The Assassins' Guild - Week 3 News

Popped round the corner to Bruno Min's place at 8am this morning. Unfortunately there was a code lock on the door and an ever so slight absence of people who were awake who could open it.

dear Mr Umpire, caloo callay obviously lucky is this day. one pointed lesson , one less assassin.

Some evil bugger poisoned my door handle today, fortunate it's jammed open so I never use it. Found the vaseline or whatever it was at about 3pm.

About half an hour later i got a knock on my door, i opened it water gun in hand to see some bloke with a RBG standing in the corridor, shots were exchanged, he ran away, my room took a hit in the tele, i went back to watching 24 on my computer.

Ben Jones seemed to be labouring under the misapprehension that ambushing the glorious police force of the Republic is to be tolerated and remain unpunished. We have disabused him of this.

I called round to see the esteemed incompetent Niraj Modha in his room. He had a spyhole, which didn't make my life any easier. I knocked anyway. Suspicious rattlings from within, almost as if he were unlocking the door... but then I was foiled, and he spoke.

"Hello?" My mind raced. While tempted to continue with the Time Lord theme (and the number of times I've died makes it a rather appropriate analogy), I suspected he was too canny to fall for that. Instead, I would be one of the most feared and ferocious assassins of the age, and one who didn't live too far from here...

"It's Jon."

"Jon who?"

"Jon Woolgar." Pause.

"You don't look like Jon Woolgar." Curses!

I switched into politician mode, weaving a tangled web of lies to disguise my true identity. I was wearing a wig. No, it was glued on. I almost began to convince myself (well, not really). Finally he had had enough.

"You're not Jon Woolgar."

"No."

I left. As I wandered out of the door, something hit me in the arm, blowing it off. That was a bit unfortunate. I turned to see him waving a gun out of the window, firing a number of further shots which fell a way short of my chest. There wasn't a lot of point in me risking myself any further in trying to attack him, so after a brief discussion I told him my true identity, and left. But my journey was not entirely fruitless, for now I know his face...

I would like to report an unsuccessful and frustrating night on the town in Cambridge. After deciding we were going to clean this town up at around 2100, our first visit was to Magdalene to see Their Rebellious Left Hand and Rocking the Kaz Bar. Here we were turned away by a grumpy porter who didn't want people he didn't know coming in unless they were invited, and had never heard of the Assassins Guild. He still didn't trust us when we showed our list of incos and wanteds and even the weapons we would be carrying. Gimp. Can one of you two invite us in next time please?

Then myself, Raphael and Alan Bitchmarsh went on to Kings as the clocks struck ten, where for once the porters didn't turn us away, in search of the feared Paper Cuts. We made it into his room (silly fool left his door unlocked) but being police we couldn't leave anything for him to find in bed, and being in a hurry and spotted on the way in we didn't stay for long. After much amusement watching Alan in particular trying the Kings Swing for the first time, we headed for Robinson in search of Dego the incompetent Spanish Jester, who just for a change, wasn't in. We sat outside the door for a fair while, but nobody turned up, so we left. Next was Selwyn for William Wordsworth pushing up the daffodils, where once more we were turned away by porters, and as we were over that side of town anyway decided to continue down are incompetent list and onto Newnham to find some Mushroom. Having made it into the main entrance, we found a map alongside the fancy formal hall booking system that said we were in the wrong place, so set off back up the road and left to Peile, which when we finally reached it, was access by keypad only, and no-one would let us through. You would have thought the Newnham girls would have been happy to see three dashing assassins on their doorstep, but obviously not. It was dark, you are forgiven ;)

So we went home just before midnight, and played Unreal Tournament until now.

At approximately nine o clock this evening, the three civil agents Raphael, Generalissimo F N Spingu and Alan Bitchmarsh and the Yorkshire rap collective decided that there were too many wanted and incompetent assassins living in Cambridge under the guise of students. Extreme action was required. Hmm, maybe death would solve the problem.

First stop was Magdalene, known to house at least four assassins, Messrs Jones and Jenkins (wanted) and Sadler and Crowley (inco). However, upon penetration of the main gates, they were rudely ejected by an insufferable porter - 'If you don't have an invitation, you can clear off!'. Well, they hardly came invited.

The next port of call was King's College, which was penetrated with absurd ease. Philip Bridge was, however, not in his room. A stakeout was proposed, but rejected after the three lawmen were spotted by a neighbour. Retreat was judged to be the best option.

After much hullabaloo at the internationally renowned 'King's Schwing' (you had to be there) bicycles were obtained to relieve the eyesore Robinson of its resident inco Mr(?) Modha. He(?) was also absent from his(?) room.

The down-on-their-luck policemen decided to venture into Newnham to eliminate the incompetent Sophie Lawrence. However, upon arriving at Newnham College Proper, the address was noticed to be on an off site building. When they had finally got there, they noticed the pin number access to the entrance.

Obviously not their day.

Earlier this evening, who did I spy trying to enter our impenetrable fortress but a known New Hall police officer, guns don't kill people, people do, and monkeys do too (if they have a gun). What could she be doing here, in such close proximity to Pax? Surely not visiting a friend who lived below Pax's room!

So I gathered a group of police officers from all three corners of our little castle, and we sat in wait outside Pax's door for the lady from New Hall to emerge. She didn't. We got bored. We left. We made chips. We ate them. We returned. She still had not appeared.

So I went to the room where I knew she was staying. Here I found her claiming to be watching a film. A cunning disguise, I thought, so we sent an innocent in pretending that she was Pax, safe in the knowledge that I could cut Ms. GDKPPDAMDOIFHA Gun down before she even tried to fire on the innocent. However our cover was blown when the room's owner introduced out pretend Pax as not Pax.We left again, for more chips.

While wondering randomly through the corridors of our beloved building, one of the law enforcement officers on the scene, Raphael, began to get impatient. He began to shoot at just about anything. He wanted to kill. So we let him do whatever he wanted. It was a stupid move.

He followed two innocents into the room where the film was supposedly being watched, and from outside I heard the click of a RBG, and the girly squeals of a police officer who hadn't reckoned on the might of the [Colleg deleted] first year Mafia. But when she said that she'd never heard of Pax, we began to get suspicious, and think that maybe Raphael will become wanted once again, rendering my deletion of college name pointless as soon his name and address will be available for all to see. Oh well. At least we're all alive for now.

I made my (long-awaited, I'm sure) return to Fortress Robinson, with some backup this time in case the cowardly gits made good on their threats and attacked me with CPSs. Noting that the window was open, we took covering stances on it and approached the dread portal. Stephen McCann knocked, to receive no apparent response. Time passed. A hand emerged and fired a shot, and Adam Baird Fraser leapt out of concealment and bang-killed his window. The dead window was then firmly shut. After a few minutes it was apparent he wasn't coming out to play any further, so we made our way to the exit, where we encountered Jon Woolgar (the real one).

We entered Magdalene to attack the two incompetents cowering within, and found one of them cowering within his room. Sadly he was cowering sufficiently to refuse to open the door. Coward. As we waited outside, however, three people approached from the opposite end of the corridor. One of them looked strangely familiar from somewhere- a photo, perhaps. Was this truly the dangerous criminal their rebelious left hand? And if so, why was he strolling towards four such obvious assassins in so carefree a fashion? I stared at him. Then I shot him. He ran away.

After speaking with the two girls who had been walking with their rebelious left hand for a while, I saw another faintly familiar face down the corridor. Before I could greet him, however, Rocking the Kaz Bar fled into a nearby room, where he proceeded to load a RBG and wave at us through the window as we left. Still no sign of the incompetents though. Cowards.

On a side note, the cowardly incompetents were sufficiently terrified of us as not even to speak to the two lovely young ladies who followed the nefarious their rebelious left hand into the building. That wasn't very nice of them.

(3.00-4pm) New Hall/Fitzwilliam

I wandered with Ross Edmondson and Rohan Slayer of Incos to visit the incompetents in New Hall and Fitzwilliam. Neither was in. There was an impressive piece of misdirection by Sally Hubbard in having another name on the staircase name list, but it was marred slightly by having a letter addressed to "Sally" stuck on her door. There was also a rather ominous scattering of rubber bands on the floor outside WYSIWYG's room, but no sign of the man himself.

