CorporationActive
[W.SEC] Witness Security Program
4 membersTax 5%Founded in 2025
CEOWitness Protection OfficerIndependent- Kills
- 0
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 10
- +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
- 10
- Danger Ratio
- 100%
- Final Blows
- 0
- Points
- 0
ISK
- Destroyed
- 0
- Lost
- 2.52B
- Balance
- -2.52B
- 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 the corporation flies, where it fights, 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.
Battles
Engagements in the selected window, from our own killmail archive
Description
Witness Security Program [WITSEC]
“Snitched on our pirate families. Now we shoot them in the face.” - Cormack Vaaja's Little-Bro
The last stop for ex-Guristas nephews, disgraced Blood Raider cult brides, and Angel Cartel cousins who didn’t quite drink enough of the Quafe. We used to share dinner tables and businesses with pirate scum — now we share killmails with their corpses.
Every one of us has a past we’d rather not talk about. Problem is, our pasts keep trying to kill us.
So CONCORD cut us a deal: become capsuleers, point our guns the other way, and maybe—just maybe—we live long enough to get revenge and a decent killboard.
Now we roam the stars hunting down the same freaks, lunatics, and druglords we once called “Uncle.”
We’ve got issues. We’ve got ammo. And we’re not sending warning shots.
“Snitched on our pirate families. Now we shoot them in the face.” - Cormack Vaaja's Little-Bro
The last stop for ex-Guristas nephews, disgraced Blood Raider cult brides, and Angel Cartel cousins who didn’t quite drink enough of the Quafe. We used to share dinner tables and businesses with pirate scum — now we share killmails with their corpses.
Every one of us has a past we’d rather not talk about. Problem is, our pasts keep trying to kill us.
So CONCORD cut us a deal: become capsuleers, point our guns the other way, and maybe—just maybe—we live long enough to get revenge and a decent killboard.
Now we roam the stars hunting down the same freaks, lunatics, and druglords we once called “Uncle.”
We’ve got issues. We’ve got ammo. And we’re not sending warning shots.