The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News"What is your name?"
From the darkness beyond the bag they had over his head, the words were screamed at him once again.
"J-J-"
Once again, something grabbed the back of his head and pushed him forwards into the water once more. Once more, he emerged choking, his lungs filling with moisture.
"What is your name?"
"I... I..." He coughed out another lungful of water and clenched his numb hands.
"Jir- AH!"
A loud hiss filed the air as something burnt his skin, just above his knee.
"Your name! What is it?"
"I... I... I have no name."
"About time. What is your number?"
"T... Two, f-four, nine."
Something hard hit the back of his head and he lost track of which way was down. Strangely, the pain barely registered anymore. However, the next thing he knew, something was slapping the side of his face.
"Oi! You! New blood! Wake up!"
Slowly, his eyes opened... and for the first time in weeks, he saw light.
Instantly, he clamped his eyes shut again and began moaning. Light... the light didn't feel right to him anymore.
"You! 249! Get up!"
249? That was him.
Which way was up? His mind was still reeling, but he was lying on something... that was probably the floor... so that way was probably down. He started to push himself to his feet, managed to make it halfway up, then felt his sense of balance go again. The world pitched around him and somehow, he found himself once again unaware of which way was up, but very aware of which way was down.
"Oh [censored]. Another one... open your blasted eyes, you fool!"
No... no, he was used to the darkness by now. It was easier if he couldn't see what they were doing to him... it was easier if he couldn't-
"Get up and open your eyes or I'll gouge them out!"
No... that was something he couldn't do.
And that was the story of how The Man with Glass Eyes lost his first pair of eyes.
It wasn't a pretty story, but then, for some reason, his story, like the story of many others in this world, is not a pretty one. It is a tale of pain, struggle and murder.
I feel as though I should clarify one thing... I am not The Man with Glass Eyes. However, while writing under this pseudonym to the one who calls themselves Lemony, I will be relating tales of his exploits. Lemony Snicket has other matters to keep track of. As such, I felt as though I should lighten their burden slightly and assist in their documentation of events.
The sad thing is that The Man with Glass Eyes was once a regular person like you or me. He was once a person with a life... perhaps he had a family, a loving wife named Sheila and two wonderful, intelligent and kind children named Felim and Sina, or perhaps he lived alone with a pet turtle called Geoffrey while working as a doctor, saving lives on a daily basis and asking for nothing but the smiles of his patients' families in return. Or, maybe, he was a con man who spent his time swindling others from their hard-earned money... it makes this story easier to read if we imagine that he was a bad person to begin with. Then, we can pretend that what was to happen to him was in some way justified. However, we will probably never know, and the chances are that he was just another regular person, not too unlike the people you pass on the streets every day...
Well, that was until They found him.
I know from the time I managed to accost the one who tortured him until he relinquished his identity once and for all that his name began with the sound â??Jir', but that torturer, drunk at the time I met him, (which is just as well, otherwise I would have yet another organisation searching for me, and not to offer me a box of chocolates for my contributions to their cause) never really thought of his subjects as human, and had seen hundreds of subjects. There was nothing remarkable about The Man with Glass Eyes when he passed through the hands of that torturer, as such, the torturer never learned his name or who he was. The chances are that those who knew who he once was wouldn't know him as he is now anyway, so I eventually gave up that line of inquisition.
What I do know for sure is that he survived what that organisation subjected him to, which is no small feat. Many things occurred, and he found himself one of the most prominent members of the VFD. However, those events are a story for another time. After all, with regards to The Man with Glass Eyes, I have a much more pressing matter to report and not very much time before the man who owns this typewriter finds me using it. I doubt that he will take kindly to me being in his home, and even if he does not alert the local police to my presence, I have found many weapons in this room alone, so I believe that his discovery of me would be a sign that I would be best to bid a hasty retreat. The best case scenario is that he alerts the local authorities to my presence, but due to a minor law passed in 1963, I am not allowed to be in this town at all, let alone within a man's residence without permission.
As such, I will skip to more recent events and provide exposition when I next have the opportunity.
His blade glinted in the moonlight, the blows of his opponent flickering back and forth, The Man with Glass Eyes was barely able to keep the viper at bay as its fangs flashed in and out, dancing off his own blade and with a resounding clang, flickering back to their original position.
Where the hell was Kit?
Were the onlookers going to help him?
The viper seemed to have super human agility, its fangs acting almost as two of the Man's weapons, each one getting increasingly closer to landing a killing blow on him.
Through the darkness that was his world, The Man with Glass Eyes saw in his own way. A hiss and the shifting of gravel gave away the creature's attack. The clanging of blades and the fact that he had not felt a blow meant that he had correctly predicted its movement.
A click of his own tongue echoed off the area around him, telling him that he was backing rapidly towards a wall.
Damn it all, this was The Viper, the one who had caused him so much pain in his past.
And he was about to die to it.
Well, if that was to be the case, so be it.
His left arm extended out towards the viper, giving it the perfect target to latch on to, then his right arm came down as its fangs sank into his limb, cleaving its torso in two.
It was then that a second blade pierced it from behind.
Ah, there was Kit.
I will apologise, dearest Lemony, but I have become somewhat more involved than I should have. You see, I caused a meeting of these three to occur... I wished to avoid further bloodshed, so I tracked down The Incredibly Docile Viper, Kit Snicket, and The Man with Glass Eyes and attempted to end this war before it began. I should not have taken matters into my own hands, and for that, I apologise.
For you see, even as I watched, the Incredibly Docile Viper, its body cleaved in two, grew itself a new head from its lower half and slithered off into the darkness. Even as I watched, The Man with Glass Eyes and Kit exchanged looks, then she drove her rapier through his other arm, then slashed at his knees, then finally drove her blade through her chest.
Forgive me Lemony, but I could not stand to see this. Nobody knows of my involvement, but your loyal servant, The Man with Glass Eyes was brought back from the dead by the incredible powers of modern day medicine in a hospital that I rushed his dying body to.
Why was he still alive?
Why was he here?
Hadn't Kit killed him?
He tried to sit up and instantly wished that he hadn't as he tore through many of the bandages covering his chest.
