Arcturus Station. The nerve center of the Systems Alliance.

Here vessels ranging from the smallest of dogfighters to the largest of dreadnoughts docked, repaired and refitted, before being sent out into Alliance-controlled sectors. Sadly, thanks to the Council, there weren't many sectors to patrol. Ever since First Contact, the Council took the side of the turians when peace treaties were being signed. Mankind was forbidden to enter Council-controlled systems without heavy escort, nor could they colonize any planets.

Typical whitewashing of the un-favored side in a battle.

But for nearly three decades, humanity took it all in stride, did its best to prove to the Council they weren't like the krogan or batarians, they could be something great.

Humanity gave the Council medi-gel, a medical miracle that saved countless lives, alien and human alike. Humanity gave the Council unprecedented access to their military databases, a bridge of good faith. Humanity gave the Council everything that could have possibly eliminated any doubts about the new coming species from Earth.

And the Council gave them all an eviction notice. The proverbial middle finger.

Now, Ambassador Harland Rowe was being guided through the hallowed halls of Arcturus Station, flanked on each side by marines, clad in full combat armor. Rifles were held tightly in their hands, pistols on their hips.

None of them said a word to Harland, ever since he stepped off the shuttle that had docked with the station. The Ambassador felt like it was one of those old twentieth century war movies, the good guy is being led out to a field to be executed by his captors, only to be rescued at the last second by the cavalry.

But this wasn't one of those old movies, and Harland wasn't getting any cavalry.

The defeated man observed the halls of the station with wonder, though. She was a technological triumph. Housing barracks, training areas, and enough mess halls for several divisions of soldiers was no small accomplishment. Add that on top of the fact there were enough dry-dock stations to house entire sections of a whole fleet, and you had one hell of a space station.

He was being led to what the higher-ups in the Alliance called the Nexus, the situation room for the Admirals of the Navy. Here he would receive judgment for his recent failure on the Citadel, and he would have to explain why he didn't deserve capital punishment.

Or worse… Wasteland duty.

Harland shivered at the thought.

"Greetings, Ambassador Rowe." A cool, synthesized voice kindly greeted, following Harland as he marched down the hall. Just a faint trace of an English accent dwelled within its computerized voice.

"Hello, Nirvana." The Ambassador replied with equal generosity.

"I've done all I could to quell the Admirals' anger, but they want blood, and they're willing to crucify in there." Nirvana warned, worry in its voice.

Harland understood the worry. Nirvana had been more or less his partner when working with the Admirals here on Arcturus Station. It had collected numerous bytes of information regarding everything that happened aboard the Citadel, allowing mankind to see how it had been progressing over the past five years with the different species. And know all of that went down the toilet.

The main hallway that led up to the Nexus was lined with elaborate paintings of battles and great leaders, from various wars and militaries. To his left, he could see Americans and Germans fighting in the harsh winter snow, during the Battle of the Bulge. He saw Admiral Villeneuve's French warships crushed by the British at the Battle of Trafalgar. Crusaders fought against Muslims for Jerusalem, all in the name of God.

To his right, he saw the eyes of the late Vice Admiral Anderson staring at him. That man was lauded as a hero beyond words for staying behind as the nukes consumed the eastern hemisphere, wiping out millions of civilians and soldiers alike in an instant.

His death became the rallying cry of sorts. 'Remember Anderson!', posters would shout, showing the man's stony figure as mushroom clouds consumed the background.

Harland shivered again, this time as his eyes fell upon the thick doors that separated the hallway from the Nexus. Two marines stood at either end of the door, rifles in their paws as well. Their eyes narrowed as the Ambassador approached, their fingers twitched ever so slightly as they noticed him.

Wasn't exactly a warm welcome.

He halted before the door, and the marine in front of him and to his left began to scan him with his omni-tool for weapons or any biotic amps, before beginning to frisk him with rough hands to make sure.

Harland sighed. He had been scanned and frisked now four times before, all times nothing had turned up on his person. With that, the marine nodded to his friend, and they turned and opened the outermost door to the Nexus.

Next stop, decontamination. After that, crucifixion.

Harland marched through the door, the marine guard that flanked him halted and turned the other way, the Ambassador no longer their problem.

Sighing, the cooling spray of decon-chems drizzled over Harland.

A ghostly image of a woman appeared to his right. Her hair was short, a few loose strands dangled in the front. Skin was a pale blue with tinges and streaks of purple every now and again, the same went for her eyes.

Her body was practically a Greek sculpture of a goddess, no flaws to be found, no clothes to be worn. Slowly, her eyes found Harland's and she gave a weak smile. "Hello, Harland."

