He feels that yank on the back of his shirt, and for a moment Wash forgets where he is and panics, paranoia sharpened by Arcade's murder arena screaming unbidden to the surface of his mind. Something has him- he's not prepared- he's going to get killed- he has to fight back-

Chief yelling at him is almost a relief. It snaps him back to reality, at least. He hooks his arms over Chief's and pulls himself up a little, trying to ease the pressure of his shirt collar around his neck. "Freelancer business," he grinds out, flat and icy, and boy does he ever hate himself right now for taking Freelancer as his code name.