//------------------------------//
// Steel Motor Carriage 
// Story: The Steel Beasties 
// by Sloped Armoured Pony 
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	Finally, after five long years of crafting and procrastination, I had finished my reaction to Luna's taking advantage of my "business!" My goal was not to steal the business, but to show who was the creator and the best at World of Tanks. By now, neither of us were little brawling fillies. We were now warring prematures. Luna, no longer with her little tank stand, got assistance from a sales company to turn her lemonade stand into a market. How a nine-year-old grows to be a corporate billionaire, I don't know, but it probably had something to do with royal affiliation, since obviously Luna was of the royal court. I, on the other hand, was forgotten. Luna no longer mentioned that I made the game, and I was stuck listening to the "oohs" and "aahs" of my friends about how wonderful Princess Tuna was at creating games. Perhaps it would have turned out better if I had finished the "revenge plan" four years, but you can't argue with me wisely spending my summers sleeping.

With all of that in the past, I was going to make World of Tanks into an entirely new game, and no little fillies would be allowed to play it. The game was going to be super sized, and souped with a V-8 engine! It was going to squish that puny tank table, and probably any annoying traitor that got in the way. It was massive (almost the size of my living room!), and it was well armed with an 88mm pellet cannon! Yes folks, I made an almost life size tank to stand up against Luna's enterprise, and best of all, it was a Tiger tank! I was going to roll this puppy onto the street, into the World of Tanks tournament hall, and give people a real gander at what tanking is supposed to be like. After the breakthrough, ponies would retreat in awe, and inspire them to buy my life size tanks. Once that would happen, every pony older than 13 would experience the heat of battle and get the time of their life, rather than rattling dice on a board. Honestly, how does a board game stay popular for five years?

At last my tank saw sunlight when I opened the hidden garage door from my secret crafts centre to the outside road. How no pony noticed this door for five years alludes me, but it was a lucky start for the day of reckoning. Slowly I rolled down the road, excited to see the expressions on every pony's face! Apparently, no pony noticed, but I continued over to the World of Tanks Tournament Hall. I felt invincible! With 100mm worth of steel separating me from opposition, no barrier was able to slow me down, or at least until I got dizzy from the rocking in the tank. Who was going to stop me now?

A loud whistle blew. "Stop right there! Yes, you in the hefty tank!" yelled a police pony. Perhaps my tank was vulnerable to one force: law enforcement?

"Problem officer?" I replied.

The officer gave me a good long stare at me with my head barely sticking out of the driver's hatch.

"Your left rear light is burnt. You better get that fixed if you don't want to get a ticket," he explained.

"You can't give me tickets! I am royalty, and I have an 88mm pellet gun!" I imagined myself saying to the officer.

"I know you are thinking, 'You can't give me tickets! I am royalty, and I have an 88mm pellet gun,' so I would like to inform you that I have direct contact with your mother, and she can put the law in her own hooves," replied the officer as I rushed off to avoid more trouble.

The tournament hall was visible just over the horizon. Luna's World of Tanks was popular, but not popular enough to earn a hall within Canterlot boundaries, instead earning a well kept warehouse outside of town. It wasn't rustic, and it was a very popular convention gathering site. The last convention was a Rural Diplomatic Congress between Canterlot and a small village about four years ago. Otherwise, it had been three years of pure armored spectacle, as the warehouse had to be maintained every six weeks just because of overpopulation inside the building. What also made it less of a warehouse and more of a resort was the fact that a big neon sign was posted over the building to advertise this convention, as well as lights for flashing at night. How a nine-year-old gets a late curfew to run an almost 24-7 convention late at night, I don't know either, but it wasn't going to last long as my Tiger rumbled closer and closer to the enemy's gates.

I was about 200 metres away from the doors before a loud siren blew. I immediately halted in my tracks and found barbed wire fencing magically rise from the ground. On each fence post was a red flashing light, as if Luna was prepared for my plan. As poorly thought as the plan was, I pushed forward and ran over the fence, and congratulated myself for making armor strong enough to withstand the crunching metal under the lower glades. As I approached, I caught sight of a sign saying, "Big Celery, keep out! You are still grounded, remember?" and another set of fences popped out of the ground. As irritating as this was, everyone would have to agree, the sound of crushing steel under an armored body was too thrilling as I continued over this fence line. At this point I also put on some good old '40s jazz in the speakers of my tank, and happily ran over the last fence line, bringing me about 25 metres away from the doors. After rolling closer, the window shutters opened to reveal magic-aimed machine guns spraying away at my front plate. With a nice pair of ear phones, I was able to withstand the plinking noise and blast the two emplacements out of place with the cannon. The door was right in front of me then, and I crashed through with my high-beams on to give some special effect to this dramatic entrance. However, would you find the entrance dramatic if you were to see what I saw immediately after the dust cleared.

Luna had been catching up, and had an anti-tank cannon placed in the centre plaza where the game table would normally be. All the little fillies had cute green bowls on their heads to use as obsolete protection against massive firepower. Though the '40s music confused them a bit, the game was on, but now super sized. Luna screamed the fire signal, and the cannon blasted, not a pellet, but an actual combustion shell. Again, more proof Mom liked Luna more, because Luna was now allowed to acquire realistic military shells. Though her royal status probably allowed her access to military equipment, I was not deterred. I did a fine job with the armor, and the shot bounced point-blank. I shot back and missed, allowing Luna and her cronies to relocate the gun to a different location. It fired, and no more positive results came for them. They fired again, and no success. They fired again and again, and still no success. I, on the other hand, was a poor shot and kept missing, but I frightened them enough to keep moving the gun, or at least until I ran out of ammunition.

At that point, the only choice to hold victorious was to ram Luna and here little pea shooter. She managed to dodge fast enough before I could ram her (and the speed of this thing didn't help one bit), and the high time had arrived. Luna spread the legs of the cannon, placed them in the ground, took a shell, threw open the breech, loaded, slammed it shut, and fired. Out of all the places to be aiming, you could guess where I was shot. The old saying, "Shoot it in the ass," now made sense too me as my engine was set ablaze. Knowing I was pretty much done here, all the little fillies retreated (victoriously?) with their cannon, with me having no clue what they were going to do next. I flopped outside the turret hatch over the yellow blaze which used to be my engine, ending with a few words about what I had learned today: The Tiger had horrible armor, was too boxy, and was too damn slow. It was time to retire back to my workshop, so conjure up a new plan to take Luna out of her place in a simple game of toy tanks.