Pemmer reports:
Deciding to abort that attempt, I reclaimed the bag and went in search of target 2. On my way to the next college, I dropped into Sainsbury's and amongst other things, bought a very significant can of Coke. I reached my targets room, and first thing I noticed was the fact that the edge of his coat was trapped in the door, and the door was therefore off the catch. I burst in armed with an RBG to find... a messy room and no target. I have overheard details of how my target sweeps around his doors with a knife to check for detonator caps, so knew that my bottles would have to rest for another day. Instead, I thought recycling my can would be a better idea. I went into his bathroom, filled the can full of water, and transferred the disclaimer part of my bomb labels onto the back of the can. I placed a detonator cap underneath the can and positioned the can on top of a pile of work with the label facing backwards, right next to his rape alarm... what ?!? Sorry, Dalriada, your "personal security" alarm won't save you now! Nice coat by the way...
Dalriada reports:
I've just arrived back at my room after a night of moderate drinking to find my door slightly ajar. It appears my coat got caught in it as I left. That would not normally be a problem except for the presence of a tin of diet coke on my desk. Myself only partaking in full sugar drinking realised it must be an attempt on my life so I knocked it down by throwing said coat at it. There was a bang but since i was outside its blast radius i am still alive. There was a disclaimer scralled on the tin, and i must thank the assassin for not robbing me while bombing me. Unfortunately they did not leave a name for me to pass on the thanks.
Michaelangelo reports:
It is my birthday today. I had a couple of friends over from home, sleeping on the floor. I was still in bed when one of them got tragically blown in to pieces when she opened the door to go downstairs and get a shower. Unfortunately, this did not stop her from spending a good 40 minutes in the shower.
kthxdie >:[ reports:
lol bombdurarse LOL
Michaelangelo reports:
Its still my birthday. Run to my pigeonhole. Oh look - someone has given me an apple for my birthday, cunningly wedged in it. I managed to diffuse the bomb with my bare hands (apple was so wedged that the detonator was having trouble going off. But had trouble getting the apple out of the pigeonhole...
Melvis reports:
Penguin Books presents ...
CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE ASSASSINATION
Introduction
This book is different from a normal book, in that you are in charge of the story. At the end of most pages you will be asked to make a decision, which controls which direction the story goes in. Choose wisely, else you might end up dead, incompetent or a criminal! If you can make the right decisions you will come out with your competency and honour intact. Turn the page to begin ...
Page 1
You are sitting at your computer, when you realise that your incompetency deadline is rapidly approaching, and you have to be somewhere at 1 O'Clock! You need to decide what to do in the short space of time you have remaining. Do you:
Sod it, ignore the appointment and go down the pub ? Turn to Page 7
Go to your appointment and attempt to do something afterwards ? Turn to Page 9
Ignore the meeting you had planned, and think up a fiendish plan ? Turn to Page 19
Page 2
Ok, you head to the longer-lasting criminal's house, and although the journey is long, you are raring for a kill. You need a plan though, what are you going to do to attempt to get the fiend?
Buzz someone at random, try to get in and plant a bomb ? Turn to Page 3
Buzz him and ask for a duel ? Turn to Page 16
Lurk outside until an opportunity presents itself ? Turn to Page 17
Page 3
You buzz someone; a friendly but slightly surprised voice asks who it is. You explain that you are an assassin, and there is a wanted criminal in the building. They seem to oblige and you enter the building. You head towards his door and get the bomb out of your backpack. You have a backpack right? With a bomb in it? No? MUPPET ? GAME OVER!
Page 4
You have ages before having to do something, so you figure the best plan is to lurk one of your targets. You head to the appropriate college and lie in wait at the end of their corridor, although not sure what they look like you are armed and ready for anything. You soon spot someone leave the room and go into the kitchen, you quickly and quietly hide in the toilet, watching around the door. The target puts some pasta on, then heads back to their room leaving the door open! You take this opportunity to sneak along the corridor when suddenly your mobile phone rings! Alert as ever the target hears this, and as you fumble to turn it off, they leap out of the room and shoot you in the chest! When you finally answer the phone, and angry voice demands a reason for your missing the meeting, perhaps you should have gone after all. GAME OVER!
Page 5
Ok letter bomb it is you decide. You have a cap detonator at least; the question is what would actually stand a chance of getting the dastardly imbecile? You scan the room, and see apples, a thick textbook that you found in lost property but never ever used and a bottle of water.
Go with the apple, it has the highest comedy/weight ratio ? Turn to Page 24
The water bottle would be harder to detonate without dying ? Turn to Page 12
The textbook is thick, heavy and reliable ? Turn to Page 13
Page 6
You look at your targets carefully. You realise that one is too far away for your lazy ass, another lives somewhere silly you haven't been to before which only leaves the third. You consider the best way to approach this target in the hope of a kill. However, you have been sitting at the computer for long enough that your mother notices you are online! You are soon engaged in a long, and very slow conversation about what is happening at home, time is running out, what to do!
Leave your mother talking to a brick wall and make a crappy letter bomb to leave for your target ? Turn to Page 8
Politely try to stop the conversation and hope there is time for an attempt ? Turn to Page 10
Page 7
You decide it is best that the meeting be ignored; you have better things to do involving beer and mooching around. You go to the nearest pub, sit down with a pint and start to relax. Suddenly out of the corner of your eye you are sure you spot a dastardly assassin, what are you going to do?!
Ignore it again, the beer is just too good ? Turn to Page 11
Carefully stand up and leg it! ? Turn to Page 23
Draw a weapon, saunter over and kill them ? Turn to Page 14
Page 8
You leave her there going on about what she watched on television last night and grab a cap detonator. You leap onto your bike and race into town. With just a few minutes to spare you plant the device underneath a heavy careers guide you find lying in the porter's lodge. WELL DONE! You are competent indeed, just. No kill was made though, and your mother isn't best pleased, no beer money for a month!
Page 9
You head for your appointment. It all goes well when you get there, and everyone seems pleased with you at the end. You feel especially pleased, it was a most exciting event indeed. You head home, realising there isn't much time left.
Turn to Page 15
Page 10
You politely explain that you need to go to a meeting. Your mother knows better than this however, and starts going on in the usual motherly way about how you never call home or tell her what is happening at university, even though you know telling her the name of anyone doing anything means nothing to her. When she finally goes offline you find that your deadline passed nearly 30 minutes ago! The website reveals your name, pseudonym and status as an incompetent! GAME OVER!
Page 11
Mmm beer. You enjoy the beer. You enjoy the beer and die; the assassin grins and steals your beer. GAME OVER!
Page 12
You grab the water bottle, label it quickly and head into town. When you get to the pigeonholes of the closest incompetent you find that the bottle is too thick to fit in the narrow slot! You have nothing else to hold the cap down with and quickly grab some random junk mail, hoping that it is heavy enough to hold down the trap. You place it carefully, and as your finger moves from holding down the trap it suddenly becomes clear that the weight is not enough and before you can stop it, the trap explodes, your hand still holding it just in place. The bang echoes throughout the porter's lodge and being an honest assassin, you report your death later that day. GAME OVER!
Page 13
You take the textbook, detonator and rush into town. You plant the bomb without difficulty, leave the vicinity and are satisfied with a job well done. WELL DONE! The textbook was completely the wrong subject, so no chance of a kill, but you are competent! It turns out that two weeks later you could really have done with the book to reference some obscure theory ? D'oh!
Page 14
You take out a knife you had concealed in your pocket, carefully wander over to them and with one swift movement stab them in the back! They turn suddenly, looking very surprised and somewhat shocked. A brief discussion results in the conclusion that they are indeed dead, however neither of you were targeting each other; they were unarmed and still competent and law-abiding. You get home later that night a wanted criminal, bad bad you! GAME OVER!
Page 15
After all that excitement you are a little tired, but your mind is still sharp and you start to think of a possible target for your deadly demeanour.
Go after a criminal, there seems to be lots of them these days ? Turn to Page 2
Try to get one of those incompetents - they can't be that tough ? Turn to Page 21
Aim for one of your actual targets ? Turn to Page 6
Page 16
You buzz his room, and a voice responds. You explain that you are a police officer come to challenge him to a duel and that he should pay for his many crimes. There is no reply, just a muffled noise and suddenly a stream of water hits you in the flank from a nearby window! You are stupid aren't you? GAME OVER!
Page 17
You wait outside. It is cold, slightly window, you wished you had brought a jumper with you. Eventually, someone leaves the house, but you don't really know what the criminal looks like, so you ask if it is him. He replies that he isn't, and hasn?t seen the offender all day. You have been here an hour or so, give up and go home. WELL DONE! You have competency, but you developed a bad cold next week!
Page 18
You quickly print off the word "badger" five hundred times on a sheet of A4, fold it and shove it in an envelope with some cup-a-soup as it was the only powder you could find on hand. You race into town and drop it off just in time, then write an uninspired report based on IF. WELL DONE! You are competent, there is no kill however and next Tuesday you find that you have nothing for lunch, not even a cup-a-soup.
Page 19
Well you consider your options. You can use the time wisely, and carefully scout out near to a target's room and be ready when they arrive or leave the area. Alternatively you could just be lazier and write a good poisoned letter, carefully poison and trap it with explosive too.
