Michaelmas 2003 Game News - Days 23-35

Sunday, 16 November

[10:00am] man who eats aborted foetuses assassinated Matthew Carroll (Northern Scum)

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

Uh, oh yeah....I shot Constable Northern Scum in cold blood out of mainly boredom, but also a partial intolerence for any ethnicity more Northern than Watford. It felt strangely satisfying. I may do this more often. Awfully busy at the moment though, so I think the metropolitan holocaust may have to wait until Tuesday.

To all policemen - you're not the gingerbread man, i can catch you.

Northern Scum reports:

the sandwich fell from my hand. i slumped forward into my yoghurt. the knife in my back was removed, and the man who eats aborted foetuses had just killed a policeman. me. i didn't even get to eat my smokey bacon crisps. ah well, serves me right for not being a strict policeman and mercilessly slaughtering him days ago. but avenge my death please. please do. yass. ex-constable northern scum, RIP

For the murder of Northern Scum, an innocent policeman, man who eats aborted foetuses is made wanted. And for hating all Northerners, he is ever so slightly more wanted. By the way, he is still technically incompetent, so police may use bombs against him.

Monday, 17 November

[08:00am] A Long Grey Coat made an attempt on Shrove Tuesday

A Long Grey Coat reports:

Different cultures have different views on relative and absolute. Today our culture seems to consider morality to be fairly relative while it didn't use to be seen that way and isn't in all parts of the world. However we do consider time to be absolute unless you are travelling at impossibly fast speeds. However I have heard of a culture that sees time as relative to how long an event seems to take. This would suggest that Cambridge terms are of varying lengths! It would also suggest that lurking a target takes longer than anything else.

This morning I considered the people I had to try and kill. The criteria of accessibility, whether I would be recognised and the potentially psycopathy of my intended victim led me to lurk outside Shrove Tuesday's door. It was an interesting door in comparison with the surrounding ones and I had a good view of it for what seemed like ever (10 minutes). After this the time seemed to pass more quickly until after 20 minutes a neighbour's alarm went off. I hurried, relocated and sat out another 10 minutes before realising that I had to get on with the less destructive side of my day. I searched the adjoining area which contained many dispensers of water before leaving.

Maybe the early bird catches the worm but perhaps it only catches the early worm.

[15:00pm] Fraggin' Aardvark made an attempt on man who eats aborted foetuses

Fraggin' Aardvark reports:

I found five minutes and wandered over to Peterhouse. Having received detailed information on the layout and dimensions of the pigeonholes located there, via a source I cannot reveal, I planted a letterbomb. Should the rampant criminal, man who eats aborted foetuses, choose to remove the bomb, then he will be blown into itty bitty pieces by the Top 100 Graduate Employers. Yes, I phoned them all up especially for this task.

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

Only a few days relishing my felony and some bastard has tried to kill me. This morning, before my lecture, I went to the porter's lodge and scouted out my pigeon-hole. Much to my disapointment, there was no pigeon in it, but rather a suspicous copy of the Good Jobs Guide 2003. Now, there were loads of these buggers in the JCR, why was one in my pigeon-hole? An unemployed pigeon, perhaps? I doubt it. It was very suspicous. Not knowing how to deal with the situation (ie, i don't know what the rules for bombs and how to disarm them is) I was buggered, and not in the good way. I rationalised that someone else was going to have to die for me. But I couldn't just ask anybody, willy-nilly, to collect my post - it is a most strange request that would immediately be admonished by anybody I proposed it to. I could ask the porter, but I'm quite fond of them and don't really want to harm them. So, confused, I left it and went to my lecture.

Luckliy, after the lecture, one of my departmental fellow students asked whether I could return to him his lecture notes which I had borrowed the week previously. I took my chance. Fully aware that they were in my fortified grotto, I told the scruffy, long-haired sucker I would deposit the notes in my pigeon-hole about lunch-time, and that he should pick them up at his own leisure. Hook, line and sinker.

When I later met up with him later for a supervision, he seemed a bit pissed off. Not only were his notes not there, but he thought I had played churlish prank on him, by arming my pigeon-hole with some trap device that sprang out, snapped and puffed smoke when the good jobs guide was lifted. According to him it gave not only him but the porter and several other bystanders a dreadful fright. I came out with the truth and told him that it was part of the Assassins game (he groaned when I mentioned it) and that the trap was a bomb that I tricked him into setting off, like a lamb to the slaughter. I then handed over his notes, which I purposely brought along because I know he really wanted them back, though they are not much use now he's dead.

Needless to say, there followed an awkward supervision. My supervisor was slightly distressed by the fact that I had dragged into her office the charred, truncated remains of a former student, and then proceeded to explain to the corpse that it was actually dead.

I believe she suggested I should settle into an institution.

So I married her.

[16:00pm] $\int_{-\pi}^{+\pi}{e^{-3x^2}dx}$ and the Chief of Police assassinated Charlotte Wing (Miss Bennet)

$\int_{-\pi}^{+\pi}{e^{-3x^2}dx}$ reports:



\title{Report of attempt on the incompetent scum Miss Bennet}







As a public spirited citizen, I took up the {\bf Chief Panjandra} of Police up on the offer of a walk to the remote fastness that is New Hall. Cunning ploys and many devious plans were tried, but the fortress remained impenetrable. We lurked for several hours {\footnote CCM Holdings Inc.\trade make no guarantee of the accuracy of this figure} yet she did not appear. All seemed lost.

We left stealthily, and left behind our patented {\em Acme \tm \registered \copy Smart \tm Bomb}. This cunningly devised and executed device would be certain to kill Miss Bennet when she returned.


Miss Bennet reports:

Alas I am slain!

On returning home after a long day of verbally abusing people of consequence, I found in my pigeonhole an important-looking brown envelope. I should, perhaps, have been more wary of it; I should, perhaps, have known better: important-looking brown envelopes are certainly a favoured tool of assassination. (I lost a dear friend to one 2 years ago.)

A loud bang!-And the last thing I saw was a puff of smoke.

[16:15pm] Maratheoir made an attempt on A Long Grey Coat

Maratheoir reports:

Having been lazy (er... i mean working...) all week and with incompetence looming, I took it upon myself to make 2 whole separate trek's to A Long Grey Coat's college today to see if I could find him. The first, at 4:15, consisted of me knocking but getting no answer, and so being aware that this didn't count on its own anymore I lurked for a while.... however, a strange look or 2 from passing neighbours later I got bored and decided to come back later....

When I returned to make my second attempt, about 5:45, I was glad to finally find A Long Grey Coat in, albeit not in what I would call hospitable spirits. My various (if a little uninspired) attempts to get him to open up were met with rather hostile interrogation in a very angry voice... Maybe I had interrupted his personal time or something, I dunno... either way, it was clear I was getting nowhere and as I heard someone running down from upstairs I had visions of backup arriving, and so made a quick exit. I retreated, unsuccessful but at least competent for the time being.

We will meet again, A Long Grey Coat....

A Long Grey Coat reports:

Who is more stupid; the assassin who knocks on my door or me for not shooting them? After a "similar" incident once before I had resolved to consider 90% certain as good as 100% certain and shoot to kill. Once again I failed in that respect and my would be assassin walked away unharmed. However I believe he wins the stupidity prize in this case by feeling obliged to report it and telling me that he WAS trying to kill me.

I live and perhaps I'll even learn!

[19:00pm] Lestrade disturbed the rest of Miss Bennet

Lestrade reports:

I crept into Miss Bennet's New Hall hideout. Unfortunately, she had just finished her "I am dead" e-mail, and was not availiable for destruction. I was starting to perceive a pattern...

[23:30pm] Kakariki assassinated Richard Sidey (Skid)

Kakariki reports:

Mr Umpire, I would like to submit my application for the post of most awful policeman of all time. Having been a policeman for all of 2 minutes, I arrived at my targets open door. Within, two gentlemen sat chatting. Which one is Skid, I asked. Him, said the other. I shot him. I then became suspicous, and shot the other one. He turned out to be Skid! Unfortunately, it seemed I killed an innocent beforehand.

Kakariki would never have expected a true officer of the law to claim that someone else was him. So he was within his rights to shoot the person who was identified as Skid. The trauma from this incident for Kakariki appears to have caused a moment of psychopathy a few minutes later, which was entirely reasonable under the circumstances.

Tuesday, 18 November

[09:03am] An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra assassinated John Mark Edmundson (The honerable cop)

An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra reports:

It was a dark and stormy night... And it was a dark and stormy morning too, which made my day not start out well. It continued not well when I arrived at my 9am lecture to find it deserted. But hooray for happenstance, for as I walked home I caught sight of the incompetent The honerable cop heading into the New Museums Site. As I walked up behind him with my gun out and called "BANG", my day began to brighten up. Only one more for the half century now...

[11:00am] Jacob Collins saw some suspicious characters

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.

The Scotsman and the Bearded-one
Were walking gun in paw;
They wept like anything to see
The bodies that lay before:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "we could make some more!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O baby seals, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Seal looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Seal winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the phocine-bed.

But a young Yak hurried up,
Very eager for the treat:
His coat was brushed, his face was washed,
His shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
He'd sprained one of his feet.

The Scotsman and the Bearded-one
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And there the little Yak stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Scotsman said,
"To talk of many things:
Of casts--and beards--and double cross--
Of RPGs--and slings--
And why the game is so often lost--
And whether Snap has wings."

"But wait a bit," the Yak did cry,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Bearded-one.
He thanked him much for that.

"A loaded gun," the Scotsman said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Rubber bands and such besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Yak, my dear,
We need someone to bleed."

"Gadsookes not I!" the Yak did cry,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Scotsman said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Bearded-one said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Scotsman said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Bearded-one said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Scotsman said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O dear Yak," said the Bearded-one,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
He'd buggered off and gone.

[12:02pm] The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory assassinated Nick Wood (JamNCheez)

[12:55pm] one of Ric's minions assassinated Luke Donnan (Plod)

one of Ric's minions reports:

Extract from the book of Ric, Chapter 6.

7 And the badgers were somewhat annoyed by this and played games amongst themselves. 8 And Ric said "I need a force to police this land, yarr" and the dead rose and took up arms again. 9 And Ric saw that it was good. 10 And a fortnight passed and most of the police had done nothing, and Ric grew wrathful and said "If you do not kill the lazy beggars then I shall make you officially lazy too, yarr". 11 And some of the police grew afraid, and there's knees trembled, and they went and killed the incompetents of the land. 12 But some had forgotten they were playing again, and so Ric put their names on a list and made it public. 13 And one of Ric's minions saw the list and noted that one of the names on it was from the same college as a target. 14And so one of Ric's minions strode forth, to deal death to the incompetent and also to partake of food. While the food was being consumed, one of Ric's minions spotted Plod and promptly shot him. 15And then he ate the rest of his food, and all was good for the day. And Ric saw that one of his minions was not going to go incompetent any time soon, and that this was probably good.

[17:25pm] Guthrie assassinated David Birch (U-Lary)

Guthrie reports:

Well there I was, mulling around like some kind of badger, counting down the minutes on my inco clock, when lo and behold who did I spot on the police inco list? None other than U-Lary, of St John's College, just around the corner from where I am. On reaching his door, I was pondering, do I really want to be spending my time on this game, or should I attend to the host of other taskmasters on my plate? Well, I thought, I'll do this casually, if it works, it works, if it doesn't, I'm free.

So knock-knock I go. Come in says he from within. Are you Birch said I, not remembering his first name? No, I'm hobbs said he, referencing his David's roommate. Where's U-Lary said I? In there, said he. Oh, okay, said I.

At this point, on walking across the room to the other door, the fiend threw at me a rubber. Oh, oh, I mean a, um, a poisoned capsule disguised as a rubber.

Oh well, said I. That's me gone. Yes, said he, it is. What's your pseudonym? said he. Guthrie said I. Thanks, you've saved me a lot of paranoia, said I.

Walking away, I was philosophical. I wold have liked to have made it to the duel, but then it is a bit tiresome, all this cloak and dagger stuff. At this point, working the incident back and forth over my mind, I realised that the rubber had it me on the upper arm, somewhere between the shoulder and the elbow.

Wait a minute, thought I, wait a half cooked, fat soaked, over salted minute. I'm not dead. That was only a flesh wound. Looking at the remains of my game arm, dangling by the thinnest of sinews, I returned to U-Lary's room, and asked him for his pseudonym to gain entry again.

By the way, I think I'm still alive, since that rubber only hit me on the arm. Said I.

He reeled back a little, as I poked him through the heart with my dagger. We agreed upon the earlier misunderstanding (death has always been an ambiguous subject for me) and he conceded the kill. What a nice man.

Slightly dubious excuse to re-enter the room, but I believe that had Guthrie and U-Lary called it an arm hit at the time, the result would have been the same. So as they helpfully sorted it out, I'll accept their conclusion.

[17:35pm] Kakariki mutilated the corpse of David Birch (U-Lary)

Kakariki reports:

I sprang into his room, levelled my gun, and was informed...he'd died 8 minutes ago! Bugger! If only i hadn't spent so long getting lost in Johns! Helpfully, he suggested I shoot him just to be sure he was dead, so I did. Nice of him so suggest it!

U-Lary reports:

Me: already dead sorry.
Him: Oh (sheaths gun and prepares to leave.)
Me: You should probabally shoot me, just in case I'm lying. That'd be funny.
Him: Oh, okay, (shooting me.)

[17:50pm] Kakariki assassinated David Guarrera (hobart)

Kakariki reports:

I had killed hobart once before, and a lovely guy he was too! So it was with anticipation that I retraced my steps to his room, certain that the old trick (open his door and shoot him) would not work so well again. Funnily enough, it did! Had another chat, and continued on my rounds...

hobart reports:

I was killed once again for being incompetent (this time as a policeman). Again, my killer was Kakariki. We have a nice little routine of me sitting on the computer and him opening my door and shooting me. I will get you next semester though!

[18:10pm] Kakariki made an attempt on Wilbur Kookmeyer

Kakariki reports:

I think Churchill may be the biggest place that I have ever been. Certainly bigger than Cambridge. Much bigger than Staines (Look, I didn't MEAN to go to Staines! It was an accident! I was driving up the M3, and missed the M25. "But the M25 is bleedin' huge!" I hear you cry! Yes. So was my lack of attention. Trust me, don't step into the road when I'M coming your way...). I think it may even be bigger than New York.

So, upon leaving David's room, I tramped over to find my next target. I tramped round 56 staircases, all numbered. I tramped past a big conference room. I tramped past a tall tower. I tramped past a tramp (Ok, not really). I tramped round what looked like blocks of low cost flats. I came to a fence. This put a fairly conclusive end to my tramping, or so I thought. But NO! I turned round, and tramped ALL THE WAY BACK!

Giving up, I asked the Porters. They sent me to the wrong place. I went back to the Porters, and asked again. While they debated, I quietly left. It was time for tea...

[19:00pm] It could Be Bunnies! made an attempt on man who eats aborted foetuses

It could Be Bunnies! reports:

It could be Bunnies!! awoke after a terrible dream where all law enforcement had ceased and fluffy tails and twitchy noses reigned supreme. This could not be the future - I took matters into my own hands and left an incendiary device in Mr Barrett's pigeon hole in the hope that order could be restored once more.

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

Someone put a christmas cracker device in my pigeon-hole. It was swiftly circumcised and then thrown away. There was also a joke as well:

Q) "How many Bhuddists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

A) "One. Just like everybody else."

