Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Amamake Now!

It's been quiet lately because after a little R&R (fishing in Vard) I've been busy with a new special operation. One of our Pator Tech School pilots, Shadeslayer, a highly decorated newbie, had gone rogue somewhere in the vicinity of Amamake. With the help of a native Angel tribe he had established a regime of unmatched cruelty and was operating without any decent restraint terrorizing the whole area and camping Heretic Army at the PTS station. Quite obviously he had gone insane, totally insane and his methods had become unsound.

PTS Air Cavalry
I was assigned to terminate his command.

For days I had been travelling up the Metropolis pipe and finally, I found him in the heart of darkness, in Amamake, Belt VI-3, in a Thrasher, escorted by his native goons. The hunt was over. I didn't care about orders from PTS head quarters any more, I didn't care about this war. I just wanted this maniac dead.

Because my trusty PTS Patrol Rifter had already taken serious damage from prior engagements I decided to call in an air strike to clear the whole belt and everyone within a 300,000 kilometers radius. Soon after I dialled the number I had the headquarters on the horn:
"Hello Almighty, Almighty, this is Mellow Moustache, over."
"Mellow Moustache, this is Almighty, how may I direct your call, over."
"Almighty, this is Mellow Moustache, I need an air strike at Amamake VI-3 in like 15 minutes, over."
"Mellow Moustache, this is Almighty, I can create an air strike support ticket for you and second level support will get in touch with you as soon as possible, over."
"Almighty, this is Mellow Moustache, I don't need a ticket, I need an immediate air strike, over."
"Mellow Moustache, this is Almighty, please hold the line, I will forward your request to second level support in Ryddinjorn, over."
I was holding the line and five minutes later-crazy Shadeslayer fortunately still in the belt with his good time buddies-I got the automated support on the line:
"To access your killboard stats please press 1.
For information on the company ship order process please press 2.
To call in an air strike please press 3."
There goes my simple plan. Last week I spilt a Banana Milk Shake 2GO all over my com controls and some keys were still stuck, among others the much needed "3". So I selected "2" instead and got some information on the company ship order process. Turns out I can't order ships which emit more than 150mg of black matter per AU any more! Bummer.

Fifteen minutes later, unable to call in the air strike and totally devastated about the fact that the company ship order procedure had been changed once again I decided to go in without backup. Special Forces style.

Forcing the gear stick from P to "Mild Warp" and overheating everything including my new vibrating captain's chair I went all-in and landed some 10 kilometers from my target. As soon as I got in range I started shooting his fearsome ratting fit Thrasher. Throwing in all his nine days of training and EVE experience he gave me a hell of fight! And also the two escorting Angel frigates were all over me. But knowing the major weak spot of the Minmatar Destroyer I finally managed to land a wrecking shot at the parallel port (yes, the printer port!) and the wicked vessel transformed into metal space Goulash!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Midlife Challenge

Battle Cruiser Pilot Midlife Challenge
A man walks down the street,
he says why am I soft in the middle now?
Why am I soft in the middle?
The rest of my life is so hard.
Paul Simon, You Can Call Me Al
There's a time in every low sec pilot's live when he starts thinking, maybe while he's waiting in front of hebrew school to pick up the kids, sitting behind the controls of a comfortable and reasonable, lets say, T1 battle cruiser, pondering and waiting, looking at girl's butts passing by that are like half his age he wonders why his own buttocks aren't as spectacular as they used to be and he remembers having a hard time getting some weird greasy stuff out of his belly button when he showered in the morning. And what's the deal with all that hair growing in strange places? There's a certain time in every low sec pilot's live he decides it may be time to play with the character creator again to build a new breast enhanced alt and maybe buy a shiny faction frigate convertible and get away from all this stuff, live a little, try something new, something different from the old pew here, pew there. Maybe strutting around high sec, why not? Maybe run some missions.

For me, my friends, that moment was last friday, 6-ish. I lit a cigarette and let it pass. Then finally the kids showed up.