Lurking, I love it! ? Turn to Page 4
Ooh a crafty double bomb/poison style thing ? Turn to Page 20
Page 20
You spend a while crafting a letter with a corporate logo, and a nicely windowed envelope with a small amount of glitter and some fine flour you found in a cupboard. You then print off the letter itself, which only contains the word ?badger? two or three times and place a small snap inside attached to the letter and the envelope. You head into town, place it in the pigeonhole and return home for a relaxing afternoon. WELL DONE! The effort you put in might pay off, and you are competent!
Page 21
You figure that incompetents are, well, incompetent. It can't be that hard to get one. The question is, what would be the best approach with the limited time you have available?
Go directly to their room, gain entry and try to shoot them ? Turn to Page 22
Write a bad poisoned letter with minimum effort ? Turn to Page 18
Prepare a letter bomb with what you have on hand ? Turn to Page 5
Page 22
You get to their room without difficulty. Listening at the door very carefully you reckon that they must be inside as loud music blares away. You knock, and pretend that you are "the guy from upstairs". You hear the incompetent approach the door, and they ask what you want. You pretend that you "need to borrow some washing powder". They are quiet, and then opens the door, a knife flies towards you and before you can do anything it lands in your chest and kills you. It appears later that only fellows live above this person you fool! GAME OVER
Page 23
Spotting a potential threat out of the corner of your eye you let your instincts get the better of you and you leave the beer behind, running all the way home. When you get back you realise that you are very close to becoming incompetent and really should do something about it.
Turn to Page 15
Page 24
You grab the apple, label it of course, and then cycle rapidly into town. The nearest incompetent isn't too far, so before long you are in the porter's lodge planting the apple. You lay the trap carefully, so that the label is hard to see and the cap is securely held down. An excellent job indeed! WELL DONE! You are competent, and this may in fact result in a kill. Try reading the rest of the book to see if it worked!
G.I.Bob reports:
Yesterday at about midday, G.I.Bob's old helper came and knocked on his door. He promptly told Bob to open the door after mumbling something about "outside". Thinking that his assisstant was in danger of being killed by someone else G.I.Bob opened the door and then vanished from site.
It would appear that the assisstant had told Bob that there was a bomb outside and had not realised that these were designed for the purpose of killing people. G.I.Bob's assisstant was killed, as were two more innocents (John West, the president of the real aloe [sic] society, and a lady friend of his).
Bob was propelled by the explosion at such a great speed that he was last seen leaving the Earth's atmosphere several minutes later, which is hardly surprising given that he is only two centimetres tall and a stick figure.
P.S.: G.I.Bob will return, but probably not until October.
kthxdie >:[ reports:
wth? 2bombs in1day looooooooool
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
I guess I kinda lost control, because in the middle of the play I ran up and lit the evil puppet villain on fire. No, I didn't. Just kidding. I just said that to illustrate one of the human emotions, which is freaking out. Another emotion is greed, as when someone kills someone for money, or something like that. Another emotion is generosity, as when you pay someone double what he paid for his stupid puppet.
Uncountable 4 reports:
As I awakened one morning in Februareee,
I realised my competence deadline was upon mee.
I decided to a'killing that day,
For I knew how fast time can slip away.
I moved off to plant a bomb at a door,
Hoping he was rising late in two thousand and four.
As I approached the green painted portal,
I heard the voice of another mere mortal.
I hastened to set up my devilish device,
but while completing the task I made a noise with the ice.
The alert assassin heard me "Whats this?", he rhymed,
and set off the detonator before the explosive was primed.
He was a very nice guy,
said it was a good try.
But my very first bombing,
did not succeed in it's aims.
The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) reports:
I had returned from the purchase of a new dress shirt, jauntily ambling my way home, when in passing my bathroom I noticed a stranger skulking around suspiciously. Knowing everyone who either lives or calls in my staircase- the benefit of living in a close-knit college- I immediately divined the purpose of hiis visit.
I rapidly backed away, drew my RBG, and started firing, only to notice a hail of shots coming my way. Several streams of rubber bands flew by on both sides, each missing one another. He took refuge in the bathroom, I sought cover in a stairwell. Both of us about 2 metres from one another, firing without emerging.
A pause. I had one shot left. He must have been nearly out off ammunition too.
"Are you here for The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches)?"
An opportunity- I clutched at it. I replied, "Are you The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches)?"
He answered, "I'm here for The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches). Are you The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches)?"
"I'm here to kill the chap in this room - The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches)," I reponded, emerging from my cover. "Have you tried the door?" I persisted.
He looked at me long and hard.
"No."
"Ah. Bit of a giveaway if he's heard us. Still, give it a go." I knocked hard on my door a couple of times, calling my name out, gun in hand as if I was about to launch an ambush. My 'assailant' watched.
After the lack of reply, he said he had a bomb he could plant. I agreed it was worth a shot, but suggested a look around the kitchen, in case there was the chance to poison his food.
I was carrying an empty water pistol, and my college sister was in the kitchen- I handed her the gun for her to refill. The well-meaning assassin and I further conferred while I said I'd go and check the cupboards one more time. My gun loaded, I approached my assailant as he was planting the bomb, and shot him in the head.
His corpse was awfully polite about it, actually. He was even so good as to introduce himself as Simeon Bird, and remove the bomb.
For successfully killing another player, The Eighteenth Century Enlightenment Duellist (Please play Handel's 'Sarabande' as he approaches) and his unnecessarily long pseudonym are redeemed from incompetence.
Uncountable 4 reports:
My next target was an honourable killer,
I wanted to make him the corpse of said killer.
I armed myself with a method for nuclear fission,
but when I arrived he already had risen.
"Hat Doffing Area" upon his door I read,
when another assassin shot at my head.
He missed many times, and I took cover,
inside a bathroom between targets door and this other.
Thinking this assassin had mistaken me for someone else.
and believing I was trapped between two seekers after my wealth,
(the next lines away by the Umpire were driven
out of fairness to the killer whose description was given)
Alas, for the attacker and target were one and the same,
but the fiend told me different, and I didn't him maim.
A little later he kills me with a pistol of water,
punishing me for exposing myself to the slaughter.
Dead and deceased, I walked out the door,
and that is the ballad of Uncountable Four.
Uncountable 4 pays the piper and bows out.
Michael Cripps reports:
I dislike it when people try to kill me. I get all upset because I just really want everyone to be friends. But if some people aren't prepared to make that extra effort then I'm going to have to kill them. Maybe I'll find some more people who want to be my friend. People who haven't been blown into hundreds of small pieces.
Sideshow Barbara reports:
My laziness had finally caught up with me today: I had to do some work. So I settled down for some reading in my room. As I wasn't concentrating very hard, I heard a soft knock on my door. Strange thought I. I investigated through the convenient spy hole and nobody was there. Knowing assassins to be around i decided not to investigate further. So i returned to my toil with the books but again i was disturbed by another knock. Annoyingly there was still no sign of the knocker. Back to work again and there was another knock. Really annoyed now so I write a note informing the assassin that i am far more cunning than that. There were no knocks for a while so being the paranoid individual i am, I rang my neighbour to scout round for assassins and check for bombs. She confirmed there was indeed a bomb outside my door. The blast radius would have killed me in my room but conveniently, I have a large ledge outside my window which is big enough to sit on. So i tied some string around the handle. Clambered onto the ledge and opened the door from safety! The lengths i go to to stay alive...
Elvis reports:
Uh Huh..
666 hadnt accepted ma offer of such a lovely present in return for ma shoes
so ah decided to try again. Ah left a new present on th' doorstep which ah
hope 666'll like. It comes straight from the hand of the King but you never
know with fans if they'll like something or not.
Ah popped back over a little later and found that the present had
gone, but still no sign of ma shoes.
Uh Huh Baby,
The King is Not Dead
Elvis Lives.
666 reports:
Today's lecture is on the theme of Paranoia:
Paranoia is a healthy feeling for any assassin. 666 is well versed in the art of paranoia. For example: always be listening for the sound of assassins at your door, even if you are enjoying a lazy sunday afternoon. Become especially tuned in to the sounds of bombs being set at your door. Although you may be in your dressing gown and not want a fight, be prepared to use any opportunity as a training exercise. A very good ploy is to tie your bedsheets to the door handle, unlock the door, and retreat to a safe distance. Wait until the bomb is set, and suddenly open the door and blow them up before they can get away. That is what 666 should have done, and would have done, if not wearing only a dressing gown.
666 waited. On hearing the sound of suspicious loitering not too far away, the bomb was triggered from a safe distance. 666 suspects that an assassin was killed in this explosion, but sounds of running away suggest someone thinks otherwise. Several minutes later, an inquisitive friend opened the door intending to examine this 'bomb' I talked of. What can I say - the disgusted expression on her face told me it was poisoned. She is now dead (after I explained this to her, she explained to me that she must have already died on a previous attempt where my outside doorhandle was illegally poisoned).
The assassin came back. Looking through the keyhole I could see I was outgunned - no way I was opening the door! I happened to be playing online games with the aforementioned friend and mentioned this - and to my surprise her ghost insisted on revenge, and came running to my door with a watergun. Luckily for him, he had just left in time. I am still trying to persuade the ghost to forget her unresolved issues and move on to the next world. She never listened to me even in life....
