So, Scotsman, who's this other girl you talk about when drunk?
Bad idea for "stargirl", Scotsman. I wish she were dead DEAD DEAD! But if I look like stargirl, maybe Scotsman will love me too!
That Woman. THAT WOMAN!
HOW COULD I MISS HER TWICE?
Why do you keep running from me, Scotsman? IT'S BECAUSE YOU LOVE SOMEONE ELSE, isn't it? When I find that someone, I'll RIP HER INTO TEENY TINY PIECES!
Ooops. I did that, didn't I. Well, I shot her anyway.
I've been watching that cafeteria EVERY DAY for a week for her to come, and she walks in all unarmed.
Bjoern, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. Can we go back to home-base and plant the roses now?
Love Is The Key reports:
I set out this morning to try and dispatch one of my targets, a little minx called furball. Some spy work on the good old internet (bless those hippies) gave me a photo, department and much other information. Knowing the department from previous years work I went to find her room, knowing it was out of bounds and I would have to wait until she went for a tea break. I hung around for about 45 mins to no avail, time: 11.45. decide to go and find some lunch from a nearby shop. Lunch bought and ate I go back to the department to wait in the canteen for furball to go for lunch. Time: 12.00. half an hour passes. 45 mins passes. Time: 1pm. At this point in walks *Censored* who recognises me and comes over to chat. Stands in my way damn her! One minute of quick dialogue goes by and in walks furball. *Censored* spots furball and is in my way so *Censored* rushes over and kills her. Damn. I spent a good 2 and a half hours staking out my victim just for someone else to kill her by chance. Damn. Damn Damn Damn. Decide to return home to college for an afternoon of hard work, on arriving home….
Sir Not Appearing in this Game reports:
Clip, clop, clip, clop. As me and my trusty steed, Clopper-clipper-clop
prounced up the hill to besiege that funny place where all those french
people live, only once I got there, they started lobbing cows over the
walls at me.
After carefully disguising myself with a striped jumper and beret, I sneaked in while adopting a funny french accent, and it seemed I was accepted as one of their own. Not forgetting the cutting sarcasm (which I dare not repeat here) deriding everyone who was not one of them. And so it was that I had them, they, those who live in the darkness, they know only as "Land econimists" bring forth the Holy Mars Bar of Antioch. Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem. Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem. We shall read from the book or Armaments, chapter two, vreses nine to twenty-one.
"And Saint Bjoern raised the mars bar up on high, saying, 'O Moustache, bless this Thy mars bar that, with it, Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits in Thy mercy.'
And the Moustache did grin, and the people did feast upon the souls and sloths and babies and compscis and children and breakfast cereals and fruit bats and large chu-
Sometime, and many strange looks from the porters later......
And the Moustache spake, or somehow produced sound, saying, 'First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more. No less. Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, placest thou thy Holy Mars Bar of Antioch towards thy foe's piegonhole, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it.'"
Love Is The Key reports:
... arrive in bike sheads, lock up bike and head into college, still fully armed from steakout. Check my pigeon hole for post finds that someone has left me a mars bar, how nice of them. No one ever leaves me chocolate!!! …………… hang on a cotton picking moment, this is suspicious. Go to lodge and borrow 30cm ruler from the porters. Fish mars bar out of pigeon hole with ruler and sure enough there is a bang as the detonator goes off. Carefully place now safe bomb in the bin and move towards my room.
I had failed to realise how bug and gothic girtonia was, until I invaded. After spending a long time wondering around I realised that indeed staircase -deleted- was in fact not a staircsae, but the next floor up. doh! Having finally found it, I proceeded to plant a bomb on said targets door. I then knocked, ran and waited for something to happen. Alas, for he was indeed not here! After 45mins or so of this I got bored, that and the neighbours seemed to have become quite suspicious of the guy dressed all in black with his hands in his pockets. So plan B: leave somthing in his peigonhole. But when I got there there were no less than 2 suspicous letters and a mars bar. deciding trying to put anything else in would be quite pointless, I left, alas for I ran into Lochy on my way out and was recognised alas. there goes my anomnity. Oh well.
