Five o'clock. The birds chirp as the pale dawn light washes over the sleeping city of Cambridge. But this is to be a morning like no other, because for many of the sleeping students of Cambridge, this is the first morning of an epic struggle for survival. For some, it may even be the last ...
Aidan Robison reports:
Well, I guess that it was expected of me to make a disgustingly early attempt.
I set out before the game began, making sure to get to my first target just as my watch ticked over 5am. It would have been a great plan if it wasn't for the fact that there aren't really much places open at silly o'clock in the morning and this target's abode certainly wasn't among them. After having similar problems with another target, I returned home.
Do I get 5 minutes extra competence for that? =P
Crouching Tiger reports:
DAMN THEM!! DAMN THEM!! DAMN THEM!! DAMN THEM!!
Those devious cold-hearted conniving little,.... assasins
When I went to bed last night, I hadn't had the e-mail telling me I was in the game. When I woke up this morning I was DEAD!
I signed up on the saturday, so I didn't even know If I'd made it on time, when no-one had e-mailed me, I thought I'd missed my chance!
My one last endurng thought before I drifted of to sleep was "Damn what an idiot I am, I'm not gonna get to play the game this term"
My one last bleary thought as I spluttered to death in my own bed was "Damn what an idiot I am, I'm not gonna get to play the game this term" and "I hope I don't have to pay for cleaning all this blood off my carpet"
To recap, at 8:23 this morning a cunning assailant identified only by the mysterious codename "Neo", and an unnamed accomplice, snuck into my room by the devious method of opening my unlocked door. Neo then woke me by saying "Douglas" (merely so as to see the realization in my eyes as I felt the life drift out of me) and opened fire.
I've never been so embarresed in all my life
Well maybe that one time with the chipmunk and the custard, but anyway
I know that that is the name of the game I know that only a fool would leave his door unlocked under the circumstances I know that It's all my fault I know that I probably would have done the same thing
I'm not here to beg for my life, I just wrote to report the death, and respectfully request to become what I'm sure is this term's first addition to the police force.
3HOURS 23 MINUTES?
The only upside I can see to the whole thing is that I can now confidently and truthfully say, "The assasin's guild? I could play that game in my sleep!", oh, and it was a better wake up call than ANY alarm clock.
Just out of interest, is there anyone, anyone, in the entire history of the game that has been killed sooner into the game than me?
Yours, respectfuly, hopefully, and very very dead,
Douglas Winship
The Crouching Tiger ...
The Umpire would like to confirm that there are many, many people in the history of the Guild who have been killed within three hours and twenty-three minutes of the start of the game.
Neo reports:
I had expected my first experience of this assassins game to be an exciting affair, with me having to doge bullets and hide round corners and stuff. It was disapointing. I took a few minor detours on the way home from a party, going to scout out my targett's rooms in preparation for cunning atempts later. My clever accomplice, who must remian unidentified for legal reasons, pointed out that the door was unlocked. Ah-ha! said I. I went in and asked for Douglas and he woke up so I shot him with my rbg.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
Look at these excellent jokes:
What do you call an assassin who likes to draw on the short whiskers on
his cheeks, and has just had a 2L bomb placed outside his door, which was
quite difficult to find as there seemed to be no sign matching his
staircase?
Mark Sideburns (Mark Sibuns)!!!!
What do you call an accursed umpire who likes to hold up his trousers
using a steep rock face?
A-damn Belt-Cliff (Adam Biltcliffe)!!!!
I'm so hilarious!!!!
The Adult Male's Father reports:
Check out these marvellous rib-ticklers:
What do you call an assassin who likes to engage in horticulture while a large, noisy, brightly-coloured bird sits on the middle of her leg, and has just had a 2L bomb placed outside her door?
Jay-knee Gardener (Jenny Gardner)!!!!
What do you call an assassin who likes to heat up sports shoes until they become liquid, and had some difficulty finding the door as the court was hidden inside another court, with the relevant block of rooms separate from most of the other blocks?
The Adult Male's Father!!!!
the robber of indeterminate sex reports:
The visit of a friend from home was sadly and suddenly cut short this morning. We had heard a banging on the door at about 8.30 but couldn't be bothered to investigate further. Then, at about 10.00, my innocent friend decided to go to the bathroom. As she started to open the door, she said "if you find me dead in the corridor, be sure to take revenge". With that, she was blown to pieces by a bomb, attached outside the door. Although i was in the furthest corner of the room at that time, and despite the mess in the room, I was still hit by the blast of the bomb, which had a 4.2m blast radius. What a shame I don't have a bigger room. I was finished off by her arm flying across the room and hitting me on the head, giving me a brain haemorrage.
The Umpire would like to remind everyone that if you have a small room, you may ask for permission to construct a bomb shelter in order to be safe from bombs outside your door. But of course, since everyone read the rules before they signed up, you knew that already ...
Otis B. Driftwood reports:
Noticing that no kills had been reported so far, and being in a generous mood, I decided to try and bestow the coveted Lemming award upon one of my targets. Having a reasonable knowledge of Trinity, I decided to head there first. Unfortunately, having ascended to the correct floor, I spotted several people having a conversation near a gyp room. Reasoning that I would be exposing myself to unneccessary danger by passing them in order to get to the vict... I mean, prospective prizewinner's room, I slunk off silently. Hmm. I shall have to find another targ...I mean, volunteer for my l33t kn1f3 sk11z ^_^
Otis B. Driftwood
Otis B. Driftwood reports:
Having previously decided to abandon my attempt on Yuan Shen, I returned shortly afterwards, with my trusty knife still in hand. Cautiosly ascending to his floor, I knocked on his door. Expecting to have to use the excuse I'd concoted (about being lost and looking for an old friend of mine who was in the same building), I was surprised when Yuan Shen uncautiously let me in, even unlocking the door after I'd unsuccessfully tried to open it. After a second or so of looking lost, I suddenly burst forward, planting my knife in his upper torso, and (if my crude grasp of anatomy serves me correctly) fatally puncturing his lung. As he collapsed on the floor, I congratulated myself on my first kill. What a pity I was in a hurry, otherwise I'd have accepted the offer of food from his corpse, having not had any lunch that day. But anyway, a kill's a kill, eh? ^_^
Marvin reports:
Life. Don't talk to me about life. I've got his terrible pain in all the vaguely alcohol-related equipment down my left side.
One day, feeling very depressed, I decided it would be a good idea to set off randomly across town. Perhaps I would find a puddle in which I could stand and rust for a while.
But the puddles were all frozen. Maybe if I go and bomb some people's doors I'll feel less depressed.
Stuart Moore reports:
Someone lurked my room at about 13:30, claiming to be Tom Woolford. Reading straight from the big book of clichés, he told me after about 15 min or so that "Today was a good day to die". I responded next week was better, primarily as I still wasn't dressed. He seemed to have got bored.
I don't know if it's an omen, but my stereo randomly selected "Staying Alive" around then. Perhaps I should have sung to him.
Uncountable 4 reports:
The fiendish Stefano Debolini
has mixed his last Martini.
I knocked on his door,
he didn't ask for more,
but opened it to me,
and I shot him with three
elastic bands.
I know it was a shame,
to kill him so early in the game
but he really should have asked who I was.
(A short poem by Uncountable 4)
Have you ever choked on a weasel? reports:
Hi, I just got viscously assasinated by Uncountable 4 on my doorstep. Wasn't expecting it this early dammit.
Viscously assassinated? Were you shot with an Oozy?
Diogenes reports:
The case for the defence stands:
At approximately 15:15 this very day the accused was strolling along a certain street in a certain place when, to the accused's horror, the accused realised that the accused was not only carrying a knife, but the victim had somehow impaled herself on it.
The accused party was, of course, mortified that such a freak accident had happened but was somewhat reassured that the victim didn't take it too badly and seemed quite cheery about the whole incident as she slid to the floor. I move that the defendant is guilty of no more than being at the wrong place at the wrong (but highly convenient time) and should therefore be allowed to go free without further hindrance.
The defence rests.
Lampost Solider Tounge reports:
I was slayed after weapons practice for having movements that were too predictable. I hope that the assassin comes to TT and brings such stabby abilities with him!
The Establishment of the Industrial Proletariat reports:
It started as an uneasy sense of the threat of war settled over the city. Ten thousand citizens of an oppresive and unjust regime were roaming the streets. The game begins, the dice have been cast.
2, 1, 7. We move 10 miles through the countryside.
Dog-botherer reports:
Having been nearby for purposes of a pub-lunch-related nature, I decided to pay a visit to my target H.R. After getting lost in the labyrinthine grounds of H.R's college for around fifteen minutes (I know, I know), I finally located my target's room with the help of a friendly, but equally confused, passer-by.
Upon arrival, I tried the door, but it was locked from within. I knocked only to receive no reply. Noises, however, came from the shower further down the hall; perhaps it was worth a wee lurk. I ducked into a nearby bathroom. Mysterious noises came from the direction of the target's door, and I emerged to find it partially opened. Aha! I tried it again, but it was blocked from the other side. Retreating to the bathroom once more, there were two cracks of an RBG behind me and I turned to see the door slamming shut again. Unable to find any evidence of fatal wounding, I wrote off the target for now.
Dog-botherer reports:
This was possibly the easiest kill of my career. The target's door was opened, so I took out my RBG and entered. Three individuals sat within, two male and one female.
"Good afternoon. Is there a Patrick here?" I enquired. The left-hand male, possessed of some shifty-looking facial hair and a resigned expression, raised his hand. My RBG let loose a single shot, and he slumped forward, groaning in pain at the wound in his stomach. After a brief chat, during which the witnesses seemed to be trying to persuade me to kill them as well, and asked if they could play with my gun, I departed.
mallon reports:
It was mid-afternoon and as would be expected of a lazy mathematician, i was frantically attempting to complete a sheet of work that i had been given before the holiday to complete but had decided to leave till the last minute. All thought of murder, deceit and other sordid matters were laid to rest as i listened to 2 friends discussing said sheet. Due to this lack of concentration i had left my door wide open (fool, a rooky mistake) and in walked someone who i didn't recognise with a gun. At this point i reacted instinctivly and jumped head first through the window, firing random covering fire behingd me. I then ran across the common and dived into the cam. After a swim and another run, i was eventually caught and an epic struggle occurred involving the loss of his gun, but he did me in eventually through sheer stregnth.
