It was a beautiful day in Sunnyvale Trailer Park, or at it least it would have been a beautiful day. But Jim Lahey, the supervisor of the trailer park, knew better. Sure, the sun may have been shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but there was a storm on the horizon. Not an actual storm, mind you. Jim Lahey fancied himself an intellectual poet capable of using symbolism and allegory to convey real-world concepts through the delivery of indirect wording. No, this wasn’t a storm of rain and wind. It was a storm of shit that was coming. A shitstorm. And it was coming on a bus scheduled to arrive in only a few minutes’ time.



Julian and Ricky were getting out of jail today.



It seemed to Jim that he spent every summer in immense stress, dealing with those clowns and trying to get them back behind bars. But the winters were no better, as he spent every day dreading their return. He was under constant duress and had been for years.



“That can’t be good for my stomach,” he reflected aloud as he took an extra large sip of liquor straight from the bottle.



“What can’t, Mr. Lahey?” asked Randy, who was doing yard work behind him.



“Those jailbirds coming back here once a year,” Lahey explained between two more sips of liquor. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit over and over, Randy. This time, I need to get them good. I need something that’ll ensure they can never come back to Sunnyvale Trailer Park ever again.”

“What about the booby trap, Mr. Lahey? I thought that’d work.”



Lahey leaned forward on his lawn chair and looked up at Randy, sweat glistening on his shirtless body like he was covered in sparkles. Aside from Julian, Lahey had never seen anyone looking quite so sexy.



“The booby trap is only step one, Randy,” explained Lahey. “It gets us the chance we need to collect dirt on those little shitheads, but it’s not enough. After that, they’ll just go back to peddling dope and we’ll send them away for another winter and be right back here again in another year.



“You see, Randy, the booby trap lures them out of their little safety circle, exposes them. We’ll be able to see them wherever they go. Driving, growing dope, even showering. We’ll be able to see Julian showering, Randy. But it’s up to us to get them to do something bigger than normal, something that’ll put them behind bars for so long that I’ll never have to worry about them again.”



“You’re going to trick them into committing a worse crime than normal?” asked Randy.



“That’s right, Randy. We’re gonna set Julian and Ricky up. We’re gonna make them commit the crime of the century.”



“What crime is that, Mr. Lahey?”



Jim Lahey’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.



“Murder.”



---



About thirty minutes later, Ricky and Julian were approaching the driveway to Julian’s trailer. The car Ricky lived in was still parked in the driveway, complete with the one door it had remaining.

“I’m telling you, Julian,” Ricky droned, “the last time was bullshit. You don’t need to have a doc trick in computer seances or whatever to see that. This time’ll be way easier. We’ll grow a little dope, make some money, and then after that we do whatever it is you’re saying. Hell, we won’t even have to work at all. We’ll live like kings, get drunk as fuck every night.”



Julian faced Ricky, turned his hand sideways, and pointed the tips of his fingers at Ricky’s nose, an ancient technique known as the “knife-hand” which was proven to demoralize the receiver and disrupt their train of thought.



“Ricky, I’m through with this shit,” Julian seethed. “I’m sick of going back to jail every year. Now, I’ve been doing some reading on the power of positive thinking and I realized that we always do this crime shit because we don’t believe we’re capable of doing better. But not anymore, man. I got a little cash tucked away from last summer; I’m gonna use it to pay the rent for a few months while I actually find a decent job.”



“That’s bullshit and you know it, Julian. Are you really gonna work knife-to-fine every day? Lahey’s gonna be all over your ass. He’ll know where you are all day, every day.”



“But it won’t matter because I won’t be doing anything illegal, Ricky.”



Ricky tried for a moment to contemplate all three facts simultaneously: that Julian would still have a source of income, that Lahey would know where Julian was, and that Julian would be doing nothing illegal. He could only seem to remember one or two at once and so decided it all just didn’t add up.



“No, that’s bullshit, Julian. It’s not gonna work and you know it. Come on, let’s talk about it more after we’ve had some drinks. We’ll go on down to the liquor store and get some-”



“Boys! Boys!”



It was Bubbles, running out of his shed having heard the sound of their voice.



“What is it, Bubbles?” asked Julian as he stepped into his driveway and examined the car in which Ricky lived, checking to see how badly it had rusted over the winter.



“Julian! Ricky!” Bubbles shouted, seemingly out of breath, although more than likely this was a result of anxiety more than physical overexertion. “You gotta get out of here. I'm sure Lahey and Randy and are on their way over right now. They already knew you were getting out jail today. Holy fuck, boys. If they catch you here, you’ll be in trouble and it’s only your first day back. Come on, let’s get you the fuck outta here.”



