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

Congrats to @LOLKILLERTOTHEDEATH for successfully passing his candidacy!! Welcome back to the ranks of EN Reporters.

PREVIOUSLY "IN THE CASE FILES" "Asher," there was urgency in the police chief's voice. "Come quick. We caught someone trying to break in..." The detective snatched his credit card back and, without a word to the cashier, took off towards the gas station door, leaving his coffee on the counter. In another second he had burst out of the ad covered entrance and into the cool night air beyond. It looked as if he didn't need to set the trap after all. The culprit had come to him. PART IV - The Conclusion For the second time in the past two days Asher pulled into the now familiar warehouse parking lot to see a variety of flashing lights and a general buzz of police activity. It was hard to imagine only two days ago he had first been introduced to the case. For the detective, the past 48 hours of his life seemed like a year. All the interviews, questionings, and meetings he had initiated were running together in his mind like the rushing waters of a mighty river. The flow of that river was leading to this very moment. The “molecules” were finally adding up. All he needed was that one last piece of information; the delta that empties out into the wide expanse of the ocean. This would be the defining hour of the case, possibly of his whole career. From each and every person involved in the mystery he had obtained a vital clue; an important fact that when assembled with all of the others, would paint the full picture. It would enable the detective to reconstruct the days and weeks leading up to Fresnow’s time at the warehouse, and allow him to finally understand the details surrounding the incident in office 211. Underwood already had a theory that if proven true, would completely alter the meaning behind those details and explain almost every point related to the case. However, he was still missing something, and that something lay with whoever had just broken into Fresnow’s office. With a face set with determination and stride filled with adrenaline, Asher gave a brief nod to the deputy stationed out front, then quickly made his way around to the rear of the warehouse. The grassy area behind the building was lit up by both the flashing lights of Darrin’s car, and the powerful flashlight the police officer himself was wielding. One of the back doors of the vehicle was partially open, revealing a disheveled looking man within. He was slouched over, head resting on the metal frame of the seat directly in front of him. The lighting was less than ideal, but Asher would tell that the man’s hands were securely cuffed together. Darrin and another officer stood nearby, conversing in low tones. Upon hearing the sound of footsteps, the chief jerked his light towards the faint noise, then lowered the beam after realizing it was his friend. As Asher emerged into the circle of illumination, Darrin’s tanned face wore a smug expression. There had always been a friendly rivalry between himself and Underwood. When at all possible, he preferred the police to catch the criminal, not the private detective. Underwood barely glanced at his friend, however. Whether it was long enough to catch a trace of his intentional smirk, Darrin couldn’t tell. Instead, Asher was gazing across the lawn at the broken window set in the warehouse wall. The flashing blue and red lights of the cop car played a weird array of shapes and shadows on the fragments of glass that still remained. Through the opening the detective could just make out the edge of a desk along with the interior of office 211. “We got him on his way out,” the police chief's voice shattered the night silence. “Broke in, rummaged around for about five minutes, then reemerged through the window. Luckily I was still here wrapping up the investigation for the day… He didn’t put up much of a fight.” The detective turned towards Darrin. “Did he take anything?” “That’s the funny thing. He didn’t. Everything in the office is accounted for. I went in and checked myself.” After receiving no acknowledgement from Asher, Darrin added, “I’m as confused as you are.” Underwood cleared his throat. “I never said I was confused, but it does pose an interesting question.” He smiled. “Maybe our culprit can help clear it up?” “Name’s Dirk Liddy. No past criminal record.” The police chief consulted a small file. “Currently works as a part time taxi driver.” Asher started slightly. “A taxi driver,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I wonder if…” the detective trailed off, then slowly looked back at the remnants of glass clinging to office 211’s window frame. Without another word, he promptly lay a hand on the back door of the police car and pulled it fully open. The man inside looked up, a glazed look in his eyes. A short, scraggly beard populated by a few small clumps of dirt covered the bottom half of his face, giving him the appearance of a hobo rather than a taxi driver. “Liddy?” The man seemed to gain some energy after noticing Asher wasn’t a cop. “Who wants to know?” He forced a cough and attempted to wipe his mouth before realizing his hands were still restrained. This reminder that he had been caught by the police catapulted him into a newfound frenzy. Underwood wondered whether this man was mentally unstable. “I swear sir, I swear!” His voice rose to an excruciatingly high octave. “Someone put me up to this. I don’t deserve…” Dirk broke off as Asher firmly gripped his shoulder. The detective’s steady hand helped partially regain the man’s sanity. There was an awkward silence before Underwood released his grip and straightened up. “You better start from the beginning then. Who sent you and why?” The man hesitated, then jostled his torso around in short bursts until he was facing the detective. “It seemed like a simple job.” Asher noticed red spots underneath the man’s eyes indicative of prolonged crying. “I was instructed to break into office…” he paused, trying to recollect the number. “...211. Look for anything the police left behind that I thought would be valuable.” “Valuable to whom?” Asher inquired, studying the face of Dirk Liddy like a bullfrog ogling a fly. “That’s just the thing. I don’t know. My employer wasn’t specific; in