Actually, the above passage is not entirly correct, in actuality he asked if there existed a patrick snow in the room at this point in time. i piped up with, "yup, thats me" whereupon he shot me. not as glamorous i am afraid.
An innocent witness who referred to himself as 'the mathematical menace' reported:
There we were, three hardcore mathmos, spending an most enjoyable afternoon solving examples sheets questions (especially the optional ones!). The group consisted of two civilians: Rosie 'the musical mathmo', and yours truly, Richard 'the mad mathmo'. Also present was one known to us as Paddy, but who led a double life as one of the most skillful and feared assassins in the land (yes, it was his first game). Few could match Paddy's marksmanship, or his skills with a blade, and none could even approach his cunning and subtlety.
Shortly after the clock struck four, during analysis of some particularly interesting quotient groups, our reverie was disturbed by an unwelcome visitor. The door, which Paddy had intelligently left ajar, slowly opened, and in walked a tall, dark, menacing figure, holding a pistol in his right hand. Seeing the three of us hard at work, he spoke slowly and deeply the words "Is there a Patrick here?". To this our hero, Paddy, being the great master of disguise, the epitome of cunning, and the deadliest of assassins, raised his hand slowly into the air...
A shot rang out, and Paddy's lifeless corpse slumped to the floor. Rosie and I were greatly upset as the bloodstains were ruining our work. We knelt over Paddy's dead body, and then looked back to our assailant, but he was gone.
A final question remains - who was the greater of the two? Though Paddy lies six feet under, and his assailant lives on, we must remember that Paddy was a selfless man, who surely sacrificed himself to save us civilians, as no-one, let alone the great Paddy, could be that incompetent. And as for his assailant? The dastardly devil wouldn't even help with the maths, but instead slunk away into the night...
A hero dies, a scumbag lives.
R.I.P. Paddy
We'll miss your theorems...
Lesson for the day: When a man walks into your room with a gun, and asks for someone of your name, you might want to consider the situation before you raise your hand...
Dog-botherer reports:
Knocked at the door of my third target to receive no response, so I assumed he was out and left.
Stuart Moore reports:
At about 17:30 I found a balloon sausage dog in my pigeon hole, but it could've been there a while. I carefully extracted it using string, but it doesn't appear to have any poison on it, and hasn't gone bang. Perhaps it's nothing to do with assassins.
Uncountable 4 reports:
I called for a target today,
but he wasn't there, and I came away.
Uncountable 4 murders with verse!
WhammyBar reports:
At 8:30 pm today I returned to college and found a letter waiting innocently in my pidgeonhole. I gently extracted it and within seconds saw that something was amiss. For while the letter had been stamped with a first-class stamp, it bore no postmark.
I took the letter back to my room and opened it using rubber gloves. Sure enough, running along the top of the letter was a layer of *vaseline*. Colourless, odourless and almost indetectable, this vile substance has been the death of many assassins over the years.
But not today. Oh no.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
Here's another batch of my incredibly amusing examples of wit:
Unfortunately, all the incredibly amusing examples of wit have had to be censored by the Umpire as they all consist of puns on the target's real name. The Umpire confirms, however, that the degree to which they amused him was indeed incredible.
Dog-botherer reports:
Normally, I am a great believer in playing by the rules. One-on-one confrontations, epic battles, face-to-face gunfights, but I am prepared to make exceptions. For there was one spurious individual who had spurned the rules of engagement and preferred to hide behind indestructible obstacles while firing unmolested. Why, only this afternoon he had had the temerity to shoot at me, all the while skulking behind an impenetrable hardwood door. Well, such a cad deserves anything that comes his way.
Following the instructions in "A basic guide to bomb-making and other innovative weaponry", or "How to use everyday items to kill people in new and exciting ways!" ed. W. Barrett and A. Robinson, 2003, I constructed an explosive device to blow the rotter to smithereens. I was a little curtailed by lack of equipment, hence the following guide was useful:
"Bomb-making on a budget (A guide for those deprived of many essential bomb-making items)
You will need: 1. A large container (bottles are good; I used an empty appletiser bottle but anything will do) 2. Some explosive (water is good here since it is cheap. Absinthe is better since if the bomb doesn't kill them the absinthe will, but it's a bit pricey) 3. A large sheet of paper 4. Some sticky stuff (sellotape is preferable, but in a pinch the glittery stuff your neighbour uses to organise her photos will do) 5. A detonator (2p coins are cheap and relatively large and heavy)
Instructions: 1. Write the obligatory mumbo-jumbo on the paper (This is a fake bomb, the blast radius is 2.4m, blame it on A. Biltcliffe of Clare College, etc.) 2. Fill the container with your explosive of choice. (If using absinthe, try not to spill any) 3. Affix the paper to the container using some, but not all, of the sticky stuff. (Ensure that the bit saying 'FAKE BOMB' is actually visible - doh.) 4. Affix the detonator to the container using the remainder of the sticky stuff. 5. Place the bomb next to your target's door, the detonator supported by the door itself. When your target opens the door, the detonator falls, and the bomb will explode."
Having followed the above guide to the letter (except stage 5), I packed the bomb in a bag and set forth from my fortress abode armed only with two RBGs, a knife, the bomb and a beret. My initial fear that I would not be able to gain access to the ill-doer's corridor was assuaged when some helpful folks wandered out of the main entrance at the same time as I was trying to get in (fools!)
I set up the bomb, knocked and retreated to the target's bathroom. No response. His bin was outside his door, so I presumed he was asleep. All the better- he would suspect nothing when he awoke and open the door unwittingly, exposing himself to the cheapest bomb ever constructed. While I would have liked to sit around to watch the doorframe explode inwards, and see my foe's charred hulk crash to the ground, I couldn't stay all night and went home, where the ruthlessly efficient porters had already locked the gate. Damn.
H.R reports:
It's all go round here. 2 attempts on my life both defeated by my being on the right side of the door. The first was someone with a gun (I was inside) the second was Dog-brother's bomb (and I was on the outside) so all good for me at the minute.
H.R
The Establishment of the Industrial Proletariat reports:
Phase 2: The dictator took the dice again. Annoyed at his previous roll he can only use one dice. 5. He smiles and takes 5 Krona. The final dice roll, and it comes up a 2. Up by three he passes the dice to the right. After the move of 2 3s the prince rolls twice, and is up 8 and down one. The dictator scowls in annoyance.
414 reports:
And lo! the noble travellers at last beheld their destination - the lair of the archfiend Dominik Hubler. And they sought to draw him into mortal combat, but there came no reply as their words fell into the depths of Mount Mordoor. And they did feel the pangs of fear, for who knowest the ways of the fiend? who knowest when he will arise and slake his monstrous thirst? So they did leave the lair, but left behind them the Water of Light from the springs of Livenhell, that the beast be purified. And the beast knew them not.
KDeluxxe reports:
What an unfortunate day. After almost having been properly killed by my neighbour's disastrous cooking attempts I found a bomb in front of my door and presented my whole corridor with an awful sight of my mutilated corpse by a high impact drink bottle bomb. Very unfortunate indeed.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
THIS JUST IN -
We've just received confirmation that an attempt has been made to assassinate a Cambridge University Student. Police sources are unable to comment, however it is believed that the nefarious 414 was the perpetrator. His motive is anyone's guess, however there is speculation that it may have something to do with his involvement in the controversial Primate Laboratory.
We managed to interview a local Animal Rights Activists -
"Hello, could you shed any light on the attrocity that was committed on Sunday? Are the claims that Animal Rights Activists are involved accurate?"
"<unintelligible garble> DRUGS TESTED ON ANIMALS CAUSE CANCER!!! <random rantings>"
Pemmer reports:
I would like to report an attempt on my life.
I was happily mastering the art of procrastination at: http://yeti.e-medien.com/yetisports1.html, when there was the sound of the corridor's fire door crash open followed by a beep from the external PIR motion detector and finally a knock. I was expecting a guest at around that time, and so thought it wise to grab a handful of freshly produced cardboard and sellotaped throwing knives and peer through the porthole. There was nothing visible apart from the opposite wall. I cautiously open the door and launched several knives in the process only to hear a ticking sound coming from the floor. Instead of some over-keen novice amateur assassin with an RBG built from Lego / K'Nex, there was a clockwork spherical bomb about the size of a golf-ball, walking towards me. I grabbed my empty waste-paper bin, and covered the bomb with it, before shutting the door, and side-stepped a few centimetres to escape the blast-radius.
There then followed a long silence broken by the sound of giggling outside the door and the clang of my bin. When my PIR signalled the all-clear, I opened the door to find a note. I handled the note with my washing up gloves but it appeared to be uncontaminated, and the ink used was standard boardmarker ink. The note read:
"Dear Recipient,
You have received this gift from the Society for the Protection of the Undisclosed Non-playing Kind as a token of our appreciation to the number of innocents ruthlessly slaughtered during the last Assassin's game.
Yours Faithfully,
Dr Anybody
(S.P.U.N.K. president)"
I suspect of members of my floor who became suspicious of my unhealthy addiction to cardboard over the last few days and Blue-Peteresque behaviour. It's surprisingly easy to defend yourself with just a few toilet rolls, safety scissors and some sticky-back plastic.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
NEWS FLASH -
We have just received notification that a second attrocity has befallen the quiet town of Cambridge. This morning, Monday, another Cambridge University student was mercilessly cut down by Animal Rights Protestors. The authorities are continuing investigations into the incident, however we can now tell you that the victim was David Stark. We spoke to a close friend of his:
"How do you feel about this incident, and the recent spate of such attacks in the Cambridge area?"
"It's horrible, simply horrible. I told him he shouldn't have had that monkey burger this morning, but he just wouldn't listen to me... About fifty of them converged on him after the lecture and ripped him to pieces!"
