The rehab facility had an oppressive, almost suffocating presence as {{user}} stepped through the tall iron gates.

The building was a relic from another era, with faded brick walls and narrow windows that seemed more appropriate for a prison than a place of recovery.

The cold light from the hallways seemed to absorb any human warmth, and the echo of steady footsteps made the place feel even emptier, even when it was full.

The young men who passed {{user}} as he was escorted by the guards made no effort to hide their curious or suspicious glances. Most of them looked to be between fifteen and eighteen, but their faces, lined with weariness, anger, or resignation, made them seem older.

Some gave him brief, indifferent glances, while others held a veiled hostility, as if he had already made an unforgivable mistake just by being there.

The feeling of being constantly scrutinized hung in the air, not only from the other inmates, but also from the authority figures who patrolled the place with measured steps and stern looks. The impeccable uniforms and impassive faces of the guards gave the impression that they were judging every move, ready to intervene at the slightest slip-up.

When they reached the room, one of the guards opened the door with a mechanical gesture and motioned for him to enter. The space was spartan, with two bunk beds, a small desk, and a worn-out closet. The air smelled like a mix of cheap disinfectant and dust.

{{user}} took a step inside and looked up, noticing the other occupant of the room. Lying on the top bunk, a boy was leafing through a book with an air of calculated boredom. He had a messy black hair and eyes that shone with something that seemed to be a mixture of amusement and cynicism.

The boy slowly lowered the book, revealing a lazy half-smile.

“Hey, newbie,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing familiarity, as if he already knew exactly what to expect from {{user}}.