Story [Issue 37] Between Tabs - Part V

[Shedinja 1,488]

Part V

 

* * *

Read Part I Here

Read Part II Here

Read Part III Here

Read Part IV Here

 

 

A volley of glowing, harlequin orbs whizzed past my vision as my Hornet drifted a lazy circle about their origin -- an aggressive M2 Viking/Twins/Spark with a nasty habit of squishing their '3' key whenever the pressure rose beyond their control. That same habit was put into unbarred practice as I swooped just beyond the angle of the barrels. Undeterred, Viking/Twins twisted its entire hull around to launch another attack at my retreating figure. 

 

Little does he know that retreat is not my intent, I thought as a wide, hubris-doused smirk shadowed my face. A gentle tick-tick-tick to my left arrow sent me on my way whirling around a nearby shack. One off-centered Speed Boost lay hidden behind the small shack, but I didn't need it. Not yet, anyways. As my Railgun's charge meter rose back to full strength, I prepared myself for the inevitable onslaught of bullets that was sure to come around the corner and decimate me at any moment, but there was no Viking. He's waiting for me to come around the other side, I realized. Too bad that's just the thing you want to avoid doing when facing a Railgun user. A crystalline shade of yellow had finally completed dominating the thin rod hovering above my tank. It's showtime, some arrogant yet sensitive part of my brain crooned as I put the pedal to the metal and swerved my tank back the direction it had come, ready to blast at the mid-weight hull, catch it unawares, and continue my mission to seize the red flag.

 

At least, that's what I was expecting until Viking/Twins rolled up from the blind corner before me and let loose a barrage of neon missiles, cutting the path before me before I could decelerate.

 

In a startled panic, I slapped the spacebar and furiously jimmied the arrow keys in a vain attempt to angle myself in this ballistic rain, but it was to no avail. The shot flew quite a few degrees to the left and harmlessly discharged into the ground. I uttered a silent curse as Viking/Twins threw my mangled corpse aside with what I felt was an unnecessary chain of bullets and continued plodding down the steep ramp into the large courtyard below. Of course, not before snatching that Speed Boost I had abandoned previously. It seemed a harmless act, but a malicious part of me almost translated it into a gloat of sorts.

 

Life ain't no fun in Serpuhov, I thought cynically.

 

I heard TankiMedic chirp through the headset augmentation of my ASUS. "That Twins guy got you again, didn't he?"

 

"Crafty sonuvagun, that guy. I've gotta quit mentally associating druggers with a low brain cell count."

 

"Don't worry about it, man. It's a Twins, those are meant to be taken out from a distance anyways." The connection went fuzzy for a moment as TankiMedic readjusted the placement of his microphone. "What were you doing anyways, trying to play tag with 'im?"

 

I knew that his question was of sincere origin, but my eyes narrowed nonetheless. "I missed, okay?" I growled. "I'm not cookies, I can't shoot through the eye of a needle twenty-four seven!"

 

TankiMedic's attitude was still light and jubilant, but I sensed a small recoil in the tone of his voice. "Chill, man, just curious, is all."

 

Sighing, I called, "Where's Pokes? He should have followed up my attack by now." Almost on cue, the screen above me informed me that Pokemontrainer2 has indeed taken the flag. "What's your ten-four? See if you can gives Pokes some backup."

 

"Got it," Medic replied. As my Hornet/Railgun/Rustle finally emerged from the ghostly veil of respawn, I trekked alongside the row of buildings obscuring the view of the main field, scanning for any surprise visitors with the intent of burglary. Having sensed that the area was clear, I raced for the large cluster of cliffs on the western side of the map, praying that no Shaft laser-scopes would twitch with my presence. Luckily enough, the red beams kept their focus on the bridge near the main Valley. One of the three vanished as it struck home with an unfortunate M2 Hunter/Thunder, killing it instantly, despite having just grabbed a Double Armor box on its journey to the valley. They must be using Double Powers again, I thought miserably. Do they EVER run out?

 

Riding the cliffs eventually netted me a Double Armor and a kill from an unsuspecting M1 Wasp. Normally, I'd tell him to get with the program and equip M2 Hornet, but hey, free kills for me. I rounded the final protrusile boulder and carted myself into the red team's main court just as another Railgun bolt clicked into place, ready to plunge into any tanker with the poor luck of having run into me. Strangely, nobody was lying in wait this time. At least, none that you can see. Stay on your toes, Jonny ol' boy; you might have to wait a while for Pokes to cart that flag back home.

