The Umpire reports:
As you can see from the ph ot os ......
5 o'clock folly reports:
At 0730 I knocked on The Bastard Officer From Hell's door and waited with a grenade. As no answer came I expect he was beyond my reach in the land of Nod.
Blessed Is He Who reports:
Deadlines, deadlines.
I thought mine wasn't due for another day or so, but it would hardly be surprising if the bureaucrats who run the Force had fouled things up again. Knowing all too well how often pleas to upper management fall on deaf ears, it seemed the only thing to do was to go and kill someone.
Living on borrowed time as I was, I didn't want to leave it any long than necessary to regain competence, but it was barely half past seven and there's nothing more dishonourable than shooting a man in his sleep. It looked like indirect methods were the only way to go, so I requisitioned a bomb from Supplies and set off for the abode of Constable 5 o'clock folly.
He wasn't up yet, unsurprisingly, so after a little confusion while I tried to dredge up some of my long-forgotten Explosives training, I primed the device and attached it to his doorhandle. Hopefully, once this report makes it through the murk of the data processing people, the Chief will be off my back again for another week or so.
A vicious bolt of lightning coincidentally the other end of which is attached to the finger of an all-powerful, and going by past experience, fairly drunk umpire obliterating the target in question, who really shouldn't have made themself a valid target for the police, but never mind, you take what you can. reports:
I saw that my evil arch nemesis and part time games opponent Guardian Angel had entered the list of incompetents, and resisting the temptation to be merry and eat luch, I did bravely slog out to John's to the staircase of this lowlife. I arrived at his door breathless from climbing the eternal stairwell, and pressed my ear tight against the door. I heard a sound from within; the quarry was at hand! Hoping that he would give up his hunger strike and emerge for lunch, to go to a meeting, protest against a war on Iraq or just to hang up his dirty laundry, I waited around the corner. But no smelly socks emerged, and after a while I decided I was more hungry than he was, and slunk back off for sandwiches and chocolate. I'll be back......if I get up in time.
Blessed Is He Who reports:
Constable Blessed Is He Who, 6:15pm:
Acting on information receieved from the highly trustworthy Constable Handwash Only, I proceeded to Trinity Hall whither the dastardly, murderous and generally corrupt Bastard Officer From Hell was reportedly returning from his physics practical. Selecting an appropriate place of concealment, I waited for him to appear. After a short while, he appeared around the corner with his bicycle, whereupon I shot him three times in the head and upper torso. He had time for one final cry of "fuck!" before his corpse and his bicycle collapsed in an untidy heap.
A Collection Of False Hats And Moustaches reports:
Eurggh. Damned Durhamites brought down some sort of plague with them.
But incompetents know not the pains in my head, so I make the long and arduous trek to the other end of college. With me, I take my favourite new toy, a big shiny red bomb. And some painkillers. Because my head hurts.
Attaching it to his door, I hear noises of movement from inside the door. I duck behind a corner as he opens the door. I jump out, and we both spray the area with fire, neither of us hitting. He retreats and I hide around another corner. Clutching my head in agony. This was not part of the plan.
We exchange a few more rounds of fire before realising the pointlessness of it. He kicks my bomb back toward me and hides back in his room. I gather my stuff and head back to lie in bed and bemoan my lot.
A Collection Of False Hats And Moustaches
Guardian Angel reports:
And so it doth some to pass that Guardian Angel is once again deemed incompetent. One would have thought afterwhat happened the last time these unfortunate mistakes would cease; apparently not. So it was at a quarter past seven I was disturbed by the unmistakable sounds of a bomb being attached to my door. Unfortunately such an audacious attack had not been anticipated, and it thus took me a while to assemble my hi-tech bomb defusing kit, grab weaponary and attack the bomber. Time which my foe spent realising what was happening; I managed to fire of a few rapid shots before he ducked into cover. In that time, I'd recognised thatmy assassins was not wearing a disguise - they were a disguise. Nobody at the Force can explain how A Collection Of False Hats And Moustaches got up one day and started walking around - and only the late Chief of Police can explain why it got promoted. It proved effective; though; we both achieved varying degrees of cover, traded RPG and RBG fire, and generally attempted to kill each other, failing dismally - my landing could be sdesigned for assassins to hide out on, there's good cover everywhere.
And so he retreated, and we both lived to fight another day.
Cheery Littlebottom reports:
I refused to hand myself over to the policemen who came to my door, but my life was spared in return for assistance. Constable Blessed Is He Who, Doughnut-buyer Handwash Only and I made our way to the room of Constable The Doctor. After knocking on his door and having it open immediately, we all fired in his direction, killing him instantly. Another incompetent in removed from the force, thankfully not me.
Constable Cheery Littlebottom
The Umpire reports:
Not content with allowing Matt Johnson to Zap Saruman, I decided to get in on the act too, and Zapped Witless.
Weeeeee! This is fun! It's like being a doctor, without getting all the gooky stuff on my hands.
