Pilot Log — s3ck Born under a Caldari sky that never let her forget what she owed the State, she left it behind the first chance she got. Some capsuleers chase glory in null-sec firefights or fortunes on the trade hubs. She chases the silence between the stars — the unmapped signature, the dead relic site nobody's touched in years, the wormhole that might lead nowhere, or somewhere no one's bothered to look. Her ship carries more scanner upgrades than weapons, and that's by design. She's learned the wrecks of Sansha's dead and the ruins drifting through drone space have stories worth more than ISK — though the ISK doesn't hurt either. Cloaked, quiet, and patient, she reads d-scan the way old Gallente sailors read the wind: constantly, instinctively, never quite trusting the calm. She doesn't fly with corp banners or capsuleer fame in mind. Every jump is a question. Every cosmic signature is an answer she hasn't earned yet. New Eden is vast, half-forgotten, and still full of locked doors — and she intends to open every single one she finds, one hacked container at a time. "The void doesn't care if you're ready. Scan first. Ask questions later — if you're still alive to ask them."