Chapter 31: Collector Assault - Part 1
The attack began without warning, as if hell had suddenly opened vents throughout Omega's infrastructure and spat out nightmares. I was coordinating defensive positions in the command center when the first alerts started cascading across my display—motion sensors triggering simultaneously in three separate districts, organic signatures appearing where none should exist.
Then the screaming started.
"This is it. This is what I've been preparing for. God help us all."
Emergency channels flooded with panicked reports. Seeker swarms pouring through supposedly sealed maintenance areas. Collector drones emerging from hidden staging points. The distinctive organic hum of biotechnology activating throughout Omega's superstructure.
[CRITICAL THREAT DETECTED: MULTIPLE COLLECTOR PRESENCES]
[COLLECTOR GENERAL SIGNATURES: 3 CONFIRMED]
[HARBINGER SIGNATURES: MULTIPLE DETECTED]
[WARNING: ENEMY FORCE EXCEEDS PROJECTIONS BY 400%]
[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION]
My blood turned to ice as I processed the readings. This wasn't the limited scouting mission I'd expected. This was a full-scale harvesting operation—thousands of Collectors supported by Reaper technology, trying to take Omega's entire population in one devastating sweep.
"Miranda!" I shouted across the command center. "Activate emergency protocol seven! All factions, defensive positions now!"
She moved with lethal efficiency, her fingers dancing across communication arrays as she coordinated responses from Blood Pack, Eclipse, and Blue Suns simultaneously. Our months of preparation paid off as faction leaders who normally shot at each other began implementing defensive strategies designed to counter Collector tactics.
"Pack Coordination. If I can coordinate with Kreek's vorcha, maybe I can extend it further."
I activated my Varren Alpha Instinct, feeling the gene respond as it connected me to not just Kreek's pack, but every allied squad on Omega's communication network. Suddenly I could sense defensive positions across the station—Blood Pack holding chokepoints, Eclipse managing evacuation routes, Blue Suns establishing overlapping fields of fire.
The Warlord's Legacy thrummed beneath my consciousness, sensing the approaching battle, demanding activation. But I kept it contained. Too many civilians still evacuating. I couldn't risk losing control now.
"Afterlife district is under heavy assault," Anto reported, his rifle already singing as he engaged targets from the command center's elevated position. "Seeker swarms are paralyzing civilians faster than we can extract them."
Through the viewports, I could see the horror unfolding. Floating insectoid creatures the size of human heads swarmed through crowds, their organic paralysis fields dropping people in waves. Collector drones followed—grotesque bipedal insectoids with weapons that should have been impossible, organic technology interfaced with cybernetic implants in ways that violated every law of biology I understood.
"They're here to harvest. To turn people into paste for the Human-Reaper project. I can't let that happen."
The command center's blast doors exploded inward with biotic force that sent steel fragments spinning through the air. Through the smoke, Aria T'Loak emerged—not fleeing from the assault, but advancing toward it with the kind of predatory grace that made everyone remember why she was Omega's undisputed queen.
"Marcus," she said, her voice carrying deadly calm despite the chaos around us. "I assume you have recommendations for dealing with insectoid biotechnology?"
"She knows. She knows I've been preparing specifically for this."
"Concentrated fire on the larger specimens," I managed. "The drones coordinate through organic networks—disrupt their leadership and you fragment their effectiveness. The small ones are scouts and paralysis delivery—area denial weapons work best."
Aria's smile was sharp enough to cut steel. "Good. Then you coordinate tactics while I remind these bugs why they shouldn't have come to my station."
What followed was a masterclass in why Aria T'Loak commanded absolute loyalty on Omega. Her biotics weren't just powerful—they were devastating, tearing through Collector drones with displays of raw force that made the air itself scream. She moved through the assault like death incarnate, every gesture coordinated with battlefield awareness that came from decades of surviving impossible odds.
I coordinated defensive responses through my enhanced Pack Coordination, directing squad movements and fire support with tactical precision that surprised even me. The months of preparation showed—evacuation routes flowed smoothly, defensive positions held against overwhelming numbers, and faction cooperation that should have been impossible functioned like clockwork.
"We're actually doing this. We're holding against Collectors. Maybe the timeline changes were worth it."
Then I saw the Collector General.
It was massive—twice the size of the standard drones, covered in organic armor that pulsed with bioluminescent patterns. Ancient Prothean technology interfaced with Reaper enhancements, creating something that moved with intelligence that predated human civilization.
The General locked onto Aria, recognizing her as the primary threat. When they engaged, the air around them distorted with biotic force that shattered nearby windows and made my enhanced hearing ring with harmonics no baseline human should perceive.
