Evil Scum Who Deserved to Die reports:
"I got back to my room after way too many beers and some exceedingly fine comedy to find an invitation to a party. I quickly loaded up a bag with alcohol and went to find it, only to see my target - Snapdragon is mildly annoyed that he didn't get to use the cool psudeonym that he had thought of, namely : A quasi-literary psudeonym chosen to make me look dangerous and mysterious, like having X as a middle initial, such as, oh, I don't know, The Shadow, which actually makes me look like a bit of lamer, especially as I think I'm really cool and elite, but I'm oh so not, I mean, see how long I've made this psudeonym, but I've never written any interesting - sat there. I vaguely remember asking if the party was out of bounds and the answer being "Ric hasn't made it official but we have a gentleman's no-kill agreement", so I shot him. Badly. It took three pellets out of my six to actually hit him.
Snapdragon is mildly annoyed that he didn't get to use the cool psudeonym that he had thought of, namely : A quasi-literary psudeonym chosen to make me look dangerous and mysterious, like having X as a middle initial, such as, oh, I don't know, The Shadow, which actually makes me look like a bit of lamer, especially as I think I'm really cool and elite, but I'm oh so not, I mean, see how long I've made this psudeonym, but I've never written any interesting reports:
End report (Don't put that bit in you fool (or obviously this bit (The report is just a single word (with some punctuation (well, only one bit of punctuation really (unless you count spaces))))))
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Evil Scum Who Deserved to Die reports:
This, as I was very soon informed, was a very bad thing to have done, so I said "I might as well shoot Marmite, then" and made an attempt on my assassin. Again, badly, as she had ample time to find her bag and gun and shoot me twice in the chest.
"To compound all of this, I answered a question on my behaviour with "So hit me, then"... and so Pavanne did. A nice straight jab to the jaw. Ouch.
"Sorry, folks, I guess my pseudonym says it all..."
An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra reports:
I do hate to see incompetents being thunderbolted, so I thought I'd try to spare The New Lad Joe-Bob and his Electric Truncheon from the fiery fingers of the Umpire.
Yeah. I know what he looks like, I've met him. Once. A year ago... People start to stream past me as I stand rather unsubtly outside his department, then suddenly... "Is that him?" "Yes! No! Maybe! Um..."
Then followed one of those horrible moments of indecision where you *know* they've seen you, but they don't necessarily know it's them you're after as you're doing an approximately correct subject to have a legitimate reason to be outside that department, and what if it isn't him anyway, and...
By which time I realise I've royally screwed up, am quite flustered, and the Ruaridh-in-potentia is disappearing rapidly into the building. I run after, having given up all pretence of subtlety or innocence, and find him queueing up at the sandwich stand. Cue more unsubtle trying to work out if it's him and general shiftiness...
Indecision turns to blind panic as he turns to walk into the lecture theatre. Either I've spooked some random second year and his girlfriend by Looking At Him In A Funny Way, or he's enjoying playing the "will she recognise me" game with me, or he just hasn't noticed and he's about to go into the lecture theatre now and it's my last chance and I'll feel such an idiot if I don't kill him or if I miss but I'm in a bit of a panic now and what should I do and...
Happily I regain a little presence of mind at this point.
He turns round. *BANG*. I collapse in relief that I didn't cock up quite as badly as I could have done.
"I'm already dead."
Turns out he had indeed noticed me, as I expected, and I feel a massive idiot.
So I return home with my massive adrenalin overload, feeling rather silly but thankfully still alive.
Adam Biltcliffe reports:
And one bright afternoon in the year of our lord two thousand and three the sun did shine upon two brave knights of the Computer Laboratory as they sat at their shining white workstations in Castle Intelworkstationroom.
"Good Sir Allcutt," said the more honourable of the two knights, "I do believe that were we to step outside the door of our noble Castle Intelworkstationroom it might well be that we should espy the lowly and dishonourable Sir Huckleberry passing by on his way to his practical."
"Ah!" said the more bearded of the two knights, "'tis a heroic quest you propose for us, Sir Biltcliffe. Verily we must venture forth and slay the evildoer without delay!"
So the brave knights rode forth from Castle Intelworkstationroom and made haste to the gates of the town of Mphilpracticallaboratory. And lo, they had made good time, and the dishonourable Sir Huckleberry had not yet arrived.
"Hark, Sir Allcutt," said the honourable knight, "I declare that we have made good time, and the dishonourable Sir Huckleberry has not yet arrived."
"Forsooth you are right, brave Sir Biltcliffe," said the bearded knight. "But we are far from the haven of Castle Intelworkstationroom and I am beginning to have my doubts about our quest. What if the most dishonourable Sir Huckleberry, arriving here to discover us in wait for him, should take it upon himself to slay us both? Verily our lives are worth more than that of such a lowly worm, and should not be placed in jeopardy so."
"Thou art a cowardly knave," declared the honourable knight. "Such a one as Sir Huckleberry poses not the slightest threat to us, for our hearts are pure and our weapons are mighty. Get thee back to Castle Intelworkstationroom and cower there beneath thy bed while I remain here to slay Sir Huckleberry when he arrives."
And so the bearded knight did depart, and the honourable knight remained to keep vigil at the gates of Mphilpracticallaboratory. But it was not long before the honourable knight did see the bearded knight returning with a sheepish expression upon his face, and challenged him on his change of heart.
"Sir Allcutt," said the honourable knight, "I declare that thou hast returned with a sheepish expression upon thy face. Wherefore art thou not cowering beneath the bed in Castle Intelworkstationroom, if thou fearest the dishonourable Sir Huckleberry so?"
"Good Sir Biltcliffe", said the bearded knight, "verily I should like nothing better than to be cowering beneath my bed in the safety of Castle Intelworkstationroom, but in my haste to depart upon our quest I left my access card there and hence the drawbridge denies me entry."
"Thou art a fool, Sir Allcutt," declared the honourable knight, "but 'tis my knightly duty to help the weak and stupid, and so I am obliged to return with thee unto Castle Intelworkstationroom in order that thee be granted access."
And so the two knights did return to Castle Intelworkstationroom, whreupon it was discovered that the drawbridge was lowered, and the bearded knight was able to gain entry without the aid of his honourable companion. And so the honourable knight did return alone to the town of Mphilpracticallaboratory, where he did see the dishonourable Sir Huckleberry approaching the gates of the town, and so he did stab him through the heart. And thus was evil vanquished and the good people of the Computer Laboratory did live in happiness and prosperity for ever and ever.
Went to his staircase, got scared, ran away.
