I am Andrew Ryan, and I am here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?

'No,' says the man in Jita, 'it belongs to the scammers.'
'No,' says the man in the Alliance, 'it belongs to drakes.'
'No,' says the man in Nullsec, 'it belongs to me.'

I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose...

Rapture.

A city where the troll would not fear the censor,
where the griefer would not be bound by petty morality,
where the fights would not be constrained by the lag.

And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city, as well.