The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 NewsYes, of course I was up early. No, I still wasn't able to kill anyone at
5am, but I actually managed to get to a door this time. Unfortunately, I'd
neglected to bring bombs, and by the time I'd resolved this problem
Next time.
And the red Queen was waiting for the news
For the white King to move
And the balance hung upon the head of one who tried
To stay within the shadows
And keep his undercover secret tight
They let him in by a backway
Into a chamber reserved for the Queen
She took the note that he gave her
Opened it slowly and started to read
The Red Queen, in the spirit of eternal keenness, made her way to Newnham at 5:20am - spurred on by the thought of 3 Fresher targets, I thought I'd take advantage of early birds, annelids and all that - the prospect of the 'Xanth' award for swiftness guided me. Having successfully negotiated the fearsome Porters, I located my target's room and sat down outside to wait out the night with my problem sheets for the week. The best part of 2 hours had passed, when I began to hear quiet noises from my target's room.
Aha! Thought I, the inexperienced Fresher stirs from her rest. A few more minutes passed. Faintly, there came the sound of a computer starting up. Time dragged on..
Then came the sound of gentle clicking. Surely that can't be a gun she's loading? Nah - just the ticking of a clock or her brushing teeth or any of a number of things.
Finally, there came the sound of rustling at the door. I sat there, poised, expecting a disshevelled, Medusa-esque figure to egress and stumble towards the bathroom. Instead, the rustling ceased abruptly. The experienced (read: paranoid) assassin would probably have jumped on a bike and cycled to Girton by now, but not I. Instead, lulled by the ease with which I had broken into the hitherto-impregnable Newnham, I settled back down and entertained myself with a thrilling question on vectors.
The handle rattled and the door swung open. Not with casual and unsuspecting lethargy, though. Oh no - with a full on assault charge and 4 RBGs unloading into my right ear. Underestimation - the secret of good assassination. I think being outkeened is a good way to go.
I hear there's space in the police force.
Woke up this morning to the sound of someone elses alarm clock, and what should I find but a suspicious character (Richard Gibson) hanging outside my room doing maths? He obviously wasn't killing anyone else around here... so I shot him.
Was that so wrong?
After a unfruitful visit to the boathouse, and discovering the ominous yellow flag unfurled, I find myself in the situation of being awake too early for lectures and too late for another nap in bed. Already on a 21 hour sleep deprivation, my fingers are ruled more by reflex than reason. Having found out that one of my targets, Edd, is simply a 5 minutes walk away, my deep instinct told me that the early assassin makes the kill. Thus armed with flexed fingers and 4 rubber bands I made my way past locked doors (note to Umpire: by going in another entrance!) with ease. Edd was in his room. I disturbed his sleep by sending him to an eternal rest instead.
After choosing my victim wisely I proceeded to navigate the dark streets of Cambridge all the way to Selwyn, after successfully finding his room (due to the helpfullness of college members) I knocked on the door. After about 5 minutes of continued knocking he answered it and the knife was thrust cruely into his chest.
He died.
Yay.
Monday the 25th of October, and Government Issue Bob receives a secret message describing his latest mission that self-destructs after he has read it. But what is this mission? To locate and neutralise three suspicious people planning to murder important government officials.
Unfortunately, being a 2cm high stick figure, there is no way G.I.Bob could face them in armed combat. So instead he writes a poisoned letter and asks a porter to help him put it in the high pigeonhole.
Fresh from my first kill as a first day assassin, I walked back, absent-mindedly pondering on whether to cycle out to Girton and hit my second target with the element of surprise. Yet my beginner's luck has ran out. Carelessly, I took the letter out of my pigeon hole, momentarily forgetting that no oridinary postman would deliver any letter between 7am-8am. It was tidily done. A white envelope, a typed address, everything to ensnare the unguarded mind. Along the top edge is the deadliest poison known to Man, and as I unfolded the letter, it touched my finger. Briefly, but enough. As I glanced over the contents my sight blurred... not for the lack of sleep but for the eternity of darkness and sightlessness awaiting me. As I sank softly onto the tiles, my last realisation brought me some pride: I killed, and was killed, in my first three hours of this deadly game.
There is a MaDnEsS in Cambridge!!!!! It nevEr sLeeps... dO you?
i got my brains eaten at 8 ish this morning!!!
I heard there was a fan in Selwyn who was just desperate to meet me, so I thought I'd drop round. At first he thought it was the bedder, but we soon cleared that up. Very nice he was too, he even gave me some coffee.
I had finished my morning routine of stretches (to keep me agile and fit in order to tackle any assassination job presenting itself), and I turned on my laptop to dicover my list of anticipated victims. With a wicked laugh I began printing the list, and turned to begin designing some crude weapon with which to dispose them.
At that point, I heard my door handle turn. Looking at the clock (8.20), it was clearly just the bedder coming in to tidy the shower. Turning to say "Hi Maria" (or crack some sarcastic joke), it suddenly dawned that the terrifying figure in my doorway was no cleaner!!
Just as I was about to reach for a ruler, a piece of paper, anything!? an
elastic band hit me on my shoulder - fired from the gun of
Keeping with the friendly attitude of all Selwynites, I offered
The MaDnEsS!! It's always lurking, waiting for you, open your door to it - let it in!!!
"...And what's your favourite colour?" "The evanescant shade of dewdrops refracted through gas from Venus." replied a voice smarmily. "Okay, green. Finally, when was the last time you had sex with a lamppost?" "You what?" "Ah, so you do finally pick an answer on the quiz, I thought you'd have gone with 'piss off, myself." "Piss off sleazy," Nasty strolled into the room, "you know these things are all crap." Sleazy wasn't listening, he was too busy trying to figure out why adding three and three gave him such a huge number. Somewhere in the attic, Noisy dropped something heavy. Somewhere in the bathroom, Sick produced a sound too unpleasant to regurgitate here. "Okay, let's see here... you're affirmitave, and aren't afraid to show it, although you don't mind when other's take the lead. Your favourite food is cheese, you're someone who likes to get out and about in the world, but are rarely seen outside. You either play poker, or you don't, and oh, you absolutely hate cheese." "Hey, that's my result!" Touchy sounded offended... but then, that wasn't unusual. "Still," Sleazy ignored the outburst, "not bad for a quiz that professes to be about 50% right..." "Can't you think of something better to do?" a high squeaky voice interjected. But Pious didn't get an answer because at that moment there came a knocking at the door.
I borrowed a bomb from a mutual friend, and dropped it off outside my target's door. Then I felt guilty about leaving other people's stuff lying around, and resolved to come back for it.
It had come to G.I.Bob's attention, thanks to his secret surveillance devices, that one of his targets, the nefarious Andrew Wimbush, was working in the same offices as him!
G.I.Bob couldn't possibly allow this dangerous individual to live so close to his secret headquarters, so he prepared a trap. With the help of a helicopter, he positioned a dangerous explosive device in front of his door and set it to detonate when the door was opened.
Another successful mission for G.I.Bob!
I was killed this morning by a bomb that was placed outside my door. I had spent the night away from my room, but unfortunately died while trying to dismantle the explosive. Tragically, another assassin, Fiona Doyle, and an innocent, Susie Batey, were within the blast radius at the time. I have no idea who dispatched us.