[19:11pm] Professional Librarian disturbed the rest of U-Lary

Professional Librarian reports:

Examining the library's records, I noted that Assistant Librarian U-Lary had not completed the required number of training sessions, and hence was no longer entitled to practise in the library. I also noted that my predecessor had left a record of his appearance and the location of his office.

I made my way up the stairs leading to the office at 19:11; everything was exactly as in the records. Reaching the office, I saw that the outer, red door was open. I looked around for anyone matching the description of U-Lary in the records, but saw no-one.

I approached the inner door; I saw light from underneath and heard voices from behind. Evidently, U-Lary had company. I drew my RPG, opened the door and was greeted by someone who did not match U-Lary's description (unless he had grown copious amounts of hair in a short time). "You're not David Birch," I stated. However, I saw a shadow moving behind him and, aware that he had a strategically superior position, closed the outer door and withdrew.

As I was making my way down the stairs, I heard someone following after me. This seemed unusual behaviour for an incompetent. I introduced myself, RPG still ready, and asked if he was dead; he responded positively. I stopped and looked up at the figure leaning over the railings just above me. He even offered to let me shoot him again, but I decided to take his word for it and conserve my ammo.

U-Lary reports:

had a visit from the station (professional) librarian, who was suitably convinced of my death to not shoot me, which is a pity, considering the kenny award.

[20:30pm] man who eats aborted foetuses assassinated Ben Esche (Gaius)

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

Constable Gaius: BEST BEFORE 18/11/2003

Gaius reports:

was rudely shot last night in my room while trying to enjoy a risotto i had laboriously prepared. silly of me to leave the door on the latch you say? well it might be, but you just try going through a door with a yale lock and a doornob carrying risotto and wine. foiled by my food, oh and that foetus guy, but really anyone could have killed my if they'd tried at that moment.

Wednesday, 19 November

[00:00am] The Umpire assassinated Hayley Watson (hunny bunney)

hunny bunney had been on the incompetents list for ages, and failed to provide sufficient evidence of the attempts/kill she claimed to have made. Hence the lightning struck.

[15:30pm] Anonymous Coward assassinated Adam Baird Fraser (Master of Irony)

Anonymous Coward reports:

I came. I saw. I conquered.

After making the Worst Excuse Ever (tm), The Master of Irony nevertheless invited me to enter, in tones that I knew heralded a battle. Adrenalin rushed as I shouldered the door. Sure enough I was expected and my opponent was ready with his gun. Good. There is no honour in killing an unarmed opponent. No glory in a battle won before it was begun. But in his mastery of irony, The Master of Irony was indeed dead before the battle begun. His gun jammed and he was cut down by two shots before he could return fire.

Remember the killers of assassins. Ill-preparedness, carelessness, lack of concentration, poor maintence of tools and over-confidence.

That and repeatedly shooting me on IRC.

Master of Irony reports:

"Knock Knock"

"Hello? Who is it?"
"James who?"
"Sorder, from downstairs"
*Master of Irony unlatches door, steps back and takes aim*
"Come in"
*Door swings open, revealing assassin toting a gun*
*Master of Irony falls dead, cursing ammo jam*

[19:10pm] Kakariki tested the Umpire's immortality

Kakariki reports:

"I shot the Umpire
But I didn't shoot no Chief Of Police
I shot the Umpire
But I didn't shoot no Chief Of Police!"

Yeah! All around in Cambridge town,
They're a tryin' to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of the Chief Of Police
But I say:

"I shot the Umpire
But I swear it was in self defence!
I say: I shot the Umpire
And they say it is a wanted list offence..."

I thought the Umpire favoured me,
As a minion he recruited me,
Now he's ordered 'Kill him, and bring me his head,
Kill him, and bring me his head'
And so:

Read it in the news:
"I shot the Umpire
But I swear it was in self - defence.
Where was the Chief Of Police?
I say: I shot the Umpire,
But I swear it was in self defence."

Targets came my way one day
And I headed into town.

All of a sudden I saw the Umpire
Aiming to shoot me down,
So I shot - I shot - I shot him down and I say:
If I am guilty - MAKE ME PAY!

"I shot the Umpire
But I didn't shoot no Chief Of Police!"

Reflexes had got the better of me
And what is to be must be:
He came round the corner, looking shady,
I let loose a burst of three.

"I - I - I - I shot the Umpire!
Lord, I didn't shot the Chief Of Police!"

Sometimes circumstances get the better of one. Sometimes, when one is planning a trip, or maybe visit, an irresistable opportunity presents itself, and goes sour. I'm sure you know what I mean - that soft incompetent who suddenly shows up on the list just as you are making the termly trek to Girton. The target that's a gimme, a piece of cake, who ends up stalking and killing you without you even realising it. The time that you hapen, by chance, to find yourself right behind your unaware target, only to realise with dread equalling his as you plunge home that knife that the area is Out Of Bounds, and now he knows just who you are...It's the little things that you don't realise that prove to be your downfall.

Well, I was on my way to visit one of my (naturally numerous) ladyfriends, when upon IRC an announcement did catch my eye. I'm off to CU, said The Umpire. It so happened that The Umpire, may he rest in peace, does live upon the very staircase that this ladyfriend resides in. It will come as no surprise to many of you that Umpireyness and Assassineyness are linked hand in hand in my mind, and so I took along a gun, just in case...

As I innocently and naively hid round a corner on the staircase, I heard the slamming of The Umpire's door, and the bolting home of many arcane locks. I cowered in terror, fearing that the creature living within would soon be upon me. Clutching at my only hope of salvation, I let loose a salvo as the beast rounded the corner.

It would seem the sausages I dined on had more than just 'benevolent' herbs in. The slavering beast of a moment ago was in fact...Ric. Ooops. I liked Ric. He was a really nice guy. A truly lovely chap. Oh dear. I chatted with his corpse for a while, and in blissful ignorance of what was to come I went on my way.

Returning home, news of my foul deed hit the chat channels. An innocuous comment caught my eye - 'Shooting The Umpire makes you wanted'. It was about this time I started to feel the feelingdescribed before, the "Well THAT was a royal cockup" kind of feeling. Ahhhh. Didn't know that! *Gets up and locks door*.

If you're looking for me I'm a third year linguist and have lectures at 11 every day, on the Sidgwick Site.

I can also show you a picture of what I look like to help you. I'm the one on the left:

James Osborn reports:

Here I present my interpretation of the incident, I hope you like my use of style and colour. A strictly limited edition of signed and numbered prints of this work are available. Printed on 120gsm paper, available in colour or monochrome. Please contact me (jeo30) for prices. I can also do work on commission, again, contact me so we can work out an agreement.

Snapdragon - artist in residence of the Guild

The Umpire reports:

I am the lone immortal!
No bullet can ever stop me.
I am the lone immortal!
You can't take life away from me.

Call in, call in just to say "Hi"
or call in to give reports
You'll get some tea here,
For just this term you need have no fear.
and yet, you try to make me forget,
who I really am
Don't tell me I face death
I'm not the same as all the rest

I am the lone immortal!
No weapon can ever fell me
I am the lone immortal!
You can't take life away from me.

I've been a player in the main game
A flicker of killing fame
Never with minions,
though others have their opinions.
High hopes and aspirations,
then death and comiserations,
Maybe one day I'll climb higher,
but first it's my chance to umpire!

I am the man with power!
No targets I can't send out
Before me all men cower
The way to be - that's without doubt.

So then, a policeman came to seek me,
The crafty
I thought he was my friend,
how could I know he longed for my end?
He shot, the bullets through the air flew
I never got to CU
I admit to some surprise
At the time and place of my demise

I am the dying umpire
Shot in my own corridor
I am the dying umpire
I'll publish kills and deaths no more...

I can't wear this uniform without some compromises
Because you'll find out that we come
In different shapes and sizes
No one can be myself like I can
For this job I'm the best man
And while this may be true, there's only one thing that I can do:

Get up, I don't go down so easy,
And all for a good reason,
I'm going to stick around,
so get my body up off the ground.
You knew, the umpire couldn't be killed,
Now vengeance will be fulfilled,
You'll soon wish that you'd missed,
Cos you're going on the wanted list!

