The Assassins' Guild - Week 2 News

Industrial Accident reports:

A pressure build up occurred near today, but a rupture disk meant that [REDACTED] remained safe

Lyra Silvertongue reports:

Picnics were eaten. Darts were dodged. Two people decided to have a one-metre-range soak-off with a Skylark and a Snake and both got very, very wet. Rooms were stormed. A Storm was in fact used to storm rooms. Lots of flywheels whirred. Lots of bandguns clicked. Lots of weapons were given out.

Fear us, soon-to-be Incos of Cambridge, for the reasons to fear are many and great.

~Lyra.

Ethelflaed of Kells reports:

Dear Gentleman

I have just been vanquished as someone who gave his name as Sir Rupert in my room. My death ironically reflected that of my first victim as I was expecting a friend to knock on my door and therefore did not check my peephole. He misfired once with a nerf gun but then delivered a stab to the ribs. Thus ends my assassins career. Can I join the police? [Of course! -TG]

Kate Barber

Viceroy Sir Rupert Bellchamber-Darling reports:

Having lurked in the shadows for far too long, I thought it high-time I stepped into the fray; refreshed and revitalised by the cool breeze of an early Saturday afternoon, I decided that now was the time to enter the hive of villainy that is [REDACTED COLLEGE]. Ascending the stairs, I contemplated my strategy: assassination does not come naturally to me and so I needed time to scheme, thankfully though, the staircases in [REDACTED COURT] have far, far too many floors and so the interval between entering and reaching the top was quite adequate for these purposes.

Having opted for the "Let's just knock on the door and see what happens" tactic, and, having drawn my trusty revolver and Bic medium knife [Standard issue, no doubt-TG, I rapped upon the panelling and listened as the occupant scrabbled at the handle. A figure appeared and a shot rung out throughout the room, the bullet itself went wide and I was forced to dive around the door to finish the job with an old-fashioned blade, apparently even in this age of progress and industrialisation the simplest weapons are the most effective. After apologising to my victim and wishing them well for what little that now remained of their Saturday afternoon I slipped into the darkness once more to plot my next move...

Kind regards,

The Viceroy Sir Rupert Bellchamber-Darling

Sergeant Detritus reports:

went with one of dese new-fangled young mud-brains on their visit because maybe I can bash some sense into them. Unfortyernately de young lad was so eager he 'popped dem clogs' (as der humans say) of a poor citizen. dis is a shame as my lad shows great potential. but don't worry - sergeant Detritus will help him see der error of his ways one day.

Just another cog in the wheel [we don't need no automation] reports:

A Report on the Untimely Death of Nikhil Gondalia; or, If I Had a Nickel for Every Nikhil I've Ni-K(h)illed [I was going to use that pun! -TG], I'd Have Two Nickels; or, If You're Having Money Problems I Feel Bad For You Son, I've Got 99 Problems but a Nikhil Ain't One; or, The Difference Between Nickels and Nikhils is that One is a Small Metal Coin Used in American Currency and One is Not; or, Cog Reaches New Depths of Depravity

So, I'm a bad person.

Earlier this week I killed Nikhil Mohindra outside his lectures, and I sent him an anonymous message from one of my non-Cambridge email accounts (under another pseudonym) saying that I'd like to give him some baked goods for his trouble and so he'd feel more inclined to keep involved with the Guild. Part of this was because I am a paragon of virtue. Part of this was to get access to my next target, who lives a few doors down from him in the same gated part of their college.

As it turned out, the door was open to that section of the street anyway, but I was able to use the excuse of finding Nikhil M to call up to Nikhil G's room and get him to confirm his identity, ascertaining both that he was home and that I'd got the right room. I stopped off at Nikhil M's residence, gave him some doughnuts (I'm not all bad), and after a brief chat with him, I left and loitered for a little while outside the one Nikhil G lived in.

After about five minutes, someone left Nikhil G's building, and I briskly walked past them through the open door. It turns out, if you sort of look like you know what you're doing, sometimes people assume you know what you're doing. The same principle works very well for supervisions.[Oh, that's where I've been going wrong... -TG]

So, I'd gotten in, but the most dangerous part was yet to come. I waited outside Nikhil G's corridor for close to an hour (while doing reading for my next supervision, so I'd look busy). One unwitting resident did accost me and I made up some half-baked excuse about waiting to go to hall with Nikhil, but that he was busy. Said resident suggested that he'd fallen asleep and to 'knock louder' and 'tell him off'. I considered this course of action, but decided that might come off as just a little bit unsubtle.