PC Evil Weapons Inc. reports:
Today at approximately 9:45 I planted a bomb outside the incompetant sir reginald duke of chutney at girton. It had a 2.4m blast radius. I knocked on the door and ran...I await news of whether the corpse was successfully obliterated :-)
sir reginald duke of chutney reports:
Yeaterday I returned to my roon to find that a fake bomb had been left otside my door. With my handy swiss army knife I quickly decided whether to cut the blue or the yellow wire. With time tifcking i went for the party popper string and successfully disarmed the beast.
PC Kakariki reports:
I returned home from the distant quarters of my beautiful assistant, and what should I see but a bomb! Yippee! I feel loved! (well, more loved, but lets not go into this). The first attempt on my life! Sadly, it has been foiled, by the lucky process of me arriving on the same side of the door as the bomb. I checked for poison (not sure these Police types are allowed it are they?) and removed the sellotape from the detonator cord. I now have...a bomb! It's on my floor, and I can play with it. I might try and wear it as a hat.
The bomb was from my good friend PC Stealer of Hats. I'm not sure I've ever met him, but I only know one person called Simeon and he's a jolly nice fellow, so I'm sure this one is as well!
PC Stealer of Hats reports:
Feeling rhyming verse to be a decaying art form, I have decided to change artistic direction, and produce something which more fully embodies the deep intertwining of cultural , political and gynacological (even borborgymological) influences. I feel that the following expresses a deeper, fuller understanding of the fundamental counterpoint to metaphor and surrealism intersposed with reanalytic geometry of non-corporeal particles. Read on, and enter the same world, but a different dimension...
Bomb.
Lonely.
Unhappy.
Aaaahhhh...
Kakariki.
Corrupt.
Causing grief, and
woe
to the Umpire.
Bomb + Kakariki,
equals better world.
Go boomy boom.
A short poem in a miminalist vein, by PC Stealer of Hats.
The universally respected head of Cambridge's exemplary police force, Police Chief One of these days I'll actually get around to killing something, or at least being mildly threatening, all the Oxfodians doing their research will think I'm a useless wimp who can't actually play but I can, GRRRRRR! See, you were scared! Now imagine that coming at you with a donut in one hand and a sword in the other, and we'll see who gets the jam, issued the following statement today in between boxes of donuts:
In recognition of his valiant efforts in bringing the notorious Ric Brackenbury to justice, David Stark is promoted to Deputy CoP.
For his efforts to clean this town of its incompetent scum, Jonathan Hogg is promoted to Head of the Swat Team.
The Umpire is sure that all readers will share in his hope that the changes are a sign that the city's surviving criminals and incompetents will be brought to justice soon.
Elvis reports:
Uh Huh Baby,
Ah was out trying ma new blue suede shoes when a few gunshots cracked out.
Obviously some people aren't happy with seeing that the King is still alive
and have decided to terminate ma life.
Ah well, ah had a good life. Booze, Beautiful ladies and huge
cheeseburgers..
The King is Dead,
Elvis has most certainly left the building...
Lutin Malicieux reports:
I usually wake up more or less 2 hours after my alarm clock's ringing. Thus I am late for my courses but at least I have my natural amount of sleep and I am 'aware' (reference a JC Vandame pour les fans)
Except this morning. Unfortunately, this morning I woke up on time when my alarm clock told me to do so. Mais pourquoi????? I left home still very sleepy. I wasn't late for my bus as usual so I decided to check my pigeonhole. I was really on automatic pilot. As soon as I catched my letters, something droped and exploded at my feet. This killed me and definitely woke me up at the same time... The porter was putting letters in a pigeonhole just closed to mine. So I guess she might have received some bomb pieces. At least she was afraid and asked me what happened. I told her I just died.
Then looking at my letter, I saw a letter full of vaseline trickle. Obviously I had touched it even without opening it. What is that James bond's movie title...''We only die twice'' or something like that...
Moralite: Il faut dormir le matin.
Thy Dungeonman reports:
Thy Dungeonman - Parte thee Thyrd
You are Thy Dungeonman!
Ye find yeself in yon dungeon. Ye angyr boileth overe! Thee feeblest oft mortales haft stolyn thy Texte Basyd Adventyre Style and hast used it for thine owne reportes! Thout feeles thee rage of thee Godes in ye bloode and ye knoweth that tis tyme for thee to stalketh thee streetes of Cambridge oncemoreth. Ye muste reminde thee people, tis one and onlie one true hero of thee dungeone and that is:
THY DUNGEONMAN!!!
Ye arte in ye roome. Where elseth are ye goinge to be thys earlie in thee daye? Thout seeest a BOOKE OF MANIE THYNGS and a BUYEST ONE AND GETTETH ONE FREE ITYM OF FOOD. Obvious exits are NORTH, SOUTH and PYRYTE SHYP.
What wouldst thou deau?
> LOOK BOOKE OF MANIE THYNGS.
Thy hand reacheth towardes thee booke, but thout rage is suche that thout knows what ye muste do, even before thee openeth thee pages. Ye must stryve to kille thee evile villyn CAROLINE FABRE who livest in a fortryss moste impenytryble.
> TAKE BUYEST ONE AND GETTETH ONE FREE ITYM OF FOOD
Thee iteme of offyr most speciale thys weeke is a POT OF JAM. Ye takest it.
> GO PYRYTE SHYP
Ye arriveth at a pyryte shyp, thus causething halfe of ye assassain communitie to "loseth ye game" Or if note, hopefullie thys linke will forever remaineth in theyr faire minds and causeth them to lose from henceforthe. Ye eyes spotteth outest a SAILOR ON GUARDE and a PINKE FLAMINGO OF DOOME. Obvious exits are EAST, WEST and THEE SHYP.
> GO THEE SHYP
Thee pyryte jumpeth in ye way and sayeth: Arrrrrrrr! Only a true pyryte may paseth thys way!
> GO EAST
Ye art outside Gardies. Ye entereth and partake of thee moste fyne cullinarie experience known to man. THOUT GAINEST A LEVEL! As muche as ye maye want to stayeth and chatteth, ye muste away for thout hast moste pressing businyss. Obvious exits are PUB, PUB and PUB.
> GO PUB
Ye goest to thee pub. Know thout are gettyng the right idea! Although, thy ordere of Gardies onwardes to Pub seemest moste strange. Still: Thout notyces some DRUNKEN PYRYTES, THE SNEAK and a FLYINGE GRAPEFRUITE. Obvious exits are PINT, PYRYTE SHIP and GO ON, BUT TWILL HAVEST TO BEE MY LASTE ONE.
> TALK DRUNKEN PYRYTES
Thee drunken pyrytes art in too muche of a drunken stupour to care aboust thee. Do they not know that ye are THY DUNGEONMAN? Ye do notice that thee pyrytes are wearing PYRYTE CLOTHES thoughe.
> TAKE PYRYTE CLOTHES
Thee pyrytes are not too pleased with thy advances. They are not that type of pyrytes. Ye should probably stop before ye getteth into too muche trouble.
> TALK THE SNEAK
Iteth is thee sneak! He doesn’t play thee cello and he never gaineth to speake. So don’t try talking to hym.
> GIVE POT OF JAM TO THE SNEAK
Thee sneak eateth moste of thee jam and then begins his sneaky antycs. After all, he is the sneakiest sneak in all our towne. He returneth to ye in but a short tyme with a set of PYRYTE CLOTHES and thee JAM REMAINS.
> USE PYRYTE CLOTHES
Ye putteth on thee set of pyryte clothes. Now thou lookest like a true pyryte!
> GO PYRYTE SHYP
Ye returnest to thee pyryte shyp. Remember everything that wast there thee firste tyme? Well its still there now. If ye failest to "lose thee game" thee fyrst tyme, maybe ye will have remembered the pyryte - game linke this tyme?
> GO THEE SHYP.
Thee pyryte on guard sees that ye art a true pyryte and hence lets thee on board. Ye looketh around yeself and seeeth THEE PYRYTE KING and the BOMBE he is holding. Thee MOON and thee STARS lie above thy head. Obvious exits are NOT SHYP, TREASYRE CHEST and DAVIE JONES LOCKYR.
> TALK THEE PYRYTE KING
Thee pyryte king says that ye art note having hys bombe. He givest thout a big Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! to tryest and scarest thee away.
> TALK THEE PYRYTE KING
Ye givest thee pyryte king a most feresome ARRRRRRRRRRRR! of thy own. Thee pyryte king droppest hs BOMBE and he runeth away from ye: the true pyryte king of thee CAM!
> TAKE BOMBE
Ye takest thee bombe.
> GO NOT SHYP
By some circumstance moste perculiyr, ye findeth theeself outside of a PIGEONHOLE. And I bets thout canst guesseth? Thee PIGEONHOLE belongs to a certain CAROLINE FABRE! Obvious exits are: TO BE FAIR, IF YOU THINK YOU NEED TO GO ELSEWHERE and YOU NEED HELP WITH YOUR TEXT BASED ADVENTURES.
> GIVE JAM REMAINS TO BOMBE
A plane so cunninge that thee Godes themselves mighte not have thought of it! Ye smeareth thee bombe with thy jam (not reale jam we mighte mentione, but a non-jam based substityte) and turneth thee bombe into a BOMBE OF POISONE!
