I went with some accomplices to Caius just after midnight tonight with the aim of causing some injury to my target, but the porters were unconvinced by our story, and we were turned back at the gate. I don't think it helped that one of the accomplices decided our story was "We're here to assassinate someone" , doh!
Twas nigh on midnight when myself and two fellow assassins did leave our abode to make our mark on the world using whatever blunt instruments lay to hand. Our first stop was the hallowed grounds of Trinity, and having blagged our way past the porter we did approach our target's door at the appointed hour. Much to our suprise my target was in, although being a cautious one (and obviously unaware of the unwritten code of honour that surely must underpin every assassin's behaviour) could not be convinced to open her door. Even to my graciuos charms. Having given up on that one as "a bad egg", quickly did we try to leave the scene. Unfortunately it rapidly became apparent that we had been locked in the court. Two or three other "suspiscious fellows" did appear, and much tension there was until a bowler-hatted one did appear to release us, and we did depart.
As I was going down the stair,
I heard a voice, I caught a fright:
A porter, sitting in his lair,
said "Where you goin' at this time of night?"
My heart beat fast, I seized my gun,
My ears another voice soon caught.
"We're here to assassinate someone"
I cocked the trigger, my muscles taut.
But then - thanks be to sturdy porters -
He said "You can't go through that door"
And, relieved to know my wives and daughters
Safe, I crept back to my floor.
I killed the illustrious Edward Wallace just outside of lectures. Very easy target really. Just sneaked up on him, shot him in the back, very messy, very sordid affair.
Since he wasn't your target, you are now wanted for his murder. Enjoy. Allegations have been made of mafia involvment, no doubt the police force will be investigating.
The great Leader had oft warned of the group of renegade logicians who denied the validity of The Axeman of Choice, and had warned all the Axemen, the users of the Axemen, and the Lemons pruned by the Axemen to be on their guard against such a group. Yet, though they had sharply honed their Peano axes, and were prepared for a variety of subtle variants of Cantor's diagonal argument, the Axemen had no idea to what lengths these dangerous renegades would go to. Exiting from a series of fruits of the axes' work, a pathological counterexample appeared. This extraordinary contruction was unrecognisable to the Axeman, who was swamped by the empty-headed Cartesian product of an infinite number of non-empty sets, and died before he could apply himself to the renegades' underhandiwork.
I haev decidad to ridd teh world of all teh l4m3rs taht don't repsect my 133tness. I'll starts here in Cembridge sinec all peopal here are lusers. Ths morneng I saw soemone who wasn't no my list of laem peoples but he wsa tryeing to kill somoeone wtih a pen which was verey lame so I shots him with my Dessert Aegle.
I beg your pardon! Anyway, for this most heinous of crimes (with the possible exception of Ug Gug's), you are made wanted.
This is the obituary of "The late, great J. Dave Ault", the mathmo tragically shot by Jeff K for "holding a pen funny".
Born at an early age on 19th November 1981, J. Dave's discovery of time travel allowed him, as he grew up (unnaturally quickly, it was frequently said), to use his skills in the arts to pre-empt many of history's great works. It was only modesty that stopped him from claiming the credit for Shakespeare's sonnets, Schubert's symphonies and Picasso's pictures. His demise, although tragic, will no doubt lead to a lack of Tchaikovsky's 8th symphony or Monet's work "Light flashing on and off in room". Nonetheless, several posthumous, and indeed posthumorous works are yet to be published and could serve to highlight the link between the Baroque and Romantic periods.
Colleagues were moved to comment: "He was very much a leader; we always followed him, although more often out of morbid curiosity that due to his inspirational qualities," said one. "Oh, right. Wasn't he the guy that played the cello?" said another, choking back his grief. All agreed (some under duress) that J. Dave made an undeniable contribution to student life in Cambridge over many ages, and that his wit was interminable.
The deceased is survived by two twins, ten time-travelling thingies, twenty tarts (treacle), and a catatonically unconsolable Ceilidh band.
One minute I was innocently bystanding, whilst being innocently prodded with an innocent pen in innocent retribution for an innocent annoying MIDI file-related incident, the next my now-deceased, would-be `innocent' assailant (who would be turning in his early, innocent grave if he knew he was being referred to as a mathmo, although hard pressed (especially in his late lamentable condition) to explain why else he was in a Stats lecture) was gunned down in front of me. Just like that. A tad over-enthusiastic, I thought. As Sigmund might have said,
"Sometimes a pen is just a pen".
Tehn uotside I saw David Chow who si laem acordeng to ym list so I shotshim to with my USP.
Well, that's one idea.
After dying 4 times because of Saturday lectures last term, I ought to know better. But Dangerous Dave likes to live life on the edge! So going to lectures as usual, a couple of minutes late, following the same route, unarmed with no Bourbons/Jaffa Cakes/dried cranberries/chocolate cookies with mint chips and no weapons, I was relieved to find nobody waiting at Queen's Road, or outside lectures. Even more surprising, I couldn't spot any assassins waiting outside lectures - I had escaped successfully. Nobody outside by the bikes either; all very quiet - too quiet. Making a speedy getaway, I managed to get onto the road and was cycling normally when I spotted the evil Johannes Nordström in my way. There was no way back; I was going too fast to be able to do a U-turn without passing Johannes and there was a car approaching from behind, so I had no option but to pull up.
Running away, he claimed that he'd previously killed an innocent, and was now a wanted criminal - he won't escape justice for long. But the chocolate cookies with mint chips mafia is still very much in existence, and will destroy all enemies (I'm prepared to offer rewards for the destruction of those on my "hit list"). Of course, only wanted criminals, like Johannes Nordström, would be on my hit list, or I might be considered corrupt ;-)
Kenny struck again! Off to the broken-biscuit bin in the sky...
Despite the portentous clouds/storms/wind myself (Pigeon) and a fellow assassin (though not a fellow who is an assassin) did set forth in search of the fabled land of Girton at about 1220. After much searching we found this place, and having secured the services of a native who led us the next door room (incidently, the CoP's room), and we did bid him leave us. Having acquired a cunning plan, my fellow assassin did knock on target's door shortly after the hour of 1300. Target came to door, and was asked where *** (the CoP's room was), since we weren't from Girton and were lost. Target quickly gathered we were assassins, and did advise us that the CoP does take security very seriously. Interjecting at this point, I did ask the target what her name was. She did turn, respond "Catherine", and get shot very quickly. Her response of total surprise at being shot on the first day did only confirm that total surprise had been achieved. Also present include her family (I think they were, anyway.....), and my fellow assassin, otherwise known as In the Dark.
And what, one wonders, were you trying to find the CoP for?
I am dead,
I am dead,
Long live the queen.
And from an accomplice of the killer:
I assisted Pigeon with the elimination of one of his targets. We ventured to
Girton after lectures (around 12:30-1pm) and, after disposing of our bikes,
convinced an innocent bystander to lead us to the room of the Chief of
Police *, the thinking behind this was that our target lived next-door
*, and it was a lot safer to go around looking for the Chief of Police
than our target. After some puzzling over where * was in relation to *
we engaged in the following exchange
ME: <knocks on target's door>, Hello, We're looking for Jenny, in *, but
can't find her room, can you tell us where it is.
Remarkably easy.
In the Dark
Target: I don't know who you're talking about. Are you assassins?
Me: <silence>
Target: She's the Chief of police she's extremely paranoid.
Pigeon: Are you Catherine?
Target: Yes
Pigeon Bang.
Target: I'm dead on the first day.
I am traumatised, as were her parents and boyfriend, who were sitting behind her... I shall miss my neighbour very much indeed. She was sweet and kind and was just recovering from a collision with a car....
Chief Avada
Rubber Duck! First attempt at 2.45. I went around to Trinity Hall to try and Iron Gurder my first target, Hamm. Posing as an Umbrella wanting Lady Godiva for a Molly MacGuire Ball of Chalk, i knocked, but didn't Earwig that his Rory O'Moore weren't proper plum! After spieling my spliel, the Rory O'Moore was slammed in me Kippper and Plaice, followed by a quick tapping. Obviously getting a message to a China Plate, it thought it was Grease and Grime to Scarpa Flow. He tried to Top Hat, so deciding he'd Earwiged, i went down the Apples an Pears. Outside i cuaght a Buther's Hook of a rushing Umbrella from the next lot of Stocks and Shares, who didn't appear to spy me. Me retractable glow-in-the-dark Charming Wife in me Ramsgate Sand (in me Davy Crocket), i waited to spy if he would Earwig. Before i could get my Brass Band to my Monkey's Cousin shooter he was past me and scarpered. I went back Ham and Bone, to plot my next bit of Soapy Bubble
The prospective corpse had this to say:
Hamm has to report that at 2:45 today an unknown assailant from John's tried to lure him out of his room - and failed miserably. I would like to point out to this unknown suspect about the web cam, and the pictures thereof, which should make interesting viewing later.
One dull and dreary January afternoon, I gathered together my belongings and made the long and arduous journey through no man's land to Girton College. My mission, to eliminate one Alexander Butler, a particularly nefarious assassin of ruthless cunning and devious stratagems. With my spirit guide, Omega, for assistance I braved the corridors of this abandoned sanatorium and located his room with style and aplomb. Luckily his door was open and he was lying half naked on the bed with his back to the door. So I shot him. Lots. We then dropped by our friendly Chief of Police for tea but she was paranoid and wouldn't let us in.
Yours multi-chromosomally, Polyploid
Robert Ludlum presents.... The Guild Countdown
A unknown organization of amazing glory and evil has begun to extend its grips to highest reaches of the assassins guild in Cambridge. Cambridge student Robert Ludlum is the lone man with enough knowledge to stop them, but as the title suggests, he may not have enough time - Guild assassins have already struck with brutal efficiency, eliminating all who stand in their way.
Ludlum's only hope lies in the faint plea of an incredibly unsubtle assassin: "Let Me in so I can kill you."
So it begins, a story with a large cast of supporting characters, doomed to die in order to advance the plot. A story interwoven with a powerful conspiracy. A story with dangerous mafias seeking to corrupt all in their efforts to gain control of Cambridge. A story of dangerous intrigues where few are what they seem. A story where only one can survive.
"There I was, sitting quietly at my Computer, working on my next work when the intercom in my room starts to ring. Naturally I pick it up and am greeted by a strange, scratchy voice asking me to open the door. As I wasn't expecting any guests, I did not plan to let them in but they were so unsubtle as to admit they were here to kill me when I asked why I should let them in. As I was actually (and unusually) motivated to get work done at this point, I politely declined. They proceeded to express disappointment that I was not going to let them in. I assume they have since left."
