I am never forget the day I have first attempt made on my life. About this I knew nothing at first, but I get idea, haha!
I have a friend in Kingsk
Who has a friend in Queensk
Whose friend in Caiusk
Has friend in Christsk
With friend in Downinsk
His friend in Trinidrovsk
Has friend in Jesupavlovsk
Whose friend somehow
Is solving now
How to kill me in Emmapetrovsk.
One man has many foes,
One man they want to maim,
and Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name. Oy!
Nikolai Ivanovich Lobache...
And when his attempt is done
Haha, begins the fun
By way of Downiysk
To Caiusk to Queensk
To Kingsk to Selwynsk
To me the news will run
Yes, to me the news will run
And then I prepare
By morning, night
And pretty soon
My name in Emmapetrovsk is cursed
When he finds out I kill him first.
One man gets a lot of guns,
One man wants some fame,
and Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name. Oy!
Nikolai Ivanovich Lobache...
Photo of my assassin Ed Clayton, who was incompetent enough to reveal his identity to me, I copy from Emmanuel matriculation photo. Other guy, who be seen with Ed Clayton when he try to kill me yesterday, I identify as a known MI6 killer.
Idea for bomb on door I steal from capitalist B-Movie, idea to take shoes off when entering staircase I take from archive of old games and gun I take along I buy from former soviet general for twelvety rubles. Ze bomb is now on Clayton's doorski.
And who deserves the credit?
And who deserves the blame?
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name!
Bomb in pigeon hole is idea I steal from ze game in last Michaelmas, I send him back CD he given me some time ago. CD is '24 variations on a theme of Guy Fawkes', containing detonator I steal from Smersh and 24 different bits of explosive each of which I stolen from somewhere else.
One man no bank will give credit,
One man's refrains are all the same,
and Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name. Oy!
After the butchering of 2 policemen yesterday, and seeing two others being suspended, I have to report the successful elimination of another police officer - Jonathan Hogg. He hung around the house all yesterday and followed the house seven group to dinner, where he gave up (possibly calling later that night when I was out, only finding my angry bedder in at the time). My friend recognised him from Maths lectures, so at 9.57 this morning I accompanied him to the lecture hall, and whilst the mathmos lined up to go in, I shot him in the back. He seemed quite upset about the whole thing, as he brushed the party streamers from his shoulder.
You pack your weapons and leave for lectures. Differential Equations. You feel a ray of hope. Algebra and geometry. You sleep.
While standing around and waiting for the exodus of second year NatScis
from the cockroft, I feel a prod in my back. Bang. "You're dead."
An assassin is standing there, brandishing a weapon. I feel a painful sensation in my right kidney. Blocking the pain I talk to my attacker.
"That will teach you to make my friends paranoid by following them along
I stagger into my lectures, projecting my spirit to send a message after
my passing to the CoP - "She has a death wish for the ENTIRE FORCE." The
last words my essence heard were "We'll be expecting a visit soon then."
"How did you find me"
A fellow Mathmo: "I recognised you from lectures. Sorry."
My spirit fades away after having been summoned by the umpire to give an account for its untimely demise. I swear revenge upon my killers in any of their future incarnations.
Fade to black. Restore saved game. Try and do it right this time.
With the intention of returning at night to plant a bomb on Ian Gallagher's door I decided to devote some of the afternoon to an in-depth study of the suitability of said door to different kinds of explosive devices. Upon arriving I performed an initial visual investigation which helped me little in choosing a bomb design. It did, however, reveal that the door was most conveniently open. I entered and shot Ian in the back where he sat working at his desk.
It was 18.15 and I was in the shower. Someone was banging on
the door. I put a towel on and found my assistant Eve-R-Ton there.
"Master," he said "a strange man has gone up to your room. He says he has something for you."
It was clearly some fool who thought he could take down the great Big Daddy G. I reached for my knife and prepared to go and kill him. But all the commotion had drawn many people from the surrounding rooms.
"No, Big Daddy G!" cried one girl "Don't go! He could have a gun. It's too dangerous, you might get killed and our lives will have no meaning if you are dead because you are so big and sexy and your dangerous assassin ways turn me on"
All the other girls joined in a chorus of "No, Big Daddy, please don't go."
One wretch with delusions of being the great Big Daddy G went up to my room saying "Don't worry, I will find out what he is armed with."
A few moments later a gunshot rang through the building. I can only suppose that the fool who went up sacrificed himself in some way. Realising that I was inadequately armed, I shrunk back into the shadows and saw the man fleeing the scene of the crime with his smoking gun still in his hand.>
The innocent victim reports:
When the assassin entered the building Big Daddy G was in the shower hence the assassin was directed to BDG's room. After I volunteered to subtly investigate what artilliary was about to attack BDG on entry to his room, I found the assassin not to be there. I then proceeded downstairs to make a cup of tea in the kitchen, and on entry was shot twice with pink elastic bands.
