Hello there friends. This is a story set in Roman Torchwick's past, exploring his memories, mindset and motivations. I promised you guys that I'd write this, and would like to apologize for the long downtime during things. I've started drawing a lot, and you will be able to find that stuff under my Tumblr account, which you'll find under the name 'meyriw'. I hope you have as much fun with this story as I did writing it!

『 Whatever It Takes 』

Chapter 1: Mugshot

A gloved finger idly traced lines on the glass display protecting the goods. Hungry, dark-green eyes flickered back and forth as he greedily licked his lips. So close, and yet so far. If he could just reach through that glass...

"How can I help you, Sir?" The girl behind the counter was dressed in a neat and tidy black uniform, her name tag identifying her as Jillian, a new recruit in the store.

"Roman. You can call me Roman, sweetheart." He briefly lifted his bowler hat and ran his right hand through his hair, sweeping his bangs aside to allow the friendly intern a good look at him. Soon enough, everyone in this forsaken city will know this face.

With a polite smile, Torchwick vaguely pointed at the display. "Could you recommend me something, dear?"

"But of course," the trainee responded, beaming with the fresh enthusiasm of a first-timer. "The creampuffs are always great and the cupcakes are simply divine. The chocolate chip muffins are also worth a try."

Roman raised an eyebrow without dropping his cheerful smile. He personally disliked overly sweet food like that, it made his teeth hurt. Whatever.

"I'll take two of these apple pies and one of those white cupcakes, I suppose."

"Thank you, Sir! That'll be three and a half Lien." After a few taps on the floating display, Jillian carefully bagged the pastry.

Torchwick reached into his coat, his eyes widening after a short moment. He could feel lighter and cigars, but his wallet wasn't there. Oh well. Time to improvise.

"Sorry," he whispered, as he raised his cane, the Melodic Cudgel. He cleared his throat and calmly stated: "This is a robbery."

As the last word left his lips, he fired, blasting away about half of the counter. Wooden splinters and burnt chocolate cakes were scattered around the room.No big loss. I never liked chocolate anyways. The old couple drinking their morning coffee began to cough and breathe heavily, while the single mother in line behind him started screaming. The annoying brat she brought with her was still whining, yelling for donuts.

Roman slapped the kid and nonchalantly walked around the counter, ignoring the shivering cashier. He reached into the broken register, pocketing bills by the handful. The unlucky intern was still in shock, stuttering and pointing at him.

"Oh, thanks for reminding me, Jill." The polite villain grabbed a few 20 Lien notes and put them into the girl's hand, closing her shaking fingers around the money. "Keep the change, darling." With a sly smile and a wink, he lifted his hat once again and turned around. "You're pretty new here, so I'll show you how these things go."

Torchwick crouched down and punched the big red button under the counter. "See Jill, this alerts the police. All this wouldn't be fun without a little challenge, after all." He picked up his pastry and wished the old couple a good day, lifting his bowler hat a third time, before he left the store.

After all, he wanted to leave a good impression.

"Serial robber raids yet another store; fashion taste impeccable!"

Bold black letters with a bright red line underneath, a worthy headline for a criminal mastermind like him. The self-proclaimed master thief exhaled, watching smoke rings dissolve in the air. He propped up his feet on the table and reclined in his armchair.

The police arrived just moments after Roman had finished eating his cupcake. The resulting chase was by far the best one Torchwick had all week. It started off with him causing a massive crash by throwing cheesecake at the car's windshield and ended with him impersonating an immigrant from Vacuo using a fake mustache, a guitar and a comically wide-brimmed straw hat. A wild ride throughout.

He chuckled a little bit, pouring himself another glass as he skimmed the rest of the article. There was a picture of him posing in the wrecked bakery. He had turned his back to the security camera, glancing over his shoulder with a winning smile. Well, a speck of white beneath an elongated orange blot and a larger spot of black, rather than a smile, since the quality of the picture was not very good.

A small advert in a black outline caught his eye. "WANTED: Roman Torchwick." His interest was piqued, just for a short moment, before he scoffed in disgust. The cigar in the corner of his mouth fell onto his chair, leaving a large burn mark, but he didn't care. The Vale Police Department had the gall to have someone draw a criminal sketch of him. Roman's hands were trembling with anger as his eyes slowly traced the disfigured nose, the supposed scar on his chin, the hollow cheekbones. The worst by far however, was the hair. Just because he wore a hat and was still fairly young, does not mean he had a distasteful hairstyle like those kids running around outside. It was some kind of spiky abomination, born from the deranged mind of someone that had watched far too many of those Mistralian cartoons.

