Cloak & Dagger The Assassins' Guild - Week 6 News


Saturday, 19 November


[11:25 AM] Vimes knows where loyals dine, gets The Blunted Knife (Joshua de Gromoboy) again at brunch

The Blunted Knife reports:

Was stabbed again with a lightsaber at 11.25am going into brunch.

Vimes reports:

"Where's my cow?"
Is that my cow?
It goes *SHRRRRK* "aaargh" *gurgle gurgle*.
It is The Blunted Knife and he is dead!
No, that is most certainly not my cow.


[16:00 PM] Arroooo! Angua bites Perceival's Perspicacious Protector (Hani El-Bay) again. Keep that werewolf under control!

Angua reports:

All afternoon I laid in wait,
Ready to bring my target unwitting to his fate.
When at last the time arrived,
My target was really most surprised.
"Oh no! Not again!" he cried, *looking slightly exasperated and soaked and
disillusiond with loyalty but otherwise quite dapper*
Too bad being loyal - he had once again died.

Long live the corrupt.


[17:30 PM] Banantastic makes more puns, but no kills.

Banantastic reports:

So, I was sitting at home this evening with a cup of tea wondering what to do with myself- I realised that this would be a perfectly ripe opportunity to go try again at [I'M SORRY TO REDACT ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL PUNS BUT THEY RELATE TO A COLLEGE NAME]. So, refreshed I set off for my quarry's door, thankfully, despite it threatening to rain earlier this afternoon, the weather didn't seem too inclement-ine. Unfortunately, at this point my attempt suffered a slight setback, namely that, as a result of a combination of my generally upbeat demeanour, wonderful cup of tea consumed prior and newfound confidence having approached this address before, I completely forgot that I was actually visiting this person (whom I in fact have never met) to assassinate them, instead convincing myself that I was actually going to visit a friend for a nice visit (that I don't actually know anyone at this college should possibly have been setting off alarm bells by this point).

I then proceeded to knock on their door happily, peach-of-mind having been granted to me by the friendly ambiance of the well-lit porters' lodge on the way in. "Hello, what are you here for?" rang out the voice inside, still buoyed by my general optimistic outlook I replied, "Hi, err, I'm just here to say hello!". That this statement was completely genuine only made the next few seconds so deeply traumatic.

"You're here to say hello?" [I-just-came-to-say helllooo!]

That the door didn't open at my beck and call, coupled with the questioning tone of this unexpected challenge, characteristic of one who was just worked out exactly what thinly-veiled ruse is playing out on the other side of their door brought me crashing back down to the grim reality of my pear-shaped predicament. I was no longer here to pay someone a pleasant little visit. I was actually here to assassinate them- I had a Bic-knife in my pocket for goodness' sake. This flood of information hit me like a large coconut. I panicked. Under normal circumstances I would have instantly denied my assassin-hood, but unfortunately comprehensive confusion had set in during that instant and I instinctively fell back to my usual civilian mannerisms in reaction:

"Oh, err, err, right... well... err... oh bother, I guess you've sussed me then... um.. have a lovely evening I suppose?"

...causing this whole engagement to play out rather a lot more briefly and disappointingly than I would have hoped before its outset.

Oh dear, I suppose that the whole operation didn't go cherry well at all, better luck next lime I guess!

Banantastic

P.S.
This report did not have anywhere near as many fruit puns as it ought to have had, so to make up for it, a joke:

Why do melons never run away to get married?
Because they cantaloupe!


[19:00 PM] Gentleman's Heroism bursts into Corrupt life, kills Bennezio da Llama Trampled (Damaris Bennett), Gentleman's Courage (Isabelle Read) and Gentleman's Absolution (Victoria Clarkson).

[22:00 PM] Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) murders Sanctum Scuctum (Matthew Harris) in what I shall choose to assume is a drunken haze (because there is absolutely no corruption in my police force at all...)

Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) reports:

So, after going to [REDACTED] formal and drinking copious amounts of a substance that shall remain unnamed and is definitely not alcoholic, I was surprised to see Sanctum Scuctum in the [REDACTED] bar. Being very slightly (read very) intoxicated, I greeted him loudly while fumbling for my knife in my purse. I finally managed to get it out and stabbed Sanctum Scuctum unceremoniously (again). He apparently hadn't read of my corruptness yet. Well, next time he'll hopefully be more careful.

Sunday, 20 November


[10:20 AM] The Blunted Knife (Joshua de Gromoboy) actually gets a swing off, before being lightsabered by Vimes AGAIN

The Blunted Knife reports:

Lightsabered once again.

I did take a swing with a knife but the telescopic lightsaber had too large a range [Damn it, why did I give him that lightsabre again?] and I couldn't get close enough.


[11:40 AM] Loyal Police raid! Mutton Choppington and his strange contraption that emits an ethereal glow and very occasionally jets of steam, Songbird and Shrike terminate Angua (Mikaela Belcher), and visit Gentleman's Heroism, who seems to have learned the value of not opening one's door...

Songbird reports:

Another [Did you mean 'a'?] victory for the loyal police. Myself, Shrike and Mutton Choppington and his overly long pseudonym went on a hunt. After an unsuccessful visit to [REDACTED COLLEGE] after Gentleman's Heroism , who wouldn't open her door despite our clever attempts to convince her, we payed a visit to Angua at [DIFFERENT REDACTED COLLEGE]. At the cost of Mutton Choppington and his name I'm not bothering to write's life, we successfully made the kill.

Fear the Songbird (I might actually be justified in saying this soon)

Mutton Choppington and his strange contraption that emits an ethereal glow and very occasionally jets of steam reports:

Shrike, Songbird and I acted on intel from a careless source and paid a visit to Gentleman's Heroism, who refused to open the door to my best Ben MS impression (actually not very good) [Gain like a foot or two of height, you'll be fine]. She also wasn't too keen on the offer of an honourable duel. Oh well.

We then tried for Angua, who wasn't in - as we were leaving a calling card she returned, noticed us and ran. After a very brief firefight I sustained multiple shots to the neck in quick succession, and she caught Dom's knife with her heart. My role as shield for the CoP is fulfilled. [GOOD MAN!]

As I lay there, rapidly bleeding to death, I felt my strange contraption wrap itself around my body and chitter excitedly, the warmth of Umpirical redemptive grace embracing it and driving it onward to continue the loyal fight. I realise now that the ethereal glow it emits is in fact the light of his most gracious and just powers of resurrection for all law-abiding citizens, which I can feel now raising me again, and just in case that's not actually what's happening I might just mention with my dying breath that biscuits are more easily delivered than souls.

Yours loyally,
Mutton Choppington, etc.


[16:00 PM] Sir Septimus 'Easily Distracted' Valerianus (Nick Tekkis) is distracted yet again, gets killed by Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway)

Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) reports:

Coming back from [CENSORED], I decided to pop by Sir Septimus 'Easily Distracted' Valerianus accommodation to see if he was in. He was indeed and opened the door without hesitation. [???] I promptly shot him in the arm and upon him pointing out that he wasn't dead shot him in the torso for good measure. Second double kill of the weekend. What can I say, killing my friends is so much more fun than people I don't know. [Can confirm, to be fair] #killfarming

Monday, 21 November


[09:53 AM] Gentleman's Fortune reflects on the meaning of 'playing as police'

Gentleman's Fortune reports:

It had been a while since I felt like I had achieved anything as a member of the police force, in fact, looking at the calendar now, if there were a police incompetence list my name would be on it. Moreover, our inco-hunting had stalled, so I decided to try some myself on Tuesday morning.

I obtained information about the lecture times for at least two incompetents and potentially some corrupt police so turned up outside their lecture and waited. Sadly, I saw only innocents. Turns out, one of my targets had redeemed himself (the website hadn't updated) so I'm glad I didn't stab the man who looked suspiciously like him out of fear of going wanted.

In the afternoon, I had planned to crash a society event attended by another inco, only to find that I had mis-read the day. Thankfully I found this out just before going out of my way to attend.

At least I can say that I tried this morning.


[10:55 AM] Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) is not-at-all kill farming Sanctum Scuctum (Matthew Harris)

Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) reports:

Spotted Sanctum Scuctum in lectures.
Waited for him to leave.
Snuck up behind him.
Stabbed him in the back (literally and figuratively).
'Twas a great day today.


[10:57 AM] Lord Deathstone dashes into the duel by killing '; DROP TABLE Assassins; -- (Roddy MacSween), while accompanied by Twm Stone

Lord Deathstone reports:

The duel draws close, and I fear the power of the umpire. With only one measly kill to my name, I felt it was time to act. I went with my accomplice, Twm Stone, to wait outside a lecture theatre which Roddy was supposed to be in. He was one of the first to come out, and I recognised him immediately from pictures I'd seen. I followed him down the stairs and as I drew close I called out 'Roddy'. He turned and I stabbed him in the chest.

Lord Deathstone

Twm Stone reports:

This kill served a duel purpose.

'; DROP TABLE Assassins; -- reports:

Following my lecture on errors, I made one myself by turning around after hearing my name called. This was swiftly followed by a knife to the stomach, and my permanent termination.


[17:05 PM] Lydia Boyle (Daniel Chiverton), three time winner of the Yellow Streak Award, can't run away from The Gentleman

[20:20 PM] Gentleman's Fortune and Cornelius Grey group up and go inco-hunting

Gentleman's Fortune reports:

Going inco-hunting isn't what I had planned to do this evening as I leisurely strolled through town, planning to buy some milk on the way home but when a familiar voice (that of Cornelius Grey) came behind me and asked if I was up for it, I couldn't say no. It had been far too long since I had had anything close to success and the incos were surviving remarkably long now. I know there's a police war going on, and I haven't exactly managed to contribute anything myself, but the police seemed to be losing their touch, and this would be the perfect opportunity to strike fear back into the hearts of the wanted and the incompetent, and hope that my new-found and so far, unrequited, enthusiasm for the game would finally be met with results.

We started with [REDACTED HOUSE]. We had both met Mad-emoiselle previously, so we knew exactly who we were looking for. Always a bonus, especially after my failures from this morning's lecture stalking (although those turned out to be for the best). The trouble was that there was no obvious way in aside from the large double doors that could only be opened by a key, which naturally neither of us had. We waited around for a while, having a nice chat, before I suggested that we try a different inco who lived barely five minutes away, Lydia Boyle.

Thus, we went hunting for our new target's abode. I had gathered intelligence that there was a bus stop directly opposite it, which was helpful given that street numbers apparently are not a thing on the road we walked. After spending a good few minutes looking for it, finding accommodation owned by a different college, being pointed the wrong way by someone and no-one else knowing where it could possibly be, I finally spotted the number which we were looking for. With my perfect excuse prepared (honestly, it's really good, I'm kind of glad actually that my companion didn't get it spoiled in case I can make a kill with it next game) I knocked on the door. A few moments later there was no answer. Indeed, there was no sign that anyone had heard my knock. I decided to peek through the letterbox to see if anyone was in. It was at this moment I discovered two things: why no-one had appeared to hear my knock, and why this particular inco had survived for as long as they had without getting a single kill. The door led to a miniature courtyard, with seemingly no rooms in earshot of the door which we needed to get through. Deciding it couldn't do any harm, I decided to try knocking again before we left. I was right, no harm came to either of us, nor our chosen victim, as no-one reacted to the second knock.

With the only plans I initially had being a Bible study group in my college which was due to start in 10 minutes (which meant there wasn't a hope in hell that I would make it there on time, I would arrive half way through if I was very lucky, and frankly, going inco-hunting was too good an opportunity to pass by) and my companion having none, we decided to return to [REDACTED HOUSE]to see if we could have any more success given our now unlimited time budget. Standing opposite a very well used door was quite frustrating. The door opposite us would have people going through it at least every ten minutes on average. In contrast, not a single person was even remotely interested in the accommodation to which we needed access. I began to wonder if our target was a real killer of sorts, who had eliminated everyone else in the building (which we could discern was pretty large given the number of windows we could see above our heads), and if that was why no-one was coming. My companion found another entrance, so we decided to split up and cover both. I waited for a while, somehow not arousing any suspicion from all the people who walked past. Sadly, my luck did not change, and again not one person who passed the door was looking to enter. I looked jealously back at the ever-moving door opposite me. With no word from my companion, I assumed that he was having a similar lack of success. This turned out to be the case, so we moved on to one last location. We had heard news of a raid on my associate's friends, and were keen to get revenge, plus I really wanted something to show for our evening.