I called round to see another fan in Magdalene- finding his room was difficult but in the end I got to speak to one of his friends, who told me he'd gone out! I must say that's a bit rude an' all, setting up a meeting with me and then going out?! I'll have to call round later.
tonight martin turnock sleeps with the fishes. It was lunchtime and having organised the week's duty roster for the various employees in my criminal empire i decided to run some errands - 'Go to Sainsbury's to get some milk, drive by St. John's to kill someone... etc. It was an ingeneous plan - thought out to the last conceivable detail. i knocked on the door. He opened the door and boom! Four rubber bands riddled his chest (good grouping too). 'ingenius' he said as he slumped to the floor.
G.I.Bob's next mission was to defeat the evil Robert Duschinsky. Unfortunately, he lived a long way from G.I.Bob, so there was no way he could even hope to reach him before his competence deadline.
So what did G.I.Bob do? He cleverly attached a poisoned letter to a pigeon's leg and instructed it to deliver it to his evil nemesis.
G.I.Bob lives on... unlike his enemies!
I feel more than slightly foolish to go out of the game even before I had checked my e-mail to find out the game had started and who I was meant to murder. That is the true meaning of being rubbish at it. Oh well... there's always next term.
After a quick stop at Ryman's Stationary Shop to purchase a ridiculously large bag of ammo, I embarked upon a little recon.
Through the dank underground subway catacombs of Emma to the soaring heights of Homerton, I wandered near and far, 'ere the hill and 'ere the dale to locate the lairs of my chosen ones. This accomplished, I bade hasty retreat back to my fortress where now I sit and cradle my weapons until tonight when I go out for the kill...
Humiliatingly, I was shot as I cautiously opened my front door.
I knew that a certain spot outside my door was a major vulnerability, and surprise surprise, an assassin came charging out of there, with a rubber band shot to me just as I was trying to close the door.
In future, I'm only ever leaving my room by abseiling down from the window.
Anyway, the chap identifying himself as
Oh well- top marks for good craftsmanship.
Target: Seth Thevoz
Time: 4:05pm 25/10/04
Action: Kill
Method: Shot to right lung.
I'm really sorry for being a bit of a git over this one, there are better ways of handling disputes, I'm just no good at it. However as the umpire says - disputes should always be talked over on the spot, because otherwise it's really messy.
Paul dumped a fridge on my head as I opened his door. it was a really nice trap (and I approve of carlsberg), but at the time I looked up and noticed the fridge hadn't really gone very far. I pointed out that they should fall a metre (about the height of the ceiling in this case), and under the rules I'm not dead. But Paul and I do agree that a metre is a bit silly for internal room traps - it's impossible in most rooms in fact. I suggest the rules should be altered to say taht a fridge dropped from a foot or more should cause unconsciousness, hell, it's much harder to do than coshing someone.
This would have given Paul enough time to kill me in any way he saw fit. Again. Sorry sorry sorry, come over for coffee.
Yes. never ever simple. Jack disputed too, although we sorted things out pretty fast. from my end, my gun was in the door crack, and pointing between his eyes when I said bang. Jack's a great guy, and we had a good chat about stuff, and agreed. I will certainly visit again once dead, because the people I spoke to were all lovely.
he came out of the lift unaware and casually strolled down to his room,where i was behind him,so i said thomas.....he turned to say yes and ....he was killed with an accurate rubber band shot stragiht into his body
It began at 08:00 today, when I carefully edged my door open a single, jittery centimetre, and set out. Every person in the street a potential killer, every "good morning" an invitation for an untimely demise, every step a pace closer to death. Even after reaching the comparative safety of the lecture hall, nothing could drive the thought from my mind - I was a marked man, with nothing but a short knife and a squishy chocolate bar in my pockets, and frankly I doubted one would be any better than the other as far as defence goes.
After furtively walking the mean streets of town twice, taking a detour to reconnoitre one of my assignment's lodgings, I could almost hear the pen scratchings as the life insurance people hastily revised my policy. Finally resolving to return to my humble digs and make a pretence of working, I eventually reached the foyer, and was stopped short. I knew for a fact that the elevator was unsafe, but on the other hand, the staircase was full of toxic fumes the previous night - could I take a chance the air had cleared? I chose the elevator, it's better to die fast, and went up to my floor, now with only my knife and my thoughts for company (I had alread eaten the chocolate, which was a pity, because it probably had more of an edge on it).
The doors opened to reveal a somewhat unkempt gentleman in a dubious shirt, in what the physicists probably like to call a state of extreme rest. A victim of circumstance perhaps, or maybe just waiting for the elevator (In practice, there's little difference). The shirt was loud, and could probably tell me more than words ever could about this man, but I decided to take the abridged version and saw that he at least didn't have anything up his sleeves, or indeed any sleeves at all. Turning the corner I felt something was wrong, but realised too late that what I'd detected was the absence of footsteps towards the lift. The silenced pistol coughed politely, like an embarrassed maitre d' trying to inform me as discreetly as possible that my tie was in the soup again. Darkness opened up in front of me. I jumped in. As is so often the case, there was no bottom.....
Everyone has heard of Catch-22, which introduces the contradictions of armed forces legislation. It states that attempts to leave the airforce on grounds of insanity requires a certain degree of sanity to perform. Fewer people have heard of its even more fundamental cousin, Catch-23. Catch-23 states than all options are always wrong.
A case in point: the door of
But Catch-23 cuts both ways. Many approaches to the handling of the bomb are time-consuming. But almost all the others will result in spontaneous discovery of the secret cache of poison embedded in the bomb's label...
It's an ill wind that blows no-one any good. Over and out.
I'm staring at the Catch. It's the one on the door of Hendrik Schroeder, and it's unlocked. This is worrying.
I have three main options, each with their own (metaphysical) catch. I can just get the heck out of there, thus wasting time. I can attempt to attach the bomb to the door and hope it doesn't swing open whilst I'm doing so, a gamble on my skills. Or I can storm the door, guns blazing, a move which risks immediate termination from the victim or his associates. I chose the second option.
My skills proved to be up to the task. Another bomb, another poison cache, another Catch-23 inflicted on an enemy. Over and out.
i waited for her in the adjacent kitchen room and having asked her friends what she looked like,did not think twice about shooting her from behind.although one good friend had described her wrong to trick me but no no no
I checked my watch. 18:10, so I had time for a single mission.
Corpus was nearest, so I proceeded past their porters and into the
courts. Finding
Using this special mixture I attached a note to his door, such that when he removed the note there was a good chance he would poison himself on my tincture of herbs.
I then exited the college again, nodding to the porters who were none the wiser. 18:20, so I should have no difficulty making my next appointment.
so barbaba drew was killed by a rubber band shot in the stomach at approximately 6:25pm .please report this using my nickname' the ultimate daddy' cheers p.s. what happenes now that i have asassinated all the people on my list ?
I do like it when the second hit on google for my target's name gives me a photo and a meeting they must attend that evening. So I did what any assassin would do... went there and stood outside. Needless to say my hapless victim appeared shortly before the start of his very important meeting... unfortunatly he never made it.
Well I knew Adrian was simply dying to meet me, but he hadn't been in all day. So I dropped round this evening to say hi. He was a bit surprised, and jumped all over the room when he saw me, but I managed to calm him down.
I, Dakeyras, have taken out one Fiona Verity Scoble with a shot of potatoey death to the body. I went a-knocking, she went a-opening, 'Fi?' - the last words she heard.
Stalu ond Cwalu sneakled ond scufflied ond slytherred through the blackiness. for tonight was a nighty of nights, or a night at least, ond they were sneakling ond scuffliing towards a denlie den of mens. Or, as Stalu reflected to Cwalu as they reflectled into each other's crimiosonlinessness, a denlie den of woomans.
But there was a problelem yes there was there was was, for the denlie of weemans was guardeded. Stalu ond Cwalu ond Stalu again disisguiseds theemsleves with coasters of blackliest dark to be as littliest suspicciouious positiable. As they did slippery intowards the denlie heart of woemins.
Cwalu didst stalling for a moemet to reflectle upon the wonderousnessness of the reflectling fount of wateries, but didst Stalu heisten Cwalu ontowards? Stalu didst. Stridling boldlitie likest two of puriest belongongsings did theyst be blocked by a gatling of mystic magilics, but for Stalu's sneaklieness was it was no barrier.
Then ond onlie thens didit Cwalu with greats scufflieing stickst a devisets of truliest cunninings to the portle of one weimaen, beforest knockling twicest lightest, ond buggering off.
Was planning to kill target on the way to lectures in the morning, but spotted him outside Gardies around midnight (he cunningly was clever enough to be in the IMO team, thus making his photo be plastered all over the web) and knifed him in the back as he was walking back to Trinity.
I attempted to kill Ross Edmondson (Don't know his pseudonym) of Selwyn college with a possie of four, hell bent on death. Alas the canny geezer just wouldn't open the door, so we left him a little present...., and then we trampsed off to to Darwin for the next Target.
A knock on the door. "Hello?" I say as i wander over to peer out at whoever is standing there. Two guys and two girls, I AM popular. Not realising I am standing there watching and listening, they have a quick discussion as to what my name is, referencing their target list no doubt. Then comes the really good bit....
"We've got a fencing glove"
"Riiiight..."
"It's Mark Adairs, he left it at training..."
"Ok, pass it through the letterbox"
"We can't, its padded and won't fit"
Now, I myself fence, and know full well the size of a fencing glove. There is no way that you could fence with a glove too big to pass through a letterbox - it would be like sewing wearing skigloves.
"Why don't you go and give it to Mark - he lives *here*"
"Oh. Um. Ok."
When they had left (even I wasn't going to burst out and try and kill 4 assassins) I followed them. All the way down Sidgwick avenue, to the crossroads. Here they noticed me, and one of them came across to me. Rumbled, I thought! But no, he very politely asked me if I knew where Darwin was! I told him, resisting the urge to enquire as to whether he knew where I could get a fencing glove, and watched the group enter, and return a few minutes later. With that, I followed them home, and discovered where they live.
Be warned, I know all about you now!
Came back from breakfast to find a stanger hanging around outside my room: not being properly awake I cleverly ignored him and was stabbed as I walked past.
OOH Shiiit, I'm dead!!! He cried as he cried in agony, with his last dying gasp, as I wiped the blood off the dagger with which I had used to stab Thomas Robinson's right kidney. I smirked and quietly said "I win, you lose". And as I walked away from his domicile I took out my death list and crossed out the name of my first victim with a thick red felt tip pen. Little had he susupected, with my perfect disguise as an innocent Cambridge undergraduate with my dagger disguised as a bookmarker in a boring medium sized text book, that I was actually a deadly assassin as he walked past me on his way to his room....... Hahaha. You will be hearing more from O-Ren.
I opened my door this morning to the deafening screech of a bomb detonating. In my death throes I uttered the much-heard words "If only I'd registered a Bomb Shelter!"
Arrising early (0645), in true military fashion, I proceeded to the house of a certain Miss. Kirsty Reger. Despite a British gentleman's complusions about not harming ladies, I set my mind to the task and planted a box of treats by her door. I do hope she enjoys it.
Lt. J Parker
Standard Unpronounceable Ruleset (5 card draw, minimum of twice playtime for each)
'Teatime in [Bohemia]^2'
"I say," I said, "this rabbit is truly divine."
"Oh," the Baroness looked bored. "We have a monopoly on those. I find that they taste funny."
"Really?" Finishing one cup of tea I started sipping on the other. "But what could possibly taste any better?"
The Baroness brushed her hair back with one hand as she continued talking, "The _other_ rabbit."
This was clearly a sign for the maid who had been standing nearby, as she pulled a cord and the curtains drew back. Beyond was a rabbit, happily playing among the mountains.
"Dear Lord!" I ejaculated, spitting out tea. "That thing must be twice, no, thrice the size it ought to be!"
"Even bigger than that!" She smirked, and then frowned. "I only wish it would stop crushing the pheasants and foxes; we've lost a lot of game because of that one."
"Baroness, I have but one question now." I was on one knee now, a twinkle in my eyes. "Do you dance the tango?"
"A little, yes."
"Then you must die."
So she did.
'Splendid' I thought as I passed by my pigeon-hole this morning on the way out, it appears someone loves me. However, remembering the violence of my last lovers goodbye gift to me, I understandably approached the note with caution. As i carefully cut open the bottom and sides of the envelope with my trusty bacon-tongs and scissors, my heart was filled with joy! 'Someone cares enough for me to attempt to end my miserable existence with a friendly bomb'. Alas, I was still going through a rough patch due to my last romantic encounter, and so was not prepared to end my penance for my sins on this earth just yet. Life continues and my punishment goes on, but one day, i may find peace in death.
Those assassins who are new to the game would profit from study of the events occuring at lunch today in Trinity college hall. I was stabbed by a mad knife-wielding assassin. The fact that I did not prevent this suggests that such qualities as opportunism and bravado, so clearly displayed by my assailant (who identified himself to me only as Llewelyn) are difficult to stand up to. Indeed such qualities are part of the classic recipe for success as an assassin.
However, it is also possible to learn from his mistakes. He not only stabbed me in the arm but did so with a table knife swiftly drawn up from the table. I did not die. Read the rules. He also failed to see the warning signs as I drew my gun. Always be on your guard.
He died. Nevertheless, I see a bright future for him in other games.
The Quick Brown Fox's building was paid a visit by the ultimate daddy (Hossein Berry-Noubar), who was looking for a fellow housemate. The Quick Brown Fox appeared too innocent to be carrying a knife. The Quick Brown Fox showed a surprising amount of interest in the weapons of his new friend. The Quick Brown Fox knows to kill when he sees an assassin's weapons. A knife to the heart was all it took...
Well my first attempt at assassination went horribly horribly wrong. Having cunningly managed to get into my target's college, I was thwarted by the fact that she listened to her mother's advice about strangers and didn't open the door... Those at this college have a shocking advantage - they have peep holes on their doors from which to espy the potential risk, thus negating the possiblity of surprise... freggle!
So I left a threatening note - and as I was walking out of Emma was attacked from behind by a green florescent highlighter knife wielded by a vicious assassinee.
Skeletor, on opening his bedroom door at the early hour of 1:30pm dropped to the ground to avoid the clumsily made trap he found awaiting him. The axe swung limply above his head. Having heard the scuffling at his door only moments earlier followed by the swift departure of Paul Chapman from the area, Skeletor decided to persue his assailant. He offered little resistant to the shear power of Skeletor's rubber band gun.
Silently, as though a shadow of death, I crept through the courts of Emmanuel, making my way to the room of Amardeep Lidder. I had the whole scenario planned out. Turning all the lights off in the corridoor outside his room, I plunged the place into darkness. Hiding in his bathroom, I waited for my unsuspecting victim to return home. My wait was not a long one, and by 4pm he walked through the door. As he fumbled for the light switch, I mader certain that he would soon arrive in a place where lights were no longer necessary. Bursting out of the bathroom, I shot him twice in the chest. He died, screaming like a little girl, his face a picture of utter shock. The merciless execution over, and my target dispatched, I drew my knife, and upon his forehead, I carved in blood a flaming bird, the symbol of The Phoenix....
Bouncy-bouncy decided to start the afternoon by placing a poisoned postcard in Amieth Yogarajah's pigeonhole in Trinity. Crossing Angel Court, however, he noticed a man with a suspicious resemblence to Amieth heading himself. Bouncy-bouncy's doubts were shed when a female friend called out "Amieth!" from a window above. As the unsuspecting target opened the mailroom door, Bouncy-bouncy placed a dagger in his back.
There i was, full of confidence, sure that this
Went round, but no-one was home.
On entering a rather innocent looking kitchen I questioned if my hit, Tora was in, On hearing, "yup, she's here" and a poor bystander being pointed at I promptly shot the poor decoy in the face with my trusty green water gun. After I gathered I had shot the wrong girl I attempted to secure the area waiting for the return of my target. All in vain, as Tora sprung out of the kitchen from a little nook with a futile piece of garrotte paper. Stepping back I soaked the paper and the victim in one fell swoop. For the record a head and heart shot were achieved.
I have assassinated John Niland with a knife in the back while he was attempting to enter the safety of his room.
After some cunning sneaky activity to enter Clare College and to reach the correct floor, I noticed my victim had made a few mistakes. She was sat unarmed by her door with two friends who when asked "Is there a Charlotte here?" both turned and looked at her. This resulted in 5 shots to the body and an unfortunate 'scalding' incident when her mug of tea was split in the panic.
At about 10.15, I met a group from emma in the Corpus JCR, unknown to all but one, I had infiltrated their ranks and identified my target, Richard Harris. After a moment of conversation, he discovered a knife in his chest, and realised he had been betrayed. And then we played table football.
Having gone unused, Bouncy-bouncy thought he'd plant his poisoned postcard in
Found one postcard in theory from the Cambridge Arts Theatre covered in poison.
Someone was very lucky that an innocent friend of mine didn't get my post as a favour. Not just that, but they had poisoned fingerprints of an assassin all over it.
Hmmm... how do they survive?!
Oh well, so far, not dead. Close shave though... VERY close...
After many moons of recon and cycling about 20 miles I was starting to build up healthy profiles on all three of my 'clients'. Tonight after formal hall, I was ready. I was fuelled and eager, fully armed and very dangerous...
I crept past the p'lodge (they never even saw me) up to the door of
Silence...
"You're not my target" I said to the girl I was aiming at.
"Don't shoot" said the girl.
I didn't shoot. Luckily for me she was telling the truth and told me that my target was out. We introduced ourselves and my target's roommate made me a cuppa which was nice. Some more people came round, none of whom were my target. When they suggested txting a warning, I bade them goodnight.
I walked to the p'lodge and then doubled back. I again climbed the stairs and waited...
and waited...
and waited some more...
an hour and 10 mins past...
then suddenly, I waited another five mins...
Finally I heard my target coming up the stairs. In anticipation of the kill I drew my gun. Big Mistake.
My target (although being a fresher) was impressively paranoid... they saw my gun and shot me with a Bang. Then, as I was reeling from the shock, I was rushed and stabbed twice in the chest, pitching my body over the balcony to fall three flights. I was dead before I hit the ground.
And thus, yet again, I have failed to kill anyone. My last thoughts being along the lines of "Bugger, not again."
Tonight I
foiled a plot to murder me by
Hahahahahahahahahaha!
Following yesterday's experiment with herbology I tried applying the
same principles to epistemology, and snuck a poisoned letter into
I walked into Caius today to collect my mail. There was a suspicious-looking brown envelope with my name and "UMS" scrawled on it in biro. Carefully, I lifted it out of the pigeonhole with my teabag-squeezing tongs and put it in my bag. I also collected a jiffy bag, apparently sent from Germany, from the porters' lodge.
Returning to my room, I put a plastic bag on the floor and, with the aid of rubber gloves, my cereal bowl, a spoon, a pair of scissors and the aforementioned tongs, I carefully opened the letter, avoiding the "herbal poison" (parsley) contained within. The letter claimed to be from "King of Wrong".
I repeated the procedure on the jiffy bag, expecting it to contain a CD of "Kung-Fu" style cover versions of techno tracks, and found that it contained two "Family Packs". Considering briefly that it would be amusing to sell contraceptives in "Family Packs", I remembered that I had ordered some sock pegs from http://www.sockstar.de .
I feel compelled to say that, although I have only had these sock pegs a short time, I already feel that they will make a significant impact on my life. No longer will I have to rely upon my maid for socks. The sock peg will enable me to achieve sock/shoe liberation. With this small, handy, discrete (so one says "fewer sock pegs", not "less sock pegs") device I can carry a pair of socks with me anywhere I like: lectures, hall, concerts, supervisions, etc. It doesn't even need batteries!
Naturally, I washed all the implements involved carefully and threw away the plastic bag and letter.
Terracotta Variant (1 unknown play, score by number of traditional connectors played)
'Bomb Defusing Semi-Finals'
"Oh dear, Dave, we have a conundrum. Do we cut the blue wire or... the other one?"
"The other one?" Dave looked perplexed. "How come you can't just call it the red wire?"
I gasped. This all but sealed our fate.
"Damn it, Dave, that's bad luck. And in the nationals too, of all places! How are we supposed to win now?"
"I don't care." Dave dismissed, cutting the red wire labelled 'safe to cut' and delving deeper into the mess of wires and flashing lights. "Red wire! Red wire, red wire, red wire~."
"Lalakalalawalalawakalakablahypyharrfyahrryyrryahrhrblalalala, not listening to you." I intelligently replied, dislodging the tin foil hat I was wearing as I shoved my hands over my ears.
"And win what, anyway? Romeo and Juliet over there have been debombing the hotel practically three times as fast as we have."
"But this is _my_ hotel and I say that whoever cuts the least... other wires wins."
And that's how William Shakespeare was cheated out of becoming a mad bomber.
One scheming assassin devised a plan to kill me this morning, leaving a little (2L) present outside my front door. Little did they know, I had been out-a -wandering this morning, and on return to my humble abode discovered a bodged-together device against the door. Quick thinking, and a visit next door to gather some equipment, i set about disarming the BOMB. A couple of simple adjustments, and a few minutes later I entered my (in tact) room, safe and happy, with my very own ticking bomb.
Got a letter this morning. Opened it. Discovered an assassin had cleverly tried to poison me with the most deadly subtance known to man; glitter! thanks to the inclement weather and trusty black gloves, elle lives to fight another day!
Another rogue is no more, the steady hand and killer instincts of Dakeyras have seen to that. Her head still full of the dull tones of the lecturer as she stepped out into the sunlight; she had no defence.
On the way between lecture theatres, and made very happy by the knowledge that I would be sitting next to my new target - a close friend, what a shame - in one of them, I didn't think too hard about the implications of "Sarah?" coming from behind me in an unfamiliar voice... Turning round I found myself on the receiving end of a large pistol of the watergun persuasion. Dammit. Very nice he was, though. He did apologise...
What is this, in my pigeon hole, I thought to myself. A letter. How unusual. A letter, furthermore, with a Cambridge postmark, with handwriting notably different from that of anyone I knew in Cambridge. And with a rather large and suspicious lump in it.
I carefully carefully took the letter back to my room, donned my poison-resitant gloves and carefully slit the envelope. My suspicions were confirmed - a sprinkling of glitter fell out harmlessly onto the table. Now for this large lumpy thing. A detonator, I presume. Ah look, here's the instructions. Won't be needing those. Just as I was congratulating myself on not dying, my oafish hands clumsily shifted the envelope, and the detonator, well, detonated. My final thought: How very irritating; as I slid to a bloodied heap on the ground.
Today someone attempted to kill me, which was very exciting, since I had had no other attempts this far! The potential killer inserted a poisoned sticker into my pigeon hole but, as I have already become a paranoia dominated assassin, I was quite careful when retrieving my mail. Anyway, thanks to whoever it was for taking the time to walk/cycle/ride etc. to my relatively distant college.
This morning i was horrified to hear a loud POP as i opened my door, it was sadly a bomb, cunningly stuck to my door. Open further inspection i noticed that the bomb radius was 4.2meter. This would actually have killed my next door neighbour Phil and the Girl who lives above me aswell. And i standing a mear 1.3m away from it would have probably melted from the impact of the molten apple juice.
So i am no more, oh well. At least i can try and hunt down the cowardly idiot who nuked half my staircase instead of stabbing me in the back like a real man/women.
/----------
0verkill --> /- | |
-/ | Target's |
| | Door |
Bicycle /-|- | |
| | | | | |
|/ | | | | |
___ ___ o | o | |
||/| ||/| | | 0 |
|-O-| |-O-| / | |
|/|| |/|| | | | |
--- /--- | | | |
/ | | | |
========= | | | |
| | | | |
--- -- _| |_ | |
============================================
/----------
| | The gap in this door is
| Target's | so small I'm having to
| Door | push harder than a
| | mother giving birth!
| | /
| | /- /
| | -/
| 0 | |
| | /|
| | / |
| | / |
|----|| |o =
|FAKE|| # |
|BOMB|----------/| |
|----|| | -----|
============================================
/----------
| |
| Target's |
| Door |
| Being |
| Opened |
| Later |
| |
| O |
/ |
/ / / |
| / / |
| |
| BOOOOM!!! | |
| / |
| / |
============================================
As the leaders of the greatest college of Cambridge, it is our duty to free our students from the oppression if proprietary software and lead them into an enlightened age of Free software. The first step towards achieving this great goal is to spread information about Free software. When the students have been educated about its virtues, surely they will tear off the shackles of Windows to live in the merciful, just and user-friendly world of Linux.
As part of our informational campaign, we decided to distribute copies of Debian GNU/Linux to students. We did this by placing installation CDs in their pigeonholes.
However, in some cases, prolonged exposure to Windows had irreversibly damaged the minds of the students. The only way in which they could be freed was through death. To this end, we used the evil Quartus to design an explosive device that would detonate when it came close to the hopelessly corrupted. How ironic that Altera's own software should play a part in its downfall!
Housten! We have a BPL (Bad Poisened Letter)
Either there is a trained super assassin trying to make me over confident, or I am under attack from a complete noob. The salt wasn't even ground up.
I apreaciate the attempt though (Which was quickly delt with using sergical gloves borrowed from a friend) and I enjoyed reading out your manical laugh (which spanned several lines).
Keep them comming :)
Finding herself in the city centre this afternoon the seamstress took the chance to distribute the poison letters she just happened to have on her at the time.
Somebody tried to poison The Goblin King. However the assassin failed due to several crucial errors:
and the most crucial error was:
The Quick Brown Fox wanted someone to play with. The Quick Brown Fox didn't seem to have many friends, and decided to use the cunning foxes are famed for. "A present!" exclaimed the excited creature, "everyone loves to get presents, that's sure to win me a new friend". The Quick Brown Fox set off to meet a pigeon...
" ... So there is a target walking down the street but a moments stride
ahead of me. Thanking my luck i cautght up, placed my gun to the
unsuspecting victim's kidney and foul murder was done upon the streets of
cambridge as
I was shot at point blank range at 10 past one today on
Kings Parade, on the way back from lectures, by
Hopefully those whom this may concern will be abel to root out the traitor and take appropriate precautions... :)
/----------
0verkill --> /- |/--------| ___ <-- Helpful passer by
-/ ||Door To || (o o) opening the door
| ||Target's|| -/ and letting 0verkill
/-|- ||Bulding | follow in behind him.
| | | /-|-
| | | | | |
o | o | | |
| ||=========| | | |
/ | | o | o
| | | 0 | /
| | | | | |
| | | | | |
| | | | | |
| | | | | |
_| |_ | | _| |_
============================================
/---------- ___
/- | | /___ <-- Helpful friend of
-/ | Target's | (o o){} target going to see
| | Door | -/ {} her and not closing
/-|- | | ww|ww the door behind her,
| | | | (o)| /-|- allowing 0verkill to
| | | | | / | | follow in.
o | o | / | |
| | | | |
/ | | | o
| | | 0 | /
| | | | | |
| | | | | |
| | | | |//|
| | | | | |
_| |_ | | _| |_
============================================
___ BANG! ARRGHH!!
/___ /- / |
(o o){} -/ /
-/ {} | wwww
ww|ww /-|- /-ww <-- Dead Target
/-|- | | | > |ww
| | | | | | /==> o \_/ww
| | | o | o o |www
| | | | \_| |
o | o / | |
/ | | | |
| | | | /-----/ |
| | | | | =======
|//| | | | | |
| | | | | | |
_| |_ _| |_ _| | |
============================================
I have been killed by a musical card! I thought I had post but OHHH noooo , meanie!
One man deserves the credit,
One man deserves the blame,
And Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name!
One man sent a letter,
One man's reports are all the same,
And Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name!
Oi!
The friend I had intended to visit was not in, so I occupied my time by eliminating a target instead. Sally was sound asleep when I knocked on her door. Mid-afternoon naps?? Such sloth will not be tolerated in this Hallowed Institute of Learning! I felt it my duty to weed out the slackers, and carried out my task. She had a quick reaction despite not being completely awake; however, I was quicker. Embedding a knife in the centre of her forehead sent her back to eternal sleep.
hey i got killed today when an assassin stabbed me - was about 4 o'clock. which sucks
Recently while out foraging for acorns, pine and cobnuts to complete my winter sundries, I, a Squeaking Weasel, chanced upon Mother Duck below the oak tree that marks the centre of Crinkle Wood. "Oh," quacked Mother, "Do you know- I saw Eli Nalson, a stranger to the Shires, partaking of a skin of buttercup beer outside Jesus College."
"But Mother Duck," squeaked I, "would that be the same Eli Nalson whom has just received from me seven-score mortal wounds to the chest from a poorly calibrated Derringer at point blank range and with minimum pomp and circumstance?"
"The very same."
"Strange, fowl one: how could this be?"
"How would I know? I'm a duck."
I would just like to inform you that yesterday when walking through jesus college grounds I found myself being stalked by an unknown assasin, having been warned someone was on the look out for me I quickly took precautions to make sure no one saw me entering or leaving my room, little did i know that the assasin himself was taking the opportunity to hunt out a photo which would reveal my identity, later that night just when i thought i was safe I heard my name being called only to turn and find myself face to face with none other than an Assasin, pointing a gun at me! It was all over very quickly and despite all the blood hardly hurt at all.
I had just returned to my impenetrable fortress after a supervision at Teletubby land and was about to get down to making some weapons (after all an assassin needs weapons to kill people) when I decided to crash my housemates party. To my surprise, one of his guests had me on his hit list and he promptly decided to sneak behind me and cut my throat with a samurai sword. Reacting quickly I put my hand up to defend myself as I sensed him behind me, but this only meant that I lost my fingers before my head.
Oh well! At least next term I can use my old psuedonym (G.I.Bob for those of you who don't know). I would just like to reserve it in advance so that the cheeky beggar who took it this term doesn't try to get it again (he even copied the style of my reports).
Thrice the door knocked, and I answered. Hit by a sudden dread I clasped my trusty 12 shooter, and spied out. No-one to be seen. As I peered around the door, a shape leapt out at me. An attractive but near deadly shape. (Don't worry, I'm not hitting on you Julia (: ) Also a brave shape, for she was armed merely with a single band of death between finger and thumb. As she loosed, I felt it whoosh past my chin, so close I felt a rush of air. Shocked into action, and her mistaken belief that I was dead, I unloaded two quick shots into her chest, felling her instantly. And then we had a nice chat. At last! My first kill. Jeff will rule all.
I raced through the wind and rain on my bicycle to a land far far away, with little of a plan in mind...Upon reaching far far away, i tracked down my victim's den, knocked upon the door, and hid around the corner until he warily emerged... i dashed towards him - aiming and firing- a narrow miss, but alas my attack back-fired (literally).
On scanning the list of targets that had been sent to me, I was delighted to discover that one of them was already known to me, avoiding the need for tiresome reconnaissance.
Accordingly, I arranged to meet my subject and lured him off guard with small talk. As we crossed the threshold of his room, I brutally stabbed Ed Saperia who died with a look of betrayal in his eyes.
It was only with the utmost difficulty, however, that I escaped with my life after encountering several other highly armed assassins in the labyrinthine corridors surrounding his abode.
After a long night in the college bar, my senses were obviously numbed... I returned to find a weird bloke hanging around outside my staircases door, I decided to make a mad dash to my room, where, a collection of items had been placed blatently covered in contact poison (including a dinosaur covered in poision sticking out my lock). These provented me from hiding in my room and gaining access to those all important weapons. Suddenly, Biggles burst in to my corridor and opened fire. I blame the alcohol for making me use the "in out" board right in front of him... silly me!
Biggles is thus made wanted for abuse of contact poison. Redemption will require the deaths of two of his targets, or one wanted criminal.
Having been thoroughly disappointed by the absence of my previous target, I skuled off to find my nearest alternative: Chesney at Selwyn. Upon arriving in old court, a small grey cat escorted me around the courtyard as I looked for L staircase. I could almost feel the cat laughing at me as I walked around from A case to G. I soon found out why because next to G case is A case. Damnit! So wheres L got to? Time to employ the knowledge of locals. I was soon pointed in the direction of Cripps Court.
For those of you who have not visited Selwyn, Cripps Court has a 3M high fence around it. And the last person to scale it was caught on CCTV and deaned (I only discovered this after my adventure). Anyway, I did not do such a plainly silly thing as the porters were patrolling the area. I walked around the whole court. All the doors have key locks. And not a soul in sight that appears to be willing to open a door for me. Foiled Nearly. A second pass around the court reveals certain weaknesses in the security of the court, one in broad street light, the other in a nice dark corner close to the cloister and away from suspecting eyes. Once inside I proceeded to find L case. Convenient In/Out board I thought. I knock anyway and listen intently for the loading of rubber bands nothing. Okay time for plan B. I took my poisoned Letter and slipped it under the door. I was about to leave when I had an idea. I took a conveniently to-hand Veloceraptor and jammed its tail in Chesneys door lock that should make it a little angry I collected my equipment and start to leave. As I leave the stairwell, I notice it is bar throw out time. So I stand outside texting while a few people walk past. After a few seconds, a passing gentleman took a double take at me and hurried inside towards the In/Out board. He flicks the 4th in/out tab and turns to his corridor. THATS HIM! I pocketed my phone and headed for the stair well door, priming my flame thrower as I go. From mere steps behind my target I glance through the glass door to his corridor and see the puzzled look creeping across his face as he examines the snarling beast with its tail caught in his door lock. Two steps more, my flamer is raised and my hand is pushing the door open. The look of bewilderment turns to OH S**T! as the flames engulf him. Shame.
I am reporting in deceased due to the unwanted attentions of 'the pheonix'. I wandered next door for a chat and found a familiar face among the crowd, my expression soon changed from joy to despair when 'Judas' drew a huge choppern from his coat. In vain I scrambled for my handy arm rifle, but all my practice was too slow when the time came, and the gun was barely out of my sleeve by the time my life blood drained away on the floor. The party rather went downhill I feel.
Poor Sam Lees. The Phoenix has many friends in this life, but even more in the next it would seem. Not above the ritualistic killing of a fellow college comrade, I was the Judas to his Jesus, the Brutus to his Ceasar. Moments after receiving the news of my next target I set off for his room, only to find it vacant. But no matter, I simply waited, and it was not long before he returned. Bounding up the stairs, and pleased to see me, he came to tell me the news of his day:
"My brother just opened a poisoned letter that was meant for me." Said he.
"Oh no, how terrible!" Said I.
"Now he's dead."
"And so are you!"
Remoreselessly I plunged a knife into his chest. The look of surprise on his face, and the utter shock at my betrayal will not be an image I will soon forget. But The Phoenix would perform one last right to honour the death of a good friend. Crouching low over his prone body, I carved upon his head my mark, the mark of the immortal, master of darkness and shadow, Judas the betrayer, the flaming bird, the mark of The Phoenix....
Assassins are reminded that getting innocents to open their mail is an offence punishable by death.
Define the Dead Nature, D:
D(A) A Assassins Alive(A)
Observe that:
Bombed(Door(A)) Opened(Door(A)) D(A)
Now, show that Bombed(Door(Sarah Tang)) D(A).
(20 marks.)
Awaiting outside his lecture, my trusty RBG at the ready, I liberated his mind from its mortal shell. What delight I took in the surprise on my enemy's face, the incomprehension and terror as his crumpled body slumped to the floor.
Lt J Parker
I wandered round to the home of
It took me ages to get to
Byeee!
Mary-Kate!
I emerged from canteen dinner today almost in coma due to the high concentration of un-cookedness, and somehow thought it would be a good idea to check my pigeon-hole. Having staggered the short distance to the plodge, I looked in my pigeon-hole and thought "oooh, I got a book" and then "umm maybe it's a mail-bomb". I tried to disarm it but in my post-canteen-lunch state I was capable only of detonating it. There was a massive explosion and I was blown apart where I stood. Maybe I will be served up for dinner tonight ...
After my failed bombing attempt yesterday, I felt like another try at Chris Korek. When i got to his room I was preparing to knock when I noticed the door was slightly open. Where's the fun in getting into a room already open. But I burst in anyway and exchanged fire with RBGs. I craftily dodged his shots and shot him in the groin.
Tragically Chris Korek was gunned down today when complete strangers burst into his room. despite trying to return fire his strength failed and the assassin 'He who trips and falls over his own feet' went on his way to the next meeting.
Approaching the targets door, I used my charm as an officer to persuade three delightful young ladies to show me to Gabriel's room. I was introduced to him, but instead of the greeting he expected I began firing. Despite my years of training, he ran like a coward, but I caught up and shot him for the snivelling wretch he was, while he cowered, quite literally, in his wardrobe.
For it is written in the Book of Assassin ...
For if thou is muchly engaged in the divine worfhip or fudy, and has not the time to visiteth thine targets in the perfon, then thou canft fendeth the poifoneth letter.
Thou needeft to createth a letter, and filleth it with thine poifon, and then getteth it to thine target. Thou canft put it in yon hole of pigeon, giveth it to the porterlie perfon, or useth thine poftman.
If thine target is muchly lacking in the divine paranoia, then they mighteft openeth thine letter without the preparation which beth proper for fuch a letter, and cometh into the contact with the moft deadlie poisin. Then they willft dieth, and they beth fo lameth.
I was wondering around college checking that there was no suspicious wonderer were about. Then being relieved with finding none, i casually walked to the pigeonhole and found a white enveloped letter with my name written clearly but mispelled. Now, I was deep in thought about the origin of the letter when innoncent student comes in to the room and picks up the letter that i had left on the table. I being cunning, just nodded and gave a brief encouragement as he opened the letter. As the content of the letter, spilled on to his hand, he clapsed on to the floor cursing me for his stupidity. There he found deadly substance called S.A.L.T. - Seriously Awesome Life-threatenning Toxin. Well am i wrong to have been curious of the effect of the poison?
For causing the death of an innocent,
I was slightly dismayed to realise that my remaining targets all resided in colleges quite a long way away. I was more surprised when I saw I was expected to assassinate the fourth Duke of Norfolk, especially since he was executed in 1572. Nonetheless, if he needed killing again, then I was the man for the job.
I got a convenient bus to Girton and promptly got lost for fifteen minutes trying to find a way into the fortress-like complex, then a further ten trying to find his room. I also immediately realised I should have brought a bomb, given that he lived in room C4. At any rate, I eventually located the room, and saw that there were some English-related notes poking out from under the door.
This has to have been the worst-prepared attmempt in history. While I had a vast arsenal of weaponry with me, I had no contact poison, and nothing with which to make a bomb. I improvised with a poison letter I had originally prepared for someone else, and shoved it in the notes. Packing my bag again, I realised this was never, ever going to work. Far better to sit and wait.
Lurking in the nearby bathroom, I took out "The Agricultural Revolution in England (The transformation of the agrarian economy 1500-1950)", which really is as fascinating as it sounds, and began to read. I had scarcely read for ten minutes when I heard voices approaching. Could this be the target? It was.
He didn't really stand much of a chance. He was standing in front of his door, hands full of papers and fumbling with his keys, talking to someone else, as I walked past and knifed him in the back. Booya! My mission complete, I returned home...
I know exactly where I went wrong here. I knew what the mistake was even as I made it. I should have returned home like I said, instead of making a hubristically cocky attempt on another target, especially the only one on the list who actually appeared to be competent in any way. But I was fine; I was carrying virtually all my weapons, I'd just proved that I wasn't that incompetent, I was doing great.
Credit to
When he failed to respond, I got out of there as fast as possible, and made
it about halfway down the street before there was a sudden movement behind
me. I spun, alas too slowly, as
I should have known he was an evil stalker killer fan right from the start, I guess.
Despite the beauty of my would be assassin Ashley Olsen, i Dakeyras did not dither nor gawp slack-jawed, but rather plunged a knife between her shoulder blades as soon as i had the opportunity.
I had been sat in my darkened room for a week now. Plotting, scheming, dreaming of the day when there would be no more Windows users. I can see it now...The linux penguin dancing on the mutilated body of Bill Gates. Bill Gates: my arch-enemy. The time will come when I rid mankind of this scum. But first I had lectures to attend. I walked into the mailroom to see what primitive "letters" I had received. Immediately, my windows scum sensors were tingling. There, in my pigeonhole, was the Worst Poisoned Letter Ever. It had all the hallmarks of a windows user. The shoddy, disjointed scrawl masquerading as handwriting for starters. The envelope was bulging with poisononous matter. I sighed, marching back to my room for my protective handwear. The ultimate evidence was inside. The letter was dull. Standard poison letter disclaimer and nothing else. It showed all the imagination, wit and style of the average Windows user. It embodied their conventionality and inefficiency. Angrily, I destroyed the "dangerous letter". I then continued to plan my quest, the provocation fuelling me into a plotting frenzy. THEY WILL ALL DIE!!! REDEEM YOURSELF NOW, OR FACE MY WRATH!!! REMEMBER, THERE IS NO WORSE CRIME THAN USING WINDOWS!!!
After not a little searching I managed to find the entrance to Pembroke College.
I found my target's room, whose door was ajar, and knocked.
"Come in" he called.
As last words go, I've heard better.
I sitting in my darkened room, contemplating the best method of killing people from the opposite end of Cambridge, the darkness enveloping me. There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" I called in a strange high voice, carefully tempered by years (well about 48 hours) of absolute paranoia. There was no answer. This meant only one thing to me. I jumped out of the window, carrying one of my favorite (cardboard) daggers, and ran around to take the evil blaggards by surprise. I met them as they were leaving, my killer (a girl) carrying a war axe. Suddenly my knife seemed a little futile. She threw the axe at me which I dodged using the McHenzie tequinique I had practised so thourghly. As she ran to get her wepon, I stebbed her in the back, like a true murderer. So died a Kate McDonal (I think that was her name). I had a chat with her still moving corpse afterwards.
