"Kilo 42, Kilo 42, this is Hastings 7-3, over." said one pilot to another floating near the old run down Philly gate in New York.

"Jennings, will you kindly shut the f**k up? You're stupid military speak is making my ears bleed." replied the other pilot.

"The f**k has your panties in a twist, Rodgers?"

"I don't know, I'm on edge. You ever get that feeling that s**t is about to go down and it's not about to be something good for your health?"

Suddenly, the entire area was lit up by flood lights. The stark contrast of the badlands and the light caused the pilots to loose focus. Weapons fire lit up the entire area and within minutes both Naval ships were reduced to nothing but blood, body parts, and slag. A voice came over the comms. A voice that was both p***ed and sinister. A voice that hadn't been heard in nearly a year.

"Oh, I know exactly what that feels like." in a split second the voice started issuing orders to the other pilots. "Quinn, Ruth, knock out the patrols on the outer edge of West Point. If you see anything larger than a Gunboat, double back to the Badlands and we'll use our numbers here in the Badlands to surround them and take them out. Our man inside the station is our top priority, not taking out as many of the Liberty Navy as possible...that will be for another day. Keep them occupied while I pay our...Navy friends...a visit from a long lost friend."

Both pilots acknowledged their orders and flew off. The leaders ship darted off towards the trade lane to West Point, the wings of Conviction still painted on the hull after so many years...

Deep in the heart of West Point Military Academy, a man in a Liberty Navy flight suit faced the full-length mirror in his quarters. He sighed, checked his watch, and nodded at his reflection. The watch slid off cleanly into the palm of his hand. He thumbed the back and slid off the cover, revealing a display with a five minute timer that began counting down. Setting the watch down gently in his briefcase atop a notebook, he began packing a crisply ironed Liberty Navy dress uniform around it. He closed and locked the portfolio and waited for the beep.

Five minutes.

He picked up a flight helmet, turned off his desk computer, and took the briefcase out into the hall and down the corridor towards the flight deck, where a BDR-804 Guardian fighter awaited him. A patrolling guard bumped into him. The briefcase fell to the floor, but remained locked.

"Christ, watch where you're going, will you? There's some real important sh*t in here," he yelled at the guard before collecting himself and apologizing.

Four and a half minutes.

The guard, with dinner-plate eyes, looked at the man. "So sorry, Commander Petrov. Won't happen again, I promise."

"That is correct," he responded, mentally adding, for reasons you cannot comprehend.

Keller.

Leo.

Commander Jacob Keller.

Hybrid Leonardo Masuyo.

These different names rattling around in my damned head is going to give me a damned aneurysm...then the implants would repair it.

The man that was once known as Jacob Renault Keller, but also known as Leo Masuyo, was flying through the trade land towards West Point when he completely disengaged his safety protocols and rocketed out of the other end of the trade lane...smashing into one of the docking ports on the station at almost double the speed of cruise. Naturally, emergency ships couldn't respond as all of the outer rings were disengaged by fights the other Conviction members were raging.

Keller/Leo groaned in pain as the implants slowly began to repair themselves.

"That's the only time I can do that." he said through gritted teeth. "Can't use any more of the implants energy or else I won't be able to break that asshole out of the station or defend myself." he tapped the metal plating on his arm to see the status of his personal shields. They were down. "No defenses either, s**t. Guess they took the brunt of the impact...urghhh."

Standing slowly throwing the wreckage off him, Keller looked straight ahead into the terrified and confused eyes of Vadim Petrov.

"The f**k did I tell you about the Navy, Petrov." Keller said through rasped and difficult breathing. "Never trust them."

"Sh*t."

Three minutes.

Petrov pulled a sidearm, cocked it dramatically, and shot the guard behind him. "What, you actually think I do? F**k sakes, though, really? Ripping the bay door open with a ship flying out of the lane? You couldn't have been more subtle? Maybe save some-- guards, your nine!"

He fired another four rounds in the direction of the guards, grazing one's shoulder.

Two minutes.

Looking up at Keller's figure, which glowed with a slight blue haze, he threw a keycard with a holographic Guardian stenciled on it at his ex-former commander. "It's the only one left standing; power it up, quick!" he shouted, releasing two more shots upon the guards.

Keller twitched for a second staring at the key and got a brief memory from Leo. Guardian? Guardian. Then Keller's memory of Petrov and how he always treated him.

That little bastard...just gave ME an order?

"Screw you, Petrov. You power it up. I may not be your Commander right now, but I'll be damned if you tell ME what to do." he threw the keycard back to him as he was firing at the guards behind cover. The card pinged off his head as Keller suddenly went invisible.