We made our way into [REDACTED COLLEGE]. We walked in like we owned the place, and luckily some people just ahead of us were going through the doors we didn't have access to ourselves. They held the door for us like nice, innocent people, and we soon found the staircase where our target lives. Sadly, the only place we could find that would conceal us sufficiently from people walking both in and out of the staircase was a patch of woodland that would be very noisy to emerge from given all the fallen leaves. We sat and waited, a lady passed us and we followed her into the staircase and through to the floor below our target's, to discover that one cannot access upper floors from lower ones. So was made our way back outside and waited. It started to rain at this point, which didn't bother us aside from my appreciation of the pathetic fallacy, and meant that people would be even less likely to look our way as they passed. I was glad of the large bag I had with me too, it doubled as a very good makeshift chair, instead of having to sit on wet ground. Many people passed, sadly, those going to the second floor were too quick for us to follow, and despite there being just one more person living on the first floor than the second, the vast majority of people were going to the first floor which was useless to us. After directly asking one more person if he could let us in (he couldn't) we decided to call it an evening at 11. Only during this stakeout did word reach us that our quarry was wearing a disguise, and at this Cornelius Grey seemed to remember seeing a person come past fitting their new description. How frustrating.

All in all, it was a fun evening, shame we didn't have any kills to show for it. I'm wondering if my pseudonym has jinxed meâ?¦

Gentleman's Fortune

(P.S. I believe I am now owed cookies, Mr. Gentleman) [Indeed you are]


[21:00 PM] A massive operation involving 7 players culminates in the death of Countess Wells AKA Talleyrand (Sinead Foley) by Thaddeus Valentine's hand

Talleyrand reports:

Talleyrand reports:

The former Talleyrand was killed late last night. Forces loyal to the Brass Throne had intercepted plans of a meeting to be held, and Talleyrand was tailed from this meeting by a cell of five agents, before being ambushed and stabbed to death.

The revolution will succeed. The Brass Throne must fall.

Clockmakers lie.

Talleyrand

Countess Wells reports:

Death is a funny thing. It stalks every being on this planet, sinner or saint. Sometimes, it can be seen coming a mile off, the shadow on the horizon, the gathering clouds. Other times, it falls without warning, a sudden chance tragedy, no-one suspecting a thing. But whenever it happens, however it strikes, the end must come for us all.

For Countess Wells, it was the beginning of the end when the telegraph came.

Cornelius Grey had crafted a special system for them, running communication lines throughout the city to their various informants. When there was news, it reached them instantly. Wells had been working on some notes for a side-project she wanted to develop further, when she heard Kenway curse from the other room. He'd been manning the lines. She set down her journal and headed over to the telegraph machines. Wordlessly, he handed her the paper.

WELLS HAS GONE INCOMPETENT STOP WILL BE OBLIGED TO SHOOT HER ON SIGHT STOP WILL AVOID YOUR LOCATION BUT SHE SHOULD STAY HIDDEN STOP

Idiot. She hadn't thought to check exactly when she'd lose competence - this late in the game, she was already a target for every assassin out there, so she hadn't seen why it would matter. And she'd seen several other assassins make it this far without much to show for it. She'd gotten complacent. They'd all assumed that the police wouldn't be so concerned with hunting down assassins now that they were being targeted from inside their own ranks, but clearly that wasn't the case.

They quietly pondered what to do. Obviously, there would have to be some sort of attempt tonight - she could wait her enemies out behind a locked door easily enough, but there were two days left to get through, and she had business to attend in town. She couldn't afford to hide away for that time, and she couldn't be looking over her shoulder for however many police officers might take it upon themselves to remove a member of [THE CORPUS MAFIA].

She and Kenway discussed possible targets. The further they ventured, the greater the likelihood of being run across by enemies. Unfortunately, those closest to them would be dangerous targets to face - especially as they'd probably be expecting her. She'd have to balance those risks. Unless...

There was one unsavoury option. A lone assassin, not strictly a member of [THE CORPUS MAFIA], but affiliated with them nonetheless. They'd traded weaponry, stories, advice. He was almost a friend. Certainly not an enemy. And he'd be walking past that window sometime in the course of the next few hours, never anticipating an attack from among his own people. It would be so easy. The thought turned her stomach slightly.

It was hardly as though she objected to killing in cold blood. She was an assassin, for heaven's sake. She'd left morality far behind. How could she call this dishonourable, now? It wouldn't be the first time she'd taken someone down without giving them a chance to arm themselves, nor the first time she'd backstabbed a target who thought they could trust her. But here, they'd had an agreement. An implicit promise not to target one another, but to help.

His death would be helpful.

No, she couldn't be so mean-spirited, so unsporting as this. Could she?

Sentiment, pure and simple. What kind of an assassin lets sentiment get the better of them?

She could always challenge him to a duel, she supposed. Nice and honest. A fair fight. But wasn't it the first rule of the business? If you're in a fair fight, you've made a mistake.

Oh, well. She'd wait for him to return and see what happened. She knew in her heart of hearts that she'd probably go through with it if she had to. Honour and sentiment could only go so far, and she had her own allies to consider.

It was then that the second telegraph arrived, and for the first time, she began to feel a little afraid.

VALENTINE IS MOVING AGAINST YOU STOP IS CURRENTLY CALLING FOR A POLICE HUNT FOR WELLS STOP BE ON YOUR GUARDS STOP

They couldn't reach her here, surely. Well, admittedly it wouldn't have been the first time a police taskforce had gotten through the series of locked doors. But that had gone worse for the police than for her. And they'd no doubt have more trouble getting in at night, with fewer unsuspecting residents to tailgate. It would be fine. It had to be fine. Except...

Damn it all, they had an engagement tonight already. They couldn't afford to miss the meeting, not at this vital juncture. The information she would receive tonight could be crucial; she wasn't going to turn this down. But she had to be prudent; if people really were hunting her, then anyone around her could be collateral damage. If Kenway came along too, then it would be she who was putting him in harm's way.

Grey stumbled in from whatever machinations he'd been up to, and they got him up to speed. He seemed the most concerned of all of them. But then, that was Grey. Paranoid and pessimistic to the last. He'd brought them presents, though: a fine pair of rapidly-firing pistols, his latest crafts. He'd yet to procure the springs to wind the firing mechanisms, but that could be done easily enough. Wells examined her new toy idly. This would make tonight interesting, at least. And any decent clockworker's would be able to provide the springs they needed. It wouldn't take long. She moved to the window, eyes on the gates that stood between herself and her enemies, mentally recalculating the odds.

Grey went over to the machines to inspect the telegrams more closely, leaving Wells staring pensively out of the window.

"Have you got my fish?"

The words rang loud and clear in the otherwise empty room. Wells spun, staring in horror at the door. They'd gotten inside. How, she didn't know, but they'd managed it. And now they were waiting for her. She grabbed on instinct for her weapon, cursing as she remembered that it was useless. Grey and Kenway rushed in, wondering what had happened, and she darted past them, swinging herself behind the door to the second room. If the police had orders to shoot her on sight, then she'd just have to make sure they couldn't see her. Possibly the others could persuade her pursuers that she wasn't around.

It was strange though, she realised. She hadn't seen anyone enter the premises, nor heard the gates opening. And it was odd that they had called here. Possibly they'd checked her rooms, found her absent, and then proceeded to check the rooms of all and any known associates. But the silent entry didn't fit with that. It almost suggested that whoever was calling had already been in the building for some time. Observing them, when they'd presumed themselves safe.

Her fears were compounded when the others joined her. Their mysterious caller had vanished, the corridor left empty. They hadn't been trying to get in, that couldn't have been their intention. The phrase was a joke, a legend among assassins as one of the poorest excuses ever used to try to get a target to open their door. And they hadn't even bothered knocking. This had merely been a way to get their attention. To threaten them. To make them afraid.

"We're being toyed with." She shivered, the phantom touch of cold steel at her back. Someone had been waiting for them in this building. They could have been struck down unawares at any time, and this person wanted them to know it. A prudent assassin would have hidden with a view of the door, using the element of surprise, not throwing it away. You didn't stroll up to your target and loudly announce that you were here to relieve them of their existence, if they'd be so kind. Whoever had knocked, they had to be supremely confident - or supremely arrogant.

There had still been no sound of the gate, no movement outside the window. Either their visitor could vanish into thin air, or...

"They're still in the building."

Silently, they took up arms. This wasn't just ordinary assassins' warfare; they were being taunted. Somewhere in this labyrinth of rooms, they were being laughed at.

Well, two could play at that game. If their would-be assailant was still in the building, they'd be hearing the strains of a cheerful music-hall track that had been penned and circulated by various members of the guild. It had initially been intended as a slight against the umpire, but had found popularity among all factions. The lyrics were an invitation. Come and play.

Wells rather hoped it was one they'd accept. Even open combat was preferable to waiting around like rats in a hole. Fear, adrenaline, certain death? They were an assassin's bread and butter. Walking up to someone knowing full well that you might be walking to your own grave? All in a day's work. In the instant between verifying a target and drawing your weapon, death stared you in the face. But seeing death in front of you was far better than hiding and waiting, wondering if it was coming for you tonight. Fighting would kill you, but waiting would drive you insane.

Kenway had begun tapping at his telegraph key as soon as they realised the situation, and now a reply came chattering through.

CHECKED THE CORRIDORS AS YOU ASKED STOP NO SIGN OF ANY STRANGERS STOP

So whoever it was had hidden themself away. Well, there were only so many bathrooms and kitchens they could hide in. Taking up their favoured weaponry, they moved out into the corridors.

They moved slowly, methodically, never letting their guard slip. Grey walked ahead, checking round corners, his reflexes fast enough to keep him safe if anyone was waiting there. Kenway took up the rear with Anna-Maria, his beloved Gatling gun, watching for ambush behind them. Wells walked between them, checking through doors and down side corridors.

As they looped round the building, Wells was forced to consider an unpleasant possibility. If they didn't find their mystery caller, then it was quite possible that they were being harboured by someone else in the building. Which would also mean that they had an ally who could get them past any locked doors, whenever they chose to come calling. The idea that their stronghold had been compromised...

As they drew level once more with their headquarters, they paused. No trace of an intruder had been seen. They quietly discussed possible methods of escape, none of them quite daring to put words to their fears. Their visitor must simply have made a quiet exit when the trio of assassins had been searching elsewhere. That was it. Whoever it had been was long gone. There couldn't be anyone here who would hide an enemy assassin. Surely.

There was some brief speculation as to the identity of their stalker. That voice. It had been muffled by the door, and they hadn't said enough to make themselves properly identifiable, but still...

"Do you think Valentine would join the hunt himself?" mused Grey.

It seemed unlikely. Surely, if you were concerned enough about your enemies to order a strike against them, you wouldn't then put yourself in harm's way by going after them. Wells rather expected him to stay in his own fortress tonight, safe and sound, congratulating himself at the prospect of having one fewer enemy to deal with. Or at least, that's what she hoped...

All at once the memories returned to her, unbidden. Mist rolling over the darkened fens, hiding her enemies in haze and shadow. Knowing that her friends were lay injured, but unable to find them. Her sword arm hanging useless, forearm torn open and bleeding, as she desperately tried to keep her defence up with her weaker hand. Staggering backwards, fleeing the man and his sabre, realising too late that his accomplice was waiting behind her.

The knife to her back hadn't killed her, but then, that wasn't the point. All he'd needed was to keep them out of the way and to warn them off pursuing him again. If he really was coming after them in person...

"I sincerely hope not." She shivered a little.

Eventually, it was time. They had to leave now, or risk missing the meeting entirely. Together they made their way out, scanning for threats, watching their backs. There was no sign of trouble â?? and they had gathered sufficient information to recognise most of their enemies by now â?? but it would never be truly safe to let one's guard down, not in this line of business.

Grey hadn't attended the meeting - he had matters of his own to deal with, as usual - and so the usual note of paranoia was absent that night. Perhaps, if it hadn't been, then Kenway or Wells might have taken a more thorough sweep of the area as they left the meeting. Perhaps, if they had, they might have caught the gleam of gaslight on brass panelling through the windows of the building opposite. Or perhaps not.

Since the nature of the Guild led to a rather high turnover, the shadowy organisation that governed it had decided that something must be done to preserve the expertise of its members after they died. To this end, the Radical device was created, and issued to each member; a tiny thing, smaller than a pocket-watch, yet supposedly able to record the thoughts and memories of whomever it was connected to. Its inventors had claimed that, upon death, it could capture a person's very soul and transmit it to another object. How true this was she had no idea, but when the devices were connected to automata, they resulted in machines which could stalk and kill about as well as a human assassin, and which seemed to harbour a particular enmity towards whoever had killed the human predecessor. They were often used by the police force, short-staffed as they were, since they followed orders well and didn't die. However, many of them simply returned to the life their predecessor had occupied, carrying on that person's work, attempting to join their society. Each automaton bore a serial number corresponding to the identity of its predecessor, and the crest of whichever faction its predecessor had belonged to, so that any human who encountered it would know who they were dealing with. There had been talk about giving the automata the physical appearance of those they replaced, but many in the Guild were resistant to the idea. It all came down to whether the automata were considered as being the humans they replaced, or simply imitating them. As yet, no-one had come to an answer. However, this didn't stop the automata from carrying on as their predecessors would. Visiting friends. Haunting enemies.

Wells and Kenway made their way carefully across town towards the night market. It was late; they hadn't dined in their college for fear or pursuers, and they needed to collect some form of sustenance. Despite the hour, the city's streets were busy with people, and if they were busy with more than people, nobody seemed to notice. Certainly, if Wells or Kenway glanced round from time to time, they didn't see anything that caused them to worry.

As they left the night market, they discussed to best to proceed home. It was unlikely that any hunting party who had been calling on them earlier would still be out waiting, but nonetheless, it would have been foolhardy to stroll right up King's Parade. They wove their way through backstreets, cutting down alleys, keeping to as unpredictable a route as possible. There were still enough crowds on the street to provide cover for anyone tailing them. Wells marvelled quietly at the variety of dress she saw; there must have been some sort of celebration going on. Most wore robes over their finest formal wear, but there were some odd additions; here, a diminutive figure sporting a luxuriant white wig, there a student sporting elaborately bejewelled spectacles, and occasionally the odd individual who seemed to be glad in a costume straight out of the theatre. It really was a bizarre city; quite possibly the Guild wasn't even the strangest part of it.

They were drawing close to their accommodation, when they saw an arresting sight. Perched on a corner across the street, the lenses of its eyes swivelling as it seemed to notice them for the first time, was a brass automaton.

Between the crest and the serial number, there was no doubting it: this was the resurrection of one of their recent victims, a member of the [PEMBROKE MAFIA]. What it - he - was doing here at night, so close to their home, remained to be seen. If he had chosen simply to remain in his predecessor's life, then they had nothing to fear; civilian automata faced deactivation if they harmed humans, and few would take the risk. If, however, he held a grudge against his predecessor's killer and had joined the police...

But he simply raised a hand in what seemed to be a friendly gesture and turned away. Perhaps they were safe.

Perhaps. It still seemed an odd coincidence that he would be here, so close to their own home, especially at this time of night. Automata had their own near-instantaneous methods of communicating; could he be acting as lookout, warning someone else of their approach?

Hands on weapons, they moved cautiously ahead. The quickest route to the main door of the college, and the most predictable one, was to carry on down this road. However, there was an alley running behind the college that could lead them quickly to a safehouse. No doubt this was their best chance at avoiding anyone waiting for them. Of course, wandering down a darkened alley at night wasn't the most sensible thing - she turned to Kenway behind her to make some remark about the irony of this safest route-

A sudden movement at the mouth of the alley they were approaching - a diminutive figure sporting a luxuriant white wig - a flash of gaslight on steel - a volley of gunfire - what was happening? Kenway was gone, running, packages from the market dropped in a heap on the ground, the bewigged figure pursuing - Wells turned to follow them - the street around her swooped suddenly - glass was smashing somewhere - she had dropped the bottles she was carrying - what was going on?

Kenway with a bloodied sword pointed at his chest - his gun levelled at the stranger's head - blood on the sword - was Kenway hurt? - brass figures emerging from the shadows around them, each one bearing the crest of the [PEMBROKE MAFIA]. One, two, three. One for each member she and her friends had killed, come to avenge themselves. So they had been right to fear an ambush, but who-

"Valentine, I swear, you're a dead man", Kenway growled.

Valentine.

So, he had left his tower after all - the figure she had seen earlier - the voice-

He had been hunting them all this time. And yet, they were still-

The cobbles beneath her feet gave another sickening lurch, and suddenly Wells was on the ground. What-?

The standoff - blood on the sword - the flashing steel in the gaslight-

Wells looked down at the front of her greatcoat. The thick material had been slashed open, the fabric beneath stained dark, dripping vivid onto the cobblestones.

...Oh.


[22:00 PM] Sir Lucius Resurrectus (Laurence Mayther) opts to trust the Corrupt-as-heck Visit-the-ungodly-with-exploratory-pamphlets in an attempt on Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway), with predictable consequences (fulfilled by Marquess Irene Ravener de Redblood)

Visit-the-ungodly-with-exploratory-pamphlets reports:

Sir Lucius Resurrectus is dead! Upon lying to me and trying to entice me into making a corrupt kill (lying) he waited outside my door. So I called an accomplice to come kill him with a bang to the chest. His dying remarks "I was tipped of their were corrupt in [REDACTED COLLEGE]". The source of this leak is not yet known, but revenge is upon them.

Sir Lucius Resurrectus reports:

Hey - things didn't quite work out so well. I appear to have tried to cross/double cross so many people that it came back to hit me. :-(

I had gone to [REDACTED COLLEGE] earlier to pick up some things from Dani's that I had left behind. While I was there, Dani told me that Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) had left some Tupperware and that she would be dropping by later to pick it up. I offered to take it for Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway), but Dani said not to bother.

It later occurred to me that maybe Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) had not been told about the encounter, so I sent her an email saying that I had collected the Tupperware on her behalf and that she could arrange to pick it up. She wrote back to say that this was fine, so long as we were both unarmed. After a little negotiation, it was agreed that we would turn up with melee weapons only. (Needles to say that we both took nerf guns). [Of course you both would]

I then determined that I needed an accomplice. After contacting all the upstanding police that I thought would be interested, a (really bad) idea occurred to me. What if I were to contact a member of the corrupted police from my college who had not publicly gone wanted. I thought that with twice the number of targets, I would have twice the luck. I thus arranged for Visit-the-ungodly-with-exploratory-pamphlets to accomplice me. I knocked on her door with my micro in my hand and waited. I heard voices approaching, so I quickly hid my gun, thinking that I would be fine, as I had two knives in my pocket. It seems though, that I should have listened far more carefully to [REDACTED] when he had told me the names of the corrupt police at [REDACTED OTHER COLLEGE], since I had forgotten that living on a staircase near to where I was lived another corrupt police officer. I saw a familiar face, whom I knew did not live on the staircase, coming towards me. I quickly put my phone away (which is what I always use when I want to look inconspicuous) and began to go fumbling for a knife. I was however unable to get it out before I was shot in the head by Marquess Irene Ravener de Redblood.

Slightly dismayed that I had now lost my opportunity for either kill, I headed to meet Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) to explain what had happened. As I proceeded to the meeting place, I saw part of a cardigan flutter out of a shadow. It was only out of the corner of my eye and I made nothing of it, but then as I walked past, Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) jumped out and shot me twice (although, amazingly, I was hit by three different bullets). She then explained that she had checked with Dani and discovered that I was lying.

Thus, both my tactical attempts to trick people into an easy kill turned out to be easy ways for them to kill me. Alas, I have finally realised that I am probably the worst person that this game has ever and will ever see. :-( [Oh, I wouldn't say that. 10/10 for ideas, 0/10 for execution. Next time, remember the rule of plotting: any plot which requires more than three things to go right is a bad plot.]

Tuesday, 22 November


[07:00 AM] An early start for Gentleman's Fortune and Cornelius Grey

Gentleman's Fortune reports:

Why on Earth did I decide to meet up with Cornelius Grey again for a kill attempt at 7am I wondered, as I got up at 6:20 and was leaving college before sunrise. I would never normally be up before 9. But I wanted to help out a friend, especially after the news from last night reached me. We met up at [REDACTED EATING ESTABLISHMENT] as I had realised I didn't have any milk for my cereal after last night's attempts, and the shops had all closed by the time I passed them. Our plan was simple. We knew exactly where we needed to be, and had a deadline by which we should have accomplished our kill, so we traipsed into [REDACTED COLLEGE] and set ourselves up.

Knowing that I was in considerably less danger than my accomplice, I was positioned in clear sight of our target's accommodation, ready to signal if they left. Arriving at 7:30 should have given us plenty of time to catch them, no matter how early they were planning to get up.

Acting inconspicuous outside accommodation where no-one recognises you is a lot easier than one would expect, and only two people gave me any sort of a strange look. Naturally I ignored them and continued performing an innocent activity that anyone waiting for a friend to let them into their accommodation may do. This did not distract me from my objective however. I knew exactly who I was looking for, and given that we had got five and a half hours sleep between us last night and had spent over an hour stalking this same accommodation last night, I was determined to succeed. No movement within the building escaped me, and every face that left discreetly scrutinised.

It was getting quite late (well, normally 8:50 would not be considered late, but these are very strange circumstances) and I was getting concerned. At this point I heard someone saying that they had just come back from [REDACTED ACTIVITY] and a sense of dread filled me. I knew that our target also performed said activity, so it was entirely possible that they had been there instead this whole time. That being said, this innocent bystander had come back to college afterwards, so perhaps our target would do the same.

It soon became 9:10 and there was still no sign of our target. Knowing that this was too late for them to have any possibility of showing here, we reluctantly called it a morning.

For someone whose name is Fortune, I haven't exactly had a lot of it recently... [How unfortunate]


[10:00 AM] Gentleman's Fortune has more success, killing notorious mass murderer Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) (Elisabeth Gaberdiel)

Gentleman's Fortune reports:

After my horrifically early start and with nothing to show for it, I wandered around town for a bit. Eventually, the decision of whether I would actually bother to meet my friends to do work or just go home, play games, maybe have a nap and pretend that police life is going as well as it ought to be, had to be made. After a little internal deliberation, I went with the former, and made my way to the city centre.

As I was passing [REDACTED COLLEGE], I noticed Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) was walking past talking to a friend. I recognised her from the coffee afternoon we had attended a few days ago, clearly she was either too caught up in conversation to notice me, or had actually forgotten me (sad times). She also didn't seem remotely concerned that there is still an ongoing police war. As soon as I passed her and her friend, I turned around and walked briskly towards her.

Cornelius Grey and I had been discussing weaponry at one point last night to pas the time. One point that had come up was about the use of knives. We seemed to have come to the decision that if you want to kill someone, it's not your best bet, and is quite amateur. But one cannot deny its effectiveness. Even at this short range behind my target, had I attempted to use a gun, there was a possibility that it would mis-fire, or that I would. Both would leave me in a very bad position, provided Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) was armed. So I stuck with my trust pen "knife", slipped it out and stabbed her in the back just below her neck. She was mildly annoyed, as she had been planning to kill [REDACTED POLICE] later in the day, some expletives may have come from her mouth, but she took it well, that's part of the fun anyway (and frankly I was both too delirious from lack of sleep and excited from finally getting another kill to be in the slightest bit annoyed).

Another point for the good side. May our good fortune continue! :)


[12:00 PM] What is this dishonesty from Gentleman's Honesty? Killing Black Ninja (Joshua Snyder) for what?

Gentleman's Honesty reports:

i turned

got josh synder at like 12 this morning

sorry

lol

[Possibly the report with the least grammar I've yet had all game...]


[19:15 PM] Gentleman's Fortune (Andrew Browne) usffers more misfortunate, gets watered by Marquess Irene Ravener de Redblood

Marquess Irene Ravener de Redblood reports:

I just killed a fellow policeman Gentleman's Fortune. I bumped into him walking slowly as I was cycling past. I promptly stopped and diligently shot him twice with water hitting his right hand and chest. Sorry-not-sorry.

Gentleman's Fortune reports:

At 19:10, after [A SOCIETY] this evening, Marquess Irene Ravener de Redblood was taking longer to pack down than me so I left in a hurry. Despite being the one who encouraged her to join the police force after her death, I knew that something wasn't quite right when I saw her name on the list. I had a feeling she was corrupt. So I departed as quickly as I could, hoping to exit Midsummer Common and get away from her route home before she caught up. In hindsight I should have used a different route back.

Sadly for me, she has a great speed advantage, and took a much longer time looking at me as she cycled past. For some reason, this did not arouse suspicion as she peddled onwards. Perhaps some part of me wanted to believe that, despite murdering an incompetent friend in cold blood in a past life, that she wouldn't betray one of her [GLORIOUS] coaches. Anyway, I walked on and began to space out when I noticed that she had stopped her bike. As I passed her, one hand on my weapon, she said "sorry"and began to fire on me. Her first shot missed, but sadly the second hit before I had time to react, and I was "dead". I really need to work on my reactions, perhaps concealing my weapons differently, or actually being prepared to use them might help. I must ask my friend in [THERE ARE NO MAFIAS IN CAMBRIDGE] for some practice...

I knew that it wouldn't be too long before my usual bad fortune caught up with me again :P

Wednesday, 23 November


[10:45 AM] herself by occidunt goes looking, but Lord Deathstone and Thaddeus Valentine aren't about

[11:55 AM] An effort by most of the other duellists to take down Twitch and Marcus Kenway ends up with Thaddeus Valentine killing Marcus Kenway (Felix Menze), but then Twitch succeds in salughtering all of them (Thaddeus Valentine AKA Anna Fang AKA Steven Hawking AKA Hester Shaw (Twm Stone), Lord Deathstone (Gagan Shiralagi) and Viceroy Sir Rupert Bellchamber-Darling AKA Banantastic (William Grace))! Nobody saw that coming.

Twitch reports:

And just like that, there were four bodies around him and a row of bikes falling over like dominoes.

Yeah, maybe it was worth taking a step back and considering how this had all come about.

See, the day had been meant to be a fairly normal one... Twitch was intending to damn well duck into his room and not come out until midnight, when the umpire would declare the competition over and he would be safe until the duel. Then he would desperately try to think of some way not to die to Twm Stone and his accomplices in the time that remained.

That didn't look hopeful, but hey, it was the best he had.

-----------------------------------------------------

So... this was what he had come to. Once again, huddled away, trying to avoid any danger... and once again, just as his creator had on the day he had made something of himself, coincidence and paranoia caused him to notice something. Through a window, 3 figures, all armed had sprinted out of the area. Once again, he made a decision that was about to end the lives of 3 people.

'So... Sheila... do you want to go and kill them?'

He grinned to himself, despite the constant twitching in his toes that he swore he wasn't doing on purpose. This was a little too reminiscent of that time. Right, if he left now, he could come out behind them and-

Oh, damn, he'd just been sprinting in the wrong direction.

He cursed and turned on his heel, moving back up the stairs again, getting a few strange looks from those around him who saw him charging around with a weapon in his hand. Prudently, none asked him any questions, especially as he overclocked his internal motors and started to emit a strange whirring sound.

'You're about to die.'

No, no he wasn't.

'You're making the same mistake again.'

No... this time, it wasn't about revenge, it was about survival. This was the best chance he was going to get to take out the main threats to his life and he was bloody well taking it.

He checked the window once more as he passed. Ok, they were still there... probably waiting for him. He could, of course, have simply taken the same route out that he had taken in, keep his head down and face them another time... but these three would show him no mercy in the duel, and chances were that he no longer had an ally if they had been running out for any good reason.

'This is about revenge, isn't it? You're trying to avenge him? Just as you tried to avenge her? You won't get another shot at this, Twitch. Your luck won't save you again.'

He'd just have to see.

He took a moment to pick the lock on the door behind them (read: I had a card that gave me access to that door), then pushed it open as quietly as he could.

Apparently, not quietly enough.

There were 2, one armed, 1 not. Twitch analysed the situation in under a second, but this was all the time that the armed one required to notice him and turn.

Damn

It was the same one who had all but killed him once before... it could have been anybody else, literally anybody, but Twitch knew this guy was a match for him, if not more than a match.

Just shoot then. That was all he could-

A crack echoed around the three figures. Twitch's finger was still compressing the trigger mechanism on his own weapon. Then a look of horror passed Lord Deathstone's face. Lord Deathstone, a man who probably would have killed Twitch if circumstance hadn't conspired against him, had only just enough time to register that his gun had misfired before Twitch placed a bullet into his chest.

Right, the other one...

Twitch simply unloaded every bullet loaded into 'Sheila' as his creator had called the weapon.

He had no clue if that man was an assassin, or if he was the other member of the three that he'd seen earlier, but he couldn't take the risk.

Right... there was still one left... one who was far more than a match for the automation.

He couldn't afford to stick around...

That would have been the logical decision to make. But Twitch's systems were failing. As a loud pop was emitted from his shoulder and his knee spasmed, he bent over one of the two dead figures.

'You... where is Twm?'

There was no response... what, did this fool think that he was joking?

'My shoes damn it! Where did you put them? I want my fish back now!'

His right eye, seemingly bloodshot from lack of sleep and proper maintenance flicked to the side.

'Do these eyes look like somebody who is messing around?'

He cocked his gun and then was convinced the corpse spoke.

'He's over there.'

Twitch dove immediately for cover before he realised that the corpse was laughing at him... damn, he couldn't afford to stay around here. Even the corpses were mocking him.

Of course, to anybody else who looked on, they would have only seen a human looking automation talking to himself and diving aside for no reason.

Alright, he could leave the way he came, lock the gate behind him and hope to the power of the dark tower that Twm couldn't pick locks.

He needed to get out of here, he needed to survive.

That had been too damn close.

And so, he returned to where he had been working, attempting to convincingly take on the role of his creator in society... and that was when he saw his second opportunity. There, crouched next to the body of his fallen comrades was the one man left in Cambridge who Twitch knew to be far more than a match for him.

Damn, but this was too good of an opportunity to miss. Twitch couldn't defeat Twm from in front... but he was in the middle of Twitch's domain. This building was one that Twitch knew, not him. He could come out of literally anywhere while the master assassin that was Twm Stone could only leave via one exit. He'd be going that way now if Twitch didn't move to intercept. Twm stood up and looked around himself, seeming to feel that something was off.

It was now or never then.

'Care for one more dance, Sheila?'

With that, he sprinted once more from the room.

Primary objective:

Survival, retake old life

Requirements for the primary objective to be completed:

Death of Twm Stone

Archive records:

Name: Twm Stone

Picture: The image was surprisingly good quality and had been taken just before the assassin had shot the camera man.

Known Allies: Lord Deathstone, Viceroy Sir Rupert Bellchamber-Darling (suspected)

Bounty Status: Confirmed

Huh, interesting, there was also one on the man he had just killed if he lived to claim it.

Target weaponry: Heavily armed, known to specialise in swords, but is well trained in use of all weaponry.

Threat Level: Impossible, retreat immediately. Twice winner of the competition, Paranoia Hardened Deathmaster.

Negative, this was the best shot he was going to have.

Known Schedule: Yeah, that wasn't very helpful to him right now.

Known Disguises: A lot

And if he turned around, Twitch was dead.

'Is this about revenge?'

Was it? No, it didn't feel like it...

'Then do what you feel is right.'

Twm had started to move within a crowd, making the shot a difficult one from this angle... and if he missed, he wouldn't have time to shoot again.

So, this was just a vector problem... adding initial motion to it shouldn't make it too much more difficult.

He dove to one side, getting himself a clean shot at the man.

Alright, this was it. Mid air, Twitch fired three times...

And Twm fell.

All that, and then it had simply come to-

Oh [censored], bike!

Twitch's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the fact that somebody had thought to park a row of bikes in his trajectory. Who would do such a thing?

And why was the ground approaching so quickly?

Oh, this was not going to do his motors any good.

At that moment, Twm's corpse fell underneath him (read: the guy was nice enough to catch me). Twitch stumbled a few paces, then regained his footing... as the row of bikes slowly toppled over, one by one, just slowly enough that he almost believed they'd stop at any moment.

Damn domino effects to oblivion.