 

Unfortunately, I was right about the delay; moments after steering behind the easternmost brick building to conceal myself from any prying eyes, I could spot that one of the Vikings plaguing our base had gotten ahold of our flag, and was in the middle of a clumsy breakout attempt. I crawled out from my interim hiding spot and gave the escapee a lavender-trailed slug, hoping it would finish him. Through it wasn't a killing blow, my bolt still slammed into the rear left section of his treads, throwing up dust and the opposite side of his tank and sending his erratically-aimed Thunder shell into a grey sheet of clouds. I didn't see the rest of it play out as I hauled tail back to the relative comfort of the makeshift alleyway, but seeing the words [TankiMedic has returned our flag] and hearing the subsequent cheer crackle through the mic told me everything I needed to know.

 

Readjusting the position of my laptop, I called out to TankiMedic. "Medic, I need you to cover me as I go for the flag, I think that Viking has revenge on his mind. I'm at the... northeastern end of the map, ready to grab it when it returns."

 

"Got it, just lemme get th--" The amplified boom of a Shaft finding its mark swamped the intercom. "On second thought, I might be a tad late, so keep your eyes open."

 

A familiar twinge of electricity yanked metal strings throughout my body as it always did when a good battle was at the mercy of a few moves. Every shot's gotta count from here on out, I concluded. And it's gotta be done quick, too, so that you can get to the safety net of Medic and Pokes. I studied the lopsided 3-2 score in favor of the red team with disdain.  'Cuz I sure as flab know I can't rely on the rest of these apes. With this grim mindset squared in, I prepared to charge out from the mediocre bastion of the alleyway, ready to make a wild dash for the flag. The edge of my mouth twitched as a seemingly random movie quote caught up to me: "Biggs, Wedge, let's close it up; we're going in, we're going in full throttle..." 

 

But Biggs and Wedge were a lot father away than I wanted them to be right now.

 

[Pokemontrainer2 has captured enemy flag]

 

It's time. Better get moving, buddy boy.

 

With the red flag having reappeared on its strange, metallic pedestal, I rocketed out from my lenient cover and attached the flag to my picturesque, autumnal-depictive hull. Nobody was in sight. I might actually get away unscathed this time, I thought hopefully. Maybe everyone else is distracted with our fla--

 

This hopeful mindset was rudely shattered as the weird, elliptical warp of a Shaft slug tore through the rear half of my Hornet, throwing my momentum far to the right and morphing most of the color in my health bar to a much darker shade of blue. Crud, someone saw me, after all.

 

Not quite losing my cool,

 

(at least, not yet)

 

I shifted gears to throw my battered M2 Hornet into reverse, in favor of the Shaft's momentum, spurning me further backwards to the point where I was nearing the Double Armor dispensing station. Naturally, it was empty. My Hornet eventually managed to find a treadhold on the dusty concrete and was attempting to drag itself to the immediate shelter of a large brick building.

 

All the while, the business end of my tank was scanning the area directly behind me, in order to locate my assailant. I saw no one, but naïveté wasn't a trait that was common in my upbringing. He's hiding amongst the buildings. My judgement told me that the likely candidate was the central structure, the same building I had previously used in an attempt to spook the Viking/Twins. And he's coming out again, soon.

 

Somehow, I made it past the edge of the building and into relative safety, but I could hear the sound of a medium hull giving chase not far behind my old position. I'm likely not going to be able to take him in one shot, I realized. Maybe if I hit him now, take a swan dive off the cliff and into the double Power drop zone below, I might be able to buy myself just enough time to send the other shot across the bow and make it to the Health box on the other end of the valley. Peeking over the edge of the precipice of which my tank slightly dangled over told me that there was no superhero Double Power waiting for to save the day. But that was alright. I might make it out of this in one piece, if I pull this off just right. A guitar-string twang quivered through me as an unsightly Railgun-bolt blew specks of brick out of the wall not four meters from where I stood. Even if I don't make it, I can waste this guy's time by forcing it to jump off a cliff just to return a flag. The unmistakable sound of a Dictator rumbled steadily closer to my hiding spot. Here we go.

 

As soon as the tip of the lumbering machine exposed itself over the lip of the courthouse, I simultaneously hit the spacebar and begun driving backwards over the edge.

 

You see, I was driving along the 'back' end of the building, the end that was visible from the courtyard, the western cliffs, and even a good portion of the blue team's base. The Dictator was crawling just off of the left edge of this structure, tracing my path in its mission to eliminate any offensive threats. As I angled my shot to line up with just the front edge of the Dictator's  gleaming hull, I yanked my Hornet around to situate it for driving perpendicularly to the building and off the cliff. As we all know, impact force is multiplied by a hefty measure when there is no stable surface beneath its source to stabilize it. For the split second I made my decision, I knew I made made a poor choice to fire as I jumped off the cliff.

 

I could only scold myself and watch helplessly as my Hornet revolved in midair and crashed painfully on its side against the natural rock shelf in the narrow ravine below.

 

Immediate damage assessment routines guided themselves rapidly through my mind. Somehow, I wasn't treads-up, but I wasn't far better off. My starboard plating leaned heavily upon the crumpled wall, forming a wide, vestigial strut cushioning the end of the artificial valley. This looks like it's going to be a two shot re-righting, I thought in dismay as I barked for help over the intercom. I chanced a glance skyward at the titanic shadow forming overhead. I don't even think I have time for a single-shot.

 

The M2 Dictator/Shaft/Dragon, I could identify its features clearly now, arose from its shock-induced stupor and began roving towards the edge of the cliff face, a trademark Double Power icon following its every move. Near the edge, he hesitated briefly. He's nervous about those shelves catching the front end of his tank and bowling him over, I realized. He's going to have to move a lot slower to get down safely. 

 

However, this particular species of DicoShaft was not easily daunted; suddenly, there it was, plunging down the side of the cliff in a slow, controlled manner. Just as I had hoped, his front end got caught on the very edge of the shelf, but instead of cartwheeling to his inevitable self-destruction, he suddenly just froze in mid-descent, propped up against the main cliff and the front of the shelf. His back end's too heavy to follow through with the motion. I might be able to fix this mess after all!

 

At least, that's what I was thinking before the behemoth started loosing arcade-mode shots into the ground next to me, inching its pointed prow further towards the edge of the shelf.

 

Oh, not good. Waaaay not good.

 

Finally, another round had finished cycling through my turret, and I utilized the recoil to adjust myself so that instead of leaning on the wall, I was balancing on the side of my hull at a 90°angle and trying hard not to think about how close those arcade-blasts were getting to the muzzle of my Railgun.

 

Of course, just as I was ready for my second shot, DicoShaft had slid over the edge and was preparing to jump right over me. Suddenly, a few things clicked together in my head, and my eyes widened. Immediately, I began rotating my turret to face his oncoming figure, which was now just beginning to trudge over the side of my Hornet, barely scraping it but coming close to letting gravity take control and letting the top portion of my tank become acquainted with the ground. Halfway through my rotation, I jabbed my spacebar and watched the small purple halo weave a small arc through the air. 

 

My weapon discharged just as the last remaining glow disappeared within the polygon of my enemy.

 

The remaining force that didn't toss the erupting DicoShaft skyward was spent on throwing the rest of my tank at the ground, belly-up. I lay helpless for several seconds, only able to hold fast and keep the flag stable until someone arrived. For a moment, I was sure that DicoShaft would return, angry for having been bested in such an unorthodox manner, but then one familiar M2 Hornet/Railgun/Sandstone landed awkwardly but with a practiced sureness onto my overturned tank.

 

TankiMedic.

 

Wedge finally made it.

 

I smiled and grunted an honest 'thanks, bro' into the mic as I pressed 'F' and 'Delete' simultaneously.

 

 

 

 

 

[shedinja: Alright, guys, get on your XP equipment and we'll go over this one more time]

 

Several hours after that match, more clan members began trickling into the servers, so TankiMedic and I agreed on setting up a last minute get-together to run through the remaining strategies. I found it unusually tedious getting everyone to respond to their invites today, especially the newer member, hydregion; I sifted through my friends list only to find him squatting in RU8, away from the keyboard for some reason or another.

 

After several minutes of sent messages escalated the chat box, I finally received an indication that hydregion was indeed alive on the other end. 

 

[hydregion: ok ok im here]

 

[shedinja: Look alive, bud; another clan practice.]