Outside my room a bomb awaits me there too. Crude invention consisting of only one visible detonator and a 2l milk bottle. Go back to p’lodge and borrow 7meters of string, tie string around bottle being careful not to touch it. Retreat to safe distance and pull. Snap goes the detonator and the bomb is safe. Dispose of nitro glycerine in the chemical waste bins (i.e.the sink) using a real knife to cut the bottle open. Liquid drains, bottle in bin.
John Haigh reports:
Just finished making coffee and decide to start organising my life. Decide to open letter that was also in my p’hole. Hang on another cotton picking minute, its from the NHS, I haven’t been to the doctors for years, why would the NHS be interested in me? Right, out come the rubber gloves, multi-tool and letter opener. Low and behold whoever is after me made a pretty darn good attempt, two bombs and a poisoned letter. Little does he know who he is dealing with, mark my words, I’ll get even. I’ll get even, Ah ha ha ha haaaaaaaaa!
Tom Hounsham reports:
Pigeon hole: two dodgy packages.
Room: Two pairs of pliers.
Suspicious bulky one opened: yoghurt raisins from maternal parent.
Slim NHS one opened with same care: contained powder - from one Dr. J.M. Chase.
Conclusion: Did not die.
Other Conclusion: Wolfsonstein towers will burn to the ground soon.
Blessed Is He Who reports:
I'm not bitter.
I was only doing my job. Is it really my fault if I had to get a little creative to prove my point? He did it, you all know he did it; why should it matter how I get that across?
Somehow, he drags me down with him. Didn't I used to be the good cop? Now I'm a wanted man, my life falling apart around me, and I know it's his fault. I'm not bitter.
He called on me yesterday. I should have opened the door, should have ended it there and then, one way or the other. But death is a coward's solution: he'd have won twice over that way, and I couldn't allow that, whether I'd know about it or not. I would have followed him, cut him down as he walked away, but I wasn't ready. I should have been ready.
This morning I was wary. I thought he'd be after me again; I was right, after a fashion. Walked through the mist to lectures, but the streets were deserted. Grip tightening on gun as I enter the foyer of the lecture theatre. Ahead, left, right, up, behind, can't see him anywhere. Quickly - across that open space, expecting to see him any minute, but nothing. Into the lecture theatre; comparative safety, in a strictly physical sense. I go to sit down; someone behind me whispers, "Ed's looking for you."
Ed's looking for me, don't you think I know that? But that's reassurance that he's here, now. And more importantly, he isn't backing down either. Someone is going to die this morning. The lecture begins.
The lecture ends. The words meant little enough anyway, but I'd been concentrating on being ready. As the assembled audience begin to rise, I turn to the person next to me. "Someone", I tell him, "is trying to kill me."
Quick, get out; he's seen me in the lecture theatre and I don't want to be leaving its protection at the same time he does. A battle just outside, perhaps? - but I suspect he knows the area better. Desperate though I am to force a conclusion, I'm not going to give him the advantage if I don't need to. Rush out of the doors; the foyer is almost empty. Fear, briefly, an ambush by a third party, but no-one leaps out to cut me down. I arrive outside, look for cover. There? No. If he sees me, any advantage I have will be lost. Last time we faced each other in the open, I lost. Do you think I don't remember that?
I find a place of concealment. The minutes tick by, the crowds boiling from the entrance swell and then begin to subside. Then - there. Him. He looks around nervously; he knows I am hunting him. I see him; he does not see me. I creep around the corner, losing him for a moment, but there he is again, by the entrance to the car park. I see him glance around again, then he passes out of sight behind the hedge.
I run towards the corner; I can see his vague shape through the hedge, walking away. I consider firing over the hedge, but what would that achieve? I can't afford to fail: I know he's already laughing at me, I can't provide him with any more amusement.
I peer around the corner. He is walking away. I judge the distance - no more than a couple of seconds. I draw my gun.
The killing instinct takes over. I begin to run. Still he fails to even look around. After all this, at the last, his guard is down. I am almost level; he does not seem even to have heard my footsteps.
