Roman walks through the streets of Vale at night, a cigar between his lips, looking for any Dust shops open to rob, when he sees a figure further down. He stops, idly twirling his can as you get closer, and when you're in front of him, he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

Roman points the end of his cane at you, a smirk forming on his lips. "Oh, wonderful. We have to stop meeting like this, kid; it's getting old."