His right leg felt somewhat numb.
He reached down exploratorily and felt wood.
Ah... so he had been lucky enough to survive, lucky enough not to die, somehow, but...
But his leg was the price he had paid for that.
At least he had killed the viper, hadn't he?
And why had Kit and he been trying to kill each other? He had felt an urge to kill her for that time, but...
But he wasn't supposed to. He wasn't meant to have been turned into one of them already, was he?
I no longer write about The Man with Glass Eyes, dearest Lemony. I now write about the Man with Glass Eyes and a wooden leg.
I'm afraid that his story is not looking like it will improve in the near future, given that I think the Viper will make a similar recovery.
I'm sorry, Lemony, I should not have involved myself.
Your friend, D.B.
The Incredulously Docile Viper Reports:
ssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssss ow that hurt
Kit Snicket reports:
At 9:20 I was coshed with a suspiciously bat-shaped object (arms and head). But due to certain quickly-thought-up distractions of [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [REDACTED] [CENSORED] I managed to keep from being murdered until my limbs resurrected.
Then got the laser sword on the fridge and chopped his head off, but, in the manner of the accursed Hydra, two more have since sprung from his neck. War is hell.
(This is, unsurprisingly, concerning the IDV. The docile one. Well. He's somewhat domesticated, I suppose.)
The Silent Killer reports:
The silent killer knocked on Jamie's front door and greeted him as friendly as he could before he stabbed him right in the heart. His chest was bleeding like a waterfall of blood-red waters and people around started screaming. Then jamie fell to his knees and the last thing he saw before he drew his last breath was the shadow of a man that vanished into thin air.
2kg04I5 reports:
In the master of snakery, my fast target happened to be my boyfriend currently lying in bed with me. With no time for the weak, and no mercy, I grabbed my knife (aka pen) and stabbed it into his heart, rendering him dead before he even had a chance. The look of betrayal on his face was heartbreaking only for a moment, as I realised that I had gotten my first of (to be) many kills.
serioslyunforgunateebends reports:
Have killed ?? with a knife. She thought pre drinks in my room would be some light-hearted fun but oh how she was wrong. Dead as a do-do. Bye bye.
McManus-Winthrop Overpopulation Solutions Consultancy PLC reports:
It has come to the attention of the Board that there are rumours circulating among our clients that the firm has taken to attempting post-mortem depopulation. Needless to say, such a practice would be ridiculous and would surely fall far short of our rigorous standards for methods of depopulation. What occurred was an attempt at pre-mortem depopulation which, due to the dynamic nature of the modern overpopulation management industry, over-satisfied an already catered-for demand. Allegations of malpractice shall be handled by the firm's legal team, who assure the Board that the lack of information regarding the subject's mortal status qualifies as mitigating circumstances.
On a related matter, rumours claiming that poor Q1 showings for the firm indicate immanent bankruptcy are similarly unfounded. The firm's finances stand at an all time high in its day-long history, and the Board is confident of improved results by the end of the quarter.
McManus-Winthrop Overpopulation Solutions Consultancy PLC
lo oculto reports:
Clean non-complex kill with a knife (pen labelled) to the neck, outside of the lecture building.
I killed Beau del'Air today at 10am with a pen labelled knife. She disputed at first but it occurred outside [REDACTED], in the building, but well outside [REDACTED], and I believe the death was accepted eventually.
To all who wish to read this tale of woe.
I must accelerate my tale forward temporarily, for you see, after all of the terrible things that had befallen him, the Man with Glass Eyes (and now a wooden leg) had eventually managed to make a friend, a single human being who he had been able to rely on, who he felt that he could at least somewhat confide in.
Such people are rare in this life, and perhaps that friend meant to use him or betray him, but for now, we will assume that their intentions were genuineâ?¦ which is a shame, considering that said friend has just been brutally murdered right in front of the Man with Glass Eyes.
Had he been here before? A discussion of how to get to one's targets, a female threat that had come out of nowhere the moment he turned his attention away, a momentary lapse in paranoia that had cost the life of his companion, it all felt so familiar... and yet, he knew that he had never done this. He knew that he himself was not the man who had lost a friend this way. His name was not 'Grey'.
But it felt so familiar. His hand wasn't encased in a deadly weapon, brimming with electricity, but he had had a weapon to hand... if only he had been more observant.
He hadn't... that was all there was to it. He wanted to blame the one who had killed his friend, wanted to be able to say that it was somebody else's fault but his own... but that was not the way that the world worked. If a person wished to keep what they owned, they had to hold on tightly to it, or else it would be snatched away from them.
It was not the fault of the one who had killed his friend. They were just doing as they had been informed to. He simply sighed and checked for vital signs, not really hoping to find any, but knowing that if he did not check, he'd never forgive himself.
Nothing... of course.
You see, dear Lemony, repeatedly having terrible twists of fate occur to an individual can numb them, turn them into something hollow. They lose hope, you see.
Now personally, I find that somewhat distasteful.
I lack sufficient data to be sure of my conclusion, but I believe this feeling correlates closest to what your people call.... being stabbed in the back Out partnership is at an end, and even as we speak, I feel my consciousness fading away.
Many have said them to you thus far, but I now wish to say them for myself... Thank you, Umpire. May we meet again in another life...
What is there to do in a lecture?
Many things.
One can try taking a picture
(Phone rings)
Blue bars proclaiming procrastination in every aisle
Facebook is the theme
Rarely, if you care to look, you can see someone smile
Looking at a meme
But wait, is that a foe of mine?
In row three
The hair, so fair, I see it shine
Woe unto thee
I'm waiting, knife readily in my hand
(And triad)
Friend in position, he's taking his stand
(Never forget about the triad)
He takes the other exit, still unsuspicious
I follow
Then ram a dagger in his back, the motion so vicious
Victory hollow
"Why?" you ask, "You won!" you say
That's true
But destroyed is a partnership that was straight up bae
Boohoo
I challenge The Man with the Glass Eye to write a report in shitty verse as opposed to prolonged prose next time
VFD's Youngest Poet stabbed me with a pen knife at 10.05 before Babbage lecture theatre
Still riding the high from my kill I walk in the building of my next lecture. Being under the false assumption of being in an OoB zone I relax, chat with a friend, say hello to another. Then I see them. Two suspicious figures, sneaking up on me, one of them I know to be of my profession. Soon enough I'm dead. While the blood is seeping into my clothes, out of my lifeless body I curse many things. My own stupidity, my acquaintances betrayal and the early morning lectures (because when do I even stop complaining about that). I also contemplate the fate of my comrades and ask myself why "the Poet" has of yet not posted any poetry... strange.
I'm writing to report that I killed The Donnie; one of my targets at 1pm.
Today at roughly 1:50 I killed The Incredibly Dangerous Viper in the main area in [REDACTED] as we were waiting around before [REDACTED].
Garrick Ollivander is dead.
[Brevity is the soul of wit. ~LS]
I also killed pasta puttanesca with my pen labelled knife at 6pm, walking down [REDACTED] on our way to [REDACTED], while discussing what weapons we like to used to kill. Safe to say my demonstration of my weapon's function was not particularly appreciated.
With a network of spies across the field, I quickly established that there was to be one dangerous dinner ahead. One target, one potential murderer. Danger all around. First, arrive early, scout the area. The restaurant is safety. Second, don't give anything away. They will never suspect. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Who will make the first move? Time passes slowly when death could be but minutes away. Glancing to my left, I eye up my target. To my right, my potential killer waits. Who should I go for first? The bill has arrived. Time to prepare. Gun in my pocket, knife up my sleeve, I walk slowly towards the door. They aren't following. Perfect. I wait, just around the corner. Strategically positioned, I can see my victims coming. Peterchilledwards* - dagger to the back, down in a second, he didn't know what hit him. Focus. Georgina Orwell is on her way. She is approaching the exit. Her hand goes into her pocket. I spy a glance at the hilt of a dagger. She means business. She reaches out to open the door. She pulls, her other hand ready to whip out her weapon. BAM!! One bullet in the heart. I have no mercy.
Beep - Beep; Beep - Beep
My alarm rang out like a knife through my eardrum. I had set it much earlier than usual, because today, I had a mission. I knew that I had the perfect opportunity to kill one of my targets. I readied myself for the day with eager anticipation, and armed myself for the fight.
I went to my secret rendezvous with Ivan Lachrymose - we discussed our plan and when the time was right, we set of on our adventure. We arrived at Benjiamin Christopher Arnold's college where we set about finding his accommodation. It was well-hidden, or at least, it must have been as we could not find it. But then, having crossed the river twice and walked halfway around the perimeter of the college, we finally found the staircase. It was, err, right next to the porters lodge that we had walked in through! :-( Alas, we were unperturbed and proceeded to wait, and wait, and wait . . .
Finally, after we had decided that we would leave in five minutes if he had not shown, I saw him coming towards us. He walked passed us into the bike shed. I readied my pistol. I waited in stealth, my heart pounding in my chest. Then as he came out, I shot him in the heart, leaving his body to be found by whomsoever might find it, since I knew that Ivan and myself would be long gone by then . . .
Q
I was fortunate enough to have an ally, Ivan Lachrymose, who knew my target. They provided me with his schedule and a meeting place, and I made it there. We walked from the meeting place towards his accommodation, expecting to bump into him at a certain point, but this did not occur.
We then decided to go to his accommodation, and waited outside. I was wondering if he had changed his schedule, so Ivan Lachrymose tried to see if he would be coming out soon. No sooner had this happened, than a man walked out of his accommodation accompanied by two females, who I was assured were not playing. Ivan Lachrymose called to him "Hey Peter"
*Pokemon random encounter battle music plays*
A wild Peterchilledwards3 appeared
Peter said "Hey Assassins"
It doesn't effect Pokemon Trainer Cambridge Blue
Pokemon Trainer Cambridge Blue: "Go, Squirtle!"
Squirtle used water gun
It's super effective!
Peterchilledwards3 fainted
And with that, my first kill was achieved. I thanked him for his time and headed off to somewhere safe.
2kg04I5 dead. Lol
Killed The Alchemist, at around 12:45.
Just got assassinated at 12:45 today while being half-unconscious after solving a ton of differential equations. Moral of the story: differential equations are bad for your health.
P.S. To my mysterious assassin, sorry if you felt I appeared pretty lukewarm...my mind was so saturated with all kinds of integrals at that time that I could hardly think or talk.
Regards,
The Alchemist
I was stabbed in the back by The Shadow at 13:30 while sitting in [REDACTED] Library. (I guess I get resurrected though since it was out of bounds?) I was just sitting quietly procrastinating in the library when I was dimly aware of a presence behind me. Assuming that this was probably a librarian or something, I didnâ??t look up. I realised my mistake when I felt a knife slide into my back, but by then it was too late.
I stabbed Dewey Denouement whilst he was procrastinating from work on his phone with a knife at 1.30 in the [REDACTED] Library.
[To clarify, Libraries are Out of Bounds for both reasons of not disrupting the work of other people, and for giving Assassins somewhere they can do their academic work without being distracted by the game. The Shadow has been made Wanted for two days and the kill does not stand. ~LS]
It is vitally important that I retrieve the sugar bowl before it falls into the hands of those do-gooders styling themselves as the 'right' side of the schism. For the greater good, its contents must never be revealed. If Lemony can move openly again, we will have suffered a great blow. I deduced from Quigley the one I should seek was Erectile Reptile, who I knew of but could not place from where. Armed to the teeth, I found him where he least expected and almost apologetically shot him once in the chest. Alas, his room did not contain the longed-for Vessel for Disaccharides, but I found important clues as to where I should look next.
Count Olaf
I killed a person. This was serioslyunforgunateebends.
I also tried to kill a person, but they didn't answer their door. This was Her Majesty's Super Special Service. I left a note under their door so hopefully they will email you too.
killed by The Quagmire Sapphires
Her Majesty has been informed of an attempt on the life of her most trusted serviceman.
