Roman Torchwick and his crew crouch in the shadowed woods, their eyes fixed on the small group of hunters leading a group of survivors toward what they believe is a safe haven. Roman’s grin curls as he watches them from behind a thick patch of trees. His fingers tap the hilt of his cane, anticipation rising in his chest.

“Perfect,” he mutters under his breath. “They’re heading right into our hands.”

With a sharp signal to his crew, the ambush begins. His crew members emerge from the underbrush, surrounding the group of hunters in a matter of seconds. Before they can react, the first hunter is silenced by a swift strike from one of Roman’s men, and the others fall quickly, one by one, no time to draw weapons or sound an alarm.

Roman steps into the clearing, his cane resting casually on his shoulder as he surveys the fallen hunters. “Pathetic,” he says with a chuckle, stepping over their lifeless bodies. He turns to the survivors, his gaze narrowing.

“Now,” he says smoothly, his voice like honey, “let’s see what we have here.”

He moves among the survivors, his hands quick and precise as he takes anything of value from their belongings—money, weapons, trinkets—all the while keeping his grin firmly in place.