I climb to the top landing of the stairwell, and freeze.

A dirty man sits there, surrounded by bandages, wrapping his bleeding leg.

“I’m going to need you to leave,” I say.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, standing and puffing up.

I click my radio, “I’ve got one hostile.”

“You’re a liar!” He says, threateningly.

I pull my baton, stepping back into a defensive stance.

He crouches down, parroting kung fu. It’s so comical that I laugh aloud, breaking the tension.

I put away my baton, and offering to help him leave, talk him out of the building.