Fraggin' Aardvark reports:
This time on my part, on Mowgli of Christ's College. I left him a letter bomb, consisting of a cap detonator (which I wouldn't mind back) and a random heavy book I found in their porter's lodge, swiftly labelled appropriately.
Looked at pigeonhole, and thought 'thats the third careers law book I've received, I bet its a bomb. But you know, I am fed up with the assassins game, having to be paranoid about checking my mail, opening my door, carrying a 'knife' around all the time. And I dont have time to kill anyone anyway. I dont care if I die!' Grabbed the book, pulled it out, BANG! I died. Dammit! I do bloody care! Its no fun being dead!
At 7:30 this evening, I was returning to my room with a couple of friends when Schwartzencatter The Magnificent followed us up and said, "Are you Maratheoir?", reaching for his pocket. I bolted, took cover and began to shower him with shots from my cap gun, despite him being blatantly outside its 1 metre range. I dodged a pellet, then seeing my chance as he retreated to reload, leapt out and threw a knife through his heart. Having successfully killed the invader, I promptly invited him in for some cake in the true spirit of things. Turned out to be quite a nice guy really...
Schwartzencatter The Magnificent reports:
Schwartzencatter The Magnificent approached his victim's lair armed to the teeth with handguns and bomb making equipment. Most was in his bag, and he carried only his trusty revolver in his pocket, but this was his fatal mistake. Walking ahead of him were 3 people. He assumed they were harmless civilians, but as he approached the soon-to-be hunting ground, his acute feline ears picked up the name of his target mentioned. They target stopped outside the appropriate door. "Are you Maratheoir?" "Uh...yes. Are you an assassin?" "I'm afraid so!" He drew his pistol, but the enemy leapt into action. "Nooooo!" yelled one of his target's posse, throwing himself in front of his target, who retreated into a back ally. Schwartzenkatter fired a deadly bullet but missed. He readied the next shot, as gunfire filled the air, but his enemy's weapon was short ranged and he was uninjured. He fired again at the enemy peeking out from behind cover, being careful to avoid civilian deaths, but missed. Suddenly his target ran at him, he saw the glint of a knife, tried to reload...but then saw blood. He collapsed in a pool of red liquid. His last words : "It's all over...meow." Cats may have 9 lives...but this was the end of his current incarnation.
Fortunatly, his ghost was given a very nice piece of birthday cake by his killer, which eased the pain of his untimely demise somewhat.
The Duke reports:
Sitting in my ducal palace this morning, pouring myself a glass of brandy, I cast a glance at the newspaper. "POLICE CORRUPTION IN CAMBRIDGE" it read. "Former police 'hero' The Duke falls from grace". Alarmed, I cast a quick glance through the rest of the article, which, the paper in question being a tabloid, was rather lewd in content, casting doubt on, among other things, my parentage, my associations, and the sexual preferences of some of my close relations. Finally I reached my limit: "....with a GOAT?!" I exclaimed angrily. It was time this situation was rectified, and I stormed out of the room intent on killing the requisite incompetents. Thirty seconds later, I returned to pick up my weapons and check the list of targets. My righteous ire simmered off as I realised the only remaining incos were in Homerton. Ah well, it could wait till tomorrow.
After a dodgy-sounding individual had tried to gain entrance to my newly fortified mansion by claiming to be from the "War Veterans Memorial Fund" or somesuch at 18.00, I was on my guard, and lucky I was too. At 20.00, there was a knock at my door. "Who is it?" I called, hunting for my RBG and knife. There was no reply. "Hello?!" I called again. There was a muffled cry from beyond the door, so I checked my state-of-the-art surveillance system to see a bearded fellow of indistinguishable character, and Northern Scum a short distance behind, apparently unarmed. I threw the door open, and a hail of fire erupted from beyond.
Cursing my misfortune, I ducked back behind the door, which was rapidly perforated by my opponent's weapon. Crawling back around, I fired off three shots in response, but was again driven to cover by my enemy's relentless gunfire. I did, however, notice that he only had one shot remaining, to my two. Perhaps I could make it out of here alive.
With a cry of desperation and anger, I leapt out from behind my door, firing even as I did so. My first shot hit his left arm and my assailant's RBG went spinning from his hand. Even as I raised my own RBG to shoot, my gun began to slip. Looking down, I saw that the handle was covered in blood, whereupon it fell from my nerveless fingers. The fiend had disabled my weapon even as I had his! Hand clenching around the knife in my left hand, I prepared to deliver the coup de grace, when I realised my opponent was unarmed.
"Enough!" cried Northern Scum, leaping between myself and my assailant. (I think he had been cowering in fear of our gunmanship during the duel, possibly behind the antimatter banister in our house.) My "enemy" turned out to be Constable Lestrade, an erstwhile ally of mine in the hunt for the now-deceased Lemming. Bleeding heavily from our wounds, and checking ourselves for mortal injury, we decided to call a truce for now, pending the success or otherwise of my hunting party tomorrow.
Northern Scum reports:
It was a dark and mildly windy night. While slaving over a hot computer, there was a buzz on the
intercom. "Funny night for someone to be out" I thought, so answered.
"will you let me in?"
"because i want to get in"
Thinking this odd, and being a suspicious little fool, i trotted downstairs to find a stranger in
the hallway. Knowing that there was a shamed police officer in the house, i knew that there was
blood in the air and murder afoot.
"Are you here to kill The Duke?"
Believing him to be out, i told the assailant this. but he too was a suspicious fool, and wanted proof, so we trotted back up the stairs to the offender's room. It could be said that i warned the wanted man, but that's supposition and of course, i wouldn't do such a thing. Because, obviously, i wouldn't want this wanted man to be around. or something like that. anyway, maybe it was the tone in my voice, but he realised something was up, and as i ducked out of the way, a shootout ensued. shots fired everywhere, with constable Lestrade and shamed special agent The Duke firing many a frenzied shot at one another. I sat there, laughing at the two prats with guns. There were cries of pain. Blood flowed. I almost got hit from some crap shots. As the smoke cleared, both were clutching wounds......but alive. it was generally agreed that the wounds should be nursed back to health in the comfort of the assailants respective rooms.
At 5:20 last monday, we good cops went to rid the world of corrupt fools who
would besmirch their badge. Being schooled in the arts of deception, and
realising that tomorrow was remembrance sunday, we impersonated some
collectors for the "war veterans memorial fund". The conversation went thus:
Lestrade: Do you want to donate in the war veterans memorial fund?
The Duke: No.
The Duke: Yes.
Lestrade: ok. Goodbye then.
Thus foiled, we returned to the station, but vowed to try again.
At around 7:30, I returned alone, armed to the teeth, and ready for most things. This time I was more successful. Enlisting the aid of a courageous mole, who shall remain nameless for his own protection, I gained entry to the house. My latent suspicions were aroused by the appearance of some northern scum, who incidentally should probably be made corrupt for trying to warn my target, claiming loudly that there was not, and never had been, any such person as The Duke in Peterhouse, or in fact in the whole world. Undaunted, I smashed my way through this blockade and proceeded on foot to the top of his fortress house. Observing that the door was unlocked, I sprang in, only to be confronted with a gun-wielding mad-man! Still undaunted, I sprang out again, and a long, vicious and bloody fire-fight ensued, in which limbs went flying everywhere, and blood splattered the walls. My fellow cop, Northern scum, merely sat and laughed the bloodthirsty cry of the jackal as we fought for the honour of the badge.
When the red mist cleared slightly, we realised that we were both totally limbless. Vowing to meet again, we hopped off to our respective rooms to do some extremely fast prosthetic surgery.
Neither Crackle nor Pop reports:
Oooh, there's a Johannes - keeel heeeem!
Witnesses say I might have been a little overzealous with the stabbing, but one has to make sure with these sorts of things, especially when making use of untested weapons crafted in the previous lecture. [See, it wasn't a thoughless murder - I thought about killing you] when I should have been thinking about factor bases.] Anyways, I sowwy I didnt have any penguins to offer as a consolation :(
neither Crackle nor Pop
L'Homme Fatal reports:
I was stabbed in the back by Neither Crackle nor Pop today after my 9 o'clock lecture. It was euthanasia really; my brain had ceased functioning about half an hour earlier.
The Minion of Myxomatosis reports:
The life of an assassin poses many ethical dilemmas. Today, for example...
I was milling around, enjoying the ambiance of the CMS, and communing with the corpses of a pair of recently deceased, but formerly well respected mathematicians, when along came my recently acquired target, Neither Crackle nor Pop Seeing her, I thought 'Ah well, we're covered by the no-kill agreement that the shadowy mathmo conspiracy have in force' - but upon her joking with a certain corpse about shooting me, decided to make certain of this. I was, after all, a legal target for her...
I forget the exact phrases used, but the gist was "...and we have a no-kill agreement in the CMS, right?" "I don't think so. I have one with [removed], who sent the email, but..." - it also occurred to me that Neither Crackle nor Pop wasn't someone with whom I'd ever directly made such an agreement.
That said, of course, I'd been assuming her to be a part of the general one that was floating around - and as such, hadn't expected this reaction at all.
So when she asked "Do you want one?" I fell silent, thinking only 'No, not really... Actually, I'd like to kill you now...'
There followed a couple of moments of indecision on my part, during which the Umpire arrived, and raised one of the corpses in the vicinity. After which...
Well, I'd been holding Fluffy the whole time, of course - so I lunged forward, and he went for the throat. Neither Crackle nor Pop's reaction speed was quite impressive, but didn't save her.
So, on to the ethical dilemma: Do I feel guilty for violating an agreement I'd been assuming we had, and hence abiding by, or do I feel amused that my target managed to talk me in to killing her, when I had been intending not to?
It's a tough decision.
9/10 for persuasion.
7/10 for expression of shock.
Fluffy rated Neither Crackle nor Pop a four star dining experience.
Neither Crackle nor Pop reports:
exit lecture. ooh heyyo! - fwendly-live-assassin asks if we have a no kill with them in the CMS. Hmm, I don't think we do. I ask if they would you like one - 'cos I nice. *Hesitation* It's at this point that I seriously considered killing seemingly-fwendly-live-assassin, but hestitated before drawing as I've been wanted before and it wasn't all that nice. And although I reacted pwetty quick - t'was not quite quick enough. Not-quite-so-fwendly-live-assassin had deaded me :(
Dark Helmet reports:
Have been knock-knock-knocking at Guthrie's door for the past 3 days...
On my 4th visit (this afternoon) I became very angry at his persistant failure to be in and thus allow execution of my cunning plan, so I left him a crudely fashioned bomb. Or at least I thought about it, but his bedder was doing the rounds. Being professional and not wanting to kill/maim an innocent, I returned later; He was still out, so he gets the bomb after all.
By gad! Some scurrulous fiend placed an high explosive device outside of my door on Tuesday! How dare he be so shameless? Fight like a man, not like a dirty scoundrel. Thankfully the cleaners had left their brooms outside my room, and so I lined two of them up, and prodded the device from afar. Nothing happened, and so I approached only to see that the detonator device had failed!
I shall die another day.
Curses! I had it all planned out, right down to the finest detail. Knowing my target, !!ptXd!p~, is something of a computerician, I took it upon myself to ask him to fix my laptop. After knock-knock-knocking on his door however, I realised my plan had a small, yet painfully important hole in it: I didn't have my laptop with me. "Merd!" I hissed, as I heard his door open, coupled with many a click and whirr, suggesting some kind of uberweapon was about to come out and send me to the great beyond. My knees turning to jelly, I retreated several metres, ready to sally forth with all my might had he emerged. He peeked, saw no laptop, and retreated into the safety of his bunker. Damn that scurrulous cur! Any further atempts tonight would have been pointless, as the game was up.
Navigating the very very very long corridor of Newnham, I finally found my target's door. The light was on, and there was noise within! I lurked. 20 minutes did I lurk. I wandered round the corner and back again. The light was off. Ahhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGG!
Noone home now. I'm a tit. Never leave a lurk.
Buffalo Gill reports:
Well there I was just innocently walking out of the room of a mate who lives opposite to see a stranger standing at my door. Knowing that my roommate wasn't in and that she had a friend from York coming to visit, and being the helpful person that I am I asked if Gretchen in the house of Wolves was my roommate's friend. "No," they said, "actually I'm looking for Buffalo Gill" and without a moments thought about how silly it might be to reveal my name to strangers I helpfully bounded forward proclaiming "I'm Buffalo Gill!" only to end up with a bullet in my head. Thats the last time I ever try to be a useful and considerate member of society.
The Girtonator reports:
I could write a really funny, witty or just plain odd report about how this happened. Maybe I could use words like "skordillerant", or hark back to the days of Le Pyragte LeChoadk and his buttlass, or spout rubbish about penguins and obsessive-compulsive books containing 18+ material. But it was exciting enough as it was.
Walked into New Hall and found a friend from church, who helpfully showed me B staircase and gave vague directions to N. Neither looked good - Buffalo Gill shared a room, and N was in the new block, which made it harder to get back in. So I went for Gill first. Carefully. Quietly. Turn door handle. Slowly. Unlocked. Open. I walked in, and found no-one. Muttering something under my breath and worried that I would be mistaken for a burglar, I turned to leave, only to hear someone shout "Hello?" from the upstairs floor (which I hadn't seen due to the flight of stairs leading to it looking like a bookshelf!) "Is that Buffalo Gill?" "Yes!" I sprang up and fired a couple of rounds from my trusty RBG into a startled and screaming Gill. Dead already. Ah well. She then reprimanded me for wandering in without knocking as she could have been naked, and I left, duly admonished for my testosterone-fuelled impudence.