A friend of the deceased writes:
I write to you in utter distress, for this very morning at approximately 10:10, a most horrific killing did happen, outside of the Chemistry building in Lensfield road. My companion Rasputin innocently finished his physics lecture, and went outside to mount his trusty steed, whereapon a most deceitful Animal Rights Activists drew a knife. Rasputin quickly tried to defend himself, only to find that his gun failed to fire. The Animal Rights Activists went on their way, satisfied, and in his last moments of life, Rasputin ensured a quick and painless death, shooting himself in the head. As he lay on the floor dead, none other than the revered Dr Julia Riley passed by and screamed in horror as she saw the awful state of affairs...obviously no supervision work appearing for her this week, then...
Rasputin reports:
As I was leaving the place of learning, I was accosted by an individual bearing a knife. I withdrew my gun from my pocket, but its accursed mechanism failed to operate. My assailant was upon me then and repeatedly stabbed me in the chest, and I fell down on the ground, cursing the ways of this wretched world.
As I was coughing up the last breaths of my life, my assailant informed me that my image had been gleaned from the information networks. I had caused my likeness to be removed from those places, but it seemed that I had been too slow.
I shall now go meet my maker and be rewarded.
Nemo reports:
10:30- Target Catherine Hall spotted, enjoying her lecture. 11:00- Target is leaving lecture hall. I followed. 11:05- Target is right outside the lecture theatre. The place was crowded. I decided that gun is not an option. I whip out my trusted razor (may it find warm homes inside my prey), approached my target, and shouted her name. She turned around, pointing her gun at me, while my knife was about to liberate her heart from the rib cages.
Time stopped. We had a brief discussion as to who is dead. I maintained that I'm alive because triggers are heavy when blood is squirting out straight from your ventricles. She insisted on the other hand, that she 'somehow' blocked that lethal strike while simultaneously sending a bullet towards my direction. After 2.6 secounds of debated we decided that I am dead.
11:06- The whole building was startled by a loud bang. As my blade almost get the blood I'd promised it, a feel a searing pain bolting through my chest. The prey had turned predator.
The Umpire would like to express his sincere gratitude towards both of the participants for sorting this dispute out between themselves immediately, and urges all assassins who end up in similar situations to emulate them.
Catherine Hall reports:
"Assassins are subtle. Well, alive ones are at any rate. Here are some ways not to be subtle.
1) When lurking after your targets lecture: Try not to do it by coming and standing right behind them, especially when they are in a group of the only 4 people in the lecture theatre.
2) Give up if they catch on to what you are doing.
3) Upon following them out of the room, do not go right up to your target and try to confirm their name by asking 'Are you .......'. This should not be necessary when your rather inept accomplice has directed your attention to the right person; slightly less subtly than a neon sign and trumpet fanfare.
4) Upon confronting your target, have a weapon at the ready. This is particuarly important if your next line is 'I'm your assassin, and I'm going to kill you'.
5) Be prepared for a certain amount of resistance. A knife is a somewhat pathetic weapon if waved around in a vague fashion nowhere critical.
6) When shot in the throat, you are dead. A bullet through the aesophogus is a more critical wound than a graze to the knuckles.
1/10 for subtly, competence, and general ability, but 10/10 for giving us all a little chuckle. We suggest the Darwin Award, and maybe a career in slapstick.
PS - It cheers us that you are not a Medic. The Ventricles can be located in the central chest. The hand contains knuckles, bones, flesh, blood, and muscle, but is sadly lacking in the ventricle department.
The KCats came back..."
The three of clubs reports:
I found it odd to recieve an envelope in the post that was so small. More odd that it arrived with a stamp, but no address. Odder still were the contents. A lone playing card, the three of clubs.
Waddington's number 1, I believe. A blue one.
Something made me keep the card, it was just weird that I'd be sent one card, on it's own, with no explanation at all.
I was even more surprised a week later when I recieved an email, addressed to "the three of clubs." No-one has the email address it was sent to, other than my family, and they usually phoned. I was more worried than surprised about its contents though.
A list of names and addresses, all matched to cards, including my own. There was a simple disclaimer at the bottom.
The people on this list will be coming for you, they have sufficient incentive. The only way to survive is to get to them first.
Suffice it to say, the email had an Mpeg attached to it, and the contents of the video provided "sufficient incentive" for me... I could only assume the others had the same problem.
But where to start? I thought for a moment, and realised I'd have no idea who was dangerous and who was not. The whole thing, no matter how I did it, would be down to luck, so why try to fight it? I picked up a pack of cards, shuffled, cut. The eight of hearts.
A bit tense, the pidgeonholes are easy to find, but right outside the common room. If there was another assassin looking for me, I might have had problems. But the letter is in its rightful place, nestled between less interesting junk, namely hundreds of boring mailshots. Maybe The Adult Male's Father won't notice that the envelope weighs a ton and a half.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
What do you call an incompetent assassin who sends a poisoned letter
in a bulging, leaking Ryman envelope full of loudly crunching cane sugar,
enclosing a playing card?
3 of Clubs!!!!
What does the incompetent assassin call the target of the letter, whom
(s)he feels (s)he knows well enough to address by his/her first name,
scrawled suspiciously on the corner of the envelope, who prods the letter
carefully and then opens it while wearing rubber gloves?
8 of Hearts!!!!
Dog-botherer reports:
Survived a spectacularly lame poison letter just now. I arrived at my pigeonhole to find a folded sheet of paper, scrawled on with biro, and suspiciously lumpy in the middle. I didn't even need gloves to open it safely, and read the message within:
"Dog-botherer, hope your death isn't too painful."
Well, no, it wasn't, because I'm not dead. I binned the letter (after unfortunately spilling some of the poison on the floor- the letter wasn't very flour-proof) then proceeded to eat my lunch and return home to work on my essay in a completely non-dead fashion.
WhammyBar reports:
At 16:00 today, me and an accomplice (who shall not be named), made our way to the room of G.I.Bob. We had memorised the route to his room, and proceeded directly to his door where my accomplice drew a pistol and covered me while I set up a bomb. I had just finished securing it when distaster nearly struck.
A man entered the building and walked up the stairs towards us. He took in the bomb and pistols with a grin, and carried on walking towards us while placing a hand in his pocket. My incopentant accomplice took this as a sign of aggression, and before I could stop him had opened fire. Or, at least he tried.
For my accomplice was not only jumpy, but also somewhat stupid, having loaded his gun incorrectly. Both rounds jammed, and the innocent civilian continued up the stairs, shaking his head sadly. Whispering to my accomplice that I would talk to him about this later, I knocked on the target's door.
G.I.Bob, however, proved to be somewhat more intelligent than my accomplice, and did not buy my cover story. There was nothing else to do but prime the bomb and make a hasty retreat.
Damn it.
WhammyBar's companion was very lucky that his gun failed to go off, or he'd be wanted for shooting an innocent. As it is, though, he's let off with a warning.
G.I.Bob reports:
Monday the 26th January, sometime between 1pm and 17:30, a knock was heard at the door of Government Issue Bob. Of course, being a 2cm high stick figure, G.I.Bob was unable to answer the door himself, and so entrusted the job to his assisstant who wished to remain nameless. The assistent asked who was there and recieved an unconvincing reply suggesting that the random knocker was a member of some Christian union. Being uninterested in such dealings, G.I.Bob called out "No thanks", which obviously confused the random would-be assassin as he simply responded "No thanks?".
The next act was the most subtle assassination attempt ever. The UKI (Unidentified Knocking Individual) proceeded to plant a bomb at the door of G.I.Bob's room. It was of course not at all obvious what was going on when one looked through the spyhole and saw the knocker quite blatantly planting a bomb. Nor was the most audible of actions as it could only be heard through two walls, two doors and above the sound of a flushing toilet. However, with the bomb planted G.I.Bob remained helpless, or so it seemed...
In fact, the knocker walked away without saying goodbye or even waving, at which point G.I.Bob snuck out through the gap between the floor and the door to have a look around. Now certain that there were no more assassins nearby, G.I.Bob began his plan to get out, which involved staying inside the room for several hours until eventually some kind person decided to remove the bomb (quite random actually). Surely if this person had not done this, G.I.Bob would be dead now, for the bomb was in impeccable condition not even exploding when triggered.
The bomb was a 2-litre Sprite bottle filled with some fluid. The trigger consosted of a party popper taped to the bottle and tied to the door handle. The party popper didn't even explode, and so I believe the random knocker should return for his bomb so that he can take back the party popper to from wherever it came and be refunded the cost.
Anyways, Bob lives on, and shall continue to do so forever...
The Umpire reminds everyone that you should not ask non-players to defuse bombs for you, or you will be made wanted for exposing them to danger. However, it appears that in this case, G.I.Bob's neighbour really did decide to remove the bomb without prompting, and so G.I.Bob remains on the right side of the law.
The Man with the Golden Gown reports:
I am the new Master of Penbrook College. Nobody knows my real name (which is a state secret), but they call me The Man with the Golden Gown. I have been sent in the service of King Adam de Biltcliffe of the United Kingdom of Cambridge and Girton to bring order to the students of the kingdom's university. I had expected a few weeks of leisure, casually shooting tourists, sinking punts and blowing up animal rights protesters, but my assignment was forced to begin much earlier than anticipated.
At 7:00 pm, there was a knock at the door of the Master's Lodge. My secretary, Miss Cashcard questioned the visitor, who called himself "Dog-botherer". She politely informed him that visitors were not welcome without an invitation, but he refused to leave. Miss Cashcard informed me of the situation, and I investigated. I decided that the visitor looked like an extremely rowdy student, and therefore invoked my licence to kill with extreme prejudice.
Dog-botherer reports:
I set out from college with the intention of killing The Man with the Golden Gown. Arrived at the room and knocked to receive absolutely no response, despite the light being on. A couple of neighbours arrived and left, and I wandered outside to see if there was another way in. Nope. I asked a neighbour if he knew when The Man with the Golden Gown would be back. No idea. I decided to try my luck at knocking again, when "clickclickclickclickclick", there was the unmistakeable sound of an RBG going off.
