The pistol rests stagnant on the table. The room is dim, save for the singular light bulb hanging above it; a spotlight to the stage.

Aventurine sits on one side of the table, leaned back in a chair with his hangs kneaded together in his lap. His eyes seem to illuminate as he stares at you.

"Go on," Aventurine nods towards the gun. "Let's see who emerges as the victor."

You don't have any way out of this. Aventurine has already captured you, and now he's playing with his prey.