2: It's Not Up To You

"For fuck's sake, not this again." Grabbing his hat, Roman turned and ran down the dark alley.

"There he is!"

Footsteps thundered after him; he found himself acutely missing Neo's presence. She'd always been good at deflecting pursuers; Roman was more of a lead-the-charge kind of guy. As long as leading meant throwing your mooks at the problem. It was difficult to do when one lacked mooks. It was a bit more complicated when one's mooks were the problem.

"Gotcha!" Something wrapped around his ankles, and Roman crashed to the ground. His hat and cane went flying. Shit! When it rains, it pours. Scowling, he rolled over and wriggled free, making a grab for the cane.

The Faunus girl snapped her whip, blocking him. Her face was obscured by a Grimm mask, but the two curved antlers sprouting from her temples were clearly visible. Her beefy companion caught up to them; his face was also hidden, though the squat horn that jutted out from the center of his mask was too obvious to hide.

"Long time no see," the girl said with a cold grin. "We've missed you."

"Really?" Roman reached for Melodic Cudgel. "Then let me give you a proper hello -" The girl flicked her whip, knocking the cane away from him and clipping his fingertips in the process. He hissed in pain, then turned his grimace into a smirk. "That's no way to greet an old friend, sweetheart."

"You're no friend of the White Fang!"

The whip lashed again, and he crashed to the ground, suit ripped. "God damn it," he swore, sitting up and looking at the tear. "What is it with you people and my clothes?" He was slammed back down when Rhino - what he decided to call her hulking cohort - lumbered forward and stepped on his chest. Wheezing, Roman put his hands up in surrender. "Ok, you got me. Ease up a little, will you?"

"Oh, so we're people now? You should have thought that before you used us like cannon fodder!" Gazelle girl, as he dubbed her, pulled her whip taut. "I don't think we'll be easing up, Mr. Torchwick. The White Fang still remembers you too well."

Roman held his easy smile. Inwardly, however, his temper boiled. If I ever find that bitch Fall, I'm going to make her pay for this. "Listen, I was only acting on orders," he began. "You wouldn't want to double cross Fall, would you? Let me tell you, she doesn't tolerate anyone messing with her subordinates -"

"Taurus leads us now, Torchwick. And he doesn't care for humans like you." The way she said the word made it sound dirtier than the pavement he was crushed against. As if in response to the girl's words, Rhino's foot ground down even harder.

Roman ignored the feeling of being turned into another one of the stains on the street and kept his poker face in place. "I heard your new leader wanted to deal with me personally. So you mean you're not afraid of pissing off the raging bull himself, are you?" The foot on his chest eased up, and Roman struggled to keep himself from visibly sucking in more air.

"Ginger… are you sure we should be doing this? Taurus wants him alive."

"Shut up!" Gazelle girl looked furious. "And stop using my name, you idiot," she snapped at her partner.

Roman barked out a dry laugh. These mutts… they couldn't find two brain cells to rub together between the both of them. "What's the matter, Ginger? Scared?"

"Of you?" Ginger smirked. "Why should I be? Just look at you. This is the great Roman Torchwick, master thief and con artist." She gave his tattered suit and worn gloves a once-over. "You look more like a common thug to me." Stepping over him, she hooked the toe of one wickedly pointed shoe under his chin and lifted it. "And not a very skilled one at that."

"Honey, you don't know the half of my skills," Roman told her, letting his eyes wander. "Nice skirt, by the way. I can see you're a fan of lace."

Hissing, Ginger withdrew her foot, only to whip his head back with a sharp kick. The pain wasn't enough to dull his vision; what he could see of her face had turned bright red. "You're a dead man," she promised, and the crushing weight of Rhino returned full-force, squeezing the breath out of him.

"All right, all right," Roman groused, working his jaw and checking for loose teeth. "I know, I have to pay for my crimes. I've heard this song and dance before. If you're gonna execute me, so be it." He huffed out a melodramatic sigh. "Just remember, it's on your own heads if Taurus comes after you."

