I arrived outside my target's room at 8.15 this morning with the intention
of doing away with him.
"Hmm...." I think, "I'll be late for lectures at this rate - as will he!"
Knocked on target's door.
Sometimes you just gotta know when to give up...
After an evening trip to pursue a hobby I returned to find a leter addressed
to me sitting in my piegon hole, but with no stamp on it. Was it from an
anomynous source with information about Soldats? However, always suspicious,
I opened it with care, to find it was poisoned. I again escape an attempt,
this time a pathetic attempt, on my life by members of the organisation
known only as Soldats.
PS What sort of assassin would do this? Only a heartless one if you ask me!
For the third time this week i took off from a secret location in Cambridgeshire with intelligence regarding a known assassin. It was my mission to Search out and terminate this threat and as i hit the afterburners i was once more confident. After making a brief refuelling stop at a local purveyor of fuel i turned towards my target and set my radar to scan, i had already made a brief recce of this target in a dawn mission and so i knew the IP well. Hugging the contours of the land i went into complete stealth mode, my finger intching at the trigger and as i made my first pass i switched to guns. The targeting data was good but the target was well defended and although sensors detected life inside a second and third pass proved to be in vain. Frustrated again i switched my weapons back to safe and turned for home. On the way my radar repeatedly locked onto the locations of police officers...tempting targets...really tempting targets but with my finger moving to the weapon arm panel i made my turns towards home.
I thought of making a visit to one of my targets, Cupcake. I knocked on his door and when he opened I shot him. As a curiosity I've asked the man before he died if his name was Cupcake. With his last breath he answered "No". Probably I made a mistake, but he was the sole occupant of that room, because I didn't hear any voices before knocking on the door. I stand at the mercy of the jury.
Alas, the corpse did not lie:
Someone came to my room and knocked on the door. Luckily for me I had a group of friends with me in my room, and it was one of them (an innocent) who opened the door. He was shot by my assassin, who then ran off.
For this crime, Sorin Basca is made wanted.
Having been fortunate enough to contact a medium, I feel able to inform the world (a stage) and all the people (merely players) of my personal opinions, as a small fluffy creature, of recent events. Mr. Gug's claim to be acting "purely for personal reasons" is not only a pile of duck guano, but a big festering pile of unsubstantiated duck guano, as I had never previously encountered Mr. Gug in any sphere of my rather complex, and now finished (sob) life. Unlike many other current players, I did not even kill him in May Week. Thus the only reasonable explanation is that some third party, too cowardly to do the deed himself, was able to secure Mr. Gugs admittedly successful involvement in the "very sordid affair". To add insult to injury, or, rather, death by blood loss and fracturing of the spinal cord as a result of having a small blue thing poked in one's back, the kill was carried out in such a profoundly unimaginative way, and the kill report almost dull enough to kill from boredom even those people who have no source of conversation other than the game, that it convinced people all over Cambridge of the futility of human life itself. Thus I feel privileged to be reincarnated as a piebald lemming near Trondheim, where there is no Fluid Dynamics, no CompScis, just the mountains, the sea, the fjords and lots of lovely female lemmings.
He also took the time to deny his involvement in the Cauis Mafia.
Near miss (almost)... at 4:00pm my neighbour brought up some ominously mundane-looking mail with my name on it (literally). I noticed it was rather squidgy and damp. Given that it hadn't been raining I was rather suspicious, so after some hesitation, I binned it (the deciding factor was that no-one sends me mail anyway). Such an outrage, I shall seek vengeance for this vile act...or rather, as I have no idea who did it, I'll take it out on my lucky customers, MUAHAHAHA!!
...and such a shame, my expectations were so high...mail, for me. <Sigh>
A bloke from trinity hall came and shot me this evening at 5:30pm, however I would like to contest the validity of the kill as I was in a supervision at the time.
He is quite right - as per the rules, supervisions are out of bounds. No kill.
Agent Icarus would like to report a kill,
Poor Harriet Groom was rather ill,
Sadly, she won't be getting any better,
If anything, only deader.
Ebony Black has been shot by a trinity hall assassin.
Her death will be avenged with great fury. There will be no mercy.
In the Dark continues from an earlier report (confusingly located at 21:20):
We left the scene, and still having one unused bomb in hand returned to Trinity Hall to consider if the mafia had any suggestions for its use. Upon arrival a quick check of my pigeon hole revealed that a certain "Poly" had attempted to kill me in a most pathetic manner (being up to date on the news revealed that she had attempted this somewhere else earlier today, is this game turning into a sad series of re-runs?).
The note in my pigeon hole had a university crest on it, and stared something along the lines of
Department of Psychology
Dear Mr. Smith,
We regret to inform you that you seem to not have a brain , etc, etc
This was enough to make me run to hamm's room for some advice and back-up, as well as accessing the binford's sophisticated intelligence computer system to find out the real identity of this "Poly" character, be afraid, be very, very, very afraid, You (and I) know who you are.
We then proceeded to back to the pigeon hole, and using a handily placed "college closed" sign (well the pole actually, we removed the sign part) proceeded to mangle the letter until we were sure that is wasn't going to explode. The aforementioned plastic gloves were donned and the removal of the remnants of letter commenced, these were indeed poisoned and were disposed of safely in the nearest biohazard disposal unit. (Commonly misidentified as recycling bins). I doubt I would have died even if I hadn't been wearing the gloves, as the note refused to budge from the pigeonhole, having been cemented in place by the drying poison. Perhaps in the future a more suitable scheme could be found to avoid difficult decontamination of bits of stuck on poison All this occurred around 10:20.
The note was destroyed, I would be most interested (amused) to find out what the rest of it said, so perhaps Polly could forward me a copy.
Well, there's an offer you can't refuse. Pigeon reports:
i don't have much to report on the letter attempt: on returning to college we found a suspicious note with something underneath it in In The Dark's pigeon-hole. It was signed Poly, and was printed with university crest and his name written on in black felt pen. We couldn't see the writing other than this. We sought Hamm's advice -"it may be poisened and/or a letter bomb"- In The Dark took a sign from the front of the Porter's lodge, and tried to pull the letter out, but it was stuck to his pidgeon-hole. Having determined that there were no detonators involved, he put on his plastic gloves, and pulled the (very sticky) note out, and binned it. Time aobut ten to ten.
I am writing to inform you that Polly has just made a feeble attempt on my life, via a poisoned note pretending to be from the University of Cambridge Brain Mapping Unit. Unfortunately for her, I read the note in my pigeon hole, I did not touch the poison but instead, using tweezers, I removed it and put it onto another piece of paper. I still have the letter and will be happy to provide you with it for safe disposal.
Better luck next time Polly!
You are welcome to keep the letter as a souvenir...
Nomination for the poorest "almost-a-non-attempt" attempt
I don't think such an award currently exists, but there damn well should be...
As I was returning from Formal Hall at Pembroke this evening I was somewhat bemused to find that a "poisoned letter" had found it's way into college,(supposedly from the University of Cambridge Brain Mapping Unit) addressed to myself:
" Dear......." it read, "It has come to our attention that your brain is no longer functioning. The poison on the back of this letter has travelled through your skin and into your bloodstream at an alarming rate. There is nothing you can do to stop yourself being destroyed from the inside........" Now, this little ditty might have worked quite well HAD THE LETTER BEEN DELIVERED TO MY PIGEON HOLE. It had in fact been stuck on to the chipboard wall NEXT to the pigeonholes in the Porter's Lodge. Having read the reports of a similar letter being delivered to another Little Miss, I raced back to my room to procure a pair of tweezers and a piece of A4 paper. On returning to the Plodge, I proceeded to peel the letter from the chipboard using the tweezers, being careful not to touch any part of the letter myself. Examination of the underside of the letter showed that the poison was in fact double-sided sticky tape. The letter now sits beside me as I type, stuck on the piece of A4 paper. What I don't understand is why the letter was stuck to the wall, where I would have NO chance of making any contact with the poison on the back. Perhaps my supposed assassin, Polly, could inform me? Scattier than my own attempt...
When I returned from buttery I was talking with a friend and I noticed that my IN-OUT button has some poison on it. This was a poor attempt because i never use that. Such a waste of good poison.
Please note that contact poison in public is usually illegal, and the only reason Ma Baker is not now wanted is that he has already been redeemed for the crime spree in which he left this poison. If you use contact poison, expect to be made wanted.
Tuesday 29022002 1900 hours
Having equipped myself with C4 explosives from the Sidgwick Site, i rushed to Downing College. I entered the J Staircase without any complication behind an unsuspecting person with a swipe card, then armed myself with an RBG as well as setting up the detonator for the C4 in the men's. I planted the bomb outside his door, knocked, then stood outside the blast radius. Nothing happened.
I knocked again. Nothing.
I asked his neighbour where he could be, and she happily pointed towards him who was standing near the kitchen. I whipped out my RBG, shooting him once in the arm, once in the back and then at the chest for good measure.
CAttAC: "I have just made the request to the Umpire that Edward Clayton's Funeral (to be held tomorrow between 1pm and 2pm at Emmanuel Front Court) be made a no-kill event. This means nobody may kill or be killed while in Emmanuel College and its immediate vicinity, between 12:30pm and 2:30pm. Additionally, I've suggested that this be made an official society event, and advertised in the main Assassins page."
And the advertisment:
I feel it is important that the different factions (we all know mafias don't exist after all) get to know each other and understand each other, and get over their small differences - this is supposed to be a mourning occasion, let's not bicker and argue about who killed who.
Therefore it would be in the greater interest of all if as many of you as possible -that goes for everyone, and do tell your friends- turn up tomorrow to have a peaceful memorial service.
As a member of the Clergy, and if the deceased and family present no objections to this, I would like to offer to perform the ceremony myself.
Naturally, should any other upstanding members of our community tragically find themselves on the wrong side of life, I would be happy to officiate at their funeral. This is retroactive, of course, and if e.g. Ed Wallace's family should decide that they would like to honour his memory by celebrating such an event, I am at their service.
Rev. Colin Powell
An Accomplice and myself made the long and dangerous trip to that fabled land of amazons namely newnham college, after a long and arduous search along it's labarinthine corridor we finally found the lair of that dangerous individual Hank The Invincible Maggot. Subsequent events were however less satisfactory: we came, we saw, but we found no foe. On C.L.A.W.ing at her door there was no response. Blood will have blood they say, blood will have blood, Hank The Invincible Maggot, thy days are numbered, we shall return and we know where you live...
And, from the accomplice, Kirika:
As part of a CLAWS raid we proceeded to Newnham, found the room(eventually), got out some heavy(for in doors) weapons and proceeded to knock, and we waited, waited and nothing happened, though we think her light may have been on, so cautiously we retreated, on the look out for any Newnham mafia there could have been.
Earlier tonight, at about 9 O' clock, Yu Liu's corporeal status and refusal to face her assassins having started to get to me (is her door glued shut or something???) I resorted to fouler means. If she would not meet me in quasi-fair combat, then the Pigeon would just have to eliminate her out of hand. To this end I did devise a device of most cunning. Having first ascertained that she was not within, and with In The Dark covering me, I did place a bomb outside her door. It was in the form of a bottle of red wine attached to a party popper, which was attached to her door. the cunning part comes next. The party popper was non-explosive (having been emptied of explosive earlier-nb do not try this at home children), and obviously poorly planted. If she examines it this she will quickly determine this, and "disarm" the bomb. However, underneath the bottle, in the little raised bit, I did place some bluetack and a detonator. This was the real trick. The idea is that this is impossible to see/detect from observation, and disarming -should you be psychic- means knocking over the bottle, and wasting the red wine. whether she risked ruining her carpet by doing this i know not, but i will eat my hat if she finds a better way of disarming it. Yu Liu: your time has come!
