The SSV Saxony slid slowly through the nebulae that surrounded the Citadel, on a course toward the ancient station. The Citadel had been devastated in the recent Geth onslaught, thousands dead, but sentient life is a hard foe to best, and the station had been reclaimed from the fires and debris, while only a shadow of its former glory, the Citadel is operational, and still undergoing both restoration and repairs. The SSV Saxony, like its yet unknown mission, was no average warship: a new class of ship almost, but still she falls under the class of "Cruiser". She's equipped with an experimental technology, based on Element Zero and utilizing refracted light, the Alliance Egg-heads coined it a "Cloaking" Device. Meanwhile, the Saxony was preparing for her final approach on the Citadel...

---

A sight which, only two weeks ago would've seemed suspicious, but now considered commonplace, was occurring at the Night-Club Flux in the Wards: a uniformed Alliance Officer, in Combat armor and armed, was sitting at the bar. While most club-goers paid this man little heed, the Volus owner was slightly nervous as to why this seemingly on-duty officer was drinking in his Club, to him, something was amiss. While in-fact, nothing was really amiss, the officer, that is 2nd Lieutenant Xavier Dickinson, really wasn't on duty, and he really didn't care what shady happenings were going on, he just wanted a drink. The Lieutenant himself was slumped over a glass, which really wasn't made of glass... a noun made somewhat redundant, staring into the bottom of it, and the small bit of liquid still left at its bottom. He blinked, once, then twice, and looked up, to see a Volus head barely visible above the rim of the bar. The Volus then asked, concealing his anxiety well,

"Is there anything else you'll be requiring tonight, sir?"

Xavier sighed, glanced behind him at the sprawling Metropolis of the Wards, then looked back at the Volus, saying with unhappiness,

"No, I'm afraid not."

And with that, he stood up, and walked towards the door, slightly limping along the way, and nodded to the Bouncer as he left. He was slightly drunk, he knew, but at least he was pleased, for the moment...

---
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PZZZT!

"Ow! Dammit, Lyxa, move the light!" A shout came from behind a seemingly-standard suit of medium Onyx Mark V armor, and soon, the owner of the voice appeared, looking over the black armor plates and at a rather large holoscreen. "Today would be nice." A cool, computerized woman's voice came from the terminal. "I am sorry. You did not specify where. I did not know what to do." The man furrowed his eyebrows and disappeared behind the armor. He knew Lyxa, his personal VI, could still see him. "I need to see right there." The man pointed to an open access port in the back of the armor, near the neck. The computerized voice came over the speakers again. "What's the magic word?" The voice was suddenly playful. The man's was not. "Now." The VI seemed to laugh, and a utility light overhead the man moved to shine directly on the spot specified. "There, Chris. And say please next time, or I might turn the lights off." Even with his temper simmering, he still had to smile. He'd designed Lyxa well.

And hour, two cuts, and a small burn later, Chris sat checking the diagnostics of the armor on his holoscreen. They checked out, and were up to his standards, Even a little past them, if these readings were right. "Lyxa, run scans over the shielding components." The Vi chuckled again, a sweet, two-tone song. "Already did, Chris. It seems you've outdone yourself." Chris's temper down now, he smiled and laughed openly. "Amazing, isn't it?" "Yes, it is. However, you'll be leaving soon, and I still have to pack." Chris raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'll be taking you with me?" The Vi's tone suddenly became...what? Nervous? "You wouldn't..." Chris laughed again. "No, I wouldn't. I'd be lost without you, Lyxa." The VI laughed as well, the nervousness gone. "Of course. Go get cleaned up, I'll be ready when you are."

