Chicago 2007
Numbers
July 31, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 07:05 AM
Players Remaining: 11
Current Kill Leader: Dos Lobos (5)
Eleven players left.
It sucks fucking hippo dick that so much action was missed over the past week, thanks to those poop problems we discussed yesterday...
Thankfully, you fine assassins did not stop sending in the kill stories...so, I will forgo my usual rigorous daily schedule of massages for my penis and I will be making a few more updates to the blog today, posting a few more stories for your eyes to read.
Also, I will probably talk shit about people as well as post naked pictures of various players.
It will be fun.
Soooo...
Without (much) further typing on the part of my typist, here come kill stories...
TARGET: WEEZER GOT BITCH SOAKED @ 9:21PM ON HIS WAY TO WORK HE GOT SERVED. PUNK ASS GOTTA LEARN TO STAY DRY ......BRING ON OUR NEXT ASSIGNMENT WERE ARMED TO THE TEETH AND READY FOR MORE BRING IT!!!
HOLY SHIT!!!!...
...Is an understatement for the frustration we endured from this target.
The lucky target was allowed too many days of her free life. We spent countless days traveling and waiting only to go home empty handed and unfullfilled. It reminded me of the ex-girlfriend who just wasnt ready for sex.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...kill me.
Today was now or never. We walked to the target's work. I walked in, and bought two candle holders that will make two great shot glasses. As soon as I saw her at the register I made my move, I would ask a question and start a conversation (no one suspects the obvious). I talked about art and frames with the target and then left to meet up with my partner. We waited until the time we thought she might have gotten off work but she never left. we assumed she was closing. So, we hauled are asses for the 20th time back to the fortress.
As we waited, we thought about how good it will be to soak this target, how i ever-so wanted to buy her a new pearl necklace, but today I didn't hand out the money shot. Spec4 came through (no pun intended) and led us to victory. After the wait, we walked back to her work because it was coming close to closing time. The set up she had for her job was perfect, surrounded with safe zones that were only feet away. We arrived at the destination a little early so we killed time by using the bathroom at borders. Spec left early and went back to our spy area. When i came back i noticed him soaking a girl who looked similar to our target but different clothing. I thought a mistaken identity had taken place. But thanks to good judgement and a keane sense of smell. The target was wet....real wet.
And we were satisfied.
And just wanted to roll over.
And fall asleep.
Girl Friday died like a bitch at the hands of Dos Lobos.
In other news, I have purchased the largest bottle of Jack Daniels that I could carry to honor my death...
dearest supreme and mustache,
i am very very happy and sleep deprived to say that i got bagman of team a.l.i.c.e. this one was definitely not as graceful or clever as my first kill though.
i was trying to get into their building when they came down the stairs. and then bagman and i started shooting, and we decided that i got him before he got me. but maryanne got me so i have 24 hours before i can get her, but at least i managed to get bagman and his id card.
i had been trying to throw them off because i had made an attempt on them last sunday, and then texted them pretending as though i was out of the game and that their new assassins were two lanky white dudes instead of an asian broad. but now she's seen me...so i will have to think of a clever disguise hmm.
and i'm gonna go to sleep now. have a great day!
tso tso def =]
Supreme and Mustache,
Great balls of fire! The defense department regrets to inform you that your Goose is dead because he was stupid. Actually he was smart, but the Goose has been had. He was elusive. He was careful. He unleashed Federal Officers on me. He was quick, but eventually he was outwitted. Now he is wet.
Prosit,
Der Kaiser
Chicago 2007
Numbers
July 31, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 07:05 AM
Players Remaining: 11
Current Kill Leader: Dos Lobos (5)
Eleven players left.
It sucks fucking hippo dick that so much action was missed over the past week, thanks to those poop problems we discussed yesterday...
Thankfully, you fine assassins did not stop sending in the kill stories...so, I will forgo my usual rigorous daily schedule of massages for my penis and I will be making a few more updates to the blog today, posting a few more stories for your eyes to read.
Also, I will probably talk shit about people as well as post naked pictures of various players.
It will be fun.
Soooo...
Without (much) further typing on the part of my typist, here come kill stories...
HOLY SHIT!!!!...
...Is an understatement for the frustration we endured from this target.
The lucky target was allowed too many days of her free life. We spent countless days traveling and waiting only to go home empty handed and unfullfilled. It reminded me of the ex-girlfriend who just wasnt ready for sex.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...kill me.
Today was now or never. We walked to the target's work. I walked in, and bought two candle holders that will make two great shot glasses. As soon as I saw her at the register I made my move, I would ask a question and start a conversation (no one suspects the obvious). I talked about art and frames with the target and then left to meet up with my partner. We waited until the time we thought she might have gotten off work but she never left. we assumed she was closing. So, we hauled are asses for the 20th time back to the fortress.
As we waited, we thought about how good it will be to soak this target, how i ever-so wanted to buy her a new pearl necklace, but today I didn't hand out the money shot. Spec4 came through (no pun intended) and led us to victory. After the wait, we walked back to her work because it was coming close to closing time. The set up she had for her job was perfect, surrounded with safe zones that were only feet away. We arrived at the destination a little early so we killed time by using the bathroom at borders. Spec left early and went back to our spy area. When i came back i noticed him soaking a girl who looked similar to our target but different clothing. I thought a mistaken identity had taken place. But thanks to good judgement and a keane sense of smell. The target was wet....real wet.
And we were satisfied.
And just wanted to roll over.
And fall asleep.
Girl Friday died like a bitch at the hands of Dos Lobos.
In other news, I have purchased the largest bottle of Jack Daniels that I could carry to honor my death...
dearest supreme and mustache,
i am very very happy and sleep deprived to say that i got bagman of team a.l.i.c.e. this one was definitely not as graceful or clever as my first kill though.
i was trying to get into their building when they came down the stairs. and then bagman and i started shooting, and we decided that i got him before he got me. but maryanne got me so i have 24 hours before i can get her, but at least i managed to get bagman and his id card.
i had been trying to throw them off because i had made an attempt on them last sunday, and then texted them pretending as though i was out of the game and that their new assassins were two lanky white dudes instead of an asian broad. but now she's seen me...so i will have to think of a clever disguise hmm.
and i'm gonna go to sleep now. have a great day!
tso tso def =]
Supreme and Mustache,
Great balls of fire! The defense department regrets to inform you that your Goose is dead because he was stupid. Actually he was smart, but the Goose has been had. He was elusive. He was careful. He unleashed Federal Officers on me. He was quick, but eventually he was outwitted. Now he is wet.
Prosit,
Der Kaiser
Chicago 2007
Diarrhoea In Our Mouth
July 30, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 05:55 AM
[Please note that we spell "diarrhea" the British way because we are very classy]
Yes...so...welcome back.
We must honestly offer you our most heartfelt apologies for having the blog get fucked so hard.
Pretty much what happened was that the company that provides us with server space for the website decided it would be a good idea to diarrhoea in our mouth.
...and they did. Repeatedly and non-stop. In fact, just to clarify the kind of diarrhoea we have had to endure being poured down our gullets, I have included the below chart:
We had the pleasure of "enjoying" diarrhoeas type 6 and 7. It was great.
Their servers went down and despite the guarantee that they would never be down for more than an hour...well...(unluckily) you know the rest...
It has been quite an ass fucky time, I know...and for this I personally apologize.
Keep in mind that this is the 3rd time I have ever apologized to anyone for anything in my long, illustrious life...and this time, it is sincere.
Rest assured that we are currently exploring our options in terms of where to stab the CEO, Board of directors and middle management of our, soon to be former, server company.
I will be posting the collection of stories that have come in during the time the website was fucked.
Expect another post today...and more each following day.
