1.50
- Kill
- 43
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 49
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 71%
- ISK distrutti
- 2.50B
- +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
- 43
- Perdite
- 49
- Indice di pericolo
- 82%
- Colpi finali
- 25
- Punti
- 43
ISK
- Distrutti
- 2.50B
- Persi
- 1.03B
- Bilancio
- +1.47B
- Efficienza ISK
- 71%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 17
- Percentuale solo
- 40%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 9
- Quota perdite NPC
- 18%
- Attività
- Inattivo
Danni inflitti4.5M
Rapporto danni · 97%
Danni subiti155.7K
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
The socket at the back my neck still itches, and when I leave my pod to spend a night in the station with whores or with the ladies I call “wife,” I can’t sleep. If I do, it’s Right. Fucking. Here. where the knot is in the morning. Yeah, I’m new, but I’ve died and cashed my credits for an empty me, curled like a fetus and bobbing in a vat, before jumping in a ship and doing it again.
I was born on Stacmon X , the only rock with a station in orbit. The first girl I kissed was Minmatar.
When I was 16, Mom and Dad said we were leaving. Between Mom’s job at the refugee school and Dad’s job at the biocells plant, they’d scraped together enough dirtcoin for three seats to the station.
Long story short, Dad’s crew got lucky with a Deimos wreck when they sidetracked for a salvage op. They sent me to school where I talked my way into co-ed quarters and flight school. Last thing I remember before choking on goo was what my basic spaceflight instructor said: G’night you fucking smart ass.
I was born on Stacmon X , the only rock with a station in orbit. The first girl I kissed was Minmatar.
When I was 16, Mom and Dad said we were leaving. Between Mom’s job at the refugee school and Dad’s job at the biocells plant, they’d scraped together enough dirtcoin for three seats to the station.
Long story short, Dad’s crew got lucky with a Deimos wreck when they sidetracked for a salvage op. They sent me to school where I talked my way into co-ed quarters and flight school. Last thing I remember before choking on goo was what my basic spaceflight instructor said: G’night you fucking smart ass.