Corp Spinning

The recruitment drive rumbles on, inactive members have been kicked from the roster and more pilots are joining to keep things fresh. We're currently standing at approx 75 members, we've got every time zone covered but we want more pilots, more pilots for the Rifter swarm.


In reality most R1FTA pilots enjoy solo roaming, or at least will try their hand at it and take the challenge to master what is for some not an easy play style. Some will snag kills aplenty, some will have barren spells, some will die spectacularly each and every time they undock until they get the hang of it. The facts are that whilst you're out there losing ships and getting into fights, at least you're learning. We also enjoy small roaming frigate gangs, sometimes maybe cruisers. Most of our gangs are usually formed when a target has been reported in intel or a fight has escalated.


As a corp we have hundreds of fitted tech 1 Rifters ready for combat and available for new members should they ask, most pilots tend to come with their own hangar though, but free Rifters are always a good thing, right? We don't care too much about our corp statistics and efficiency ratings, sure, everybody likes to look at a good killmail but we won't berate somebody who is going out losing ships faster than he can fit them. In fact, as CEO I only look at the lossmails if somebody points me to them.


If we do delve into the statistics side of things, we'll see that since firing back up the R1FTA project just over 5 months ago the Rebels have:


2,119 Kills


and


1,888 Losses



To me, that says that in over 5 months we're getting our autocannons dirty, winning slightly more than we're losing, and having a good laugh along the way. We've got a great camaraderie and corporate culture going on in-house, the secrets can only be unlocked once you are in, as they say, but here is a teaser.

Barry White - former Rifter pilot.

We've destroyed almost 52 Billion ISK worth of ships and fittings.



and



Lost some 33 Billion ISK



This spike in kills and a fire-first-ask-questions-later attitude saw the Black Rebel Rifter Club climb to number 25 in the battleclinic corporate rankings for recent ship violencing.

I think I may have mentioned this previously :) Photo courtesy of Sard Caid  Publishing.

Looking into the details a little further.

All R1FTA Rifters come pre-loaded with R2 units for pilot safety.

The top 10 ships flown in kills by R1FTA pilots are:


1 Rifter (well, no surprise there) 1,021 kills

2 Jaguar 208 kills

3 Thrasher 152 kills

4 Wolf 143 kills

5 Republic Fleet Firetail 114 kills

6 Capsule 104 kills (I'm guessing most of these are hero tackle Rifters)

7 Hurricane 77 kills

8 Tristan 72 kills

9 Malediction 65 kills

10 Dramiel 63 kills



The most popular systems for scoring these kills, according to recent history are:


1 Hek

2 Amamake

3 Adirain

4 Siseide

5 Hadozeko

6 Egghelende

7 Arnon

8 Auner

9 Bosboger

10 Isenan


You'll notice that is a good mix of high-sec and low-sec systems, as we have pilots in all types of pvp styles and in all areas of space. Low-sec piracy, Empire war decs and general can-flipping and robbery are all big parts of the R1FTA pilot's play style.


With this current recruitment drive we'd like to double our numbers at the very least, we'd like multiple small roaming gangs in various parts of New Eden, as well as pilots out doing their solo thing. If you think that you'd like to be a part of this then drop by our public channel - The Autocannon - and say hello.



MB.

Rubber Bullets

Minding my own business in Egghelende solar system I spot a Loki on scan that hadn't been renamed.

Hmm.

I am in a Jaguar. The Loki pilot is affiliated to a corp that has strong connections to a seemingly mining and industrialist venture.

A quick blip of the 360 degree scanner reveals nothing else in the near vicinity so I decide to head straight on into the belt with all guns blazing. Landing on top of the Loki it is clear that he is currently ratting with a battleship rat.

Ohh, so I lock him up. Heart starts racing a little as I start to ponder if I could actually do this. Loki has no shield damage at this point. I get myself into a comfortable tight orbit and begin to unleash fire and brimstone at the Loki's shields and ....



They start to drop.



Slowly.



Painfully slowly.



He locks me back up and we begin the dance.


At this point I'm starting to half believe that this Loki might die, his shields are taking the incoming damage well but there is some damage registering, not quite enough to break them of course and I'm wondering now if I have enough ammo in the hold. Then, from what looks like a quarter shield strength the Loki's shield is regenerated back up to full strength. I've been shooting him now for nearly two minutes but it seems more like twenty and I now get the feeling that I'm a mouse playing with a big cat that is out here for the thrill. It looks like I've got rubber bullets shooting at this thing. I have ran out of EMP ammo now so switch to Phased Plasma.

I put in the call in some intel channels and corp chat but people are spread out and a few declare their interest but they are close to ten jumps away. I feel now that I could keep this thing tackled forever and a day. I notice some of the locals are in system, a couple of the -10 guys I start a convo with in the hope that they might want a piece of the cake, but my calls go unanswered.

