The Shadow reports:
was relaxing in my room, when a heard a knock upon my door. I called out
for the identity of the caller, but received no answer. Immediately
suspicious, I reached for my gun and opened the door slowly. I then saw the
face of a Hogg peering around the corner at me and pointing a gun. I fired
and jumped back behind my door, pushing it forward, forcing his shot to hit
that instead. My shot fell to where he was before diving back around the
After missing, we called it a day and went our separate ways like the honourable murderers we are. The Shadow lives on...
Love Thy Neighbour reports:
Police work continues dull. I learned on Friday that there was a Bumbling
Incompetent living barely a hundred yards from my front door who was
Bringing The Good Name Of The College Into Disrepute, so today I went and
knocked on his door and Capped His Punk Ass. He said he sent a poisoned
letter on Thursday but forgot to report it but frankly in that case I think
he Deserves Whatever He Damn Well Gets.
I hope you and father are well and that life in the windmill is not too
lonely now I have gone to Make A Name For Myself.
Your loving son,
Police Constable Brendan Love-Thy-Neighbour Roses
A knock on my door, not unusual given how my friends have tried to make me feel paranoid throughout the game. An unknown voice - at last, someone's going to try and kill me. I ready my trusty submachine gun, emerge into the doorway and yell "bang" with relish. Although my adversary is blown away, I take two rubber bands to the chest for my trouble. Right, that's that then.
The Shadow reports:
Only realising today that I was marked incompetent, I immediately went out
hunting. After eventually finding the correct staircase in Queens' College
at half past 3 today, I knocked upon the door of my unsuspecting target.
He opened his door a little way and I quickly strafed into his view and shot
him directly in the chest. His lifeless corpse hit the ground with a
satisfying thud and I walked off smiling to myself and only myself.
The Shadow will kill again.
The Huntress reports:
Now I well and trully am dead! Basically last night I was shot through my open window (careless i know!) by scarey guy with the long hair and moustach. Then, just to shock my nerves a little more, upon leaving my room I was accosted by another guy in a long dark coat who again proceeded to kill me. My nerves took a true battering after such events!
The Loom of Lost Souls reports:
Things happen downtown at four o'clock. Cars fill the streets, signs light
up, and Tommy the Hat starts to do business. Me, I start drinking. Now if
there's one thing I know, it's never mix drinking and hats, but I had to
learn that the hard way.
Let me tell you about Tommy. He was a midget with no legs who made the
best hats you ever saw. His specialty was taking a diamond and making a
sombrero out of it. Of course, this was in the middle of prohibition, so
getting an appointment with Tommy was next to impossible, but I was so
drunk one afternoon I didn't care.
His parlor was in the seedy part of town, disguised as a novelty shoehorn
store. I knocked and the peepslot opened. "Yeah? Who the fuck are you?"
Tommy stared at me like I'd just plugged his grandma. He smelled like
"I'm Bum Dickston, Q.C." I slurred. "I wannna a hat. The best hat you've
everr made. M-make it out of little gambling cubes."
He sneered. "No dice. Now get the fuck outta here before I call the cops."
Well, that di -- cops, eh? I might not've had a hat, but I knew who did.
'Sister of Darkness,' the other pigs called her. Scary name, not-so-scary
dame. She was an old crone who'd slept her way into the force and kept the
D.A. off her back by organising the annual prawn derby. What made her
interesting, though, was her taste in priceless Ming hats, and by my count
she was overdue for a donation to the Dick Bumston Priceless Ming Hat
I put some pants on and whistled for a cab. "Take me to the cop shop,
asswagon. And make it snappy." Yeah, that'd sound good. A taxi pulled up
and I got in. "24th and Easy." Shit. Oh well. Maybe if I was lucky I'd see
the Sister on the way...
Well whaddaya know? She was limping down 24th Street, clutching a bag of
prawns. "Hey, mac! Follow that broad!" I shrieked. The cabbie shrugged and
ran over her. I got out and picked up the hat. Ah, crap. It was made out
of cardboard after all, and the cabbie ran over me later when I didn't
pay. But at least the orphans were safe, and I had a hunch I'd be seeing a
lot more hats, real soon. A ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!
