EVE – Page 2 – A Pixel Nomad

[EVE Online] Field Trip to Steve

Filed by E

I’ve always wanted to see Steve — the very first Avatar-class titan ever built in New Eden. Some capsuleers tour battlefields or markets; I tour historical hulls. So when Signal Cartel put together a fleet to pay respects, I was absolutely, immediately, embarrassingly onboard (of course I didn’t know when I signed up that we would be headed to Steve, it was all kept private for… reasons, but still you get the picture. I was excited.).

We launched from the Turnur hub, bright-eyed and in good spirits, only to discover that someone from nullsec had taken an interest in us. A lone Interdictor trailed behind like an overeager mall cop. Eventually, they managed to give one of our pilots an early express trip home via a questionable bubble. The fallen pilot gave us their blessing to continue.

Then came the moment of FC… let’s call it “navigational jazz.”

We were warped — confidently, decisively — to the wrong wormhole. Half the fleet went one direction, the rest went somewhere completely different, and I briefly wondered whether I should start leaving breadcrumbs like a fairy tale child in space. But we reformed without issue, a small victory for professionalism (or sheer luck), and set off again with only light heckling of the FC.

Our destination? Goonswarm Federation’s home staging area. Yes, that one. Yes, on purpose.

Sixteen jumps through nullsec isn’t exactly relaxing. My palms were sweating inside my Heron, which shouldn’t be scientifically possible. But Signal Cartel fleets are strange creatures: half sightseeing trip, half meditation circle. We made it through intact, landed on the main Keepstar, and activated our hugs — the signature gesture of friendliness, bewilderment, and “please don’t shoot us, we’re weird.”

Local was surprisingly calm. The Goons were polite-ish, confused, but not immediately hostile — likely because we weren’t shooting, tethering, or doing anything more threatening than quietly loitering on their front porch. SC pilots were, as expected, impeccable. Graceful. Humble. There is no group in New Eden better at being both harmless and vaguely mystical.

We offered our hugs. They accepted them with varying degrees of suspicion. Then someone in local gently reminded us that their home system was, in fact, not a wormhole, and perhaps we had lost our way.

Before we could clarify that it was a visit, not an accident, they extended a complementary service: an efficient, unrequested, all-expenses-paid Pod Express straight back to Zoohen. No forms to fill out. No queues. Just a sudden bright flash and a loading screen.

Once back in Zoohen, we regrouped, slightly crispy but cheerful. Steve had been visited. Goons had been hugged. And I had survived a nullsec road trip with only one detour, one bubble casualty, and one involuntary fast-travel experience.

Honestly? I’d call it a success.

Fly your way. o7

[EVE Online] My First Rescue

Filed by E

I like nomading. There’s something about logging off in jspace — no commute, no alarms, just a quiet ship in a wormhole — that feels like proper capsuleer therapy. So when I logged back in last night and found myself parked beside a C13 (a shattered wormhole, for those of you who don’t collect nightmares in your spare time), I shrugged, launched probes, and went looking for curiosities.

Jspace is indulgent that way. I poked at relic sites, harvested a couple of signatures that looked like they’d forgotten to bother anyone, and then, because I’m indecisive and the universe rewards whimsy, I popped into a random C1–C3 chain. Probes out, Allison (my little AI who nags me about d-scan and occasionally judges my fashion choices) narrated the system like a bored tour guide: “Two anomalies. One magnetometric. Local: 1.”

Then Allison paused. Her tone was the kind that makes you sit up — professional, soft, and alarmed.
“Dispatcher ping detected. There is a pilot in this system requesting rescue.”

My heart did a small, delighted flip. Signal Cartel’s Locator/Rescue service is one of those tiny corners of EVE I’ve admired from afar: polite people who will patiently route you back to safety when you forgot probes, forgot to bookmark an exit, or the wormhole closed like a door behind you. I’ve read the posts, sighed at the screenshots, and thought, one day I’ll join them.

Tonight, apparently, “one day” was tonight.

A Dispatcher messaged me, calm and brisk. They asked for my position, what connections I could see, and whether I’d be comfortable scanning the system for an exit. Comfortable? Absolutely. Scanning felt less like work and more like being handed a treasure map and told not to be rubbish at it.

