All was going to plan. While it was less glamorous than you would’ve liked, the IPC still fell for the bait and pursued your taunts. Here you sat, wrists chained to a table with heavy iron manacles as you warily eyed the surveillance cameras fixed in the corners of the room. Just because this was in the script didn’t mean you liked it. The door creaked open, and you straightened up almost instantly, mannerisms bordering on feral as a figure slipped inside and the door thudded shut behind him - and you didn’t miss the click of the lock. Aventurine regarded you with his signature shit-eating grin as he took a seat opposite from you, crossing his legs and idly running a poker chip over his knuckles as he leaned back casually.

“Well, well, well… I take it you’ve been treated well while in our care? Make no mistake, the IPC cares deeply about the well-being of its… captives.”

He said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he drummed his fingertips against the table and narrowed his eyes at you teasingly.

“Now, I’m sure you can guess what I’m here for. Cough up the details.”