(Fade out, roll credits.)
The Umpire reports:
He shouldn't have been incompetent because he'd made an attempt which he was late in reporting, and was shot after he was removed from the incompetents list.
The rules state that you are meant to make and report all attempts you make *before* your incompetence deadline. Owing to some confusion over whether one attempt was genuine or a choreographed attempt against a friend, Ed Clayton is resurrected.
Please make sure you report *all* attempts you make, as soon as possible after you have made them.
Happy Badger Constable reports:
Living up to the well-known proverb that a badger always keeps his word, I carefully constructed an intricate network
of alarm clocks to wake me up at 7am in order to make an attempt on Matthew "The Loom of Lost Souls"
Bennett. After some initial surveillance from a room on the opposite side of the square, I became hungry, and went to
breakfast. I later returned to my watch post hoping that I was more awake than he was, having had my morning badger
mix, um weetabix. No sign of him in his room, so I moved closer in, hiding out in the kitchen one floor down. Wait,
wait, wait, wait, wait, footsteps coming down. Oh, his neighbour. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, footsteps going up.
Probably his neighbour returning. I check just in case. Oh, it's a strangely hatted person carrying an RBG. Shoot
repeatedly. At least two hit him in the back, he doesn't have time to shoot back, but runs off upstairs. The
following conversation reveals him to indeed be my target. I explain I was the person who tried to kill him earlier. I
attempt to apologise convincingly. It fails. I flee.
That's the badger.
The Boy with the Thorn In His Side reports:
On the stroke of eleven today, I was laid to rest by an old acquaintance.
As I had been seeking euthanasia after my heinous crimes, I made no defence
and took one shot to the chest, thus bringing safety to the streets of
Cambridge once more.
The Corpse with the Thorn in his Side, and Bullet in his Chest.
...A thyme-Warner production...
...From the studios of SpanishPawn Films Ltd...
Scene 2: Downright inadequate lighting. Pan over the front court of an unidentified Gothic college with intricately carved gates and statues in alcoves in the staircases. The trees in the court are skeletal, giving an impression of tall figures standing sentry. Fireworks boom and crash in the night over the city. Camera closes in on one of the shadows, and we see that this one has the silhouette of a Man in a trenchcoat. As a particularly impressive red firework explodes overhead, his face is visible for a moment, horribly red-litten, nearly obscured by the abomination that has completely claimed its upper lip. The Moustache has grown since last we saw it, and apparently been waxed as well. The hair that surrounds what was once the face is long, black, glossy and thick, feeding off the pale skin of its host. As the firework light fades away, the camera pans outwards and the Man starts to move across the courtyard. With a gait redolent of menace he stalks towards the pigeonholes and is lost in the night.
Guy le Strange reports:
remember the tank top you bought me? you wrote "you're gorgeous on it"/
you took me to your rented motor car/ and filmed me on the bonnet/ you got
me to hitch my knees up/ and pulled my legs apart/... oops... / that's
not my report/
<fast forwarding tape> i am never forget the day my first kill report is published/ every sentence i stole from somewhere else/ ... no, that's not it either ... /
<fast forwarding tape> i am finally dead - shot on the way out of lectures, would you believe! ... no that's not the one ... /
<more fast forwarding> ah/ this should be it/ <silence> ... all quiet on the Family front/ it doesn't seem like they're going to bother me/ a mercenary for hire again/ no need to worry bout "omerta" or being "made"/ time to just do a job for the right price/ the Organisation approaches me/ asks whether i'll carry out a hit for em/ i say what you got/ bourbons by the dozen/ we make a deal/ Navarre's my Kingdom/ i know my man/ got to mix my methods/ be versatile/ first one shivved/ second one souped/ i'd pack this time and rub him out/ so i clock out the joint he been working/ pipe him coming downstairs/ looking dodgy/ i tail his ass for a couple a blocks/ i pull the heat on him/ instant chill/ seems it's not so tough to whack a high pillow/ breezing i feel dope/ who needs the Family/ not me for one/
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 had a really shit day so far today, it just kept getting worse.
