Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on combat boosters and then fly like a bastard from Jita to Bosena ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of frentix. ~ unknown Molden Heath expatriate.
One individual who was profoundly influenced by the traumatic downfall of the Molden Heath 2/10 movement—steeled by such tragic events as the YC 114 DED Complex Convention and the Hammer of CCP Dev Response Doom —was Miura Bull. He describes the general malaise of the early announcements and forum responses (or lack of) in this way:
I think we're all going insane. Batshit crazy insane. But what is sane? Especially here in “our own lands”—in this doomstruck era of change. It seems, now, that we are all wired into a spinning and downward survival trip. No more of the glory that fueled the crazy nights, the boom years and the Fight Nights. Rifters are going out of style, man. This was the fatal flaw in the trip. We crashed around Molden Heath selling “expansion” without ever giving a thought to the grim rusty meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the superstars who took it too seriously. Flat on face. The end of an era. An entire ethos and culture gone. Just like that.
Bull’s text gives voice to a segment of the counterculture that was left broken and completely disillusioned and disaffected at the end of what he still calls the Glory Days. He also proudly claims that he, and in relation, his followers and henchmen, represent a unique manifestation of the outlaw anti-hero figures in popular culture; Miura Bull and Company not only embrace the outlaw frigate lifestyle of restlessness, lawlessness, barrel rolls, combat boosters, parties and drugs, but they seem to have built their entire career on those very premises. If you believe the hype that is.
Perhaps now looking back, it was only inevitable that a split of sorts was on the horizon. People moved on, different avenues, twists and turns as the journey unfolded. Directorates and ideas were broken up but the main beast remained, albeit without their former leader. A new leader and a new vision risen from the ashes and all was good again.
Maybe it was a chance of rest for the hair-raising few. This cultural movement needed reinvigorating and new lands to parade around with their flashy jackets and worn out steel toe cap boots. Boots that would kick at anything in the way. Legal or not, that did not matter one bit.
The recharged Bull, his merry band of followers and their highly questionable illegal exploits do not relegate themselves to the outskirts of New Eden society. Nor are they now diluted and leaderless. Far from it in fact. The new leaders from the splinter groups that have formed are Dons in their own rights with new armies and identities at their disposal. With all this change comes the final step in the absorption of the initial uproar and new ideals. The sadistic drive for authenticity has irreversibly changed frigate culture and the landscapes they play in, no doubt about that, but the results might yet be far stranger than anyone could possibly imagine.
And now here we are.
A new age in Molden Heath, frigate love and beyond.
The recuperation around the beacons of Placid and Black Rise is seemingly over and the call has been answered. Over the coming months corporations will return to the Heath and rub shoulders again with those who never left in the first place. New badges and colours on display, different banners being waved. Reunited under an old ideology, still on the same wavelength.
The roving packs of outlaw frigate gangs will still fight each other, for that way of life is embedded deeply in their culture and to expect blue balls would be foolish. When the engines roar and the drink flows the beast is cut loose and anything goes, even among friends. It's when the menace is flying in formation and fighting the “New Enemy”, the enemy that comes from the planets, that is when the real party will start and sparks will fly.