> GIVE BOMBE OF POISONE TO PIGEONHOLE!
Ye putteth thee bombe into thee pigeonhole, pryme it and wayt for havoc to ensue.
Congraturation! Ye hast used a mightie bombe of poisone. Ye mighte even getteth a kill from such a weapon! Ye escapes from thee INCOMPETENCE DEADLINE oncemore in thy never ending queste to remaine, the one, the onlie:
THY DUNGEONMAN!!!
Neo reports:
Went to target's room and hung around a bit. I didn't hear noises from inside, so I went off to dinner.
Chris Field reports:
Sunday evening, and whilst I consume mediocre chicken someone apparently places an object in my pigeonhole. I check before I leave and notice this object to be a glass bottle of approximately 1 litre in size. It is well wrapped in paper and a plastic bag. My suspicions are aroused, but I needed to get home so decided to leave it until the next day. After much consultation with various experts on the matter, and with the umpire I realised the difficult task ahead. The bottle was in my pigeonhole, I could not see the detonator and it was high enough that pulling it out with string would result in it smashing on the floor - not an option I wanted to pursue.
So at 5pm or so I set about constructing something to carefully extracate the item, safely detonating it from a distance and hopefully not breaking it. I took cushions from the JCR, placed them so that the wood was covered suitably. Used a soft chair to make the fall less severe and in two stages. I enlisted the help of several bystanders to place their coats and scarves such that if it rolled off of a cushion or the chair it would land safely. Then, I tied the string around the bottle neck, everyone backed off and I gently pulled out the bomb. Nothing happened.
Odd, I thought. Bystanders were by this stage amused. Next, I inspected the package, and decided that there may be something placed in the bottle neck to cause it to explode if the plastic bag was unwrapped. Hence, I ripped open the opposite end, and found a note. The note was finally proof that I wasn't being too paranoid of course? Of course not. It was a bottle of vodka that I had won in a crossword competition in the college magazine and completely forgotten about. Bystanders left as I cleared up - one quoted, "This was the most fun I have had all day!" It could have been a bomb you know...!
Agent Corkscrew reports:
Ed Allcutt and I went round Thomas de Rivaz's house again. Again, he wasn't noticeably in, which is a shame as I was quite ready to shoot him after his dishonourable behaviour in our last encounter (I definitely said "Rivaz", damn him).
Again, a friendly neighbour let us in. We thank him for risking life and limb, and also for wandering back inside to edit the bomb label for us after I realised I'd written the wrong blast radius on it. He's a brave man who will quite possibly be shot with extreme prejudice if one of these attempts ever comes close to succeeding.
Our main purpose, as upstanding citizens, was of course to return the piccy of our Thomas that I filched on the last raid. However, toothpaste seems to have miraculously transferred itself to the back of it via Ed Allcutt. Equally intriguing is the mysterious appearance of a second detonator underneath the aforementioned bomb, which is fortunate as the primary detonator had a 1 in 8 chance of actually doing anything. Lucky or what!
Jail house rock reports:
It turns out that the man I saw the otherday came back with a experienced friend to plant a bomb. I wish I was in so I could tell him his pronounciation mistake. Also they returned my mug shot which is nice :)
Anyway, the bomb was made to look like an ameture version - using a party popper as the detonator taped to the door. However, I knew who helped the PC to setup the bomb so I knew it wouldn't be that easy. Underneath I saw the true threat - a cap detonator!!! To disarm this device, I popped down to the local onestopshop to buy some string; Threading the string using my pen around the back of the bomb, I moved into the toilets (outside the measly blast radius of 5m) and pulled it. As I expected, the party popper just fell off, leaving the cap to go off with an almighty explosion, ripping a HUGE hole in my door and floor, sending dust down to the bedder's bedroom below. Still, I was alive and didn't even have to unlock my door as it was lying a few feet away from the blast.
Please try better next time :p
Or call when I am in so that I can show you how to make a good kill.
Chris Field reports:
He murdered everyone that turned up reasonably on time, and of course Johannes turned up late. We played much gameage. Johannes went to leave earlier than most, and Tom was ready to follow and kill him. It was at this stage that I took Tom's gun, told Johannes to leave fast as he was just going home (as far as I was aware) and shouldn't have to get shot. A mistake perhaps, as as the rest of us walked home, he leaps out from behind a UL (which no-one spotted) and shoots Tom. Then we all go to Adam's, I randomly meet someone I went to school with and have a chat with her, the police force collected there to get Tom then chose to head off and I lose everyone, give up and go home.
PC Div reports:
Tom had taken the risk of attending DipSoc again, one week after slaughtering the entire membership. This proved to be a fatal mistake...
I was late for the meeting so I missed Tom's welcoming arrangements. I also left early, and to my surprise Tom didn't try to kill me then.
I was intending to send out an e-mail inviting other police to lurk outside DipSoc, but found that Corkscrew had already arranged for a SWAT team to meet in Clare Memorial Court at 11pm and go to Robinson from there. Lurking in vain is never fun, so I decided that it would be sensible to go past Robinson on my way to Memorial Court to check that the meeting was still going on. Which it wasn't. The DipSoc group was just leaving Robinson when I arrived there. Since Tom was better armed than me I dived into hiding, and then followed at a distance as they went north on Grange road. Sneaking up behind them wouldn't work since Tom kept looking behind him (but luckily didn't recongnise me in the darkness), so when I saw them turn right into Burrell's walk I ran round the UL and reached the Burrell's walk entrance to the UL area at about the same time as the diplomats. With no cover immediately available I simply crouched and prayed, but wasn't spotted. As they went past I walked out behind them and shot Tom in the back.
With that settled I went to Memorial Court to inform the SWAT team that had assembled there that staking out Robinson would not be necessary. It was decided to head for Selwyn instead. Nothing much seemed to be happening there so I left after a while and missed the later carnage.
PC Kakariki reports:
It was a cold night in Cambridge, and a criminal was on the loose. Information of Tom De Rivaz's whereabouts had been received and a large SWAT team was off to kill him. Kakariki wangled a no-kill and went along, but when he met the posse at Robinson it turned out that the criminal was already dead. As Kakariki stood, back to the wall (no, not for THAT reason), 8 grinning policeman surrounded him, and informed him that there WAS one Selwynite who they could still kill....
They than told him it was the inco, and much merriment was had after he finished calling them bastards.
On to Selwyn we went. As we walked, Kakariki told people how he had to pick up his girlfriend from the station, and was texting her to tell her he might be late. The text message read "Don't open the bloody door" and was duely sent to Selwyn.
Upon arriving, the room was foud and knocking commenced. However, the bloody door was not opened, and the police milled around outside while Kakariki went to his computer to check where the inco was, and lead the police away from him. He left the door open, as a friendly SWAT team was outside, and settled down. Noone knew where the inco was, and soon a sound came at the door. Kakariki turned, expecting to see a waiting SWAT team demand where the inco was, but...it was Phil! He had walked right through the SWAT team and into my corridor, and into my room. "Kakariki, help, I've got a bit of a problem!!!!!" he said. "GET IN AND CLOSE THE BLOODY DOOR" said the cool, calm, and collected Kakariki. We discussed briefly and a plan was hatched. Phil would hide in the rafters above the door with every gun we could find, and I would lead the police into my room under the pretence of having found Phil via MSN and wanting to prepare the raid. Kakariki disappeared to the toilet, where he waited until he heard a 'Click Click Click' of RBGs unloading, and ran like buggery, only to be pursued by the only live assassin there.
Agent Corkscrew reports:
Warrior! Warrior! Burning bright
Striding swiftly through the night
Seeking prey to quench thy thirst
But noble, placing honour first
Underneath the Cambridge skies
Burnt the fire of his eyes
To Selwyn now he doth retire
To test his strength in battle's fire
Honour first - his comrade comes
Who, under different skies and suns
Had died. The warrior had fought back
But died then soon from friendship's lack
And as they sought their lethal foe
Not one suspicion came to grow
In warrior's mind - he trusts his friend
Who brings him to his journey's end
When the foe threw down his spears
And warrior died with diamond tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he laugh who betrayed thee?
Warrior! Warrior! embers die
At hands of those who thus will lie
No more will honour burn so bright
No more will warrior stride by night
We went to Selwyn to kill Philip Maltas. I got shot in the back after Ross Edmondson, who we had all agreed not to kill, betrayed us in a rather complex scheme. I resent this slightly, as at the time I was thinking "Ooh, he reads Orson Scott Card. I like this guy."
It was quite amusing to see Philip Maltas trying to get back out of Ross's overhead locker where he had been camping after PC Rabid Squirrel shot him.
PC Rabid Squirrel reports:
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 22:50: Assembled in the umpire's room preparing to dispense justice on the notorious murderer "Thomas de Rivaz".
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:00: "PC Div" turns up with the wanted man and informs us that we were five minutes too late as "Thomas de Rivaz" was already dead. How's that for an efficient SWAT raid?
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:05: Well, we weren't about to let the fact that our target was dead stop us. We considered the other possibilities - three incos and one corrupt cop. "Michaelangelo" and "PC Kakariki" were decided to be outside of our group's mandate. "sir reginald duke of chutney" was miles away and we were lazy. That only leaves... H.R, located conveniently close. Off we went.
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:10: Checked the DipSoc meeting place in Robinson. Met up with "PC Kakariki", surrounded and threatened him. He agreed to lead us to our target.
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:20-23:35: Found target's room empty. Went to the JCR. The porter kindly told us that we were too late and to go away. So we did. Back to the building housing our target's room. "PC Kakariki" informs us that the target is in a room upstairs from his and that we should wait for a short while.
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:40: "Agent Corkscrew" and I proceeded into "PC Kakariki"'s room to wait and an RBG appeared above my head and began firing at "Agent Corkscrew", apparently killing him.
PC Rabid Squirrel reports:
SWAT report - 2004-02-09 23:41: I returned fire into the cupboard, three RPG rounds at point-blank range, killing "H.R". "Adam Baird Fraser" chased after our betrayer, "PC Kakariki".
PC Teepee reports:
A buzz on the shortwave radio told me this wasn't going to be a quiet night in. I pulled on my SWAT gear and headed out - target DipSoc, full of megalomaniacs and we were after the worst of them - known on the streets as Jail House Rock. He'd soon be in a gaolhouse, or one of us would be under a rock. We had our handy informant stationed at the location as we prepared.
At our Top-Secret police HQ however, there was a change of plan - largely due to our target already being dead. We went to plan B - a certified idiot inhabiting Selwyn College - co-incidentally the same as our informant, whom we met at the agreed point before moving to Selwyn itself.
I should mention at this point that, while having no qualms about killing Selwyninans in general, I felt rather sympathetic to the plight of our informant, treading his careful way along the tightrope that is dual loyalties. I resolved to assist him if he required it, though communicating this to him was to prove difficult.
The ever-helpful and oh-so-trustworthy Karakiri followed us as we got to the incompetent's room. We knocked, but there was no reply. At this point Karakiri suggested we try the bar, and disappeared for a while...
The bar (once we had used our elite direction-finding skills homed by years of police work to find it) was shut, so we headed back. I'm still not sure whether Karakiri knew this. We headed back to the Cripps building, to be met outside by a flustered-looking Karakiri.
He told us that the incompetent had just returned to his room, and suggested that we go to his own room to prepare our attack. Ushering us inside, there was the distinct sound of nature calling, and he disappeared once more. No sooner had he done so than the door fell off a cupboard above the door, revealing a RBG-weilding maniac (our incompetent friend). Police 1 (killed by H.R after a few goes), Him 1 (PC Corkscrew RIP).
Having not fallen for the 'get into my room and be legal target' trick unlike certain people, I moved to the outer door where I met Karakiri (He had climbed out the toilet window). I gave him the latest score, showed non-animosity as best I could, and he disappeared again.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Sitting in my room I received a phone call from Agent Corkscrew asking me if I wanted to join him and a couple of other police on a SWAT raid. Having enjoyed previous raids I accepted happily and left my maths work for another time. Heading out we soon arrived at a particular undisclosed location in Clare Memorial Court that happens to also be a no-kill zone, and waited for the rest of our party to join us.
After being the target for the demonstration of a wildfire a group of people turned up, one of whom introducing himself as Thomas de Rivaz, the criminal we had intended to slaughter merci^W^Wbring to justice. Feeling a little disappointed we decided to quench our thirst for violence by killing some incos instead and so, after stopping at Robinson to meet PC Kakariki we headed over to Selwyn.
Being let through the locked door by Kat, we ventured towards the inco's room, only to find that he wasn't there. Stopping briefly at Kat's room we then left for the bar, where apparantly he had been seen. Arriving at the bar we were told it had just closed, and so hurried back and were met again by Kat, who informed us that he had returned and was currently in a friend's room. Leading us back to his room, he snuck off to check he was still there.
As the rest of our party (Agent Corkscrew, PC Rabid Squirrel and PC Teepee) started into his room, Mr Umpire and myself, being immortal and insanely paranoid respectively, stayed out in the corridor, from where we heard the shots being exchanged and the dull thud of Agent Corkscrew hitting the floor, lifeless. Bugger. The inco had been hiding in a cupboard, shot Corkscrew while he was unsuspecting and then rather quickly been gunned down by PC Rabid Squirrel. Realising our host's deception, I headed back through the corridors to try and find where he had gone.
Passing past a door I soon saw the corrupt copper, who promptly turned and fled back the way he'd come. Giving chase I followed him out and across the grounds, finally catching up to him down an alley off West Road. Here he, armed only with an RBG and a cap gun found a defensible position where even my Joe Devils couldn't hit him and we reached a stalemate. Putting up our guns we agreed a truce, for the evening at least.
Adam Baird Fraser reports:
Walking back to his room at Selwyn I phoned the rest of the squad and arranged to meet them, and as I left I saw Kat go into the inco's room. Arriving at the meeting place I was informed by the deceased Agent Corkscrew that the others were round the other side of the building, and we met up with them as they tried Kat's door again. Hearing no answer, and not knowing where PC Teepee was after he had snuck off, we headed round to try his window.
Arriving round the corner, I kept a distance away from the rest to be safe and so was in a prime position to notice two figures climbing out Kat's window, one of whom promptly jumped back in, leaving the other outside. Quickly realising what was happening I started over, but was too late as PC Teepee, blatantly corrupt, shot towards PC Rabid Squirrel, thankfully missing. Eventually coming into range, one clear shot with me Joe Devils brought the newly corrupt copper to an end. Bad luck Marvin - your record of 13 minutes has just been beaten.
After another eventful SWAT raid we headed back to our respective colleges, secure in the knowledge that the police force is still as inherently corrupt as ever.
PC Rabid Squirrel reports:
SWAT report - 2004-02-10 00:04: After much confusion, running in and out of the target's college and getting slightly lost, we eventually reunited in the car park to see "PC Teepee" climbing out of "PC Kakariki"'s window. I opened fire at "PC Kakariki" with my RPG and "PC Teepee" opened fire on me with his RBG, though luckily there was a car and a rules technicality in the way.
SWAT report - 2004-02-10 00:05: I returned fire at "PC Teepee". "Adam Baird Fraser" opened fire on him as well, killing "PC Teepee" instantly.
SWAT report - 2004-02-10 00:12: "PC Kakariki" asked for a no-kill and we let him get as far as his car door. I fired a couple of shots in his general direction and the remains of the SWAT team left and wandered home. An eventful evening.
PC Teepee reports:
There then followed an extended period of running around like headless chickens. Moving to the window, we noticed a bag outside, but didn't like to touch. ABF had chased Karakiri to god-knows-where, and I was left with PC Rabid Squirrel and Agent Corkscrew's corpse (presumably propped up El Cid style). Eventually we met Adam Baird Fraser again and began our search once more.
Trying to keep my gun out and look convincing, yet non-deadly (which perhaps wasn't hard), we noticed that the bag had disappeared. I postulated that Karakiri may well be in his room - and legged it round to the front, leaving my comrades bringing up the rear. I knocked at the door and offered my alleigance.
Once inside the room, I was in a rather sticky situation. Karakiri it seems had no intention of finishing off the rest of his hunters, but was off to play taxi. We heard noise outside the door and decided to go for the window, leap into the Katmobile and make our daring getaway, hopefully with my integrity as an upstanding member of the force intact. This did not work.
Tumbling unceremoniously out the window, however, I noticed the remainder of the force advancing. Thinking the game was surely up, I dived for cover behind the car. PC Rabid Squirrel drew a weapon, so I shot him. Sadly the elves had not reforged Band&uactute;ril very well (slackers) and it misfired fairly horribly. A quick exchange of fire with PC Rabid Squirrel followed, while Adam Baird Fraser ran round the other side of the car and gave me a pellet or two to think about.
It was at this point we consulted the omnipresent deity that is the Umpire and attempted to sort out who was dead. Result of discussion: I was and am dead. We convened a no-kill so PC Karakiri could leave and save Cat from dying of frostbite on Cambridge Station. All in all a very dramatic evening.
PC Kakariki reports:
We ran all the way into West Road, where Kakariki bravely hid behind a dumpster. After a few minutes a truce was called and the two made their way back to Kakariki's room, which was now closed and locked. We carefully made entry, established the team had left, and Kakariki was soon left alone. Not for long - a knock came at the door!
"Who is it??"
"It's Steve!"
"Why should I let you in?"
"I want to kill policemen too!"
He was let in.
Seconds later a text message arrived from an accomplice - "They're still after you!" Much quick thinking was done, and exits thought up. The window was good and led staight to the Kakariki-mobile, but PC Teepee thought they would still be out there. The door was considered until the corridor door was heard being VERY quietly opened, feet shuffled, and it was closed again. The window it was. PC Teepee went first, then my bag, then me. I banged my head and drew blood. Doh. Then the police arrived. I scrambled back in, PC Teepee attempted the same but fell. I shut the window - there was nothing else I could have done. Steve was cut down where he stood, and I weep for him still.
After a while a cease fire was arranged on the grounds that Adam thought the fact that PC Kakariki's desktop picture was of his girlfriend was cute, and PC Kakariki climbed out the window. He was about to leave when PC Rabid Squirrel stepped forwards and fired twice. Two empty chambers! Phew! PC Kakariki leapt into the vehicle and sped into the night!
In conclusion...
SORRY ALEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Agent Corkscrew reports:
Oh yeah, and it appears that the average life expectancy of one of Kat's minions is under 5 minutes. PC Teepee apparently went over to the dark side of the force at about midnight and was dead by 12:05. The wages of sin?
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
If you lived in the Dark Ages, and you were a catapult operator, I bet the most common question people would ask is, "Can't you make it shoot farther?" No. I'm sorry. That's as far as it shoots.
Simon Ford reports:
I have to say that I was rather pleased to get Ed as a target yesterday. It's far more satisfying to successfully assassinate an experienced player than a novice and in reaching the Michaelmas duel, Ed demonstrated that he has longevity - to kill him would be good sport. His message to his assassins read: "I am terribly dangerous and not to be attacked under any circumstances." A fine invitation if ever there was one!
Decoding his timetable I reckoned that he would leave his house to go to his ten o'clock lecture. I decided to take up a position en route to his department and after a few minutes wait fortune favoured me as I caught sight of him pedalling over Magdalene bridge. I hopped onto my bike and pursued, patiently staying well behind until he got to the department and began to lock up his bike. Clumsily crashing my bike as I was drawing my gun didn't really help matters (nor give me any bonus points for style), but the element of surprise was still on my side and a couple of shots were enough to dispatch.
Mother Goose reports:
My congratulations on a very well executed kill. The first thing I noticed was a crashing noise behind me, instantly followed by a pellet to the torso. If all attempts were like this there'd be no point in being paranoid.
Chris Field reports:
A card! Addressed to my room? And I thought valentines had come early :(. Disarmed the thing by threading string through it and effectively detonating it at a distance. Apparently, "Oi, there's not alot of people know what makes celebration - I'll tell you, lots of bloody fun, and liquid lubrication. Have a smashing day, cheerio!" Bit late for my birthday however. Oh, it was the Internet Reject again. He didn't confess to using the web to get my postcode though - cheers for that, now I can order pizza!
Internet Reject reports:
Insults have been hurled my way about lack of subtlety in the past, so I am now taking a different approach. Gloves won't save you heathens from my latest scheme.
Police Chief One of these days I'll actually get around to killing something, or at least being mildly threatening, all the Oxfodians doing their research will think I'm a useless wimp who can't actually play but I can, GRRRRRR! See, you were scared! Now imagine that coming at you with a donut in one hand and a sword in the other, and we'll see who gets the jam reports:
It seems that the worm had turned, and it was dirty. PC Kakariki had been a valued member of the force, but he was tempted by the dark side. And once a policeman has been tempted to taste the forbidden cream tart, he'll never truly follow the way of the donut again.
However, some of my colleagues were tempted by his sweet lactic song, and trusted him as he lead them a merry dance into his creamery of doom. And their they found his sweet promises of not killing them, dripping with cow juice, were in fact bullocks.
And so I realised that I would have to deal with this bad egg[1] and, when information was sent my way, I decided to rally the team. Two of the faithful answered my call, and I took my guns, rusty from under use, and marched off to settle the matter one way or the other.
A quick observation of the pub found that Kat had chosen his seat well, facing the door and so close to it that we had a clean shot the moment we'd have entered, whilst in full view of several windows. The guy is talented, I'll grant you. And so, with his exits covered, I entered and pulled the trigger. And again. And again. At this point I started to wish I had oiled the gun before trusting my life with it. But then, as Kat slowly looked up and turned to his bag, my gun fired with a bang.
My colleagues joined me at the bar for a quick apple juice[2] and we mused over the demise of our former colleague. After a couple of minutes, his body in the throws of death, he seemed to utter "how did your gun fire on the fourth attempt, when the previous three hadn't worked?" My colleagues demonstrated to him the action of their guns, and were about to explain the fineries of firearms, when we realised that talking to a dead man about the gun that just shot him is bad etiquette in certain pubs. And so we returned to our musings, our uniform that bit cleaner.
[1] It was a custard tart, OK?
[2] No drinking on duty of course
PC IFf reports:
The police's super-secret electronic communication monitoring system, Wonderful Electronic Box Scanning Inside The Ether (WEBSITE) intercepted this fax from PC IFf to PC Kakariki:
Hi Kat! You keep telling me to fax you, so I thought it's about time I did so.
Tonight the SWAT team is going to come and kill you while you are at a pubmeet. Stumo will walk round the pub and look in through the window to see if you are there. Ahdok will confirm his sighting. Ahdok and I will cover the doors in case you try to escape, while Stumo will walk in and shoot you after his gun misfires a couple of times.
I hope this will be the start of a healthy fax relationship between us with much more faxing to come. Perhaps if you have a free weekend we could spend it faxing each other? I'd be quite interested to try out some long-distance faxing with you. Let's keep our faxes strong and not fall into casual faxing.
PC Hawsker reports:
Hrr... Physics, classical dynamics. Boring. Wikidip Wikidip Wikidip, ah no press, build phase. Ooh, emails, 35 unopened.
"Looks like I'm going alone then - Stumo."
What the hey, spare hour. Go eastwards, Stumo in. Visit, leave, go southwards. Seven of clubs. Forget to wish nice day.
South south south west Maz south pub Kat.
Guard door, watch watch watch, oh bugger, missed the fun bit.
Bar. Wait wait wait. Kat:"if your gun doesn't fire can you bang kill?" Maz "Bang" Kat "Ah, okay"
Wait wait wait wartered down Fosters Walkers cheese and onion talk talk talk leave.
13 for 2 and 9 for kings, who's up for another round?
666 reports:
Went to see a man about a gun. Bought gun.
Went to test new gun on target. Cunningly bringing bomb-making apparatus as back up plan. Unstoppable.
Setback: first target lives in impenetrable fortress. Wait. No-one comes. Wait some more. Cold outside. Go to second target: same. Go to third target: not likely. Lives in opposite end of the city.
Solution: go home, make alternative plans. Eat cake. <666 out>
Michaelangelo reports:
8am. someone had left a bomb outside my room, which I did look for under the door, but didn't see. So promptly opened the door. But it didn't go off, not at all. So edging away from it, I went down the stairs adn headed off to lectures, appreciating the beauty of the new museums site all the more because of my near death experience.
(it said on the bottle 'kthxdie >:[', whatever tht means)
kthxdie >:[ reports:
fscknlaim
Anton Collinski reports:
After having recieved a tip-off a couple of days ago as to an attempt on my life, I've been extremely paranoid as of late. Unfortunately, all the paranoia in the world did me no good as I woke up this morning, and sleepily went to take a shower. As I opened my door, there was a loud bang and I was vapourised by an extremely well-made bomb that had been placed in the corridor.
Seeing as my next-door neighbour only went to bed at around 7AM after working especially hard on an essay, whoever killed me must have had extremely good timing, as well as superb burglary skills. I'm generally the earliest riser in the house so how they managed to get in is completely beyond me. Obviously this was the work of a consumate professional, and I never stood a chance. Oh well, there's always next term...
PC IFf reports:
(Apologies to Edward Thomas.)
In the gloom of morning
In the great silence of dawn,
A dog was barking and bitterly yelping; "Oh,
They have killed an inco
up there in his room,
The bomb is exploding by his door!"
And still IFf fell through that dusky staircase
Past the girl screaming for the inco of dawn.
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
I think there probably should be a rule that if you're talking about how many loaves of bread a bullet will go through, it's understood that you mean lengthwise loaves. Otherwise it makes no sense.
Michaelangelo reports:
Reading an impossible article about Melanesian necklaces I decided that in my remaining 15 minutes between the lecture would be most fruitfully spent killing someone. I could prove that mean umpire wrong, threatening me with thunderbolts and telling people I wasn't contributing to the game! Huh! I had been warned that my target was an experienced assassin so I made sure I had figured out how the bomb worked before going up to his door and putting it against it quietly. Unfortunately I had not banked on his cunning defences - a door with a stupid frame bit around the edges. This meant that the detonator didn't press up very nicely against it. I could hear music from inside and maybe rustling and I figured it would be fine. It wasn't.
I had only walked a few steps when the bomb exploded. Ashamed at my incompetency (and dead-ness) I ran away. I didn't even wait to find out if there was someone in there.
The Umpire notes that had Michaelangelo not killed himself in the process, he would have been wanted anyway, firstly for trying to bomb the door of a shared set and thereby endangering the target's innocent roommate, and secondly by getting it wrong and placing the bomb on the target's neighbour's door anyway.
Michael Cripps reports:
I was getting bored of so little assassin-interaction in my life that I decided to visit one of my assassins in the hope of making them fight me. I pushed a letter under their door and waited 10 minutes but no sign! So I ran away.
Sideshow Barbara reports:
Poor Michael Cripps, he must have low self esteem. His entire sense of self worth appears to depend on if someone makes an attempt on him. So much so that he has taken to lurking outside my room in a hope that i will try to kill him. Perhaps he is just being cunning and trying to get me before i get him, maybe he's a bit masochistic (a la the man who offered himself for slaughter to the German cannibal). Either way, I returned home last night to find a note from him practically begging me to make an attempt on him.
sir reginald duke of chutney reports:
On Thursday I went to the room of my target - not home again. Left after 5 minutes.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci reports:
What can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering,
The sedge has withered from the trees,
And no target's in.