I am the lone immortal,
No weapon can ever touch me,
I am the lone immortal,
you can't take life away from me....
<Fade to maniacal laughter>

Thursday, 20 November

[06:04am] Professional Librarian assassinated Luke Butcher (Shrove Tuesday)

Professional Librarian reports:

I was most alarmed to hear that someone was making preparations for Shrove Tuesday before Christmas had even passed.

A new book arrived at the library today, entitled "Bomb Making for Beginners". Carefully following the instructions inside, I constructed a simple bomb (by connecting a water-filled one litre apple juice carton to a cap detonator).

This morning at 06:04, I placed the detonator in the gap between the door to Shrove Tuesday's room and the frame, and the (now slightly damp) explosives a little in front.

Shrove Tuesday reports:

The Organization was currently indulging in a deep and unreasonable hatred of Shrove Tuesday, the finest of their operatives. They had taken offence at his unconventional methods, his dangerously impulsive genius, his irresponsible brilliance, they had, of course, just realized that he had never actually got round to killing anyone - ever.

Shrove had opened the door with an inexpressibly wholesome sense of infallible security that was, to be fair, absolutely justified right up until the point when the violent rupturing fireball tore through his living-quarters. It left him and very much more dead, and very much less smug than he used to be.

Shrove Tuesday is dead. Long live Shrove Tuesday.

(The character name "Shrove Tuesday" is © Luke Butcher and Nicholas Norton 2001)

[13:00pm] Lestrade mutilated the corpse of Luke Butcher (Shrove Tuesday)

Lestrade reports:

Once again, I crept into the heart of the darkness, aka St. John's, and lurked outside Shrove Tuesday's room, at a time when he could resonably be expected to be quite hungry. He was, and gave a rather gratifying scream of terror when confronted by my trusty RBG. But then it all turned sour, as he said those hated words "I'm already dead." Not again...

Message to all future incompetents:
Please try to *STAY ALIVE*, until I can get to you. Being incompetent doesn't mean you have to be totally inept as well! I'm very busy, and I can't always be running after incompetents who selfishly get themselves killed just before I arrive. Just *after* I arrive is much better. Thank you.

[14:50pm] one of one of Ric's minions' minions made an attempt on Kakariki

Kakariki reports:

No weapons no kill
No weapons no kill
No weapons no kill
No weapons no kill

Cause I remember when you used to lurk
In a corridor deep in Selwyn
Observing the innocents
Mingle with the good people you meet
Minions you have, Oh, minions you have lost
Along the way
In this great game,
You can't forget your past
So draw your knife, I say
No weapons no kill
No weapons no kill
Oh assassin, it's not that queer,
No weapons no kill Said I remember when you used to lurk
In the hall outside my bedroom
Sent by the Umpire to snuff out my lights,
Waiting for me through the lonely nights
I'll sit in here, surviving on sausage
That I sure won't share with you
My room is my only refuge,
And so i've got to wait on thru,
Oh, but I'm not gone,
Everything 's gonna be alright
Everything 's gonna be alright
No weapons no kill
No weapons no kill
I say assassin,
You should have got out a gun,
No weapons no kill

I knew it. I KNEW the Umpire was out to get me! Just this afternoon he sent round one of one of Ric's minions' minions, intent on doing me harm. The guy claimed to be a free agent, but he told me he'd come straight from the Umpire's room, so let's face it it don't take no genius to work out whats going on here. But hey, this time, luck was on my side. As i swung the door open from afar (bombs y'know...) standing there was none other than one of one of Ric's minions' minions, armed only with a beard. I stood across the room, pointing a gun. Sadly, I was hindered by the fact that as a live assassin he wasn't a legal target unless he was showing a weapon. While the beard was dangerous, I don't think it had been registered. He didn't have a gun out. And I didn't want to see anything else of his that might be termed a weapon. Eventually, the standoff turned into a no kill agreement, and we had a little chat :)

one of one of Ric's minions' minions reports:

My master may quote scripture, but I prefer in getting things done. What's this I read? Someone made an attempt on the life of my master's master? Scum! I must revenge this act of wanton brutality. So I tracked him down, and made my attempt. Dang! The door was unlocked and it swung open as I watched. There he was, with a gun pointed at me. I raised my hands and entered slowly. He made me promise not to kill him and then we chatted.

[17:20pm] The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory assassinated David O'Doherty (Augustus)

Augustus reports:

Just reporting that I was horribly murdered yesterday by The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory. The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory breached my top security forcefield (open door). He approached me with laser gun drawn. I didn't even bother trying to escape my fate as my only weapon was on the other side of the space station. He had his laser gun set to medium, prolonging my death. When he was satisfied he had melted my internal organs he connected my brain to his communication system for interrogating criminals after they are dead. This gave Harmonious Jade the impression that I was still alive when he arrived. He had no difficulty boarding my space station as The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory had already disabled the forcefield and, having located me with the assistance of the on board quantum computer network, mutilated my corpse even further with some primitive 21st century weapon.

[17:40pm] Guthrie made an attempt on one of one of Ric's minions' minions

Guthrie reports:

Why can't I just die? I've had too much paranoia for a lifetime. I can't take much more.

This was the inspiration for today's attack on one of one of Ric's minions' minions. I went packing, I mean seriously packing. I had 5 separate pieces: since this wasn't a total suicide mission, I wanted to give myself a chance. I knocked on one of one of Ric's minions' minions's door, pretending to want to speak to his roomate. His roomy opened unsuspecting, and I squeezed off a pot shot at him, which went 2 foot wide, before the door was slammed, and the heat was on. I fled like a pannicking badger, chased by a farmer. It's exactly this kind of fear that made me want to die (the other pull was towards the fun of the final duel).

one of one of Ric's minions' minions caught me, and took a pot shot at me, his long ranged beast inflicting a devastating flesh-wound on my left shoulder. He fled, on seeing I too was armed. I gave chase, as he darted round several corners, until we had a classic duel situation. He fired thrice, as did I, taking off his right arm in the process. As we were both armless, the situation reached stale mate. We agreed a gentleman's amnesty, and he replenished my spent ammo in his room. What a nice man.

one of one of Ric's minions' minions reports:

Just as I was beginning to contemplate eating dinner, a knock came at my door. The knocker asked for my roommate and I had a sudden vision of doom, so I dived for the bedroom as bullets came arcing through the air. My roommate wrestled the door closed and I began loading my Joe Devils. Watching from my window I noticed Guthrie fail to leave college. Ah ha! He must be targetting my master too! Gripping my weapon firmly (and losing the game in the process) I charged down my stairs to lurk his return. Ah ha! I spied him leave the staircase and he came around by hall towards me. Damn him, I want food tonight. I quickly fired off a shot, severing his left arm. Then he chased me, missing me with a shot. I then cornered him at the bottom of a different staircase and we exchanged quasi-ineffectual fire (I lost my right arm). I didn't notice him reloading with his dead arm until we called a no-kill.

As he seemed such a nice guy I gave him some pellets to replace the ones he'd fired and sent him on his way. Then I ate food.

[17:50pm] Samba assassinated Jon Jowett (The Mafia)

Samba reports:

"Let's look at the funk": For a few weeks, I've found myself being pestered by the deputy chief of police! Whenever I saw him, he would constantly demand money and it started getting to the stage where ultimatums were being made. Then I noticed that he wasn't doing his job very well and that the Professional Librarian deserved promotion. Being the public-spirited monkey I am, I thought this was a problem worth rectifying. Thankfully I knew The Mafia's weakness - the aforementioned money. After luring him up to my room with promises of "special presents", I let him in and then pounced on his exposed back. A swift knife in the side was all that was needed before my feeding session could begin. After the body was disposed of, I settled down to sleep, but was awakened by a strange noise.