fact, the person giving me instructions never even told me his name.” Underwood heard Darrin softly curse behind him. “He did mention a doctor Fresnow though, come to think of it,” Dirk continued. “I think he was the owner of the office. Anyway, this man threatened that if I refused to carry out the job, he’d release this chemical thing on me. It was the weirdest threat I’ve ever heard.” Asher’s heart skipped a beat. “Dirk, I need you to concentrate. This is extremely important. Did you hear what the chemical was, or maybe what it’s effects were?” Liddy shook his head. “I don’t know the name of it, but I did partially overhear the man say it was fatal.” In a totally unexpected action, Asher fished in his coat pocket and brought out three crisp twenty dollar bills. He motioned for Dirk to stand, then thrust the sixty bucks into the man’s trouser pocket. Anticipating an action from his friend, the detective spun around to look the police chief in the face. “Darrin, trust me on this.” Without waiting for a response, Asher regained eye contact with the culprit. “Fatal in what way?” Dirk remained standing, an incredulous expression painted on his face. He quickly attempted to answer. “Toxic fumes…” he bit his lip, then vigorously shook his head. “No, no it was poison.” It was Asher’s turn to shake his head. “No, I don’t think so. Try again.” Dirk paused. “Disease…” He hung his head and emitted an exasperated sigh. “I heard it, but I can’t remember exactly.” Asher wanted this to come first from the lips of Liddy, but the chances looked grim. “What about a type of explosion?” The detective asked so softly that Darrin could barely hear. A spark of recognition lit up the convict’s eyes, and he jerked his head back up. “Yes! That rings a bell. I believe that was it!” “Are you positive?” Underwood needed to be certain. “Yes, yes. Quite sure. I remember now,” Liddy burst out in short, choppy sentences. Darrin snorted, unconvinced. “What kind of psychopath has an exploding chemical just laying around?” Asher took a step back and grinned. If Liddy was telling the truth, then this was the final piece. The puzzle was completed. He let out a short laugh. “The same kind that was looking for Fresnow. Besides, I doubt this person actually had the chemical. He probably just used it as a threat because that’s what was on his mind.” Seeing the confusion on his friend’s face, Asher lay a reassuring hand on Darrin’s shoulder. “Mr. Liddy was sent here to obtain clues about Fresnow. But why? It’s my guess that he was employed by the same man, or group of people, who’ve been trailing the doctor for weeks. So why send a financially needy taxi driver to get more information about a dead man? And not just any dead man, but a man this person himself had supposedly just killed two days before? Liddy’s mysterious employer should already know all there is to know about Fresnow.” Asher smiled again. “I’ll tell you why Darrin. Because he, or they, didn’t kill Fresnow. Dirk Liddy didn’t kill Fresnow. Mr. Shrewter didn’t kill Fresnow. Mr. Day didn’t kill Fresnow. Neither did anyone else in the warehouse. In fact, nobody killed him.” Darrin stared at Asher, digesting what the detective was saying. “So he committed suicide then?” Underwood took his arm off the police chief’s shoulder. “No, my friend. He didn’t commit suicide. From the very beginning of the case you jumped to a hasty conclusion. After hearing some particular information, I too leapt to the same conclusion. I have a hunch those weren’t the doctor’s organs we found on the floor of office 211.” The detective could tell that Darrin finally understood what he was hinting at. “Fresnow doesn’t have a killer because he’s not dead.” Asher cleared his throat. “We’ve been investigating a murder that never happened.” “But, but then who sent this man?” Darrin spluttered, motioning towards Dirk. Underwood deliberately stroked his chin. “I need you to call all the people that have been involved in the case over the past two days. Tell them to be at the warehouse tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll let Fresnow tell you himself.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sun shone brightly through the large east window of the warehouse, bathing a section of the lobby floor with a golden glow. In the middle of the lobby stood chairs neatly situated in three rows, all facing the double front doors. They were occupied by a wide variety of men: a storage manager, four renters, a trucker, a taxi driver, and a first witness. Amidst the silence of the room, each waited with breathless anticipation for a climax to the unusual business of Doctor Fresnow. Everyone had their own personal experience related to the case, and some had even formed opinions on who the murderer was. It was because of these hypotheses that most sat in silence, afraid to socialize with a possible killer. The police deputy stood at the door, poised to admit the final two people to the gathering inside the warehouse. At exactly 8:10 those two people entered the lobby. Asher Underwood looked extremely pleased, even more so than the previous night after receiving the vital information he needed. Darrin appeared more on the impatient side. True to form, the detective had refused to divulge anything in the car, so he, the chief of police, would be alerted to the full explanation of the mystery along with everyone else. The crowd sat expectantly as Underwood slowly removed his coat and took his place at the front of the room, the police chief at his side. In another moment secrets would be brought to light, facts methodically explained, and the solution carefully detailed out. “Thank you for attending this rather unprecedented meeting,” Asher dipped his head in a slight formal gesture. “You all have some sort of connection to our friend, Doctor Fresnow, and I thought it imperative that everyone involved should be present today. Through lengthy interrogation last night both at Mr. Oufa’s home -- Asher nodded towards the manager -- and with Mr. Liddy, I have ascertained the reasons behind the gruesome scene discovered in office 211.” Shrewter immediately rose to his feet. “You know who the murderer is then?” Underwood held up a hand. “In time Mr. Shrewter. In time.” The stout man glanced quizzically around at the other occupants of the room, then hurriedly retook his seat. “Before I explain what really occurred this past Thursday morning, you first must understand Fresnow’s background and the reason why he was renting out an office in a Los Angeles warehouse.” Asher began to relate the story. “Doctor Jay Fresnow is the well respected CEO and head scientist of Nautilus, a chemistry company based out of San Fransisco. He has held this position for almost four years now, but only recently has garnered wide publicity. In May or June of this year, he began working on a complex formula inside his private San Fransisco lab. What this mixture’s intended purpose was or what Fresnow hoped to achieve through this experiment still remains a mystery to me, but it is beside the point. What’s important is that there is a disastrous outcome if the formula is done incorrectly. Just a small mess up, the addition of a particular chemical, can pose tragic consequences. It is this one fact that the whole case centers around. Whether Fresnow knew of this danger at first is unknown, but he discovered it sometime during his initial testing phase in those preliminary months. One of the doctor’s main fears throughout the whole process was publicity. He wanted to develop the formula without having to deal with contending companies and other outsiders peeping in. However, that was not meant to be…” Asher paused, ran his gaze over the small audience, then continued. “Somewhere along the line a rival company got wind of the operation. They, of course, wanted the money and fame associated with a groundbreaking formula, so the race began. Certain persons acting as spies were deployed near Fresnow’s lab, attempting to steal all the progress the doctor had already made. How long this went on before Fresnow became suspicious, nobody but the doctor himself knows, but by the final week of June he undoubtedly saw that some form of action should be taken. He was close to figuring out the correct recipe, yet he still needed more time. Thus, he started looking for an alternate location to continue his testing. Fresnow wanted to put a good amount of distance between him and his competitors, and was also looking for a secluded area to live.” Jake Oufa grunted in agreement. “He got both from me. Office 211 at the warehouse to do his work, and my barn to eat and sleep in.” “Precisely,” Underwood exclaimed. “Fresnow chose Los Angeles as his location, securing his office with you on July 1st under the name of Dale Greenleaf. He had his place, now all that was missing was a reason for him to leave San Fransisco. And so we come to the doctor’s first of two charades; he faked his own disappearance. He knew his rivals would see right through the scheme, but Fresnow needed an excuse for his absence at his own lab. Police intervention was the last thing he wanted because that meant immediate publicity. Instead, the doctor took matters into his own hands and arrived back in LA on the 5th. Unfortunately for him, public attention was drawn rather quickly. His disappearance unexpectedly made newspaper headlines on that same day, alerting Mr. Oufa of Greenleaf's real identity. The game was up. At this point the doctor had no choice but to confide in the LA Woodstock manager, and for a considerable sum of money, Fresnow succeeded in keeping his whereabouts a secret. For the next month everything went fairly smoothly. Fresnow remained under the radar and it seemed like he had effectively evaded various prying eyes. He continuously worked on the mixture in office 211, making sure to conceal his face from his fellow warehouse renters. During the evenings and nights the doctor shut himself up in Oufa’s barn. Presently, the public’s eye moved elsewhere and the formula was nearly forgotten about.” “The calm before the storm, eh,” Trent Kreur chuckled from his seat. “Little did he know what was to come.” Underwood nodded. “Fresnow’s rivals found him in mid August. It was now clear to the doctor the extent to which these people craved the formula. After over a month of searching, he had been weeded out in a city of millions of people. No doubt he wondered if they would possibly kill for the information. The clock was running out, and it was in these desperate times that Fresnow decided to risk employing a genius idea. His first attempt to throw his enemies off the trail hadn’t been convincing enough. However, if he succeeded this time, there would be no questions asked. In order for this plan to work though, an important item needed to be obtained. It was delivered by you, Mr. Kreur, on August 18th. A specially delivered package to complete Fresnow’s master plan.” Underwood brought out a small sheet of paper from his pocket. He held it up for everyone to see. “I made one final visit last night to a certain Mr. Dent. He is an old acquaintance of Doctor Fresnow, and also happens to be a coroner in a local morgue. The package delivered to office 211 was sent from him. What did it contain you may ask? I originally thought it was another addition to the formula, but no. Within the crate was the exact thing that forced us all to believe that a murder had occurred -- the organs found on the floor of the office.” “What?!” Steven Day burst out. “But that means…” “Yes Mr. Day. That’s exactly what 'that' means. There was no murder, no killer, no death. Fresnow’s second charade was to fake an accident. He knew his enemies were aware of the formula’s alternate effects. It would be easy, then, to convince them that he had made a mistake; his body incinerated by the potentially fatal mixture.” Silence pervaded the room and everyone began to realize the implications of what the detective was saying. After a moment, Asher picked up the account. “The rest of it was fairly simple really. Exactly a week after the package arrived Fresnow put his plan into action. He anticipated an inevitable strike from his opponents, and in order for his plan to succeed, the doctor required them to commit this strike exactly when he wanted them to. He attempted to use the old bait tactic. For this work, he needed to be able to enter the warehouse completely alone.” The detective turned towards Clay Redford. “Last Wednesday, the 25th, our dear doctor stole the key to the front door of the warehouse. He had no doubt been carefully observing you, Mr. Redford, and discovered that you kept the object hidden in the book ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’. It was no great problem then, to sneak into your office while you were momentarily away and procure this key. He now had the means to enter and exit the warehouse as he pleased. And so we come to Thursday morning…” Asher hesitated, savoring the rapt attention he was receiving from his audience. “Very early, it’s my guess around four or five AM, the doctor departed from his room at Oufa’s and drove down to the warehouse. It was imperative that everything be done quickly, else the whole operation might backfire; he could be ambushed before adequately setting the scene for the ‘accident’. Fresnow hid his car nearby and entered the warehouse via the stolen key, making it perfectly clear to anyone watching that he was alone… and vulnerable. His pursuers followed him here that morning, and fell right into the ingenious trap the doctor had set.” Underwood pivoted in the direction of Shrewter. “You told me that when you arrived at the warehouse Thursday morning at eight o’ clock, the front doors were unlocked. Fresnow intentionally left them like this to provide a way for his rivals to enter the building. The doctor now raced into his office and set the last few touches in place. He unpacked the organs from the crate, where they had been carefully preserved so as to convince the police he had died at about 7:00. He then splattered some of his own blood on the ground and mixed the liquid with the organs. He already had organized the chemicals on his desk within the vials we found, so now all that was left was for him to leave his own door ajar and to break the overhead light. Less light in the room meant less chance for others to guess that it was all a fake. Finally, Fresnow exited the office through the back window and made his getaway.” For the first time that day Greg Rangler spoke up. “And I found the remains at 9:00… which gave these people ample time to discover the scene.” “Mr. Shrewter arrived even earlier, at 8:00,” Underwood corrected. “But he went directly into his own office, oblivious to what had happened in 211. So these people entered the building sometime between about 5:00 and 8:00. They probably remained hidden in close proximity to the warehouse for an extended period of time, possibly even an hour or more so as to confirm there were no nearby witnesses. Then, wearing gloves, one or more of Fresnow’s rivals assaulted office 211, but only to find a gruesome mess on the floor. What more could they think than that the experiment had taken a fatal turn? They examined the vials and were evidently convinced of the doctor’s demise. Seeing no additional information in regards to the formula, they quickly left to avoid suspicion. The only shred of evidence left behind was a small water droplet from the gloved hand of one of the intruders. As you all remember, at that time on Thursday it was raining quite heavily.” The room was silent once more. “There’s only a few more facts to explain,” Asher cleared his throat. “Sometime after his departure, Fresnow snuck back into the building and slid the key underneath the door, back into Mr. Redford’s office. Yesterday evening Fresnow’s rivals employed Mr. Liddy to break into office 211 and scour the room for any other information about the formula. These people didn’t have enough time to adequately search the premises the day before.” Jake Oufa made a grating sound with his chair, then straightened up. “There’s only one more question Mr. Underwood. If he is alive, where is Fresnow now?” The detective smiled. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask!” He looked up at the ceiling, then back at everyone gathered in front of him. “This is the most ingenious part of it all. Doctor Fresnow… he was brilliant. Just in case something went wrong, he left behind a clue; a way for the police to learn the truth straight from the doctor himself. Something that his enemies would not think of, and something the average person would completely overlook.” The detective’s eyes were sparkling now. “This was why he waited for a dark, stormy day, and the second reason why he broke the overhead light in office 211.” The police chief coughed. “But we found no note, nor anything else Fresnow could have contacted us with.” “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Darrin. You overlooked the object just like everyone else. Mr. Liddy blew right past it when he broke in last night. Fresnow’s enemies ignored it because they couldn’t possibly guess that such a profound clue lay concealed within such an ordinary instrument.” “The papers?” Darrin questioned. “But we searched through them and found nothing.” “No no. What else did Fresnow’s office contain? In fact, it’s still on the desk as we speak.” Suddenly the police chief’s body went rigid. Asher had already started for office 211’s door, and Darrin was right behind him. “The calculator!” The two men reemerged from the room moments later, bearing the instrument. The audience was all standing now, everyone talking at once, crowding around the detective. “Indeed! The calculator,” Asher shouted in triumph. “A solar powered calculator. If we shine a bright light onto the panel, it’s my guess we shall see an otherwise invisible message appear.” Darrin fumbled in his pocket and excitedly produced a heavy duty flashlight. Asher held the object steady as the police chief pointed the beam on the appropriate panel. Everyone held their breath. Slowly, as if my magic, a set of numbers began to appear. No one spoke until Darrin nearly exploded. “A phone number!” Asher grinned victoriously. “The phone number of Doctor Fresnow.” It was the police chief’s turn to smile as he drew out his own cell phone. “Shall we give him a call?” Darrin carefully typed in the nine faded numbers shown on the calculator that Underwood still clutched. The detective and chief both lowered their faces to the phone and breathlessly waited as it rang once, twice. Suddenly a sharp ding sounded, and Darrin’s heart missed a beat. Underwood slowly let out his breath as a voice sounded on the other side. “This is Doctor Fresnow. Who’s calling?” This concludes the Case of the Double Identity. We hope you have enjoyed this four part mystery story. PyTHOR

