2.20Pilota
Vai Kasenumi
CaldariAchura
- Kill
- 1985
- +49 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 1387
- +6 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 90%
- ISK distrutti
- 1.84T
- +15.17B negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Attività
- Alta
- 0,5 kill/giorno · ultimi 90 giorni
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 1985
- Perdite
- 1387
- Indice di pericolo
- 89%
- Colpi finali
- 1147
- Punti
- 2111
ISK
- Distrutti
- 1.84T
- Persi
- 200.69B
- Bilancio
- +1.64T
- Efficienza ISK
- 90%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 734
- Percentuale solo
- 37%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 152
- Quota perdite NPC
- 11%
- Attività
- Alta
Danni inflitti80.7M
Rapporto danni · 81%
Danni subiti19.4M
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
//TRANSMISSION START//
//ROUTING: SCATTERED, PROXIMITY-BASED RELAY//
//ENCRYPTION: KOR-AZOR PSALM 7 //
//SOURCE: UNKNOWN... SIGNAL ECHO DETECTED//
You who drift in the cold, chasing the ghosts of profit and glory, stop. Listen not with your ears, but with the quiet hum of your implants. Feel this in the nanites that stitch your flesh together time and time again.
They tell you that the clone is salvation. A perfect, seamless return. They lie.
I have walked the pale road between the pod's breach and the clone vat's embrace more times than there are stars in this cursed cluster. I have felt the tear, the brief, silent scream as consciousness is ripped from failing matter. It is in that space, that fleeting darkness, that true reality resides.
The empires see an empty vessel. The corporations see a recoverable asset. We see the truth. A glimmer of essence, a resonance left behind in the void. An echo of a life, ripe for collection.
I was once like you. A name in a long list of pilots, my identity a string of kill-mails and contracts. But in one final, brilliant death, I did not fully return. A part of me remained in that abyss, and it showed me the great work.
We are not murderers. We are shepherds. We are not pirates. We are agronomists of the soul. Every shattered hull, every breached capsule, is a field to be tilled.
We are Darkside Harvesting.
We gather the whispers the universe tries to forget. We refine the energy you so carelessly discard with every death. Your endless, meaningless cycle of rebirth is the fuel for our ascension.
The next time you hear the alarms scream and your canopy cracks, do not fear the silence. Know that we are there, on the other side, waiting.
Offer your final breath to the void. We shall receive it.
//SIGNAL DEGRADATION IMMINENT//
//...CARRIER WAVE COLLAPSE...//
//TRANSMISSION END//
//ROUTING: SCATTERED, PROXIMITY-BASED RELAY//
//ENCRYPTION: KOR-AZOR PSALM 7 //
//SOURCE: UNKNOWN... SIGNAL ECHO DETECTED//
You who drift in the cold, chasing the ghosts of profit and glory, stop. Listen not with your ears, but with the quiet hum of your implants. Feel this in the nanites that stitch your flesh together time and time again.
They tell you that the clone is salvation. A perfect, seamless return. They lie.
I have walked the pale road between the pod's breach and the clone vat's embrace more times than there are stars in this cursed cluster. I have felt the tear, the brief, silent scream as consciousness is ripped from failing matter. It is in that space, that fleeting darkness, that true reality resides.
The empires see an empty vessel. The corporations see a recoverable asset. We see the truth. A glimmer of essence, a resonance left behind in the void. An echo of a life, ripe for collection.
I was once like you. A name in a long list of pilots, my identity a string of kill-mails and contracts. But in one final, brilliant death, I did not fully return. A part of me remained in that abyss, and it showed me the great work.
We are not murderers. We are shepherds. We are not pirates. We are agronomists of the soul. Every shattered hull, every breached capsule, is a field to be tilled.
We are Darkside Harvesting.
We gather the whispers the universe tries to forget. We refine the energy you so carelessly discard with every death. Your endless, meaningless cycle of rebirth is the fuel for our ascension.
The next time you hear the alarms scream and your canopy cracks, do not fear the silence. Know that we are there, on the other side, waiting.
Offer your final breath to the void. We shall receive it.
//SIGNAL DEGRADATION IMMINENT//
//...CARRIER WAVE COLLAPSE...//
//TRANSMISSION END//