Terrible choice. Like he even needs to say it. Jay must've rubbed off on him, a bit too much for Tim to be entirely comfortable with the idea - since when has Jay excelled at self-preservation?

But, hell, if he's going to pick a side in this stupid political conflict, he's not gonna land with Atlas or with Ryan. He's gonna land on the side of people like him, fucked over by this absurd backwards system.

"I gotta soft spot for head cases," he deadpans. Then, casual, like he's just inviting him out for a drink and not braving a raging inferno, he jerks his chin. "Let's get outta here."

The wood's creaking beneath his feet but he doesn't dare lean against any part of the room for support. Maybe it's for the best this guy's built like Jay, ragged and skinny and small - smaller than Tim, in any case. He'll let him go first. That's just common sense, and it's safer.

He drags the collar of his shirt over his mouth, which doesn't do a whole lot to block out the smoke but it's something. He points, just to the side of the part of the floor that's begun to degrade completely.

"Stairs," he grunts, the word muffled through his shirt but obvious in intent.