"I'm trying to get to sleep" I exclaimed until I noticed that Jon's spirit was still floating around my room, wailing for money. A lesser monkey might have panicked in this situation, but being the trained monkey ninja I am, I knew what to do. I wrote out a check payable to Jon's corpse and at that point the spirit calmed and then left my room. A quick thought of !This is most disturbing! and I was back asleep. It had been a busy day after all...

[18:20pm] Harmonious Jade mutilated the corpse of Augustus, amongst several other attempts

Harmonious Jade reports:

6:30 Scouted out home of the man who eats aborted faetuses, had conversations with a number of his housemates who refused to allow me entry. As I was giving up was surprised by further housemate who was entering the building and similarly refused to allow entry. It must be assumed that target therefore has physical description of self.

6:40 Invaded room of Constable Augustus and shot same in chest with Orichalcum Beretta. Only then noticed that same was already lying dead upon floor, flanked by space aliens Oglethorpe and Emory. Left area quickly before said noticed that I was a valid target for them.

6:50 Was rebuffed by Magdalene Porters who refused to reveal location of Benson Court, despite fact that I had name and room number of the tropical pole-vaulter. Memo to CoP, police training pack should include maps of colleges.

7:10 Was told by neighbour of Kakariki that said was not within said's room. Did not believe same, but felt that shooting same to assertain certainly was probably over-hasty, particularly since have not yet learned any Necromancy, so would be unable to utilise 'Shoot first, ask Questions Later' tactic.

7:20 Failed to locate room of Wilbur Kookmeyer, and had insufficency of time to attempt questioning of Porters. Laid down Beretta for the day.

[18:30pm] An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra assassinated Diana O'Carroll (tropical pole-vaulter)

tropical pole-vaulter reports:

On Thursday, around 6:30pm my life came to an untimely end after my beloved schoolmate decided to letter bomb me. Thus I lay down my handcuffs and bid the Force goodbye. Revenge will be mine. Mwahahahaaaaaaa
tropical pole-vaulter
PS: That powder gets everywhere, you know.

Friday, 21 November

[12:30pm] Number 5 assassinated David Turton (Maratheoir)

Number 5 reports:

Seeing as my beloved poison letters were no longer allowable for competence, I decided on the only sensible option, letterbomb.

But not just any letterbomb may I add. This one was lovingly and painstakingly handcrafted to a secret design I learned after many years apprenticeship to the monks of Sarema (Sarema translates roughly as, blowing people up from a distance), in a harsh mountainous country I cannot reveal to you the location of due to the memory-wipe techniques they practice on their adherents to keep their location secret.

Maratheoir reports:

I am sorry to report that I was killed today at 12:30 by a very impressive letter bomb. Sorry not only that I was killed but that I was killed while trying to defuse it!! I found it in my pidgeonhole and recognised it for what it was immediately, so brought it back to my room to defuse. I was making good progress at opening the letter from a distance with my highly tuned apparatus (a plastic hallowe'en axe) when I came to removing what turned out to be the last component. It wouldn't budge, and instead of leaving it alone and just not opening the stupid letter, my curiosity egged me on to going over to the letter, and just giving it a little tug to 'help it on its way'. Or so I thought. An almighty blast followed, and the game was up. Ah well, fair play to whoever got me in the end, it was fun while it lasted!

[14:00pm] Number 5 made an attempt on Samba

Samba reports:

Another day, another letter: this time from Mr. "Bwahahahaha!!!!!!!!" However, rather than being presented with a poison letter, this time the attempted monkeycide was done via a cunning letter bomb. Well, cunning if it wasn't for the fact that it was such a blatant bomb. Anyway:
Obvious bomb+Cunning Monkey+Stick of immense power=Safe bomb detonation
What more can really be said?

[15:40pm] !!ptXd!p~ made an attempt on Guthrie

!!ptXd!p~ reports:




Saturday, 22 November

[08:30am] A Long Grey Coat made an attempt on one of one of Ric's minions' minions

A Long Grey Coat reports:

Realising that of my targets only one would be easy to reach I risked the likelihood of meeting a dangerous psychopath and made my way to his college. Once again the time became relative and passed slowly as I waited watching the targets room and the near by bathroom which was clearly in use. Unfortunately when the door to the bathroom opened the person who emerged was not my target. I continued to wait and in passing the time my mind began to wonder. I fear that had my target or another player stumbled across me they could have gunned me down with out me even realising as I began to try to recite, in my head, the script of some of my favourite films. I began to think I should probably return to more mundane matters like shopping and contemplating essays when the door to the target's set opened. The figure who stepped out and walked into the bathroom did not answer the description of my target. I was unsure if I had been seen (certainly there was no yell of "hey, there's an assassin waiting for you") but I decided that my position was becoming untenable and this confirmed my decision to go.

Once again I left my target's stair case looking round in a highly paranoid fashion. I wondered once more if I had been too early and my target had been far away in the realm of Dream. Then again maybe I had been too slow and he was out around Cambridge gunning down other players. Maybe I left 1 minute too early and would have got him if I had lingered, then again maybe if I had waited I would not be alive now. Oh well, it is just as well that we do not know all the things that could ever be as we would take far too long to make any decisions as I have heard it said that we take longer to make a decision if there are more alternatives and just think how bad it would be if we thought eternally ahead through all the possible ramifications.

I stop trying to sound like a philosopher and get on with day to day life.

[19:15pm] The Girtonator wandered around Cambridge

The Girtonator reports:

7.15 Arrived at Selwyn. Went to Ross's room - allegedly gone to Oxford for the weekend, according to his neighbours.
7.30-8.30 spent ages looking for St. Peter's Terrace on Trumpington Road and gave up.
8.30 Went to Magdalene and with the aid of an insider found Diana O'Carroll's block, but it was locked and I couldn't be bothered to blag my way in.
8.45 Went to Churchill to look for Noah Rolff's accommodation and like last time couldn't find it.
9.00 Went home and had too much to drink in Girton Bar with John Haigh and others. Had a hangover at work the next morning and missed the England match. D'oh!

[20:00pm] Fraggin' Aardvark made an attempt on man who eats aborted foetuses

Fraggin' Aardvark reports:

I happened to be going past, so I made a quick attempt with materials on hand on the criminal one, Barrett. I found that the materials on hand did in fact, suck. So I asked the very kind porters for sellotape, found an essay waiting to be collected in his pigeonhole, and carefully set up a letterbomb. Let us hope that this time, he doesn't suspect mail that is in fact intended for him, else one might think he was being far too paranoid.

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

some bloke has put another christmas cracker device in my pigeon-hole. bit stupid to put it on an essay that I myself put in my pigeon-hole in the first place. there was, to my surprize, more jokes:

1st joke

Who's there?
archimedes who?
doesn't register, i'm afraid. do you have any ID?
no use crying over it now then.
did I pay for it?
then, no, it doesn't mean anything to me.
oh my God! I realise! who sent you!!!? God? Allah?? Vishnu???


oh. fair enough, come in.

2nd joke



Sunday, 23 November

[18:40pm] Samba made an attempt on A Long Grey Coat

Samba reports:

"You're running out of time. But you're doing fine" Or so the monkey heralds sang forth on my return to Cambridge. And so, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, I made my way speedily over to the abode of a certain A Long Grey Coat, where I lay in wait, waiting for the first sign of movement. And so I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And yet, A Long Grey Coat didn't leave for dinner! From this I came to a major conclusion: A Long Grey Coat must be a miniaturized robotic warrior from the future, sent back through time to search out and destroy the crystals of reason, blue and fhqwhgads. However, as time was passing and it was raining, I thought it best to come back another day with my anti robotic warrior kit. So I left, keeping my feet right on the ground and not looking back. After all: "When you're Super Sonic Racing There's no time to look around" Or so the saying goes.

