The Three Little Piggies

I studied my face in the mirror. I still had some pod goo in my moustache. I rubbed it in and smiled. What a beautiful feeling this was: Getting out from the pod instead of that terrible clone vat. But the sweetest feeling: Thinking about the three confused capsuleers now waking up in their new clones wondering what the fuck just happened.

It had been a merciless slaughter. An act of pure evil. The three fresh capsuleers, not even graduated from their training institutions, had been peacefully mining in two frigates and a destroyer. Then suddenly their overview had showed a pilot, yours truly, painted blood red by their default HUD settings, landing right next to them.

“Hello, hello, little piggies, will you let me join the party?”

Their horror. I could still remember it from my first visits to the lawless belts of low security space. He has opened fire! What kind of ship is he in? A Firetail-something? Who is this? Why is he all red? Fuck! We are taking heavy damage! All to the battle stations! Fire at will!

“Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your spaceships up!”

The confusion was total. The inexperienced capsuleers must have been struggling with making the correct neural connections with their ships. None of them managed to do anything right. The tranquility of the isolated asteroid belt was now being ripped apart by burning projectiles and a screaming afterburner. Who is this capsuleer? Why does he do this to us?

I opened my eyes. Happy with what I saw in the mirror. A cold blooded merciless coward. Preying on the weak. The stupid. And the poor. Not the honourable pirate looking for fair fights and duels. I fled those stronger than me. I ran when the odds looked bad. I was a scavenger looking for easy prey and leftover targets.

What just happened? We are in our capsules! What the hell! He is still shooting at us!

I was their baptizer. Their saviour. Their revelation of immortality. I was death. I delivered this mind blowing experience to them all: The ice cold insta-freeze when the body meets empty space. The silence. The confusion. The blackness. And the existential fear. The horror of living through your own death. Waking up with the memories of a frozen corpse.

You may build your spaceships of rolled tungsten bricks. Then I will not come for you. Because I am not the big bad wolf. I am the lonely hyena.

I licked the last drop of pod goo from my moustache and opened up The Devil's Tattoo communications channel from my Neocom.

I'm the hyena with good looks and bad company.

That fresh out-of-the-pod feeling.

This log entry has earlier been published at the collaborative space log known as The Fighter at the Gates of Hell.

Anno Dominix

A while back, I received a message from my associate that I had sent on a scouting mission to a low populated low sec pocket.

“Dominix piloted by a fresh student registered at the EVE University. He seems to be running a mission against the local Serpentis population. Permission to launch probes?"

"Of course you launch probes! I didn't tell you to spend all that time on those astrometric skills for probing down grav sites!"

My associate now had a lot better skills for probing than me. And also better equipment. The Dominix was pinpointed in deep space within two scan cycles - approximately 15 seconds. There was a very good chance this inexperienced battleship pilot had not noticed the probes. I was two jumps out in a Firetail. I would probably need backup. I should be able to keep my ship alive, but breaking his tank might be a challenge.

My cloaked associate sent me into warp from the stargate. I preheated my scrambler and afterburner and readied my overview for fighting drones. I landed 90 km off my target and started burning. 70 km. 50 km. 30. 20. 17 km. Activate targeting system. 14. Target locked and scrammed. I turn down the heat, settle for a tight orbit, activate tracking disruption and start working on the drones with my webifier and guns.

"Dominix tackled. I need help with the tank." The drones didn't hurt me, but tank was not breaking under my meager damage output.

However, there was no response in our corporate communication channels. Everybody was probably busy rebelling against something.

"Anyone?"

My fellow Hothead and later R1FTA-pilot, Tomba, had just plugged in his clone to the channel. "What? Where?"

A few minutes later he was warping in on us in a Thrasher-class destroyer. I was already negotiating terms for a possible ransom, but the battleship pilot was stalling and asking for more time to get the requested 150 million ISK transferred from his brother. Standard procedure would be to kill him as fast as possible because he could be stalling for the sole reason to get his backup rallied. But I accepted the delay for two reasons: First, if he came up with 150 millions in ransom, that would be a new record for me. Second, a newly recruited rebel was also on his way in an Incursus-class frigate, and if my customer failed to show me the money, what better way to welcome a new member than giving his blasters some action?

Sadly for the university student, he could not show me the ISK in time when I offered him the final deadline of 30 seconds. But while we waited, our fresh recruit had arrived the scene and he had brought camera drones with a recording script loaded in his control unit! You can watch the pretty explosion here [Disclaimer: Music might be considered offensive and NSFW].

The fresh rebel prospect sure didn’t apply a lot of damage, but it is the first time I have had such a catch recorded. And the fittings show that my 150 million demand was a quite reasonable one.

Culinary Corner: Rectal Skunk Lunch

As a fine dining enthusiast, I must say that gourmet discussions in the local communication channel are always appreciated:

Ravior Letam > eeey... saftsuze... whats up, stupid bitch?
Saftsuze > Just eating my lunch and enjoying the scenery :)
Ravior Letam > Ah really? whats it today? roadkilled skunk up the ass like always?
Saftsuze > Yeah, skunk is a favourite. And of course I eat with my ass. Saves time for digestion.

A few days earlier I disrupted his corporation’s massive mining op in a low sec system. I was in a tiny Firetail, but even their Loki warped to safety behind a force field as I entered system. I blew up 7-8 cans filled with ore before they warped in a Harbinger to the asteroid belt. I figured I had done what could be done, and moved on for some action in another system that had been reported by my fellow Rebels. A bit later I returned to the mining op in a stealth bomber, hoping to snag a Covetor or something similar. But, again, as I entered system, they all gathered behind a force field and then swiftly abandoned system.

That was a short little log entry. Now I'm gonna go and grab some lunch.