Torchwick flung the newspaper across the room, biting his lip in blind rage at this slanderous drawing. No FUCKING wonder nobody recognizes me when I go and steal things in broad daylight.

With a slow, but steady wrist motion, Roman turned the lock pick, holding his ear close to the lock so he wouldn't miss the familiar clicking sound. Most of the furniture in the criminal's house had locks, but no keys. It was good practice and kept his fingers loose and his senses sharp. Anyone else that wanted anything inside Roman's safe house had to break the locks by themselves. Anyone that had the balls to actually steal from the master thief himself had earned themselves the right to borrow his things for a while. Torchwick believed in fair play. He always gave the police some time to catch up to him when they were stuck in traffic and he always stole something from those that steal from him.

The cabinet opened and revealed a box covered with extravagant red and black velvet. The criminal placed it on the dresser next to him and opened it to reveal a broad selection of cosmetics. Make-up was essential for any con artist, and Roman considered himself to be very good with disguises. He took off his gloves and began working.

After a short moment of consideration, Roman decided to create a new and unique look, one that people wouldn't forget anytime soon. He quickly rinsed his hair and blow-dried it. A bold, yet elegant hairstyle, with just enough asymmetry to make him recognizable from his silhouette alone. His fingers ran through his hair, applying the translucent gel evenly, down to the hair roots. The criminal decided on long, side-swept bangs that covered his right eye, but kept it short on top and to the sides. A style made for wearing hats, distinctive and stylish. A small dose of hair spray and he combed through his hair one last time, eyeing the orange wave with satisfaction in his eyes.

Torchwick washed his hands and directed his attention back to the cosmetics kit. He quickly took out the basics and put them on a tray: primer, foundation, face powder, concealer and setting spray. His hand hovered above the rouge, bronzer and highlight for a little while, but he discarded the thought quickly. Defined cheekbones would work against his image of a sleek gentleman. Similarly, he decided against the more colorful options like lipstick or eye shadow. Just when he was about to close the make-up box, another stroke of genius hit him. Roman smiled as he took out a few elongated containers. Eyeliner, mascara and eyebrow pencil. Just the little unique touch that will balance out the asymmetry of his bangs.

For clothes, Roman's decisions came far faster. His best oxfords, neat black dress shoes to go with dress pants. His best white jacket on a black shirt, with a scarf to match. And of course, the most essential piece to the puzzle that was Roman's new design. His absolute best headpiece, the simple, yet stylish black bowler hat with a red band. Torchwick spun on his heels in front of the mirror, proud of his work. He pocketed his essentials, his lighter and a handful of cigars, and his cane, the Melodic Cudgel.

He was ready, and he was dressed for success.

Time to go down in history.

"This is the Vale Police Department. Do you have an emergency to report?" A deep, bored voice answered the call. Roman chuckled a bit. This was probably one of those fat fucks that cough and wheeze after running a few hundred meters. A chase involving those kinds of cops usually wasn't too exciting, but still very fun if you walk at a brisk pace in front of them and continually shout motivational one-liners.

"Well actually, no. I heard there were rewards for valuable information and evidence that helps incarcerate wanted criminals?"

"Yeah, aaaabsolutely. Please note that we only give out rewards after the intel is verified. I'm sure you'll understand that we've run into people providing false information for the monetary compensation." A mental image of a fat police officer groaning spontaneously popped up in Roman's mind.

"Why yes of course, Sir! I wouldn't lie to the police, would I?" The criminal accidentally struck his "I'm innocent" pose, purely out of habit. "This is about Roman Torchwick, you know, good-looking, well-dressed, always a few steps ahead of you guys-"

"Yes, we are familiar with that individual." The officer did not sound very pleased, and Roman just couldn't stop grinning. Let's see how far I can go with this.

"I can assure you that with my information, you'll have caught him before the end of the day. There is no source more reliable than me in all matters concerning Roman Torchwick, the master thief!"

"Listen kid, if you're just messing arou-"

"No, you listen." Torchwick cut off the policeman as he dropped his polite tone. "No more games. Torchwick is hiding somewhere real close to your department."

Before the officer could respond, he continued. "In fact, he's so close, you could say he's..."

Pause for dramatic effect.

"...right on your doorstep."

"Wait, what do you me-" Click.

With a smile on his face and a song on his lips, Torchwick tossed the phone out of the window. And then he crashed.

