Spanner reports:
Liwei Deng is down; two minutes after the game commences the target is gone. Death by boulder... well in the form of an inflatable pumpkin anyway!The Lemming Award went early then...
Deadeye reports:
Deadeye would like to anounce the elimination of target number 1, Jocy Williams. The dastardly deed was done during a meal at Pizza Express at 9pm precisely on Friday October 18th. The victim was brutally murdered with a knife by stabbing in the back and slitting of the throat. The blood flowed and mingled with the wine as the assassin stoleaway into the night to locate target number two...
Sdavros reports:
At 22:08 on Friday night, Sdavros stabbed ******** ******* in the abdomen to claim his first kill of the game. After the target foolishly identified herself to her assassin, Sdavros drew out his weapon and brutally murdered her, in her own room....
Triniti reports:
It was an ordinary Friday night. I was undergoing some weapon training, building bombs and the like, when a sharp knock broke me from my reverie. Under the ruse of a door salesman, an assassin, with an equally evil accomplice forced entry into my quarters and, after a brief struggle, he lunged forward and stabbed me in the gut. Despite my wound I managed to strike him once on the arm with a metal bar, but he got away. Alas . . . My time is up!
Number 5 reports:
I, Number 5 and Crud Puppy went along to John's around 11ish to scout out the area and if possible make some kind of attempt. We eventually found Cripps Court and the correct staircase, but on climbing the steps I noted that it was a long way back out and, fearing reinforcements, only waited a couple of minutes after knocking before retreating to the relative safety of Queens.
Dr Wevil reports:
Sometime in the last week, I left my door unlocked...possibly I went to the kitchen, or to a lecture of some sort. But somebody crept in and (not knowing my standards of personal hygiene) smeared some poison on the sink taps. Not until this morning when I finally got round to shaving for the week did I dare to touch such poisoned devices...ah well, I'm dead. No use complaining.
Arvicola Terrestris reports:
"My nose whiffled. I could feel the season change, and knew that autumn was once more upon us. I sniffed again - blood was in the air. Ancient, uncontrollable instincts awakened, even in me, the humblest of herbivores - I had to kill. I was visiting that night, and the urge overcame me again. But I could not kill my host there - it would be impolite. After I had taken my leave, however, surely etiquette did not constrain so much. So I contrived, and I planned silently, whiffling all the while. I decided that I should create some pretext for returning after I had departed, so I did. Upon my return to "collect" what I had "forgotten", my host kindly opened the door. As he turned away, I slid my claws - never before used for such a task - into his back. My bloodlust satisfied, I collect my belongings and left."
Shiny Things of Sharpness ™ reports:
Well. That was short. I was in a society meeting from the beginning of the
game until about 01:15.
A certain Arvicola Terrestris left said meeting (in my room), and then came back
for his propelling pencil.
All well and good. Except he stabbed me in the back with a penknife when I
admitted him.
Dead after 4 minutes of active play - by the vaguries of the targeting
software.
Bugger.
Nice professional job, though.
I guess what they say about ex-umpires is true...
Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nurnburger-bratwustle-gerspurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hansfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm reports:
I wandered up kings parade, and decided to drop in on my old pal Enemy Z. A pleasent stroll through 'Cats ensued, and presently I ended up at his room. Here, despite a sign indicating the contrary, I discovered he was out. Ah well - another time.
A Large-scale Digitigrade Morula reports:
I was informed that my target was leaving to go shopping, so I thought I'd put a bomb on his door. It is big and colourful. Hopefully he won't notice it when he returns.
The Milky Bar Goat reports:
Returning from a shopping trip (buying some lovely bread for my lunch), I noticed a rather obvious, huge, colourful bomb on my door. Using my cunning skills, I ignored it because I noticed the detonator had fallen off. When I left two minutes later to go to see my friend, it had gone! I wonder who it could have been?
Orion reports:
On the off chance that my target would be in, I wondered round to her staircase. Climbing carefully to avoid being heard, I heard footsteps behind me, so I quickly hid in her bathroom. When the person opened the nearest door to me, I could see that this wasn't my target, but the door of my target was wide open. Seizing the opportunity, I went in and knifed my victim to death, leaving her friend to wipe up the bloodstains.
Dellboy reports:
I killed Tom Bryden (Trinity) at 1.15 yesterday afternoon.
Blank reports:
Blank here reporting my first kill. Heeran Buhecha meet with an untimely demise this afternoon at around 14:00-15:00. Having gone to Trinity Hall, i was stopped by the porter who asked if he could help me. After showing him some i.d. he kindly pointed me in the right direction. I slogged my way up to the top of the staircase and located my target's room. to my surprise, the door was open and my target in. I ducked round a corner to check to make sure I got her name right. when I came back round, i found Miss Buhecha and two friends leaving the room. I said "hi, i'm looking for heeran?" to which she raised her hand and smiled sweetly, a smile which was quickly replaced with horror as she realised who I was as I drew my weapon. She didn't make it to her door however and recieved four rubber bands to the back for her trouble. All in all, she took her death very calmly and with a smile.
Scarlet reports:
I write to report my unfortunate demise at approximately 2pm on Saturday
19th October. Having been involved in celebrations for my birthday all
weekend, I was off my guard somewhat, and was leaving my room with two
friends when the incident occurred.
My assassin stole down the corridor towards my companions and me, whilst I
was distracted by locking my room door, and charmingly and politely
informed my friend that he was looking for me. Said friend dutifully
pointed in my direction, at which point I looked up and greeted him. Blank
then pulled out a rubber band gun, whereupon I realised the fact that I was
in mortal danger, and began scrabbling to open my door- which in a tragic
twist of fate I had locked moments earlier. I was mown down in a hail of
rubber bands, and conceded defeat, much to the confusion of my perplexed,
non Cambridge friends. My assassin then wished me a happy birthday, and
continued on his rampage.
Sergeant Pepper reports:
Just to let you know I was unceremoniously killed today by gunshot to the head by someone calling himself James, with an American accent. I'm sure his report will tell you more.
Adroit reports:
1720 hrs - After avoiding schoolwork for an entire afternoon, I had worked up a hardy appetite, but found to my horror that there were 40 minutes left until the canteen opened. I decided that I could use some action as an aperitif OF MAYHEM!!! (insert comedic drum sting or spooky spy music here, your choice).
1725 hrs - Arrived at Queens College, outside the room of designated target. Upon knocking on the door, there was no response. Due to the lack of a light on in the room, I was not surprised. I sneaked over to the bench in the suite to wait for the target to return.
1729 hrs - It dawned on me that waiting for the target involves patience, which I do not possess in the slightest.
1731 hrs - I looked at my watch, sighed.... Shuffled my feet a bit.
1732 hrs - Only one damn minute has passed! No way in hell!!! You've got to be kidding me!
1735 hrs - Decide to use the loo.
1736 hrs - Target and a suitemate enter the door, just as I am leaving the loo. I introduce myself, as I do not recognize them, and they introduce themselves to me. I leave the suite quickly, unholster my gun, then step back in to speak to Tom. Leaving the talking to my trusty rubber-band gun, a decisive argument is made with a hit to the head. Upon informing him that he is, in fact, dead, I left the college for the safety, warmth, and food of Emma.
Dr Slightly Malevolent reports:
Someone knocked on my door to my dungeon, and when I didn't respond lurked suspiciously outside. When I eventually stepped out (heavily armed) I found him lying on the floor unarmed. The results of the ensuing interrogation were highly inconclusive... but how could I resist shooting him when he was lying there defenceless?
The Umpire reports:
For this heinous misdeed, Johannes Nordstrom (Dr Slightly Malevolent) is now a wanted man.
Minister of the Dammed reports:
Saturday 19, 22:27 I, [P1] and Katamarino popped along to the room of [P2], cunningly slipstreaming someone with an entrance card to gain access. Waiting outside the target's door, loud classical music could be heard emanating from the room. We waited and enjoyed the music before knocking. And waiting. We waited a bit more. Knocked again. Waited. Knocked. A note came sliding under the door - "Dear Assassins, [illegible bit]. Good Night." Maybe he could reply and tell us what that middle bit said..? Katamarino then paced down the corridor to give the impression of people leaving. I waited outside the door to see if he would emerge, but all that could be heard was the sound of copulation from the room across the hall. Ah well, at least someone else was having a good night.
Dellboy reports:
I killed Chris Crawshaw (Johns) at 11.42 yesterday night.
Deadeye reports:
There I was enjoying a party with some chums, innocent and oblivious to the misfortune about to befall me. At about 11.50 came a knock on the door and, unwittingly (my guard lowered by a tipple or two) I went to answer it. By a deft "dummy knock" manoeuvre, my assassin struck me down with an elastic band to the head. Thus dispatched I returned to the party but there's nothing like being dead to ruin your evening.
Prostetnic Vogon Cjeltz reports:
Although most humans prove themselves spectacularly irritating and, indeed, dense, some also prove themselves spectacularly unimaginative. One of the more noticeable of these unfortunate few is "Dellboy", but he is far from alone.
The Vogon nation prides itself on its literary tradition (which combines turgidity, earnestness and inappropriateness into a most delightful mix), and to share a town with a personage so inane is insulting. I would be angry if I wasn't so bored.
However, the aggravation caused by all this caused me to write a rather unpleasant poem. You might ask that a poem this indigestible should be kept under wraps, but I would reply "who are you to say, you worthless inhabitant of a particularly pointless planet?"
Far from 'cross the stellar void
Trundled the constructor fleet
Tetchily our hopes were buoyed
By the hope that we would meet
Someone who could dramatise
Afore his planet swiftly dies.
Just clods we find. We're quite annoyed.
'Twas not so in days of yore:
The likes of Oolon Colluphid,
Zaphel Negzik, Nif Glanxore,
Betjeman and others did
For ever, show it possible
To write of the incredible.
Minds like these we see no more.
All this serves to make me think
Of laser beams and metal knives.
My callous heart is tickled pink
By dreams of ending these oafs' lives.
Just to satisfy my mirth
I'll vapourise them, then the Earth
Leaving no trace 'cept this ink.
I think Cjeltz had something to say about certain kill reports...
Remember the Bad Press rule. I may just enforce it.
Justice For All reports:
Whilst attempting to get some vital work done I was disturbed by a knock to my door. Opening it I spied an evil looking character, alarm bells rang and i attempted to close the door. Too Late! An arm holding a rubber band gun appeared and my room was liberaly sprayed with excessive volumes of lethal rubber. Whilst moving matrix style i was hit by a single band in my left chest killing me almost instantly. I only managed to stay alive for long enough to agree with the assassin who appeared to be Johannes Nordstrom that it was a legal kill, but only just. I then return to patch up the holes left around my room by the bands.
Dr Slightly Malevolent reports:
I never understood what use I would have for the Door Salesman section of the Medieval Torture course. But now I see that the masterminds that planned the Evil Overlord tripos are unerring. When I knocked on Duncan Brewer's door he was so kind as to open his, but very impolitely tried to close it again when I drew my gun. Of course by then I had my foot in the door, so I could stick my arm in and give his room a light spray. Since there was an unsatisfactory absence of cries of pain I squeezed my head in too and was then able to shoot him in the stomach.
Dr Slightly Malevolent reports:
Emilie wasn't in her room when I stopped by to pay her a
visit. Her helpful neighbours told me that she was in a June Event
committee meeting. A porter was kind enough to point the room out for me. I
did not wish to interrupt their scheming, so I waited outside for a bit
until a woman left the meeting.
"Is Emilie still in there?" I asked her.
"I'm Emilie", she replied. "Who are you?"
"Your assassin", I gloated, drew my weapon and shot her.
Mr Smiley reports:
At 2100 hours on Saturday 19th October, Mr Smiley struck. His target: Ms Grundy, of Magdalene. His method: a lethal cigarette lighter and poisioned coca cola combination. The assassin first used the flamethrower under the victim's chin, and then proceeded to offer a drink, just in case she wasn't cooperating. She was; on both counts.
A Large-scale Digitigrade Morula reports:
After hours of searching I found my target's room within the great maze. First court is truly difficult to navigate. A cunning bomb(tm) was placed, and hopefully he won't notice it, in fact, it will be near-impossible for him to notice. I just hope it works. I hope he doesn't row, I wouldn't want to be woken too early tomorrow (one of the many days when I have no lectures) from hearing the blast.
The Magic Fez reports:
I woke up to most definitely NOT go rowing today, and opened my door to
a rather pathetic click. Looking around, I saw nothing, and went to get
a shower. When I returned, I thought I saw something glint on the
carpet, and on closer inspection, I did in fact see a small dice-sized
device labelled bomb, that I'd carelessly failed to detonate (I think it
was a dud) by opening my door. I estimate it's capacity to be about
2cm-squared, which is 2ml I think. This cunning device had a range of
about -13m, which I hope wouldn't have blown the entire house up, but
instead done sod all.
At least someone's finally bothered to make some kind of attempt on me.
Dr Slightly Malevolent reports:
Since case studies show that Legions of Storm Troopers are not quite as reliable as they seem I took some Armed Combat courses at graduate level. This paid off today. When I was lurking in the neighbourhood of the senior police officers (who conveniently live very close together) Tom Garnett came cycling toward me. When he saw me the coward tried desperately to get away. But a moving target at extreme range was still no problem for a marksman like me. I leisurely snapped off a single shot which hit him in the neck and nearly tore his head off. Cambridge is one step closer to complete anarchy. MWAHAHA! MWAHAHAHA!
The Umpire reports:
Under the conditions I gave him, all that stands between Johannes and redemption is the death of the Chief Of Police, Jolyon Winstone. By achieving this, he can gain access to Police HQ and erase his file.
Lock your doors; there's a dangerous, desperate man on the loose. Good luck...
Sharp Thing Of Shininess – reports:
*sigh*
He would have gotton lost just there...
I took precautions especially - but pedestrian versus cyclist just isn't going to be a fair fight.
Perhaps another second and I'd have been out of range, but Dr Slightly Malevolent has been practicing his marksmanship, by the looks of things, because he made the shot.
Two deaths by extreme coincidence in a weekend is nature's way of telling you not to play the lottery. So I shan't.
Brendan Roses reports:
The stage was set. I knew my target's name, room and email address; I had committed the photograph to memory, pinpointed the staircase on a map of the college and carefully scouted out all of the possible routes of entry and escape. I was confident that, with all my skills in overblown dramatic report-writing, the task of dispatching my target could be accomplished swiftly and easily. Imagine my disappointment, therefore, when I found that in the barbaric wasteland of [my target's college] it is apparently necessary for staircases to be protected with combination locks! Coming from a much more liberal college I had failed entirely to plan for this eventuality, and I was forced to abandon the attempt.
Disappearing Girl reports:
I pulled the very useful trick of ringing his doorbell, pretending to be a dumb fresher (no jokes about me not pretending please!) who had locked myself out. And he fell for it :) I paralysed him with a cosh blow to the torso followed by a swift stab with a knife. I then told him he was dead and ran away. It was fun.
Sinister Dexter reports:
Dear lady umpire,
My first target lives in a staircase with considerable defensive possibilities, so I'm not going to knock on his door! I will stay competent if my bomb kills him, won't I? It was a great bomb, it was one of the detonator things cleverly positioned to go off if he pulls a pamphlet out of his pigeonhole. I shall sit in lectures and confidently await my first KILL!
Yours with BLOODLUST,
SINISTER DEXTER!!!
Zionist Rebel reports:
Well, this is my first game, and for my first attempt, I thought I'd try one of those poison letters, as they are very cheap, and don't require me to knock on anyone's door. So, I decided to go to Trinity, with a letter for Evil Capitalist. I wandered around for a while, but could not find the post room. I cunningly decided to ask a porter, and they let me put the letter in the internal mail, as people who are not members of college are not allowed access to the pigeon holes. I wait with eagerness to see if it has the desired effect.
Evil Capitalist reports:
Hmmm? letter without stamp or frank, no college markings, rattles when you shake it. Wonder what this could be. Needless to say, I donned gloves and opened it with scissors to find a polite and neat note from my potential killer. I'd wish better luck next time, but it would sound rather hollow.
Number 5 reports:
Having grabbed a sandwich from O'Briens Sandwich bar I was in the position
of having nearly an hour before my practical. I decided not to waste the
opportunity and, Christ's being close, proceeded thence to see if my
target was in. I had had a little difficulty with the code on the door of
staircase 2 earlier in the morning (they use all five digits, grrr), but
that was easily overcome by the simple expedient of following in two
helpful freshers. "Can you let me in please, I'm here to kill one of your
friends?", "Of course, can I do anything else for you?"
Reaching the top of the staircase and entering the corridor I beheld, to my shock, daylight. The target's door was wide open. I then fully withdrew my 2mm Gauss pistol and set the power to maximum. Cautiously peeking around the door-frame I beheld him chatting to a young lady. I then stepped fully into the room and shot him once through the heart. The high-velocity 2mm round left a large hole in his chest and continued on through his ceiling into the upper atmosphere. The girl started screaming abuse at me and so, after carefully checking the body for vital signs (you never know what Christ's acceptance policies are for non-humans), I absented myself from the scene.
The Boy with a Thorn in his Side reports:
It gives me, The Boy with the Thorn in his Side, great pleasure to report the following:
Just after 25 to two. I hadn't had any lunch : adrenaline was my energy source. Down King's Parade. In, and to the left. I knew my route. My dubious actions were stopped as I passed an old friend on the way. We stopped to talk - I needed an excuse! Luckily, my faculty was nearby so I used that. We parted and I moved on. His sign said 'In'. He was out. I returned five minutes later, not wanting to come back again. He was in. "Paul?". Realising too late, he shut the door on me, but my knife plunged into him before giving its own life. The deed was done. I need a new weapon. Time of death: 1344. Time of lunch: 1346.
The Red Dacoyth reports:
Michael Nickson has been stung by the Red Dacoyth.
In the dead of the night I unleashed the first of my creatures of Hades. These creatures, which took over 200 years to breed in the Tibetan mountains, costing the lives of hundreds of monks, have a venom as potent as Nurul's breath.
At his pigeon holes there lay in waitthe sting of their undeniable fate.
Minister of Power reports:
It was a crisp morning as I entered the porters lodge, checking my pigeon hole quickly before I made my happy way to lectures. In a moment of madness I will never understand I completely let my guard down and fumbled inside my pigeon hole, drawing out to my surprise a rather horrible looking grasshopper. As I recoiled in horror the evil thing bit me, its terrible fangs sinking deep into my flesh. I screamed, flinging the thing against a wall. As it scuttled off my vision began to cloud, I stumbled towards the porter mumbling incomprehensibly, a terrible coldness overtaking me. He made to reach me, his eyes wide in fear, but suddenly I was on the floor, racked with uncontrolable spasms. I could only mumble a few words...'How could it end like this...may the Selwyn mafia avenge me!'. Then the darkness came...
Sinister Dexter reports:
Dear lady umpire,
We are allowed to try to kill target 2 if we haven't killed target
1, aren't we? My godfather says we aren't, but it doesn't say that in the
rules so it's NOT MY FAULT if I have done something wrong.
I have constructed a bomb of great stealth and cunning execution, as
advised. This morning I left it in the pigeonhole of Michael Mann. May he
REST IN PIECES!!!!!!!
Yours PSYCHOPATHICALLY :-)
SINISTER DEXTER
Paganini reports:
At 15:30 a friend of mine knocks at the door...
Two mysterious figures were hiding behind her.
As I opened the door, the first one tries to stab me but I manage to kill
him with my gun. The second one runs away.
Coward...
Katamarino reports:
Myself (Katamarino) and Minister of the Dammed went to Paginini's room to have another try at killing him. We enlisted the help of a girl we met in the corridor to persuade him to open his door, and as it swung open the Minister dashed into the room, knife at the ready. Unfortunately, he was shot. Deciding that discression is the better part of valour, I ran away like a girl. Hey, i'm not the one who died!
Minister of the Dammed reports:
At approximately 3.30 this afternoon we crept into the hostel with the intention of assassinating my target Paganini. We accosted a female student, who i brilliantly enlisted in our attempt upon his life. Using her as a decoy to knock on his door we hid on either side, and upon its opening I leapt forward thrusting my knife phallically towards his chest. At this point he squealed Bang whilst pointing a small mean looking gun in my direction. Damn.
Evil Capitalist reports:
Seven years have I waited. Seven years ago I first met my tormentor. I intorduced myself to him with a cheerful 'Hi' in my first year of primary school, only for him to boot me in the face. As time passed the degradations grew worse. The stole my lunch money, burnt my homework and killed my goldfish. He even ridiculed my epigrams. The cruel cruel fiend who had made my life hell for the whole of secondary school had for seven years got away unpunished.
Imagine my joy when my target list arrived, showing him in pride of place. Preparing my arsenal I walked to Fitz, every step sure in the knowledge that vengence would soon be mine. A quick knock on the door made the unsuspecting bully open the door and invite me inside, trying to repair the terrible wounds of the past with pleasantries and tea. Resisting the urge to throw the scalding hot liquid in his face, I waited. Totally unsuspecting we talked, every moment the smug air of vengence barely hidden. Just as I was about to leave, I brought out a cosh, knocked him unconscious and garotted him with an old school tie. Honour is satisfied.
Paganini reports:
The criminal Nordstrom was on the loose and having vivid memories of the
masssacres he used to do last year I decided that his current status of
wantedness was too dangerous for other people as he might decide to
exterminate many other players, because of his paranoid tendencies.
The plan was simple: with a coterie of accomplicies I would find him and
then kill him. We went to King's we all took our positions. After thirty
seconds, we were all tired to chase him and we decided to drink something at
the bar. What was my surprise when I met a very good friend of mine that had
to hand in an essay that was already two days late. I decided to accompany
her so that she wasn't forced to walk 150 metres on her own.
In the meantime: A evil man dressed in suspiciously black clothes was
walking along King's Parade. People that watched him couldn't prevent
themselves from starting silent prayers when they crossed his gelid eyes.
As we were returning to the bar a sudden cold froze our heart, it wasn't the
usual coldness typical of Cambridge weather, it was the evil man that was
passing just in front of us going inside a building.
BANG, I said.
And he was dead.
King's College is a safe place again.
Arrogant reports:
I picked up what looked like a small bird, then was
horrified to find it was a poisonous insect, cunningly
disguised...
Red Dacoyth: Nice kill, shame about the origami skills.
arial68 reports:
After maurauding the streets of cambridge in search of prey my accomplices
and I descended on the inhabitants of Emma. After gaining a map of the
establishment from the plodge we exited the college and gained entrance at
another gate. Our devious method was to use my female accomplice to entice a
young man of dodgy haircut to open the gate as we were poor defenceless
first years who had lost our keys, if only they knew! We then procedded in a
confident manner to gain entry to the staircase and even the very room. I
knocked and after several minutes of inactivity the door opened wide. A head
peered round the door. As I introduced myself as living downstairs the look
of confusion turned to terror. I swung with my cosh before stabbing
mercilessly into his heart An attempt was made to discharge a firearm was
made but we fled before any harm could be done. A hasty flight across the
college was broken only by attempts to purchase food from a vending machine
to discover it was cards only.
I love the taste of blood in the evening
Cabin Boy reports:
I was sitting peacefully in my room on Monday night when there was
a very loud banging on my door. Having just heard my neighbour's voice I
assumed it was him being a twat and trying to work me up. When invitations
to enter were replied to with further knocking I became more suspicious.
Griping my trusty Detective Special firmly in one hand I cautiously opened
the door hiding my self (and my weapon) partially behind it. I was greeted
by a very large and sheepish individual.
"Umm... I live in the room below you..."
Yeah right, no points awarded for subtlety.
I pointed my gun and fired twice at his chest as he lunged forwards and stabbed me in the arm and stomach (with what I assume was a knife). My attacker then, rather rudely, legged it down the hall as if an army was after him. (No 'hello I've just killed you' or whatever...) really some people.
The Peacemaker reports:
While at a society meeting (which I will not name for security reasons), I
noticed that one Laura Stewart of Corpus was present. Silently
unholstering my weapon, I easily surprised her.
Unfortunately an assassin of some notoriety, who happened to be present,
then pointed out that society meetings are out of bounds. This was of
course a setback, but not an insurmountable one. The target informed me
that she had had a bad day or some similar plea for mercy, whereupon I
promised to put her out of her misery.
Being the early stages of the game, there are still many incompetent
players around. It turned out that she was one of those, and therefore too
apathetic/forgetful to defend herself after the meeting had ended. To
follow her out and put a bullet in her back was no difficult task, and her
life duly came to an end at 10.30pm.
Orion reports:
A knock comes on my door at 10:38 pm, 2 people are there at my door - a girl and a boy. They ask my name. They have it correct. I then ask theirs to which there is no reply. I watch them knocking on the door with what looks to be some sort of club. Eventually, they hide just around the corner, but I can still hear them whispering among themselves. At 22:42, I hear a door open and one runs up, and a small poisoned letter arrives from underneath the door. I leave it well alone, but it can be read easily without going near it.
The Minister of Foreboding reports:
I decided to make an official visit to the lair of Scary Helen this mornng, and after arriving, went for the good old knock on the door trick. Not even a helpless whimper from inside. Not to be discouraged, I set about preparing the most fiendish bomb that I had ever constructed. This was duly placed against her door as a form of calling card. I suspect I may have to call again though...
Guy le Strange reports:
burn: to murder: synonyms: break an egg, clip, do a piece of work, hit, ice, pop, put out a contract on, whack.
three contracts were put out to me, and i accepted the first/ Mikey Cripps was the name - maybe some kind of irish? it didn't matter, i had to do a piece of work on him/ when you've been clocking him for the past couple of days and it's all on the record, you know where he'll be taking the hit/ Maccy D's was the place, before he goes to work/ i found myself a booth, settling down with a shake/ moments later he walks by - he don't know just how close he was to getting iced just then/ i'm a patient guy though, and i don't want to make a mess/ so i follow him up to the counter, retract my blade, and leave the steel embedded in his ribs/ a well timed, professional job if i do say so myself/ the Family will be proud of me/
Karl Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nurnburger-bratwustle-gerspurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hansfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm reports:
Memo to self: Be less predictable.
Having visited the Maccy D's almost every day so far this term, I suppose I
was tempting Fate. Well, he didn't turn up, but Guy le Strange did.
Unfortunately, I was distracted by the site of a Big Breakfast Bun and so
only noticed the blade slide under my ribs at the last second.
Not only did someone pinch the pseudonym I really wanted, but I'm also
dead - not a good week, all told.
Sister of Darkness reports:
I feel its important to point out that my day, up to this point had
been particularly uneventful: Quadwatic mathematics had been
uneventful and quantum mathematics was yet more uneventful. Outside,
boring clouds lingered overhead, fwom which dull drizzle fell. (It's
important you know this so you can appweciate my state of mind when the
events I am about to descwibe to you unfolded.)
Anyway, upon leaving my second lecture, I saw two would-be gentlemen
with deep dark assassin pasts looking exceptionally non-inconspicuous
and with non-subtle bulges in their coats/trouser pockets, and they
pointed at me. I say would-be gentlemen because my mummy told me that
REAL gentlemen don't generally point, cos its rude. Well anyway, I
like living, and I figured that either I allowed them to kill me in
due course, or I killed them. Since the latter option seemed more
appealing, to me anyway, and I had at long last spotted an
opportunity to interject eventfulness into my uneventful day, I shot
at one, and killed the other.
Thenceforth I enjoyed a non-uneventful Analysis lecture, and outside
the dull drizzle ceased to fall and the boring clouds blew away. I
think I'm going to like this killing business. In fact, I might do
some more if I find things a little too uneventful for my liking! :)
Wuv,
the Sister of Darkness.
It was Stuart Moore, who can hardly be termed an "innocent"...
Orion reports:
Returning from hall, I found an e-mail from the secretary saying I should check my pigeon hole. Finding 2 messages in there, I discovered the one my secretary promised should be there - and another note. It rattled when I shook it and the whole appearance was saying to me "poisoned letter". I took it back to my room to carefully open it with my sharpened knives to avoid my skin contacting with any of the poison.
Zeussoid reports:
The afternoon was grim and dark, perfect for an assassination attempt.
Unfortunately, the curtains of rain sheeting down on me provided a
significant distraction. But wet or not, my contracts had to be fulfilled.
Magdalene security proved to be extremely tight - unusual locks and
paranoid porters. So I turned to my third target, Sean Lew of Trinity.
It took some traipzing around to find the concrete monstrosity my target
called home. Finally, I turned up outside his door, only to find him
already opening it. Caught unawares, I resorted to a feeble conversational
attempt.
"Hi, are you Sean?"
Obviously he was, and the momentary hesitation enabled me to whip out a .45
enforcer and blow a gaping hole in his chest.
"Is that it?" was his response. Indeed it is... Time of death - 14:45
...Seven years in the making...
...With a cast of hundreds...
...Featuring one thousand elephants...
...An epic tale, never before told...
eee-em-en-twenty-three presents...
...A thyme-Warner production...
...From the studios of SpanishPawn Films Ltd...
(with subtitles)
Scene 1:
Dim lighting. Back-shot of Man standing at desk. Camera closes in for
closeup shot of Man's hand as it grasps a bottle labelled "spirit
adhesive", then pulls back and slowly orbits around Man. Man's face is
shadowed, but we can see Man's other hand touching face, fingers
carefully pressing on something. Camera suddenly jerks around to show
front profile of Man, just as he lowers his hands. Still, no features can
be made out on Man's Face. Suddenly, a lightning flash illuminates the
room through an open window, and thunder booms. A hideously evil black
moustache is revealed, glinting on Man's face. Loud Gothic music begins.
Further strobe-like flashes of lightning reveal a terrible grin spreading
across the face of the Man. The shutters on the window continue to
bang against the pane, and trees sway eerily by the window. Man walks
towards window: when there, one last bolt of lighting strikes the tree.
Complete white-out on screen, fades back into the scene after a few
seconds, now well lit by the flicking red glow of the burning tree.
We can now see that the Man is wearing a long black wig and a long black
trenchcoat, with a huge glinting golden medallion dangling down upon it.
Slow fade out again as Man's laughter echoes around.
To be continued... soon!
Neill Smith (non-player) reports:
Hmm well I fell victim to a poisoned letter with glitter in it. Shame I
wasn't playing.
So I guess someone is wanted then.
You might tell the person that wet glitter is extremely annoying. I might
be forced to take revenge with a CPS.
They claimed it was from "the mailman"
Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nurnburger-bratwustle-gerspurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hansfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm reports:
I was sitting in my room, slightly bored, when I heard gun shots from down the hall. This is interesting, I thought, and went to investigate. Coming up towards my neighbour's room, an unknown figure with a gun appears. As it turns out, this is my neighbour's sister. Anyway, it being dangerous to have people running round with guns, I decided the best thing to do would be to remove the possibility of her doing any damage. While possibly some people would think my method a little extreme, it certainly worked. She's not likely to be damaging anything with that gun...
Tamlan Dipper reports:
When I checked my pigeonhole today I noticed a white envelope addressed to me in an unfamiliar hand, also with a non-standard spelling of my name. It did not appear lumpy, and did not explode when gently tipped over with the edge of a folder. On tilting the note in order to remove other, safer looking post from next to it the note hissed softly in a way extremely reminiscent of an envelope filled with a load of lethal powder being moved, and the powder sliding to the other end of the space. It remains unopened in my pigeonhole to be disposed of tomorrow whilst wearing appropriate safety gear to prevent contact with the substance contained within.
Dim Of The Yard reports:
PC Dim of the Yard, reporting an unlawful incident at 5.40 this evening:
Glitter. WHY?! If you are going to send a poisoned letter to the only remaining Police Officer, then you could at least
make it subtle, and avoid making a mess of my desk!
I opened said suspicious envelope with a pair of ski gloves, a rubber and an automatic pencil so as to avoid both
poison and detonation. The tinsel got all over my desk and floor, so I think The Mailman, who penned the accompanying
letter, should be made wanted for this inconvenience in itself, never mind disturbing the peace of an officer of the
law. It took me ages to clean up the mess with my patented anti-poison wet wipes!
Beware, for certain death awaits you with big, nasty teeth. >:-B
Zionist Rebel reports:
I decided to go and check my pigeon hole today, and what did I spy but a less than official looking letter. Already having experience in sending the things, I donned my trusty gloves, and carefully removed the letter. Upon returning to my humble abode I opened said letter, whilst holding it over the bin. This proved to be a good idea, as The Mailman had filled it full of glitter, which swiftly fell into the bin.
Peter Macintyre (non-player) reports:
Just got a poison letter with glitter as the poison.
Anyone who walks through trinity hall porters' lodge might very die due to glitter on the carpet.
You know what the really ironic thing is here? I've had more attempts on my life in this game -despite not playing- than I had for the whole of the Lent term game.
The Minister of Foreboding reports:
The Minister of Foreboding and Katamarino plunged deep into the heart of Trinity college this evening, looking for Helen Powell, who had survived the earlier bombing attempt. As we approached the staircase, we readied ourselves with nerves of steel to face the enemy. As we entered her corridor, a girl was leaving one of the rooms, and heading across the corridor into another room with an open door. Having been there in the morning, I recognised the door as the targets, and as I approached, I drew, she screamed, I fired, and then all was still. Apart from the rapidly increasing pool of blood on the carpet. She seemed nice, but her timing was fatally poor. No-one can escape from The Minister of Foreboding.
The Mailman reports:
Madam Umpire,
A Short note because people are trying to kill me.
About 6:15 today I entered the Porters lodge, I spotted Divya Mohan From
last year's Mayweek Game, she was delivering lots of tiny white notes to
everybody's pigeon holes. I suspected her of trying to concoct a mass
poisoning via the mail service. This is may job so I shot her. Turns out
she was delivering the college newsletter, oh well.
Then I went to hall and stabbed 3 random compscis I was sitting with. Then
they phoned someone and forced me to run.
I swear I will kill you all if I have to!
The Minister of Foreboding reports:
Katamarino and The Minister of Foreboding then attempted to locate the headquarters of the wanted criminal Sister of Darkness. Our determination to lower the crime rate meant that we were frustrated when she wasn't wandering around unarmed on her corridor. So after writing her a note on the door to say that we'd called, we headed over to try and kill another criminal, Michael Dnes. However most of the way there, I spotted Hannah Burton walking along. She hadn't seen me. She saw nothing else. No-one can escape from The Minister of Foreboding.
Katamarino reports:
My first true kill, and done in style - i walked up to his door and knocked. Seconds later he opened the door and fired, but his single pellet went wide and i dispatched him with a volley of rubber bands. We had a friendly chat and went our separate ways; truly a lovely chap to kill on a Tuesday evening.
Cannon Fodder reports:
The feeling was there in my heart as i heard the knocking at the door, I reached for my trusty gun and marched slowly
towards the opening, like a man condemmed. I open the door slowly to see an unfamiliar face standing holding what must
be a pistol in his hand, i fire instinctively in his direction as he fires at me, both miss. Owing to the limitations
of my weapon (one bullet)...never trust Woolworth's as an arms dealer, especially when u only pay £1.25....i lived up
to my adopted name...Cannon Fodder...and i feel a barrage of bullets fly about my person....this is it...the light
grows dark now....if only I didn't answer my door, if only i had learned to ignore it.....if only...