A knock on the door comes, but an agent knows not to open their door willy-nilly-ly. A quick look through the peephole confirms: it is not authority nor informant, but assassin. An agent knows not to engage in such disadvantageous situations.
Minutes later, a note. "The Quagmire Sapphires" were here, but her Majesty's man has remained alive. Through sheer (cowardice?) strategy.
I (frog) killed VFD's Youngest Poet.
I stabbed her with a knife in the chest, in the dining hall. It was pretty cold as she was my [REDACTED_BUT_THIS_MAKES_IT_MORE_TRAGIC].
What a shame that the most accessible antidote to Medusoid Mycelium poisoning has been destroyed so soon.
I killed Wasabi in his college dining hall apologising profusely because [REDACTED_THAT_MEANS_THIS_WAS_TRIVIAL].
[CENSORED] commies...
I will say your challenge did amuse me
But alas, it falls on death ears, you see
For all that I may write long stories (with emphasis on the ee)
I do not do poetry
I mean, seriously, do I look as if
I can write in prose?
I'm afraid, dear volunteer, your challenge has a nasty whiff (shut up, I don't know what syllables are)
And away from it, I turn my nose.
(Suitably bad for you?)
Now, on to my actual report. Thankyou, dear challenger, for amusing me temporarily, for this report most certainly will not.
Lemony, I am finding this job to be more distasteful by the day.
Perhaps some context is required on this matter before I truly explain what I mean.
To L.S. and whoever else may read this report:
I hope this day finds you well.
It has come to my attention that The Man with Glass Eyes has made another move and it falls to me to inform all those who may be affected by him of what has transpired.
I warn you now that if you keep reading, you will not find a tale of retribution or happiness where good triumphs in the end. You will only find a tale of espionage, lies and murder where there is no good to triumph, only the evil, the corrupt and those they take advantage of.
Take the man who I am documenting the movements of, for instance. Crouched here under a flight of stairs with gunfire echoing around me, it falls to me once again to tell his tale, or nobody else will.
After tracking down the drill master within the organisation The Man with Glass Eyes unfortunately found himself held against his will within, I was able to tie him upside down and repeatedly feed him incredibly strong cheese until he finally cracked and told me what I wanted to know about the events after the loss of the poor man's eyes.
What has become clear to me is that few within that organisation actually knew what it did. I did, however, manage to find out that most within it referred to it as 'The Thing', which was very informative. What its members do know is that they no longer remember who they once were, only what they are meant to do within 'The Thing'. 'The Drill Master's, for instance, was meant to take the shattered individuals given to them by the torturers and turn them into something. Apparently, when he was dumped in front of this particular 'drill master', The Man with Glass Eyes was no more than a shadow of a man, no different to any of the others who were presented to them. Like the others, the 'drill master' had to take something from this man in order to remind them that they still had something to lose and still had something to live for.
In this case, this man wasn't using his eyes anyway. The torturers inflicted pain but never took anything from the poor men who were randomly selected by 'The Thing'. The Man with Glass Eyes, therefore, had only lost his identity to the torturer. The first thing the 'drill master' did was take the man's eyes... with a drill, apparently.
From that day onwards, The Man with Glass Eyes was turned into a killer... or at least, that was the plan. However, from what reports I have gathered from a screaming man begging for 'anything but the stilton', I was able to find out that he was a little more resistant to the conditioning than most. Despite having been broken by the torturer, The Man with Glass Eyes fought against the conditioning of the drill master.
Things occurred, and now he has been sighted in Cambridge. As I doubt my cover will last much longer, I more on to more recent events.
Imagine, dear reader, that you had seen your friend die in front of you... imagine that you were rapidly losing everything you lived for in this life, besides the chance to strike back at those who had hurt you. It would turn a man into something... something less than a man.
You see, the Baudelairs had each other, they had somebody else to support them, to be with them through their troubles. The Man with Glass Eyes had a single individual... a man who I do not wish to name.
Now, imagine that you were given back that person who you felt you could trust. Lemony, I must say that your methods of healing are truly something astounding. Your ability to bring a man back from the brink of death is something I am truly envious of.
Now, imagine that you, as The Man with Glass Eyes had a few others who you knew and were on friendly terms with. Now, reader, imagine that the organisation which had given you back your reason for living had turned to you, pointed at one of these acquaintances and said 'kill'.
This is where my report begins.
The Man with Glass Eyes paced back and forth across his room irritably, the glass orbs in his sockets danced around, sightlessly, swivelling back and forth. His breath came ragged, his fingers started to clutch one of his weapons, then dropped it to the floor.
He couldn't do this... could he?
The Thing had tried to turn him into a killer, somebody who they could point in a direction, say 'kill' and know it would be done... they'd failed, but now the VFD wanted the same from him.
Yes, his target had done something to anger the VFD, they had done something worthy of punishment, but still...
He cursed again and threw an axe across the room, where it embedded itself in a wall. Mumbling to himself, he reached up and pulled it free.
'[Censored] this [Censored] with a [Censored adjective] [Censored noun] while [Censored verb] with a [Very Censored noun] and [Censored adverb] [Censored verb]... (Insert swear word of choice here)!'
Damn it, but he'd do it.
He wrote ahead, letting his target know that from now on, they were enemies... and then he sighed and drew a pistol. It was time to do some research.
Now, when he heard back from his friend, a friend who was now also part of the VFD, he had his suspicions... for a start, he was fairly sure that he knew when the target's [Redacted obligation] was... and it wasn't this day. Secondly, here was his friend claiming they were not going to assist directly in the kill, and then offering to show up anyway. Thirdly, there were certain things that the VFD did not condone... and his friend had done one of those... nobody else seemed to think these things weird, and he was not sure about the first matter, so he kept quiet.
After all, this was his friend they were talking about, wasn't it?
He was probably still paranoid from his time spent in The Thing.
That had to be it.
As his own blood pooled on the pavement around him and he felt his body slump backwards, he inwardly cursed himself for being so lax in his judgement. He had no clue why... but for some reason, his friend had chosen to hurt him like all of the others he knew in this world... was he an agent for The Thing? Was that it? Were they hurting him even from here?
