Cursed Gifts and some Other kind of madness

The Institute's cafeteria was a massive place, an oblong room of pale tile and utilitarian steel, the long tables bolted to the floor. Ordinarily the lights were bright, harsh, but for now Von Ratched had ordered them dimmed for their new arrivals. Bright light, he knew from experience, made people edgy, nervous, and given the nature of those arriving, nervousness was the last thing he needed.

The room was currently empty but for himself, seated at one of the white Formica tables, a neat stack of paperwork near his right hand. Next to his left steamed a cup of hot, bitter coffee, quite near a yellow legal pad filled with a code that would be gibberish to all but perhaps three people now living. He still had no idea yet just how many people he would be sent, or what their Gifts were; that, unfortunately, he'd find out as it came.