In the Dark helped:
After a less than successful outing earlier today, a more elite section of the Binford mafia decided to go on a (legal) killing spree, which was fortunately for us much more successful. Pigeon and myself set out from our secret hideout towards our first target. We first stopped off at Sainsubury's to stock up on a bag of economy throwing knives, which were on special offer, as well as some plastic gloves (which, surprisingly turned out to be useful later that evening.)
We then proceeded along green street, and were somewhat alarmed by the illuminated display in the front window of the local arms merchant, we reflected that weapons of such magnitude were sadly beyond our means. (how much does that thing cost?).
£500 Retail, but I'm told they'll consider a discount deal for assassins.
At around 9:05 we arrived at the targets room, in the Wolfson building, Trinity. As usual the target decided not to respond to our knocking (for the 4th time), and so Piegon placed a bomb at her door, which we believe to be of particularly ingenious design, time will tell on that front.
Work it did:
A trap was set.
A bomb was placed. Outside the door of Bathos.
Bathos wasn't in. She was at Downing.
When she got back, she spotted the bomb, and alerted friends.
Said friends (The Laughing Maniac and Honourable Bluebottle the Third) came to help defuse the bomb, a cunning contraption with a clearly visible party-popper detonator.
Bluebottle snipped the detonator's string. And there was much rejoicing.
Feeling glad that they'd got a free bottle of wine out of the whole thing, Bluebottle picked up the 'defused' bomb...
...setting off the even more cunningly concealed detonator on its base. BANG! went the bomb. "Oh bugger," went the three assassins.
Whoops. Now we're all dead.
This is not a crime (in the wanted sense), since the deceased were standing unreasonably close to a live explosive.
The wine is, arguably, a crime.
She was in the blast radius...
Who was also standing too close...
In the Dark continues from earlier:
We exited the building, and proceeded to Christ's where my target lives. The people on Z staircase really lock the door at the bottom, they keep leaving it ajar, most unprofessional, perhaps this was a sign of things to come. We arrived at the targets room (9:20) , and having rehearsed our excuse (something about a CUR promo), knocked, the exchange went something like this:
Me: Knock Knock
Target : Come in
I dropped the flyer I was carrying, and cautiously preceded through the door,
Me: Are you Michael ?
Target: erm... No, no I'm not
This was a somewhat disappointing performance and, before he had finished his "erm" a hail of bullets ripped through his chest, shocking his female companion. The corpse then proceeded to act in a remarkably friendly way considering his medical condition, offering us some chocolate biscuits, and commented that he was to lazy to go over to his door to investigate who it was.
That tends to be fatal. Pigeon reported, too:
We swiftly left, and decided to call on In The Dark's target: Michael Mann who did (notice the past tense?) dwell in Christs. A very friendly porter pointed out where to go (*much* nicer than pembroke's), and we did approach his door. In The Dark did knock on his door, expecting to have to bluff his way in. Imagine our suprise when a voice just called out "come in!". Looking at each other, we shrugged, dropped our disguises, drew our rbgs and entered with a cry of "are you michael?" to which the response "err.....no!" was met with much scepticism - he was the only man in the room- and a hail of rubber bands. By the time i had lept through the door it was all over: his cardboard knife looking somewhat pathetic in comparison to the arsenal that faced him.
Having agreed that he was dead, and agreed a time of detah he offered us a (very nice) chocolate biscuit. There departed a true gentleman, and we do apologise for interupting you and your lady friend. Binford strike again!
Me (carrying two knives: a plastic one with retractable blade, and a Carrot) and my accomplice made our way to Selwyn college. It took us a while to find out where I staircase was and to sneak in through the locked door of the court, following a Selwynian; but we managed to do it without attracting anyone's attention.
After walking around in the court's arcade's discussing at low voice a plan to carry out the murder (and switching to talking about lambda calculus when anybody approached), we came up with the following: we would knock on the target's door and ask him to leave a note for his neighbour Mr(?) ***** (whose name we spotted at the bottom of I staircase), who had borrowed a book from Paul and not returned it yet. Stephen would then let us into his room, so he could look for paper for us to write on, and that's when I would kill him with my Carrot. It was not to be...
We knocked on the door. Silence. A suspicious male voice answered. Paul - we agreed he'd do the talking because he is the more confident speaker of us - told him we'd like to leave a note for Mr Smith. The voice made a further question - still through the closed door - which made us think he was already suspicious. After Paul told him what we wanted (or rather: what we pretended to want), he opened the door.
By this time, after the long silences during which he failed to answer us, and all this talking through the closed door, I decided it would be best to kill him immediately when he opens the door. So when he finally opened the door, I immediately threw my Carrot at him.
And from the unfortunate bystander's point of view:
Hi, one wonders at the levels of corruption and general lack of stealth employed by the assassins in this fair land. Whilst we were contemplating the meaning of life and the mysteries of the inner workings of the soul, a knock resounded on the door of my esteemed colleague. Being a man of self-protective instinct, he inquired as to whom was a knocking at this oh so late hour of 9:40. The stuttered reply was "...er..umm...we need to er..give a message to... smith." My amusement could not be contained at this feeble effort and a laugh echoed through the glenn. I feared i had given the game, as they say, away. But no, even this huge clue went unnoticed by our foes. My colleague grabbed his trusty weapon of choice and sneaked through to another exit from the abode, whilst myself and Phoenix opened the door and tried to look as though we were as daft as we would need to be to open a door under such pretences....a carrot was viciously flung at my person, hitting me in my chest, no not a carrot! i hear you cry, but yes tis true, a student's budget for assassination weaponry is not what it usd to be.
The kill was illegal, and would have resulted in the wantedness of Anonymouse, except he died very shortly afterwards.
Fluffy Bunny was in fact being clearly corrupt, in cooperating with a known assassin, and would have been made wanted for such, has he survived.
I was rather busy tonight when someone knocked on my door and asked if they could leave a message for Mr. Smith instantly knowing that they were referring to Kate Smith I knew they were assassins. I quickly picked up my sawn off shotgun RBG and leapt through my shower into the room of PC Fluffy Bunny. Fluffy Bunny was in my room and being a bit slow opened the door to take the message. I would like to point out that he was not acting as a police officer, but merely as a friend, opening the door to take the message. The assassins then threw a carrot at him; by this time I was in the corridor with them and opened up, emptying all 24 rubber bands into them.
I then found out what they had done to poor Fluffy Bunny. As it was an illegal kill I hope that he will still be alive to serve the police force.
Alas, no. It is only police who are liable to have kills disallowed. (The rule is there to prevent people from joining the police, and then shooting players, out of vindictiveness).
I then found that one of the people who came to kill me and then was killed by me was not a player of this wonderful game, however I believe that I acted fairly and could in fact of acted no differently to ensure my safety.
You were indeed quite justified in your actions. Miklos Reiter would have been made wanted for the death of his accomplice, had he survived.
And had he not killed PC Fluffy Bunny, who reports:
Kal then emerged from hiding, brandishing his weaponry, an insane, murderous glint in his eye. It was quite pleasing to behold. (his community spirit, in protecting the long arm (and chest) of the law, was an example to all.) A volley of rubber bands filled the air, along with the mangled scream of woe of our would-be assailant. He then cried, "im not an assassin!" and the real perpetrator stepped out from behind his 'human shield', but had also been shot. hurrah! the good ended happily and the bad unhappily, that is the point of fiction. (yes our brief lives are a mere fiction)
Also present: Phoenix
What fun we've had tonight! Where to begin in this tale of woe and deception? My esteemed colleague Kal received a mysterious caller at about 9:40. One claiming to be seeking Mr Smith. Hmmm well there's a KATE smith here, but I don't think she would appreciate being deemed a Mr. The varlet flung an orange vegetable at kindly Fluffy Bunny who appears to have believed the wild claims. Kal then emerged, armed to the teeth and a desperate man. He emptied 2 barrels into the evil do-er. The evil do-er claimed to be an innocent but no, tis not true, he was a demon accomplice and therefore got what was coming to him. The true assassin was also killed in the cross fire and had the bad manners to bleed all the way down the corridor.
After a hard day of strategic thinking, developing plans on how to best take out American stealth bombers using small calibre weaponry or mines, The Internationally Wanted Top Terrorist was relaxing in the bar with 'The Specialist', a professional from back home, when I espied sudden civil unrest at the other end of the room: people shooting each other! I instantly lept to my feet, crept round using a concealed secondary route, and shot someone wielding a small orange water pistol in the stomach. He claimed to be innocent, but that's what they all say. No-one shall be spared.
But my efforts to get into her room pretending to be chased by an assassin didn't prove to be efficient and didn't open her door.
She was already dead...
Then, when we had just finished our celebratory tea and crumpets, another blasted caller came! It was bloomin' 10:45! Honestly, do you people have no manners? The sinister intentions of the lurking menace were somewhat given away, when he inquired after me by name, D'oh! So I grabbed my trusty rubber banded bringer of justice, exited stage left and nailed the swine...and then I felt the need to shoot him some more...then some more. It was great fun. He even gave me back my ammunition which was generous considering. Perhaps he was not so ill mannered after all. He even had the decency not to kill Kal and Fluffy, despite their opening of the door. He was apparently startled and aimed the gun at an imaginary person standing somewhere between the two. Poor lad. Perhaps we should have taken pity on him and offered him a bun, as it was, we left him to trudge home, trailing blood from his gaping wounds.
PC Fluffy was dead at this point, but did not realise it. Luckily he didn't play a major part:
Hi. Just an hour after the previous blunder, an attempt was made on the life of my esteemed colleague, Phoenix. Much the same as before, I opened the door to crys of 'You're not Phoenix', while Phoenix came out of my door and swiftly unloaded a full 2 rounds upon Bambi. I almost cried.
Kal was there, too:
And now someone has knocked on my door asking for Phoenix, we used the same trick that we used last time to kill him, this time Phoenix pulling the trigger. The assailant did let off a shot with a cap gun, but his aim was shaky and at best he hit my arm, or the arm of Fluffy Bunny. Most likely the bullet flew between us.
Since I can see nothing contradicting this interpretation of events, and Bambi has not bothered to report the incident, I rule that since the cap gun did not clearly kill someone, noone is dead.
I am pleased to report that I eliminated one of the most dangerous and nefarious assassins. I simply shot him. With his reputation I had really expected it to be more difficult, but he just didn't expect it, probably because I live next door to him. He had no clue that he was a legal target for me and I think he didn't know I had signed up for this game.
Let it be known that Guitar Dave is not afraid of the Caius Mafia!
My bloodlust was not yet satisfied and I made another cunning attempt. Pigeon has received a deadly poisoned letter seemingly from Oxford. I eagerly await confirmation of my success.
I'm sorry Dave, I can't do that...
at aobut a quarter to 3 i discovered a suspicious letter in my pigeon hole. Putting on the plastic examination gloves i did get it out: i was a had written (with an attempt at elaborate handwriting) note saying: Poisoned Letter for Pigeon, and a stamp and post mark from oxford. Being somewhat suspicious at this, i did dispose of said item post haste.
