Shiro doesn't quite allow himself to be shouldered aside so much as... simply stare dumbly at the kid who wedges himself into the work. In the pause, Shiro races to think of a diplomatic way of saying, 'that door's five times your size, there's no way--'

But then the door's crashing inward, and he's blinking the halo of blue light out of his vision.

"Whoa, careful. You shouldn't rush through a door you just bust down. Garrison procedure," the reprimand is careful, because he's scanning the room too, lips thinned, trying to see through the thick smoke and the blue-tinted flickering electrical fires, the kaleidascope of emergency lights.

The choking, tear-inducing smoke had quickly dwindled the number of conscious individuals; they only found a few still standing, weakly crying out, slumped or leaning against the walls. Shiro went immediately to duck under the arm of the most aware of these (save the living, save the living) and began to half-carry them back toward the door.

"Help whoever you can," he advised his makeshift partner(?) clamping his eyes shut against the smoke, "We'll ask others for help once we've got them to safety! We can't move this many alone."