This guy has to have the best defensive system in Cambridge. Not only does he have a Glass Eye of Omniscience and a self-locking door, but a window from that overlooking the corridor through which it is impossible to return fire.
"Oho! You're dead!" came a cry from beyond the window, while I was looking around, to find no evidence of any bands in the vicinity. I looked up and saw that the gun had jammed, all the bands piled up at the front.
"Er, actually, I'm not," I began, but at that point something peculiar happened to his gun and all the bands were released at once, all over the place.
We had a brief chat through the impenetrable glass shield, then The Man with the Golden Gown invited me in. I introduced myself properly and left shortly after.
the tractor princess reports:
hello!
tonight i went out to kill mr 414. i failed in so far as he is still alive, but this is only coz he is totally paranoid and refused to come out of his room dispite my alluring female charms. he had what i assumed was a bomb attatched to his door that didnt seem to do anything. his neighbour was very nice and didnt mind me shouting.
i tried another target too but he wasnt in, i consider this offensive as it is an obvious honor to be killed by me.
byesybye
the tractor princess
414 reports:
c:\>echo off
c:\>report.exe
Time: 7:00
++ Processor interrupt - aggressor approaching
++ Cluestick session scheduled for not having shut door properly
++ Dive initialised to avoid rubber bands
++ Door kicked shut
++ echo "Help! I'm under attack!" >> fellow assassins
++ Initialise conversation
++ Raw_input: "Hi, I'm a girl, can I shoot you?"
++ Cross-reference: saw a guy earlier. Hence at least 2 assassins
++ Refrain from opening door
++ Cluestick session implemented
++ Ow
414 reports:
c:\>echo off
c:\>report.exe
++ Recovered from cluestick session
++ Cross-reference "girl + attacker" with previously gathered info
++ Match found: Rosemary Warner
++ Implement plan: attack Rosemary
++ Phase 1: approach college
++ Phase 2: knock on door
++ Phase 3: claim to be Matthew Garrett
++ Phase 4: get let in and shoot Rosemary
++ ERROR: buffer overflow at 0x12f4ab27 - not let in
++ Backup plan: give up and go to chess
++ PLAN IMPLEMENTED
Animal Rights Activists reports:
A vicious attack has been reported at a central Cambridge College. A group of armed terrorists battled their way into the college, only to find their way barred by a wooden door. After a brief exchange with the target, Rosemary Warner, who was apparently naked at the time, the assassins left, rather chastened. It appears that the attack was a reprisal for an earlier assault on a member of the group. It is suspected that Animal Rights Protestors were operating in the background, accompanied by the nefarious 414.
Michael Brooks reports:
I wish to report yet another attempt on my life.
I was extremely busy writing an essay to clear it out the way for some important tasks later on in that evening, when I heard a blip from my motion sensor followed by a knock on my door.
The visitor failed to stand in front of the viewing porthole, which indicated to me that either this situation was ugly or simply the visitor was.
I ask who it was.
"Um... could you show me the way to
I told him I'd show him where it was.
I then heard a click, confirming my suspicions. I said "Sorry but it's not on my college map, try next door, he has meetings there"
There was no knock next door within five minutes.
After 10 minutes I took a quick glance to spot the offender equipped with a repeating nerf dart-gun before closing the door.
Completely unarmed having left my RGB an RPG downstairs in my bag , I could do nothing but remain in my room, under siege. 8 page essays tend to take a fair bit of time, and I had all night, but sadly the assassin did not. I drew a cartoon sketch of my attacker, put it through my paper shredder, and continued with my essay. Later on it was confirmed that the floor was all-clear, so I went downstairs to retrieve my weapons.
Matt F reports:
I report the death of Philip Bridge, by my own hand. After detailed research I approached the Bridge's dwelling at 8.00 pm. After being let in by Bridges unsuspecting house-mates, I ascended to the floor where I believed he held residence. Upon seeing three men standing outside the kitchen I said a cheery hello and proffered my hand in greeting. The man who took it said "Hi, I'm Philip", to which I replied "Pleased to meet you". Needless to say he released his folly when a bullet from me semi-automatic, 150 mm calibre rubber band uzi hit him square in the chest.
The FBI reports:
Well, that was quicker than normal...
Perhaps I should be more paranoid. Standing around the corridor today, who should approach but a group of total strangers behind my good friend Tom, who has absolutely nothing at all to do with the game at all. I assumed they were friends of his; not a good move. After they shot me and all, they explained that they didn't actually know Tom at all, and were in fact paying an exclusive courtesy call on me! How thoughtful. At least next time I'll know better than to trust people I've never met before.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
Citizens of Cambridge are becoming increasingly paranoid while walking the streets, but not yet have they had reason to fear even in their own homes. This evening, on Monday 26th Jan, a most brutal murder was commited in King's College Hostel on Tennis Court Road. After creatively gaining entry to the building, a group of unidentified miscreants made their way to the top of the building, introduced themselves to some residents and promptly ripped one to shreds. We managed to interview one of the witnesses to the attack:
"It was disgusting - a mob of screaming attackers threw themselves down the corrider. Philip politely held out his hand and introduced himself, only to be gunned down by the anonymous villains <breaks down into uncontrollable sobbing>"
uncountable 72 reports:
I made an attempt to assassinate Sideshow Barbara today. Having been on a reconissance mission yesterday I returned at roughly 8.30 to dispatch her, only to find the whole place strangely deserted. finding virtually no one around, i became disheartened and left, not without leaving a nasty note of course. i shall be back, she will die...
Sideshow Barbara reports:
i have evaded assassination twice now through the simple method of not being in my room! what a great tactic, one of the highest cunning. My would-be murderer has expressed his/her frustration by replying to my taunting notice placed on my door. I thought i would report these attempts, mainly so i can be smug and futher annoy the person who is after me. Better luck next time...(evil laughter)
CyberDog reports:
It is with mixed feelings that I submit this report. This evening, at roughly 8.45pm, I infiltrated the residence of Ian Abel. After knocking thrice, he called through his door "Who goes there?". "It's Ed." "Ed who?" "This Ed." "Oh, that Ed. One minute!" Needless to say, I believed I had raised his suspicions. I bid a hasty retreat into the courtyard and allowed him to emerge into the open. After a minute had passed, I crept back upstairs - all was silent. Unbeknownst to me the incompetent assassin had locked himself out of his room. After waiting for some time outside his door I investigated the nearby kitchen and corridor. This proved unwise, as turning a corner I came face to face with my target,standing in the shadows a few feet away. I unleashed the full power of my double barrelled triple loaded shotgun filling the air with bunches of deadly rubber, but as I did so felt the sting of a cruel elastic band on my face, signalling the end of my assassination career. Both my target and I were peppered with projectiles, and decided that this was a nil survival situation. We shook hands, picked up bands, then went home.
Xaositect reports:
Quietly sitting in my den of Xaos attempting to create that order generally called work but finding that disorder known as sleepy confusion, I was awakened form my slumber by a soft and timid knock at the door.
"Who Is it?" quoth i. A pause as my assailant thinks of an answer.
"Ed" Says he, luckily for him i know some Eds.
"Which Ed?" My suspicion rises...
"This Ed" replies the voice, i almost open the door but think better of it
and grab my trusty RBG prior to my exit.
A peep round the door reveals a seemingly empty corridor, foolishly i let
my door snap shut behind me and go exploring, only to find an ambush laid
in the corridor. After my would be assassin misses with his first shot i
nip back into the alcove outside my room, only to find i have locked
myself out of my room!!!
Silently manouevring to a position to gain a better view of the situation
i find my assassins have retreated to other floors. I thus laid in wait
for their inevitable repeat attack. Although an assassin crept in fromt
of me allowing me a clear first shot i failed to kill him before we both
obliterated each other in a storm of bullets.
Two assassins down and a new coat of paint for the corridor the evening concluded i pen my last thoughts and slip away into the ether.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
Blood flows in the streets of Cambridge as another attrocity has been commited. Witnesses suggest that up to 20 anonymous youths made their way to the residence of one Ian Abel. What went on their cannot be verified, however it is suspected that the victim was gunned down in a firefight with his attackers, killing one in the process. This attacker has been successfully identified as Ed Saperia. Further information is currently unavailable, however it is suggested that he may have links to Animal Rights Protestors in the area, and that the victim often was very vocal of his dislike for monkeys.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
An unconfirmed report suggests that Animal Rights Protestors were seen at a central College this evening, however no dead bodies are apparent and no suspicious packages found, so unless they had deviously subtle reasons for being there, their plans were foiled...
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
When I think of some of the things that have been done in the name of science, I have to cringe. No, wait, not science, vandalism. And not cringe, laugh.
414 reports:
c:\>echo off
c:\>report.exe
++ Chess ended
++ Result: draw (who says machines are good at chess? I'm running windows goddammit)
++ Implement plan: kill Rosemary Warner
++ Phase 1: acquire backup (Animal Rights Protestors among others)
++ Phase 2: approach room
++ Phase 3: plant bomb
++ Phase 4: make more noise than a rabid elephant on drugs
++ Phase 5: run away
++ PLAN IMPLEMENTED
++ Defragmentation earned
++ Defragmentation implemented
++ ERROR: "fatal error detected. This error report is specially tailored to give you no information whatsoever. Good luck"
++ ERROR: imminent unscheduled shutdown. Pickaxe recommended.
++ ERROR ERROR ERROR
++ 42
Animal Rights Activists reports:
In an interesting twist of fate, a group of people were seen around a college that had previously been visited earlier that evening. This time however, while a similar exchange was attempted, a nefarious device was primed outside the victim's room. Police sources refuse to release details, but a loud explosion was heard and witnesses suggest that a death may have occurred...
The witnesses were obviously confused, since the target did not die, but some people will claim anything in order to get the media's attention ...
Rosemary Warner reports:
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Cambridge Colleges' class of 2004,
If I could offer you only one tip for assassins, string would be it. The long term survival benefits of string have been proved by ten years of assassins games, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.
I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and anonymity of your first game; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and anonymity of your first game until it's over. But trust me, in three years you'll look back at your old kill reports and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how innocent you really were. You're not as invulnerable as you imagine.
