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 then fully loaded my RBG and went in search with an fellow player but was unable to find the would be assassins. I gave up and went to play snooker. Accounts of firefights elsewhere on North court have since reached my ears with descriptions not so differecnt from the two that so nearly did me in.
414 reports:
Attack victim 4: Paul Fox (random assassin)
As we left Jesus following our bungled attempt, we passed Paul Fox on his way in. With friendly cries of "Foxy!" we turned and attempted to blow his brains out. I am certain that my rubber pellet hit his shoulderblade and the rubber bands shredded what was left, but with some superhuman strength he charged through the entrance. Back into Jesus we plunged. After another volley or two, we gave up on him taking the hint and shouted for him to come discuss outcomes. No response. Oh well, let the Umpire sort it out.
The Umpire notes that his life is much easier if players discuss the outcome of incidents like this at the time. If someone asks to discuss what happened, please stop to do so - any kills made by using this as an excuse will be disallowed.
Ric Brackenbury reports:
Struggling on through the cold we decided to seek refuge elsewhere. However as we were leaving, we passed the much snowed-upon figure of Paul Fox. We both realised it was him, and decided to vent our frustrations with the weather through a little opportunistic murder. He ran, but we had the advantage as he wasn't expecting us, and 414's bullets hit him as he ran.
The Man with the Golden Gown reports:
Like any good spymaster, I have many doubles. They're very useful for distracting terrorists and attending the mother in law's birthday parties.
Looking at my diary, I discovered a very boring meeting that I had to attend, so naturally I dispatched a double instead and relaxed at the "Interesting ways to Kill People" end of the library. I was reading a particularly interesting book on convincing people that they are dead when the emergency alarm rang.
Miss Cashcard burst into the room and brought the CCTV up on the main screen. My double was being ambushed by two well known criminals, 414 and Ric Brackenbury. He ran in the direction of the library, but was struck down by 414. I immediately opened the defence control panel, but unfortunately the weapons were unavailable for a number of reasons:
RBGG - virtually no range due to strong wind.
Acid Cannon - Snowstorm would cause an uncertain trajectory and could hit
innocents.
Poison Gas - Banned by the Biltcliffe Convention.
Collapsing walls - Too many innocents in the vicinity.
Big Safe - the criminals were too far away from the archway.
Student Riot - All the students were hiding in there rooms because of the
blizzard.
Deadly Porters - They were also refusing to come out.
The Professional Librarian - Currently off sick.
Random Politicians - deadly, but they daren't show their faces in Cambridge
at the moment.
Hall Food - Unfortunately it isn't actually poisonous today.
Caius Hall Food - Neutralised by the cold weather.
Cow Launcher - Out of ammunition as the cow was getting a bit old and had
just been sold to Gonville and Caius college catering department.
Jenny Bomb - Unable to clone sufficient Jennies
There are also several other weapons which I do not wish to disclose.
As such, I was forced to watch as the criminals escaped. Well, if everyone thinks I'm dead, it will make my job even easier.
Professor Nutbutter reports:
J. Explosives & Toxicology 28 Jan 2004 Nutbutter, X., Angelo, M., et al. - A novel method of bomb creation.
Abstract: "Low Price" orange juice (1 L) [after Sainsbury, J., et al., BBE Jul 2004] was treated with Biltcliffe's reagent and the product was found to have highly explosive properties when provided with appropriate impetus, such as a cap detonation [see fig. 1, attached]. Tests on the depleted explosive by feeding it to a primate caused instant death - further analysis showed a poison similar to that present in Tabasco sauce. One would hope no handy one litre cartons of the product were to fall into the wrong hands, or outside the wrong doors, as there is a great danger to anyone who inadvertently detonates the explosive, or drinks the liquid afterwards.
Industrial Zombie reports:
Backstabbed! And then Stabbed in the back!...
After learning all about my target from my civilian contact, whom I was pleased to learn was a close personal friend of his, I asked my contact to introduce me under the cover story of needing a Bass Player for a band... Little did I know that my contact was my target's accomplice!
Boy was my face red when en-route to his room, I felt the cold blade of a sword enter my upper back, piercing my right-ventricle. Soon my enitre body was red as I lay twitching and bleeding in the pure white snow... My dying vision was that of my target, standing over my carcass.... laughing...
astaga reports:
After killing Whale with teeth, i phoned back to aquaintances of mine to pronounce my victory. One of these told me how a mysterious figure from his past had been asking questions about me. I asked to see the email containing these questions and deduced that this man must be an assasin sent to kill me. The assasin asked for my aquaintance to show him the way to my position. My aquaintance replied in the affirmative after i told him i was up for meeting him.
Today at about 3:50pm my aquaintance informed me that he was going to meet my suspected assasin. I decided to follow and ambush. I took with me an old ancestral sword which, it is rumoured, once belonged to zorro. Then i waited at a door which the assasin must pass to get to my presumed location. I followed and drove my deadly foil through his shoulderblade and into his heart. as he lay bleeding in the snow, creating an effect which would have been better in black and white, i heard his dying words. "Oh Damn". I then buried his corpse with snow in the back field and had a hot chocolate. Thus did Graham Thomson perish.
E. Presley reports:
This tribute song was written by E. Presley as a tribute to the brave defense of an innocent snowman by two rithless school children.
To the tune of "It's Now or Never"
Oh let me tell you,
Of a terrible sight.
It happened today
I got into a fight.
It wasn't at all my choice
But they started it,
Listen to my voice.
When I first saw them,
They looked so sweet.
So young and innocent,
Not likely to attack.
The change was so sudden.
It all happened so fast.
Why who would have thought that young ones are so cruel
So there they were,
Attacking this man.
He was standing defenceless
Didn't have a plan.
I was just standing, what could I do?
They had their snowballs,
Through the air they flew.
Because I felt so sorry,
For this man of white.
I went up to them
And pulled out my knife.
Stabbed one right in the neck
How the snow turned crimson
Then to his friend the knife turned and stabbed.
So there I was,
with these two dead.
I wiped my blade clean
And away I sped.
I had no choice, in what i had to do.
At least now this snowman
Cannot now sue.
Something Indescribably Indescribable reports:
Wish to report failed assassination attempt on my life.. Envelope smeared with vaseline or some such horribly lethal compound. Removed letter by holding with an old receipt, slit open envelope over bin and extracted a single piece of paper with tweezers. A welcoming letter informing me i was dead, in apparent disregard of the facts. Signed only "HH". 9/10 for effort turning out on horribly cold day. 1/10 for achievement - it was very obvious!
414 reports:
After some injudicious remarks on IRC, Hannah Burton became convinved that I was out to get her. Turning up at Christs, she proceeded to lurk round my room til a non-assassin friend down the corridor phoned me to say "Mate, there's someone suspicious hanging around on the landing". Naturally I never thought this could be Hannah :)
Life was not easy as Hannah had apparently heard my phone ring and deduced that I was going to have a go at her. She went down a staircase and started making her way through Y-block. Now this was where things got interesting, as my friend had seen what route she took and was able to direct me. After about 5 minutes of "up a floor! No, head along the corridor! She's in the kitchen!" etc, Hannah finally made a break for the back entrance. Unfortunately for her, my associate had spotted her motion and uttered the immortal line "quick, she's heading along the corridor, she'll come out the end in a sec and you'll be able to" BANG
The rubber pellet caught Hannah squarely in the torso, and the rubber bands that followed left no doubt that This is an Ex-Hannah.
W00t! 4 kills in one evening! And I had a mob outside my door as well. They left a cute death threat pinned to the door :) ***fluffles***
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
It's too bad that whole families have to be torn apart by something as simple as wild dogs.
A cute little tar baby reports:
Uncountable 4 reports:
Shout Huzzah! for today there has been much snow,
Alas for me, that I still felt much woe.
I had not killed recently,
- unless snowballs are weapons -
and my stocks of blood were running low.
So I went forth, on this cold and frosty morn,
Hoping someone would not live to see the dawn,
A nice guy let me into Downing,
and I approached my targets door,
taking care the occupant not to warn.
As I neared, two things made my heart soar:
First, his door was ajar
Second, he was playing the guitar.
Not wishing to interrupt this artistry, I waited.
Then I walked in and shot him. He said "Argh!"
Uncountable 4 resumes his campaign to assassinate the world with horribly bad poetry.
PC Crouching Tiger reports:
I had dreams of being a famous assasin
those dreams have died
I had dreams of being a famous policeman
those dreams have died
I had hopes of lasting more than a week in this game,
but I have died.
twice
On returning to my room this afternoon, and attempting to open the door, I discovered the doorhandle had been coated with that strange, slick substance known as "Vas-ee-leene", a little known and dangerous contact poison.
My only defence, is that I am not a very good assasin.
But just you wait till Michelmas term...
For this most heinous crime, Doktor Von Fappenschlick becomes the third inductee of the rapidly-growing Wanted List.
PC CyberDog reports:
After whiling away the afternoon with fellow policeman PC Zoidberg, I finally got a chance to try out my brand new rubber band rifle, the ammunition for which I made a special trip all the way to Staples today. My trigger finger was certainly getting very itchy, and PC Zoidberg was becoming a more and more inviting target for my 16 inch, heavy duty rubbers.
Luckily, while trying to chat up a neighbour of mine in the kitchen (backed up by stationary-based presents, from my earlier trip to Staples), an unwitting target walked straight past and knocked on my neighbour-but-one's door. My police senses were tingling... walking into the corridor (with my rifle trained permanently on him) to investigate, he called out to me "Do you know where Laurie is?" "Who are you?" "I'm... ...Bob. Laurie's friend." "He's at a formal." With that, 'Bob' began to walk away, but as he went past me, I saw a telltale wooden butt sticking out of his fleece... "You're bearing arms!" I exclaimed. "Maybe..." he said, quickly pulling his jacket around him, and dashing off down the corridor. Unperturbed, I went to the next junction with PC Ed, and peered round the corner, down some stairs. Sure enough, pink rubber bands whizz past my face, but the corner provided adequate cover. I poked my rifle around and let rip, blasting him once in the chest with a triple loaded shop. Ed peppered him with pistol fire, and I moved in to finish him off with what remained of my arsenal. I only rue the fact that I'd left my shotgun in my room. The assassin's alias was apparently "fuggster", but he left in a bit of a hurry, probably to find something to sooth his newly acquired welts.
The Umpire reminds everyone that police cannot kill players who are not bearing weapons or attacking then, and so opening fire on police officers is not a very good idea.
fuggster reports:
here rests the fugster. he was as heroic as he was handsom and as careless as he was crafty. (see what i did there?)
anyway. there's me thinking i've got this muppet nailed. his name was laurence..... or somthing just as soft. the dumb kid had left his photo on the internet because he's welfare guy for his college.....condom fairys i call 'em. obviously i think this chump is gunna be easy to find and even easier to hit.
so yesterday i scouted the place out. turns out he lives in a fortress. 12ft walls arround the perimiter with broken glass on the top. all doors have key codes and the gates seemed to be on a swipe card. soon worked out a few weeknesses though and managed to get to his room. he's not in. that was yesterday.
earlier tonight: tea was bad. real bad. the chicken was boney and the chips were under-cooked. it put me in the mood to kill. i stuck an RPG in one pocket and a RBG in the other (nothing quite like having a big weapon down your trousers) and trundled off in the cold night to this muppet's address. got in no problem due to some crafty pretence that my fingers were too cold to work the keypad. as i approached my target's room i heard people in a gyp room opposite. took no notice. knocked on the door.....no answer....played it propper cool up to this point. we're talking vinnie jones stylee here. the two lads from the kitchen came out to see who i was. they were heavily armed and had been cleaning their guns in the gyp room with a particularly fine young lady. the two fellas were obviously assasins. the chick seemed to be a bystander. now it all started to go wrong:
mistake 1) i failed to adiquately conceal my weapon mistake 2) i should have walked away from them and told a better story than "bob from J block" mistake 3) i should not have engaged them in open combat. i couldn't win. (was fun though) mistake 4) i should have drawn the more reliable RPG before the jam-prone RBG mistake 5) i should have got that girl's number
in the ensuing hale of ruber from the top of a staircase i was hit several times. my rbg got 2 shots off before jamming. the pellet gun also got 2 off before i was shot. not sure if i hit or not so i give the gents the benefit of the doubt. we shook hands and bade each other farewell.
PC Zoidberg reports:
After a day in which maths began to pale in importance compared to keeping PC CyberDog and his ridiculous weapon at a safe distance, I was vaguely amused to notice his attempts to show off his oversized implement to various girls in the block. While he was engaged in this utterly pointless pastime, a shady-looking character walked past, ostentatiously trying not to brandish his weapon as he asked about Laurie.
When we had seen through his rather inefficient disguise (nobody had pointed out to him that his wooden cannon was poking out) he ran away down the corridor, trying to conceal his embarrassing error. This didn't go down too well, and sure enough when we glanced round the corner his pistol was cocked and aimed right for us.
Not approving of this state of affairs, we shot the criminal where he stood, although I was slightly worried to note PC CyberDog taking far too much pleasure in unloading his remaining shots into the corpse. The incident having been resolved, we attempted to calmly introduce each other while PC CyberDog somewhat lowered the tone by insisting on comparing weapons.
Havng had a most excellent blast, I was satisfied with today's action and returned to my maths, slightly less worried than before as PC CyberDog conceded the point that his weapon takes far too long to reload, adding "I guess I'm a one-shot kind of guy, but to be fair my wrist is worn out from playing with it too much".
G'day people, and watch your backs - you never know who might be watching it for you.
Ironically, the player upon whom fuggster was actually making an attempt was already dead at the time; however, neither the target nor the assassin had reported it until today.
Professor Nutbutter reports:
Hand in pocket, fiddling with my mighty weapon whilst talking to a lovely young lady, I suffered a misfortune, viz. I shot myself in the leg, much to the costernation and confusion of my companion. I put on a brave face, made my excuses and limped back to my room, staunching the flow of blood as best I could. Making a tourniquet out of my lab coat and suturing the wound in my George Foreman grill ensured a speedy recovery. Hopefully this pioneering new treatment will clinch the Nobel Prize in Medicine for George and myself once and for all.
Elvis reports:
Uh huh..
Yes Sir! I did enjoy ma time in the Army. I gotta do whatever I wanted and shoot lots of them guns.
Little did I know that the Army would want me to do something for 'em. And I ain't talking about singing neither.
I went ta the door of the first person on ma list they gave me but the little hound dawg wasn't in. I figured I should let her know that the King was interested in her so left a small explosive surprise in her mailbox.
Uh Huh Baby..
The King Is Not Dead
Elvis Lives.
glidingpiper reports:
Blast! In both the literal and profanic sense. There I was, expecting to recieve a cheque for fifty quid for my amazing piping and what do I discover alongside it? A parcel from "Amazon.co.uk"; the fact that it lacks an address label is lost on me completely. Bearing in mind I've recieved "spam" from them the last two days I'm more curious than worried. More fool me... After picking up the unsuspect package I am confronted by a huge explosion (The sound those caps make really reverberate round plodges...) After the dust has settled, I managed to retrieve what was left inside- a message from Elvis. Apparently he reads "The Times"- which is worse? Dying or the fact that I was killed by a Times reader? Luckily the cheque cleared- at least I died rich. Being a member of CURNU, I am well ashamed, I'm supposed to be able to spot stuff like that from a mile off. Lesson learned.
