Well I have a near-M2 Smoky/Wasp so it's pretty easy at my rank, even if I don't use supplies. On my Brigadier account, though - don't ask. I missed the chance to get M3s back when Isida and Thunder M3 unlocked at Brigadier, and now it has M2.5s and has to face Legends. So hard, in fact, I abandoned that account. i still wrote a story from that account, but ignore that

Congrats on name change Ghost! Secondly, I imagine he won't understand. Interesting arguments, though! Question: can someone explain quantum physics? Also, as for the poll: Water isn't an element. Not sure how the poll maker got that idea, to be honest. Fairly sure it's a compound, made up of two elements (hydrogen and oxygen). There's also a reason why we call it H2O.

Learn... then? Write, read, practice, learn from others, take inspiration, etc. P.S any new to be published stories?

A tomato.

Person above me has been banned for a day. Reason: what cat?

Protagonist loves tanks, so much that he joins Tanki, and then eventually decides to join the army. Then follows Stuck, and then The Promised Land. (you could have done with not exposing the name too early)

Person above me has been banned for five minutes. Reason: writing in too big a font, and not explaining why my nickname is bad.

What if we don't have drugs? Can we be mults then, especially if we play well?

...posted one year, eight months, ten days, thirteen hours and seventeen minutes after the last post. Yeah...right. What I mean to say is, don't bump ancient topics. Read, yes, I encourage that, even like, but don't post. At least that's the forum etiquette I've learnt...

You'll be surprised, there's quite a lot of people with M2s + supplies at my rank, and I've been good with Smoky since well before getting MUs on it. + last time I played on my Brigadier account, Smoky M2.6 was actually pretty good. Been at least half a year since I played Smoky on that though, so argument invalid. It's not that bad though, honestly.

mmm. Great one, very interesting, more so than your other stories because well, we have a new scenario :D Wait, is this set before all others? Something tells me the protagonist is Fred...

I'll never understand, what do you mean by cheat? Hacks? I doubt it. Anyways. Smoky, UP? I'd go as far as saying Smoky's somewhat OP (how dare I call my own favourite turret OP). Though, I advise using light hulls with Smoky. Try not to care about K/D, and please don't face enemies head on - nearly every turret will win a fight against Smoky unless you play carefully. Also, keep a distance from them, and use cover. Please.

Wasp/Magnum? Wasp/Hammer? KD over 2? All right, now I want to learn how to effectively play them. :wacko:

People who name themselves iamthegr8est1 are not necessarily the greatest one. Anyways. Nice interview!

Agreed. I use Smoky-Wasp, and while I will admit that the combo's M1.6, I will also admit I don't use drugs and still top the leaderboards. Unless it's a DM, of course. Light hulls are supposed to be mobile and fragile. Use that mobility to your advantage.

Sorry for not replying earlier. Thing is, while it may appear that it's better to be unique, unfortunately nowadays in gaming everybody follows the leader. Everyone obeys the trend. Look at the surge in Battle Royale games and their popularity. Not a very good example, I know, but thing is, while employee trimming may be a factor (I'm not well versed in this), I highly suspect the reason is merely to shift to mainstream. Actually, the mobile market point is good too, now that Tanki is testing on mobile (something they talked about waay back in 2014/15), I would imagine they would want to simplify. Fairly sure playerbase decimation occurred long before MM, may or may not be a factor. Personally, while I had no problem with the battle list before MM, now I find it far easier to join battles because I won't need to choose which map or what teams. That is my own opinion on MM and its reasons though, please ignore if you will.

Oh, it's very comfortable, very nice. Thanks for the gift! Actually though, MM never sent me to Sandal either

I don't steal money, I steal flags. Flags and victory. How many of those? Lost count. Tanki is headed whereever it is. To HTML5 and beyond! May Tanki live long! May it be a better game!

What's the problem with this Freeze craze? Yes, Freeze was buffed. Yes, Freeze deals a lot of damage. But I don't get this: how does that make it OP? Pfft... tbh it's actually good that Freeze gets recognition, been years since it was last considered a threat. Still... HOW is it OP? Why are people obsessed with Freeze? And try not to accuse me of never having faced a Freeze. Try not to accuse me of using Freeze either - I believe I have 0 seconds of playtime with Freeze or the Freeze module, whatever its name was. Badger? Grizzly?

Person above me has been banned for a month. Reason: not being able to stop me from stealing said victory.