I went to try to end the life of
Finding myself on the wanted list, I set out to redeam myself. Arriving at
No letter this time, but a one Biggles tried to kill me with a flamethrower. However he hadn't bargined on a homemade-catapult, and a decoy rattling of locks... Sufice to say he was dispatched, and, ever the Gentleman Assasin, even helped clear up the Scorch marks, from where his Rigor-Mortified hands had pressed down upon the trigger.
This evening I thought I'd try a bit of amateur explosives engineering. I settled myself down in Borders with a cup of coffee and a bombmaking kit and crafted "The Contraption", a carefully made and tamper resistent bomb.
I then proceeded to deploy said Contraption. The target area isn't one of my favourite locations, and I had not previously scouted out that particular bit of it.
Alas,
Unfortunately
I died.
Johnathan Amary came to my room to shoot me.
His gun didn't work.
Such incompetence! He really did not deserve to stay alive.
So I shot him with a gun that did work.
It was unfortunate that as Mr Other approached his landing he espied two unfamiliar figures looking through his spy-hole. When the afore-mentioned pair became aware of his presence, they walked away claiming to be looking for his next-door neighbour. Mr Other waited behind a wall, for their inevitable doubling-back. The following events are best described as "Slash-Groan-Arghh-Sorry."
They were nice people.
Creeping slowly up to his door and drawing my gun. I charged in. Unfortunately he had taken the precaution of locking this door so the only result was a bruised arm and a lot of noise. I waited outside in case he decided to investigate the commotion but instead he stayed safely locked in his room. Cursing my lack of subtlety, I slipped away resolving to try another day
Sergei Trofimov, having survived the bomb planted by me, was not ready for me in the bar when i stabbed him in the back. He has been assassinated.
To clear his name Skeletor decided it was time to start his rampage, ill prepared and slightly drunk. With 3 accomplices in tow Skeletor arrived at Johannes Nordstrom's room and started to attach his detonators. The rustling, creaking floor boards, laughter and general riot outside the room alerted Johannes, who sprang out of his room to face the guns of skeletor. Elastic flew in all directions, but hit no-one. Realizing Skeletor was strong, Johannes retreated to his room and bided his time. Skeletor however slowly finished attaching detonator number 1, then went to the other side of the room to prime detonator number 2. Thinking Skeleton's back was turned, Johannes sprang from the room armed now with a water pistol, but wasn't fast enough to avoid the explosion. Skeletor only got a mild suntan.
While Skeletor considered his good fortune, Johannes cursed his luck, realizing he was not only dead but locked out for the night.
Skeletor and some accomplices turned up outside my room, and Skeletor started planting a bomb on my door. I opened my door, rubber bands were exchanged, but we couldn't determine whether anyone had been hit. So I readied a water gun instead. Skeletor fiddled some more with the bomb on my door but didn't seem to be done, so I opened the door and fired. Unfortunately it turned out that he was finished, and hence so am I.
This game immediately struck me as one suited to my highly-developed skills. I was somewhat disappointed, therefore, when the Umpire ruled that my infinite supply of inflatable bombs would be banned. Something about unfair advantages, and the possibility of actually killing someone. Up to that point I'd thought that was the idea, but the Umpire enlightened me in a somewhat hasty and panicked fashion.
In any case, I decided to go back to the good old days of the alpha, when I'd crash regularly and had to make my own bombs. I also picked up a student who wished to learn the fine art of bombing from someone of my advanced experience. The number of teenager-hours I have spent laying bombs is quite staggering. I decided to start him off with the basic lesson that complication is not necessary, and demonstrated a simple yet elegant bomb, leaving it outside the door of one of my targets. Setting a bomb of that type is quite tricky when your hands are spherical and shiny, mind you.
Actually getting to the target's room was not as simple as I had expected,
the perimeter being locked until an unsuspecting kind stranger let
us in. After that point, though, the rest was almost as easy as destroying
a brick wall.
I have been... bounced. By a very clever (albeit cowardly) assassin. I got up in the morning, opened my door cautiously, gun in hand, and... bang. It's a good thing you didn't stick around.
Good luck to my (former) targets. May you live to bounce another day.
Stalu ond Cwalu reflecteced at the newpapers, ond heared no woe from the woemens. But then they heared that the devisings of grate cunniningnesses had cased indeeds muches woe, ond that one weeman was deadded, not the one they aimeding the devise at, but hey, whose countings mated?
Of coarse, now Stalu is knowing this devisings is effeftive, ond what could rests at onlie one deaf? again musts the devisings be loosed! so Stalu ond Cwalu sneakled ond peakled at a denlie den of much veil, veiled in darkinessnss as it was - for it was the denlie den of the threes, ond it was boltied down so nine coulded enters, but not Stalu ond Cwalu. After manie smites of thee grate portails, one of the nine openeded saided portail, ond sneakily ond silens as a sneakily silens thing Stalu ond Cwalu did slippings did do.
After manie sneakilings ond manie tippippings ond manie slinkleings didst Stalu ond Cwalu finded thee portail of one of thee nine of the denlie den of thee three. Feelsing much nausiousness at alls thee mathsematicalings didst Cwalu slinkingst back as Stalu deviced the settinings of the devise of profuses deviousings on thee portail, ond then didst they bugger off with hastinessings befour the mathsmaticalings didst devourest them.
It had come to our attention that, although the scholar Paul Fox believed himself to be one of our number, our records showed that he had not fully complied with all college regulations.
Using a Computing Service issue knife, we rectified the issue via the back interface to his body.
Yours truely has escaped without injury two poisoned letter attempts from:
1) two nearly dead fish - Careful analysis of substance reveals high levels of infertility powder, sealing off the gene pool of any unweary recipient (not my good self)
2) her jennyness - forensic investigation reveals what seems to include microbiological insurgents, which if allowed to come into contact with skin burrow inside the victim and liquidize his/her insides to the consistency of soup. My hamster gave its life for this experiment (but did end up going very well with bread and croutons).
The lab people await with baited breath any further analyitical opportunities
Dear Sir
I made a preliminary attempt at inhuming our client today, and although regrettably the client is still vital, I feel sure that this business relationship will have a successful conclusion. However, there is a small matter of a few minor outstanding expenses. Normally I'd hate to trouble you for such trifling details, but in the interests of keeping everything in order:
Hotel fees - B#6690.00
Sundry living expenses - B#852.78
Transport - B#3141.52
Payments to elected officials - $1,000,000
Wear and tear - B#588.31
Ammunition (0,762mm) - B#119.99
Explosives (350,000kg HMX/RDX) - B#free
Liberated Soviet plutonium - 75cl 40% distilled petrol
Paid informers - $10
Services received - B#98,543.72
Bandwidth use - B#153,144.23
Out-of-court settlement with RIAA - $4000 and 1 immortal soul
Badger tax - B#26,450
Attempting to plant a bomb on $TARGET'S door and getting caught in the act - Pricele