It started like nothing.
Just another fleet ping, another form-up on another gate in another system. I joined out of habit more than purpose—no op brief, no intel updates, no questions asked. I expected the usual: a roam, a skirmish, maybe a short scrap in lowsec.
But space had other plans.
The first sign was the grid. Not the fleet—the grid itself. It wasn’t loading properly. Icons blinked in and out. Brackets lagged. Then came the sound, that familiar hum of capacitor and silence… followed by the slow materialization of something enormous.
One by one, they landed.
Not a roam. Not a gang. An armada.
Carriers, dreadnoughts, battleships, logistics wings—all aligned, all coordinated. Ships began to blot out the local star, casting long shadows across the citadel like time itself was folding in. The light dimmed. Then turned red.
I remember stopping. Not because someone called “hold,” but because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It wasn’t just the scale—it was the symphony of it. The choreography. The sheer, undeniable presence of it all. It was awe. It was fear. It was EVE.
And I had been recording—by pure instinct.
I caught the formations. The way the light hit the hulls. The silence before the strike.
When the first volleys landed and the structure groaned under pressure, the camera didn’t flinch. It caught it all.
It became my favorite recording. Not because it was planned.
But because it wasn’t.
This was not a highlight reel.
This was a moment in time, and I just happened to be there when it opened.
Warlock Industries isn’t about taking sides.
It’s about capturing the truth of the void—when the stars align and something real happens.
More stories are coming. Some recorded. Some remembered.
Some you’ll need to see for yourself.
Stay tuned. I’m just getting started.