Please note that if you don't report your attempts, you have no chance of remaining competent.
At 16.45pm, I led a daring raid into Caius in search of a Ma Baker, with my technically minded assassin colleague, and an unwitting accomplice. As we were unfortunate to not find him in, I decided to leave him a little present, in the shape of a rather large bomb taped to his door. Our paranoia levels were stoked to overdrive when we were suprised by one of Ma Baker's neighbours, but he left us to our nefarious activities. On completing setting the bomb, we made our escape with all haste.
Here ends the first report of The Firm, the newest and most ruthless Mafia in Cambridge.
What's this? Mafias in Cambrige? I sincerely hope not!
Anyway, your target was not dispersed:
On a dark and windy evening Ma Baker returns home after a long day of hard and honest work. But wait! A bomb on her door, party popper and balloons! She thinks to herself:'As if made by an amateur, very easy to defuse, in fact this seems by far too easy.' Carefully, oh so very carefully she attaches a string to one balloon, hides in the toilet, oh yes, in the very far end of it and pulls the string. The balloon falls to the ground. Now she inspects the bomb again and discovers a hidden second detonator, this one precariously close, oh so precariously close to explosion.
Wise woman that she is, she does not try to attach anything to it, instead she grabs a broom from the bathroom, but it is too short for what she plans to do. But she is not that easily stopped and places the broom on a bin, balances it against the door and ties a string to it. Once more she backs off, pulls the string and the broom falls against the bomb. At first nothing happens, then suddenly the diabolic device goes off with a loud bang. Be warned, Ma Baker is still alive and her boys are mean and strong.
And thus ends the saga of the first bomb of the new era. ...
It was a dark stormy night many years ago when I first found my true
destiny, a haggled figure looking very much like Robbie Coltrane with too
much hair approached me while I was looking through my A-Level History
results, "Harry," he said, "You're a wizard, Harry," I frowned,
"Who the hell are you and why are you calling me Harry?" I asked slightly
bemused
"You mean you're not Harry?"
"No, look I have breasts, see?"
"Oh yeah, sorry, I'll be on my way," It was at that point that I received a
blow to the back of the head and passed out.
When I came to I was in a small room with a dark figure in a long black
trench coat, he handed me 'Get into Cambridge Free' card with the ominous
words, "Become an assassin, see the world, kill parts of it", scrawled on
the back of it, then he hit me with a cosh again and I passed out.
And so it was that I went to the magical and deadly place of Cambridge
University and learned to become an assassin, I learned to mix weird and
magical poisons in Hall and to read Ancient and Obscure Grimoirs such as
Varsity and TCS. I also learned to fly knitting needles but that's another
story.
That's is my past, now for my present:
At approximately 4:45 today I placed a small complexly folded piece of
paper (sorry I don't know what you call them, my education didn't extend to
origami lessons, I used to make them as a child and they had 4 colours on
and then inside 8 panels and you open up the panels and they have a message
on the inside, I'll try and show the umpire some time) in the pigeon hole of
fellow New Hall member Jenny Hellfire, there was poison on the insides of
most of the panels (all over 2 of them) and in the finger holes. The Contact
poison applied was Petroleum Jelly formula, not enough to leach through the
paper but enough to kill on contact with the skin (and thus making it
alright to leave in her pigeon hole as only she would open the panels or put
her finger in the finger holes, if not I'm wanted, oops!)
Anyway I must away to Hall and maybe kill Jenny Hellfire there instead,
The Stoned Philosopher
The target is currently suffering from illness, and was away from Cambridge, she has been excused this week's kill attempt.
It is believed that the illness is unrelated to assassins business.
About them folded pieces of paper:
They're called cootie catchers where I'm from. Well, not really, but you got the idea.
When I had returned from my training camp I was ready to show the city of Cambridge the way of terror. I had expected to find tranquillity in this fair city, innocent people oblivious to their doom. I had not expected to find competition. The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist does not tolerate any peers, for he has none - they would need to die.
Ug Gug was the first. I finally reached his unprotected hide-out. I knocked and entered: he had no time to react, one of my grenades hit him and instantly shredded his body and room, tearing flesh, bone and table alike. I bathed in the satisfying sounds bits of brain and splinters of his spine made as they splattered on me. As he lay on the floor, twitching, I shot him. Many times, until the room was covered in brass and there was no life left in him.
On this day, western civilisation as you know it has ceased to exist. You stand on the brink of destruction, a new era of terror and death lies ahead. You will pay for what you have done. And in the end, I shall rule unchallenged.
It's a mystery to me. The game commences. When I found the Chief of Police I heard it all. The good for nothing crooks that killed her neighbour while she watched, helpless. Those men were just the ones doing the dirty work. I decided to talk to her, to get an idea of just how low these crooks were. We talked over a couple of whiskies in the office, and then I realised just how big this thing was. There were more to come. By the time the knocking came I knew just what to expect. They left a note. And it didn't look friendly. The investigation goes on. But I've got a feeling in my guts that I'll get to the bottom of this one. The We waited. "Just because U R paranoid This is a little disturbing, if only for it's lack of subtlety and indication that yet another person (I saw
No sound.
We waited some more.
Neighbours wandered past.
We waited some more.
Then some more friendly neighbours came and asked, "Er, have you seen this on your door?" After taking necessary bomb precautions (which the Investigator was NOT helpful with, saying things like, "oh, just open it") I saw what they were talking about: a crude but geometrical drawing of a target, with newspaper letters cutout underneath.
doesn't mean we're not after you.
Today's mission: kill Avada"
Given the personal nature of the danger, I think we can expect dilligent investigation of this incident.
An attempt was made on my life at 5:30ish. After knocking on the door and waking me from an afternoon nap, I refused the attentions of the assassin and went back to sleep
All well and good...
BUT: This info may help the police track him down until he shaves it all off! Please put the assassin in question on the wanted list.
the assassin killed an innocent civilian before he knocked on my door, who was stabbed in the back on his way to the shower. The dead civilian told me that there were 2 assassins;
As I do not know the identity of this assassin, I am unable to do so - however, he is wanted, and if anyone out there can dispose of him, that would be great...
Today, on perusing the reports, I came across a tale containing such a wealth of lies and heartless attempts to manipulate the Rules that my lower jaw is still bruised from its rapid descent to the hallowed floors of King's. True, myself and Ezra Macdonald did indeed approach However, Ezra (now sadly deceased) did not 'stab' the innocent 'in the back'; instead, he bravely leapt up from his place of concealment and chopped both his legs off at the knee, from the front, with a duelling sabre. Subsequent notes submitted by Spinster indicate that such a weapon is illegal and thus could not have killed the innocent anyway; moreover, had the legs actually been chopped off, Physics could have healed the innocent with his elite Assassin healing technology. I, on the other hand, merely observed and revelled in my superbly styled haircut, being virtually unarmed as the result of having been called out on a short-order assassination. Yours, &c, Stupid F**king White Man P.S. If your accomplice was indeed, as you claim, going to the shower, I pity the feeble lack of ablution facilities in your college, since he strolled out of the door and disappeared towards another building. This might explain why
This clears up the mystery of the above, and forces me to declare that Stupid F**king White Man (with the hair) is not wanted, after all. Ezra would be, but he was dead by the time I recieved this report.
General note to people: If you don't submit a report, I am more likely to rule against you. In this case, Stupid F**king White Man is lucky nobody has already killed him.
Yesterday a bloody mass murder occurred as I attempted to kill one of my targets, Cupcake. In the process I managed to kill 5 innocents but no Cupcake. This was mainly due to a lot of lying on Cupcake's behalf from his innocent friends who therefore had to die in the process. I had no choice.
Well, possibly. But killing 5 does seem a little excessive. I'd have made her wanted, but she was dead when she told me about it. Cupcake's story:
Indeed there was apparently an attempt on my life yesterday. I don't have the full story - I was out at the time, and some friends of mine were in my room when some girl (from Newnham or New hall I think) burst into my room and opened fire on my friends. I'm not sure now many people she hit, but they were innocents.
Target: Tim Blanchard
Target spotted and identified 26/1/2002 18:03
Approached target for attack 18:37
Cut target's throat 18:49
'Twas 1869, and the splendid gaylleon "Choad Of Choad Hall" sailed 'pon seas of old. Captain Gaybrush Threepchoad sat on the poop deck with his enslaved rear admiral The Choadst Pirgayte LeChoadk, two gilded badmington rackets protruding from the captain's mangled leg-stumps. The pirates were concentrating fiercely over a weeping pirate trapped in a barrel.
"Avast! I hate this accursed game!" cried LeChoadk. "Tis the work of Sir Nudelot!" Gnashing his buttocks, he heaved the barrel over the side of the wessel, causing a brown substance to coat the poop deck. "A har har har!" laughed the Captain, his badmington rackets gleaming in the twilight. "Ye shall never best me at Poop-Up Pirate! Now scrub the poop deck!"
"Never!" exclaimed the rear admiral. With that, he flicked a lever on his ruff and his false bum flew open, revealing two jewel-encursted blunderbi. He whirled round, squatted, and released a volley of buttshot at Gaybrush. But before the sinful pellets could reach their mark, a bulbous cry pierced the air.
"Ship a'hoy! Giant floater off the starboard poop deck!" cried the slave in the prawne's nest. Galvanised to action, the squabbling buccaneers slid frantically 'round the poop deck. Threepchoad, after stepping in the officer's mess, took his place proudly 'pon the chaplain's poop deck. Meanwhile, LeChoadk scrambled up the rigging and mounted the prawne's nest, cocking his mahogany firearms as he climbed. Peering through the stethoscope, he spied the HMS "Squatting Dutchman" and hoisted the Skull and Hot Cross Buns.
But when the two wessels drew near, the Choadst Pirgayte saw that the ship was abandoned. Threepchoad swung aboard onto the enemy poop deck, his badmington rackets bending under the impact, and descended into the ship's bowels. At last he came to a cabin whose door bore the legend "The Buttcracker Suite". Gaybrush heard a rhythmic creaking, but paid no heed, and slipped moistly inside.
The door shut with a hideous groan. The Captain quietly crept into the gloom, the creaking noise growing ever louder. Suddenly, he heard the groan again, but this time he realised it was coming from the same place as the creaking! For there, in the shadows, hunched double on a rocking horse, sat Richard Smith. He was nude.
