‘Twas the night before Phoebe, and all ’round the region
capsuleers were all cheering, (except Pandemic Legion)
Some decried their suitcases would be covered in dust
and Shadow Cartel’s titans would certainly rust.
But ratters and carebears and pilots of small ops
were happy they could fly with less fear of blops drops.
And others in Sov were equally blissed
while many big coalitions were totally pissed.
But the complaints about logistics and freighters were heard
so freighters and rorquals wouldn’t be nerfed, was the word.
And blops (so frightening) would get only a small nerf
So alliances could still use them to protect their home turf.
So, in the days before Phoebe plans were all put into place
to move assets around and even trade space.
Goonies and Legion, and Shadow Cartel
Traded this for that from Geminate to Delve.
Move Nyxes! Move Thannies! And Moroses too
Wyverns an Hels, you know what to do!
Light up those cynos, in the north and the south
From east and from west, move them all NOW!
Because in just one days time, fatigue is our bane,
and a limit of five light years is a changer of game.
Projection of force is up in the air,
but whatever happens will make things more fair.
How will it work out when we run out of gas
trying to cross Immensea, or Bob-forbid even Impass.
How will we make sure those pesky ratters will be gone
if we can’t hot drop a drake with our shiny Archons?
How will Eve change? I don’t know, but it will.
It will be hard to swallow, like a dose of Blue Pill.
If you want some advice, I’ll give you a freebie,
and tell you, you’ll find out, right after Phoebe.
The following poem was copied from Reddit and written by Robaticus. The original post can be found here. Great work!