Approximately 10 minutes later, Nikhil G exited his room and I met him at the intersection of the staircase and his corridor. After quickly confirming his identity, I bisected his head with a 2m long laser sword [Classic -TG], which was really overkill [ha] given he appeared to be unarmed and surprised, but what the hell, I go for style.

Then had a very pleasant conversation with both halves of Nikhil G as we walked to his hall.

- Cog out

The Blunted Knife reports:

Got very drunk
Found axe on floor
Waved it around
Got stabbed by The unfortunate 3rd year engineer from Pembroke who was killed when his trombone fell on his head
Also very drunk.
Time 2050

[Note: The unfortunate 3rd year engineer from Pembroke who was killed when his trombone fell on his head does not get competency for this kill, and I take a dim view of people killing Police for bearing, when they're not actively defending themselves. -TG]

Versifier reports:

.Whose room this is I think I know.
He has gone off to lectures, though;
He will not see me crouching here
In the loos down a floor below.
My trusty jolt must think it queer
That embarking on this career
We pictured glamour and deception;
Instead we're squished up by the smear
Of indeterminate origin
By this urinal (third one in)
The only sound around the spill
Of water over porcelain.
This aroma's making me ill
But I must keep my nerve, until
The one comes back whom I must kill;
The one comes back whom I must kill.

- The Versifier Sends His Regards

box of socks reports:

A box of socks unexplainably appears outside [REDACTED'S] door. After half an hour, it unexplainably dissapears.

No Stone UnTwrned reports:

I am not attending the Granta social as a protective measure [After all the precautions I outlined? You could have disguised yourself or something if you were really paranoid! Aahh! -TG], but it's rather lonely in this VERY MUCH UNLOCKED AND UNATTENDED ROOM. It would be a REAL SHAME if someone was to ACCOST ME in my SMALL UNASSUMING CORRIDOR WITH DEFUNCT LIGHTING. They would DEFINITELY NOT be met by a VERY BORED PERSON sitting in their SLIGHTLY TERRIFYING AMMO BUNKER, possibly STROKING A WHITE CAT.

- No Stone UnTwrned

The Furnace Blaster reports:

Not all that long ago, I was counting myself as the member of a party of assassins yearning to spill the blood of one of the miserables targeted by one of our own. Although our plan's finesse should have put a many other attempts to shame, it was foiled by the unfortunate abstaining of our assigned target. May fate be more in our favour next time!

Sir Watt-Watt reports:

In a particularly un-Gentleman-ly fashion (wot wot) [Wot wot -TG], the intended victim of assassination failed to turn up to his own murder. It turns out that expressing an interest does not imply attendance at an event, as the massed hordes of assassins that I had assembled discovered whilst waiting outside [REDACTED COURT]. We shall return however, and strike at the earliest opportunity.

Yours
Sir Watt-Watt

Versifier reports:

it has come to my humble attention
that there's warrants for my apprehension;
though i happened to spy
the missing of an 'i'
(you can look up the Latin declension)

- while I think this sufficiently bad
to pick up that sole Bounty, I'd add
that, my skills irrespective,
poetry is subjective
and your purported metric is mad!

- The Versif[i]er Sends His Regard

mostly harmless reports:

Target neutralised.

- 'mostly' harmless

No Stone UnTwrned reports:

Dear The Master,

I just came to your college with the intention to murder you in a VERY FRIENDLY manner, and I BROUGHT COOKIES. You could have at least had the COURTESY to BE THERE so that I could STAB YOU and then GIVE YOU THEM, because NOW they're in my BAG and I'm MEANT to be on a DIET. Also, your college has FANTASTIC SECURITY.

- No Stone UnTwrned

Harambe reports:

Harambe traveled to the secret gun dealer in east Cambridge, ironically the weapon he chose was much like that used against him by the zoo keepers at Cincinnati zoo.
But alas, he could not get a hold of his targets (in stark contrast to people who happen to fall in to his enclosure).

The Wondering Wanderer reports

I was shot in the cheek by a small water pistol as I stepped out of [REDACTED COLLEGE] following the [REDACTED SOCIETY EVENT](it was more than 2 minutes after leaving the [SOCIETY]). My killer was Marquess Irene Rowena de Redmonde.

Maverick Slayer reports:

Just got killed by 'Anna Fang'!
Killed with a nerf gun!

Thanks,
Sam Westlake
[Hmm- we're not quite at the stage of the game yet where people thank their killers for relieving them of paranoia... -TG]

Anna Fang reports:

Taken from the logbook of the Jenny Haniver.

25^th October, 1006 T.E.