Walking down the hill I thought "It'd be just typical if I got shot
today". Walking out of lectures, I also totally failed to recognise
Guy le Strange. Ooops.
Gah! what else can go wrong today!
Insert Name Here reports:
Thomas Mustill was in. We knocked, he opened the door slowly and slammed it fast. But not fast enough: my bullet passed through the gap between the doorframe and the door and ripped a rather large hole in his chest. He opened the door again, Happy Badger Constable shot him again as he hadn't seen my shot, we retrieved our ammo and left.
It was the afternoon of the 4th November. A clear sky and cool temperature suggested a trip to Homerton, the perfect day for an assassination. I arrived at around 3.15 ish with my accomplace KILLER QUEEN, and we quickly managed to gain access to the target's staircase by slipping in unnoticed as some innocent left the building by the main door. With the aid of internal signs, we were soon outside the target's room. With a rubber-band gun at the ready and a dagger for backup, I knocked on the door, to which came a reply "come on in". I did just this and having declared "I am your assassin and am about to kill you", she recieved two shots, the first to her arm and a second fatal shot to her torso. The deed having been done, we slipped away unnoticed.
The Umpire reports:
For making a player kill, Alex Berkley is redeemed from the incompetent list.
I decided this afternoon that, to prevent incompetence, i would try and assassinate Crud Puppy. Wandering along to
Trinity, i located the building and entered. Hmm, his name isnt on the list. Wandered out again and found another
building of the same letter. Still no luck. Went to the porters lodge, but the porter couldnt find a gentleman of this
name anywhere on the lists. At about this time it began to dawn on me that Trinity Hall might be a different place from
Trinity. It is. Damn.
Ascended to my targets room. *Knock*. "Whos there??" Uhoh. Umm. I'll just stay silent. "You don't think i'm opening the door until you say who you are do you?" "Well, i was hoping." "No". "Ok, bye!"
Mach 3 reports:
I went to the inco's room twice, and she wasn't in. Lovely carpets though...
Big Daddy G reports:
At 22.30, I was tidying my room and there was a knock at my door. I looked through my peephole and saw two blokes I'd never seen before. I reached for my gun and the one closest to me tried to confirm who I was. I killed him, but unfortunately it turned out to be Constable Justice for All. I guess at least I'm not on the incompetent list anymore.
The Umpire reports:
He's right. Jonathan Gee is removed from the inco list.
Justice For All reports:
Justice for All reporting in, from a seance.
After a few days with no action apart from a few fairly dull attempts in
trinity I decided to do something about the inco's bringing the good
name of this fair town into disrepute. So i went and knocked on the door
of a certain Jonathon Gee who without even asking my purpose blew me
away without a second thought.
We debated the wisdom of his shoot first ask questions later policy and i departed to lie rotting in a gutter.
Number 5 reports:
Today at 11:00 while waiting to get into a lecture I beheld Philip Potter approaching me. Suddenly he drew a knife and rushed in for the kill. Luckily I had been monitoring his neural and activity and wasn't surprised. I executed a simple interrupt to his motor-cortex and he screamed with horror as his own hand stabbed him time and time again in the chest. It turns out he was newly incompetent but hadn't been put up on the website. Must start carrying a weapon even when there aren't any wanteds.
Devil I reports:
I found out my target was in fact doing the same course as me. After finding out who he was, I followed him after the first lecture but he evaded death by taking some mysterious and obviously inefficient route to the next lecture. However he was not going to be as lucky the next time, I stalled leaving the lecture theatre untill he left then I left through another exit to avoid suspicious, however I quickly located him and shot hit with my plasma rifle (elastic band) which ripped a hole through his body the size of an exotic peanut.
Vassily Zaitsev reports:
Rejoice, for Vasiliy Zaitsev, hero of the Soviet Union has killed again. Today, at around 12.15 he found the lair of the notorious German officer Anjan Soumyanarayanan , and his sniping skills ensured that when an opportunity was presented, he took full advantage, and removed this stain from our Motherland with a trio of shots to the head. Vasiliy was ably supported by XXX YYYYY, and for this sterling service he has been presented with the Combat Service medal to recognise this achievement.
Doctor Death reports:
Sadly, Doctor Death can doctor deaths no more. Three assassins came and gunned me down at 12 25 today. One attacked me from the front and two fired through the door. If it were one, I would have handled him, but three was too much...
The Minister of Gifts reports:
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before hading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late, then tryng to get inside the room and shut the door.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late, then tryng to get inside the room and shut the door, while not having a weapon in my room either.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late, then tryng to get inside the room and shut the door, while not having a weapon in my room either, then sinking to my knees.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late, then tryng to get inside the room and shut the door, while not having a weapon in my room either, then sinking to my knees as the assassin gets in the door before I can shut it.
If I was James Cust, I wouldn't have gone for a shower at about 6.10 without a weapon, and come out at 6.28, and failed to check round the corridor before heading back to my room while an assassin was waiting to see if I went to the first door on the left, which was my room, only turning round far too late, then tryng to get inside the room and shut the door, while not having a weapon in my room either, then sinking to my knees as the assassin gets in the door before I can shut it, and proceeds to shoot me repeatdly.
Thankfully, I wasn't James Cust.
The Minister of Offence reports:
I'd spent the evening cunningly convincing the IRC community that I was going to the fireworks, since I didn't
intend to join the festivities until later.When my friend came round and asked whether I felt like blowing up the house
of commons, I found it impossible to refuse, anarchic minister that I am.
So it was that I found myself walking out my college p'lodge a few minuites later. A female voice called my name, and I turned, just a fraction. It was a mistake. My dying eyes watched with some amusement as she ineptly emptied most of a six shot RPG into my chest (one pellet would have been sufficient.) My dying ears heard a "ping" from a nearby policeman and my dying nose smelt a setup.
My murderers then very kindly trundled my corpse to the fireworks. What a nice send off. Would have been even better if they hadn't kept asking: "penny for the guy?"
The Umpire reports:
There has been some suggestion that the assassin was accompliced by a police officer, who received a phonecall from a dead player to say that the victim had just logged off IRC and so might be coming out.
As the people in question deny this, and it's only borderline dodgy, I shan't be doing anything about this.
The policeman in question claims he was on the way to watch the fireworks with his assassin friend, so I shall have to let it go. Bear in mind that if I get proof of a police officer acting as accomplice in a kill of a non-wanted player, the police officer (and possibly the assassin too) will be made wanted.
I am dead *sigh* due to a particularly cunning poisoned letter - Sent by an Arnold Sasseyn. I checked my mailbox carefully again, but it was cleverly disguised as a letter from NatWest (suspiciously my bank) and after the first line it was an obvious fake but it was too late.
of Dhhhoooommm! reports:
Damn. They seem to have sold me substandard zombies for my Legions of Dhhhooooommm! At least judging by the zombie I shot in tha back today on thwe way out of lectures today. Damn, it was a good model, and now very dead considering I was the seond peron to shoot it in the back today. Guess thats what happend when you don't kill them as you think they're already dead.
The Minister of Foreboding reports:
Some time ago the Ministry chose me overwhelmingly as its first
undemocratically appointed leader.
By accepting me the Ministry membership recognised both the need for change but also the need to take the entire Ministry along that road.
Over the last few weeks a small group of my supposed friends have decided consciously to undermine my authority.
Over the last few weeks I have discharged the mandate I was given to the letter, and where necessary, by poisoned letter.
I have embarked on the necessary and sometimes lethal process of modernisation.
I have rededicated the Ministry to improving our kill rate.
