It had not been that long since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the hands of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been stretched and abused beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a great hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was removed from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his body through The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Master Figata, wearing a white suit with a crisp white button down and tie, led the boy with his large, stony hands into a room for what was pronounced as his "ordination." The room was white, bright, pristine with otherworldly energy, as if it had been plucked from a distant, previous century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch.