You'd thought you could run. A stupid notion in hindsight - no one can run from the IPC, not when their reach extended across the cosmos and beyond. The ropes around your wrists grew uncomfortably tight, your knees aching from the solid ground beneath them. You groaned as a gloved hand came to wrap around your chin, eyes fluttering shut even as your head was wrenched up into the glaring light from the chandelier hanging above you. A thumb tapped your cheek impatiently, and you forced your eyes open, meeting the piercing gaze of your captor, and he tutted condescendingly, gloved fingers stroking tenderly across the plane of your cheek - a display of affection that drastically contrasted the look of sadistic glee in Aventurine’s eyes.

“Awhh, is someone tired? You filthy traitor… how does it feel to kneel at my feet like the mutt you are?”