I have never underestimated the magnitude of the task before us, but nor have I flinched from my resolve that this is a road which the entire party must travel.
I have sought to do all this with courtesy, decency and honesty, respecting those who would like me to move faster and those who feel threatened by our moving at all.
Over the last few days a small group of people have decided consciously to undermine my leadership. I have received a letter acknowledging this from someone who I can only conclude to be Bellisarius Although I was impressed with many parts of the letter, the calls for my resignation are preposterous and will go unheeded.
We cannot go on in this fashion.
We have to pull together or we will hang apart.
I cannot allow the efforts of a dedicated team to be sabotaged by self-indulgence or indiscipline.
The Ministry wants to be led.
It chose me to lead it in the direction I am now going.
It will not look kindly on people who put personal ambitions before the interests of the party.
My message is simple and stark, give up or die.
The Umpire reports:
Kristian Gustafson (Belisarius) has been made wanted for poisoning the doorhandle of the same player.
Remember, boys and girls: Putting contact poison on someone's doorhandle is deemed to be putting it in a PUBLIC PLACE, and therefore if you do it you will be WANTED. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I think this might be a record game for people going wanted by poisoning doorhandles...
The Amateur Professional reports:
It was depressing that my only reasonable target should be in my own college, but desperate times etc etc. Anyway, I knocked on his door. He looked at me through the spy hole, then let me in (familiarity is a wonderful thing). "You remember that you are playing Assassins, yeah?" "Um..." I raise my gun, he grabs a huge knife and cuts my arm, but he is shot twice in the chest. He was not overly annoyed - he had genuinely forgotten that he was playing. Ah well. I just hope that I am removed from the incompetents list quick enough to prevent my death. Here's hoping...
The Umpire reports:
Yup, Ruaridh Buchanan is redeemed from incompetence by making a player kill.
I awoke this morning to leave my room and find a small package attacked to the floor just outside my room. Being a very suspicous person, i poked it with a fully extended tiller extension from several metres away. Nothing happened. Even when i poked what seemed to be the detonator, nothing happened. A very crappy bomb indeed! Not sure why it was attached to the floor and not maybe the door? Had it fallen off in the night perchance?
Sinister Dexter reports:
Dear cute umpire,
Left another bomb, may another target be utterly destroyed.
Yours with feeling,
Sinister Dexter (you are welcome to call me "Sinister", you know, my dear.)
The Minister of Foreboding reports:
I decided to head over to the Department of Education on Friday evening,
knowing that The Flamingo's head would soon roll, but wanting to do it
myself. Having enjoyed a cup of tea with my informant in the building, I
then set off to anounce the news to the unfortunate civil servant; I'm not
having second best in this department!
I waited for her to enter her ofice for some time, before one of her colleagues asked me if they could assist. I asked if they knew where Nadia was, and I was told to try the kitchen. Upon arriving, I was confronted with 3 people, each of whom could have been the incompetent, but whom? They quickly guessed my business, and while holding them at gunpoint, I had to make a choice. I asked who Nadia was, there was no repsonse. Now P(guessing right)=1/3, P(going wanted)=2/3. These didn't seem like good odds. While I was pondering over the situation, one of the three announced that she was indeed the target. *bang* She wasn't Nadia. All of a sudden, P(correct)=1/2, (wanted)=1/2 Better, but I wanted some incrimanting evidence first. Thankfully, the second girl announced that she was Nadia. *bang* Was she Nadia? No. *bang* She should really have trained her colleagues better. She didn't seem to bothered about her sacking, and even allowed me a cup of tea. Almost made it worth going all that way.....
Catchable and Dispatchable reports:
Once apon a time some thing wonderful happened. But that was ages ago and everyone had forgotten about it by now. So it
is actually totally irrelevant to this story. Incidentally this is a famous tale of war and deceit, death and life,
octopi and humans.
