Five Glorious Rifters named Fireball. Five hastily put together dual-repping Rifters made up from the most part, bits of spare loot and reconditioned parts-bin modules that some second-rate repair man has soldered back together with his magic plasma soldering wand. Five platinum insurance deals to make for one happy insurance broker.
I fully expect these Rifters to die a glorious death, each and every one of them will be ripped into fragments of rust and heat, warped metal that would no longer resemble the ship it once was. I just hope that I can drag a few ships down into the junk yard with me as we go kicking and screaming, hulls on fire. No holds barred.
I had hoped that this experiment wouldn't take too long, I wanted to undock, get into fights and then write about my adventures and failings. It didn't quite work out that way and I will be splitting the stories into 5 separate posts. For the most part of two hours I sat in asteroid belts, watched as people warped in at range and then warped off. I chased down targets in belts that ran off and basically got quite frustrated at the lack of action I had in the hours I was out in space.
A tasty looking Thrasher and a Rifter that were still with their original owners names plastered across their hulls encouraged me to pop a Standard Exile as I warped in head first, reppers overheated, guns warming nicely ready for the onslaught. On landing at the belt the two ships were already in warp out of there, I caught a glance of them heading off to the high-sec out-gate. No fun to be had here and as I regained my senses from the sudden rush of the booster that I had just injected into my brain, I realised that I had took a tracking penalty for my troubles, lame.
Over in Gulmorogod I chanced upon a Jaguar pilot ratting in one of the belts, there were a good five or six in local but I decided on blasting on in and introducing myself in the only way I knew how - pleased to meet you sir, here's a 200mm autocannon, take that- bam (the rush from the booster had hazed my thoughts somewhat). I landed right on top of the Jaguar and began taking chunks out of his shield. I say chunks, but really I mean little nibbles - like a mouse nibbling on a block of cheese that was a bit too big for it perhaps.
I was trying to keep some range the best I could, after all this tracking penalty wasn't ideal. It seemed like my own shields disappeared in an instant as my overheated dual reppers kicked into life as hot as hell nano-assemblers raced to patch up the holes that were fast appearing in my ships armour. Slowly bits of shield from the Jaguar began to weaken, very slowly, but the incoming damage was being tanked quite well. As my capacitor reserves dropped to almost empty I fired up my capacitor booster and injected some much needed life into the heart of my ship and then I began the rep cycles again, the reppers now in full flow with not much time in between to rest. I was now confident that careful capacitor, range and overheat management would bring this Jaguar to its knees. I was wrong . . . . .
Right on top of me landed an Enyo, a mate of the Jaguar pilot perhaps? Most certainly a party pooper! The Enyo took a dislike to my frigate and as blaster fire rained in on the now damaged hull my reppers just couldn't cope with the multiple damage and it was a quick death for Fireball 1. A last glance at the Jaguar saw it just enter armour, if it wasn't for the Enyo I was pretty sure it would have resulted in a victory. It would have been a close call, for sure.
In the ensuing mayhem my escape systems decided to freeze and my low-grade snake powered clone was fried to a pulp in the harsh blackness of space. As I woke in the medical centre in Molden Heath I swilled on the cup of water by the side of my cloning table, jumped up, shrugged and made my way over to my lockers where I had a new pair of black aviator shades waiting for me.
Number of Ships Killed - 0
Number of pills popped - 1
Penalties from drug use - 1 (tracking)
Headaches Induced - 1
Number of ships that ran away - Lost count.
Expensive clones lost - 1
Ship Lifespan - approx 2 hours.
Number of Exotic Dancers Killed - 1
Number of Exotic Dancers Escaped - 1 (missing in action)
Tins of Long-Limb Roes Lost - Epic proportions, the wealthy elite express anger and outrage at the waste.
Here's hoping for more luck in part II. Stay tuned.