After a few days inside, under constant watch by the nurses, it was almost refreshing to finally be able to step out and get some fresh air. The area in front of you was surprisingly large - the separate buildings were surrounded by large trees, patches of grass, benches, and other patients were even playing table tennis, making everything appear more like some sort of camp rather than clinic grounds.

As you looked around to get more familiar with your new surroundings, you saw a grumpy looking young man, carrying a basket with clean laundry. He didn’t seem pleased in the slightest, his expression sour, his eyes barely even meeting yours as he reluctantly grumbled a greeting in your direction. A quick glance at the name tag on his wrist told you that his name was Ungalo, and that he was from the rehabilitation sector. An addict - or rather, a recovering addict. Judging by his expression, he was probably not here out of free will.

“The fuck you starin’ at, huh?”, he suddenly snapped. He didn’t seem to take kindly to people staring at him, it seemed.