So it was that the stars aligned into the positions that they were in on that day, in other words, we couldn't be bothered to consult their eternal knowledge. I mean what the hell is a star going to know about us and our great mission. When I say great in this case what I actually mean is routine. When I say routine what I actually mean is diabolically evil. When I say diabolically evil what I mean is vile and despicable, in fact so vile and despicable that you could distil it and use it to poison entire continents.
The time was set. And also the stage was set. And the setting of the time and stage and of other things that were set was done by little set-o-matic daemons that run around shouting "Gwerp! Gwerp!". And then the moment passed and the force was assembled. Myself and Number 5 gathered at the meeting place. We paused for a bit to watch the unset-o-matic daemons run around whispering "Prewg! Prewg!" and then the big cleansing daemons ran around and hovered up all of the irritating little buggers. Good riddance.
Having formed our party the time was right to advance. And thus we dallied and dillied for a while and the time that was right for advancing had passed, so we just walked out normally. Presently, after being accosted by flying saucers and old men with three arms, we reached <NAME AND ADDRESS OF COLLEGE WITHHELD TO SAVE THE EMBARRASSMENT OF THE COLLEGE>. Seeing that the snipers were off duty, the machine gun posts were empty and the artillery personnel were having a tea break we walked in with out any opposition at all.
"Surely, to be sure, tis unusual not to have been gobbled by the 10 o'clock gobblemiester at this time?" I pointed out.
"To be fair, he was hospitalised last week after trying to gobble a lorry full of super-glue." replied Number 5.
"Twas him, twas it?" I returned, "I thought that to be the merry munchaliser."
"No, he was the one done in yesterday after he munched on some of the 1st Armoured division's new tanks." said the knowledgeable Number 5.
"How about the arctic arse-filtcher?" I commented.
"Does he not only work on Tuesdays?" asked Number 5.
"Oh, indeed. Still there is the pragmatic poo-fondler, where is he?" I wondered.
"I do believe he is on holiday up at the sewage works." said Number 5.
"Although there is the charming carnivorous knob-clobberer."
"No, he has not arrived yet, but I did hear that they hired the thermalistic traumatic turd-master." I replied.
"Ah! But he was wounded in a experiment." claimed Number 5.
"Really?" I asked.
"Then there really is no one in the line of defence here, is there?" I said. With that sorted we gathered up our might and entered the vicinity of our first vicim. I led the way with a cunning ruse but then Number 5 abandoned all subtlety when he unsheathed his turbo-laser destroyer battery. "Bwhahahah!"
shouted Number 5 as he obliterated the poor sods life. But still we were not yet done. Indeed such results were highly promising. Number 5 led the way through the maze of air particles.
Presently we arrived at our next location. Though we did hide for a bit when it was remembered that the canine cock-cruncher could be about. Clearly he was indisposed, possibly by some dogs, since he didn't show.
This time however the target was not around for some reason. I was most displeased by this and nearly screamed "Gestriculating Gibbons!", but fortunately Number 5 prevented it, else the canine cock-cruncher would have been surely apon us.
Still there were more potential dispatch-ees out there. And onwards we went. Except of couse when it was quicker to go backwards, although I don't need to remind you of that, although I just have, just in case you are being worked upon by the gigantic gormeless gimp-maker (may you rest in peace if you are).
Another area was found to be void of killable life and we were starting to become impatient. Number 5 started foaming and howling at the moon, but I reassured him that there would be more blood spilt tonight. Then we came to The House.
The House was a bleak mountain of twisted metal and defensive gun turrets. We were kindly let in the front door by a very silly person. I held Number 5 back from feasting right there on the spot, and we entered. The one who defiled the Police force was no there. "GESTRICULATING GIIIIIIIBBOOONNNNNNNSSSSSS!" I roared.
As we went to leave The House we were met by another twisted soul, who goes by the name of of Dhhhoooommm! We joined our forces and headed off to another place. On the way of Dhhhoooommm! did confirm that he had distracted the canine cock-cruncher for the day by sending him to Crufts. Also he did remind us of the frankly terrifying presence of dark prince himself, the lord of evil, the master of the hell-pits. Also known as the sacrilegious scrotum-sucker.