With each new missive received from Captain Khora regarding the MEDUSA device, I become more convinced that preventing its realisation is the key to our survival in this new phase of aggression against the League. Every person we can dissuade from that course (by force if necessary) is an asset, but ultimately I have little hope we can continue indefinitely unless we find a way of eliminating Valentine himself.

Early this morning, Sam Westlake, a decorated member of the Guild of Engineers, confided in one of our moles that he would be busy in the next few weeks, focusing on a project deemed 'critical to municipal security', investigating the storage capacity of some of the less understood historical artifacts recovered in recent years from the Dead Continent. A brief meeting with the people we could reach immediately was convened, and it was concurred that elimination was, regrettably, the only feasible option. I purchased entrance to a formal celebration at [COLLEGE REDACTED] under the guise of celebrating the birthday of an influential member of the college I had met in Perfume Harbour, who knew me only under the name of Wind Flower. My hopes were dashed, though, as the celebration was so large that Sam Westlake was unable to be found, although I managed to extract the information that he might frequent the local tavern afterwards. I followed the celebrant to the bar, where, conscious that I was recognisably not a local, I removed my gown and grabbed one of the ancient instruments the musicians had to hand. Alas, it was not one I was familiar with, but similar enough to one I had experience of. With great effort I furiously sightread the traditional music, transposing it onto the strange strings, and managed not blow my cover as not as much of the group as any other of the motley bunch. Here I remained for almost an hour, before deciding it was futile and resolving to return at first light. I slipped out, and walked back to where I had docked the Jenny Haniver, but with a stroke of luck passed a hostel Sam was known to use. It took but a minute's work before I was in, loading my weapon under the cover of darkness and bursting into his quarters, where he was hard at work making a teevee flicker like one of the gas-lights that populate this sector of the city. I whispered a prayer of forgiveness, and shot him once in the back.

The Anti-Traction League will prevail and the Earth will be cleansed.
Anna Fang

Lost Henry Case reports:

A person waiting in front of my building asked me to let him in. He claimed to be there to see me (but didn't recognise me when asking this) and return a textbook. I am not expecting any textbook returns. [Well, it is a fairly textbook excuse... -TG]

I led him into the building and showed him the way to my room. As he went to knock, I continued around the corner for a few meters before turning back. As I stabbed my would-be assassin, he shot me, leaving us both bleeding out and almost dead.

We agreed to settle the result of this encounter by a duel -- I would go into my room, get a gun, and then try to leave in one piece (and with no holes through my body). He hid behind a corner and fired a dart at me after I left the room and tried to shoot him with a (somewhat unreliable) rubber-band gun. We both missed, and he tried to escape down the stairs, but I threw a knife (unsurprisingly pen-shaped) as he was running, which killed him.

Regards,
Lost Henry Case

Caligula reports:

Caligula's bullet was close, but not a hit. Without time to reload, he fled down the stairs away from his initial prey, only for his target to drop a sharp blade swiftly over the bannister. The knife swirled in the air before burying itself in Caligula's head. With a nod and acceptance of defeat, he fell.

Industrial Accident reports:

Substandard manufacturing on the gas lamps on Queen's lane caused an explosion, Thomas Carey was the only known casualty.

Mop reports:

You probably hear I got killed by Industrial Accident with a knife-pen at around 9:57am on the back of Queens' Lane while tiredly walking to 10am lectures. [My sympathies -TG] I think a vocal transcript would go something like this:

Industrial Accident: Are you Thomas Carey?
Me: Yeah... wait, [censored]. [CENSORED]! Aghhh, good game mate [Well done, you've claimed a bounty! Contact Michael Warman to get it... -TG]

Steam Powered Giraffe reports:

Colonel Walter wasn't warned that steam power is slower than electricity, and that rebooting took time. But it ground to life just as an elephant was spotted in old stomping grounds; all the blind spots were known and after an hour stakeout with one almost-shot neighbour, the elephant was now a copper trophy.

Lost Henry Case reports:

As I was unlocking the door to my room l, I heard a gun fire (the sound being oddly similar to a "pop" of a foam dart). I reacted as usual for a shot assassin and died. [Yeah, that is quite standard... -TG]

Mikasa, Edle von N reports:

Dear Gentleman,

On my travels through the centre of Cambridge I found myself wandering past [REDACTED COLLEGE] yesterday afternoon. Naturally armed with my weapons (for self defence purposes), I decided that this was an opportunity to take down my target. Wandering inside, I found myself in a large open court. But my sense of direction failed me. Wandering around for fifteen minutes, through courtyards and gardens, I found only a little bench swing and lots of ladybirds. After relaxing there for a minute I returned to my travels.

Kirin Jindosh reports:

Kirin Jindosh claim's the bounty![Either "Kirin Jindosh claims the bounty" or "Kirin Jindosh's claim's the bounty" would work, but alas not this... -TG]. He dressed up as a giraffe and gained access to the home of Jury thanks to a lovely housemate. He planned to kill Jury in a Giraffe-fashion (e.g. neck swipe) but Jury only opened the door a fraction so it was impossible to do so. Kirin Jindosh shot Jury with a nerf to the forehead [Giraffes? With opposable thumbs? I knew some of the subjects had escaped... -TG] and galloped off into the sunset.
N.B. I was in a rush so couldn't stick around, but am very sorry for the nerf hitting Jury in the forehead. I'd like to thank them for being such a good sport as well and it was lovely to meet them.

Kirin Jindosh

No Stone UnTwrned reports:

Walked over to The Master's college after having a VERY PRODUCTIVE day that TOTALLY JUSTIFIED me leaving my desk and taking an hour out. It is a RELAXING and STRESS-RELIEVING PASTIME to STAND OUTSIDE SOMEONE'S ROOM, clutching a VIAL of NERVE GAS and SMILING DEMENTEDLY. That is a LIE. It gives me PALPITATIONS. But I've already accepted that my BLOOD PRESSURE is not a PRIORITY in my new LINE of WORK.

Gained entrance through STANDING OUTSIDE and READING MY BOOK (BEWARE assassins, I am accomplished. I own a BOOK) and waiting for someone to WALK OUT of the CARD-PROTECTED building, before walking in through the NOW-OPENED DOOR. I am a REGULAR MACGYVER.

Before I commenced my watch, I had a PLEASANT MEAL at The Master's college of some sort of RICE-BASED CHICKPEA SALAD. I would like to make a RELEVANT COMMENT about some sort of ESSENTIAL NUTRIENTS in CHICKPEAS being GOOD for my COGNITION or REACTION TIMES, or other human faculties that are useful for FACIALLY ADMINISTERING BULLETS or OTHER MISCELLANEOUS PROJECTILES. However, using this as reasoning for my choice of meal would be FALSE: I was just QUITE HUNGRY and my college's hall quality is SHAKY.

(By all means use this as a piece of RELEVANT INFORMATION to FIND my place of RESIDENCE, because it basically narrows it down to ANYWHERE BUT PEMBROKE.)

Regrettably The Master's college hall is also NOT THAT GREAT and if I had been there on the business of REVIEWING their FOOD, the review would have likely ranged from UNENTHUSED to SCATHING. Plus it was a LITTLE EXPENSIVE and I am in the business of THRIFT. I even buy my SARIN WHOLESALE from a GUY off CRAIGSLIST. But LUCKILY for their CULINARY REPUTATION, I was NOT there to review their hall, and I DOUBT the cooks will lose much SLEEP from my DISPARAGING LOOK at their PAUCITY of salad bar options. I was there on entirely disparate business...

...MURDERING business, if you had NOT GUESSED from the CONTEXT and the SLIGHTLY THREATENING ELLIPSIS. I mean, we are in the ASSASSINS GUILD. You do KNOW the DRILL by THIS POINT.

So, armed to the teeth (dual guns, a penknife, my aforementioned CRAIGLIST NERVE GAS and also a CUMBERSOME BOOK I was going to CLOBBER him with if he had the good sense to JOG AWAY), I proceeded up the STAIRCASE to The Master'S ABODE. I could hear him SINGING PLEASANTLY, some sort of OPERA I believe, and noticed I could hear him because his DOOR was SLIGHTLY OPEN. Now, I could have BARGED IN and PEPPERED his HAPPY, CAREFREE SKULL with SO MANY BULLETS he would have RESEMBLED SWISS CHEESE, but I decided not to do that, because my nerve gas was STYLISH and a barge-attack was just too BRUTALIST. Assassination is not ANTONYMOUS with ELEGANCE.

(I don't know if ANTONYMOUS is a WORD, but I'd PRESUME so because SYNONYMOUS is one. And Google seems to THINK it's a word, but trusting Google UNCRITICALLY as an OMNISCIENT SOURCE seems to me a little ROBOT-OVERLORDY.)

I stood very close to the opening of the door, to be able to REACT QUICKLY if The Master happened to SHARE my level of PARANOIA, which has led me to DRENCH the WALL opposite my DOOR from a WATER GUN at least THREE TIMES THIS WEEK and frequently POINT WEAPONRY at my DEAREST FRIENDS when they use the KITCHEN near my anonymous abode. Thankfully for me The Master is NOT that paranoid (I LIVE in FEAR. There is BLOOD on my HANDS. OUT, damned SPOT) and eventually walked out of his room blithely, EMPTY DINNER TRAY in hand.

Now, this is the moment where I'd LIKE to say I let a TORRENT of NERVE GAS BUBBLES loose over his ENTIRE TORSO and HEAD AREA, killing him within a SHORT AMOUNT of TIME (I do know the exact amount of time sarin generally takes to kill people, but I'm NOT GOING TO SAY because I like to pretend to myself I'm NORMAL and don't METICULOUSLY RESEARCH NERVE GASES on a REGULAR BASIS). Unfortunately for me my SUPPLIER is DODGY and gave me the equivalent of the POUND STORE SARIN, which, while it did (to the dealer's credit) KILL The Master, released itself from the BUBBLE WAND in less of a TORRENT and more of an UNIMPRESSIVE SPLATTER. Thankfully The Master, who is VERY KIND, agreed that he was dead and even let me get a PROPER BUBBLE IN before he THEATRICALLY DIED in the hallway outside his room.

I had to get back to do LEGITIMATE DEGREE WORK (in theory, anyway. I am in my room. There are books here. The fact that I'm not reading those books is IRRELEVANT to the POINT.) but I did get to have a conversation with The Master which SOMEWHAT ASSAYED my CRIPPLING, MACBETH-ESQUE GUILT over his TRAGIC DEMISE. However, I will not disclose how many people I have killed, but it's ENOUGH that I'm having a BIT of SLEEPING TROUBLE. Unfortunately, I cannot get a THERAPY appointment, because apparently that CONFIDENTIALITY AGREEMENT is BREACHED as soon as you ADMIT to the friendly therapist over a NICE CUP of TEA that you've KILLED PEOPLE. That, according to some pesky law, is considered a CRIME. So I must deal with my psychological burden ALONE.

One more point: I fear my kill may have been ANACHRONISTIC, since Sarin was discovered in Germany in 1938, which I think is a bit PAST the CLANKING and WHIRRING TECHNOLOGY that categorises our CURRENT TIMES. But I have secured a lovely little contraption through some SHIFTY FRIENDS of mine - I've not been ensured what it does, though I'd presume it doesn't SOLVE POVERTY or MAKE CUPCAKES. I believe the word 'MEDUSA' may have been mentioned in conjunction with this DEVICE, though I don't know if that's its NAME or the name of a CONNECTED DEVICE made by the BENEFACTORS of my SHIFTY FRIENDS. I just figured this may be a POINT OF INTEREST to some of you.

- No Stone UnTwrned

Attached is a picture of the dastardly weapon...

We don't usually allow poison, but this is a direct weapon and very clearly labelled, so is fine

box of socks reports:

Around 6.30 today, I went with Viceroy Sir Rupert Bellchamber-Darling to visit [REDACTED]. Unfortunately they weren't in their room, but we did leave them a calling card. I suppose the box of socks remained outside the entrance this time.

Steamed Broccoli reports:

Attempted kill at 6.50 this morning did not end well. I had information that my target [REDACTED] had a rowing outing at 7 this morning. I was waiting patiently outside his staircase waiting for my victim to come out. I see a shadow and a figure walks out and as he walks past I stabbed him with my pen. Turns out it wasn't [REDACTED] [Oops -TG] and [REDACTED] doesn't row [Double oops -TG] so I might have lost a few hours of sleep to go on the wanted list! [Afraid so- should have stayed in bed! -TG]

Steamed Broccoli

Lord Eigenvector reports:

Dear Umpire,

Today at 10:10am I attempted to infiltrate the home of my target during a break in my schedule. I got as far as the gates to their castle [staircase], only to realise that it was protected by a hefty padlock [card reader]. Given I was visiting at rather unsociable hours and the grounds were empty, I reasoned I was unlikely to find someone to let me in any time soon and departed for the next item on my agenda.

Lord Eigenvector

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FLIGHT PLAN FOR THE 13TH FLOOR ELEVATOR
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Moste Honourable of the Aviator Controllers,

I will be departing our glorious city shortly before midday on the 28th (today), and returning before the midnight
going into the Feast of All Souls. As such, no attempts to reach me should be made between these times, as they will
likely prove futile unless you wish to risk death by thunderbolt for venturing into the dangerous wastes of the old
town once known as Putney.

Thaddeus Valentine

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Sent from the office of Thaddeus Valentine, Guild of Historians. 28th October, 1006 T.E.
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K.L. McAlistair reports:

Journal Entry: 28/10 11 o'clock am.