[22:00pm] Lestrade made an attempt on Kakariki

Lestrade reports:

Kaaakariko, kaaakariko.
Kakari kakari kakari.
Kaarkariko, kaarkariko.
Happened to be in Selwyn, so thought I'd take a pot shot at this guy. My cover story got as far as "hello", before I was confronted with a head and the muzzle of a gun. Decided to take a potshot, missed, and the head disappeared. Contemplated lurking, but couldn't be bothered, so I went home instead.

Kakariki reports:

A knock at the door, one of many during the evening, but as usual i open it with cautionary aplomb. Wheeeeeeeeeee! A band whizzes over my head as I duck upon seeing a grinning ginger visage! Kaboom! My gun involuntarily explodes into the back of the door, nearly shooting me in the leg. Kaslam! The door closes! A neighbour joins the frey as a scout, and armed to the teeth we go a searching! But nothing... The great ginger ghost vanished as quickly as he appeared...

Monday, 24 November

[17:00pm] Anonymous Coward made an attempt on Kakariki

Anonymous Coward reports:

Anonymous Coward attempts to kill Selwyn's most famous corrupt policeman and attempted umpire killer

A letter perfect room-raid. With one small exception. In defiance of the normal rules of corrupt, criminal or incompetent assassins, the corrupt policeman had neglected the extremely simple step of leaving his door unlocked. Thus when I tried to open the door it failed to budge. Put off balance by this devilish cunning, I nevertheless decided it was worth waiting around for a second.

There were quickly sounds of unlocking within and the door opened a small crack. Thinking to take advantage of this I strode forward and attempted to get my foot in the door. Which was (very rudely, I thought) shut in my face. Protesting this lack of professional etiquette and general good manners to his would be assassin, I complained through the door but to no avail. My pleas to open the door went unanswered. After hanging around for a few minutes I called it a day.

Kakariki reports:

Another day, another attempt foiled. The Umpire really should think about improving the standard of his goons. Sitting in my room, peacefuly listening to music, I heard scraping at my door - it sounded just like someone turning the handle and trying to open the locked door! Music off, and i hear the corridor door slowly closing. I poke my head out round the door, gun in hand, to see the corridor door being thrown open again! I slam the door (understandably!) and from the other side comes a cry of 'Bugger!'. Phew, close! Again the voice..."Does this mean I'm not getting let in then?" Well done Sherlock! "Another time then" he says. We shall see Herr Umpire, we shall see...

[19:15pm] Lestrade assassinated William Barrett (man who eats aborted foetuses)

Lestrade reports:

My story begins long long ago:

I was eating my lunch (not foetuses) and musing on the evils of those who do eat such things; particularly the murder of a fellow child of the North. I came to the conclusion that such things were not to be tolerated, and decided to enlist the support of my ally, Gaius, when I was confronted by a ghastly and strange vision. A hideous spectre, encrusted with blood, rubber and ravioli. It spoke:

"I am thy friend's spirit, doomed for a certain time to walk the night, and for the day confined to fast in lectures. Now, revenge my most foul and unnatural murder! This man who eats aborted foetuses has feasted upon my rotting corpse, and only you remain to revenge me. Do so, or suffer my curse!"

After uttering these words, the spirit vanished with a wail, doubtless to the torments reserved for such as he.

"Jehosaphat!" I exclaimed. "Gauis, your death shall be avenged. But first I must be certain of my prey!"

The very next day, I scouted the fiends lair, where my spidey-senses informed me that the man who eats aborted foetuses had fled to London like the craven cur he is. Incensed by this despicable act of cowardice, I swore revenge yet again. Such a blot on the escutcheon of cambridge could not be suffered to continue.

My spidey senses had further informed me of the hour of his return, and it was then that set my trap. Having first checked the location of the darkness (using my patented EvilCounter), and accompanied by a now familiar spirit, who spoke not, but merely pointed a gory finger, I lurked. With commendable speed, my target appeared and was just as quickly despatched.

"That's the last time I eat feotuses in Hall!" he cried in his death throes. "I even poisoned my own door, and now it comes to this!"

"Jehosaphat!" I cried. "Soft rubber, do your work! Die, wretch! Where you're going, they always burn lunch!"

The Duke reports:

My ghost having been summoned by man who eats aborted foetuses for a dinnertime chat, we were seated in the dining hall shortly before it closed, discussing the morality of eating children and exactly why Will had beaten up a London woman with an umbrella during his weekend trip away. Sudden movement at the door caught my eye, and I looked up to see the face of my nemesis, Lestrade, in the doorway for a brief moment. A shudder ran down my spine before I remembered that I was dead and, therefore, invulnerable. Lestrade disappeared and I thought no more of it.

A short while later, we concluded our conversation and began our journey home. As we stepped out into the crisp night air, there was a sudden BANG! from my left, and a rubber band flew through the air, striking Will in the shoulder. Lestrade stood there, grinning widely, holding an RBG. With great presence of mind, I ran a short distance away to better observe the gunfight and not get caught in the crossfire.

"Bugger!" yelled man who eats aborted foetuses, bringing up his own gun, but too late. Several more shots hit him in the chest and he was hurled backwards. The few rounds he fired wildly in his death throes flew well clear. After a brief and pleasant chat with Lestrade, who is becoming rather adept at killing us Peterhouse types, we two ghosts went on our merry way, and the number of assassins left had been reduced by one.

man who eats aborted foetuses reports:

Since I'm dead I'd like to debunk some myths that have been lingering in the air for a while now.

1) I have never eaten an aborted foetus - it was publicity seeking sensationalism. That is a level of depravity that not even I can stoop to, or more appropriately, stomach. On the other hand, they make lovely ear-ring ornaments.

2) I did beat up a woman in London with a yellow umbrella, but that is a small episode in a vast narrative, completely taken out of context. The Duke neglected to mention the lynch mob of angry photostat machines I had to fend off in an alleyway, the hiliarious scene with the Quaker librarian, the fact that this woman was by no means innocent (who wears peddle pushers on a rainy, cold day in November?) and quite expednable, and the heart-breaking, bloody denouement as I broke my trandy umbrella over my knee in a fit of rage, and cradled it in the rain like Pieta redone for a Habitat poster.

3) The woman I harmed was not pregnant. If she was the baby could have only been about 3 weeks old, so even if I did kill it then there wasn't much backtracking to be done, nor effort wasted.

4) man who eats aborted foetuses is also fraudulent, as we can only speculate whether I may of killed a innocent woman's baby.

5) Lestrade did not "lurk" in the darkness. He saw me eating with a gun in my hand, and had he come into the hall he would of probably felt my wrath. We both surprized each other as I came through the door. He did get me first but I was quick off the mark.

6) Surprize is a viable variant of surprise.

6) All my friends aren't ghosts. Honest. Well, only if you count poltergeists as separate from ghosts.

7) Yes, I did poison my doorhandle. With jam. Every day. And I have wasted several bedders in the process.

8) Yes, I have just noticed that I've repeated "6)" twice. I'm dead, give me a break.

9) I did not feast on Constable Gaius's corpse. Whoever slurred my name with this misnomer is a cad and a bounder, and may all his fannies turn into pencil sharpeners.

10) I didn't "flee" cowardly to London. I went by train.

11) I found a reason worth dying for - immortality.

I would like my ashes to be used as gunpowder to jettison the bullet into Lestrade's cold, black heart. It has his name on it, but the silver engraving was dyslexic and a bit hard of hearing so I'm afraid for all-intensive purposes Lestrade is now known as Le Roulade.

Don't piss on my grave. Thank you.

[20:23pm] It could Be Bunnies! assassinated Jonathan Woollgar (A Long Grey Coat)

It could Be Bunnies! reports:

After a brief conversation with a little bird I gathered that a certain A Long Grey Coat would be making a guest appearance. After observing some highly suspicious loitering, convincing acting and careful footwork put me in position. A shot rang out. As the heads turned I merged back into the shadows as Jonathan Woollgar's eyes closed with a close up view of the cobbled streets.