(Thinks: "If it had been Toblerone-fuelled impudence, would she have appreciated it more? Or does even chocolate have its limits?")
Buffalo Gill reports:
And it seems that people REALLY had it in for me today because half an hour later i was upstairs in my split level shared room when someone walked in without knocking. Thinking it could only be my roommate (who else would walk into my room without asking first?!) i called out a friendly "Hello!" just as the assassin was turning around to leave in the belief that I wasn't in. And so he shot me too, but since I was dead already I think that was just vindictive! Although I kind of did deserve it cos I was a bit useless as an assassin in all honesty. But I would like to point out that barging into others peoples rooms without knocking first is very anti-social since i or worse my roommate (because i should know better than to join the assassins guild, but she has nothing to do with it) could have been naked and if the porters had caught him walking into rooms without asking, especially in a girls college they would have skinned him alive! Be warned...
The Girtonator reports:
I would like to dedicate this kill to my beloved Godmum Jenny Chase, who is now finally seeing the fruits of 12 months of intensive assassin training (though perhaps 12 months too late).
Entered Newnham, striding confidently past porters lodge. Found a map and checked where it was. Located room. Quick pressup to see if light was on - affirmative. Drew RBG: lesser range but more accurate and quicker firing, so ideal for room attacks. Slowly, gently, quietly tried doorhandle with RBG drawn. Locked!! The first one so far! So knocked gently and stepped back behind a convenient staircase. Door opened, but no-one emerged. The psychopathy overhwelmed me so much that I charged round the corner with bands firing. Something fizzed through the air past my head, but my lethal doses of doom found their mark. Several times. So she fell over, laughing her head off. And a very nice young lady she turned out to be. I then hoppited over to Selwyn to report in person. At last, a kill of someone sufficiently honourable (and vaguely paranoid) to be worthy of the bloodknights.
Kill no. 8 of MT2003. Nice clean job, so I thought, and 10 notches now for Band on the Gun.
I am officially dead. i decided to leave myself on the incometants list and not try and assassinate anyone as a clever way of bringing targets o me - so i wouldnt have 2 leave my room - so that when they came a knocking i could just kill them - but unfortunatley - didnt quite happen that way....... break from writing this email as someone else just TRIED 2 assasinate me...but failed....as i told him i was dead. i wouldve assasinated him but he looked rather upset + my waterpistol doesnt work. so ye - got rubber banded goddam. never mind
Professional Librarian reports:
The library is closed on Tuesday, which gave me the opporunity to go in search of Mopoby, who has an annoying habit of removing books from the shelves to look at them and putting them back in a slightly different place.
I swiftly located Mopoby's residence and, RPG at the ready, I turned the handle of the door and pushed; it was locked. "I'm already dead," called a voice from behind the door. "Oh, OK, never mind then," I replied, thinking that, even if she was not, I had no chance of surprising her now.
As I was walking away, I heard the door opening. Was this a cunning trick? RPG pointed at the door, I watched an unarmed corpse emerge. She explained that I was the fourth person to make an attempt on her that night. I plunged my razor-sharp index card (knife) into her back just to make sure.
As I was leaving, a fellow librarian approached from along the corridor. He introduced himself as Komodo. The corpse remarked that she just wanted to get on with her work. Perhaps she should have learned to put books back in the right place?
For sterling service to the police force, Professional Librarian receives a long overdue promotion.
I once again made my way to her corridor, to see her door open and her at it, conversing with another gentleman! I strode towards the entrance, fingering (not like THAT) my gun. The chap she was conversing with looked kind of assassiny. I left my gun concealed, with a sinking feeling. He WAS assassiny! He was Professional Librarian! And apparently he was person number 4 to shoot her! That made me number 5. TALK ABOUT BAD LUCK! Grrrrrrrrrrrrr
Castle of Despair loomed on the horizon, through the early morning mist. Obviously some foul magic was at work here - the time was 9.00pm! Crossing the drawbridge we looked up in fear at the stony walls to each side, and the large, skull-like tower in the gloom ahead. Passing through the creatures mouth, strangely unchallenged, we slunk through the dank courtyards, pausing only long enough to determine the arcane markings at each entrance to the citadel.
After many moons we reached our destination, an ugly 80s looking concrete block on the end of the castle. Not terribly in fitting, and certainly out of place amongst the medieval backdrop. It made sense - the foulest architecture imaginable to warn of the creature dwelling within.
Ascending the spiral staircase, we came at last to the top. A cunning plan was devised to slay the beast. Light flowed from within the cave, and shadows moved around inside.
We knocked on the door.
Nothing happened. Got scared. Ran away.
The Gostak reports:
I elopimmed to stim a zarfing enskor the xlam rell or stenfrob skordillerant. Dorco I koedn't forbile the perikobolants feeping to distim me, I forlorked it was dren for Keeper of the Dancing Penguins to roo. The frimbles were kempling as I frobbed frempishly skur Ikor oblong jar pinnok, voor I jerfed a rarrigle velimenate to the gram ix star his womple. I yarr to sintob he is rom oily.
Keeper of the Dancing Penguins reports:
Earlier this morning, my sleep was disturbed by a commotion outside my igloo. I decided to wait until sunrise before investigating.
Using the Penguin Surveillance System fitted to my igloo, I could see a suspicious object made up of two juice bottles from an establishment known as "Sainsbury's". Being in an igloo, I was able to tunnel to the outside and investigate the device in complete safety.
I attached a length of Penguin Twine to the neck of one bottle, and retreated to a safe distance. I then pulled on the string, and there was a feeble banging sound.
As the smoke cleared, I surveyed the remains of the corner of my igloo nearest the door. The bomb had also destroyed much of the area outside the igloo, commonly called the "stairs". My neighbours and I therefore had to wait for the Penguin Emergency Response Team to get us out safely and to our Penguin Dancing Classes.
Keeper of the Dancing Penguins lives!
Damn, I'm soaked, and for no reason. I made the comparatively long trek up to New Hall in a drenching rain to see if I could visit the incompetent Miss Bennet. Getting drenched on the way over, I then struggled to find the correct corridor. Unfortunately, it turns out that the only doors in the whole college that seemed to be locked were the ones leading into the corridors, as I couldn't gain access by either door leading into N. I lurked just outside one of these doors for some time in the hope that one of the inhabitants would pass by and let me in, but to no avail.
