The night drew on as I sat patiently in Low-sec, away from the rabble of highsec peasantry and Concord. My Loki, a new addition to my fleet of ships and fueled by the tears of carebears, miners, and other pirates alike, sat humming cloaked up in deadspace. It wasn't like the familiar rattle and loud engine noises of my Hurricane. The sophisticated feel, the symmetry that is unlike most Matri ships, made me feel focused and motivated. A covert-ops fit ship is quite unlike what I'm used to, where I'm flinging myself at my opponent with reckless abandon, 425's a-blazing. No, this was a new thing for me indeed. Hidden, watching, waiting like a stalking butler.

The local pilot registry suddently lit up with a new pilot in system. My senses perked as I tapped the short range scanner. The tactical computers identified the ship as an Amarr Omen cruiser. While it was not likely to have anything good on it, certainly it would be a good test to see how well my steath Loki performed. I narrowed the sensor attenuation from 180 all the way down to 5 degrees and saw that the Omen pilot was flying in one of the asteroid belts near my position. A quick adjustment of d-scan range confirmed it, since it was the only belt within 750M km.

As I put the ship into warp, the computer cooed into my ear "Warp drive active". To this very day it gives me at least a half chub. Warping to 10km off the belt I see the Omen blasting away at a Serpentis Chief. While I'm no fan of the Serpentis corporation, I'll gladly assist him in killing the hapless Amarr pilot. I've never been fond of the religious types, nor have I seen the hand of God deliver anyone from the punishment of my guns as they scream for mercy from their Lord.

With webs and long range warp disruptor pre-activated, I invisibly move in closer, slowly, like a shark coming in for the harbor seal kill. Once I'm 15KM off I decloak and try to initiate a lock. The computer displays a message stating "Sensor re-calibration in process. Please try again in 6 seconds." I curse the cloak's sensor penalty as I move into range as fast as I can. The least I can do is ram the pilot off of his alignment while I'm waiting for my sensors to be ready again. The finely tuned Republic Fleet microwarp drive kicks on full blast and I barrel at the Omen like a slavehound to a Matari fugitive. My ship is jarred by the sudden collision just as the computer finally allows lock initiation. About 3 seconds later the lock completes and the warp disruptor and webs seize the Omen in a death grip. My 425mm Autocannon II's instantly burst to life at the same time and shells start tearing the armor, piece by piece, from the bedamned cruiser. "HELP!" the pilot pleas in a mayday on the local broadcast channel. "There is no help," I mutter under my breath. "Only death. Concord ain't coming this time!" As high explosive Hail rounds shuck away the last sliver of armor at an alarming rate, flames erupt from the Omen's hull. The end is near. I can already smell the deuce that the doomed pilot dropped in his pod.

The Omen exploded in a brilliant white-blue flash of light as his reactor core took the final hit from my barrage of hate and lead. His pod blows free of the wreckage and I immediately begin to lock it. Either out of complete shock or the lack of wherewithal of what to do, Mr. Omen's pod dangles in space, like a pinata at a 6 year old's birthday party in ancient Mexico City. I begin to lock the pod, not expecting at all that I'd snag it. Just as I could see the pod begin to change direction to escape, the warp disruptor engages and webs take hold. With a single tap of a button, my autocannons line up the shot and blow it away. Left floating is the badly beaten, almost unrecognizable frozen corpse of the pilot, surrounded by suspended pod goo that floats in zero gravity. Shards of metal and computer parts deeply embedded in his flesh and implants hanging outside of his cranium. He will soon feel the instant shock of the consciousness transfer to a new clone light years away. I slowly drift towards the corpse and my ship pulls it into the cargo hold and places it next to the pile of victims I've collected through the night.

"Cloak", I command the ship. Beams of light from the sun instantly bend around my ship, obscuring it from prying eyes as if it disappeared into a different dimension. Like a ghostly spectre, I warp away leaving the Serpentis Chief to muddle over the empty wreck of the destroyed Omen.

"Yar!" I say to myself with a half cocked grin. The pirates life may be short, but it's a bloody good one.