“Lahey and Randy? Fuck those guys. They don’t scare me,” touted Ricky.



“Bubbles, what are you talking about?” asked Julian. “I haven’t done anything illegal and I’m not going to do any more illegal shit. I’ll be fine.”



Bubbles now became even more breathless.



“No, Julian,” he gasped. “You don’t… you don’t understand. Come on. We gotta get you the fuck outta here. Come on, boys. Hurry… hurry the fuck up!”



Julian actually was getting a bit scared now. Bubbles worried too much, but he was also a smart guy. If something had him this upset, there was likely some merit to it. He had to get it out of Bubbles and he had to do it fast.



“Alright, Bubbles. Just calm down. Take a breath and explain it to me in one or two sentences,” said Julian.



“Lahey…” Bubbles wheezed. “Randy…” Bubble wheezed again. He was damned near at the point of hyperventilating now.



“Lahey and Randy, indeed,” said a voice from behind them. They all turned around to see Jim Lahey and Randy parked at the side of the road across the street with Lahey in the driver's seat. He got out, holding a small flask of liquor and took a sip.



“Drinking and driving today, Jim?” Julian asked sarcastically.



“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite little shitstains scraped fresh off the floor of the jail bathroom,” Lahey taunted.



“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here, Lahey?” Julian said. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”



Randy crossed him arms and rested them atop his exposed stomach. Lahey took a step back, ironically pretending to be wounded by the words. Then he stepped back forward and got in Julian’s face, exhaling angrily. The condensation of the breath formed as pure liquor on Julian's face, but he didn’t flinch.



“Haven't done anything wrong, huh? I could get you both right now for trespassing, Julian,” Lahey whispered before burping up scotch.



“It’s my driveway, Lahey. Now get the fuck out of here, you drunk. If I wanted to, I could be the one calling the cops on you.”



“Why don’t you call the cops on us then, Julian?” Randy sneered.



“Yeah, Julian,” Lahey echoed the sentiment. “Call the cops on us, why don’t you?”



Julian wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he couldn’t let his confidence falter around Lahey. If Lahey had some sinister plan in mind, he couldn’t act afraid or he might just walk into it that much sooner. So briefly, he only stood there, trying to act threatening in stature. His hope in doing so was to get these two guys to leave. After all, Julian had no real intention to call the cops as he hated the cops.



But they didn't move. For several seconds, Julian just stared hatefully at the two and they stared right back. As always, it was Ricky who took action first.



“We said to get the fuck out of here, you dicks,” Ricky shouted as he took two large, angry strides towards Randy.



Randy didn’t wait for Ricky to throw a blow. He took hold of Ricky and the two were grappling on the ground in seconds. Lahey, Julian, and Bubbles all shouted for them to stop. They didn’t take any heed of these requests.



As they struggled against one another, Randy grunted loudly: “If you wanna fight, let me get my fucking pants off!”



“Keep your fucking pants on, you dick!” Ricky shouted back.



“Ricky! Ricky, get the fuck off him!” Julian exclaimed.



“Get off him, Randy! Stand down, Bobandy!” Lahey yelled.



Somewhere in the distance, someone loudly proclaimed: “What in the FUCK?!”



With his free hand, Julian rubbed his forehead as he looked up at the sky, exasperated. He’d been back in Sunnyvale Trailer Park for all of five minutes and already this shit was happening. His entire plan was to go on the straight and narrow, but now Ricky had started a fight in his driveway first thing. But as this thought occurred to him, another one also did: he didn’t have to associate himself with this shit.



Yeah, this was Ricky’s fight. If he just walked back inside his trailer right now, his hands were clean of this whole ordeal. He could top off his drink, relax a little, play some Nintendo. Tomorrow morning, he could be right back on the job hunt as planned. So fuck it, that was exactly what he would do.



“Alright, fuck this. Come on, Bubbles,” Julian said calmly. “Let’s go play some Nintendo. And as for you, Lahey, get off my driveway.”



Lahey smiled victoriously as Julian stormed up the driveway with Bubbles in nervous tow. He stomped up the steps, stuck his key in the lock, turned, and…



Nothing. He jiggled with it a bit but it wouldn’t turn at all. Someone had clearly changed the locks.



“Lahey, what the fuck is this?” Julian said, turning back towards his long-time foe. "Did you change my locks?"



“Sorry, Julian,” Lahey said in a degrading, teasing tone. “You didn’t pay the rent once the entire time you were gone.”