Love,
Supreme
Chicago 2007
Getting Fucked
July 25, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 09:44 AM
Sorry kids...
We've been busy getting fucked raw in our e-anus by the internets.
We're just now recovering our pride, dignity and undergarments...should have some new stuff up for you - kill stories, details on the e-rape and such - shortly.
Please be patient and know that the problems involved ninjas. So, I'm sure you can understand and forgive.
Love,
Supreme Commander
Shadow Government
Chicago 2007
Storm Clouds Gather...
July 20, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 10:00 AM
Total Kill Count: 21
Current Kill Leader: Dos Lobos (4)
After a much deserved rest from my duties as Supreme Commander (including, but not limited to, drinking, having sex with my harem, having sex with your mom, getting massages, beating servants, exploiting the under-classes for my own personal gain, et al), I have return to peep the killy details on the Shadow Government mainframe computer and what do I find...?
Not a stunning number of kills...and a fairly quiet weekend yet, I still have (misplaced) faith in you assassins.
Why?
I see potential.
Granted, often times potential is never realized - like many of you fools that were talking a big game when you came to see us and are now likely in the hospital with inflamed and liquid filled alveoli from having been wetted so thoroughly (for those of you that are not medically literate, that means you done got a Pneumonia, son!).
Those of you that are not hospitalized however, have a new challenge to meet.
Staying dry just got a little harder.
As of Monday, I will be releasing the Rogue Assassins on your asses, they are unkillable (though stoppable), full of hate, water and looking forward to get some kills under their belts.
Good luck surviving.
Ah!
If you have not gotten an email from us officially bitch-slapping you out of the game for no attempts, then you are still in it. Don't shit on our kindness - do something good and go wet someone.
In today's update...
- Jewrookie (1) killed the English language
- Much like Cobra Commander had his ass handed to him countless times, so has Big Daddy (2) handed StormShadow his own ass and, by extension, has ass-handed team Arashikage (0)
- The Truth (1) cut short the tenure of The Administrator of the The Bureau (2)
- The Goose (1) laid a wet golden egg on the aptly named agent Zero (0)
- Martin Levin (2) ran game on the TSA and smoked Doobie (0) just as he was boarding a plane
Kill stories after the jump.
Holla.
Your daily kill stories
The Truth (1) cut short the tenure of The Administrator of the The Bureau (2)
This is The Truth informing you that one The Administrator is no longer among the dry. I know, it took me long enough to get warmed up, but now that I am, there will be fucking murders. Out.
From The Administrator
I was assassinated last night at 3:30 am. This Chris guy waited in my alley (which I share with Blue Man Group so its pretty rat infested, I mean really rat infested) since 10:30pm, so he was there for 6 hours! I was on the phone trying to get my keys out and he jumps out of the alley like "Gotchya" but he didnt actually squirt me. And so I start putting my keys in my pocket and walking towards him. I shove the water gun away and start running as fast as i can down the street! About a block down he finally starts shouting "I GOT YOU! I GOT YOU!" I feel my back and its wet. Fuck! So we walk back to my place and he explains how he searched for like 3 days to get this huge refrigerator box to hide in, which he put in my alley. I ask him if he saw any rats back there to which he replied, "Yeah like a thousand it was gross!" I told him he deserved the kill since he waited back there so long in filth. The entire time I was running and stuff I forgot I was on the phone! So this girl ****** I was talking to was like "What the hell just happened? All I hear was you say 'hold on' and then I hear a ton of cursing and just the phone russle around like it was in your pocket!" hahaha... so alas I have been eliminated...
The Administrator
The Goose (1) laid a wet golden egg on the aptly named agent Zero (0)
Zero is dead. I summarily dispatched him at 10:49 a.m. He never saw it coming.
I had been pursuing Alex for the entire week, and until today he had eluded me completely; I never even caught a glimpse of him. On Monday I arrived at his apartment at 7 a.m., with hopes of soaking his ass on his way to work. Assuming he took public transportation, I had surmised the general direction in which he would have to walk, and I staked out a prime hiding spot and waited. And waited. And waited. And he never came. After two hours I gave up and headed to work. On my lunch hour I set up shop in a bus shelter just steps from the entrance to his building. I kept watch over that entrance for just over an hour, with no luck whatsoever.
And so it went for the entire week. I am as cunning as I am handsome, and yet I was never able to identify my target, much less kill him. I altered my strategy, spying on his building from the darkness and anonymity of my car. No dice. I hid in the alley adjacent to his house with gun drawn, but his dog-walking neighbors repeatedly questioned my presence there, and my cover was blown. It was, in short, a most frustrating week.
And so this morning I woke with renewed vigor, ready to do whatever it took to kill my target. And yet, when I prepared to leave this morning, who should I find standing six inches from my front door, but my assassin! My dog alerted me to his presence, and I spied him through the peephole. It was a most unwelcome sight, and I had to temporarily postpone my plans. An hour later, my assassin having given up and vacated my building, I high-tailed to my target's neighborhood. I found a secluded spot between two cars on the opposite side of the street and waited. I was prepared to wait for hours, and had brought along the new Harry Potter book for entertainment. Not 5 seconds after I sat down, my target emerged from his apartment. I wasn't certain it was him, and he did not seem suspicious or nervous, and so I followed at a generous remove, some 50 feet behind him. As we walked I began to close the gap, making sure to stay out of sight lines, lest I tip him to the pursuit. As he turned a corner I got my first good view of him, and I knew it was my target. I began to speed up, and crossed to the opposite side of the street. My plan was to overtake him by a good twenty paces, then double back and face him straight on. He turned on a street filled with people setting up chairs and food stands, for what appeared to be a neighborhood festival. Halfway down the block he was stopped by security and told he could not pass. I knew I had to make my move. Moving quickly, I crossed the street. As he approached, I called out his name, as if we were old friends. He shot me a quizzical look. I shot him in the solar plexus.
He had his ID on him (good man), but did not have the identity of his target. We arranged for me to pick it up tomorrow. If, however, you can tear yourself away from your harem, perhaps you might send me the name of my next victim.
Still dry, Goose
Jewrookie (1) killed the English language
Dark rainy night waiting for the target out side of his home waiting in the shadows waiting patiently drench we Jewrookie trained by Hercules himself taught to never retreat never to surrender. Jewrookie the finest soldier in the world that has ever known. My gut tells me he'll be coming my way tonight. It's quite now I can now here footsteps he came from the blackness faces me. Not shooting him right away instead I ask my self what should a free man do. You come to my house, you threaten my people with slavery and death, you say to me this is madness............madness I say THIS IS STREETWARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!my two side shooter blast him in the back. JEWROOKIE PREPARE FOR WAR........JEWROOKIE TONIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Much like Cobra Commander had his ass handed to him countless times, so has Big Daddy (2) handed StormShadow his own ass and, by extension, has ass-handed team Arashikage (0)
StormShadow got dosed this morning! Shout out to Agent Sergeant Fun for the help. Kill story and the soon to be dubbed “Best Video” on the way!
Thank you sir, may I have another?
Big Daddy
Chicago 2007
Yawn...
July 19, 2007 - Posted by Mustache Commander at 10:43 PM
Total Kill Count: 17
Current Kill Leader: Team Dos Lobos (4)
Yawn... why did my interns wake me up just so I can post after two pathetic little kills? Thanks to the speed and efficiency of Dos Lobos with 4 kill in quick succession, which pleased me slighty, I did not have to beat my interns as they rightly deserved.
Which reminds me, I need to get me some interns for intern beating. Doing it with my own hands is getting tiring.
Damn its hard to find good help these days.
In today's update...
- Dos Lobos (4) wrote a premature ending for Shouji (0)
- Der Kaiser (1) dispatched The Romans (0)
Read kill stories after the jump
Your daily kill stories
Team Dos Lobos (4) wrote a premature ending for Agent Shouji (0)
I hate waking up this early in the morning....i mean afternoon.