The Marshal gazed at his army. A thousand frail, hungry, weak men barely able to stand at attention. Many of them, injured. Yet, holding their swords and guns in their hands, rallying for their nation, undeterred by their pain. For a moment he felt pity. Then he was proud that his brave army would fight till the literal last drop of blood. These men would sacrifice everything for their nation and beliefs. He had no reason to fear a powerful enemy. Before him stood the Royal Palace. Majestic as ever in material beauty, but dead. Where the King once lived, now housed insects and scavengers. Far into the distance, the War Palace lighted up. Its deteriorated, colorless walls turned to perfect black, displaying a blurred reflection of faint moonlight and water droplets. The Scythes were visible, working their magic to repair the building, through the brief openings in the walls that once housed windows. Seconds later, those openings were shut by glass, and reinforced with weapons that protruded out from a newly-created hole in the glass. The Marshal walked forth, defying the wind to which houses and once-mighty skyscrapers bent. His men followed suit, indifferent to this force of nature. Their enemy looked on from behind the War Palace, and with every passing moment they lost confidence in their superiority to which the city testified a day ago. How could these ill-equipped men possibly dare to face them? How could they survive the War Palace? The assassin who had activated the War Palace stood at its roof, gazing at the island below her. Behind the War Palace, the Reds stood, ready to fire their guns and cannons at the advancing Blues. She watched the Reds talk in hushed voices, presumably discussing the Blue advance and the raging storm. She watched them as they exchanged looks of fear while trying not to become victim to the wind. She watched the Blues march, determined. Normally she did not care for any faction, but this sight moved even her to a tear or two. It was not long before the Blues reached the riverbank, tired but ready to fight. She walked towards the stairs and climbed down till she reached an elevator. She stepped in, and a second later she was looking at the doors of the War Palace. She turned and looked at the Scythes, standing the way they were when she entered. This time, though, their weapons were sheathed, and their faces wore friendly expressions. She opened the doors and walked out, and heard the doors close themselves. “Red Marshal Kevin. Ironic, isn’t it? You lead the Blues, but I imagine history will remember you as the Red King.” “I need a favour.” “Kings do not ask for favours.” “I am not a king. “Really?” “Look. I need a favour. Can you reprogram the War Palace for us?” “The War Palace does not fight for a certain faction. It merely seeks to stop war.” “Open it.” The assassin walked back to the doors and pushed them open. The ten Scythes were there to greet her, as they were three hours ago. This time, they did not need to scan her. “What do you order, Your Majesty?” She smiled. The robots respected her and saw her as the Queen. Your Majesty was music to her ears. “Let them in,” she said, turning to look at the Blue army behind her. This gesture was enough for the Protectors, whose faces turned to a welcoming smile towards the Marshal. The army marched in. The doors closed themselves as the last of the Blues entered the War Palace, facing the podium where the Marshal now stood next to the assassin. “Soldiers! Are you ready for war?” “YES!” She heard the quiet whispers of the Red soldiers. "So that's why the Blues can fight."

AMA thethiefofvictory Ask a serious question, get a proper answer. Ask a silly question, get a silly answer. That's how I work.

hmm, kaafi zaada log hain yahan, nahi? kaise ho sab? theek ho na? :P oh han, mein ne google translate hargiz istemal nahi kiya

Someone requested a timeline of Peace. So here it is. Alongside the name of each story is the precise time when it begins, and the day in which it is set in Peace timeline. War: The War Palace (1500 / 3 PM, November 18, 20 War) Red and Blue, Black and White (1800 / 6 PM, November 18, 20 War) Peace: An Attempt on Her Life (1200 / 12 PM, December 7, 1081 Peace) [issue 78] The Controlled Assassin (1300 / 1 PM, August 30, 1104 Peace) [issue 77] The City of Peace (0630 / 6:30 AM, November 4, 1104 Peace) Her Wish (1300 / 1 PM, November 4, 1104 Peace) Guests and Suspects (1400 / 2 PM, December 17, 1104 Peace) Interrogation (1500 / 3 PM, December 19, 1104 Peace) The Corrupt Hand of Law (December 24, 1104 Peace) In order of publishing:

