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Russian game celebrating a US holiday... Momma we made it.

Congratulations to all the lucky winners! For those of you who didn't manage to claim a prize, the TWNC is planning an even bigger powerball for our next issue in the Fall!

@Sabrytoun_Superman, I'm deeply sorry for your loss. Like Sacrifice said, the Reporter team is always here for you.

Thanks for all the support fam

Article Approved! An enjoyable continuation to this fantastic series! There were a bit more grammar mistakes in this piece when compared to your previous chapters. To eliminate these easy tweaks, I'd suggest reading the article aloud to yourself and making appropriate changes. This serves two purposes. First, it allows you to put yourself into the readers' shoes and recognize sentences that might be lacking a logical flow of ideas. Secondly, it serves as a great way to proofread your piece from a grammar standpoint. Looking forward to the next installment! Edits -

Congrats to @Person_Random for passing his relatively short Content Helper (Proofreader) candidacy... Did you bribe Abovo?

Article Approved! A unique, inspirational piece by Initiate. Using 9's as a deep metaphor for life, he reminds us that we, as humans, can never be perfect. However, our aim should still be for the stars. Full potential has yet to be unlocked. Welcome back! Edits

These special missions are, without a doubt, some of the most lucrative. I'm loving the 100 tankoins up for grabs.

Article Approved! I'm actually really enjoying this story. You blend the art of short yet succinct chapters with engaging content and phenomenal vocabulary. As always, keep up the great work. Looking forward to reading more! Edits -

That's what I'd call a "healthy" lead.

Coconuts, for instance... I've heard they can be a hazard for the ol noggin.

Article approved! Chapter 3 rolls out close on the heels of chapter 2. The plot line further unfolds as an unprecedented catastrophe overtakes the skyscraper troops. While these articles are very short (we do try to keep a 400 word minimum), I'm loving the style of writing contained within the paragraphs. Keep it up! Edits

Really? I always assumed the training consisted of a week long Scooby-Doo binge session in order to prepare the squad for the inevitable antics of that man.

Article approved! In chapter one of "Containment in Skyscrapers", t-cola brings us a stunning introduction to his story and raises a wide variety of questions that I, for one, can not wait for an explanation. I have a hunch that this highly accurate piece will be the beginning of a thrilling series! Welcome to the AWS! Edits-

Article Approved! Nibbles returns to the AWS, giving us a sneak peek into the day-to-day responsibilities that are required of our very own Forum Moderators. It is definitely not a job for the faint of heart! Edits -

That was indeed a mistake. Thanks for the heads up.

Completely random. Hence the name "powerball".

Congrats to all May 2020 HOTM's!!

Congratulations all 2019 AWS writers, winners or not. It's crazy when you actually think about what we are... a writing community in an online game. This is completely unique and unmatched by any other gaming community. I hope everyone continues to glean inspiration and put their ideas down on paper. May the AWS thrive in 2020 like never before!

Article Approved Brilliantly written piece contrasting the plethora of emotions we feel on a daily basis. All our hopes, joys, and fears become tied up in the various tough situations we face in life. While it doesn't necessarily have a happy ending, this story reminds us that we are only humans. We really are slaves to our own mind. Let's give it up for Lose! Edits

All the information for the very first Tanki Online powerball contest can be found below. Juicy prizes await! Powerball Contest And with that, our broadcast wraps up for the day folks. We hope you have enjoyed this latest issue of TWNC. Stay smart, stay safe, and we will see you next time. This is Tanki's very own Weather & News Channel at 6:00. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ~TWNC~

