I’m standing outside the Brick bar in Reykjavik, Iceland. After 2 days of hardcore talks, announcements, and chatter about spaceships, the EVE Fanfest pub crawl has begun. Each team is numbered and has a physical flag. I hear a whoop and turn to see a guy wearing a Guristas top – a pirate faction – run with a stolen flag, the previous owners hot on his heels. He stumbles and falls headfirst with a sickening crack, and his pursuers pile on top. No-one is helping. It’s not a brawl so much as a brawn-off, but suddenly everyone’s involved and at the end I see our pirate get up with a face so bloodied I instinctively recoil. Nobody’s even had that much to drink. EVE is real.