This time, Rhino didn't budge, and Ginger's melodic laughter filled the air. "You think our leader wants to save you, fool?" She leaned over Roman, careful this time to keep her legs out of his view. "The only reason he wants to see you is to make you into an example. You are the face of everything that's wrong with Remnant! Taurus is going to string you up and leave you to die. Slowly. He even promised his top lieutenants they could have a go at you first."

Rhino drew a slow thumb over his throat, and Roman's blood ran cold. He'd always suspected as much, given the nature of his past run-ins with members of the White Fang. With Junior's information network destroyed and chaos rising in the wake of Fall's unexpected absence, there wasn't any real way of checking. To finally hear it aloud was both a relief and a final damnation at once.

Wanted by the law, wanted by the terrorists… there weren't very many bridges left for Roman to burn, and the places where he could hide from the heat were growing worrisomely sparse.

Ginger's smile widened as she caught on to his discomfort. "Not such a hot shot anymore, are you?" She stroked the handle of her whip along the side of his face. "We're really doing you a favor, Mr. Torchwick. Compared to Taurus, your death at our hands will be merciful."

Roman stared into the eye slits of the girl's mask. "Grant a condemned man one last request?" he asked.

"Of course not," Ginger told him airily. "You… you're no man, Mr. Torchwick. You're scum." She raised her whip, teeth baring in a bloodthirsty smile.

This is it, huh, Roman thought, closing his eyes with a sense of tired resignation. It was almost anticlimactic, all things considered - to be killed by a Faunus grunt. The Griffon from three years ago would've been a better way to go. He frowned; death sure was taking her sweet time.

Cracking an eye open, he watched Rhino hold Ginger back; she struggled against him with a fierce scowl on her face.

"C'mon, Ginger. Don't sink to his level."

"Ugh! Fine." She wrenched her arm free from Rhino's grip and stalked away. "This is all you, though. Don't involve me in your idiotic sense of honor."

Both of Roman's eyes focused on the Rhino leaning in towards him. "One last request, Torchwick." It felt like the huge man's heel was going to crack one of his ribs. "And no tricks."

Once again, Roman was struck by the stupidity of his captors. They'd already declared they were going to off him. What kind of fool thinks I'd be intimidated by any other threats at this point? Rolling his eyes, he held his hands up. "No tricks. I just want to die with a little dignity, if you will."

Ginger snorted at his words. "You can't reclaim what you never had."

Roman ignored her, gesturing towards his discarded hat. "Let me look the part before I go, that's all I'm asking."

Rhino traded a silent glance with Ginger; she looked upset, but gave her partner a curt nod. Wrapping his arm in a crushing grip, the huge man dragged Roman to his feet.

Rhino hauled him towards the bowler hat and threw him against the ground. "Pick it up and stand by the wall," he ordered.

Standing up, Roman dusted his suit off, trying to smooth out the creases. He hadn't been able to afford his usual wool blend for years now; still, no one ever had to look poor. After combing through his hair, he bent over and picked the hat up, flipping it in his hands. "Just remember: I did try to run." He cleared his throat. "Now, any last words?"

Rhino looked confused. "Huh?"

Ginger snarled at him. "That's what we're supposed to ask yo-"

Her head sailed off her shoulders mid-sentence. Roman hit the ground, rolling for Melodic Cudgel while the idiot rhinoceros kid stood there gaping. Grabbing his cane, he rose smoothly to grab the spinning hat out of the air, careful to avoid the bloody blades extending from its brim. And for the bruiser -

Rhino slammed him into the wall, punching the air out of his chest. Struggling, Roman slashed the blades against the Faunus' bulging neck, trying to sever an artery. He missed, but Rhino drew back far enough to avoid Roman's next swing - his last mistake.

A sharp crack sounded through the air, and the huge man slumped over, suddenly boneless. Roman grunted and struggled under the unexpected weight, pushing him off with some difficulty. The Faunus landed with a wet thud against the ground, the gaping hole in the center of his chest leaking blood into the alleyway.