Once again, he had nobody but himself to blame, right? After all, this was the way the world worked, and he was foolish for believing anything else.
That was the last thing that he knew before losing consciousness.
And so ends my report of the recent activities of The Man with Glass Eyes, a wooden leg and a strangely shaped gash across his chest.
Lemony, my friend, I now see why you encouraged people away from your writing. However, I will continue to do my duty.
-Eternally, the friend of the reader,
D.B.
Okay, Lemony, I need your help with this. This is not copypasta, this is a long read, but I feel like my safety or well-being could very well depend on this. This is video game related, specifically Majora's Mask, and this is the creepiest shit that has ever happened to me in my entire life.
I know it's early in the morning, I've stayed up all night, I can't sleep, I don't care if people see this, that's not the point, I just want the word to get spread so I don't suffer for nothing. I've lost the will to type about this, the less I dwell on this the better, I think my actions just speak for themselves. I did what you guys told me to do, I played the Elegy of Emptiness song at the first prompt by the game I was given, but I think that's what the game or Ben (Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm even humouring the absurd idea that he exists in the game) wanted me to do. He's following me now, not just in the game, he's in my dreams. I see him all the time, behind my back, just watching me. I haven't gone to any of my classes, I've stayed in my college with the windows closed and the blinds shut - that way I know he can't watch me. But he still gets me when I play, when I play he can still see me. The game is scaring me now. It talked to me for the first time - not just using text that's already in the game - it spoke to me. Talked to me. It referenced Ben. It talked to me. I don't know what it means. I don't know what it wants. I never wanted this, I just want my old life back.
I can't sleep. I've been trying so hard but the harder I try I just get more restless. I just feel like that statue is appearing whenever I close my eyes.
Didn't sleep at all, just going to start my day. I don't think I have the energy to go to class today, I'm going to drive back down to talk to my supervisor, taking my buddy The Man With Glass Eyes and a Wooden Leg with me just in case.
Back home now. No sign of the old man, really weird that he appears to be moving the next day, but maybe the For Sale sign was up there yesterday and I just didn't notice it. The Man With Glass Eyes and a Wooden Leg wants to know what's gotten me all worked up, I didn't tell him. Going to eat, feel like death.
Could've sworn driving back from Subway that I saw the Elegy statue buried in some shrubbery staring at me go by. Now I definitely, definitely need sleep.
I can't do it anymore, he keeps talking to me, asking me for blood. It's too much, I am trying to resist, I can't give in.
I have finally done it, I did what he asked me to do. They had no idea, they didn't know what was going on. Everything was going according to plan. There has never been a practical, no supervision, it was all fake. But they still came, trusting me enough to approach me. I killed them. I killed them all with my bare hands. I can see their faces in my sleep. It's too much for me. I'm sorry.
Goodbye, Ben
Hail and well met to my successor.
It has been but a scanty few months since my power grew to its zenith and I, as must we all, passed on that terrible glory and terrible burden to you. I know not your name, for that is beyond me. There is but one power to rival what I now wield, and that is yours, for it is my power. You will to comprehend this in the fullness of time, when all is done, and you are spent. We think of ourselves as those who stand amongst the legs of gods, as scavengers of strength greater than our own, that we bend to our will. We do not think ourselves masters of it, nor servants: it is a symbiosis, a sipping from the cup of knowledge at the price of nothing but time and skill. We think that we alone of all those who have passed before us will truly delve into the innermost secrets, look past the roiling darkness and come about and see the blazing light behind. I say 'we', but I speak only for myself, in truth. I do not know what you will do with your time. I cannot see that. You are like a patch of blankness in this foresight I have borrowed. I cannot see the cause, but I see the effects, the torturous fury unleashed again, yet again on this fine city. We are all blind in that regard to the future, and the haze which is the soon-to-be-now distorts further as more power is gained. I cannot see beyond your reign. I cannot see how it ends. But however it ends, you would do well to learn something of what I have learned, and so I move in your time, as a pawn in your game. It comes to an end all too soon, believe me. It comes to an end all too late.
It begins with betrayal.
You will recall, of course- for whoever you are, you will have watched me from near or afar, before the chance fell into your lap to take on my mantle- that in my tenure, the mortals that I bid watch over the city and enforce my will when I felt disinclined to wield the more direct and simplistic of my repetoire. You will have laughed as they turned against each other- petty scheming, crème brulee, mutilation of the one thing which keeps me anchored to this reality- and this idea grew like a cancer in their minds, turning the most loyal of them into traitors to their closest friends, throwing themselves against one another in an effort to impress me, while doing all in the name of open rebellion against something against which there can be no rebellion. You enjoyed the twists and turns, until I bid them ave atque vale, putting them beyond one another at the close of the game, as entertainment grew to distraction and I began to lose my struggle- but enough of that. The salient point here is the conflict. The corruption which began and, like an ember fanned into an all-consuming flame, driving people in fascinating ways to contradictory ends. The game that we play takes its cues from its past, it reforms and morphs itself to suit the situation. Corruption is now a part of the game in its own right, a beacon to some and an anathema to others. You will have seen it by now.
The Police are no longer the safe haven they once were. Corruption, once institutionalised, gains its own rebels. Consider, if you will, the terror of a figure of power using it for their own ends, safe in their own moral code which has no room for weakness or pity. They may do it with grim determination, or perhaps a glass will be raised among friends to the cleansing of the earth, maybe, or even they will come to take a deeper joy in their actions. Whatever the case, they have morals, they have a code. They are predictable. They can be reasoned with. They have friends. But then think of something even worse- a figure who uses others carelessly, throws them away to no particular end, who fights to stay alive and for nothing else. Who exists to cause chaos. You have seen something of it already.