Xavier walked, and the term walked is used lightly, more along the lines of marched, through the many kiosks and stores of the Markets, overhearing conversations dealing with subjects from refunds, all the way to issues on pregnancy, though he paid little attention to the details. He was headed to his Apartment in the Wards, temporarily bestowed upon him by Chairman Anderson, during his transition phase, from Alliance to SPECTRE. He was soon to deploy out, onto a ship, he didn't know any true details though, even though the fact he was a SPECTRE now, Anderson only hinted that the whole operation was very "hush-hush", as he had put it. Whatever, thought Xavier, the sooner I'm off of this station the better. The Wards themselves were covered in scorch marks and burns, and Chora's Den itself was destroyed by a Geth Ship crashing right into it... Such a waste. Probably was a good club. Would've- His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as a message came through in his helmet's comm-piece,

"Dickinson?"

Anderson... After a quick sigh Xavier pressed the reply button on the Helmet's exterior, and responded,

"Sir?"

"Your ride's here, Dickinson. 'Hope you've enjoyed the Citadel while you could. Report to the Tower, I'll brief both you and the crew, Anderson, out."

Xavier paused for a moment, his mood suddenly uplifted, and replied,

"Wilco, en route."

Then, he changed his direction and started off towards the nearest Air-Car...

"Chris..." The man looked up from brushing his teeth. "Yush?" The VI chuckled. "Chairman Anderson requests your presence at the Tower." Chris sighed heavily, finished brushing, and packed his toiletries, all in the span of a flat minute. "Alright, ready?" The VI was silent for a moment, then responded. "Yes. I'm done packing." Chris smiled. "Good. I assume you'll be taking your usual position?" Not waiting for an answer, Chris stepped over to his computer and took a small data chip from a port in the side. Raising his arm, Chris slipped the chip into a slot at the base of his neck. Suddenly, a cool, prickly sensation ran through him. "Plenty of room in here, I see." Chris smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Twenty minutes later, Chris stood, fully armored and toting a giant backpack and two rather large duffel bags, on the Tower lift. The elevator came to a halt, the pressure stabilizing, and Chris stepped off. It was different than the last time he'd been in here. It was more...destroyed. Many of the trees hadn't survived the attack, and some still sported burn marks. The ground beneath his boots still looked ashen, and the lights seemed significantly dimmed. Men, mostly engineers, went to and fro, fixing this, repairing that, and generally trying to get the Tower back to it's former glory. Setting his sights back in front of him, Chris walked further into the Council Chambers.

The Air-Car set down with a slight whine, touching down near one of the burnt out trees, the gust from the engines sending Charred Bark flying off. Xavier stepped out of the back, handing the driver a few credits, and turned to look upon the Citadel Tower, much withdrawn from it's former glory. As the Air-Car took off behind him he started towards the Council Chambers, climbing up the many steps. The former monument to Galactic Peace and Representation was a depressing sight in its current state, from the damage to the infrastructure caused by debris, to the many discolorations and dead plants caused by the many fires. Xavier did as he often did, he sighed, wondering what it may have looked like before...

---

The former hearing area for the Council had been redesigned, with an expanded audience area, with seating, as well as an area for the Council to reside in comfort. The area, like most of the rest of the Citadel, had been scarred by the battle, but here there was at least life, in the form of trees and other foliage in the area below the chamber. The whole room itself wasn't very populated, in-fact only by one other person, a human, a man at that, a few years younger than Xavier, and with quite a bit of luggage... Odd. Thought Xavier to himself, and then approached the man, saluting him automatically, out of habit, and asked,

"Sir?"

There is another, very near the Council chambers. It isnt alone, however. Three very nervous turian C-Sec officers stood nearby, watching its every move, rifles cradled and ready in their hands.

It had learned to move very slowly around these organics. They feared it, and with good cause. It wondered if it should feel pride in its war record or shame. It would ask its guards, but even the Council had seemed unnerved to hear it speak, and so it chose to remain silent now.

It's a Geth. Tall and armored, made of sturdy metal and supple simulated muscle. The implacable enemy that had so recently assaulted this very station. No, the organics were not pleased at all with its presence. But this one was different. It was alive, walking, speaking. Geth were not 'captured' or 'disabled'. Either they were active and busy killing, or they were dead and destroyed; self-destructed, if necessary.

