The whole cottage is surrounded by hissing and chittering, the scrabbling clatter of feet across the decaying roof, still whole enough not to collapse, at least for now. It creaks, as if in response to the thought. Abruptly, the entire room is in daylight, lit by a flare of magelight in Shepard's hand. It's too stark, throwing crazed shadows everywhere, revealing the ugly remnants of lives abandoned mid-meal, and left to rot, to mutate. Too much is recognizable.

Shepard gives it not a moment's attention, moving the moment she has light; the pods are bright pink, practically glowing under the flare-light. She shoves them into her pack as quickly as she can, crouching to scoop one-handed, two and three at a time.

"Alright, got it," The light does not flicker— it is abruptly dark again, except for the eerie blue still playing across Shepard's arms and face. She stands, swinging the pack back onto her back as she does, one rapid, purposeful motion, "Payload secure, let's get the hell out of here."

It is at that moment that the beasts get bold. There's a wet, splintering sound, and the door bursts inward.