Something's fired at him but it misses, so he ignores it. He can hear it thrashing down there, disoriented apparently, which is good -- he hopes. Then hands grasping him and pulling him upwards and he's not going to fight that -- he grips back and does the best he can to help haul himself upwards.

He doesn't weigh as much as he should.

He can still hear it banging around down there. It can jump high enough to reach the fire escape, but can it climb? He doesn't know, but he's not going to give it a chance to find out; as soon as he's on solid ground, breaking the thing shouldn't be too much trouble. He just needs to get out of the way.

One last burst of momentum and he's solidly on the rooftop, scrambling as far from the edge as he can before his arms give up on him and he falls on his back, breathing hard -- from that sprint to get here, yes, but also from fear.

His eyes are watering from whatever that gas was, but the stinging is only annoying, not painfully incapacitating. It's not tear gas, which he has experienced and which seems like it would have been more effective. He coughs a few times and it helps.

"Thank you," he says in English when he manages to catch his breath.