BANG! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! His head spins around at the sound of the first shot and the bullet tears into the side of it. BANG! AHAHAHA! BANG! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Two more shots rip through him. Blood sprays across the street; he looks at me and falls to the ground. How cathartic. I watched his body twitch for a while before retiring to a nearby café; the corpse accompanies me.
"How many guns were you carrying?" asks Ed. "Two," I tell him. "Damn," he says. "By rights I should have won."
The Umpire reports:
Hmmm. I'm mildly peeved. </understatement>
Having sat on Jenny Chase's bed for about 20 minutes, listening to her ranting and raving about going wanted, I suppose I should have been a little more careful. She had promised not to shoot me, however, and I took her at her word.
Having nearly finished my cup of tea, I noticed a sudden crazy gleam leap into her eyes and I feared the worst. She came at me across the room with her RBG. I cunningly distracted her, and grabbed her wrist.
"Noooo!" I shouted, making a break for the door. But damn! The door was locked and while I was still fumbling with it Sir James The Rose picked up her kill-file and stabbed me through the heart.
"Ouch", said I, before collapsing into her door. Then I finished my cup of tea and left.
Sir James The Rose reports:
*sniff* I'm sorry, I know I'm a bad person, and that what I did was very wrong, but I couldn't help it, I had to stab him, I can't take the paranoia any more. He was a good friend *sniff* and I tried to kill him in cold blood.
I feel really bad about felix, I hope he doesn't take it too badly. *sniff* I might not do it again, I'll try and be good from now on, but I have the feeling that it may happen again. I may just end it now. No, I can't that'd be weak, but this burden will weigh heavily on me. Maybe the guilt can be covered in a tide of blood. It seems to be my only hope. *breaks down and weeps*
Come and kill me. I need it.
Blessed Is He Who reports:
Order. Chaos. One or the other. Sometimes it's hard to know what kind of a system we're living in, on a cosmic scale. Sometimes things make sense one way, sometimes the other. Sometimes it's both, or neither.
Order: balance. You give, you take, you gain, you lose. Whatever you take out of life you have to put back in. Take me, for instance: this morning I took a life. This afternoon I paid back that debt.
I was in Sainsbury's; a more mundane setting would have been harder to achieve. Going about my business, but warily: I didn't know what fate had in store, which way the cosmic balance was tipping today, so I was keeping an eye out.
Mostly. But, having thrown the last item on my list into the basket, heading back to the checkout, I had my mind on other things. My guard was down. Just for a few seconds. But sometimes a few seconds is enough.
Sometimes a few seconds is enough. There's not much, at the scale we live our lives on, that you can do in a few seconds. One simple action. But little things can have big implications, those few seconds can alter the course of history forever. And therein lies chaos.
Sometimes a few seconds is enough. From one little action, the drawing of a gun, the pulling of the trigger, you can change someone's life forever.
This afternoon in Sainsbury's, in those few seconds with the drawing of a gun, with the pulling of the trigger, Police Dog-Handler Brackenbury changed my life forever.
And so, I die.
Sir James The Rose reports:
Oh have you heard Sir James the Rose,
The one from Castle Girton?
For he has killed a gallant squire
And his friends are out to take him.
He's gone off to Trinity Hall,
The Nurse there did befriend him,
And he has gone upon his knees
And begged for her to hide him.
``Where're you going Sir James?'' she said
``Where now are you riding?''
``Oh I am bound for a foreign land,
But now I'm under hiding.''
Where shall I go?
Where shall I run?
Where shall I go for to hide me?
For I have killed a gallant squire
And they're seeking for to slay me.
The Man with the Golden Gnu reports:
I fear I must report my own death at 5pm this afternoon, courtesy of a poisoned door handle. Damn that minty freshness.
Sir James The Rose reports:
I contact poisoned quite a lot of door handles, I can't remember whose.
Apparently this makes me unredeemable unless I get onto Mike with some whipped cream darn fast. Ooops. I had such great hopes of redemption, too.
Fred Cheung reports:
Yes, this was an inncoent. Yes, Sir James The Rose goes even more wanted.
Sir James The Rose reports:
Oh no. I shot an innocent? That might make me wanted!
I have the feeling I killed him before in May Week by accident. There are no new plots under the sun, are there?