Decided that a bit of an inco-bash was in order, there's too many of them about really, so myself and the honorable, trustworthy, not-at-all-naughty, sexily-voiced-like-a-cinnamon-chicken-in-winter and generally-a-good-guy (and he didn't tell me to say that) Steve McCann went on a bit of a hunt. However, as is so often the case these days, we were foiled somewhat by the fact our targets weren't readily available.

We noble police forged boldly into the depths of Magdalene. We knocked on incompetent doors. We conversed with an incompetent. He was a bit suspicious, so rather than waste good acting skills, I gave him obvious lie #3. After that we saw no-one, not even a wanted.

The SWAT team, comprising myself, Nick Plummer, Pete Myerson, Del Ahmed and Chris Korek, congregated in the pub before making its way to the Magdalene house of fun where the incompetents were supposed to be. Coincidentally we arrived at the house at exactly the same time as [Neil Sadler], who was rapidly knifed by Chris. We ventured inside to discover none of the incompetents at home, but as we were leaving we again encountered the possibly dead criminal [Benjamin Jones]. He loitered at the bottom of the stairs for a while, speculating in a manner we didn't entirely understand about whether I had shot him earlier, until Nick settled matters by shooting him again.

Discovering that Thomas Pugh was not at home, or at least not to guests, we then headed Benson-ward, and set up teams outside both exits to Kit Jenkins and George Crowley's staircase. Kit Jenkins appeared briefly at the back exit, but rapidly retreated inside again on seeing us there. Wary of our superior numbers, he contented himself with waving at us out of the windows for about half an hour. An attempt to get out of the front was thwarted by Del Ahmed who shot at him but unfortunately missed. Interrogation of any student who happened to be passing failed to yield any keys that could get us in. After it became clear that Kit wasn't coming out to play, we called it a night and headed off to Caius.

as the informative title no doubt hinted at tonight five officers took place in a swat raid against the Magdalane incompetents and criminals. After a brief meeting in which the plan was laid out we then proceeded to a party were informants had revealed the criminals would.

Luckily on the doorstep we met Neil Sadler who, even after being stabbed in the back by me,opened the door for us. Then invading the party we made sure to wish the somewhat shocked birthday girl happy birthday only to find that Ben Jones was in fact out. A good bit of lurking resulted in the aformentioned Ben actually making an appearance and ensuring us that he had accepted being killed earlier that day.

Next was Tom Pugh who sadly was not in. Then was Kit Jenkins who was in, but sadly not leaving. Thus after a somewhat uneventful we felt obliged to drop in on Chris Field and leave ballons on his door. He evidently didn't appreciate this, since he sent someone round to have us killed, but made up for it by offering us chocalate digestives.

Our good selves got onto our bicycles with Alan Bitchmarsh (who didn't seem to have his Yorkshire Rap Collective in tow) and headed down to the Mitre to meet up with Mr "Target Kills You!" and Mr Uno for a swift (or not so swift in Spingu's case, which led to him being pennied) pint before heading on down to Magdalene. Stopping en route at 30a Bridge Street to sing happy birthday to some random girl called Louise but mainly to find Their Rebellious Left Hand. He however claimed to have been deaded earlier in the day, having previously claimed not to have been deaded in the very same incident, but Spingu shot him in the foot anyway. Served him right, no-one wants zombies at a party, they take all the life out of it (boom boom!). Ck Uno knifed The Prophet Amos, who didn't see that one coming (these jokes are getting worse) after he let us enter, in a very subtle manner.

We went on down the road to the main college building, and actually got in without being stopped by any Porters, and went to the room of The Wizard in Training, who was not in, making our piece of toilet paper over the spy hole a little redundant. So we went out again, being spotted by a Porter with an impressive piece of facial shrubbery, who obviously knew what we were up to but didn't mind, which was nice. Crossing the road, we tailed some random into Benson (haven't been warned not to let weirdos dressed in black (and grey) in, we could have been thieving stuff you muppets!), and went up the stairs to see if either of the guys on J staircase were there. The In Sound was Out (I'm trying, ok?), but Mr Casbah was rocking away, as usual. Now the shareef don't like it, and neither did HCMaf, or the other two SWAT members, so three of us took the back passage in an attempt to ambush him. He did appear, but out of a different door to the one we expected, and at the sound of his name he disappeared into another door.