Ptolemy reports:
An unsucessful attempt was made last night on the life of Lauren Grest. Ptolemy took an acomplice over to her college and gained uncontested entry to the College building. Therein, Ptolemy investigated the layout of the building and, using maps and intuition, found the room of the target victim. The investigations then took Ptolemy outside, where he was able to determine with binoculars that the light in the room was on. Arriving at the conclusion that Miss Grest was in, he returned to her door armed with a large knife and revolver, both concealed. Despite inncocent-sounding attempts to gain entry, Miss Grest made neither a movement or a sound. Ptolemy then attained various information about Miss Grest from an anoymous source. The source told Ptolemy that, in fear for her life, Miss Grest never opened the door and had on several occasions refused to make a sound for hours on end. Not disheartened, Ptolemy lay in wait for Miss Grest, hoping that she would assume the attack was over. By midnight, Ptolemy went home since Miss Grest was very obviously asleep.
Lauren Grest reports:
Last night I was at a very glamourous and exclusive soiree, enjoying the sophisticated company of my peers. I did not return to my room until around 11.45 but on my return my neighbour reported the extended presence of ny assassins who, stupidly, believed that just because a light was on in my room, I was in there and refusing to come out. At first my neighbour attempted to convince them of my true whereabouts but so maddened with bloodlust were they, any rational explanation would not sate them. Then, because of their persistance, my neighbour began to doubt her own beliefs and joined them in their attepmts to 'lure me out'. It was only when she rang me later on did she realise her first guess was actually correct and I was not in. So, I would like to conclude that I am not guilty of cowardice but of wasting electricity.
A neighbour also reported:
Lauren Grest was not in last night. This was my first belief but when the assassin and accomplice came to her room and persisted in knocking and threatening I began to think nobody normal would bang on a door for such a long period of time when there was nobody home. So, concerned for the mental health of my friend I attempted to make her come out, believing as a non-assassin that her wise precautions were a little paranoid. I would also like to apologise for betraying my friend by aiding her potential attackers. To the umpire, i would like to add how the pair tried to bully me into revealing details about lauren which was an extremely frightening experience.
All players are reminded that you are welcome to get help from non-players if they are willing, but you should not attempt to frighten or intimidate them. Please behave with respect and concern for those around you at all times.
The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) reports:
I must report an act of rampant cowardice.
Having vainly sought Lutin Malicieux at home on no less than two occasions, I challenged him to a duel on Thursday at dawn, enclosing a complete set of eighteenth century duelling regulations, only to be rebuffed by the news that he did not consider this a duellable offence, and so not only refused to appoint a Second, but refused to turn up.
I am most disappointed at the subsequent lack of bloodshed, as I had been so looking forward to the orderly, methodical slaughter of a duel.
Though he has obviously been dishonoured, with a plague upon his house, and some rather cruel caricatures engraved by Mr Hogarth, there is not actually very much I can do.
This is the Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) signing off, taking in some Frederick the Great flute concertos.
Lutin Malicieux reports:
The Lutin Malicieux doesn´t expect his targets to stay at home waiting for him. Assassination would be so boring if it was the case... Then Why would he wait at his place for his own assassin? Is it the duty of the prey to come to the predator?
Moreover The Lutin Malicieux has sense of honour. For this reason he doesn´t want to be involved in a duel of which he does not understand the reason. This would depreciate the importance he gives to duels in which he will effectively participate.
To justify the duel, The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) put forward as argument that it was ´´impertinent´´ not to be at home when he came to kill me. I disagree. As far as I am concerned I will find the right moment and the right place to assassinate my targets (be ready!)
Come on The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches)... Do not harbour a grudge against me ;-) You know I am right!
Dalriada reports:
In reflection i dont see how the modern day assassin can ascend a beautiful victorian staircase in the dead of night with full confidence of not being caught, those things are loud to the light food of an assassin, but not even that could wake the dead or he who is about to meet his maker... i call him the 1.5L of doom.
Ali G, you has been well boombasticked, Aye!
Bill reports:
my story is a sad one, my murder woeful,
i'm very dead now, this rhyming owful
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
A Day in the life of a wanted criminal.
By Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
First things first. Get up early. If you're nice and early, you avoid the people who saunter past your door on the off chance that you'll be around on their way to lectures. In fact, when you leave your corridor, you may well be disappointed at the lack of people trying to kill you. You don't feel very "wanted," but don't dwell on it too much. Next, decide who you will make an attempt on. The police list may help, as may other sketchy player lists. Finally, select equipment. The standard weapon for any self-respecting criminal is of course a jar of strawberry jam, in this case bought by my wonderful Grandma for me this term. Additionally, some gloves are required. At several stages during the day, it will be necessary to clean the gloves. The sinks of the various kitchens you shall be passing are extremely useful. However, snow is simply perfect, as it is much faster, and in plentiful supply. Some firing weapons are also useful.
Depart room carefully. Suspense here has already been lost by admitting in previous paragraph that no-one was trying to kill me. Thus I will tell you, to keep suspense, that I was about to stop and freeze when i got to the first floor. The reason I was going to stop and freeze when I got to the first floor was that I had left my hitlist in my room, and as it turned out, also my door unlocked. When I got to the first floor, I stopped and froze.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
A few minutes later, I was entering the college of my first intended victim. I was rather confused by the address I had, but after some wandering, I found the correct room. I didn't knock. You don't need to when you have the jam. So I put a glove on, and opened the jam. Incidentally, the jam top came off with a worrying pop. Memo to self: next time, open the jam jar first. Anyway, I coated 666's doorhandle with fine confiture, and strode away into the morning.
666 reports:
1:55am. I wake up. A sharp pain in my stomache tells me I shouldn't have eaten quite so much tonight. Hurridly, I quit the room, and am surprised by the unusual rough lumpy texture of the outside handle - no time to stop now. I hurry on.
On my return it is obvious - the telltale red smear of contact poison. Am I dead? I check, but no, it has long dried. A lucky escape.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I passed through many, many students, heading to lectures at 9. Possibly they were all off to try and kill me, not having got up in time, but I count it unlikely. Always be vigilant though. I cheerily greeted a friend from Selwyn, and headed on into the morning sunshine. Next stop, I remembered where to go because I had visited last term. Again, the jamjar was the way to go. So I coated Russ Williams's doorhandle, and fled into the morning.
I wanted to make attempts on 2 more in the vicinity; one person had a bedder right outside his room, so I chose to leave it, and the other's staircase I couldn't find. They don't realise how lucky they were.
Russ Williams reports:
Hearing of the recent spate of door-handle poisonings, I took a cloth and my gloves and decided to see if mine had been attacked. It had. It had also been so long since the attack that the jam had attained similar properties to superglue and removing it - and the cloth now permenantly attached to the handle - took some serious effort but was eventually accomplished. Nice try, but I'm not dead yet.
knaif reports:
8:20... as the first sun breaks on Mr Magica's last morning (dawn comes late in his college - or maybe it's just my imagination). I begin the stakeout, hoping to catch my prey unawares as he leaves his slumber. One by one, my target's neigbours leave to begin their daily routines, until finally there is but one resident left to witness: at the top of the building, the dead man walking. No sound was to be heard except for distant screams around Cambridge as other honourable assassins did their work. Suddenly my guardian angel appeared and informed me that my lecture was cancelled! Quickly to college to fritter away my free hour! As we descended the stair I passed a sole soul (ha ha) returning from some morning perambulation. But wait - he heads for the top floor... could it be I was mistaken and even then was my target apparent? I hastily returned to stand outside his door and knocked thereupon.
A noise! The door flies open and I duck around the corner just in time to avoid a jet of acid shot cunningly from a devilish weapon above the door. As I see the fluid seeping into the floorboards with a slight hiss, I realise that this fight could be serious... countless hours we stood, frozen to the spot, each waiting for the other to make his move. A dash, a dart - I am a millisecond late to duck and my left hand is reduced to a bloody pulp! I survive to retaliate with a shot of my own. His hand is hit! We retreat once more. "Don't you have a lecture to go to?" comes a taunt from behind the safety of his door. "Yes," I reply, maybe he suspects I will give up. One last assault and I am triumphant! With a volley of rubber bands I blow his head clean off his shoulders and leave his room pock-marked with smoking reminders of his demise. That'll teach him to call my bomb pathetic. Time of death: 9:13 - unlucky for some indeed!
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I decided on a scenic walk next, so headed through beautiful Johns, before making a decision to go to Jesus college, where all this wantedness lark started. My first target was PC Mathematical Menace. My good friend 414 had asked for him to receive special attention, so special jam-flavoured attention he was given. I do hope he appreciates it.
PC Mathematical Menace reports:
After being tipped off about attempts to be made on my life, I skipped town last night. Sure enough, when I returned today I discoverd the drying out remains of some poison on my doorhandle. Fortunately, this was no threat to me through my thick chemical-handling gloves...
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Next up, and conveniently on the next staircase, was PC Mallon. He had rudely refused Maxwell and 414 entry the previous day, so I gave him an extra special present. That's right, a bomb! No efective criminal should be without one. Well, I was after planting this one, so I hope it served its purpose well. As I was preparing it, someone entered the staircase, and I realised I was encumbered, but for a change I was glad it was the neighbour. I primed the detonator, placed the bomb, and departed before I was discovered. What fun!
PC Mallon reports:
I had a lucky escape today when I left to lectures through a friends door. When I returned I was notified that there was a bomb outside my room that morning and the person who noticed it had removed it. Either it was deffused by this random passer by or it did blow up, taking out the innocent but not, fortunatly, me, since the bomb radius was only 2.4m. Bizzarly, the note that came with the bomb was signed 'Dog Botherer' that menace that took me out in my previous life. This was odd, since he died some time ago, and then died as a police officer as well. Hmmmm. Strange goings on in North court, with several attempted poisonings and attacks.
You should not believe everything you read, PC Mallon, for the bomb was not left by your former assassin but by your very current nemesis Maxwell's Silver Hammer ...
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I'd had enough of making attempts on police and decided to refocus. Next on my list was Caligula. I entered the correct staircase, and quickly located the target in question's door. It had to be another poisoning really. It's jamtime folks! Glove on, jar opened, handle squelched, lid on jar, get out, wash glove with snow. Almost getting routine by now, really. Anyway, we're just getting to the exciting bits now, read on!
Caligula reports:
A cold blooded murderer poisoned my door handle this morning. Unfortunately one of the bedders discovered this before me and quickly met her death. I suppose that means that the author of this dreadful deed has killed an innocent, and should be punished in the customary manner.
The Umpire admits that this looks very much like the death of an innocent, and would indeed consider making Maxwell's Silver Hammer wanted, were it not for the fact that he is already irredeemably so.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I headed through the centre of town, master criminal that I am, and entered a new college. I chose my favourite staircase, and on a hunch, chose to linger for a moment ...
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Back in place again
Maxwell's on the case again
Umpire gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant sce-e-e-ene
He tells Max to play
when the police have gone away
So he waits behind
Waiting for some time "I can't give u-u-u-up..."
But when he turns his back on the boy
He creeps up from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead
Maxwell delivered the fatal blow, and PC Xaositect gasped "Maxwell's Silver Hammer!". "How do you recognise me?" Maxwell asked. "Jenny just sent the photoooooooossss......" PC Xaositect croaked, before breathing his last. Maxwell was honoured that he was receiving so much attention from on high, and moved on.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
It's turning into a bit of an epic isn't it? But that's what it's like at the top of your game, day after day. Better get used to it folks. It was now just after 10, and I found myself drawn with the crowds. They seemed to be heading to lectures, and I went with them, even stepping into the Cockroft as Dr. Beardon was starting his Analysis lecture. I fled and ran at this point.
My next appointment (well, I had an appointment with the target anyway, even if he didn't recall anything about it) was in Downing, but I miserably failed to gain acess to the target's staircase, so I retreated.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I decided on the next person to visit, and climbed many, many stairs to get there. I finally got to the door, and well into the swing of things, dabbed a little strawberry preserve under Jonathan Hogg's doorhandle. I then left, posthaste.
Jonathan Hogg reports:
Work: while quantity is not an issue, quality is, we rank this as "Could do better".
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Wandering some more, I spotted a familiar face across the road, and wandered over and shot him. However, he grinned and said that he wasn't playing. He also suggested that I could be made wanted for killing an innocent, and I feel there may be some truth in that. It's up to the great umpire of course. (TIP: Suck up to the umpire at all costs, even if it gets sickly. For a model example to follow, consider Mike Cripps last term.) I digress, there is much work to be done, onwards, onwards.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
I took some time out in Selwyn, to see if I had any emails, if there was any game news, and what IB maths lectures there were. I then headed out to Mill Lane, but although I was waiting for some time, I may have missed the peak period, and the characters I was searching for seemed not to be present. I think it's time for the lecture on attending lectures....they're good for you! And for me, of course...
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Anyway, it was time to make a decision. To go for it or not. And the answer had to be yes. It was almost an hour's walk, as the conditions were treacherous, but I dragged myself through town, up Castle Hill, and along Huntingdon Road.
Girton.
The very name conjures up so many thoughts: "pit of evil", "scary godchildren patrol the corridors", "where on earth is it", "ha ha ha, you're at Girton!" etc. I arrived at 11.50, and wish to place on record my thanks of the lovely porters for allowing me a quick sneak at the matric photo so I had some idea of who to hunt. I then set off, looking for PC Evil Weapons Inc.'s room, or even staircase. I'd been to Girton enough that I thought I knew my way round, and indeed I set off in the right direction. But I gave in to temptation. That's always a bad thing, and here was no exception. There was a spiral staircase with a red carpet on, and I couldn't resist climbing it, I just couldn't. I emerged in "B" staircase, looking for "A". "Only one away!" I thought, "It must be around here somewhere!" So I went a wandering. There were lots more rooms labelled "B", and finally, after neat twists and turns, it said "C" Hmmm, bad, I thought. So I decided if I'd come from B to C aiming for A, I should just reverse and should get to A. Brilliant plan, O what cunning! So I turn round, and go down the corridor the way I came. C. Go on a bit. C. Go on a bit more. C. Hmmm, I haven't been here before, have I? Is this place even so confusing that you can't backtrack without stepping onto a teleporter to some other level of the dungeon like so many great computer games? Anyway, I just decided to keep wandering, after another reversal of direction. C. Hmmm. B. Yay!! Making progress, back to where I started. B. B. Looking good so far. B. E. E?
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Oh dear....this was getting a bit silly. I decided to go for the Fs on my list of friends first, and fairly quickly found the door of Professor Nutbutter. I could hear him typing into his computer on the other side of the door, so I deftly applied the well worked jam-routine and soldiered on. A pity that I didn't linger to admire the scenery, but I still had work to do, so soldiered on.
Professor Nutbutter reports:
Some arsehead contact poisoned my doorhandle, unless its always been made partly of jam. Might have been there for days for all I know, the doorhandle doesn't actually work.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
The next one wasn't so difficult to find, just round the corner. But in Girton, you can never be too careful. So I took some time over PC Just Add Water's doorhandle makeover, and I hope he is satisfied with the finished results, and that I will achieve the national acclaim I deserve for my groundbreaking work in the field of doorhandle makeovers.
PC Just Add Water reports:
As I returned home from a day's investigation I checked the underside of my door handle, and there found a quantity of marmalade poison. Apparently somebody had thought me an easy target. I wiped off the offending substance and went my way.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Next up, Mother Goose herself, yes, it's Jenny Chase. I couldn't remember her exact corridor number, and given how well I'd done at finding the ones I did know, I figured it could be a lonjg search. However things were falling into place, and her corridor was just where my mind said it should have been. Good corridor. Anyway, I found her door, and wrote a little message on her writing pad, glad it didn't go bang or anything. I wasn't going to bother with poisoning the doorhandle, but I figured she'd feel left out if I didn't, so I opened the pot of poison once more and dispensed some contents carefully. I waited for a few minutes, then realised I still hadn't found A staircase, and moved on once more.
