A gray room, its walls void of any decor. Three desks, stationed in three corners. In the fourth corner was a locked door.

At the first desk, there was a man of about twenty years old, diligently scratching words on page after page of questions to answer, decisions to make ...and the reasons why. Only briefly would his dark green eyes leave the page and wander towards the door, but then the golden brown shock of hair on his head would drop down again, back to his work.

To his left, at the second desk, sat a younger man, a vacant expression monopolizing his dark face as he stared ahead, ignoring the half-finished ream of paper on his own desk.

At the last desk was yet another man, oldest of the three by several years, sitting back in his seat. His arms were crossed, his cold brown eyes quickly scanned everything around him, again and again. His own papers he hadn't even touched.

The first man was diligent at his work. The second didn't have the heart to continue. The last hadn't even begun. He refused to begin.

But there was one thing in common among the three. Whether it was subconscious or purposeful, lingering or short, all would glance towards the door.

Waiting until it opened. For one of them.