A vicious bolt of lightning coincidentally the other end of which is attached to the finger of an all-powerful, and going by past experience, fairly drunk umpire obliterating the target in question, who really shouldn't have made themself a valid target for the police, but never mind, you take what you can. reports:
I wanted a kill. Any kill. Preferably a legal one. Oh, and also preferably not a hamster as well. Anyway, I had a rehearsal in Johns for most of the evening, and the room we were in looked out to his room window. The light was off, which could only imply 1 of 2 things; a power cut, or he was out at Games Evening in Robinson.
So I headed down to Robinson for 10.25, and spent much exciting time staring at the chaplaincy notice board. When the porter walked past for the second time, he asked me if I was going to rob the place. I smiled sweetly and assured him I was not, although come to think of it, that's what I would have said if I *was* going to rob the place. Anyway, I digress. After about an hour, some people came out and headed towards me, I instantly recognised Evil Jacket Potato Killer. A swift manouvre up and down some steps ensured she did not see me, and I waited. I couldn't be sure he was in there, as there was a curtain over the front of the room, and I would have had to get very close to be sure. I was very cold, so headed into the staircase by the plodge, which as it turned out was a better waiting place anyway. Some people left, but here were about 5 people still in there, without me being sure one of them was Guardian Angel I phoned the noble CoP to see if she had any information relevant to the police investigation, but she did not. At midnight I cycled up to Johns to see if his bedroom light was on, it was not, implying that he was either tucked up warm in bed, still in Robinson or that the power cut was more widespread than feared. Indeed our esteemed umpire was in thunderbolting mood that evening, which would have explained the lack of lights due to the excessive power drain required.
I returned to Robinson, now having to walk in past the porters' lodge, saying hello to a thankfully different porter. I took a risk and walked straight past the room where they were, and saw that he was indeed inside. So back to the staircase to wait, evading the porter on a couple of occasions, wondering just how long it could be before they came out. Anyway, at 12.23 I heard the voice of a certain Arvicola Terrestris, and surmised that I could finally return home and thaw out. For as Guardian Angel entered the plodge, I got that Fry-day feeling, and felt an electric charge build up between my cold fingers. And lo I steped forward and did my duty to the police force. Thankfully the porter had left the plodge, which was good because I didn't want to have to explain away the charred remnants of the desk in there, but thankfully we left before the alarm could be raised. A 118 minute wait for him, my longest ever. I guess that good things *do* come to those who wait. As a side note, they were so late because they were playing Magic: The Gathering. For that he deserved to die anyway.
Dreamer of Electric Sheep reports:
Today I successfully assassinated Red Cat of *Censored*. Reports are sketchy, but she didn't suspect me whilst I waited on the stairs of department X, only to then have her chest ripped into two by several rounds from my RBG. Alas her brightly coloured hair did not save her, and despite my criminal status (still) I make a successful (and all in all legal) kill!
The Shadow reports:
The Shadow has awakened once more to enforce competence within the walls of Emmanuel College.
Upon learning of the disturbing lack of kills by the assassin the leper messiah and Officer Officer of the Yard, I decided to head over and kill one of them. Officer of the Yard had stated his intention on irc of heading over to kill the leper messiah immediately, as he only lived a couple of staircases away. I rushed over to xxxxxxx Court and rushed up to the leper messiah's room. Pausing for breath on the landing (he does live on the 3rd floor after all), I cocked my RPG.
Willing my heart to almost stand still so as to make as little noise as possible, I listened in the shadows outside the door that divided the leper messiah's and his neighbour's room from the rest of the corridor. What did I hear? The fumbling of keys in a lock. Thinking that he might be about to get away from me, I pushed open the door and shot the figure I saw turning a key in The leper messiah's door.
I then staggered back in surprise. My high-tech blunt-nosed round, guaranteed to tear a hole the size of a dinnerplate in any living object, passed straight through the man and impacted in the wall behind him. A huge amount of plaster dust filled the small anteroom and I was almost paralysed by coughing fits. However I managed to escape unharmed from the unholy presence of what was evidently one of the undead.
At this point in my reports I usually say that innocent citizens of Cambridge can now sleep easier in their beds. However, in this case, I think that it would be more appropriate to say that any innocent citizens should either lock themselves securely in their rooms or obtain copious quantities of holy water from their local priest in order to exorcise any ghosts of assassins that may lurk in the streets. For there has been much carnage in this game and there will be many tortured souls seeking revenge....
The Shadow reports:
After fleeing from the scary spectacle of the undead leper messiah, i decided to try and kill Officer of the Yard. He was supposed to be at a supervision so I prepared a cunning bomb to catch him on his return.
I hurried over to his room and started preparing it. Unfortunately, as I was doing so, one of his neighbours arrived for a bath and I had to explain what I was doing.
It seems Ruaridh was still in his room and heard all this, so I soon heard his door open and felt a bullet impact my right leg. Dragging myself to cover, I returned fire. Quickly I cursed myself because I had chosen a particularly poor piece of cover that left me nearly exposed, whereas he had the cover of his entire room. I managed to send several shots whizzing past his head, but unfortunately first my right hand then my left leg then my left hand fell victim to his RPG. I then received a shot to the middle of my forehead and all my troubles are now over.
A painful way to die, but at least I can now get on with the work I should've been doing this afternoon.
