The hour of Four had not long since struck, when my trusty manservant
sodshock and I approached my victim. Having donned my assassin's finery I
entered, by dastardly cunning and unerring wit, my target's filthy lair (a
mistake of gargantuan proportions built in the 70's). As he arose from his
desk where one can only assume he was working (rather deserved to die then
I should think), I struck him about the head in a rather impolite manner.
(The fiend should think himself lucky to be struck by a rather fine broad
sheet and not one of those dreadful tabloids).
I then called for my faithful servant the hideous sodshock who, out of decency had donned a mask. Sodshock then restrained and handcuffed the unconscious victim. Once he awoke I offered him a choice, Sell his soul (valued at approximately five pounds) and become my lackey, or perish. He chose most foolishly and, became a part of history, instead of a shaper of it, I shot him through the head emptying what ever had previously occupied his cranial cavity onto the nasty looking 70's wall of his abode. Quite frankly this was something of and improvement.
My assistant, Eve-R-Ton and I arrived at a side entrance to my target's
building at 17.56 and we proceeded up to his room. I knocked three times
on the door and he came out.
"Are you Michael Mann?" asked Eve-R-Ton in his thick scouse accent
Mann's eyes were filled with terror like a rabbit as a fox closes in realising his death is imminent.
"No!" he screamed as he tried to close his door. But it was too late.
We pushed the door open, he retreated and I cornered him against the wall. I took my knife from under my suit and plunged it into his heart as he cried out for mercy.
As the clock struck 8, there came a knock at my door, which I've gotten
into the habit of locking at all times. I paused Gone in 60
Seconds, put down my plate of chicken vindaloo and stepped to the
door. There had been so many false alarms recently that this time I
decided not to pick up my gun before I opened the door... this almost cost
me my life tonight - thank god for caffeine. As I opened the door I saw
the business end of a black handgun, and behind it, an unfamiliar face. As
I jumped back behind the door and began to push it to, he shot, just
missing my left arm. The bullet is still lodged in the side of my TV as we
speak. I locked the door and grabbed the nearest gun, threw the door open
as I heard the lobby door slam. I ran out to the front of the building to
see a broom closet ajar. I threw it open, gun drawn, but it was only a
mop. Down the steps I went and looked left and right up the path, but saw
no one. Which way? It was a matter of life or death! I chose left and as I
turned the corner of the building I saw two people run round the next
corner. I ran to it and 'slicing the pie', edged my way round to see them
nearing the next corner. I doubled back hoping to catch them coming around
the other side. On my way past the entrance to my building I decided to
get my other gun and locked my door on the way out.
My heart was racing - was my time in this god-forsaken city almost up? All I wanted was to enjoy a nice curry before the evening began, but no - some motherf**ker had to get balsy and front on the wrong guy. I heard so feet running away on gravel and assumed I'd scared them off. I walked to the other building, eyes wide open and asked for reinforcements, but to no avail. My backup was busy at formal hall and not dressed, nor armed, for this kind of work. An innocent said he'd seen the guys who were looking for me. Obviously, he knew too much for his own good already, but I kindly told him I'd spare his life if he pointed them out to me, under the pretence that I was a TV license inspector and thought they might be breaking the law. I walked with him to the back of my building, to see someone trying to get into the door of the next building - somewhat suspicious I thought, but would they have been so stupid to have waited around for me to get on the offensive? It seemed so, my informant told me that the man I saw was indeed one of the guys asking for me. I thanked him for his help and told him the world would soon be a better place 'for all law-abiding, TV license-paying people'.
I saw the person in question run behind the building towards the main exit of the college, so I instinctively ran round the front of that building hoping to catch them halfway. They were in fact running at this point, crying out for mercy - but their screams weren't loud enough to drown out the sound of the blood coursing through my veins and I started to run. However, I had chosen the wrong shoes and they were slipping off and slowing me down. So there was only one thing to do...
The shoes lay steaming as I sprinted up the gravel path towards my assassin, whose friend had taken the left path and was of no concern to me at this moment in time. I was just catching up to my assailant, when he tried to swing round a tree to get another shot off, but he failed and I shot both guns, sending two slugs of hot lead into his back. I screamed, 'YOU'RE DEAD!' and walked back to my shoes.