“What the fuck are you talking about, Lahey? I left enough money to pay the rent with Corey and Trevor.”



“Like I said, you didn’t pay the rent once.”



Well, that certainly put a damper on Julian’s day. He’d made enough selling dope before going to jail to pay for this probably, but six months of rent plus back fees wasn’t going to be cheap. He’d have to find a job that much sooner. Besides that, what the fuck had Corey and Trevor done with the money if they hadn’t spent it on Julian’s rent? He was gonna have to shake them down for the cash later.



“Alright, Lahey, how much do I owe you?” Julian asked.



“You don’t owe me a penny, Julian.”



“What did you say?”



“The trailer’s been sold, Julian,” Lahey said, and his tone denoted that this was his coup-de-grace, the moment he had waited for. “I couldn’t take your money for it now, even if I wanted to, though I’m sure the debt collection agency will be in touch.”



Ricky and Randy’s skirmish died down at this news and Ricky asked he stood: “Sold? Sold to who?”



“You sold my grandma’s trailer?” Julian asked, enraged.



Lahey took a celebratory chug of liquor, but said nothing more.



“Who’d you sell it to?” Julian asked.



But the question answered itself. At that exact moment, the door flung open, knocking Julian down from the step. He landed poorly, but managed not to spill his drink. On the way down, he caught a glimpse of the new occupant.



An older man, either late sixties or seventies, stood inside. He wore a tan shirt, brown pants, and boots. For his age, his muscles were utterly absurd, bulging against every bit of open space in his clothing. If he wasn’t as ripped as Julian, it was only because he was even more muscular. It was the perfect image of strength and masculinity, and the cherry on that particular sundae was the thick, grizzled, salt-and-pepper colored, full-face beard the man wore.



Beside the old man stood a young male of some Asian descent. Julian hadn’t seen enough Asians in his life to tell exactly what country the youth was from, but he guessed the man hailed from the southwestern districts of Davao City in the Philippines, nearer to the Gulf. The Asian youth was also massive, towering on the top step above Julian. The young man had to crouch to stay inside the trailer, which meant he was at least six-four. It was hard to tell if this youth was as powerfully built as the old man because he was a long black trenchcoat which hid most of his bodily features.



“Hey, what’s all the noise out here?” the old man shouted. “We’re very busy in here! Could you please take it somewhere else?”



“We’re very sorry, Mr. Joestar,” said Lahey. “I was just trying to explain to Julian here that he no longer lives here and that you had purchased the trailer that was formerly his.”



“Is that so?” the old man asked, suddenly entirely calm. “Well, I’m sorry if there was any misunderstanding. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”



But as Mr. Joestar turned around, Ricky came running up.



“Get the fuck out of the trailer, you dicks!” he shouted.



As he approached the door, the young Asian man stepped forward. He never took his hands out of his pocket. What happened next astonished all of the residents of Sunnyvale. A mysterious silver being appeared from behind the Asian youth and struck with lightning-fast speed, knocking Ricky backwards into the car where he normally lived, leaving a deep dent.



“やれやれだぜ,” said the young man.



“Did… did you guys see that?” gasped Bubbles, looking on in awe. “Holy fuck.”



Lahey only smiled, his confidence growing.



“What the fuck was that? I’d like to see you try that again,” Ricky shouted as he charged up towards the door once more. He got his wish and the young man tried that again. Once more, the shining platinum being appeared and sent Ricky flying, this time knocking him back into the car so hard that two tires popped.



“What the hell, you dick?” Ricky shouted as he ran up and got knocked back a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. He was going to for a sixth when Julian stopped him.



“Ricky, RICKY!” Julian shouted, grabbing his arm. “Just let it go. Clearly we don’t wanna fuck with these guys.



Now an adult man of some African descent stepped into the door frame. He was nearly as huge as the other two but not quite.



“Mr. Joestar. What’s all this commotion? Are we being attacked by a Stand user?”



Ricky, due to to the several years he spent studying in the Fertile Crescent while obtaining his master's in history, immediately recognized the man's Egyptian accent.



“No, Avdol,” said Mr. Joestar. “The former occupant of this trailer is here and I think the blonde one might have brain damage. He seems to be on some sort of rampage against my grandson here.”



“Holy fuck, you two are related?” asked Bubbles, referring to the old man and the Asian youth.



“Hm? Yes, we are,” said Mr. Joestar. “I’m Joseph Joestar and this is my grandson Jotaro Kujo, although everyone just calls him JoJo. Behind us is Muhammad Avdol. There are three others besides us. Well, two and a dog. But they're away from the trailer right now.”