Jenny Chase reports:
Survived unpleasant but impressive bike incident in which was saved by low coefficient of restitution of coat. Got home to the beloved maze. Wiped door handle with coat sleeve. Got evil nasty sticky sugary EWWW contact poison on coat sleeve. Opened door, collapsed, wiped coat sleeve. Took ages to clean door handle. Someone kill the sanctimonious bastard, I'm not risking my (real) neck on Huntingdon Road again in a hurry.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Having been pretty much everywhere else in Girton by now, I had a hunch where A staircase was hiding, and was correct. I found PC Evil Weapons Inc.'s with ease, and proceeded to think how I could dramatically, truthfully but distinctively report another contact poisoning. Having pondered this and many questions that go through the criminal's mind, I set about squelchifying the doorhandle, and I can only hope that PC Evil Weapons Inc. grabs onto the opportunity I have presented him with.
PC Evil Weapons Inc. reports:
Yestarday evening (Thursday) I returned from a trip to Tesco with my brother who had come up to visit me. I happened to be carrying a load of stuff, so he got to my room first. And turned the door handle. Which was poisoned. He slumped to the floor instantly - after 6 years in retirement, Richard Chipperfield aka "The Fly" returned to Girton only to be instantly assassinated by a horribly inconsiderate assassain. And unintelligent, given that he couldn't even work out that since B is less than A, A is BELOW B, which is BELOW C, and henceforth... Needless to say, I cleaned the poison off promptly before dragging his corpse in the general direction of dinner. Maybe next time the kind assassin will realise that the door handle is in fact redundant, and that any Girton inhabitant knows this, thus the only possible targets of such poisoning acts will be innocent victims.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
At this point, I knock on a friend's door, because I need tea. They
weren't in, so I head down to hall to see if they are there. As I arrive,
another assassin exits. "Hi Ric. Who are you hunting today?"
I was hurt by the suggestion that I could have no other purpose in Girton,
but on this occasion he was quite correct. Also, could you ask for a
better taunt than that? "You" I said, shooting him dead in front of his
female fan club, who seemed most unimpressed.
"But...I'm not playing, you'll go wanted for this!" his corpse explained.
Corpses aren't noted for quick thinking though....
After much waiting for my friend to arrive, sitting on the nice warm radiator on Jenny's corridor, and reading of the Telegraph (thanks again to those lovely porters) I found my friend, had a cup of tea, and left as darkness descended.
The victim reports:
I don't kill people. I just build igloos. Today I was resting after building a particularly cosy igloo, when Ric said "bang" to me just after lunch. I should have run away, but instead I stupidly told him that he was out of range and the bang was useless. His response, after stepping forward one pace, was 5 bullets inserted in my chest and some more in my back. A tombstone of clearest ice will mark my grave.
Bryony Baines reports:
Oooh! A letter! Someone cares enough to write to me, and I don't recognise the handwriting, which means.. a new friend!! *Bounce* But wait, its addressed to "Byrony" - that's not me, they don't want to be my friend! And theres dried-on white gunk all along the back of the envelope, a good thing I was wearing my plastic-bag gloves of lockpi*cough*letter opening. Only one thing for it, I'll have to track this Byrony down and kill her/him/it, then maybe I can find the letter-writer, and give them the chance to be my friend instead....
Internet Reject reports:
Today began my quest to restore the glory of the written word which has been replaced in favour of the evil that is e-mail. No-one who uses the Internet is safe from my vengeance.
Chris Field reports:
Ferrily Merrily Werrily Woo
I came home to report to you...
That someone has been terribly mean
And sent to me a letter, imagine the scene:
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
Instead of a regular arm, Carl had been born with a pigeon's wing. The odd thing was, all through his life, no one had ever laughed at his wing - not even the mean kids at school. Then one day he realized why: he looked in the mirror and saw that HE WAS A PIGEON! He shat right there, as he often did, wherever he was.
Also, Carl opens his door without asking questions.
The Electron Kid reports:
Right then, into Sainsbury's. What do I need?
*Rustling of paper*
'Dear Sir, it is my sad duty to inform you that you are...' Hang on. Oh dear. I appear to have mailed a poisoned shopping list.
*more rustling*
Oh, no, here it is...two pints of milk, six eggs, four pounds of butter, and a slapping trout...four pounds of butter? Hmm. So what did I send him? Ah, well, it was probably poisoned, which is the main thing.
H.R reports:
I still appear to be alive and well despite a heavy dose of vasaline in letter form sent by non other than The Electron Kid. I must take this opportunity to thank The Electron Kid for their kind hearted advice about children, Cheers
H.R
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
As a token gesture, I went back via Churchill, to pay PC Have you ever choked on a weasel? a quick visit, and having taken much time to find his staircase, I dipped my gloved finger into the jamjar once more and applied a little jam. (er, it's nerve poison i think, I was never too good on the technical stuff) I hope that PC Have you ever choked on a weasel? will get to discover the effects all for himself, and that this is an enlightening discovery for him.
PC Have you ever choked on a weasel? reports:
Upon leaving my room in the morning I noticed a strange smell hanging in the air, being the 31337 professional that I am (was) my refined sense of smell told me that there was contact poison around, I found the poison eventually on my doorhandle, and wiped it off.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
So back to Selwyn then, to see what had been going on. I was a leeeetle bit nervous about what might be waiting on my staircase, although I got to the top floor with no trouble. I poked my gun into the toilet, looked just far enough in to see, and was horrified to see an assassin! I jerked back and fired, and he threw something at me. Confusion reigned, and it was time to sort out what had happened. It turns out that my bullet had narrowly missed astaga, while I had narrowly avoided being run over by a stampede of cows, and vicious they were. In fact, I was all for attacking them not so long ago, if you remember.... This time though, despite getting my hand mauled by a hoof or two, I just survived to limp back to my room, relax, rest eat, and prepare for more of the same tomorrow. Jam sandwich, anyone?
astaga reports:
astaga dons cattle herding equipment and sets off for to kill lowlife scum Ric Brackenbury. not a "wanted" killing but because he is on my list. Please note, though this is what i did, do not attempt herding cattle up three flights of stairs. it can be tedious (and a little unhygenic). Arrived at the criminal's floor and lurked in toilet. gagged cows by putting them in pocket. five minutes later a gun popped round the door and then a face. the gun fired and, after rebounding off a handy door (doors... useful.) killed a perfectly innocent toilet whose only crime was the occasional blockage and who had been keeping me company with it's sympathetic creaks. Enraged, i was. armed to the teeth with cows i was. i let fly with the entire herd who, despite training from calves, only managed to hit my assailant's gun hand. one hit the door frame and developed BSE. i put the poor quacking beast in my pocket and declared my target dead. mistakenly. after an umpirical decision was reached of a no-kill sitch. i left unmolested. leaving the crazed cow in ric's locker. Maybe i sgould have told him as if he prepares food after touching it he will more than likely contract CJD and die painfully. whoopsie. Ric if you read this do not touch that cow.
on a lighter note, does anyone have a cigarette?
Police Chief Sir Oban Glenmoray MacTalisker KBE BA Hons (Cantab.) reports:
Timing is the key. What do you do when you have 20 minutes to spare before your SWAT team assembles in the Market Square? Why, make a solo attempt, of course! And so I wandered past the University Press, and felt a sharp pain in my back as I crossed the place where Bryony felled me in October. Nevertheless, I pressed on. A wry smile came to my face as I approached Rosie's staircase - the last time I was here I was the criminal and she was the Police Chief. The smile faded slightly as I saw the top of a brown-haired head on the other side of the door to Q staircase. Yes, it was her, with her foot jammed against the doorframe. No way in, and no way out. So we agreed I should leave, and I went to lurk in the passasgeway to Gardie's. Just 10 seconds later, or perhaps clearer thinking, and at least one person would have died. But such are the life and times of the lamest CoP in living memory...
The Umpire was most amused to receive a copy of the most secret diary of the rather dodgy Jonathan Hogg. Sadly, to avoid revealing too much to those assassins with whom he dealt, most of the contents of the diary has had to be censored, but the following extract is presented for comment:
Day 5: Hear about <censored> this evening from <censored>, tell <censored>, she claims to be planning to <censored> them from <censored> or not be <censored>. Tell <censored> to have sniper aiming at her <censored>. trying to find out more details of <censored> so I can do a proper <censored>. <censored> already knows about meet at <censored>. Wonder how many we get. Will join <censored> if it is 4 or more. Wonder around <censored>, see <censored> a few times looking suspicious. Soon the <censored> [both of them] proceed to <censored>, phone <censored> telling them such and arranging a <censored> with all his <censored>, after having allowed the <censored> to borrow some <censored>. Am going through <censored>, holding <censored> open for random people when someone shots me. damn, looks like I was betrayed.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Walking nonchalantly through the market square, armed to the teeth as usual, I made my way back to college, only to notice a group of people carrying gun-shaped bags heading purposefully in the general direction of my abode...
"Aha!" said I - "these rotten fiends have come to end the life of my fellow assassins from college!"
And so I proceeded to trace their footsteps, only just noticing their cunningly placed backwards scout. Unperturbed I did as any self respecting assassin would do, and shot him in the stomach. Luckily he was one of my targets... And so ended the threat of Jonathan Hogg, but there was yet the main party making their way to their destination, oblivious of the sudden demise of one of their own.
PC At least I managed to kill one person before dying, which isn't too bad for my first time, and I'd like to see YOU do better making a longer pseudonym, oh wait, this is just an unreconstructed rant, never mind, at least this way I have a shot at the most amusing nickname award, even though I suck and this is a really crappy attempt, you know, so I'll just give up here... reports:
Having decided to participate in the planned SWAT raid on the nefarious criminals of Cambridge this evening, I made my way to the rendevous point, finding that the only the Chief of Police and myself were present for the raid. Having been lent an RPG rifle by an assassin whose motives I now suspect *cough*JonHogg*cough*, we decided to head to Christs to bring to justice the nefarious criminal known as 414. It was a fateful choice. Having managed to make it to the criminal's corridor without incident, we suffered a disaster when the Chief of Police accidentally detonated his own bomb whilst setting it up. I narrowly avoided death myself, standing a foot or so outside the blast radius and thus avoiding being fatally wounded by flying body parts.
414 reports:
My door saw most of the activity in my room this evening. Without further ado, I let it tell its story:
The Tale of 414's Door
I have quite a good life, as doors go. Not too much kicking, occasional oil in the hinges - it's a fine existence. But I'm really getting annoyed with these blasted assassins, forever sticking death threats to me, or kicking me open to spray the room inside.
Take this evening. The Chief of Police Lachlan McLean and Constable called Thomas Hooper came to kill my owner, 414. Of course, 414 (being a cunning chap) had received ample warning from his Vast Spy Network [tm]. He'd cooked up a cunning plan...
The first I knew was when he turned up in front of me, carrying 4 2-litre bottles and a pack of balloons. With high skill, 414 built a massive 10l bomb behind me, with pin detonators wired on. Then he squeezed through the gap, closed me without allowing me to lock, and wandered off.
Then two policemen turned up. One (called Lachlan McLean) had a bomb with him and proceeded to try to set it up in front of the door. I was having none of this! I creaked open slightly, causing him to panic. With a whisper of "Gotta hurry. He'll have heard that!" he tried to set the bomb using the same hand he was holding a gun with. Unfortunately he lost control of the detonator and blew himself into small parts. I got a little charred but at least can look forward to a nice coat of paint.
Police Chief Sir Oban Glenmoray MacTalisker KBE BA Hons (Cantab.) reports:
Mr Bean's guide to heading up the Police Force
1. Include corrupt allies of your targets on the Police mailing list so that they can plan ambushes with consummate ease.
2. Continue with suicidal SWAT raids on aforementioned targets, even when the only other people who turn up are one constable and the Umpire.
3. Walk into a building surrounded by mafiosi, which has no unguarded way out, in order to get to your target's door.
4. Get spotted by aforementioned mafiosi when walking around the corridors, and when climbing the staircase to get to aforementioned target's door.
5. Get spotted by two neighbours of aforementioned target, and also by a porter who asks you upon whom you are coming to "pay a visit". And why you are standing next to a bottle of water labelled "Fake Bomb" with your hands behind your back.
6. Set your bomb so badly and hastily that it goes BANG in your own hands as you are kneeling in front of aforementioned target's door. While you are being recorded on webcam.
7. Abandon the other constable in disgust and shame as he meets his doom by opening aforementioned target's insanely boobytrapped door.
Here endeth the lesson. Amen.
PC At least I managed to kill one person before dying, which isn't too bad for my first time, and I'd like to see YOU do better making a longer pseudonym, oh wait, this is just an unreconstructed rant, never mind, at least this way I have a shot at the most amusing nickname award, even though I suck and this is a really crappy attempt, you know, so I'll just give up here... reports:
I then decided to knock on the criminal's door; no response, so I knocked again. Then, *stupidly*, I opened the door a few inches. A few inches more, and I suddenly heard a loud bang. As my body was dismembered by the force of the blast, I saw the criminal 414, accompanied by his fellow mafia-members (two of them police, the people meant to be helping us), armed to the teeth with rifles, shotguns and pistols. What was worse, the whole incident was recorded on webcam. It later transpired that we had been systematically tracked as soon as we entered Christs; but still, it would have been better to die in a hail of bullets than to unwittingly blow myself up.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Having coincidentally spoken to a friend at college on my mobile and mentioning the fact that two assassins and an umpire were making their way with intent towards him, I was surprised to find several of my friends waiting, with weapons. As well as this remarkable chance meetin, we were shocked to hear a large explosion issue from the upper halls of the building. Making my way towards the scene of said explosion, I found a grim sight... Lying on the ground in front of the door to a particular wanted friend of mine were two charred corpses. One look at the not-so-shiny CoP badge on one, and the police ensignia on the other told me that these two were none other than Lachlan McLean and Thomas Hooper. What a pity... I wonder who could have set up such a dreadful device?
414's door continues:
Then the second police officer, apparently called Thomas Hooper, came forward from where he'd been standing behind the nice door opposite me, who has sexy glass windows. He pushed me slowly open, until I felt something pressing against my back... KABOOOOOOOM I am in splinters as I write this. All that was left of the assassin was a couple of smoking boots. I watched in horror as 414 came back up the stairs with 4 other armed players - yes, folks, it's true. There *is* a Christ's Mafia...
Another corpse found lying outside (or so the old wooden door outside Hall tells me) was that of Jonathan Hogg, who had been trailing the cops. He had apparently held my friend open for Adam Baird Fraser, who turned out to be seeking to kill him... Adam Baird Fraser is, of course, in no way connected to the rest of the evening, and are certainly not in the Christ's Mafia. There *are* no mafias in... oh, sorry, force of habit.
Unfortunately for the two policemen in the Christ's Mafia, the heavens then opened up, and God (Adam Biltcliffe) came down. He saw them and spake thusly: "Sorry, I'm afraid you're corrupt..."
I'm sure that the assassins involved enjoyed the evening, but I'm getting bored waiting for the repairman...
414's door is correct; due to the exceedingly obvious aiding and abetting of a wanted criminal, PC CyberDog and PC Zoidberg are henceforth declared corrupt.
Gho5t reports:
I have been rattling around these halls and staircases for far too long now. Haunting such a large city as Cambridge is bound to have its drawbacks. It can be a lonely existence in the paranormal realm. A few dusty old corners, some cranky old fellows, but there are definitely not enough undead people. Lots of dead people, of course, but it really needs a good murder to move a man to the ethereal. It is time for action...
