If the human didn't want to be burned, she shouldn't have lingered. Particularly to harass him. When Connor catches her glancing backwards, he's tempted to stop running, but in the end, momentum wins out.

He makes it through the door just after she does, and in comparable condition: a cloudy white shows beneath the right side of his face, synthetic skin bubbling away to show plastic. The errors have multiplied across his field of vision, and Connor staggers to a stop not far inside, one hand braced against the wall as he exhales the caustic, heated fumes still occupying his insides. The cooler air helps some, though his LED is still solid red.

"What—was that—for?"