Hurricane on scan. He lands 60 clicks off, could this guy be here to help me or is he the Jaguar pest control guy? He is gaining slowly, I'm guessing he is now an anti-frig fit fat armor hull as he slithers towards me like a fat slug. At 40 clicks he locks me up and starts registering on my incoming damage meter, damn. I'm taking no damage from the Loki but this guy has just trumped my ambitious plans for Loki destruction.

Just before the incoming damage from the 'cane.

At nearly 3/4 shields I cut my losses and burn away and then warp off. I watch the belt at 5 degrees and they are still there. They are fighting each other, I start to check my assets tab for where my nearest Hurricane is staged. There is one next door and as I prepare myself for a gate jump with GCC I notice gf's go up in local and the Cane pilot makes the statement that he couldn't break the Loki's tank.


Stalemate.

I offer up a cheeky request in local for an ammunition refund. After the Loki pilot asks me what ammo I was using, and my response, "Republic Fleet's finest good sir", my wallet flashes with 15 million ISK.


Oh well was worth a try and I made a profit.




MB.

Black Rebel recruitment is now open

The time to recruit new blood to the R1FTA ranks is upon us. The age of the Black Rebel Mega-Corp is near, hundreds of customized black jackets are on order. Non-active members will be purged from the rolls and a new freshness and zeal will be injected into the corp.


With the birth of five new individual regional chapters all uniting under one Black Rebel banner, big plans are being put into place by the Black Rebel management team.


Enjoy frigate combat and looking for a new home?


Drop by our in-game public channel The Autocannon or pay a visit to our recruitment thread.


Are you crazy enough to join R1FTA?



MB.

The Knife

The corridor was dark with two thin deep-orange strobe lights blinking rhythmically along the edges, periodically bringing the narrow walkway into a pulsing soft light and then plunging it back into the darkness. The lights pulsed and bounced off the cold steel girders, occasionally revealing a mellow haze of smoke rising up to the ceiling.

In the small recess stood the Brutor, waiting patiently, his huge frame wedged into the wall. Clad in old dark-green almost black combat trousers and sporting a long black trenchcoat which flowed almost right down to his rusted steel toe cap boots, he waits.


As the sound of distant footsteps clinking off the meshed flooring grow closer a cigar is stubbed out on the girder and flicked down and onto the floor, it sizzles and fades away against the cold metal. The Brutor pulls on his fingerless military issue gloves, footsteps closer now, the man coming towards him is dressed in the uniform of a local wannabe law enforcement crew, he is young looking, barely 20 years of age, fresh of face and he sports a ruthlessly efficient looking silver stun gun that clings to his leg in its holster.

The Brutor's grip is firm. The razor sharp blade clasped in his hand tightly, he lunges forward revealing himself from the darkness, his trenchcoat swooping across the floor in a breathtaking arc, the timing is perfect as the strobe lights shimmer off the silvery blade. He pulls the young man towards him, as he tries to yell out the Brutor's hand grips his mouth, he falls silent, struggling he wriggles like a trapped fawn in the grasp of the predator's claws.

The knife is sunk deep into the man's back, the thug-like Brutor twists the shank further into the flesh, through the gloves the sensation of hot liquid oozes onto the man's black skin. As the blade is pulled the young man gasps and all the air leaps out of his body. He stumbles, still on his feet he swings around a full turn, his hand now fumbling for his weapon, he is now shaking, the sudden realization of what is happening strikes him and wrenches at his heart, death is upon him.

The Brutor smiles, revealing a gold tooth, it is a menacing grin, a trained killer in action, he doesn't flinch as the young man points the gun at him before firing off a bolt of the stun gun.


Shaking nervously. He misses.


As the weapon begins to spool up for another shot, the Brutor kicks out, his worn boot smashes against the man's shin with a sickening crack, taking his legs away from him he falls onto the flooring and the weapon falls into the side of the walkway, spinning on the floor. Blood spills more violently as punches rain down on the head, a frenzied attack the man is now lifeless.

Air hisses from one of the station venting systems, filling the corridor for a moment in pure cold vapour, the Brutor takes in a large breath, replenishing his lungs, he stands over the body.

A small badge on the uniform reveals the name and rank of the young soldier.

Junior Officer, Adams.

Two letters are emblazoned on the side of the Junior Officer's blood stained shirt.


E.M.


The Brutor thug rips away the badges and carefully places them inside the top pocket of his trenchcoat, he pulls out a fresh smoke and walks away down the corridor, the blackness in the bottom belly of the station envelops him.

Ruthlessly efficient.




MB.