Article approved! A great, descriptive short story based on the common struggles of a writer. Very relatable, unique, and creative piece. Lose strikes again! Edits

Locked upon user's request

Noticed a ton of improvements this time around. Keep it up Sabry.

What’s up fellow tankers and welcome back to a brand new, full length TWNC broadcast. We at the studio are happy to announce the return of the show, featuring the weekly weather forecast, hot news, and very relatable topics. The lineup for today’s special production will include a sneak peek into the world of TO personalities, some advice regarding which stocks you should invest into in a post-FOVID-19 Tanki Online, as well as an extremely touching song parody entitled “The Sounds of Tanki”. We will also be acknowledging the best AWS articles of the past few months and awarding these amazing authors with some worthy prizes. Finally, if you’re feeling lucky, at the end of today’s broadcast you’ll find all the information regarding the very first Tanki Online powerball. Hope everyone enjoys! This is the Tanki Weather & News Channel at 6:00. If you would like to quickly browse through any of the sections, the links are provided below. Weather News Entertainment Stock Report Article Awards Powerball Contest Outro/Sponsors ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ~TWNC~

In my opinion it's Eminem's best song hands down.

Article Approved! Edits- Overall I loved the article! Hats off to Sabry for putting in the work and continuing this fantastic helper interview series.

Zone. No doubt one of the most popular duelist maps in the history of Tanki Online, and most certainly in recent times. Known for its four infamous towers, a jumbled pile of crates, a hefty pipeline, and a quite annoying tank corpse, the map allows for a wide variety of spectacular shots and exciting gameplay elements. This hallowed ground has fostered trickshotters like Credit and been the home for many other solo XpBp legends. For some, Zone is a haven of safety, a map where they can perform at their absolute best. Every shot mastered and every maneuver memorized, nothing the enemy does will surprise them. For many others however, the word Zone strikes fear and dread into their hearts. Intimidation chokes out curiosity, and most return to training on Garder or Sandbox, too afraid to actually learn the tactics needed to excel on Zone. Today I’ll be going over a variety of different shots and strategies you can employ to finally conquer the learning curve. Interested? Let’s dive in… Before we get into the logistics, I first want to review the three general principles for any XpBp (Railgun-Wasp, Railgun-Hornet) match, which especially applies for solo gameplay. They can be easily remembered using the acronym PPA. Let’s break them down and discuss each in a bit more depth. - P A T I E N C E I know the first word that comes to mind when you hear “patience” — camping. I know I’m going to get a lot of heat from this, but it is one hundred percent true. There is a time and a place to camp. Let me clarify, camping every time there is a stand-off in Zone 1v1 is trash. Never do that. However, camping in certain key situations is a different story. Whenever you are playing solo XpBp and encounter a stand-off, a point in the gameplay where both you and your opponent's shots are reloaded and there are one or more obstacles in between, you should always carefully analyze the situation. Will your next move directly affect the outcome of the match? Is there another place of cover if you end up missing your shot? Are you in a safer position than your opponent? Take into account the score as well. If you are up by three flags or more, please never camp. I see guys do this all the time, and it’s just not good sportsmanship. Probably the worst thing you could do in a solo XpBp game is to rush maneuvers/shots. Calm down, take stock of your surroundings, and try to keep a clear head. Getting frustrated will not help your cause at all, and only focusing on your mistakes will hinder your gameplay. Stay patient, stay calm, and you’ll see your skills dramatically improve. - P R E C I S I O N Probably the most important and the most obvious of the three, precision is the gel holding your Railgun skills together. Without good aim, all your other attributes will go to waste. What good is an excellent maneuver, a carefully planned shot, and a correct enemy prediction if you can’t even hit your opponent? If you're looking to up your precision game, get more experience. Just like in anything, the more you play 1v1’s, the better you get. Knowledge is the road to success, and if you invest enough time into perfecting your aim, you’ll see improvement. A general rule governing the concept of precise Railgun shots is this: focus on your enemy, not the obstacles. This one fact has really helped my personal gameplay. Instead of trying to pinpoint your aim down to a tiny little spot between two poles, focus on the enemy tank that’s behind the obstacle. You’ll freak yourself out if you dwell on how accurate your shot has to be in order to