Don't worry about the people trying to kill you; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to stay competent by sitting in your room all day. The real threats to your life are apt to be people who never crossed your paranoid mind; the innocent looking woman who shoots you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. Make some attempts every week that scare you.
Lose the game, other game and membership of the club frequently.
Don't be reckless with alliances, don't put up with people who are reckless with trust.
Lock your door.
Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind... the race is long, and in the end, it's only a game. Remember the kills you make, forget your mistakes; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep copies of poisoned letters you sent, throw away those you receive.
Always carry a weapon.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do to your target... some of the best assassins I know went incompetent in their first game; some of the most interesting old assassins I know still do...
Get plenty of extra rubber bands.
Be kind to your allies, you'll miss them when they're dead.
Maybe you'll have allies, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have godchildren, maybe you won't, maybe you'll die in the first week, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken after winning your first game. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either - your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's.
Enjoy the game, play it any way you want... don't be afraid of how you play, or what other people think of you, it's the greatest game you'll ever play.
Practise shooting... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the rules, and follow them. Do not try to catch up with Bjoernandjenny in May Week, they will only make you feel inadequate.
Get to know your bedder, you never know when she'll warn you of something. Be nice to your porters; they are bad people to get on the wrong side of and the people most likely to throw your assassin out of your college.
Understand that alliances come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the targetting information of the people you allied with when you were young.
Live in Girton once, but leave before the evil mafia corrupts you; live in Caius once, but leave before the evil mafia corrupts you.
Visit all the colleges.
Accept certain inalienable truths, mafias will arise, other godparents will taunt you, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were a fresher mafias didn't exist, godparents didn't set their minions on you and players respected the Umpire. Respect your Umpire.
Don't expect anyone else to help you. Maybe you have a vast mafia, maybe you have a moustachioed third year feeding you information; but you never know when either one might run out. Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're a third year, it will look like Ed Nokes.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia; dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the archived game list, wiping it off, apologising for the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the string...
Pemmer reports:
I had itchy fingers, and the Yetisports smack-the-pingu game had long since ceased scratching them. I had recently acquired a new-generation in bomb design, and had just finished soldering up the detonator. I packed my bag with the new bomb and an RBG, and set out to find a guinea pig... or monkey (Animal Rights Activists beware). In the end, Nathan Bowler had to do. I bumped into a associate on the way, who was intrigued in what I was doing, and so I invited him to join me.
His college looked like the place to be, so we set off to find that the porters had forgotten to lock the front gate and my carefully planned alternative route in, wasn't required. We navigated our way into the court, and made a pass on the landing of the target. There was some sort of after-party out on the landing with a drunken group of people sprawled about the floor and occasionally, falling down the stairs.
The plan was to knock on Nathan's door in the hope that one of the group would respond and make the assumption that this person was Nathan. Instead he was inside, by the sounds of things, in the shower.
"Nathan?"
"What? Who is that?"
"Come on Nathan, it's James" (an assumption of a persons name in his building based on initials)
"What do you want?"
"I want to quickly talk to you about the Cockcroft Lecture at 10 tomorrow"
"What?"
"Lectures. Come on, I want to get to bed"
At this point it became apparent that we'd over estimated the drunkenness of the group, and they began shouting "Don't do it Nathan, don't come out, it's Assassins."
With that, not wanting to impinge on sleep, we quickly left.
Nathan Bowler reports:
A most singular event occured today. I shall proceed with the entire tale, so you can see the context of the occurence.
I was preparing for a little kip, when there came a polite knock at my door. Now, it is rare that I have visitors at so late an hour, so I sauntered over to see what sort of a fellow it could be. Imagine my surprise on seeing a pleasant but unfamiliar chap outside the door, calling on my name. At once I was intrigued: 'What do you want, old bean?' I enquired.
'Yeah..., we have to talk about tomorrow morning,' said the chap. I was astonished. it was impossible to see how he could have so accurately known the subject of my recent contemplation. I enquired further: 'Anything specific about tomorrow, what?'
'Yeah.., uh, lectures. We have to talk about lectures,'. Now we come to the most embarrassing aspect of the affair. He had hit the nail squarely on the head. For it is true that, in private, I have indeed been partaking in lectures. Of course, I had tried to quit. I wish I could have admitted it to you fellows sooner, but frankly I didn't know what you would all think of me. But now, I had been found by a fellow lost soul. The relief was extraordinary. At last there was somebody with whom I could share my inmost thoughts on the painful subject of lectures. A tear in my eye, I prepared to fling back my door.
Alas, this potential meeting of souls was cut off by a cry, raised all through the area around my abode, the essence of which ran 'Assassins!'. Now, being a member of the guild, I was aware that there was no real danger. Unfortunately, the chap outside took fright and left at speed. I believe he assumed that there were actual assassins in the area.
This chap, though, has inspired me. He was prepared to stand up and be counted as a lecture-goer. So I have decided to no longer be ashamed. I too go to lectures, and am not afraid to say so. That is the motivation for this post.
If any of you are in the same predicament, please feel free to come and see me at my humble abode, and I shall be sure to give you my warmest hospitality.
Sincerely,
N. J. Bowler esq.
knaif reports:
Red sky at night: shepherds' delight;
Red sky in the morning... and the walls... and the carpet...
Hopefully the tastefully decorated surroundings of my target's abode will soon be splattered with his gory remains after he wakes up (or stays up) to find an explosion greeting him as he opens the door. I'm pretty sure he heard me anyway...
Mr Magica reports:
whoever placed that pathetic device outside my room was foiled in two ways. firstly, it was my girlfriend that opened my door at 2 o'clock in the morning, exclaiming 'what the devil is that?'. secondly, she was referring to the failed detonator and large quantity of explosives, poorly sellotaped to my door. i live to fight another day.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
It's time for another selection of fantastic funnies!
Sadly, once again most of the fantastic funnies have been censored by the Umpire in order to protect the target's identity. The Umpire very much hopes that the assassin manages to make another kill soon so that the rest of the game can suffer his extraordinary wit once again.
What do you call an assassin who is able to pass a lustful look to someone else, and has just planted a 2L bomb outside this college?
The Adult Male's Father!!!!
An innocent non-player reported:
At 7.45 this morning, as I innocently walked to breakfast, I passed my friend, WhammyBar's room. To my horror, outside there sat a bomb! I ran back to my room and phoned WhammyBar to ask what I should do. "Do not touch it!" cried the brave Assassin, "for I shall remote detonate it with naught but a measure of string and a door handle!" Half a minute later, there sounded a bang from down the corridor. We ate breakfast surrounded by the wreckage of what was once a room. All things considered, the person living in the room below was very polite about the gaping hole in their ceiling.
WhammyBar reports:
I awoke today in my usual bleary state before proceeding to don a dressing gown in anticipation of making my way to the bathroom for my daily ablutions. I was standing by the door, contemplating my morning hair when the phone rang.
A passing friend of mine had spotted a bomb resting against my door, two litres in capacity with a blast radius of 4.2 metres. Thanking her for the tip-off, I tied a piece of string to my doorhandle and retreated to the corner of the room. Pausing to check that my sidearm was loaded, I then gave the string a sharp yank.
The bomb was a good one. The moment the door openned there was an almighty concussion that blew the door off it's hinges and caved in the wall. My wardrobe and bed were shredded by flying masonry, and as the smoke cleared I could see that the blast had wrecked a good 3/4 of my room. But I was alive.
The threat safely neutralised, my friend poked her head around the corner and enquired as to whether we could still have toast for breakfast. Picking through the wreckage, I found a loaf of bread miraculously intact, and sitting companiably together we toasted our breakfast over the roaring fire of my matress.
Oh yes.
The three of clubs reports:
Shuffle. Cut. Ooh, the Queen of spades.
I scanned the newspapers for details of my earlier attempts, but found none, a more direct approach would be needed. Even better, I managed to get hold of the four of spades, and enlisted help, this would be a two person job, and anything to cut cards from the deck would be welcome to both of us. bomb on the Queen of Spades' door, perhaps a result.
Hannah Burton reports:
Marks out of 10 for bomb construction: 3 - pretty blue liquid gives bonus points, lack of real detonator is a major negative.
Marks out of 10 for annoyance value: 8 - pretty blue liquid not sufficiently contained within bomb. When a litre of it leaks out after the bomb is pulled over, much is added to the annoyance value.
Contact poisoning: it may have been, but I'm not sure, whatever it was, it had long dried by the time I got to it.
Bomb labelling: good
Bomb postition: poor
Method of attatchment: poor
Blast radius: only likely to kill two or three innocents.
Conclusion: this is an admirable first effort, so I would hope that it is not from an experienced assassin, and instead a keen newbie. I hope to discover the identity of the bomber in the near future, so I can explain to them exactly where they went wrong, and how to improve, for next Michaelmas.
Love and kisses,
Hannah
Sideshow Barbara reports:
Somebody sent me a shoddy poisoned letter today, so obvious, i noticed poison seeping out just from looking at it(and without touching i hasten to had). I quickly got my rubber gloves and disposed of the offending article. In an attempt to be clever, i noticed they had put a first class stamp on it but it did not have a post mark. so im still alive!
Red Anteater reports:
Suitable research revealed that my target was rather conveniently going to the same lectures as me, so after waking up 1.19 hours late this morning, I rushed off equipped with nothing but a ruler, a post-it note and a pen. The two hours of lecture time fortunately proved more than sufficient to write 'knife' on the post-it note, and cunningly wrap it around the ruler. As the clock struck 12.00, the lecture ended and I casually followed my target out. Thinking it wise it confirm her identity, I shouted out 'Kirsty!'. She thoughtfully turned round, only to find herself impaled upon my knife.
Moose Hunter reports:
Moose Hunter reporting in? Tuesday, 27 January 2004 approx 13:05, Target Radoslav Nespor spotted at new museum site, I was able to walk completely around the target as he was distracted speaking to his fellow students, and then, a couple of knife stabs to the back later and it was all over, after informing the dying assassin of my pseudonym I decided to then evac the area swiftly, fearing there may have been other assassins in the crowd, a quick chat with the ghost of my victim further up the road and it was all over.