I didn't remember killing him then either. He's clearly vastly unmemorable (sorry Fred).
I poisoned the door handle before realising the door was unlocked. D'oh.
Must be the lack of food and sleep. I cleaned the toothpaste off, okay?
Special Agent "Dangerous" reports:
Somebody contact poisoned my door handle.
Note that the rules explicitly state that whoever did this should be made wanted.
The Umpires reports:
Oh, they have been. They have been.
Sir James The Rose reports:
Hmmm. I get home to find some people have died to my poison, but only the
toothpaste. Witch-hazel gel clearly dries too fast, even if it's
Oh, and I seem to be in the forefront of a police recruitment drive. We have a new PC Holzhauer, for example. Does the moustache think that the name is enough to have me falling at his feet, I wonder?
He also has a curious misapprehension about who he's meant to be putting in a box.
I'm weally weally weally weally sowwy, but Twinitawians are pwecious commodities - (not that I've ever pink wafers twied to buy one! :P), so I was weally cwoss when I heard a Twinitawian had been killed . Like, *weally* cwoss. (How many times do I have to tell you: Rand Al Thor's death was an *accident*, I didnt *mean* to shoot him in the back - besides, how was *I* supposed to know it was his birfday?!)
Anyways, I took one gun and left my comfy woom and walked and walked and walked some more, and after taking the first left after the horizon and eventually soon found myself at Wolfson College, Girton.
Once inside the complex I felt twue pawanoia. I had heard the tales of those who had twead this way before me: those of lazer-beam cwiss-cwosesd cowwidors, booby-twapped loos, and mafioso-type neighbours who would die before they told you the inhabitant of E110 was called anything other than Katie. Hence I was weally vewy lucky when I heard movement fwom the WC not far fwom her abode, and even luckier that my first bullet connected with her Twinitwian murdewing back.
I then felt incwedibly guilty as she insisted I share some of her fudge and mango tea, and then that I join her aforemantioned, weally quite cute and fluffy neighbours, to watch a film. It leaves the concerned Cambwidge assassin to ponder: what kind of evil maniac murders an invalid and plunders their stash of chocolate swirl fudge? Which female character got the closest to the Neo dude the Matwix? And which college is the bestest in the whole wide world?!
Why, that would be TRINITY!
Mwahahahahahahahahahaha ... *pauses for breath* ... hahahahahahahaha!
Sir James The Rose reports:
Then he's turned him right and round about
And rolled him in the bracken,
And he gone off to take a sleep
In the lowlands of Castle Wolfson.
He had not well gone out of sight
Nor found the CoP,
When four and twenty belted knights
Discussed on IRC.
``Oh have you seen Sir James the Rose,
The one from Castle Girton,
For he has killed a gallant squire,
And we're sent out to take him.''
``You'll see the bank above the mill
In the lowlands of Castle Wolfson,
And there you'll find Sir James the Rose
Cooking in the kitchen.''
They sought the bank above the mill
By Wolfsonstein's high tower,
And there they found Sir James the Rose
Wandering into the shower.
Now they have taken out his heart
And stuck it on a spear
They posted it to Germany,
And gave it to his dear.
Ah well, that was quick. I'm impressed.
Everyone knows I'm ridiculously paranoid, I have two awards for it- so why actually be paranoid? I underestimated the bravery of the good PC Trinity, however.
The Umpire had just been round eating fudge and drinking tea, after initially trying to lurk me and being discovered by the neighbours of Castle Wolfsonstein, and having given up on trying to shoot me. He does this on a semi-regular basis so I'm quite used to a skinny arm sticking round the corner and firing at me.
To his disappointment, I kicked him out for a pre-hunt shower and wandered off down the corridor towards the only warm shower in the building. At which point something hit me between the shoulderblades.
"Mike" I said, turning with dignity, "You should really not lurk my shower. What would mjg59 say?"
At which point I looked into the eyes of PC Trinity, and slightly belatedly died. And then she ate fudge and we watched a film.
Aaaah, that feels better. The paranoia was destroying my mental state.