technically 90 percent of physics is calc based

That he was no ordinary child was immediately apparent. Some called him the runt of the litter, others just referred to him as “The Silent One”. True, there was no macroscopic oddity that defined his face or a deep scar that ran down the length of his back. There were no mutated arms or paralytic legs. On the outside he looked normal, just an everyday kid going about his everyday routine. Most people he saw regularly assumed there was something wrong on the inside; a disease eating away at his very core. The doctors had no name for the mysterious condition and had never before witnessed the profound effect that was evident within this boy. As the years passed, his nickname came to define him more and more, until many people completely forgot his real name, only focused on the thing that set him apart from the rest. Neighbors and family friends sometimes attempted to get through the barrier, but the boy didn’t seem to understand or care to reward their efforts. No one knew what went on inside his brain because he never spoke, could not speak. A “ rare larynx issue” medical professionals had dubbed it, although “rare” was a gross understatement. It was a miracle he had even survived this long, with no mode of communication with the outside world. He ate like a robot, just enough to stay out of the hospital, and robotically performed the other common actions of a human being; although it was a mystery how he had originally learned to do them. He was kept out of school, sports, and other common activities of an elementary aged boy, isolated at home where he spent countless hours shut within the four walls of his bedroom. With no foreign ideas able to penetrate his skull and no ideas within able to escape, people assumed his brain activity was nil. However, this couldn’t be further from the case. In fact, it was the exact opposite. For an ordinary deaf boy, no -- even for a normal person, it would take years and years to learn about the world and why things worked like they did. For this particular child, knowledge was an innate part of his being. It was because of his inadequateness to share information that he was so smart. The thorn in his side, the inability to speak, had indirectly unlocked a sixth sense within his mind from which new thoughts and ideas sprouted. No teaching via a human being was necessary. It was ironic. He was dependent upon no one, yet everyone regarded him as an outcast and treated him as one would a little baby. This eight year old was more knowledgeable than most adults, yet the adults themselves shied away from instructing the boy based on the assumption that he could not understand any form of teaching. The ones who claimed to know him best, in reality, didn’t know him at all. They could not possibly fathom that a mastermind lay hidden underneath the seemingly ignorant and oblivious “Silent One”. And so he listened and observed, content to remain in his shell of muteness. More years passed, and with age came an even higher level of understanding for the boy. He lived in a London flat with his father, mother having died during his own childbirth. From the vantage point of his attic window he watched life go on below him—the hustle and bustle of the outside world— a place where he would never truly belong. Sometimes he wished he could talk and communicate with those around him. Although the boy didn’t know it himself, if he was awarded this wish, he would in fact lose what came natural to him, his sixth sense. The spoken word would be traded for a genius mind; for indeed, if he could speak, a whole host of ideas and thoughts that occupied his brain would be released, and with that his genius qualities. He remembered every moment of every day like it had just happened. His whole life was inside his mind, a powerful force whose potential was limitless. Within the confines of his room, the thirteen year old boy put his brain to work. He now began to grasp the endless possibilities his wealth of knowledge afforded. He knew no scientific formula nor the names of any chemicals, yet within the span of two months had constructed a fully functional laboratory inside his attic room. Using only liquids he found around the house and elements he discovered during his brief excursions outside, the boy built upon current scientific and mathematical concepts, unlocking calculations that none even knew existed. Of course, he kept his experiments secret, successfully concealing them from his father, who rarely checked in on the teenager he thought had no hope of achieving anything in life. After the initial two years of the “Silent One’s” existence, spent in the hospital, the boy was virtually forgotten about. He had gone from being a constantly observed specimen by deaf specialists to a solitary teenager living in an attic. No one really cared about the well-being of the boy; his father only visited the room to make sure his son was still breathing. Mr. Darylan had more important things to worry about, such as running a company and monitoring his tinder profile. Everything changed in March at the boys sixteenth year. A special school for the deaf had just opened on the main island of Hawaii, and a certain doctor had prescribed that a few years there would be beneficial for the boy. Arrangements were quickly made, and before the week was out, “The Silent One” had made the trip. His surroundings were now completely altered; the musty attic space of an overcrowded central London apartment traded for a quiet block room overlooking the peaceful and serene Pacific Ocean. Out on the coast other people were scarcely seen; human bodies substituted for the wind and waves of the beautiful island shoreline. It was here that a love and fascination for the sea awakened within him. The howling wind and powerful waves held the boy spellbound, and for hours on end he could be seen gazing out his window, setting his brain to work on the mysterious ways of the ocean. He had managed to smuggle some of his experimental equipment onto the plane, and now set up an upgraded version of his London laboratory. Using samples of ocean water the boy probed into the world of H₂O. After he had spent a couple months on the island and was now accustomed to his new surroundings, the boy grew increasingly braver. In the evenings he often snuck down to the beach alone to ponder over phenomena like the ocean tide and to observe storm clouds as they gathered above the wide expanse of the sea. Questions swirled around in his mind, the answers to which I myself can not explain; they are far beyond my own understanding. One such question that intrigued the boy was the idea of buoyancy. During his beach sessions, the boy frequently witnessed a variety of different water related activities: people surfing, water skiing, and paddle boarding, just to name a few. These all triggered a nagging quandary for “The Silent One”. Would it be possible to develop a device that enabled humans to walk on water? In order for this to work, the footwear would have to be incredibly light — less dense than actual H₂O to make sure the surface tension of water would not be stressed. For the next month, solving this problem took up every free minute of the boy’s time. He experimented with weight and gravity, tested the bounds of surface tension, and learned new, complex properties related to fluids. His lab was now devoted solely to achieve this end. The teachers themselves were still oblivious to the teen’s knowledge or to the contents of his room; however, unbeknownst to “The Silent One”, there indeed was someone who had been watching him. A pair of eyes that couldn’t help but observe a deaf boy as, day after day, he emerges from within the confines of a deaf school and journeys down to the coastline. Often, this other person felt some weird inner force, calling him to go confront the queer boy that spent so much time sitting peacefully on the beach. He very much longed to meet him in person, but at every instance of a possible convergence he shied away, afraid to socialize with someone evidently deaf. However, fate had other plans. It was Saturday morning, the ocean water deflecting the early sunbeams, casting the sand particles on the shore with a dazzling glow. The boy was making his way down a narrow staircase leading to a strip of grassland that jutted out into the beach area. Suddenly he stopped cold, momentarily frozen, unsure of what to do next. Not ten yards in front of him a figure was stooped over, doodling lines in the sand with a large stick, presumably driftwood. It was only when the figure peered up a few moments later that “The Silent One” realized it was another boy. A normal boy. Evident when he waved and said hello. “The Silent One” slowly raised his right foot onto the step behind him, poised to make a hasty retreat. “Oh no,” the black haired teenager below sounded genuinely concerned. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Don’t go.” Warily, the boy shifted his foot back to where it had been before. Confused, he regarded the other human with a quizzical look. He had never experienced words quite like what he had just heard. Could someone else actually care about him? He hardly thought so. As soon as this person realized he couldn’t speak, everything would change. It always had with other “normal” boys he had met. A few jests and then ignorance was all he had ever received from people his own age. However, this time… he couldn’t be sure yet, but it felt different. “I’ve seen you come down here before,” the other boy went on, dropping his stick. “And I’ve often wanted to join you. I… I know you’re deaf, but you don’t act like it.” There was something different about this one, thought “The Silent One”. Finally someone had guessed. Just as the boy talking to him right now wasn’t the stereotypical “normal” boy, he wasn’t a “normal” deaf boy. “Do you have a name?” The question caught the boy off guard. The teachers called him Daniel, but that wasn’t his real name. He supposed they made it up. Typical that they hadn’t asked his permission first. He shook his head. The black haired boy squatted down in the sand, deep in thought. A few moments later he straightened up, a strange gleam shone in his eyes. “I’ll call you Kai. It’s the Hawaiian word for ocean, you know.” “The Silent One” smiled. He liked the sound of that. It was a fitting name too. “I’m Greg,” the other boy held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. Kai slowly made his way down the last few steps of the staircase, then stuck out his own arm. It was weird partaking in a handshake when up to this point he had only witnessed other people doing it. For the first time that he could remember, he actually felt wanted. It was a warm, tingly feeling. Something that was both foreign and queer to the mastermind. This first meeting between the two boys unlocked a whole new world for Kai. From that time on, they frequently spent evenings together down at the beach. Kai was able to experience a friendship, and Greg learned that geniuses were not always the most conspicuous. Gradually, Kai got to know other boys within Greg’s circle of friends and he was called more and more by his new Hawaiian name. The nickname “The Silent One” was gone forever, replaced with a reminder of his love for the sea. When introducing the boy to a new person, Greg would sometimes start off with the words “This is Kai. Kai’s deaf.” Then would go on to relate all the positive characteristics that defined this unique boy. Through time Kai came to treasure his inability to speak as the thing that made him who he was. In time the boy graduated from the deaf school and moved on to a different era of his life. He had long perfected his buoyant footwear design, making it possible for man to virtually walk on water. Through all these accomplishments he never forgot Greg. After all, it was through that black haired youth that Kai had garnered his name and had finally conquered his own fear of the communication barrier. He was who he was. He was Kai — mastermind, genius, and now famous. He was also deaf. Kai’s deaf. PyTHOR Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictitious and has no literal connection to the life of Kaisdf