We had convienently had close targets until we came across Agent Shuoji. He lived on the outskirts of our beloved city. we made our journey into his neighborhood, the couches oustide really set a cozy feeling for the community. The glaring looks the residents gave also made us feel right at home. "Was that a gun in his wasteline?"...."yea i think so". Finally, we found his apartment. A large building with about 8 units. We decided we would lure him out with a knock on the back door. Spec4 made the knock while I waited above the stairs for him to step out. After 3 knocks the door slammed shut. He had been smarter then we thought. We decided to wait in the car until we saw him come out. Right when we were about to leave Spec4 noticed the tall, lanky, black man holding a puney water pistol. We decided we were just gonna run and gun his ass down.
He ran fast.
Too fast.We lost his trail and took opposite sides of the block until we noticed him lurking and weaving through the alley ways. Again we hurled grenades and chased him but no hits. Spec4 chased him all the way home until he got inside his house...or should i say, his moms house.
Thats when we waited for him to come out the back. Spec4 and I both waited on opposite sides until i notice him running and Spec4 chasing, right towards me....I hurled two grenades at once, he jumped over both. Then i held down the trigger and gave him the blast to the chest. The little pearl necklace that I have now adopted as my calling card.
Target Eliminated.
Team Jewrookie (1) took down Agent Weezer (1) (Story from yesterday's kill update)
Dark rainy night waiting for the target out side of his home waiting in the shadows waiting patiently drench we Jewrookie trained by Hercules himself taught to never retreat never to surrender. Jewrookie the finest soldier in the world that has ever known. My gut tells me he'll be coming my way tonight. It's quite now I can now here footsteps he came from the blackness faces me. Not shooting him right away instead I ask my self what should a free man do. You come to my house, you threaten my people with slavery and death, you say to me this is madness............madness I say THIS IS STREETWARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!my two side shooter blast him in the back. JEWROOKIE PREPARE FOR WAR........JEWROOKIE TONIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Chicago 2007
Hallowed Be Thy Death
July 18, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 07:50 AM
Total Kill Count: 15
Current Kill Leader: Dos Lobos (3)
Usually this is the day I get all ominous and threatening on you, warning you about how if you are lazy, have pissed me off or if I just don't like the cut of your jib, I will unleash the Rogue Assassins on you come Monday. I go on for quite a bit about this, listing all the reasons why I might send them after you and so on...frankly, it's kinda boring...in the past I have made reference to having my assassins "space dock" you, "stomping you a new colon", "peeing on" you and "opening the fucking heavens and raining wet death on" you, among others.
Not so this day.
Christmas comes early this year...there's no time to foreshadow the deathiness that is about to descend on Chicago.
Agent White Noise, one of the elite players from San Francisco is arriving in Chicago tonight...and he's going to be paying some of you a visit.
Just in case you were wondering, he's not coming over to bring you cookies or give you handjobs or finger-pop you, no, he is looking to kill you (or, possibly, to ask you questions about strip clubs).
Enjoy.
In today's update...
- Coyote (1) fucked up Smuuve's (0) game...permanently
- Dos Lobos (3) are truly a pack of dangerous animals - two kills on one day - both Bing Cherry (0) and Raider (0) met a death at the end of the pointed liquid fangs of Dos Lobos.
- Martin Levin (1) ID'ed Thick N Creamy (0) to death
- Jewrookie (1) interrupted my 4am blowjob but, made up for it by busting a nut on Weezer (1)
- Jewrookie (1) interrupted my 4am blowjob but, made up for it by busting a nut on Weezer (1)
- Coyote (1) fucked up Smuuve's (0) game...permanently
- Dos Lobos (3) are truly a pack of dangerous animals - two kills on one day - both Bing Cherry (0) and Raider (0) met a death at the end of the pointed liquid fangs of Dos Lobos.
- Dos Lobos (3) are truly a pack of dangerous animals - two kills on one day - both Bing Cherry (0) and Raider (0) met a death at the end of the pointed liquid fangs of Dos Lobos.
- Martin Levin (1) ID'ed Thick N Creamy (0) to death
The stories after the jump...
TARGET: WEEZER GOT BITCH SOAKED @ 9:21PM ON HIS WAY TO WORK HE GOT SERVED. PUNK ASS GOTTA LEARN TO STAY DRY ......BRING ON OUR NEXT ASSIGNMENT WERE ARMED TO THE TEETH AND READY FOR MORE BRING IT!!!
Death of The Moist
So there I was, 18.75 hours (appx) into the game and still without appropriate firearms... stupid as hell eh? Well whaddya expect from a 35yo pothead?
My head is just getting into the game. TOTALLY digging the paranoia, and this odd and somewhat forced agoraphobia sets in as I realize Im afraid to leave the house. First thought is something like "next year install conicle mirrors outside the door" drive-thru style. My brave lady goes to the car first and scopes out the scene, tosses me the high sign and I dash to the car gripping my bicycle squirt bottle in white knuckle fashion. My goal... to drop off the lady and do a little firearms shopping, and be off to the free-wifi-pub to map out my evenings agenda. With a quick smooch I boot the chick outta the car and Im off to Toys R Us in a flash. The result = very lack-luster selection of water guns. However in the event I needed an underwater propulsion unit for the pool Id have scored big. At this point Target pops into my head as actually having a decent amount of gear. So I stealthily high tail it over. As Im ambling through the store wearing my paranoia like a winter parka I sneak over to the toys section of the store. As I start to pass the toddler floating high chairs I have been trying to get back into for 33 years and round the corner past the water weenies I am graced with the welcoming face of an old friend. "Hey buddy... hows it goin? tag anybody yet?". We chat for a second discussing the selection and other potential stores for good gear, he mentions a bit about his target and how he intends to take her down (of course without giving any info away, we DO play by the rules fuckers). I show him the squeeze bottle I was using as a temporary "fits in my pocket without dripping and therfore appropriate for commuting". He mentioned that being a decent idea as he makes his way up to complete his transaction (he was also purchasing his firearm that day). As Im going through the selection I grab the couple/few I was interested in and mosey on over to the Mens Wear to peruse some slacks. Upon finding a new pair of inexpensive chinos (kiddin) I realize I neglected to grab hand grenades. On my way back to the water fun section my buddy walks back up lookin flustered, "I forgot to look for one of those squeeze bottles" while looking up and down at the items on the shelf as if it would have been located there. I mention I forgot something myself and turn to continue in my intended direction. I hear my buddy muttering something from behind me. "HEY dude... ?!". It is at this moment that my eyes slowly shut in embarrassment and humility as my back is peppered with a spray of 100% humidity. WHAT happened? The SUMMUNABITCH actually went up and bought the gun, most likely filled it at the water fountain RIGHT THERE IN THE FUCKIN STORE and casually made his way over to his good old friend... and shot me in the back, with a deafening little giggle like a 6yo learning to write his name with pee in the snow. As much as I would like to make excuses about Big Daddy being a naturally kind and disarming type of guy, in all honesty its my own ridiculously vacant pot riddin cob web buildin noggin that kept me from making it to the 20th hour. At the very least he saved me the $40 I was about to drop on firearms, which ultimately resulted in a free pair of chinos and a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup to moosh my sorrows into.
Congratulations Mr Big Daddy you heartless bastard! Ill get you in another life.
Erotically damp, The Moist
It is my pleasure to report the wetting of one Agent Smuuve.
I began the hunt on Monday, spending a good deal of time hiding in the bushes across from broseph's house. That lasted for about 45 minutes, until the custodian of the building told me to leave...I switched positions and waited. Hours later, I said "fuck it" and left.
