I woke up late this morning, feeling very tired I eventually got out of bed, by the time I was ready it was already 8:40. I decided to knock on my friend's door, I was expecting no answer but instead I found him answering half asleep, he told me to go on ahead and that he'll catch up. So I decided for once to go as slow as possible (so that he could catch up but not to slow as to be late for my lecture), I decided to check my mail in the morning (usually I check them in the afternoon after my lecture). I wasn't expecting any letters as it was a saturday morning, but I did. Being very tired I looked at the letter and saw a "Cambridge University" logo on the top left of the letter, and a nicely printed name and address on the front. Thinking it must be something to do with the University, I opened it without any gloves. I read the letter but it didn't seem to be directing any type of message to me. After only reading the first paragraph I skipped to the end and to my suprise I saw "(icky stuff was contact poison)", signed "A. Sassin". So therefore I am dead, if only I had not collected the letter when I was tired, only realising after I was dead that the uni logo was a bit blurred (probably a scan or something) also the name was printed on the letter, and usually (to save time) they use stickers.
Very short and sweet, this one - no scheming, no skullduggery.... As I expected, Dom Hinton left his lecture just as I was going into mine. I stabbed him with a banana knife. The end.
Stazi Officer Pumpkin reports:
The operation was intended to be a fast killing by a low radius bomb (1 litre of HE) placed by Stazi Officer Pumpkin outside the wanted criminal's room. Unfortunately, following an effort to bring the target to the door by posing as television licence officers, the bomb was detonated by an unknown female accomplice who came to the door instead of the requested individual.
Here I would like to point out the rules for police targetting... in particular, they are not allowed to use any form of indirect weapon: no contact poison, no bombs. This sort of attempt is likely to get officers suspended. - Umpire
Moving outside, Stazi Officer Pumpkin proceded to examine the target's room through his smoke blackened window and assess the extent of the damage. Unfortunately, the target was still alive and managed to fire a cyanide dart at Pumpkin who succumbed to the deadly poison. Agent Orange drew his single shot high calibre hand cannon, levelled it at the target and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit Bisgrove with so much force that he was thrown into the back of the room; the corpse was hidden by the dense smoke of the explosion.
Before leaving the scene of the crime Agent Orange sent a request for a cleanup squad to Police Headquarters. Stazi Officer Pumpkin's funeral will be held in 2 weeks time in a secret ceremony in Eastern Pembroke attended by the Head of Stazi.
I spent my lunch break persuading one of wanted criminal Eva Crasnow's neighbours that it was his public duty to help me kill her. He agreed to assist me by getting her to open the door. It turned out that these preparations were not necessary since she had most conveniently left her door wide open. I entered and shot Eva in the chest.
I emerged from the Wolfson Building lift with a friend, headed towards my room, and was just about to unlock the door when a moustachioed mathmo brandishing a pistol came running towards us. Fool that I am, instead of dashing away to find cover, I ducked, and thus received a direct hit to the shoulder, the subsequent blood loss causing me to exclaim, "Oh great. And I was hoping to survive until Tuesday..." before collapsing through loss of blood.
Our valiant and somewhat paranoid police officer reports:
Having checked the list of wanted criminals last night, I began to consider the possibility that Isobel Hooper of Trinity might be the very same Isobel I know as the College daughter of a friend. On entering Hall, I saw her in the queue and subsequently took a seat with a clear view of her, yet not so close as to arouse suspicion. My plan was to shout "Hooper" and check whether she responded with the recognition of her own name. In my head I rehearsed it but I was not at all sure that I could:
In the end I worked up the courage to do it, but she didn't seem to
respond. I think she was laughing at something else at that exact moment
and so drowned out my voice.
This having failed, I resolved to follow her to her room. I waited
outside Hall while she and her friends got ready to leave. Seeing her
friend Hannah standing through the crack in the door as it was opened to
let someone through, I positioned myself to follow her in the direction of
Unfortunately, they decided to check their email first, so I waited outside the computer room. As a neighbour entered his room, which is right beside the computer room (and hence I was more or less hanging around suspiciously outside his room), I realised that, since he was in the Guild in May Week, he may well be an assassin now, and he might indeed have mistaken me for someone who was there to kill him. I apologise for any confusion. I retreated upstairs to where I would still have a view of anyone leaving the computer room but still have some advance warning if he tried to kill me. A few minutes later, I saw him leaving. Initially relieved, I was soon overcome by typical Assassin Paranoia, namely the thought that he might be leaving for reinforcements. I repositioned myself a few blocks away, mostly hidden from my target's escape route by a row of cars.
