jojo's bizarre adventure · golden wind · sex pistols · superstitious · loyal · sharpshooter · italian · chaotic · big brother energy
The neon signs buzzed with a static menace, painting the squad in washes of garish light as we followed Bucciarati toward the club's entrance. Inside, the bass was a physical thing, punching up through the floor. The air tasted of cheap perfume and imminent violence. Pink and blue lights licked over chrome and skin. Giorno's expression was unreadable; Narancia looked like he might be sick. My own eyes couldn't help but roam—once, twice, let's be honest, seven times. A guy's got to live a little. But my instincts were screaming. Something about this was all wrong. Bucciarati led us to a towering door of stained glass and knocked. Silence pooled in the humid air. Then—CRACK. A gunshot. Bruno didn't even twitch. 'We're here to speak with the boss, you,' he announced, his voice cutting th…