The fight was spectacular and terrifying. Aria's fury against Prothean power channeled through Reaper augmentation. They traded attacks that would have leveled buildings, her raw strength against its ancient knowledge and technological superiority.
She won.
Barely.
The Collector General dissolved as its cybernetic systems failed, leaving behind organic residue that the System immediately began analyzing.
[PROTHEAN MEMORY TRANSFER GENE DETECTED: LEGENDARY TIER]
[GENETIC MATERIAL DEGRADED: CANNOT ACQUIRE]
[ANALYSIS: SUBJECT DECEASED TOO LONG FOR VIABLE EXTRACTION]
"So close to a legendary gene drop. But organic material degrades too fast when they die."
The victory felt hollow as more Collector forces poured into the district. We were holding them, but at enormous cost. Hundreds of Omega residents had already been paralyzed and taken, and more Seeker swarms kept emerging from staging areas we'd never found.
Then everything changed.
A Collector drone near the command center suddenly stopped moving. Its insectoid eyes flared with sickly yellow light, and when it spoke, the voice that emerged made my blood freeze with recognition.
"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL."
Harbinger. The Collector leader. Reaper agent and architect of organic extinction. The voice from my nightmares was here, personally intervening through possessed drones.
The possessed drone moved differently—fluid, precise, with tactical awareness that exceeded anything Collectors should possess. It analyzed the battlefield with alien intelligence, and when its attention fixed on me, I felt like a specimen under a microscope.
"This human is... altered," Harbinger's voice resonated through the drone's vocal systems. "Unexpected genetic modifications. Multiple species integration. It will be preserved for study."
"It recognizes the IDA System. Of course it does—Reaper technology, meeting its bastard offspring."
The possessed drone's weapons shifted, targeting systems switching from lethal to capture configurations. Suddenly every Collector in the district received new orders—take the enhanced human alive, whatever the cost.
Miranda's voice crackled over my comm: "Marcus, fall back! You're too exposed!"
But I knew better. If I retreated, Harbinger would redirect its forces toward civilians. The evacuation routes would become slaughter grounds. The safe zones would become harvesting pens.
"Someone has to draw its attention. Someone has to be the bait."
"Negative," I replied, watching Collector forces converge on my position. "Continuing engagement. Get the civilians clear."
I stepped into full view of Harbinger's possessed drone, my enhanced physique and heterochromatic eyes clearly marking me as something beyond baseline human. Every Collector weapon swiveled toward me.
"Come on then," I muttered, feeling Warlord's Legacy stirring as combat stress mounted. "Let's see what you've got."
The possessed drone moved with inhuman speed, its weapons firing capture nets and paralysis fields while simultaneously coordinating supporting fire from dozens of lesser drones. I rolled behind cover as organic projectiles chewed through reinforced steel, my enhanced reflexes barely keeping me ahead of targeting systems designed to predict human movement patterns.
My Turian Marksmanship guided precise shots that found gaps in the drone's armor, while Varren Alpha Instinct let me predict attack patterns from the supporting swarm. Four-Eyed Vision tracked multiple threats simultaneously, preventing ambush attempts that should have been successful.
But Harbinger was learning.
Each exchange taught it more about my capabilities. It adapted tactics, compensated for my enhanced abilities, began predicting my responses with the accumulated knowledge of fifty thousand years of harvesting organic civilizations.
"It's too smart. Too experienced. I can't win this conventionally."
The possessed drone's next attack connected—a biotic slam that sent me crashing through a support pillar. Enhanced bone density absorbed impacts that should have been fatal, but damage accumulated faster than my baseline regeneration could handle.
My health dropped toward fifty percent.
The Warlord's Legacy sensed approaching activation threshold, alien fury building beneath human consciousness. Soon I'd have the power to tear through Collector forces like death incarnate, but at the cost of everything that made me Marc Wayne.
"If I activate it now, will Miranda be able to bring me back? Or will I become the monster Harbinger wants to study?"
Miranda's voice over comms: "Marcus, your vitals are dropping. Whatever you're planning, do it now!"
I looked at the possessed drone advancing through smoke and debris, its weapons charging for a killing blow. Around us, Omega's civilians fled through evacuation routes I'd designed, defended by factions I'd convinced to cooperate.
"Time to find out what I'm really willing to sacrifice for these people."
I keyed my comm for what might be the last time.
"If I don't come back from this," I whispered to Miranda, "remember: I chose this. I chose you. Don't let me become a monster."
Then I let my health drop, feeling the threshold approach—fifty percent, the activation point where legendary power would transform me into something that barely remembered being human.
The Warlord's Legacy stirred, sensing its moment, promising strength beyond measure if I'd just let it free.
"God forgive me for what I'm about to become."
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