David Anderson had never been a fan of politics.
He had disliked them even before he had first felt the sting of being on the wrong end of the political machinations of another; more then a decade earlier on a planet named Camala. It was there that Saren Arterius had destroyed an eezo refinery during a rescue mission that Anderson had been participating in. The turian had blamed the incident on Anderson; ending his consideration for entrance into the Spectres, and leaving a black mark on his record that would endure for the rest of his career. All just to further Saren's anti-human agenda.
Years later Saren would deal him another blow, albeit indirectly, when the colony of Eden Prime had been attacked by the Geth. During an investigation into the Spectre, Anderson had been all but forced to step down as captain of the SSV Normandy over fears that his history with Saren would be used to dismiss possible evidence against him. That had been somewhat more bearable as he had been able to hand command over to his protege, John Shepard. Any anger he felt over the forced ending of his career had been far outweighed by the pride he felt seeing his Shepard step up and realize the potential Anderson had always known he possessed.
His distaste for all things political had only grown during his tenure as humanity's representative on the council. Before Sovereign's attack on the Citadel it had been a position he'd never dreamed of being offered; and under different circumstances he might have turned it down. But standing amidst the wreckage of the defeated reaper, seeing the death and destruction that just one member of its species was capable of inflicting he realized that it was an offer he couldn't refuse. The reapers were coming; he was dead certain of that, and he was just as certain that the galaxy was not ready. As a member of the council he would be in the best position to prepare for the war that he knew was coming.
But to him his time spent on the council had been a failure precisely because he had failed at that goal. Oh, he had tried. He had lost count of all the times he had tried to bring up the subject of the reapers only to be shut down by the other three councilors. Most of the time they would simply dismiss him out of hand. On the few occasions he had been able to draw them into more lengthy debate, their arguments were always the same. There was no such thing as the reapers. Sovereign was merely a highly advanced geth warship; and Saren had manipulated the geth into following him by spreading the rumor about the reapers. Shepard's vision of the fate of the protheans was nothing more than a delusion brought on by a malfunctioning piece of ancient technology. The same explanations every time.
And the most frustrating thing was, their arguments were not completely without merit. So little of Sovereign's wreckage had been recovered; and what they had managed to find was mostly too damaged to be useful. They had found the beacon Shepard had referred to as, "Vigil," on Ilos, but it had been damaged beyond repair. Anderson was convinced the reapers were real; but even he had to admit that from an evidence standpoint, there wasn't much to go on.
Anderson's frustration with the political process had peaked two weeks earlier when he was contacted by an old friend, Kahlee Sanders. The lieutenant had asked him for assistance in locating a friend, former Cerberus operative Paul Grayson. Anderson had authorized a joint operation between the Alliance and the Turians in an effort to locate the missing man. It turned out that Grayson had been abducted by his former employers and subjected to horrific experimentation. The man had been implanted with reaper technology and was now being controlled by them. Fed up with his job and politics in general, Anderson had resigned his post and gone with Kahlee to try to rescue Grayson.
In the end; unable to free Grayson from reaper control, they had been forced to kill him. However, out of the ashes of that tragedy had come an opportunity. Grayson's body had been been horribly mutated by the reaper tech introduced into his body. His skin had become almost translucent, and the reaper tech could be seen underneath. They also had footage of the ex-operative exhibiting strength, speed, and reflexes well beyond human limits; as well as demonstrating considerable biotic ability. Anderson and Sanders had hoped that this would be the proof the Council needed to finally take the threat of the reapers seriously.
But sadly that meeting had ended like all the others. Though clearly disturbed by the extent and severity of Grayson's mutations the Council had deemed it more likely that the technology had been produced by Cerberus; using the deceased's history with the group to strengthen their claims. Anderson had stormed out of the room, unable to contain his disgust at the council's newest display of willful ignorance toward reality. He'd made plans to meet with Kahlee the next morning and then taken a taxi back to his apartment on the Silversun strip.
After the day he'd had Anderson was tired, frustrated, and wanted nothing more than to crack open a beer and revel in the simple joy of being alone for a while. Perhaps that was why he failed to register the uneasy feeling in his gut until after he had already walked into the apartment. By the time his conscious mind had caught up to his instincts he was already too far into the room to get back to the door safely. Trying to do so now would expose his back to any intruders lurking in his home. Instead he decided to act as if he hadn't noticed anything was wrong. He made for the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, reaching for the pistol he kept behind the milk. But it was at that point that he ran into yet another problem.
"I borrowed it," the words were punctuated by the sound of a Gun being cocked.
Anderson kept his voice level as he replied, "I noticed. Can I get you anything else? A beer perhaps?"
"No thank you sir," said the voice, "I won't be staying long. Hands behind your head please. Slowly."
Anderson complied, slowly moving his hands to rest on the back of his skull.
"Now slowly turn around."
Once again, Anderson did as ordered and turned to face the voice. The intruder was wearing black pants and a black jacket with a hood pulled up over his head. Inside the hood he could see the faint glow of eye lights, which meant the man was most likely wearing some kind of mask underneath. In his hand was the missing gun, now being pointed at the admiral.
"This doesn't have to get ugly. Just take what you want and go," Said Anderson.
"I wish it were that simple," replied the intruder.
"It still can be. You haven't done anything you can't take back yet. You can still walk away."
A minute passed where the intruder seemed to think about the old soldiers words. Then he said, "Sorry," and fired.
The intruder pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The rounds hit in a tight group, slamming into Anderson's lower stomach. His hand instinctively went up to cover the wound. When he looked down he saw that blood was flowing freely between his fingers. He had barely registered all this information before the pain hit him like a charging krogan. It was like having three white hot spears shoved into his stomach. He sank to the ground clutching his stomach.
Through a haze of pain and blood loss Anderson saw the intruder looming over him. He met the mans gaze and held it. He refused to die cowering on the floor. If he could do nothing else, he would at least make the man look him in the eye when he killed him.
But the finishing shot never came. Instead the intruder reached into his jacket and fished out what looked to be an application of medi-gel.
"Use this if you don't want to die," the intruder dropped the medi-gel in front of the wounded man and then walked briskly out of sight.
Anderson waited until he heard the his of the front door open and close before reaching for the packet and going through the process of applying the gel.
The intruder had wasted no time finding an extranet terminal in the chaos of the Strip outside the Admirals apartment. He had placed a call to C-SEC informing them of gunshots coming from the man's apartment and then hung up.
He hoped that he had made the call fast enough to save the Admiral. The medi-gel pack would stop the bleeding, but the wounds would still be life threatening without prompt treatment.
Well it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it now. He would just have to hope the old man was as tough as he looked.
The intruder made his way toward the parking area and summoned his vehicle. He could just barely hear sirens as he departed.