Threepchoad unsheathed his trusty buttlass and stabbed the rascal in his swollen crotch. With a final burbling moan, Inverse Sprocket fell to the floor, nude. Gaybrush fetched some fine silken pantaloons from the dresser and clothed the corpse. And that was the end of Richard Smith's nudity. The Captain then gleefully extracted the parson's nose from the twitching body, wiped his buttlass on the stained rug and quit the nudechamber.
Later, after celebrating with sherry, baps and light chat on the poop deck, the two pirates drank pilfer'd rum from silver tankards and talked of misadventures past. When the sun had set, Threepchoad raised his mug in a toast to his companion.
"You know, LeChoadk, I couldn't have done it without you!" And the two pirates laughed long into the night.
I am writing, firstly, to announce my death. In the bar at King's at approximately 7.25pm, Iain Macdonald approached me, talking about the King's mafia and the suggestion that there should be no killing between members. He asked me to feel the quality of the sabre which had been given to him as a Christmas present. Being a fencer myself, and knowing that metal weapons do not constitute a legal form of weapon in the game, I trustingly took the sabre in my hands. He then proceeded to hit me with a 'cosh' on my head, took the sabre from my hands, and hit me three times on the neck thereby killing me.
I strongly contest the validity of this killing on the following grounds: "Note that the metal knives found in college cafeterias are NOT legal weapons. NOR ANY KNIFE WITH A METAL BLADE (unless specifically lisenced). " "I dislike kills which consist of walking up to a player, handing them a gun, and then shooting them; I may disallow such kills, or make you weanted. Convincing them to display their own weapons is fine, however."
As Spinster observes, this kill was quite definatey illegal, as well as being a petty betrayal of the sort we should all discourage (grand betrayal is fine, but petty betrayal just isn't interesting). As a result, Spinster is unharmed (apart from a slight bruise on his head.
Iain Macdonald (a.k.a. Quiet), gets away with a reprimand, and is not made wanted. Further breaches of the above may not be treated so leniently. Oh yes, Iain Macdonald tends to go by the name of 'Ezra', in case anyone is interested.
At 19.43, Nima Mehdian entered the Emmanuel College bar. At 19.44, he was dead, slain by two shots at point blank range from my trusty, concealable revolver. Nima had been invited by a friend from Emma, as had I, to a birthday party, for which the meeting place would be the Emmanuel bar. I knew that my target would be there, as I had asked said friend about this. I do, however, feel for the poor cleaners who may have to clear up the body in the morning.
Greetings, During a pleasant evenings prowling around the darkened streets, my collegues and i came across queens and thought a deecent attempt would finish off the evening nicely. We approached the target's room, when to our nervous agitation, a neighbour appeared who we questioned as to the whereabouts of said target, she claimed not to know, so we knocked on the door... 'come in', was the unsuspecting reply. This was gonna be like taking a lollipop from a small child...on entering a collegue inquired if Clownie was in. we all heard a reply of 'Yes' and so i felt that pulling a rubber band gun on her was acceptable. Perhaps not, since the girl then claimed to be someone else! Can you imagine my horror ladies and gentlemen? I left, somewhat hurt by the blatent deception which Clownie had undergone, not only to confuse harmless assassins, who just want to do their jobs, but ALSO endangering an innocent civilian! i felt shame and self loathing as my collegues mocked my feeble attempt, now my life is a mere shadow of its former self.
An accomplice:
I feel the need to tell you of the goings on this evening. My colleagues and I were prowling the deserted and ghostly streets of Cambridge, seeking the unknowable, searching for the unfindable, looking, in short, for a way in to Trinity (I think ten foot gates are a little over the top to be honest). Then in a disgruntled return journey, we happed upon Queens and like an open book, it divulged its secrets. My colleague Fluffy Bunny attempted to kill his target, a worthwhile mission and worthy of praise. We came to the point of no return, her door, at about 8:00 and despite some slight trepidation, a knock sounded. Come in was the reply, and so we crossed the threshold. We inquired on Fluffy's behalf, (as he had become strangely tongue tied) if Sally was in. I am convinced her answer was a resounding yes and looked on proudly as Fluffy performed his art. My warm glow was aborted however, when the corpse said that she wasn't sally at all. I ask you, what self respecting assassin gets her friend to take bullets (well ok rubber bands) on her behalf? Deception! Conspiracy! Fluffy is a desperate man, he says his life is cut down in its prime by this harrowing incident.
Another accomplice:
I set out tonight at approximately 19.15 with some colleagues. The aim being to kill, kill, kill. We first ventured to Trinty and found that despite our best efforts the fences were just to high to climb over. Next stop was Harvey Court. This was much easier to enter, but to our dismay the staircases have key card access. BY this time we were truly disappointed by the state of the nights work. We decided to try Queens and were pleased when we easily entered the relevant staircase. We were then startled by a strange girl leaving the room. We asked her if she knew where the target was and she said that she didn’t. So I knocked on the targets door. Someone form within said to come in. I did so followed by my colleagues who were heavily armed. Before seeing the target I asked if she (Clownie) was in, she replied yes. I then ventured in further and found only one person in the room. My colleague Fluffy Bunny then shot her repeatedly. I was then shocked when Clownie claimed not to be Clownie and that she would inform her of the evil deed we had committed by killing her room mate. I am truly sickened by these events and feel that Clownie should be made wanted for endangering an innocent in such a way. Of course it is possible that Clownie didn’t put her friend up to this heinous crime against humanity, however the chance is slim as not many people would be follish enough to put themselves in a position where they would be shot repeatedly with a sawn off shotgun rubber band gun.
I wish to see swift justice
Clownie was, in fact, not in the room - that was her roommate you shot. On returning, Clownie reported thus:
I have to write the truth of the dark deeds that have taken place, the
lies and deception that have blackened the names of our fair guild. It is
true that one evening I was far from my fair home, otherwised engaged with
my nightly wanderings. Foolishly, I had forgotten to guard my roommate,
who I had left sweetly slumbering as I went out. She knew nothing of my
double life, for I had not wished to fright her by dark and bloody tales
of the night. In hindsight, this was a mistake. For when three of
Cambridges lowest scum came calling, she was not prepared for what would
follow.
They knocked, and she stirred, mumbling "come in" in her dozing. Entering
the room they asked if Clownie was in, and, still half asleep and not
knowing of my earlier departure, she mumbled "yeah, come in". At this
moment, the gang of them (not for them the solitary pride fo the lone
killer, no, they skulked in packs like low dogs) entered my room, and
filled the air full of lethal bullets. My friend, unsuspecting, could do
nothing to resist.
I would not find her bloodied corpse until later, stil lain on the bed
where she had been shot. But as the tale emerged I vowed I would seek
revenge on these miscrients, who had robbed her of her innocent life.
Both sides have here requested that I make the other wanted, but after extensive discussion, I have decided that neither deserve it. Clownie was genuinely away, and had not primed her (now dead) neighbour to say anything specific. Fluffy Bunny & co. were entirely within their rights to shoot someone who answered "Yeah" to the question "Is Clownie in?", and was the sole occupant of the room.
While I am informed that in this case "Yeah" actually meant "No, but come in anyway because I can't be bothered to explain", and that this is a fairly typical response for this particular roommate, I feel that missing that particular subtlty is understandable for the uninitiated.
I, Al "Quiche-eater", was thwarted in my pursuit of justice and peace in Cambridge, by the nefarious wit of my opponent, the wanted man Johannes Nordström. Having gained access to his place of residence at or shortly before nine of the evening, I was prepared for every possible eventuality of battle, no tactical perspective eluded my planning, no tome of strategic wisdom was left unopened; nothing could stand in my way. Except for my target's door, unfortunately. He wisely declined my plea for Gyp-room assistance and remained peacefully, with a full compliment of body organs, inside his room.
How many more will it take to stop this man?
Somone came to my room sayeng taht he neededs help with teh stove, but 133t hax0rs liek me onley eat pizza and joltt cola. since he caerd about cokeing he must be a fagot so I dident opet teh door. Then I was proofd right becouse real men dont aet qiche and he is a quishe eater.
From the victorious defender:
I was rudely interrupted in my preparations for this night's work by a knock on the door. The personage outside announced themselves to be Claire. I dismissed them offhand, but grew more suspicious. Exiting the room via a circuitous route. I noted one of the assailents loitering suspiciously outside my staircase, and watched from afar as they enquired of the porters where a friend of mine was to be found. I rushed quickly to inform them of their impending trouble, and (finding that most useful of devices, the mobile phone) trailed them from a distance, giving the potential target step-by-step updates on their progress.
They seemed to be in need of some moral support, or they were stopping to pick up their victory drink, as they stopped at an off-licence to peruse their wares. If so, they were sadly premature. I upserved them from a distance, and waited for them to emerge.
Emerge they did, and continued in the expected direction, all the while completely unaware that they were not alone....As they approached the correct lodgings this time I availed myself of a back entrance and went to confer with my compadres. The assailants managed to gain entry to the building and proceeded to slowly make their way to their target's bedroom. They were, however, watched every step of the way by several hawklike eyes. We let them approach the door and knock, to make certain of their nefarious tendancies (although I already knew them to be assassins). Once they knocked, I wandered up to them, my trusty gun holstered and out of sight, and told them pleasently that my friend was not in. When I was sure they were off their guard I drew my gun and fired off 6 rapid shots in succession - and they were both dead.
One of his beautiful assistants (Pigeon) reports it thus:
Lulled into a false sense of security, we were resting on our laurels, enjoying the spoils of war when an urgent pidgeon message came from Hamm re two nefarious characters, confused about which room In The Dark lived in, had attempted to assassinate him instead. Hamm proceded to follow the two would-be-assassins as they walked to the right room (via an off-licence!), and having ensured that In the Dark knew about the attempt, Hamm and I (well, mainly Hamm, actually) did ambush these villains in the act, and did put many bullets in them. Two kills to Hamm (one not an assassin, but very much an accomplace; the other was Vladimir, known now as Claire Sutcliffe.) these events took place at around half past nine.
And another (The Blonde Inquisition) took this view:
It chanced this evening, that while I was lurking in the abode of my fellow assassin In The Dark, a fellow assassin knocked on our door to alert us of a forthcoming danger he had been told of by Hamm: Vladimir and her accomplice were after In The Dark. We resolved to stay put in the room and brave what dangers were to come. Shortly though, there came a phone from the Hamm, who was inside our building, having stealthily followed the attackers. These proceded to enter and upon finding the room we were in, knocked. However, we cunningly stalled them by pretending we were not within! What was their surprise upon finding themselves accosted by Hamm, who with a cry of "he's not in!" promptly shot both Vladimir and her accomplice. And so In The Dark has survived his first assassin's attempt to murder. Woe betide the rest!
The original target said:
Some nasty people tried to kill me. Unfortunately for them they had been
followed, and as I hid cowardly in my room (with The Blonde Inquisition, and
an unfortunate passer by whom I offered shelter to) they were eliminated by
Hamm and Pigeon, whilst they waited for a reply to their knocking on my
door. They failed to realize that knocking on the door of another assassin,
with the same room number as me, but in a different building, was a bad
idea. I'm sure Hamm will have a much more entertaining explanation.
In The Dark
The hapless invader saw it very similarly:
Oh woe is me. My accomplice and I (Vladimir), were regrettably terminated when, during an attempt to take out a target, we were ambushed from both sides. In attempting to locate the target, we inadvertantly alerted his college son, and thus the stage was set for our demise. Time of death was approximately 21:25. Cause of death: multiple gunshot wounds.
Sounds a little dangerous around there at the moment, doesn't it? ...
I arrived at Pembroke at approximately 9:15pm, wearing black and carring my weapon, a trusty orange pellet gun. I proceeded to the bar and ordered a drink - gin and tonic.
As I waited inconspicuously by the chocolate machine, I gathered my thoughts and planned my attack. I did not have to wait long before my target, Chris Ogden, arrived in the bar. I walked across the room to him, where he was standing with a small group of friends. I pulled my gun from my coat and shot him once in the arm -BANG-. He turned towards me, seemingly unaffected by the shot and said-
"Ha ha! You only got me in the arm!"
As he spoke he reached inside his pocket. Without thinking I shot a second time, BANG, this time hitting him in the chest. He could not survive this, and after a valiant fight, it was over. He was dead.
While there were many present, they were too inebriated to remember anything about the assassin, other than her departure in the direction of New Hall.
The target eventually reported:
Standing in my JP, happy in the knowledge that my essay, although poor, would at least be handed in on time, I wasn't mentally prepared for trouble. As I was talking to a friend, a girl asked me whether or not I was Chris Ogden. Turning round to see she had a gun, I summoned all my wit and cunning to reply; 'Huh?' Before I could even attempt to blag my way out of the situation, or better yet, pull out my own weapon, she let off a shot. The pain seared through my body; I stood there in shock as everyone in the room (more than 10!) turned round to stare. Coming to my senses, I realised that only my arm had been hit, I reached for my knife, exclaiming (kinda foolishly) 'Ha! You think that could kill me?!' My assumption that her gun only held one shot was flawed more than somewhat, and before my blade was halfway to her throat she emptied the rest of the clip into my stomach. The knife fell from my hand, and I slumped to the floor. A friend came and kneeled by my side. 'I... I can't... feel my legs... I'm... I'm not gonna make it, am I?' I whispered. 'Chris,' he said, shaking his head, 'How can you be such a poor assassin?' He got up, shook his head once more, and walked away.
Extra witnesses have now come forward, to indicate that Little Miss Naughty lives in a 'C' room.
Mafia involvement? That is not possible, as there are no mafias in Cambridge. We are seeking an alternative explanation, and feel sure there is a relatively innocent one. In the meantime, everybody keep very calm, don't think too much and avoid unnecessary contact with Caius and Emmanuel.
On my way to somewhere to bomb the target there. But I'll have to go home first since I just noticed my detonator is broken.
Turned up in my inbox, and just below it:
I went back to my room, found that my other break-circuit detonator was also broken, took a cap detonator, went to the target's college and found that I could not fit it the target's door. It seems like I have lost a lot of sleep with very little gained.
"Hi Mike." "Well, he sent them. One to new hall at 1:30 and one to Kings at 3:45. He tried to get into Someone's room at Pembroke, too, at 2:30 but that didn't work."
"Jesus!"
"What?"
"Good to see you, Jesus."
"Great news - you've been promoted."
"But I'm Archangel Michael, Leader of the Heavenly Hosts in the War, Patron of War, Chaos, Righteousness and Insomnia, and Right-Hand-Hitman to God. What can I be promoted TO?"
"You get to dance round the Throne, singing Holy, Holy, Holy."
"Great. So, about this war..."
"The War's over, Mike. Retire. Sing."
"OK, we got Nick and most of his men, but the world's still a right mess..."
"Free will. Nothing we can do. Here's your halo. Let's have the Flaming Sword."
"But look, there's this murderer down there killing innocent people."
"You know the rules."
"I don't say stop him. But couldn't he kill some other murderers? He goes to hell, they go to hell sooner, and a lot of people get a longer life?"
"I don't think so..."
"Look, we have free will too, right? I'm sure He won't mind."
"Alright. Just this once."
"He seems to be sending letter bombs. Lalani Dias'll do. She need to die. And this Johannannes guy shot someone for having a pen. He has to go."
"I'll leave it with you. But I warn you, he's a bit incompetant. Good luck."
"We can find another next week, if you want. I think He's warming to the idea."
"OK. Blessings be upon you, J."
"Blessings."
Today I was killed by a bomb from Archangel Michael...I am deeply troubled....
It was a dank Sunday afternoon, about 2:45, as I strode across the Emmanuel College paddock carefully avoiding the flock of specially trained Emmanuel attack ducks. I approached the door to my target's room, which I found open. Entering I saw two people, one male, the other my target (it is amazing how much you can find out about someone using google). I politely said "hello", drew my magnum RBG and shot my target's chair. Seeing the look of disbelief on the faces of both the occupants of the room, I realized my mistake, and shot my target in the chest. After notifying my target of her death (2:50pm), I explained my odd behavior (to the one remaining living occupant or the room), then left leaving the body be disposed of by her friend. I am surely not living up to my name.
Iain Macdonald traid too kill someone with a sord whihc was verey lame. I bets he playd Daikatana to. So I goed to his room and shots him in teh back. Than he aksed me too stey a whail but I figared he was gohsting and as I had forgot my mp5 I splitted.
If Johannes isn't dead by 1330 tomorrow, the reward will be increased to 400g of Bourbon Creams. Please note that police officers aren't elligible for this reward.
Hey, Assangle Michelle! Yuors 133tley
May I pleese ask taht next taim you wants too send laem lettor bombs
a) do not right "LAEM LETTOR BOMBS!!1!" on ti in big flaching lettors
c) delivor it by hands so that I can frag yor angelbyo ass
Jeff K
'Twas a merry morn on the good ship "Choad of Choad Hall". The sun shone brilliantly on Rear Admiral LeChoadk, who was strolling arrogantly on the poop deck, hands behind his back. He sang a hearty hymn as he walked to accompany the frenzied hornpiping of the ship's prawne. What a fine hornpipe, thought LeChoadk, gazing upon the prawn in admiration. One might even say 'twas a prawnepipe! He allowed himself a moderate chuckle; then he stepped on the prawne. The prawne bleated as it was crushed. "Aye, I thought as much," observed LeChoadk. "Now, back to the prawne's nest with ye!" The brave prawne hobbled to the base of the rigging, but was unable to ascend. Its many legs writhed in shame and it began crying. For it, of all prawnes, knew that the "Choad" had no room for crushedaceans. LeChoadk peered at the sole of his starboard plimpsoll with distaste. Of all the foul things to bestain a gentleman's shoe, why were prawne innards bestaining his? Donning velveteen stirrups, he mounted the flattened prawne and galloped down to the finery poop deck. There, to his dismay, stood the ne'er-do-well captain, Gaybrush Threepchoad. Threepchoad was merrily beating a blindfolded slave about the pate with his left badmington racket, all the while lubricating him with a greased parson's nose. "Cease yer embrowning!" cried LeChoadk, weeping at the sight of the captain's cruelty. "I've tolerated yer obsession with parson's noses for nearly three decades. But ye've embrowned every slave on the ship, and now naught but a crippled prawne mans the poop deck!" The captain glanced up at the Choadst Pirgayte. He shook his head slowly, then raised the parson's nose to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. But before he could say anything, a nude figure suddenly sprinted across the poop deck. "Nude a'hoy!" bellowed the squashed prawne. "NUDESTATIONS! ALL HANDS TO NUDESTATIONS!" LeChoadk immediately activated his deadly bum and tried to draw a beard on the nude. The nude snatched away his crayon before he could finish. Undaunted, the admiral sprayed a fearful torrent of filth from his blunderbi, and in seconds the air was filled with his wrath. But the naughty nude ducked and weaved and managed to escape onto the dreaded haunted poop deck! LeChoadk gave chase, carefully treading on the now two-dimensional prawne. The nude was cowering in the corner of the haunted poop deck, trapped on all sides by the ghosts of fallen prawnes. LeChoadk stood squarely, hands on hips, bum pointing at the cad. Summoning all his pow'r, he launched from the bum his treasured safety net! The net had been owned by his father's bum, and before that his father's bum's bum, who knitted it from a fine knapsack. Now it lived up to its soiled heritage as it flew true t'ward the nude, enweaving his flailing limbs and belacerating his cheeks. Quickly, the admiral removed the abomination's birthday suit, seeing that the label read " Later, after a story and a nap, and a bap, LeChoadk and Threepchoad enjoyed a selection of vegetable dips on the poop deck. Gaybrush suggested they play hopscotch, but then he remembered they didn't have a hopscotch court. Then the two sat in silence, because it was quiet time. But when the eve finally drew to a close, LeChoadk stood up and raised his dipping sieve in a toast. "You know, Ship's Prawne, I couldn't have done it without you!" And the two kindly pirates repeatedly trod on the prawne's corpse long into the night.
Or, as the corpse put it:
Has Lady luck has waved her hankerchief in my face? in my face!? Who can be sure in these times of confusion and woe? At 8:20, In a momentary lapse of self- preservatory instinct i left my humble abode unarmed (as i have no weapons) and walked straight into a gun weilding maniac. Dammit! He shot me repeatedly with an archaic device resembling a rubber band gun, although i sustained wounds only to the arms. Go me! The foolish young whipper-snapper then, (only THEN, ladies and gentlemen) asked me who i was. I retreated into my personal shrine (aka my room) mumbling the affirmative. Before i could call my colleagues to carbonardo his shanks the hoodlum had scarpered. so now i ask myself, erm and you, if i am a corpse or not? i dont feel hugely dead, in fact i enjoyed a drink just now and no juice came out of any holes and i feel no inclination to stagger around demanding to eat the brains of maidens.
He was a little confused at the time, but is quite comfortably dead now.
I feel that it is only fair to inform the Guild that we have just aquired a £500, tripod mounted RB mini-Gun. I think we might call it the BFRBG9000 in memory of our fond memories of Doom.
We have now scraped the first tank, and am trying to build another one that is big enough to carry the BFRBG9000. We might accept HUGE bribes if someone wants to borrow it for a while.
Thank you, and goodnight.
Marwood
The Binford Mafia turned up at the door of The Laughing Maniac, they managed to talk her into opening it (by offering her membership, no less), and then both Agent Icarus and The Laughing Maniac drew and fired.
No agreement has been reached as to who fired first, so I would normally just rule in favour of The Laughing Maniac (who was using a water pistol, as opposed to Agent Icarus's cap gun - and was thus clearly using a more dramatic weapon).
In this case, however, I can't see it as being at all fair that The Laughing Maniac should live when Agent Icarus didn't, (mostly owing to Agent Icarus having a support crew, who would have shot her, had she killed him) so I'll just let them both survive for now.
The Binford Mafia next proceded up some stairs to the abode of Bathos, she was warned of their approach by the previous target, and did not admit them.
There have been questions raised about the legality of corpses phoning their friends to warn of approaching mafias. To make it plain, this is illegal, and I will take action to rectify any situation caused by cheating this way.
Luckily, in this case, the 'corpse' was actually alive, and all was legal.
I was making myself some pre-rowing toast in at 6:20 in the morning. I was unarmed and practically asleep, only the most loony-fringe assassin world be around at this time in the morning. Unfortunately for me the loony-fringe seemed to be out in force this morning. I was shot twice on exiting my jip-room, armed only with two pieces of slightly warm bread. My assailant promptly disappeared into the early morning without uttering a word, leaving me to bleed profusely over my toast making a lovely mess for my bedder.
This appears to be the start of a mafia war, which later resulted in the wantedness of Bjoern Holzhauer...
She was the meanest cat
In old Chicago town
She was the meanest cat
She really mowed them down
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
Got woken up and shot (while still in bed) by some plonker this morning. Half past six. There ought to be a rule against ruining somebody's only lie-in (past half-six) in the whole bloody week. Still full credit to Ma Baker for making the effort. Hope to see him on the wanted list PDQ.
Alas, by the time this report arrived (massive mail probems, if you remember), that saga had been and gone.
I aslo left a pressent for Jeffery "Jeff" GeoffjeffetyJeff. Geting past the coed lock too the staircais was no mach for my m4d 133t sk1llz I hax0red it vith a script I downlaoded from teh intarnet
He was less than killed, however:
I thought you might like to know that some Neanderthal with only the smallest knowledge of explosives placed a bomb on my door sometime between 12:30am and 8.10am. However unbeknownst to them I did not open my door, but a well-wishing neighbour who was coming to wake me up did. As a result an innocent bystander was cruelly slaughtered through the entirety of fault of the lazy bomber, and due to the shape of my room I was left completely unharmed. So nananenana to them.
Jeff K is now slightly more wanted, for the death of another innocent...
The cougar sleeps. That's what he does. Rather luckily for him, in fact, as this morning someone tried to kill him. A bomb was put on his door at about 6:45 this morning- the mad bombers were so noisy they woke him up, but, being a lazy, lazy little cat he simply turned around in his basket and went back to sleep. Later that morning, his bedder came and took the bomb away, with the bin he'd put out for cleaning. The cougar didn't even stir. Later, in his pigeon-hole, the Cougar found a poisoned letter, which he has yet to open, identical in form as it appears to be identical to the one found in the dead, cold hands of
An evil Emmanuelite received a bomb this morning, may he rest in pieces.
I was awakened this morning at 6.15 by the incessant beeping of my alarm clock. I went back to bed, and got woken up again by some other members of my crew, at approximately 6.35. Just then, I heard a knocking at the door. I questioned the knocker - "It's me". Well, quite obviously it was them, so I asked again. I thought, aha, is this some kind of sick joke, similar to the one I pulled on <Name Deleted> yesterday. I phoned the only other assassin in my boat. "You bastard", he said, "You got me killed. I was shot as I was going down the stairs". Aah, I thought (for although I hadn't drunk my habitual 5 cups of coffee yet, I was still somewhat alert), this could be an assassin. So I stuck my head out the window, and, indeed, there were a couple of shady characters hanging about. One of them pointed at me, so I stuck my head back in again. Right, I thought, better call some of my other friends, let them know the potential situation. But it wasn't 7 yet, and most of the ones who'd appreciate being woken up, I didn't have the numbers for. Darn. Oh well, if they don't want to be paranoid, they deserve to be dead, I thought. I knew I had to get out though, to get down to the boathouse, or else I'd get shouted at. So I slipped my doorchain on, hid behind my barricade, unlocked the latch, and pulled the door open, waiting for the boom that would awake my neighbour, and get me killed for real.... Nothing... I waited, in case anyone saw fit to try and get in... Nothing... So, I figured, this assassin is smart. I readied myself for the impending battle. The corridor outside was dark, easy for someone to shoot me, so I turned out my light, and let my eyes get a little accustomed to the dark. I threw open the door. Nothing. Had this assailant decided that 6.45 was far too early to make a kill? Leaving my staircase, I discovered that the answer was no, as I got sprayed and smacked down by a hail of machine-gun fire. As I lay, dying, in a pool of blood, I looked up to see two assassins, grinning... But the tale doth not endeth there. For when my spirit arrived at the boathouse, I found that 2 other members of my crew were now dead too. But they weren't players. They claimed to have been shot by the "one without the beard" - And in a sad piece of irony, and due to the fact that four members of the crew had died that morning, our rowing outing was cancelled.
The police issued the folowing response:
"We regret the passing of this unfortunate and upstanding member of the community. We are diligently pursuing enquiries, and feel confident that justice will eventually be done. Everybody be very careful indeed."
They left a trail of crime
Across the U.S.A.
And when one boy was killed
She really made them pay
She had no heart at all
No no no heart at all
Ma Baker had heard horrible stories about a person from John's, so she decided to do him in as well. This morning at 8:30 someone banged on my door. I answered with a little delay, opening the door with care. As I was opening the door I noticed a bomb conected to it. Fortunately it didn't go off. I asked for the help of Polyploid to remove the detonator. We succesfully removed the dentonator and then tried from behind a double door to activate it, and it worked, so this prved that the bomb didn't explode.
A bumbling assassin made an attempt on my life early this morning. Visiting the pigeon hole room this morning, I spotted my assailants ploy. A rather suspicious letter was sitting in my pigeon hole. I was immediately on my guard and reached for trusty rusty revolver. The internationally wanted top terroroist had made several schoolboy errors. First: He had put the wrong initial on the envelope. Second: Despite having the full address including postcode the letter had clearly not come through royal mail. (no postmark and lazy porters never deliver till at least 11am) I immediately felt the letter for a detonator or anything suspicious but could feel nothing but a normal piece of paper, even so I opened the letter at arms length, using my jumper to protect my fingers as I delicately lifted it out of its envelope. I need not have worried, the bumbling incompetent had absent mindedly forgotten to include any poison!! Although the letter claimed to have contact poison on the back there was in fact nothing there. Whilst I could theoretically have inhaled or touched an invisible dust I am not aware of any such poisons exisiting. By the tone of the letter I suspect one of my college comrades. If you can't tell that you've been poisoned, then you aren't, as per the rules. Ma Baker likes writing letters to people, hopefully the Emmanuel Mafia will appreciate this effort.
A poisoned in/out board killed the cop - who didn't actually bother to mention it.
Anyway, he's dead and festering.
about 15 minutes ago i opened my door to find in my bin a large plastic bottle with a long rubber band attached to it, which in turn was attached to a party popper, the string of which was attached to my door frame. I can only assume that it was the sad attempt of someone to kill me, only thing is, when i opened my door it didn't go bang, so i'm still alive. Please rely my comiserations to my would be assassin, but if he wants to kill me he's going to have to use a better designed bomb.
Another evil Emmanuelite has a bomb waiting on his door, may he also rest in pieces.
This morning, I awoke early from my roost and flew over to Games and Puzzles where I dropped a clever little bomb-shaped device at 8:03 for the attention of a man who has been known to work there. Rumour has it that he "prefers" to work without his other male friend on a Monday. Despite strange looks from a postman and many delivery men, I ruffled my feathers and flapped around and about watching the time go by. It rained for a little while so I hopped into Sainsburys - contrary to the popular saying, this duck prefers sunshine. I then flew back to the shop wearing a bird-sized Girton College scarf which I had borrowed from a friend. At 9:20, a lady with a pushchair and unmbrella stopped outside the shop to have a look at the wares on offer, and I fluttered up to have a closer look. Preoccupied by this stranger, I failed to notice three dark strangers congregating round some bicycles. Before I had time to climb into the sky, the bastards surrounded me and a person they call
she met a man she liked
she thought she'd stay with him
one day he informed on them
they did away with him
she didn't care at all
just didn't care at all
An Extract from the Book of the Canteloupe, chapter 2: "5And so, on the 28th day of the year, in the time when Tom Garnett was ruler of the land, it came to pass that the Canteloupe did check his pigeonhole. 6And lo, he did find therein a letter, full suspicious. 7For that letter didst bear the full address of the Canteloupe including postcode; but it bore no stamp. 8The Canteloupe was much afeared indeed, but did not dispair. 9Remembering the teachings of his master, Common Snese, he did place gloves over his hands, and covered his mouth and nose. Only then did the Canteloupe open the envelope. 10And lo, the letter bore the crest of the UL, but verily, the letter opener did bear the powder of death. 11Thankful for his gloves, the Canteloupe scanned the letter for a sign, and lo, there it was at the bottom - "The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist". 12The Canteloupe disposed of the letter, and cleaned his gloves and opener; and thought inwardly 'Verily, you'll have to try better than that'."
Here ends the first lesson.
Greetings, as I exited my room on this bright sunny morn I did spy a bomb attached to my esteemed friend Tim The Godfather Blanchard's door. Being a neighborly and good hearted soul I dis-armed it for him. It had a blast radius of 4.2 Meters and I think would undoubtedly have killed innocents had it gone off, my own door is mere feet away, so we have confiscated the bomb and informed tim that his would-be attacker has failed.
Weird morning eh?
