[center][h2][color=#B0C4DE]BLINK[/color][/h2][img]https://i.imgur.com/X3jNw6W.png[/img][/center]
Asmodeus had gotten up earlier than the norm, he was already done a bit over ninety-five percent of his Institute given program. Low thuds of boots thud against the whirring purr of a conveyor belt. He was running against a specially made treadmill, tailored specifically for his speed. 16 also had a hand in it, which he incessantly thanked her for. The treadmills manufactured by the Institute broke down during his [i]warmup[/i], it was thanks to Weaver that they finally had one created that didn't buckle under his speed. The machinery whirred, slowing down before eventually coming to halt. As he wrapped his face on the towel from the rack, a familiar beeping noise erupted, the words typing out on his plasma television,

[hr]
[quote][sub][color=green]//:DEAR RECIPIENT

YOU HAVE BEEN REQUESTED TO ATTEND THE AUDITORIUM AT PRECISELY 6:00AM THIS MORNING. AS THIS IS AN HOUR BEFORE CURFEW RELEASE, AN INSTITUTE EMPLOYEE WILL ATTEND AND MANUALLY RELEASE YOUR DOOR. FROM THERE, YOU WILL HEAD DIRECTLY TO THE AUDITORIUM AND BE SEATED.

NON-COMPLIANCE IS NOT AN OPTION. ::[/color][/sub][/quote][hr]
[color=#B0C4DE]"Huh, this is rare. Even for them."[/color] Asmodeus muttered to the empty room, [color=#B0C4DE]"Well, I got a bit of time."[/color] He stepped down, resting on a chair to catch his breath for a moment. After a few minutes of collecting himself he stepped into the shower room. [color=#B0C4DE]"Damn heater takes ages to turn on, millions, no billions spent on modified children bred for war, and not a cent on the heaters."[/color]

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walked to his closet, grabbing his everyday clothes. A normal, blurred green jacket, with a white innards along with comfortable jeans. He looked longingly at the tailored boots, designed not to burn up on reaching high speeds. He was always impressed at how the Institute planned ahead so much. Right on cue, the familiar creaking of his doors opened. It was followed by a rather stern looking guard eyeing him, hand on a remote, seeming almost too eager to press with a slip of the finger. Asmodeus chuckled, [color=#B0C4DE]"Hey."[/color] he called out nonchalantly, still tying the aglets of his boots.

"Head to the auditorium, 22." the callous guard said, as if practiced from a scrip a million times, [color=#B0C4DE]"Atleast buy me dinner first."[/color] Asmodeus whispered, his words not reaching the guard's ears. He burrowed his hands into his pockets, and walked towards the designated destination. He whistled a soft tune, taking his sweet time in between each stride. For fun, he ran simulations in his mind on the likelihood of survival trying to take out the eyeing guards from up above. All simulations ended in death, or 0% [color=#B0C4DE]"Heh. Figures."[/color] he said under his breath. His eyes scrunched up at the bright lights in the auditorium.

Asmodeus took a seat, a few rows down from Alma, he figured that the other cool single digit people would sit with her. He caught her sight, and nodded in acknowledgement. She pat the chair to her left from her awkward position on the floor. He shook his head, [color=#B0C4DE]"I'm not cool enough to sit there."[/color] he said in half jest. Alma's smile fell crooked, and her head tilted in amusement. [color=olive]"I can't even [i]sit[/i] on the damn seat. Don't be like that."[/color] Her words were laced with subtle laughter from her position on the floor. [color=#B0C4DE]"Alright you make a good point."[/color] he replied, standing up and sauntering over to the seat left of where Alma sat.

He sighed once more as his eyes fell onto the chairs, [i][color=#B0C4DE]Billion dollar company, folding chairs.[/color][/i] he thought, shifting left to right uncomfortably before finding the least uncomfortable spot before giving up and slinking down the chair. He eyed the meticulous Director behind what appears to be reinforced glass, it would be lying if he said that he wasn't curious, gathering of the 'children' were rare.