some talent scouts at his last performance. It was only a matter of time before one of them took the time to approach him and hand him a contract. Dean was so lost in his head, he almost didn’t notice a shuffle to the right of him.

Dean moved just in time to miss the knife.

A breath. A moment to assess the situation. The knife was held by a woman. Toned muscle, so she would be fast. Dean took a step away from her, and considered his options. He could try to knock the knife away, but she could use that as an opportunity to catch him off guard. He could run away, but she was easily much faster than him. He wouldn’t make it to a public place before she caught up. Then again, he could-

A stabbing pain in his stomach. Literally.

He looked down to see the her hand gripping the handle that stuck out of his abdomen. He coughed and shook his head. She pulled the knife out of him and kicked him to the ground. Dean landed with a heavy slam. The woman twirled the knife in her hand and sighed. She proceeded to crouch next to Dean on the ground.

“Sorry, man. I’ve gotta eat somehow. It’s nothin’ personal.”

She lifted the knife, and sent it plummeting toward Dean’s throat. Time seemed to slow down. Just a minute ago, Dean had been thinking about his upcoming success in the music industry. Now, he was going to die in an alleyway to someone he didn’t even know, all for the sake of the measly cash he had in his wallet.

It couldn’t end like this. ESCAPE, DEAN!

Dean quickly rolled out of the way. The knife crashed into the ground where he laid but a moment ago. Now, however, Dean was on his feet, no longer prone and vulnerable. Dean took this moment and crashed into the woman, knocking her over onto her stomach. She clambered to her feet and looked up, only to see Dean booking towards the public space of W 21st.

Dean was almost there. 50 feet, 40 feet, 30 feet. So close! BE FAST!

“What the hell?!”

That voice had come from behind him. It was her voice. What had startled her? He turned to see the woman who had attacked him scared out of her mind as her knife sat in a hand other than hers. A…  glowing, golden hand that protruded from Dean’s back.

Almost immediately after he noticed it, the hand disappeared, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. Dean turned around and picked it up as the woman backed away in terror. Dean felt his chest swell with righteous anger. This woman tried to attack him again! Dean took a step forward and the ground seemed to shudder.

Across the street, an older man reacted to the shake and turned to see what was going on.

Dean, exploding with anger towards the woman, didn’t notice the explosive, yellow aura that now surrounded him, much less the ominous golden figure that floated behind his back. All Dean saw was the woman in front of him, the person who had tried to kill him. POWER!

“I’ll make you pay!”

Dean burst forward and the figure behind him followed suit. Screaming in rage, Dean threw a punch, only to be passed by the golden figure, which landed its own punch upon the woman’s face, closely followed by another punch, and another punch, and another, until it was a rampaging flurry of fists.

BADA BADA BADA BADA BADA BADA BADA BADA!

The woman screamed louder as each fist landed on her. Where were these attacks coming from? She couldn’t see anything but the man she had tried to mug, glaring furiously at her.

Dean didn’t quite understand what was going on, but he didn’t care. This anger had welled up inside him, and it was soothed by the attacks. However, a moment later, he felt a cold slam against his neck, his spinal cord. SNAP! The world turned to black as Dean collapsed to the ground, out cold.

March 3rd, 2032, Late at Night

Dean quickly sat upright on an unfamiliar couch, now awake. He looked around, terrified. Where was he? What was this place? He got to his feet and looked around, only to trip over a coffee table, hitting the ground with a loud slam. A door behind him opened, and a gruff voice spoke.

“Oh, good. Ya finally woke the hell up.”

Dean clambered to his feet and turned around to see an older man leaning in a doorframe, muscled with age. The man crossed his arms and nodded towards the couch, indicating that Dean should sit down.

“Si’down. We’ve gotta lot to discuss.”

Dean looks around. How could he escape this crazy old man? The door had been deadbolted. The window could be made of bulletproof glass, for all Dean knew. Maybe, just maybe, he was in an underground bunker run by secret cyborg Nazis in Mexico! How TERRIFYING!

“Yer free ta leave, kid. Nothing’s stoppin ya.”

Dean turned to view the old man again. His head was shaved bald, and he had a thick mustache surrounded by loose stubble. He wore an orange flannel work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into a pair of gray cargo pants, themselves tucked into light brown work boots. The old man also had a sort of… warmth surrounding his form that Dean couldn’t explain.

