Choose EVE. Choose a Path. Choose a Career. Choose a Corp. Choose a fucking big battleship, Choose hardeners, ammo, damage control, and electrical resists. Choose good armor, low shield and platinum insurance. Choose fixed-range railgun. Choose a starter agent. Choose your mates. Choose exotic dancers and matching pimps. Choose a faction cruiser on hire, purchased in a range of fucking setups. Choose ORE and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing strip miner shows, stuffing fucking junk ore into your hold. Choose ratting away at the end of it all, fucking your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up rats you have spawned to replace them. Choose your future. Choose average . . .

But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose average: I chose something else. And the reasons?

There are no reasons.