Hope this isn't too bad an example of necromancy. If I recall correctly, it's a month with no posts, correct? Hope I'm not an offender now...
I'm a bit ticked, to say the least. Ticked like an Anaconda pilot ferrying food when he scoops a pod full of Trumbles. I was recently visiting my favorite anarchy system – favorite, because the fighting is always the bloodiest in the chart, yet still a jump away from my hideout on a safe LT15 Corporation system – and decided to go give the Space Bar a visit. It was situated, of course, in the middle of an asteroid field. But, it was an especially large field, for just outside of scanner range were not one, but two, pirate hide-outs. And, just outside of scanner range of those, there was a sentinel station. There were of course very frequent and very brutal firefights going on in that region. Well, after fighting my way through probably five aggressor ships, I circled in for docking maneuvers. Lasers were lighting up my aft as some disgruntled offenders were eking out revenge, but the large turrets on the bar helped cover me. I spend in right quickly, and sauntered over to the fun place. After a bit of searching, I got hired out to go assassinate this high-level target, flying a Purgatori
. Now, that made me do a double-take when I’d first seen it. I knew there were such beasts flying around, but I’d never managed to spot one on my own. As vague specifications of combat stats flashed through my head, I thought to myself that this would be a fight to remember, indeed. I go trundling out there, about six systems down, with some nice gear and escorts. I spent about fifteen minutes in system, jumping back and forth between the beacon and the station. Finally, I get mass-locked by several cut-throats and hired guns. My finger itches over the missile button, and I preemptively arm one. The fight is on.
About five minutes later, two of the five hired guns are down, I’ve been down to half my total energy capacity at least twice, and I’ve sustained pretty heavy damage. Most of my pylons were used in the fight, but I still had a few ticks up my sleeve. I found myself suddenly confronted with the blood-red ship, it’s angular and aggressive design being in stark contrast to my sleek and narrow Veloce Et Apputita
. He turns to face me. Alarm bells ring, and I narrowly dodged a missile. The automated defense turrets were blown up by his mooks just a few seconds earlier. I fire one in return, a rapid acquire interception missile. He begins evasive maneuvers. I watch the small purple trail as it inches closer and closer, preforming the “spiral of death” around the target. It explodes. The Purgatori
weathers the damage but is showing signs of it - plasma is leaking everywhere, and his engines begin to flicker dangerously. I turn around and light his rear, smiling grimly to myself as he fails to ignite injectors to escape. I target one of my last missiles and let loose, hoping for a clean kill. He goes up with no escape pod. Satisfied, I turn on his mooks; Contract was clear: no witnesses, no survivors. As I turn and flip around views to try and find my next target, I am jolted rudely as my hull screeches in protest. The now-angry mooks seek vengeance for their leader. I watch my forward shields fall in seconds, and my energy banks take a beating. I spun and expose my rear shields, trying to line up a shot with my tail laser. It too quickly falls, and my energy banks further plummet to dangerous levels. I watch the growing list of damaged equipment, and notice with a sinking feeling that my injectors are now molten scrap metal.
I decided then to jump out of there but, alas! My hyperspace system was damaged. The AI beeps at me, her cold and lifeless voice repeating “Warning, warning, warning…” I watch the seconds tick down to jump.... I have no clue what would happen if I tried to jump with a damaged system. At the literal last second I slam the button to end, and my craft shutters from the pent-up energy it was forced to release. I corkscrew towards the surface of the planet, watching lasers flash by, hoping to Lord Giles that they won't fire a missile. Realizing though as I watch my systems begin to rapidly fail I have no other option but to fight before my craft totally shuts down. I spun around and open fire, causing him to duck away. I tear my lasers into him, watching the shields disappear under my brutal assault, and I quickly closed the gap between the two of us. I realize that, if I kill him too slowly, he may panic and fire a missile at point-blank range. Without injectors, it’d be death for both of us, but most importantly for me. I hold off the attack and wait for my laser to cool down, hoping to finish him with another long burst, before he has time to react. The temperature goes green. I fire, and am rewarded by a dire scream, cursing my spawn to the 16th generation. No escape pod. Breathing heavily, I turn the ship towards the planet. I zoom out the scanner to regular range, and watch my two remaining escorts finish the last hired gun. My hud begins flickering dangerously, so I check the damage control. I was blown away. I had over twenty damaged or outright destroyed systems. My ship was a floating wreck. As I nursed my dear Personality Crisis II
along, I tried out the torus drive. The ship gave a deep sigh, and didn’t budge. At this point I was in more danger inside the ship than outside, though, so I moaned and hit the escape button. That’s something I haven't done in many a month, not since I first started as a green Jameson. I was rated Deadly now, just one step away from the coveted Elite, and had over 2.5k confirmed kills to my name. It was embarrassing, to say the least, when from the space station I saw the dinky and under-maintained Search and Rescue ship come trundling along with its dirty hitch attached crudely to my half a million credit luxury frigate. The thought did nothing to improve my mood.
A few days passed, and my trusty insurance gave me my ship back, complete with most of the accessories. It was my first comfort so far. Logging in to the ship’s data base, I checked my assassin score... and saw no improvement. Refreshing, and checking again, I still saw none. The mission was marked uncompleted. There was no joyful ringing of bells, and no transfer of credits to my name. Then it hit me like a cargopod of Lave-Fried Trumbles: When the missile blew the ship up, the game must have glitched somehow, and didn't count it as a kill for me! I had to start the whole mission over again! I angrily clicked the red X at the top right of the screen and went to the internet to bemoan my tragic tale of loss.