"Nirvana." He simply nodded. The human couldn't bring himself to smile. He hadn't been able to smile for years.

Clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, Harland glanced towards the far end of the decontamination chamber, "So, uh…how bad is it in there."

"I'm scared, Harland. For you."

"Damn." He huffed. "That bad?"

The projection shifted on her feet anxiously, "They've talked of what happened at the Citadel. They weren't happy."

"Well, that isn't exactly shocking."

"Some have called you weak and incompetent, spineless even. A few wanted Udina in your place back on the Citadel."

"Please." Harland sighed, rolling his eyes. He's danced this dance before. "If we put that man up at the plate, all he'd do is get us kicked out sooner. Plus he doesn't even dress all that well. I mean, have you seen those shoes he wears? Did his mom get-"

A holographic finger went up to his lips, and though he couldn't feel it, the message was conveyed.

Nirvana smiled, "You're rambling again."

A mechanical voice, very much unlike Nirvana's, announced in a cold tone, "Decontamination complete. Subject may proceed into Nexus."

Gritting his teeth, Harland nodded to the glowing woman in front of him, "Wish me luck."

"You don't believe in luck…" She retorted sadly, slowly moving her hand to 'cup' his left cheek, "But…good luck, Harland. Don't do anything stupid."

Backing away from her image, the Ambassador shrugged as he said with weak sarcasm, "What? Me, stupid? Never."

With that, the man turned for the far end of the room and marched for it. Sweat built up on his forehead as the door in front of him parted, revealing the room he feared entering. Four men populated the usually crowded room at the moment, three of which Harland knew personally.

Current Vice Admiral Kalan McCordus stood before a wall of vid screens, some displaying locations of Alliance fleets, others news feeds, and two currently in front of him were… schematics of the Citadel.

Next to him, was Rear Admiral Mikhailovich, staring at the screens with intent.

Nervously pacing back and forth was Admiral Gustav Zahretsky, who wrung his service cap in his hands with great fervor.

Harland didn't know the man to the far left, staring out the viewport into the inky expanse of space, but the rank on his shoulders denoted him as a Commander.

The vid panels showing the Citadel's schematics disappeared as McCordus turned, his gray eyes immediately locked in on the Ambassador.

McCordus was one of the 'old-breed' of Admirals, some of the same men who've been around since First Contact and before that, way before the Alliance truly mattered to anyone. His wrinkled features and slowly receding hairline showed years of stress, a scarred left cheek showed what a turian's blade had done to him. This man had seen fleets fall, cities wiped out in nuclear fire, millions die, and yet, he kept his sanity through it all. He was a fitting replacement for Anderson, after Earth fell.

Mikhailovich, on the other hand, was part of the new-breed. No scars on his middle-aged skin, his eyes had yet to see the true horrors of war.

"Rowe." McCordus nodded slowly, tracing the scars along his cheek with three fingers. "I wish we could meet under better circumstances. I usually enjoy you're company."

"As do I, Admiral. As do I."

Mikhailovich was quick to end the greetings, though. "We don't have time for idle chit-chat, Ambassador. There are many important matters to discuss. Like you're failures as our emissary."

Zahretsky kept pacing.

Sighing, McCordus crossed his arms, "Yes, the Admiral's right. Excuse me for being so blunt, Ambassador, but what the hell happened? First I get reports that we'll have a longer tenure on that damned station, and now humanity is being given the boot?"

Here we go.

Quickly recounting the past few months deliberations, Harland explained that the crescendo of these talks had humanity being deemed 'too violent' to remain in Council space. Now, as they spoke, the Council was beginning a deportation order all over the Citadel, evicting any and all humans.

"So it's like the quarians and the geth now, is it?" Mikhailovich sighed. "At least they didn't ban quarians from the station. Why are we being treated like this?"

"If I may, Rear Admiral." Nirvana appeared in the center of the room, between the Ambassador and the Admirals, "There appears to be great residual hostility from the First Contact War, especially from the turians."

A sigh from McCordus, then a wave of his hand, "That's to be expected, Nirvana."

"Honestly, Rowe. I see little point in letting you're little AI pet speak when-"

"Nirvana has been an aide to the Alliance for the past three years, and an invaluable one at that." McCordus turned to his comrade, not in the mood for disregard to valuable resources, "You will respect her as you would me, Admiral. Are we clear?"

Mikhailovich's jaw tightened, "I will show it respect, sir." He turned to Nirvana's holographic form, "My apologies."

"As I was saying," she continued, ignoring the man's half-hearted apology, "with the hostility at its current state, this conclusion wasn't exactly unforeseen. As you've noticed yourself, Admiral McCordus, our relations with the turians haven't really improved since First Contact. Especially when it comes to business and military agreements."

