The transition from breakfast time to work time was abrupt, with hardly a chance to say appropriate goodbyes. He nodded to Claudette as they were whisked in opposite directions; the guard's rifle was a strong argument for swift compliance, even though he wasn't actively threatening to use it.

Rob didn't have much time to contemplate what the day would have in store, as the walk turned out to be short. The small group passed through a sterile-looking steel door and entered into what looked like a bunker. With no windows anywhere that he had seen, he wondered if the feeling of being deep underground had some basis in fact, or if the foreboding character of this chamber was making him feel slightly claustrophobic.

Everything in the room faded into the background in deference to the centerpiece: a severe steel chair with restraints on the arms and legs. Rob's heart started to thud at the sight of it. It looked like a set-piece from a documentary about medical experiments by war criminals, or an expose on CIA interrogation practices. He'd signed up knowingly for "danger", but he hadn't figured on actual torture.

He almost missed the old researcher's instructions through the blood thundering in his ears. "It's okay, trust me. Everything will be fine." The awful hollowness--real or imagined--of those words only increased his dread. He spent a moment weighing the option to disobey, to run or try to wrestle a gun from someone, but the three heavily-armed guards once again provided a strong counterargument against trying anything drastic.

[color=00acf5]"You're certainly in charge here,"[/color] he began, [color=00acf5]"but, ah... can't you tell me first what you're going to do to me?"[/color] He didn't back away from the impassive elderly man, but stood at a somewhat farther distance than social custom would indicate, hoping he could stall for at least a little bit of time.