Major Kirrahe arrived to pick up the woeful group within one day, along with an STG crew of five, and a small, but battle-worthy Salarian stealth ship named Silent Step. True to her word, Jack insisted on being let off at the next port—they dropped her at Omega, and carried on to the Citadel at all speed.
The Council Office of the Human Alliance was not used to receiving meeting requests from a mixed delegation of Turians, Salarians, Krogan, and Humans, but the receptionists were well-trained and quickly smoothed over any problems, upon discovering that yes, indeed, Garrus Vakarian was on Councillor Anderson's list of personal contacts deemed important enough to schedule in as soon as possible.
And so it was that a miserably exhausted Councillor Anderson rose several hours early the next morning, in the utter blackness of 04:00 and forewent his usual morning exercise regimen, all so that he was able to meet with the Turian who had helped Shepard save the Citadel before all of his previously scheduled meetings, hearings, Council duties, and near-daily confrontation with Udina.
Bleary-eyed, the Councillor arrived early, skimming through his omni-tool, reading over the latest Council proposal on cleaning up the last of the Geth. In the early days, he had struggled to combat every single wave of fury at the Council's willful—negligent—ignorance in regard to the Reapers. They all owed their lives to Shepard—but had hardly pinned a medal on him, before sending him out to his death, and beginning the growing campaign of defamation and misinformation, blaming the entire attack on the Geth.
At first, he had been convinced by all parties involved, that going along with this deception—painful as it was—was worth it, allowing the Council to use the Spectres to obtain more information on their foe, and begin negotiations with all the major governments to begin covert preparations for an eventual invasion, without causing a mass-panic. Anderson fully understood the value of secrecy in sensitive missions, and the chaos that mass-panic could instill, and so had acquiesced to the public deception. And yet, the covert preparations never materialised. The Council never ordered Spectres to investigate. No governments were contacted, and Anderson was left alone on the Council, with Admiral Hackett the only tentative ally within the Human Alliance's own military and government.
Not for the first time he wished Shepard had never recommended him for the job—he was a soldier, not a politician. Of course, Udina was far too much of a politician to see the bigger picture, and most of the others from Earth were just the same. He understood why Shepard had wanted him on the Council, but now, after two years, reading over reports that defamed the man he had long considered like a son, and actively refuted the imminent threat to galactic civilization, all he felt was numb.
So when the tall, pale Turian in blue armour strode through his door, Anderson felt as though the past was standing accusingly there before him, demanding to know why he had let things fall apart so completely. Clearly, Vakarian had seen action—half of his face was heavily bandaged, and hadn't healed yet. But the wound didn't seem to trouble him. The Turian was standing tall before him, but with a desperation to his eyes that Anderson had never seen before in any of Shepard's team.
"Thank you for seeing me, Councillor." Vakarian finally said, inclining his head slightly in a respectful nod.
"Anderson, please—and it's no trouble. I think we all still owe you for saving the Citadel."
"Call me Garrus then." The Turian replied, relaxing somewhat from his strict soldierly posture, "And that was honestly mostly Shepard. But it's because of him, that I'm here."
"Your message said it was urgent?" Anderson asked, trying to quell the rising hope within him—no sense in giving in to yet more foolish optimism, only to have it crushed once again.
"Yes… well…" Garrus shifted awkwardly, "I don't think there's any easy way to say this. But Councillor, Shepard is alive again—but reconstructed by the Illusive Man, and likely under Cerberus Control."
"… Alive?" Anderson whispered reverently, before the rest sunk in, and the old Captain within him sprang into action, "The Illusive Man? What proof do you have? And what do you mean by reconstructed? Is this just some kind of artificial construct?"
"No, Councillor—Anderson, I mean—it's definitely Shepard. I believe he was revived with the aid of cybernetics, but it is definitely him. I was with him for a few weeks on a new Normandy, rebuilt by Cerberus as well. Their intelligence points towards the Collectors abducting entire human colonies for an unknown purpose, which we were able to confirm—along with the presence of Reaper tech. But Shepard—it was like he tried to go against some of the mission parameters, but then physically couldn't. I think his mind is still mostly his own, but the Illusive Man has some kind of control over his actions, and possibly his cybernetics."
"Hmm…" Anderson considered gravely, "This is hardly good news. What are you planning on?"
"Well I still have a few of the crew, and we are borrowing a stealth ship from STG, but we need far more resources if we are going to continue taking on the Collectors. Or find Sheppard."
"Agreed." Anderson replied, continuing with a wicked smile, "While I can guarantee you that the Alliance would never formally give you resources. I think I have another way."
"Why am I getting a bad feeling about this…" Garrus said dryly.
Well I guess it's been a while... my apologies, life has been a little busy. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far!