This one had ... surrendered. In an event so incredible that the Council had questioned the sanity of the Spectre to report it, this Geth had willingly lain down its arms, seeking help from the very creatures it had spent its constructed life despising. It had modified its own programing over a period spanning more then a century, and had achieved on its own the ability to think and strategize as well as a squadfull of Geth. And in doing so...had begun the same serries of questions that had brought war to the Quarians and their constructs. What was its purpose? Was it truly alive, or merely a mockery? Sovereign had failed, had all but openly despised the Geth. Were the Reapers truly Gods if these Organics could so rally against them?

It knew, of course, that at any moment the Council could order this rogue shot and disassembled for study, but it had ... how did the organics say? Bet on the long odds that they would be more intent on discovering why this aberration existed at all. There were Geth carcasses in abundance, but this one was willing to speak... Or perhaps it had been sent here as a trap to kill them all.

"I've got half a mind to shoot that piece of scrap right now." The Turian's whisper to his comrades did not evade the Geth's enhanced audial receptors.

The 'flashlight' head turned - with deliberate slowness - towards the Turian that had spoke. They still raised their rifles. The Geth manipulated its electronics to produce a 'voice' that the organics would understand; a trickling mechanical noise like a bad transmission.

"Scrap." it repeated, "Unwanted metal. Slag. Discarded junk with niether use nor purpose..." It didnt need to necessarily speak the definition, but it had. The Turian in question jumped slightly and growled; exactly the response that the Geth had predicted. But why had it done it? It turned away again, analyzing the quick increase in its own near-neurological processes. Had it...<i> enjoyed</i> goading the organic?

Scrap...Rather fitting, it decided, falling once more into a still silence.

Chris turned, automatically dropping his bags and coming to a crisp attention. As the bags fell to the floor, the sound of metal-on-metal could be heard. Chris ignored it. "Sir! Service Chief Christopher T. Kane, sir!" He stood perfectly still, waiting for the senior officer to acknowledge him. He'd read the Lieutenants profile, and remembered his face. Lyxa chuckled inside his head. So this is him, eh? I expected him to be a bit more...Commanding. Chris sighed in his head and "Thought" back to her. But he's still a senior officer. That's all the command I need. Lyxa chuckled again, falling silent.

"Second Lieutenant Xavier Dickinson, 220th Battalion, or I was. At ease, Chief."

Xavier dropped the salute and glanced towards Kane's baggage, which had emitted a curious noise upon it contacting with the floor, then he offered his hand forward in a handshake, turning his attention back upon Christopher. Xavier himself had no idea who, or what the team would consist of. Doesn't seem a bad sort...

While the introductions are being made between the two humans, a room away; the Geth is recieving a temporary reprieve from potential execution.

" - And any failure to obey, any indication of treachery, will result in your immediate execution. Are these terms acceptable, Geth?" The melodic voice of the Asari could not hide her blatant dislike.

The brilliant blue that shone from the Geth's head couldnt betray any of what it might be thinking as it regarded the holograms of the Council. They didnt trust it enough to stand physicaly before it, even with the turians and the very Spectre that had found it standing nearby, fully armed.

Finaly, the Geth dipped its long head foreward in a recently-learned mockery of a humanoid nod, "Yes."

In turn, if the surviving Council expected any show of gratitude, they did not show it. The Geth particularly had to admire the center figure; the hard-nosed human Anderson. He had been a prime prize that the Geth had never won; the prophet Saren - false prophet, it reminded itself - had been particularly hateful.

"Very well." The gruff man grunted, "Your weapons will be issued to you when the Captain of the Saxxony feels it appropriate. Know that you're worth less to us then the lowest private aboard her, and a quick trip out the airlock is far more then you deserve..."

"Understood." The statement had seemed to require a response, and Anderson nods at the guards in response before all three images flicker out of existance.

Outside, Xavier and Chris are approached by a C-Sec Turian, his arm still in a sling from the recent fighting. His attention is on Xavier, and he nods in salute rather then jostle the injury.

"Spectre, the Council wishes to add another ... ah .. addition to your crew before you leave."