One HMWP X handgun, with integrated laser, stun underbarrel attachment, and expanded magazine. A HMWA X rifle, with an extended barrel, tac scope, and recoil dampers. 6 Inferno grenades, with increased spread. A suit of Kestrel Armor, with additional power diverted to shields. An Omni tool loaded with Overload, AI hacking, Plasma shot, and targeting suites. A HMWSG X shotgun, with a Scram Rail and Cooling systems.

The buffet of weaponry,hardware and armor was neatly arranged in inspection-ready rows and groups atop the workbench inside the Normandy's hangar bay, lit by high powered lamps, and surrounded by tools, cleaning rags, and additional mods.

Shepard had spent the better part of an hour examining his preferred loadout, alone in the mostly quiet bay, save for the distant and familiar thrum of the Tantalus drive reactor, as the Normandy powered along. Fresh off an op to board a cargo freighter captured by the Blue Suns-the Strontium Mule-, what sat on the table had just been put through its paces yet again.

Regular maintenance was in order.

Technically, though, there wasn't any need for him to be here, even for that.

He'd already inspected and multiple checked everything in front of him this morning, with the same second-nature routines of always ensuring one's gear was in ideal working order that was first instilled in him from his days as a candidate in the Alliance's ICT ' N ' program. Every piece of gear present had not only been examined and was receiving regular maintenance , but had also thoroughly tested in action.

Which is why he didn't do this for that sake. He did it to help him think. It was a small routine he'd kept to from his earliest days as a rookie Alliance enlisted, to his tenure with the N7 squads.

He did it to help to unwind, to think. And he had much to think about now.

Taking the HMWSG into his hands, he began to disassemble it, as his thoughts played out.

Take it piece by piece. Try leading with how you're gunning a to have a rematch with the Collectors. I've been rounding up a whole new roster for a strike teams for past week: Zaeed, the veteran mercenary, Kasumi the thief, Mordin the scientist Salarian, Grunt the pure Krogan, to name a few. I've been from one side of the Galaxy to the other to track them down, dossiers with intel on their whereabouts or not.

I needed a while to take stock of everything I've been up to. Its not been long from when I was floating in the vacuum of space, all but dead, with my suit's air hissing out, my ship burned to ashes. Thanks to them.

The Collectors.

It was very satisfying, when he'd finally been able to put a name to such a bizarre and enigmatic species. There'd been random appearances of them on Omega over the past few hundred years,but aside from that, they'd stayed mostly in the shadows, Until now.

Now, they were active abducting humans by the hundreds of thousands. It was the kind of numbers that even the Batarians couldn't come close to reaching. They had not tried to openly communicate, and their attacks were over as fast as they began.

To make it that much worse, nobody had any real intel on them. The only ones who'd ever interacted with them, on any record, were various mercenary groups and opportunistic criminals who were drawn to the exorbitant and shockingly lavish rewards that the Collectors offered to them for fulfilling perplexingly odd slaver-esque requests: 50 left handed twins, or 45 Volus triplets, and so on.

But, and on a more personal level, they were also the mystery assassins who'd ambushed his ship.

His grip tightened around the shotgun.

Those were memories he'd tried so hard to bury, but no no avail.

What had happened that night was too much imprinted in his mind. They'd jumped him with a perfect blitz attack: utterly abrupt, lightning fast, and overwhelmingly powerful. The general quarters alarm had barely sounded before the Collector battleship had unleashed its arsenal. It carved the Normandy into floating scarp metal, taking only a New York minute to do so, with weaponry more powerful than he'd ever seen on any vessel.

It was over before it began. The Normandy held herself together as long as she could, limping forward while clinging to life, with her engines sputtering and oxygen venting from the ruptures in her hull. There was no call to abandon ship; it was unnecessary. His crew had handled themselves well, with discipline and professionalism, as

20 of his crew had not survived. 20

They trusted him. They were his extended family. And, now they were dead.

He set the shotgun down, gripped the edge of the table, hard enough to make his fingers hurt, mouth pressed into a thin line.

2 years, and those memories still evoked only the most primal kind of rage. The kind that made him feel like nothing was past what he'd do.

They will get their comeuppance for what they did to my crew. I will have my revenge.

But, there was more to it, and he was well aware.

I can't, and won't, sideline the colonists, though. Protecting them is my responsibility, not Cerberus'. I don't take their orders. This is my ship, not theirs. Its why I lead this mission now, under Cerberus' banner or not.

Taking hold of the HMWA X, he lifted it. He hefted its weight, and ran his fingers along its smooth barrel casing. Pressing its stock into his shoulder, he peered through its scope.

Such a fine weapon. Highest grade of assault rifle on the market, and that was without the enhancements he'd made to it. Despite the fact that thermal clips were now the new standard technology for small arms, replacing the automatic cooling of a few years ago, Shepard hadn't been so eager to make the switch.

On Horizon, Shepard would have a chance put his tried and true HMWA to use, to confront those Collector vermin head on, and make a difference where it mattered. He'd be there to defend the colonists.