This night, a Police raid was organised on a Wanted criminal. You saw the first raid of the new Police in the old game- this was the first raid of the new Corrupts. Your Police had their target. They knew where he was to be at a certain time. Several of their number made the journey. The Man With Glass Eyes and a Wooden Leg, Facilitator Ishmael and Sergeant Hartman all stood ready to answer your call and rushed to their posts. They were betrayed, to their deaths, by the very person who had organised the mission. They had trusted in the wrong person, and were struck down: their target was safe, and far away. I projected myself there, stood there mute as it occurred, and when they turned to me, allowed myself to be struck with a grim smile on my face. There was no way in which they could truly harm me, so I accepted their touch as though it were death. I watched as your energies restored life to the others and were baffled and confused by me. And now the new aspect of the game is unfolding like smoke from torched fields, as the risk of betrayal rises to stymie the co-ordinated and effective actions we saw rise in the previous year. I cannot look and see what action you will take- that much remains unknown to me- but that is where you now stand as I have forseen it. What happens now is in your domain.
I watch with interest as the game continues. Send my regards to my Lady-Friend. I am sure she survives me, if anyone does.
The Gentleman
Through a mutual friend I was aware that he had [REDACTED] in a hall at half 8 on a Tuesday evening. So I snuck in at 20 past and took up my position by the front door, ready to pounce on the target as they arrived. 10 minutes went by and he was let in, damp and sodden from the rain - ripe for the picking. I shot a nerf bullet into his chest and his face filled with anguish at this fatal shot. We shook hands and went our separate ways...
I got shot today by an unnamed individual, after stepping inside to [REDACTED] practice. Also, this happened in {REDACTED], which is a church...
[Just FYI, we don't allow kills in places of worship. Al Funcoot is sent Wanted for three days and the kill does not stand. If you're killing somewhere non-standard, please check the Out of Bounds list before you do it... ~LS]
The war goes on; I have a hunch
Stephano's corpse was found at lunch.
Didn't register the mysterious person hanging around my accommodation as I walked back from lectures. Got whapped with one of those extendable laser sword things. Gg :)
DECLARATION OF BANKRUPTCY
It is with considerable regret that the Board must today announce the liquidation of the firm. This may come as little surprise to many of our clients, who have observed the firm's poor returns this quarter with mounting concern, and the Board thanks those who remained with us until the end.
The firm's liquidation is not purely financial in cause. The modern overpopulation management industry is becoming increasingly inhospitable for private enterprise, as the new US government appears to be cornering the market with their foreign, healthcare, and environmental policies, leaving little room for even a firm as established as McManus-Winthrop to carve out a place in the industry. Furthermore, the firm's sole field operative has tendered his resignation to the Board, citing concerns about prospects for advancement within the firm, employee pension and dentistry schemes, and the overwhelming likelihood of a sudden violent death.
The McManus-Winthrop trademark will be retained by the Board. It may only be hoped that the firm will reconstitute itself some day in the future.
McManus-Winthrop Overpopulation Solutions Consultancy PLC
Alert alert! My (as of now) loyal police heart skips a beat. Someone committed a crime, a sinful endeavour in a place of worship at that. This sort of behaviour cannot (under no circumstances) be condoned. My (fair enough, it is The Man with the Glass Eyes') police forces gather and we make our way to the place where he is rumoured to be. However, the target snuck past our watchful eyes. Our forces divided, I myself with a trusted and anonymous accomplice make our way to the place where the delinquent lives. Access to the Building was easily achieved, the inventive assassins claiming to have a supervision there. Standing in front of his door, we discussed a strategy to gain access to his room. We decided to go for the classic "You left your lecture notes, I brought them here for you". Without fail it worked. My target immediately opened his door and was greeted by a shot in the stomach. After a short chat we fled the scene, not wanting to stay at the crime scene for a prolonged amount of time.
The night is dark, and storm-clouds coil
Across the time-forgotten heath
A vicious wind strikes mortals' toil
To crush the rainswept world beneath.
Through courtyards old, its gusts will wreck
Each edifice, each turret old.
But in this room, a little snek
Hides warm and snuggled from the cold.
In marches Snicket, to repay
My kindness with foul treachery!
She grabs a sword, the snek to slay
And claim her notoriety.
But I am fast: my coils, my fangs
To claim her life with desperate lunge;
Her sword against my heart-scales clangs
As mine within her chest doth plunge.
Died to someone in essentially identical circumstances as my kill Yesterday them having spectated my previous kill.
A Twist of Fate! Struck down at dawn
Walking across [REDACTED] lawn
I would like to report a failed kill attempt made earlier today by me on UVH. I arrived at his college at 11:20 am after [REDACTED] and spent the first ten minutes snooping around his sight hoping to discover an easy way to get into his accommodation. It turns out that the site was more heavily fortified than I thought it would be and instead of entering the site I decided it would be a better idea to wait outside the college campus in the hopes that I might spot my target. I waited there for another 20 minutes where I spotted quite a few people who happened to look similar to [REDACTED]. Not wanting to potentially attack someone not in the game, I then decided to leave at 11:50 am in order to hopefully [REDACTED].
My sleep inside Valimar had been longer than I had expected when I had accepted the Chancellor's request to exterminate certain known dissenters. He wasn't called the Blood and Iron Chancellor for no reason: previous operatives who had shown signs of incompetency were mercilessly discarded, and replaced with those who promised to do better. I knew that this time was fast approaching me, so was quick to act.
I broached this subject with a friend of mine a few days ago. I knew that if he had any allegiances to my target, that he would have responded differently to how he did when I questioned him. Plus, he's an all around great guy who I trust, so I knew I could depend on him. Last night, we communicated via the orbal net, and this evening's plan was set in place.
I was to meet him in his room a short while before my target, Jack Daniels, was to be called there. He would not expect anyone else to be hiding in the room, especially not one of the Chancellor's most favoured enforcers. I arrived at my friend's room and, after gaining his explicit consent to use my weaponry there, lay in wait for my unsuspecting victim, in a location that was no visible from the door, and where I had a very clear view of the room.
My friend locked his door, and moments later we heard a knock. Readying my ARCUS, I began charging an aqua bleed spell. However, the voice was female. Quickly, I cancelled the arte, and after a few moments, the conversation stopped. My friend had barely sat back down when a second knock on the door. This interaction was more promising. My ARCUS charged, I waited and seconds later saw ]P2] bend to pick up his mug from my friend's table. He had his back facing me as my friend was smart, and faced deliberately away from me, not that it would have mattered too much as I was sufficiently hidden (I hope). As soon as he grabbed the mug, I broke cover, and he fell to my aqua bleed arte. Triple advantage encounters such as this one are a surefire recipe for success it seems.
