Part 01 - Learn to Wake, newb...

Compared to all those other MMORPGs out there, EVE has struck me as something special. I'm relatively new to the game, and of course I hardly know all of it's secrets... but the way the game is dependant on the players for action is unique and special. But still, some quirks make it like a rather odd form of life. That brings me to a point. Eve is in many ways like real life. There's cheating, there's no free lunch and the market guides itself for better or worse. There's stock crashes, wars caused by misunderstandings and so on. But...

What if Real Life... was like EVE? I boldly decided to find out, putting my life and self-respect on the line. Using the help of common household chemicals formulated into something that could I suppose be called a 'booster', these are the memoirs of a Real Life Eve Survivor...

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Day 01.

I woke up with a terrible hangover. Maybe it was a phenomenal party the night before. Perhaps it was from adventures with innumerable friends, and the great impression I made upon many members of the opposite sex. That was before I remembered what I REALLY was doing that night, sitting in front of a computer and drinking mouthwash. Reality was a bitter pill to swallow, and the empty bottles of Quafe laying strewn over the desk didn’t do much to help my ego.

I gathered my senses quickly, assessing my situation. I was located in a small apartment, dirty and situated on 5th and Jita, probably the most annoying traffic conjested intersection I had ever seen in my life. I had a pitiful 5000 dollars on me as my life savings, and nothing but a worn out '78 Ibis in the parking lot below.

I had to survive this somehow. Survive, and make a good life for myself. As I was about to take my first steps, getting up in the morning and all. That was when I noticed something else odd indeed.

My entire room was covered in post-it notes. Thousands of them.

“What the hell is this?”, I asked aloud.

I sat up, and felt an itch on my forehead. My hand reached up, and I peeled a yellow note from my brow. It was uncanny, as well as unusually condescending for a post-it note.

Tutorial:

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‘This is a tutorial. You are currently in bed, and will need to get out of bed. (next note --->).’

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“This is stupid, I don’t need this.” I snorted, trying to get up only to find that I was paralyzed from the legs down. I couldn’t escape! Directly ahead of me however was another note, which I snatched quickly to read.

Tutorial:

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‘You are in the bed menu. To leave, please follow the next set of instructions…’

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Crap.

Having no other options, I carefully decided to follow the tutorial notes…

...Two hours later, I successfully got out of the bed.

I cast the notes aside in relief, as this troublesome business was out of the way and I was ready to get to lifting myself out of this pitiful existence... or so I thought. I walked out of my building then, heading for the familiar chipped paint of my ’78 Ibis, a vehicle of good quality so I was told. I hopped in, keying in the ignition. The engine coughed a few times before I pulled out slowly, noticing the odd irregular lump of metal I was given as a ‘gratuity gift’ by the insurance company in the back seat.

Ignoring this completely bizarre gift, I realized that I was feelin’ pretty good about myself. Having escaped the two hour tutorial to undock from bed, I figured it wasn’t going to be too long before I had some steady jobs and the cash that comes along with it.

I didn’t realize of course, that I was pulling out of the lot into the hell that was Jita Avenue: the most dangerous street in the world, according to hourly violence statistics. I took a deep breath, when the most horrifying of things set upon me…

(To be continued?)