hit the enemy. Trying to edge your shot past a crate or a pipe is many times ineffective. Stabilize your tank, keep the enemy in view, and aim for his tank, not to the left or right of a prop. If you still find this difficult, you can take this concept another step farther. Go in an empty Zone battle and situate yourself near a shot that you struggle with. Now instead of trying to get your shot through the obstacle, aim for the wall or other area behind the prop within the line of fire. - A N T I C I P A T I O N Anticipation is the art of predicting your opponents’ movements. Put yourself into his shoes. Think like him, strategize like him, dodge like him. Become your enemy. If you were in his position, what would you do? After playing against someone for a few minutes, you should have a general idea of their skill level, strong suits and weaknesses. If you notice they struggle to pull off a certain shot, try to center the action around that area of the map. Maybe your opponent continuously makes poor decisions when around the pipeline. Maybe they keep getting caught around the crate pile. Acknowledge these weaknesses and use them to your advantage. By the time 1-2 flags are captured you should be able to determine whether your enemy is sufficiently experienced in whatever map you’re playing on. Certain tactics might need to be altered. You might need to employ some reverse psychology in order to catch him off guard. A great example of this occurs around the pesky Firebird-Titan corpse in Zone. When attacking an enemy behind the corpse, most tactical duelists do a feint move towards their opponent, then go the opposite way. Many times this maneuver catches tankers off guard, and they are instantly dead meat. Employing this trick against a seasoned duelist however, could backfire, and you might be the metaphorical “meat sizzling on a stick”. Instead, try feigning away from your enemy, then come back towards him to deal the critical blow. This is a great way to keep the veterans you will inevitably play second guessing themselves. The minute your opponent feels unsure, you have him right where you want him. DIFFERENT TYPES OF SHOTS With those general principles out of the way, let’s take a look at some of the classic shots which Zone in particular has to offer. THE DOUBLE TOWER SHOT This is probably the most common semi-difficult shot on the map. A large variety of different maneuvers and dodge attempts can be employed by your opponent in order to avoid this shot, so staying flexible with him as he moves is crucial. As stressed earlier, don’t stay too focused on a particular target area, rather remain “zoned in” on your enemy. No pun intended. THE CRATE SHOT (ANGLE #1) Next up we have the iconic crate shot. This works like a charm if your accuracy is on point and your enemy strays unawares into this line of fire. Hitting this shot can prove a real game changer because due to the position you’re in, it’s going to be nearly impossible for your opponent to retaliate with a successful discharge of his own. THE CRATE SHOT (ANGLE #2) This is a much rarer shot involving the same crate, but shooting through a different opening. When playing on the blue team, I’d recommend always beginning the game on this side of your base. Nine times out of ten, your opponent will gravitate towards the tower directly across the map and then attempt to quickly situate themselves behind the corpse. This rush will, of course, bring them through the above line of fire, allowing you to get off a successful hit only a few seconds into the game. Another helpful feature of this particular shot is that the two tower legs you’ll be aiming through basically funnels the beam through the appropriate opening in the crate. Because of this, it is a very high percentage endeavor. The only downside is if you unfortunately miss, whether that be from faulty precision or an enemy juke, you’re not going to have enough time to take cover behind the pipeline. Your only other option then is to remain in your current position and strive to dodge the “double tower shot” that will most likely come from your opponent. This leaves you vulnerable and completely dependent on your own juke moves, which we will discuss later on in this guide. Moral of this shot you may ask? DON’T MISS! TOWER SHOTS ON AN ANGLE (ANGLE #1) To be a true master of Zone, you’ve got to hit these shots on a consistent basis. While only slightly harder than the double tower shot, this maneuver is semi-risky because the enemy has a full wall to hide behind. Many times however, they’ll incorrectly judge how far back they are, thus still providing you with a viable target. In this photo I am driving forward into the enemy base. If my opponent, instead of peeking out between the tower poles, had planted himself on the other side of said wall, I could just simply wait another second before charging up my Railgun. This would enable me to effectively cover that area behind the wall. This can be a great way to break a stalemate and initiate a confrontation, while still getting off the first shot. Now I want you to imagine