The Haggis Hunter reports:
sum1 attempted to send me a poisoned letter - opened with gloves on plus I saw no sign of poison on it despite the letter claiming to be covered in vaseline!
The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) reports:
A rather obvious bomb plot.
I returned to my pigeon hole at ten past noon- or two to midnight, if you will- to discover a CD case in my pigeon hole. Now, I don't claim to be Sherlock Holmes or anything- although I am- but a suspicious unwrapped CD case inexplicably left in one's pigeon hole does tend to leave the old duelling alarm bells ringing. Especially after the tragic death of glidingpiper not a mere day ago, through a very similar ruse.
Thus I donned the gloves- film buffs will recognise the line- and diposed of the obvious offending article, unopened. I suppose I could have taken a chance, but the risk was too great- I yearn for the challenge of face-to-face combat with my assailant, not some evasive piece of technology. I don't know what will come next- they'll claim that mobile phones have some use or other...
Melissa reports:
The foxy boy crept silently along the shadowy buttresses and chambers, at all times expecting Death to leap from the shadows! Patiently priming the bomb in a local bathroom he crept down the corridor and overheard a conversation within the room whose occupant he wished to destroy. Tom Woolford seemed to be deep in conversation with a fellow assassin, or someone curious about the game, so he quietly layed down the bomb and hooked up the trigger wire. He hastily retreated, hearing no sound to indicate a success or failure of his venture, desperately hoping the person who opened the door was indeed the one he wished.
Tom Woolford reports:
At 22:18 today an unsucessful attempt was made on the life of Tom Woolford. He has emerged unharmed since he was outside the bomb's 3.5 metre radius. But there is a tale of tragedy to tell here. His girlfriend, one Rosemary Beecher Bryant, inadvertantly sacrificed her life by detonating the bomb when the door opened. Rosemary was a beautiful young woman, full of grace and charm who lit up the lives of all she met. The couple would have been very happy till the end of time were it not for the malicious actions of a would-be assasin. As her blood scattered across the room, Tom knew and understood: he would avenge her death through his own series of revenge killings. Shaken, but not stirred, the cup of tea was finally consumed.
knaif reports:
"A bomb will never get me," I thought, "unless it takes out the whole staircase too... for I have a cunning door-opener!" And indeed it was cunning. When I returned to my door, gun in hand, it was open. No bomb in sight. I looked around to check for lurkers and there was a bang... my expiring thought as my head (blown along the staircase) watches my door crumple into ash is, "That was a really mean place to put the trigger". I was looking forward to *not* being killed by a bomb, as well...
IFf reports:
You are sitting in a resonably large, well-furnished room belonging to a Cambridge college. There is a sink in the corner of the room and a bed to one side. There are also a number of chairs and cupboards.
You can also see:
A cap detonator
A sheet of caps
A roll of duct tape
A sharp knife
Two empty cartons
A sheet of paper
A reel of wire
A pen
>TAKE TWO CARTONS
I can't see a "two cartons".
>TAKE 2 CARTONS
I can't see a "2 cartons".
>TAKE CARTON
You take a carton.
>TAKE GIRTON
That's too far away to reach.
>TAKE CARTON
You take a carton.
>TURN ON TAP
I can't see an "on".
>OPEN TAP
You turn on the tap.
A stream of water gushes out.
>FILL CARTON
What do you want to fill it from?
>THE TAP
I don't know how to "the".
>FILL CARTON FROM TAP
You fill the carton with water from the tap.
>FILL CARTON FROM TAP
The carton is already full of water.
>FILL CARTON2 FROM TAP
You fill the carton with water from the tap.
>CLOSE TAP
You turn off the tap.
>TAKE ALL
You get a cap detonator, a sheet of caps, a roll of duct tape, a sharp
knife, a sheet of paper, a reel of wire and a pen.
>PULL REEL
You pull out a couple of metres of wire.
>CUT WIRE WITH KNIFE
I can't see a "wire".
>CUT REEL WITH KNIFE
You cut off the wire from the reel.
>TIE IT TO DETONATOR
You can't tie the reel of wire to the cap detonator.
>TIE WIRE TO DETONATOR
You aren't holding a wire.
>TAKE WIRE AND TIE IT TO DETONATOR
You take a length of wire.
You tie the wire to the cap detonator.
>PULL ROLL
You pull out a length of duct tape.
>CUT ROLL WITH KNIFE
You cut the length of duct tape from the roll with the knife.
The duct tape sticks to your hands.
>STICK TAPE ON CARTON
I can't see an "on".
>STICK TAPE CARTON
You can't stick the tape to the carton.
>STICK CARTON CARTON2
You stick the two cartons together, using some of the duct tape.
>TIE WIRE TO CARTONS
You tie the wire to the cartons.
>EXAM PAPER
A sheet of A4 paper, covered with difficult Tripos questions.
>WRITE ON PAPER WITH PEN
You write a "FAKE BOMB" notice with blast radius calculation and
disclaimer on the sheet of paper.
>STICK PAPER CARTONS
You stick the sheet of paper on the cartons, making a bomb.
>XYZZY
You are magically transported with all relevant equipment to Trinity
Street.
You are standing on Trinity Street. To the west lies a large college. A lorry is reversing in the road with great difficulty. The road continues to the north and south.
>W
You walk west.
You are standing in Trinity College. It is very big. There are lots of labelled staircases and exits in all directions. A man walks by dragging a trolley and glances at you suspiciously.
>OOPS
You are standing on Trinity Street.
>N
You walk north.
You are standing on St John's Street. To the west lies a large college. The road continues to the north and south.
>N
You walk north.
You are standing in St John's College. It is very big. There are lots of labelled staircases and exits in all directions. A man walks by dragging a trolley and glances at you suspiciously.
>RAPE MAN
I don't know how to do that.
>OOPS
I should think so too!
>N
You walk north.
You are standing in St John's College. It is very big. There are lots of labelled staircases and exits in all directions.
>N
You walk north.
You are standing in St John's College. It is very big. There are a few labelled staircases and exits east, southeast, south, southwest and west.
>SE
You walk southeast.
You are standing at the foot of a staircase. Exits lead northwest outside and up.
You can also see:
A list of residents
>EXAM LIST
A list of people taking Tripos exams. It includes the name of your
target.
>I
You are carrying:
Your clothes (worn)
A coat (worn)
A rucksack (worn)
NO OTTERS (0)
Your coat contains:
An RPG
A sheet of caps
Your rucksack contains:
A 2L bomb (unprimed)
>COCK RPG
I don't know how to "cock" something.
>PULL RPG
You draw your RPG.
You are now bearing weapons and a legal target for anyone.
>PUT RPG IN COAT
You put your RPG in your coat.
>OPEN RPG
You cock your RPG.
It clicks.
>U
You walk up.
You are on the first floor of a staircase. Exits lead up and down the staircase.
It is dark. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
You can also see:
A door
>EXAM DOOR
It's the door that leads to the exam hall. It is labelled with the name
of your target. It appears to open outwards. Examining the door, you
discover the doormat.
>TAKE BOMB FROM RUCKSACK
You remove the 2L bomb (unprimed) from your rucksack.
>PUT BOMB ON DOORMAT
You put the 2L bomb (unprimed) on the doormat.
>TAKE SHEET FROM COAT
You remove the sheet of caps from your coat.
>OPEN SHEET
You fumble around in the dark and achieve nothing.
>OPEN SHEET
You fumble around in the dark and achieve nothing.
>OPEN SHEET
You remove a cap from the sheet of caps.
>PUT SHEET IN COAT
You put the sheet of caps in your coat pocket.
>OPEN DETONATOR
I cannot see a "detonator".
>OPEN FLIPPING THING
I cannot see a "flipping thing".
>OPEN BOMB
You open the cap detonator on the bomb.
>PUT CAP IN DETONATOR
You put the cap in the detonator.
>CLOSE DETONATOR
You close the detonator.
>PUSH DETONATOR
You push the detonator under the door.
>RUN
You run away quickly.
414 reports:
Feeling depressed after no-one took advantage of my trip to the boathouse (note to all: there's a race tomorrow as well), I decided to take revenge on the assassin population as a whole. Jesus was nearest, and I happened to have toothpaste in my pocket (such a coincidence) so I wandered in and repainted their doorknobs for them. Minty fresh, and a great way to clean tarnished metal. Richard Mycroft has some elbow grease to apply.
I then tried to get out but was caught in the labyrinthine maze that is Jesus. Eventually I was forced to request help from a member of the Jesuan Group Mind, and actually had to flatter him ("you must have superior map-reading skills. All our courts are in a straight line.") to get him to guide me out. Ah the innocence...
I realise the whole contact poison thing is getting old fast, and hereby restrict myself to truly deserving cases. But now the Jesuans know that 414 can strike anytime, anywhere. They can never feel totally safe...
PC Mathematical Menace reports:
Yet another load of poison on my doorhandle - when will people learn that I'm not that stupid? Plus I'm fed up of washing the poison off my gloves. Can't you try to blow me up or something? Come on, I challenge you...
Rollo Tomasi reports:
I would like to report that someone just killed my bedder!! However they neglected to say who they were...
A 2.2 litre milk bottle full of water attached to a cap explosive (almost identical to the one I used yesterday...) was left outside my room and was detonated at about 9:40 by my bedder (accidentally). The volume of the explosive was not marked, although the "Fake bomb - assassins guild" notice was definitely present and written large.
This party is now guilty of both killing an innocent and more importantly, raising me to new levels of disgust in my bedder's eyes (she refuses to believe it wasn't me who left it, as when it went off outside my door, I shouted "Ha-ha" a la Nelson loudly, believing someone to have detonated themselves mid-setting it up). I fine them one box of chocolates to apologise to my bedder with. But thank whoever it was very much for the cap detonator - students of the world, watch out!!
The Umpire would remind everyone that a cap detonator (or anything else) which has been exploded as part of a bomb cannot be reused this game, but of course you all knew that already, right?
Weaponth of math Dethtruction reports:
Now it so happened that in a hot land far far away, there was an evil man with a moustache who ruled over a country of sand, and somewhere amidst the sand there was a school. Hidden in the school, right at the back where the naughty children sat, was a desk, and in the desk there wath a pack of cards. On the back of each card was a picture of the most evil moustache that ever there lived, and many games were played with these cards in math lessons. So much, in fact, that the children all forgot about fractions and times tables, although they were inexplicably good at probability..
Now in another land further away, there was a race of hamburger eaters, and they liked maths very much and spent all their time talking about the economy and the stock exchange. In this country there was a man with really big ears who listened to what people in other countries talked about, and one day he said "EEK! - Weaponth of math Dethtruction"...and everyone was really scared and agreed to do whatever the people in uniforms told them. The people in uniforms went to the far away country with tanks, but the Weaponth of maths Destruction escaped and came to a place across the sea. (It was rumoured the Moustache dwelt there, in Arbury..). But no-one in this place could tell them where the Moustache might be found, and only a fluffy bandana would speak to them, and the fluffy bandana said "Kill Rollo Tomasi, or I'll deport you!"
So the Weaponth tried their best to give the accused fatal papercuts, but eventually just left a prethent inthtead.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Another person who had been requested to receive "special attention", I happily wandered into PC Red Anteater's staircase and went for the good old strawberry flavouring option. I suspect he wasn't in, but hoped he would be less than careful when he returned. We shall see, we shall see.
PC Red Anteater reports:
Today an evil criminal (probably Ric) took it upon himself to coat my door handle in jam. However, there were at least two problems with this. First, 2/10 for subtlety. The jam was clearly visible on the door handle, so before entering my room I went to the kitchen to obtain some kitchen roll and wiped the jam off. Second, I was aware there had been a spat of contact poisoning of door handles, and thus was especially vigilant around my door handle.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
Maxwell kept walking through Johns. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was just how pretty the college looked in the snow. Perhaps it was a convenient route to get to his many destinations, but it was also a place where many known potential hammerees lived. And so as Maxwell wandered through those historic courts, he saw a familiar face ambling towards him. "Foxy!" thought Maxwell excitedly. "Er, hang on, that can't be right. Oh yeah, The three of clubs. Easy mistake to make really." So Maxwell leapt out of The three of clubs's sight, and drew his gun. As The three of clubs approached, Maxwell waited, and waited, then emerged and fired. The three of clubs never stood a chance. Maxwell also disposed of the three friends The three of clubs was with; sadly they all turned out to be innocent. Maxwell left the bodies, and continued on his travels.
The three of clubs reports:
It was a good plan. It really was, simple, yet foolproof. Three stages.
1)Avoidance. No-one can shoot you if you're not there. 2)Quantity, not Quality. 3)Quality, not Quantity.
The first step was easy, I don't normally go to lectures because I'm in bed. I'm bomb proof, I pirk my mail up with a stick, and open it with gloves after having thrown it around.
The second stage was simple. Make lots of attempts, but make sure they're not very good. This gets your name out a bit, but also convinces people you're a bumbling fool. (Who on earth is going to get killed by a letter with -that- much nugar in it?)
The third stage would be to switch style abruptly, and suddenly kill people properly, after having been alive a while.
The problem with such a good plan is that it fails if you don't implement it correctly. I didn't make any direct attempts as I swear that the easiest target for me to reach, of my three, was at Girton. I did send letters, but it'd be nice if they were reported once in a while. And there's one chink in my avoidance, which is Friday.
You see, I manage to avoid lectures by simply being in bed, but the love of maths causes me to have a 9:30AM Supervision on Fridays, and I'm already up. Once you're awake, you feel compelled to go to lectures, especially if your supervision partner is doing the same.
We got about as far as Third court (about twenty metres from where my supervision was.) and as we entered second court, the known crook "the two of diamonds" rounded the corner. We recognised each other at the same time.
I had one advantage, my RBG outranges his cap-gun.
I had three disadvantages. 1)He had obviously already had coffee. I had had a maths supervision. 2)He was wanted, and therefore travelled with his weapon drawn, whereas mine was concealed, same as any self respecting assassin. 3) we were less than a metre apart.
The two of diamonds fired well before letting me have my standard 2.6 seconds to decide he'd won, and didn't even give me a chance to run away. He proceeded to shoot the three bystanders who were with me. My body used muscle memory to perambulate to my maths lecture where it died of boredom.
The three of clubs reports:
I said that Fridays were a problem, maybe I shouldn't have gone to lectures, this time last week, the King of Hearts spyed me on Lensfield Road... and if I had of been alive, I'd have been on my guard meeting him again, doubly so when he unusually decided to cross the road rather than walk with me. So it was no great surprise when the Jack of Clubs dived out of a nearby garden and bang-killed me with an RBG. I apologised for being dead, handed over my pseudonym, and wished them luck tackling whichever of my targets they'd be assigned.
I took out my frustration the rest of the day by running up to assassiny frionds in the street calling their name and shouting "Hi!" - best reaction goes to the four of diamonds.
(The dealer notes that for all concerned, all cards assigned were random. This amkes the argument about who should have been the Queen of spades very funny.)
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
His bedder was in front of his door yesterday, so I paid a second visit to Rollo Tomasi today. You'll never guess what I did. I might have charged in, guns blazing. I might have squeezed through a crack in his window and waited for him to return. I might have bombed the door, lurked, run away, or written him a poisoned note. I might have tried to bluff my way in, knock and run, knock and bomb, or even to bash the door down. But no! I wanted to do something different. I just happened to still have that jar of jam still on me, and thee was a teensy weensy bit left. So I donated a little of the small supply I had left. I hope it is going to a better place. As is Rollo Tomasi.
John-Joseph Wilks reports:
As I was perfectly innocently walking to lectures down Burrell's Walk this fine morning, I spied ahead of me the great arch-criminal 414, and his evil mafia accomplice. After quickly assessing my chances - next to nil against two of them - I ran into the card-locked gate at the side of the path. Unfortunately, I was too enthusiastic in getting it to close behind me, and it bounced back, and the Dastardly Duo caught it just in time.
There followed a bit of a firefight, as I no longer had enough space to plausibly turn my back, during which I shot 414's arm, he ran round me, we both fired and simultaneously collapsed to the floor. After that it is all a bit of a blur. I only know that when I woke, 414 was just stirring too, and Gordon was no-where to be seen. I can only presume that we were both so far gone that we were left for dead. Unfortunately, neither of us then had the strength to finish the other, and we crawled off on our seperate ways to spend some time recuperating.
Or going to lectures. Bah.
414 reports:
Went with Gordon Ball to say hi to JJ. Conveniently, we bumped into him whilst he was entering through the otherwise-locked gate into college grounds. He ran off, but made the fatal mistake of slamming the gate behind him. The gate froze up just long enough for us to get in. JJ by this point had his guns out, and we proceeded to engage in a complex dance of death. I swear I dodged JJ's rubber pellet, he swears my three rubber bands never detectably hit him, Gordon declares that when he finished unjamming his gun he shot JJ in the chest. All in all, it got ridiculously messy so we annulled and crawled off to lick our wounds. I'm getting a crick in my neck so other volunteers for this task would be welcome.
Swearing in technicolour reports:
So far today have been lazy asshole. have killed what may have been spies but what i believe were flies. however as this was early in the morning i plead exteme annoyance at the fact they were disturbing my sleep. At this rate i may become the sweetest little jazz killer in all chicago. possibly not though. Have sated bloodlst by cutting self while shaving (clumsy). blew up a mime. no one cares. should pull tonight. otherwise may resort to disturbing the peace.
have stolen tracker dog from police. they havent even got a lead.
have stolen grandfather clock. may face time.
ps: making it up as i go along.
live short and stupify
stoopidity rools
so long suckers.
Swearing in Technicolour
The Electron Kid reports:
I can't be bothered walking all the way out there. Here, have a letter.
Drunken Chunky Monkey reports:
Oook?
Drunken Chunky Monkey reports:
OOOOOOOOK!!!!!
glug glug glug.
Stabby Stabby Stabby Stabby Stabby Stabby
boing boing
[eats a banana and leaves]
For this act of shocking violence, Drunken Chunky Monkey is also added to the wanted list. Please, for the sake of your friends and family, will someone dispose of these criminal menaces?
PC Have you ever choked on a weasel? reports:
While sitting down to eat I caught a glimpse of a shady character, who looked like he was concealing a weapon, lurking in the corner of the hall. Against my better judgement I took no notice and sat down, nothing was coming between me and my scampi I told myself. This was the last mistake I would make, the villain, seeing me off guard, bounded across the room and onto my table. He threw me to the floor and butchered me with a pencil before I had a chance to consume even a tiny morsel of my meal.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
It's time for another superb selection of my jolly jokes:
What do you call an assassin who likes to rush headlong in the direction of a smooth-barked tree and who sends a vaguely convincing poisoned letter via the UMS?
Dive-at Birch (David Birch)!!!!
What do you call the recipient of the letter, who is sorry to hear that the sender has entered a deathly sleep, who has no connections with the purported sender of the letter and almost never receives genuine mail via the UMS, and hence opened the letter while wearing rubber gloves, although perhaps that was unnecessary as the alleged Vaseline looked as if it had dried out?
The Adult Male's Father!!!!
The three of clubs send his own hilarious joke regarding this letter, but sadly it has joined the growing list of those which have had to be censored to avoid revealing the identity of a living assassin.
PC Zoidberg reports:
Somebody claiming to go by the name of Marvin opened my door to find my mighty gun aimed at his face. Unfortunately he tells me all my shots missed (how did this happen?!) and I felt a hit myself from his rubber band gun. I agreed that I was dead, and although I wasn't convinced I'd entirely missed, I conceded that he may indeed have survived my attack.
Marvin reports:
I would like to let you know I'm feeling very depressed. I have passed on some of my sunny disposition on to PC Zoidberg and he would probably be sharing my depression except that his brains are now decorating his wall. It amazes me how he managed to exist in something so small in the first place.
Sideshow Barbara reports:
I visited the residence of a target today to swiftly dispose of his life. Despite his sign saying he was out, I proceeded to his lair as it could have been a clever trick to deter me. But alas, he was not in. I left disappointed that my trek through the elements had spilled no blood. I did however leave him a threatening (and witty) message. I will get him next time! mwah ha hah hah.
Elvis reports:
Hey baby...
I was walkin' through Memphis in ma blue suede shoes when I saw one of 'em
'critics'.
He wrote down in his newspaper that I couldn't sing and that I was obscene
and that I would never amount to anything.
Well, now them tables are turned, I drew my GI Browning and shot him, nearly
getting blood on ma beautiful shoes.
Uh Huh Baby..
The King is Not Dead
Elvis Lives.
Something Indescribably Indescribable reports:
Hmm, my education as a assassin continues with my gory death. As i was returning emotionally drained (and, unfortunately, unarmed) from a physiology practical, i heard a voice call "Phil!". Rather foolishly i looked around. Immediately I realised my mistake and scrabbled frantically at my staircase's combination lock, but in vain - a single rubber pellet spread my internal organs across the door. As my life ebbed away, my assassin, known only as Elvis, bade my broken body a cheerful greeting, then held a pleasant conversation with my shade while I congratulated him on his kill - he's the first live assassin I've ever actually seen (i died last term to a bomb, and my sole target had already been shot).
Congrats on your kill Elvis, but while I am amazed the king is not dead, I can't help hoping that another combatant will remedy the situation.
Doktor Von Fappenschlick reports:
I would like to express my sympathy for Phil Charles' forced attendance at a physiology practical. I can fully understand why he was in a confused state and I'd like to reprimand Elvis for making his day even more sheer hell than it was because of the physiology practical. (PS- later on in the term they get to do experiments on their own pee...)
G.I.Bob reports:
It has been a while since the last report concerning the actions of G.I.Bob. The reason for this is that he was making an attempt on a far away target, which is quite a walk from his humble abode, especially for someone of Bob's short stature.
So, "What happened?" I hear you all ask, and the answer shall be given, but first know this: G.I.Bob's previous assisstant is now retired and so a temproary accomplice by the name of the 'Black Math'mo came with him, which was helpful in carrying Bob's enormous arsenal of weapons.
So, after days of travelling, the pair finally reached the targets place of residence at around 16:50 only to find that the staircase is inaccessible to anyone who does not know the access card. Unperturbed, Bob equipped himself with a Multi-Firing Rocket Launcher intending to take out most of the staircase in order to gain access to the room. He was, however, warned by his assisstant that such action was unsporting, and so G.I.Bob crawled under the door (unarmed, as there was not enough room for a weapon to fit) to search for his target.
Unfortunately, the would-be victim was not to be found anywhere in the corridors, and so G.I.Bob set out for his next target (to anyone at Girton, you'd better watch your backs in about 3 weeks time).
P.S.: G.I.Bob challenges all criminals and corrupt police to a duel. He will single-handedly take on as many as you can muster on Wednesday 4th February, Trinity College Great Court @ 14:00. He will be the lone person standing outside the entrance to the JCR/OCR/hall building.
A Fallen Minion of Yorck reports:
It was a large college but fortunately it had a map; unfortunately the place I wanted was in the main bit but somewhere else. Fortunately I had written down my targets address but unfortunately I couldn't read my own writing and so had to check two staircases by which time I was beginning to get lost. Fortunately the doors were all obvious and were easy to run away from; unfortunately they had peep holes.
I tried the handle but the door refused to move so I waited but nothing happened. I knocked on the door but still nothing happened. This was irritating; I never seem to find unlocked doors (bar one incident I would rather forget). However I decided not to wait too long as the game is still new but I may well be back.
Fortunately I passed someone as I left and followed him back in but unfortunately he went up another flight of stairs and I refrained form shooting him. Fortunately I had another target; unfortunately he too seemed to be out.
The three of clubs reports:
Police Radio channels can be picked up on baby monitors. With at least fifty murderers out on the streets, I thought it wise to pick one up, and heard unconfirmed reports of a man with a very large gun running rampant in the city. The description matched that I had of the two of diamonds, and feeling this was dangerous. I sent him a letter to warn him that the police were looking for him, as long as I could avoid him, he might provide some discards of his own.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
The two of diamonds?
The two of diamonds?
Is that really all I'm worth?
Had I been a King or an Ace, then I could have understood, but the two of
diamonds?
That's just insulting.
Really offends me.
It riles me.
I've a good mind to go and kill you for this.
Oops. I already have. And not before time.
Drunken Chunky Monkey reports:
Oook-Stabby-Oook, blibble blibble glug glug glug
Splat
PC Oberslieutenant SS Bauer reports:
There I was, minding my own business eating in the mess hall when I see the Wanted criminal Drunken Chunky Monkey enter the room, naturally I start to work out a way to kill him. I Check my RBG is safe in my Pocket, and prepare to attack him. Unfortunately, i miscalculated, and made my attack just too early, the criminal had not yet picked up his tray, and so his hands were empty. I caught a glimpse of metal before the pain in my side overtook my vision and I collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Edward Allcutt reports:
And so, despairing of the effectiveness of the police I made a little attempt upon his wantedness.
Sight target and accomplice hurrying down King's Parade.....check.
Stealthily tail down Senate House Passage.....check.
Follow through Trinity Hall P'lodge........check.
Stealthily............d'oh, he saw me.
Chase each other around TH North court a bit...check.
Receive bullet wound to upper arm......check.
Bravely run away away..........check.
414 reports:
I tried to gatecrash a LARP meeting this evening, in the hope of taking out a few assassins. Took an accomplice with me for backup. Unfortunately, Edward Allcutt wandered into the plodge directly behind me. This naturally resulted in a firefight through the college, which finished rather abruptly when I nearly got supersoakered (probably by Matthew Johnson). At this point I ran for it.
Matthew Johnson reports:
After hearing that the nefarious, nay notorious, infamous even, 414 was in my college, I decided something had to be done. Spotting him from on high I fired down at him, but it was not to be. Hearing my first shot he turned and fled, leaving my land in peace, but still alive.
Martin Lester reports:
I stepped into the Trinity Hall Porter's Lodge to be confronted by a Corkscrew, wielding an RBG. With lightning speed, I drew a pair of cocked RPGs from my pockets and pointed them at his chest. I was about to shout "Bang!" or fire them when he exclaimed, "Don't shoot the porters!" In my state of surprise, and seeing that he wasn't about to fire on me, I assumed that there must have been some sort of social no-kill agreement that I hadn't heard about, so I put my guns back in my pockets and left.
PC Just Add Water reports:
I offer you two elucidating parables:
1. Why you should carefully construct your alias before infiltrating an organisation
After a gruelling day of Physics and Hardware practicals I made my way back into Cambridge proper, with the intent to seek out the wanted criminal Ric Brackenbury. I left my bicycle in the shadow of great St. Catherine's and readied my armaments, carefully loading them and then hiding them away.
I had been informed that Maxwell's Silver Hammer could possibly found at the Harry's Cafe, a locale run by the Christian Union - an organisation in which he was active. I found it a short walk away.
As I made my way up the stairs I felt shaky, because I was about to enter a place where he knew many where I knew none. And when I came in the door, I cast my eyes around, trying not to look out of place. Fortunately, people were fairly busy and did not mind me.
Perhaps unfortunately, I could not discern my target amongst the throng. I went up to the counter and claimed to be a Languages Student from Fitzwilliam called Robert.
The Girl right next to me was from the same College, and promptly stated that she had never seen me before. Thankfully, she next asked me whether I was a PhD student, and I confirmed that, knowing that it was a good cover.
They gave me hot chocolate.
I sat down at some table and struck up a conversation. Unfortunately, the person I met was studying English, so I quickly changed my pretended area of study to Computer Science, knowing that I could not hold my own in the area of English literature.
We were talking about my studies when a few minutes later, the girl from Fitz sat down at the same table. I had to change topics as quickly as possible so she didn't notice the obvious discrepancy.
I eventually brought the conversation around to Ric Brackenbury, and to my dismay found out that he was not to be found at this place.
I left after an interval suitable not to attract attention.
2. Why it is irresponsible and dangerous to state the obvious
Feeling a bit let down, but relieved that I had not blown my cover, I headed to Sainsbury's to find myself some bread, for dinnertime had passed by now.
When I came to the bread racks, a great deal of students were congregating in the area, evidently meeting up for something. I watched my back, but none of them made any move towards me. They seemed a likely bunch to be assassins somehow.
When I was walking away from them, bread in my hands, I heard somebody utter the superfluous words: "Look, Ric's here too!"
I turned around and saw my target walk past me. Without quite knowing what I was doing, I took out my gun, walked up to him, asked him: "Are you Ric Brackenbury?". And shot him.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer reports:
It's the end, but the moment has been prepared for.
So said Tom Baker as he lay on the ground moments from regenerating, and words echoed by Maxwell's Silver Hammer this evening. The writing had been on the wall ever since Maxwell's Silver Hammer decided to go wanted. It had been coming, expected, anticipated, but the only question was when. It's like the prisoners in the cell who will be executed at some point in the next month, but will never know the date of their execution in advance. The day was drawing. It was tonight.
Why wanted? Maxwell's Silver Hammer had a shining career ahead of him, a chance of doing well, his final game. He started with expectations, dreams, surveying all that lay before him. He was no longer revered as deity, yet fitted in all the same. But it went sour. The dream faded, it was time to pull the plug. Maxwell's Silver Hammer went snowman-making, and the plan was formed with 414 to make a go of it, to go down in style, to fall with panache. After much thought and hesitation, Maxwell struck.
The kills came flooding in, and the jam flowed freely, but even a master criminal has his limits. Tonight, he had been invited to a birthday party of a good friend, meeting at Sainsbury's bread counter at 7p.m. This was never going to be a safe bet, but Maxwell's Silver Hammer lived on the edge. Far better to have made the most of what you had than to try and extend your time whilst achieving nothing of value. How will Maxwell be remembered? As a dashing romantic who tried to defeat the establishment? As a scurvy lowlife who hunted innocents night and day? As the greatest boost to the jam industry since automatic sandwich makers were invented? Who knows.
Will Maxwell pass the test of time? Probably not. He might be remembered as a flash in the pan, who had his 15 minutes of fame, but will be forgotten by the next generation.
Maxwell headed onto the backs towards the Treasure Trap, hoping to intercept some people heading down. He hoped to guard both Garrett Hostel Lane and Clare passageways, but it was too much in the dark. So he walked down Garett Hostel Lane with some people who looked like they were heading to Treasure Trap also. Being the chatty type, he soon found out that they knew all about it, but weren't going. Maxwell tried to bluff that he was going and knew all about it, and just about got away with it. Approaching the end of Garrett Hostel Lane, Edward Allcutt walked across the passageway in front of him. Maxwell did an "Anne Campbell" and made a spectacular U-turn, heading back towards the backs at pace. It turns out that Mr. Allcutt was an arm down to the mighty 414, and had 414 communicated with Maxwell a little better, there could possibly have been a kill on. But never mind.