My assassin was a thoroughly nice bloke though, and if as a corpse I could have invited him in for
tea i surely would have done, but bloody messes lieing in doorways aren't known for their manners.
Jenny Chase reports:
My pigeonhole contains one letter postmarked from Germany and convered
with stamps and arcane post office markings, and one plain white envelope
with my name in abbreviated form in terrible handwriting on it. I wonder
which is from an assassin?
Well, it gave the minion hordes of Castle Wolfenstein something to watch.
Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nurnburger-bratwustle-gerspurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hansfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm reports:
I had spent an enjoyable evening in the remote fortress that is Churchill, and decided to top it off with a little killing. This was in the form of my target Chi Yip Seow. Approaching his abode carefully, I tried to enlist the help of some natives. His next door neighbour unhelpfully professed never to have seen him though, so I was on my own once more. A knock on the door, carefully concealing my weaponry, and hemost foolishly opened the door. I dove round it, guns blazing, and he took several rounds to the chest. Retreating steathily, I considered paying a visit to the notoriously notorious criminal, Mailman. Having heard stories about his impenetrable abode, and ruthless skill, I decided to bide my time. His death will come soon though - that I guarantee you.
Number 5 reports:
After him not being in several times and one very transparent attempt at
bluffing myself in, I hatched a *cunning plan*. Having set my alarm clock
for 7 to allow for the trek from Queens I woke early. I casually strolled
allong to Blue Boar in Trinity and, arriving, concealed myself in the
stairway ner his room.
Despite having to dodge a number of Trinity early risers I was watching
his door when it opened, and stepping from my place of concealment I cut
him down where he stood, in his pyjamas.
Mwahahahahaaa.
And so the life of the notorious criminal Michael Dnes was brought to an
end. "Let the punishment fit the crime" is one of my favourite sayings.
His crime was to be a legal target, his punishment was execution at my
hands.
Sdavros reports:
At 12:08 Sdavros sliced the throat of John-Joseph Wilks of Trinity whilst he was cheekily gorging himself on free fudge in the Fudge Kitchen on Kings Parade.
The Eternal Man reports:
I was coming back to college after my lecture, and had just reached the fudge shop when I was jumped from behind, had my throat slit, and was left to bleed all over the floor. Maybe it'll get into the fudge, and poison my assailant...
The Green Blade reports:
Having bypassed the water cannon in front of his stair case, I made my way up to the third floor. Finding the room I stopped to listen at the door for sounds of trouble. Hearing music inside I knew his guard was off. Kicking down the door I rushed across the room sinking my poisoned dagger deep into his heart. My thirst was quenched for now but soon the blade will cry out for fresh blood...
Orion reports:
Lurking round for a bit near my target's room, I decided to give a knock on the door. With no questions asked the door opened, and I made my way in, lunging with a sharp knife towards my opponent's torso. Almost simultaneously, my target reached for a cosh. Just after my knife struck his torso, the cosh hit my head knocking me out. I regained conciousness after about 5 minutes to find my target's body on the ground, with blood everywhere. I left a small paper souvenir of my attack and then made off to make my escape.
Evil Capitalist reports:
2:12pm- thudding foodsteps recede from doorway. I yell out that I'm allready dead, but zionist rebel plus acocomplice seem to have fled. I open the door in the certain knowledge that there's a load of explosives there, and am proved correct. Mr Rebel can pick up his ultra-cheap lemonade from the Kitchen opposite O9.
Brendan Roses reports:
Unhappily I have been far less active than I would like of late, as I have
been struck down by the miserable disease known as tonsilitis. I even went
so far as to put a notice on my door informing potential assailants of this
and pointing out how much more rewarding it would be to kill me when I was
in good health and a more worthy opponent. Alas, it seems that in the case
of some of those who would seek to end my life there is no limit to their
villany.
Today I survived the third attempt on my life so far (although you readers
will not know of the other two; one took place before the Game had begun
and the second went unreported by the perpetrator, denying me my brief
moment of fame). I was lying abed, wracked by sickness and contemplating
arising to obtain more painkillers, when I heard a few faint noises outside
my door. "Aha!" I thought. "That is surely the noise of some heartless
would-be killer planting a bomb outside my door. Evidently a piece of
string is in order next time I venture outside."
For a little longer I dozed, until I heard the worried voices of my
corridor-mates outside my room. I caught the words "should we tell him?",
followed by a louder cry of "[my name]! There's a bomb outside your door!"
"I know, I know," I muttered blearily, forcing myself out of my bed and
into something approaching a respectable state of dress. I asked them how
much explosive the bomb contained, warned them of the blast radius and,
when they were clear, opened the door with a piece of string.
No tumultuous explosion was forthcoming, however. The bomb, in the cunning
guise of a lemonade bottle, simply sat there, a paradox. "Perhaps," I
mused, "this is a clever decoy, and thinking the bomb harmless it is
intended that I pick it up and set off some concealed detonator."
Accordingly, I threw fruit at the bomb until it fell over, whereupon I was
met with an absence-of-explosion almost as unexpected as the first.
Along with the crowd of spectators which had gathered at the far end of the
corridor, I approached the bomb. It seemed as though the detonator attached
to the outside had been triggered but had somehow failed to actually
detonate. The final truth hit me: this was just a crappy bomb.
We removed the detonator from the bottle to ensure that the bomb was
absolutely safe and my neighbours bore the lemonade bottle (still unopened
and filled with lemonade) away in triumph. I retreated to my room in search
of medication.
I feel it only fair that I should also mention that my door was unlocked at the time the bomb was planted, and that, had the assassins simply burst in with guns blazing, they would have found me entirely helpless. I shall of course henceforth be keeping my door firmly locked.
Master of the Loom reports:
Loom. Precious Loom.
Hated Loom! Why must you always leak your oils? This is the third
secretion of the hour!
The Master of the Loom shook his withered head and sighed in dismay. He
was honoured to tend the Loom of Lost Souls, but he feared its baffling
cruelty. And this latest rash of oil spilling was causing the weavings to
emerge as mere husks! There was nothing to do but brave the Weeping Forest
and ensnare some more oil. The Master buckled his sandals, and pried open
the door of his wicker hovel.