There is nothing to be done about it. He has blocked me at every turn. I need his data for my research.
He fails to see the truth, that my goals are noble, and we could be great, if he would only join me.
He has failed progress. There is only only one option open to me. I must have his research, and if I must take it by stealth, so be it.

-K.L. McAlistair

Journal Entry: 28/10 6 o'clock pm.

I have committed a grave sin. I had infiltrated the laboratory and was leafing through his files, I heard a noise down the hall. Footsteps. A laboratory assistant. I thought of only one option, for it would be a disaster if I were found. I washed the blade thoroughly afterwards, and placed it carefully back.

I have my data, and this shall surely aid me. However, I must now deal with this entanglement. I must avoid suspicion by the police [Yeah, it's usually fatal -TG]. No matter. I must continue to work. I am close. I will change the world.

-K.L. McAlistair

Mikasa, Edle von N reports:

Dear Gentleman,

This afternoon I met with my friend Baron Aliquam II to make my attempts on the lives of our mutual targets. Meeting in a shadowed alley, I expressed my intention of murdering [REDACTED], and he agreed to accompany me on my mission. Stealthily entering [REDACTED COLLEGE] by fooling the guards with our psychic paper, we struggled to find the room of our target: the building proved difficult to navigate [Isn't it just? -TG], although after a long search we happened across a promising staircase. Quietly sneaking up the stairs, we found the room and paused for a moment to determine a plan of action.

With my laser sword in hand, I knocked and stood back, prepared to take down my target. Baron Aliquam II waited around the corner, poised with gun in hand, should I fail in my attempt. However, from in the room came no response. Knocking again, I waited, poised to spring, but after several minutes we ascertained that the room was empty. Disappointed, I left a note on the door to wish him a lovely day, since his days are numbered.

Dissatisfied, we decided to pursue our other target. Able to navigate the courts with the help of the Baron, we reached his building. Unable to fool the door's mechanics with psychic paper, I waited outside with my eyes on my phone and an innocent countenance until an unsuspecting resident left the building, enabling me to catch the door with my foot, so that the both of us could slip inside. Quietly walking down the creaky corridor, we found the room of our target and paused to decide how best to proceed.

Knocking on the door loudly, I awaited its opening so that I could attack. However, my target was no fool, and asked after my intention, taking my silence as confirmation that I was indeed an assassin [Should have tried 'Do you have my fish?' -TG]. After a few minutes, Baron Aliquam II knocked, poised with his weapons, while I waited around the corner, but the target did not respond. After waiting a while longer, the Baron and I left a note on the door and swiftly made our exit, to return another day.

Baron Aliquam II reports:

The Baron read the article again: A great fire... arson suspected... bodies recovered from the flames...
And in all that, a gruesome photograph of the remains of Isaac Wilkinson. It was nice to have people doing his job for him, he thought. Shame he wouldn't get the execution bonus, but he supposed that no one had really cheated him out of it.

Today the plan was the same as ever, although the arrangement was different. Mikasa's employer (whose name the Baron was indifferent to, since knowing it had little value to him) was putting pressure on her. She was "taking too long to eliminate her targets", and so had arranged for an urgent meeting to rectify the situation. Aliquam had not in the least surprised that the new rounds his employer had handed him that morning happened to include the same individual that she was hunting: debts incur debts. This one had it coming his way anyway...

She brought with her the false identity cards he had requested as a condition of his continued assistance: the kind of papers that get you through doors without people asking questions. He had rarely resorted to such things in the past; it was rare that the 'customers' he usually frequented had the kind of security measures that might require a ruse to overcome. The likeness in the portrait wasn't ideal, but in his cloak he was sure his imposing presence would repel questions.

Once they had infiltrated the guarded courtyard glimpsed at the end of their last journey, the magnitude of the search presented itself: the courtyard was much larger than it had seemed from the outside, and the quality of garb of those within was significantly greater. The Baron felt conspicuous, but the pair walked on without breaking pace, making sure not to draw attention to themselves.

The houses themselves were marked seemingly at random by letters, each one tall and imposing, yet giving away nothing else to the outside viewer: the windows were high and discrete, and the light from them barely scraped at the growing gloom in the sky above their heads. It was strange to see trees here and there further from the gate, upright figures contrasting gracefully with the steel and cobblestone landscape surrounding them. They reminded Aliquam that he hadn't left the city in many months...

It was an hour of subtle searching later before they made it to their destination: a steep staircase at the end of an alley backing away from the square. They missed it the first time they passed: a pair of large crates and a collection of criss-crossing laundry wires concealed the depth of the alley from the outside. When they had climbed two flights, Mikasa signalled that they were close.