Tim said:
This morning there was an unsuccessful attempt on my life. Having retired to bed late last night i thought i heard some movement outside my door in the early hours but was too lazy to get up. Having awoke this morning i opened my door to find a defused bomb outside it with a note from the extremis mafia saying that they had disarmed it for me! This was at about 8.30 - suddenly i am feeling more paranoid and as if someone really wants me dead. ~I have no leads on the would be assassin yet but all i can say is that if you mess with me, you mess with my whole god-damn family! nuff said. All i have to say to the assassin is this - give me a call and then i'll discover what it's like to have a dead man on the other end of the line.
On a more technical note now, he/she bomb planted had a blast radius of 4.2 metres. I live next to an innocent and with many others on my corridor. Therefore its quite clear that this bomb was v. dangerous considering the assassin didn't hang around to see the bomb explode-a small child could have come along and pulled the detonation device-these people make me sick-i demand action - give me his name and i shall purge this evil......
Ma Baker:
Here is a special bulletin.
Ma Baker is the CUPD's most wanted woman.
Her address is hanging on every post office wall.
If you have any information about this woman,
please contact the nearest Caian assassin...
oh dear, it would appear that my arrogance was unfounded, i'm dead. i was eliminated by a very cunning contact poisoned letter in my pig hole but 30 minutes after i boasted about the faulty bomb, ah well.
Whilst not being a current member of the guild, i did play last term, so i know what the concequences of killing an innocent are! This morning, circa 9.55, whilst waiting for to enter the lecture theatre I suddenyl felt something hit the back of my neck. When i turnn ed around i saw an elastic band (sorry bullet) on the floor and standing there was none other than a grinning
And indeed they have...
Ma Ma Ma Ma - Ma Baker - she taught her four sons
Ma Ma Ma Ma - Ma Baker - to handle their guns
Ma Ma Ma Ma - Ma Baker - her daughter as well
Ma Ma Ma Ma - Ma Baker - she cast a deadly spell
As she points out, Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn was not responsible at all, but instead the dastardly Ma Baker, Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn was redeemed as soon as this news came to light.
Not having my gun ready for the first time since Friday I was approached by a well known biological NatSci who is probably part of the Caius Mafia this morning. After a brief "Good morning, Ben" Rosemary Warner then stabbed me to death. Exitus 9:58am.
For this crime, and several others, she is made wanted.
After a days rest, The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist decided to kill once again. The first one to die would have been the lecturer for making simple harmonic oscillators exceedingly dull, but his amusing little experiment made me change my mind. I spotted my target, and, fixing my eyes on that vulnerable spot on the back of his neck, followed him through the streets to his next lecture. When his pals, no doubt highly trained body-guards, had left him, save for one, probably his most trusted lieutenant, I closed in on the kill. I shot him in the back, just once this time, and a fountain of blood covered his clothes, his friend, and myself. Ahh, bliss.... The business seemed done, so I withdrew from the scene of crime, leaving behind only terror and death. Yet still, many more need to be shown the true light...
Walking from physics along Tennis Court Road at approximately 10am, I sensed that I was being followed. Fingering the carrot (duly labelled of course) in my pocket, I prepared to turn around, then checked myself. Had I turned then, I might have survived to tell the tale (rather than... oh never mind). Alas, a shot from what I assume was a rubber band gun cut me down. I turned to see an odd-looking assassain, who later revealed himself as The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist (at least I have the moral victory of having a better pseudonym). Note to self: bugger.
Small compensation, I fear.
This morning I checked my mail and was delighted to see not one but two letters. However being suspicious I checked them out before attempting to open them. I was horrified that when I shock my wonderful letters there was a rattling. I imagine how sad I was after thinking that I had real mail to find that all I had was poisoned letters.
The letters were then opened by a forensics team who managed to identify one of the letters as from Wolfson College.
I would like to request that next time the assassin tries to kill me he either should use another type of poison or knock on my door.
Oh, one other think, it would be good if he could learn to spell Assassin as he claims to be one
They were sent before her death.
I suppose I ought to report the poisoned letter I received yesterday morning from The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist - but since I was already dead and was not yet a policeman (I picked it up at lunchtime), I took no precautions.
I got up this morning to an urgent phone call warning that there were renegade assassins prowling the college, followed a couple of minutes later by the mumbled "last words" of the same person. I was then visited by an ally, whom I showed the location of one of his targets. Having done my good deed for the day, I went to a rather dull genetics lecture. Upon leaving, I bumped into Tish Stuart-Bruges, and we were walking along quite innocently with one civilian, talking about the prospect of not getting shot in the back by an insane criminal quasi-genius when, well... you'll never guess what happened! That mad gunperson was
Am just writing to report that i was brutally and cold bloodedly murdered this very morning along with my friend Dan. We were talking quietly, admiring the whale of the New Museum site, when a girl Mouse, who i had considered a friend called me as she stood just behind me... i turned to be shot by a thousand bullets (or the rubber band variety) that first disabled my arm (the blood was awful) and then got me in the chest. In shock i wondered if i had died, and didn't have the presence of mind to stab the fiend, when she finished me off absolutely with a knife blade deep in my chest. I collapsed and cried out in pain, but she laughed, proclaiming she was already on the wanted list, and killed Dan for good measure.
Im dead. This morning, I received a rather unconspicuous letter in my pigeon hole. Unsuspecting little me opened it and, lo and behold, it was poisoned! Damn.
The Chameleon survived a poisoned letter by wearing gloves.
Having drawn upon my sources (who shall remain nameless) I was laying in wait for him as he returned from morning lectures. I watched him from afar as he entered the court, and began to stalk him across it. I closed quickly as he approached his room and coming up quickly behind him, I drew my trusty gun. However, alerted by some innate sixth sense at the same moment he also drew and fired. Fortunately for the brave Hamm, the target's gun misfired not once, but twice, while my own shots fell straight and true. I left the body lying on the staircase, full of lead... and dripping blood.
After receiving an anonymous tipoff from a friend, I proceded to the local arms dealer (Sugar) who proceded to supply me with a Luger and single shot hand cannon. I approached my accomodation and after entering my staircase with some trepidation, I drew my Luger, the only weapon of choice for close range combat. Just before I entered my room, I heard the main doors creak open. I spun round with the lightning reactions of a cobra, the bloodshot eyes of the assassin meeting with mine. A quarter of a second later I had fired my first shot, and by the time the assassin had drawn his weapon, I had 3 shots in the air. At least that's what I thought until the assassin fired back and I fell to the ground, critically wounded. In my dying minutes I noticed the 3 rubber bands, I mean bullets, had jammed after a misloaded first shot. Damn.
While staking out one of my targets in Churchill I did spy a suspicious figure striding purposefully towards the direction of Staricase 43, the figure was wearing a balaclava, I watched him suspiciously and noticed that he was holding a small orange water pistol, noting that he was now fair game I followed him, gun ready, however he cunning outwitted me and I lost him in the maze of concrete that some call Churchill college. I don't know who he is and I don't know who he was sent to kill but I do know he was wearing cream combats and carrying a small orange water pistol. Oh well, I suppose I'd better get back to New Hall, I have a supervision in an hour
A bomb was found outside the SWAT commander's office this morning. The Bomb Disposal Squad efficiently proceeded to disarm the device and detonate it in a controlled manner inside an armoured compartment. Please note that there are civilians residing in the vicinity of the SWAT headquarters, and that bombs of such power (2l of nitroglycerine in this case) are more than likely to maim or kill a number of them. Not that you care about civilians if you're attacking the Police Force, naturally.
Due to obvious suspicions of corruption, Ma Baker felt that the current CAttAC ought to be removed. Should he have survived the bomb, he can however redeem himself in Ma Baker's eyes by agreeing to her and all other criminals except for Jeff K being redeemed from the wanted list.
Furthermore I offer the following rewards:
1. a packet of biscuits for killing any police officer who does oppose my redemption
2. a packet of biscuits for killing any player from Emmanuel
3. two packets of biscuits for killing Simon Ford, Scott Boham or Robert Hiersemenzel
Well, well...
Chief Avada issued a statement:
I cannot believe Mr Nokes realised the consequences of his actions in identifying Ben Fairbairn. In these difficult times it is too easy to be judgemental, and I think Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn should be forgiven for his unfortunate involvement, which has probably traumatised him for life.
It seems that the deceased was confused, and it was in fact the notorious Ma Baker who killed him. Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn is guilty only of making conversation with an acquaintance - and is thus no longer wanted.
We trust that all honest policemen and women will ignore Ma Baker's recent announcement, and treacherous offer, and will instead fight to uphold the law, and bring the three wanted Caius villains to justice.
The families of the deceased have offered a reward for their brutal slayings. They will reward anyone who kills Ed Nokes, Bjoern Holzhauer or Rosemary Warner with four packets of biscuits each. In addition, the death of anyone else from Caius will result in a bounty of two packets of biscuits.
We would also like to take this opportunity to warn people of the dangers of communicating with the Caius mafia, and would encourage players not to take any unnecessary risks.
Lionel Hutz,
Emmafia Solicitor
Well, folks, we seem to have a gang war on our hands.
I remind you that according to our CoP, Ma Baker and Fluffy Pufferfish are working alone, so do not be fooled into thinking otherwise by mafia propeganda.
Someone was patrolling around my staircase for quite some time today (I first heard him at about 15.00 when his motion sensor apparently went off or something). I was in my room, didn't bother to come out, after a LONG while he was gone. Nothing really interesting to report. If yo actually died to your own detonator, do please tell me...
Fearlessly leading a lone expedition into the dank corridors of Castle Wolfson-stein, I have made an attempt on the life of the notorious Hanch. While on the long walk to this location, I created the most fiendish plan know to assassin kind. I also realised I had neglected to bring any detonators for my bomb. This lead to a quick revision of my plan, the basic gist now was to talk to her until she let me in the door. Much prior research went into this plan, so I felt it had a good chance of succeeding. Unfortunately, my target was more paranoid than I had banked upon, and even my most deceptive conversational ploys went unregarded, as she remained securely locked behind her door. Ahh well, better luck next time I thought, and swiftly left, in case she called upon any associates. So ends the second report from The Firm
So there I sat in my ivory tower, strumming my academic lute in all innocence, hair flowing like Rapunzel, when suddenly a hand knocketh at my study door. Then a voice spake. "My friend needs a babysitter and I've come to ask you about it. Could you open the door?" My heart began to pound. I knew instinctively that this was an evil voice, one that meant me harm of the highest order. I decided that some criminal profiling would be a fitting response. "Name?" I enquired. "Snapdragon" the voice replyeth. Aha, I thought. A male and therefore demographically dangerous. "Course?" I enquired. "First year maths undergraduate" he replied. Then I knew, verily as I saw the scythe of DEATH hang above my laptop. This was my assassin! I clung to the door, refusing to open it, heart nearly bursting from my chest, until I suspected my would-be assassin had become bored and left the castle grounds. I have defied death and become the stronger for it. Victory will be mine!
