Wormholer by choice not by Success

We started in a C1 no one wanted. No caps, no glory—just a bunch of stubborn pilots and the hope that "trash space" could still feel like home.

While others chased nullsec riches and WH PvP fame, we planted a flag in the tiny void and called it ours. Our C1 was a goldmine, if you define gold as gas clouds, sleeper wrecks, and existential dread.

Specialties include:

Getting lost three jumps from home

Running sites with ships held together by duct tape and hope

Declaring war on any venture that dares pass through "our" hole

Cloaking 0.2 seconds too late

This isn’t about ISK. It’s about friendship, forgotten systems, and holding onto a little pocket of chaos that’s ours.

Fly cheap. Die funny. Home is where the static is.