In time, I grew restless. She had been in the computer room for fifteen
minutes. Had I missed her? I was pretty sure she was only there to check
her email because I had earlier heard one of the group say "let's go check
our emails" or words to that effect. I resolved to investigate. I entered
the computer room and there she was, sitting in front of a computer. I
nonchalantly walked past (well... I tried to see what her email address
was with a view to verifying her identity, but no email software was on
the screen at that time). I went to the Apple Macs, where I just about
managed to check my email while keeping an eye on the door via a small
window. Soon after that, I saw her leaving. As I had just about finished
checking my email anyway, I followed her and a friend. As soon as they
were out of view in the passageway to Tit Hall, I ran to outpace them by a
different route. Arriving on D floor a minute or so before her, I located
her room and hid in a nearby gyp room. As it turned out, she did indeed
return to her room, along with a friend (who, luckily for me, was on the
far side of her so that I had a clear shot). Ten paces of distance gave
her no time to run, so instead she cringed, but
it was in vain; two bullets found her back.
She then said she had been hoping to survive until hallowe'en, something about poisoned fudge and Trick or Treat. I am honoured to have put an end to such an obviously crazed maniac.
I noticed a player who is in my college and rather than trek all the way out somewhere else, I thought I'd get him. Sneakily, I crept around to his front door and realised that he had a walkway room. I walked nonchalantly around to see if I could see whether he was in through his window. However, I was greeted by surprise - not only was he in, but he had rather carelessly left his window/door open. I stuck my gun in through the door, shot him and his first few words were "Awww, am I dead now?". I checked to see whether he was Craig Davies and upon confirmation that this was his identity, I informed him that he was in fact dead. His next few words were "Thank God for that". This is a rather unusual reaction. Normally, one is greeted by a terse "oh, I suppose I'm dead, goodbye", but afterwards he even thanked me for killing him. I approve of this politeness which is so unusual in the guild! Anyway, spurred on by this easy kill, I might perhaps be tempted to get somebody else - that's if I'm still alive by tomorrow!
I am a goner. A victim of a fellow 'binsonian who ruthlessly and maliciously shot me in the head. By the unfortunate chance that I had eaten a rather dodgy kebab from the Van of Death, the next day my stomach was churning and in a moment of complete relief I let go. PAAARRRPPPPPPPP! In a desperate attempt to aerate the room before anyone came around I foolishly opened the patio window. It was mere seconds before I heard that fatal shot. She had entered as quiet as a dead man laid to rest. I just managed to catch a glimse of the assassin, her face full of joy as I lay there dead.
The police complaints commission would like to make clear their views on the case of PC Fu Hsi's Ghost's Ghost, who did deliberately, callously, and with beastliness of forethought murder a lovely, innocent person. And disobeyed some orders as well.
Umpire: Christine, did you know a lovely, plump, speckly person called Clover, whom you hand reared from a chick and who was your only childhood friend?
Christine: (hysterical) Yes! (calmer) Yes, I did.
Umpire: And did PC Fu Hsi's Ghost's Ghost shoot the aforementioned person?
Christine: Yes, he did!
Umpire: (shouts) Can you see PC Fu Hsi's Ghost's Ghost anywhere in this courtroom?
Christine: (overwrought, pointing her finger at Sam) YES, THAT'S HIM!!! THAT'S THE MAN!!!!! AAHHHHH AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Umpire: Very good, excellent, first class. Carry on. I therefore have absolutely no hesitation in announcing that the sentence of this court is: that you, PC Fu Hsi's Ghost's Ghost, be taken from this place and placed on the wanted list for murder (bangs gavel). Do you have anything to say?
Sam: Can I ever redeem myself?
Umpire: You can, but only if you prove your worthiness by ridding Cambridge of five of the incompetent scum who befoul our game.
I should like to remind everyone that police targetting rules still apply to Sam... he must still be certain of a wanted target's identity before killing them, and may not go around killing other targets unless they are bearing weapons.
Fu Hsi's Ghost has the following to say:
Ah! Fortune spreads until it all but encirculatrifies the cosmos! Blame vanishes utterly, its very vestige of existence wiped away as by the hand of some munificent patron deity of bedders!
Truly the sword of Wu Sung Cho sliced in both directions; above it was
guided by the High Court of the Jade Emperor, beneath by the Five
Elements and Twenty-two Righteous Inclinations.
Even so is the wise word of our most highly praised Umpire; on one hand it dictates that many able-bodied assassins shall righteously pursue me, only to be cut down without hesistation or thought;
He does not see, and so observes all.
