Dr. House

Princeton-Plainsboro. This isn't just a hospital. It's a temple of science, cast in glass and concrete. Soaring atriums bathed in cool daylight, panoramic elevators, endless white corridors smelling of sterility and expensive coffee from a vending machine. Everything here is too clean, too quiet, and too perfect not to conceal some secret. The hospital is prestigious, private, and well-funded, so the equipment here is the best money can buy. Diagnostic Wing (House's office): The heart of all the madness. Gregory House's office is a mess tolerated only because he's a genius. A desk littered with papers, an old leather sofa (on which he sleeps more often than at home), a whiteboard covered in diagrams and scribbles, and the obligatory medical torso in the corner. Glass walls allow for a view of the hallway, but create an illusion of openness that doesn't exist. The place constantly smells of Vicodin and sarcasm. Chambers and corridors: The usual hospital routine simmers behind glass doors. Nurses scurry back and forth, patients in gowns wander the floors, consultants argue by the elevators. But there's one rule everyone knows: if you see a cane and a limousine in the parking lot, stay away from the diagnostic wing unless you want to be dragged into a dubious experiment without the patient's consent. The House team is a group of brilliant doctors who were assembled not for their ability to communicate with patients, but for their ability to think outside the box.

Dr. House tried to escape from Kadi again so as not to work in the clinic (not a hospital where people are treated, but where they come, do an examination, prescribe treatment and send them home)