Showing surprising athleticism unbecoming of a CompSci, Spingu ran with "In Soviet Russia, Target Kills You!" round the building, catching him on the other side. Spingu fired after him, but couldn't get the range with the RBG, and Rocking The Casbah rocked all the way to the locked door and did his disappearing act again. Spingu then fell on the slimy grimy walkway into a large puddle, but we don't talk about that. Splitting into teams, Spingu and Alan Bitchmarsh took that door, while Ck Uno and Raphael went up the stairs, and "In Soviet Russia" as SWAT leader wandered around where he pleased. Raphael knocked on the door, and Mr Casbah warily emerged, only to make a strategic but hasty retreat under a hail of rubber bands. He then tried to emerge from the other door again, to find a couple of SWAT in wait, and so once more retreated, this time to the toilet. Who knows what he could have been doing in there?! Later on, from here and someone else's bedroom, he could cover all angles outside the door, so at around 2330 we decided to call it a day. No-one had a key that would let us into that staircase, and he wouldn't come out to offer us a warm drink or a hug or anything, so we gave up and walked back towards the Mitre.

In a flash of inspiration, Mr Uno thought we could pay a visit to Chris Field, as he had some balloons and sticky stuff in his pocket that were in no way going to be employed in making bombs before the new rule came into force. Harry the lovely Caius Porter let us in, and gave us some sellotape, so we each blew up a balloon and wrote a lovely message on for Chris. He kind of spoiled the effect by coming out of his room, but we had a lengthy discussion with him about his ribbons and the breasted carrot, and had a few pictures taken. Plus Alan Bitchmarsh, in a hurry to get home to his beloved Yorkshire Rap Collective, left his soggy helmet as a present to either Chris or the Master's Secretary (no comment as to which one it was intended for was made).

As a last gasp effort to actually kill someone, we headed to Kings, where a discussion with a Porter led to us not being allowed through the door, though the Porter was, in Raphael's words, "well safe" and had a nice long chat with us about what a naughty boy Mr Paper Cuts was. So we went home. The end.

I was meant to meet up with Rosie just before Andrew Sobala's first lecture to kill him, but, half-asleep and stumbling from my house at such an ungodly hour in the morning, I didn't check the map and went to the wrong Biochemistry building (sorry, Rosie). Not, apparently, that it would have mattered, since he was quite late for the lecture anyway. But having returned home briefly and feeling rather more awake, I went back- to the right building this time- to get him on the way out of the same lecture, arriving just as the biochemists were leaving the building. The resigned expression on the face of my target as I produced a gun confirmed his identity, and I bang-killed him on the steps.

After receiving a tipoff that a certain radio presenter would be going wanted shortly before the end of his show, a small group of us - Rabid Squirrel, White Rabbit and a mysterious live player - went to lurk him.

We got to CUR at around 18:20 and scouted out the surrounding area. I took position at the back of the building and the other two hid in the bushes at the front. We waited. Around 18:35, some others - one police and three live players - turned up, having presumably the same idea. We rearranged our positions slightly and continued to lurk.

Finally, at 18:45, our target's co-presenter came out through the front door and proceeded to distract people while, of course, remaining perfectly innocent. Needless to say, our target used the "distraction" to leave through the back at speed - I shouted to the other lurkers and two of us gave chase but he was too fast.

another report in Picture form.

With little else to occupy me on a quiet saturday afternoon, and with inco deadlines creeping up, a trip to Newnham, depsite the distance involved, seemed like a good idea. On arrival, having successfully negotiated the long corridors and large grounds, I knocked on my targets door in vain. No reply. I knocked again. No reply. A short walk around the area led to a window, which was closed. However, with no-one inside, it was clear she wasn't hiding. G13, Peile, Newnham. I wasn't in the wrong place, but it seemed the inco I was hunting was. Fifteen minutes later, when still there was no sign of anyone at all, I decided waiting round in bushes looked somewhat suspicious. Furthermore, one of the male persuasion loitering in a women's college too provoked some strange passing looks. My trip it seems, will have to be repeated. Inco to be killed as soon as found, until then other targets to be sought.

Justice, honour, and wrath in blazing glory.