1.20Pilot
D3monicPho3nix
GallenteGallente
- Kills
- 16
- +3 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 168
- +17 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 16%
- ISK destroyed
- 3.51B
- +103.5M in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Low
- 0 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 16
- Losses
- 168
- Danger Ratio
- 77%
- Final Blows
- 7
- Points
- 15
ISK
- Destroyed
- 3.51B
- Lost
- 18.11B
- Balance
- -14.61B
- ISK Efficiency
- 16%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 6
- Solo Ratio
- 38%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 39
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 23%
- Activity
- Low
Damage Dealt439.7K
Damage Ratio · 15%
Damage Taken2.5M
Activity
What they fly, where they fight, latest kills and losses
Most Valuable
The priciest kills in the window
Matchups
Who they kill, who kills them, what they lose
Last 90d
Killed
Killed By
Hulls LostLosses broken down by hull class.
In-game bio
**D3monicPhoenix:** Corporate Overlord of Dawn Of The Dark Phoenix, Tyrant of the Moon Belts, and the reason gankers suddenly become very interested in local chat.
D3monicPhoenix doesn't run a mining corporation. He commands an industrial war machine fueled by moon goo, rage, and an unhealthy obsession with efficiency. While other CEOs hold meetings, D3monicPhoenix is already anchoring the next moon drill and planning three more.
His daily routine:
* Wake up.
* Check moon timers.
* Check market prices.
* Check killboards.
* Wonder which idiot ignored the doctrine fit this time.
He has issued the same warning a thousand times:
**"Use the doctrine fit."**
And yet every time someone explodes in a paper-thin Hulk, a distant scream echoes across New Eden.
D3monicPhoenix views gankers as content, war declarations as paperwork, and hostile fleets as an inconvenience delaying mining operations. His response to danger is usually, **"Form up."** followed by several paragraphs of instructions nobody reads until after they've lost a ship.
The belts belong to him.
The moons belong to him.
The industrial projects belong to him.
The spreadsheets belong to him.
The moon goo definitely belongs to him.
Pilots entering fleet quickly learn there are only two acceptable outcomes:
1. Make ISK.
2. Make more ISK.
Failure to achieve either may result in being volunteered for the next corporation mining operation.
Stories are told of D3monicPhoenix detecting a neutral in system before the neutral even loads grid. Some say he can smell incoming gankers through the server hamsters. Others claim he has personally written enough MOTDs to fill an entire station database.
His final form is rumored to be an Orca with so much tank that CONCORD uses it as a reference point.
When the stars burn out and New Eden collapses into darkness, one final corporation ping will be heard across the void:
D3monicPhoenix doesn't run a mining corporation. He commands an industrial war machine fueled by moon goo, rage, and an unhealthy obsession with efficiency. While other CEOs hold meetings, D3monicPhoenix is already anchoring the next moon drill and planning three more.
His daily routine:
* Wake up.
* Check moon timers.
* Check market prices.
* Check killboards.
* Wonder which idiot ignored the doctrine fit this time.
He has issued the same warning a thousand times:
**"Use the doctrine fit."**
And yet every time someone explodes in a paper-thin Hulk, a distant scream echoes across New Eden.
D3monicPhoenix views gankers as content, war declarations as paperwork, and hostile fleets as an inconvenience delaying mining operations. His response to danger is usually, **"Form up."** followed by several paragraphs of instructions nobody reads until after they've lost a ship.
The belts belong to him.
The moons belong to him.
The industrial projects belong to him.
The spreadsheets belong to him.
The moon goo definitely belongs to him.
Pilots entering fleet quickly learn there are only two acceptable outcomes:
1. Make ISK.
2. Make more ISK.
Failure to achieve either may result in being volunteered for the next corporation mining operation.
Stories are told of D3monicPhoenix detecting a neutral in system before the neutral even loads grid. Some say he can smell incoming gankers through the server hamsters. Others claim he has personally written enough MOTDs to fill an entire station database.
His final form is rumored to be an Orca with so much tank that CONCORD uses it as a reference point.
When the stars burn out and New Eden collapses into darkness, one final corporation ping will be heard across the void: