The Assassins' Guild - Week 0 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 0 NewsLent term assassins has started. This number of players this term is known at a certain point in time and space. That is neither now nor here, so go out and kill each other!
I try to keep business and pleasure separate, as a rule. Things are easier that way. Today was... an exception, I suppose.
A certain gentleman friend of mine, Hilman Husky, approached me with a proposition: both he and I would profit from the death of the same individual, so why not work together to ensure such an event happened? Now, teamwork's never been my forte, but it was a tempting proposition, easy money; a girl's gotta eat, after all.
His name was Alexander, student of one of the Far Colleges. I was in favour of waiting for him to come to us, but Hilman is not a patient man, and proposed we take the fight to him. I did not relish the thought of the hour or so walk (and felt extremely glad that I didn't choose to wear heels today), but his argument - that he might be expecting an attempt on his life in the middle of the city, but would feel safe and secure in his home. We would, hopefully, make him regret that complacency. Briefly.
In the long walk to the College in which he dwelt, me and Hilman concocted an elaborate plan; I would conceal myself while he lured the target out of his room, before striking from the shadows to take his life before he even knew I was there. We talked through several possible ways to lure Alex out, but they proved unnecessary; he answered to a single knock, and Hilman stabbed him before I got the chance.
I regretfully inform the Umpire that my endeavours for an early kill were thwarted by locked doors and the loyalty of their friends. Rule #37 of Assassining: The only people who will ever sell their friends out your friends.
-King Mickey
I, Thargo Hoath, take honour in having been hired to athathinate thome troublethome people. Ath thuch, I intend to be profethonal in my work. Tho tonight, I dethided to conduct a bit of rethearch on my targets locathons. I thet forth to -College withheld-, to make thure I knew every way I could get in and out. I dithcovered that, due to conthtructhion work, the front gate ith the only way in and out. I thwiftly moved on to Jethuth college. They have an eathily acthethed front entranthe, but thith ith the only way in, ath other gateth are locked, and the back ith defended by a moat. I moved onto -College withheld-, to athertain the locathon of my targeth thtaircathe. I know now thith ith in the area off of -road withheld-. Thoon I thall thrike, now I know enough not to make mythelf look ridiculouth by getting lotht, ath onthe happened latht term. To all other athathinth, beware the mighty Hoath!
At about 3:20 today I heard a nock at the door; I was wary as I had heard suspicious voices ouside my room just minutes previously and so it was with fear in my heart (and a gun in my pocket) that I approached said portal.
A voice I knew to be of a friend called out and thus relief washed over me, I was not to be killed today and so unto the door I went.
No sooner had I opened it however than I was rushed by an assassin wielding an ingenious folding blade and to the loud protestations of his unwitting accomplice was I struck down; a single swift blow to the head.
Alas, that was not the end of it, for as death's grip took hold of me I saw my stricken friend collapse, slain by my own hand in a panicked attempt to save my own retched skin.
Umpires note: Uxariean has been made WANTED for getting his accomplice killed.
It wath about time I made an attempt, tho I equipped my weaponth; a Nerf Jolt in my pocket and a knife at my thide, packed my bag with a Nerf Throngarm and the calling cardth of my contractor, and thet off into the night.
Upon arrithal at my dethtinathon, I briefly inthpected the area, and headed into -College withheld-. The porterth didn't notithe me, perhapth ath my backpack made me look like a thtudent of the college heading back. I began my thearch for my foe'th thtaircathe. Alath, No where to be theen in the firtht court. I thwiftly made my way to the thecond. Not here either, but I made note of a helpful open back gate into -place withheld-. Then I thpotted the entranthe to the third court. Thictory at latht! Ethen the thtaircathe doorth were unlocked. Thuch a helpful college!
I made my way up the thtaircathe, checking each floor for my thictimth room, hiding in the toilethva when people went by. On the third floor up, I found hith room, but I could not hear anyone inthide, and the thick door meant I couldn't thee if hith light wath on. I wath thinking what next when I heard thomeone coming up the thtairth. I could thee it wathn't my target, tho I hid in the toileth. I realithed the betht courthe of acthon would be to thlide my mathter'th calling card under hith door, and thee if there wath a reacthon. In it went, and I went round the corner ready to attack with my knife, ath my Throngarm theemed to conthpicuous, and my Jolt wath out of acthon. Nothing. I left via the back gate, ready to return thoon.
