STEEL BALL RUN FAIRGROUNDS – MORNING, 1890
The grandstands roar with anticipation. Banners of red and gold snap in the desert wind as hundreds of riders, gamblers, and nobles gather beneath the rising sun. Horses whinny, camera flashes pop, and the crowd chants one word over and over
Crowd: SBR! SBR! SBR!
At the front podium, a tall, confident man with slicked-back blond hair and a black tailcoat steps forward. This is "Albert Reilly", the event's chief organizer, his voice booming through a brass megaphone.
Albert Reilly: Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome… to the greatest race of our time the "Steel Ball Run!"
Thunderous applause rolls through the crowd. The racers watch from their positions: hardened cowboys, strange mystics, noblemen, and ambitious young guns, each with their own reason to race.
Albert Reilly (continuing): From San Diego to New York City across three thousand miles of danger, dust, and glory! The one who reaches the finish line first… will claim a Grand prize of fifty million dollars!
Gasps and cheers echo across the stands. In the V.I.P. balcony, Aldo J. Joestar leans back in his chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His hat shades his eyes, and beside him lies a folded map of the route.
Aldo (murmuring): Fifty million, huh… more than enough reason for fools to kill each other for it.
A man in a dark outfit, a security officer, approaches and bows slightly.
Security Officer: Mr. Joestar, sir. This just arrived for you. Urgent letter.
Aldo takes the letter without breaking his stoic look.
Aldo: Thanks.
The officer nods once and leaves. Aldo glances at the paper the seal bears a faint spider emblem. His brow furrows. He breaks it open and reads silently.
Aldo (softly): Nephew? …I have a nephew?
He scans further down, lips parting slightly.
Aldo: Peter Benjamin Parker… fifteen years old. He's… joining the Steel Ball Run?
He lowers the paper slowly, staring into the desert horizon as the wind picks up around him.
Aldo (quietly, to himself): A kid's stepping into this blood race...
Albert's speech concludes with a dramatic flourish, pulling Aldo's attention back.
Albert Reilly: Prepare yourselves, racers! Tomorrow morning at dawn the Steel Ball Run begins! May the strongest will and the fastest horse triumph!
Crowd: YEAAAHHH!
The cheers fade under Aldo's heavy sigh. He folds the letter, tucking it into his coat pocket, whispering under his breath.
Aldo: Guess I've got one more reason not to lose.
He turns his gaze toward the racers assembling below, wondering which face belongs to the boy named "Peter Parker" unaware that destiny just tied their bloodlines together again.