Expecting my target to be out singing hymns in Mr Clayton's funeral, I resorted to lameness to do justice to my name. The only noteworthy thing was that the porters, instead of hampering, were actually falling over each other to help me, even going as far as pointing my target's pigeonhole out ("It's the one below the name") and actually delivering one letter all by themselves. Porters in some other colleges (you know who you are) please take note.
Tonight, Agent Icarus was almost the victim of a most odious attack - two poisoned letters were placed in my pigeon hole. This would probably have worked had the poison from the first not been visible on the envelope of the second and immediately aroused my suspicions...
Well, the first letter (sneakily an unenveloped flyer) was instantly binned and the second was opened carefully with a damp sponge for inspection. At first sight, it appeared to be a request for an overdue library book fine to be paid. Clever, I thought, but I don't take out any library books - more to this than meets the eye. Sure enough, on the other side was written something along the lines of "Why can't you be in more often? Love, A. Sassin".
I would like to state categorically that I am in really quite often, but people seem to have the amazing knack of missing me. Or, of course, I could be lying and really spend all of my time hiding in Great St. Mary's Church.
Transcript of the speech given on this most sombre of occasions:
After the Government decreed that he who rests in this tomb, having acquitted himself as a brave man in the war, should have a public funeral, and appointed me to the duty of delivering the customary speech, I began straight away to study how he might receive his due tribute of praise; but as I studied and searched my mind, the conclusion forced itself upon me that to speak as Edward deserves was one of those things that cannot be done. For, since he scorned the love of life that is inborn in all men and chose rather to die nobly than to live and look upon Cambridge in misfortune, how can he have failed to leave behind them a record of valor surpassing all power of words to express?
The strongest are those who understand with perfect clarity what is terrible in life and what is sweet and then go out undeterred to confront danger: his natural bravery sprang from his way of life, not from the compulsion of laws. He was a lover of the beautiful, yet simple in his tastes, and cultivated the arts without loss of manliness. His love for beauty did not make him extravagant, and his love of things of the mind did not make him soft.
In nobility of spirit, Edward differed from most others in the way he conducted himself toward other peoples. He made friendships not by receiving kindness from others but by conferring it on others. Helping others made him a more trustworthy friend, because he then acted so as not to lose the good will that his help created. A man who makes its friendships by *accepting* help is not so trustworthy. Their conduct toward other peoples is going to be governed not by good will, but merely by their grudging sense of obligation. Edward alone did kindness to others, not because he stopped to calculate whether this would be to his advantage, but in the spirit of liberality, which motivated him.
He who owed Edward something is likely to be listless in his friendship, knowing that when he repays the kindness, it will count not as a favor bestowed but as a debt repaid.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end. The song is ended - but the melody lingers on.
Rev. Colin Powell
A small SWAT recon squad, led by General Colin Powell, arrived at Sorin Basca's hideout to find two bodies amid a pool of blood. The team's surgeon, assisted by other members of the squad with some medical training, was able to give some treatment to the victims, whose condition seems to have stabilised. One of the wounded was identified as 0ff1c3r Jeff K, whereas the other's identity remains unknown at this time. Both of them are currently under intensive medical care at Addenbrooke's Hospital and are expected to be discharged within 24 hours.
The other individual has been tentatively identified as Omega. The survival of the two is attributed mostly to the law-abiding nature of the individuals concerned, and possibly to Fate, which had thrown them together in such unlikely circumstances.
Today, at approximately 1640hrs and 1705hrs, I twice attempted to assassinate Ghost Of but he was not answering his door, so I had to leave.
I like funerals. I attended Ed's today. Little did I know but one of my assassins was also there. So, when I passed him on the stairs later that afternoon I knew what he was up to. I waited for him at the bottom and shot him in the back when he came back down.
I then went out to help with my proper job, but to no avail, it was good fun anyway.
After the Funeral of some bloke from the Emmanual College Legitimate Buisnessmen's Club at which I wore a sutably cunning disguise of a shirt and my hair in a pony tail to avoid later detection) I attended a SWAT/merc raid only for sod all to happen
1. Plant a bomb when you have the chance, preferably BEFORE your target knows you're an assassin (Preferably at a funeral).
2. If you're going to change your appearence to kill someone make it a good one, not just wearing your hair different and putting a sweater over your shirt.
3. When you meet your assassin, make sure you get a good look at him and know his face well.
4. When you know your target (or at least his mafia) are going to a SWAT raid at 4:30, try to turn up at 5:00 in case he's running a bit late.
5. When going to your target's room and you meet a person you don't recognise going down the staircase pass him then try shouting [insert name of target], if he turns around, kill him, don't let him get away to a ambush position.
6. When leaving a target's staircase always look for the guy standing in a doorway with a gun in his hand.
Meh. Left a bomb though (1 Litre), he knows about it but only because I told him after I died so he can't really act on that info. really.
Oh yes and I would further like to make it known that this "innocent young thing from Newhall" (read fat git from Churchill) did it for the Newhall Underground and that even now thousands of Newhall assassins will be plotting the complete anhilalation of Emmafia. If I were a member of Emma I'd get to them first......
A large SWAT strike team, led by General Colin Powell under the supervision of Chief Avada, took part in an extended assault on St John's college, with the intention of apprehending or otherwise neutralising dangerous terrorist Sorin Basca, and breaking up the dangerous Johnian faction should they come to his assistance.
While most of the team proceeded to the target's suspected hideout and its vicinity, Chief Avada and General Powell (armed with high-powered precision weaponry) climbed up to the roof of the building as it was expected that other Johnian criminals would use it as a point-of-entry. Sure enough, short after the beginning of the main team's siege, a dark figure carrying a large revolver emerged from a stairwall and was promptly shot by Chief Avada. Soon two more people -dressed in black and moving surreptitiously, although not openly bearing weapons- approached the 'hot' stairwell oblivious of our presence.
With his last breath, the dying Johnian screamed 'Run away! The cops are here!', and the couple jumped up in shock. Chief Avada and General Powell both yelled 'FREEZE!', but the two started running. Quickly, Gen. Powell fired a warning shot that passed neatly between the two, stopping the female Johnian dead in her tracks (figuratively speaking, of course). Finding herself staring at the barrel of not one but four guns, she had no choice but to give up. She was arrested and quickly questioned - but had to be subsequently released due to lack of evidence. The male fugitive vanished.
The senior police officials then reunited with the rest of the squad, who hadn't succeeded in finding the target. After another futile search operation, and a series of patrols throughout St. John's, the team decided to pull back for the time being - and were surprised to encounter the aforementioned male fugitive, in company of another suspicious-looking character, walking naturally across Cripp's Court. Both were promptly arrested, but again had to be set free as no information could be extracted from them without resorting to violence. At that point, the squad withdrew from the area and went to have some well-deserved dinner. All were invited to donuts by General Powell.
I think I can safely say that there is now wide support for the police throught the community (except possibly within John's), and that as allegations of corruption are slowly forgotton, they can return to performing their assigned duties with fairness and efficiency.
I also wish to remind you (yet again) that if you are dead, you should spectate - without (for example) yelling warnings to your friends.
Meeting some interesting people at the funeral of the esteemed Ed Clayton, I agreed to trust them sufficiently to accompany them on a raid to apprehend our wanted criminal, Sorin Basra. Well, after the good CAttAC and his SWAT team promised with some formality and at length not to kill me, anyway- can't be too careful these days....
I then used my innocent appearance to persuade the porter to show me a matriculation photo, at which point over four black-coated men with hands under coats (and in Gen. Powell's case a large paper bag of considerable interest) came in to see.
Approaching the place where the evil dwells, I knew the defensive strategy of the reputed Johnnian Mafia, and the CAttAC deployed his forces accordingly. Hence several members of the SWAT team knocked on the criminals' door while Gen. Powell defended the roof with a rather nice rifle, and I laid an ambush also on the roof, crouched behind a wall. (John's roof is a great setting for this sort of thing.) Impressive weaponry backup apparently arrived from Games and Puzzles through the front gate, but then went home.
As the criminal was placed under threat, a figure in black came leaping over the rooftops holding a pellet gun, and as I had predicted turned into G staircase to attack from above. I was round the corner, a gun in each hand, waiting.... He charged past me. I shot him several times, and alerted Gen. Powell. Another Johnnian mafioso in black leather came charging to the fray, and the CAttAC sniped at him at impressive range, at which point he fled. A girl who had appeared with him was suitably intimidated, the police cannot allow the public to interfere with important operations. The corpse was told to shut up, and identified as MafiaPro
After a few minutes more waiting, the CAttAC and I descended the stairs and hung around outside the room, guns obviously at the ready, en masse. Suddenly visible laser sights were trained on the CAttAC from the roof, and we had several minutes of avoiding them before we realised that they were from our own backup.
Various people wandered past, and Yak, Polyploid, and the subdued Omega turned up. We held them at gunpoint for a while, and then, since Sorin was apparently out, left.
Oh, and I got back home for the first time since 8 this morning to find a note; "Your Death Awaits You" scrawled on the pad on my door, and signed "Anon". Just because they're after me doesn't mean threats are going to increase my paranoia.
Hi. My name is Mafiapro and I am speaking to you from the grave. I was mercilessly assassinated by the Chief of Police this evening on the roof of St. John's. Technically it was fair gain, as I had my weapon drawn, although as it was in the dark it is possible that she may not have seen my weapon before she shot me. Is there sufficient doubt for my life to be saved?
My mission was to protect a fellow member of the Baby Seal's Mafia from suspected assassins, but I was instead mercilessly killed by the Police. I will not rest in my grave until vengence is done.
Since you were guilty of bearing weapons, seen to be bearing weapons, and aiding and abetting a criminal, there are no grounds for you to live.
The (alleged) existence of the Baby Seals has been noted, along with their confessed harbouring of a wanted criminal.
Firstly, I would like to state that The Firm and The Capitalist Mafia are
now affiliated, mostly due to The Firm's provision of logistical support for
As a guesture of this new found unity, I joined with them as they attempted
to take out one of the feeble John's assassins.
Making our way with all haste, much paranoia, and enough guns to start WW3
we headed to John's at roughly 6pm.
Swiftly we found the target's room, and set up the artillery. Then came the
1.) Knock on the door
2.) Wait for target to open the door
3.) Shoot them with the BFRBG9000
However, it all went wrong at part 2, as he refused point blank. I then improvised a bomb, and it is lucky that it was poorly improvised, as I had just finished setting it up when the target opened his door wide enough to snipe at me with his pathetic excuse for a RBG. I fell to the floor, clutching my right arm, which had absorbed the full brunt of his attack. At least three gaping bullet hole were pouring blood onto the ground. Before I went into shock I managed to recover my weaponry, and we then left with all haste. I sit here now, typing one-handed, while waiting for my arm to slowly heal.
I have had conflicting reports on exactly where Snapdragon was hit, but given that Hylas the Nymph Pimp opened, fired, and closed again, I think it's probably more likely that Snapdragon is right. Thus he lives, for now.
A bomb planted outside Miss Gnomial's doorthis afternoon has just killed an unhappy civilian - ME! Please can you note this as a FAILED attempt!