(No, this did not really happen, but I find the image amusing).

Wait, had he just killed Twm Stone?

He unloaded the rest of his clip into the corpse, just to be sure.

He... wow.

Twitch spun his gun once around his finger, then concealed it once more and walked off.

The Gentleman was not going to be happy with him...

But damn it, maybe, just maybe, he was actually going to survive this.

Nah, he had a whole duel to get through, and there was no way he could win that. He wasn't even a proper assassin, he'd gotten this far mostly on luck.

But damn, for somebody who had started with no skill, this was something he could at least be a little proud of.


[17:00 PM] Mikasa, Edle von N regains competency...

[22:00 PM] A busy last day for Sir Lucius Resurrectus

Following my most brutal murder on the evening of Monday 21st, I had developed an aquaintence with the notorious Liz. Thus upon hearing of her death, I convinced myself (in spite of my better judgement) that it was safe to meet up with her at 23:20 the next day. Little did I know that to my misfortune, a member of the corupt police, Joshua Tustanowski, had managed to discover our arrangements. Thus as I went to meet Liz, out of the shadows sprung Josh, who then proceeded to shoot me in the back. Alas, this was my seventh death, beating even the record of Alex Hardwick. I determined that this simply would not do, so I agreed to join the corrupt force. I then observed (without offering any assisstance) as Josh went on his late night raid, making several attempts and finally killing Mark Cooper. I was convinced that this was the way to go.

I went back to my room, to get some rest, in preperation for the final day . . .

Wednesday started as any other day. The differences started, however, when I was returning from an outing at LMBC, and I observed a familiar figure skulking throught the college. At first, I could not make out if it were Kim or Andrew. Upon approach, I could see that it was in fact Andrew and I then knew that this would be the moment that my corruption became official. I placed my hand oer my already prime sidearm, concealed deep within my pocket and quickly walked up behind him, catching him just outside the porters lodge. I struck up a conversation. It was at this point that I realised that shooting him directly infront of the porters would be a grave mistake. I thus took my hand out of my pocket, to another location, drew out a knife and stabbed him directly in the abdomen. He then revealed that in fact, the reason that he had had his hand resting on his poorly concealed laser sword throughout the conversation (a fact that I had noticed, but made nothing of) was that he had come to my college specifically to kill me and confirm his own corruption. We thus agreed that he would confirm his corruption after he respawned and that was that, we parted as allies.

The day then continued as any other day, until about 17:30. . .

At this point, stale with work, I asked a contact what the sitrep was. While waiting for her reply, I myself was contacted by Esha, who invited me to dinner at her college. I tentatively agreed that I would, but that I would have to run a few errands first. I then asked my contact how many people knew I was corrupt. She replyed that everyone knew. Dispite having wanted to belive that the invitation was genuine, my suspicions where confirmed and I knew that I must do something. During this period, I made unsuccessful attempts on both Shyam and Nick Tekkis. My contact then told me that in fact, the corrupt force had won (Long Live the Corrupt!), and that I should just lock myself in my room and wait for it all to be over. Sound advise indeed, but this was not for me. I had been killed seven times, whilst I had only killed four people and this certainly would not do. I thus determind that my only option was to kill as many loyal police as I could between then and midnight.

I thus responded to Esha, to say that the errands had taken longer than they ought, so I would not be able to get to Peterhouse in time for dinner. However, due to the fact that the John's buttery is open later than her's was, she should come to John's for dinner. I told her to come and knock on my door when she got here. This was no accident. My staircase is impossible to ascend quietly (some would say to ascend at all!), so I hid, armed with a flame-thrower (Storm 750), a rifle (x-shot clip blaster), a sidearm (x-shot micro), three knives (pens) and lots of spare 'bullets'. I waited, I waited and then I waited some more. At last I heard her coming up the staircase. Once the moment was right, I dashed out and shot her with my flame-thrower, once in the arm and then once to deliver the fatal blow.

I then proceeded to go  to dinner with Esha and once more life was back to normal (or so I thought). . .

As I entered the buttery, I saw Shyam. This was an opportunity not to be missed. I breifly verified his identity and then stabbed him in the torso, leaving him dead. Now life was back to normal.

Later that evening, a mixture of my own anger at not having been sent wanted and the encouragement of Esha, I determind that if I truly wanted to go out 'not with a wimper, but a band', I would simply need more kills and that the best way to do this would be to post vexing messages via Esha on the group chat, in the hope that this would enfuriate people enough to come and make an attempt on my life. It appeared that this had worked, as later that evening I heard a knocking on my door. Due to extreme levels of paranoia, I had place a rather large chest of drawers being the door, so that Esha couldn't 'happen' to leave at the moment when my assailants came knocking (see picture). I asked who it was. A voice said that they thought that they had left the fish in my room. I assured them that they hadn't, saying that the only fish in my room were a medium size hake and something that I believed was a clown fish, but no goldfish as they had requested. They asked if they could come in and check, but I said that they would be better of checking with someone else. During this period, I had moved my chest of drawers and readied my flame-thrower. I opened the door a crack, shot out and immediately closed it again. Nothing. I opened the door a little further and suddenly, my left arm was hacked off by a pair off light sabers. I retreated into my room. A hand appeared around the door, pointing a gun in my direction. I moved before they could pull the trigger and thus the bullet that had been intended for me in fact shot Esha (although she was already dead, so it made no difference). Then Alex entered, wielding his lightsabres. I shot and killed him. I then followed him out into the corridor, where I then shot Michael and killed him. 'Yippeeee! My troubles are over!' I thought. But no sooner had I thought this, than a laser sword flashed around from behind my door, killing my instantly. Although my days as a play were over, I had finally obtained more kills then death, with the standing at 9 versus 8.

Alex, Michael and Andrew (the third and final assassin) then came in briefly, but soon Alex and Michael had to leave. Thus Esha, Andrew and myself enjoyed the remainder of the evening serenely engaged in academic pursuits. (^_-)???? I jest! We spent the remainder of the evening water fighting, nerfing, knife-pen throwing, pillow fighting and nunchucking. This was until, of course, Esha respawned. Naively, she believed that since I was dead, she was completely safe. Little did she know about the conversation that I had had with Andrew earlier that morning. Thus once she admitted that she was in fact alive again, Andrew promptly dashed across the room and slashed her with a laser sword. We played on until midnight and then at last, the shenanigans of the game were over ' life could once more go back to normal, or at least, it could until the next game. . .

Thursday, 24 November


[00:00 AM] And on the stroke of midnight, the game ends... (save for the duel!)

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