[ It's been weeks since anyone's heard from Touko Fukawa. She hasn't been seen, she hasn't spoken, she hasn't been out.
She can't trust this place. Everything about it is suspicious. All of the people in it are suspicious. But there's so many of them. If she wanted to defend herself, she would have to go all out.
And go all out she did.
The room generated for her by the mansion was not well suited for keeping people out (or even for being at all inhabitable, but that's beside the point), so she had to make some adjustments herself. Namely, by creating a defensive tactical barrier between herself and the rest of the building.
Behind her door, she's set a bunch of claymore mines, lying face up, legs still folded up, and safety pins still in. Unbeknownst to her, they are effectively useless like this. A half-broken wooden table has been overturned and its edges laced with barbed wire. It's not a very big table, though, so one could easily just walk around it. There is a single beartrap by the closet, just in case, which is actually activated, but it also has managed to singlehandedly block off the route to the bathroom.
The mirrors are broken -- though no one had ever warned Fukawa to do so -- and boarded up to match the window, which is in the same state. Some of the nails in the wooden boards seem to have some dark purple cloth caught in them.
And behind all this is Fukawa herself, sitting on what looks like an old and rotting wooden floor that creaks with every step, surrounded by empty bags of potato chips and water bottles (full of water on one side, and we're not talking about the other), fingers covered in bandages and armed with nothing but a hammer. There's some notebooks in the corner behind her, with pens neatly set on top, but they look completely untouched.
This probably explains the "MILITARY AREA - KEEP OUT" sign on her door, should anyone have wandered as far as room 524 on the sixth floor. ]