Choose Eve. Choose a race. Choose a faction. Choose a career. Choose a f*cking big battleship, Choose drones, webbers, scramblers and cap injectors. Choose rich systems, low security and ship insurance. Choose megacyte filled haulers. Choose a clone. Choose your enemies. Choose long range weapons and matching ammo. Choose a rat infested belt with a range of f*cking bounties. Choose Jita and wonder who the f*ck you are on a Sunday evening. Choose sitting on that chair watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing mission spawns, Stuffing f*cking implants into your head. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, Pishing your last in a miserable complex, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f*cked up noobs you recruited to replace yourself.


Choose your future.


Choose Eve.