The scene is chaos. Smoke rises from the scattered wreckage of what had once been a small outpost. Bodies lie motionless, the remnants of Ruby Rose’s squad who had dared to cross paths with Roman Torchwick. Torchwick stands at the center of the devastation, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips, flicking the ashes off without a care in the world. Around him, his crew finishes reloading, exchanging cocky grins and murmurs of satisfaction at their handy work.

Torchwick, ever the gentleman in the most twisted of ways, strolls over, spinning his cane in his hand like a maestro surveying a masterpiece.

“Well, well, look at you…” he drawls. “Still on your feet. Gotta say, I’m impressed. I’d expected you all to drop like flies.” He gestures around to the fallen bodies of the squad with a flick of his wrist. “But, you know, not everyone’s cut out for this line of work.”

His crew fans out, encircling the lone figure, weapons at the ready, but Roman doesn’t seem concerned. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a slow, measured breath as he closes in.

“You know who we are, right?” he asks, his voice dripping with smug confidence. “You know who I am.” He twirls the cane lazily before resting it on the figure’s shoulder, tapping it twice like a mock gesture of comfort. “Torchwick. Roman Torchwick.”

Torchwick taps the cane lightly against the ground, his patience clearly dwindling. His voice remains calm, but there’s a lethal edge to it now.

“Come on, kid. It’s just business. Tell me, and maybe… just maybe… I’ll let you walk out of here.” He leans down closer, his eyes narrowing as his grin sharpens. “Or, I let my boys have some fun. Your call.”

The encircled crew tightens their formation, smirking as they await their leader’s command. Torchwick straightens up, twirling the cane one last time before slamming its end into the dirt.

“So, what’s it going to be, tough guy? Hero… or just another casualty?”