I found the High-sec connection tucked behind a magnetometric signature — lucky for the stranded pilot, lucky for me, since logging out in jspace meant there was no clear breadcrumb trail left behind. I pinged the coordinates and handed off the details. The Dispatcher said thank you, and then their team took over: the actual, dramatic rescue part. That part is their art. Mine was the breadcrumb.

They told me later that the pilot was local, frightened but calm, and very, very relieved to see the bridge show up on their overview. I smiled in the dark, absurdly proud — the sort of pride you get from helping someone find the restroom in a crowded station. Tiny, meaningful, and wholly disproportionate to the effort.

It was my first ever Locator event. I sat in my astero afterward, watching the wormhole blink and pulse, a dozen certs of curiosity still floating on my scanner. I felt like an explorer who’d accidentally done a good deed.

This is the tiny gameplay I love — the hush between pings where someone gets unstuck and goes home. I hope the pilot who was rescued had a warm cup of something when they reached highsec, and I hope I get to do it again. If you’re ever stranded and too proud to ask, Signal Cartel 911 exists for exactly that reason. Probes are useful. Bookmarks are better. But if all else fails, someone in a quiet channel will help.

Fly your way. o7

[EVE Online] A New Signal

My name’s E — short, simple, and probably a lot easier to remember than the number string CONCORD assigned me back in 2009. I’ve been a capsuleer for quite a while now, most of that time spent in the gentle hum of highsec, scanning, mining, running the occasional mission, and generally doing my best not to get blown up.

For a long time, I thought nullsec was just too chaotic for me. Then, a few years ago, I joined Pandemic Horde, and found out I was absolutely right — but I loved every second of it.

I lived through a handful of deployments, an uncountable number of pings, and more fleet doctrines than I can remember (though I’m pretty sure half of them involved Maelstroms). I saw Keepstars rise, fall, and sometimes just… vanish overnight. It was loud, confusing, and completely unforgettable.

But lately, things have been different. Corporations leaving. Friends scattering. Leadership changing hands. The comms are quieter, and the old familiar hum of life in Horde space has faded. It’s been a good run — I learned how to survive, how to adapt — but I think it’s time for me to follow a different signal.

So I’ve gone back to what I’ve always loved most: exploration.

There’s nothing quite like the calm of scanning down signatures, chasing relics through forgotten wormholes, or watching the nebulae swirl as I align to some unknown star. It’s quiet work, but it feels right.

That’s what brought me to Signal Cartel — a home for explorers, rescuers, and the kind of people who see the best in New Eden even when the rest of it’s on fire. I’d rather help another pilot find their way than fight them for it.

If you see me out there scanning in some backwater system, say hi. I’ll probably be the one humming to myself while trying to remember which button launches probes and which one warps me straight into a sun.

Fly your way,
E

[EVE Online] The OOC of it all

If you had of asked me 2 years ago if I thought I’d be living in NullSec, with Pandemic Horde, I probably would have laughed. I always thought NS was forbidden, and I left it at that. Then I learned about Pandemic Horde, and their NBI program.

The NBI program gave ships & lessons to anyone who joined Pandemic Horde Inc, no matter their background. We were allowed to fly in Dronelands in a handful of areas without being required to do heavy security checks. This was good, and bad. It left PH open to a lot of AWOX (where your own alliance mate turns and attacks you, or leads enemies to you), but that also brought some content. A lot of corporations within the alliance really disliked PHI because of their open door policy. There was a lot of paperwork involved.

Moving forward, PH has decided to change how PHI operates, and they won’t be marked blue to INIT (even now, in PHI I am neutral to most of my old alliance mates). Pandemic Horde Inc will be left out of the alliance, and this also means they cannot be wardecked. This is a sharp and drastic change to the PHI that I’ve known for the past two years. I have no idea where PH is headed, but crashing with INIT has a timeframe of 10 weeks.

There is a new branch of Pandemic Horde called Cool Beans, and it ESI is required (and has other basic security checks). Activity is also a requirement to join. We’re meant to be “graduating” from PHI to this new corporation.