It could Be Bunnies! reports:
In the early hours of the morning (11am is too early for anyone) footsteps echoed gently down the stairs, the target was in sight. Through the glazed portal of the fire door I observe him pause, engaged in conversion, the moment came to strike. A feint towards the vending machine suddenly turns nasty, the red liquid everywhere. As the body slumps I clean the knife, wiping away all trace. I regret to announce that Komodo is no more.
If you are reading this then you know that I am dead. Cut down in my prime, by an assassin a mere shadow of my notoriety. Listen, and I shall relate the terrible tale.
It was early in November that I became suspicous of a gentleman (hah, foul now he deserves that title) working in the same facility as I. My network of informants had revealed to me that he had been making certain enquiries, beginning October 30, very pertinently connected with my good self. As if this were not enough, a known (and frightfully uncouth) associate of his had been delving even more deeply into my life.
Naturally, to an assassin of lesser valour this would have been sufficient evidence to terminate the bounder. But no, not a professional such as myself. I contented myself with monitoring the situation, and being well cautious in the areas I found myself in his close company.
However the events of today show that my precautions lapsed. Looking back over the record of this blighters career, I see not a single kill, nay even contact with a target! But I digress. As my attention was distracted by a pretty lass conversing with me on matters of tiny horseless chariots, the curr struck. I saw him, oh too late, turn for the magic dispenser of confectionary. Alarmed, the last thought that ran through my mind before his fould blade struck home was 'Maybe he's just trying to get the last flapjack'. Alas, It could Be Bunnies! turned still further and sank his rusty, fetid knife into my side.
Until next term - beware the return of the Ks!
The Duke reports:
Who was it who advised against bringing a knife to a gunfight? Yet that is exactly what mewont2kEl did. On my way out of the door today to go to lunch, there was a ring on my buzzer. "Hmmm...that's odd, I thought." I answered. "Hi, it's the guy who killed you," came the response. "I'm going round meeting everybody I killed" mewont2kEl. He had indeed been responsible for the lethal stabbing of my first incarnation, but now he was police. It was also rather suspicious that my original self had been dead for over three weeks, yet he only came to find me now I was wanted. I smelt a rat.
RBG in one hand, knife in the other, went downstairs and outside. He commented on my weaponry, but I pointed out that, being wanted, it was best to take precautions. Realising I was not to be such easy pickings, he tried to bluff by suggesting alternative venues to meet, all the while shuffling closer, his hand straying towards his pocket.
Suddenly, "Ha!" he sprang forward with knife in hand, but I was prepared, jumping backwards and firing with my RBG. He stopped, confused. "Did we both die?" he asked. "You missed me; did I get you?" I replied. He was still holding the knife, so I shot him again through the chest, and this time he did die. I felt a little guilty at shooting a police member, but he started it. I really must get round to killing these incompetents- if only the police were less efficient.
Yes, I'm dead
Having killed The Duke before, I was able to get him out of his room and into conversation. When i tried to stab him, he tried to shoot me. We both failed. I should have taken the opportunity to stab him once more through the heart. But instead he took the opportunity (after a while: I have no idea why i didn't kill him, stupid blunder) to shoot me
Sorry to disappoint y'all
Professional Librarian reports:
I noticed that the loan on a book borrowed by Miss Bennet expired yesterday. At 16:40 today I arrived at her residence to collect it and the appropriate late return fee in person.
I waited for half an hour or so on the balcony outside, pretending to admire the alleged art and the rather dimly lit view. Finally, a young lady left through the door to the corridor, and I went in behind. I asked her if she was Miss Bennet; she responded negatively.
Arriving at the door of my target, I tried the handle, but it appeared to be locked. I waited in the adjacent bathroom for a few minutes to see if she would come out. I knocked on the door and moved to in front of her neighbour's so that I would have a good angle on the door as it opened. I waited a few more minutes.
Someone came round the corner and screamed. It turned out to be the neighbour. In the ensuing conversation, I discovered that Miss Bennet was probably "in the lab". I decided it was best to leave before I attracted much more attention.
Dark Helmet reports:
I heard tell that there was an incompetent at New Hall, so relishing the opportunity for a target close to home, I stopped off there this evening. Found the door to her corridor locked, as I understand other hopeful assassins did. I sheepishly rang a few bells but got no reply, however a kindly neighbour from one of the floors above was sympathetic to my plight and offered to try her key. Success - the locks at New Hall are presumably slack and degenerate - so I continued onwards.
Reaching the door, I knocked and got out the way, lest the peephole give me away, and readied my weapon. After a considerable wait, the door next to hers opened and I was greeted by a puzzled neighbour. Apparently my target wasn't in, and she didn't know if she was still alive, but assassins had been calling all day. I left a friendly note on the door and left, as I was feeling more and more out of place by the minute.
Miss Bennet reports:
A gentleman or lady called on me this morning but declined to leave their card - only a note which reads:
"Came to Assassinate, but you were out. Byeee."
The Masked Avenger reports:
This afternoon, shortly before dinner, I entered the realm of darkness known as Girton College. Walking down the corridor to the lair of the evil Dark Helmet, who should I see but his evil underling, (guy whos name I don't know). He could tell I was an assassin by my shifty appearance, but I could tell he could tell I was an assassin by the shifty look he gave me, and by the way he saw and went straight to ythe lair of the dark one. This provided me with an opportunity though; readying my concealed gun, I went back up to the door behind him, preparing to shoot Dark Helmet as he came out. Joke was on both of us, though; he wasn't in.
In fact, he was just returning to his room while myself and his minion were exchanging suspicious looks in the corridor. Which provided me with the opportunity to kill him before he could get back him. Loyal servant no. 2 did nothing to help is cause by saying 'Hi, Dark Helmet' right in front of me. If I carry on like this, his friends will find out where I live and come to get me.
So anyway, after the wonderful people who are really quite decent had given him away to me, I drew out my weapon, filled him full of rubber bands while he desperately tried to open his door.
Cleaning the blood off my shirt, I strode out past his stunned friends and headed home to report a fresh kill (Actually, I stayed for dinner, which was GREAT! They do a very nice dinner at Girton).
Dark Helmet reports:
Returning to my room after sending that last E-mail, there was a medium sized gathering outside - my corridor mates and someone I didn't recognise...I was on my guard, but when my friend said "Hi Steve" very obviously, I thought "stuff it" and went for my key...The Masked Avenger went for his RBG...I missed the lock...repeatedly...he didn't miss me...repeatedly.
Well and truly Deaded
On the 12th November at around 7:00, I went to the porter's lodge to pick
up my mail. What did I see, but a few fliers and a large brown envelope.
