
Filed by E
I set off from [redacted] with a cup of lukewarm station coffee and absolutely no emotional readiness for what awaited me in Odebeinn. My destination?
My asset safety containers—those last little time capsules of my old life in Pandemic Horde.
And apparently I wasn’t the only one making the pilgrimage.
The system was buzzing when I arrived. You could practically smell the desperation and nostalgia in the air—like a garage sale hosted by people who hadn’t slept since the eviction. Former Horde pilots were lined up at the station like we were waiting for concert tickets:
- folks in shuttles
- folks in stabbed haulers
- folks in ships that looked like they’d been duct-taped together after MTO2
- and one guy who was clearly still drunk from the farewell fleet
I grabbed my containers and cracked them open, bracing for impact. Yep—there it was: the strange mix of junk, treasure, and “why did I even own this” that asset safety always dredges up.
A T1 salvager.
Four mismatched drones.
Two cyno generators I absolutely did not need.
A stack of ammo I don’t even use anymore.
And a single, lonely killmail token from… 2019?
Perfect yard sale material.
Around me, the station trade window was flickering nonstop as pilots fire-sold everything that wasn’t bolted down. Prices were dropping faster than my morale during the eviction. The market graph for the day probably looked like a cliff.
I listed my own pile of “please, someone, take this” items, wished them well on their journey to someone else’s hangar, and stepped back to take in the scene.
It was weirdly comforting—this unspoken reunion of evacuees, all of us pretending we were “just liquidating assets” instead of quietly grieving the end of an era. No big declarations, no speeches… just a bunch of ex-Horde nerds pawning off our past for a few ISK and the chance to finally move on.
Once my sell orders were up, I stretched, exhaled, and set course back to [redacted].
Another chapter closed.
Another station cleared.
o7



