Robert Goren stared down at the table, examining the small scratches on the surface. He did this after counting the number of bricks in the wall, the number of tiles on the ceiling, and the number of faint handprints left on the large mirror in front of him. The third number was admittedly small, but the 1PP mirror was always kept clean. There was something oddly irksome and foreign about this place.
Though he'd never been in this particular room before, this particular size or wall color, he was nevertheless used to the environment; a cold, sterile room, the large mirror, an uncomfortable chair or two.
The thing that he was not used to, however, was being the one in handcuffs.
This place was so alien and, again, irksome. His worry and agitation manifested themselves in his observations, even more compulsive than usual. Two floor tiles were cracked, whoever had been in his chair last had worn a cheap cologne (an annoying smell that didn't exactly help his agitation), and it had been almost precisely one hour and forty-three minutes since he'd been brought in. He still wasn't sure why he was there.
He glanced up at the mirror, wondering who was on the other side (if anyone). He debated on tapping his foot on the floor or shifting a little in his seat. Goren wanted to, it wasn't in his nature to sit still, but he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than he already had.
One hour and forty-four minutes...
He just kept staring at the surface. That was his best bet for now. No new information, no new clues as to what was going on. He figured he might as well just relax and wait it out.