"Are you saying the turians might've turned the tables on us?"

Harland was the one to answer, "Yes sir, it would seem that way."

"Preposterous!" Mikhailovich shouted, "We've been nothing but poster children for that damn Council, especially the turians! We've jumped through hoops for them."

What he said was true. Humanity had given so much to their alien counterparts, some claimed too much.

Mikhailovich turned to his superior, bearing his teeth like a feral dog, "Failure like this can't be tolerated, sir. Rowe should be made an example of. To show those aliens we don't let failure go unpunished, I suggest Wasteland duty."

Tensing, Harland hoped he could avoid that suggestion. Inspecting the ruins of a dead continent didn't appeal to him, nor did dieing slowly of subsequent radiation poisoning.

"Out of the question." The Vice Admiral quickly denied, allowing the Ambassador's tense muscles to relax. "Harland has fought for the Alliance for years. We are not barbarians, no matter how hard others may want to believe we are."

"Well in any case, we can't sit idly by as we are forced out of a place where we have earned admission." Mikhailovich continued, unable to be swayed, "Thousands of people will be relocated to border worlds, and then what? Our colonies out in the Terminus, where our patrols are spread thin enough as it is? We can barely protect our damned mining worlds."

Zahretsky spoke up for the first time, a thick Ukrainian drawl wrapped around each word, "Maybe we should view this as an opportunity. Manifest Destiny?"

A choked laugh came from the Rear Admiral, "Manifest Destiny? Please, this isn't cowboys versus Indians here. We can't expand into Council space anymore and you've seen the Terminus Systems. They may fight like savages out there, but they're not armed like savages."

"I don't think it should matter." The other Admiral dismissed, "The Terminus is our only option. What's left of Earth is getting crowded, Mars won't be able to handle the overflow, and Von Braun is decrepit. Element Zero production is down ten percent from last month. Terminus is bountiful with mining worlds."

"And if we push any deeper into the Terminus," Mikhailovich continued barking, unwilling to listen, "then we risk war with every pirate nation and crime syndicate out there!" The man straightened his uniform, as if to calm himself, but every word that passed through his lips was a shout. "We need this, Zahretsky! If the Council is unwilling to let us colonize and mine where we please, then we should take it for ourselves!"

Zahretsky scoffed, ceasing his pacing as he got in Mikhailovich's face, "Oh yes! Because risking war with the three most powerful species in the galaxy is a much more desirable option!"

Harland wasn't going to let this go on like this, "I'm still the Ambassador here, and if we-"

"And if we what?" Mikhailovich cut off, too far gone in his rant. "We appease to them some more? Follow 'tired and true' politics? We've done that, Rowe. Guess what? That's what got us here."

"ENOUGH!"

McCordus then sighed, tired of all the arguing. The man had been through too much. It was hard to believe that he was once a gung-ho marine ready to fight and die, but now? Retiring to a nice little house in the hills sounded pleasant. Gray eyes slowly turned to the Commander still staring out the viewport. "Commander? Care to join our conversation?"

The man turned, showing cold blue eyes. They seemed ghostly, as if they had witnessed thousands die, and were not affected otherwise. He seemed much younger than Mikhailovich and Zahretsky, but you could tell by the way the man walked that he had seen intense combat and lived through it.

He carried a fierce pride that practically emanated from every pore.

"Ambassador Rowe." He acknowledged with a nod and hand shake.

"This is Charles Ryker, he's one of the best we have." The Vice Admiral explained, "He fought on Earth against the insurrectionists, before that, he's worked with multiple species on various ops, most of which the Council don't know about."

"And I plan on ending this little charade the Council decided to put on." Ryker stated confidently as he kept his gaze locked with Harland.

Harland huffed, half-smiling, "How do you plan on doing that?"

He pointed to Nirvana, "With our little AI of course, which by Council Law shouldn't exist, mind you."

Artificial Intelligence programs were banned by the Council ever since the geth uprisings hundreds of years ago, but the Alliance, in secret, disregarded those regulations. On the outside, she seemed like a perfectly legal Virtual Intelligence interface, but she was far more than that.

Nirvana could hack into any alien network on a moment's notice, skillfully stealing any and all important information before disappearing like a shade into the night. Information warfare was this AI's game, and she played it well.

Ryker continued, smile growing on his face, "And with a little help from other outcasts within our lovely galaxy, I believe humanity can forge our own path."

Images of Tuchanka and the quarian Flotilla appeared in place of Nirvana.

"We can make humanity great again."

Peace.