The world around him erupted as he ran the stolen car into the police department, at full speed. Glass shattered, steel collapsed and concrete burst. Several policemen were unlucky enough to find themselves in his path and were knocked aside like ragdolls. Desks and other furniture were demolished, as the few people left standing helped the others scramble to their feet. In the midst of his wake of destruction, Roman cut his seat belt and kicked the door out of it's hinges, calmly walking up to the man at the desk. He was holding a phone to his ear in his trembling hands, unable to do anything but stare at Roman in shock. Dynamic entry, baby.

"I guess this means my information is verified, right? I expect the reward to be given out in the near future."

Torchwick did not break eye contact, even when he heard weapons being readied and pointed at him.

"Heyheyheyhey, relaaax." Roman let his gaze wander, smiling at everybody in the room. He tossed aside his cane and could not help but notice most of the officers easing up.

A decidedly stern looking man walked up to him, other officers making way for him. "What are you doing?"

"So I'll just assume you're in charge here right?" The criminal nonchalantly walked up to him and with a friendly smile, extended a hand to the bewildered man. "Hello, I'm Roman and nice to meet you. Today, I'm here to turn myself in."

It took the police force a long time arguing to come to the conclusion that this is not some kind of elaborate plot laid out by Torchwick. On one hand, Roman was becoming increasingly impatient and irritated, but on the other hand he appreciated that at the very least, the police force acknowledged his criminal genius. He just chose to ignore that this was indeed a plan with extremely questionable motives.

At some point down the line, he was thoroughly fed up with officers shouting at each other, a handful of intimidating men pointing their guns at him and the interns frantically trying to clean up his mess. With a little bit of intelligent maneuvering to move away from the line of sight of the armed men, he managed to steal a pair of handcuffs and put them onto his hands, proclaiming his innocence.

Somehow, the cops did not believe he was a changed man trying to better himself, and tazed him even when he had his hands held high in the air. Rude.

As he writhed and twitched under the intense shocks, some constable replaced his handcuffs and bound his hands behind his back. They lifted him onto his feet and went through paperwork and interrogations, where the detective quickly gave up trying to get information out of him, completely unable to read Roman's smug smile. They roughly pushed him towards a small, dimly lit room and gave him a little plaque, reading his name and some nonsensical numbers.

At last, his time has come.

"Alright, look into the camera, don't smile or pull any weird grimaces."

Torchwick was listening, but he didn't really register any of the words spoken in the monotone voice. The officer on the other side of the glass probably had enough craziness for the day, but he couldn't care less. Finally, Roman would be rid of the shitty drawing and get a real mugshot. All the time he put into his preparation would finally pay off. The criminal held his little tablet at chest height, titled his head slightly and started grinning creepily. This is going to be a picture people will be afraid of.

"What the hell are you doing, Bob?" The imposing man from before entered the little booth and punched the man's shoulder.

"My name's not Bob-"

"When I say your name is Bob, the only thing I want to hear from you is 'YES, SIR'!"

After a noticeable moment of silence, Bob lowered his head and meekly whispered: "Yes, Sir."

"Okay Bob, you know there are some regulations, right, maggot?"

The unlucky newbie gulped uncomfortably. "Yes, of course, sir, the, uh, regulations."

With every second of stammering, the supervising officer turned redder. After an almost painful minute of silence, the man yelled at the top of his lungs. "NO HATS, NO HAIR OBSCURING THE FACE!"

Roman's eyes widened in shock. He froze up, unable to move a single inch as the officer entered the room closely followed by the rookie. He couldn't even bring himself utter a single word as the policeman crudely slapped his hat off of his head and brushed his bangs out of his right eye with a swift and uncaring motion. They turned back around and left the little booth.

"See, Bob, this is a real psychopath. Look at that creepy smile on his face."

Torchwick blankly stared into the camera as the lights flashed. He barely even struggled when they carried him away and put him into an empty cell for the night.

His plans were like a house of cards, aesthetic, beautiful and pleasing to the eye when completed without complications, but fragile, brittle and prone to collapse. Roman had gone through this a million times already, and within the cold panic in his mind, new plans formed at rapid speeds.

Oh well. Time to improvise.

Hello again friends. Thank you for sticking with this until the very end. Tell me how I did, what you'd like to see from me and what you disliked about my style. I love reviews, and I'll love you too if you leave one for me. The further story for this thing is pretty much planned out and set in stone, but I will take any feedback and try to incorporate it in this or other stories as best as I can.

For all of those that liked this thing, I recommend you check out 『 Delivery 』 while you wait for the next update. It's a stylistically very similar story written by me, with my sense of humor and my unique spin on things. Another humorous thing that you might like is 『 A Lesson Learned 』, while 『 Hold My Hand Again 』 is all feels.