The Minister of Being A Game Too Late reports:
The Ministry always rewards the faithful, and in this case there is no exception. A pretty pot plant therefore goes to Death Count for his sterling service to the game of assassins.
What's that? There seems to be an anomaly here. It exploded?
Well, we did say he'd be rewarded in kind.
Death Count reports:
The best attempt ever!
Well done you shy secret admirer of mine. Thanks for the flowers.
Feb 23 h22.00
I come home and a beautifully wrapped gift is waiting for me at my doorstep. The shiny appearance has an almost irresistible appeal on me. My usual composure starts to melt. So there is love on this planet then?! Somebody does love me? Then tears are manly held back. I compose myself. There is no love on earth, only ruthless assassins ready to exploit any weakness. As somebody else has already stated: �in this business only the paranoid survives�. And survive I will.
My door seems safe to open. I enter my castle. Is it safe to move the Potentially Deadly Object (PDO)?
I am wearing my head torch: a close inspection suggests it seems safe to move it. I move it. It does not explode.
The PDO is on my kitchen table. Wearing my trusted nitrile (nonporous) gloves I delicately open the silver letter taped to the PDO. I open the side of it with a sharp knife, just in case. A few lines in black ink express gratitude. Three Xs follow. One more falling for the charm of Death Count? Possible, but not probable.
Diffusing it here is too dangerous, I do not have all the tools I need. But �. what about if it has a clock? It could explode any time! Or it could be sensitive to changes in the temperature or to movements! I delicately move it to my garden. A good night sleep will do me good.
Feb 24 H7.00
It is my alarm clock, it is not the PDO! God, not a sweet wake up, but I am still alive. No craters in the garden. The PDO is still there.
I bite the bullet: I stick the PDO in my rucksack and head to work. I am an assassin and a Death Count. But the world awaits my scientific discoveries eagerly. Can�t make the world wait. Can I?
Everything is ready on my bench:
I am wearing gloves, lab coat, face shield and a Perspex shield protects my body and my face. Still, an explosion would smash my hands and arms.
Perspiration is high: is it the tension or all the gear I am wearing? The press is around me to capture these moments, CNN is on hold on line 1, Q103 has interrupted its transmission and has "God save the Queen" on a loop.
I face my destiny and step forward
I cut the wrap. I start from the top. Can't see. Cut more. Can't see. Cut a bit more. Green stuff. Leaves. Cut more. Flowers.
Flowers??? Maybe �. maybe that girl �. Or that new colleague or maybe �. Maybe it is a big mistake and it is just a real and sincere present to my lovely persona! CNN may not like having interrupted transmissions for that. I proceed anyway. With caution. And with many doubts in my head. Keep cutting. Sideways. I�ve almost reached the bottom. It is a plain and simple pot of flowers!!!!!!!
"All you need is love" start ringing in my head, make love not war etc. Love is the answer, not assassination. I was wrong. People do love me.
I almost relax, then �� what is that �.. that thin plate at the bottom of the pot �.. some cotton wool is visible ��. Cotton wool? What for? Treachery and tragedy! This is not love! This is an attempted murder. Never believed a word of those �wearetheworldwearethechildren� pacifists anyway.
Time to act: I swiftly calculate on my pocket calculator the radius of the potential explosion. I find a stick double the calculated distance. I tilt and prod the PDO. A LOUD bang shakes the building. Once the dust has settled, people come out of their shelters and gather around me. The bomb has been defused. Peace has been established. CNN had its story. Christiane Amanpour wants to congratulate me on the phone. Q103 plays wearetheworldwearethechildren.
I knew it: love is the answer.
Fabrizio d'Adda di Fagagna reports:
Dear Rosemary Warner
Congratulations for the professionally produced poison letter. Unfortunately, poison letters have been out of fashion since the third week of the game. Good effort though. Of course I appreciated the headed letter and the effort you put into finding my postcode. Well done, my dear.
But too many details gave it away: I have not written to the NHS to inform them of my recent change of address. Thanks for reminding me to do that though. Most importantly: never ever send the same kind of letter to various players on different days! Because the last to receive them (me) will be aware of the previous attempts by reading the other reports on the web! And will be veeeery cautious.