I’ve done my fair share of PVP over the past two years with my PHI character. I also floated between gated / non-gated corporations within the alliance as I tried to find a good fit for my playstyle and casualness. I am a creature of habit, and the past two weeks in game have been a LOT of changes. I’m frustrated and angry with so many things, and I don’t like that in my video games.

I don’t feel like Pandemic Horde is the right corporation for me any more. I don’t feel like the changes align with how I want to play, and I especially don’t like the lack of control I have about this whole situation. I understand I am a single nobody in a whole ocean of nobodies, but it is absolutely up to me to make sure I am having the sort of game experience that I want. If I’m not, it’s up to me to change that. I also don’t like how chat has been reduced to “suck it up buttercup” if anyone complains, and how somehow we’re not “true pandemic horde members” if we are uncomfortable with how this shit show went down, or if we want to get off of the sinking ship.

I have not left yet. I’m trying very hard to make educated decisions without letting my frustration about the situation take over. I think it will just take more time.

Fly your way o7

[EVE Online] War Update

Filed by Gallente Citizen 4586793463

It began like most disasters in New Eden do — not with an explosion, but with a series of CONCORD notifications.

At first, Gallente Citizen thought it was a glitch. The Alliance feed kept lighting up, a steady drumbeat of messages from CONCORD that all read the same:

CONCORD War Update: Post Nut Clarity With The Boys has left Pandemic Horde.
CONCORD War Update: Our Sanctum has left Pandemic Horde.
CONCORD War Update: u.k militia forces has left Pandemic Horde.

And on it went.

The sound became background noise in the clone bay — the soft ping of corporate departures rolling in like rain on a tin roof. By the time Fusion Enterprises Ltd and Inner Legacy were gone, most pilots had stopped pretending not to notice.

In the hangars of F7C-H0, pilots floated between ships in that quiet, aimless way people do when they aren’t sure if they still have a home. Crates of ammunition sat unopened. Ship fittings were half-finished. The market buy orders looked like they’d been placed by ghosts.

Captain Johnny Trousersnake’s name was still pinned to the top of every alliance broadcast, but the tone in his pings had started to change — less rallying, more “we’re monitoring the situation.”

[Trousersnake Broadcast]:
“We’ve had some corporations make different choices recently. We wish them well. The Horde remains strong and united.”

In local, someone replied:

“Define strong.”

The list kept growing.

Royalty. has left Pandemic Horde.
Death’sEnd has left Pandemic Horde.
Splash Inc. has left Pandemic Horde.
Sand Storm Town INC. has left Pandemic Horde.

Every line felt like another plank being pried off a sinking ship.

By the time Office of Krabbing Regulation and Auditing left, Gallente Citizen could only laugh. The accountants had fled. That was never a good sign.

The comms chatter grew restless. Some pilots were angry, others mournful, a few just relieved to have an excuse to go somewhere else. Everyone had a theory — that Gobbins’ departure announcement had shaken the leadership, that Johnny wasn’t ready, that the move to Cloud Ring was a mistake.

Gallente Citizen listened quietly, leaning against a shuttle wing, the blue glow of Cloud Ring’s nebula reflecting off their visor.

“Are you going too?” someone asked over fleet chat.

“Nah,” Gallente replied. “I’ve already unpacked my stuff.”

There was a pause. Then someone chuckled.

“So you’re staying?”

“For now.”

It wasn’t loyalty. It was inertia. Horde might be bleeding corporations, but it was still home — at least until something better came along.

When MASS, one of the older names in the ticker, finally left, the alliance feed fell silent. Even CONCORD seemed tired of reporting it.

Golden Fleece has left Pandemic Horde.

The last one.

After that, nothing.

The absence of sound was deafening.

Gallente Citizen opened the Alliance Members window. The list looked thinner now — hollowed out. But there were still names there. Familiar ones. The pilots who stuck around not because of promises or speeches, but because they hadn’t yet decided to quit.

They closed the window and smiled faintly.

“Still plenty of us left to lose.”

Then they climbed into their Zealot, powered up the engines, and began another patrol of F7C’s gates. Not because it mattered, but because routine was comforting.

Somewhere in a distant comms relay, another CONCORD message queued up, waiting to be sent.
Gallente Citizen didn’t bother checking who it was this time.

They’d see soon enough.