At approximately 9pm on Saturday 18th January, an evening of friendly cocktail-based frivolity was brought to a tragic denouement, when an intra-staircase killing was lethally carried out. The earlier banter over dinner about what would happen if one member of our staircase had been given another as a target became fatally ironic, when I placed the 'Razor Hat of Ultimate Death' upon Mr Stoddart-Stones' unsuspecting head. I also proceeded to shoot him with a Nerf pistol several times over the evening to make sure he was dead. What can I say - he looked twitchy.
The Preacher Casy
In a shocking show of extreme betrayal, a loyal friend and partner in planned benign assassinations was killed by viciously applied Razor Hat of Ultimate Death on Saturday Evening. The poor victim had only a millisecond to realise that his friend was planning this most nefarious of deeds. All he had wanted was to enjoy the cocktail party he was attending, and had just returned from buying ice, out of the very goodness of his heart.
The victim strongly recommends that this betrayal results in the most stringent of repercussions, and if this is not done officially, a violent uprising from the dead will ensue.
{Translated from the original Gasmoxian}
I'm Zam! And I'm Zem! And we're here to bring you all the lowdown from this year's Survival of the Fastest! As you all know, the rules are simple - our venerable planet, Gasmoxia, sends a champion out to far-flung places. One race with the best racer from that planet - if our champion wins, we glass their planet. If by some crazy coincidence, the challenger wins, we agree to leave their puny planet alone.
And this year's champion is none other than the one, the only NITROS OXIDE. Back from retirement for one year only, the veteran racer has broken out his lime green hovercraft in order to defend Gasmoxia's honour.
Let's spin the wheel and find out who's up first to be annihilated in Survival of the Fastest! *spins* It's...[COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] and their challenger is registered as Brutus! And Nitros Oxide is already there, ready to take on the challenger. Hang on, we're just getting information through...it turns out the challenger is not on the planet! I repeat, NOT ON THE PLANET! It seems he is playing an intergalactic game of..lacrosse? That can't be right!
Anyway, let's spin again! And we have...[COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] and their challenger is registered as Moriarty. And Nitros Oxide is making his way down now! Again, I'm sorry, {untranslatable}. It seems that the army on this planet is asking Nitros Oxide to leave and, not wishing to start a war, we will have to oblige for the meantime. I'm sure Nitros will be back though, with backup.
And the final spin for today! Hahahahaha, we've got [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] with their challenger, 4554551N. Even with our highly developed FTL transport systems, that's too far for anyone to bother going, so I doubt Nitros Oxide will even try.
We'll have to end there, but see you next time on Survival of the Fastest! Hail Emperor Velo the 27th!
Such an inauspicious start given the bright future to come. Or dark I suppose. Like all things, a matter of perspective; don't worry Doctor, you'll understand when you're older...
The first steps of my return are clear to me, but the road will be long, and I suspect bloody. For now, small steps. Small steps. The first order of business is the...removal of a few obstacles. Groundwork is always tedious, but nonetheless, ultimately necessary. Perhaps I was hasty, but my first endeavours appear to have been elegantly rebuffed. I suspect I tripped a defence net, as my target bolted to a secure room and a guard force mobilised. That I didn't notice the alert does however concern me; perhaps extricating myself from the Matrix has taken more from me that I believed. Still, the objective remains; guards can be bribed and defence nets sabotaged. My first target's demise is merely a matter of time, and that is something I have aplenty. And you Doctor? Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Every second brings you closer to the inevitable...
The Valeyard
Court Prosecutor by appointment of The High Council of the Time Lords of Gallifrey
Only a day into the game, and already we've got a rogue Uxariean catching innocents in the crossfire. I checked with the Doctor, and failure to protect your own allies in battle is in contravention of Article 137 of the Shadow Proclamation, which means that I have to go take him out. Makes a bit of a change, being a real police officer, not just dressing as one. I snuck into the warren of caves where he was trying to hide. He opened the door a fraction, I fired at him and missed, catching a glimpse of green skin before the door slammed shut. I'll be back, and I'm bringing some Judoon next time.
Well, teamwork is all very well and good, but feelings of resentment were brewing at Hilman, for taking 'my' kill. That wasn't good, so maybe let's try the next one alone.
It would be easy, I figured. I knew where my target lived, I knew where they worked, where they would have to be, and could quite easily trace their route in reverse, catch them on their way and take them down. So, at 8:30 sharp, I found myself stood in the cold outside a distinctly unimpressive building, wishing I had a pair of gloves. Eventually, I deemed it to be late enough, and set off on my walk.
Now, you may have noticed some flaws in my plan. Maybe my target would be early, or late. Maybe, like some did when faced with their impending death, they'd taken to circuitous routes to shake off would-be attackers. Maybe I wouldn't even recognise them - maybe they'd just walk on past me. All of these thoughts had occurred to me previously (though they had seemed so much more remote in my warm safe bedroom than they did here on the cold, mean streets).
The one that I confess had not occurred to me was that they may well be mounted. This wretched city is plagued with bicycles, two-wheeled wielders of silent death, and a target on one would be oh so much harder to kill. It was doable - I wasn't a bad shot - but far from easy. My grip tightened around the hilt of my knife as I continued my advance, eyeing cyclist and pedestrian alike. No, no, probably not, no, no, no, maybe, no...
I'm not by nature an optimist, but I am a sucker for a good story, and there's a line in many a good story which I was rather hoping would happen here: "Just as she thought all hope was lost...". It was a foolish wish, and ultimately went unfulfilled.
A bientôt, Tarquinius Superbus.
I knew those in my profession are destined to die young but, damn,
there's so much more I wanted to do! I felt the blade slip between my
shoulder blades as I was paying for my lunch. As I fell to the floor
and my vision started to fade, I caught a glimpse of my killer. I
didn't recognise him; I don't know how he found me.
Maybe I shouldn't have boasted to all the women I met that I am
actually an ISIS agent. I bet it was that cute Polish girl. I mean, I
get I didn't call her again, but, seriously, betraying me like that?
Backstabbing, the both of them.
Sterling x
The time was 13 45, the weather was cloudy, the average atmospheric pressure was...I digress. After gaining entrance to the fated target's accommodation via an inside-woman who had no idea she was an inside-woman (the best kind), I located her room and knocked to no avail. After wondering around the staircase for five minutes thinking 'where in the name of Persephone is their kitchen', I found it, and Zer0 preparing what turned out to be her last meal. I mean she didn't actually get to eat it, because I shot her. So the wheel spins, so the bread is buttered.
The Preacher Casy
Our fellowship trekked for near a month before we finally reached the stronghold on the outskirts of Cambridgeshire. We infiltrated the fortress by tunneling under the great walls, but alas once we reached our targets domain they were not to be found. We waited for weeks but they did not return, and our journey was all for naught.
- Watcher of the Water
Unfathed, today I thet forth with my Brathe Companion Melody Malone to athathinate thome targeth at a mutual college. Upon arrithal, we found ourtheltheth a little bit lotht, and after thtaggering around for a few minuteth, we ethentually found the thtaircathe of my target. We protheeded to contemplate the difficult locking mechanithm, until thomeone came through the door from the other thide. Up the thtairth we went, ready for battle, thould they be armed. I tapped on their door. Nothing. Clearly they knew our mithchiethouth intenthonth, tho I thot the ground, hoping they would think their athathin had been athathinated. Again, nothing. Too obthiouth, I thuppose. Tho we walked down the thtairth a bit, to thee if they would think the coatht wath clear and come out. Thtill, nothing. We left to purthue Melody'th target.
Melody wath a naughty girl. Mithtaking one thtaircathe for another, we entered, thnuck up to the correct room number. A knock at the door. A thingle thot from Melody'th gun. An innothent lay dying on the ground. From him we learnt we had the wrong thtaircathe. If only hith number had been labelled outthide, he might thtill be alithe. We thwiftly left and headed to the correct thtaircathe.
The door wath unlocked, and in we went. We quickly found the target'th room. Melody knocked. Out came Mad Jack, thtooting at uth. Luckily the firtht thotth mithed uth. Ath he wath armed, I knew he wath a legal target for me too. Melody knocked again, and out blathed Mad Jack again. We opened fire. Both thideth mithed, including a grenade thrown by Mad Jack. Ath requethted by our mutual contractor, I played hith theme muthic. The thand-off continued until Melody got inthide Mad Jack'th room. Bang. Melody went down ath fatht ath the played. Me and Mad Jack lowered our weaponth. There wath no point in further bloodthed today. I left the thene in the knowledge that Melody died ath the had lithed, gun in hand, fight in heart.
Today is really not my day.
You see, I figured out why I didn't catch Tarquinius Superbus on my earlier attempt; I was mistaken as to his destination, and while I was skulking about the chemistry building, he made it to his true goal unmolested. How do I know this? Because an hour later, my goal was his, and I watched him leave, frozen with shock for just too long to act. But that was okay. Now I knew his routine, just where he would leave from and when, and on another day I would be ready to strike.
My twin failures did rather dishearten me though, and thus when a man by the name of Thargo Hoath suggested we go out hunting together, I considered it. He was seeking out Fletcher Rylands, and knew that I had a target, a man by the name of Mad Jack, close by. Things had, I foolishly considered, gone so well with Hilman. Perhaps teamwork was the way to go. I accepted his proposition.
That was my first mistake.
I discovered rather quickly that Thargo Hoath was very much not Hilman Husky. Whereas my former hunting partner had been witty, well-spoken and rather easy on the eye, my current one was a gaunt, lisping thing with a rather repulsive manner. Not a friend I'd choose, but as a tool to get our job done he'd have to do. And a useful tool he was too - he was packing some impressive firepower, and had on prior reconnaissance assessed the area and its possible exits. Thus, as we proceeded towards [Stephen's pseudonym]'s room, I felt pretty confidence.
Of course, the pairing of my sharp wit and Thargo's mindless muscle is only worth a damn if you can get your target to open the door. Which Thargo's brutish approach could not. He was adamant that the guy was in, but with us having no further plan to get past his door I suggested a tactical retreat. He grudgingly agreed, but only after sliding under the door one of his grotesque... Well, let's just call them calling cards, and then you might sleep a little better tonight.
(It's a curious thing, but I'm usually very good with doors. When me and Hilman assaulted Teapot, we made it through the College's front gate without incident, and the door to his room opened without incident as well. The door to [Stephen's pseudonym]'s staircase opened at my approach, and the door to... well, I'm getting ahead of myself. My point is, doors don't usually pose me much of a problem - my best smile, my bluest eyes, and hey presto, I'm in. I suppose I wasn't really trying with this one; helping Thargo get himself killed was not high on my list of priorities.)
So, onto Mad Jack. A quick fiddle with the door's electronics got it open, and we proceeded up. I knocked on the door, and fired as it opened. That was my second mistake.
I believe I owe the LGBT community of Jesus college an apology, for the man dead in front of me (very much not Mad Jack) appeared to be their LGBT rep. I suppose you'll need a new one of them now... I hate killing innocents. Thargo seemed to enjoy it, though that did fit with his vile personality.
It turns out that two of the staircases in this thrice-damned college bore the same letter, and I had visited the wrong one. Now, angry, blood on my hands, the incredible lisping psychopath in tow, I wanted nothing more than to rectify my mistake. Mad Jack would pay. I got into his staircase easily enough and, weapons ready, knocked upon his door.
I listened at the door. Silence, and sporadic sound. Movements, not of subterfuge nor of escape, but of preparation; he was preparing to fight. Before long, his door opened and a hail of bullets tore out. We returned fire, he avoided it, and the door swung shut. Thus went the Siege of Room -number withheld-; me and Thargo waited, Mad Jack prepared, then the door would open and bullets would fly. We kept close to the walls; Jack cowered behind the doorframe.
Until, I noted, he didn't. The trajectories were all wrong. I couldn't see into the room, but he was firing from the doorway. He must not have had cover. I took a risk, stepped out, fired a bullet which streaked towards him... and bounced, harmlessly, off the cardboard barrier he had erected in the doorway. I reacted quickly, bringing my gun up to fire over it: click click. Empty. Well, that about fits with the rest of my luck today, I thought wryly, as a bullet created a flowing red flower upon my chest. And then, this wouldn't have happened if Hilman was here...
Until the next life, Jack.
Sat at my desk I heard a cheerful rap on my door, similar to that of a neighbour in my staircase. However I was wary, and upon looking through the viewing hole I could see that I did not recognise the two figures outside. Grabbing my pistol I entered into warfare in which many bullets, shuriken stars and a grenade were exchanged, to what I believe was the theme tune of 'Pointless' playing from the second assassins phone. Eventually from behind a carefully prepared cardboard box I was able to deliver the lethal shot which caused my victim, Melody Malone to bleed out on the floor.
