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Ain't no reason for me to be here. Ratford mumbles as he slaps the wet mop onto the industrial tile floor.

This shit is way above my clearance.

I'm being set up. I know it.

Radford, an average-sized man who looks much shorter due to his natural instinct to hunch

and make himself small so that he goes unnoticed, pushes the wet mop down

one side of the hallway, then back up the other side. He drops the mop into the bucket,

gives it a hard twirl, pulls it out, squeezes off the excess water in the top ringer,

then slaps the freshly wet mop back onto the tile floor. This time, he goes down the center of the hallway.

When he reaches room 213, he pauses.

Coming from under the door is a strange, greenish light,

which shouldn't be possible, since 213 is a double-locked room.

Two doors to get through, and both should be sealed all the way

to the floor. Except, Radford does see light. Yep, set up. I should tell somebody, he says to

himself, should call this in. He snorts a huge lugy up, then spits it onto the floor, wiping it

...