Keep trying my dear. I will be waiting for you.
Following evidence of PC Holzhauer's evilness (http://www.srcf.ucam.org/~mewo2/nokes.gif), he has been placed under the watchful eye of CoP Nephthys.
Esmerelda and the bouncing baby reports:
I lurk'd him here, I lurk'd him there poor Sheridan got lurked everywhere.. but he never showed up. So I bombed his pidgeon hole (again).
hmmm, time to check my peigonhole before my supervision. Whats this? A bomb? nbo, wait it says "Akira Orignal Soundtrack" on it, with only 10 tracks - hang on a minute, if it was anyone I know it would be labelled Akira OST, thats all and would contain more than ten tracks, and they'd been as mp3s too - wait its a printed label, definetly something wrong here
everyone likely to have this uses 240 CD case for this sort of thing making indivdual jewel cases kinda redundant. And I tend toget them over FTP too. Somethign tells me this is a bomb. So a bit later (well a few hours later - when I remember about it!) I sit down with my knife and spoon and sit down to dinner, my new bomb after carefully removing the insert with a stange looking method involving using spoons like chopsticks I can see it is the simplest bomb possible
merely a cap detonator. prising the case a bit further open I stick a cppon over the dotonator and flick the lid open. Click. I must say thankyou for the detonator, I can see it coming in handy. Anyhow, this calls for a visit later.
Later, in the not so deep, not so dark, not so bowel-like corridors of my targets^H^H^H^H^H^H^Hassassin's abode I lurk, somehwat unsuccesfully, for about 15mins. When I decide to go home I try the obvious and ask a neighbour if Esmerelda and the bouncing baby's about, he said "You're an assassin aren't you?" at which point I admitted the obvoius, next he commented on her paranoia and offered to get her to come shoot me. To which I replied "Yes please!" so he knocked on her door and nearly got shot himself. Alas for he was between my gun and her, otherwise she'd be quite dead by now. Oh well. After a few minutes of exchanging looks and insults I left, fearing that the wanted crinal might be coming to assist his friend. 20 minutes later I had completed the 5 minute journey back home
Love Is The Key reports:
i write to register a complaint that A Bull in a China Shop has not been going to her lectures of late. it is clear to me that this will drastically affect her chances of passing this year. also it drastically affect my chances of killing her and eating her liver with a nice chianti. A Bull in a China Shop, do it for your own good, die and concentrate on your studies as they are more important than a silly game of toy guns. do it for the children of cambridge, those poor hungry children, they need something to eat, your body will keep them going for a good few weeks.
I will be waiting A Bull in a China Shop...
Unquiet Shade reports:
I wake from the dream, the memories fade, Assassins ? Cambridge ? What are these things ?
I go about my daily life, until it is time to sleep again. I fear it, but I know I must.
I am back in the dream, but I don't realise it's a dream.
Harvey Court, a wanted criminal.
Access gained, lurking.
Area scouted. An impossible task for one man.
I persevere. It is hopeless.
I will wake from the dream.
Until then, I live in this world.