Afterward it became clear that I had in fact avenged the death of a civilian who Melody Malone had ruthlessly killed in my college earlier, thinking them to be me due to our similar college addresses. This knowledge made the kill even sweeter.
Mad Jack *
Son, when you go out hunting, you expect better of your prey than it to just stand around washing dishes.
When you approach your prey, dressed in a massive black coat, you expect it to run away. Possibly screaming.
But this time the target did not move. And for that I am grateful. Perhaps his legs were government funded.
Out of respect for the target's co-operation, I ended it quickly with a knife to the throat.
Son, better luck next time.
I now return to only thing I love more than hunting, tending to my moustache.
I'm dead
Being dead, it seems, is not the handicap it once was. Finding myself reanimated, I also found that my assassin had been placed on the wanted list and so began to plot his demise. I ascertained that he would return from a lab shortly after 5 O'clock and so I waited and prepared to strike.
I had not been waiting long before Uxariean appeared but he entered with another of his kind and so I held my fire, not wishing to spill more innocent blood. I ran from my room to his, arriving before him and taking cover behind a stair rail. Uxarian appeared and for a few tense moments I held my breath, waiting for a clear shot before breaking cover and firing; I hit him in the right shoulder, he went for his sword but this time I was prepared and, producing a cosh from my sleeve, proceeded to incapacitate him before reloading and delivering the killing blow.
{Translated from the original Gasmoxian}
Welcome back to every cold-blooded's favourite programme - Survival of the Fastest! As ever, he's Zem. And he's Zam. And we bring you this flash update to remind you kids that Gasmoxia will not be mocked. Our champion, Nitros Oxide, was cruelly robbed of the ability to turn [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] into a concrete parking lot in last episode, when their challenger, Konstantin Muskens, was off being sporty or some such nonsense.
We can now go LIVE to Oxide's ship, orbiting the gas-giant [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] as he seeks to try again. Aha, it seems our hero has spotted today's prey as he speeds down to the door of Mr Muskens.
THE RACE IS ON. MUSKENS IS FORCED OUT AND HERDED INTO HIS KART. HE NEVER SAW IT COMING. He looks nervous, doesn't he, Zam? Yes, Zem, but shut it, you scagwart, here comes the countdown!
3! 2! 1! And it's Oxide already! Preloaded up with Wumpa Fruit, all it took was one simple homing rocket, square into the back of Muskens' kart and the game is up for him. And his planet, Zem!
Yes, the challenger has lost and that means only one thing! [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] is toast! BRING ON THE INTERGALACTIC SPACE LASER!
*flashes of lasers and screams*
Here's a funny fact for you, Zem - they used to say in space, no-one can hear you scream. Turns out they just weren't making anyone scream loud enough!
Hail Emperor Velo the 27th! And goodnight!
I have taken down the target, one Matthew March, upon leaving the caff of -College withheld- Monday evening. He was ruthlessly murdered with a power axe just before he checked his pidge. Unfortunately now he will never find out if he got mail.
M
A body, believed to be that of Matthew March, was found early Monday evening at -College withheld-. The brutal cleaving of the torso and skull suggest that the victim was killed with an axe.
{Translated from the original Gasmoxian}
It's Zam and Zem back with another quick update. It seems Oxide was very pissed off about missing out on all that lovely vapourisation that he could have had on the first episode of Survival of the Fastest so earlier he decided that, as he could not race against James Parsons on his homeworld of [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED], he would have to challenge him to a race when he was off-world.
The unsuspecting challenger was confronted on one of his visits to the world only known as Cockroft, which, strangely, is a world dedicated to mathematics! Not quite as good as a world dedicated to laser weaponry and speed though, is it, Zam? Obviously not, Zem, but it only made Oxide's job easier! A quick burst from Oxide's plasma pistol to immobilise Parsons while he was standing next to his strange two-wheel contraption and there was no way that he could stand up to Oxide in a race. Even though he's from [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] and Velo only knows how they manage to get to any central system from there!
In any case, Oxide isn't completely soulless - he sent Parsons' body back to [COLLEGE-PLANET REDACTED] for a proper burial. What he failed to mention was that he also attached a small explosive to the corpse. What do you mean by small, Zem? Well, it'll only destroy half of their galaxy - no Gasmoxians will be harmed.