As The Stoned Philosopher observed above, Miss Gnomial had no way of knowing about the bomb, and is thus entirely unresponsible for the death.
That's it, I though to my self as the sun fell below the horizon. His grace period is finally over. Hehad given me insufficient room info, he had walked into the Capitalist Secret HQ and purchased weapons, I had even decided I was just too sporting and honourable to gun him down when I bumped into him on his way home, I from attepting to find his room, he from Darwin college. His time had come. With what our American cousins would call a "Light Support Team" I decided on "an Apropriate and Measured Responce" aka an all out assult. Oh, and the ammo for the BFRBG9000 had just arrived and I had to try it!!!!
And as my crack team took up their stations to flush the target from his cowardly hiding hole there was just one obstical, his abject refusal to open the door. I felt I had been more than fair in the past, was opening a door too much to ask? And then he had the audacity to wound my bomb deployment officer! That is fairly unsportsman like!
Out of all people stalking me, i wasn't expecting the Capitalist mafia. A knock, then a lame excuse. I could see them clearly from the slit of my door, armed to the teeth with the brand new BF Rubber Band Gun. And a tank. I told them to go away since i knew who they were. They persisted, and one of them started to plant a bomb. I then armed myself, and waited by the door.
Sounds of cellophane tape. That could only mean one thing: the bomb is not fully operational.
I opened the door partially and shot a volley of bullets at the demolition man. He was crouching and could only helpless crawl away as the bullets penetrated his back. He whimpered and moaned, but his friends could not help him since the door has already been closed. And i was safe inside, momentarily celebrating and jumping for joy with the easy kill. Finally realising they were helpless, the Capitalist mafia left, empty-handed except for the corpse of their dead explosives expert.
I'll be waiting.
The slight disparity regarding the health of the bomber is resolved below.
Oh mistake, AN ERROR. An attempt has been made on The Youngest himself of the most base and cowardly kind. I know not what kind of foolish worthless gimp saw fit to strike at this bastion of power - I found, in my pigeon hole, a dubious looking letter. My suspicions immediately aroused by the inkjet printing, I took it to one of my henchmen to open with gloves; sure enough, a poisoned letter! A LETTER - the most cowardly of all attacks! As if to say, I dont have the nerve to look into your eyes as you die, to me you are just a statistic - A STATISTIC!!! NO ONE TREATS THE YOUNGEST IN THIS WAY AND LIVES. When I find that who is responsible for this COWARDICE, they will die horribly. My mafia is strong. We don't know fear. We have the power. WE WILL NOT FAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I note that giving your mail to someone else to open is a really bad idea. Details in various places in the rules.
I happened to be standing on the pavement talking to some of my girl-friends, when, by beauteous coincidence, the dashing Mr Edward Nokes - one of my targets - came marching straight out the door of a nearby college, bold as brass. He walked straight past me, sadly unaware of his iminent fate. I wasted no time as I drew my gun from my handbag, hastily rushed up behind him as he walked, and delivered five shots in the back. He tried to turn and return fire, but it was too late. All that remained was for me to clean the splatter from my dress.
An anonymous source offered Dave a reward for his actions. He rather generously offered them as a bounty for whoever kills Taz.
Update: The source then withdrew his offer. Can we assume that one of our biscuit sources has sympathies with the Baby Seals?
Have since read the account of my finding, and wish to thank the policemen for saving my life. My condition is now stable and I am now feeling much better, however for a period it must have been very serious - if that was a small squad of policemen, I was seeing double.
07:10 - I outfit myself for the operation: heavy weapons are ditched in
favour of mobility and stealth; intimidating 'machismo' clothing and
ornaments are discarded in favour of non-descript sports gear; biker boots
are dropped in favour of standard-issue army footwear.
07:30 - I arrive at the target's staircase. Everything is very quiet.
07:35 - I inspect the area for optimal hiding places, lines of sight, reflective areas, shadow projections, and threat reaction times. I realise my combat boots squeak rather distinctively. Note to self: haven't the army types noticed this? It reminds me of the old M1 Garand rifle's 'feature' of automatically dropping empty magazines: not only loud, but also extremely embarrassing.
07:36 - I remove them and hide them inside a bathroom.
07:59 - Two cleaners arrive in the area. I manage to remain hidden while still being able to observe the target's door.
08:02 - A third cleaner arrives; she doesn't notice me either, but this time it's a close call.
08:08 - A bespectacled short white male enters the kitchen from the opposite end of the corridor, but does not spot me.
08:10 - Said bespectacled short white male returns to his room. Note to self: should have asked him for coffee (and donuts).
08:14 - The door adjacent to the target's opens, and a tall white male emerges, clad in a bathrobe and carrying shower equipment. He's obviously troubled by my presence, but proceeds to the shower room without making any comment beyond a quiet 'hello'.
08:26 - Target's neighbour returns to his room.
08:33 - Cleaners leave. At around that time, activity outside the staircase increases significantly, as people begin to leave for their 9am lectures.
08:38 - Telephone rings in my vicinity. Is it in the target's room? Is someone trying to warn him of my presence?
08:41 - Target's neigbour receives a short visit from a tall white female. They both proceed to leave the area together. Note to self: telephone call most likely made by the tall white female to the tall white male.
08:50 - Activity in and around the area dies down.
09:12 - A female neighbour enters the shower room, but does not spot me.
09:16 - Said female neighbour leaves the shower room. Note to self: said female neighbour showers significantly faster than aforementioned tall white male.
09:25 - A male neighbour appears, but does not spot me. Instead he spots my boots as he walks into the bathroom.
09:27 - Said male neighbour leaves toilet.
09:28 - I recover my boots and hide them better this time.
09:43 - I hear heavy footsteps approaching the point of entry nearest me (and nearest the target's door). I hide and prepare to leap out. I leap out. I put both my guns to the head of... a bedder? Note to self: Oh dear.
09:44 - After quickly and, erm, inconspicuously putting those guns away, I politely inquire as to the whereabouts of the target. Visibly disturbed, the bedder confesses her ignorance, but offers to open his room for me. How co-operative. I find myself forced, however, to decline her generous offer.
09:45 - The bedder leaves; if the target was in his room, he must have heard the conversation. No point in keeping my feet frozen, so I retrieve and put on my boots.
09:47 - I knock on the target's door. No response.
09:49 - I knock on the target's door. No response.
09:50 - A medium-height white male approaches the outside door. I train a revolver in his direction while covering the target's door with the other.
09:51 - Said medium-height white male opens the door, and spontaneously claims he's not playing. I not-very-politely request that he put his hands where I can see them. He complies. He insists that he only wanted to check if Sorin was in, and although he does match the target's (vague) description, he lacks his distinctive romanian accent. Note to self: sometimes I wish I were a wanted criminal so I could shoot random people...
er, no, scratch that.
09:52 - Said medium-height white male knocks on the target's door. No response.
09:53 - Said medium-height white male leaves the area under my careful supervision. I hide again.
10:00 - I leave the area, rather disappointed. Conclusion: it is very likely that the target (rather wisely) decided to spend the night out after yesterday's raids.
Details below. This does not affect his redemption.
This morning I decided to do my job of dangerous assassin and I went to kill Ralph Clerk, police officer, and Alex Stevenson, one of my targets. I killed both in the old fashion way, knocked on their door, they opened and then I shot them. I killed Ralph at 9:05 and Alex at 9:10.
Interestingly he discovered that Alex Stevenson was in fact the 'innocent' neighbour killed on Tuesday, for whose murder he had been made wanted. Because Alex Stevenson had been sufficiently dishonest not to report it (and possibly because Taz didn't make much of the fact that he had two targets next door to each other), this hadn't been previously realised.
The death of the cop can be regarded as an unfortunate side effect of stress and frustration at wrongful arrest, and will be forgiven.
Taz is now redeemed.
As part of a cunning plan, this morning I decided to extend my culture (or lack of therein) and go up to the hallowed grounds of the WGB. For those amongst you who are "human" like myself, this is the William Gates Building aka the computer lab. Not being so unfortunate as to be a compsci myself, I'd never been. Well, obviously the building looks good, seeing as it cost a fortune. But that's beside the point. I got there and set myself up to wait with my trusty companion. However, we waited and waited. And then the lecture started, and still my target did not turn up. So in the end I was forced to return home empty-handed and hungry for blood. But I will get thee, oh yes I will!
I left lectures at approximately 11 am today, and then a friend of mine pointed David Swinburne out to me. I took out my trusty knife and quickly stabbed him.
A Reading from the book of the Canteloupe, Chapter 2:
'13Later in the same month, the Canteloupe did summon two carrier-pigeons to his aid, and he didst attach a missive to the left leg of each one. 14The letters, disguised as communications from the University of Cambridge, did bear that most lethal of poisons, talcum. 15And lo, the Canteloupe did direct the pigeons to deliver unto Big Daddy G and also unto someone else. 16And then the Canteloupe did rest, and awaited the return of his pigeons, which, in his mercy, he hoped would bear news of death.'
Here ends the second lesson.
Death did not occur. This time.
At 17.20 Big Daddy G rummaged through the clutter of his pigeon hole to see if there was anything interesting. Surely enough he found a brown envelope for him that had been sent through the UMS. There have been a lot of poisoning attempts lately and so Big Daddy G was filled with a healthy dose of caution and this letter looked far to professionally done to have been sent by any of his supervisors. And so with a pair of leather gloves he opened the letter and surely enough:
Dear Mr Gee,
It has been brought to our notice by your Director of Studies that you are not performing as well in your academic work as might reasonably be expected. Naturally we view this as a cause for concern, and wish to provide assitance in rectifying this problem.
To that end, we have identified your main extra-curricular activity as being a player in the unofficial society named "The Assassin's Guild". In order to reduce the amount of time this takes up out of your already busy schedule, we have taken the liberty of poisoning the back of this letter. We hope that, for the sake of your studies, you will have the sense to touch some of it if you have not already done so.
We thank you for your time, and wish you well for the rest of this term.
My door to door peg selling brought me to the dark and dingy abode of a man. I knocked at the door, once, twice, thrice. "Dave?" I called, "Dave? I have many beautiful pegs for you, and even a goldfish if you are good." But the door remained closed so I amused myself by making my three-legged dog walk up and down the stairs for many a minute before leaving and taking my pegs with me.
Wallace decided that it was far too much work for him to walk all the way to lectures by his own steam this morning, so decided to use my mechanical advantage. Fortunately, Master Criminal, Feathers McGraw didn't have my controls, so I was able to take Wallace down King's Parade at a leisurely 3mph. After what turned out to be a rather dull lecture on the preservation of Wensleydale, I returned Wallace to college. He's made some modifications to me since you last saw me on film, and I now have little hands that can be used to take mail from pigeonholes. He was pleased that there was an letter, thinking that it was from Wendolene. Gromit, on the other hand, thought otherwise. After an inspection sniff, his body language said that the envelope contained poison. A careful dissection with cheese tweezers proved this to be the case. "Nice one, Gromit!" said Wallace, "Let's go and have a nice cup of tea."
2.05 Trigger-happy gun-wielding maniac enters kitchen, and with ruthless precision kills everyone in the room. Laughing manically he goes over to the disembered corpses to ensure his victim is dead.
2.06 Ah. Gun-wielding maniac appears to be a sick criminal mass murderer. No woman of such name can be found among the bloody carnage. Selwyn mafia very amused by tragic turn of events.
