Gallente
Jin-Mei
0.44
Peter Powers
Last Active:
3 days ago
Birthday:
Aug 5, 2006 (19 years old)
Next Birthday:
Aug 5, 2026 (273 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
1,913
Losses
223
Efficiency
89.6%
Danger Ratio
89.6%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
1016.05B ISK
ISK Lost
54.10B ISK
ISK Efficiency
94.9%
ISK Balance
961.95B ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
171
Solo Losses
78
Solo Kill Ratio
8.9%
Solo Efficiency
68.7%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
13
NPC Loss Ratio
5.8
Avg. Kills/Day
0.3
Activity
Very High
Character Biography
Gates remember.
Wrecks remember.
Clones remember —
but only the first few ever truly knew who he was.
Those early copies still whispered names in their sleep.
They still flinched at sounds that no ship made.
They still believed they were someone.
But the jumps kept coming.
Too many.
Too fast.
And death, stretched thin across time,
began to forget what it was carrying.
Each return took something with it —
a memory, a face,
a reason.
What came back still flew, still killed,
still answered the call…
but it no longer asked why.
What remains now is quiet.
It doesn’t seek revenge.
It doesn’t seek redemption.
It barely seeks at all.
It drifts through the edges of space,
drawn to imbalance,
pulled to the scent of collapse.
It intervenes,
not out of purpose —
but because that’s all it remembers how to do.
Some say he left long ago.
Others say he never left at all.
But those who meet what’s left behind
rarely understand it...
until it’s already too late.
Wrecks remember.
Clones remember —
but only the first few ever truly knew who he was.
Those early copies still whispered names in their sleep.
They still flinched at sounds that no ship made.
They still believed they were someone.
But the jumps kept coming.
Too many.
Too fast.
And death, stretched thin across time,
began to forget what it was carrying.
Each return took something with it —
a memory, a face,
a reason.
What came back still flew, still killed,
still answered the call…
but it no longer asked why.
What remains now is quiet.
It doesn’t seek revenge.
It doesn’t seek redemption.
It barely seeks at all.
It drifts through the edges of space,
drawn to imbalance,
pulled to the scent of collapse.
It intervenes,
not out of purpose —
but because that’s all it remembers how to do.
Some say he left long ago.
Others say he never left at all.
But those who meet what’s left behind
rarely understand it...
until it’s already too late.