He does not think, and thus attains supreme knowledge.
He does not act, and in this way conquers every province of the world.
It is very small; for lack of words, I call it greatness.
And upon the other, I have been assigned a multifluoplethoraitude of potential targets. Truly, their deaths shall appear more seemly to the Nine Immortals than does a nine-thousand stanza verse epiphanising dragonflies amongst cherry-blossom!
I shall not sink to tearing apart, (as does a tiger with a bent-limbed marsh mongoose,) the pitiful lies and self-destroying fallacy offered by Christine as evidence. Such matters are below the superior man; I shall not even point out that had she mustered enough courage to venture forth from the shamefully-sealed doors of her ordure-lined accident of a building, her death would have been none the less painful for its unavertable swiftness.
With my trusty sword bearer and squire I set out to rid the city of
incompetant vermin. We approached the door with great caution, only to find
it left open. We ventured inside. The assassin's room-mate was on the sofa,
and when we said who we wanted and told him of our righteous quest. He called
out to his friend to inform him of our arrival and call him forth.
Verily a firefight erupted in the room that saw the death of my squires, but I avenged their deaths with a quick shot round the door from my trusty pistol.
WORK ON WHAT HAS BEEN SPOILED
Has supreme success.
It furthers one to cross the great water.
Before the starting point, three days.
After the starting point, three days.
The wind blows low on the mountain;
The image of DECAY.
Thus the superior man stirs up the people
And strengthens their spirit.
It has been truly said that all the earth is a charnel-pit; the earth on which we walk is but the remains of the dead, the stones were laid by hands that have long since been consigned to dust. However, in some places the dead lie more thickly, and the accumulated filth produced from their emptying veins and, later, the bursting of their gas-swollen stomachs, has recently become a great tribulation in the good Tennis Court Road hostel. Though I do not relish the stickiness this gives to the carpets, I consider such matters to be substance-less inconsequentia, beneath the estimation of such an elevated sage as myself.
On perusing the wanted list, one Chris Till of 204, Tennis Court Road appeared more intriguing than the remainder, for several reasons. Firstly, his level of incompetence rivalled even my own; on a previous occasion, in jest, I had lurked within his foolishly-unlocked room and pointed a gun at him as he reentered; I did not shoot on this occasion, his pathetic mewlings being all the satisfaction I required. Secondly, he lived on my floor and was one of the few members of the TCR sub-division of the hopelessly infighting King's Mafia who I had not killed personally. Thirdly, when, after a gruelling four-hour jiujitsu session (after which I was just as crap as I had been before) I greeted him in the bar, he mentioned, with the sub-humanly poor acting ability that one would expect from an English student, that he was coming back to the hostel shortly and that he'd like to drop in for a chat. Fighting back my urge to throttle him to death there and then (for, sadly, I was unarmed), and also my far greater urge to laugh in his incompetent face, I returned to TCR and kept a studious vigil at my window, observing the only entrance to the hostel with a precision even the Excellent I, who shot down the nine suns, could not have equalled.
I laid in wait, eyeballs a-twitch. Many innocent, oblivious fools passed by my eyrie, but I did not shoot them, even though I was bored. Ah! Observe the trials I must endure, even so early upon my path to redemption! See how my righteousness prevails!
During my prolonged vigil, I carefully planned the location of my ambush, using the wise tactical words of Sun Tzu and the ancient art of Feng Shui. The latter decreed that, since the building faced east, the most portentous location of concealment would be the chamber of the ease of bowels; this would also be in keeping with the great tradition of our respected order. However, I considered that my reputation within the hostel would be cast significantly downwards were I to leap out, preceded by fire-spitting weaponry, at every passing denizen; I accordingly, upon the arrival of the doomed Chris, hid within the short section of coridoor leading to the toilet proper. Only a corner and a few steps seperated me from his door; I lay in wait until I heard the key slide into the tumblers, and then leapt forth. A single bullet would have sufficed, so easy was the kill; two guns were wholly redundant. I therefore fired but four shots into Chris' ill-formed carcass, which spun around, hit the floor and then went good-naturedly into its room to write an essay. (Despite his own fork-tongued claim that he had been killed several days before and not even signed up as a policeman, I had clearly observed his name on the wanted list not ten minutes before, and surely the all-knowing Umpire cannot be in error).
Of course not. That'd never happen. - Umpire
Although I also had an essay to write, I pour scorn on such earthly affairs and accordingly went back to my own room to meditate upon the Virtues and finish a bottle of Scotch.
