A Pixel Nomad

I was hanging out in in a C2 with my Tengu when I decided to do a little combat site. They’re not worth much ISK at that level, only 24m or so, but as I completed the site, a heron warped in from an NPC corp. They saw me there, and warped off.

Curious.

Unless they were a brand new player and didn’t know better, there’s zero reason for a heron to warp to a combat relic/hacking site, and even though they were in an NPC corp, they were NOT a new player – so I figured something must be up (as usually is in the case of EVE Online).

The C2 had a C1 connection and two HS connections, but not much else. The C1 had a POS stick set up though, and a NS static. A few seconds later a hound showed up on d-scan (a covert ops ship that deals with instant lock and torpedo so they have a lot of range), and I had an ah-ha moment. This is why it’s important to just spam the V key (d-scan by default) any time you’re out and about in a WH. I cloaked up and moved away from the site a bit. Sure enough the heron returned. I knew they must have been scouting for the hound, even though I didn’t see the hound on d-scan any more (covert ops, so of course they were just stealthed). I decided my 1b+ ship +implants were not worth losing over 20m in blue loot, so I wandered off for a while and completed some hacking sites down the chain and came back with 150m in loot from that. When I returned almost 2h later, I saw that they had indeed looted my wrecks – but at least I lived to tell the tale, and didn’t lose my ship.

I’ve been looking for a HS connection from my Wormlife Freeport for a few days, trying to inch closer to my HS base so I can grab some implants and set up some clones for refining. Normally I don’t have to wait too long – but today I stumbled into Turnur, which I had never been to before.

Turnur is basically a system that’s a type of hub. There’s a LOT of signatures leading all over the place. It’s a good way to get around, and it’s busy. Very busy. Signal Cartel maps Turnur and posts the results public for people, so you can figure out routes and find your way around (providing that you don’t get caught, especially if you’re hauling something awesome).

I didn’t have time to scan down any of the holes, and I couldn’t make the jump to Jita before my own connection closed, but I had fun people watching and guessing at what everyone was up to. In the mean time, hopefully I find that connection I want, so I can move some stuff around. It was a reminder that I’ve also never gone to Thera, another place on my bucket list.

Fly your way! o7

The crew of the Kinetic Regret was gathered once again in the briefing chamber, several of them slouched creatively across chairs, bulkheads, or each other. The lights flickered in sync with the mood: dim and suspicious. Captain Gobbins stood before them with an expression that suggested he’d just read a war report and eaten a lemon at the same time.

“Good news,” he began.

Silence.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Actual good news this time. Delve and Querious are, more or less, on fire. But not our fire. Their fire. The Imperium is evacuating.”

A few murmurs rose from the crew.

“Wait—they’re leaving Delve?” asked Lieutenant Gilthune Aideron, squinting like this was some kind of trap.

“Yes,” Gobbins said. “Turns out, after months of patient and surgical misery from our sig teams, the enemy decided they couldn’t hold it anymore. We didn’t roll in with titans or have some glorious one-day siege. Just… methodical harassment. You know—what we do best.”

He flicked a holoscreen into view, showing two bright red systems blinking out like dying stars. “Delve and Querious. Mostly evacuated. Consider it a love letter to the power of small, coordinated torment. Special credit to Rdmr and Jakaya with the BRO sig, Hedliner in BFL, and Nalani for older ops with the Prae crew.”

“Wow,” someone muttered. “So… no supers, no mass brawls?”

“Nope,” Gobbins replied. “Just months of being incredibly, relentlessly annoying.”

From the back of the room, Gallente Citizen 4586793463 scribbled something into a datapad. They hadn’t spoken since joining the Kinetic Regret three deployments ago. No one really remembered who had cleared them for duty. But every time something exploded, they were there, lurking with a stylus.

Gobbins pointed toward the glowing tactical map. “For the near future, we burn everything. Citadels, refineries, socks left on cloning bay floors—if it’s anchored and Imperium-colored, light it up and see if it drops a core or a killmail worth posting.”

Galthune raised her hand again. “Do we have… an actual plan?”

Gobbins shrugged. “The sigs might push further. Or they might pack up and poke the Imperium from somewhere else. HQ says new plans will come next week. Until then, just assume ‘maximum chaos’ is still policy.”

The lights flickered again, slightly more ominously.

