Vulnerabilities

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Summary: Giorno is kidnapped, and it does not go well for anyone.
Word Count: 910
Rating: Teen (?) maybe high teens?? violence depends a lot on personal view and country sooooo??
Warnings: Gore (some, but think on par with Part 5), typical Purple Haze being Purple Haze

         Giorno swims his way to consciousness to a nervous murmurs.  Someone’s shaking him, and his head hurts, making him far more irritated at the world.  He’s tempted to just ignore his captors and sleep, but from experience it’s better to not ignore men with guns when he’s too weak (with a mix of blood loss and drugs) to do much with Gold Experience.
         “Call off your man Fugo!” a man shouts, punching him.  Ah, of course.  Only one man could inspire such panic amongst hardened gangsters, even if, as he recalls, neither Ricotta nor his followers have Stands.  Rumors still travel, particularly after the death of the Boss.
         He wasn’t aware Fugo was nearby; is actually somewhat shocked that he’s not waking to the sound of a hailstorm of bullets.  Mista was goofy and not to be taken seriously right up until the point at which he was needed as a gunslinger, at which point he went cold and collected.  Particularly if his Don is in danger.
         He smiles serenely, demonic through the blood.  “And why would I do that?  You’re talking to the only man alive immune to the power of Purple Haze.”
         This is partially a bluff.  He can’t be completely certain that the virus is one that never, say, mutates, such as the common influenza A virus, but a Fugo who is out of control enough to summon Purple Haze is one who will be hard to talk down, and they’re planning on shooting him in the head anyway the second they have what they want.  They’re even the types to murder a captive and attempt to escape rather than letting him be rescued.
         He can hear the now-familiar sound of Purple Haze screaming, accompanied by the panicked screams of the gangsters and the sound of half-melted bodies hitting the floor.
         “Killing me won’t save you,” he continues calmly.  “You might have a chance to live if you use the escape hatch behind those detachable shelves now and don’t look back—though I would presume that it would take too long to try to drag a hostage such as myself with you.”  He’s punched again and tastes that familiar metallic liquid on his tongue.  The sound of screams and the bodies hitting the floor is getting louder.
         “Shoot him!” the one he’s identified as the local leader, Focaccia, considering that he’s named on paper as Ricotta’s Second, demands.
         “F-Focaccia, we can’t!”  One of the underlings shows that he’s holding a lizard.  Giorno allows himself to briefly bask in the satisfaction of being correct in the name of the underling.  He might not have had the power to do much, now, but even geckos were less deadly than guns.  Moreover, he’s pretty sure about the presence of the escape hatch, or door, in the wall, despite the fact that he’d only really had time to look around while he’d been tortured.
         He continues to bask until Focaccia stabs him in the stomach.  It’s cold and suddenly none of his muscles wish to cooperate.  Focaccia probably wants to twist the knife around, to make him hurt worse, but doesn’t have the time, not if he wants to get away.
         The knife is snatched away and then they’re running.  He hears the door open even as he slumps.
         It only takes another minute or two before Purple Haze appears, growling.  It appears Fugo is actually slightly controlling him, because even as he feels the stirrings of pain from the virus, the Stand comes over and frantically tries to tear apart the ropes with its bare hands and fails.  It then smoothly stands, growls and paws angrily at the air, and exits the room, probably looking elsewhere in the warehouse for others that need to be destroyed.
         He could have had Purple Haze carry Giorno out, but that would only increase the amount of time he was contagious.  No, it’s better this way.
         Gold Experience is flickering, but he puts as much effort as he can into keeping his Stand active.  His Stand breaks the glass and grasps a piece of it, slicing through the ropes holding him in place.  If he had more time and wasn’t relying on failing health, he would merely slip out of the bonds, ignoring a dislocated joint or two.
         He requires Gold Experience’s help to hobble over to the wall.  A small touch, blood smearing over what turns into vines.  He hesitates for only one second and then throws himself out, his Stand grabbing one of the crates sitting outside to slow down his acceleration and ensure the velocity when he does hit the ground is not going to break his legs.
         “Don!” he hears, anguish and rage, and he’s just about to make it worse.
         “I’m going to decontaminate myself,” he calls shakily.  It’s true that if he waited the sunlight would probably be enough, but he doesn’t have the time.
         So, with Gold Experience’s help, he cuts his own chest open, exposing his internal organs to the sunlight.  The pain is unbearable, far worse than merely being stabbed, but it is well worth it as he feels the virus disappear.  It would be extremely rude if he were to survive himself only to infect his rescuers, after all.
         There’s another scream as Gold Experience retrieves a plyboard lying nearby and begins turning it into flesh tying the two cut parts of his chest together, but between that and the pain he’s fading quickly.