Officer of the Yard reports:
I was sitting at my desk, with my feet on it, and contemplating life. Life was good. I had a cushy job on the Force - sitting in the office, with nothing to do, and doughnuts brought in by Handwash Only. I was just contemplating how best to get myself promoted without actually doing any work when my computer reported to me that I had been labelled as an incompetent! Me! Officer of the Yard, I remind you! Was I not the man who, since the month of his appointment, had racked up the smallest ammunition bill in the entire division? Such commitment to keeping the pecuniary position of the Police strong, and they labelled me as an incompetent? Well, damn them, I would show them who was incompetent. A recent update had informed me that a certain Chris Wright had a price on his head - and I was going to take him down, and regain my status in one fell swoop. I loaded my trusty six shooter (I wiped the crumbs off it first), put my standard issue police jacket on, and attempted to button it. Blast! My four week doughnut binge had somewhat increased my waist measurement, leaving me with a cheeky paunch peeking out from around the bottom of the dark blue doublet. I stared at it. It stared back. Impasse.
I took the offending item of clothing off, and sat back at my desk, to discover from a further update that my embarrassing attempt to don the uniform of the law was in vain. Not only was Wright already dead - poisoned, it would seem, by a deadly Valentine's card - but his corpse had been found with several post mortem bullet wounds. The timing of the attack meant that only someone who lived close by could have mutilated the dead man. And I knew the culprit. The Shadow. And I knew how he thought. He would be coming for me next. Oh yes, he would want to legitimately claim the scalp of a police officer. This required serious thought. I let it known amongst the community that I was not be disturbed, and settled down to plan my survival strategy.
As it happened, my mind wandered. Where was that Handwash Only and his doughnut tray? I was getting hungry, and as my uniform no longer fitted there was no reason to be stingy with the sugary goodness. Then it happened! Sounds outside the door! Let joy be unconfined, salvation is at hand! But what's this? I hear a snapping sound - like someone testing a detonator. The Shadow! He had already bombed the notorious incompetent Whoopie, and he planned for me to go the same way. I reached for my gun, and opened the door. There he stood, constructing his device – and it was one of extreme cunning, I must give him that. In its incomplete state, it appeared that he was leaving 2 litres of high explosive in the kitchen outside my office (location, location, location), and rigging a trigger under the carpet to door. He didn't see me, and I sprang into action. Once again, however, I was foiled by my lethargy: my aim was not what it was, and I only succeeded in alerting the devious assassin. It was a rather sharp wake up call, as the bullet entered an undetermined limb, my eyes were shut you see, that gun was louder than I remembered. He hid in the doorway into the neighbouring office, bleeding onto the floor, and we exchanged gunfire. My office provided me with infinitely superior cover, and also ammunition
I fear my claim to have the lowest ammunition bill may now be unfounded. Slowly incapacitating him, I finally put a bullet in his head. Another assassin removed, and Officer of the Yard's competence regained. I cleared his corpse to the side – I couldn’t have Handwash Only's doughnut conveyance route blocked, could I? He still hasn’t showed up though.
Handwash Only reports:
The first occured at around 21:00 at the room of Sally Clough. I concocted a devious ploy to gain entrance(saved for future use) but found it unneccessary when she answered my knock with, "Come in, it's open". I opened the door and shot her at which point she invited us all in for tea which we accepted thankfully as we'd been out for many hours with no success.
Handwash Only reports:
Later on in the evening we made an attempt on Peter McIntyre of Trinity Hall. Seeing as I had other friends in the building I rang they're intercoms and was let in. I led the SWAT team up to Peter's room(after spending some time working out where it was) and discovered that he had locked himself in. We laid siege and waited. He opened the door briefly to exchange fire, with no hits on either side. Shortly after this he proposed a truce and as I realised at this point that he could hold out indefinately I suggested to the team that we accept. They disagreed with me, so we didn't. After this Peter offered some wine to anybody who would get themselves a mug from the nearbye kitchen and not shoot him when he put the wine outside. I agreed and went to fetch a mug leaving my twin rbg's behind. On returning I found that the overzealous SWAT team had shot at him as he put the wine outside his door and disabled his right arm. Also, Neill, a friend of Peter's had completely unloaded my guns. I tried some of the wine and watched the team with amusement as they cowered behind they're shield, twitching to every noise from the room. Neill took many photo's and seems to think this is grounds for declaring me corrupt. Anyway, the SWAT team finally gave up and left. Peter rushed from his room intent on sniping them from a balcony with a large XP and I stepped from my hiding place and shot him with the gun I hadn't given to Neill. A fairly smooth kill I thought, but we'll have to see what the CoP thinks of it.
Mighty Pej reports:
What is more embarrassing? That I only knew I was wanted 'cos the SWAT team was talking too loudly outside my (open) door or that I was killed by a man I had just shared a (really quite pleasant) bottle with?
5 o'clock folly reports:
On a SWAT raid I was ordered to investigate a dodgy box outside Dreamer of Electric Sheep’s room. The dodgy bit was safe but a balloon popped and I died.
Index | Wanted List | Incompetents | Police | Headlines | UpdatesProduced at Sat Mar 8 16:07:35 2003
