CorporazioneAttiva
[W.SEC] Witness Security Program
4 membriTasse 5%Fondata nel 2025
CEOWitness Protection OfficerIndipendente- Kill
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 10
- +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
- 10
- Indice di pericolo
- 100%
- Colpi finali
- 0
- Punti
- 0
ISK
- Distrutti
- 0
- Persi
- 2.52B
- Bilancio
- -2.52B
- 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
Attività
Cosa vola la corporazione, dove combatte, le ultime kill e perdite
I più preziosi
Le kill più costose del periodo
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene uccisa e cosa perde
Ultimi 90g
Uccisi
Ucciso da
Scafi persiPerdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Battaglie
Gli scontri nella finestra scelta, dal nostro archivio killmail
Descrizione
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.