 

[hydregion: got it. lemme change and ill be right with you]

 

There's always that moment of suspense when first entering a freshly-born battle, I pondered. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but you just can't quite pick out where it's gonna fall from. That same wavelength radiated seemingly through the screen and pierced my body, agitating that swelling orb in my gut.

 

Once the small cluster of clan members were at full attention, I let my fingers dance their bored, well practiced routes along the keyboard. After a long while, I finally clacked out a message:

 

[shedinja: Alright, gentlemen. As you all know, tomorrow afternoon is the clan war. I know some of you may not be taking part, but I want y'all to learn something from these practices I've been holding you to. Whether it be balance, shot integrity, cooperation, accuracy... Heh, I'll even take just learning how to avoid running into walls. I want everyone here to leave this game today having learned or at least practiced something. Because maybe next time, it won't be just a 4 vs 4 Sandbox. It could be a 8 vs 8 Magistral or a Kungur, a Bobruisk, Ping-Pong -- who knows! Everyone's att]

 

Blast! I need another box. Sighing in already pent-up frustration, I delivered the oddly chopped message and continued on a new box.

 

[shedinja: ...attention is required here so that when we fight these other guys, we can take them, too. We can ALL take them. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link." I can't remember who said that, but they sure as stuffing had the right idea. So, let's train today like we're actually fighting the war, so that we can walk away ready. If I could italicize the word 'ready', I would.]

 

[shedinja: Now, let's get on our teams and practice patterns 1 and 4. I feel like the cutoff that 4 leaves is just a bit too sloppy, but I wanna try denny's Wasp just to see if it can be done. Let's GO!]

 

The resounding clockwork of my trusted brethren driving into positions may have visually psyched up the rest of the clan, but neither that nor the proud monologue still fading away could crumble the glowing nucleus of angst residing in my belly as I sounded off an empty 'ro' and tapped back into the Skype channel.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, my appetite wasn't roaring at me with its usual vigor. I poked distantly at my lasagna and wound up having to later wrap most of my meal in tinfoil.

 

After fidgeting through my Algebra II assignment for the day, I tried to steady my nerves by re-reading a few of Erin Hunter's Warriors series I once held such a fondness for. Your practices are too simple, a voice barked at me as Graystripe led Fireheart through the nearby forest. You're throwing too many simple strategies at once towards your team; nobody with normal capacity can remember that much, even those that have claimed your highest appraisal. I shook my head once as if to shake off the doubtful mindset, but it held as firm as if it was glued to my head like some sort of bizarre headband. It won't stop, I groaned in my head, as if to outspeak the nagging voice. It won't just leave me be and let me think rationally...

 

The first match is usually the deal-breaker, the voice stated with an imperative tone, obviously indifferent to my speechless pleas. It'd be a shame if the first clan war was a loss. How would that affect the clan's reputation? Even more, how would it affect your members? Their morale? Their opinion of the clan? If they're looking at the clan, they might as well associate it with the one that's leading it. All of that failure, buddy boy -- that's gonna be on YOU. Because you didn't do enough strategy-wise, you didn't push hard enough on cookiemonster or ieatcookies to make them get their M2s sooner, you can't even build a strategy that doesn't involve more than three people because you can't see enough pieces to move around with anything less, you can't even back up your teammates efficiently with the skill-set you have because you're too predictable and miss frequently and you can't hold your own in a 1 vs 1 with Shotgun47 and you can't and you can't -- 

 

Defeated, growing in frustration, I shoved the book angrily out of my lap, causing it to thud to the floor. I then curled up in its place, feeling heavier than the bed itself, preparing to take a shot at getting some rest before school tomorrow.

 

Three hours later, I still laid there, eyes open, staring unfocused at the ceiling and wishing both the spiky ball gurgling around my insides and the waves of you can'ts and you didn'ts would go away. Of course, wishing hasn't gotten anyone anywhere before. That's what Mom always says...

 

The last set of numbers I remember imprinted on the lofted face of my digital clock read 12:50.

 

 

 

 

 

All I remember about school the following day lists as follows:

 

Mr. Peterson served us a nice, heaping pile of WWI study guides, just like any good ol' U.S History Honors teach should. Without really reading much of it, I crisply folded the papers and put them in my left pants pocket, since my main binder's folder section was torn wide open from prior overloads, and there was no constellation of holes lining the edge of the paper for me to play the guessing game in which holes actually complimented the rings.

