New York State Mental Institute was like any other building you can find in New York City. The building shot twenty stories into the sky, showing off their logo's and ad's that payed for all the medical equipment, the workers always pride themselves in being there for their patient's at whatever time, day or night.

Marisha Kimings was the head nurse. She made sure everything was ship shape in her fine establishment. She checked the rooms daily, made sure the food was edible, and was the one to confiscate any 'sharp objects' that a patient may somehow get their hands on. But no matter how careful she was, how much she planned, she couldn't see everything.

In room 117 four hard white chairs were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room around a square nightstand. Two of the chairs were occupied by a couple of men. On the one white bed, a 17 year old boy lay sprawled out with his arms under his head. One of the men was shuffling a deck of cards, tapping them twice on the nightstand before he shuffled them again.

"You wanna play?" The man with the cards asked the teen.

The dirty blond teenager sat up, stretching his long arms above his head, "what are ya playing?"

"Texas Hold'em." The other man in the room answered, kicking his feet up on the nightstand.

"I'm too young to play that." The teen sighed, it sounded interesting.

The card dealer swung one arm over the back of the chair to get a better look at the teen, "you think we care?"

The teen shook his head 'no' and hopped out of the bed, sitting down in one of the vacant chairs. The dealer flicked his brown hair out of his eyes as he continued to shuffle, examining the two others. The man sitting to his right was lean with black hair that reached halfway down his neck, shocking blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. The teen was tall and thin, with short dirty blond hair, piercing stormy grey eyes, and some muscle on his arms and chest.

"We gonna wait or just play?" The dealer asked after shuffling five more times.

"If he wants to play, he would be here on time." The raven haired man grunted, taking his feet off the nightstand.

"Very true." A fourth man stepped through the room door.

He sat in the last chair and took a long swig of his soda. The dealer rolled his eyes, he always came at the last second. He tapped the cards twice on the table and dealt two cards to each person and placed five face up in the center of the table.

"What we playing for?" The new guy puffed, swirling his glass in small circles.

The dealer dug his hand into his pocket and drew out some candy. He placed two Twix and a Three Musketeers on the table. The man too his right fished around in his pocket, his tongue sticking out in concentration, and came up with a Tootsie Roll.

"Seriously, that's all you got?" The teen laughed, tossing a full sized Hersey bar into the pile.

"Not everyone is a goodie two shoes, like some people." The man glared at the blond.

The new guy leaned back in his chair. He reached into the dealers pocket and came up with a handful of mints. He placed them in the pile.

"Hey!" The dealer smacked the new guy in the back of the head.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game." The new guy laughed, pushing the dealer out of his chair.

The raven haired man swiped the dealers cards, taking a quick peek while he was down. The dealer wasted no time in getting to his feet and tackling the other man. The teen and new guy watching in mild amusement at the two yelling profanities at each other until the dealer got a solid punch to the raven haired mans nose.

The dealer flopped back into his chair and shuffled the deck so he could get new cards. The other man sent the dealer a chilling glare and sat heavily into his own chair.

The new guy finished his soda in one long swig and placed the cup down on the table, "raise."

The teen sniffed, "you have nothing to raise."

The new guy dug into his pocket, and as if proving the teens point, came up with nothing, "I guess whoever wins will get you then."

"You can't bid me!" The teen yelled, taking a mint from the pile and chucking it at the mans head.

"Those are my mints and I forbid you from throwing them!" The dealer shouted at the teen.

The blond teenager stuck out his tongue. "Says you." He smiled innocently at the dealer, "I fold, I have no need for icky mints."

"Says you." The dealer grunted, concentrating more on the game then the teen's insults.

"What do you guys think about misery?" The new guy asked after five minutes into the game.

"It sucks rotten eggs," the dealer answered, "I fold."

"No icky mints for you!" The teen cheered, throwing up his useless cards. He turned to the man, "Why do you wanna know?"

The man just shrugged his shoulders, "I check."

"Bastard." The raven haired man groaned, folding his hand and ultimately losing the game.

"Told you you wouldn't need those mints." The man said cheekily, taking the candy.

The raven haired man kicked is feet up on the table, "To answer your question, no one likes to be miserable, so whats the point in asking?"

"I have my reasons." The new guy poured himself more soda and leaned back in his chair.

"Everyone is here because they are miserable in some way." The dealer mumbled, picking up the cards and shuffling them so they could play again.

"What about you then, why are you miserable?" The teen asked, looking around desperately for more candy to bid.

"If I answer, will you?" The dealer raised a brown eyebrow, watching the teen while he shuffled.

"If they do." The teen motioned to the raven haired man and the new guy.

Said men looked up at each other, having a silent conversation, before nodding their agreement.

"Fine," the dealer passed the cards around and flipped the five up in the center of the table, "Fatigue," he answered simply.

The teen frowned, confused how fatigue could cause misery, "pain," he said, holding up his end of the bargain.

The raven haired man took his legs off the table when he got his cards, looking at the three before answering, "hunger."

The new guy kept looking at his hand. He looked at the five cards that sat face up on the table before placing his cards down and folding, "depression."