He'd be there to exact some vengeance-

" Commander ? "

There was no mistaking the smooth, oddly lilting tones of the ship's AI, ' EDI ',addressing him from one of the numerous projection emitters that were placed all throughout. With her avatar manifesting as a blue orb at the top of a short column ( something Jerimiah had found very odd, and still did, but decided to leave it alone for now ), EDI formally continued:

" Sir, there is a priority message for you. From the Illusive Man. "

Shepard didn't bother to hide the ' hff ' of displeasure that name elicited from him.

He still did not like, not trust, the head of Cerberus. It wasn't just on principle; after all, Shepard, who considered himself still an Alliance solider, did have a fundamentally negative opinion of the Human first organization he was currently, and reluctantly, working with. It was something about that man himself.

It could only be one of a few things. Either it was the way his eyes seemed not to be entirely human-with those, circuits running across them-, or it was the unspoken ' information game ' he seemed to always be playing. No matter which one, he wasn't someone Shepard counted as personally inherently trustworthy.

I don't need that, though. Just for him to keep the intel coming, so I can act on it. That's all I need from him.

Allright, speaking of which-

" Yes, EDI ? What exactly did he say ? "

The AI's demeanor didn't change from its usual clipped, efficient cadence. " I concerns the Collectors' attack pattern. That is all he told me, sir. "

So, they have a new target.

Shepard gently placed the HMWA back.

" I will take the call in the briefing room. "

He turned sharply on his heel, and made for the elevators.

There was something peculiarly reassuring about talking to someone who you had decided you disliked, Shepard reflected, as he closed the briefing room doors behind him, and stood waiting for the table in the center of the room to retract and bring up the QEC interface.

You could always count on you saying exactly what you wanted to someone such as him, without worrying you'd offend them ( assuming you cared about that ) . Chances are, they already could tell what you thought of them.

Must be what in-laws are like.

Probably.

The interface materialized, erasing the room around him, and instantly replacing it with the interior of the Illusive Man's headquarters, wherever in the galaxy it was.

More accurately, a very small section of it. It was obviosuly a station, but that was all that could be gleaned from these transmissions.

The section is question was a massive, featureless room. It actually hardly seemed to even be a room: the windows were translucent, making it appear that the star speckled void of space was enveloping you. The floor was lined with reflective tiles that seemed to glow a bright grapefruit red and orange, from the light thrown out by the gargantuan, violently roiling star that was clearly that big even if the station hadn't been only half a million miles from it.

Against that spectacular backdrop, the Illusive Man reclined in his office chair, surrounded by his holographic desk display. He didn't have a smoke, for once, but that utterly calm and relaxed expression of his was, as if he knew more than anyone he could talk with.

Prick.

And, naturally, when he spoke, even his borderline enthusiasm of what he had to say came off with a cool, self assured way that didn't betray much of his real emotions. It was a skill, that was.

" Shepard, I think we have them ! "

" That's a bit vague. " Shepard countered.

As usual, TIM was unruffled. He simply tapped a command on one of his interfaces, bringing up a holo of a medium sized world. It was mostly ocean blue, with large evergreen colored landmasses wrapping around it.

Shepard didn't recognize it.

" Horizon. ", TIM continued. " Its one of our colonies in the Traverse. A temperate, balmy place, with a sizable population of 654,390. "

" All commutations with it have suddenly failed. "

Shepard had been studying the hitherto unknown to him world as soon as it appeared, but TIM's recent sentence sent a spike of adrenaline through him.

Aha !

He addressed TIM while still focused on it. " This is where the words ' Its a Batarian slaver raid ! ' are usually spoken. "

The charcoal haired man seemed pleased by that response. " Indeed. By the SA ( Systems Alliance ), or the Council. But, not me, and thankfully, not you. "

Shepard did not care for such oily veiled praise, but he choose to ignore it. He'd give TIM a piece of his mind in due course.

Fortunately, TIM switched to a more practical tack. " Its in the Iera system, of the Shadow Sea Cluster. I urge the greatest haste, Commander. Not only is this our chance to get an up close handle of what the Collectors can do in a fight, but everyone there is counting on us. "

He at least didn't add/or say " And on you ", Shepard noted.

" Allright. I'll give Joker the location. He'll plot us the most direct course. "

TIM nodded.

" Excellent. Its crucial to be prudent and well prepared here. Which reminds me: I trust your team has a way to neutralize their ' Swarms " ? "

Fair point. I was wondering if he'd ask about that.

Good thing Mordin is several miles ahead.

" My Chief scientist says he has a remedy, but he also says the only way to test it for certain is in the field. "

Even I think that's risky, but what other choice is there ? None.

Lit by the star, TIM said nothing for a few seconds, doubtlessly thinking something similar. Finally, though, he nodded again.

" So be it. Well, that appears to be all you need, then. I will leave you to the task of stopping them now, Sheppard. Its in your hands. But, before you leave to make you final preparations, I have one last piece of information for you. "

Already eager to be on his way as soon as he'd learned of where to be to meet the next attack, Shepard didn't want to have to wait another second.

This had better be quick.

" Very well. " He crossed his arms. " Shoot. "

He expected for the ' something ' to be tactical, or strategic in nature. Maybe even some more poetic about the casue he was fighting for, as if he wanted that.

But, what TIM said next, he couldn't have anticipated.

" One of your former crew members is on Horizon. Her name is Ashley Williams. "