Every day waking at the break of dawn Toiling with words maybe crafting a song Forging on Plot line unfolding as the things I’ve drawn Come to life Suffice Assembling ideas like pawns Readers drawn Into the story where right battles wrong Description at its best an punctuation is strong Full on Sending it but the flow ain’t gone Every verb in its place every imperative law But wait... That’s when writers block hit me in the face Came in thinking it’d be a piece of cake My mistake Who knew I’d be one to underestimate The fate The faith I never knew it’d detonate My brain All the pain beginning to extrapolate Feeling sudden urges to hallucinate Not a fake Sometimes the truth is even harder to take When ideas cease to run around and populate Your brain Can’t even formulate the simplest of words Forming paragraphs harder than collecting turds I’m disturbed Run on sentences beginning to get concerned Return To all I’ve learned There seems like nowhere to turn It’s confirmed All my former knowledge is currently burnt Left with nothing except lingering is all of the hurt I’m sure I’m only remembering irrelevant terms In court it seems my thoughts are always being adjourned Unfinished parts are starting to pile up Wasted lead spilling over the sides of my garbage cup Out of luck Hundred drafts but back on the starting block It sucks I’m stuck My thoughts are fighting one another to interrupt In a rut Where every day all basic logic seems corrupt Trying everything, but nothing ever turns out to be enough Fired up Mad at life cause this time he’s playin rough Maybe today I’ll try something different to toughen up But times can change Rather quickly how all the distractions can fade Former rage Diminishing as ideas correlate Not afraid Dismayed In my brain exploding grenades Cease to reign Control over me seems to finally be regained Hostile thoughts swirling can finally be restrained I’ll remain In this frame of mind until the next time I stray Wishing I could stay on point like this every single day PyTHOR