Minmatar
Vherokior
3.34
Denis MacCumber
Last Active:
9 days ago
Birthday:
May 26, 2018 (7 years old)
Next Birthday:
May 26, 2026 (202 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
395
Losses
408
Efficiency
49.2%
Danger Ratio
48.7%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
90.36B ISK
ISK Lost
21.37B ISK
ISK Efficiency
80.9%
ISK Balance
68.99B ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
121
Solo Losses
211
Solo Kill Ratio
30.6%
Solo Efficiency
36.4%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
47
NPC Loss Ratio
11.5
Avg. Kills/Day
0.1
Activity
High
Character Biography
≡√≡ Online
The stars had always called to Denis MacCumber. As a child, he would press his face against the viewport of his family's habitat on Astoh, straining to see beyond it's vast shadow into the deeper darkness where distant suns beckoned. Now, at thirty-eight, he pilots the interstellar transport vessel Ganja across the void between systems, carrying essential medical marijuana supplies that no automated ship can be trusted to deliver.
Denis wasn't supposed to be alone. The Ganja was designed for a crew of five, but budget cuts and the growing reliability of AI systems had whittled away the human presence until only a single pilot remained—a reluctant concession to regulations requiring human oversight for critical cargo.
In his quarters, Denis keeps a small terrarium of earth plants—his only living companions. He talks to them sometimes, explaining the stellar phenomena they pass, describing the silent ballet of distant nebulae that paint the blackness with impossible colors. The plants never answer, but he imagines they appreciate the carbon dioxide of his words.
Each night cycle, Denis records his mandatory log entry, his voice echoing in the empty command center: "Day 847. All systems nominal." Then, after a pause: "Still here." What he doesn't record is how he presses his hand against the observation dome, feeling the cold that separates him from the vacuum, wondering what it would be like to touch a star.
He had dreamed of space since childhood, but not like this—not in endless isolation, ferrying cargo between worlds he never truly visits. Yet someone must make these journeys. Someone must ensure the colonies receive their lifelines. And so Denis continues, a reluctant guardian of the spaces between worlds, secretly hoping that somewhere in the vast emptiness, he might find something—or someone—that makes the journey worth more than its destination.
"They will retaliate. We must be prepared."
"Non-essential personnel, abandon ship."
Michael Kiwanuka - Cold Little Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOubjLM9Cbc&list=RDnOubjLM9Cbc&start_radio=1&ab_channel=MichaelKiwanukaVEVO
The stars had always called to Denis MacCumber. As a child, he would press his face against the viewport of his family's habitat on Astoh, straining to see beyond it's vast shadow into the deeper darkness where distant suns beckoned. Now, at thirty-eight, he pilots the interstellar transport vessel Ganja across the void between systems, carrying essential medical marijuana supplies that no automated ship can be trusted to deliver.
Denis wasn't supposed to be alone. The Ganja was designed for a crew of five, but budget cuts and the growing reliability of AI systems had whittled away the human presence until only a single pilot remained—a reluctant concession to regulations requiring human oversight for critical cargo.
In his quarters, Denis keeps a small terrarium of earth plants—his only living companions. He talks to them sometimes, explaining the stellar phenomena they pass, describing the silent ballet of distant nebulae that paint the blackness with impossible colors. The plants never answer, but he imagines they appreciate the carbon dioxide of his words.
Each night cycle, Denis records his mandatory log entry, his voice echoing in the empty command center: "Day 847. All systems nominal." Then, after a pause: "Still here." What he doesn't record is how he presses his hand against the observation dome, feeling the cold that separates him from the vacuum, wondering what it would be like to touch a star.
He had dreamed of space since childhood, but not like this—not in endless isolation, ferrying cargo between worlds he never truly visits. Yet someone must make these journeys. Someone must ensure the colonies receive their lifelines. And so Denis continues, a reluctant guardian of the spaces between worlds, secretly hoping that somewhere in the vast emptiness, he might find something—or someone—that makes the journey worth more than its destination.
"They will retaliate. We must be prepared."
"Non-essential personnel, abandon ship."
Michael Kiwanuka - Cold Little Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOubjLM9Cbc&list=RDnOubjLM9Cbc&start_radio=1&ab_channel=MichaelKiwanukaVEVO