Pirating Doesn't Pay

That old saying, crime doesn't pay. In Eve, they say, Piracy doesn't pay. In Eve, Pirates are supposed to be poor, flying in sub par ships relying on their cunning and tactics to win the battles. Guerilla warfare. Lightning attacks on the unsuspecting.

In reality, there are many different kinds of pirates in Eve. Those who pirate and barely scrape by, those who just sit at a gate and wait for a unsuspecting hauler to fly through and get popped, and those rare few who are able to turn piracy into a lucrative career.

We've all heard of the fairy tales of high sec suicide ganks, capital ship camps in Rancer, and massive "pirate" blockades killing anything that comes through a gate. While these might make some money here and there, they aren't exactly considered on the sporting side of things.

Some will argue, sporting or not, it pays the bills. Fair enough, if you are content with being considered lame, and without any skill. What can be considered active piracy, on the other hand, searching for targets, hunting people down, definitely takes some amount of skill.

Ransoms of 300 mil on a T2 Battleship, ransoming entire corporations and their posses (without war decs, through shear damage and force alone) and talking people out of their ships. That's my idea of piracy. Hopping into a mission, and letting the poor carebear know that he is seconds away from shopping for a new ship, less he pay a small fee. This is my idea of piracy.

Just remember, Piracy doesn't pay.

We kept that in mind, when coming back from a fight, we caught a Macharial and Scorpion coming through a gate. Pure chance. We go for a fast tackle, pure luck. We all imagined a faction fitted nano Macharial running away and laughing at us in local. A few cruisers, a BS or two, and we are engaging a non flashy pilot at a gate. The Scorpion warps away, but point is still on the Macharial. BS's come out of warp, and he melts. The pod doesn't warp away fast enough, down it goes. Scorpion warps back in, right on top of the Macharial wreck, he also melts.

It's a shame, we all mutter on voice coms, that we weren't able to get a ransom. That could have been a good few hundred mil ransom we all figure.

Hearts skip a beat as the barely intelligble intelligence comes across the voice coms. The wreck contains multiple deadspace items and an officer web. Shock mixes with utter elation, as the voice coms explode in exstatic profanity and we all try not to faint. As quick as possible, all of the loot into a nearby station, and we all utter a sigh of relief.

Quickly, contracts are scoured and an accurate tally of the loot is made up. 4.5 billion off of the Macharial in drops, and off of the Scorpion, another 350 million. All told, this is the single biggest payday of our corporation, and young members and experienced members alike are shocked and amazed at what just happened. Corp members who logged on after cursed their lives at missing this bonanza. Days later, we still can't help but smile as we stare at the killboard and review the dropped items for the untold time.

2 days later, some items are already sold. Officer web, sold. Domination Warp Disruptor, sold. Nearly 1.5bil of the 4.5bil is sold 2 days after the event. This, coming right on the heels of selling a Rorqual whose pilot ejected, means not just hundreds of millions, but BILLIONS of isk of loot has been sold by this small low security pirate corp, who is still considered young at 1 year old.

Pirating doesn't pay. That relic of a statement echos across the universe. There is no money in crime, only griefing opportunities. So no matter what, just remember, Pirating doesn't pay.

Somewhere in the beginning

Before, there was real life. After, there is a mistress I can not leave. She holds me tight, and caresses me, but does not hold back when she turns cruel. She can kiss me and stab me in the same embrace. Feeling that sudden whirlwind of victory tainted by the crimson of your own blood on your lips, until you realize, you are waking up, but you are not even you anymore. Or are you?

The faint trail of a smell lingers on the tip of your tongue as you come back to full consciousness. Searing bullets and remnants of explosions linger in your ears.

As the warmth and feeling creeps back into your body, everything feels familiar, but somehow, slightly distant and unfamiliar at the same time. It is an uneasy feeling that drives you to the borderline of madness. And like clockwork, instinct beget of training kicks in, and you realize, you are waking up in the clone bays. You have just died, and been brought back to life.

A slight smile of arrogance toys with your lips, before being stricken down by the humiliation of having to go through the process in the first place. While you may have cheated eternal death, you were just killed...

My mistress is always there. So are the reminders of her bounty and cruelty. Both sides of the spectrum melded into one being, and let loose on the unsuspecting.

She handed me a gun, and told me I could kill. She cold heartedly left out the part that I could also be killed. She embraced me with her warmth, before sending me off to the depths of space, with only the deathly chill of nothingness to wrap around me.

They said in school, don't do drugs, they are addictive and are bad for you. They said in school, don't drink alcohol, it's bad for you. But what about this? From the first moments that I unleashed my guns on that unsuspecting pilot, and felt my ship reverberate with the recoil and constant firing. From that first explosion when the unsuspecting pilot exploded in front of me. When the dust settled, and only I was left, I realized, that no drugs or alcohol could compare to the addiction to the adrenaline rushing through my veins.