Born screaming in a Thukker caravan dock, raised on recycled air and rebellion.
He bashed his way through the Republic Military Circuit, the Academy, then straight into the capsule because the Tribes only respect one kind of crazy: the kind that straps its soul into a pod and goes slaver-hunting for fun.
First corp swore they’d burn Amarr gold to the ground. Three months later the CEO sold the entire fleet to the Angel Cartel and retired to Venal with a smile. Lesson learned: everybody’s got a price, and most are laughably cheap.
After that it was the usual ride: wild-eyed Freedom Fighters who couldn’t tell a Rifter from a Revelation, industrial outfits that wanted him mining ice in a Thrasher, two weeks in a null-sec bloc where the FC lost his mind because Vlad wouldn’t die in the right bubble. He kept the ink, ditched the banners, moved on.
The longest he ever stayed anywhere was EVE University. Showed up in a half-melted Rupture full of stories and empty ammo cans.
“Uni’s the only place that ever felt like home,” he’ll tell you with a crooked grin, right before he points rookies at the HQ channel. No betrayal, no chains—just pilots who actually had your back.
But a free captain can’t wear any leash forever, not even a comfortable one. Staying would’ve meant betraying the only thing he’s ever truly believed in: himself. So he did the hardest thing he’d ever done. He walked away, founded a roughneck corp under the Ivy League Alt Alliance to keep one boot in the family, and took his ship back into the never-ending black.
He’ll haul your refugees out of Curse, put a torpedo through a slaver’s Bestower, or run boosters through Stain if the ISK is clean and the cause isn’t brain-dead. He calls it business. He calls a lot of things business.
But when some fresh clone-vat kid with fire in their eyes says they’re going to get their sister back from an Amarr holder and they’ve got no ship, no crew, no plan—suddenly there’s an open berth, an extra rifle on the rack, and Captain Zeapobla growling, “Get in, kid. Just try not to die before we undock.”
He’ll never salute your flag.
He’ll never settle down.
But if you’re fighting for the right to be left the hell alone, if you keep your word and don’t flinch when the void starts shooting back—Vlad Zeapobla might just stand with you.

"Seize the time… Live now. Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again"