He took the attack in good spirit, as he lay crumpled on the ground, ready to pass out at any moment. We shook hands, and I bid him farewell, safe in the knowledge that, should he recover from these wounds, he would think twice before defying the establishment again.
Rean Schwarzer, the Azure Awakener
[P.S. I was meant to bring consolatory cookies but was running slightly late so didn't have any. Turn up to a social and I'll give you some]
A couple of week ago a friend had been hosting pres at his and I left my mug in his room which I have been meaning to get back for weeks. I finally organised it today after an odd statement from my friend that he had labs until 6:30 so I couldn't get it any sooner (he was a natsci so I believed him).
Upon going to finally retrieve the mug Rean Schwarzer, the Azure Awakener (the assassin) was waiting behind the cupboard, poised with a water gun to take me down. Before I had even realised what was going on there was a blast to my head and it was over.
Rean Schwarzer, the Azure Awakener obtained special permission from the person whose room it was to make a kill / use a water weapon in the area. In general, don't do combat in non-Assassins' rooms unless you've checked with the occupant beforehand and they're fine with it. ~LS
I attempted to kill Fabled Flop but having received no reply at his door, left.
On the way back to my accom, I decided to hit up Volunteer Feline Detective, but didn't get any response knocking on every door of his building. I decided to call it a day.
A student who was a beginner,
Got a target with little to pin her.
He hit on a scheme,
It could work like a dream,
To murder her while she ate dinner.
Â
So he waited in hall for an hour.
From opening to six forty-four (shush)
Without any dinner,
He sorely considered
The downsides of being a wallflower.
Â
But this frivolous student at [REDACTED],
He was faced with a taxing abstracted.
If he didn't recognise her,
How could he surprise her?
That foolish young student extracted.
Dearest reader
For once, I differ away from my tale of woe and tragedy... to tell another tale of woe and tragedy.
You see, even as I am happy not to have to relate more suffering for the one I have been following, another has suffered in their place.
I did not know the man, neither I think did The Man with Glass Eyes.
---------------------------------
Things were quite smooth... but then, it wasn't his fight. There was no reason why things would go wrong. He watched, eyes unseeing, but other senses telling him as breath was caught, a trigger was pulled, a man died. Their accomplice was paid, the assassins moved on. The Man with Glass Eyes followed them, having taken no real part in what transpired.
He had been here to observe, nothing more. He had been here to watch, just in case something happened.
He just wanted to know whether or not the one he had talked to before was going to make it through the night. They were another one partaking in Lemony's little 'game'. They were, of course, not his responsibility. However, he'd wanted to know what would happen.
It was only as he left them that the second man approached him.
At first, his hands went for a weapon, but the man's breathing was even, tranquil. There was no hostility in his gait. The Man with Glass Eyes relaxed slightly, but still kept his hand on his gun.
"You've taken a liking to them, haven't you?"
He didn't recognise the voice.
"I... excuse me?"
"You've taken a liking to them... why? Why do you keep forming connections, why do you keep trying to make things that are just going to be destroyed?"
Now, he was on his guard.
"Why do you care?"
The man who he could not see sounded like they were on the brink of tears.
"Because we both know how that story always ends... do you think I enjoy writing this tragedy?"
"I... have you been following me?"
The blackness swallowed and then turned and started to walk away.
"Oi, I'm not done yet! Who are you and what do you want?"
"I am... not your enemy."
"That tells me nothing, who are you?"
"That probably doesn't matter as we will likely never meet again."
Now, dearest reader, do not allow these events to overshadow the fact that tonight, a man lost his life. In choosing to spare The Man with Glass Eyes the sorrow of loss, the world has inflicted that loss upon another.
It truly is a dark world we live in.
I would highly advise the reader to carry a torch on their person at all times, they are wonderfully useful contraptions. I would also advise the reader to seek for something that inspires hope... something unlike this tale.
Now if you will excuse me, I must end this report, for there is a person I have to meet and who is likely going to attempt to have me drink a full two litres of water in a short space of time. I must prepare myself.
- Eternally your friend, D.B.
Cucco didn't mean to get anyone killed.
Cucco just happened to be there.
They smashed a pot and guns were shot, but no one attacked Cucco.
Blood and shards were everywhere.
Cucco got so thrilled.
But Cucco didn't get to call his friends.
Cucco sad and target dead.
WE WILL BE THERE WHEN IT ENDS
There are a great many things one can see through the Spyglass. Sometimes it is a charming, happy scene - a young child, innocent of the darkness clouding the minds of those around them. Other times they are stranger, darker - a good man gone mad, running from his own shadow.
And sometimes, one might see a trio of strange and shadowy figures making their way through the twisted courtyards of a building that is not their own. Ordinarily, this would be called trespassing - ah, but look! Some kind and friendly individual is opening doors for them, and helpfully leading them further into this maze, directing them towards their unsuspecting victim.
Of course, the individual's kindness and friendliness has been carefully ensured with the promise of payment.
(An economically-minded individual might have had the sense to contact the would-be victim and encourage them to up the ante, but I digress.)
See, now they have made their way inside the building, checking each door carefully. Oh, but it doesn't look good for them - it would seem their target's door is set in the end of a corridor, with no convenient vantage points from outside the range of the peephole. Oh dear.
Aha! Hiding blind, the sole assassin waits hidden here, while the rear guard take up position further away, round the corner, out of sight.
And now the victim has opened his door - my goodness, he's awfully trusting, isn't he? He doesn't even think to close the door behind their helpful guide. And now - oh, it would seem he's getting shot at. He manages to duck back from the first round, but he can't close his door in time to stay alive. How very unfortunate for him.
It would seem his killers are leaving now, with promises of payment for the guide and offerings for the dead. Another life taken, another bargain made. My, the things one sees with the Spyglass.