The Supreme Court has, in an unprecedented decision, acquitted mass-murder suspect Bjoern Holzhauer (popularly known as Ma Baker) on grounds of mental unstability, lunacy, psychopathy, derangement, and being under the influence of mathematics. While there is sufficient evidence to convict Ma Baker of several offences, the Court has dictated that he is to be released, under medical surveillance, and pending further -immediate- action by the psychiatric council of the Justice Department Committee; we do not discard the possibility that he may be interned in a high-security mental institution. Signed, Chief Psychiatrist and Senior Lobotomist Gen. Colin Powell
While I admit to being mystified by this development, I can hope it will lead to a comunity care program, resulting in full reintegration into society, and an end to the terrible slaughter.
Ma Baker and Fluffy Pufferfish are clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress after the apparently non-mafia-related death of Ed Wallace, and I support my colleague in the newly caring, concerned and understanding police force in not condemning them for actions for which they cannot be held responsible. Chief Avada
You heard it here, first, folks. Rumors of corruption at the highest levels of the police force have so far proved unfounded.
After the failure of my first attempt of the day, I decided upon a change of plans. I returned to one of my many strongholds, to pick up an accomplice and a bomb. I then proceeded to St. John's, to make an attempt on the life of Zorn's Lemmon. We swiftly found his staircase, and with great daring set up a bomb outside his room, from which the sounds of viscious gladiatorial combat was issuing. These events took place at approximatly 16.40. when the detonator was primed, we knocked on the door, and ran down the stairs, escaping to freedom via the back exit, and looping round through Trinity. Here ends the third report of The Firm
His associate left this report:
Noir. The name designates a destiny from a distant time. Two maidens who govern death. The warm black hand... please protect the green fields to tranquility. I....I...can kill people ... so easily like this. But I.... Why am I not Sad? I met another assassin today, he claimed to information on Soldats, and in exchange for this information I helped him plant a bomb to kill a target - but fearing a group of them we did not want to get trapped on the staircase, so we left, quickly. Now we see how easy it will be to kill him....... Starting in business........NOIR. Kirika
The target, however, was less prosaic, and more direct:
Dear Sir,
We are pleased to confirm that the life of Zorn’s Lemmon was not placed in any danger by a bomb placed outside his room. The bomb happily failed to go off when the door was opened from a distance exceeding that of the blast radius. Consequently, Zorn’s Lemmon would like to express his appreciation for the present of a detonator; albeit a pretty useless one on past evidence.
Kirika will get his detonator back, but I'm afraid that Zorn's Lemmon get's to play with it first...
While undergoing a high tech electrical procedure in a friends room (ie mending a toastie maker) i noticed someone sneaking around my corridor. I watched as she sneaked into my unlocked (oops!) room. I wandered down the corridor, band gun in hand and kicked my own door down, which is quite a surreal experience. Then I shot Sandra Leaton Gray several times in the torso, as she stood their ready to administer deadly poison. She fell to the ground, dead. Another mess to explain to the bedder...
I tiptoed past yon Porter's Lodge in Queens', verily excited as I had never trespassed on its grounds before. Up to staircase *, whereupon I located his room without ado. His door was unlocked! I opened it carefully and proceeded inside, looking for a place to hide before brandishing my wet wipe novelty weapon. Suddenly the door was thrust open and I was hit three times in the arm by his rubber band gun as I leapt towards his face with my poisoned glove. Alas I fear I only wiped his face once I was technically dead, which may have rendered the poison useless - I await the umpire's verdict upon this.
As you were indeed shot in the torso, then Elton the dancing crocodile is alive. Post mortem operatives believe that the temporary delusions of having een shot in the arm are a result of the noxious fumes emmitted by your own weapon.
Considering the recent events, I feel I might need to clarify my past actions. The death of Edward Wallace was very much a personal thing, and the fact that he was from Caius had nothing to do with it. This was a mere coincidence. Furthermore, until today's news I was completely unaware of the existence of an organised mafia in my college. Should these people indeed not be criminals but fine citizens, I feel very sorry for having brought them into disrepute. I hope this helps to shed light on the events and will aid the honorable police in their efforts of bringing justice to us all. Your Sincerely
Naji Ashry
I'd like to report the tragic demise of a colleague. Matthew Bennett was a great assassin, widely loved by friends in many communities, not least the cambridge university flower-arranging club. His loss is a shock to us all, and his death at the hands of an axe-wielding maniac and his lunatic accomplice has struck terror into the hearts of those who knew him....
I strolled along Pembroke St as dusk grew closer; I had spent the afternoon investigating genetic crosses and as a final pursuit planned to eradicate the target from the gene pool. After succesfully negotiating my way through the labyrinthine complexity of stairtcases, bars, and toilets, I stumbled upon his staircase (not literally) and confirmed his room number. I checked my weapons were firmly in place and easily extracted, and with a jaunty step set off up the stairs. The coast was clear, his door was now all that stood between myself and the target. I entered the room, and neatly bisected his torso.
However, unbeknown to me, I had stabbed a corpse; he had died earlier that day at the hands of another assassin, who although he was not their target had perfect dispensation to kill him. Upon learning this I stalked from the sorry site and slid off into the darkness.
Not so much 'perfect' as 'not legally responsible for her actions', but yes.
I recieved this earlier today:
It turns out I didn't really die this morning at all! Like Ma Baker, I had a medical condition which caused all the symptoms of death, including rigor mortis. Since medical conditions such as death are no-longer an impediment to playing the game, I can only ask that you remove my kill report from the website, and reinstate my status within the game. I also have reason to believe that this illness affected other Emmanuelites killed this morning.
Naturally, I was suspicious, and so asked for a doctor's certificate. Soon, I recieved this, which confirmed my suspicions. It really was just the voices in my head.
Edward Clayton is showing no more signs of life now than he was before contactying this cowboy practitioner.
ALOHA! wishes to distance itself from any non-existent mafia activity taking place in Caius or Emmanuel. As has already been said, ALOHA! may or may not be a one man operation, and as such, has no links with larger organisations like the ones named previously. I find no reason, therefore, why there should be a bourbon ransom on my head from either Ma Baker or Ed Clayton. I recommend that every good assassin remains honest and true to their solitary ways, and turns from the lure of the bourbon cream.
Simon James Ford
As part of the big SWAT/mercenary attack. Details to follow...
At 7.45pm today I positioned myself on the floor below the Munby Room, King's, where the World's Most Wanted Man, the terrorist known as Jeff K who may or may not have connections with Al-Qaeda, was sure to pass on his way to a meeting of the Diplomacy Society, of which he is President. In a heartwarming display of international solidarity and love of our hallowed country, three other assassins independently chose the same spot to ambush him (the Chief Assistant to the Assistant Chief among us). We shared weapons, took our positions and waited.
But not all the people passing by that way were assassins hellbent on justice against the evil that is Jeff K. There was one Rafe Blandford, a regular at the Diplomacy Society, who amused himself by repeatedly coming up the stairs, forcing us into many a tense moment of hiding in our respective bases. Intelligence had already shown him to be a shrewd one and possibly harbourer of terrorists, but worse was to come. He secretly warned the elusive Mr K of our ambush. Mr K then proceeded to the Munby Room via a labyrinthine network of caves. The CIA had failed to inform us that these caves existed, so we were caught unawares when he made his appearance. It is dishonourable to use passages which do not show up on satellite pictures, thereby frustrating our efforts. Unexpectedly, I saw him behind Ed, brandishing a large gun. What cowardice, to shoot a man in the back! Stupidly, I didn't take cover, thinking one of us would have killed him by the time he was close enough to hit me. Alas, a fatal bullet to the chest finished me off. I won't be making that mistake again. Fortunately, justice was done when he was shot by our ally. Nevertheless, I feel it is the duty of the American people to continue to exact revenge on any country or person found or rumoured to be harbouring or training terrorists, not producing enough oil to sustain the American Economy, breaking treaties on weapons of mass destruction (the cheap kind, not nukes) or failure to comply with the American Way Of Life.
Mr Blandford later justified his despicable indifference to American prosperity by saying that 4 against 1 was unfair and "not British". Well I say it is the American way, it is just and democratic and necessary if our liberties are to be preserved. Sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice a few of our liberties to ensure the continued existence of our fragile nation.
Leader Of The Free World
Contract: Jeff K, criminal wanted for Mass Murder
Payment: Bourbon Creams
(Cue dramatic music, this is Noir after all!)
(Scene of Kirika standing behind a large object shielding her from fire,
sound of gun fire and man dying)
Kirika points her gun around the pillar and without looking depresses the
trigger, Bang, Jeff K is dead to a single shot through the forehead.
(Sounds of gunfire stop, music terminates)
There are three dead bodies sprawled on the ground, and she is the only one who is still standing, unscathed.
Killing people.....is my daily bread.
Kirika.
Congratulations, you win the David Chow Bourbon Cream award. I'll get them to you soon (assuming Chow pays up..)
The dying words of Jeff K:
I woz makeng a importent 133t delivary to King's when on off my 133t kr3w warned me "theres assasin's wateing for yuo upsteirs, yuo no". asassin's as in plurals wich means many teh fagot CTs raelized that they wodant haev a chanse in a fere fight. I droped my stuff and laoded my Ignram and goed up soem othar steres. I burst uot behind tehm and then ti was SPREY AND PREY BEBY!!!1! I gots two off teh fux0rz but teh third fagot had body armore and an assolt rifel and blowed my breins out.
I observe, for those who can read the above, and wonder exactly what body armour was being used, that it was in fact a shield. Very effective it was, too.
This report was recieved from our CAttAC, who was coordinating the attack.
Some independent Freedom Fighters approached the Government earlier today regarding the whereabouts and activities of dangerous hacker and terrorist Jeff K. As this was a matter of National Security, almost (but not quite) as important as the rooting out of the Taliban threat, it was decided that the Armed Forces must intervene to apprehend or otherwise stop this ruthless criminal.
