- Kill
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 8
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 0%
- ISK distrutti
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Attività
- Inattivo
- 0 kill/giorno · ultimi 90 giorni
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 0
- Perdite
- 8
- Indice di pericolo
- 100%
- Colpi finali
- 0
- Punti
- 0
ISK
- Distrutti
- 0
- Persi
- 2.97B
- Bilancio
- -2.97B
- Efficienza ISK
- 0%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 0
- Percentuale solo
- 0%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 0
- Quota perdite NPC
- 0%
- Attività
- Inattivo
Danni inflitti0
Rapporto danni · 0%
Danni subiti162.5K
Attività
Cosa vola, dove combatte, le ultime kill e perdite
I più preziosi
Le kill più costose del periodo
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene ucciso e cosa perde
Ultimi 90g
Uccisi
Ucciso da
Scafi persiPerdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Bio in gioco
(CHAT REQUESTS DISABLED WHILE AFK)
My hurricane was wrestlin' with electrical failure, plasma leaks, energy burns and a core on the verge of breachin' when I saw a flickering neon sign on my scopes pointing to a little dustbowl tavern called Whiskey Loners. I hit the autopilot and let my baby creep her way towards it, cursing at those Amarr battleships who got me to this place but grinnin' at the two whose crew won't be wakin' up tomorrow. So extended the landing gear and the antigrav jets fired giving my ole' gal a resting place in the sandy red dirt outside what looks like a place long forgotten. I limped down my gangway to the ground, smarting at the singed wound from the structure ripping through my pod and givin' me one helluva a scar'. Came through the taverns holo doors and I fell in love. She was a pretty place from a different time, when pilots flew by a code and shared comraderie that's passed on to the greed of eve. She's home and I won't so
My hurricane was wrestlin' with electrical failure, plasma leaks, energy burns and a core on the verge of breachin' when I saw a flickering neon sign on my scopes pointing to a little dustbowl tavern called Whiskey Loners. I hit the autopilot and let my baby creep her way towards it, cursing at those Amarr battleships who got me to this place but grinnin' at the two whose crew won't be wakin' up tomorrow. So extended the landing gear and the antigrav jets fired giving my ole' gal a resting place in the sandy red dirt outside what looks like a place long forgotten. I limped down my gangway to the ground, smarting at the singed wound from the structure ripping through my pod and givin' me one helluva a scar'. Came through the taverns holo doors and I fell in love. She was a pretty place from a different time, when pilots flew by a code and shared comraderie that's passed on to the greed of eve. She's home and I won't so