To the kind umpire,
I am writing to you from the safety of an underwater cave, to which I returned having committed a most nefarious and yet necessary deed. In the quest of utmost importance to find the sugar bowl before it comes into Count Olaf's hands, I executed lo oculto with an extendable laser sword as he left his lecture this morning. Sadly the sugar bowl was not found to be on his person, however I found an important clue which I intend to act on soon.
Remember, you are my last hope that these tales can finally be told to the general public.
Will all due respect,
Caligula
I killed Quigley Quagmire just outside [REDACTED] at around 1.50pm. He had just finished his food as I walked inside with my friend. He walked past us and I quickly turned around, followed him outside and then stabbed him in the back.
Cod, chips and mushy peas . . . and a knife in the heart! This is how my day has treated me.
It was much the same as any other day. My life was faultless, save from The Shadow of paranoia that was everpresent for me at least. As usual, I went to lunch, but then I made a stupid mistake, a mistake that would prove fatal. I forgot to ask for take out! Alas, by the time I had realised, it was too late. I decided to bite the bullet and eat within it's for walls, after all, what was the worst that could happen (O how little I knew).
As I left that Godforsaken place, I heard a rapid shuffle of footsteps closing on me from behind. I started to turn. As soon as I did a hand leaped over my shoulder grabbing me firmly across the chest and ah! a cold knife slipped into my heart. I can still remember my last thoughts as my life ebbed away from me: Thank God it wasn't me stomach. I payed good money for those chips...
Cucco didn't mean to get anyone hurt.
Cucco just happened to be there.
They ate some cod, a chicken cawed, and Cucco saw a weapon!
T'was a stupid thing to bear,
Cucco was alert!
But deadly shadows got the victim first,
Cucco sad and target dead.
YOU WILL FEEL OUR PAIN AND CURSE
Best wishes,
Cucco
I had gathered sufficient details as to who my next target would be and where he might target resides. It was safe to say that he lived in heavily secured accommodation and breaking in would be quite the challenge. I ventured into the night (at around half past 7), with my hood up, weaponry in pockets, and google map in-hand, walking quickly so that none of my killers would have enough time to recognize me in the street. I got to my destination at roughly quarter to 7, taking me another 5 minutes to find the entrance to his building which was also a challenge in itself. I found my target's headquarters but I then needed to work out how I might enter the complex.
Fortunately, I had managed to follow a few residents into the complex, also discovering that I needed to get through a second door with a security lock, in order to reach my target. After a 15 minute wait a couple began exiting the building and I managed to enter as they made their exit. My next task was to locate my target's room.
He was located at the top of a flight of stairs, each with an ample view of the flat kitchen. Fortunately he was not residing in his kitchen. I reached his bedroom door and knocked. The light was off and there was no noise but as a fellow assassin this was a clever disguise. He most certainly was in there, preparing for a battle of the century, nerf gun on nerf gun.
We spent roughly two minutes firing shots through a gap in his bedroom door before any of us hit one another. I fire one of my discs and it narrowly misses, he fires a shot and also misses. This continued until he masterfully made a shot around the corner of his door, firing a bullet into my chest, extinguishing a fresh flame in this game of murder. Alas my kill attempt was committed in vain. I should have brought some bombs instead.
A knock at the door. Who could that be? Silence. I stand still. Nothing. I wait for several minutes, not daring to move. Is this my killer? Another knock. No words. It almost confirms my worst nightmares. I glance round the room for a weapon. A tiny gun. It's all I have. I make my way to the door, and take a glimpse. Sure enough, there he is, a gun in hand. I snap the door shut, and make a quick plan. Speed is the key. I have the advantage here, a door as a shield and I say when the barrier between us opens. I glance out for a second. Bang. I miss. One of his bullets hits the door. A close one. Tension is high. I open the door again and fire another bullet. It dives straight into his chest. I win. Nobody will get me that easily.
Her Majesty has been informed of an attempt on the life of Athos, one the current threats to the crown.
A good agent locates their target. An agent stands at the door of their target, unsure of an introduction. A knock suffices. But of course, the target knows not to open their door willy-nilly-ly. Or perhaps there is no one there. A strategic move to wait and see if the door opens, perhaps a few more knocks. Nothing. An agent makes a tactical exit (retreat?). This can wait for another day.
This evening I decided to take a leisurely stroll to Pembroke to pay a friendly visit to one of my targets, Horizontal Flame. I loitered outside his room for a while before he returned. This is where the awkwardness begins. As I recognised him and began to move towards him, I prepared to shoot the dude to bits with nerfy shooty gun gun. Terribly, my bullet hit him at the exact same time as Horizontal Flame extended a laser sword to my chest. We both agreed after the event that the contact was, in fact, entirely simultaneous. We were both confused as to what this meant in the game: a draw? A null attempt? One of us winning? Both dying?
Hey, I had a run in with get rekd, at least he said so.
There is an event going on in our staircase, so there is quite a commotion on the second floor, thus when I got back from hall and went upstairs with a friend of mine to join the party, the lone guy I've never seen before leaning to the doorframe on my floor was quite suspicious.
I went upstairs, got a shuriken ready and then went back downstairs, through the door to our floor and went up to my door, then turned around, to see his reaction. We locked eyes, he knew I knew.
He was just opening the door, so I've threw the shuriken at him and hit hin in the chest. At the same time, he shot me in the chest. We are quite sure it happened at the same time, both of is bleeding out on the floor....
We couldn't determine who shot first, what to do now?
Bullets launched / shurikens thrown before your death can still kill someone if they land after your death.
With this in mind, you're both dead. (Sorry! Join the police for more fun!)
Alas I have been killed after a short but brutal stuggle. Struck by the knife of a neighbour (Cafe Salmonella) after a Series of Unfortunate essay deadlines....
2:25am, not too weird of a time considering it's a Friday night. Is that...'s room was more or less on my way, so I decided to drop by just as a scouting mission. Turns out her light was still on and so I knew I wouldn't wake her up. Quick recalculation; might as well as I'm already here. New objective set. I knocked, she opened, and we parted shortly after wishing each other good night.
| Home || Email |
| News 00 || News 02 || News 03 || News 04 || News 05 || News 06 || Updates || Headlines || police || wanted || inco || stats |