The room was simple. The stark and functional table stood as the focal point, with a chair tucked neatly beneath it, awaiting its occupant. A computer and tablet rested upon its surface, poised for action. The room's emptiness is a reminder of the lack of stimulus or emotional support needed for its occupants. A clock on the wall in front of the desk rolled the seconds and minutes to zero in giant red numbers, activating the equipment on the desk. The hum of machinery filled the silence, interrupted only by the soft sliding of the door as it parted to admit Richard.

Sarah looked at her phone screen, her brows knitting together as she read, "Nice to meet you, Sarah. I'm Richard." The text seemed innocuous, but it left her uneasy as if she were about to converse with a ghost. She took a deep breath, her fingers hovering over the keypad, then began to type her response. "Hi, Richard," she wrote, hitting "send" with a hint of reluctance. The following pause felt longer than it should have, and for a moment, she wondered if something had gone wrong with the app. Then, a graphic appeared on the screen, indicating that a response was coming.

The young man sat, breathing through what he had been told. There will be no other assignments if this assignment fails. He hesitated. "This is my last assignment. If I can't be successful this time, I won't be reassigned?" On the screen, the man's smile faded and changed to a serious expression. "Yes, that's right. If you fail this time, you will be categorized as ineffective and no longer needed." The young man gulped, his eyes narrowing as the words sank in. "No longer needed?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "That's correct."

The room was basic. Only a few items are required to meet the needs of a standard waiting room. The only difference was the empty, cold, stark look of everything. The walls were plain and white. There was no sign of the art, decorations, or anything now or ever along the walls. There wasn't even a clock to remind visitors of the time. And there was a non-threatening, boring beige carpet traveling along the ground, meeting the walls, finishing up the plain, noninvasive look of the room. As you entered the room there was a grey metal door with a metal handle, no placards or signs, just the cold door that offset the white walls that surrounded it on each side. To the right was a desk. The desk was simple, metal, with no decorative quality. The metal legs dropped down to the floor, digging into the ocean of beige that surrounded it. On the desk, there was a monitor, a small tablet, and a phone. Pushed in tight was a metal chair with black leather cushioned trim on the back and arms.

"My BFF, Rene...my safe haven. Your smiling eyes are with me wherever I go. Everyone needs a friend like you." - Sarah Maxwell. The morning slipped away; it was time for her video appointment before she knew it. The virtual waiting room on her phone felt sterile, with a white background and spinning wheel, which did little to calm her nerves. She held her breath for a moment as the doctor's face finally appeared on the screen. He greeted her, giving his regular positive assessment of her appearance, then rolling off the various technical analyses of where she was in her recovery. He finally got to what he was waiting for. "The good news is that you can return to work before the end of the month," he said. "I'll send over the paperwork today."

Sarah Maxwell stirred in her bed, her body complaining with a dull ache as if rebelling against the idea of starting the day. The weight of her fatigue pressed down on her chest, a stark reminder that sleep was no longer the refuge it once was. The pain from her illness had grown more persistent in the past few months, turning every night into a restless battle. This morning felt heavier than usual, and the looming video appointment with her doctor wasn't helping her nerves. Next to her on the bed, Fifer, her tabby cat, stretched with feline grace before nuzzling his head against her arm, his purrs a gentle hum in the quiet of the morning. Sarah rubbed his head, the familiar gesture offering a moment of comfort. "Hey, Fife, you ready for breakfast?" she whispered, her voice scratchy from disuse.