As I write this I am still alive. I do not know how long that will last. I am docked in a neutral, null sec station. My combat timers are ticking down. I can see the vast, red glory of the nebula beckoning us back to Molden Heath. Safety is so near but so far. Sweat trickles down my spine. My hands shake and my mouth is dry. This is not how I thought this would go.
It was a simple rescue operation. I was moving my crates of wares when the call went out. A corporation Gila and Ishtar were trapped, ten systems deep into null sec by a hostile kitchen sink fleet of frigates, cruisers, and battlecruisers. The call went out to rescue them. Anti-tackle. I volunteered in a Large Jaguar. DPS, more Ishtar x'd up. Some reps, the Scimitar came to visit. An interceptor undocked and a Falcon shimmered darkly.
It took me a minute to fix my fit. I threw it together, changing from a 425mm to a 220mm autocannon fit. I went buffer because we had reps, and I caught up to the fleet. We slipped through Molden Heath like shadows, and dove into the depths of null security space washed in the dark, nebula free stretch of Great Wildlands.
Our fleet moved quickly, but then there was an unexpected snag. An interceptor fleet had appeared. Thirteen strong they blocked our path. Our interceptor began to plan games, luring them off and baiting their fleet. Behind, we positioned ourselves. The larger group had vanished, leaving only some tackle behind. Our two trapped comrades debated taking out the tackle and jumping to us. We would meet in the middle and brawl them down.
A sentinel caught up to us and another interceptor. We made a feint, and then a dodge. We gathered ourselves, and our comrades attacked! Fiercely they ripped apart a small group and then jumped through. But it was a trap. Burn to gate burn to gate! The FC's call was fierce. We overheated everything and the ships shook as they roared unthrottled back to the gate. And off.
Regroup! Reform! We will go back now! We went to join them only to have a interception bubble stop half our fleet. Half made it to assist our comrades. The other two of us did not. I escaped, barely, as my brave Ishtar comrade was ripped apart.
Caught two jumps away now, I moved around the system. The fleet lost the brave Gila in their bid for freedom and extracted, extracted, extracted. We bailed, and moved. Our interceptors swept down. Bravely we feinted, angled, and moved. We circled around and jumped through gates. As we went to meet the interceptors gave chase. Brave were our fellows as they crashed the gate and shook the tackle. We were still spread apart.
One of the brave, trapped Ishtar came to me. We huddled, waiting, as our two interceptors swept across the system. We were called to warp to the gate. As we entered warp the Sentinel pilot screamed, "Wait!" but it was to late. A Zealot and Abaddon blob, seventy something strong, landed on the other side.
What the hell was this? When had Great Wildlands turned into this carnal pit of hidden blobs? We slammed to a stop, our engines overloaded as we warped off gate. Local burned up, smashing into time dilatation as we fled back into the depths of space, to hide from probes and wait. They passed us by. Our fleet, still split, converted. We bolted for freedom, so quick, only to hear of a Dominix Fleet on the next gate.
Really. What the fuck.
The blob moved. We shot through and the decision was made to go to ground. "Dota2 anyone?" suggested one fleet mate. Tactics. Quiet, stealthy tactics. Unexpected. My space camouflage took over, rippling across me as I sped towards the station and slid, unnoticed into a birth. Now I crouch here, beyond the edges of empire, trapped, hunted, waited.
I do not know what my future holds.... go to part two...
P.S. Blog post title goes to Dirty Protagonist, the CEO of our Hearts