While the others set up a distraction, Nightwing goes to work. He pulls out a specially created bag, which is basically a zipped up 'pocket', maybe an inch deep. It doesn't need to be deep, though, because the only reason he has it is to access his pocket dimension.

He opens it up, reaching in and visualizing the case. He pulls it out, folding the pocket and tucking it away again before opening the case and pulling out the Spear. He hefts it as he gets to his feet, looking around and ignoring the faint whispering at the back of his mind. Something that's easy right now but would be more difficult the longer he held it.

In standing, though, Nightwing realizes that he's in a bad place to actually get a strike in. Too many...not innocents in the way, but people who didn't deserve to die. That's what they're here for, after all. But, also, the current distractions would only last so long. The Spectre seemed to have found himself a rather...large host.

He could find a place to get a better shot from, but that would take time.

Nightwing looks around again, then runs to Garrus' side, pressing the Spear into his hand. "I can't get a good shot. I'll go make sure you can." After all, Garrus is one of the tallest of them. It'll help, with any luck.

Then he splits off, running toward the Spectre while giving a loud, sharp whistle to grab the...man's attention. "That'd be us, Spectre. And man, I'm sure Jim Corrigan wouldn't be impressed with your current mission, would he?"

Just turn this direction, he thinks, moving so that the Spectre's attention is away from Garrus and that side of the fight. Keep your eye on the birdie.