me making that same shot but driving the other way, away from the enemy base. This adds another level of potency because I have cover with which to hide behind, namely the pipeline. My opponent can not retaliate. This comes in handy when you’re pulling the flag and want to get off a shot before a stalemate ensues. TOWER SHOTS ON AN ANGLE (ANGLE #2) This is another tower shot but from a different angle. The same concepts apply. However, this side has the added difficulty of the billboard pole. If you try to hit your enemy on the opposite side of the wall from what is pictured above, that pole could pose a problem. It adds another measure of accuracy that few are comfortable with attempting on a regular basis. THE CROSSTOWN SHOT This is probably the second hardest shot on today’s list. The pinpoint precision needed here is extremely difficult to achieve, but if effectively pulled off, can take your opponent completely by surprise. I for one, am part of the majority group who drive right past this tiny firing lane without thinking twice. I don’t care if my enemy is charging up his turret and preparing to shoot. Odds are, he won’t succeed. This is another maneuver that seldom occurs save right at the beginning of the game. It’s basically a less-risky variant of the angle #2 crate shot. It’s much harder to pull off, but this way you have enough time to get behind that pipeline before your enemy is able to deal you damage. This shot is even deadlier when attempted from the red side (where my opponent is situated on the above picture) because the wall hides your movements right up until you’re in the firing lane. It is easier for the blue side to successfully pull off the angle #2 crate shot for the same reason. THE PARALLEL PIPE SHOT When on the blue team, you’ll find yourself in the above position mainly when your opponent is pulling the flag. Just a few seconds before this, you spawned and found yourself in a grave situation. You don’t have enough time to maneuver around the pipeline and have a clear shot into the enemy base. Hence this much better alternative. There is next to no risk involved because your flag would have been captured anyway. If you miss, of course your opponent will cap, but he’ll now be in a sticky situation hiding behind the bridge. You have a much safer position with the pipeline as your cover. A smart push and a well timed shot will eliminate your foe, enabling you to counter with a flag capture of your own. From the red side, this shot can be a great pull-back move. Imagine yourself driving down your base, heading away from the red flag. Making sure you're first fully concealed behind the wall, sharply pull back between the tower poles and get this shot off. Your enemy will be expecting you to continue moving forward and possibly attempt a shot from within the gateway. Little does he know that indeed you’ll be aiming for him, but from a completely different location. TOWER TO PIPE SHOT (AND VICE VERSA) Arguably the most difficult shot on this list, the tower to pipe shot is used to deal a decisive blow during a stalemate. The firing lane here is so small that it’s roughly the width of a Railgun discharge. Another alternative to breaking this stalemate is a move I frequently use. Wait until your opponent tries this shot from his end, then charge straight at the corner of the pipe nearest to you, keeping your eyes transfixed on the enemy. Basing the direction on your opponents initial movement, speed around a side of the pipe and unleash your laser. If you’re situated behind the pipe in this scenario, be the one to initiate a move. Don’t let your enemy do what I just outlined. Wait until he in turn tries the tower to pipe shot, then drive straight ahead towards the direct middle of the wall. At the last minute, again basing your direction on the movement of your opponent, maneuver either through the gateway or around the tower. You are not going to have much time to spare, so begin charging up your shot as quickly as possible. THE BRIDGE SHOT Rarely seen in everyday gameplay, the bridge shot is a highly risky maneuver. It’s best employed during a stand-off where you and your opponent are camping in your respective base areas. The hardest aspect of this shot is covering the distance from the map floor up to the second bridge slat without being noticed by your enemy. If you are able, use the protection of that central tower structure to evade the counterattack that is sure to come. DODGING SHOTS AND TANK PLACEMENT While hitting your shots is vital for solo XpBp success, dodging charges from your opponent is equally important. A lot of people disregard tank placement and juke moves, only training to improve their aim and hit trick shots. This is a terrible and inefficient way to practice. If you wanna take dubs in Zone, a general awareness of your current position is needed. How vulnerable you are at certain points on the map is a key question you need to constantly be asking yourself. Memorize the various firing lanes and seek to minimize your tank’s area within those lanes. Always be thinking one step ahead