Adora's blinking, struggling to see as the gas makes everything hurt. Breathing is a chore and she feels as if she's already going to collapse. But she can't. They have to keep going. She wraps an arm around Catra's middle to try and get her to straighten up.

"Way worse," she agrees with a few hacking coughs, "Let's keep going, though. We don't have a choice-"

Oh, boy. Are those bars greased?