A purple glow. A barrel. Thin. I suppose it’s a weapon. Mounted on a tank smaller than my mother’s car. I believe the tank’s green. I’d have thought it was a bush, had it been slightly inconspicuous. And I explode. I wake from my dreams, but my eyes are still sleepy. I sense that it’s a forest… but forests do not have skyscrapers. My eyelids shoot up, spurred by a bullet exploding upon my skin. Harmless. Where do they get their ammo from? I force myself to walk over to my desk, where my laptop and my breakfast is. I’m not hungry, so I ignore the breakfast and focus my attention to the more pressing matter. My laptop’s open. A picture of a garden, with a serene song playing in the background. No, why are birds moving around? I realize. It's some game on Steam. Multiplayer, but not about tanks. The dream would have me believe it’s Tanki. Someone’s managed to get access, but my mother cannot comprehend it. And I’d doubt she could learn overnight. Yes, it’s me who’s been playing. Sleepwalking. Another bullet, exploding upon my skin. Harmless again. Only except I explode. I wake from my dreams, but my eyes are still sleepy. This time, I realize I’m inside a tank in the middle of a war. But why does Valve exist as a video game distributor? Why was I playing any video game, while around me a war rages? Nevertheless. I scramble for the wheel, the controls. I notice messages. “Hello! Where are you?” said a certain KillerGnat. Why won’t that cat change his nickname already? Oh, he's not that cat. I cannot reply. If I do, it won’t end well. A key brings up some names. I cannot comprehend them, but what I do understand is that everybody has a Railgun, mounted on Wasp or Hornet. Except one. Me. That’s not supposed to happen. I’m only a Warrant Officer. Level one, too. I can’t enter a Railgun-only site... unless it's not a Railgun-only site. Plus, everyone else’s a reporter, from what I can gather. I’m not. I’m not supposed to be here. Or did they make me one too? I'd doubt it. Did they forget to close the gates and portals to the training site? Even if they did, why am I here? I see a portal opening before me. I walk forth, but a voice reverberates within me. Don’t. Thief, don’t leave. Don’t run. ….who? Nobody I know calls me a thief. And I’m not a thief, even if my name says so. I’m not a thief, and I’m not telling this to convince myself of false innocence. A sense of dread creeps over me. Who was this? It wasn’t me, and I know that. I’m aware that I’m sane. My mind searches frantically, trying to match the voice to a face or a name. Flags, thief. Flags, and chickens. Do your job. You’re a thief, and an assassin. Flags, and chickens. I will my mind to cancel its search, and force my hands to activate the tank. A car, I’d have thought, had I not known better. My systems tell me it’s a Wasp. We all start with modification zero, young thief. Time turns the number to a four. Or an eight. So M0. The weapon mounted is a Smoky. Zeroes and fours do not make a good combination, little assassin. An… M4? Systems tell me it’s an M2, minus the aesthetics. Statistics, however, support the voice’s argument. You've forgotten everything. Poor boy. Once respected like a king. This time I’m unable to restrain my mind’s search. What does this voice mean? When have I been respected like a king? What have I forgotten? My trembling hands turn the wheel, forcing the tank to face a flag. A blue flag magnificently flying in obedience of the wind, set on a tall white flagpost standing atop a magnetic platform in the street. It evidently commands much respect - even in war there are tanks looking to it, vowing to protect it with their lives, oblivious to the explosions nearby. And there are thieves, fleeing with it securely attached to the barrel of their turrets, reaching the red flag and making the blue flag bend to Red’s will. I’m a Red. And a thief of flags. It’s an ordeal to drive this monstrosity of a badly designed tank a metre forth, but I force it to run towards the blue flag. A sense of regret overcomes me. I’m about to steal and trample over the honor of the Blue team. Is it a duty? If so, I will duly discharge it. But it’s not a duty, is it? Before me a tank stands, looking to his flag. Chicken symbols and the eerie smell of fish adorn his Hornet. A hexed tank. Fear overcomes me, for a red glow appears at his turret’s barrel. I know I’m done for. My hands tremble, and somehow reach the button that seems to say “savior” to me. I shoot, and a flash of lightning appears, so powerful that the tank turns to ashes and disappears. Relieved, I vanish from the street, leaving the flag pedestal empty. I look for a moment at the beach left to me, and the quiet, serene ocean beyond. No time to waste. No time to waste, young thief. Oh, so the voice’s opinion finally matches mine. Speeding through the road at a hundred miles an hour in my tank which now feels somewhat more comfortable, I reach a ramp. I imagine I’d have to pay a pretty hefty fine had I done this when it was still peaceful. There’s a signboard that marks the speed limit as forty miles an hour. There’s nothing to enforce it any more, of course. I miss the times of peace, but it’s not the time. The tank rumbles ahead to the platform where the Red flag stands, just as majestically as the one I’m carrying. My legs are numbed by the fear caused by a bullet exploding upon my titanium skin. My fine white paint, reminiscent of snow animals, is charred by the shell. But more importantly, this is no longer harmless. The chassis of my tank weakens and begins to fall apart. Anything would destroy it now. My mind instinctively