Zarg Rusteye

Born a clone, bred for war, I was fresh off the vats—barely a cycle old—when fate took my eye. A junker frigate, my first ride, got jumped by Amarr slavers in a backwater Minmatar system. Outnumbered, outgunned, I pushed the thrusters ‘til they screamed. Didn’t matter—golden bastards landed a volley that tore the hull apart. Crash-landed on some asteroid slum, half my face gone, blood pooling in the dust. The medbay cloned me back, but the scars stuck—rust and ruin where my left eye used to be.

They thought I’d break. They were wrong. I clawed outta that wreck with a shard of hull for a blade and a hate that burns hotter than a sabot round. Now I roam nullsec with Pandemic Horde, a one-eyed ghost in a rustbucket fleet. Every wreck I loot, every slaver I pod, it’s payback for that crash. Rustfang’s my dagger, Eyegrinder’s my fist—New Eden’s my hunting ground. Catch me in Geminate, grinning through the smoke. One eye’s enough to see you bleed.