It was the sun that woke him up.

Even in the morning the thing was bearing down on them like some sort of hateful eye, an eye that Jim felt was focusing all its attention on him. He didn't like the sun. It irritated his sensitive skin. Something about the chemicals had messed his genetics such that he could never get a tan, just a solid red burn and the possibility of cancer, but here it was actually a boon. The feelings of freezing and burning at the same time were so hard to reconcile that it was like a force start for his brain, waking him from cryosleep. 

He stared out of his icy prison, his view of the world distorted by the sheet of it covering his eyes. It was impossible to even blink, and he was chilled to the bone even as the light that filtered through the ice fried his body. He had to get out of here, fast, or else he could take irreparable. So Jim started moving. Not a lot, but with a body as malleable as his even the tightest of situations allowed for some movement. Say, into and out of small air pockets between the ice and his skin. It wasn't much, it could hardly even be seen were one to look at him from the outside, but any movement is enough for friction. Friction, in turn, creates heat. It's one of the things he'd learned in science class.

Soon he felt icy wetness sliding over his body from the layer he had melted in the ice, what water didn't soak into his uniform pooling in around his shoes. It was enough room for him. Slowly he began to pull up his legs, up out of his shoes, sucking in his gut in order to fit them into the chest cavity of the ice outline. He pulled in his arms too, as well as his head, until he was compacted entirely into the chest area. It wasn't uncomfortable, even in this situation he had an amount of freedom.

The last part was simple compared to steps one and two. He had been blasted mid turn, one arm thrown out to the side. He steadied himself, found the hole leading to that arm, and shoved his entire self into it. The ice outline, its center of gravity already strange from being propped up on Jims long spindly legs, tipped due to the extra weight and shattered into a million pieces on the roof. Jim rolled and flopped like a tumble weed, coming to rest in the refreshing shade of the roof access door.

A trash can. He couldn't believe it. Almost done in by a trash can. He looked up and, for the first time, spotted the gas mask kid from before in the same situation. Pulling himself up on the wall he want inside to look for something. Rushing back out with the stairwell fire extinguisher Jim began carefully chipping the ice off of him. "I'm sorry." He said. "I'm so sorry for getting you into this. Oh good lord am I sorry."