A sticky trap.

I hurried up the stairs, telling myself that I'd make no more mistakes when a new problem presented itself. I had made a third of the way up the stairs when I stepped in something that squished. I pulled my foot up instinctively, but my foot only came up partway. A tendril of sticky white goo caked the bottom of my stiletto. The step was coated with it.

I gripped the handrail only to find that it too was covered with white goo. I tried to pull my hand away, but again the white goo stretched a bit before snapping back down. It was some kind of glue, and it was strong. I pushed against the step with my free leg, stretching the glue farther than before. It refused to let go, but I refused to give up. I pushed even harder, leg trembling with exertion, and finally freed myself. I pulled away from the handrail, impractical heels scrabbling against the stone stairs as the glue pulled back. It let go with a rip, sending me tumbling. Luckily, not down the stairs.

I was panting, but I was almost there. The room I needed to get to was just at the top of the stairs. I made my way up slowly, looking for more glue. It blended in well so I had to look carefully. It was somewhat slow work, hopping over glue-coated stairs in heels, without daring to touch the handrail. The last three stairs were all coated in glue, but I made it over with a mighty leap. I was at the last room with one minute to spare. I rested the urge to charge in and took cover at the doorway instead, peering in. The glint of glass sensors lined the floor, and an almost comical amount of cameras were arrayed on the walls. I'd be dancing myself right to jail if I went in there.