In the usual fashion, I make you wanted for multiple homicide.
Michael Nickson's target: Sir Sven O'Bjornchester Samuel J. McHolzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahoy! Wilson reports:
14:11... A tentative knock on my door.
I grabbed my mobile and mobilised everyone nearby, stalling them as they
passed the form under my door. It was a pink one (should have been blue)
but then I wasn't going to open my door anyway. I eventually passed the
form back under my door (harder than you'd imagine without touching it).
They thanked me and one left audibly. There were still slight noises from
outside. The other two left a minute later, with a shouted warning from
halfway down the stairs.
The door to my staircase closed and I waited to hear news from my friends.
Seconds later there was the sound of four muffled gunshots. I soon
discovered that The
"Hi, who's there?"
"We're here with a rag survey, about blind date."
Hmmm. "OK, hang on a moment."
14:11... A tentative knock on my door.
I grabbed my mobile and mobilised everyone nearby, stalling them as they passed the form under my door. It was a pink one (should have been blue) but then I wasn't going to open my door anyway. I eventually passed the form back under my door (harder than you'd imagine without touching it). They thanked me and one left audibly. There were still slight noises from outside. The other two left a minute later, with a shouted warning from halfway down the stairs.
The door to my staircase closed and I waited to hear news from my friends. Seconds later there was the sound of four muffled gunshots. I soon discovered that TheThe Fluffy Pufferfish had killed them as they tried to escape.
The first corpse:
'We reached the targets location after succesfully infiltrating the Caius stronghold with not even a second look from anyone. 'Caius mafia indeed!' we said jokingly to each other, congratulating each other of our stealth. However the fool target wouldn't fall for our cunning plan, created after months of planning from the safety of our stronghold. We thus decided to retreat, shouting a blood chilling warning as we descended the stairs. As we walked out the staircase door however I noticed two shadowy figures from the corner of my eye. Suddenly I realised I was in mortal danger and me and my mafia went into 'stealth mode' (copyright selwyn mafia), succesfully crawling along the wall past the threatening glares of the black figures. As I reached the Caius gate I relaxed again - i could see the street and the chill inside my heart began to subside. But then to my horror a cloaked figure lept out from the street letting loose a hail of gunfire cutting down both my mafiosa where they stood, dead before they hit the floor. As time went into slow motion I attempted to turn, seeing only more threatening figures directly behind me. With a guttural cry I turned back, ready to draw my TCS and strike down the murderous gunman in front of me. But my first step towards the figure was greeted by a single shot. I stopped dead as the bullet ripped through me. Falling to me my knees a red mist began to cloud my vision and suddenly I was very cold. As the blackness came I uttered my final words...'ya freaking morons, ya godammed princes!'
Alas, since you were still within 10s of the target's staircase, and were just leaving, you were still legal targets. Not that you would be alive had you not been legal.
I also note that Dave Swinburne was dead at the time, and hence not allowed to participate (in theory, I could nullify the entire attack because of that - but it went badly for you, so I won't). As a result of your breaking the rules, I am not inclined to be sympathetic.
Incidentally, a rolled up newspaper is only a valid cosh is labelled.
At about 14.15 today I received a frantic telephone call from a friend - "I think there's an assassin outside my door" I grabbed as many weapons as I could find and swiftly moved to a vantage point from which I could indeed see two shady looking figures in the kitchen. Walking further into college, the same two people appeared, accompanied by another I did not recognise. So I shot all three of them. I suspect mafia involvement, given that the three of them all claimed to be from the same college. This sort of behaviour should of course be frowned upon.
As frowning goes, that was pretty effective. This sort of pro-active disapproval seems entirely reasonable.
The Selwyn mafia stealthily approached the target's stronghold. Over the last few weeks, I had stalked him steadily, studied his habits, his mannerisms, his gait, his clothes, his likes and dislikes: in effect, I had BECOME (target). Over a 3-week stakeout, we grew to know our subject. Soon, we would be ready to infiltrate the cartel, and big Tony would be able to..er, sorrry, hang on. Our attempts to lure him from his cave were unsuccessful, and we departed, feeling faitly uneasy. I couldnt help being reminded of the classic scene in Jurassic Park, where the park ranger stalks one raptor to discover he is being stalked by a raptor himself: hunter becomes hunted!
As the second raptor loomed into sight, I unwittingly murmured the script of this cult classic: 'Clever girl...'. She brought out her gun, and to describe the scenes that followed as a bloodbath would be nothing short of bathetic. The slightly depleted Selwyn mafia left, a little wiser.
... and a lot littler.
After a lecture yesterday, Agent Icarus and Hamm were followed rather obviously by a person we believe to be Daniel Kenyon Jones. Quickly spotting that we were being tailed, we proceeded to lure said person into a blind alley and quickly took up hiding places. As our tail entered, I opened fire and hit him several times.
He claimed to have been working on behalf of the police with special dispensation from the Umpire, and if so I think I am wanted? If not, then he is a corpse and everything is OK. But he did pull a gun on us, when he saw mine drawn. But I had a longer range. Bwuhahaha.
The special dispensation mentioned referred to his being police before I had a chance to update the website - and certainly did notgive him lisence to stage such an attack, nor render him immune to the fatal consequences of such. Long range prevails, and Synaptomys Cooperi is dead. Agent Icarus is not made wanted (since Synaptomys Cooperi was attacking him...)
I followed to very doggy "Mafia" looking people out of my lecture theatre, not to kill them (as i had no reason to) but just to see what they were up to. This resulted in an incident in an alley. One of the people had unsubtly hidden behind a box while the other (unknown to me) had gone down some stairs and was hidden from me.
I slowly walked towards the box (with no weapon drawn). The person behind the boxes steeped out with a RBG clearly in his hand.
(This is the bit where i did something very silly)
I pulled out my own RBG which was hidden in a trouser pocket (yes i have large pockets) and opened fire. The person in front of me opened fire about the same time (not quite sure). We were about 6m+ apart and the alley was quite windy. He had the bigger gun and therefor would probably have been out ranging me.
Taking the law into your own hands has this effect sometimes.
Early yesterday afternoon (around 2:30pm on Thursday 31st) U.N.C.L.E's niece and I (The Rabbi) came out of Borders to see one of the employees of Games and Puzzles down Green Street, a loaded RBG in his hand. Not wanting to miss the opportunity of a kill we both went for our weapons. While I was still fumbling, the excellent U.N.C.L.E's niece was already running in for the kill. She placed her cap-gun squarely between the target's shoulder-blades and fired, whilst yelling "assassination". The shot echoed down Green Street, surprising a fair number of tourists
Fortunately for Exquisite Corpse, he made it into G&P before the shot was fired (the front step does count as part of the premises), and he survives.
NB: This is a genuine plug for a real film - those approaching and leaving are out of bounds. Someone thinks you lot will be interested.
Just thought I'd send you an email as the contact for the assasin's guild (is that correct?) to tell you that St John's College Film Society are showing the Japanese Lord of the Flies and definitely of interest to your members: 'Battle Royale' tonight at 9pm in the Fisher Building, St John's College, and entrance costs just 2 pounds.
Thursday 31st January, 9pm
Think 'Lord of the Flies' Japanese style ? a weary teacher attempts to teach his class a lesson by putting them all on an island allowing for only one survivor. An uneasy mix of extreme violence and humour characterizes the film's examination of humanity. Fast-paced and interesting, but not for the faint-hearted.
Shown in association with the Cambridge University Anglo-Japanese Society.
Directed by Kinji Fukasaku. Written by Kenta Fukasaku and Koshun Takami.
Japan 2000 114 mins
Omega would like to report that he placed a bomb outside the door of a Mr Steven Cooper. The bomb was a 2 litre device cunningly disguised as a fizzy drinks bottle, with a primary detonator on one side and a secondary detonator on the base of the bottle, such that the secondary detonator could not be seen. It is anticipated that any attempt to diffuse the primary detonator will result in the secondary detonator going off, thus killing the diffuser. The bomb was placed at approximately 12:10. It is unknown whether the target was within their room at the time of placement.
What's left of the target reports, messily:
I was inside my room, about to leave. I took my usual precaution of looking through the spy-hole in my door before opening it. I saw nothing. I started to slowly open the door (which, unusually, opens outwards), but for all the care I took in doing so, the effect was instantaneous. The bomb - with its 2 litres of high explosive - had been expertly primed to detonate at the slightest movement of my door. These are the recollections of the ensuing final microseconds of my life: the door was blasted in straight off its hinges. It was blown upwards and over me at 1000 mph, and caught my head, smashing my face, smashing my skull and near-enough decapitating me as it rocketed past. The blast vapourised my clothing, along with all the skin on the front of my body. Pretty well all my bones were shattered, my body was generally pulverised, my muscles were shredded. My body, within a split second little more than a mass of bloody pulp, was being blown backwards into my room, finally disintegrating on my back wall. A smouldering unrecognisable mess of blood and body parts litters the floor of my room. Alas, I must concede, that I am well and truly dead.
I'm slightly dismayed that I have been nominated for the Brutus award so soon. As the reports from Monday night indicate, the Binford Mafia had every intention of stitching me up. I think I was justified in acting the way I did, and that they themselves (and Agent Icarus in particular) should also be nominated for the award. The Binford mafia have acted in an improper manner and have subsequently attempted to besmirch my good name. Don't believe the lies, for this is indeed, A League of Honest Assassins.
I must also apologise that no ALOHA! agents were able to attend Ed Clayton's funeral; we felt that our gaudy Hawaiian shirts would not have been fitting on such a sombre occasion, and besides, we were busy watching re-runs of Hawaii 5-0; "Book 'em, Danno!"
That's all for now,
Re: "Police should not collaborate with assassins unless the target is a wanted criminal. This includes giving information..."
I clearly saw Chief Avada and The Fluffy Pufferfish enter (subject) together, sit next to one another (chatting about matters assassin-related) and then leave, again together. This would seem to me to be evidence of corruption, since only days ago we received the statement:
"Ma Baker and Fluffy Pufferfish are clearly suffering from post-traumatic
stress after the apparently non-mafia-related death of Ed Wallace, and I
support my colleague in the newly caring, concerned and understanding police
force in not condemning them for actions for which they cannot be held
By my reckoning, The Fluffy Pufferfish and Chief Avada are clearly in collusion and faked medical evidence in order to save the former's neck.
I look forward to your judgement on this - I would be appreciative if any references made in the news could be anonymous - the witness protection scheme is vital if fear and corruption is to be eliminated.
I think you will find that you witnessed an example of 'care in the community', where our valient CoP was bravely risking herself to socialise a redeemed lunatic, and return her to normal society - she should be commended for such, not condemned!
At 16:45 a bomb was placed outside the door of Mr. Agent Icarus of trinity hall. This bomb had two detonators, one linked to the door, and one linked to a motion sensor, so he should be in lots of little tiny pieces by now.
Today, did I find a bomb of great cunning and artifice placed against my door. My manner of encountering this bomb assures me that the great cloaked figure in the sky is looking on me with benevolence - a detonator attached to my door fell off as I opened it, but failed to detonate. After I returned to the door, I looked cautiously around and spotted a large box lying in the middle of the corridor with my name on it. Hmm, thought I. I quickly attached a length of cable around it and proceeded to yank it from a distance of many metres and from behind a door (well out of range). Surely, did it go BANG in a loud way, leaving the bomb destroyed, and my fears were justified. I then proceeded to open said box (Mad Fool, that I am!) and was astonished my the amount of wiring / clever gyroscopy things / batteries / bottles of water inside. The bomb had clearly been around since last term - as it had Ralph Owen's name on the inside.