Harbinger reports:
I would like to point out that the Matriculation 2003 photo in Girton is very high up, posing obvious difficulties. There wasn't much I could make out of sir reginald duke of chutney's appearance than height, hair, and roughly, ethnicity. But then, I was planning to just knock on her door (she was never in..), so it wasn't such an issue. I'd been wondering round her staircase for a little while, and other staircases, and more staircases, and was about to leave, when two people walked down the staircase from her room, directly behind me. The girl was the right height. She had the right hair. She was, roughly, the right ethnicity. I stopped to profess interest in a random wall painting, then called "Ariane," as she walked past. Nothing.. but then I was talking quite fast, I'd had a momentary memory block and forgotten her name. I said again, "Ariane?" as we walked out the door. They both stopped to look at me. I shot her with the gun up my sleeve, which quickly disappeared up my sleeve again in case the other guy was police (sneaky evil mafia types :-P). I asked "Are you Ariane?" She said, "No." They both walked off. I'm not even sure she realised I'd shot her... so the options;
a) She was Ariane, she knew she was dead.
b) She was Ariane, she didn't know she was dead, in which case she wasn't.
c) She wasn't Ariane...
Sadly, it was the third option which was the case, and Harbinger AKA Weaponth of math Dethtruction therefore finds herself on the Wanted List ...
Harbinger reports:
I bombed her pidgeonhole with The Caian in case. Special 2001 edition, there's always the possibility she might die of boredom.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Paul, I tried to kill you, I really did, but unfortunately something seemed to give your Porters the impression I was a terrorist. It could have been the fact I covered your hallway in a hundred shiny death-balloons. It could have been the brightly coloured signs saying "FAKE BOMB". It could have been the way I wrote my name (that's B-R-Y-O-N-Y) in 1ft letters across your door.. :-) At any rate, after going through my stuff and asking me to remove all evidence, I was marched out of Kings by two senior looking Porters. I don't think I'm welcome back..
A cute little pokute reports:
A cute pokute went to Caius today, oh pigeonholes, a cute little pokute leaves some presents.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
By this time, I was in somewhat of a sleepless daze. I checked my pidgeon hole for the first time in ages, saw a thick brown envelope wedged under innumerous dodgy letters and thought "Ooh, a bomb." I then reached out for it anyway, fortunately triggering the touch explosive with the gun that generally lives in my sleeve rather than my slightly shorter fingertips. This was honestly pure chance, and woke me up, as near death tends to. Guess I should say thankyou!
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Opened with Big Impermeable Gloves of Clumsyness. "Bryony, I'm going to enjoy watching you die.." (I think, the letter is long since in the bin.) Not quite yet, you're not, dearie, not *quite* yet.
The Umpire points out that if you want to enjoy watching your targets die, you should probably be doing something more direct than sending them poisoned letters.
Police Chief One of these days I'll actually get around to killing something, or at least being mildly threatening, all the Oxfodians doing their research will think I'm a useless wimp who can't actually play but I can, GRRRRRR! See, you were scared! Now imagine that coming at you with a donut in one hand and a sword in the other, and we'll see who gets the jam reports:
Alas, I am dead, to a bomb outside my door. 2 orange juice cartons and a bunch of Balloons. I knew that 9am lectures were bad for my health.
I have various theories about whodunit, but:
(a) They're probably wrong
(b) I can't tell you, I'm dead, remember?
(c) If you look at the shorter of the two names above it'll give you a
clue. There's no way someone has a longer name than me...
My stint as CoP may have been brief, but at least there have been some successes, and I can claim credit for getting some kind of communication going even if my shooting skills need more work.
And whoever struck me down, I have now become more donut like than you could ever imagine.
May the jam be with you.
<plug style='blatant'>
Unfortunately I died just before the play I am TDing was put on; Here
Kitty - next week's ADC lateshow. As far as I know I am the only (ex)
assassin involved, and they all looked at me bizarrely when I tried to
explain the game. Dammit. So I want you all to come along and show them
what normal people we are.
On second thoughts, don't come :)
</plug>
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
3:00 am ;
Gamage finished, his fluffyness had been informed of the death of the Ariane imposter (okay, so they probably didn't look anything like each other :P) and it was fairly certain I would be Wanted on the morrow. The SWAT team leader, also present, knew nothing of this, and we had a no-kill for the ten minutes after leaving gamage. After 11 or so, we were still trying to load my bike into the back of the car (don't ask.) So I spent a reasonable amount of time staring at the back of Jon's head, wondering whether to put several rounds into it - it would, after all, be the third time he'd died in close proximity to this vehicle. But significantly, I didn't. He left the car, and stood on the pavement waving goodbye, smiling. I cocked my RPG. We drove away. I would try for redemption..
4:00 am;
Not sleeping.
4:05 am;
Still not sleeping.
4:06 am;
Bored.
4:07 am;
Really bored.
4:08 am;
Really really bored.
4:09 am;
Realise am going wanted anyway. Conditions of redemption will be the killing of the inco, and the criminal. Both of which I have been trying for for over a week. It's fairly trivial for interested parties to make these conditions difficult to meet, and I'm really bored, and Paul "Byrony" Cameron is Police - he can lead me to my archnemesis!
5:00 am;
Go horribly, horribly Wanted... :-P
Stumo:
Nothing says "DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!" like balloons and flowers..
Sideshow Barbara reports:
I decided to put Michael Cripps out of his misery this morning but he wasn't in. I hung around for 15 minutes then left him a note. I hope he'll cheer up now someone is after him!
Michael Cripps reports:
Awwww, it seems my assassins do care. Sadly they pick nights when I'm out, but at least it's a start. A letter in my pigeonhole and a note, that's sweet.
Mebbe I will join a new society or something. I hear DipSoc should be safe these days, now that everyone's dead. I do enjoy stabbing people in the back. Knowing my luck I'd probably have to play as Austria though.
PC Too Stupid To Be Alive reports:
Some contact poison (vaseline) had been applied to my outside doorknob which has just killed my bedder. I have successfuly cleaned it off without being killed. Who is responsible, I wonder?
PC Too Stupid To Be Alive (but not quite that stupid)
Agent Rabid Squirrel reports:
No idea who, just noticed that my door-handle is covered with a gloopy whiteish/clearish substance - which I do not want to consider the possibilities of, thankyouverymuch. I'm going to assume that it's vaseline and that someone has just gone wanted.
Anyway, I'm not dead (yay! gloves!) and the doorhandle is now safe again.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
6:30;
Have a lovely chat with the Clare Memorial Courts Porter, about why I need to stick some "paintings" to my friends doors. Sadly, his fluffyness is asleep, his immortal gaze directed to the land of Nod. So there is nobody watching, as I climb the stairwell to the door of Agent Rabid Squirrel and apply liberal amounts of poison to his doorhandle..
SWAT Commander Jar-Jar reports:
FLASH TRAFFIC: We have put out an APB on The Sunshine Suicide Squad after she attmepted to blow up the police command staff and poison the rest of the force. sadly she managed to kill our most illustrious Chief of Police.
We advise all citzens to be careful when dealing with this extremely dangerous wanted criminal, and we intend to "deal" with this little problem soon, and take revenge for our commander in chief.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Lalalalaa skip, bounce, *look innocent*... so I'm wondering around central Cambridge trailing large volumes of floaty explosives. In fact, I'm just outside the domain of the SWAT team leader.
Little? - well, maybe, but "feral"?!! :-P
SWAT Commander Jar-Jar's warning email to the police did indeed use the word "feral" in a description of The Sunshine Suicide Squad, so she is probably justified in attempting to exact retribution.
E. Presley reports:
Well, I decided that today was my lucky day, and seeing that one of my targets has a radio show, so I knew where he would be, it appears that it was an unlucky day for him.
So I set off with a plan to lurk in the vicinity if the radio studio. Upon my way I found a friend Dalriada. And a mutual agreement was arranged so that there was back up.
Arriving early, we scouted the area, and found two separte places to hide, so that when Jim the Elvis Impersonator came by we could shoot him. We waited 45 mins and finally he walked past my hiding place. Leaping out my hiding place, I emptied my double RBG in to his back and his side as he turned and fell dead to the floor. His corpse queried that perhaps the bands had not hit him, but after looking how many bands had been fired, it agreed that he must be dead. Additionly, Dalriada was still hiding behind a bush with a CPS. Jim the Elvis Impersonator was not getting through the door alive. . . . .
Dalriada reports:
Why, oh why did I wait in the bushes outside the door for 50 minutes, when he never reached the door alive.... its just not good sport!
PC Too Stupid To Be Alive reports:
Subsequent to evading the poisoning I have been killed by The Sunshine Suicide Squad. Shot at the door with an RBG...
Gho5t reports:
About 1300, I guess, I was happily being geeky and fitting a couple of hard drives with a few friends, when PC Hawsker suddenly asked me whether I was expecting The Sunshine Suicide Squad. Having not seen her since the morning she ruthlessly slaughtered me at my front door, and seeing how I was dead twice already and had not signed up for the police force, I replied to the negative. PC Hawsker had about enough time to declare that she was here anyway and head for the door before she burst in and shot him with a RBG. She then proceeded to bang-kill my other two guests, and mutilated my battered corpse again. This struck me as a little odd, it being in an advanced state of decay, having been dead for 8 days, and her being responsible for my demise in the first place. I'm starting to wonder whether this is personal...
