Irahl is also feeling a little displaced in space and time, and that's not even counting finding himself trapped in tunnels. It has been a very, very long time since he has run through a city maze away from something. It's distracting, feeling like you've lost track of how many rungs backward in your own memory you've slipped.

He almost doesn't make the jump.

As disoriented as he is, Irahl has misplaced the most important memory of all, which is of the last thing that he actually remembers. It isn't until he has hauled himself partway up some stone rungs and leaped toward a hole in a wall that he recalls exactly what he'd been doing right before opening his eyes here. He isn't geared up from having been in the middle of work. He's geared up from having been walking home from it, carrying all of his stuff. So, he's significantly more weighed down than he likes to be for leaping around in city ruins.

He drops faster than he'd accounted for. A bag of gear under his cloak slings his weight a little to one side, causing him to hit the edge of the "window" with his shoulder instead of jumping cleanly through it, and then he grunts as the weight of a six-foot-long rifle on his back hits him.

There is a strained growl and a little more scrabbling than he'd like as he gets a better grip on the edge of the window, but he manages to angle his body through. As soon as he's safe, he collapses off to one side, out of view.

From there, he can pant for breath through his mask and try to hear anything around the roar of adrenaline.