With the advent of annual festivities underway I again feel a personal duty to ensure that some of us have a rotten yule tide time. Targets are indiscriminately hunted for their wares and smack-talk retorted with rehearsed vulgarity.
Mr black heart writhes with turmoil no doubt due to the sickening status quo of good will to fellow souls, but to maintain perspective upon our collective unconscious desire for pain and suffering I am delighted to continue my mandate of destruction, dashing hopes of merry-ness through obliteration of deep space vessels venturing the void for any sake.
New Eden is not a delight – its beauty surpassed only by the inherent danger skulking beyond the superficial surface. Space is cold, black and infinite and cares not for traditions of solidarity, save for the maintenance of its infamous tendency to take lives. A tradition I am bound to endorse.