HELLSINKER

Laika the Spacedog still #1 Cosmonaut

Foreword

We here at HELLSINKER are neither pirates nor griefers; we are wormhole dwellers. The only real distinction is that we don't actively pursue tears or blow up haulers in highsec to steal PLEX or whatever other mean things the yarrsmen and yarrswomen of the universe get up to.

Our PvP excursions are limited by opportunity, driven by boredom, and tempered by our own laziness. The easiest way to avoid fighting us is to do as you should be doing everywhere else: cover your ass! If you sit out unprepared and unprotected (and, god forbid, AFK) in w-space, we are going to sodomize you to the best of our ability.

To illustrate this point, today we have for you a cautionary tale of two Russian fellows (a dude and his alt probably) I had the pleasure of meeting about two weeks back.

The Pod

The first I heard of these Russians was a report from a scout in a C3 that there is a pod just sitting in a combat site near the wreck of a frigate. We have a bit of a laugh about newbies learning about sleepers the hard way. With only a bomber and a covops nearby, we have nothing to go in and safely pop the pod with. The pod leaves eventually.

It's a slow day so we throw together a C3 fleet and head towards the system the pod was in. Meanwhile, the pilot in the pod returns, this time with a buddy, each in a Maelstrom. Our scout kept eyes on them and reports that they are trying to run the combat sites, but they keep hopping back out into k-space using the very same hole that we planned on coming in from.

Disappointment

Our fleet (4 battlecruiers, a T1 logistics cruiser, and a bomber who had joined our scout in the C3) is now poised in the highsec system connected to the C3, waiting for the two Maelstrom (on scan at the hole) to jump through and re-engage the sleepers. They jump through and we warp to to the hole...

So here we are, fully prepared to take them on, guns blazing, do-or-die, our collective balls pressed to cold, hard pod walls, and the fucking hole is gone. Collapsed. "Clever bastards", "what perfect timing", and collective groans over comms.

We sit for a minute and debate. There is another way into the C3, but it's like 12 jumps away, 6 of them through lowsec. In the end, the fleet decides to return.

BAD END.

Contact?

As I'm reaching our home system, our scout reports that these Russians, having discovered they collapsed their entrance, have deployed probes to scan down the lowsec we already have charted.

How many probes? Not one or two or three but four! Four probes! It is immediately apparent to us that not only are they NOT clever but also new to w-space, and their hole rolling shenanigans have trapped them for the time being. Myself, the scout, and the bomber still in the C3 confer, formulate a plan, and put it in action.

With the help of Google translate, I establish contact (their profiles said they speak no English):

Ayma Mess > вы застряли? Хотите купить выход
Romanov Oleg > нет спс

The conversation is very short and conducted in half Google-Russian, but the gist is I ask if he's stuck and need a way out and he responds with a clear "no" and closes the convo.

Diplomacy has failed us and I'm a little annoyed about it. I went through the effort of translating so I could sell them an exit at a reasonable price, and I got shut down. Time to kill some rude Russians!

The Fight

Phase two of the plan immediately goes into action. Our scout leaves the hole to fit up a bomber at the nearest hub, and I myself start the long trek to the lowsec hole that is now the only entrance. There's no need for a play-by-play here: time passes, and not a small amount, while the Russians do nothing but failscan and sit around in space.

We eventually arrive and warp in on the bomber still left in the hole, designate primary, discuss tactics, worry a little bit, and then BAM. Out come the bombs: three electrons land and do their damage and we're now looking at some pretty soft targets. The locks go up, the points land, we begin orbiting, torpedoes begin hitting and... nothing. We are ready for a fierce battle where we trade kills and the fuckers are totally AFK. One goes down, then his pod.

Suddenly, signs of life from the second Maelstrom and out come the drones. He manages to get one bomber to 50% shields before we get him. We either gave him a stroke or he was busy flipping his table in rage, because he didn't think to get his pod out either.

Upon his death, I receive notification that I have been blocked from communicating with him ever again. Heartbreaking, really. I got over it, though, because the wrecks paid out better than the C3s ever would have.

Note: Check the "Proof of Discovery: Relic" × 6 on that first killmail. I have done plenty of dumb things and I will do more dumb things from here on out, but I keep those in my PHA as a reminder not to go full retard.