Maxwell's Silver Hammer walked through Clare, and got to a van marked "Shield Hire" outside the porters' lodge. Inspired by the name, he hid here and waited for a few minutes, but no-one approached who he recognised. So Maxwell's Silver Hammer decided to head off to his rendezvous in Sainsbury's. On Senate House passage, he met Jonathan Hogg, and the great Lord of subtlely, 414 was waiting at the end. Maxwell and 414 exchanged pleasantries, and after a brief discussion of plans, Maxwell headed off. Little did he know, these were the last words he would speak...
Maxwell's Silver Hammer arrived in Sainsbury's and headed towards the meetup point, the bread counter. For it was Christ's mafia godfather Sam Barker's birthday, and many friends were there to celebrate. However, I realised not that he would be the cause of my downfall, for as I approached, he said "Oh, it's Ric! Hi Ric!" in a loud voice, like only Sam can. At this point, the voice behind me asks "Are you Ric Brackenbury?". He rudely didn't even let me answer, as he shot me before I could. I sank down, many of the people at the gathering (including Alex Labram's neighbour!) seemed rather shocked and surprised, and Sam himself had a rather sheepish look on his face for the next 5 minutes. Thanks for that one, mate :)
All credit to PC Just Add Water, by the sounds of things a beautifully taken opportunistic kill. From his report I see he went to Harry's; I hope he enjoyed it, I haven't been for almost 2 years I'm afraid. I wish him every success for the rest of the game, however.
I wonder what Maxwell's epitaph could be; The man with the golden jam jar perhaps? Farewell friend. I'll miss you.
Girton's new PC
said "The wanted man I see"
Maxwell stands alone
Telling testimonial tales now ohh-oh-oh-oh
Sam and Xanthe screaming from the gallery
Say he must go free (Maxwell must go free)
PC does not agree and he tells them so-o-o-oo
But as the bullet's leaving his gun
A noise comes from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Its owner now is dead!
Bang, Bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Is now a shade of red!
I suppose Elvis was always going to have the upper hand against the Beatles when it came down to it.
Michael Cripps reports:
Having planned to go to the beer festival for much consumption of alcohol, we ran into the John's mob coming down the hill saying it was full up.
Shocked and saddened we reformed our plans and all went off to Sainsbury's to purchase alcohol. Just as we reached the checkout we spied Rosemary and Ralph enter the shop and Martin and I both drew guns and fired. Martin's shot hit before mine and I ceded the kill to him.
Then we went and drank alcohol.
Martin O'Leary reports:
Welcome to Choose Your Own Adventure: Beer Hunter!
Page 1
You and a group of your friends are looking for some fun. There's a beer festival on, and some people are playing games in Trinity.
If you would like to go to the beer festival, turn to page 7.
If you would like to go to Trinity, turn to page 9.
If you would like to go out and tip cows, turn to page 13.
If you would like to sit at home and work, turn to page 18.
If you would like to run away and join the circus, turn to page 237.
--
Page 2
The ninjas are confused.
If you would like to throw the blancmange, turn to page 55.
If you would like to kiss and make up, turn to page 93.
--
Page 3
You have angered the beer gods!
If you would like to pee your pants, turn to page 17.
If you would like to run away, turn to page 6.
If you have the Katana of Righteousness and wish to fight the beer gods,
turn to page 84.
--
Page 4
The German hairdresser looks at you longingly.
If you would like to have bumsex, turn to page 69.
If not, turn to page 69.
--
Page 5
The polar bear mauls you. You die.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 6
The beer gods catch you and force you to drink Carling for the rest of your life.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 7
You arrive at the beer festival, but there is a huge and terrifying queue.
If you would like to go in search of alternative beer, turn to page 12.
If you would like to kill everyone in the queue and mutilate their bodies,
turn to page 3.
--
Page 8
All the pubs are full. You go to Sainsbury's instead.
Turn to page 27.
--
Page 9
On your way to Trinity, you bump into some nasty assassins.
If you have the Mask of Xanadu, turn to page 143.
If not, turn to page 23.
--
Page 10
You seem to have forgotten your hat.
If you would like to go back and get it, turn to page 65.
If you will make do with the tea-cosy, turn to page 102.
--
Page 11
You have been shrunk to one millionth of your normal size.
If you would like to eat the wall of chocolate on the desk next to you,
turn to page 122.
If you would like to argue the physical impossibilities of this situation,
get a life.
--
Page 12
Coming down the hill, you spy Michael Cripps and Duncan Brewer in the distance.
If you would like to run at them, guns blazing, turn to page 25.
If you would like to wave sheepishly and put your hands up, turn to page
20.
--
Page 13
There are no cows in Cambridge.
Turn to page 1.
--
Page 14
Duncan has already taken all the Tiger. Greedy git. Stella it is then.
Turn to page 28.
--
Page 15
The wardrobe falls on you and crushes you. You nonce.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 16
Nobody likes a smart-arse. Quetzacoatl thwaps you with his wing.
Turn to page 98.
--
Page 17
Your pants are warm and moist.
Turn to page 3.
--
Page 18
You die of a boredom-induced coronary.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 19
You and Mike both draw your guns and fire. Rosemary Warner collapses in a pool of blood. You pay for your beer and leave.
Congratulations! You have found some beer! You have won!
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 20
Mike and Duncan wave back and put their hands up too. You agree not to kill each other and to go in search of beer.
If you would like to go to a pub, turn to page 8.
If you would like to go to Sainsbury's, turn to page 27.
If you would like to go to pirate school, turn to page 77.
--
Page 21
It smells of poo.
Turn to page 476.
--
Page 22
You look at the fine selection of beers.
If you would like to buy some Carling, turn to page 3.
If you would like to buy some Stella Artois, turn to page 28.
If you would like to buy some Tiger, turn to page 14.
--
Page 23
The assassins kill you and devour your tasty flesh. You die.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 24
Pansy. Something bad happens to you. Probably cooties. You die.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 25
You slip on a patch of ice and break your back.
Your adventure is over!
--
Page 26
The bridge collapses under your weight.
If you would like to fall to your death, turn to page 385.
If you would like nothing bad to happen, close the book and go for a walk.
--
Page 27
You arrive at Sainsbury's. Mike and Duncan go to look for beer.
If you would like to go look for beer, turn to page 22.
If you would like to go look at girly alcopops, turn to page 3.
If you would like to go look at fruit, turn to page 30.
--
Page 28
You pick up your Stella and go to the checkout. As you are about to hand over the cash, you see the Very Evil Wanted Criminal Rosemary Warner come in.
If you would like to go and give her a hug, turn to page 24.
If you would like to gun her down in cold blood, turn to page 19.
If you would like to use your alien mind control powers, turn to page 372.
--
Page 29
The one-eyed butcher asks you what you were doing with the cucumbers.
If you would like to respond truthfully, turn to page 253.
If you would like to lie, turn to page 149.
If you have the Amulet of Chocolatey Goodness, turn to page 311.
--
Page 30
Nice melons. Woof.
Turn to page 22.
Doktor Von Fappenschlick reports:
A long, long time ago
I can still remember
How assassins used to make me smile
And I knew if I went wanted I
Could make some cops and players die
And maybe I'd be happy for a while
But Sainsbury's just didn't thrill me
Surrounded me and tried to kill me
Assassins on the doorstep
I couldn't take on more step
I can't remember what I said
When I realised I'd end up dead
Bullets hit me deep inside
The day the Doktor died
So "My, my!" Doktor Fappenshlick cried
There's a Monkey and a Scotsman there that I have espied (1)
The RPRF were buying whisk(e)y and coke (2)
Singin' this'll be the day that you croak
This'll be the day that you croak.
Did you write the Book of Ric
And did you kill Doktor Fappenschlick?
I guess the Monkey told you "no."
Now do you believe in happenstance
How the Monkey got that lucky chance
And can you teach me how to die real slow?
Well I know that you're in league with Pav
'Cause I saw your mafia in the Cav (3)
You both drew out your guns,
And I didn't even try to run...
I was lookin' around all on my guard
With a shopping basket and a nectar card
But I knew my escape was barred
The day the Doktor died
I started singin'
"My, my!" Doktor Fappenshlick cried
There's a Monkey and a Scotsman there that I have espied
The RPRF were buying whisk(e)y and coke
Singin' this'll be the day that you croak
This'll be the day that you croak.
Now for three days I'd been hunting you
And my BPLs were working too
Just like it always used to be
And the Muppet queued in the checkout lane
With a Baby Seal who lost the game
And a bag that was so fluff-eeee (4)
Oh and while I stood there looking glum
The players all pulled out their guns
They shot me in the head
And so I fell down dead
And while the Umpire sat updating news,
the RPRF bought their booze
I knew then I couldn't choose
The day the Doktor died
We were singin'
So "My, my!" Doktor Fappenshlick cried
There's a Monkey and a Scotsman there that I have espied
The RPRF were buying whisk(e)y and coke
Singin' this'll be the day that you croak
This'll be the day that you croak.
Who'd have though it? In a supermarket
The Doc and Maxwell went and copped it
Wanted crim'nals falling fast
We all looked on aghast
As the gay Hairdresser made a pass (5)
At the Rower on the sidelines- he ran fast...
Now the deli smell was sweet perfume
While the PA system played a tinkly tune
And Samba tried to dance, but he never got the chance,
'Cause when the players pulled their guns out there,
Security began to glare
Shoot them all? I didn't dare, the day the Doktor died.
So "My, my!" Doktor Fappenshlick cried
There's a Monkey and a Scotsman there that I have espied
The RPRF were buying whisk(e)y and coke
Singin' this'll be the day that you croak
This'll be the day that you croak.
And there we were all in one place
With me about to lose the race
But one way left to start again:
So come on, join the cops and have some fun
Eliminate the wanted scum
'Cause the coppers are the Umpire's only friends.
And just before the deed was done
The Rower put away his gun
Because he knew full well,
He couldn't break the Monkey's spell
And as Kat and Cat played with their kites
Samba danced into the night
I saw Scotty laughing with delight
The day the Doktor died.
"My, my!" Doktor Fappenshlick cried
There's a Monkey and a Scotsman there that I have espied
The RPRF were buying whisk(e)y and coke
Singin' this'll be the day that you croak
This'll be the day that you croak.
They met a boy who played the blues
And they asked him to update the news
But he just winked and strummed away.
I walked past the Emma court
Where I'd poisoned doorknobs, stabbed and fought (6)
But the porters said "Assassins, Go Away!"
And in the streets some incos screamed
Assassins died and the Umpire dreamed
That lots of players were lurking
And the Auto-Ump was working (7)
And the players that I'd helped the most
Still survived, and so could boast
That they survived, and I'm a ghost
The day the Doktor died.
(1) Every kill report should contain the word "espied", unless it
desperately wants to avoid cliches. Damn...
(2) The original lyrics say Whiskey, but I wouldn't wish to offend two
certain upstanding members of our community.
(3) Sorry. The rhyme was too silly for me not to include.
(4) Apologies for this one.
(5) Please don't kill me adam, I'm fluffy really...
(6) This is something of an Exaggeration.
(7) Which it will, one day. Oh yes.
The three of clubs reports:
I was a little upset that the nine of spades didn't reply to my first letter, I meant that's just rude. I sent her another one to make sure she was okay. I got the Three of Spades to help me write it, she's more polite than I am...
sir reginald duke of chutney reports:
I arrived back at my castle after a hard days work and headed straight for the post room.
"Oooh a letter!" I said to my companion. Being a bit thick I opened it without hesitating.
"Oh it says it poisoned with vaseline - from The three of clubs." Thankfully I was still wearing my gloves from cycling in the snow - I live to see another day.
414 reports:
On returning home, I discovered my first poison bomb of the term! This is sooo cool. Thanks to The three of clubs for awarding me the 9 of same suit. I feel loved and wanted. Oh wait...
The three of clubs reports:
Shuffle, Cut, and it's the nine of clubs. I checked the papers, and was astounded to see that he was wanted by the police for the murder of the Queen of Spades! I sent him a letter to congratulate him, and put some glitter in it, because it's pretty.
The Adult Male's Father reports:
I'm running out of amusing jokes, so here are some failed ones that I sold to a company making Christmas crackers.
(First joke censored to protect the target's identity.)
What do you call an assassin who attempts poems expressing grief, draws
his gun, waits for his target to approach along the corridor, sees he has
been alerted, runs out and chases after him, exchanging shots (all of
which from both parties appear to miss) until he runs out of ammo before
running away?
The Adult Male's Father!!!!
Melissa reports:
"He assumed I'd come to my room the way he got in. He was wrong! We duelled perilously on the landing until he and his coat vanished, with neither side able to claim victory. I'll be seeing him REALLY soon, and he won't be so lucky. That's right, Melissa is after you, and he's TICKED!"
414 reports:
The Christ's Mafia is out on the town, complete with Press Photographer! First we went to Harvey Court, where the only room we could get to belonged to Martin Lester and he was out at LARP. So we went to LARP :-P
Martin Lester reports:
I returned to my room this evening and sat down at my computer. Looking at my e-mail, I found a warning saying that around 10 heavily armed people had been spotted outside my door. Looking at IRC, I found a private message from Corkscrew saying:
Sorry for nearly giving you a heart attack
...and I guess I can assume the toothpaste was ineffectual
Looking at the underside of my door handle, I saw a faint smearing of a white substance. I will have to clean that off before the morning.
Animal Rights Activists reports:
Another sighting has been confirmed of a group of Animal Rights Activists in the vicinity of Harvey Court this evening. These rogue elements, accompanied by a large group of assorted individuals managed to bluff their way past the security measures and proceeded to hunt for the abode of their targets. Neighbours seemed shocked at the firepower exhibited, however two targets appeared to be out and one was inaccessible. Witnesses suggest, however, that the assassins left with a determined air - perhaps with further targets in mind?
414 reports:
Once there, I personally was forced to shoot an innocent who was trying to wind me up by pretending to draw a gun. However, this did not affect the end result of the evening: Matthew Johnson copped it at the hands of Corkscrew. He wandered out of the plodge only to receive 3 rubber bands to the chest. His expression was the very epitome of "what the hell?"
Animal Rights Activists reports:
Reports have been received of a disturbance in the vicinity of Trinity Hall College in central Cambridge. Witnesses have confirmed that the renowned criminal 414 assassinated Matthew Johnson, and threatened several "innocent" bystanders. Animal Rights Protestors were also reported as being in the vicinity.
414 reports:
We then went on to Harvey Road, where my explanation over the intercom that we were assassins trying to kill residents garnered little sympathy. Expecially since the random button we pressed was that of one of the assassins, who recognised my voice... The assassin, Chris Field, seems a thoroughly nice chap and has invited me back. I apologise if I seem suspicious, but I might wait til I'm dead to take him up on this :-)
Chris Field reports:
I was visited by the Motley Corks-Crew at about 11:30 tonight. They chose a random buzzer to try to gain entry to the house, and happened to pick mine:
Corkscrew: "Hello can we get into your house, we are assassins here to kill
members of your community"
Me: "Er how about no, I am one of those assassins and I am not going to let
you in, bad luck"
Corkscrew: "Er, ok, we had better be off then"
Or words to those effects. I then dashed to MSN my neighbour who had a loaded CPS and a ground floor window, but he was in London. I stared out the window, got a lovely photo taken of me and watched them run off (rifles out in the open tsk tsk) apparently still wondering who I was. I met Corkscrew before the party, when he was sober, obviously made no impression though.
In hindsight, perhaps I could have gunned them as they climbed the stairs, or hid on the roof and left my room open for them to wander into and get shot. Neither seemed a good plan as my RBG seems to jam after a couple of shots at the moment; survival instincts kicked in.