After putting them back on I thought it would be wise to make sure that the other one was not around, and so headed back the way I'd just come. Funnily enough, he hadn't learned from his friend's mistake and was slowly walking towards the exit repeatedly looking behind him. From his walk I could see his shorts were soiled and felt confident that I might live through one more lonely night. I stopped, pulled my laces tight and looked up. He'd started to increase his pace, obviously having seen me. I gave chase to the porter's lodge and then slowed down and turned the corner out of the college and into the real world. I stepped past the gates, so many people - innocent, unknowing, oblivious to the seedy underbelly of this seemingly pristine town. I looked right, the direction in which this person had turned and couldn't see him anywhere. As I slowly walked up the road I saw a corner coming up and had a gut feeling that he was there. I edged round at a distance and saw his face, tears streaming down it and a small gun shaking in his hands. I shook my head and stepped back out of view. I pushed myself to the wall and prepared for the worst. I darted out past him as he shot, missing me just as his unfortunate friend had, but as I pulled both my triggers, neither fired. It seemed his gun had jammed as he was franticly pulling at it and looking at me in horror. I stepped back up to him and pulled the trigger. My Desert Eagle .50 shot straight and true, burying a bullet deep in his heart. And as he slid to the floor leaving a trail of blood down the wall, in his dying breath I was able to find out that he was Roop Gupta and my assassin used to be John Biddlestone from King's. He begged me to end his pain, and so I looked away and put one between his eyes - hey, I'm not all that bad. I slid my guns back into my pockets and headed home. Safe in the knowledge that I had made it through one more day, one more night... but there's always one more, it never ends, I know now I will never be able to leave, never be able to go back, back to the old life, that blissful ignorance that I never appreciated, not once in all those happy years. I now see the monster I have become, but I am going to end this, I'm going to show these people the true world, and where we go from there... is up to you...
Bun Bun was sitting at his desk, writing an essay when a knock at the
door caught his attention. He went to the door, weapons in hand. Seeing
two figures at the door, he prepared to shoot them when he recognized one
of them from his old school. Naturally, the fact that two people from
such a far away college would visit Corpus seemed slightly odd.
Carefully opening the door with weapons drawn he asked why they had stopped by. He also asked for them to show their hands and turn out their pockets. His curiosity satisfied (and having the unknown visitor with hands visible), Bun Bun welcomed them into his room. They chatted for several minutes while covered by Bun Bun's weapons. Bun Bun's suspicions slowly faded and he decided not to shoot them both for saftey's sake, after all that would be too paranoid and probably get him on the wanted list. Alas at this point Bun Bun's old acquaintance distracted him and Mike proceeded to jam the switchblade concealed in his sleeve into his chest before Bun Bun could get off a shot. With his dying breath, Bun Bun realized that he should have shot them both before admitting them.
Alas, the world will now never know 'Where in Germany were the bureaucratic reforms of the Napoleonic era most successful, and why?' Alas, the cleaner will have to removed the bloody corpse from my coffee table Monday morning. Alas, poor Yorik... Alas for poor Mike, Bun Bun will be reincarnated as PC Bun Bun who is already thinking of someway to have Mike shoot himself in the head 5 times while resting arrest. Alas for poor non-playing Eric, his treachery in helping kill me will result in a fate involving cement shoes and the Cam...
There's a common misconception that alcohol is dangerous. My 3 weeks
experience seems to show that uni is a big research project to prove
So, far I have found no evidence for alcohol's alleged harmful properties. It's benefits are quite obvious to anyone using it at the time, though I cannot quite remember enough to describe them adequately. I shall have to continue my investigations.
Anyway, one surprising piece of evidence has come to light, which could explain any correlation between alcoholism and mortality rates: It's the pubs which are the death traps. A pub is a great place to go and relax after a full day's work. You can let your hair down, talk to your mates, experience the many benefits of an alcoholic lifestyle.
But all this relaxing is dangerous. You let your guard down, and that's when they strike. You go over to talk to the same person you were in lectures with, the same person who sat across the table from you at lunchtime, and what do they do? They stab you! And suddenly those people from the club for the living impaired are insisting you sign up with free membership and a complementary embalming.
So lets hear it for house parties. Lets hear it for bops - even the cheesy Cambridge ents. Just not for those pubs with the convenient just-shorter-than-arm's length tables.
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