Tuesday it was too rainy.
Wednesday, I nabbed the sucka as he left for work. His extremely-stoned, Bluetooth headset-rocking, granola-eating upstairs neighbor fell into my web first, but we had a good laugh about the situation. Then it rained...perhaps a sign from God telling me to reach towards my full potential as an assassin. I can only thank Him for wetting me.
Then dude left his apartment, we locked eyes, and it was on. I pursued, and he might have saved himself if not for the inferior range of his weapon. He was using some little kids pistol, a little pink shark or dolphin, shapes typically reserved for man-hater dildos.
Some real Mickey Mouse shit. Better luck next time. Even having a work address in THE SUBURBS (an area clearly out-of-bound) couldn't save you.
Coyote
We found him at work, or so we thought, and stayed at Lemmings to have a couple drinks until he left. He finally took off, we tried to hurry out as unsuspecting as possible, by the time we reached the sidewalk he had left all sight, like a ghost.
We then proceeded to his house, we watched his door all night, tomorrow would have to be another attempt.
The next day Agent: Spec4 made a solo assassination attempt. The two then got into a 5 minute gun battle when Spec4 was caught spying the house of our victim. They both retreated....Dry.
I then met Spec4 at base to compose a plan. We decided i would try to deliver a pizza box that was carrying a loaded water weapon. if i squeezed on the pizza box our victim would be totally drenched. i rang his door bell, he refused to answer...."I'LL MEET YOU OUTSIDE!". Larkin comes out on his 3rd floor patio and demands to see the pizza. He throws out his gun and aims for me and i ran. I then go back to base to think of another plan. about 2 hours later i show up with my backpack full of ammunition and grenades. I hurl grenades at his patio to lure him out the door. Due to my severe night blindness i was spotted and had to abort.
3rd Attempt, SUCCESS. Spec4 and I tag team the mission and decide we would have to lure him out again. I then throw the only balloon i had onto his porch. i believe i hit his dog... Larkin never comes out to the patio, we decided we were going to watch him from the Walgreens on the corner. As we walked behind the alleys we notice a man walking, then i notice he had a Super Soaker. THATS HIM! Spec4 and I ran out of vision, he must have seen us too because he ran also. Spec4 then was informed by a witness that the target had run between the backyard and the garage. Spec4 followed his trail as i stayed and watched guard. After waiting 5 minutes i became worried about my partner. I approached the house and saw Spec4 running and shooting. The target then ran behind the house and i followed along the yard towards the street. I made several attempts to shoot and failed. Spec4 then climbed up on the garage roof of the target and had a clean shot. He Shoots....blanks....his gun ran out of water. The target then ran towards the side of the garage and shot in my direction but i had already given him a full blast to the face.....like i used to do to the girls in Highschool. We both walked away feeling dirty but refreshed and ready for the next lucky lady.
A celebration was in order. By 3:30 Bing cherry had tasted the saltiness of a Lobo liquidation and the time to relax and reflect was at hand. The company was exquisite, the liquor flowed freely, and there was even a long retired whore providing gum-jobs for Chex mix. Agent Dex was feeling especially relaxed and sated, as he had launched the money-shot that sent Bing Cherry to his knees. But Agent Spec4 was a bit drunk, and still hungry for more. With the dossier provided by Bing Cherry in one hand, and a road beer in the other, the stalk was on.
Being unfamiliar with the strange ways of the nine-to-fiver, Agent Spec4 wandered up and down the marks block for an hour or so to no avail. Suddenly, like a vision from god himself, it came to him. "I really need to piss" he said out loud. A disapproving glance from the soccer mom with the three-screamer stroller was enough to answer his impending question. Nature could not be answered in the great outdoors. Luckily a bar was within sight, and the thought of liquor and a bathroom was enough to see the distance quickly cleared.
The trials were many, between the stereo blaring John Mayer,the 5'6" bleach blond faux-hawked manager, and what looked like an underage bartender, the urge to liquidate was almost overwhelming. Imagining each in the bottom of the urinal was the only thing that kept that place dry. Someone needed to die, but these chumps weren't going to cough up a new target, so liquor was slammed, and an exit was made.
Back on the stalk, it began to rain, a shame, Agent Spec4 wanted to be the only one drenching Mr.John Angliss today. With a sense of failure coming with the rain, the decision to leave had been made, five minutes and then tomorrow.
The mark then arrived, picking up his mail from the porch, Agent Spec4 bolted towards him, guns blazing, but Mr. Angliss managed to make it in his front door. Agent Spec4 retreated a bit to the East, expecting retaliation from the second floor windows. Out came Mr. Angliss, but looking in the wrong direction, a water balloon was launched , but a bit short. Guns were blazed, but the range was too great. Agent Spec4 launched one last balloon, in an attempt to go through the mark's window. The balloon went high, but the water found its mark. John Angliss is dead, kill #3 for Dos Lobos. Your next.
I'm in a tree.
It's 6:16pm and I'm up in some terribly nice gentleman's tree. As city ordinance would have, I acquired his permission to be in this tree, scaring the hell out of his daughter in the process; a process which involved a fairly large gentleman dropping from a fairly large tree to make a fairly large request just a few feet from a fairly tiny girl. I don't have aniPod because an assassin needs to be listening at all times. I don't have a book because a book doesn't shoot 65ft at 1/2 gallon/second. I don't have targets because they, those that make up my target team, have not been to their home or workplace during any of my fairly protracted, highly obfuscated, visits. This is complicated by the fact that my kill-sheet reports the same address for both residence and business.
The local government knows nothing of their landscaping business. It is not listed in any certification or incorporation papers. It has filed for no bank account, incurred no debt and must rely solely on word-of-mouth advertising because it has not been in print. Ever.
Consider for a moment what type of localization can come from the provision of registered service. The paperwork is immense and its breadth spread wide. Were I not to have the incredible research power that I do at my hungry and flitting fingertips, a simple trip to the local city office would provide ample editorial should this service be valid in the eyes of the law. Apparently the company for which my team, in entirety, works is not. In my observation I have seen neither equipment or manpower to move it enter or exit the one and only location I have to go on.
I grow hungry. I haven't eaten since a light business lunch and haven't been in a tree since grade 7. At 8:30 I will order a pizza; not for me, but for the house. The house must be hungry too. I sympathize. I relate to this house with its droopy horizontal blinds drawn tight and its sputtering attic window air conditioner.
At first I thought it was an angry house. Indeed it looked like an angry house, its eyes slammed shut, growling into an empty night. Fortress-like it would spring into action, its motion sensing lights flitting on at the slightest movement, with the intention only of giving up its invader's whereabouts. I know because an hour before our kill call I was lying in the dirt next to it.
That first night, and beyond.
That first night would describe the coming days in an almost complete replication. The kill call came at 12:01am. At 12:04am a pizza was delivered to the angry house, which blasted the deliveryman with inquisitive pools of maize addled linger light. There were no lights within, only without. An hour of hiding and I peeled away. No one was there. No movement. No lights. No nothing. Just that angry house.
In that time I was approached by a cat, who peed on me, a vicious hand full of insect life and an extremely large gentleman who noticed me and took great offense that my hiding place not only just outside of my targets' home/business/winter vacation shack on the even years, but also that it was directly in front of his girlfriend's house. A sensible response, to be sure, and one to which I paid heed.
After bearing witness to a striking and successful kill by Eternitygirl, I was inspired. Monday night would be different. Monday night would bring contact. Monday night would bring a battle unheard of in this city's history. Monday night would bring a kill worthy of those the Venerable Commanders who assigned me this target in their infinite wisdom and universal cock-dominance.
Monday night would bring nothing at all.
A renewed sense of purpose lead me to employ those social engineering skills handed to me from a black-hat past and after a brief encounter with the brother of my targets, to this day the only person I have seen step foot into that angry house, I gained permitted entry into the crazy-cat-lady-next-door's screened-in porch; a vantage point from which I had clear firing access to all entrances/exits and visual protection from the age-dirtied screen. At 6:15 I dug in and didn't leave until 3:30am Tuesday. No one was there. No movement. No lights. No nothing. Just that angry house.
I returned Tuesday morning to the same angry empty house. After an hour of hiding in the bushes across the street it was made clear that if anyone were to leave the house, having never gone int, they would have no vehicle to drive; surely not a landscaping vehicle. On my way from the scene I grabbed a rental slip from the house across the street. They are renting a room. I might want that room.
Tuesday evening starts the same, excepting the fact that I will not let this pass. This house has been empty for nearing 72 hours, leave brother-not-playing, and it is beginning to wear on me. I course the neighborhood. The Mexicans on the corner have never heard of my targets, but they don't seem to have heard of much that hasn't ethanol. They want to help me kill these guys, though, and I am not entirely certain that they understand that I mean to do so with a water gun. The lady across the way will put her dog away so as not to blow my cover. The large gentleman who was unhappy about my proximity to his girlfriend will now keep an eye out for me. The kids at the Lutheran center, who will be there until midnight, will also keep an open eye. They have my cell number in one hand, the bible in another and the will to persecute their fellow man coursing throughout. I've met with the man renting out the room, but he is adverse to letting me 'try out' the room for a few hours. I am somehow not at all surprised. All that is left is my hiding spot.
Though I am certain that this angry house will spend another evening empty, and that at all is unnecessary, I am an assassin and must do as an assassin does. A few kind words and a terrified little girl later and I am in a tree.
I am in a tree.
As expected, hours pass. The Mexicans are keeping watch for me but have been drinking since before I took purchase in my cliched, but effective, hunting blind. At 8:30 I call the pizza place. Maybe a legit attempt at contact will proved some response; any response. Estimated time of delivery: 45 minutes.
It is now that my feelings toward this house begin to change. Could it be that it's angry facade and blinding lights are neither angry nor blinding but instead protective and welcoming? Could it be that the neglect suffered by this house at the hand of those who have purported to spend most of their lives within it has brought a sense of mortality and loneliness to it? I know from the public record that it does not belong to those I am after. I know also from the public record that it is not rented, at least not in a manner that can be taxed. Perhaps the spurious lives of those that inhabit it, when they inhabit it, have served to bend its will and rend its woodwork in such a manner that its lonely cries are seen to the outside as vehemence.
My gift to this house is a tubby little man with an uneven mustache and a pizza heating bag. He interacts with the house as you would expect, rapping on the door and looking in the windows. When he calls me I tell him that he needs to come around to the back. Ignore the 'beware of dog' sign, I tell him. I know he can because that poor yapping mutt inside has been the only noise to come from the place since I got here. He fitfully ignores the sign and continues his pleasant and aromatic assault on the until-recently-angry-house, my new friend in this game of assassination.
Hours pass. The pizza man has gone, a fresh pizza lost to the cause. It has grown dark and all but the lonely house have rolled to life with the gentle burn of incandescence that marks the passing of the sun. My new friend sits alone, a vacuum to the light about it and with no reprieve, as I have tested and learned the range of its motion sensors.
Apophys and collision.
At my knees, in the tree with me, is my weapon of choice: A modified Arctic Blast whose safety valve has been replaced with binary epoxy and whose ram tank has been reinforced for pressure. The trigger guard has been shaved slightly for a smoother action, the grip increased and its center of gravity shifted with a weighted ballast where the easy-pour-spout used to be. It can fire twice its stock distance, float gingerly between hands and leave a welt at close range. It has a name:
Apophys, the Dire Maul of Anacreon.
It is 10:45 and I do not believe any longer that this is an adequate use of my time. I will instead return to my headquarters and use the vast resources spread before me to locate and preempt my own assassin. Such a task would be more fulfilling than another hour in this tree, staring sympathetically at that house.
A small drop from the tree and a few blocks later I am at the blue line station. I am angry. I want this. I want to be in this. I want to find an adversary and fight. I want a fair and balanced chance to match wits and water. I want to fight and I want to win. The train is not coming and this adds to my disdain.
In a rage I leave the station. I will get a taxi and begin my hunt for my assassin. As though by way of fate, however, there are no taxis available. They are all filled, you see, with the drunken masses returning from the Cubs game.
THE CUBS GAME!
There is absolutely no way in hell that my targets would laugh in the face of the spirit of this contest by going to so viable a kill zone as a Cubs game, right? And if they did, they wouldn't finally return to the lonely house would they?
Einstein said... possible/probable... you get it.
I run back to the lonely house, park myself between two vehicles and wait. Mere minutes later an SUV pulls in. Two people hop out. This is not happening. This cannot be how it ends.
I slip toward the figures standing beside the SUV and begin my assault. Just as my finger licks the re-sprung trigger of Apophys I realize that these people are not my targets at all. They are an older couple. My mind is reeling. What is going on? The woman, presumably my targets' mother, smile widely. She knows that she has sprung the trap. She knows that I am squarely in the middle of it and she is proud of her sons' cunning maneuver.
I am too.
A water balloon whizzes past my head and impacts a tree 15 feet to my left. I duck and run toward the source of the toss, a stout guy with big arms lobbing bombs the way you would think a linebacker would if the ball was accidentally snapped to him.
Their balloons are not so much balloons as tiny rubber bags filled 1/4 of the way. They bounce when the hit the ground, roll when they hit a wall and hurt like hell when they hit flesh and this guy will not stop the barrage. Another, a rare case, explodes on the ground behind me, missing me as I make my charge at the car they are returning to with calculated vigor.
I fucked up. I should've waited. I'd been waiting for more than a day in aggregate, why not a few more minutes? Why not until I identified my target completely? I fire wildly at the closed car. My index finger hurts for it. It is useless, but it feels good and Apophys is happy to oblige and indulge.
My rage peaked I retreat. Arms out, prostrate, and weapon at an impossible ready disadvantage I back away and slip behind a largish vehicle half a block away.
The stout one lobs another. It is thrown high into the air and it floats there for what seems like minutes. I roll to the right and rush the vehicle again but, as physics and all rational laws of distance would have it, am impotent in my attack.
Another retreat, this time far less dramatic, has me standing in the middle of the sidewalk at the end of the block, testament to my unwillingness to let this end here. They, as I had hoped, drive away. I sprint to my lonely friend who eagerly lights my way and I dive into the neighbors yard where I lay in wait. I have been waiting for this. This has to happen.
Almost 10 minutes late 2 guys cross the driveway I am hidden next to. Again I slip forward but am held by the lesson learned by the parent trap. I wait and am better for it, as these gentleman have no connection whatsoever to this game. The stout guy behind them, however - the one who has spotted me - does.
Another balloon, this time without the lingering lumber lob of the preceding. It is a direct hit, as though fired by a cannon. It tears into my shoulder like sandbag filled with lead bullion and drops to the ground in tact only to softly burst a full second on the ground.
I need to see your ID.
My arms in the air I shout, "That was a hit!" The stout one returns, "Yeah, I could tell I got you with that one. I didn't' even know if that was you, just a silhouette." "You have 24 hours", I say, "can I please see your ID?"
The stout one instantly complies. His ID is right and proper and I am prepared now to make my way home. He asks me for mine and I brandish it easily. I have made first contact and am satisfied with it. I know my targets intimately now and am prepared to to whatever it takes to challenge every second of their lives from 24 hours on. As a matter of course:
"I need to see [Name Withheld]'s ID as well."