Budvar reports:
A very evil assassin and his even more wicked knife killed me today at 1 pm outside my lecture. I was enjoying the tranquility of the morning in a brotherly circle of friends, knowing that there is no way any assassin who didn't know me directly could strike. Alas I was wrong. As the unknown assassin cowardly darted off, a momentary smirk from a face that I trusted to be pure was my only lead to the answer before the darkness closed upon me.
Budvar forever!
P.S. Such a low assassin as would touch me does not deserve a name in the underground - he did seem to have one, but I forgot it.
meeting their antimatter self and shaking hands reports:
Hmm. Lectures. Morning. Bah, can't be bothered. Sleep. Sleep. Gah, more lectures. Humdedum. Go. Economics. Easy nobel prize, I want one. Quick, out of lecture theater, run, run!!! Gah, more lectures. Donuts less a point, but we're putting the point back! Now they're 2 pairs of trousers. It's all obvious, although it makes no sense. Quick, leave. Fly, Fly my pretties! Hehe, Park and Ride. Hehe, Lamb. Plinky plonky drop off stuff. Wander, buttery? Gah, no card. Find card from room. Go up stairs. What's this behind me? Aargh, I wish I'd read that book by that wheelchair guy. Ooh, now I can make lunch.
The three of clubs reports:
I think everyone would suspect the letter I wrote to QS, it wasn't exactly subtle. Neither was my attempt to break into the mail room, but the letter ended up in its rightful place anyway.
Hannah Burton reports:
Marks out of 10 for subtlety: 2 - It might have been preferable if granulated sugar wasn't clearly visible in my pigeonhole.
Marks out of 10 for annoyance value: 5 - I'd taken my gloves off and had to put them back on again. That's TWICE today.
Contact poison: Liberal: blimey, there must have been half a pound of sugar in there.
Positioning: B+
Trespassing: A-
Conclusion: I'd drop round for tea at yours, but I take two sugars and you probably don't have any left now. :(
Love as always,
Hannah
Hannah Burton reports:
Marks out of 10 for paranoia: 3 - The door was wedged open. Freshers are considerate in that respect :)
Marks out of 10 for access: 7 - Grr, I do hate those blocks with coded locks. But luckily I stumbled upon a good Christian Samaritan...
Impressiveness of death: poor. (Victim was shot in the head but didn't seem to slump to the floor or do anything equivalently dramatic) :(
Conclusion: We say farewell to the welfare officer who didn't fare too well
Yours apologetically,
Hannah
Diogenes reports:
Your Honour, Diogenes likes his toast, in fact it weren't for the toast he wouldn't be the man he is. So then, when Diogenes got out of his barrel and went to make some toast he was mildly perturbed by the suspicious looking chap that walked into his kitchen.
Now, like any half-reasonable gentleman, he didn't jump to conclusions or worry about where the man had come from and what he was doing there, not at all Your Honour, he simply offered the man some tea and sent him on his way.
It was just unfortunate, it was just happenstance, it was nothing but a freak occurrence that the poor chap who had entered his kitchen had the misfortune to fall directly onto Diogenes' knife, heart first.
I hope that the court will conclude that Diogenes' is innocent and, moreover, that an Englishman's kitchen is his castle and all sorts of unfortunate incidents might befall any who enter one uninvited.
Diogenes was then seen going back to his barrel and insulting Alexander the Great.
The defence rests.
Div reports:
When I went to pay a visit to Diogenes I saw from outside that the door to his room was open, so I hurried upstairs. On my way to his room I had to open a door in his corridor and found Diogenes standing directly behind it. "Excellent!", I said to myself, "now all I have to do is to draw one of my guns and shoot him. Mwahahaha!" Unfortunately Diogenes had in the meanwhile drawn a knife and stabbed me.
Anton Collinski reports:
Hooray, my first ever kill! Even if it was a bit easy. After last term's embarassment I was determined to raise my game, and was pleasantly suprised to find that I'd been given a gift to get me started- not only was one of my targets in my college, but it was a person who I'd been asked to put a presentation together with. I thought it was rather bad form to kill him before the event, so I waited until our seminar finished, followed him outside, and then emptied my RBG into him. Not a very stylish method, but an effective one. Oh well, they all count.
Otis B. Driftwood reports:
I regret to announce a most ignominious death, namely that of myself. Having wisely taken the precaution of always having an RBG hidden about my person, I was nonetheless shot in the back shortly after leaving a seminar.
What made my death particularly galling was that I had actually given a presentation with my soon-to-be assassin, Anton Collinski. When he called my name, I felt a vague premonition that something was wrong, but before I could turn or reach for my weapon, I felt the cold sting of several shots in succession in my back. My corpse then walked home, very dispirited about its demise - although in my defence, it is rather difficult to survive attempts from an assassin who's in your own College. I really must do something about the smell of my putrefying flesh - maybe some stronger deoderant would be in order...
414 reports:
I write these words with a heavy heart. It isn't often you see a friend shot down in front of you. It isn't often that you fire a bullet with your name written on it.
Ross Edmondson was my friend. We fought together, side by side, laughing in the face of fortune. We struggled against the tribulations of the world, Carling beer amongst them. And tonight, we sought out one of his targets together. The pay was good, the target was young and innocent. It would be easy.
I was happy. Seeking out the kill was all I had ever wanted. I was unwary. I had even spoken to a fellow assassin in my college grounds after she killed a target. I was doomed. I didn't stand a chance.
It seems ironic now that I can't even remember the target's name. It doesn't matter either way - we never found him. After searching forlornly, we sought our way out. We had even managed to fob a policeman (PC Mathematical Menace) off with excuses - we thought we were safe. We were wrong.
As we walked towards the gate, we were presented with the sight of yet another assassin - a friend, we thought - approaching us on this night of knives. The living embodiment of the Will of The Umpire greeted us and we launched into a discussion of the relative merits of methods of killing. To demonstrate, the assassin drew his gun... and fired directly into Ross's temple.
414 reports:
I gazed in horror as Ross's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. A cry of pain burst from my lips as I charged at the person I now knew to be the hired killer of my friend and mentor.
"OH MY GOD! YOU KILLED ROSS! YOU B******!!!"
James fled. I followed. As I caught up with him, he spun around and I pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into his ribcage and another into his stomach. Too late I saw that the darkness in his hand was now only a black plastic bag. Too late his words percolated through my reddened vision. Too late I heard his cry: "Don't shoot me! I'm unarmed!" I had killed a man with no intention to harm me.
As the bullets slammed into him and he flew back into the bushes, I heard a third shot. Turning towards the source of the noise, I saw PC Mathematical Menace charging towards me. I fled.
Doubling back, I dragged both corpses away in a vain hope of concealing my deed. But the damage was done. Even as I forced them into a cupboard in the room that James had called home, I was interrupted by a knock on the door. Hannah Burton had come to speak with James. As she saw the death rictus on her former friend's face, her hand slid to the whip in her pocket, but speed is everything and, before she could complete the motion, I hurled the body at her, driving her back into an open wardrobe. I swiftly wedged the door shut, and for all I know she is there still.
But all this for nothing - the police have still tracked me down. Even as I write this my report, I hear the helicopters hovering overhead. Ross, I'll see you soon...
Indeed, for this most vindictive of revenge killings, 414 is made wanted. The court will convene on Thursday to decide whether he has any chance of redemption.
PC Mathematical Menace reports:
At around 7:30, PC Mathematical Menace was doing the rounds at Jesus College, when he spied an assassin known to him from another college, by the name of 414. Being the keen upholder of law and order that he is, he immediately escorted the criminal out of the college. However, upon exiting the JCR a few minutes later, he saw said individual chasing after and shooting at an unknown target. Quickly he reached for his trusty RBG and gave chase, but to no avail. The victim's bloodstained corpse lay on the floor, and 414 was showing no weapons, and so was escorted from the college.
The living embodiment of the Will of The Umpire reports:
As it was feared, the Living Embodiment of the Will of the Umpire only existed for a scant few days, but at least he has a chance to pass on his message, the will of the Umpire made manifest.
"Thou shalt reduce the gamesize, by whatever means you can"
So, what was I to do, but slavishly follow this compulsion, and when presented with the opportunity to reduce the gamesize, I had to do so, even if it risked my own life.
The gamesize was safely reduced, and so the Umpire was happy. However, all was not well. In reducing the gamesize I did not fully understand the will of the Umpire, for I was to swiftly follow, causing another reduction in the gamesize.
Serendipitiously, this gamesize reduction has led to others, via the mechanic of wantedness.
Now go, and kill, in the name of the Umpire.
The Umpire notes that he is quite capable of embodying his own will, and bore no particular malice towards Ross Edmondson or any of James Osborn's other targets.
Caligula reports:
Having assembled an experienced team of accomplices and carefully planning the attack on Uncountable 4 we breached the gates of his college and stealthily progressed to the target's abode.
With my cunningly devised plan to impersonate a recruiter for the Cambridge University Computer Preservation Society well rehearsed, I knocked on the door of the fortress with weapons ready. My accomplices stood by with swords drawn lest things should turn nasty.
Unfortunately he wasn't sufficiently interested in my membership invitation to lower the drawbridge but inquired instead as to whether or not I had any ginger cake. Despite my best efforts to entice him out of his lair with ginger cake he refused to exit.
Beware Uncountable 4. When I return I shall be victorious!
Uncountable 4 reports:
As I was a surfing, upon the Internet,
a man knocked whom I had never met.
He wanted to come in,
I asked for ginger cake,
he said with confusion that he had none.
He told me he was a member of the
"Cambridge university computer preservation society"
which gives out old machines (with parity).
He said he came from Girton,
come to show me the final curtain.
I'm afraid that I refused,
he must have felt abused.
I'll say it wasn't a bad try,
but I didn't want to die.