Within seconds, one of the guards behind cover that was returning fire screamed in agnoizing pain and stopped firing. He kept screaming for almost 10 seconds before the sound of his neck breaking. The other guard looked over to see his comrade completely disemboweled from the groin to the bottom of his neck, his neck hanging in a clearly improper position.

The dockworker all of a sudden started screaming in pain, much worse than the guard. Before something flew across the dock floor...a heart that was no longer beating. Near Petrov, who was still standing in the same place, seemingly partialy in shock, Keller reappeared as soon as he had disappeared. His breathing was rasped and heavy. He wasn't doing too good.

"Hey...a**...hole. Didn't I tell your...lame...*gasp* a**, too start the...damned...ship? Plus...you have one guard...and one minute...make the s**t...count."

"Yeah, you're right, you shouldn't be flying if you're about to pass right the f**k out."

Petrov ran towards the Guardian's cockpit and tossed his briefcase at a cowering crewman, whose face was pale at the sight of his now heart-free coworker.

"Wh-what is th-this?" the worker asked.

Petrov laughed, starting the fighter's engines. "Court martial in a box. Enjoy it. You're going to want to get in the Guardian, boss, thirty seconds!"

The interface sprang to life. Petrov grumbled as he grabbed the flightstick and calibrated it quickly. Weapons hummed to life. Energy rings dissipated from the engine grates. Sensors detected a lack of ships in the area to match the lack of doors attached to the hangar.

Fifteen seconds.

With every last thing that Keller had, he reached up to the supports on the fighter and hurled himself into the seat behind Petrov. The canopy slid shut and the ship launched from the docking port of West Point. Keller felt the explosion rather than saw it. Petrov whooped once to himself and kept flying. Keller called off the Conviction forces distracting the Navy and ordered them to retreat towards Buffalo, from there they would head to Texas, Cali, and back home towards the general direction of what remained of Barrier Gate.

"Say...Petrov." Keller said wincing as his implants began repairing his damaged cells with what energy was remaining. "You didn't really...work for the...damned Navy did you?" he laughed. "Damned fine job, Vadim. I'm proud of ya. So...now what? Going to listen to what I have to say? Or going to go off on a rant for an hour like Quinn did?"

Petrov laughed. "F**k no, man, I just stole their tech. Turns out they're building AI flight assistance deep in Alaska. Much more personable than your standard autopilot, and a good person to rant at who isn't you."

A female voice hummed through the cockpit. "I will pretend to listen to everything you say, Vadim."

"I'll listen, like I always do," he said, looking behind him at his comrade and commander. "You're going to have to give me a few days to get used to not seeing that suit around though."

Keller laughed. A belly laugh, the first one in a few days.

"That suit was probably the only thing keeping me sane, old friend. Seems being locked up in Bretonia for the better part of a year in solitary confinement has ways of driving you mad." Keller reached up to his head and winced in pain. "Seems like I made a deal with the devil and I'm paying for it three fold."

Vadim looked confused.

"Do you remember hearing about a Leonardo Masuyo? Was supposed to be some kind of super terrorist accoiated with that harbinger style Harvester AI turned total maniacal homicidal construct? Turns out I'm him. My memory was wiped and replaced by an indent of Jacob Keller just before I met you guys and started took command of the Children of Conviction. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense, I just appeared out of no where, remember? One day I was there. No one knew how I had got there, but no one could question my ability.

"The thing is, Vadim, I'm going insane. The memories of two men in my head, not knowing which is truth and which is a fabrication is beginning to cause me serious damage...and I don't mean mental, I mean physical. Leonardo was--rather is--a Nomad/Human hybrid that was created strictly by mistake. That's why implants work so well with my body...though I'm only able to use these because I'm using them working off the memories of Leonardo. I don't think I'm supposed to use these implants...I think who ever did this to me locked them out of my mind for a reason...because I'm very dangerous." Keller looked up. "You saw what I did to those men. I destroyed them. I didn't kill them, I destroyed them."

Keller placed his hands on his head.

"What am I? What is happening to me? How the hell do I fix this?"

"We're going to start by getting you to Barrier Gate and you're going to take a nice long sleep. Get all the crap out of your system. Then we're going to figure out where the hell Schneider is, get him back, and figure out who we can talk to about making some hits. I know a guy. Name's Kane. Leads the Vagrant Raiders. Minister of Relations for this 'Natio Octavarium' thing. Maybe you've heard about it? Higher ups were talking about it in the Navy. Something about a base in Kansas and a non-aggression treaty. I'm pretty out of the loop on mercenary work these days. Our papers are invalid, I'm sure.

"Not sure how out of the loop you are with regards to recent events. Where have you been, man? Haven't heard your name in forever."