(Yeah, the pinnacle of current ship-building technology in EVE is a series of modular cruisers built from the salvaged parts of sentient machines that attack humankind on sight. I'm sure nothing will ever go wrong with THAT.)
Anyway, this looks like that sort of system: almost a dozen towers all churning away at various technological enterprises, only a single pilot online; a little research indicates that the pilot is a dedicated tower-refueling alt who appears to be sleeping on the job. No matter: dozens of sleeper sites beg for a good shooting. We are only too happy to oblige, and find ourselves adequately equipped for the task. As usual, I get Ty into one of our Gila cruisers, Bre grabs her Drake, and CB downgrades from his Dominix into my heretical, shield-tanked Gallente battlecruiser we've dubbed the Myrmidrake.
The run goes smoothly, the local pilot (like the kid sprawled on my lap) is lulled into unconsciousness by the regular, searing hum of sleeper lasers clawing at our shields, so we are not interrupted in-game or out. CB and I split up salvaging duties while Bre sits overwatch, and we split 110 million isk for the evening.