“Yer not my hostage or nothin’. The door’s wide open fer ya. I jus’ thought ya might like an explanation.”

Dean cocked his head inquisitively. “An explanation?”

The man chuckled, “Yeah, parrot, an explanation. C’mon, si’down. A friend’s gonna bring us some pizza and beer soon.”

Dean took a deep breath. He could use an explanation for all that happened earlier. He took a tentative step toward the couch, then another. After what seemed like an eternity, he sat down on the couch. It was comfortable.

“Good. I’m glad ta see ya’ve got yer senses.”

The old man pulled himself off the doorframe and walked to a big armchair, slumping into the cushions. He smiled warmly at Dean, then leaned forward, like a teacher during a PT conference.

“So, have ya ever heard of Stands?”

Dean shook his head, “No, sir.”

“Cut that sir shit. I’m not yer boss.”

Dean was alert at the intensity of the former sentence, “Yessi- I mean, okay.”

“Good.”

The man reached over onto the coffee table and grabbed a small journal-looking book. He flipped it open and began searching through it. He stopped on a specific page and smirked, handing it over to Dean. Dean took it and cocked his head.

“What is this, your diary?”

The old man growled, “Just ‘cause I ain’t yer boss don’t mean you can be a smartass.”

Dean closed his mouth quick.

The old man smirked, “Good. That’s a journal by an old friend of mine. Went through a similar situation as ya ‘bout 43 years ago. He sent me this about a week ago to see if I could publish it for’ im. Lucky for you, ‘cause I ain’t always the best at vocalizing shit.”

Dean looked down to the journal and began to read.

I’ve found that the easiest (though that isn’t saying much, these concepts are very complex) way to explain Stands is like this; A Stand is an outward projection of your truest self, taking a form similar to how you may view yourself through abstraction, consciously or not. Only you and others with Stands can see them, and even then, they can disappear when they aren’t active. They don’t really talk or make any decisions on their own. Basically, it’s like a big arm shaped like a mutant human that doesn’t talk to you and watches you in your sleep. I got my stand in 1989…

Dean looked up from the journal and rolled his eyes. “So what was the point of showing me this? You trying to sell me your Scientology crap or something? I mean, this isn’t even convincing if that’s the case. Seriously, man-”

Suddenly, Dean was pressed up against the wall by his neck. SLAM!!

Regaining his composure, Dean analyzed what was holding him there. It wasn’t the old man. It was a large man, stone gray with yellow markings tracing all over his body. On second glance, they weren’t markings, they were more like channels, carrying a yellow energy all over the body. The stone man seemed angry. The old man stood up.

“Does this look like Scientology crap to you? Does this feel like Scientology crap to you?”

Through his choked windpipe, Dean coughed, “Nope, it’s real. Please let me down.”

Dean fell back to the couch and took a deep, gasping breath.

The old man smirked and sat back down, “That’s what I thought.”

Dean, still catching his breath, turned to the old man, “Where the hell do they come from?”

The old man shrugged, “A whole buncha places. There’s no one set way for it to happen. For ya specifically, I assume it’s natural. One of your ancestors mighta had a Stand, and low and behold, the Stand power reappeared in your blood.”

Dean shook his head. Now he had some kind of… magic punching ghost? Before he could get lost in thought, there was a knock at the door. Who could it be?!

“Hey Speedwagon, I got the pizza! Open the door!” screamed a woman’s voice from behind the door.

The old man, now known to be called Speedwagon, chuckled and got up, turning to Dean and smiling, “Food has arrived.”

Speedwagon walked up to the door and undid the bolt, pulling open the door. Through the doorframe walked a young woman carrying three deep dish pizza boxes and a twelve pack of beer. She used her foot to close the door than handed the food to Speedwagon.

“Yeah, next time, go pick up your own beer, you old pig.”

The old man smirks, “JoJo, if I thought I was gonna be in yer garbage dump of an apartment tonight, I would’ve.”

The young woman, presumably JoJo, stuck her tongue out at the man, “Yeah yeah, you’re real funny,” She then noticed Dean sitting on the couch. “Oh, good, you’re finally awake!”

JoJo walked over to Dean and smiled, stopping just in front of him and holding out her hand.

“The name is Joune Josefine. I get the feeling that you and I are gonna be friends!”