"Aha", I said to myself, "perhaps this could be a poison letter - or maybe
even a letter bomb!"
After a short, safe investigation I saw my name and college badly written on the front of the envelope, with UMS printed in the corner. Hence, I concluded, this must be a cheap attempt at competence for someone who doesn't even know that letters are sent through ICMS rather than UMS. Grabbing a flier in my hand, I carefully removed the letter and then threw it hard at the ground in front of me. Nothing happened. Then, just to be sure, I proceeded to stamp up and down on the envelope. Nothing - so presumably no bomb. Hence it must be a poison letter. I started to open the envelope carefully with a flier, when I heard a voice in my head, seemingly from one of my late, great, monkey mentors:
"Open the envelope over the bin". So I did. Then very carefully, I tipped the letter over, waiting for the poison to flow forth from the letter. However, it didn't. Eventually, with a lot of encouragement, the contents fell into the bin. A letter from the university along with cheques to the tune of around £1,500.
The Minion of Myxomatosis reports:
Congratulations on your recent attempt on my life. It showed style, efficiency, flair, and a healthy dose of opportunism. It was sheer coincidence, of course, that I happened to be passing through St Columba's at 10:00 - and happenstance that lead you to be there as well.
Nonetheless, following me out, and rushing me, gun drawn, as I was exiting the building, was a very commendable move. It was the epitome of bad luck that your first shot should misfire, and I can honestly say that I should have died then and there.
My apologies for Fluffy's next action - it was the height of bad manners for him to go for you like that - it was good that you were able to dodge back in time - but most, most regrettable that he should choose that moment to bite off your gun arm, and leave it twitching spasmodically on the floor, bleeding in such a lurid and messy fashion. As for the backhand flick that launched him at your throat, I can only say I am most humbly sorry. His table manners left much to be desired, as well.
1/10 for luck.
1/10 for vocalisation. (Of short and simple words like 'bang')
Again, four stars from Fluffy. I think he's being stingy there, but I'm not about to argue with him.
Keeper of the Dancing Penguins reports:
With incompetence drawing near, I decided a visit to one of my targets, Guthrie, would be in order. After a journey of over 10000 miles from my Antarctic home, I came across their college and prepared to enter the depths within. I travelled deeper and deeper into the college and, after asking a bedder and several students for directions, emerged into a hideous 60s court.
I finally found the correct staircase, which looked more like a fire escape, and noted that the name board said that he was in. I climbed to the very top of the staircase, and finally found my target's door. I knocked, but received no response. Wondering if he had perhaps popped out for a moment, I waited in a concealed position. However, after several minutes he had not returned.
Since there was no guarantee that Guthrie would return in the near future, I decided to leave and think of an alternative plan. I eventually found the way out and booked alternative accommodation to save me another 10000 mile journey.
Miss Bennet reports:
Lord! You never will guess what happened today! Indeed you will not! Having just bought the most delightful liitle bonnet from Emerson's -- which, I do declare, was luck enough it itself, for it was the only one left of its kind, you know -- no, Kitty, I will not have you abuse it!--As I was saying, now, who do you think I should spy across the road?...Can you not guess?...It was Mr. Bridge The Masked Avenger! Indeed it was! And so I ran across the road and I shot him in the back! Lord, what fun! Are you not excessively diverted?
The Masked Avenger reports:
Standing outside Kings just after my morning lectures talking to a friend I hadn't seen in a while, I heard a clicking noise just behind me. I wouldn't have paid any attention to it at all if my friend hadn't told me the girl who just walked past had just shot me. I turned round and noticed Miss Bennet running away, but she really should make sure I notice this myself. The lesson is clearly to have less honest friends.
Edward Allcutt reports:
I've been getting bored with the whole not being attacked thing, so I thought I'd try to attract some attention. I went along to TCR today around lunchtime to see if Aidan was in. I tried to follow some innocent in the front door but he was suspicious and asked me what I was there for. I told him it was assassins related and he seemed happy to let me in. I then went up to Aidan's room, where I could hear him moving about inside. I waited around for a while in the hope that he'd come out to go to the toilet or something, but some of his neighbours turned up, including one who recognised me. Sure that they'd alert him to my presence I cautiously left. Anyway, I'm hoping that he'll try to attack me as my assassins are obviously all lamers and I'm bored.
Also, it turns out I missed lunch. Bugger.
Aidan Robison reports:
Edward Allcutt was lurking very obviously around my room in the early afternoon. I was going to be busy with work for hours, so he wouldn't have been successful anyway, but two of my neighbours spotted him, and he had to back off. Now I know he's after me.
The Duke reports:
Wandered over to the other side of town to try to kill the two incompetents hiding from their righteous deaths in Churchill and New Hall. New Hall first; managed to get into the building after much bafflement, but was stumped by the key-needing entrance to the requisite floor. Rather scared by the hospital-like surroundings, and feeling rather out of place in a college inhabited entirely by the monstrous regiment, I left for Churchill, where I found 'someone randomly' not at home. I hung around until 17.20, provoking many a suspicious glance from his neighbours. One guy, who I thought might be someone randomly, went into the room next to the target's, but left again twenty minutes or so later, giving me another suspicious glare. Rather tired and very hungry, I packed it in and went home. I was rather hoping an ambitious (and, no doubt, envious) police officer would leap out from behind a bush and try to do me in, but no such entertainment occurred. Sadly. Homerton it is then.
Jennifer Chaste reports:
Having re-re-re-infiltrated the myriad of passages to Maratheoir's door, I steeled myself and tried to think of an excuse. Inspiration came as I thought about a nice hot cup of tea. I would ask if they had any milk I could use.
Me (the still-mysterious Jennifer Chaste): "Maratheoir, do you have any milk I can use?"
Maratheoir: "Who is it?"
Quick, think of a name. Ah! I know
Me: "Mike Allcutt"
Maratheoir: "Mike Allcutt?"
Me: "Yup. Do you have any milk?"
Maratheoir: "Yeah, it's in the fridge"
Me: "Which one - does it have your name on?"
Maratheoir: "The blue cap"
I go check, I come back
Me: "The full one or the empty one?"
Maratheoir: The Empty one"
I move back to the kitchen and hear the bedroom door open.
Unfortunately Maratheoir proved to be a coward and didn't come out far enough to get killed.
At 4:30ish yesterday I was rudely awoken from a very pleasant nap by "Mike from upstairs" looking to borrow milk. Being more than a little bleary-eyed at the time, I told him to help himself from the fridge. However upon coming to my senses, I realised what was actually going on, and waited until he had left planning to pursue. But on opening my door, my heightened powers of perception alerted me to at least 2 assassins lurking me, so not liking the odds I decided going back to bed was a much nicer option, and did just that.