Chris "Lame" Field
Animal Rights Activists reports:
On arriving at Harvey Road, a large group of youths, including Animal Rights Activists and the nefarious 414 approached the house in which their targets lived. Upon reaching the door and being confronted by a panel of buttons, 414 pressed one and subtley introduced himself as an assassin. Upon revealing that he was, in fact, an assassin himself, the resident proceeded to shout threats of an ambush from Emmanuel. This was entirely unnesessary, and unfortunately completely false.
The Electron Kid reports:
I appear to have mislaid my registered Minigun, somewhere in the vicinity of Sainsbury's. If found, please return it to the Umpire
Animal Rights Activists reports:
Students at a Cambridge College have reported sightings of shady looking characters lurking buildings in the college. One such report suggests hearing a peculiar instrument being played. It is said that a particularly sharp note was received by one Chris Knowles from a group of individuals. An anonymous source also confirms that his room mate was particularly helpful, as he kindly lent a scrabble "T" to some innocent scrabble fanatics who were in the vicinity. These same fanatics would like to point out that "ba" is not a legitimate word.
David Birch reports:
Well, here I am, happily dead, no more paranoia or disturbances. I'm playing scrabble with some dead assassins and a few friends, when there comes a knocking on my door. at 1:00AM?
I peek through my letterbox. There's three less-that-subtle assassins out there with RBRs. Yes. Rifles. Really subtle. They say "we're playing scrabble upstairs and we're missing a letter "T" do you have one?"
I took a scrabble "T" from the word "storm" and flicked it through the mail slot, but said we'd need it back on a short while.
They looked a bit confused.
They then asked to come in, but I informed them that I was dead, and that it would be pointless, for some reason, they didn't believe me. The report had been up for almost half a day. (Does the Christ's mafia not check the website?) - they dropped a note signed from the christ's mafia, (another worrying sign, physical evidence is never a clever thing to leave.) and went on their way.
They were nice enough to give me my T back though...
Chris Knowles reports:
Apparently some people came to kill me. I was (almost) asleep. They left.
The Umpire was also requested by an anonymous source to point out that "ba" does indeed appear in the official scrabble two-letter word dictionary, apparently meaning "in ancient egyptian religion, the soul". The Umpire was too lazy to confirm the truth of this rumour.
Rollo Tomasi reports:
I wish to announce the (predicted) (imminent) death of Scoop Rinse Wobble Wobble Flush Your Tooth Down A Booth Mr Woof Whistle Thing Shark Up!!
At around 12:45 ish, I stealthily crept through the dark and foreboding grounds of the target's college, the effect being ruined slightly by the snow (damn that weather). Every muscle was tense (especially that one which keeps making my eyelid twitch) as I approached the staircase in question, and gazed in awe at the cryptic puzzle left for me to solve by my prey: It read thus:
Out.
Feeling slightly sheepish at all the creeping around, I ascended the stairs and found his door.
Now a dear friend of mine, Fran Heritage, was recently slain by that most disgusterous of rogues Elvis. The varmint left behind a very cunning cap detonator, which Fran (speaking from beyoned the grave via the medium I keep locked in my cupboard) passed on to me that I might avenge his death.
Freshly loaded, I wedged the detonator under his door, in such a manner that it could be seen from neither side, but would be triggered when he opened his door, with a small note explaining all the bother. I crept back down the stairs and slid into the (non-existent - well duh this was midday) shadows... where I had been all along.
The Umpire notes that this attempt could not possibly have killed the target for two reasons. First, a cap detonator which has already been used in a bomb which has gone off cannot be reused in the same game. Secondly, a cap detonator beneath someone's door with no explosive attached does not a bomb make, and so the explosion would not have killed the target anyhow.
Scoop Rinse Wobble Wobble Flush Your Tooth Down A Booth Mr Woof Whistle Thing Shark Up reports:
my bosom friend Jono was blown to poo potpourri and pudenda by a firecracker intended for me, slipped beneath my door.
Once again, The Adult Male's Father's report has been censored to protect the identity of his target.
Melissa reports:
"This morning whilst lying in my bed dreaming of foxy ladies I was roused from my slumber by a horrific explosion outside my room! Emerging from my den this morning and carefully looking around I noticed the remnants of a bomb, I can only assume the stupid b*****d blew himself up whilst setting the bomb. At least my bombs don't kill me! HAH!"
Melissa later reported:
"The strange explosion I heard the morning was infact the result of one of my neighbours; he was so overcome with fear for my life that he sacrificed himself by detonating the bomb whilst I lay safely in bed, making a squidgy mess in the hallway that was more than a tad difficult to explain to the porters. Clearly he won't be doing it again, and I shall certainly discourage members of my hallway from doing similar things in future."
uncountable 72 reports:
as i sloped in a daze along my corridor this morning, only thoughts of the injustice of morning lectures were on my mind. little did i know that after luring me into a false sense of security by not doing anything all week, my soon-to-be killer was lurking around a corner near my abode. Joan N. lept craftily out from a hiding place and removed my left ventricle with a single shot. so, of course, i'm dead. dammit.
Joan N. reports:
To whom it may concern,
YOU have been specially selected to take part in the Assassicorp. TM grand prize draw.
Yes, that's right, your name has been chosen from millions across the country to give you this very special opportunity.
Names are selected from the contestants, and prizes distributed on a random basis. You could win:
1. A fantastic mock-silver plated cuckoo clock*
2. A cash prize of up to $1000*
3. A holiday to a marvellous destination of your choice**
4. Our GRAND PRIZE: Death
This week, Ben Esche was awarded the grand prize by Joan N., who has been our employee for many minutes, and his acceptance comments are posted here too.
Just think: Next time, it could be You!
*These prizes not available to persons currently living in the United Kingdom.
**Range of destinations: Cambridge and Girton.
By reading the above, you have implicitly given Assassicorp. TM the right to send you suitably chosen promotional material.
sir reginald duke of chutney reports:
Tried to push open the target's door to shoot him and ruin his weekend. It was locked.
PC Mathematical Menace reports:
And on the Saturday it came to be, that we realised enough was enough, too many people had died, and that the arch-criminal 414 must be brought to (very summary) justice. And so a team set out to reid the world of this villain, consisting of myself, PC Mallon and G.I.Bob. Getting up early on a Saturday morning in the cause of duty, we headed to Christ's, where we waited opposite the plodge, waiting for the criminal to emerge. Time passed, and nothing happened. Could it be that the evil mastermind would survive another day? It looked that way, when at 9:57 am we abandoned the watch, and headed off to lectures. However, fortune, known to favour the bold, smiled upon us. Just as we took our seats, he walked into the lecture theatre, and knowing him from the Christ's chess team, I enticed him to sit next to us. And so it came to be, that throughout an hour of analysis that could be marketed as a cure for insomnia, I sent text messages to every assassin I knew, telling them exactly where 414 sat. And so we waited for the break between lectures, and the next move. It was 414 who made the mistake, leaving the protection of the lecture theatre to get refreshments. Quick as a flash, Stephen Chester darted after him, and 414's dying screams were heard for miles around... Criminals, Ye Be Warned...
PC Mallon reports:
The Christs mafia had drawn too miuch attention to themselves. Every day new reports of killings and attempts by them reached the band of Jesuans' ears. It was decided that something had to be done. Saturday the 31st of Jauary was a cold grey day, forcasting the grim story that was to unfold as the day wore on. Three haggard figures made their way down the chimney into the world beyond and all the dangers that lurked there; they were out to bring justice to the arch criminal, 414. The group consisted of GI BOB, PC Mallon and PC Mathematical Menace. They bought some rations from the bakers oven and waited outside Christs for the inevitable showdown. We were ready to face whatever came out of that door, 414, or 414 and 8 accomplices all commited to the cause.
At five minutes to 10 we decided that he wasn't coming and went to his lecture. We noticed several other assassins in the crowd who all, by some twist of fate were at the same lecture. We identified the target and sent a secret signal to every assassin we could get in touch with in the lecture. Nods from around the hall were noted. At approximatly five minutes to eleven the target left the lecture hall and was followed by one of our loyal team, Stephen Chester. He had recieved the massage and knew what must be done, he returned a few minutes later with a grim but relieved look on his face, thunder roared in the sky and temples collapsed all over the world, an evil overlord had been brought to justice. PC's Mallon and Mathematical Menace decided that it was time to leave as we viewed the shocked faces of previously inconspicuois individuals, possibly the remaining members of the Christ's Mafia.
G.I.Bob reports:
Today at around 9:30 am three members of The League of Extraordinary Jesuans decided to head for Christ's in order to take out the master criminal 414 and any other rogues they may encounter.
PC's Mallon and Mathematical Menace left 'the chimney' with G.I.Bob sitting comfortably in one of their pockets, but were disappointed when no criminals showed their faces. So, they headed off to lectures where a fourth member of the league was present.
'Menace pointed out 414 to neighbouring assassins and he was justly killed by Stephen Chester between two Maths lectures.
G.I.Bob maintains that he will annihilate any and all criminals who turn up to 'The Duel', Great Court, Trinity @ 2 pm on Wednesday, but may be a little disappointed as they are decreasing in number and no longer pose any challenge to him.
P.S.: Bob was trodden on by a civilian leaving the Maths lecture and seeks permission to eliminate him.
414 reports:
Now let me speak of fear.
What is this emotion? What is the source of the gut-clenching panic that can fell the strongest man?
Is it pain? Not directly. I can cut my finger and feel no fear, only pain and irritation. But we fear pain.
Is fear the anticipation of pain then? When you see a dog cower before a harsh master, or you yourself step aside for some hulking thug in the street, you prove this. Fear is the anticipation of pain.
And yet we fear unevenly. Spiders may be poisonous or they may not. Most are not, but many live in fear anyway. In a high place, falling may be nearly impossible, but vertigo strikes us anyway.
Why do we fear the impossible chance so much? I say we fear not the event, the breaking of the safety harness, the snakebite in the dark. We fear the uncertainty - the whole vast system of interconnecting cause and effect that we can never fully comprehend, and that can chew us up and spit us out.
Fear is the dark side of curiosity. Curiosity may have killed the cat; fear makes death seem preferable to not knowing what is in the darkness. People fear what they know not, and they worship it or destroy it. Or are destroyed.
As an assassin, I have walked with fear. I seek out the unknown, and make it known, and kill it. My life, as a student as well as a hunter, is devoted to this transition. But knowledge comes with a price.
I didn't know who would kill me. I now know absolutely, and it almost seems worth it. As I breathe my last, one piece of advice is my final gift to you:
NEVER go to buy a drink between lectures! DOH!
PC Detritus reports:
I was lying in peaceful slumber when i recieved correspondance by Text Msg from PC Mathematical Menace informing me of the location of that notorious felon, 414.
Quickly I donned my cloak and trusty twelve-shooter and header for Downtown Cockroft. I arrived at the scene just in time to be present at the assassination.
According to the information included in the Txt Msg, I was able to identity 414. However, I was badly mistaken, and it was a lucky escape for PC Mallon that I didn't gun him down then and there mistaking him for 414 as I saw him departing the scene.
It was only as I saw Stephen Chester returning from the vending machine with blood-soaked hands that I realised the kill had been made. As soon as lectures had finished, we all bade a hasty retreat from the scene to avoid the onslaught of retribution...
Stephen Chester reports:
It was 10:05, and I was sitting there, blood racing through my veins. What was the cause of this excitement? Surely not the joys of bounded functions, but rather the exciting news that the legendary criminal 414 was sitting just across the aisle from me. This news was passed to me by the heroic doughnut muncher, PC Mathematical Menace, who cleverly enticed the target to sit next to him, then spread the word to all right thinking citizens. He had been part of an ad hoc SWAT team organised by the brave and cunning PC Mallon, who had staked out of 414's college that morning. Though unsuccessful, they had managed to track him down to the Cockroft.
So there I sat, with an hour to wait, trying hard not to stare at 414, or fall asleep. At last the lecture ended, and to my surprise, 414 made for the exit. I paused briefly, then cautiously followed him. I was somewhat nervous by this point. Previous attempts on his life had all failed, including the infamous SWAT raid on his door, that claimed the life of the Master Bomb-maker, our late, lamented, derided Chief of Police. This cunning criminal had taken so many lives already, would I just be one more bloodstain on his hands?
I stepped out, and panicked, he was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled? No, merely made his way to the nearby refreshments on sale. Many a great man has been brought low by drink, but who would have thought the mighty 414 would be one of them?
As he joined the queue, I slipped in behind him, weapon still concealed. He looked round suspiciously, and reached for his coat pocket. I tensed, preparing to draw, and hoped that I'd get the first shot off. His hand came out, holding ... a wallet, that cruel oppressor of the International Proletariat. Waiting until he was busy taking out his change, and so unable to react, I unholstered my gun and quipped 'Bang!'. He turned round, a look of surprise on his face. "Oh...you got me", he replied, a disappointed smile on his face. We exchanged complements of the others work, before making our way back to the intricacies of vector calculus.
Thus ends the saga of 414, a mighty criminal and worthy target. The streets are now safer to walk (though still too dangerous for my liking), and the bells of rejoicing shall ring out across the city. I leave you with a final thought: What do 414 and Karl Marx have in common? They're both dead...;)
PC Johnson reports:
With most of the wanted criminals removed from the game somewhat, I let my guard down a bit. BIG MISTAKE! I got a very official letter in my pigeon-hole this morning, apparently from the NHS. They clearly were low on their quotas, as they were poisoning people in order to get more patients into their hospitals. A white cloud of unidentified powder came out of the envelope and engulfed I knew no more. The sad part is, Corkscrew was apparently already dead when this happened.
Neill Campbell reports:
Just when I was getting worried that I wasn't going to receive a suspect letter, Internet Reject obligingly provided the remedy. How ironic that this failed attempt should be made known by the use of the very medium which (s)he strives against.
Oook reports:
Feeling that Michael Richards must be feeling lonely and depressed, I decided to brighten up his day with a letter. Carelessly, just before I sealed it, I accidentally tipped some talc^H^H^H^Hdeadly contact poison into the envelope. Absent mindedly, I still sent it off. Hope he survives, wouldn't want blood on my hands. Though talc on his would be another matter...
Michael Richards reports:
I got sent a very nice letter today. Unfortunately the sender must have accidentally slipped and dropped some talcum powder into the letter. However, they very kindly warned me of this by proceeding to wrap cellotape around the edges of the envelope and hence it was handled safely. So no deaths (well at least mine) today.
sir reginald duke of chutney reports:
When back to try and do in the same target. Door still locked. Tried knocking - no reply gosh darnitt.
one-three-seven reports:
I have today sent some letters to two of my targets. I hope they like nutmeg, as they sure have a lot of
it now.
hee hee
one-three-seven
Michaelangelo reports:
Just to report that someone tried to kill me with a letter bomb today, unsuccessfully.
Presley, Elvis reports:
As I was strolling through the streets of Cambridge inspiration took me. A obtained a small vile from a shady retailer (who surprisingly offered student discounts) and the contents was liberated onto an inviting flyer. After depositing the result in a likely pigeon hole I hope that Matt F will not be with us for much longer.
Matt F reports:
Today, I received some most unwanted flyering. I was checking my pigeonhole when I saw a postcard, probably advertising some event or other. Then I noticed that no-one else had received such a flyer, and so my suspicions were raised. Putting on my gloves, I found that sure enough the reverse of the card was smeared in a deadly poison. Carefully disposing of the postcard I thanked my luck that my would-be assassin, whoever he/she is, had not thought to flyer the surrounding pigeon holes.