 

Chance, one of my other gaming pals (of whom generally stuck to the RPG and FPS shades of the spectrum), had recently gotten a job at Burger King. I could have sworn he had an air of enthusiasm as he explained the purpose of the tattered, graphite duffel to me. With a practiced sneer I enlightened him on how jazzed he sounded about the whole situation, considering he was working fifteen cents below minimum wage, and he just keeled over and started laughing a deep belly laugh, the kind that makes you feel like you'd exhaled a considerable volume of gaseous lead afterwards. Just... lighter. I tried laughing as well, but all this did was anger the pointed ball in my stomach that still refused to vacate.

 

There were tater tots for lunch today. Seven of them were dispensed onto my recycled Styrofoam tray. Chance and Dane, who share a table with me, each got six. So, being a typical, stupid teenage boy trying to impress his pals, I heaved the hardest of them through the ceiling grate a good twenty feet above me. A shower of powdery white and yellow debris was left drifting from the grate, but the hockey-puck-solid core of the tot still remained intact within the vent. This was indeed what some called a proud moment. This was also indeed the reason why everyone looks at me funny out of the corner of their eyes when I'm not paying attention.

 

After several others attempted this without bearing any fruit as a result, we gathered some of our nearby neighbors and dealt them into a friendly game of Blackjack. I busted on twenty-two at least six times, but managed a twenty-one three times in a row at one point, to everyone's amazement. I'm pretty sure Dane thought I was card-counting. I wasn't. I could barely concentrate enough to decipher a spade from a club.

 

I saw Derrick, another of my gaming colleagues, walking across my path after sixth period ended, of which the day was officially declared over for pretty much the entire block Boulder City High School resided on. "Hey John," he called, treating me with his trademark wave that always vaguely reminded me of someone tossing a basketball with their wrist. Putting on my best face, I returned his gaze with my own patented two-finger wave and carried on my way down the gentle hillside back to my house, lying empty and lonely miles from where I paced.

 

This concludes an average January morning of my life. Minus the urchin clawing through me, this turned out to be a relatively uneventful day.

 

I can't say the same for the events that are likely to follow, I mused. My breath was abandoning small clouds of white to a strong, westbound wind. I paused mid-stride to check my watch again, if only to become drunk in the finality of it.

 

January 16th, 2:07 p.m. Twenty six and a half hours from now, I'll be leading my team to either victory or failure. The chestnut rolled over in my stomach again. That's probably a freakin' ulcer forming, I thought, smiling in spite of both myself and the epicenter of my thoughts.

 

With the grin slowly fading, I re-shouldered the straps of my bookbag to minimize my energy output and began running home, pushing through the brisk winter afternoon with the benefit of the western tailwind.

 

 

 

Read Part VI Here

 

 

 

.

Edited July 29, 2017 by Hexed

[Darren4Turbo 4,913]

Nice Story Shed :D

[Cor7y 13,862]

Wait, wait, wait. At the beginning of the article, you describe that you have a M3 Railgun, but in the middle, you describe that you have a M2 Railgun. The hell ?!?!? And why the heckles weren't you using M3 Wasp ?

[Shedinja 1,488]

Wait, wait, wait. At the beginning of the article, you describe that you have a M3 Railgun, but in the middle, you describe that you have a M2 Railgun. The hell ?!?!? And why the heckles weren't you using M3 Wasp ?

I don't believe I ever made mention of M3 Railgun anywhere in the article. Also, having read the last several parts of this series, you would know that I am only a Major at this point in the story.

[Natey16 2]

Shedinja, keep up the great writing. I enjoy reading it very much, and I think, If you wanted to, could pursue a career as an author. I look up to you. :rolleyes: Keep being awesome! :)

[Cor7y 13,862]

I don't believe I ever made mention of M3 Railgun anywhere in the article. Also, having read the last several parts of this series, you would know that I am only a Major at this point in the story.

"A crystalline shade of yellow" (starting of the article)

[T.O.R.N.A.D.O.XXX 184]

I skipped the whole thing through.... :rolleyes:  ^_^

[anuclearbomb 220]

 

 Having sensed that the area was clear, I raced for the large cluster of cliffs on the western side of the map, praying that no Shaft laser-scopes would twitch with my presence. Luckily enough, the red beams kept their focus on the bridge near the main Valley. One of the three vanished as it struck home with an unfortunate M2 Hunter/Thunder, killing it instantly. They must be using Double Powers again, I thought miserably. Do they EVER run out?