The door looked recently painted. The pair readied their weapons, but they didn't have time to waste waiting. Mikasa knocked loudly... But there was nothing. As they waited for a reply, two men passed them, each eyeing them suspiciously. The Baron could see that his accomplice was irritated by the situation, but he insisted that they depart before anyone else had the opportunity to remember their faces. They stopped only to leave a note, which the baron could only hope would bring the same misfortune as his last note... [I prefer to look on a promotion to the Police as being 'fortunate', thank you -TG]

From there, they travelled out of the courtyard a short distance across the city, in the opposite direction to their last journey, to attempt to enter the fortified establishment where their other future victim was alleged to live. A fortuitous coincidence saw a hurried stranger exiting as they arrived, their papers made obsolete by his oversight. Mikasa, followed by the baron, slipped inside.

The gas lamps within gave a soft glow to the walls. While aesthetically pleasing, the mild smell of gas was concerning, and the Baron stayed on edge. It didn't take them long to identify the corner where [REDACTED] lived, and to their relief there was light coming from beneath the door here. Even better, a secluded corridor to shield passers-by from the gruesome business ahead.

Mikasa knocked.

A wary voice called out, asking her to identify herself. It called again, and the Baron hissed at her to say something, anything. But Mikasa shook her head and was silent. In one motion, she attempted to open the door, but sure enough the occupant had invested in further security; it didn't budge. Our target laughed through the door at the failed attempt, but there was nothing they could do. They regrouped a few corridors away, and decided that they had to try more thoroughly before giving up.

The Baron knocked this time, but the occupant was this time stubbornly silent. Aliquam positioned himself, solid and silent, in the corridor, prepared to shoot when [REDACTED] eventually checked his security. Ten minutes passed in this way before Mikasa became impatient. No one had paid them any attention yet here, but everyone has a less dangerous job than assassination to do at some point...

Biting back his own frustration, the Baron agreed in a hurried whisper to leave a note here too. Next time, he swore to himself (and in threatening charcoal on the staunchly unopened door), he would make time to attack without needing to knock.

Once again, the pair parted ways fruitless. But the next time they met, they knew someone would die. [Possibly you if you don't get better at persuading people to be in at the appropriate times -TG]

Sir Watt-Watt reports:

Dear Gentlemen, Gentlewomen and indeed the Gentleman himself,

The life of an assassin really is tough you know. Even I (wot wot) [Wot wot -TG], despite my obvious superiority to those who have not achieved honours, nearly reached incompetence. However, the fates, and The Furnace Blaster, were with me earlier as I dispatched the unfortunate Brutus, and my friend The Furnace Blaster took the life of the equally unfortunate Fifi.

It just so happened that in the late afternoon sunshine The Furnace Blaster and I were walking past [REDACTED COLLEGE] when I pointed out, "Wot wot old chap! Isn't that the lair of our dastardly foes Brutus and Fifi?" In their usual gruff manner The Furnace Blaster responded,
"Yes. Let's eliminate them." [A man of few words, I see. -TG]

So we set out into the confines of [ONCE AGAIN REDACTED COLLEGE] in order to flush them out of hiding. The trek was long and arduous but we finally made it into the staircase of Brutus, only to find that the suspect was not in his room! Thwarted, we traveled further into the wild, but alas! The staircase of Fifi was protected by an ingenious system that not even our most daring attempts could penetrate. Chastened, we fell back to contemplate our next move.

Things did not look promising. With no way of ascertaining the current location of either target our duo was left only with the option of waiting in [REDACTED COLLEGE. I THINK I'M GETTING THE HANG OF THIS REDACTED BUSINESS NOW] [I mean, well done. It certainly makes it easier for me if I don't have to redact -TG] and hoping that they appeared.

And wait we did.

And wait.

Then we waited.

And waited some more.

Then we tired of waiting, so we wandered around [I MEAN, I'VE TOLD YOU THE COLLEGE IS REDACTED. HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO SAY IT] in order to wait elsewhere.

Then we waited again.

And went back to our previous stakeout position to wait.

More waiting happened.

Finally, The Furnace Blaster said to me, "This is b*******." (Let me assure you that such words would not be used by civilised persons such as myself. The Furnace Blaster is still somewhat coarse, in spite of my attempts to train him otherwise). "If they don't come for food at hall now we're leaving."

