The stairwell smells of gunpowder. There's a security officer lying dead at my feet on the landing.

His brains are plastered all over the smooth concrete wall. Judging by the still dripping red in gray sludge,

he died very recently. Did I kill him? I have an M4A1 carbine on a strap around my neck, and I'm holding the weapon in a ready position.

I'm dressed for combat.

The trajectory of the blood splatter tells me it's possible that I shot him from the lower landing as I came up the stairs.

But I don't remember.

A voice crackles in my ear. It's one I recognize, and it belongs to someone I trust. Bolden. You with me, Angle? She says over the radio. I shake my head,

clearing the confusion. My training comes back to me. Dead security officer between levels three and four, I say.

No sign of any hostels yet. Continuing on.

Check your right hand for your objective, she says.

I lift my right hand off the carbine.

There's a clear plastic hardholder strapped to my right wrist.

It shows a picture of a door. On the door, the words, server room 2 are clearly visible.

I can also see the room number on the wall next to the door, 804.

Copy that, I say, stepping over the dead security officer's legs

and heading up toward the eighth floor.

My knees creak as I move, reminding me I'm not a young man anymore.

I shake it off and focus on the task at hand.

As I move up toward the sixth floor, a gunshot echoes down the stairwell.

I move with increased caution, coming to the seventh floor landing.

There's another security officer in the stairwell, dead.

His phone lies nearby, as if he had it in his left hand when he was shot.

...