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Tom-BS070.00
Pilota

Tom-BS07

AmarrKhanid
Killboard
Kill
4
+0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
Perdite
5
+0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
44%
Efficienza
Efficienza ISK 99%
ISK distrutti
3.56B
+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
4
Perdite
5
Indice di pericolo
100%
Colpi finali
3
Punti
3

ISK

Distrutti
3.56B
Persi
45.5M
Bilancio
+3.52B
Efficienza ISK
99%

Solo

Kill in solo
2
Percentuale solo
50%
Kill medie/giorno
—

Altro

Perdite contro NPC
0
Quota perdite NPC
0%
Attività
Inattivo
Danni inflitti63.5K
Rapporto danni · 95%
Danni subiti3.4K

Attività

Cosa vola, dove combatte, le ultime kill e perdite

NaviUltimi 90g
SistemiUltimi 90g
Ultime killKillboard
Ultime perditeKillboard

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

Out past the mapped constellations, beyond the polite lies of known space, there is a silence that hums.

They call it the Black Signal.

It wasn’t discovered—no one claims that. It arrived. First as a distortion in long-range comms, a smear of impossible frequencies that shouldn’t exist in any spectrum. Ships reported hearing it differently: a low pulse like a heartbeat, a whisper in forgotten languages, or nothing at all—just a growing sense that something was listening back.

The Signal does not travel. It propagates without motion, appearing simultaneously in distant sectors light-years apart. Attempts to triangulate its source have failed. Every coordinate leads further outward, as if the universe itself is pointing away from something it fears.

Stations that study it don’t last.

Logs recovered from abandoned outposts describe equipment behaving… thoughtfully. Navigation systems plotting routes no one entered. Airlocks opening to empty space. Crew members speaking in synchronized patterns, repeating fragments of a message no one remembers learning.

“We are already inside.”

That phrase appears in nearly every corrupted log.

The Black Signal doesn’t infect machines. It doesn’t hijack biology. It alters perception—rewriting the boundary between observer and observed. Those exposed long enough begin to lose the distinction between their own thoughts and something else layered beneath them. Not controlling. Not guiding. Just… present.

Waiting.

Some factions believe the Signal is a relic of a civilization that outgrew physical form—an echo of minds too vast to remain contained. Others claim it is a warning, a cosmic quarantine marker meant to keep us from crossing a threshold we don’t understand.

But a smaller, quieter group holds a more unsettling theory:

The Signal is not coming from outside the galaxy.

It is coming from the future.

Every attempt to block it has failed. Every effort to decode it brings it closer, clearer, more personal. As if it is learning how to be understood.

And now, in the deepest channels of secure networks, a new variation has begun to surface. Not static. Not noise.

A reply.

“We hear you.”

No one remembers sending the first message.