Wycked Nosh

Choose Eve. Choose a race. Choose a career. Choose a faction. Choose a gigantic fucking 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 retarted bounties. Choose Jita and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday evening. Choose sitting on that chair watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing mission spawns, stuffing goddamn 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, fucked up noobs you recruited to replace yourself.


Choose your future.

Choose ≡√≡