Stepping out of the way of the slowly-expanding pool of red, Roman held up Melodic Cudgel and inspected the barrel with disgust. "That was my last Dust round, you fucking mutt." Frustrated, he kicked the corpse.

Pride was telling Roman to stalk off; any fight you could walk away from was a victory - and he'd made through yet another ambush alive. The cops weren't going to come running after him in the slums of Atlas, not when the White Fang were the biggest thorns in the Schnee Dust Company's side. All in all, he'd come out of the entire ordeal only a little worse for the wear.

The same couldn't be said for his suit, which was now not only tattered, but also bloody to boot. Roman sighed. Pride didn't matter much when you needed to eat, and things had been getting tight of late. Squatting by the body, he rooted through Rhino's pockets. Flipping through the few possessions he found, he took another quick look at the man's corpse.

"Well, 'Ahina,' thanks for your contribution to the Torchwick Survival Fund," he said, stuffing the wad of cash into his pocket. "I'll be sure to put this to better use than you would've." He leaned forward and grabbed the knife off of the man's belt. The hilt was clearly marked with the symbol of the White Fang; the blade, however, was solid. Plus, there was always the delicious irony of killing his next White Fang assailant - and there always was a next, those rodents were everywhere - with one of their own weapons.

Moving over to Ahina's headless companion, Roman made sure to stomp on the hand still holding the whip, cracking a few of the corpse's fingers under his heel. "Bitch," he muttered, before searching her body as well. As suspected, she was better off than her friend; any terrorist who could afford lace panties had to have access to the finer things in life.

Chuckling to himself, Roman pocketed his newfound fortune, which included several vials of powdered Dust. There were even a few cartridges left in the handle of her whip, which he quickly liberated. Almost everything was useless for Melodic Cudgel, but he was confident he'd be able to sell what he'd collected on the black market for a few more rounds of the appropriate caliber.

As long as I can avoid any more of those damn White Fang members along the way. Annoyed, Roman cleaned the blades of his bowler off against the girl's skirt, before retracting them and donning it carefully. Then, standing up, he punted her head into the wall like a soccer ball. The Grimm mask she'd been wearing cracked and fell away as it rolled to a stop; her eyes were still open. Their glassy gaze bore into him with an accusing, macabre stare.

You and your kind brought us to this. Murderer.

"Takes one to know one," Roman grunted. Something churned in his stomach; he turned and stalked out of the alley, irate with himself. That rhinoceros boy must've done a real number on me.

The excuse sounded cheap, even to his own ears. Roman didn't allow himself to think any further than that, though; the real world was harsh, and second-guessing yourself was a guaranteed fast track to a future of pushing up daisies. Still, double homicides always put him in a foul mood. Roman found himself drifting, searching for a bar that would neither cater to Faunus nor inspect the stains on his dark suit too closely.

It chafed to be wearing the cheap piece of tailoring - Roman really missed his old clothes, events in the alleyway notwithstanding. In the dark, non-descript goon suit, however, the only thing that stood out about Roman was his shock of bright orange hair and lack of sunglasses. After three years of having the White Fang hound his every movement, he'd come to accept that his fashion sense was going to have to take a back seat to his safety.

Finding a locale that looked appropriately seedy, Roman shouldered his way inside and slid into a seat at the dingy bar. "Gimmie the strongest thing you've got here," he demanded, pushing a bill across the countertop.

The bartender placed a shot glass in front of him and poured out a generous measure of some sort of pungent liquor. When he finished, Roman pushed another bill across the table. "All of it." The barkeep wisely kept his commentary to himself, though he did leave the mysterious bottle of amber-colored swill behind. Roman thought it looked more than just a little like piss. Steeling himself, he grabbed the shot glass and tossed it back. Tastes like it too.

He reached for the bottle and froze, catching sight of himself in the mirror behind the counter. How the mighty have fallen indeed. His reflection stared back at him with a haggard face and unkempt hair. Roman resisted the urge to straighten himself out - it would only draw attention, and he was working hard to disappear. The perks of being a wanted criminal. Toasting himself in the mirror, he knocked back another shot.