Dreamer of Electric Sheep reports:
It was not so much an attack as a sidle by, but nonetheless I was lucky to escape with my life. I was sitting in my room, reading your beautifully up-to-date website when something very soft hit my door. Being an expert at sonic recognition, I knew that it was a sound. Strange... then another sound. Sounded like that noise my RBG makes when I... hang on! I see, it's like that is it eh? Well quickly, but with a bit of fuss, I dispatched war rocket Ajax, but then realising that I had no such rocket and that was just some song going round in my head, I sent a neighbour to investigate my kitchen. What is that... a man in a long black coat... I haven't died yet... oh wait yes that game ahhh! Another neighbour was sent, and quite thrilled at the prospect of being in mortal danger (note to self: excites the ladies) and confirmed said man in long black coat. Looking out of the window he had repositioned himself in the courtyard. Hello I said, and waved. He sidled closer, took a pot shot which I deftly avoided behind a window. Then we spoke (at some distance to be safe and I found he was a PC trying to get me. Didn't put much effort into it did he?! Meanwhile neighbour A was convincingly wandering near to him with a large weapon... he was getting scared. As someone else passed with balloons, the mention of possible bombs seemed to scare him some more. Another pot shot, this time avoided with an incredible sense of timing and great dexterity... plus he missed. I dared not get to the edge of the balcony and wished I had set up that boiling oil earlier. Damn, he is getting away! Running along balconies, leaping into someone's room and to their kitchen I was just in time to see him depart through another window. I shot the ground for the sake of it. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
Dreamer of Electric Sheep reports:
Do any of you realise, have any remote clue, a tiny inkling at all of HOW FAR AWAY THAT PLACE IS?! Obviously I cannot mention this place, but I think by now you should realise where I am talking about. Yes I have been there, photo evidence to prove it too (for after the game I feel) and indeed, as there was no point doing all that walking for nothing, I made an attempt or two. Firstly there was getting in. No problems, although I can see the lunatic asylum aspect of the corridors... think Max Payne nightmare sequence. Two flights of stairs, edging along a corridor looking at the room numbers... Aha, there we go, hang on. Someone is open next door, being noisy. Nonetheless it is worth waiting and hoping that they haven't swapped rooms with my intended victim. Nothing for quite a while... no sounds and no sign of victim... doesn't look like this is gonna happen so plan B. Leave a pretty bomb on the door. Wait a second, why is the corridor suddenly full of people... oh crap... walking walking SLOWLY away... phew. I am out. Stage 2, pigeon holes. Left a lovely bomb there two. Lurked a little more in a courtyard feeling a little lost and worried by anyone walking past. Then left... photo opportunity and a long walk home. Job done. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
Love Is The Key reports:
once apon a time there was a young boy called Key who lived in a far off land with many a mile between himself and the neerest real civilisation. he didnt have many worries in the world, life was peaceful in the glen of tranquility with the squirrels and the rabbits and the robins and the larks and the antelopes and the odd cow.
One day while Key was out playing in the woods with Mr Squirrel a bluebird flew down and informed Key that his lunch was ready. "oh goody," said Key "i'm ravenous" and at that he skipped inside the red brick house to see what there was for him to feast on.
He sat down at the lunch table and feasted on a meal that only appears once a week: brunck. oh how he filled his delicate little mouth with pieces of bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, toast and to drink he had a little cow juice.
The feast lasted for a good few hours and with a full tummy Key decided to have a small lie down so that his food could digest. but what is this? outside his tasteful little room with the flowery wallpaper and the duvet cover with embroidered animals on there was a box labelled Bomb! This made Key a little angry. the evil wizard had infiltrated his little safe haven. 'something would have to be done about this' thought Key 'but i'm sooo tired. i need to lie down'
so the decision was made that Key would have to get the bomb removed by means of a piece of 8meter string and low and behold the bomb exploded. what a noise it was too. the rabbits ran and the squirrels hid in the trees and the birds flew away and the antelopes have never been seen since. Key's heavenly place had been ruined forever.
while Key slept he saw visions of the evil wizzard and when he woke he decided that something would have to be done about him. it was time that someone told that wizzard off and out him in hais place.
"let the reaper judge him" said Key to the world in general.
and he left the glen to reek revenge. but that is another story...
Bald Rabbit reports:
Bald Rabbit returned from grass-munching to find a suspicious package at the mouth of his burrow. "Bugger," he thought, "All my string is inside." He went to see his good friend Squirrel who lent him some wool. Standing six metres away and tugging gently resulted in a pathetic whining noise from the box. It seemed to have gone off.
Inside the room Bald Rabbit dismantled the box with two pairs of pliers. Soon several things became apparent. The box had been marked '4litres - 6m'; this was the volume of the box, but the actual volume of explosive was much less, as the interior of the box was filled with amateurish electronics. The actual volume (of a coke can and a bottle of alcopop) was 0.605 litres giving a radius of 1.1m. Also there was a cap detonator on the back that had already gone off - perhaps whilst being set?
Bald Rabbit was filled with anger. His bomber was a liar! At least the attempt wouldn't even count towards competency.
The Umpires reports:
Actually, due to various complaints of not giving enough warning of the end of bombs-for-competency, this bomb does count, but from now on they will not.
