The Bolted Cell

*CRACK.* David’s skull slammed against the jagged edge of the oak shelf. A white-hot vibration rattled his brain. «Damn it... did I black out?» Total darkness. It felt heavy, like a woolen shroud draped over his face. The acrid sting of burnt gunpowder bit into his nostrils—thick, suffocating, and permanent. *Tsssssssss.* A fuse burning? No. Just the high-pitched scream of tinnitus in his ears. «The file. It was right here. I swear it was in my hand before the blast.» He swept his hand across the floorboards, searching for paper. His fingertips brushed something different. Something viscous. Tepid. Nauseatingly slick. *Squelch.* David yanked his hand back as if he’d touched a live wire. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* His pulse hammered against his eardrums like a distant war drum. «Steady. Breathe. You’re David Miller. Panic is for the guilty.» He fished the Zippo from his pocket with practiced grace. *Click.* Nothing. *Click. Click.* A pathetic orange spark clawed through the gloom. His eyes widened. The blood in his veins turned to slush. The guard’s body was sprawled across the narrow corridor, an anatomical roadblock. The man’s neck was twisted at a sickeni…