From Dust till Dawn, Downtown Vale. 23:30 02/05/2020.

A young man by the name of Roman Torchwick stood, thumbing through a catalogue of weapon parts at the back of the shop.

A woman in a red cloak stormed in, followed by a group of men in crisp white suits. She smiled smoothly and leant on the counter, the muffled sound of music emanating from a pair of headphones around her neck. Clicking it off, she turned to the Shopkeeper. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to find a Dust shop that's still open this late at night?" One of the goons in suits cracked his knuckles menacingly.

The shopkeeper paled visibly. "P-please! Just take my Lien and leave!"

The woman chuckled "Calm down, we're not here for money, old man." She turned to the henchmen "Grab the Dust." A black metal case was opened on the counter and each of the suits retrieved a cylinder. They proceeded to drain the tanks mounted on the walls. The ginger haired youth emerged from an aisle, looks up to see the carnage and slowly turns back down the aisle.

One of the Henchmen spotted him and followed. "Alright kid, put your hands where I can see 'em." He received no response. "Hey, I said hands in the air!"

Roman complied, his back still towards the Mook in the Suit.

"Good… Now turn to face me."

The youth turned, revealing an open lighter in one hand and a crimson crystal in the other the flame causing the gem to glow with heat. He smirks. "Boom…" he threw the smoking crystal and ducked.


The henchman flailed madly as, with his white suit on fire, he hurled himself through the window. His pistol lay abandoned on the floor. The henchmen turned to stare down the aisle. The woman in red rolled her eyes, "Well? DEAL WITH HIM!"

Roman ducked right into the next aisle, drawing his cane and grabbing a bag of Frost dust. Tearing the bag open and throwing down a handful of the blue white powder, he sidestepped as three of the mercenaries slid past him. A fourth received a sharp blow to the head from the cane handle. Goons number five and six got a blast of freezing air to the face before a block of ice encased them from the waist up.

"You were worth clearly worth my hard earned Lien." The woman sighed. "Well, Gingersnap, I'd love to stay and chat… but I really gotta dash." With that she grinned and scattered as a stream of rose petals, the red blur vanishing into the cool air of the autumn night.

Roman stared after her. "Thanks for the dust." He muttered before tossing a 10 lien card down on to the counter with a sigh and dashed after her. Scanning the streets for any sign of the red cloaked figure, he saw her red trail zip across the sky to a nearby rooftop. Focusing his energy he blinked across the street to the roof just across from the thief. "Hey!"

"Damn kid, you need to stop charging into situations you can't see the full extent of." A Bullhead rises up and opens the hatch. "You just don't know what you're getting into. End of the line, Gingersnap." She drew her Scythe and fired at him, the recoil launching herself into the craft. Roman Blinked across and fired a volley of shots at the woman who dodged neatly to the side. She was about to fire a final shot when a lithe figure of sprang into view.

"We got a Huntsman!"

From the cockpit a metallic figure stood and walks to the hatch. A hefty looking gun in his hand, he steadied himself and then fired as the cloaked woman took the controls.

The huntsman hurled Roman aside and launched himself onto the Bullhead, even as the hatch began to close. His claw like blades sink into the metal. He scuttled along the bullhead like an insect, smashing the glass of the cockpit and eliciting a startled yelp from the hooded pilot. She yanked at the controls and sent the Huntsman flying, leaving him sprawled on the rooftop bellow. Roman helped the man up as the bullhead turned to fly away. The tall thin man dusted himself off and scowled after the departing ship. He paused, gave an indignant huff and then turned to face the young man behind him. "Yes?"

"You saved my life." Roman stared at him in awe "…Can I have your Autograph."

The figure seamed to consider it, his head cocked to one side. Then his face split into a wide smile and, with a jovial chuckle, he said, "Nope."


The Huntsman drummed his fingers on the desk. "Listen, I admire your guts, kid. Really, I do. But you're what, 16?"

"15." Roman mumbles.

"Damn... Look, ah... Roman, was it?" A nod of confirmation. "Right, Roman. My advice would be keep your head down, keep training and apply to get into a Hunter Academy in two years... I work at Beacon, I could put in a good word for you. What do ya say?"

"Yes sir."

"Less of the Sir. I'm not your teacher yet." He laughs and holds out a hand. "The name's Tyrian Callows. And it has been a pleasure to meet you, Roman. See you in 2 years?"

"Yes, mister Callows."


Months later, an envelope came. Inside was a prospectus for Beacon Academy. And tucked into the front cover was a Photograph of a group of Huntsmen, signed T Callows .