Love Is The Key reports:
Second part of the story of Key:
Key was frustrated. since the shamefull atacks on the glen he had had no luck finding the evil wizzard. Key was starting to wonder if his friends had been right about where the evil wizzard hid out. he went to seek the advice of the sage old mother hen.
"mother hen I come to you in my hour of need." said Key, "if I do not defeat the evil wizzard then the lives of all in the glen will always be under threat. please say that you can help mother hen."
mother hen looked at Key and would have smilled but it is hard to do so with a beak. instead she just said. "patience is paramount, Key. go and lurk in the usual place and the evil wizzard will come to you."
"the wizzard will come to me? but how am i to know her as she has many forms?"
"when the time is right Key, you will know. i cannot tell you any more. good luck"
So Key returned to his hiding place. this time though Key was clever. instead of hiding outside the evil wizzards lecture theatre he went in and sat a lecture in her subject. alas Key was far too stupid to actually understand the lecture but that was not his purpose.
at the end of the lecture Key could sense eyes on him. he could feel the wizzard power. he knew that she was there. and then he say her. she was walking out right in front of him and had sent out her minions in advance to check for danger. how clever was Key to hide inside the theatre.
and the rest boys and girls is history. except for the janitor who is still clearing up the evil wizzard's green blood spilled in vengence. the animals of the glen can live in peace once more.
Love is the Key.
Dreamer of Electric Sheep reports:
9pm on Monday and the sky is dark. The wind is low, the air cold and unpleasant. Someone is braving the conditions, struggling to walk across paving. A knock. The window: one man, one beard, one pen. Then a brief wave, some acknowledgement and the figure shuffles away.
Suspicion, a dangerous thing. Not so when all three of those who seek you are waving and wandering away. Give up, I think not. Rushing to a kitchen, no. A bathroom, yes! A shot in the dark, no luck. They return. I return. I call upon many allies. Soon the room is filled, 7 or 8 people, armed and dangerous, and Graham. Alas, stepping into the corridor was not a good move. The fiend shall pay. Some tactics, a neighbour, another room. The door opens, the neighbour leaves. Stepping out, spotting said fiend.
No choice but to go for it. Battle is declared as she turns. A shot flies past, the rubber bands fly, gathering in the dust of the floor. Her corpse is riddled with them, slumping to the ground. A check to see, yes shoulder uninjured, shot lying against the back wall. A victory, then a truce, then some viewing and a nice chat. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
Circled Harvey Crt Twice
Entered Harvey Crt - no joy
Left Harvey Crt; the sweety waves goodbye from his window - aww how nice.
Passing the plodge; the now-not-so-sweety fires from a upstairs window - thats not very nice!
Re-entered Harvey Crt; there are eyes everywhere. (Seven pairs
allegedly - some more innocent than others)
I position myself not far from his door; an 'innocent' walks out - oops, looks like I put a hole in his chest - sowwy.
Door remains ajar; cunning umbrella device visible - (in addition to the usual poisoned tripwire and doorhandle, and scary bomb contraptions) - we exchange pleasantries but not shots.
Door shuts; a sound behind me - too late: the single bullet which usually finds its target sails over his shoulder leaving me to die in the hail of bullets emanating from his RBG.
Given that I had been very very parnoid on my way into the LQ meeting as details had been mentioned on IRC I was very unparnoid on my way out. So unparnoid in fact that it took me a second to realise I had jsut been stabbed. I had such great plans on how to kill people over the next day or two too. Oh well, guess this is what happens when one isn't paranoid. AS I lie bleeding to death in the middle of the street, my live blood pooling around a suspicoius pair of sandles, I consider whether that is the moustache I see quivering in anticpation of a snack, ready to drink before all the blood has congealed, or whether that is just my imagination........
I would like to complement Esmerelda and the bouncing baby on killing John Haigh while I was following him out of the lecture theatre, and without me noticing. A very smooth kill.
The Umpires reports:
Having not done anything since going on the incompetent's list 5 days ago, Ben Frank is now Thunderbolted.
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Produced at Sat Mar 8 16:07:35 2003