"Wonder when it all went to hell," he said moodily, pouring another glass. Then he smirked. Dumb question. Everything went to hell with Beacon, three years ago. After his brush with death - why that stupid kid decided to save him still baffled him to this day - he hadn't been able to get far before the Grimm swarmed him once more.

He'd taken cover in the rubble of one of the abandoned buildings; Melodic Cudgel could only do so much, and he'd lost both his scroll and his partner in one fell shot. There were no easy outs, and after a vicious firefight, he'd been sure he was going to die at the jaws of a Grimm, again. This time he knew what was coming; being stuck in the gullet of that Griffon was an experience that Roman was never going to forget.

He'd given up then - just sat down and stopped trying, laughing to himself for cheating death, only to have it catch up around the very next corner. All the effort that little girl expended for his sake, the whole big speech - it was all a load of crap in the end. And then, as the Grimm surrounded the shelter he'd holed himself in, he'd had the strangest thought.

It was nice, actually. Refreshing, to see that even in the gigantic pile of greed and misery that made up Remnant, someone still believed in all that fairy tale bullshit. His laughter had faded into a genuine smile, and it took him longer than it really should have to notice that the Grimm were moving away from his hideout.

"Think happy thoughts, huh," Roman repeated to himself, nursing his drink. Had that been what that girl meant about defeating the Grimm? He smirked to himself. Happy thoughts got you killed in the real world; if not physically, nursing them was bound to crush your soul at some point. Happiness didn't thrive in Remnant, and only imbeciles opened themselves up to that kind of vulnerability willingly. He wouldn't be surprised if the kid had died on that very day; a lot of people had.

When the world exploded into silvery light, he'd assumed Fall betrayed him; that she was going to blow Beacon off the face of Vale, and him right along with it. Then he'd realized that only the Grimm were affected by the explosion; they disintegrated around him into thick clouds of black smoke. He'd thought himself the world's luckiest man - until the first Faunus spotted him.

It was the beginning of a three year hunt that still hounded him. They'd already known him then; the fiasco with the train was still fresh in their memories. And the only one who could keep them in line, that bitch Fall, had ditched him like yesterday's news. The White Fang had been counting on the chaos of the battle to cover his death, whether by their hands or that of the Grimm. What they hadn't accounted for was his will to survive.

Roman stopped playing with his glass and finished the drink with a sour look. And here I am, still surviving hand-to-mouth. He wasn't cut out for life on the lamb; hell, he'd ended up in Atlas, the last place he ever thought he'd return to. At least the city was both familiar and big enough to get lost in.

Lost was a good way to put it. Having never fostered good relations with either Sustrai or Black, he couldn't rely on them after the Battle of Beacon. In fact, they were just as furious with him as the White Fang, convinced he had something to do with Fall's disappearance.

They weren't entirely wrong; Roman's job was supposed to have been on top of things, taking out the Atlesian military and providing Fall and her lackeys with a getaway vehicle. Instead, they'd each had to beat a messy retreat on their own. That harpy Goodwitch retained partial control of what remained of the city of Vale, while in the months that followed the White Fang rebelled and rose to fill the vacuum of power left by Fall's absence. It should have been a resounding victory, but instead was the start of a world crumbling into utter chaos. It would have been poetic, if Roman hadn't thrown his lot in with the losing side.

Well. What side really won, anyway?

"I never thought I'd say this, but I miss Junior," Roman muttered to himself. It'd been too long since he'd had a cigar; the breakdown in trade relations between kingdoms ensured that they were a thing of the past for all but the wealthiest citizens. "I could use a smoke."

A cigar appeared before his eyes; Roman blinked to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. It was gripped between a pair of slender fingers gloved in black. He followed the pale pink cuff up an impeccably white sleeve, heart pounding. "Neo?" he spat out, frozen in place.

A small smirk crossed her face; her eyes shifted color as she blinked.