"I warn you, Loom! If you have made oilet again when I return, you shall
have no supper!" They were strong words, but the Master's heart was full
of fear. Who knows what ancient strength lay in the Loom's bejewell'd
registers? With trousers pulled up as high as they would go, he exited the
hovel and entered the dark forest, heading to the Forbidden Tent. He
prayed that the oil dwarves had become slick.
He hobbled for many days through the ever-black forest. On his way, he was
accosted by piglets, gnawed by a toothless ghoul, and harrowed by the
sight of the Man With No Beard. But finally he spied the Forbidden Tent,
its filthy flaps billowing awfullly. ENTER ALL YE WHO WEAVE, said the
sign. Enter he did.
What ensued, no man should ever know. Indeed, the Master himself did not
know. All he knew was that his shoes were full of the finest oil he had
e'er tasted! Pleased, he rode the bus back to the hovel.
Loom! Precious Loom!
Violated Loom? Nestled 'twixt hovel door and frame... an abhorrence! An
ripened egg sac, pulsating with succulence, fit to burst! Had strangers
been? The Master sniffed the sac. Yes. They had been. But he knew what to
do. Snatching the Mystery Harness from its peg, he engaged it, and the
Remote Incubation Sheathe descended from the sky to hatch the
mucous-covered dumpling...
The Master wept. Loom was safe.
The Flamingo reports:
I had finished my arduous tasks of the day and decided the time was nigh to dish out some death. I walked all the way to my target's abode, which was hugely obscure in its location only to find it had a card lock door. I stood about for a while pondering my plan. 3 old blokes came up to the door, opened it with a card, marvelled at the wonder of opening a door using a card then left. I missed the opportunity to sneak in, to be honest the blokes scared me. Anyway after a while I rang my victim's doorbell, he clambered down the stairs, I waited with baited breath. He opened the door ever so slightly, asking 'did you ring my door bell?' to which I replied 'who are you?'(I fear my skills in stealth and wit are not what I once believed they were). He then asked 'you're not here to assassinate me, are you?' and proceeded to close the 3 inches of door he opened. As he stared gormlessly through the glass I shouted with ire, 'You bastard. I walked all this way!'. Bugger.
The Minister of Offence reports:
In a spare twenty minutes before the ambrosial delights of hall, I decided to visit Richard Shaw. I soon found his
staircase and knocked on his door. There was a bit of shuffling from within and after a long pause the door opened a
crack to reveal my target in his dressing gown. I fired my gun, but the pellets missed. After a brief discussion as to
whether I had got him or not, he returned my pellets. I apologised for disturbing him in such a state of undress and he
said that it was quite alright, since he had a meeting in five minutes.
Tee Hee Hee. Mwa ha ha ha!
Of course I had to wait at the bottom of his staircase to see him off, and sauntered up to him as he passed, spraying
him with rubber bands.
Bunneh! reports:
Bwhahaha! With silent skill the bunneh! stalks its prey, scampering from
room to plodge, grass to vegetable patch, treepost to doorsign,
overhearing every word... The so-called assassin seems carefree and
innocent, unaware of the danger that lurks behind his very eyes. His
merry act with the bottle of wine does not fool me, as i follow him to
the halls of Clare, knowing their walls are no defence against the
creatures of the wild.
Except they are. drat. Curse you scary porters! I'll get you next time!
The Mailman reports:
Hey what happened to the whole "Let's ignore Edith and hope he'll go away"
thing?
A significant number of rubber bands to the back makes me feel I am now
somewhat more free to pursue other time-wasting activities such as lectures.
Anyone need 30 second-class stamps?
Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nurnburger-bratwustle-gerspurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hansfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm reports:
Having previously noted the criminal's eating habits, I decided I should
dine this night in the Remote Fortress. This one would not be easy
however - a criminal of this magnitude would have to be handled with
care. I started work early - weapons preparation, carefully checking all
my guns, sharpening my kifes and preparing to kill.... I took up my
place early - lurking in the shadows outside the target's habitual
eating place. Many hours I waited, crouched in the shadows, read at any
time to pounce from my motionless position. I had almost given up hope,
when finally - at the last possible moment - I spotted my prey.
Stalking him slowly as he made his way through the hall, I bided my time. At last, he was distracted by the nourishment he had come seeking. I crept up behind him, still in concealment, leant round my cover and let off several quick rounds. He was dead before he heard the shots - all 3 rounds impacting in the centre of his back. The Mailman will kill no more, and I - I stole off into the night, to prepare yet again to kill......
Slider reports:
Damn Robinson staircase with their locked kitchens and their viewholes in the doors. The target didn't even open the door - took one look at me through the viewhole and went back to what they were doing. I wil have to be more cunning next time.
Slider reports:
On Wed 23rd October, at around 7:45pm I entered Queens Colege and proceeded up W staircase. Knocking on the door of my target, I am greeted by a friendly face from the adjacent kitchen. He introduces himself to me, not knowing he has just met his killer. He then asks what he can do for me, and after a momentary pause I inform him I am there to kill him, and stab in the back with a (rather sorry-looking) cardboard knife.
The Shadow reports:
Upon returning from a lecture yesterday, I checked my pigeon hole for any useful correspondence or leaflets handed out by groups and societies desperate to recruit new members. However, what I did come across did not fall into either category: an envelope on which my name was handwritten and was clearly sent inter-college as the name of my college was the only remaining information. Immediately suspicious of such an item, I carefully carried it to my kitchen with gloves and proceeded to open it with care and knifes. My suspicions were justified when I discovered the presence of contact poison (in the form of glitter) inside with a letter. The letter explained that the attempt was made by the Mailman because he suspected that I would be his assassin as he claims that I visited his website. Surely this cannot be justification enough to send out multiple poisoned letters to potential innocents? The Mailman deserved to die for such annoyance and laziness in his kill attempts (particularly as it failed).<br> Luckily, I live on to kill another day...
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