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
1.30;
Dialed the number of the ECM and asked really nicely for some rampage transport. Stopped off in town to load up on goodies, and saw a familiar face walk past in North Court, John's, yay! They seemed a little supprised when I walked into the room, smiling, and marginally more supprised when I shot them. Then I shot the other occupants of the room for good measure (I think they were all mathmos, so it's okay.) Went upstairs and shot Leo Howell.
PC Hawsker reports:
Word of advice. Always carry a weapon. I saw Bryony Baines coming through the window, and had I anything other than a non-painted pellet gun, I could have easily shot her as she came in through the door, (knowing the internal layout of the room you're in is a huge advantage.) - When I left my room in the morning there was only one wanted player, and I had no idea who they were, so I didn't bother to tool up.
I hadn't heard that she was wanted, but that was besides the point, the only playing inhabitant of this staircase was police, so her status had been obvious.
Ah well, I was unarmed, I thought the nice thing to do would be to greet it with a smile. I played my seven and said "have a nice day." Bryony played an ace, a two and a three simultaneously emptying her hand, and stealing mine. At least there wasn't any points in it.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
1:45ish
Now, it had been arranged the previous day that transport might also be provided for the SWAT team raid on Girton, although the fact the SWAT team hadn't made contact implied that;
a) they suspected it was I who had been bombing them (a highly logical deduction from any bombs containing the words "fluffy and shiny")
or b) they were really lazy gits.
At around 1:45, in transit, the phone rang from Jon Hogg. We phoned him back..
"Bryony's gone wanted, have you seen her?"
"Really, how interesting. No, not at all.."
Unfortunately he couldn't be persuaded to continue with the SWAT raid. Apparently there were "trust issues" with the Caius Mafia.
PC Evil Weapons Inc. reports:
First statement: when new criminal goes on killing spree, be careful.
Second statement: this includes not wedging door open, even when you just go down the corridor to get some water.
Third statement: one does not expect to walk into one's room to find two assassins in there.
Fourth statement: damn RBGs.
Fifth statement: I'm dead.
Sixth statement: Bugger.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Arrived at Girton with only my trusty Vaseline, an RBG, RPG, Joe Devils and a Moustache shaped accomplice. And lots of balloons (and cap detanators.)
Ariane wasn't in. I poisoned her doorhandle.
The DCoP wasn't in. I poisoned his doorhandle.
PC Evil Weapons Inc. had sounds of typing coming from inside his room. We retreated round the corner to set up the bomb... but on returning, the door was open a crack. I stealthily advanced, slipped into the room and found it empty, hurrah! The kettle was boiling, implying someone would soon return. Sure enough, they did, walking straight into a hail of elastic bands, oh dear..
Jenny Chase reports:
I don't know anything about this. I don't live there. Neither, as far as I know, does anyone with anything to do with assassins.
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Whoops! Mistakenly blew up then shot someone in the room I thought was Jenny's. I'd actually got the number wrong. He talked to the porters for us, redirecting to XYZ, on the way to which..
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
... we walked round a corner and came face to face with Jonathan Hogg. We shot at each other from not very far apart, a double kill. Apparently, he saw the Moustache first and instinctively shot at me. Ironically, I stabbed him last year for much the same reason. From all of this we deduce;
1) Standing next to Ed gets you dead.
2) Always shoot Jon Hogg.
and most importantly;
3) It's not really psychopathy if you use balloons :-)
Over and out,
The Sunshine Suicide Squad.
Blood Is The Best Lubricant reports:
The king threw back his head and laughed. He enjoyed a good laugh, and so did his wife, the queen. When she saw the king laughing she let out a big laugh too. In fact, she laughed so hard she broke her throne. This made them both laugh harder. Then they got serious when they remembered they had the plague. "The plague," said the king, but the way he said it made them both burst out laughing again.
[CoPM] Byrony Baines reports:
Muahahahahahahaha.
Michael Richards reports:
I am very sad to report that my door has been poisoned. The strange thing is that I have no doorhandle. Instead my keyhole was smothered with toothpaste. How this is supposed to have killed anyone is beyond me. My roommate was most shocked when he discovered this, but I told him that Cambridge's finest would soon be on the case of the mysterious poisoner.
"Misuse of contact poison" is a fairly lame crime to be charged with, but Moose Hunter is charged with it nonetheless, and is therefore promoted to the status of Irredeemably Wanted.
Deputy Police Chief Just Add Water reports:
Upon returning from a day of practicals I found a note on my door warning me of poison on my doorhandle. There was a great deal of it, but I managed to wash it off. Friday is rapidly becoming poisoned-doorhandle-day.
Jenny Chase reports:
The dead player and two policemen and the least innocent non-player of all time were sitting down when a knock came at my door. Being a paranoid type I enquired as to the callers' identity, but since it was only by redemption-seeking strayed godchild I had no compunction about letting him in. Imagine my shock and surprise when, in response to only a few prompts of "shoot the moustache, shoot the moustache, go on, or you can stab him if you like" he stabbed Nokes!
Obviously I am shocked and saddened, and my room is full of corpses now.
Moose Hunter reports:
What should I find on return home form a hard days work? A milk carton ingeniously intertwined with bits of string, my door handle, a cap and several litres of vaseline?. I took the appropriate action and detonated it at a safe distance extra shielded by a closed door then carefully removed it with "protection".
The Sunshine Suicide Squad reports:
Put a big bomb on Moose Hunter's door.
Jenny Chase reports:
I got up early to bomb my target for competence, as I wasn't climbing his long and creaky staircase any time he was likely to be awake. However, on reaching his door I heard noises inside.
I lurked on his staircase, barely daring to breathe, until he came out and I shot him. Hooray for boaties! He's another person whose face I recognise, but hadn't connected the name.
Home to bed. The corpse went off rowing, poor chap, but I wish him luck in his race.
Melvis reports:
Two things annoyed me about this attempt. I made an extra special bomb, and the pigeon holes are ever so slightly smaller than it, so it didn't fit in. Also, someone had got there first and put something pretty pathetic there. I ended up finding a copy of TCS, labelling and priming it with a cap. I do hope my target is a fool in love, then he might act stupidly and die to my also pretty pathetic attempt.
Michael Brooks reports:
So it's valentines day, and upon taking a trip to the mailroom I noticed that someone had raided the floral display on a roundabout and shoved lots of daffodils into peoples pigeon holes. In mine however, appeared to be a copy of the TCS.
Bearing in mind there is a huge pile of TCS's right beneath my mailbox, I thought it a little to suspicious to simply be an attempt to get me to read that bilge. Furthermore, the rather visible detonator led me to believe that the box was probably more heavily rigged than apparent. I took a copy of Varsity and used that to knock the TCS out of my box, accompanied by a bang.
Michael Brooks reports:
Beneath was a flyer that had been there for a few days. I checked to look for similar flyers in other pigeon holes, checked to see if any were on the floor and in the bin. All seemed correct, except for the fact that mine had been placed squarely in the box as opposed to just thrown in. As usual, I took a pair of gloves from my bag, put them on, and nudged the flyer. Lifting a corner up revealed a piece of paper with a handwritten disclaimer on. I lifted it up further to notice a cracker-strip taped to the flyer at one end and taped down at the back of my box at the other. I reached in, detached the strip and flyer from my box and read the disclaimer. No name, flyer poisoned with glitter, and a intact cracker-strip used as a letter-bomb. I threw the flyer away and kept the strip for a door bomb in the future.
Commendable attempt, however I would doubt that my mailbox has any more room for more complex attempts in the future.
It's always nice to see evidence that Varsity kicks TCS's arse.
Pemmer reports:
It's been a very busy week for me, time to spend my weekend bombing people. I infiltrated my targets college via the big unlocked gate at the back, and made my way to the room. Quiet corridor, enough to hear squeaky trainers.
Attached to the door was a sign saying "Please do not disturb." My advanced apologies.
On my way out, I passed 666's mailbox with intent to post a poison bomb, however there is already a white parcel with a red label in there so didn't want to risk annoying Mr Valentine.
666 reports:
What's that I hear? An assassin at my door a-setting bombs. Finally, someone cares if I live or die! What the...? Where did that sound come from? An accomplice. Oooh...I'm impressed.
And it's a different type of bomb too! I can see the detanator...maybe I can disarm it & use it for my own evil deeds! Cut string. Surprise - the detanator moves with the string. Distinct lack of friction. Strange....what's stopping it from going off? And why is the bottle in plain view? Ahh..must be a double bomb. Slide out first detanator, silence. Retreat to safe distance, open door. Silence.
Something's not right here. Maybe the bottle's poisoned? Too easy. Maybe it has a nice cap detanator under it. Go outside & examine - no. I think they're still lurking. Open door, cower behind cupboard, throw out Elvis' shoes. Bang. He he he. Feel v.clever now :) This game is good for my health!
Index | Wanted List | Incompetents | Police | Headlines | UpdatesProduced at Fri Apr 9 00:31:25 2004