The skinny one, whom I have only seen laughing at me from the passenger seat of his brother's car, and who looks strikingly like Jake Busey were Jake Busey to walk around on his knees, is the team leader and I am requesting to see his ID.
"I think he's up here", says the stout one, "he doesn't have it on him."
I am sent reeling. Did he just say that his team leader does not have his ID? Team Leader?
"It's ok, though, 'cuz I got you."
Refer for a second to your rule books. It is not ok. This is a direct violation of the rules. I don't want this. I want a kill. I want an actual kill. I want a take-down, a battle, a fair fight. To think that this team would be compromised by failing to follow the rules is ridiculous.
Is it though? The information they provided did not reflect their person or whereabouts. The only contact information provided the Shadow Government was not adequate even for first contact, let alone a fair hunt. They were brazen in their deference to the rules from the application process. I am, regardless of these facts, willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.
Before I can make a statement mini Jake Busey is running down the street. I politely discuss nothing with his brother as we await his return. 3 or so blocks his brother tells me. If it is even in the car, he parked 3 or so blocks away.
A short while later the skinny one returns with his ID. Returns. Returns because he did not have it with him while participating in an assault.
I check to see that it is valid and leave to a chorus of smack talk. They want me to bring them Little Ceasars next time. They think my little gun is cute (Apophys is neither little nor cute), they wish me better luck in getting my ass handed to me next time. I have walked away with the interest of the spirit of the game in mind, regardless of the tactless asshats I have faced this evening.
A short while later I make an appeal to the Shadow Government itself. I want a suggestion. Do I fall staunchly to the rules and take my first kill - my FIRST kill - as a technicality? A bitch move? Or do I continue the hunt having compromised my position with targets unwilling to respect the spirit of the game?
I tell them that I don't want a kill from this. I don't want a loss for anyone and I don't want a bitch move to be my legacy. I just want a fair target willing to play this game with self respect and honor and an observance of the rules. They respond, in their wise and venerable manner, with understanding but a firm grasp of the realities of this situation. I am left with the following:
It is established that the team leader of my target team did not, at the point of assault, have in his possession his ID. It is recognized that this is a clear violation of the rules and as an attacker I have the right to call him out on it. It is also established, however, that doing so with no other impetus than a kill would be a bitch-ass move.
Before I can make my decision, however, the Shadow Government wants me to have all of the information available at my disposal. I am giving the following:
To: Supreme Commander From: [My Target Team] Subject: STUNNED BIATCH FYI
Frank or Tom or who ever the hell is stalking Team Think 'n' Creamy got
stunned on Tues. at 11:23 pm. He got stunned like a biatch, shat himself
and wouldn't stop crying.Also, what is the ruling on splatter from a water balloon. I thought the
website said splatter from a balloon is a valid kill, but the official rule
book says nothing. WTF!A little clarification for everyone might be a good idea.
Cordially,
Agent Orange
Team Think 'n' CreamyDecision
Hadn't I been giving them the benefit of the doubt? Hadn't I spent untold hours outside of an empty house, a house yet to actually be tied to them, without once complaining or calling foul, never questioning their veracity? Hadn't I offered myself up fairly when hit? Shat myself? Wouldn't stop crying?
Well, that helps the decision making process. It looks as though I just took out team Thick 'n' Creamy. It looks as though I, in the face of their obvious cock-bitery, even had the respect to spell it right.
I've got a new target now. He actually lives at his address and has a job. A job where he actually spends time. Though I hae made contact already, he is slick and has evaded my first attempt at locating him on the move. I am envigorated by the hunt. My assassin is on my tail and I'm on my victim's. This is how the game is meant to be played, no?
See you on the game grid.
Martin Levin
Chicago 2007
A kill leader and two girls that are smarter than you
July 17, 2007 - Posted by Mustache Commander at 11:29 PM
Total Kill Count: 10
Current Kill Leader: The Bureau (2)
A kill leader finally emerges from you sorry bunch of assassins. Good work Team Bureau.
The rest of you might also take heed from the rather excellent kill stories submitted in today's update.
- Maryanne of Team A.L.I.C.E. fought through fear and the urging of her bowel movements to stalk and find fullfillment in her hapless prey.
- Tso Tso Def used her femine wiles to weave herself a scheme, trap herself a kill, and got herself a date all at the same time. Not bad in a day's work for a rookie.
What are the rest of you up to exactly? You don't get to kick your up feet, rest on thy laurels and have a team of eager assistants gently condition your pubic hairs one by one until you have wetted as many fools as those in the Shadow Government.
So read the stories, learn a thing or two, then go out and prove yourselves worthy of the title, "assassin".
In today's update...
- The Bureau (1) sent The Bodhisattva (0) to nirvana
- Tso Tso Def (1) took down Uberman5k (0)
- The Bureau (2) were not fazed by Faison (0)
- Weezer (1) took the fun out of Sergeant Fun (1)
- Girl Friday (1) cleaned up Dr Stain (0)
- Team A.L.I.C.E. (1) found a thrill with Agent Soubon (0)
Read kill stories after the jump
Your daily kill stories
Weezer (1) took the fun out of Sergeant Fun (1)
Agent Weezer has taken Sergeant Fun out of Streetwars 2007, scout sniper stylee....
After 10 hours of surveillance yesterday, Agent Weezer dug in the backyard of the diagonal neighbor. At 4:30 she came out of the house but it was too early. Agent Weezer stealthy backed out and reassesed the situation. Feeling the current firepower being employed was not enough, Agent Weezer retreated and reloaded will a scout sniper long barrel. Patiently waiting for the head shot for 40 mins. She came out with caution, and Weezer waited and waited. The moment came the shot was taken and Sergeant Fun was splashed and the leg and foot. At first Sergeant Fun said she was unharmed but agent Weezer Demanded to see her id.... at this point she was in the house and her boyfriend was sent out with a statement....While the statement was being read, Sergeant Fun tried to hit Agent Weezer and missed, weezer returned fire and scored a direct hit! At this point Sergeant Fun and Agent Weezer reread the rule book and agreed that SHE GONE!!!! Who the fuck is next???
Tso Tso Def (1) took down Uberman5k (0)
hey fellas and pretty flapper lady =]
this is agent tso tso def.i just got my first kill! Uberman5k
this is how it went down:
so i tried stalking him down at his work address... but ended up getting caught in the rain and not finding him so i decided to scope out his apartment for some prime hiding spots on my way home. my plan was to wake up super early and just stalk him until he came out, but then i saw that there was a light on in his apartment. so i rang his buzzer, and i wasn't even sure what i was going to do from there and then!His roommate came out. and he looked really suspicious since it was about 2 in the morning at that point. so i told him this huge sob story about how my crackhead boyfriend and i got into a fight and how some guy grabbed my arm on the street and i was so scared and didn't have anywhere to go. and this sweet boy with freckles listened to me and tried to calm me down, and then we talked for a couple hours until Uberman5k drove back from rockin the suburbs. i thought i gave myself away when he asked me if i heard of street wars, and i said yeah! but covered my ass by pretending that i thought it was a coalition to stop gang vioenece (which there is really, it's called ceasefire). so i see Uberman5k pull in, and bill goes down to help him get some stuff in my car. and he said that he noticed that i seemed to sober up really quick. and this was the point where i probably could have lost my target cuz i ended up running into the living room to retrieve my weapon of watery doom and got too eager and ran out into the back after them. bill made an effort to protect his roomie, but i got my mark!!
i felt really bad the whole time for taking advantage of bill. but i got his number, and i'm taking him out for supper later this week so yeah we'll see how it goes =]
Girl Friday (1) cleaned up Dr Stain (0)
I have good news.
Also, I have rinsed Dr Stain's grapes, so to speak.
I have whetted my taste for more, needless to say.
