Her name is Sandra Dee. She's a young archeologist visiting London for a conference. At first glance, there are very few noteworthy things about Sandra Dee. At second glance, there are even fewer noteworthy things about Sandra Dee. But, upon a third glance, one might notice the scar on her leg. This scar was received five years ago, when the Speedwagon Foundation, an organization she has worked with for years, gave her a Stand to help her with her work. This Stand is one of the only noteworthy things about Sandra Dee. Mind you, it isn't a very powerful Stand. Still, this Stand is noteworthy because it one of only a handful of Stands in London. Said handful of Stands becomes smaller with each passing day. A few days ago, Sandra woke up in her hotel room with a bad bump on her head, a hazy recollection of the past day, a silver bracelet wrapped around her ankle leg, and a tape recorder sitting in her hand. The distorted voice on the tape explained to her that a man named Woodstock was giving these bracelets to various Stand Users in London in an attempt to find the strongest Stand User. In the days since then, Sandra hasn't run into any other Stand Users. Sandra walks down a rainy street, carrying a paper sack full of groceries. If she'd known it was going to rain, she'd have brought an umbrella. She stops on a street corner to wait for the crosswalk light and glances at a store window. Shelves full of wine bottles sit on the other side of the Liquor Store window. Sandra Dee gags; she's never been able to stand the taste of alcohol. Sandra Dee glances at her reflection. That's when she sees him, a man standing on the other side of the seat, staring back at her through her reflection. She turns around and gets a better look at the man. He's a bulky man, 6'3 and at least 250 pounds. He has tanned skin and a horseshoe mustache. He wears a red tank top and black gym shorts. He's in his forties and his brown hair, which he keeps tied up in a red bandana, is beginning to turn grey. His fists are covered in exercise tape and his arms and face are covered in scars. His arms are crossed as he stares Sandra down. "How long has it bee, Fleetwood?" Sandra Dee asks. "A few years, I'd wager," the large man, Fleetwood, replies. "What brings you to town? Business, or-" "Pleasure." "What kind of pleasure?" "I'm in town for a fight." Sandra places her groceries on the ground. "By fight, do you mean a boxing match?" she asks. "Not exactly," Fleetwood says. He uncrosses his arms and points at Sandra. "What happened to your arm?" Sandra looks down at her arm. It's been hastily wrapped in bandages, bandaged that barely cover the silver band around her wrist. Sandra puts her hand behind her back. She looks back at Fleetwood. Now that his arms are uncrossed, she can see the silver bracelet with a red gem around his wrist. "Those bandages, they're hiding something, aren't they?" Fleetwood asks. "Please, Fleetwood, I don't want to do this," she pleads. "It kinda looks like you're wearing a silver bracelet, kinda like mine. Which is interesting, because an hour ago I received a phone call telling me I'd find someone with the same bracelet as me at this street corner. Hell of a coincidence, isn't it, Sandra?" Sandra sighs and raises her fists to protect her face. A bus roars down the street separating the duo, temporarily blocking Sandra's view of Fleetwood. When the bus is gone, so is Fleetwood. An orb resembling a cross between a beach ball and an eyeball appears next to Sandra Dee. The orb flies high into the air and scans the area around Sandra Dee, searching for Fleetwood Mac.