A Long Grey Coat reports:

Paranoia is a disturbing thing as the many people I have nearly shot for no good reason know. However it deserts me when I need it. Not only did allow Maretheoir to live but I fear I over looked another assassin. I certainly over looked this one. I was aware when trusting a dodgy ally enough to risk meeting him that I may not return alive and I didn't really care. The game had gone on a long time and I was tired of it. Survival would be good, death as good. My ally didn't show and I was far too careless in waiting. So many dodgy characters I couldn't kill them all. After what seemed like an age a rubber band struck me mid back and no doubt exited via my heart and at least one lung. My assailant then asked me my name and assured me that it wasn't a betrayal only an accident- do I believe him? Does it matter? The paranoia is over for a while let real paranoia return!

Tuesday, 25 November

[19:45pm] The Minion of Myxomatosis assassinated Fraser Clark (Guthrie)

The Minion of Myxomatosis reports:

Dear Mr Umpire
You owe me 30 minutes of my life. I want it back.

I have a long and upstanding tradition of not lurking. I'm proud and happy of this tradition. However, I also have a tradition of never being incompetent. It seemed one had to go.

Luckily, I had information on the whereabouts of Fraser Clark - and had been informed that he was producing a play opening tonight, at 8pm.

Thus, I hoped he would be as harried as every other producer, ever - and hence in and out of his room (very nearby) for the last 45 minutes or so. When better to lurk?

Time passed really, really slowly - and I was approaching 7:45, when I was due to depart for another event, when who should descend the staircase, but someone fitting the description I'd been given down to a tee.

So, I walked up behind him, calling 'Fraser' as I did so. He responded in the affirmative, and then adopted a defensive posture.

Alas, flailing arms were no defense against a Fluffy to the chest - thrown from about 3 metres away, and he perished.

As I said, I want my time back.
6/10 for paranoia (he's lasted this long, after all).
1/10 for evil demanding Umpirical pestering.
Three stars from Fluffy - he hadn't aged enough yet...


Guthrie reports:

Yep, some guy chucked a furry rabbit at me yesterday. I'm told this means I'm dead. Such is life. I'd've like to've gone to the duel, but at the end of the day, my mind is now happier and less stressed/addled with paranoia. bye

[20:15pm] Kakariki assassinated Martin Lester (Professional Librarian)

Kakariki reports:

Mr Umpire, I would like to submit my application for the Smoothest Kill, and also BEST KILL IN THE HISTORY OF THE GAME EVER!

Chatting to the Umpire, I found out that I am only allowed to kill Police while they are bearing, or making an attempt on me. This kind of killed my lurking for them idea. So I was forced to devise a cunning plan, with the help of my dear corridor mate.

It was around 8.00, and i made my way to Harvey Court. The brief was simple. I was Stuart Moore (sorry for stealing your identity!) and was on my way to kill Kakariki. Would the esteemed Deputy Chief of Police like to join me? I knocked on the door...

Professional Librarian: "Hello? Who is it?"
Kakariki: "It's an assassin, a friendly one!" *Giggle*
Professional Librarian: "What's your name?"
Kakariki: "Stuart"
Professional Librarian: "Stuart...?"
Kakariki: "Stuart Moore!"
Professional Librarian: "Did you send me an email earlier?" [Problem number one! Did I? I said no. As it turned out, he HAD! ]Talk about lucky that he didn't get paranoid right there!]
Kakariki: "No"
Professional Librarian: "Hmmmmm"
(Opens Door)
Professional Librarian: "Who are we after?"
Kakariki: "This wanted policeman, Kakariki" *Giggle*
Professional Librarian: "Do you know his name and address?"
I reel them off. I do indeed know them!

He disappears off 'to the toilet'. I am sure that the game is up and that he is going to come back out with heavy firepower! But no, he returns empty handed.

And off to Cripps we go...

He asks me if I know what Kakariki looks like. I say no. He mentions that he has met him before, so has a rough idea. I stifle a laugh. We wander up West Road, talking about nothing, until I 'notice' Cripps court, and we approach the locked gates. I manage to restrain myself from getting my key out, and we wait to follow someone in. All round we traipse until coming to N staircase. "Hang on", I say, "let me get my new gun out" and I do. We wander into the stairwell, and locate the target corridor. We sneak in, and take up positions either side of the door. Enter helpful neighbour!!!!!

Neighbour: "I think he's in, do you want to go through the shower?"
Us: "Yeah, thanks!"

We sneak through, him first, of course. He looks round the corner to find...noone! And then from behind...a shot!

Kakariki: "Hi. I'm Kakariki."
Professional Librarian: *Expression of disbelief*

So many times I nearly fluffed it! So many times I nearly made that little blunder! And apparently, so close my neighbour came to inadvertently calling me by my name!

Do I get his job?

A truly impressive kill. However, shooting the umpire is not good for promotion prospects, Kakariki!

Professional Librarian reports:

I have fallen foul of a most cunning and treacherous plan.

This evening I was updating the library's index system when there was a knock on the door to my office:

Professional Librarian: Who is it?
Kakariki: A friendly police officer who isn't going to kill you and would like to go on an attempt with you.
(Lesson 1: Don't believe people who say they aren't going to kill you.)
Professional Librarian: And who are you?
Kakariki: Stuart.
Professional Librarian: I see. Did you send me an e-mail?
Kakariki: No.
(This seemed a little odd, as Stuart had sent me an e-mail a couple of nights before.)
Professional Librarian: Oh, OK.
(Lesson 2: If someone says something that is blatantly untrue, be suspicious.)
I opened the door, gun ready, to find no-one immediately outside. I saw a figure some way off to the left.

Kakariki: I'm standing over here, as it sounded like you were going to shoot me.
(Lesson 3: If people think you are going to shoot them, they probably have good reason to be shot.)

He explained that he wanted to go on an assassination attempt against the wanted police officer Kakariki. He knew his name and address, and the location of his college. As it was nearly a week since my last attempt, I agreed to go with him.
(Lesson 4: Don't make assassination attempts when you're suffering from a cold: it reduces your sense of paranoia.)

We headed off towards his college, discussing strategy. It turned out that he was on the sailing society's e-mail list, as was Kakariki, and that they were going to have a pubmeet tonight at 20:45, so he would be likely to be leaving his room around this time.

I asked if he knew what the target looked like; he said he did not. I mentioned that I had met Kakariki once before at Newnham.
(Lesson 5: Remember what people look like when you meet them.)
My accomplice pointed out where Cripps Court of Selwyn was. We walked over and attempted to get in, but found only locked doors. However, some kind fellow walked past and let us in. We walked around, looking for the relevant staircase. My accomplice seemed to know as little about the place as I. We found our target's door and took up positions outside, guns ready.A neighbour walked past and told us that he did not think our target was in. A few moments later, he came out again, saying that he was, and offered to let us in through the shower in his adjoining room.
(Lesson 6: Be wary of helpful neighbours.)
I walked into the room through the shower and looked around. There was no-one there. I turned around just in time to see my accomplice shoot me in the back at 20:30. He explained that he was
Kakariki. How devious!
(Lesson 7: Let the person who is leading an attempt lead into dangerous areas.)

However, all was not in vain, as he did offer me some pancakes afterwards.

(Note to my successor: please keep visual records on known assassins up to date.)

Wednesday, 26 November

[08:20am] $\int_{-\pi}^{+\pi}{e^{-3x^2}dx}$ made an attempt on JJ Wilkes Booth

$\int_{-\pi}^{+\pi}{e^{-3x^2}dx}$ reports:

Despite the foul weather I braved the icy winds and thrashing rain to go to find some fresh blood.I waited near the houses, then carefully traced the cunning and devious routes the prey would take. For yet longer I sat in my eyrie overlooking they destination. Still they did not arrive. In desperation, I worked my way back along the direct route, that I thought such cunning assasisns would not take - to find their bloody, lifeless bodies lying, slowly decomposing in the rain.

