TankTrouble BackStory Archives

Here are all of the TankTrouble BackStory Archives. This is pure History! Enjoy!

The Story- (All Rights Reserved to Mads Purup)

In the most red-hot time of the Cold War in a secret research facility hidden deep beneath the Siberian soil, the USSR launched an unusually sly and diabolic experiment - codenamed TankTrouble.  In 1957 Russian scientists had developed the most devious tank simulator. Its sole purpose was to train and breed the most unscrupulous tank platoon ever to set tracks on the planet - operated by dogs! 42 dogs from the dreary and unforgiving streets of Moscow were captured and taken to the facility where training began. The dogs were relentlessly exposed to the simulator and played each other intensively. The simulator worked like a drug and they were soon more addicted to playing TankTrouble than to dog biscuits. But then it all went wrong.  Unexpectedly, the scientists themselves got hooked. In a matter of days both scientists and dogs were stripped of all recognizable characteristics and behaviors and became violent machines. Raving mad and acting on something deeper than instincts, bloodshed was inevitable. It ended in a battle that redefined violence and there were more flying bodyparts in the air than confetti on new years eve. Knowing the Russian government would terminate the project, the lead scientist in his final breaths embedded the simulator in the dog tag of his favorite dog, Laika. He then launched Laika into space from the facility's rocket silo. Shortly after these events the USSR conducted a suspicious amount of nuclear tests in the Siberian tundra and the existence of the facility has never been substantiated. The USSR government confirms that they deny everything.

Laika and TankTrouble orbited earth 302.528 times during the past 50 years before they finally crashed at an unknown site. Thanks to sources that shall remain unknown, the TankTrouble simulator resurfaces after 50 years in orbit. Let the dogfight begin! (All rights reserved to Mads Purup)

The Scrapyard is now only 5 millions short of reaching 1B and thereby running out of digits.

This is a major concern to the scientists. We do not know where that extra digit will go when it will not fit in the Scrapyard. If not contained it could cause irreversible damage as it pootles around on the servers.

To prevent this from happening it is critical that we find the original source code.

Unfortunately, the scientist who made the Scrapyard has not been seen for five years. As our search team went through the stuff in his office, we found his old to-do list. It confirms the grim suspicion that we are unlikely to ever find the source code.

What will happen when we reach 1.000.000.000? Will it be the end of TankTrouble?

Stand by for more news soon!

07-11-2014

The Scrapyard ticks relentlessly onwards toward what might turn out to be the end of days...

Or at least the end of TankTrouble... Or both!

The search team has been desperately combing all the known sectors of our underground laboratory in order to locate a shred of the original Scrapyard source code. So far their efforts have been futile. And while time is running out, the laboratory is vast and many of the subterranean levels remain completely uncharted. The light at the end of the laboratory corridor is fading, so to speak. The search team did come across a hazmat airlock with quite a few intact-looking suits. These suits might come in handy if everything goes haywire.

We will be handing them out, starting when the Scrapyard reaches 999 million. Be sure to log in then to claim yours ! <span style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;line-height:13px;background-color:initial;">After 24 hours crammed together in the hermtically sealed, maximum security bunker staring at the scrapyard conting down towards the apocalypse through the steamed-up glasses of our boiling-hot hazmat suits, we developed a great sympathy for shrimp. But one of the scientists has seafood arllegies so the cantina rarely serves shrimp anyway. <span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">And so, even though the impending apocalypse was only a few scraps away, the thought of it was almost relieving.

<span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">At 0400 hours we reecived a cryptic message from The Bahamas on our fax: ██████

<span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">At 0600 hours Dimitri found a stash of canned beans.

<span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">At 0700 hours the intern failed to restrain some natural gasses which was consequently released into the re-breather of his suit.

<span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">But let's get to the point: <span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">At 1630 hours Siberian main time, the Scrapyard made it to 1 000 000. The scientists held their breath (the intern too, but for health reasons mostly) while awaiting the silence to be replaced by the deafening sound of doom.

<span style="color:rgb(120,105,196);font-family:Commodore;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:13px;">But the gods of destruction must have had a keen eye on our laboratory and postponed the apocalypse. And as we realised that our underground laboratory was still intact, we hasted back to the control room to find that something had gne terribly wrong. The extra digits that did not fit in the Scrapyard are now unleshed on the servers causing long forgoten pixels from the early days of computing to resurface. This is causing all sorts of bizarre glitches.

<span style="color:rgb(102,102,102);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:12px;text-align:justify;">The location of our underground laboratory is top secret, so we never get any mail and therefore we never empty the mailbox. However, the intern ordered some C4 on Amazon and had it shipped directly. Apparently he did not get the top-secret-location-memo... Anyways, when he emptied the mailbox, he found a postcard. It had been sitting there for years and as it turns out, it is from our very own, missing Scrapyard scientist whom we assumed to be devoured by Laika!

<span style="color:rgb(102,102,102);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:12px;text-align:justify;">The content of the postcard is classified but we can disclose the last passage:

<span class="text quote" style="font-style:italic;color:rgb(102,102,102);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:12px;text-align:justify;">...after feeding Laika I decided to spend some flex time and go chill on a beach. Meanwhile, I hope you find the secret backdoors I've implemented to avoid the inevitable Scrapyard apocalypse. I'm working on my tan lines and will return to the underground laboratory shortly.

Your's sincerely, The Scrapyard scientist

Ps. When you cannot sleep, count some sheep. 50's my high, give it a try!

<span style="color:rgb(102,102,102);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:12px;text-align:justify;">This is good news and we look forward to have him back underground.

<span style="color:rgb(102,102,102);font-family:Arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:1px;line-height:12px;text-align:justify;">(All rights reserved to Mads Purup, the Creator of this incredible awesome mass destruction game and all of the text above)