Roman twitched; he had to fight the urge to leap off his stool and envelop her in a bone-crushing hug. She's alive. Neo's alive! A familiar face - one that actually liked him - made hope rise in his chest and a grin spread over his face. She was the same as ever - impeccably dressed, smug as a cat and staring at him with amusement as he tried to figure out just how to react.

"Where have you been? How'd you make it out alive?" Neo continued to smirk at him, and Roman's surge of happiness faltered. You're asking the wrong questions. Shuttering his smile, he leaned back into a more relaxed slouch. "Why didn't you contact me? It's been three years, Neo." Three long, hard years. He didn't like the way his voice dipped when he spoke; neither did she, from the look that passed briefly over her face.

The tiny smirk resurfaced, and Neo twirled her finger around in a circle. Here and there, she told him; Roman could still read her as easily as he had three years ago. She shrugged - what happened after the ship crashed isn't worth mentioning - and then pinned him under an intent, focused stare. But now, I have business with you.

Roman focused instantly. "That's my girl," he told her, another smile stealing across his face. This one was more predatory. "Have you spoken to the boss lady?"

Neo's eyes flickered, a matching pair of brown for just one instant, before nodding.

"Has she got a new job for us?" he pressed, and Neo shrugged nonchalantly.

Roman turned back to his shot glass, frowning. Neo was being as mysterious as ever. It was in her nature, as an illusionist; three years ago, when he was confident that he'd known everything there was worth knowing, he'd reveled in it. It was a trait of hers that played well against his own cocky attitude. His reflection blinked at him, looking nothing like the Roman Torchwick he once was. Three years could change a person in a lot of different ways.

"Is Fall still working with the Faunus?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral. "Because if she's the one responsible for throwing Taurus on my back…" He trailed off; maybe a double homicide a day wasn't enough.

Neo tipped her head back in a silent laugh, spinning on her stool and leaning against the bar. She crossed one leg and canted her head lazily in his direction. Her whole posture screamed Are you an idiot?

Unsettled, Roman threw back another shot. Before, they'd always shared some sort of gigantic, cosmic inside joke together, lording it above others - even Fall and her minions. Now, it felt suspiciously like he was the outsider and the joke was on him. "Tell me she has a plan. And that I'm a part of it."

Neo nodded at him again, still regarding him with that unnerving stare. Her eyes were almost completely white now, but for the two pinpricks of her pupils. She made no move to explain herself, and Roman felt his stomach clench.

"You're here to test me. See if old Torchwick can still keep up."

The amused twist of her lips was answer enough; Roman felt his anger growing.

Three years. Three years of living like an amateur street thug because of Fall, and this is what I get? His hand clenched around the shot glass so tightly it cracked. "I'm in. You know I'm in! Neo, it's me. Don't be like that. You're not one of Fall's bratty little kids. We know each other better than that!"

She blinked, as if to say do we? But then she smiled, and the look was gone. Instead, she reached into her jacket and pulled out her scroll. Flipping it around, she showed him the screen: a map. A small red dot flashed on it.

Roman's eyebrows went up. "Vale? She wants me back in Vale?"

Pocketing her scroll, Neo nodded. Then she took in Roman's attire and wrinkled her nose. After adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves, she pulled out a credit chip - when was the last time he'd seen one of those! - and threw it at him. First, new clothes, he clearly read.

"Well well well. If I'm coming back, I suppose I'll have to look the part." His smile returned, along with a budding sense of purpose. Finally. Roman Torchwick was making a return, and he was going to make the world pay.

Neo leapt off of her stool gracefully, parasol in hand. She grinned, recognizing the look on his face, and sauntered towards the door. Roman followed her, eager to grab a way out of the hell his life had somehow turned into.

There was a small part of him that still turned uneasily as he followed his partner out onto the street; the part that whispered and just who is who's minion now?

Notes
Âhina means "white" in Hawaiian.

Neither Ginger nor Ahina have an activated aura or Semblances; they're just "ordinary" terrorists.

Yes, Torchwick has an aura and a Semblance. More will be revealed about that later.

Neo does not have silver eyes. I always thought they turned white in canon.