Distressed by my colleague's tone and apparent lack of appetite for the hunt, [Possibly induced by your targets' lack of appetite for dinner -TG] I followed his lead around [GUESS WHAT IS MEANT TO APPEAR INSIDE THESE SQUARE BRACKETS]. No sign of those we meant to kill. As a last ditch effort, I pleaded with The Furnace Blaster,
"Watt if they come for food slightly later, old chap? I say, perhaps Mr Brutus is entering his staircase now?"

So back we went, and lo and behold! Brutus was entering his staircase! Employing the stealth that has made my career in steam engines such a success (**ahem** I've been awarded a knighthood **ahem**), I raced up the stairs after him. Drawing my trusty knife I sounded my warcry and delivered a fatal blow into his back, expertly maneuvering around his defensive backpack. For the sake of completeness I then delivered a second, even more fatal blow into his chest. The unfortunate Mr Brutus promptly died, and I retreated back to a safe distance to where The Furnace Blaster was lurking. After receiving a congratulatory nod for my achievement we went in search of The Furnace Blaster's own prey.

Then, after only half a minute, what fortune was ours! Fifi walked past blithely in search of his recently deceased friend! The Furnace Blaster, in one fluid motion, passed him, turned and fired a single bullet into the target's back.

Our tasks complete, we vanished from the area to pursue lesser business in a world that knows not of the perils that lurk in the dark. But we remain ever vigilant, and armed (wot wot) [Wot wot -TG].

I remain a gentleman after the Gentleman's heart. [Twisted and shrivelled since his lady-friend died, I'm afraid -TG]

The Tab reports:

TAB TRIES: Murdering a Varsity writer dressed up as a bear

UNCONTROVERSIAL OPINION: The Tab is very good at exciting premises, less good at delivering them

Photo of teddy bear, caption 'Exit pursued by bear' (because none of us have heard of Shakespeare)

Turns out that some SCOURGE upon SOCIETY got there 10 minutes before I did. But do not fear: much like TCS or my fleeting desires for journalistic integrity, they will be SWIFTLY CRUSHED.

TAB 0: VARSITY -1

PUNCHY ENDING LINE

'; DROP TABLE Assassins; -- reports:

begin(report);
cycle(a_long_way);
search {
for staircase in [ERROR 284834: INFORMATION REDACTED]:
knock.door():
}
door.open();
raise FatalError;

Lord Deathstone reports:

Hi Umpire,

In an urgent attempt to avoid incompetency [Very wise -TG], I ventured forth with my accomplice (a reputable historian who wishes to remain unnamed) to [REDACTED COLLEGE] to assassinate [AN INDIVIDUAL]. Upon arrival, we knocked on his door and heard nothing from within. After several more knocks, and talking to his neighbours about where we could find him, we left unsuccessful.

Later in the day, I entered [REDACTED COLLEGE] to find my target, but alas I could not gain entry to the small building in which he resided, for I was thwarted by a card lock on the door. I knocked on this door, and on the windows of a ground floor room, but there was no answer. I fled the scene with no kills to my name.

Lord Deathstone

'; DROP TABLE Assassins; -- reports:

At 20:00, someone with me as a target jumped me as I left my room. But during the post kill small talk I revealed that I'd killed someone an hour before, and my killer said that he regretted killing me and that if I was going to be an active player I could kill him instead, so I stabbed him with his own weapon (which I now realise is not allowed under rule 4.4) [Not technically correct (well, except in extreme cases), but if you want to leave the game, it's far easier just to drop me an email to resign instead of getting someone else to free-kill you -TG]. Complicating things even further, I don't think either kill could have been legitimate anyway, since his weapon was a rolled up newspaper, which I understand is a cosh not a sword (or possibly not even that, since it wasn't labeled) [If it's not labelled, it's a newspaper, and therefore harmless, so this entire event didn't really happen... -TG]. So I don't know what the result is. Unfortunately I didn't find out his name. He was male, I think had shortish curly brown hair, and spoke with an Australian accent. [If you were involved, I'd quite like an email from you as soon as possible! -TG]

The Tab reports:

WHICH ANTAGONISTIC LAND MAMMAL IS YOUR NEWSPAPER?

The Tab is a sun bear, ripping Inquisitor Julian Accentor into small, spooooky pieces in the middle of the [REDACTED] dancefloor last night.

Varsity is a black mamba because they're SNAKES, and our majestic sun bear will wear it as a fashionable necklace.

TCS is a vole - vicious, but small and somehow irrelevant.

TAB TAB TAB TAB TAB

PUNCHY ENDING LINE

Addendum: Turns out snakes aren't mammals. Who needs reputable sourcing? [As a BioNatSci, I can confirm that snakes are indeed not mammals... -TG]