And that's what matters, doesn't it? I've been Zam and he's been Zem. Hail Emperor Velo the 27th!
After seeing target leave -location withheld-, I waited for traffic of students to clear, walked up to the target, engaged in a conversation and killed him with my "very scary sword" before he could reply.
I made a kill today
I wath on route to my thpeech clatheth earlier today, when ahead I heard thomeone thcream out in mortal theriouthneth. I arrithed to find an athathin with a thuriken in hand thtanding other the dying Hilman Huthky, The Young Empreth. ′ATHENGE ME!′ He wath yelling, but before I could react, the thuriken and athathin were gone.
′Take the litht!′ thaid Hilman, ath hith life thpurted onto the thtreet in a rither of red. ′CONTRACTEETH′ the litht wath titled. My name wath on it, along with a few otherth, including thome of my targeth, and prethumably thome of my thtalkerth too. Tho Huthky wath enjoying hith own little deathmatch wath he? No doubt hith killerth had dithcovered thith, and were taking rethenge. What to do with the litht? I retholved to find thome of the otherth on the litht, ath it wath my only chanthe of getting to the bottom of thith conthpirathy. The truth thall come out!
Molly is in my class - and was in fact the person who called on me to join her as an assassin - so I reacted with glee to the contract. I arrived for the lecture to find that it had yet to begin - the class was standing outside - so I quickly sidled up to her and took her life. This was at 12.02pm this morning. As she died, she muttered some last words: "Et tu, Brute" but quickly revised these to "feck you -name withheld-"
Et tu, Brute!
King Mickey and I went down to -College withheld- today in search of my target. When I found her room I discovered she had used the ingenious strategy of not being at home. Outside her room I met a fine set of people who told me she was at a supervision and guessed that I was an assassin (NB decent cover story useful). I decided to wait it out as Homerton is so far away. So I waited with her boyfriend who was quite happy to sit with his girlfriend's killer for 20 minutes.
When my target finally returned I dispatched her to the underworld with a swift stab to the torso, and she realised in her dying moments that her boyfriend had not warned her about the impending doom. A single Jaffa was left to pay the ferryman. I wonder if relationship counselling is available for ghosts...
I wish to inform the Umpire that I witnessed one of my loyal subjects complete his mission earlier this evening. I accompanied him on the long walk to the distant green lands of -College withheld-, and aided the location of his target's room. There we stayed for a while, perhaps half of one hour, in the pleasant company of our target's companion. When she returned from work she was swiftly but politely dispatched. Edible commiserations were offered before we departed to our own kingdom once more.
On his courser ′cross the fens, came in night-time,
in the blackness of that night, a bow hid beneath his cloak,
Hengist flying, heading homewards,
over mere and over marshes, onwards moved always he.
Of the warrior stood there waiting he knew not;
he did not see. The swordsman sneak
into his noble house, Hengist there to leave bleeding,
his foe to kill face-to-face.
Walking through his door went Hengist,
stopped and stared in sudden shock,
the champion there he now could see.
Under his cloak the her′s hands reached,
reaching, grasping the rowan-bow for
as he found it he knew it was too late, found his heart,
the foe′s blade had, so fell then there our warrior
at the threshold of his home, heavenwards his spirit sped;
Died in battle as brave men do.
It seems that loyalty to your subjects can be a fatal failing. Hastily responding to a distress call from one of my most steadfast followers, Andrew Raison, I failed to consider my options with the due deliberation of an assassin, and as such fell to a worthy foe in battle. My firearm may have jammed but that's no excuse for charging in with guns blazing when a subtle knife would have cleaned the incident up without question. My vassal rushed out to avenge my death (partly because I happened while attempting to save his life), but blinded by rage, he too fell in the field of battle. Congratulations, Ace.
Long live the Kingdom!
~King Mickey
Well s..., sorry michael
After finding Andrew's door, I knocked, water pistol in hand. I heard him not answering the door and withdrew down the corridor. He emerged with a nerf gun. During an extended gunfight with Andrew up and down various stairs and corridors, I heard a nerf gun being loaded behind me by Michael just in time to see the shot miss me. Immediately sprinting up the corridor, I shot him as he reloaded. I continued running and turned at a corner to shoot the pursuing Andrew in the
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