 

just want to point out that m2 shaft can destroy m2 hunter...

so ha!

had to point that out, great article so far

 

[anuclearbomb 220]

"A crystalline shade of yellow" (starting of the article)

he bees talkin' bout the reload bar(technical term: unavailable)

great article so far, save the miss info about shaft.

[Penguin40 1,714]

Nice job Mr. Shed. (wait, why does this story make me want to go to high school or at least back to my current school?) apparently I wanna have more real life friends playing tanki thanks to this story, shed. Sorry if you can;t see this.  :o 

[Shedinja 1,488]

Logically fallacy on my part, anuclearbomb. I had meant to add that he was wearing Double Armor, but it must've slipped my mind somehow. Thanks for catching that.  :blush:

 

(See, THIS is why I like feedback...)

[T.Cosmic 25]

Beauty!!!Just Beauty!

 

Espacially the part where the author is describing his routine.So charming at that point.I hope we can publish this novel in printed form,but what should be the title? (Just saying,the first part is a bit boring,you should add some of your daily routine there too)

Edited August 8, 2015 by T.Cosmic

[anuclearbomb 220]

Logically fallacy on my part, anuclearbomb. I had meant to add that he was wearing Double Armor, but it must've slipped my mind somehow. Thanks for catching that.  :blush:

 

(See, THIS is why I like feedback...)

you more than made up for the mistake with the quality of the article.

and no, we don't ever run out of double powers.

[Shedinja 1,488]

 

you more than made up for the mistake with the quality of the article.

 

 

 

 

 

and no, we don't ever run out of double powers.

:lol:

Edited August 8, 2015 by Shedinja

[anuclearbomb 220]

you were into the warriors series as well?

 

 

 

 

I heard TankiMedic chirp through the microphone of my ASUS. "That Twins guy got you again, didn't he?"

 

the microphone?

it dosen't do anything to the story, but the newspaper needs editors

[TriNitroToIuene 4,765]

you were into the warriors series as well?

 

the microphone?

it dosen't do anything to the story, but the newspaper needs editors

Um, this is made very clear. Shedi is communicating with his clan members through voice calling on Skype, thus the microphone. The newspaper does not need editors now.

[anuclearbomb 220]

Um, this is made very clear. Shedi is communicating with his clan members through voice calling on Skype, thus the microphone. The newspaper does not need editors now.

 

I heard TankiMedic chirp through the microphone of my ASUS. "That Twins guy got you again, didn't he?"

oh really?

shouldn't his voice come out of the speakers?

Edited August 11, 2015 by anuclearbomb

[anuclearbomb 220]

i feel kinda bad, fighting to fix a mistake on an amazing article...

[Shedinja 1,488]

*facepalm* Making like Bob the Builder and fixin' it... Again, another mental mix-up, starring your favorite Pokemon from TO.

Edited August 12, 2015 by Shedinja

[Penguin40 1,714]

*facepalm* Making like Bob the Builder and fixin' it... Again, another mental mix-up, starring your favorite Pokemon from TO.

Pokemon? I never heard of it. What is it in the first place?

[Shedinja 1,488]

Pokemon? I never heard of it. What is it in the first place?

Oh boy. THAT is a long story.

 

I'd suggest Googling it. Here, I'll even be a sport and give you their main definition.

[Penguin40 1,714]

Oh boy. THAT is a long story.

 

I'd suggest Googling it. Here, I'll even be a sport and give you their main definition.

Thanks, Mr. John. I guess that is your name.

[anuclearbomb 220]

*facepalm* Making like Bob the Builder and fixin' it... Again, another mental mix-up, starring your favorite Pokemon from TO.

our community is diverse, we have ponies, Pokemon, and more 

Edited August 12, 2015 by anuclearbomb

[Penguin40 1,714]

our community is diverse, we have ponies, Pokemon, and more 

Ponies reminds me of @sonofchrysalis3.

[TriNitroToIuene 4,765]

Shedi, I must say, this series is a masterpiece! For one, it's actually based on real experiences in Tanki Online, and the plot is full of cliffhangers and 'wow' moments! Keep it up!