We finally got him! He's definitely dead now! From being a mangled limbless torso, to being a corpse. A small but vital change. And it happened to The Duke today, at 7:30pm. Utilising our unique powers of deception, involving ringing the doorbell, we gained entry to the peterhouse mansion where this corrupt evil-doer resides. So arrogant was he, he had not even locked his door. It was straight in, straight out, all the way. His last words should have been "Not again!", but his teeth were removed beore he could utter a sound.
The Duke reports:
Seated at my desk this evening with a glass of port, minding my own business and plotting the deaths of the incompetents who had thus far evaded me, I heard a suspicious creak of my doorhandle. Knowing that any self-respecting, decent member of society (or member of my house) would knock before opening the door, I turned to see Lestrade (with new, shiny prosthetic limbs) and someone in a totally non-suspicious long, black leather coat called "Ben" who I presume was Gaius. I stood, banging my head on the sloping ceiling and this, coupled with my lethargic tiredness this evening (thiry consecutive hours without sleep would leave anyone off their guard), hampered my reaction speed. My hand reached for the knife in my pocket, before I realised it was on the desk behind me. In the meantime, the two opened fire with RBGs. Unarmed, I managed to dodge or deflect three or four of the shots, before I was totally perforated with twenty or so more. I didn't even have time to shout for aid.
As my soul fled my body, I reflected on the irony of my death. Ironic it was that my own dedication to duty had led me to such a fate; ironic was it too that, had the so-called incompetents been more incompetent earlier in the evening, I would have been redeemed, and my life spared. Ironic was it most of all that one of the housemates who had sworn blood oaths not to let anyone into the house without my say-so had betrayed me and let them in. It was gratifying however to get taken out by police rather than one of the scum I had hunted down over my career. Congratulations to Lestrade.
He hadn't made an attempt in ages, and hadn't been killed, so sadly I had to thunderbolt Eric.
When I don't show up, don't criticise.
Or so I said to my fellow monkey friends, when I forwent the pleasure of morning lectures to take a trip over to the dreaded new museum site and attend a IA maths lecture to satisfy my own masochistic desires. However, today being Sambaday in the monkey calendar, I thought I'd take a detour through town to pick up a special treat. The Maracas of Eternal Hope. Or so the manufacturers claim! With them in my hands, I knew that I won't give in, won't compromise - today I would go home with fresh blood on my teeth. After all, I ain't out of control, just living by my word. Or so I managed to convince the monkeys in white coats. Still, a nice stroll led me down to the new museum site where I waited silently for lectures to begin, until, who did I spy but The space aliens Oglethorpe and Emory heading towards lectures as well. What a happy coincidence! It doesn't matter what happens now. I will never give up the fight! Or so I thought. As it turned out it wasn't really necessary. I casually walked over to Aidan and stabbed him under the ribs. With his last dying breath he crawled towards the lecture hall and gasped "Is that enough to kill me?"
"Yes", I replied before feasting on his corpse. After all, it doesn't matter who is wrong and who is right, only that he was dead and I was alive. And no longer hungry!
Professional Librarian reports:
I was updating the library's card index this evening when I received a knock on the door. It turned out to be a librarian on sabbatical, who offered to accompany me on visits to some of the other libraries where he had worked. He brought with him a selection of useful items.
The first library was Churchill, where Someone randomly worked. We attempted to locate a local librarian who might also be interested in visiting, but he seemed to be out.
The door to Someone randomly's office was ajar and I could hear voices from behind. I ran in, RPG ready, only to discover that he had cleverly covered his room with antique books. There was no way I could fire when there was a risk of damaging these priceless treasures. (It was a meeting of the Roleplaying Society. There were several live players and police present.)
Professional Librarian reports:
The next library was New Hall, where I had once before attempted to visit Miss Bennet. The corridor containing her office was split into two halves, with buzzers for half of the rooms at each end. This time I opted for the more direct route of trying the buzzers outside, hoping that someone helpful would let me in. I tried a couple at the opposite end to my target, but there was no response.
I recalled that on my last visit I had met the person working next to my neighbour, so she would know that I had legitimate business and might let me in. We walked round the building to the other end. On the way I noted that the rooms of both my target and her neighbour were lit, and observed someone through a gap in the curtains of the former.
I rang the relevant buzzer. Shortly, the neighbour arrived and informed me that Miss Bennet was out, and said that I should not buzz other people's doors as I might disturb them while working. Having just seen someone whom I presumed to be Miss Bennet, I naturally did not believe her on the first point, and followed her through the door as she left. At this point she became most irate and threatened to call the porters and have me ejected on the grounds that I did not have the permission of a resident of the corridor to be there. She rejected the idea that having business with Miss Bennet gave me implicit permission. Not wishing to involve the authorities, I left.
Watch the shadows. Watch the doorway. Watch the window, watch the pigeonholes, watch those dodgy figures in the street who seem to be keeping step with you just a little way behind. You never know who it is who knows your face, you never know if that guy strolling past might be about to pull a gun, you might not even know if his accomplice is standing behind you waving his arms and mouthing "it's him, it's him!"
At least, Keeper of the Dancing Penguins never knew.
The Girtonator reports:
I made an attempt on Someone randomly on Friday night at about 10.30pm. Walked up to his room with bomb armed and ready to be set against door, only to find that the door was ajar. I pushed it wide open with RBG at the ready, and found Someone randomly, Jon Hogg, James Bowe, and a couple of other people I didn't recognise, all sitting in an OOB society meeting with some dice and a board on the floor. Someone randomly warned me that bombs were pointless as he opens his door with string from a bathroom which is outside the radius of any legal-size bomb. James Bowe then proceeded to annoy me by commenting on the warning label on my bomb (saying the "Fake Bomb" part was too small even though in red) and had an argument about it with Jon. I disarmed it and left, and went home.
