Shepard jerks around when he startles, shaking her head against the cloying tide of frustration. Wind it all, tighter and tighter, eventually she'd snap and take off someone's head— something's head, hopefully. Dean steps over the body he's tipped over, but Shepard pauses to put her boot on its prone shoulder and shove it aside with a whispering hiss as its buttons scrape against the tile. She's had enough of getting grabbed by the ankle, thanks.

"Well, this is just embarrassing," Shepard opines, taking up a guard-position at Dean's back as he works. It's more about hearing and intuition, scanning the low, dim corners, but her eyes catch the slow, jerky shadows in odd moments and unlit corners, "Oh no, I'll go through a damn derelict Reaper, but it's the wax museum that gets me to jump. Wrex'd laugh his ass off."

It's going to be a long night, coming down off this one, that's for sure.