[08:58am] Jennifer Chaste assassinated Chris Field (JJ Wilkes Booth AKA Chris Field AKA Fraggin' Aardvark)

Jennifer Chaste reports:

I was five and they were six
We rode on horses made of sticks
They wore black and I wore white
I would always win the fight

Bang bang, I shot them down
Bang bang, they hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, assassins shot them down

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up, I called them mine
They would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I shot them down
Bang bang, they hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, assassins shot them down

Music played and people sang
Just for me the church bells rang

Now they're gone. I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
They didn't even say goodbye
They didn't take the time to lie

Bang bang, I shot them down
Bang bang, they hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, assassins shot them down

JJ Wilkes Booth reports:

I really should have been a bastard. I hate it sometimes when I am nice, give people the benefit of the doubt and honour agreements, it does me no good whatsoever. Perfect opportunity perhaps, but I wanted to get home. Anyhow, this is irrelevant now as I decompose near Chemistry. You would have thought the rain, and the fact that I was going to be late and running desperately to get to IDP would have put someone off, but no. Alas I am no more. Good effort though, I wasn't looking but I don't think he was visible. Would have been nice to actually get shot though, 'bang' is such an anticlimax after 7 weeks. Still, now I can rest easy, and the corruption in the police force can lurk engineering in peace. Until next term, au revoir...

!!ptXd!p~ reports:

This is the weather on Wednesday 26th November. Heavy rain today for most of cambridge, with short spells of being shot repeatedly in the back on your way to lectures.

Mr. Bwahaha!!! reports:

Dang and blast it, my assassins are being lazy. This morning I decided to dispose of them in the hope that the new ones would be more fun. I got up early travelled all the way to Lensfield road in the pouring rain to wait for them to pass on the way to lectures. With myself and Jennifer Chaste on opposite sides of the road we were bound to catch them. Unfortunately they ran down his side of the street. Grrr.

Oh, by the way, bwahaha!!

[08:58am] Jennifer Chaste assassinated Neill Campbell (It could Be Bunnies!)

It could Be Bunnies! reports:

The rain poured down, the hands of the clock ticking away. The wind rushed past as we swept down the street attempting to create time as we rushed to IDP. Everything slowed, the world went into bullet time as a figure swooped around the corner, guns blazing. The shots ripped though me and as I hit the ground I exclaimed - "damn good piece of lurking."

It could have been Bunnies!!

[16:50pm] Kakariki and The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory took each other out.

Kakariki reports:

Sitting in my room, a knock came on the door, the 49th of the day or thereabouts. The handle was tried! Aha! Naughty assassin! I must teach him a lesson! So, lightly armed (no time for the big guns!), I utilised secret escape route B. Two guns should be more than enough to dispatch a single, lonely policeman!

Approaching my door, I looked through the glass and saw none other than The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory! Easy, I thought, and dispatched him with a volley of rubber bands. Unfortunately, I was then a total idiot. Another policeman ran out, Anonymous Coward!

Instead of (a) Killing him with the rest of the bands or (b) running away, I backed off and shot him as he came out. Sadly he also shot me, many times. My pellet disapeared, so we couldn't be sure whether I had killed him or not and I let him live ;)

Long Live Kakariki!

Anonymous Coward reports:


Today we have taken a great leap forward! The brave agents of King's have today won a great victory for the forces of world socialism! Our fearless comrades mounted a daring operation deep within the decadent fortress of the imperialist agressors! At enormous risks to themselves the agents fearlessly carried out their mission and eliminated a spy and assassin of the imperialist forces! But victory does not come without cost, comrades. In the course of the operation Comrade The space-police space alien policemen Oglethorpe and Emory was mortally wounded in a cowardly trap and paid the ultimate price to ensure the success of the mission. Thanks to his valiant sacrifice Comrade Gordon was able to complete the mission, to the greater glory of us all. Comrades! Let Comrade Aiden's death be an example to us all to strive to even greater efforts to ensure the ultimate victory of World Socialism! As a loyal party member we commend his memory with the posthumous award of the Order of TCR. For his part in the operation Comrade Gordon is also awarded the Order of TCR. But we must remember to always look to the future, for that is where our destiny lies! We have won this battle, and many before but the war is not yet won. We shall be victorious in the coming struggle with the cowardly imperialists and their mercenaries, but we must be dilligent and vigilant. We stand like a rock in the sea of bourgeois states! Wave after wave will break against us but we will always defeat them. Wherin lies our strength? In us, Comrades! We shall be strong of heart and stomach and we shall see our banner raised! We shall be strong of heart and stomach and we shall see our banner raised! Understand how lucky you are to be here and be truely free! Give thought for our brave agents forced to leave the Worker's Paradise and travel in the shadows to the rotten heart of the capitalist edifice.

Comrades! The battle is now joined on many fronts! We shall be victorious! Remember Comrade Aiden. Let us honour his memory.

Thursday, 27 November

[17:20pm] Stumid made an attempt on Wilbur Kookmeyer

Stumid reports:

I decided, as I happened to be passing near Churchill, to sort out that pesky Wilbur Kookmeyer. Unfortunately, I appear to have been arking up the wrong tree.

On entering the college, I was confident in my abilities. I consider my knowledge of Churchill better than the average Emanuellian, having pushed a sofa round half the college in my first year.

So, upon seeing that the staircases were in fact numbered instead of lettered, my reaction was "Crafty bugger, instead of S staircase, room 5, he's Staircase 3, Room S. I'll get the cheeky wotsit, no one can withstand an onslaught of my stumor, I'll ask why the chicken crossed the orthogonal basis and Staircase 5 only goes to room K. Bugger. Right.

So I continued wandering, having a vague recollection of Churchill seeming longer in one direction than I had given it credit for. And I came accross a large building, 3 stories high. All the doors on the ground floor were G01, G02... so I thought "Aha! The 2nd floor ones will include S05! I've got him!" and rushed up the stairs to find... the 2nd floor one was 205. Right...

So I kept going further and further into the wilderness, and found what appeared to be a housing estate. Here I looked round, saw a suspicious set of Swings and a slide (surely no college would be that generous. If only trinity had a water slide into that poncy fountain of theirs, I might even have been prepared to go there.) Then I found all the houses here had numbers, but no letters. Deciding attempting to burst into house 5 might not be the best idea, I retreated to the porters lodge.

Determined to leave some evidence of my visit, I left a bullet with his name on it in his Pidgeon Hole, which again said "S05". It must be mocking me! I also left a very stern letter, saying that if I'd had any poison on me he'd be dead. His pidgeon hole was rather full, perhaps he doesn't even exist and all the churchillians just send the junk mail there.

Game. Dammit.

[17:30pm] A small and unobtrusive sparrow made an attempt on The Minion of Myxomatosis

A small and unobtrusive sparrow reports:

Cheep! Cheep!
A small and unobtrusive sparrow flutters around in a confused manner.

Friday, 28 November

[11:20am] Jennifer Chaste made an attempt on Samba

Jennifer Chaste reports:

<lurk target="Samba" assassin="Jennifer Chaste">
   <location>"Samba's staircase"</location>

[19:00pm] An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra assassinated James Horder (Schwartzencatter The Magnificent)

An Agglutination of Chthonic Panjandra reports:

Wanting to prove that recent allegations of corruption against me are untrue, I took this opportunity to rid Caius of its newest incompetent, maintaining the record this game of me/my accomplices killing every incompetent Caian within 24 hours of their arrival on the list. Most public-spirited, I feel.

Schwartzencatter the Magnificent reports:

"Schwartzenkatter, while Magnificent, was a very lazy cat. He often missed lectures, but more dangerously for himself, never seemed to fulfil his policing dutys. So one day, the Chief of Police stabbed him, ending another of his 9 earthly incarnations. He'd be back...one day..."

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