Gallente
Jin-Mei
4.35
Cai Pellion
Last Active:
12 months ago
Birthday:
Mar 31, 2014 (11 years old)
Next Birthday:
Mar 31, 2026 (145 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
3
Losses
84
Efficiency
3.4%
Danger Ratio
0.2%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
19.85M ISK
ISK Lost
6.63B ISK
ISK Efficiency
0.3%
ISK Balance
-6,608,033,406 ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
0
Solo Losses
48
Solo Kill Ratio
0.0%
Solo Efficiency
0.0%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
9
NPC Loss Ratio
10.7
Avg. Kills/Day
0.0
Activity
Minimal
Character Biography
She remembers the first time she died.
The memory comes to Cai Pellion in fragments, blurred at the edges but sharp in certain places. She had saved for years to become a capsuleer. It wasn’t a privilege granted freely. Every hard-earned credit brought her closer to immortality—or what passed for it.
The clinic felt cold and sterile, far from the warmth of the life she was about to leave behind. Her body was perfectly healthy. The irony gnawed at her. She wasn’t there out of need or desperation, but by choice—a desire to step beyond human boundaries, to become something more. Yet that choice came with a weight—a creeping dread as they prepared her for the transfer, an awareness that her human self would soon cease to exist.
Her death was not as she imagined. The operation was clinical, methodical. But when her consciousness was pulled from her body, the pain was sharp and visceral. Her senses collapsed one by one—first, her sight dissolved into blackness, then the sound of her heartbeat faded until there was nothing. It was as if her very soul was torn away, leaving a shell. She could feel her heart stop, her breath fade into silence. The void consumed her, vast and suffocating, like being swallowed by an endless, crushing darkness.
And then she woke.
Her new body felt alien—cold, synthetic. The nurses congratulated her, but all she felt was disconnection. Her skin no longer carried the warmth of life, her heart no longer beat the same. She was alive, and yet... not. The person who had walked into that clinic had died, leaving behind this strange, unfamiliar being.
Since then, Cai has died many times. Violent deaths in battles that left her capsule wrecked, and quieter ones in the clone bays. Each time, a new body greeted her. Each time, the sense of distance between who she was and who she had become grew.
She thinks often of the serpent from Jin-Mei folklore, shedding its skin to move forward with each transformation. Yet underneath, the serpent remains the same. Is she still the same, or does each death and rebirth push her further from her original self?
Now, every new clone seems to draw her closer to something—a purpose she senses but cannot fully grasp. It’s elusive, but with every cycle of death and renewal, the feeling grows, hinting at a destiny just out of reach.
For now, she moves through the stars, shedding lives like the serpent, pursuing what she cannot yet name.
The memory comes to Cai Pellion in fragments, blurred at the edges but sharp in certain places. She had saved for years to become a capsuleer. It wasn’t a privilege granted freely. Every hard-earned credit brought her closer to immortality—or what passed for it.
The clinic felt cold and sterile, far from the warmth of the life she was about to leave behind. Her body was perfectly healthy. The irony gnawed at her. She wasn’t there out of need or desperation, but by choice—a desire to step beyond human boundaries, to become something more. Yet that choice came with a weight—a creeping dread as they prepared her for the transfer, an awareness that her human self would soon cease to exist.
Her death was not as she imagined. The operation was clinical, methodical. But when her consciousness was pulled from her body, the pain was sharp and visceral. Her senses collapsed one by one—first, her sight dissolved into blackness, then the sound of her heartbeat faded until there was nothing. It was as if her very soul was torn away, leaving a shell. She could feel her heart stop, her breath fade into silence. The void consumed her, vast and suffocating, like being swallowed by an endless, crushing darkness.
And then she woke.
Her new body felt alien—cold, synthetic. The nurses congratulated her, but all she felt was disconnection. Her skin no longer carried the warmth of life, her heart no longer beat the same. She was alive, and yet... not. The person who had walked into that clinic had died, leaving behind this strange, unfamiliar being.
Since then, Cai has died many times. Violent deaths in battles that left her capsule wrecked, and quieter ones in the clone bays. Each time, a new body greeted her. Each time, the sense of distance between who she was and who she had become grew.
She thinks often of the serpent from Jin-Mei folklore, shedding its skin to move forward with each transformation. Yet underneath, the serpent remains the same. Is she still the same, or does each death and rebirth push her further from her original self?
Now, every new clone seems to draw her closer to something—a purpose she senses but cannot fully grasp. It’s elusive, but with every cycle of death and renewal, the feeling grows, hinting at a destiny just out of reach.
For now, she moves through the stars, shedding lives like the serpent, pursuing what she cannot yet name.