3.18
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 12, 2014(11y)
Aug 12, 2026(38d)
Combat
Kills165
Losses78
Efficiency68%
ISK
Destroyed62.41b
Lost2.72b
ISK Eff.96%
Solo
Solo Kills2
Solo Ratio1%
Final Blows30
Points165
Other
NPC Losses1
NPC Loss Ratio1%
Avg Kills/Day0.04
ActivityInactive
Amarr
Amarr
3.18
Last Active
Aug 31, 2020
Birthday
Aug 12, 2014 (11 years old)
Next Birthday
Aug 12, 2026 (38 days)
Combat
Kills165
Losses78
Efficiency68%
Danger Ratio99%
ISK
Destroyed62.41b
Lost2.72b
ISK Efficiency96%
Balance+59.68b
Solo
Solo Kills2
Solo Ratio1%
Final Blows30
Points165
Other
NPC Losses1
NPC Loss Ratio1%
Avg Kills/Day0.04
ActivityInactive
No data available
Bio
In New Eden, only profit endures. Not peace. Not loyalty. Least of all, life.
The stars shine like lies — distant, cold, and sharp. This galaxy shows no mercy. Systems fall. Ports burn. Silence follows. And the void makes space for those ruthless enough to carve through it.
Sandro was born on Arodan-IV — rusted soil, rusted dreams. His mother fixed machines to hold herself together. His father vanished - into smoke or mud, no one really knew. When the sky turned red with revolt, they ran. Once. Then again. And again.
He grew up in the cracks of civilization — inside smuggler crates, beneath forgotten docks. A ghost-child. Quick hands. Sharp ears. No trust. No ties.
New Eden’s first law: survive unseen.
He learned fast. Cargo over conscience. Speed over safety. Lies over law.
He slipped into the black market like smoke — first as a runner, then a courier, finally a smuggler. He flew blind routes, bribed patrols, hauled dangerous cargo, and didn’t ask questions. Questions slow you down.
They called him the Shadowrunner, because he thrived where no one else dared go — off-grid stations, sealed borders, uncharted blackspace. Always on the edge of mapped reality, surviving where nothing else should, he delivered what others feared to touch.
He flew alone. No crew. No home. Just secrets, scars, and a cockpit full of silence.
Then came the job.
Anonymous contact. No transponder. Cargo sealed and encrypted. Destination: beyond the Ouroboros Rift, where maps turn to myths. No rules. No backup. Just credits — more than most see in a lifetime.
He accepted before the signal ended.
Three weeks vanished. Then he reappeared — against all odds alive, with an intact cargo and new routes burned into his nav-core. Nobody else had ever returned from Xeros. Now they whisper his name with caution — smuggler, myth, ghost.
He doesn’t speak much. He flies.
And when it’s quiet — just the soft hum of the engines of his ship between stars — he unrolls his star charts. Not for guidance. For conquest.
He rules the dark. And he always delivers.
"Advantage is the offspring of preparation and secrecy"
The stars shine like lies — distant, cold, and sharp. This galaxy shows no mercy. Systems fall. Ports burn. Silence follows. And the void makes space for those ruthless enough to carve through it.
Sandro was born on Arodan-IV — rusted soil, rusted dreams. His mother fixed machines to hold herself together. His father vanished - into smoke or mud, no one really knew. When the sky turned red with revolt, they ran. Once. Then again. And again.
He grew up in the cracks of civilization — inside smuggler crates, beneath forgotten docks. A ghost-child. Quick hands. Sharp ears. No trust. No ties.
New Eden’s first law: survive unseen.
He learned fast. Cargo over conscience. Speed over safety. Lies over law.
He slipped into the black market like smoke — first as a runner, then a courier, finally a smuggler. He flew blind routes, bribed patrols, hauled dangerous cargo, and didn’t ask questions. Questions slow you down.
They called him the Shadowrunner, because he thrived where no one else dared go — off-grid stations, sealed borders, uncharted blackspace. Always on the edge of mapped reality, surviving where nothing else should, he delivered what others feared to touch.
He flew alone. No crew. No home. Just secrets, scars, and a cockpit full of silence.
Then came the job.
Anonymous contact. No transponder. Cargo sealed and encrypted. Destination: beyond the Ouroboros Rift, where maps turn to myths. No rules. No backup. Just credits — more than most see in a lifetime.
He accepted before the signal ended.
Three weeks vanished. Then he reappeared — against all odds alive, with an intact cargo and new routes burned into his nav-core. Nobody else had ever returned from Xeros. Now they whisper his name with caution — smuggler, myth, ghost.
He doesn’t speak much. He flies.
And when it’s quiet — just the soft hum of the engines of his ship between stars — he unrolls his star charts. Not for guidance. For conquest.
He rules the dark. And he always delivers.
"Advantage is the offspring of preparation and secrecy"
Dashboard
Stats
Kills0
Losses0
Efficiency0%
ISK Destroyed0
ISK Lost0
ISK Efficiency0%
Solo Kills0
Solo Losses0
NPC Losses0
Blob Factor0
Active TimezoneUSTZ
Final Blows0
Points0
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Intel Profile
PlaystyleSolo (0 kills)
Avg Fleet: -
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