“And yes,” he added, “before anyone asks, FRT has been poking at our moon holdings. Valuable stuff. Ansiblexes. It’s annoying, but we’re not fighting two blocs at once. Focus remains on the Imperium. Besides, they’re getting hit by Initiative and FRT too. So technically, the universe is… helping.”

“That’s terrifying,” Gilthune said.

“I know,” Gobbins replied, deadpan. “Lastly, if you were wondering what big doctrine change we got out of this—”

He tapped a button, and a large, rotating image of a Maelstrom appeared on the holoscreen.

A soft gasp echoed across the room.

“Yes. We’ve added Maelstroms to our doctrine. Because nothing says ‘we won’ like a fleet of Tempest knockoffs with dreams of glory and absolutely no agility.”

A long pause. Then a voice from engineering: “Captain, do they perform well?”

“Incredibly. For at least one fight. After that, your results may vary.”

Gobbins took a final sip from his mug, then set it down. “Now get out there. Burn Delve. Save the loot. Try not to die in a Maelstrom. And someone, for the love of everything, figure out what Gallente Citizen 4586793463 is actually writing in that damn pad.”

From the back of the room, Gallente Citizen 4586793463 quietly turned the page.

The conference room of the Kinetic Regret smelled faintly of burned coffee, ozone, and resignation. A series of blinking regional maps floated midair, updated with worrying precision. Red dots here. Blue clouds there. One pulsating gold beacon labeled simply: “C-J.”

Captain Gobbins entered, mug already in hand, and gestured at the map like it owed him money.

“Alright, listen up. This is either the beginning of a tactical masterpiece or the part of the war novel where everyone starts dying off in alphabetical order.”

No one laughed. He didn’t expect them to.

He continued. “For the last few weeks, we’ve been in a standoff. Us, dug in up here in the Dronelands—our cold, wonderful home of anchored crap and endless bubble traps. Them, posturing down south, slamming into Insmother.”

He jabbed at the region with his mug. “Imperium. Mainline. Hitting hard. Meanwhile, our sigs have been tap-dancing in their soft zones—Delve, Querious, those lovely holiday destinations.”

He turned, tapping the table. The lights dimmed. The map zoomed in dramatically. “Now. Today? Big shift. Imperium’s packing up and moving in. They’re staging in C-J—right on our border. And they’re giving Delve and Querious the ol’ ‘good luck with the fire sale’ treatment. One week’s notice to their locals. One week.”

Gilthune Aideron tilted her head. “So… they’re abandoning two entire regions to come live next door?”

“Exactly,” Gobbins said. “So first off—and mark this moment—I’m going to say something… nice about Goons.” He held up a finger. “They’re sacrificing a lot. Uplifting their core. Relocating their entire war machine just to come brawl at our gates. That takes guts. Or hubris. Possibly both.”

He took a long sip, then sighed. “And frankly, we might get some good fights out of it. Medium scale. Frequent. The kind where you lose a Harpy and don’t spend six hours in structure. The fun kind of suffering.”

“But?” Gilthune prompted.

“Oh, there’s always a ‘but,’” Gobbins said. “The big fights—those’ll be messier. Titan buffs from the last patch are lopsided, and we’re still working with a numbers disadvantage. So in those cases, we rely on regional mechanics and defender’s advantage. You know, terrain. Cynos. Lag.”

A low murmur rippled through the crew. Someone coughed in the background. Someone else sighed audibly and opened a stims packet.

Gobbins’ voice dropped just a hair. “Let’s not kid ourselves—Imperium’s still the biggest bloc on the server. In EU and US timezones, no one else comes close. But we’re probably the closest. And if they’re tied up with us… then we’re doing our job.”

He tapped the holomap again. The glowing system of C-J pulsed brighter.

“Now, I know everyone’s wondering if we’re moving again. HQ’s evaluating some better staging systems. For now, instructions remain unchanged. So don’t start shoving your carriers into a bowhead just yet.”

He paused, glancing toward the back.

There sat Gallente Citizen 4586793463, silently recording on a notepad that looked older than the war. As usual, they offered no questions. Only scribbles.

Gobbins gave a faint shrug and turned back to the map.

“Prep for contact. Keep your clone in region. And maybe… clean your cargohold. I don’t want to die next to 300m in fireworks and a single exotic dancer again.”

He paused.

“Again.”