She was sitting at her desk at the time, which was, Atsuko Jackson's self-imposed schedule considered, really not all that common. Her thin shoulders were hunched over all that fucking paperwork (she was starting to regret not giving a shit when Edgeworth started talking), her face tilted slightly downward underneath the weight of her own hair, and she'd been progressively sinking towards the temptingly flat surface as the morning went on. Even with the coffee, she'd pulled a ridiculous shift last night, and she was almost about to call it a day and take a nap in some abandoned office when she heard whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. She (due to playercestuous reasons) had been out patrolling during the Gutsucker fiasco, but Atsuko had still seen the wounds after the fact, and she'd hear McClane screaming over the comm, and the way people --the point was that they were on edge. Anyone could be a sick monster here, no matter how innocent they looked. They always forgot that. She'd forget it in a week or two, but right now she was tense as hell.

The other point was that when the screech echoed it, her head jerked up immediately and comically. Eyes narrowed, one hand at her hip, she glared over in the direction of the offender; none of the rest of them seemed willing to deal with the cause, even though Lassiter... had him sitting in... she wasn't even going to go there. Fine with her. Leave it to the woman who couldn't even change tenses in English without sounding like an idiot; great plan.

"Please shut up," Atsuko said. Simple. Elegant. She liked it.