The note on the bomb said "See you in Hell" - well, I'll save you a seat...
The bomb should be returned to me, from where it will make it's way back to the source...
Mr Hyde keeps his promises, he returned with some backup to pay his delayed respects to Aarti Shah. Once more he found her not to be in her room, but wait her door is open, the sound of a shower in the nearby bathroom. Putting two and two together came to the logical conclusion as to miss shahs whereabouts. Taking hiding in the bend in the corridor by miss shahs room he waited. Information was sought from a passerby who was of the opinion Hank The Invincible Maggot was in the vicinity, helping confirm his suspicions. These were proven when Aarti Shah emerged towel clad and unarmed into the corridor two bullets was all it took.
A little cruel, perhaps, but effective. Another kill for C.L.A.W.S.
Kirika, who was also present, reports:
Excert from the official CIA report
Target: Hank The Invincible Maggot
Her bloody body was found outside the door of her room, wearing only a towel, and apparently carrying no weaponry. It is apparent that having left her door open the target proceeded to have a shower. Upon exiting the shower she was shot twice in the chest by Simon N. Hyde. Death was near instantaneous, but apparently in her blood she make a marking which apparently means "I shall have my revenge!". Eye-witness reports also place the assassin known as Kirika in the vicintiy, apparently wielding an assualt rifle and pistol. The target is thought to be a member of Soldats, investigations are continuing.
The obvious question: Who are Soldats, and what did they do? Or, perhaps, what didn't they do?
At 6.45 today (31.1.02) Manic Depressive Honeybee (& accomplice Rob Meyers) tried to kill me. Luckily I was ateending a call of natureand overherd them. Then following them, I proceeded to shoot both of them in the back. Ha Ha. Better luck next game.
In this dying message, scrawled on my (used) handkerchief, hopefully I can warn others not to be so foolish...I went with an accomplice to hit one of our customers; we knocked at his door, no response, so we started walking down the flights of stairs... I heard a door open upstairs, and someone walking down the stairs above us; I caught a glance of him, he was looking down at us. Seemed suspicious to me... we walked all the way down, and talked briefly outside. (Yes, it's a rather long message; but I'm dying slowly, if you don't mind. And there's plenty of space on this hanky.) The person walked by, looking at us; I was feeling rather suspicious by this stage. A few minutes later we were walking towards one of the college entrances when we felt a whole load of bullets (rubber bands) tear into us, in one of the courtyards in plain sight (there were several people around, although it was quite dark). Yes, that person was supposed to be my lucky customer; he had in fact been in the bathroom whilst we were knocking. What can I say? Doh.
Uh-oh - deadline approaching. Note to self: make a miserable last minute poisoned letter attempt to stay competent. Probably not going to work anyway. Please do tell me if it does.
Well, I have found surgical gloves to be an excellent investment. Tonight I discovered a letter in my pigeonhole, but since I'm a fairly popular kinda guy, this didn't arouse much suspicion. Disarmingly, this letter was perfect on the outside; printed label on brown envelope, inclusion of my middle initial (credit on that note), luckily I am ruled by my paranoid neuroses, and so scooped it up in my trusty Guardian and headed home, there donning my brand new pair of surgical gloves to open aforesaid letter, whereupon discovering it to be of nefarious intent! Contact poison! Naturally I am disgusted by this attempt upon my life, - and come on, surely too much jabbering in the letter from my would-be-killer. Al survives, and encourages further indirect attempts on his life, cos he's a chicken up close, really.
At sometime around 19:00 today I discovered a poisoned letter in my pigeonhole. The poison was that most dastardly formula combining danger with almost total invisibility - double sided sticky tape.
Fortunately, like any good assassin I have been using thick gloves to check the mail since Day 1, so two layers of fabric protected me. Checking for detonators, I found none and easily disposed of the poison in an approved biological isolation unit (plastic bag) after removing the note inside with a knife.
It read: "A-hunting we will go, you have just been killed (hopefully), by THE BEAST".
Sorry to disappoint you. Next time please be a little less cowardly and come to my door so I can shoot you.
(Poison letters are boring for me...)
Acting on information relayed to me by my mafia's sources I headed to Cauis bar, where I was told my target Firien was enjoying their bar quiz. I checked in the JCR and in the Bar, but I could not find anyone matching the photographic description of him that I have, so I went home. Bit boring really, I'll have to get out more tomorrow. Can't have the Cauis mafia having more kills that the Binford Mafia...
Someone's set themselves a challenge...
f1]Yesterday evening I left a sticky flier in my target Yak's pigeon hole though only at the last minute did I avoid putting it in the one above.
Some nefarious person tried to contact poison me with a Thursday @ The Fez flier, but taking all my mail out of my pigeon hole with a knife saved me. Sorry
I recieved the following. I'm sure it would have been in green ink, had it been an HTML mail.
I write on behalf of the St John's College Flower Arrangement and Crochet Society, colloquially known as the "Baby Seals" on account of our harmlessness and lovable nature. Your website, to which I was directed by a well-meaning friend from the Girton Tree-Huggers association, has levelled terrible accusations about our organisation and its members.
Firstly, you make slanderous remarks about our own Women's Team President, Sorin Basca. Sorin has been going through a very tough time recently with all the publicity surrounding the supposed "murder" of denizens of Pembroke College. Your website does nothing to calm this furore, with its references to "the criminal Sorin Basca" and "working together against the police". I assure you that we are a law-abiding organisation and would not tolerate any such misdemeanours.
Secondly, and it is this that I find in the worst taste, libelious claims are made regarding our recently departed friend and colleague, Mr William Walter. Mr Walter was not acting against the police force in any way. He was under the impression that the building was under attack by the evil Emmanuel College Society for Kitten Torture and Baby Eating. The so-called "weapon" he was carrying was nothing but a home defence accessory.
I await your apology eagerly,
Secretary for Petunias
The Umpire wishes to restate the official policy (no Mafias or similar organisations exist), and hence regard this as the work of a deranged flower-arranger, working alone.
I apologise for subjecting you to it.
As the Police is going through a phase of modernisation, General Colin Powell thought it appropriate to assess the potential usefulness of purchasing brand new armament for his squad. Having contacted the major arms supplier in the area, he found out there was going to be a trial of the recently released BFRBG-9000 (the main weapon being considered for service in the SWAT Squad) with live ammunition that very evening, so he requested permission to come along as an observer.
Upon arriving at the firing range, one of the automatic trap doors opened and a dummy fired a stun round at 'the salesman' before quickly hiding again, hitting his right arm and thus rendering him unable to fire the BFRBG. While discussing the possibility that another of the technicians taking part in the test could take the gun instead, the dummy emerged again, and shot 'the salesman' in the right elbow.
Rather disappointed with the BFRBG's performance, General Powell then decided to leave the area, and was quickly followed by the sales team - who didn't have a purchaser anymore.
I was listening to the violin concerto n°3 in B minor of Saint-Saes when I hear people knocking at my door (which is constantly locked ...). I replied politely to come in. Looking through the peephole, I noticed two terrifying assassins armed with a ... knife ... What a disappointement. I waited a couple of minute, unlocked my door, waited another couple of minutes, inducing them in a false sense of tranquillity. As the music was reaching its climax I suddenly opened the door and shot to death the two hopeless assassins, which couldn't do much with their knifes...
When everything was over I invited them politely to write a decent report and offered them some biscuits... Politely, as perfect gentlemen would do, while savouring the last keys of the concerto.
Big Daddy G met up with his old friend Paladin in the Emma bar at 9.15 hoping to hunt down (someone). After two hours without seeing him, Big Daddy G had run out of money, so he suggested they go and kill Razmatazz instead. They journeyed through the night to Razmatazz's building arriving there just before midnight. Paladin rang the doorbell of another occupant of the building, and spoke to him through the intercom.
"Hello? We're here to kill Razmatazz. If you let us in, I'll give you £5"
We were promptly let in.
We went up the stairs to Razmatazz's floor. There were a number of people loitering around. One asked Big Daddy G what he was doing there. Big Daddy G told him he had come to kill Razmatazz, and was given directions to his room.
We reached his room. Paladin knocked on the door. After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open. A hand flew out holding a gun and shot Big Daddy G in the head twice. Big Daddy G slumped to the ground. His ghost rose up to see Paladin lunge with his knife, miss and get shot as well. Big Daddy G's spirit lamented over the worst assassination attempt in the history of the guild before floating off to the Van of Life.
When news of this filtered back, dozens of girls killed themselves in fits of grief, shrieking out "We've lost Big Daddy! What's the point of living anymore?" Their spirits have now been happily reunited with the Big Daddy.
5.45 pm, Thursday
On leaving Magdaline I snuck into the dark world of John's. Easilly locating my targets room, I was saddened that they were not present (or at least did not answer my sharp knocks on the door). However, the person in the room opposite luckilly left his chamber at that very minute, and I was able to strike up a conversation with him, learning both my targets name that he was commenly addressed by, and his subject. I would like to express my thanks for the kindness and co operation of Johnians.
8.10 am, Friday
Having spent the night scheming dark plans, and wondering if I could be bothered to look up first year arts students time tables (a no, as none of them go to lectures anyway) my job was not on my mind the following morning, as I had to be up atrociously early in order to boss around eight strong women. Sadly, the river was yellow flagged, so to kill the hour between 7.30 and 8.30 I decided to return to John's (for I did not want my time and care to be seen as incompitence...) Due to the noble chivalry of my spirit I do not bear arms on the river, so I had to quickly hew myself a knife out of my notebook. My target was asleep, until my loud knocking roused him (and half his corridor. I apologise to you all, and to my victim himself, for I know mornings are a treasured thing, but what must be done must be done.) Bleary eyed and clad in dressing gown, unarmed and dewed with the innocence of sleep, he opened the door. I was about to launch into some mumble about "oops, sorry wrong room, my cox box was broken" when I realised it would be far more opportune to seize the moment now. So I stabbed him in the chest. He too, behaved in all respects like a gentleman of honour, and died noblely.
I wonder if he will think t'was all a dream...?
At 7pm this evening the poison letter was put in Mr Chives's pigeon hole. Will it kill him? I hope so. But if not, time is bought so that plots of an even deadlier nature may be brought underway. (followed by manic laughter.)
Oh boy, retribution is fast in Assassins - sent a letter yesterday, got one today! Opened from a distance wearing gloves, poison poured into bin, letter disposed of. Was signed by A. Ssassin.
I was talking to someone who noticed a flyer with marmite on it in my pigeonhole whilst mailing me something. They were unaware of my involvement in the assassins guild at the time. They took the marmited flyer and threw it away. I have no idea whether this was a bad joke or an attempt at my life. The marmite was on the outside of a flyer, not in a letter. I find this negligable, since anyone putting mail into my pigeonhole could have been killed, and suggest that whomever is responsible be made wanted for endangering and killing an innocents.
It was indeed an attempt on your life - and you will b excused the usual penalty for having non-players dispose of your dangerous mail, because the non-player knew not what they did. The attack was reasonable, and no consequences will afflict Little Miss Scatterbrain.