of your opponent and when dodging— never, never, never do the same thing more than twice. Below are a few common scenarios in Zone where correct tank placement can make you virtually impossible to hit. BEHIND THE CENTRAL TOWER A great way to bait your opponent into taking this shot is to first situate yourself behind the tank corpse. Make your initial move toward the appropriate base, then, as soon as you see your enemy begin to charge up his Rail, pull back and quickly drift to the side until you are parallel with the structure. This is easier to perform with Hornet, but even a Wasp can effectively complete the maneuver in enough time to avoid the deadly laser. PARALLEL BEHIND TOWER LEG As you can tell, I’m currently in a very narrow area between two firing lanes. This safe zone extends behind me for roughly three more tank-lengths, giving great protection for someone who wants to successfully cover the ground between the tower and flag. It is bordered on one side by a shot through the tower legs, evidenced by the above picture. A discharge through the gateway borders the safe zone on the other side. If properly utilized, this area has the potential to significantly alter the course of gameplay. CLIFF-HUGGER If you ever find yourself in the above situation, make sure the back of your tank is pushed up against the cliff. When in this position, it’s impossible for your opponent to shoot you through the opening between the bridge and the half-wall. MANEUVERS AROUND PROPS & BREAKING STALEMATES One tank chasing the other around Zone’s pipeline and crate pile is quite the common sight. While this might be extremely prevalent in solo xpbp battles, it is to be avoided as much as possible. Why chance a risky tag game with your enemy when a simple maneuver can eliminate him beforehand? Efficiency is what you’re looking for and not a chase scene. When in a standoff around a certain prop, always have your turret facing into the structure so as to charge up your Railgun without your enemy’s knowledge. If he doesn’t know you're ready to shoot, he’s a sitting duck. This strategy can easily be applied to standoffs around the pipeline. Another effective maneuver for a pipe stalemate is the old snake eyes shot. Begin charging your Railgun in one direction around the prop, then at the last second pull across and shoot in the opposite direction. This move is simple, yet will still frequently fool beginner to intermediate duelists. Crate standoffs can be a bit trickier. There are three words of advice i'll give regarding this scenario. 1) Utilize openings in the crate. 2) Don’t rush your shot. 3) Avoid the space between the tower and crate and seek to force your opponent into this area. In all my Zone solo battles I think I’ve seen two tankers smoothly traverse the narrow width between these two obstacles. Unless you have the diameter judged perfectly, you’ll get caught; especially since your focus will be upon your enemy and not on the maneuver. WASP OR HORNET? This is a question that can only be answered based off your preferred playing style. Hornet has a stabler base, thus making precise and accurate shots easier. Its quick acceleration also allows for an effective drift technique when dodging enemy shots. Wasp on the other hand is much lighter and can be flipped more easily when compared to Hornet. However, Wasp's speed gives its user the ability to make quick maneuvers look effortless while its higher center of gravity can make certain shots much less difficult. It all comes down to what hull characteristics you're the most comfortable with. The choice is up to you. There it is. A complete guide on Zone solo XpBp and the strategies, maneuvers, and shots that are critical for mastering the map. Before I sign off, I want to leave my reader with this last piece of advice. Don’t get discouraged if you fail at first. Nothing in life comes easy, but if you work hard at something and persevere through the difficulty, you will see improvement. Oh, and please, conquer your hylophobia. The mind is a powerful force. It can enslave us or empower us. It can plunge us into the depths of misery or take us to the heights of ecstasy. Learn to use the power wisely. - David Cuschieri

Are you telling me our Supreme Leader doesn't know?

Congrats to the winners for... "achieving humor"

Congrats to @Zackery459 for the huge promotion to admin!

thats open to interpretation..

Been quite the road with you at the helm Cedric. Thanks for all you've done for the community

Heaven help us

Here's a better one.. Make it to WO1 without dying. It's been done before, but I think only once.

All heil the king of lag @Regency for becoming a full fledged FR reporter.

No Zone?

I'm not sure quite what your asking... If you are interested in answering the VLOG's question of the week, youll find the google form in the video description.

Recommendation for all the mystery lovers out there - "The Westing Game"

Helpers were instructed to leave if they were accidentally the starting Juggernaut in TJG mode.

Dang I completely forgot about this cooperative saga... Nice job Hippin