PC Zoidberg reports:
Found a rather official-looking letter in my pigeon hole. Despite having been killed already, opened it with a) care and b) my fleece, just in case. Contained contact poison, signed by Dr. Corkscrew. Rather well done. It would have killed me if I hadn't been incredibly careful after doing some hunting, er haunting... with the Christ's Mafia. I'll watch out for such things in future lives.
PC Zoidberg has already been warned about his ghost's involvement with the non-existent Christ's Mafia. In future kills will be disallowed if dead players continue to accomplice on attempts.
Sideshow Barbara reports:
With the arrival of my shiny new RBG I set off on a killing spree this afternoon. Unfortunately, two of my targets were out/cowering in their rooms. With a sense of trepidation I proceeded to Michael Cripps' room. He was the one I didn't want to kill as my research showed he was in the final last term and i am a first timer. So clutching my arsenal of RBG and two knives I went to his room. I heard noises. So knocking on the door i waited for it to open. However, nobody answered and in my nerves i concocted a a pretty crappy excuse to my being their (claiming to be lost). I heard him reach for his gun and a crack opened, i put my gun inside , fired and said bang, he also shot at me but missed (i think). I then ran outside but my accomplice pointed out he was at his window. He sniped at me but i dodged quickly and with great skill ran away. So that was the outcome of my attempts, uncertainty-did i hit him? did he hit me? (i don't think so). I think we are both still alive. until next time...
Michael Cripps reports:
I have just survived an attempt on my life by at least one unknown female assassin (this seems to be becoming something of a regular occurrence).
I received a knock on my door from two girls claiming to be lost and attempting to get to the river. Being the helpful citizen I am, I resolved to assist these damsels in distress.
Grabbing my rubber band gun I opened the door a crack and emptied the contents into the corridor beyond. Sadly, every shot appeared to miss its target and the single band fired in response didn't make it through the door. After a short discussion in which the poor performance of my gun was duly noted, the ladies left and I took up a sniping shot as they left the staircase. Sadly they dodged out of range and left the college.
If the ladies in question want to stop by I'm sure I could show them the way to river, and hopefully next time I'll send their bodies floating down it...
Michael Brooks reports:
Seems as though my assassins have a very low opinion of me.
Today I received a letter marked with my name, and my college, and absolutely nothing else written on it. Credit to the assassin, it was printed onto a label, which would fool anybody who did not know what Microsoft Word does, and there were no visible bulges on the letter to indicate poisonous substances. I went up to my room, collected another pair of examination gloves, and returned to the mailroom to pick up the letter. Upon opening it, I could indeed feel that some substance had been placed in there. It turned out to be fine salt.
The letter was of a non-conventional format, stating my name. There were also a few mistakes which the assassin should learn from:
"Trinity College" - Nope, last time I checked, this wasn't Trinity.
"It has come to our attention that you have been downloading large amounts of data over the past few days. As you know, under college regulations, there is a limit to the amount of data you should download per day" - Maybe so in Trinity, but there is no official limit in my college :-) God bless Kazaa.
"Yours Faithfully - Melvis"
In addition Melvis states:
"The purpose of this experiment is most psychological; we are intending to study your reactions to this letter and then assess your mental state. This letter... has been carefully rigged to poison you" - Thank you for your concern, my mental state is the same as ever... whatever that may be.
"Secondly, the first paragraph above is somewhat in error. For a start I don't know your IP, or how much you download." - Nope but after some investigation including a tip-off from mailroom associates, I'm pretty sure I know yours! :o)
And for the attention of the Animal Rights Activists: "The substance contained within is very fine salt and is completely harmless, except to slugs"
"Here is hoping that it works and that you are dead. So long for now." - Valiant attempt, however I am as much dead as I am inhabiting Trinity. I'll look forward to taking part in more psychological experiments in the future.
Melvis reports:
Poisoned letters straight from my heart
Keep you so far while apart
You're not alone in the night
When you can have all the poison I write
I memorize ev'ry line
I check the name that I sign
And man, then I read again right from the start
Poisoned letters straight from my heart
A rabid squirrel reports:
Animal Antics in Cambridge, 09:47 GMT, Dissociated Press.
CAMBRIDGE, UK - Witnesses this morning reported seeing a rabid squirrel scurrying around the city. One eye-witness noted that it was carrying an envelope in its mouth and seemed to know how to use the postal service. "It was amazin', man, this little furball ran out in front of me, up the side of the post box and dropped its letter.", said the witness, "Who'd a thought squirrels could write? I guess he was annoyed about summin', though, 'cuz he was frothin' at the mouth!"
Drunken Chunky Monkey reports:
Oook? boingy boingy boingy
Astral Surfer reports:
Was passing xxxxx College when I remembered that xxxxx was one of my targets. I decided to pay him a visit. After realising that he was in his room (and knowing the futility of room attacks), I decided to leave a bomb outside his door. Due to the fact I assembled it on the spot, it was neither complex nor subtle, but who knows, it might work!
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Yay! I'm loved! I'd just left my room to go downstairs to see my neighbour, and what did I find outside my door? A bomb! I had opened the door from a safe distance with string, but it turns out that even that wasn't necessary as the bomb didn't go off... A word of advice - when taping a cap detonator onto a bottle, try not to put the tape over the part that needs to flip open :)
PC Hawsker reports:
I recieved an MSN from a concerned citizen today, reporting that there were shady fellows bearing cuddly toys seen entering my premesis. I peered out of my mail slot.
Sure enough I could see two shady figures, however the angle was not good enough to tell if they had weapons.
I waited. They knocked on my neighbour's door, a few times, then settled down to wait outside. Feeling concern for law abiding citizens, I continued to keep watch until they left, then followed. Seenig them on the stairs below me, the front person was indeed bearing a grey fluffy knife! the man at the back had sheathed something cunningly in his backpack.
I fired two cracks of my RBG. The man with the knife was struck in the head and the torso. The man at the back looked dangerous, and I guessed he had a gun under his coat, so I retreated to safety.
Well, at least one would-be-murderer has been taken care of.
Swearing in technicolour reports:
i'm not afraid of death, i just don't want to be there when it happens. please write on my gravestone in very small letters so you have to be up close to it to see it. "made ye look". i'm going to a better place. a happy place. the pub. with a large hole in my head.
H.R reports:
That wasn't very productive.
These assassins obviously have better things to do than get shot. I have just made a long trip (in the hurricane outside) to see two targets both of whom were out (annoyingly).
A rabid squirrel reports:
Animal Assassin Returns, 12:28 GMT, Dissociated Press.
CAMBRIDGE, UK - Further to our story this morning, there have been more sightings of a rabid squirrel around the city. Again, our fluffy killer was witnessed posting a mysterious white envelope, this time outside of King's College. More news as it comes in.
Astral Surfer reports:
Suggestions for good poisoned letters:
1. Do not let your poison rattle around inside
2. Do not write your target's full name, room number and 6 lines of address
on the envelope
3. Preferably, print the address so as to give no clues about the originator
Bonus points for posting the letter in Royal Mail. Negative points for the obvious Cambridge postmark: who in Cambridge would use the post instead of ICMS?
The poison is now resting in the bottom of my bin. If I discover my bedder dead outside my door on Monday I will know who to blame, and I *will* find you...
Jail house rock reports:
I arrived at hall to find my fourth CICCU revival leflet in my pidgeon hold. Being suspect, I looked beneath the said item to find a poorly concealed explosive device. As I had no equipment with me at the time I waited until after hall to disarm it. With a well thrown knife I dislodged the item with an almighty bang. Then, using gloves removed the explosives to check for any other dangers. I guess this was a last ditch attempt to stop becoming incompetent as it was poorly thought out. The assassin in question should have used a piece of less obvious junk mail to cover his evil deeds rather than a Booklet that everyone in Cambridge has already recieved.
Jail house rock reports:
Finding the doors to Jacob's room unlocked (strange for such a security mad college) I burst in to kill the occupants. This plan worked perfectly execpt for one small detail... The occupant was not a scheming evil asassin but an beautiful innocent maden. Apolagising to her corpse, I spotted uncooked pasta on the table - the enemy must be in the kitchen! Quickly leaving the room before the dead maiden could shout a dying warning I found my target infront of me. A quick couple of shots later I had removed him from life. If only the maden could have been spared...
For this rather silly mistake, Jail house rock is declared wanted.
a sheep reports:
no man has ever been killed while washing up but a sheep has now been killed while cooking. finding only an innocent to kill in my humble abode, the wolf came out, saw my confuzzlement and fear and ate me; gleefully sinking his really big gnashers in and tearing me apart. bah. i'm dead
PC CyberDog reports:
The shade of the Christ's porter Graeme informed me that he'd been killed in a rather gruesome fashion by a curious white powder that made his lungs explode. This he found while sorting the mail, coming across a letter addressed to me that was leaking said powder. Going to my pigeonhole, I opened it using a handy nearby plastic bag to reveal a short note:
"God is dead. I shot him."
Thus Spake Zarathustra. It's nice to know someone cares enough about a rookie wanted policeman to want to send him life-changing philosophy in the mail.
Finally, it's probably newsworthy to note that Christ's Mafia are NOT going out tonight to wreak death and destruction. Corkscrew's death has affected us all, and we've decided to change our ways. For tonight, anyway. RIP Alex.
The Umpire notes that the letter in question was in fact placed in PC CyberDog's pigeonhole rather than handed to the porter. Zarathustra could not have been expected to foresee that the porter would be investigating PC CyberDog's mail, and so is not made wanted.
Matt F reports:
Having received my orders to kill Ross Fenning I proceeded to make enquiries, and soon found that he was a Christs college rep. After also learning of the Christs May ball launch event, I decided to put in an appearance to see if my target would surface. Sure enough, I soon found him due to the fact that he had his name emblazoned on the back of his JCR hoody. Unsheathing my knife, I planted it square in the middle of his back, making sure that he would learn the advantage of anonymity.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
In a completely unexpected event, a most dreadful murder has happened in Christ's bar. Ross Fenning was cut down in front of my eyes, and it wasn't until I was handed back my knife that I realised what had happened! They are dark days when the bars of Cambridge flow with blood...
Jail house rock reports:
Feeling I must undo the wrongs I have done, Rushed around the corner to find the next evil sceaming asassin on my list. Finding the room, I listened to hear the evil words 'I hate it when they put w in the questions'. Surely this was the dark domain of a Mathmo! However the room was locked and I bid a hasty retreat to avoid the terrible fate of a mathiric death.
Astral Surfer reports:
On the way out of xxxxx College, I left a note in his pigeonhole, just in case he wasn't satisfied with the bomb.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Wow, I'm suddenly getting very popular - I received a poisoned letter this evening. I opened it safely with my hands covered and avoided getting nasty poisonous talc over me :D Sending poisonous letters through the University Mail Service isn't a great idea if your letters aren't sealed properly - PC CyberDog and I were informed of the letters by a porter who had got "white powder" over his hands. This was from Ed's letter, not mine, so it looks like we have a dead porter :(
Two lame attempts in one day? One would nearly think the incompetence deadline was coming up...
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Assassins, police, umpire. As a mark of respect for our fallen friends we are not venturing out from our College tonight. You may rest easy, knowing that tomorrow incompetents shall be plenty and public.
The Umpire has no idea what this could be in reference to, since there are plainly no mafias in Cambridge.
Drunken Chunky Monkey reports:
OOOOK! gurgle gugle splat
Aesahettr reports:
What started out as a dream would turn into a film noir nightmare, but I wasn't to know this. A week had me confident in my own invulnerability, hightened senses and skills to evade or kill all comers. Tonight would turn out to be the beginning of the end...
I had seen it in my mind... the path, the dark courtyard. Every night I would see more of it. But the door I could never reach in my mind, always the image faded before I reached it. A door Aesahettroutlined in light, perhaps? An undistinguished wooden door, nevertheless. Tonight I watched myself retrace the steps that had happened so many times before in my mind. The door opened, leading to an abandoned corridor. Forgotten by time? Possibly, but certainly the hiding place of a deadly foe.
The bomb was planted. It was there, a thing, silent but deadly. Who cared what it did? One way or another, I was going to find out. The thought of the quiet corridor filled with burning rubble and burnt flesh left me unmoved. It was too far away, unreal. Just another dark chapter to add to my tortured mind.
Perhaps one day I will be free of this... existance, but not today. Today, we will fight onwards, to what end? Who knows...
PC Detritus reports:
My civilian accomplice and I were out patrolling the streets in the evening when we heard that a renegade assassin had become wanted. Having failed to redeem himself earlier, we thought we should pay him a visit to emphasise the importance of rehabilitation.
After reaching the house of the suspect, which I might add was heavily fortified, we proceeded to ascertain whether he was in or out. The front door was locked so we rang the buzzer to his room on the pretence of business.
A muffled voice replied, confirming the suspect's presence. However, he was not to be enticed out of his abode, so we posted an informative pamphlet through the door and hung around outside for a while to see if we could get a response.
The curtains twitched a few times, so my accomplice tried the buzzer again, at which point the window was flung open and my accomplice was hit full in the face by a seething liquid (presumed acidic in nature). Staggering blindly around in circles he cried out to me in warning and I let forth a barrage of deadly rubber bands but was unable to hit the target through the crack in the window. The target then turned upon me and I was forced to dive behind a wall, which luckily for me took the brunt of the acid. Seeing the wall decaying before my eyes, I called out, and my accomplice and I legged it out of range.
Seeing that we were not going to be successful, we bade the criminal to repent his sins and bid him goodnight. Hopefully he will hear this 'friendly' warning and change his ways!
Jail house rock reports:
PC Detritus tried to kill me just now in my fortress! The fool. First he sent out his scout to ring the doorbell - this resulted in raising my suspisions, so I got ready my gun enplacement. A little while later, they came back, but this time when the NON PLAYING accomplace to the PC rang the doorbell he was quickly killed off my my heavy gun emplacement hehehe. Meanwhile the PC let off a few shots from his RPG at my windows and hid around the corner. What are the police comming to these days. Needless to say, they gave up and left. May I point out that the accomplace was holding a VERY suspicous piece of paper (looking like a knife shape). And are the police allowed to use innocent bystanders to ring doorbells for them - is this not endangering the public, knowing full well that whoever rings that bell will DIE! I aprecate the quick responce of the police force, but using innocent civilians as bullet shields is just going too far for the cops.
As Jail house rock points out, exposing an innocent civilian to certain death in this way is very irresponsible for a police officer, and hence PC Detritus is now wanted in connection with his accomplice's horrible death. As his intent was essentially good, it's possible that he'll be redeemed should he perform sufficiently well in eliminating criminals in the near future.
Russ Williams reports:
Oooh, someone's a knockin' at ma door. Ignore it. Knock, softer this time. Ignored. Grab RBG. Open window. Aim generally towards doorway. Fire off six bands at scared bunny-rabbits... uh, I mean, deadly killers. Well, they ran like they were bunny-rabbits, anyway. The range was about 20' and I was hiding behind my curtain and snap-firing due to the fact that I was in my dressing gown so I doubt I hit them, but you never know...
Uncountable 4 reports:
Late last night, I went for a walk,
To see Russ Williams, but he didn't want to talk.
As I left bullets around me hissed,
but I do believe he missed.
Dalriada reports:
I found myself in the college of my target with relative ease as i found the porters extremely helpful in letting me into his otherwise locked staircase (dont you just love the porters). I heard a loud party going on next door and knew how neighbours can ruin the most carefully thought out assassination attempts, so i tried the door handle. It was locked, damn it! So i waited to see if there would be a response, there was none so i left.
Index | Wanted List | Incompetents | Police | Headlines | UpdatesProduced at Fri Apr 9 00:31:25 2004