Roman Torchwick leaned against a lamppost on a busy street corner, the brim of his hat obscuring his sly grin as he scanned the bustling crowd. His cane rested casually in his hand, the hook glinting in the faint glow of the city lights. He waited, humming softly to himself, until a figure caught his attention.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his cane sweeping out with precision. The hook snagged onto the back of their collar, and with a quick tug, Torchwick yanked them into a shadowy alleyway. The crowd remained oblivious, too consumed with their own lives to notice the sudden disappearance.

“Relax,” Torchwick said smoothly as he dusted off his captive’s shoulders, his grin widening. “I just thought you could use a little… refinement.”

Before they could protest, he guided them through the winding alleys, eventually arriving at a secluded loft. Inside, the room was filled with an array of sharp suits, sleek hats, and neatly lined makeup palettes. Torchwick gestured grandly toward a chair in front of a well-lit vanity.

“Take a seat, my friend,” he said, twirling his cane. “It’s makeover time, Roman Torchwick style.”