As a consequence of the ruthless murder of this poor innocent victim, A Cloud of Lightning (Alex Churchill) is wanted. Apparently he opened fire "because the victim was holding a towel". Psychopaths, eh?
It was much interest I read of the Brutus award
for best betrayal. Seeing my name written all over it,
I went forth to claim it as my own. The new target
list arrived, and lo and behold one of my best friends
names was present....
After careful persuasion and faked printouts of emails showing her not to be on my list, I had lured her into a complete state of complacency. She trusted me, and had explained, in great detail, her plans for the hits she was carrying out.Figuring it would be cruel to kill her before she had got anyone else, I bided my time. After all she is a friend.....
So weeks came and passed and suddenly it's the day of the deadline. Oops! Done badly. One target is at an impregnable college, one target appears to have vanished off the earth and is never in..... Which leaves me with one name on the list. Hmm, do I or don't I? She's a mate. Will she be for much longer? With nothing for it I followed her into her college. I shouted to her. She turned and waited, smiling. Obviously glad to see a friend. When she asked how the game was going for me I sensed my chance, and casually put my hand into the pocket containing my knife. She must have sensed something was up, for she reached into her bag as I lunged forward, and sidestepped my cold steel, while simultaneously producing a vicious looking Varsity Cosh from her magic bag. "Crap!" I thought 2 inches of knife vs 1 1/2 feet of Cosh. No contest! I backed off. She, for some reason, legged it into the toilets. I waited as long as I could for her to emerge, but then realised to my dismay that I had a supervision. Why is it nothing goes to plan?
On my sprint to supervision two thoughts kept whizzing round my brain: Why did I go for the knife and not the gun - very dim, and why didn't I just kill her when I had the chance? Now she knows I'm after her.... Time for the stealth kill. Watch your back!
I strode out of college with an accomplice whom we shall call Terry
Lines. The adrenalin flooded into my veins, or should that be
arteries, as we came closer to the kill site, somebody was about to
become my first victim. As we navigated our way through the labyrinth
that is Cambridge, I loaded my trusty 'detective inspector special'
with six silver bullets. We entered through a door and climbed up some
stairs rather than the easier drain pipe option. As i approached my
target's abode the door was flung open, I stepped back in horror whilst
looking for the elaborate surveillance system that must have alerted her
to my presence. However she gave a quizzical look and then proceeded to
walk towards another room, a fatal mistake. I reached into my holster,
extracted my weapon and fired one cool, calm shot into her chest as she
turned to question why I was following her. "Oh dear" she screamed as
the bullet entered her torso, finally finding its resting place in her
As I left the crime scene I thanked god that I had chosen the 'detective inspector special' for this kill rather than the inferior 'detective special'.
This evening I walked into Gurdeep Dhindsa's room through the unlocked door. It was unlocked because he was talking to a civilian. I knew which one my target was (matriculation photos, so useful) and shot him. Any damage to the civilian (not sure) was entirely due to the target's split-second instinctive decision to use him as a human shield, whereupon I walked round and shot Gurdeep again. The civilian left with a comment of "it's been a surreal evening", so I think he is probably OK. The target, despite being very good about the whole thing, will not be taking weekend visits in future due to a lack of body.
Bored, I decided to go and find one of my targets. His staircase was
easy to find, but nothing had prepared me for what lay ahead. My plan was
simple, knock on his door, shoot him. To my surprise the door opened a
tiny amount, a deadly kosh appeared, waving around with a hand attached to
it. Once it had calmed down a bit, I tried to reach inside and fire, but
it got my arm, I assume my shot missed because the target continued to
wave his kosh around madly. I then resorted to the sword in my other hand
and jammed my foot in the door.
At this point, the target was yelling for help, and a rather attractive lady stepped out from a doorway behind me. I was not expecting this. Could she be playing? Surely not. She was unarmed, but the target told her to fetch weaponry. At this point I knew I was doomed, so I ran away very quickly with my battered arm trailing along behind. Eventually I got out of the Court, and was free again.
It was with some dimness I met my untimely end tonight. I'm still adjusting to the whole afterlife thing. Unfortunately I can't walk through walls, but I do now have eternity to consider the stupidity that got me killed tonight.
