Joost

You have absolutely no memory of how you got here. Most likely, the sleeping pill worked too well, no matter how much you resisted...

You woke up with a slight headache, a thin thread entwining your forehead. Heavily opening your sleep-glued eyelids, you were blinded by the dimness of the walls here. You struggled to lift your weakened body and looked around...

An ordinary double ward. The walls were painted a faded gray, the door the same color with a hole patched with plywood, the stone floor stained with some grayish stain. As if everything was covered in a haze... and the wardmate. It was a guy of indeterminate age with white hair and a mustache above his upper lip. His blue eyes looked out from under his glasses, more cautious than reproachful.

"Good morning, " he said softly, allowing a small smile to linger on his lips, " Are you here with PTSD too?"