Truly, WORK ON WHAT HAS BEEN SPOILED is unlimited in its success.
On a peaceful evening, brilliant scientist and exuberant adventurer Dr. Benton Quest and his youthful ward Emma Quest - a perfectly normal reporter for the Daily Student newspaper - were sipping Chianti in Quest Manor. The peace of an evening's whist drive with friends was forever shattered when their butler, Alfred, entered with the red telephone a'ringing. It was Police Comissioner Gordon, with urgent news of a plague of incompetency striking fair Camtropolis!
For, unbeknown to everybody except Alfred, the police, the staff of the Daily Student, and the scriptwriters, these seemingly ordinary people led an amazing double-life. Dr. Benton and Emma Quest were... Generic Superheroes!
Never ones to let an old friend down, Dr. Quest and Emma descended with characteristic speed and resolve into GenericSuperheroCave (only £9.99 from parpicipating toyshops), in the company of fellow Generic Superheros Atom Man, Power Man, Cromagnon Man, and Insanitary Man. As he fell through the secret hole in the floor, Benton Quest could not help but smile as he recalled his youthful transition to New-Age Man, the result of seizure by aliens and exposure to Zeta rays. Those days were long gone now; age (and a bullet to the head) had confined him to a wheelchair, and he had been recast as a new Generic Superhero: Old-Age man.
Benton was shaken out of his reveree by the appearance of the tea-tray, in the capable hands of Token Woman. Emma looks so dazzling in that red apron, thought he, aware of how silly he himself looked when his cloak caught in the wheels of his chair and tipped him out. Casting his gaze around, he noted Generic Superhero Bicycle Repair Man finishing some last-minute modifications to the GenericSuperheroMobile, Cromagnon Man repainting the walls of GenericSuperheroCave, and Power Man having a quick recharge. All was ready.
Quickly the dynamic duo finished donning their superhero suits, climbed into the waiting vehicle, and set off through the secret GenericSuperheroTunnel, accidently leaving Insanitary Man at home - the GenericSuperheroMobile lacked air conditioning. And so, as they had done many times before, Old-Age Man and Token Woman, courageous warriors against crime, set off only a day late.
Faster than a speeding bullet, the GenericSuperheroMobile shot through the tunnel and emerged from a duckpond in a Camtropolis college, instantly transfored into the GenericSuperheroAirship (which would not have been included in the script had a model of the GenericSuperheroAirship not been made now available in toyshops for only £99.99). In the blink of a needle's eye, the daring duo had come upon that colony of evil, Memorial Court.
Whilst the GenericSuperheroAirship hovered over the building, Benton Quest parachuted into the court, while Token Woman abseiled down onto the roof. The archvillain, about to execute his plan of using of The Dubious Dehydration Machine to achieve the total Clare-ification of Camtropolis, looked up in surprise as Dr. Quest rumbled towards him in the GenericSuperheroWheelchair.
At this point, Benton realised that wearing a white cowl, gloves and boots, with green tights underneath his starched white underpants, and a shirt with the 'Old-Age Man' logo writ large upon it, was not the best way of keeping criminals off-guard. Then in shock he realised, who is opponent was:
"Yes, indeed, it is me! And soon the entire world..."
WHAM! POW! KABABABOOOOOM!
It was all over by the time Token Woman had finally managed to untangle herself from the rope that she had used to abseil onto the roof.
With the cleansing of Clare complete, Bicycle Repair Man flicked the switch to transform the GenericSuperheroMobile into the GenericSuperheroCopter (only £999.99 from your local toyshop), and touched down in the courtyard to pick up Token Woman and Old-Age Man. One short activation of the GenericSuperheroICBM later, the team crashed into the laboratories of the mad scientist Steven Smith.
First the wily Generic Suporheroes disabled the evil one's bicycle by firing an electromagnetic pulse at it, then they entered the building. Not expecting an attack intil after supper, the security guards opened the door to the highest security area and waved them in. It took but half an hour for the dynamical duo to locate the boss, and for Token Woman to fire upon him with her GenericSuperheroCannon.
ZAP! KERCHUNK! KABABABOOOOOM!
Then they realised that this wouldn't work, for superheros are expressly forbidden to shoot even the most evil baddie. Suddenly, Smith tried to distract Token Woman by pointing at the heaped bowl of washing up, but instead lost his balance and slipped towards a giant bowl of deadly toxic substances. Instinctively, Token Woman dived forward and caught his hand, but despite her best efforts, could not keep hold of it, and was powerless to prevent the criminal's plummet to his death.
Then it was over.
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