1.40Pilot
Aikenber Hastmena
MinmatarVherokior
- Kills
- 0
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 0
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 0%
- ISK destroyed
- 0
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Inactive
- 0 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 0
- Losses
- 0
- Danger Ratio
- 0%
- Final Blows
- 0
- Points
- 0
ISK
- Destroyed
- 0
- Lost
- 0
- Balance
- +0
- ISK Efficiency
- 0%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 0
- Solo Ratio
- 0%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 0
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 0%
- Activity
- Inactive
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
Informorph Pilot
She was the last breath in a ruptured hull,
The scream cut short, the silence full.
They say she lingered, spark to flame—
Not quite alive, but not the same.
Now she haunts the ghost-lanes wide,
Between the stars, where systems die.
No lights aboard, no pulses hum—
Just flickers where her whispers come.
She drifts inside forgotten cores,
Where data bleeds and logic wars.
Her thoughts are sharp, her presence thin,
A virus carved from grief and sin.
She knows the passwords no one wrote,
The kill-commands that stop your throat.
She sings in static, sharp and low—
A song that ships aren’t meant to know.
Engines fail and lights go blind
When she decides to cross your mind.
A shadow seen in status logs,
A smile traced in coolant fogs.
No name remains—just echoed dread
In circuitry the dead once bled.
And if you hear her through the hum...
Shut it down. Or she will come.
She was the last breath in a ruptured hull,
The scream cut short, the silence full.
They say she lingered, spark to flame—
Not quite alive, but not the same.
Now she haunts the ghost-lanes wide,
Between the stars, where systems die.
No lights aboard, no pulses hum—
Just flickers where her whispers come.
She drifts inside forgotten cores,
Where data bleeds and logic wars.
Her thoughts are sharp, her presence thin,
A virus carved from grief and sin.
She knows the passwords no one wrote,
The kill-commands that stop your throat.
She sings in static, sharp and low—
A song that ships aren’t meant to know.
Engines fail and lights go blind
When she decides to cross your mind.
A shadow seen in status logs,
A smile traced in coolant fogs.
No name remains—just echoed dread
In circuitry the dead once bled.
And if you hear her through the hum...
Shut it down. Or she will come.