Enter Sandman.

Along with a winnowing desire to do different, he grew quickly staled by the mechanicial repetition of the team in the room. Maybe it was the gray, stained carpet, maybe it was the gray, unstained thinking. Or maybe it was just the numbing ache that there was so much better that was possible. That was the drill to the nerve, really. Nothing of even passing interest would ever be created from this conversation. Most of them already knew it, some of them secretly wished for just that outcome.