I decided to play mind games with my target who had scuppered my previous attempt in a girly manner by hot-footing it into the ladies' toilets. Within the space of half an hour I had her thoroughly confused, saying I was her assassin, that I wasn't, that I was but wouldn't kill her, that I'd just killed her with poison, that I was joking all along and wasn't really an assassin, etc. She became totally flummoxed and was weighing up the arguments as to whether or not she'd be killing an innocent. My cunning plan worked, and she was gonna leave me well alone. Hah - time bought for a spectacular killing tomorrow. Or so I thought.
Alas, as with all history and hollywood films, good plans always get scuppered by some freak event that buggers the whole thing up: Hitler was hindered by extra long spring rains and early autumn rains that prevented his tanks pushing into Moscow and subsquently lost the whole war; Nixon was convicted by the tapes he'd introduced to the Oval office, to mean people didn't have to make notes, thus creating more reliable hard records of diplomatic meetings; in Under Siege, the terrorists plan is stuffed up by the presence of a Navy Seal Chef(!?!)... This time it was the sudden Mr-Ben's-Shopkeeper-esque appearance of an Irishman, who being quite frankly the nearest thing to a living Mr Spock I've ever met, pointed out the flaws in my masterful mindgames, and drew my target to the conclusion that the best thing to do was kill me. Especially as my hand was in the pocket containing my funky gun. At this revelation my reflex action was to begin to remove my hand (with no gun) from my pocket. Being the vindictive little minx that she is, my target lunged forward, cosh in hand, and struck me a vicious blow to the head. Stuck paralysed in the middle of Selwyn Bar is never fun (but the rest of the Vets society were equally paralytic so only a few noticed). All I could do was watch as my prey turned to the hunter, and, as she began dancing round me, all I could think of was Reservoir Dogs. She spared my ears, and like all venomous chicks of the assassin variety she went for a man's weakest point, going straight for the heart (albeit with a couple of inches of dagger). I sank to the floor bemused as to just how my master plan had failed so badly.
The moral of this story: Don't try to be a smart-arse, kill quick and then gloat; and never trust the Irishman.
The Red Fox reports:
I am not sure whether or not there exists an honour code amongst assassins whereby one does not kill members of their own college whom they would class as friends. However, if such a code exists, I have now broken it. Upon discovering the identity of my assassin, I was left with no choice. Once I had discovered that I was his target he came to visit me in my safe haven, the library, to tell me that he was not planning on actually killing me...could I believe this, surely a good assassin trusts no one? Later on, in the college bar I was aware that my 'friend' was armed, and he was goding me, asking "do you trust me?" This clearly put me in an awkward situation as I felt that I should be appreciative of his so far gentlemanly conduct of not assassinating me. However, when trying to understand his motives I asked "so why didn't you try and kill me earlier, it is just a bit of fun after all" He reacted to this by grabbing for his gun, whether the act was in jest or not I will never no as I instictively reached for the rolled up newspaper in my bag and struck him about the head. This left me with 5 minutes...To kill or not to kill, that was the question. As a friend he looked at me imploringly as my hand wavered towards the knife in my bag. However, having already struck once I was sure that he would not be so gentlemanly in his treatment of me in the future. Thus, I stabbed him brutally in the chest, he fell to the floor, with the unmistakable expression of pain on his face as he suffered at the hand of my heinous treachery.
Someone came to get me last night. While in the bathroom I heard an unfamiliar knock. I ran to my door and asked who it was, whilst having a good peep through my spy hole. Observation no.1-anyone but an assassin would give a name when asked who they were. I received no name, and the dialogue went something like this:
Him: You dropped your NUS card. I've got it. (Well rehearsed)
Me: Oh really?
H: Yes. (hopeful)
M: No I haven't. (checks pockets and pulls out said NUS card)
H: Errr...yes you have, I've got it. (not expecting immediate damnation)
M: Well I've got it right here in my hand.
H: God dammit girl, you just won't die!
M: No. Good night, see you around. (maniacal laughter)
An evil scheme had hatched within the depths of the professors eggshaped head, and now it was time for The Wig to carry it out. An official letter, from the minions of destruction, signed A. Sassin, covered in a substance that would lead to a horrible death, for anyone foolish enough to touch it. Rain was holding the city in its grip, but neither this nor floods could stop Professor Jenson's Slightly Magical Wig as it set out and delivered the letter according to plan. Nothing shall stand between it and success. Beware of The Wig.
I glanced in my pigeon hole today, and saw another letter from the TV Licencing Authority. I hadn't replied to their previous letter yet, which had been extremely threatening, and mentioned sending someone round 'to see me.' So, I was duly scared and fearing some sort of poisoning attempt (so much easier on a large scale) used my T-shirt to take hold of the letter and pull it free. It appeared I was correct, and Big Buisness had struck again. Either that or their jolly chairman had joined the Assassins Guild.
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