Dalriada reports:
Thanks to the generous directions of the porters at my targets college, it was no problem finding his room, from which i could hear voices, i decided to try the door and sure enough it was unlocked. I burst into the room and came face-to-face with two people, one assassin who would like nothing more than to end my existence in the world and the other potentially an innocent person with many happy years of bliss-free life ahead of him, should i make the right decision...
I called out my targets name, there was no reply from either, they were either trained well or frozen in terror. Then I noticed a picture of my victim on his noticeboard, what proved to be a fatal mistake on his part. I unleashed a mighty volley of rubber bands from my RBG into his chest and watched as he slumped in the corner in a pool of his own blood. I left that room with my first kill and forever the knowledge that his innocent friend has probably been scarred for life. But i'll live with it.
Red Anteater reports:
While engaged in a rivetting conversation with one of my neighbours about plancenta, not only had I made the mistake of leaving my door unlocked for the first time today, but I had also made the mistake of not having immediate access to my RBG for the first time today. My fate was sealed. My assailant came storming into my room armed with an RBG, and, initially dazzled by the presence of two people in the room and the lack of a response to the question 'Paul?', proceeded to shoot me.
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
Anytime I see something screech across a room and latch onto someone's neck, and the guy screams and tries to get it off, I have to laugh, because what is that thing?!
Oook reports:
At around the tenth hour after noon, it was decided that the arch criminal 414 must die. We paid a visit to his room. Where patience failed, more patience failed also. Then our patience failed, and we left, for now unsuccessful. The streets are not yet safe to walk (after all, the game's still in progress...).
PC Mathematical Menace reports:
Seeing the name of that dastardly criminal appear on the wanted list, a team was quickly formed to eliminate the nefarious individual, consisting of PC Mallon, PC Mathematical Menace, Caligula and Oook. We paid a visit to the targets room, but all our subtlety and stealth could not persuade him to open the door...
The Whale with No Teeth reports:
A man has been lurking outside my room for recently. He subtly introduced himself a few days ago with the cunning phrase "Am I in the right place? Does Andrew Sobala live here?" to which I replied "Yes, that's his room. But I think he went out a bit ago."
I don't trust random people I don't know.
This evening I wombled back to my room from formal hall, happy as a cloud. When I went out of my room again, the man was back. He was standing outside my room staring down the staircase.
So I wandered back into my room, rather confused that I hadn't been noticed, and fashioned a knife. Nice people need protection from strange men. After a long and tedious chain of events, not limited to him and myself going to my corridor at different times and missing each other, several staircases wandering around trying to find him (I had *nothing* to do with this), and me hiding in the toilet (apparently it's what assassins do), I stabbed him in the arm when I spotted him lurking at our bar.
I explained to him that he was dead. Apparently this is why you read the rules more carefully.
After stabbing me, he explained to me that I am dead. He was very convincing.
astaga reports:
Having scoped out the defense potential of one client. i was making my way back to base when i passed the residence of another of my clients. Being an opportunist i decided to take a looksee if he was hittable. Once inside the building and observing his door however, i began to feel dizzy. Fearing that this may affect my attention in the long run, i closed my eyes for the meerest fraction of a second. unfortunately my client chose this moment to open his door.
he hastened into his room and locked the door. Shortly after this i heard voices. a lynch mob had come looking for me. I hid in the kitchen behind a handy door. but noticed my jacket, which i had removed, was lying on a char in full view. the gods of fate were smiling upon me though, because no one noticed my presence and the lynch mob dipersed.
this put a dent in my plans. i was unsure if the client had left with the mob or if he was still hiding. i resolved to wait. upon hearing him walk past i followed but lost him at the stairs. I had heard his destination though. The Bar. I decided to spook him by appearing at the bar to force him into rash action.
i managed to force him into rash action and it nearly cost me my life. whilst sipping on a killer zombie i turned to find The Whale with No Teeth had tapped my left arm with a knife. he pronounced me dead. I told him on the contrary, t'was only a fleshy wound. and proceeded to stab him twice in the chest. thus The Whale with No Teeth met his untimely end.
i iz happy
414 reports:
As I cowered in my shelter, lit only by a small candle, I shuddered at the chill wind blowing in through the glassless window. The candle flickered and died, and I still dared not move for fear of the Law. The Law would grind me down and spit out the pieces for what I had done...
Suddenly: a knock at the door. A voice echoed through, the voice of Dan the Fence. Hawking and spitting, he informed me that he "hadn't seen ***coff*** you in ages, mate. Just wanted to pay my respects, find out ***splutter*** you were getting on"
I pondered his words. It seemed to me that I had heard two voices as I came out of my feverish daze of cold. I wasn't going to trust him; I couldn't trust him without risking my life.
I asked him to leave and he begged piteously for food - the winter levels all. After feeding him a biscuit through the letter box, I return to my contemplation, and listen in satisfaction as two voices fade away.
Suddenly a fevered inspiration struck me. I grabbed my gun and followed a secret route through the mazelike complex to bring me out ahead of Dan and his companion. As the unidentified assassin drew his gun I fired, but too soon - my bullets were lost to the darkness. As he ran from me, I resolved to put the fear of God into Dan and gave chase.
Standoff. Who'll blink first? Our weapons had the same range, and neither of us was prepared to risk our lives on our superiority. I offeedr my assailant a biscuit in the hope of calming the savage beast. He seemed to accept but, as I moved towards the door of my lodging, he opened fire again.
I fled round a corner and waited for him to catch up. As he drew level, I fired. He fired back at close range. But his gun jammed and he fled with his arm bleeding.
Having a sneaking suspicion that he would be back, I completed a perimeter search, locating him again as he moved towards my shelter. I finally caught a decent glimpse of the gun - and froze. It was a police issue weapon with the Cambridge Police logo emblazoned on the side. They'd found me!
I charged in, yelling, only for the undercover cop to take one look and run for it. He dived round a corner. I was about to follow suit, but then
***BANG***
I peered carefully round the corner, and a curious scene greeted my eyes. The local bobby, PC CyberDog, had been confronted by a raggedy individual with a gun and had blown the plainclothes officer's head clean off! I sneaked carefully away...
PC staunch defender of the status quo, totally opposed to the evil Bourgeois revolutionaries bent on the overthrow by violence of the despotic, yet benign, rule of the Umpire and his cronies, who incidentally receive no perks whatsoever from their "special relationship" with him reports:
This is what I thought assassins would be like when I first signed up- epic battles across college courts. I died, but it was good fun all the same.
I lay in agony on the floor outside The Man With the Golden Gown's room, bleeding to death from the wounds inflicted by the temperamental, but nonetheless deadly, RBG of my opponent. Just as I was about to give over my soul, a dark shadow fell over me.
"Arise, pathetic fool. What are you doing here, you loathsome piece of rectal pubic hair?" quoth the shadow in a voice not intended for human ears to hear.
"Is that you, mother?"
"Look closer."
It was the Umpire.
"Your work here is not yet done. I need able-bodied and willing souls to join my army of the damned, to hunt down and kill the criminals of this land. I need police," said the one once known as Biltcliffe.
"But I'm dying! He shot me!" I protested, using 'shot' to mean "accidentally discharged several bullets in my direction, some of which hit".
"These are mere mortal wounds," said the Umpire. The blood-flow began to stop, and I felt a new life beginning to creep into my veins. I leapt upwards with a shout.
"Ha!" I yelled. "Police, say you? I think I smell a change in the wind, says I." The Umpire looked at me.
"You know what I'm going to say."
"Yes, I know it was lifted, but it works all the same. Sort of. Bring on the criminals! I was getting confused by seeing my name in green and pink anyway! Pretty, but not really my style. Blue all the way, baby!"
The Umpire shook his head sadly and left.
After a day of this new-found life, I became aware that an evil revolutionary, known as 414 was attempting to subvert the will of the law and had already shot one of the Umpire's loyal followers. I took it upon myself to hunt down and slay the criminal. Enlisting the help of a group of dissatisfied and public-spirited civilians straining against the yoke of mafia rule in Christ's , I tracked the ill-doer down to his room and hid round the corner while my accomplice attempted to get him to open his door. Sadly 414 was too suspicious to open his door more than a crack, through which he passed an after-eight. With a shrug, we left.
As we left the court, however, a dark and sinister figure appeared in the light of Y staircase, carrying two guns. He called to me, but I ducked out of sight. My accomplice started to look nervous, trying to persuade the mafia overlord that he was, in fact, alone.
I had the idea of sneaking round the rear of the court to shoot 414, but he had the same idea and we ran into each other on the way. He, standing out of my range with an RPG, missed, but I was unable to get close enough to return fire. Then he turned and ran, with me following, RBG in one hand, knife in the other. I caught him in the staircase entrance and would have killed him there and then had my gun not misfired. His return fire blew off my right arm. With my only ranged weapon out of action, and unable to reload with only one arm, I legged it back to friendly ground in New Court. My first accomplice had fled at the first gunfire, but another managed to clear the RBG jam and strapped my knife to the front like a bayonet.
There was no sign of 414 as I made my way back to his room. After scouring the staircase and making my way out into the court, I was about to leave when he rounded the opposite corner of the court. Confident in my superior marksmanship, I was prepared to face him down, but I suddenly became aware of other, sinister figures with guns stalking me in the darkness. Three against one were less favourable odds, especially since I only had four shots. Cutting my losses, I ran for the nearest corner, hoping to hide there and take down at least one of my assailants before I was overwhelmed. Easily outdistancing my pursuit, I rounded the corner and ran straight into PC CyberDog, carrying a sawn-off shotgun.
Surprised, we both fired, but even as my shots were lost to the darkness and the snow, he blasted me in the chest with both barrels. It was a painful sense of déjà vu, except this time there was no Umpire to save me from my demise. As I grabbed at the wall to steady my failing legs, the three assassins behind me rounded the corner and pumped me yet further full of lead.
After the Christ's Mafia, who were impressively efficient in their mobilisation and strategy, had introduced themselves, we repaired to 414's room, where I was congratulated on my performance earlier in the game and rewarded with yet more After Eights. The regret was also expressed that the fifth member of their mafia, who has good reason to bear a grudge against me, could not attend.