Upon arrival at the scene, multiple mercenaries and freelance paramilitary groups were encountered, and the Special Forces team took on the role of co-ordinating a well-planned ambush, and covering the alternate -and very dangerous- entry point to the hot zone. While there were some (minor) casualties in the ensuing combat, the target was successfully and efficiently eliminated. The Special Forces team then proceeded to recruit more members, and disappeared again into the night onboard a black helicopter.
Gen. Colin Powell
And I think I speak for us all when I say that I am glad that we have this man ensuring our safety.
Could the rumours of his having been pressured into following the CoP's line on Ma Baker & co. be true?
The Thrower of Toys made a daring one man raid on the spiritual leader of the ALOHA! mafia. After some brief reconaissance to ensure said leader was dead in mediation alone, I used my military training to breach the garden defences of his fortified terraced castle and stealthily creep in through an open kitchen window. Once in the house i realised several high ranking mafia members had arrived since my initial reconnoitre and the leader was deep in conversation. I crept towadrs the open door to the leaders chamber and burst in. Immediately I realised my mistake, the scene was something like those publicity shots of the handguns armistice, guns and ammo liberally strewn around the room. I fired both my weapons at the head aloha as quickly as possible and fled just before the assembled mafia picked up their weapons and pursued me out onto the street.
The lucky non-victim said only:
I woke up this morning with the familiar dilemma; was I Simon; was I James? After the usual five minutes of confusion, I realised I was both. A few lectures and supervisions later, I caught up with the latest Assassin's news, and boy, what a day it had been! My regret was that I had not been able to join in the mayhem, but there's time to catch up I hope. Anyway, I had arranged to meet up with some contacts at 9pm tonight, but was unfortunately unable to attend. I was busy working when a couple of friends came round. They saw my pile of weapons, and started testing them out (I was quite sure neither was an assassin). A near fatal error on my part, as minutes later, a hooded figure burst through the unlocked door! He fired a couple of shots at me, both hitting my strategically placed monitor. He then seemed to realise that there were two other people in the room, both with weapons, and disappeared again. My first instinct (unfortunately a rather slow one) was to relock my door. I knew the face, and was surprised that he hadn't tried a more subtle method of attack. I then armed myself and opened my door. No bomb had been left. I checked the kitchen. The window was open, wide enough to permit a body. Had he entered this way? I must make sure my housemates are more security conscious in future.
Our CAttAC was on the scene for a tense standoff at Gt. St. Mary's earlier this evening, and managed to singlehandedly avert much trouble.
Tonight as I went to acquire my weekly dose of beef at the Van, I was shocked to spot in the distance the formerly-wanted-criminal-now-in-rehab Ma Baker. Sensing danger, I hid behind a parked car and watched from safety. Sure enough, more Cauians appeared soon after from the South West, followed by three more unidentified persons, one of whom was obviously carrying a very heavy weapon, possibly a minigun or large flamethrower. They stood there chatting nervously, until a second group appeared from the North West. I did not recognize any of them, but the two teams clearly knew each other, since they all reached for their pockets or bags - yet they didn't draw any weapons, possibly for fear of a large gunfight erupting.
At that point I pulled out my trusty chrome-plated Beretta 92FS, 9x19mm parabellum, 15-round magazine, custom-made in Italy. I slowly and surreptitiously crept up to the hot zone and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Unfortunately I couldn't approach them enough to hear what was being said, other than something about "raids on Kings and Emma". Before I could find out any more, both teams slowly crept away from each other and eventually walked off toward their respective dens.
It is now clear that some very shady businesses are being conducted within the city - as a result, all police officers are called to duty: I would like to carry out interviews with all members of the Force as soon as possible, and no later than the end of this week, so please e-mail me to arrange a meeting (individually or in groups).
Gen. Colin Powell
I think we can all agree that this man is a credit to the force. It seems a shame that his commanding officer is apparently in bed with dangerous mafioso. (Figuritivly speaking, of course - I don't wish to imply anything about her personal life.) What is the CUPD to do?
Having just become non-wanted, I was at once offered what seemed to be a chance to find one of my targets. According to Simon Ford the target and others should have been congregating at Great St Mary's at 9pm. This whole affair however sounded very suspicious, but what was Simon up to?
Very carefully we took up positions, however we soon spotted another group of nearly a dozen black coat wearing characters.
We eyed each other wearily, occasionally glancing behind us, when suddenly the CAttAC arrived, who had also been 'invited' by Simon.
At this point it became obvious that Simon had been trying to get us to kill each other and so the Caius contingent cautiously retreated.
And from the other side of the lines:
The Binford Mafia tonight had an... encouter with certain other scary-looking types. Having arranged that a few of us should meet with one Simon Ford, to discuss matters of... mutual interest.... we were greatly surprised when, come the appointed time and place, we saw no sign of the person we were coming to meet. We however, had turned out in force, and there were many of us covering all the routes.
This turned out to be a good thing, since we did, however, notice another group of people standing around watching the same place that we were. We drew together and watched, facing each other down the street. Just as things were beginning to get nasty - hands were flexing on triggers, and we were getting ready to draw, our esteemed CAttAC, Mario Sainz-Martinez, turned up and walked warily between the two groups. This gave us pause, and (with the aid of Mario's careful reasoning) the two mafias decided to retire to their respective lairs - with the police around it did not seem wise to make any move tonight.
It seems as though Simon Ford was trying to set us all up - but we know his plans now, we know where he lives and we know where he works.... be afraid - be very afraid
This does indeed seem to be a worrying development, I am certain the police will be investigating the alleged impersonation of the founder of A League Of Honest Assassins (ALOHA!), who must surely be above such as this.
A friend of Hamm's: Agent Icarus adds:
After arranging a time to meet Simon Ford (21.00, Great St. Mary's Church) under the intention of exchanging some information with him, the Binford Mafia arrived early to take up watchful positions in case of trouble. Agent Icarus, looking very dapper it must be said, in suit jacket and dress shirt (you can't be a secret agent without a sense of style, can you?), went in alone.
However, Simon Ford deserves the Brutus Award for the stunt he then pulled. Having obviously alerted the Caius Mafia to our impending arrival he completely failed to show up. It didn't take long for us to spot the lurking figures of some Cauians, carrying some rather mean-looking weaponry barely hidden in sports bags, and we faced off along the street. A tense stand-off ensued - the Caius Mafia outnumbered, but with the more impressive weaponry against the Binford Mafia, sporting only few small-calibre water weapons. We stood, hardly breathing, waiting for the first person to draw their gun.
Thankfully, at that point, Mario (CAttAC) turned up and that finally dissuaded us from pulling out our weapons. It appears that he, too, had been led there by a letter from Simon - possibly with the intention of wiping out the last survivors of our Mafia Battle?
Anyway, the two Mafias split, retreating warily back to their lairs to plan for another day.
It starts thus. Last week I contacted No.
Is this the end of ALOHA!? Possibly. In the meantime, Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn's report:
Once upon a legume, there twas an infeasible cavalier named Sir Sven Ø'Bjørnchester Samuel J. McHølzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahøy! Wilsøn. He was not yet known across the land as the gravest knight ever to suffer from diseases of the carrot, for that hideous incurable had yet to b'fall his magnificent frame in these days 'afore the fall of fair Albion. One day, he ate a McCardboard Nugget of unneccessarily convoluted form. The next day, he ate an other five McNuggets of Cardboard, of only slightly above average nobbl'ness. By this time, the golden gems were cold and tasteless, and bacterially infested. His Highness was most pleased with this improvement. Three weeks later, he partook of a cumbersome aquatic dispenser, of unneccessarily much capacity, and spend the evening bewatering the varigated folliage of the Holy Flora in the Realm of Great St. Marye, bless her soles. I don't know why he did this, since our Lord had been chittered upon by his minions McIntosh and Peter Storm many days before, and from this learned of an evil meeting b'twixt the Kingdom of Binforde and the On the ordained night, therefore, the gallant warrior arose and promptly ate an hearty breakfast of Turnip and Lemon, and munched his way through a baked chair, washed down with an goblet of freshy anti-macassars. Then he rolled over to the Palace of Queen Mary, there to espy an collective of Discordant Binfordians protesting about the inevitability of taxation. Somewhat perturbed, but not behampered by this protesting prolapse of perambulating pedestrians of Platonic predestination, he stood becloaked in all his magnanimous glory and offered his minions the opportunity of belaying down their otherwise miserable existences an his sake. Our Saviour and his peons swiftly behid their weapons, and fired not three, not five, but none, verily, not one elongated strand of searing aqua vita towards each of the five-brace and one upstanding art student. Then that great Keeper of the Peace, and indeed the King's pieces, and the Pieces of the King, and their Keeper, who upon earth was titled in the common tongue But 'twas not over until the Fat Lady sang. Then 'twas over.
Well now. Thats the end of Mr Michael Lee. It was a long climb up those stairs, but a very helpful groups of neighbours pointed out where he was, and one was even nice enough to call him out onto the landing for me. Oh well. It is useful to be small, female and have a chest. It opens many many doors. Oops, sorry it was open anyway. Silly boy.
Hi all,
I've received some bad public feedback about today's decision to regard Ma Baker and the Fluffy Pufferfish as insane rather than necessarily evil. As such I think I'd better clarify some matters and make some apologies.
Firstly, I apologise to the families of the innocents who had no connection with the alleged EmMafia. Secondly, the EmMafia itself seems to have been greviously wronged, and the death of Ed Wallace an unfortunate accident. This has something to do with the reasons for the ruling. As such I can only express my regrets at the passing of Mr Clayton and friends, and would like to attend their funerals.
The reason for the apparently arbitrary ruling was based not on justice, nor even on corruption particularly, but rather on pragmatism. The misunderstanding about Ed Wallace had claimed a great many lives, and seemed likely to claim more in Caius, Emmanuel and in other places. The ruling was made by myself and by the CAttAC, more or less indepently, to try to restore the Game to a semblance of normality, and prevent more harmful gang war. I do not expect mafia rivalry to end with this skirmish, but it would be good if Caius and Emmanuel mafias could please try to regard the events as primarily due to a misunderstanding.
The police force is increasing in power, and sooner or later will feel capable enough to enforce a more rigid code of law throughout this city, with fewer concessions to cowardice and common sense. Chief Avada
Citizens are reminded that there is a fair and democratic process for replacing the CoP, should you so desire, and that she usually attends Physical NatSci lectures.
]Produced at Sat Mar 16 22:59:37 2002