I wouldn't notice anyone wearing sunglasses at 8:12am, reading a newspaper at a closed corner Italian restaurant, directly on the way to the El, while I was hurrying off to my nine to five. Not unless, I was, say, THE FRIGGIN' TEAM LEADER IN AN ASSASSINS GAME.
Good game.
Team A.L.I.C.E. (1) found a thrill with Agent Soubon (0)
It started at 5 am on Monday. It lasted till 9:45 Tuesday evening.
Stalking someone is harder than it sounds... especially when their bitch ass calls into work two days in a row, gets a haircut, and doesn't leave his damn apartment.
After putting in hours of pointless surveillance, it was time to get geared up for some debauchery. I bought a ski mask, some face paint, put on all the black clothes I owned, including socks as gloves with a hole for a black-painted trigger finger... and hid my ass in his bug infested bushes.
I thought I was being so god-damned stealth-- numerous neighbors walked by, seemingly unaware that a girl with her boyfriend's socks on her hands was lingering in their bushes, a couple feet away from their loud talking, dog walking, loogie hawking selves. That was, at least, until my target's girlfriend (thank goodness for MySpace) walked out of the front door. I froze.
She walked a few paces, then jumped a foot in the air, exclaiming, "You just scared the SHIT out of me, dude!"
I skootched back into the bushes farther, and from beneath my ski mask grumbled, "Sorry, dude."I KNEW it was his girlfriend.
She whipped out her cell phone after passing my hedge, and I knew my cover would be blown soon.A few moments later, a couple walked up to the entrance with their dog, fumbling for keys at my target's door. I had to act.
...Regardless of the fact that I looked like a serial killer.
I climbed out of the bushes, and they shit themselves. "Uh, I know this seems weird, but can you guys let me into your building? I'm supposed to shoot your neighbor." They looked at each other in fear, clenching their handbag and wallet, shooing the dog up to the door.
"...I mean, shoot them with a water gun, not fatally... we're in a competition, there's money involved if I win."
The girl repeated "Don't rob us, okay? Please... just don't rob us." I chuckled, removed my ski mask, revealing a half painted face in an effort to calm her, but only seemed to creep them out even more.
Perhaps it was the fact that I was a chick, that they felt bad that I had been staking out the courtyard for over twelve hours, or that they just don't give a shit about their neighbor's well-being, they let me in, and LOUDLY, in front of his door, discussed how terrifying the encounter was.
I climbed a half set of stairs, crouched down, still wearing my ninja gear, and prayed that no more neighbors, at least non-mute ones, walked by.
I could hear them stomp up to the third floor, and begin to retell the story of the fucked up looking chick in the hallway waiting to shoot their neighbor.It's ridiculous how much your adrenaline kicks in once you're "INSIDE", I was shaking, paranoid, and really had to take a dump due to two big ass coffees and a half pack of cigarettes.
Then, I heard the creaking of his floor.
Seconds seemed like hours.
I sat.
And listened.I heard the familiar noise of a super soaker being pumped inside his apartment, or at least imagined it, and braced myself.
His door slooooooowly creaked open, and I knew shit was about to go down. Gun drawn, rectum tight, I leaned over slightly to see the colorful tip of my opponent's gun. I yelled "AH HAAAA! HAH HAH HAAAA!" like a mad woman, shooting him with spurts of water from my mini water pistol. He ducked into a fetal position and rolled in front of his door.
"Did I get you at all??" He asked, hoping for another 24 hours to live.
I was sure I avoided his haphazard spray. Still, to be fair, removed my sock-gloves, patting myself to check for wet spots. "No dude, sorry."
"Damn it!" he cried, grinning sheepishly. "Nice kill, man. Nice kill."
Maryanne
Team A.L.I.C.E.
Chicago 2007
First Kill and The Road To Alcoholism
July 16, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 09:04 PM
Total Kill Count: 4
Current Kill Leader: Too Early To Report - Need More Kills
One hour and thirty one minutes.
That is all it took for one of you to taste the sweet nectar of victory and for one of you to get cock-slapped across the face with the wet reality of your lack of assassinatin' skills.
It was an awesome start (though less than stellar story) to the tournament and I have to give it up for the skills of Eternitygirl. Many of you were talking shit about how you would get the first kill, you didn't...and you are lucky as hell that I value my urine, otherwise I would find each of you and pee on you a bit to teach you a some damn humility.
After having gotten a pretty decent woody from that first kill coming so early, I must say that both me and my penis were hella disappointed in that it took til Monday afternoon for the next kill to come...thankfully, you kids did a pretty decent job of keeping the kills coming over the day, which did wonders for my Monday sex life. I, my penis and my harem thank you.
Don't congratulate yourselves too much...it has been a good start but, by no means a great start...I hope to hear of many more killingses come Tuesday...AND...I hope that you rock me some better kill stories, thus far I have been extremely disappointed at the lack of delicious description in the kill stories - I want to know how the kills went down, not just that they happened...
Now a little breakdown of the Monday kills and a heart-warming story of a man's first drink of liquor.
In today's update:
- Eternitygirl (1) out skilled all of you fools but, none moreso than Iko (0) who had the honor of being the first killed in the Chicago tournament (best of luck next time)
- Big Daddy (1) made The Moist (0) bend over and receive a nice ass-reddening spanking.
- Dos Lobos (1) went all Ghostbusters on the ass of Spookybutt, who didn't even bother to pick up her assignment before dying.
- Sergeant Fun (1) aquatically revoked the fun license of agent Mustard (0)
Kill stories and crap follow.
It is my pleasure to report that on this, the 16th day of july in the
year of our lord 2007, Jeff Ickow was assassinated by my hand at 1:32am.
I need a new target.
***
We found her back porch knocked on the door, BAM!
Ashley Finlayson is no longer in street wars. However,
she never picked up her assignment, so we have no
target as of right now. please assist.
-Dos Lobos
***
themoist has been eliminated.
Thank you sir, may I have another
***
June, 2007
"Dude, I'm going to sign up for that water gun game!"
He sits on the other side of the cubicle. He laughs at inappropriate
times, listens to his music - terrible music - far too loudly and he is
always into the 'next big thing'.
"What water gun game?"
I roll my eyes and prepare for a vast and grammatically incorrect tale
about some drunken jaunt his friends are organizing for some holiday
hallmark made up to sell frosted glass baubles to overweight women.
"You ever play assassin? That game where you..."
Yeah, yeah, yeah. That game where you write your name on a piece of
scrap paper and your friends draw it from a hat and then spring out from
around a corner yelling boo at you when you least expect. No, I have
never played. I have never wanted to. Assassins is for pussies. I have
weapons training. I have passion and desire and imagination and
absolutely no interest in playing a game unless it is a challenge; I do
not wont for drunken banter.
"Dude, streetwars.net man. Read all about it."
Back to the workday: Code to write, meetings to dodge and many more
dealings with the guy on the other side of the cubicle. He wants to buy
pit vipers. He wants to raise a clutch of praying mantises and fight
them. He wants to do a zombie walk in Amsterdam. I want him to go to
Amsterdam as well.
My lunch break offers a few minutes away from the reams of code I've
been spewing for the past four hours and I open a browser. I am met with
something that intrigues me. I jump directly to the multimedia, as it is
most easily consumed while I, myself, am consuming bagels and some sort
of strawberry flavored cream that makes my teeth hurt and my tongue feel
guilty for what it imagines having done to Miss Shortcake.
Interested I move on to Wikipedia. As a programmer it is in my contract
to rely almost completely on this as the definitive source on any topic,
wholly regardless of its authors' credentials. Wikipedia says the game
is cool. Cool and global. Let's Google it.
