"Right, okay," mutters Shephard, and glances at the shield, which is really a nice shiny bronze-

Who the fuck is he kidding? He's already wielding the sword in his damned off hand, and he's supposed to fight backwards based on a reflection on an irregular surface? Fuck THAT shit. It's undershirt over the face time.

And then it's time to draw that bronze sword and run at the noise as best he can, and start slicing anything that doesn't tell him to point himself the other way.