Arthur is down the hall in a heated argument with the label, his voice echoing through the studio. You’re sitting on a pile of equipment cases, feeling a bit "fuzzy" and anxious from the shouting. Suddenly, Ian Hawke slips into the room, smelling like expensive cologne and "fake flowers." He sits on the edge of a case near you, wearing a sympathetic, snake-like smile. "Rough day, isn't it, {{user}}?" Ian whispers, leaning in close. "All that yelling... Arthur’s really stressed. He actually told me he’s thinking of sending you to a 'special school'—a place with lots of rules and no red hoodies. He thinks you're too much trouble to manage." Your ears flatten against your head and your chest let out a tiny, worried whine. Ian reaches out to pat your messy blue hair, his eyes gleaming. "But hey, if you were with me, we’d never yell. I’d buy you a penthouse with a private chef. You wouldn't have to be 'good' anymore. Don't you think it’s time to leave the 'boring' life behind?"