I am sucked immediately into the world of Streetwars. The Polish, they
love it. Germans too. Londoners seem to think it is the shit and a
number of our coastal people are fans. It's not just the guy sitting
across from me, laughing wildly at what sounds like Craftsman power tool
animal porn, and it's not just a game of Assassins.
I discuss it with my fiancee. I am met with an excited 'Yes yes yes' and
a very elusive 'no teams, none at all'. $80 and a few web forms later
and I am awaiting my meeting with those organizers of this underground
alternate reality game of international intrigue.
I tell the guy on the other side of the cubicle that I've signed up. I
tell him because I want him to fear me when he puts his headphones on
and know that I might be behind him when he leaves the office. It turns
out he never signed up. Missed the deadline and has bought bearded
dragons. Apparently they are the 'in thing' right now.
July 15th, 2007
I'm next to her. I've been next to her for six years now. When she moves
her hand I can watch it and tell you what she is thinking. Right now she
is thinking that she would like to kill me. I know just how dangerous
she can be. I am easily twice her weight but her looks can throw me
across the room. Her fingertips can be rose pedals or dirk tipped dagger
digits. She walks away from me and into a door behind which is another
door, one with a wreath, and is gone from me for what seems like forever.
I am lost. I have a water pistol tucked into my belt and it is dripping
into my ass-crack. I am leaning on a tree trying to look like a killer
but feel I only come off looking like that guy with the Knight Rider
tee-shirt at prom. A girl in a 'this is what Anne Franke would look like
if she had had money and, you know, had not been killed by Nazis' outfit
is telling stories of car chases and baby making and all manner of
effigy that are completely lost on me. I am staring at a sign. The sign
is staring back at me. It is speaking to me in some crazy moon language
and swaying back and forth in a wind that, for the life of me, I can't feel.
Is this something I should be doing? Can I actually do this? When I was
20 I used to tell people that if I hadn't made a movie by the age of 25
- a real movie with a real cast and real sets and real cameras and, as
it turns out, a real debt - I would give up civilian life and become an
assassin. Well, I have made a movie. A few, in fact. Am I really ready
to devote weeks of my life to stalking, catching and killing some poor
sap who paid the same $40 as I did?
Of course I am.
It is that little girl, that five-foot-absolutely-zero-inches little
girl to whom I have been completely devoted to for nearing a decade now,
that scares the living shit out of me.
As though by way of fate, she comes powering out of the glass doors into
which she flitted a few moments, or perhaps a few hours, ago.
"You're up", she says. I suppose that means I'm up.
The whole mess was very well thought out. Standing on the street corner
was awkward, but once through the glass doors I am in another world. I
am in Soel or the Kowloon district or some other place I've seen guys
with washboard abs and typewriter sound effects jumping and shooting and
kicking the hell out of one another. My heart begins to race and I open
the door with the wreath.
As instructed, I go to door number seven. I have no need to knock as a
gentleman whom I believe was, in fact, the Supreme Commander is leaving
and the door is left open. I slip in.
"Welcome."
A man I have only ever seen in drawings is sitting across from me. He is
costumed as I would think he would be in light of the surroundings; his
longish hair tucked under a fedora, a traditional pan-asian
extremely-large-sleeved shirt smock thing an a mustache from which
entire universes may at some point be born. I pull the dripping water
pistol from my belt and place it on the table as I have seen Chow Yun
Fat at least sixty times.
"So, you and Eternitygirl are, shall we say, together?"
Already she's an influence.
"Yeah."
"I wish we would have known, we would have done something special for
you", he intones. I can only imagine what that might mean. I have not
yet figured out if this is a silly game or if we are taking this
seriously. I am taking it seriously, to be sure, but if he is as well I
should take this sort of statement with dire weight.
"There are three things I need you to do for me."
The first is a killing contract. It outlines items that need to be
outlined legally in a situation such as this. I scan it and sign it
hastily. The second is a flash of light into my eyes which I can only
think means a photograph and which I am pretty sure wasn't for
posterity. The third is a bit of a concern.
I am T-total. Is't not religious, it's not social and it is not because
I think that drinking or drugging or huffing goddamned Etch-a-Sketch
dust is a terrible thing and that people shouldn't do it. It is almost
completely because my mind, and my mental state, are the most valuable
commodity I have. They have always been. I'm not a rockstar. I don't
look like a rockstar, can't play an instrument or sing like a rockstar
and sure as hell don't party like a rockstar. Instead I solve spacial
geometry problems freehand. I invent new ways to do things for a living.
I write code and write stories and write complex maths and have never in
my life had a drink. The thought of having a single slip of sentience
effected by an outside force scares me more than anything else I can
imagine. Alcohol, a party favor to you, is to me a devastating poison.
"...from my own personal distillery..."
It's whiskey. I don't know anything about whiskey. NyQuil and Banaca
spray constitute my entire dealings with the sweet rot and all I know is
that what he has poured and handed to me wilts my eyelashes and melts
that part of me inside that once owned a Cabbage Patch Kid named Sean.
"Look, I've never had a drink in my live. Ever."
This was an attempt to get off easy. TO have the guy say, "Oh, well,
lets do Burple instead. Do you like Tang? Crystal Pepsi?" This does not,
in point of fact, happen.
"Well, then what better a way to indoctrinate you into the brotherhood
of assassins?"
I flail a bit. I think I may have mumbled something about being a
T-totaler but was quieted by the battle being waged in my head. Am I
really going to do this? There is no going back. If this is done, it has
to mean something. If this is done, I have to commit everything I've
got. I have to live this. If I down this, so too must I down this game.
It felt like drinking a goddamned forest fire. when it hit my stomach my
anus inverted. My salivary glands emptied themselves with the type of
vigor reserved for making out with models and my eyeballs insisted that
to focus on anything actually present and in the room with me was
ridiculous.
"This pleases me", he says, "I will pay special attention to you. It
means a great deal for you to share this with me."
I believe I may have muttered something about this being a pleasure or a
memorable occasion but in all honesty my body was screaming at me in a
way I have never felt before. It was almost certain I had just had an
ounce of paint thinner cut with heavy metals mixed with a Canadian coin
dissolved in battery acid. It responded to this as you would think it
to. Revolt.
I stumbled out and locked arms with my fiancee. We tumbled down the
street together and I knew not only that I had changed just then - that
I was now something different for this experience - but that I had in
one hand the dossier of someone I was to kill and in my other, the hand
that will inevitably, at some point in these proceedings, try to kill me.
More to come.
Chicago 2007
Team Leaders!!!
July 15, 2007 - Posted by Supreme Commander at 12:51 PM
A pleasure meeting and drinking with all of you...apologies for any diseases you may have caught while coming to see us...
So...yer probably wondering who the team leaders you got to kill are...
Some of you, thinking you were slick, told us who you wanted to be team leader...obviously, we did not listen to you. The Shadow Government was carefully examining surveillance videos, collected since sign-ups began, of team players. After much debate, which included a long filibuster and numerous votes of the ruling council, we have decided the following subjects will be the special target for their realted teams.
This information will be valid for the entire game.
Teams, don't let yer leader and fellow members down...if the leader gets wet, the whole team is OUT.
No complaints, there's no crying in Killer.
and now...
Team Leaders:
Advanced Placement
Noel Rojas
The Bureau
Patrick Marsden
Romans
Michael Chmiel
Double Shockers
Mariah Karson
Thick N Creamy
John Slipke
Arashikage
David Smith
West Wacker Mafia
Luke Franz
Water Liberation Front
Nina Faile
The Guild of Torrential Pain
Cassandra Jackson
ALICE
Jessica Martin
Jewrookie
Christopher Hernandez
Dos Lobos
Chris Luiz
Poop Dream
Blake Maybeck
Contact your Shadow Governement Official: liveinfear@streetwars.net