“What the fuck was that power you used?” asked Julian.



“JoJo’s Star Platinum? You can see it?” asked Joestar. “It is a Stand.”



“A strand? What the fuck is that?” asked Ricky, trying to calm down.



“Well, I can see you two have a lot to talk about,” said Lahey as he and Randy headed back towards his car. “Julian, I sold your grandma's car to them, too. Well, to some French guy among them. So you and Ricky have no place to stay. Why don’t you get the hell out of Sunnyvale?”



“Hey, Lahey, why don’t you eat a dick?” shouted Ricky, still standing on the driveway.



As Lahey got in the car, he shouted back: “I give you shitlickers three months before you’re back in con college if you stay here.”



“Hey, Lahey! Knock-knock,” shouted Ricky. This was Ricky’s favorite bit. He would always get Lahey to ask who was there and then Ricky would insult Lahey, staggering his morale and leaving him susceptible to further emotional blows. But something was different this time. This time Lahey didn’t ask who was there. Instead, he only smiled the most confident smile he’d given all day.



“Come in,” he said. And then he drove away.



“What… what the fuck?” Ricky asked.



“Wow, I’ve never seen Lahey like that before,” said Bubbles. “It’s like he was way more powerful than before or something.”



“He’s got something prepared for us,” Julian reasoned. “You can bet on that. This shit with selling my grandma’s trailer is only the start. But we can worry about that later. Mr. Joestar, was it? What was that weird ghost thing we all saw?”



“A Stand,” said Mr. Joestar. “We all have one. Just watch. Hermit Purple!”



Purple spiky vines emitted from Mr. Joestar and flailed about wildly. These seemed to emit some electrical power that denoted possible hitherto-unseen potential. After showing this off for a few seconds, Mr. Joestar retracted them.



“That’s it?” asked Ricky. “Yaru-yari-datzte over there gets the power to punch me hard enough to dent my car and all you can do is make little electric purple wieners fly around? That’s fucking stupid. I'd say you really got the shore den of that shit."



“Ricky, that’s rude,” whispered Bubbles, motioning towards Mr. Joestar apologetically.



“Well, he’s not entirely wrong,” said Mr. Joestar. “JoJo’s Stand is for and away the most powerful out of all six of us. But as for your question: what is a Stand? Well, a Stand is like the physical representation of your soul’s will to fight. Usually, only a Stand user can see other Stands, but… something seems strange about this trailer park. It seems even normal people can see Stands here.”



“じいじ,” said the young man. “Surely you’re not thinking of using them to…?”



“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, JoJo. What was your name, friends?” Mr. Joestar asked.



“Bubbles.”



“Julian.”



“Uh, Ricky.”



“Ricky. Julian. Bubba. I might have a deal that is mutually beneficial to all of us,” said Mr. Joestar. Why don’t you guys come on in and we can talk it out?”



The three stepped inside the trailer with JoJo and Mr. Joestar, then shut the door behind them.



---



Driving home, Randy looked at Mr. Lahey and sighed.



“I’m worried, Mr. Lahey,” said Randy. “If I didn’t know better I’d say those two groups were starting to get along. What if they just give Julian and Ricky a place to stay?”



“If they get along, then everything’s going even more according to plan than I first hoped for.”



Lahey was holding his liquor bottle in one hand and chugging it while driving.



“Even more according to plan? Mr. Lahey, what are you-?”



“Randy,” Lahey cut in. “Get me my liquor bottle, would you? I’m feeling good about this whole affair. I think I’m going to celebrate.”



“Mr. Lahey, you’re already holding your liquor.”



Lahey looked over at him, eyes completely off the road now as he drove with one hand.



“No, Randy. This is my scotch. I want my rum now, too. Things are going well and I’m going to have a little drinkie-poo.”



“I… yeah, sure, Mr. Lahey.”



Randy turned around and dug underneath the back seat for a few seconds before finding the emergency rum bottle, which Lahey kept for longer drives where he was short on liquor.



“Here you are, Mr. Lahey. I-”



As Lahey snatched up the bottle, Randy realized with shock that Lahey was still not looking at the road. He’d been watching Randy the entire time. Lahey tore the cap off the rum bottle with his teeth, then with a bottle in each hand began pouring the contents of each into his mouth, neither hands nor eyes occupied with the task of driving.



“Mr. Lahey, the road,” Randy warned with fright in his voice.



And then Randy saw it. As Lahey guzzled carelessly from both bottles at once, the wheel turned without him. Faintly, just barely, Randy could make out ghost-like hands floating in the air, operating the car in Lahey’s absence.