Thus ends the short, but glorious career of PC staunch defender of the status quo, totally opposed to the evil Bourgeois revolutionaries bent on the overthrow by violence of the despotic, yet benign, rule of the Umpire and his cronies, who incidentally receive no perks whatsoever from their "special relationship" with him, wounded, outgunned and in the face of overwhelming odds.
PC CyberDog reports:
PC staunch defender of the status quo, totally opposed to the evil Bourgeois revolutionaries bent on the overthrow by violence of the despotic, yet benign, rule of the Umpire and his cronies, who incidentally receive no perks whatsoever from their "special relationship" with him (known in a former life as "Dog Botherer", and in a former former life as Tom Booth) was shot with a double barrelled rubber band gun outside Y block in Christ's while trying to apprehend the wanted criminal Alex Labram, AKA 414.
I was doing my rounds, expecting this presence of 414 to attract the more unsavoury element of our society, eager to deal out a bit of justice with it's own nefarious hands, when I was alerted to a commotion in Y block (414's abode) by PC Zoidberg. At this time, it was very dark and beginning to snow outside. We circled Third Court from opposite directions trying to outflank our target. After turning a corner, I spotted a tall man wearing a beret and brandishing a pistol. He died shortly after, but only after accepting a wafer thin After Eight mint.
A spokesman for the police announced that rumours of PC CyberDog's involvement with the notoriously nonexistent Christ's Mafia were entirely fabricated, and that they had every hope of bringing 414 to justice before he could strike again.
Cat reports:
So there I was, blissfully asleep after a long night of playing in the snow, when I hear a knock on my door. "Come in", I say, whereupon my attacker does just that, goes over to my bed and shoots me.
Hm, you are meant to lock your door at night when there's a contract on your head? I'll be sure to make a note of that.
Bryony Baines reports:
And thus, it came to pass that the Fellowship of Loyal Companions (His Wantedness, His Evilness, The Lord High Minion Master and myself) passed through the land of (shiny!) snowy wonder, and as the day awoke they saw to their left a building that had captured the sun with it's large windows and untouched snow, and it was easily the most shiniest thing in all the realm. And one of the companions *wanted* the shiny, and went to steal the sun from the room that was highest and shiniest of them all, in which, coincidentally, their target lived. And the companion did not even need to tempt out the inhabitant with promises of snowmen, for the door was unlocked, and the target was soon dead. But the sun fled out thru the window and escaped into the Cambridge dawn, and then all the world was shiny..
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
Instead of trying to build newer and bigger weapons of destruction, mankind should be thinking about getting more use out of the weapons we already have.
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
The big, huge meteor headed toward the Earth. Could nothing stop it? Maybe Bob could. He was suddenly on top of the meteor - through some kind of space warp or something. "Go, Bob, go!" yelled one of the generals. "Give me that!" said the big-guy general as he took the microphone away. "Listen, Bob," he said. "You've got to steer that meteor away from Earth." "Yes, but how?" thought Bob. Then he got an idea. Right next to him there was a steering wheel sticking out of the meteor.
Then Bob died in bed (the meteor had left his door unlocked).
Lord Loopy reports:
I was massacred in bed this morning by a nameless assassin who woke me up with 'Lionel?' No sooner had I cursed the assassin for rousing me for my precious slumber (I had a very late night...) than Blood Is The Best Lubricant pulled the trigger. Thankfully the wounds were fatal & I promptly slipped off into unconciousness, only to awake with 10 minute left until I was due to be at lectures!
The Establishment of the Industrial Proletariat reports:
The draw phase started with The General passing the Deck of the Prolateriat to The Dictator. "Cut" he said, in a thick accent. The Dictator cut several hundred cards and passed it back. The General drew 3 cards and smiled. He hands one to Prince Regent, everyone peered to look.
"Scientist's brutal stabbing in his own lab causes academics to call for more security. A well known rebel assassin has been accused of the killing"
With a sour look the Prince takes the card.
WhammyBar reports:
At 12:40 today I was roused from my work in the chemistry lab by a distracting hollowness in my stomach. Feeling that now would be a good time for a pause, I gathered two of my friends and walked towards the door in fine spirits. Alas, distracted by their excellent company and the thought of my impending gastric satiation, my mind was not as sharp as it should have been. I was barely two steps outside the lab, talking merrily, when the cold jolt of a dagger in my spine spun me around.
And so I came face to face with my killer. For one short second our gazes locked, then The Establishment of the Industrial Proletariat turned away and was gone. My legs gave way beneath me and I fell to the floor in a spreading pool of blood. The screams of my companions sounded dimly in my ears, but I was past caring.
Duncan Brewer reports:
Whilst on a pleasent amble through the snow soaked fields of Cambridge I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Diving under the incoming snowball, I rolled and assessed the situation. I was under fire from three 'Innocents'. One had thrown his weapon but the other two were valid targets. Drawing my trusty gun I fired a shot, disarming one before going for a stab to the back of the neck of the last target. Having made my point, I departed, leaving the fresh snow reddening with innocent blood.
414 reports:
414 was cold. He shivered in the freezing draught, and rubbed his empty stomach. Since the police had started spreading "WANTED" posters around town, he couldn't buy food, couldn't stay in one spot in case he was recognised. His only friend was a fellow sufferer called Ric.
As the nights lengthened and his stomach emptied, the passers-by started to look more and more appetising to 414. Eventually he could stand it no longer, and he and Ric planned a massacre. Blood would flow like wine, flesh would slice like bread. 414 would be sated...
Attack victim 1: Richard Thomas (Police Officer)
Richard was dumb enough to leave his door open. We barged in on him and his girlfriend and I shot him repeatedly. Unfortunately he refused to admit to or deny being Richard, so I was forced to shoot the Totally Innocent Civilian [tm] who was working with the computer at the far end of the room.
I consider this kill justified because I am, technically speaking, the target of all police officers. Richard Thomas should certainly have come after me eventually, and thus deserved no better treatment than a common murderer.
PC Plod reports:
To whom it may concern,
At roughly 2:50pm on the afternoon of Wednesday the 28th of January. It sadly came to pass that the nefarious criminal mastermind 414 did intrude upon the premises of myself and proceed brutally to slaughter both myself and my roommate in what I can only describe as a veritable bloodbath of carnage and mayhem. Clearly such behaviour is unwarranted but sadly it has come to pass and I trust that the relevant authorities will take action against this vile fiend before he further defiles our fair city.
I hope that on reading this, someone will be inspired to take up arms and seek out this superbrain bent on criminal deeds and exterminate him, lest he should cause more sorrow and grief than hath already come to pass. It is a sad state of affairs that we should have to cope with and were I alive to do something about it, I damn well would.
Yours sincerely, Richard Thomas (Constable)
PS. I think I left the gas on...
Ric Brackenbury reports:
I was walking through John's with a gentleman of some repute, when he
suddenly stopped, and charged through one of the doors. It turns out he
was a wanted criminal and showed restraint by only killing 2 of the 3
occupants of the room. I wandered in quizzically, and asked if that was
really necessary. 414 looked me square in the eyes and said
"Oh yes, my boy. And the fun is only beginning."
414 reports:
Attack Victim 2: Jenny Gardner (Police Officer)
Jenny was less dumb. She was chatting to a neighbour who, on seeing us,
recommended they move inside her room very fast. However, she fell to
the Alex and Ric Comedy Duo:
"Hi, we're Richard Mycroft and Patrick Snow, policemen from Jesus. We're
arranging a hunt against this guy Alex Labram from Christs and we were
wondering if you'd like to come along."
***whisperwhisper"you think they're serious?"whisper"they do sound
serious"whispercreeeeaaakBANG***
Opening your door to anyone assassiney is a bad idea...
PC the cop of indeterminate sex reports:
Alas I am dead again. This seems to be happening a lot. And yet again, someone else has died with me. Unfortunately not my killer or his accomplice, but this time a friendly assassin. At 3 o'clock this afternoon, two "policemen" knocked on my door, claiming to want to join up to kill the wanted criminal. I was somewhat dubious but opened the door anyway, and was promptly shot by alex. Peyman then tried to revenge me, but sadly was shot by ric before he could inflict any damage.
And so that it is not forgotten, the robber (and presumably the cop) of indeterminate sex was called pat. the people who understand the reference seem to be dying one by one. but others are farther afield, so hopefully they will survive.
the cop of indeterminate sex
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Peyman was quizzical, studied metaphysical
Science in the home
Late nights all alone with a test-tube
Ohh-oh-oh-oh...
Maxwell Edison majoring in medicine
Calls him on the phone
"Can I take you out to the pictures
Pey-ey-ey-man?"
But as he's getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door...
Bang, bang, Maxwell's Silver Hammer
Came down upon his head
Bang, bang, Maxwell's Silver Hammer
Made sure that he was dead
For this dastardly deed, Maxwell's Silver Hammer joins his companion on the Wanted List.
414 reports:
Attack near-victim 3: Patrick Snow (Police Officer)
Went after Patrick Snow. Patrick defeated the Comedy Duo by default:
"Hello, I'm Richard Mycroft and this is Patri... oh bugger this BANG". Patrick escaped with no damage and currently posesses some of my elastic bands that got through the door. Someone please remind me to rehearse more...
Escaped with our lives but very little dignity. Chronic laughing fits are causing some problems.
Ric Brackenbury reports:
Caught in a vicious blizzard across Cambridge, 414 and I sought refuge in a nearby staircase. "Aha!" said I. "Surely PC Mallon will give us santuary from this vile weather."
So we knocked. Our story wasn't great, but he didn't open the door enough to let us in, so we fired at him to show our displeasure. He had sensibly only opened the door ajar, so was able to shut it in time. Shame really, we only wanted a cup of tea and somewhere to dry off.
PC Mallon reports:
I was about to leave my room at approximatly 3pm to play snooker. I opened the door and I noticed immedietly that there were two unidentifieds waiting right next to my door, one of them introduced himself as Simon straight away but I had already noticed the gun at his side. I slammed the door shut, one of them made a lunge to keep it open but i managed to shut it, but not before a shot was fired into my room, missing my body by centimetres. I the