DOTLAN EveMaps

HUUDRAATZ
If that shit Ain't Nailed Down, It Ain't Yours Yet.

Huudraatz ain't one of them fancy-ass EVE corporations.

We ain't got no capital fleet. Ain't got no trillion-ISK treasury. Ain't got no moon empire, no keepstar, no thirty-page doctrine telling you which shade of underwear you authorized to wear while flying a HAC.

We got some homies, some starter skills, and absolutely no shame.

Welcome to HUUDRAATZ.

We came up in New Eden with nothing, and that's exactly how we gonna operate. While everybody else out here training six months to fly some shiny-ass billion-ISK murderboat, Huudraatz is cruising around in a free corvette with twelve thousand ISK worth of junk bolted to it, looking out the window like:

"Yo. Anybody own that shit over there?"

Because here's the Huudraatz thing:

New Eden be throwin cash money on the damn ground, mothufkuh!

People just too classy to bend over and pick it up. Too damn lazy more like it.

Not us.

You leave wrecks floating around? We interested.

You leave a container unattended? We very interested.

You jetcan mining because it ain't worth your damn time to secure your shit?

Brother, you just rang the dinner bell.

Huudraatz operates at the Muthfkn bottom of the EVE economic food chain, down where the creatures got weird teeth and nobody knows what the hell they eat. Yeah just like your mama.
We don't need much because we don't risk much. Blow up our ship?

Gotcha, bitch!

You destroyed something Aura gave us for free.

We'll be back in four minutes. And I can dance wit you all day.

Other corporations got shipyards.

We got a dude clicking "Board My Corvette" over and over.

That's Huudraatz industrial production.

We don't build you a ride or any of that bling or any shit like that. We find all the tiny cracks where isk leaks out of New Eden and put a bucket underneath and we get PAID, mutha fukka! You feelin' me?


Huudraatz ain't trying to conquer New Eden. That's too much boolshit man. We ain't building an empire.

We're living underneath the empire. Fuck them, brotha!

We're the dudes underneath the bleachers after the game, we picking up quarters, half-full beers, and somebody's ratchet left shoe, 'specially when the shoe is some crakka's unsecured cargo container worth twenty million.

Then suddenly three broke-ass capsuleers in corvettes got themselves a very good Tuesday.

So remember the name:

HUUDRAATZ.

Cheap ships.

Cheap ammo.

Starter skills.

Zero dignity.

Maximum hustle.

And somewhere in New Eden, right this minute, some rich lazy-ass capsuleer (You know who you is) be leaving something behind because it ain't worth your damn time picking up.

Don't worry, boss.
We got you.