Samsa slipped his way into the doorway, heeding Kalia's advice. He immediately noticed the array of scattered suits of armor, now unfit and unreliable. Samsa knelt down beside one of the armor sets lying on the floor, caking his fingertips in rust. These ancient things must have been unusable for quite sometime; how long did they last? In their time, whom did they protect? That didn't matter, because they littered the floor of this place now. Before long, they will have withered away so much that the wretch could grind them beneath his heel. Seeing the guards in shining armor used to make him grind his teeth, but seeing the metal as it was--penetrable, breakable, destructible--provided a new perspective.

Samsa entered the hall; the signs of the outside world strengthened his hunger for freedom. He felt natural sunlight, and he could smell the life in the air, or at least the rank water. Elaborate and confusing though the place was, Samsa was determined to find his way out. He walked by several doorways and observed many collapsed and destroyed bridges, but he needed a way down. He needed to leave. He started towards the spiral staircase, but the distant sound of footsteps dissuaded him. He looked behind him; he didn't particularly care for anyone else here, but those footsteps could be the end of him. The footsteps down a corridor. Marching footsteps, metal clanging. The footsteps of a guard's watch. 

He waited by the spiral staircase, communicating very plainly his vote. If he couldn't get his support, he might take his chances.