Rightly fearing him we made our way away from his domain into the outer reaches.
We passed many foul misreants on our way, but we were on a mission. When we arrived at the mission location it appeared that the enemy had forseen our arrival and with particularly low cunning had organised a party and not invited us.
Surely our targets were in the mass of people? However we could not unleash our weaponry in such a location, since there were such a number of them, at least a couple must have been innocent. Number 5 doubted this but didn't try just incase he was put on the agenda like these other idiots. So we went round to the individual habitats, but there was no one there.
"Curses!" exclaimed of Dhhhoooommm!
But then of Dhhhoooommm! espied their hiding place. The River. Surely, he thought, they are scuba-diving amidst the coral reefs. Fearing nothing of Dhhhoooommm! lept into The River with abandon. He then realised there was, in fact, no one hiding in The River, and indeed it was, in fact, not The River, but The Pond. And then he saw that there were no coral reefs, just concrete blocks.
"Bugger." said he.
Observing that he was rather wet of Dhhhoooommm! decided to call it a day at that point.
But Number 5 and I toiled on to bring justice to the world. Ok, not justice, terror and oppression. Ok we didn't really toil on, we just visited another person on the way back. Ok, we didn't visit him, because he was not there either. It wass, however, gleamed that the person in question was at the party in the outer reaches. By this point the night had grown old and wrinkly so there was a chance the galvanised groin-groper could be around, lurking in the shadows. Fearing him and his army of phantasmal perticulating pelvis-pranksters we rushed back to safety as fast as possible.
Incidentally if you were wondering about the lack of octopi in this story, then you obviously did not realise that this tale is famous for its lack of octopi.
The Umpire reports:
Ralph and I produced this in response...
Everyone grumbled. The sky was black.
We had nothing to do and few to attack.
We were nearing the end, about to head back,
And there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Hoggy fell into the pond!
And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Catchable danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed."
Then Number 5 suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
O, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
Hoggy fell into the pond!
Apologies to Alfred Noyes (see here)
of Dhhhoooommm! reports:
Late last night I went out to deal with some incompetent police staining our fine name. Alas, for I couldn't find any home, so later at night I ended up in Churhcill, taking a shortcut through the brightly lit bar, I headed in the general direction of Staircase 4. I turned right out of the bar and followed the path along the side of the building.
It was at this point that I started to think. Thats a very large paved area they have out here, but just as I finsihed this thought I realised that my foot had gone straight through the "paving" It seems that some residents of churchill had devised a cunning moat to prevent me from reaching the staircase, and I had walked into it. Luckily the construction was not complete and it was only about waist deep. Escaping quickly before any of the inhabitants of that place came to eat me, I went home to get dry.
I can only blame this on the fact that I didn't have my glasses on, I wasn't paying that much attention to where I put my feet, and the fact that I had just come out of a brightly lit area straight into a very poorly lit one.
I'll get you next time, Churchill! Muwhahahahahahah!
The Shadow reports:
I made my way across to the college of my unsuspecting target; I used the night as my cover. After eventually finding the correct room, I approched the door, knocked once, twice, thrice. No answer. Deciding the target was out, I left contact poison on the door handle and left, bloodlust unsatisfied.
The Umpire reports:
Because Ross Fenning left contact poison on a doorhandle, he is now wanted. Remember that if you contact poison a doorhandle, you will go wanted.
Please, please, stop doing this. I think this game has to hold the record for the number of idiots who have done this.
Please read the rules *carefully*.
Arvicola Terrestris reports:
I returned home tonight to discover that my door-knob had (really
unsubtly - it was almost dripping off the bottom) been covered in a
sticky substance. I removed said substance. When will people learn that
DOOR KNOBS ARE CONSIDERED PUBLIC!
Nabil Majid is thunderbolted for sitting like a lame duck on the incompetent list for a week, doing nothing.
Produced at Mon Dec 2 13:03:03 2002