Opening the door doesn't do any good if the people inside can't get out, and it's all but guaranteed that most won't be as small as Dave; with a short eyeroll, Shiro pauses only long enough for Dave to slither in past him.

And then resumes his effort, body and mechanical arm straining until the prosthetic's servos are hissing smoke and his hair is drenched in sweat and the door gives way with a slow, screeching groan.

Tamping down an uncharitable retort, Shiro reminds himself to keep his head in the game, ducking through the darkened doorway after Dave, blinking had and fast against the smoke which rolled out of the new entryway in waves. "If you can walk out yourself, please hurry! This level's unstable. If you need help, call out while our eyes adjust!"

There was a coughing cacophony of voices that answered.