Mr. Jamison didn’t dare look over the edge. He slid along the scaffolding, staying as close to the window as he could, and stopping every time he felt the wind rush by or the scaffolding move.
He realized that he could see the terrorists inside, which in turn meant they could see him too. He quickened his pace, trying to come up with some sort of plan or strategy.
He should’ve just joined the army like his father had told him. Finally, Mr. Jamison had reached the end of the scaffolding. He held onto the railing as he tried to pry the window open. It wouldn’t budge.
He tore at his hair and looked for other ways out. The only way to go was down. Not to his death of course, but to the next scaffolding below.
He would have to swing himself over the edge then hold on and lower himself to the next bright yellow platform. It looked like he might have to swing into the next platform.

Great he thought.