forms an imagination of the shell’s trajectory. It came from the hills nearby. It’s a Railgun. They don’t shoot bullets, but what they do shoot is worse. It’s mounted on a Wasp. M2, M2. I scream. Somehow I muster up the courage to drive, and force the tank forward. But by now the second shot is already on its way. Indifferent to my inevitable death, I drive forth, and plant blue upon red. As I die, I see the name list appear. My name above all others. *** I wake from my dreams, but my eyes are still sleepy. It occurs to me that I’m not in Rio de Janeiro. And that I’m a ghost. Ah. I’ll miss the quiet, calm sea. I look to my left and see a laptop upon a desk. The screen’s contents are painfully obvious. Fortnite Battle Royale, loading. But I don’t have it installed. My laptop wasn’t pleased when I last tried. Is it…? That’s not supposed to happen. I convince myself it cannot happen. Looking around, I realize where I am. Yorkshire. My tank is a Viking M3, Smoky M4. I didn’t change my hull, did I? Oh you naive little thief. You really don’t know a thing, do you? I was right. The voice. Deep, soft, eerie and terrifying, and just so slightly familiar. I know this voice. You do. So do I. I’ve become a bit accustomed to this voice by now. A key brings up some names. They’re not the same as before. I don’t recognize them. Nor do I understand why a Warrant Officer is allowed to have third modification equipment. Have the rules changed? There was a time, well before I joined the army, when Lieutenants were allowed to lead entire forces with M3s. Have I travelled back in time? But Rio and Yorkshire never saw war in those times, nor any training. A familiar name joins the list. My mind searches to give the name an identity. It fails. But it knows it’s heard this name, met the face. I cannot ask who he is, because if I do, I’ll die. Stop daydreaming and look around. You’ll disappear in seconds. And there’s someone who wants to meet you. In instinctive obedience, I look behind and see a bird. A dragon, actually, breathing fire. A dragon mounted upon a Hunter clad with magnificent blue lightning. I’m awestruck by its beauty. I wonder if that’s the intention, because at the same time my skin is being burnt. The metal of my tank melts away, succumbing to the heat it is being subjected to. White turns black. I die. I wake from my dreams, but my eyes are still sleepy. A ball hits me, turning the barrel of my Smoky sideways. Then another, and another. In front of me is an tall, imposing Dictator. The rusty metal plates indicate they’re M0, and deserve less than the Ricochet M2 mounted atop the walking skyscraper. A button makes short work of the building, crumbling as though destroyed by controlled explosions. To be fair, that’s what happened. I become aware of a clock ticking away, far into the distance. Its ticks become louder by the second. Twenty six. Nineteen. A Wasp happens to fly by me. It’s yellow, covered in graffiti. It explodes milliseconds after a button press, its ashes discoloring a nearby house. Ten. Zero. My name below all others. I do not understand. How did I fail? Everyone else had M2s at most. I contain my rage. *** I’m in a tank. There’s no laptop with me this time, for I left it at home. I’m on a road. Trees and grass on both sides for as far as I can see. So lonely. Why does nobody care? At last I reach a village. A settlement at last. It has the air of military operations. I enter a building, money in hand. I reach an office, and enter. It’s like any other - a desk, a man behind it, working. I greet him, and he smiles in ecstasy, looking at his newfound money. With no hesitation he gives me some extra ornaments for my uniform, and promises a grand ceremony. I leave, admiring my new rank. Field Marshal, The Thief of Victory. At last, official legitimacy to my equipment. Some respect and honor. No more will people think of the questionable background of my garage. But what if someone learns? I return to the office. I claim I need a favor. And, pulling out a dagger, I silence him. I leave the blood as is. I take the money and leave, scared. Oh. That’s why you’re called thethiefofvictory. You are a thief. A murderer. You should be ashamed. You’ll live your life in fear that someone’ll find you. Poor boy. Once a Brigadier, honored and respected by all. Now you’re nothing. You’ve gone so low just because you couldn’t convince people that you should be promoted. And because you never could write well. To be honest, I liked your style. You shouldn't have done this. *** I return home. My mother asks me what happened. I show her my new uniform, and watch her joy. Then she looks at me with suspicion. Frightened, I lie shamefully. You’re left to lies. Sad. I pretend I have a severe headache and that I’m going to the nearest Isida, and that I need a dose of Tankicillin. I’m your headache. You know it. You can still save yourself. You won’t. No Isida can cure you now. You’ll have to kill me. I dismount the Smoky and replace it with a Magnum, M2. I load it, turn it to the sky, and enter. You cannot run. I can run. Voice! Silence yourself! I leave the garage, and press a button. I struggle to walk. To think. To breathe. I see blood in my hands. I see my mother, dead. A letter in her hand. No blood. Even now the voice will taunt me. She died because she realized. Her heart couldn’t bear it. It ceased to pump blood. This, you see, is the fate of those who disregard the rules and the law. You could have read the EULA when you joined the army. You could have done well. I vanish. And on my laptop is a message. Tanker! You have been blocked on account of hacking.