And no, I don't know how to spell marmite (is that right?)
One of the great mysteries of the Universe, I'm afraid.
Is it possible that someone is trying to stir up dissent in the ranks of the senior police? Is it really necessary for them to do this?
A strange figure (Not, as far as I know, an ALOHA! operative) approached me in a lecture theatre this morning, and handed me a sinister object: a bullet, with the name "Mario" clearly marked on it. He then said, "Use it wisely", and departed as mysteriously as he had arrived.
I would like to make the statement that I feel Gen. Powell to have done an incredibly good job so far, and have no grounds to suspect him of corruption or of anything else unsavoury.
The Wages ofSin reports:
To Sidney Sussex we made our way,
but once again we did not slay,
and after a short excursion to Trinity Hall,
we entered the foulest, the toughest of all,
Johns was the place for our final onslaught,
but once again our efforts drew nought,
for after a target that we couldn't place,
to another villain's room we swiftly gave chase.
Alas, empty room after climbing the stairs,
but we left a note on the pad which was there.
And although Extremis drew no blood on this trip,
the morning brings incompetents with bodies to rip.
So to all those who have escaped lightly this time,
it shall not be long before Romans 6.23 shall apply.
Last night I received a package from our intelligence department, it was information on my new target, In the Dark. It contained details of his lectures for one day, Friday. That was all I needed. Oh, and the odd photo or two helped significantly, but was not really necessary.
Upon reaching unknown territory I was faced with the beautiful William Gates building, 'ooh' I thought, he must have a lot of money. I parked up and wandered in. With the layout memorised I quickly picked up some paper to look less dodgy, and then confidently made my way around the building looking for my target. Fortunately there is lots of glass in this building, so spotting my target at a computer I sat down at a machine as well to keep an eye on him.
[No new mail], [No new mail],[No new mail], [No new mail], [No new mail], after pretending for almost ten minutes to be checking and reading emails Neill Smith left for his lecture. I was slightly put off by the fact he didn't use the door I expected, but it turned out to my advantage because I could creep up behind him. As he wandered along the computer lab, I quickly nipped out the nearest door and into the corridor.
I took my gun out and held it behind my back, waiting for the sound of the next door unlocking. Click, and I heard the door open, he glanced at me and walked away along the corridor. As soon as he turned, BANG, one shot cleanly into his back and he was dead on the floor.
I feel sorry for the other users of this lovely building as there is now a lot of blood outside the lifts, I'm sure our friend Bill has enough money to recarpet that bit.
I was just leaving the safety of the WGB computer room, heading for my lecture when I was savagely mowed down in The Street (which isn't actually a street) by Miss Gnomial. This was a slightly more enterprising attempt that the letter sent earlier in the week.
I received by ICMS today an attempted poison-pen letter assassination. I opened the letter, confident in the knowledge that poison letters (and certainly those containing powdered substances) are illegal under the rules due to the recent anthrax scares.
Can I assume that this assassination attempt is anulled, and that I am still alive?
I'm afraid you have misread the rules - powders are indeed illegal via. ICMS, but only via. ICMS.
This letter was delivered by hand, although mocke up to look like an ICMS mailing - the trick worked, and you are dead.
Having just been to see the umpire, I decided to pay a visit to one of our targets in the vicinity. I approached his door, having my accomplice, Agent Icarus, cover me, and knocked bravely, training my weapons on his point of exit. Little did we know that he could exit through the window and flank us. We were about to go, since there appeared to be no more sign of life inside, when from below burst in our target, firing randomly. His first volley missed, and we both retuned fire. Under the intense barrange presented to him he quicked retreated, already wounded in one arm. I followed him out, covered by supressing fire, but alas, he was too far out of range. The binford mafia retired, but vowed to be back again later.
I should probably note that they were returning me soething, and not engaging in anything untoward...
As I was just sitting down to eat my lunch I heard a knock on the door. As I am a good assassin, I yelled tthe obligatory "who is it?". "It's me" came the reply. "Okay, that's nice, go away". "Just open the door". While this conversation was going on, I was busy loading up my RBG. When I had prepared myself, I launched myself through an alternative exit, and tried to sneak up on my assassins from behind. As I re-entered my stairway, I opened fire, to the cries of "It's him". Curses, they recognise me. In the ensuing firefight I took a shot to my left hand, causing my pellet pistol to clatter to the ground. Bleeding profusely I retreated to the safety of my room, and waited for the assassins to leave.
Fred attempted to kill The Fluffy Pufferfish at 12:36 today. Unfortunately she was out, but I left a scary drawing on her door in case she dies of fright on return.
That doesn't seem very likely.
As a non-existent member of the non-existent ALOHA!, I, Sam Fairley, wish to make the following statement:
Our sources have provided us with convincing information regarding the police command. Though no secret has been made of animosity between them (though, of course, at the same time they get on wonderfully all the time), little action has so-far been taken.
This is about to change.
One of the two senior officers has now garnered the support of a considerable proportion of the police force. Not only that, a team of skilled non-players has been lined up and equipped with weaponry. A short period of time in the future, a declaration of corruption will be made - at this point, the police force will suddenly swell in numbers and those who are not aligned to the correct faction will be ruthlessly terminated, along with their leader.
Of course, letting everybody know which one it is who's going to spark this off wouldn't be anywhere near funny enough for us. We've got colourful shirts and an image to maintain. What we will do, though, is provide a set of odds:
The Lent 2002 Police Corruption Trophy Sprint
Chief Avada - 5-1
General Powell - 3-1 favourite
Unknown outsider formenting dissent - 10-1
Honest officers should watch their backs. Be wary of large police strikes organised in the near future - what better opportunity to
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I reached Harvey Court (Caius) at approximately 13:05. Realizing that you need a swipe card to actually get to anyone's room, I loitered around trying to look inconspicuous. Only seconds later, a helpful medic came to my rescue. "I'm looking for Joseph Lindsay", said I. He let me in the door, and then "Oh look, here he is now."
At which point I thought 'oh, god, I've actually got to try and shoot him', drew my gun and said "Um, would you mind if I..." by which time he was attempting to escape, running up the stairs to hide in a friend's room. I gave chase (and as I was halfway up the stairs actually remembered to cock the trigger), and followed him through a maze of corridors, hiding behind corners in a James Bond/Face Off/general guns and stuff style. I finally caught up with him in the room of a (very bewildered) innocent, and shot him twice as he tried to flee to the balcony-type area.
He conceded defeat (and death) and we proceeded to have a chat about assassins while I regained my composure. On the whole, and somewhat worryingly, a truly exhilarating experience. I should assassinate people more often.
this is the best game ever! something slight, mysterious and blonde in my corridor, this time, distinct from last term's offering of a somewhat sweat-drenched mathematician with a faulty firearm. pursuit. play. a little rough. as so often happens, a premature ending: i lasted maybe thirty seconds all told, what a lovely little death, next term, please send an incompetent overweight russian kickboxer comically posed as a plumber, i cannot deal with another icy queen of death.
We only recruit the best here - although I have to admit that running it as a dating service hadn't really occured to us. Maybe the game could be rebjoern for valentines day...
Than again, let's just stick with shooting each other.
The family of Edward Wallace appreciate the many condolences they have received, and particularly wish to thank Gen. Powell for his statesmanship and concern, exemplified by his suggestion of a public funeral. We chose to hold a private ceremony to which only family and a select circle of friends were invited, some of whom wore balaclavas. Many moving speeches were made praising Edward's life, concentrating notably on his achievements in Diplomacy and the Theatre. All agreed that Edward will be much missed, and that is was sad but somehow fitting that someone who campaigned so tirelessly on behalf of rule 1.2.2 should meet his end in this struggle. Edward's ashes were scattered across Cambridge as a result of a bizarre accident involving a parachutist, Nadia's patisserie, two sheep and a bicycle.
Why today? There I was, all geared up to go and exercise my democratic rights, deep in thought about the decisions I would have to make. Giving the manifestos a last glance over, negligently opening my mail with my finger. Had I been more aware I'd have used the letter knife I've been carrying around for the last week. But as it is I didn't even notice my error until the darkness took me.
The Beast has entered the fray...be afraid, be very afraid. However, due to time restrictions, all that could be managed were rather boring poisoned letter attempts on Jeffery "Jeff" GeoffjeffetyJeff and another target... May they rest in peace. Soon, very soon, the Beast will shed this mask of relative pacifity, and bare his fangs and guns for the kill...life will not be the same again.
Once upon a lonely afternoon Jeffery "Jeff" GeoffjeffetyJeff decided to check upon his mail at the lodge of porters. On his way to his wonderful quest nothing eventful occured, as that is not the point of this narrative. However on arrival he spied a letter of dubious origin sent through the ICUMS, a rather bizare anacronym which means post. He then proceeded to open it with gloves and a face mask and dispose of it. Hence he is still alive and The Beast failed to kill him.
It is a shame that the second month of the last palandromic year we are likely to live in has started with bloodshed, especially of such a high profile member of the Trinity Hall mafia (not that anyone's assumptions of the non-existance of such make-believe organisations exists). It was last night that my scouts informed me of the whereabouts of Agent Icarus, so i went down early to survey the area for a potential killing spot. The area was chosen, in a small hallway area between the lift exit and the entrance to the computer labs. My sources had told me that he would be coming from a lecture sometime between 1.40 and 1.50, and sure enough he was there. If fortune rested on anyone's side today, it was mine. The door to the lab shut, and the crowds of people had to come up with their access cards. This was the perfect diversion for myself to creep through the crowds and knife him in the chest. I was gone before anyone realised what happened. I've contacted my cleaners.
It seems Agent Icarus was in fact in a class at the time, and although the class was relocating from one room to another at a time, making such times in bounds would unreasonably disrupt education - thus I must rule the kill out of bounds, and hence invalid. Sorry.
Two hours short of half past four
Stood I a looking at my floor
Where my work lay strewn about
And my head could take no more
Then came a tapping at my door
"Who's that?" thought I
Taking my weapon from my store
There was but no a-tapping on my door
There was but no one a-tapping
A tap, tap tapping on my door
Then through the window flew a Raven
And perching on the sill above my door
Looked down on me upon the floor
Then came a tapping
A tap, tap tapping on my door
"'Tis just the wind" thought I
"Or someone tapping on my neighbours door
For who should want
Two hours short of Four
To come a tapping
To come a tap, tap tapping on my door
THEN QUOTH THE RAVEN 'NEVERMORE'
But I heard it not for
There came again a tapping
A tap, tap tapping on my door
"Who's there?" said I, "And what's more
Why are you so gently tapping
A tap, tap, tapping on my door?"
There was no reply
Save from the Raven
THEN QUOTH THE RAVEN 'NEVERMORE'
Then came this thought to the fore
Could there be
Outside my door
A stranger who
Two hours short of Four
Wished for me to live no more?
Then came a ticking
A tick, tick ticking outside my door
"A bomb?" thought I, "Else wherefore
Comes this ticking
This tick, tick ticking outside my door?
Should I venture evermore
Beyond the safety of my door
Else I should be no more?"
THEN QUOTH THE RAVEN 'NEVERMORE'
By a ribbon opened I the door
To find there upon the floor
A space.........and nothing more
Slowly I closed the door
And turned back to my floor
Where my work will lie evermore
Then to the Raven upon my door
said I, "Begone foul fiend
Shall you sit above my door!"