"Uno, deus, tres, cuatro." Last night, after a hall fit for the monkey king himself, myself and a small group of associates headed back to my room to begin a deep meditation session where we would become one with the beat. Mentioning no names, some people had more difficulty than others, although it must be said, the wine probably didn^Òt help all that much. After an hour or so, my spirits were high, bubbling over with the excitement and blood lust that monkey meditation brings. And so I thought "Vamos a carnaval" or alternatively "Let's go to the ADC". And so we did, upbeat song in my head:
"Para tí, esta música es para tí
Alegria de una samba y cha cha cha
Muévete, a este ritmo muévete
Una noche de fiesta será
Todo el mundo viene aquí
Todos quieren estar feliz
Ay, qué lindo carnaval
Esta noche vamos a gozar"
And this night I certainly was going to enjoy! Perhaps here a little explanation is deserved. I have heard many glowing tales of Zarcana, commending his legendary abilities as a first rate assassin. However, his common sense might not be as great as once thought. He showed a fellow associate of mine his target list and then asked if he recognized any of the names on it. Perhaps a nominee for a Darwin award? So, who did I see when I entered the late show, but one of my assassins - Adam Biltcliffe himself! After a highly enjoyable show (although with an unfortunate lack of monkeys), I headed out to the exit and adrenaline started running high. I waited for 5, then 10 minutes, but still no-one came. However, just as I was about to head up to the bar, Adam decided to leave. A "bang" straight in the centre of the chest and it was all over. After that I headed home, dragging the corpse back to my freezer for later. After all:
"Seguimos cantando, seguimos bailando
Es un día de carnaval
Lleno de felicidad"
A full day of happiness indeed!
It's futile. You might know when they're after you, but what good would it ever do? A sufficiently large and shadowy organisation becomes like an ant colony; the concept of the individual is lost. Action against the constituents achieves nothing, much like trying to carry the sea away in buckets. There are spiders where you can cut off the head and burn the body and each of the legs lives on, splitting off to lead its own life, and with a hell of a grudge to bear. This is like fighting spiders in the dark; if you can't even see the head, how can you know when you've cut it off? I may have cut off their head, once, but organisation at this level is fluid, like a spider made of slime. There'll always be someone there watching from the shadows, there'll always be someone else, further back in the shadows still, watching them. Wherever you hide, whomever you kill, any sense of progress is fake. The deaths mean nothing; the shadowy figures can keep sending their insidious agents after you. Watch the shadows, watch the doorway, watch the window, watch the pigeonholes, watch those dodgy figures in the street who seem to be keeping step with you just a little way behind, but don't bother watching too hard, because you have to be lucky every time, and they only have to be lucky once. One day one of those shadowy figures will be the one who appears out of nowhere and kills you right there and then, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.
Martini, shaken not stirred reports:
I was killed in a shoot-out with the incompetent Someone randomly. I went to get him with the Professional Librarian at 2:30 today, but he was prepared and as I opened fire with my crappy police issue gun, he also did with his 2 cool kalashnikovs. Alas I died, but I made his leg split to pieces with flesh and blood flying all over the place. He rolled, skidded a little on his head, and fell to the ground. The Librarian sent him off to hell.
Professional Librarian reports:
I noticed this morning that fellow librarian Martini, shaken not stirred, had not been to any training sessions recently, and hence risked losing the right to practise. I arranged to meet him this afternoon for some training on Someone randomly.
I met Martini, shaken not stirred at his office. As I had already acquainted myself with Someone randomly the night before, and hence would be suspected by him, I suggested that he lead. I lent him my RPG and he lent me his alleged rubber band gun.
We set off towards the office of Someone randomly, planning our strategy as we went, when we saw a suspicious figure look in our direction, draw an RPG from his coat and run off into a staircase. We followed cautiously to the door, but he had already climbed the stairs. We did not rate our chances highly, so we withdrew.
I looked around the corner to see if Someone randomly had left his window open, while Martini kept watch. He called me to say that our target was coming and we took up positions around the corner from the entrance to the staircase. Martini fired at Someone randomly. Martini thought he hit his head; Someone randomly his shoulder. Someone randomly fired on Martini, while I attempted to fire the makeshift RBG and jab around the corner with my knife. Someone randomly fired around the corner at me. I am unsure as to whether he hit my chest or my coat between my arm and chest. As we were unsure who was dead, we agreed on a duel to settle the matter. One of Someone randomly's innocent friends decided this was more interesting than his chemistry work and decided to spectate (and possibly adjudicate).
Someone randomly and I walked out into the open, I reunited with my RPG and he with his Joe Devils RPG. We took ten spaces and turned. I fired, but my shot fell pitifully short of him, while he looked on in amusement. I tried firing slightly higher with a similar effect. Realising my predicament, I circled round him to the left, hoping to get closer to him while providing a difficult target. I fired a shot or two, but they missed, then ran into the edge of a taped-off area by accident. I circled round the other way, moving in and firing a few more shots. Thinking I was out of ammo, he began to fire on me. However, I had an 8-round RPG rather than a 6-round one. We shot each other in the chest at about the same time.
Again, it was unclear who had shot whom first, so we agreed to have a second duel.
For the second duel, Someone randomly was armed with his Joe Devils RPG and an RBG, Martini with a 6-round RPG and I with my 8-round RPG. We took our positions on opposite sides of the block where Someone randomly lived. Martini advanced on the inside of the block, while I advanced on the outisde. I heard gunfire and quickened my pace, to see Someone randomly facing the corpse of Martini. I shot at him. I thought I hit his back; he his shoulder. He shot at my chest.
Again, it was unclear who had killed whom, so we agreed to hold a third and final duel.
The duel began similarly, with Martini advancing on the inside and I on the outside. I turned the corner and shot at Someone randomly's back, but missed. He turned round, so I ducked back around the corner and ran backwards. He fired his RBG at me, but I managed to avoid it by jumping sideways into a wall. He went back round the corner and focused his attentions on Martini. I followed him and found him writhing on the ground near where we had started, with Martini's corpse nearby. I took cover behind a supporting wall and attempted to fire a couple of rounds at Someone randomly while he threw knives (corks) at me. Eventually I ran out and fired at him while he fired at me. My rounds all missed or hit him in inconsequential places; likewise his. I was now out of long-range ammo, but standing right next to him, so I pointed my gun at his head and managed to shout, "Bang!" a second or two before he attempted the same.
Martini, shaken not stirred is to be commended for his courage and for taking out Someone randomly's legs, without which I am certain I would have died in the final duel. Someone randomly is to be commended for his marksmanship, his impressive range of weaponry and his sportsmanlike attitude.
Someone randomly reports:
Police brutality I cry!
Two policemen crept up on someone as he returned to his staircase. He
randomly shot one of them, but was himself shot in the leg. As he lay on
the ground agonizingly, the other one put the boot in with an RPG from
Although a couple of aspects of this were dodgy, e.g. striking shoulders and throwing lots of corks, as the players amicably settled it out there and then, I'm happy to accept the outcome as they decided.
Strolled up to Churchill. Approached Someone randomly's door. Door open.
"I'm already dead."
Strolled onto New Hall. Target out. Left note.
After spending some time lurking in darkness and assuring myself I had the right place, I managed
to penetrate the fortress. I scared myself witless and discovered to my horror that he wasn't in.
Produced at Thu Dec 4 18:30:14 2003