I'm playing the game since Premium Beta and I never, never thought it could happen to me.
On my way back to my current home, I decided I could stop and make my bank account a bit rounder, by hunting NPC pirates in a hazardous RES. So there I was, in the 109 Piscium system, wrecking NPC pirates and saving NPC miners, having fun in the process.
So much fun that I actually completely ignored Betty and her insistant fuel related jibba-jabba. You see, I usually fly my trusty Cobra or an Asp, and both ships have a tendancy to pack a lots of fuel. On those ships, when Betty tells you that your fuel tanks are empty, you can still go to Sagittarius and back. Thing is, I was flying a FAS.
While traveling to the local supermarket to get my reward, the ship suddenly dropped out of supercruise, all systems went offline, and the oxygen supply timer went on, showing me that I had 25 minutes to meditate on my stupidity. Betty polite reminder that my fuel tanks were, well, empty, sounded distinctively like sarcasm. I was about to lose quite a few millions in that adventure. Not to mention my pilot life, but since I was about to actually be buried *with* the money, greed kicked in first, in the emotions department.
The saturated oxygen dispensed by the emergency system made me a bit deezy. And I had a vision. A gracious silhouette was dancing in front of my canopy, out there in the void. I blinked, but my brain persisted and the silhouette stayed there. She slowly approached, passing through the canopy like an elegant ghost. It was beautiful to witness, a soothing, peaceful vision. Her face was visible now and she was beautiful beyond words. Her gentle smile, resting on the pale silk that was her skin, was a pearl necklace anchored between delicate rose petals.
"Rats", she said. "Yeah I know I screwed up. I should have been careful.
-No, Rats. Fuel Rats.
-... OOOoooooooh! I see!
-Good. Can I use the bathroom before I go?
-Sure! Third sas to your right."
And she vanished.
Fuel Rats. Never called them. Never had to. Well, now was the time. I logged into their emergency canal and gave my infos. The canal was saturated with distress calls, each answered the next second in the same manner by CMDR Prodirus. In short: "don't panic. Give your infos, follow instructions, wait for us." Which I did to the letter. And I waited. Staring at the seemingly infinite supply of distress calls throwed at their dispatcher.
A few minutes later, I heard a shock. Something riveted to the hull of my ship. Betty suddenly came back online: "Receiving fuel".
And there, friends, I cried. CMDR Jirakiel and CMDR kilo363 appeared on my freshly resurrected sensors. Two angels, two beacons of light powered by everything good in humanity.
Thank you, Fuel Rats, long live to you. Just like your fuel tanks capacities, your awesoness has no limit.
On my way back to my current home, I decided I could stop and make my bank account a bit rounder, by hunting NPC pirates in a hazardous RES. So there I was, in the 109 Piscium system, wrecking NPC pirates and saving NPC miners, having fun in the process.
So much fun that I actually completely ignored Betty and her insistant fuel related jibba-jabba. You see, I usually fly my trusty Cobra or an Asp, and both ships have a tendancy to pack a lots of fuel. On those ships, when Betty tells you that your fuel tanks are empty, you can still go to Sagittarius and back. Thing is, I was flying a FAS.
While traveling to the local supermarket to get my reward, the ship suddenly dropped out of supercruise, all systems went offline, and the oxygen supply timer went on, showing me that I had 25 minutes to meditate on my stupidity. Betty polite reminder that my fuel tanks were, well, empty, sounded distinctively like sarcasm. I was about to lose quite a few millions in that adventure. Not to mention my pilot life, but since I was about to actually be buried *with* the money, greed kicked in first, in the emotions department.
The saturated oxygen dispensed by the emergency system made me a bit deezy. And I had a vision. A gracious silhouette was dancing in front of my canopy, out there in the void. I blinked, but my brain persisted and the silhouette stayed there. She slowly approached, passing through the canopy like an elegant ghost. It was beautiful to witness, a soothing, peaceful vision. Her face was visible now and she was beautiful beyond words. Her gentle smile, resting on the pale silk that was her skin, was a pearl necklace anchored between delicate rose petals.
"Rats", she said. "Yeah I know I screwed up. I should have been careful.
-No, Rats. Fuel Rats.
-... OOOoooooooh! I see!
-Good. Can I use the bathroom before I go?
-Sure! Third sas to your right."
And she vanished.
Fuel Rats. Never called them. Never had to. Well, now was the time. I logged into their emergency canal and gave my infos. The canal was saturated with distress calls, each answered the next second in the same manner by CMDR Prodirus. In short: "don't panic. Give your infos, follow instructions, wait for us." Which I did to the letter. And I waited. Staring at the seemingly infinite supply of distress calls throwed at their dispatcher.
A few minutes later, I heard a shock. Something riveted to the hull of my ship. Betty suddenly came back online: "Receiving fuel".
And there, friends, I cried. CMDR Jirakiel and CMDR kilo363 appeared on my freshly resurrected sensors. Two angels, two beacons of light powered by everything good in humanity.
Thank you, Fuel Rats, long live to you. Just like your fuel tanks capacities, your awesoness has no limit.