Then took my weapon from my store
And shot the Raven to the floor
And will quoth the Raven
N.B. No ravens were hurt in the composing of this report
well it was fun while it lasted but some unfortunate who cannot spell assassins has brought my axe rampage to an untimely end.
Once again we ventured into the grounds of Snapdragon's College. We had recruited extra help though, as we were accompanied by Slink. Yet again we knocked, but one of our team was spotted by a mobile-phone-wielding maniac, who quickly called the target, and we swiftly left the area - we would have got away with it if it wasn't for those pesky kids!!!
The Mad Monkey Assassin arrived how this evening to find out that he's dead by contact poison. Apparently. All that he actually seems to have substained is a nasty white stain on his gloves. Let this be a lesson to you all, the Mad Monkey cannot be killed by conventional means.
A few of my colleagues were going on about how scary the Baby Seals are, they were all ready to just give up. But then it was I who came up with the plan of simply knocking on Taz's door. Taz wouldn't have had a chance, and even if he had had a chance, I'd have been quicker. But he was too scared to open the door. Frankly I'm not surprised - it was so like him. Then we ran away before any of the Baby Seals could ambush us.
Me scared? Who ran away? I just couldn't find my gun. I have a really messy room. You can't be expected to find everything. Why did he leave so early? He forgot to leave me a bomb or something, at least. In the end I want to ask what Baby Seals? Where did he get that from?
I got bored of work this afternoon, and having not done anything all day, I decided to call on The Shepherd, and see if he was in. Alas there was no answer when I knocked - either a very subtle subterfuge, or he was really out. Ah well - maybe someone else (although preferably before tommorrow night!)
Well, tonight actually - but luckily I counted this as an attempt... So you're okay for a while.
I recieved this from an anonymous source eralier today:
Noticing that rumours of corruption seem to be congregating around Chief Avada like flies round jam, I can add that she has been seen five times today, talking with a different set of people known to be involved with the Game each time, looking extremely shifty and clearly considering assassins-related business. The first group was from Emmanuel College. The second is not suspected of being affiliated with any major mafia. The third is from Girton and was showing clear evidence of receiving help and support from our honourable Chief. The fourth was from Caius. The fifth was not known to this reporter (who incidentally does not want to be named for some reason) but we think maybe Pembroke or Churchill. She is known to be in friendly contact with all these groups and others, including the Baby Seals and maybe ALOHA!.
We think there must be evidence of massive and multiple corruption in there somewhere. Chief Avada, be sure your sins will find you out.
When asked for comment, Chief Avada responded with:
There is nothing wrong with knowing lots of assassins and being sociable with them, especially as I have lectures with many of them. It does not indicate corruption, especially as many of these groups oppose each other, merely my policy of universal friendliness and support for those involved in violent incidents. I am also attempting to smooth relationships between factions which feel themselves to be opposed to one another, and hope for peace in this city by the end of the term.
Killed with a knife at 5:30pm fri 1st (by me). Proper assassin style. So, who's next?
Is it not crystal clear, comrades, that all the evils of this life of ours spring from "A League of Honest Assassins"? Only get rid of Simon Ford, and the produce of our labour would be our own. A1most overnight we could become rich and free. What then must we do. Why, work night and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of ALOHA! That is my message to you, comrades: Rebellion! I do not know when that Rebellion will come, it might be in a day or in a week, but I know, as surely as I see my rubber band gun in my hands, that sooner or later justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout the short remainder of your lives! And above all, pass on this message of mine to those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry on the struggle until it is victorious.
And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No argument must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that Simon Ford and the EmMafia have a common interest, that the prosperity of the one is the prosperity of the others. It is all lies. Simon Ford serves the interests of no assassin except himself. And among us assassins let there be perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the struggle. All honest assassins are enemies. All dishonest assassins are comrades.
Good evening. I write with a deep sense of failure to announce that I made an unsuccessful attempt on Mr. Fred tonight (5:45-6:15). Moving stealthily through the rather nice foliage of Pembroke, my reflexes keened to perfection by long years of study and self-denial, I approached his door and knocked. A brief, tense pause ensued. This was followed by a longer tense pause and then an anticlimactic pause. Pauses of decreasing interest then continued for some time, before I concluded that he was either out, or cowering behind a large armchair. Bugger. Incompetency looms large on the horizon. I also assisted Taz and another Baby Seal in another attempt on Cupcake but he was out too (does this absence of Pembroke assassins bode a full scale assault?).
A short time ago- in fact earlier today,
3 assassins went to town in order to slay.
Armed to the teeth, with guns, bombs and knives,
How could our targets escape with their lives?
The Player was the first on the list we had made.
However his death has been shortly delayed.
For after our trek through the darkness of night,
it appeared that the suspect had taken flight.
I was due to have dinner with Chief Avada, but she left a message on her door saying she would be late. So I had a few minutes to kill, and George Raptis as well.
I walked down the corridor with no idea how I was going to get him to open his door. I would have to employ all my cunning, perhaps this was time to play my trump card: pretending to be a lost milkman. However, as I was just about to reach his door he opened it and left, walking along the corridor in the same direction as me. I thought about slowing down and shooting him from behind, but that would be obvious, so I overtook him, reached in to my pocket and pulled out my gun. I then shot him. Unsure that the first bullet hit him I fired a second. A third was sent to investigate the first two failing to report. The Abstractionist then said "oh, are you an assassin"?
I walked back to Avada's room and waited for her. I was then asked to put my hands up by her dead neighbour (who it has to be said looked good for a body thats been decomposing for a week) and then was followed by chief Avada, who asked if I had been waiting long, and had I brought anyone there to kill her, and would I promise not to, and was there anyone waiting around the corner, and had I done funny things to her door, and was I wearing spiky gloves, and what was that bulge in my pocket.
We then went for dinner. I must inform the world that Girton do good pork chops, as most people will never find out for themselves.
I have to say, from personal experience, the food there is indeed nice. (Being omnipresent helps with the long journey...)
"THE ABSTRACTIONIST" WAS KILLED TODAY AT 19:15 BY OMEGA.
BYE UNTIL THE NEXT RESURRECTION
I'm not quite sure what he's talking about, but never mind.
Tinky Winky (of Binford Mafia) attempted to kill Ghost Of; he survived, but lost the use of his leg.
Once upon a time, way back before rubber band guns came with twelve rotary barrels and before Hawaiian shirts were a sign of impending doom, there lived a girl. This girl's name was Amanda Lucas. Amanda Lucas was a very good girl, but one day she fell afoul of an evil wizard who locked her away in a dark tower called New Hall, defended by nasty porters and legions of girly girls.
Amanda Lucas lived in the tower for many years, praying for the day when a brave knight would come to rescue her. Many tried and failed, devoured by the never-ending pyjama party that was New Hall. But Amanda still clung onto the hope that some day a valiant warrior would overcome the nasty swipecard lock at the bottom of her staircase.
One dark evening in the middle of winter, the brave Sir Polyploid and his squire, Omega, both of the Order of the Baby Seal, were out a-questing when they came across the dark tower.
"Ho there, Omega lad, what be this gruesome edifice? What evil horrors does it contain?"
"Sire, that is the dark fortress of New Hall. Legend tells that within is trapped a fair maiden, guarded by fearsome porters, devious swipecard locks and more scantily clad women than you can shake a questing stick at."
"Omega boy, you lie. Surely my questing stick shaking prowess is well known! Was it not I that defeated the Crazed Order of the Furry Slipper in the depths of Newnham, armed with nowt but my questing stick, a packet of Jaffa Cakes and a small Belgian ferret named Eric?"
"'Tis true, sire. But still I beg thee, reconsider."
With this, Sir Polyploid had had enough. After giving Omega a good thrashing with his questing stick, he sought out the hidden side entrance, circumventing the porters which had claimed the lives of so many good men. A brief wandering indicated that locating the damsel's chamber in this strangely perfumed labyrinth would be no easy task. But the courageous Sir Polyploid was not to be defeated.
The intrepid pair of adventurers found themselves at the door of an acquaintance, the Amazon princess, Sophie. Sophie took them into her lair and introduced them to her tribe. After arranging formal hall, the adventurers left, along with their native guide. With this help, they easily found the prison in which the fair lady was ensnared.
After climbing to the highest room in the tallest tower, the party was shocked to find the door wide open and a female figure inside.
"Are you Amanda Lucas, who has been trapped in this dark tower since she was an ickle girl?"
"Alas no, I am but her lowly sister. She's in the kitchen."
By this stage Sir Polyploid and Omega had grown tired of this questing lark and felt like retiring to their castle, feasting on wild boar and quaffing fine ale. So the rather bored knight walked into the kitchen and shot Albertina. Then he left and went home.
I was shot at close range in the college corridor kitchen at 7.15 this evening by a young man from Johns, accompanied by 2 friends who were unfortunately pointed in my direction by my sister who had just arrived and had yet to learn of the state of play.
We have just spent a disappointing night trawling round and round those bloomin' huge colleges and to no avail since everyone was out, or else hiding under their beds... I am a little ticked off that my target, one The Choadst Pirgayte LeChoadk, said that his address was 'BBC ***' when this fabled BBC was in fact in another location, not Trinity Hall the main bit, but a building quite a long way away. I think this a little unfair as we had no way of knowing this without going to Trinity Hall first and talking to porters, making inquiries etc. Grrr. Oh well.
Bishop Bateman court, in fact - oh well - you know for next time.
At this point [10.00 p.m.], my writing is interrupted by a knock at the door. I rise to my feet and I gently call "come in" while grabbing my loaded gun. The door opens, I see the gun, I fire. I then am pelted with bullets myself. After the bloodshed has subsided, I invite my would be assassin (Ian Maddison, from Pembroke) in for a drink, and being a true gentleman and all-round nice guy, he concedes that I had hit him before he fired himself. I wish him long and lethal service in his prospective police career.
I thought I'd better utilize the services of a local psychic in order to pass on this message?
Tonight I was killed in during what can only be described as a valiant attempt to murder The Wages Of Sin.
It was a cold and windy night as I arrived at Selwyn Gardens; easily overcoming their rather dubious security (a locked door) by explaining to a local passer by I had forgotten my keys.
Reaching my target's room, I composed myself, trusty gun (RBG) at the ready, before knocking on the door. "Come In", was the response. I mistakenly assumed that the target must be expecting someone, and hence would be off his guard. I was sadly mistaken.
Turing the handle, and entering the room, and promptly fired several rounds of bullets. However, rather than my shots hitting the target as intended, I missed, and was confronted with a hail of ammunition from his revolver (water pistol), as soon as the door was sufficiently open.
I was hit several times in the head and face. Darn, I thought, blood seeping from my eyes, mouth and nose.
I must admit for someone who had just fatally injured me, my killer was very hospitable. As I lost countless pints of blood he granted me my final wish: a sweet sweet beer. He even returned my ammo, although what use it will be in the afterlife remains to be seen. On my final breath, I wished him good luck, and fell to the floor. Quite how he'll explain the body on his carpet I don't know.
Finally, I must thank Charles the Clairvoyant for typing this message and sending it to the Umpire. I'm sure he'll understand as soon as he comes to his senses.]
Produced at Sat Mar 16 22:59:37 2002